Seeking the Shore

by Donna Gentry Morton

  “Aunt Bertha,” Polli whined. “This is about Mr. Sheffield. I have to talk to the son-in-law.”

  Aunt Bertha hesitated. “Are you certain it’s not something I can tell Mr. Drakeworth?”

  “No!” Polli’s voice held frustrated tears.

  “Very well. I’ll put you through,” Aunt Bertha said sternly. “But I do hope this doesn’t get me reprimanded. “

  Seconds later, Leyton picked up the line. “What is it?”

  “The cops were just here!” She cried, teeth sawing the tops of her fingernails like a beaver cutting wood.

  “Where?”

  “Here, at my apartment.” She spit out a nail. “They were asking me questions about the wreck, about you—”

  Polli heard him catch his breath, but his voice was still calm, “They were asking questions about me? Whatever for?”

  “Oh, stupid stuff, you know? Like how did you know to tell me that Mrs. Sheffield was driving. They were acting like it was some kind of top-secret information, like it was something nobody was supposed to know about.”

  The blood drained from Leyton’s face, and he was so woozy all of a sudden that he needed to grip the back of his chair to keep from buckling. Was it possible that such a small, minute fact was not yet public knowledge? Surely not, he thought as he took a deep breath, hoping it would help him to steady his legs. They felt like wet noodles, threatening to collapse beneath his weight. Was it reasonable to fear that such a small crack in the sidewalk could be the cause of a great fall? Surely not.

  He found his voice. “Paulette, what did you tell them?”

  “Just that I figured you’d heard it when you called the hospital.”

  “Is that all?” He made it around to the front of his chair and sat down, the position reviving him some.

  When she didn’t answer quickly, he repeated himself through bared teeth. “Is that all?”

  “No,” she admitted, sounding almost weepy.

  “Then what else?” he demanded.

  She let out a deep sigh. “They asked me about the convention, where you were staying. When I told them, one of the guys wrote it down, and I knew they were gonna check it out.”

  He squeezed his eyes tightly and shook a fist at the ceiling. There was no alibi waiting in Atlanta to clear him of last night. Another panicked, sloppy move on his part, another element of proof that he had acted without a plan.

  “Anyway, I didn’t want you to get in trouble with Mr. Sheffield,” Polli continued through sniffles. “I didn’t want the cops to find out the truth and go to him with it.”

  “What truth? What are you talking about?” Despite not feeling one hundred percent, he was ready to punch a hole in the wall.

  She started to cry.

  “Stop wailing and explain yourself,” he commanded from the other end of the line. “I can’t tolerate your emotions right now.”

  “Okay.” She gulped, trying to get a grip on herself. “Look, I told them you weren’t at the convention last night. Mitzi and me, we drove by your place and saw the car, so I know you were home. It doesn’t matter, honey, that you didn’t tell me. It really doesn’t, I don’t care, but I wanted to tell the cops first. Otherwise, they’d find out later and go to Mr. Sheffield.”

  Dumb, stupid, idiotic, moron, fool . . . His mind rattled off every name he could think of to describe Polli. This was so unbelievable, he almost wanted to laugh . . . except it wasn’t funny.

  Breathless, Polli finished up. “They’ll probably be coming to ask you some questions, too. I just wanted to tip you off.”

  Well, that she had done. Tipped him off.

  What she didn’t realize was that she had also turned him in.

  He was aware of it, though, and that’s why he tossed the phone receiver onto his desk and bolted from the office, calling to Bertha that he needed to get to the hospital. She’d tell that to the detectives, buying him a little time while they set off on a wild goose chase.

  He fled the building and lunged into the Duesenberg, knowing as he sped for home that the car wouldn’t work for an escape. It was too bright and high profile and would be spotted like a panther in the snow. Funny, but that was the main reason he had bought the car; now it would work against him.

  He whipped into the driveway and hurried into the house, straight to the bedroom closet, where he grabbed a bag to fill with provisions. Some clothes and food, his favorite bourbon, an assortment of cigars. Just enough to carry him a few days.

