Southern Gentlemen: John Rip PetersonBilly Ray Wainwright

by Jennifer Blake

  Billy Ray rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes. Without Carolina’s memory of that night to guide him, he could only make assumptions. If she’d ever had a drinking problem, there were no signs she had one now. She had little taste for alcohol. He knew all the subtle signs of a secret drinker, and she had none of them.

  But what had she been like before the accident? Not surprisingly, the psychiatrist hired by the Graysons claimed that Carolina was unstable, even dangerously paranoid at times. Translated into layman’s terms, his report concluded that her ability to make decisions was impaired, that by refusing to admit that she had problems she hampered her own treatment. Her prognosis, in his opinion, was poor.

  But Billy Ray had the reports of two psychologists who had examined her at his request. Both had spent considerable time interviewing Carolina and the children. Both felt she was particularly well adjusted, given her circumstances, and, if anything, too willing to admit her own faults. Each of them strongly recommended she retain custody.

  The rest of the evidence was similar. For every witness, report and recommendation that the Graysons had against Carolina, Billy Ray had found two in her favor. Judge Sawyer would be faced with sifting through a ton of evidence, weighing the statements, predicting the future.

  In the end, Judge Sawyer would have one event on which to hang his decision. A man had died, and Carolina had driven the car he died in. Would the children ever be safe in her custody? Or would they be safer in the custody of the town’s most prominent family?

  Had the case been tried anywhere else, or with anyone else, Billy Ray knew he could go to bed tonight reassured. Without irrefutable evidence that the children were in danger, the court always favored parents over grandparents. But this was River County, and the Graysons always had their way.

  “Billy Ray?”

  Billy Ray lifted his head and gazed bleakly at Fran. “Why are you still here?”

  “Because you are.”

  “Fran, it’s way past time for you to go home.”

  “Hush up, boy. I found something you ought to see.”

  For a moment he couldn’t imagine what she was talking about. For weeks, one case and one alone had consumed him. He had done his best for his other clients, but his heart had been elsewhere.

  The odor of mildew wafted toward him as Fran waved an old file folder she clutched in both hands. “I got to thinking about what you said, Billy Ray. About what that no-good Doug Fletcher told you about your daddy. You know, back in those days I was just a clerk. I didn’t do much more than file and answer phones, and I didn’t know one case from the other. But I remember gossip. This was a busy office, and there wasn’t much time for it. Unless it was important.”

  Billy Ray was tempted to tell Fran he was too busy for this right now. Doug’s nocturnal visit still weighed heavily on his mind, but this was not the time to think about his father. Whatever had transpired between Yancy and Judge Grayson had nothing to do with Billy Ray, and absolutely nothing to do with Carolina.

  “I’ve been up in the attic most of the day. I think you should read this.” Fran held out a thin, ordinary folder, which seemed to hold just a few sheets of paper.

  If the file had been as thick as most files in the office, he would have simply waved her away. “Do I have to read it now? I’m pretty busy.”

  “I think you should know what kind of man you’re going up against tomorrow.”

  He held out his hand, curiosity eating away at exhaustion. “I already know what kind of man Judge Grayson is.”

  “You know, Billy Ray, I grew up over on the river. There was a family just down the road with three sons. Gibb, the middle one, was a troublemaker from the get-go. Everybody knew Gibb was a bad seed. Something turned up missing from our yards, we knew who’d taken it. After a while we got sort of used to it and kept everything under lock and key. It was just Gibb, after all. Then, one day, old Gibb robbed a bank in Tallahassee, and when somebody tried to stop him, he shot that poor man point blank. We’d all kind of gotten used to him, you know? He was just Gibb. A troublemaker. A bad seed.”

  She shrugged. “Now Gibb’s on his final appeal. Billy Ray, you listen to me. Sometimes thinking you know somebody is about as dangerous as that bank robbery.”

