by Diane Moody
“Not a suspect,” Cameron answered. “Technically, you’re considered a person of interest.”
Peyton closed his eyes, the gravity of the situation beginning to weigh him down. But with it, a check in his spirit about his attitude and the snarky responses he’d let fly.
He stood with his head lowered. “Look Jeff, I’m sorry. Believe it or not, I do know you’re just doing your job. I apologize for being such a jerk. Saying what I said.” He looked up at his friend. “I promise I’ll handle all this better going forward.”
For the first time, he detected a glimpse of kindness in Jeff’s eyes as he stood and rounded his desk. “I appreciate that. It’s times like this that make me hate my job.”
Peyton patted his shoulder and turned to leave, giving Cameron a nod. “You all know where you can find me. I’ll be the one on my knees at the altar.”
“Just one more thing,” Jeff added, following him back down the hall. “Might be a good idea to give Sterling a call.”
“I need a lawyer?” He paused and turned to face Jeff.
“Can’t hurt to call him.”
A shot of something akin to fear coursed through Peyton. He left the station without looking back.
Braxton’s lone attorney, Sterling LaFayette, was a graduate of the University of Tennessee’s Law School. With a full head of jet-black hair, wavy and always begging for a comb, Sterling had a boisterous laugh folks said you could hear three counties over. He stood six-foot-five with a personality to match. Sterling played football for the Volunteers as an undergraduate until an on-field injury in his sophomore year took out his spleen and nearly killed him. After law school, he practiced at a fairly prestigious firm in Atlanta until his wife insisted they move to Braxton to be near their growing posse of grandkids. He found the slower pace of the small town a surprising respite from Atlanta’s massive traffic and overburdened judicial system and settled in for a comfortable practice.
Peyton took the stairs to Sterling’s office two at a time to the second floor of the old brick building around the northeast corner from Braxton Square. He’d never needed a lawyer before, but thanked the Lord that Sterling called Braxton Community Church his home. He came only once a quarter in addition to Christmas and Easter, unabashed in his oft-shared belief that the congregation was good for business. But he’d always been friendly to Peyton, and by all accounts, excelled at his job.
His secretary, Shirley Wafford, showed Peyton into the lawyer’s office. A virulent assault of orange surrounded him in a startling overkill of UT memorabilia. Peyton wondered if the blinding brightness might be searing his retinas.
“Come in, come in,” Sterling said, towering over him as he shook Peyton’s hand and welcomed him into his office. “When Shirley told me Peyton wanted to see me, I nearly died! I thought she meant the one and only Peyton Manning. Did you know I played ball with him at Tennessee?”
“Yes, I think you told me the first time we met at church.” He followed the big guy over to his desk, Peyton taking one of the wingback chairs facing the desk. Who knew leather came in orange?
He laughed again as he took a seat. “Well, I’m not shy about telling folks. Peyton is as fine a man as ever walked this earth, and he was one helluva quarterback. That’s his jersey there on the wall,” he said, pointing to a large framed orange jersey bordered with four inset photographs of the quarterback in uniform. “Won it at an alumni auction. Signed and everything. But I reckon you’re used to people bringing up ol’ Number Sixteen every time they hear your name?”
“Yes, I’ve heard it a time or two,” he said with a smile.
“I’ll bet you have. But you didn’t come here to talk football. Pastor, I have to tell you, when Shirley told me you called for an appointment because you’d been named a person of interest in this nasty business with Harley, I couldn’t believe it. Thought she was pulling my leg. Is it true?”
“I’m afraid so,” Peyton began, unloading the story of his meeting with Jeff and the ridiculous testimony from Ida Rose. Sterling listened intently, asking questions and jotting notes prompting further explanation of what seemed like irrelevant minutiae. Peyton answered as best he could.
Sterling shifted in his chair as he ruffled his hand through his wild hair. He said nothing for a couple of minutes then leaned back, crossing his arms across his chest.
“Any idea where your brother is?”
Peyton froze. “My brother? How do you even know I have a brother?”
“Well, I assume you’re here to ask for legal help to navigate this whole unfortunate situation. And if that’s the case, then you and I have to be a thousand percent honest and transparent with each other. So there’s no need to get your boxers all in a wad. Back when the church was interviewing you, the search committee asked me to run a background check. Normal procedure these days. Can’t be too careful, you know. And that’s when your brother’s name popped up on the radar. His name is Tristan, right?”
A puff of air filtered from Peyton’s lips. “Yes.”
“And he’s your identical twin, is that correct?”
Suddenly, it all made sense. He closed his eyes as the whole scenario played out in his mind. Tristan. At the church that night. The revelation washed over him with an odd mix of relief.
“That’s it,” he said, opening his eyes again, opening his palms. “That has to be it. Tristan must be out of prison and came to town looking for me. That’s who Ida Rose saw and assumed it was me!”
“Hold on,” Sterling said. “When was the last time you talked to your brother?”
“Let me think. It’s been about four years now. He was arrested again, this time for …” Peyton glanced away, wishing he didn’t have to have this conversation.
“Arrested for what?” Sterling asked.
