by Lisa Wysocky
Back inside the house I locked the doors and plugged in my landline. When I got Brent on the phone he asked if he could call me back in five minutes. He said it in such a way that I expected him not to call at all, but he did.
“I’ve talked to Martin,” he said in lieu of greeting.
I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad, so I went with neutral.
“Then you know what happened,” I said carefully.
“I do. I’m sorry I didn’t get to the hospital to see you. My schedule has been crazy, but Cat, to be honest, I’m not sure I can do this anymore.”
“You’re not sure you can do what, exactly?”
“I can’t live in fear any longer that you are going to be kidnapped, or held at gunpoint, or drugged and tossed into the trash. Or that your brake lines are going to be cut, or that you’re smacked in the back with a heavy weapon.”
Brent had a point. Hard to believe, but those were things that had actually happened to me in the nine months I had known him.
“I can’t live in fear any longer that I am going to lose you,” he said. “I love you, Cat, but we aren’t working.”
“I know.” And I did. I also noted that the first time he told me he loved me was when he was breaking up with me. Oddly enough, that wasn’t the first time that had happened to me. Also, oddly enough, I felt relieved. Brent was a good man. He was funny and solid and warm and stable. And, as much as I hated to admit it, Mama Giles was right. I was not right for Brent, and he was not right for me.
“Friends?” I asked.
“Always,” he said. “I’m sorry we didn’t work out, and I’m sorry about the timing. It’s not great to break up the same day you get out of the hospital.”
“No,” I admitted. “But better when I am out of the hospital than when I am in.”
“True, and I meant it, Cat. About being friends.”
“Me, too.”
People say that all the time when they break up, but I had a feeling that Brent and I would be better apart than we ever were together. I really hoped that I was right.
“Take care, Brent.”
Suddenly, I had an urgent need to be the one to hang up first, and after a quick hesitation, I did.
Cat’s Horse Tip #16
“Horses that are out on pasture will graze fifteen to seventeen hours a day.”
27
BY EARLY MONDAY AFTERNOON HILL still had not shown up, so I asked Martin if the sheriff ’s office could call around to see if they could find him.
“I’m really sorry,” he said. I was sure he meant that because Brent and I had broken up, that our own friendship would have to end, too. That thought hurt.
“About you and Brent,” he continued. “Really sorry. But I’ll get someone on Hill. ’Bout time he came home and took care of that boy of his. I’ll call or stop by later to let you know what we find.”
So maybe the stocky detective and I were still friends after all. My conversations with Jon and Brent had emotionally drained me, so I took a nap and slept far deeper than I had in the hospital.
When I woke up, I could hear Darcy and Bubba rummaging around in the kitchen, their voices just murmurs. Then I looked at the digital clock near my bed. Four-fifteen. I yawned, stretched, and decided that I was done with recuperating. After declaring myself completely recovered, I splashed some water on my face and went down to join Bubba and Darcy. They were both doing homework at the kitchen table, so I pulled on a light jacket and headed out to the barn. On the way my new cell phone rang. It was a call from the sheriff ’s office.
“It’s Bobby Lee, Miz Enright. Detective Giles wanted me to let you know that we found Hill Henley,” he said.
This probably wasn’t going to be good, I thought, as I opened the barn door. Jon looked up from raking the aisle, and I wiggled my fingers at him.
“We don’t have all the info yet, but Mr. Henley was arrested early Sunday morning in Birmingham, Alabama. Turns out he’d been transporting pirated CDs, DVDs, and other stolen goods around the Southeast.”
That explained the trips with the horse trailer. You could pack a lot of CDs into the space a horse occupied.
“Just a minute, Bobby Lee. I’m going to try to put you on speaker. Jon Gardner is with me and I want him to hear this.” I mouthed “sheriff ’s office, Bobby Lee,” to Jon, as I handed the phone to him and he did something that allowed Bobby Lee’s voice to be broadcast out through the phone.
“Okay, Bobby Lee. We can both hear you,” I said.
