One Deadly Sin

by Annie Solomon

  Maybe.

  Truth was, she hadn’t realized what her headlong mission would do. That it might end up hurting people she didn’t want to hurt. Or hurting them in ways she hadn’t intended.

  Mrs. Lyle hadn’t fallen apart again, thank God. Not like that night in the bar. She’d clutched her purse as if it was the only thing holding her up, but she’d listened. Protested. Proclaimed her husband’s innocence. But behind the denials there’d been a flicker of doubt. A doubt that might never be answered with certainty. Edie knew what it was like to live with that kind of doubt, too.

  She shifted in her seat. Why did she never look before she leaped? Impulsive, headstrong, she could hear her aunt’s voice now.

  “The world’s not as black and white as you’d like it to be, Eden Swanford. One day you’re going to plow right into that truth.”

  She sighed. Damn Aunt Penny for being so right.

  “Things didn’t go your way?” Lucy said.

  Edie looked over at the older woman.

  “You sighed,” Lucy explained. “Like the whole world was pressing you down. Sounded to me like the meeting didn’t go too well.”

  “Amy Lyle was there.”

  “Uh oh.”

  “No, she was actually… nice. Apologized for the scene at the bar.”

  Lucy sniffed. “Too little, too late, in my opinion.”

  “She’s got a lot going on right now.”

  “Well, look at you, all forgive and forget.”

  Edie smiled wryly. “Yeah, who’d have thought it?”

  Lucy turned the windshield wipers to high. “So what now? You all fat and rich?”

  “Fat? Hell no. Rich?” Edie thought about all those zeroes. “I don’t know. Doesn’t seem right somehow. I never even met Fred Lyle.”

  “What are we talking about? In dollars and cents, I mean.”

  Edie told her.

  “Jesus H. Christofaro,” Lucy breathed, and for a moment, the truck swerved along with Lucy’s astonishment.

  “Whoa—watch it.”

  “I am watching it. Damn road’s slippery. And there’s some asshole on my tail.”

  Edie turned around. Couldn’t see too well in the rain. Looked like a black pickup of some sort. “Slow down, maybe he’ll pass you.”

  But instead of passing, the truck butted right into their rear.

  Lucy’s smaller pickup swerved again, and she struggled to stay on the road.

  “What the—? Hey—asshole!” Lucy shouted, and sped up.

  The black truck butted their rear again. Harder.

  “Jesus!” Edie thought of that Acura. If this was another stunt by the locals…

  They got hit again.

  Lucy’s pickup headed for the shoulder. She spun the steering wheel, trying to correct the direction, but the tires slipped on the slick road.

  Edie shouted. Lucy screamed. The pickup careened off the pavement, went over the road edge, and into the black abyss.

  By two o’clock, the city council meeting was long over, and the state bureau of investigation, in the person of Agent Jackson Lodge, had made its appearance, taken possession of the Black Angel files, and relieved Holt of his duties regarding the case.

  Sam was appalled.

  “You’re lucky I don’t bring you up on charges of obstruction of justice,” Lodge said to him. A small, compact man with an officious air, he was already rearranging things on Holt’s desk.

  “To be fair,” Sam said, “the chief didn’t know she was the Black Angel when he was… uh… fraternizing with her.”

  Holt shot her a shut-it look, but she felt awful about how Lodge was treating him. She hadn’t intended to get Holt into more trouble. Exactly the opposite. See, she told herself, that’s what happens when you go outside the chain of command.

  “Sorry,” she muttered. “About everything. I just… I didn’t think he’d—”

  “You did the right thing, Deputy,” Lodge said.

  Which was also true, and everyone knew it. But if she’d done the right thing, why did it feel so wrong? She looked over at Lodge. He was collecting all the writing utensils—pens, pencils, whiteboard markers—and putting them in Holt’s coffee cup.

  “Uh—that’s the chief’s—” Sam said.

  Holt’s phone cut her off. He answered, got a weird look on his face.

  “Something wrong?” she asked him.

  Immediately, his face cleared. “Miranda,” he said, and to Lodge, “My daughter. Do you mind?” He gestured toward the door.

  Lodge shrugged. “By all means. Continue with your normal routine.”