  She stepped forward and put the file in his hand.” You read this. Then you tell me you know what kind of man the judge is and maybe I’ll believe you.”

  The Blue Bayou was cranking up for a long night. Cigarette smoke battled the jukebox to see which could pollute the air more effectively. Both pool tables were surrounded by men making noisy bets on the games in progress, and at the bar, a young woman with tangerine-colored hair was doing a provocative bump and grind to loud applause.

  “Already had one fight,” Maggie told Billy Ray as she caught sight of him heading toward the back of the room.

  “Just one?” Billy Ray dragged his shirt collar away from his neck and loosened his tie. Maggie’s window air conditioners weren’t making a dent in the late August heat.

  “Tempers are short tonight. I might close early.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek. “I’m getting too old for this. I’m thinking about selling and moving out west to be near my grandkids.”

  For a moment he wanted to ask Maggie to take Carolina and her kids and make the run for the border tonight. But it was too late now. Too late to run. Too late to start over somewhere else. Tomorrow was only hours away.

  “Can I get you anything?” Maggie said.

  “I’m just here to see Doug.”

  “He’s been drinking steadily. You might want to drive him home once you’re done talking.” Maggie headed toward the bar, most likely to make sure that the voluptuous redhead kept her shorts and halter top firmly in place.

  Doug was sitting by himself, at the same table where Billy Ray’s birthday celebration had been held. He didn’t look up as Billy Ray approached, or even when he sat down.

  “What are you doing here?” Doug stared into the dregs of a pitcher of beer. “I thought you’d be busy all night preparing for tomorrow.”

  “I am preparing for tomorrow.”

  Doug finally looked up. “Must be some defense, then, if you’re looking for answers in a joint like this.”

  “I’m not looking for answers. I’ve a mind to tell a story. Thought you’d be a good audience.”

  Doug narrowed bloodshot eyes. “I’m surprised you think I’m good for anything.”

  “I don’t know if you are, but the story will be good for you. If you listen.”

  Doug looked away, picking up the pitcher and pouring the rest of the beer into his glass. “I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Billy Ray folded his arms. He knew just where to begin. He’d had practice telling Joel about an hour ago. “About twenty-two years ago, more or less, my daddy was approached by some workers over at the old asbestos plant in Spring Creek. Seems they were all developing health problems of one kind or another, and they thought it was because of conditions at the plant. They’d tried a few other lawyers, but none of them were all that excited about taking the case.”

  “Let me guess. Your daddy was different,” Doug said sarcastically. “Old Yancy Wainwright, knight in shining armor.”

  “Yancy agreed to look into the situation for them. In those days, nobody knew just how dangerous asbestos was. There were regulations, of course, but not near as many as there are now. The thing is, the plant over at Spring Creek didn’t even follow the regulations that were in place. Someone had paid off inspectors, done favors, whatever, to avoid implementing the latest safety measures. My daddy figured that out, right along with something else. For all practical purposes, the Grayson family owned the plant. They’d set up a dummy corporation to manage it, but in reality, they were the ones who got the cash at the end. Lots of it. He figured out pretty easily who was making sure things weren’t being done the way they ought to be.”

  Doug sat back with his beer. “So? The Graysons own half of north F
lorida. They can make their own rules.”

  ‘Tm going to make this simple, Doug. Real simple. Yancy went after the Graysons, evidence in hand, and threatened a huge lawsuit. At first he was sure he’d win. But the judge wasn’t about to take his threats lying down. He met Yancy secretly a few nights later and told him that if Yancy came after his family, they’d destroy him. Then he produced a sheaf of forged documents linking Yancy to everything from illegal gambling to embezzlement.”

  Doug managed a sneer, but just barely. “And Yancy got scared off that easily?”

  “There was more. The judge told Yancy that he’d make an out-of-court settlement with the victims, a settlement big enough to make them think they’d gotten a good deal, but not nearly what they could have gotten if the case went to court and they won. All Yancy had to do was recommend that they take the judge’s offer and keep silent, and the judge would tear up what he had on Yancy.”

