Reading Between the Crimes

by Kate Young

  I’d even run a detailed search on my mother and uncle last night, something I’d never done. While I wanted to respect their request for privacy about the past, I felt the time had come for the air to be cleared. Charles had shoved the secrecy directly in my face, and I needed answers. I’d not been able to find a single record of my maternal grandmother until her move to Sweet Mountain. And even more concerning, a couple of years after moving to our town, my mother and uncle were listed on adoption papers that I’d managed to locate. I had more questions than answers after my search.

  When I pulled into the bricked driveway of Mother and Daddy’s home, my anxiety reached new levels. Something was up. A sense of dread began to creep up my spine the closer I got to the house. I’d even started to eat one of the pastries from the box, but the more I thought about the situation, the more I just couldn’t stomach the sweetness. And that was unlike me. Sugar was my crutch. My own words inside my head failed to comfort me.

  I took the brick steps two at a time, rushing through the massive white pillars of the front porch, then knocked twice on the large mahogany front doors before turning the knob. It didn’t budge. Locked. Mother never locked the front doors.

  I rang the doorbell. When no one came to the door, I rang again. After what felt like an eternity, Gran answered the door, wearing a robe. Her hair was wrapped in a towel, and her face was shiny from skin cream.

  “Why’s the door locked?” I hugged her before entering.

  “It’s so good to see you.” She held my face in her bony hands, looking up into my face; her pale blue eyes looked tired. “You bring my bear claws?” Sugar was Gran’s crutch too.

  I held up the box with the little string. She smiled then and took it from me. “You okay, sweetie pie? You never said if those headaches went away.”

  “Don’t go fussing over me too. I’m okay. See?” I smiled brightly at her. “No more headaches. Plus”—I patted my bag—“I’m ready for the next time.”

  Gran gave me a single head nod. “That’s my girl.” She chose the largest pastry from the box and took a big bite. “It’s been a trying few days.” She couldn’t hide the weariness in her tone after she swallowed the bite.

  A beep pulled our attention to the wall beside the front doors.

  Gran punched the code into a security panel on the wall with a sugary, glaze-covered finger. With a sigh, she said, “Your mother insisted that every door stay locked and the alarm engaged.”

  Before I could comment on that strange news, I noticed the house’s condition and gaped as I glanced around. My parents’ entryway table usually boasted huge, fragrant bouquets that always greeted you upon your entrance. Today, they were wilted, and the water tinged a greenish-brown color.

  Alarm shot through me. Gran hadn’t been exaggerating. I moved down the hallway and into the empty kitchen at the back of the house. Another shock overtook me; there were dishes in the sink and plates on the large granite island. The six Provencal grape swivel barstools were not pushed in or spaced appropriately.

  Glancing into the room adjacent to the kitchen, the great room, I expected to find Mother. It, too, was vacant. The light shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows made the fine layer of dust evident. My entire life, there’d never been a speck of dust in Mother’s house, unlike my own townhome. She had a cleaning service come in three times a week. “Cleanliness is next to godliness” I’d heard all my life.

  “I told you. Your mother is off her rocker. She canceled the cleaning service and flower delivery and wanted to cancel the yard service. Your father pushed back on that one. The homeowner’s association would fine us if we allowed the leaves to pile up on the lawn. The only people she’s permitted into the house are the police, and that’s only because she hasn’t had a choice in the matter.” Gran continued to blend in the cream on her face with one hand and hold her bear claw with the other. “She’s been on the phone a lot. I caught her sneaking out back and whispering with Mrs. Ross.”

  Uh-oh. I wondered if maybe that was the reason Mrs. Ross had seemed eager for me to come over. Perhaps she, too, worried for her friend.

  My eyes went wide as Gran shoved half a bear claw into her mouth. She reached for my coffee. I handed it over and waited for her to wash down her pastry. Never in my life had I seen the house look in such disarray.

  “Is this why Daddy called me and told me not to come?” I couldn’t believe how, in a matter of a week, my entire life seemed to be crumbling around me.