  Lastly, he put on his heaviest coat to help him brave the February nights. And inside one of the pockets was where he slipped his revolver, to help him brave whatever got in his way.

  He left through the kitchen door and made his way through the backyard and to the riverbank, where he broke into a jog. A quarter of a mile downriver he was in the woods, a nice, thick area that could take a man deep.

  They’ll never look for me in the woods, he predicted. They’ll scour elegant hotels and fine restaurants, but never the woods.

  Everything was different now, all previous plans abandoned. He had to do something else, and not just because the police were on him. Call it a cash problem, call it only getting one of his paper corporations closed before Polli’s fatal news, but the money on his person was not enough, would never be enough.

  Even in his desperate state, he grinned as he jogged through the chilly wind. There was more money to be had, much more, and he knew how to get it. Within a few days, he would hike his way to Dreamland and launch a new plan.

  One that included Julianna.

  Late that day, the search for Leyton began and the search for another man ended.

  Billy Lipton was Lightfoot’s kid brother, and he was the Big Tomato among Brother’s garden variety of killers, kidnappers, thugs, and slugs. He’d taken over the gang’s interests after Lightfoot was bamboozled on that luxury train, and his first job was putting out the hit on Jace McAllister. That’s who they thought had turned Lightfoot in, and it had given Billy a mighty fine satisfaction to hear the hit had been a good one, a final one. He hated McAllister for messing up their happy ring.

  Billy’s title of boss became permanent in December when Lightfoot met his untimely demise over a plate of scrambled eggs. It had happened just before Christmas, and that always made Billy sad, knowing that poor Brother missed his turkey and giblets that year.

  The police knew that Billy wasn’t dumb enough to show up at Lightfoot’s funeral. Not too many people did pay their respects, since nearly every person Lightfoot knew was wanted for one thing or another. The mother was there. The mother and . . . well, that really was about it.

  Lightfoot’s grave was patrolled by plainclothes, though. Authorities hoped the brother would pay a visit, maybe on a significant day like today. It was Lightfoot’s birthday, and as predicted, Billy jiggled up to the gravesite, fat hands gripping a bouquet of plastic daffodils.

  They closed in as Billy tossed the flowers down. Seeing them, he waddled faster than they’d ever seen a man waddle and took cover behind a headstone. Squatting, he opened fire, striking one of their men but not fatally. Gunfire ripped through the air then, barely lasting a minute.

  When all was silent, Billy was flung across the headstone. He was wanted dead or alive, and from the looks of it, they would take him in with a tag around his porky toe.

  The boys who had dropped Billy off circled the cemetery so he could grieve in private but heard the ruckus and didn’t bother coming back to collect their leader. Running did them no good, though, as they were stopped by a roadblock, handcuffed, and promised an easier time if they revealed the remote whereabouts of their hideout.

  They sang like birds, spilled the whole pot of beans. Before suppertime, the entire Lightfoot Gang had been brought down, hauled off, and locked up.

  The good times were over. They would never be a threat again.

  Lightfood Lipton hadn’t been one of Jace’s esteemed neighbors in the Hotel de State Pen, but guards talked and there was limited a
ccess to radio, so word had spread fast after he’d keeled over, face-first into his breakfast at another state pen. Jace had known that didn’t really make the world a safer place, since brother Billy was still alive.

  But now Billy had joined his elder sibling in eternity, one that Jace was pretty sure felt hotter than the most persistent G-Men nipping at their heels ever had. Billy’s demise, and the breakup of the gang, changed the landscape. Things had become safer now, for society in general and for him and Julianna in particular. If she really had been staying away for the sake of protection, then two big threats were out of the way. Only Leyton remained.

  Two down, one to go, Jace thought.

  And for the first time in a long time, he let himself hope that he might actually see Julianna very soon.

  It was almost eight when Julianna got home that night, escorted by police. There were more officers at Dreamland, two posted in front of the mansion and two standing guard out back.

  “I don’t think your husband poses a threat,” one of them told her. “He’s probably high-tailing it away from here.”