For Jon’s benefit, Bobby Lee repeated what he had just told me, then added, “Trouble is, when Mr. Henley was stopped for a tail light that was out, he panicked and shot the toe off of an Alabama state trooper. He’s got a bond of $250,000. You wouldn’t want to pay that by any chance, would you?”
Jon and I exchanged amazed glances. Hill shot the toe off of an Alabama state trooper? For Bubba’s sake, I wished I could pay Hill’s bond. Then I realized that even if I had the money, which I currently did not, I wouldn’t. If Hill was ever going to be the father Bubba needed, someone or something had to rein him in and get his attention. This might just be it.
“Ah, no, Bobby Lee. I think I’ll pass.” Jon nodded in agreement.
“You and everybody else. That man’s about as useful as a pogo stick in quicksand,” he said. “I think Mr. Henley is going to be sitting there in jail for a while. Plus, there’s video from the patrol car that shows Henley shooting the trooper, so he’s probably going to do some time.
“That’s really why Detective Giles wanted me to call you. It’s about Bubba. If the boy’s only parent is in jail, the state will take custody unless someone files papers to request emergency temporary custody. He thought that person might be you.”
Temporary custody? Of Bubba?
“Do it,” Jon whispered. “I’ll help.”
“What do I have to do?” My voice sounded tentative. What was I getting myself into? What if Hill sat in jail for six months. Or a year? Three years? I would effectively become Bubba’s parent and I was pretty sure I wasn’t ready for that. And what about school and our show schedule? Maybe Keith and Carole would help, too. If I had custody, though, it would solve the problem of asking Hill if Bubba could volunteer at the riding center. I still thought that would be a good activity for him, and he seemed to want to get involved. This was certainly turning out to be a barn burner of a day.
Bobby Lee told us that I needed to apply to the court, and that Bubba’s social worker could help me do that. “I’ll make sure no action is taken regarding Bubba until you get a court hearing,” Bobby Lee said. “Today’s Monday. If you get emergency papers filed tomorrow, you could have a hearing on Wednesday.”
My head was spinning so fast I hoped it wouldn’t pop off my neck. Maybe I wasn’t completely recovered. Or, maybe I’d had so much news in the past few hours that I was getting ready to self-combust.
“Thanks, Bobby Lee,” Jon said as he took the phone from my hand and clicked the “end call” button. To me he said, “Let’s go into the tack room. You look like you need to sit down.”
Things continued to move fast. First I called Carole, and after conferencing Keith in, they said of course they’d help with Bubba, Keith’s tour schedule depending, which I took to mean that they’d help when needed, just not every day. Worked for me, and Bubba adored Keith. Then I ordered pizza for dinner.
After Frog delivered it and I again over tipped him, I told Bubba about his dad. Jon and Darcy were also at the kitchen table when I broke the news, and when Bubba broke into tears, Darcy put her arm around him and said that he’d be fine staying with us. She’d even take him to visit his dad, wherever he ended up. There was hope for Darcy, yet.
The next morning I was up early to feed and to get Darcy and Bubba up. Darcy drove herself, but I borrowed Jon’s car to drive Bubba to school. After dropping him off, I parked and went in to talk to the principal. I said a prayer on the way in to ward off any arts and crafts ladies who might try
to rope me into their cult. The prayer must have worked, as not one person approached me to head up a project for the school. Whew.
The principal, a short, tired-looking woman who must have been near retirement, absorbed my news without surprise. “Let us know how the court hearing goes,” she said. “Any care-giver will be an improvement over Bubba’s father.”
With that sterling recommendation, I then headed for the office of Bubba’s social worker. On the way I realized I no longer had a safety buddy and I had not even been on the lookout for Mr. Clean Cut or his little green Honda. I called Martin to let him know where I was. He assured me he’d send someone to keep an eye on the car, and me, until I got home. I was more relieved than I let on.
“Stay in the car until Bobby Lee gets there,” he said. I heeded his words.