  Gran nodded slowly. “He didn’t want to worry you. But”—she got closer and glanced around conspiratorially—“from what I could tell from Frances’s body language, Mrs. Ross seemed to be all in on whatever it was she was saying. They’ve called a neighborhood watch meeting. I think they’re scared that whoever whacked old man Richardson is coming for them. But it wasn’t until Calvin called with news of something or another that he made the decision.”

  Oh God! I was right. This did have to do with Charles. “What did Calvin tell them?”

  “I have no idea. But whatever it was sent your mother into a real tizzy. She got hysterical, shouting for James to go and pick you up. Shouting that she didn’t want to start all over or have her entire life crash down around her.”

  I rubbed my forehead. Oh my God. Without a shadow of a doubt, I now firmly believed Charles. Whatever hidden secrets were out there about my family, he planned on unearthing and perhaps sharing them. Mother had always been secretive about her past. I’d trusted her and Calvin to know what was best. Though as much as they tried to safeguard me, the past still touched me. And they had been wrong to keep me in the dark!

  I walked back through to the new library. The yellow crime scene tape had been stripped away, but the room still showed signs of the struggle. Stepping back, I shut the door. I couldn’t handle this trauma and mother’s too. Back in the kitchen, flashes from childhood came rushing back. For the most part, my childhood had been idyllic. But there were those occasional blips where my mother wouldn’t “feel well.” Gran would step in and see to my needs while daddy cared for Mother. He’d explain it as sometimes her past trauma bringing back ghosts she longed to forget.

  The episodes would confuse me as a child. Seeing my proper mother walk around the house like a zombie with unwashed hair and in sweats always brought a bout of nerves, though these occasions were rare. I could even recall waking in the middle of the night to find her standing over my bed, watching me sleep. I gave myself a mental shake and focused back on Gran, who was still speaking.

  “Your father was talking about sending her on vacation. Asked me to go with her. Frances says she won’t go, but James can be mighty convincing when he wants to be. You should come with us.” Gran pulled the towel from her hair and ran her fingers through her long gray locks.

  I shook my head. “I’ve got a lot going on at the moment. With Harper’s and my assault case—”

  “Daisy! Who’s here?” Mother’s tremulous voice called down the staircase from the second floor.

  “It’s me, Mother!” Before I could move to the foyer, we heard the sound of footsteps running down the staircase.

  Gran grabbed my arm, her gaze serious. “Prepare yourself.”

  A woman I didn’t recognize came into the room. The sight was way worse than what I remembered from childhood. Her tangled hair was about her bare face. Her wrinkled terrycloth robe hung awkwardly off her shoulders and was half tied at her waist.

  “Good morning, Mother.” I attempted a smile.

  “Lyla! What are you doing here so early? Not that we’re not happy to have you.” She smoothed her hair back from her face. “Daisy, did you fix Lyla some breakfast?”

  “She brought pastries, Frances.”

  “Pastries aren’t an adequate breakfast. Full of processed sugar and flour.” She moved past us and started for the kitchen. “I’ll prepare you something.”

  Gran and I exchanged an odd glance. Mother did not cook. Ever.

  “Come along.” Moth
er gave us a too-bright smile over her shoulder.

  Gran and I slowly joined her in the kitchen, where she had a frying pan out, and she began rummaging through the refrigerator. “I don’t know where Sandy is,” she mumbled. I supposed she didn’t think Gran knew she’d put a stop to her housekeeper’s visits. She stood in front of the stove, holding a dozen eggs and some spinach.

  “I’m not hungry. Really, Mother, you don’t have to make anything.”

  She turned back around and stared at me. “Are you sure? It’s no trouble.”

  Gran and I nodded in unison.

  “Please, sit down.” I pulled out the barstool next to me.

  She just stared at it. “There’s just so much to do.”

  She looked so lost. I rushed over to her and gave her a hug. “It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

  She rested her cheek on my shoulder and stroked the back of my hair. “Yes. It will because I will make it that way. He can’t creep into this life. He. Can. Not.”