Peyton rubbed his face. “My brother has fought just about every addiction there is. In this particular case, he was strung out on heroin and badly in need of a fix. He showed up out of nowhere, wanting me to make a thousand-dollar withdrawal from my bank account. I finally said I would, and he accompanied me as I drove. Instead, I drove him toward Cumberland Heights, the rehab center in West Nashville. When he realized what I was doing, he pulled a gun on me and carjacked my car.”
Peyton hung his head, shaking it. “My own brother carjacked me at gunpoint. So, in a gesture of tough love, I called the police. I hated to be the one to send him to prison, but I honestly thought he would eventually overdose and kill himself, and I figured prison was the better option. They arrested him, and I testified against him in court.”
“Whoa. That had to be awful.”
“It was, but I knew it was the right thing to do.”
“And that was the last time you saw him? At the trial?”
“Yes. They sent him to West Tennessee State Penitentiary in Henning. I went to visit him not long after that, and he refused to see me, so I never went back.”
He paused, aware that his premature sense of relief had passed, replaced by a grinding certainty that his brother was out for vengeance.
“So you’re saying you had no idea he was out of prison, least of all here in Braxton trying to find you?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“All right, anything else you need to tell me? Any secrets lurking in your past? Any skeletons hiding in your closet? Because if there are, I guarantee you they’ll show up front and center in the course of this investigation.”
Peyton appreciated the seriousness of Sterling’s questions but found it borderline laughable. “I’m so squeaky clean, it’s nauseating. Tristan and I may look alike, but we are nothing alike. He was always in trouble, and I was always trying so hard to be good. I remember in grade school, feeling sorry for my parents and all he was putting them through. I’ve often wondered if I was overcompensating, wanting them to know they were good parents, in spite of Tristan’s proclivities for trouble.”
“Well, that makes sense. Also goes to show you have a compassion for others. W
hich, I guess, is probably one of the most important characteristics for someone in the ministry.”
“You would think.”
Sterling stood and came around his desk. “All right, then. Let me start looking into this and see what might turn up. I’ll have my assistant try to track down Tristan. In the meantime, I caution you to be extremely guarded in what you say to anyone else about this. The less, the better. And from here on out, you say nothing to Chief Carter or his deputy without me present. Got that?”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. This is serious business, Peyton. I know you and Jeff are good friends, but for now, you need to see him as your adversary.”
“I hate this,” he grumbled, turning to leave. Halfway out the door, he paused. “There’s one thing you didn’t ask me,” he said quietly. “You haven’t asked if I murdered Harley.”
Sterling’s laughter reverberated against the orange walls. “That’s because you and I both know you’re innocent. Which means we’ve got the truth on our side. Doesn’t the Good Book say, ‘You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free’?”
“Yes, it does.”
Sterling patted him on his back as he turned again to leave. “Then not to worry, Pastor. You just leave it to me, and I’ll make sure the truth comes out.”
They shook hands then Peyton left the office.
Chapter 10
“Mom, would you like to lie down for a nap while I finish making dinner?” Aubrey asked as she chopped vegetables for chicken noodle soup.
“I believe I will. I never take naps, but I can’t seem to keep my eyes open. I wonder if I’m coming down with something.”
“It’s probably just your adrenaline dialing down after everything that’s been going on.”
“I don’t know about that, but I’ll close my eyes for a few minutes. Wake me when it’s time to eat?”
“I will. Get some rest.”
She listened for her mother’s footsteps padding down the hall toward the master bedroom, then breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for some time to herself. Faye had been out of sorts all afternoon ever since Aubrey asked her about the strange $2,000 cash notation she’d discovered in the shop’s ledger. Her response had come swift and sharp.
“What were you doing snooping in my ledger?”
Aubrey blinked, dismayed by her mother’s tone. “I wasn’t snooping. I told you I needed to look through the books to see how Dad left things.”
“What things?”
“The shop’s finances. You told me I could look them over.”
Faye had stiffened. “I did no such thing.”
Aubrey had closed her eyes, trying to make sense of the brusque tone and defensive demeanor. “Mom, we talked about this the night I arrived. You were scared about losing the shop because you’ve always left the financial matters to Dad. I told you I’d be happy to take a look and make sure things were in order so you’d have some peace of mind. Don’t you remember that conversation?”
“No, I don’t. But how could I? I was upset about losing your father. You might have given me the benefit of the doubt, all things considered. For heaven’s sake, Aubrey, we hadn’t even buried him yet! And you were asking all those picky questions about the store, and I—”
“I wasn’t the one asking the questions! You were. I was the one who kept telling you not to worry about it, that there would be plenty of time for it later.”
“Yes, well, and here we are. You sneaked out of the house before I was awake and went to my shop and stuck your nose in my business. You could have at least asked me first.”
Aubrey had closed her eyes and prayed for patience. This wasn’t her mother speaking. Surely it was the shock and grief finally taking its toll. Had to be, because this was a side of her mother she’d never witnessed before. She bit her lip and chose her words carefully.