Inside the social services office the receptionist told me there was a four to six week wait for an appointment. Hmmm. I could either insist upon speaking with her supervisor, or reach over the counter and shake her until she let me speak with Bubba’s social worker. I settled for the former. Using the commanding body language I used with Gigi when she was being silly, I explained the situation and demanded five minutes of the social worker’s time.
To my surprise it worked, and within minutes a social worker appeared, a woman named Claire Adams. Then she invited me back to her office, produced the forms, and helped me fill them out. When I left the building I waved at Bobby Lee, who followed me to the courthouse so I could file the temporary custody request.
We were in luck. Bubba and I were scheduled to be in court bright and early the next morning. The clerk also suggested I bring a few character references along with me. That I could do. The Carsons also faxed a letter to the clerk’s office and copied me in an emailed version, and Martin and Jon agreed to come with us in the morning.
Later, after Bobby Lee followed me home, I called Mason Whitcomb, Darcy’s dad, to let him know that Bubba would be staying for a while in the same house as his daughter. I was pretty sure he’d be okay with that, and he was.
“Be good for her,” he said between barking orders at various assistants. “Her mother and I spoiled her. Neither of us had time for parenting, so we tried to make up for it with money. You’ve been good for her, and that boy will do her good, too.”
By the time I hung up, I realized my head was aching. So much for slowing down. I decided to take time to sit on the porch and watch Ringo. You could learn a lot by just watching a horse. Most horses were content to have their four basic needs met: food, water, shelter, and companionship. Once they had those, they could relax into being a horse.
In just a few days, Ringo had gone from pulling up grass frantically, as if he would never have another chance in his entire lifetime to graze, to a more relaxed time in the pasture. For this horse, a horse who had been stalled most of his life, continuing pasture time would be more important to his mental health than for a horse who’d had ongoing pasture time throughout his life. And, we weren’t going to campaign Ringo in conformation classes, so the occasional scratch that he might get in the pasture would not be judged against him.
Wednesday morning Darcy insisted on skipping school to come with us. “I’m, like, living in the house, too,” she said. “The judge might want to ask me how many times you’ve beaten me, or how often I go to bed hungry. Stuff like that.”
I stifled the urge to comment. Darcy prided herself on provoking outrageous reactions. All I said was, “I don’t think you can chew gum inside the courtroom.”
Martin arranged for us to park Jon’s car behind the courthouse with the patrol cars, where he’d have someone watch it. And once we got inside the courtroom, the hearing itself was quick. Claire Adams was there and gave a recommendation on my behalf, and the judge, a kind, older man, spoke quietly to Bubba. Then the judge asked me about work and travel, looked over the fax from the Carsons, and signed the order.
“We’ll revisit this after Mr. Henley has his hearing in Alabama,” the judge said with nods to Claire, and to Bubba.
Claire had to get back to her office, but to celebrate, the rest of us went to McDonalds. After ingesting more than our share of chemicals and food-like products Jon drove us to Bubba’s house.
“What’s gonna happen to my dad’s horses? An’ the dogs?” Bubba asked when we drove past the barn.
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “Your dad’s helper is taking care of them for now. We’ll just have to see.”
No one had given us any indication how long it might be before Hill had a hearing, or, if it came to that, a trial, so I asked Bubba to put a week’s worth of clothes into the bags we had brought. We also gathered some of his video games and action figures. I would clear out the closet, as well as the business files and computer that were in my office/guest room. Bubba could bunk there until we learned more.
Just in case Hill’s helper hadn’t heard the news, when we drove back past the barn, we stopped. I hastily scrawled a note that suggested the helper call Bobby Lee at the sheriff ’s office for more information. Then I tacked it to the door with a push pin I’d found in my truck. My earlier note was still tucked into the doorframe, however, so I had little hope that Hill’s “man” would respond to this note, either.
That afternoon Jon, Darcy, Bubba, and Hank all went out to the barn, while I locked the doors to the house and went into Bubba’s new room. I booted up my laptop and checked my email. There was one from Annie, three from Agnes, and one from Buffy. Agnes and Annie were just checking on me and I sent them short, positive replies. Buffy’s however, informed me of another committee meeting.