  “Who?” I whispered. “Charles Hammond?”

  She pulled away, grabbing my forearms tightly. “If anyone approaches you and asks about your family, you tell your uncle.”

  She blinked at me, and somewhere deep down, something resonated. All these years, she’d only been trying to protect me from what she believed, I saw now, was danger. Yet in doing so, she’d sacrificed the beautiful relationship we could have had.

  “Why not just tell me? Whatever it is, just get it out in the open, and I’ll help. This is having an unhealthy effect on you.”

  She vehemently shook her head. “You have no idea what it was like for us. No idea. And I don’t want you to.” Her vacant stare worried me even more. Fear that Mother might be having some sort of breakdown made my eyes sting with unshed tears.

  I thought about Mother’s obsession with makeup. My entire life, she’d say, “You look pale, dear. A little lipstick could help.” In my desire to bring that woman back to the surface, I forced a smile. To remind her that whatever had transpired in her childhood could no longer control her here. “I know what will make you feel better. We’ll go up, and you can take a nice long shower. I’ll brush your hair, and you can put on some lipstick, and then we can have a nice chat.”

  She blinked at me again, then took a step backward. Her hand went to her hair. “I must look a fright.”

  “No,” Gran and I said in unison.

  The front door opened, and we heard Daddy punching in the code on the keypad.

  “Who’s there?” Mother wrapped her arms around me, cuddling me close and too tightly. It was almost as if she’d forgotten I was no longer a child, and she wanted to protect me from the boogie man.

  Gran slowly shook her head. I could almost see the weariness settling over her. Her shoulders slumped forward, the corner of her mouth dipping down. “It’s just James, Francis.”

  I stroked Mother’s arms, hoping to soothe her. “It’s Daddy. It’s just Daddy.”

  Her breath heaved in her chest, and I couldn’t stop the tears spilling over my cheeks. This woman was not my mother. Mother was strong, beautiful, opinionated to a fault, and always composed. She was the embodiment of old Southern grace.

  My father came into the room. “Frances, dear, everything is okay. You’re safe. Lyla is safe. The doors are locked, and the alarm is engaged. No one can get in.”

  His words seemed to settle my mother some. “No one can get in?”

  “No, darling. No one can get in,” he repeated.

  I glanced from Gran to Daddy.

  Daddy’s eyes never left Mother’s. “You’re safe.”

  A sob overtook Mother, and Daddy opened his arms. She went, taking me with her. The three of us stood in the middle of the kitchen, Mother sobbing with what I hoped was a relief. I’d always been aware of the hellish childhood she and her brother had endured, but this behavior was on a whole new level. Mother had always said the past should stay buried, insisting it would only bring heartache.

  Experiencing her pain on some minuscule level, I broke too. My sobs came in loud hiccups. And if she’d experienced such agony, that meant Uncle Calvin also had. No wonder he threatened to bury Charles. But I had news for everyone involved: if Charles dared to unearth secrets that would hurt my family, he’d have to come through me first. It was high time for the passing of the torch. The secrets buried in the red clay of Sweet Mountain, Georgia, were mine to dig up and guard.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “How is she?” I asked my father. He’d made a giant crackling fire in the large fireplace in the family room while I’d cleaned myself up and reapplied my makeup. I had to be at Mrs. Ross’s by nine and at the courthouse for Harper’s arraignment at eleven.

  Daddy stood now, staring into the flames, with his hand braced on the mantle. “She’s taking a shower. She seems to have pulled herself together after the emotional release. Your gran is sitting with her for a while, just in case she needs something.” Gran was the best. She loved wholly and completely. “It was good of you to give her some space. I know you have questions.”

  “I don’t want to push her.” I sipped on a mug of coffee, staring into the flames that reflected on the Persian rug.

  Daddy settled into his favorite leather armchair in the corner, a glass of scotch in hand. “Your mother claims to have an appointment this morning, but I’m going to talk her out of going.”