  Doug didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look surprised, either.

  Billy Ray leaned forward. “So it came down to this for my daddy, Doug. He could risk his whole career and fight for what he knew was right, realizing the whole time that he was pissing in the wind. Because with all the Gray sons’ resources, he knew he’d probably lose everything he’d worked for and the case. Or he could recommend that the victims settle. And if they settled, they would get a little money, which would be more than they’d ever had before, and he’d be safe.”

  “I guess I don’t have to ask which he did, huh?”

  “I guess you don’t.” Billy Ray sat back. “He didn’t even leave records, nothing except for a couple of pages he typed and filed away in the attic, just before he died. Maybe he wanted me to find it someday, I don’t know. But I do know this. What Yancy did destroyed him. It ate him up. He couldn’t live with himself.”

  “You’re telling me that’s why he started drinking?”

  Billy Ray met Doug’s eyes in an unflinching gaze; then he reached across the table to the empty pitcher. He turned it upside down and held it there.

  A minute passed. Neither man said a word. “I’m telling you that’s why he started drinking,” Billy Ray said at last. “Don’t tell me you can’t understand it.”

  Doug didn’t say a word. Billy Ray continued to hold the pitcher in front of him, his forearm tensed and bulging with the effort. Then, slowly, he righted the pitcher and set it closer to Doug. “You’ve got a choice, Doug. You can get Maggie to bring you another pitcher. Or you can go home to your wife and figure out what kind of a man you are. Whatever you do, don’t try to drive. If the law picks you up for drunk driving in River County, there’s no telling what sort of lies might be used against you.”

  Billy Ray pulled into his driveway and cut his engine, but he was too tired to get out of the car. Through his windshield, he gazed at a festival of stars lighting the clear night sky. For a moment he wanted to back out of the driveway and head toward the farthest one, with no thought of tomorrow.

  Instead he gathered what little energy he had left and got out, slamming the door behind him. He had done all he could to prepare for the hearing. By this time tomorrow, Judge Sawyer would be pondering all that had transpired in the courtroom, and Carolina would be praying steadily.

  And what would he be doing?

  On the porch, Billy Ray fished through his pockets for his key ring, but his front door opened as he pulled the keys from his pocket. Carolina stood on his threshold, a fresh white vision against the dim light in his hallway.

  He rocked back on his heels and hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to see you. I went to the office after I got the children in bed, but you weren’t there. Then I came here to wait. Hattie gave me your key, just in case. She’s watching Kitten and Chris tonight. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Mind?”

  “Well, I as good as broke into your house.”

  “Make a copy before you give the key back to Hat-tie and keep it for yourself.”

  She stepped aside so he could come in. “Why would I need my own key?”

  He was at a loss for words, desperate straits for an attorney.

  She filled in the silence. “Unless you’d like to see more of me than you have in the past weeks?”

  “Carolina, sure I want to see more of you. But I’ve been busy with the hearing. You’ve been busy with the children and work—”

  “I can’t imagine ever being too busy for you. So I guess it comes down to something else. And I need to know what that something is, Billy. Before I go into that courtroom tomorrow morning, I just need to know what’s going on. Because I don’t want my feelings about you mixing with what happens there.”

  He faced her, and she pulled the door closed behind him. “Do you really think this is the right moment to discuss this? You’re frantic about tomorrow’s outcome. I’m preoccupied. I’m exhausted.”

  “You may be both, but that’s not what’s been between us, is it?”

  He supposed it wasn’t. He supposed he’d been making excuses for weeks now, but the reality was something else again.

  When he didn’t speak, she started toward the living room. “Come in here and sit down. I made iced tea while I waited for you.”

  “Don’t take care of me, Carolina. I don’t want you waiting on me.”