  “Everything okay?” Sam asked.

  “Oh, you know Miranda. Always some crisis.” Holt dashed outside, and Sam was left with Lodge.

  Without another word, the agent plopped himself into Holt’s chair, leaned over Holt’s desk, and began reading files.

  40

  Outside, Holt pulled his collar up against the rain and flew to his car. Edie’s voice was wailing in his ear. “Holt, hurry. Please. Lucy is—God, she’s hurt. Bad.”

  The lie he’d told Lodge and Sam would keep them out of his hair for a while. “What happened?”

  In gulps and stutters, Edie told him about the ride home from Nashville in the rain, the attack by a black pickup. The fits and starts told him more about her condition than the words.

  “Where are you?”

  “I don’t know,” she wailed.

  He started the engine, but couldn’t move until he had some fix on her location. “You were heading back to Redbud. What highway did you take?” She told him. “Okay, that’s good.” He sped south, turned the siren on once he was clear of town. “Now look around. Any landmarks?”

  “I can’t see anything in this rain.” She was stuttering. Adrenaline aftermath. Cold. Shock. Neither was a good sign.

  “All right. Stay with me, Edie. I’m on my way. How long were you on the road before the truck hit?”

  “Don’t… know.”

  “Yeah, you do. Calm down. Count to thirty if you have to. Clear your head.”

  Silence.

  “Edie!”

  “I’m counting.”

  “Do it out loud.”

  “—eleven, twelve…” It took her to thirty-five until her voice steadied and she was breathing relatively normally.

  “Okay, now think about the trip back. Were you on the road half an hour? Forty-five minutes?”

  “Closer to thirty, I think.”

  “Good. I’ll be there soon. Can you find a dry spot? Is there a tree nearby?”

  “Don’t want to leave Lucy.”

  “Okay. Just try to stay dry.”

  “Don’t leave me.”

  “I won’t. I’m right here.” He wanted to keep her talking, keep her from passing out. “What were you doing in Nashville?”

  “Fred Lyle’s attorney. About the… the will. Amy Lyle, too.”

  “She was there? That must have been interesting.”

  “She didn’t hit me.”

  “Good for her.”

  “I f-f-feel sorry for her.”

  “Now that’s not the Edie I know and love.”

  “I was thinking.”

  “Yeah? About what?”

  “The money. Should I k-k-keep it?”

  “What would you do with it if you do?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Buy a new bike?”

  “Give up my… my girl?”

  “A new sound system?”

  “Uh huh.” Her voice grew faint, and his alarm shot up.

  “Edie?”

  “Yeah, still here.”

  “What else could you do with Fred Lyle’s money?”

  “Buy… buy a house.”

  “A house, huh? Bet I know which one.”

  “Needs a lot… a lot of w-w-work.” Her voice was fading.

  “Yeah, but I’ve got two hands. You’ve got two hands.”

  Silence.

  “Edie?”

  More s
ilence. He pressed down on the gas, kept the phone line open, and used the car radio to call for an ambulance.

  He spotted the wreck an hour out of town. Flew off the road and onto the shoulder with a squeal of brakes. Bolted down the side of the embankment, sliding in mud and brush.

  The truck was on its side, the driver’s side embedded in the ground, the door open. Looked like Edie had managed to drag Lucy free—her body was outside the pickup, face down in the mud. Edie was lying next to her, passed out.

  Holt checked both women for a pulse. Both alive, thank God, though Edie’s was stronger than Lucy’s. Looked like she’d broken a leg. No telling what else. He covered her with a blanket and poncho from his trunk, then put one over Edie. He ran to set up flares on the shoulder for the ambulance driver, then slid back down the dirt.

  He slapped Edie’s face lightly, coaxing her awake. She groaned, opened her eyes. Saw Holt, and started to cry. He scooped her up.

  “You all right? Nothing broken?” His hands were searching, but he found nothing serious. Bruises and scrapes, the blood washing down her face and neck in the rain. “It’s okay,” he crooned. “You’re okay.”

  A siren pierced through the rain, and seconds later, two EMTs were heading down the embankment into the gully. They did a fast assessment on Lucy, got her into a stretcher and, with Holt’s help, up the mound and into the back of the emergency vehicle.