  “That’s wise.” Mother would not want anyone around town to see her have a meltdown.

  “She’ll hate that you saw her that way. She never wanted her past to affect you. Your mother is a strong woman and has managed herself with grace and dignity all these years. I can’t remember a time that something triggered such a response.” Daddy rubbed his finger around the rim of the glass.

  “She is strong and controlled almost to the point of being extreme at times,” I said. “I won’t lie and say that I didn’t feel like I needed to tiptoe around her at times. And still do. Not that it matters at the moment. Now, I need you to level with me.”

  “Level with you about …?”

  “Don’t. Please, just stop this. I’m tired of the charade. I’ve been through enough over the past few days. People lie to me all the time when I’m working cases. I’m becoming quite proficient at figuring out the reasons behind it too. My entire life, I’ve granted grace out of respect. Now, there’s a writer in town kicking up a lot of dirt. He came by the office yesterday, asking me if I knew what secrets my family harbored. Uncle Calvin lost it. I mean, how telling is it for guarded, in-control Calvin not to be able to hold it together in front of me? And I know Calvin called here. Gran overhead the conversation.”

  Daddy leaned forward and pierced me with his intelligent ice-blue eyes. “You need to stay away from that man. The writer. He isn’t what he seems to be. I’m not sure what his motives are or how he plans to blackmail this family, but I’m positive he will.”

  “Blackmail us about what? Who could this man possibly be to have the power to terrify everyone in our family?”

  He sighed and ran his hand through his thinning brown hair. “I knew this day would come. I knew, when your mother made me swear to keep certain parts of her life secret, that one day you would insist on knowing about her childhood.”

  “What was so terrible? Were they running from something? I searched. I didn’t find much except that Grandmother’s second husband adopted Mother and Calvin.”

  Daddy looked tired as he took a deep sip from the glass. “Your mother is a remarkable woman. She’s overcome so much, and we built a wonderful life. Still, trauma is like that. It’s always there in the corner of the room, ready to rear its ugly head. I won’t tell you secrets that aren’t mine to share. But I do think you have a right to some explanation.”

  The look on my father’s face had my heart beating like a drum. I was almost afraid to move, to breathe even, in case the sudden movement would make him change his mind. Living in the dark about your parents’ past can be damaging
. I couldn’t speak for everyone. That’d been the experience for me.

  “I’m not sure how much you remember your grandmother. She died when you were still so young.”

  “I remember seeing her at Christmas and Easter a time or two. One thing that stands out about her is that she favored Aunt Elizabeth to Mother.” I put my cup down on the end table.

  “Elizabeth represented a new beginning for her. A new life here in Georgia.” Mother hadn’t always resided in Georgia. I made a mental note. “Your grandmother had been in an extremely unhealthy relationship, and it affected your mother and uncle. He let out a big sigh. “She escaped in the middle of the night with her children and drove across the country and settled here. Your mother had lived a rigorous and constrained life before that. Her every move was monitored, and every decision was made for her.”

  My father’s description of Mother’s past sounded an awful lot like how Harper had described her marriage. Perhaps that’s what linked the two. No wonder Mother hadn’t wanted me to say anything that would paint Harper in a negative light.

  “Were they abused?” I asked softly.

  He glanced down at his hands. “Abuse was involved.”

  “That’s why she took to Harper?”

  He nodded his head. “Yes. I suppose she relates to the girl on some level. Once she’s rested, we’ll discuss it. I don’t have all the answers, Lyla. I don’t even know every detail of your mother and her brother’s past. Some things she found too painful to discuss with anyone other than Calvin.”

  “How could you not know everything?” I asked incredulously.

  His head lifted. “Honey, childhood trauma is unique for each individual. Some of it she’s blocked out to preserve her sanity. Not everything comes out at once. And sometimes it’s lost for good. Pushing her to recall every traumatic event is counterproductive. We deal with what we have to when it surfaces. This is about her mental health, not about my need to be told every sordid detail.”