  Julianna gave a tired, all-knowing smile. “That depends on how much money he has.”

  She let herself inside, numb from the draining events of the day, but not from learning that Leyton was wanted for attempted murder. After all he had done to her and her family, she would be a blind fool to think his capabilities knew any limitations. He had no power to shock her.

  But he did have the power to enrage her. He had accomplished it so many times in the past, and now again, when she learned from police that he had tried to kill her parents.

  Tried to kill my parents.

  The revelation had turned everything red, a seething, crackling red. She’d always seen through Leyton’s ambitions, always known that he was hopelessly self-obsessed, but she never would have dreamed he’d resort to murder to get what he so desperately wanted. Had he appeared precisely when the detectives broke the news, she honestly believed that only the strength of Heaven’s forces could have held her at bay, could have lassoed her back from beating his chest, mauling his eyes . . .

  For now, the anger had receded, subdued by exhaustion, but she knew she was like a volcano that had not fully erupted. Inside, the lava was still churning, waiting for something to trigger another rise.

  “We’re home,” she sighed to Mari as she let the heavy diaper bag slide off her shoulder and fall to the floor at the bottom of the staircase. “Are you hungry?” She hugged the ten-month-old to her chest and headed for the kitchen, the smell of liver and onions growing stronger the closer she got.

  “Hi, Cassie,” she said as she went into the kitchen.

  “There’re my girls,” Cassie said then motioned for them to sit at the wooden butcher table. “Have a seat and we’ll talk while I get supper for Jimmy Mac and Chester. Remember how we used to talk, how you’d sit while I cooked and we’d just talk and talk about everything under God’s big sky?”

  Julianna nodded as she sat and put Mari on the floor, handing her some measuring spoons to play with.

  Cassie tended to the liver and onions on the stove. “How’s your mama and daddy?”

  “Mother will be home the day after tomorrow, but Father has to stay in the hospital for a few weeks.”

  “Did the doctor let you see him today?”

  “I went in for a little while this evening, but he was asleep the whole time.” She fell pensive, remembering him laying there, the all-powerful, strong-willed Richard Sheffield, now a broken, injured man who was dependent on the care of others. “It was strange seeing him so helpless. I had to keep reminding myself that it was him, my father.”

  “Yeah, but he’s not the man he was.” Cassie was quick to credit him. “Your daddy has changed. Maybe all the prayers for him have kicked in, maybe the meanness of that Leyton woke him up . . . whatever, he’s not the man I knew even six months ago.”

  “No, he’s not,” Julianna said. “Watching him tonight, it was hard to believe that so many bad feelings have passed between us. Anger, disappointment, and bitter, bitter feelings.”

  Cassie put aside her supper preparations and came to the butcher table. She leaned across it and stared into Julianna’s eyes. “You and your daddy got to get rid of those feelings. If there’s ever been a chance for the two of you to start new, this is it, but unforgiveness will hold you back. Mark my words. Bad feelings breed bad feelings, child. They’ll keep you rooted in the past, won’t let you move on.”

  “I know,” Julianna said quietly. “I have a lot to forgive Father for, but he has issues, too. He sees my love for Jace as a huge betrayal.”

  “Yes, and he’s got to forgive you for that,” Cassie said. “I think he’s trying to.”

  “I think so, too.” Julianna heaved a shuddering breath. “I hear so much about the need to forgive. People toss the word around like a football, but—” she gestured helplessly. “How do you forgive, Cassie?”

  “It means getting rid of a big burden that hurts your heart and wears at your mind,” Cassie said. “It’s a choice, forgiving someone. You decide, you pray, you go about life as if it’s already done. Soon enough, your heart and mind will come together and the struggle ends.” She squeezed Julianna’s hand. “That’s one way.”

  “I want that, Cassie. I really want that with Father, but Leyton . . .” She picked up the salt shaker and slammed it on the table. “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive him.”

  Cassie didn’t try to counsel her on that one. If Julianna had to guess, she’d say Cassie knew that was a thing that would only come in time.