  “Sit down,” she said, with an edge to her voice. “I’ll get tea for myself, then. Unless you want to wait on me?”

  He expelled a harsh breath. “I’m sorry.”

  “Good. I’m not.”

  He watched her walk away, pale skirt caressing the backs of her calves as she moved. Carolina had always had the sexiest walk imaginable. She didn’t strut or sway, but the sensuous rhythm of her hips always made him think of sultry Southern nights.

  Nights like this one.

  Just before the birth of her kitten, Three Legs had abandoned the sofa for the guest room closet, and now he didn’t have to battle her for a place to sit. He stripped off his tie and undid the top buttons of his shirt. When Carolina returned with tea for both of them, she sat in the closest chair, setting his glass on the table in front of him.

  “If I’ve misunderstood things, Billy, please tell me now.”

  He couldn’t talk to her like this. Carolina sitting with a spine as straight as a fence post, he with hands clamped on his knees.

  “Come here.” He opened his arms. “Please.”

  She considered, then she moved over to sit beside him, her skirt brushing his pants leg, her hip brushing his.

  “You’ve just come out of an abusive relationship, Carolina. And I came to your rescue when you desperately needed help. We were friends a long time ago, and—”

  “I don’t need a history lesson. I’m every bit as aware of our pasts as you are.”

  He tried a different tack. “You say you don’t want your feelings about me to mix with what happens tomorrow. But how do you know your feelings haven’t already mixed with everything that’s happened so far? Can you separate your need for support and friendship from everything else?”

  She seemed to consider his words. “We’ve covered this before. What you’re saying is that I can’t tell the difference between desire and gratitude. Or desire and a need for security.”

  Put that way, it sounded as if he were talking about a child. And Carolina was not a little girl.

  “I suppose you don’t have any reason to trust me,” Carolina said. “I’ve made a mess out of my life. What proof can I offer that I know my own mind?” She moved away just a little. He missed the warm feel of her leg against his. “But if you don’t trust me in this, Billy, then you don’t trust me at all. If I’m lying about my feelings, even to myself, then what else am I lying about?”

  “I don’t think you’re lying. Of course I don’t think that.”

  “Then I’m not very bright?”

  He pushed his hair back from his forehead. “Did you ever think about law as a career? You could give John
Betz a run for his money.”

  “Well, if I’m not lying, and you’re giving me credit for some intelligence, you must think I’m unstable. Lord knows, there are those who’d agree with you.”

  “Of course I don’t think you’re unstable!”

  “Then here’s the verdict.” She didn’t smile. “I’ve thrown myself at you, and you’re not really interested. But you’re too good a man to tell me. You don’t want to hurt me—”

  “Shut up, Carolina.” He gave up the fight that had been wearing him down for weeks. He wanted her with a pure, hot passion that had burned so brightly that keeping it contained had cost him strength and energy. He pulled her into his arms, tugging her halfway across his lap in the process.

  “Don’t you do this if you don’t really want me.” She held him away, hands flat against his shirt. “I mean it, Billy. I won’t let any man hurt me again. Not in any way.”

  “I would throw myself off the old water tower before I’d hurt you.” He held her still against him for a moment, savoring the warm weight of her breasts against his chest when her arms finally crept around him. But this wasn’t a time for savoring. The fire inside him had been set free, and now it blazed brightly. If there were reasons they shouldn’t make love, the flames had turned them to cinder.

  “We can do this here,” he said, his voice curiously deep and unsteady. “Or we can go upstairs.”

  “If the doorbell rings tonight, I don’t want you jumping up to answer it.” She pushed herself away from him and got to her feet. Then she turned and started swiftly through the house and up the stairs. He followed, catching up with her outside his bedroom door.

  “I hoped tonight would end this way.” Carolina pushed open the door. Candles burned on his dresser and nightstand. The windows were open, and the fragrance of honeysuckle and late summer roses drifted through them. The faded quilt that covered his bed was turned down in invitation.