  Holt helped Edie up the slippery dirt wall, where one of the EMTs gave her a quick once-over.

  “I’m fine.” She sat huddled in the wet blanket, half-in and half-out of Holt’s car, and waved the EMT away. “Lucy needs you. Go. Go.”

  “I’ll get her to the hospital,” Holt assured the medical team.

  The ambulance left, sirens blazing, and Holt got a dry blanket out for Edie, then tucked her into the car.

  “You see anything of the driver?

  She shook her head. “Too rainy.”

  “And the truck?”

  “Full-sized. Black. That’s it.”

  “You okay for a minute or two?”

  She nodded, and Holt went back into the rain. Walked up and down the highway looking for tread marks or anything that might indicate the type of truck that had pushed Lucy’s pickup over the edge. But if there had been any evidence, the rain had washed it away.

  Cursing the weather, he returned to his car, started the engine, and followed the ambulance.

  Edie huddled into the blanket all the way to the county hospital. It was blazing hot outside, despite the rain, but cold shudders jolted her relentlessly. She couldn’t get the picture of Lucy out of her mind. The blood on her face. The soft feel of her chest where the steering wheel had crushed it. The sick sight of the raw bone sticking out of her leg.

  She closed her eyes, and started crying again.

  “Dammit,” she gulped, “Damn, damn, damn. Fucking God damn it.”

  Holt pulled over to the side of the road and pulled Edie close.

  “Jesus,” she stuttered through tears. “What good does crying do?” She pounded dully on his chest. “Why Lucy? What did she ever do to anyone?” She inhaled a huge, quivery breath, hiccupped, and swatted him away. “Go. I want to get to the hospital.”

  “Easy there, supergirl. We’ll get there.” He put the car in gear and set off again.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, concentrated on breathing, and the tears soon stopped. But it was as if her heart had stopped, too. Or dried up. Cold and numb, she set her gaze straight ahead, trying not to feel anything.

  The county hospital was ten miles outside Redbud. Edie pushed through the emergency room doors, and despite her protests, Holt insisted someone take a look at her. It was only later, when she saw herself in a mirror, that she realized her face was cut in several places, including a nasty one just over her right eyebrow that required stitches. She’d been thrown clear of the truck, and her body ached where she had landed, but for some inexplicable reason, she hadn’t broken anything. Someone patched her up, but she didn’t pay attention to who. All she wanted to hear about was Lucy.

  She and Holt sat at the hospital while Lucy went into surgery. News of the accident spread somehow, the way all news seemed to spread in Redbud. Red showed up, and took a seat next to Edie in the waiting area. They didn’t say anything except a lackluster greeting, but then no one was talking much. A nurse came around with papers to fill out.

  “She have any relatives close by?” she asked.

  “A son,” Red said, surprising Edie, who hadn’t known Lucy had children. “But he’s in Atlanta.”

  “Can you get in touch with him?” the nurse asked.

  Red shrugged, looked helpless. “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll find him,” Holt said. He walked away to make the necessary phone calls.

  A few minutes after he left, Sam Fish approached from another direction. As usual, her uniform was pressed and crisp, and she carried herself like a drill sergeant. A man accompanied her, small, neat, wearing a suit and an official air.

  “Holt’s making a phone call,” Red said.

  “We’re not here for the chief,” the man said. “I’m Agent Lodge, Tennessee Bureau of Investigation,” he said, looking directly at Edie. “Ms. Swann?”

  “Yes?” She looked between the two of them, saw Sam’s gaze swivel away. Uh oh.

  “Would you come with us?”

  Edie didn’t move. “Is it about the accident? Because I can tell you everything about it, I just want to make sure Lucy is—”

  “It’s not about the accident,” Agent Lodge said. He nodded to Sam, who took out her cuffs and started to place them around Edie’s wrists. She pulled them away.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Edie Swann, you are under arrest on suspicion of murder,” Sam intoned, and not without a little smirk of satisfaction either.

  Red rose.

  “What?” Edie said. “You gotta be kidding.”