  These thoughts were interrupted when a police officer tapped on the kitchen door and poked his head inside. “Mrs. Drakeworth? There’s a Fletcher Valentine to see you.”

  Julianna got up from the table and followed the officer to the foyer. When he opened the front door and nodded for Fletcher to come inside, Julianna couldn’t resist a slight smile. Fletcher, who had spent the last several nights in Virginia’s company, seemed to be standing taller. His clothes were new, fashionable and matching.

  “Good . . . good evening, Mrs. Drakeworth,” he said, voice somewhat nervous but nothing like it might have been a week ago. “I felt compelled to stop by. First, to offer regrets over the accident and secondly,” he fumbled with a notebook in his hands, trying to open it to a specific page, “to show you this.”

  She stepped closer and looked at the page he was holding out to her. “This . . . this is just a list of accounts, portfolios, and paper companies that Mr. Drakeworth was funneling money into. I investigated them all late this afternoon, and only this one,” he pointed to one in particular, “had been closed out at the time of his disappearance.”

  Julianna’s breath caught. “He’s on the lam with little money to hold him.”

  “Yes, and that’s a concern,” Fletcher said. He blushed and looked away. “I fear for your safety, ma’am.”

  “I fear for it, too,” she said. “But as you can see, I’ve got police protection.”

  “Yes, I feel better knowing that.” He glanced at his watch. “I have an engagement this evening and . . . well, I just wanted to stop by with this information.” He was awkward as he turned to leave, but he didn’t trip and made it to the door without breaking anything.

  When he was gone, she cracked open the front door and asked one of the police officers to come inside. The same one who had announced Fletcher obliged, asking, “Is there a problem, ma’am?”

  She related what Fletcher had said, then added, “Leyton Drakeworth might be closer than any of us think.”

  “He won’t get past us, ma’am.”

  She closed the door and leaned against it, not at all comforted by the officer’s assurance.

  Before going to bed that night, Julianna called Virginia, desperate to end this day on a lighter note. “I saw Fletcher this evening,” she said, stretching on the bed.

  “And what did you think?” Virginia asked.

  “I think tha
t clothes make the man.”

  “Wait until his new glasses come in,” Virginia said. “He’s quite handsome, you know. Handsome and brilliant. I had no idea how attractive a brain is in a man.”

  Julianna laughed, remembering some of Virginia’s previous interests. Except for Nap Schuler, intelligence had not been their most fruitful gifts.

  “I guess that’s what I most enjoy about Fletchie—his brain.”

  “Are you sure?” Julianna teased. “I think you’re more enthralled by the fact that he worships the ground you walk on.”

  “That’s one of his most endearing qualities,” Virginia admitted. “And he’s such a fast learner. We’ve gone to dinner every night since we met. Each time, he drops his silverware one less time than the last. Tonight he ordered for us without stuttering, and he instructed the coat check boy to be extra careful with my things. ”

  “He’s blossomed, Virginia. He’s felt your touch.”

  “He’s about to feel my touch,” Virginia said. “Next week, we’re going to work on his romantic skills.”

  “Romantic skills!”

  “What? There’s nothing wrong with romance, especially with a man who could be the one.”

  “The one?” Julianna was taken aback, never expecting Virginia to crown Fletcher as her future prince. Suddenly, she smiled, realizing what her best friend was up to, what her fashion advice and backbone-building was really all about. “Leave it to you, Virginia Fleming. You’ve taken a lump of clay and are molding it into a man.”

  “Not just a man.” Virginia’s voice held a wink. “The perfect man.”

  Julianna laughed again, feeling for a minute like she was back in boarding school, huddled in the dark with girlfriends and giggling about the mysteries of boys. “I’m going to bed,” she said when the laughter subsided. “But thanks—you’ve worked a miracle on my sagging spirits.”

  “Good night, sweets,” Virginia said. “I’ll stop by tomorrow on my way to Blair rehearsal. I want to give you a giant hug to help you through this awful time. Also, I’m going to drop off that book I’ve been trying to get you to read.”