“Look, Mom,” she had said, reaching across the kitchen table for her mother’s hand. “I’m sorry if I have upset you. I simply wanted to make sure everything was in order at the shop. It’s such a charming store, so full of your wonderful treasures. Dad told me so many times how he loved watching you work your magic, showcasing all the items on display. How you loved interacting with your customers. I only wanted to make sure you can continue doing what you love there. That’s all.”
Faye had gently pulled her hand free. Not as a rebuke, but a simple withdrawal, her eyes cast downward to her lap. “Be that as it may, you should have asked me first.”
“That’s completely fair. I apologize and promise I’ll let you know before I do anything regarding the store.”
“I don’t know what that $2,000 was for or why your father left such a cryptic note about it. But I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”
“Do you think the HC might be Harley Creech?”
“How should I know?”
“How well did Dad know Harley? Were they friends?”
“Yes, we were both friends of Harley’s, but your father knew him better than I did. They used to play poker with some friends a couple of times a month.”
“Dad played poker? How did I not know that?”
“How would you? You hardly ever come home anymore.”
And there it is again.
“I just never knew Dad to be the poker type.”
“He played for years with other pilots at FedEx.”
“Did they play for money?”
“No, maybe a few dollars here or there, but your father was never one to throw away good money.”
“No, but he must have known about Harley’s problem with gambling, right?”
“I don’t remember when he found out about that. Probably when the rest of us did. When Harley disappeared a while back.”
“Did he ever mention any concerns about Harley?”
“Like what?”
“Like when they played poker, did Harley win a lot? Lose often?”
“I remember Jed saying one time that Harley never wanted to quit when the rest of them did. He always wanted to play late into the night. Honestly, Aubrey, I’ve had enough of the questions. I need some fresh air.”
She had stood without another word and left the room. A moment later, Aubrey had heard the back door screen slap shut followed by the steady creak-creak-creak of the rocking chair on the porch.
They’d avoided any meaningful conversation the rest of the day.
Now, as Aubrey dumped the chopped onions, carrots, and celery into the soup pot to sauté, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on with her mother. She pondered the possibilities, but in the end, she simply ached with longing for her father. Wishing she could talk to him, knowing he’d have the answers. He always did.
She glanced out the front kitchen window as a golden retriever trotted up the front sidewalk, its leash held by Peyton Gellar. She quickly rinsed and dried her hands, turned the heat down to a slow simmer beneath the soup pot, then hurried to the front door.
“Hi,” she said quietly after cracking the door open.
“Hi,” he answered tentatively, pulling the dog’s leash tighter.
She slipped out the door and joined him on the porch. “Sorry, Mom just laid down for a nap. I saw you out the window and wanted to catch you before you rang the bell.”
“Oh, gotcha.”
She knelt in front of the dog with the ginger-brown coat, its tail wagging madly. “And who is this?”
“Macy, meet Aubrey. Aubrey, this is my girl Macy.”
“How do you do, Macy?” She gave the pooch a good rub behind her ears. “I think you might be the most beautiful retriever I’ve ever seen. And such a silky coat. Someone takes good care of you, I see.”
“She’s a heart-stealer. Happens everywhere we go. And yeah, she gets a good brushing every night before bed.”
“My, aren’t you the pampered one?” She held Macy’s head in her hands. “What a sweetheart you are.”
Aubrey glanced up to find Peyton watching her, his eyes di
fferent somehow, but not in a good way. “Are you okay?” she asked, still petting Macy.
He clenched his jaw as he slowly shook his head. “No, not really.”
She stood, brushing off her hands on her jeans. “What’s going on?”
He pointed to the two Adirondack chairs on the covered porch. “Got a minute?”
“Sure.”
She took the farthest chair as Peyton looped Macy’s leash on the right arm of the other one. The dog sat at his feet as he pulled off his Titans ball cap and finger-combed his hair before looking her way.
“I was just wondering if you’d had a chance to talk to your mother about that entry in the shop’s ledger.”
“Funny you mention that. It’s been an interesting day here.”
She recounted her prickly conversation with her mother and her strange reaction. “I’m actually glad you stopped by. I’ve been wanting to ask again if you remember anything strange or unusual going on with my mother. I know we talked briefly that first day you came over to visit after Daddy died. But do you recall anything else?”
“No, nothing that comes to mind. Maybe an odd question or comment now and then, but nothing bizarre if that’s what you mean.”
“I’m not sure what I mean. I only know that she’s still acting odd. She keeps snapping at me with such an accusatory tone. Trust me, we’ve had our differences over the years, but nothing like this. I don’t know if she’s just mad at me because I live so far away and don’t come often enough to visit. Or if she’s still in shock about Dad and maybe taking it out on me because I’m the closest person, living under the same roof here. I don’t know, but I’m starting to really worry about her.”
“Is it something you could ask her about? Share your concerns with her?”
Aubrey shook her head. “No, not now. She’s so defensive, I’m afraid she might tell me to leave. Or who knows what else she might do.”
“Would you like for me to talk to her?”
“No. At least not right now. Did Dad ever say anything to you about it? If he’d noticed any strange behavior?”
Peyton shook his head. “No, he never mentioned anything like that.”