  Sam plunged in with the cuffs, and Edie struggled to keep them off her hands. “Don’t touch me! You’re not going to—” All the terror and rage from the accident exploded. She kicked and yelled, forcing Lodge to come in. Between the two of them they wrestled Edie down to the floor, where Lodge sat on her like she was a cow in a roping contest, wrenched her arms behind her back, and cuffed her.

  The commotion brought nurses, hospital staff, and Holt to the waiting room. “Lodge, what the hell are you doing?”

  Lodge pulled Edie to her feet. “What you should have done weeks ago.”

  “Someone just tried to kill her. Doesn’t that prove she hasn’t done anything?”

  “Only proves feeling in Redbud’s running high enough for someone to take the law into their own hands.” He pushed Edie forward. “Let’s go.”

  She whirled, head-butted him, and took off.

  “Edie!” Holt went after her. But not before Lodge and Sam.

  Red stuck his foot out, tripping Lodge and slowing his pursuit, but Sam tackled her a few feet away. She went down with a grunt that cut right through Holt.

  He wrenched the deputy off, and Sam immediately started for her prisoner again. Holt stepped between them.

  “Stand down, Deputy.” Holt’s command was hard and immutable, but she gazed uneasily between him and Lodge. “You work for me,” Holt barked, “and I’m telling you to stand down.”

  Sam’s face was red as a burn. Holt kept his gaze on her, commanding her attention. She should be embarrassed. Loyalty was everything, and she knew it. He should fire her ass for calling the TBI behind his back. But he needed an ally, and right now Sam was the only candidate. And he figured she owed him. Big time. So, he asked her silently, who’s it gonna be—him or me? Lodge shook his head, but Sam thought about it and backed off.

  Relieved, Holt turned to Edie. Supported her weight as she stood. He brushed the hair away from her face. “Dammit, Edie, you opened one of your cuts.” He dabbed at it, and she winced. “No more, okay? I’ll take care of this. I promise.” He turned to Lodg
e. “What about bond?” Usually the warrant included bond.

  “Judicial commissioner wanted to leave it up to the judge,” Lodge said.

  Holt cursed silently. That meant jail. “It’ll only be a few days,” he told Edie. “Just until the arraignment. I’ll do what I can to speed things up. Go with them, okay? Everything’s going to be all right.”

  “Yeah, sure it is.”

  Holt stepped back, and Sam reached for Edie. She jerked away, but walked out between Lodge and Sam. Holt followed close behind. At the door, Edie stopped, and turned to him.

  “Tell Lucy I’m thinking about her.”

  Then they were out the door and into the rain.

  41

  Lodge took Edie to the county jail. It wasn’t Brushy Hollow, but it wasn’t the room behind Holt’s office either. They threw her into a holding cell—a concrete room behind a massive steel door. The astringent smell of disinfectant couldn’t cover the stench of ripe bodies and vomit. A concrete bench extruded from the wall, both painted the same dingy green. The room was lit with such sharp intensity that every corner glowed nuclear. A window in the steel door ensured that privacy was a thing of the past. You can’t run and you can’t hide.

  Three other prisoners were already there. One was snoring on the floor, the other two ranged on the benches, spread out like wolves protecting their territory. Cold, bored eyes stared her down as she entered. Prostitutes, check kiters, drunks? How many murderers? In their eyes, she could be the worst of the lot. They watched Edie blatantly, waiting to see what she would do. But she was too drained and dispirited to fight over a seat. She settled into a corner and huddled against the wall.

  Ten minutes later, an officer called one of the women out to be booked. It took a couple of hours to get to Edie. By that time, two more women had been added to the room, and Edie had taken a seat on the bench. The stench no longer bothered her, which was bothersome in itself. Whoever was sleeping on the floor continued to snore, despite the kicks she received as incentive to stop.

  Eventually they called Edie out. The door buzzed, a high-pitched mosquito whine, then clicked to unlock. An officer stood in the doorway and escorted her to the booking room. She stood before a row of computers on a raised desk. It was so high off the ground, she had to tilt her head back to answer the questions put to her by the officers. Had she ever had hepatitis, HIV, heart disease? What was her birthday, spell her name. Has she ever been incarcerated in Corley County before?