DAVIS HAS SECURED THE RYMAN FOR THE MEMORIAL, SO WE HAVE MUCH TO DISCUSS. NOT TO BREAK UP THE WORKDAY, LET’S ALL MEET THURSDAY AT 6 PM IN PASTOR RUTHIE COSGROVE’S OFFICE. SEE YOU THEN.
I wracked my brain for schedule conflicts and, recalling none, emailed Buffy back that I’d be there. Then I took another nap. Even though I’d told myself that I was done with all this carbon monoxide stuff, my body apparently had not yet gotten the message.
About three o’clock Darcy bounced noisily into my room to wake me.
“Martin’s here,” she said.
It was quite possible that after breathing all the tainted fumes in my truck, I craved fresh air. I couldn’t find any other explanation for my recent desire to sit on the front porch, as it was something I rarely did. In any case, that’s where Martin and I ended up, I in Agnes’s black trench coat, and Martin in a wind-breaker emblazoned with the sheriff ’s office logo. The sun was out again and felt good on my face.
“This new sheriff,” Martin stated, “he’s a good guy. I’d been ’bout ready to quit if our previous sheriff didn’t get voted out.”
Sheriff “Big Jim” Burns had been petty, sexist, and a card-carrying member of the good ol’ boys network. He certainly had not been a fan of mine––or vice versa.
“We got us a bunch of new rules and procedures, all for the good,” he said, “and I’ve been discouraged about talking about cases out of turn. But durn it Cat, you were Miz Cross’s best friend and you can’t give me information unless you know the context in which I’m askin’ it.”
“What do you want to know, Martin?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know what I want to know. I’ve asked all the questions of all the people and I still haven’t got one clue as to who murdered Miz Cross.”
“Well, you’ve ruled out Fitch, Chas Chadwick, Augie Fremont, and Claudine, right? Don’t they all have tight alibis?”
“They do,” he said. “Unless one of them hired someone else to do it. We don’t think that’s the case, though. And Bodine and Cletus Potts were both in prison. They’ve been interviewed and no one thinks either has the intelligence to pull something like this off from inside a cell. Both of them, it’s like the engine’s running but nobody’s driving.”
“So that leaves . . .” I forced my brain to click into gear, “Brandyne––”
“Who waits table
s at a truck stop near Toad Suck. She was off on Wednesday and her shift didn’t start until eleven A.M. on Thursday.”
“It’s what, a little more than five hours from here to there? Brandyne could have done it,” I said. “She still in jail?”
“No. She made bail the next day and she and her mama went back to Arkansas. She’s got a court date next month. The judge so far has managed to keep the incident quiet, well, the judge and Buffy. Brandyne has been interviewed about her sister several times in the past few days. She’s a fireball for sure, but I just don’t know about her.”
“Then Ruthie, and Allen and Emily Harding, were supposedly all together at the Harding home until about midnight,” I said. “Any one of them could have gotten to Melody.”
“True, and there’s motive, as the church benefited big time, but I don’t get a sense that any of them knew that before the will was read. And why? It’d seem that Miz Cross was more valuable to them alive. Ongoing, she gave them a lot.”
“She gave time and brought them publicity, in addition to the money,” I agreed.
“Keith and Carol Carson alibi each other, but unless Keith and Miz Cross had something going on the side, there’s no motive there, either,” Martin said. “Miz Cross was important to the promotion of that single. Seems they’re getting a bang out of it now that she’s gone, but accordin’ to everyone we’ve talked to, it would have been a big single anyway.”
We talked for a few minutes about the possibility of Keith and Melody having a fling.
“Not possible,” I said. “I knew Melody well, and would have known if something was going on. Plus, Keith and Carole have a solid marriage.”
“Then that brings up Buffy Thorndyke,” said Martin. “She has a thing for Keith. If she thought Keith and Miz Cross were secretly a couple, or even just attracted to each other . . . ”