“No,” I said, firmly returning it to the ground. I knelt and felt for tags on its collar. The first one was proof of vaccinations, and the second read CHLOE and had the address and phone number there at Shangri-La. “Chloe?” The dog wriggled on the ground, her tail sweeping the dirt. “Hi, Chloe. You’re so sweet. I guess Snowflake went to work with Jack?” Chloe licked my wrists as I massaged her ears and face.
A loud nicker drew my attention toward the back of the yard and our empty stable. Only it wasn’t empty. A golden face with a white-blond forelock hung over the closed bottom half of a stall door. The horse bobbed its head and called to me again.
“Mother butler!” I hadn’t expected a horse, and I starting running. “Come on, Chloe.” The dog pounced along at my heels. As I approached the horse, I said, “You gorgeous thing. You absolutely gorgeous thing.” Because it was. I couldn’t believe Jack had gotten me Chloe and this horse, and was insisting the house was mine. I put my hands on the sides of the horse’s face and rubbed. “Wow. It’s so nice to meet you.” I leaned to the side to check under the horse’s belly. A gelding. “Have you got a name?” He was wearing a halter, and I ran my hands along it until I found a metal plate. I peeked around his face to get a look at it. “Legolas.” I laughed, and the dog barked. “Pointed ears, white-blond hair, and look at your light blue eyes. You are a Legolas.” Jack had left him hay and water, and I saw a feed bucket that had already been licked clean.
My phone rang. Laura in New Mexico. I turned my attention reluctantly away from my beautiful, beautiful horse. “Hi, Laura.”
The voice that met my ears was Laura, only barely coherent. She was crying and breathing in gasps. “It’s Greg. He’s in juvie lockup in Alamogordo, and I don’t know what to do.”
My heart lurched. “Oh no! I’m sorry, Laura. Tell me exactly what happened.”
I rubbed Legolas one last time and walked back toward the house. Chloe ran circles around my legs, but I ignored her. I put a finger in one ear and listened as hard as I could with the other.
“He took a bomb to school. Oh, it wasn’t a bomb, it was just a circuit board for a ham radio, but they thought it was, and when they accused him, he smarted off. So they called the police, handcuffed him, and took him to the juvenile detention center. They wouldn’t even let him call us! Farrah texted me, before anyone even told us they had him.”
I’d heard Jack give the juvenile rights speech many times, and I knew it by heart. “Unfortunately, minors have even fewer rights than adults. They don’t have to let him make a call. I know it’s horrible, and I hate it.”
“He’s such a good boy, he’s just been angry ever since we found out about his mother. She’s been trying to get him sent back to Amarillo. He wouldn’t normally mouth off, but . . . he did, and they arrested him.” Her sobs took over in earnest.
“How can I help you best, Laura? Do you want to talk to Jack?”
“We don’t need Jack. They’ve decided it’s not a bomb so Mickey and I are on our way to pick Greg up. What I’m worried about is his mental state. He doesn’t want to leave us, but we can’t adopt him or keep him from his mother. He’s all messed up right now. I’m afraid he’s really going to get into serious trouble. And they may expel him from school anyway.”
“Okay. Let me talk to some people, get some ideas. I’ll call you back.”
“Thank you, Emily.” Her sobs ebbed. “I was going to call you soon anyway because I got us registered for equine therapy school, but then things started spinning out of control.”
“Oh . . . that’s, um, great about the school,” I said. How did I break it to her that I probably wasn’t going to be part of their lives anymore? A chasm opened up inside of me at the thought of all that I was losing. “Okay, well, let me call you back ASAP.”
I took a seat at a bench in front of the windows. The cushion was damp from the sprinklers. I knew what to do: call Wallace. After I’d explained the situation, I said, “Well? What do you think?”
“I think the worst thing that could happen is we drag him back here, but that’s exactly what we’re going to have to do. His mother isn’t abusive. She tries, bless her heart. She’s just crazier than a bessybug.”
“He’s going to run away again.”
“You’re probably right.”
I remembered Phil and Dennis. “What about Boys Ranch?”
“He’d be a great fit, but it’s not in Amarillo. His mother is demanding city limits.”
“But it’s only thirty miles away.”
“And Bushland is only five miles.”
“What?”
“Your place. Bushland. Heaven. You could foster him, Em. She’d agree to that.”
I nearly dropped the phone as I jumped up from the bench. Would Greg go for it if Jack and I were split up? He’d want to see Farrah, and I wouldn’t be heading back and forth to New Mexico, although Jack would probably be happy to take him anyway.
“Are you there?”
“I’m thinking. It’s a lot to take in.”
“You were going to adopt Betsy.”
“Yes, and that took some getting used to as well, so just chillax.” Chloe had fallen asleep in the sun with her legs in the air. I walked along the fence line, in front of the daisies. “Will it be a problem that Jack and I split up?”
“Shouldn’t be. Especially if we just transfer him from the Begays straight to you and don’t stop to collect two hundred. I’ll talk to Laura and Mickey as soon as we hang up.”
“I—”
“I’m filling out the paperwork right now. What address? Your parents or Jack’s house?”
“Jack said, um, the house is mine.”
“That man is a saint. Emily, what is wrong with you?”
I ignored him, and instead focused on chewing my thumbnail to a nub.
Chapter Twenty-five
As I was leaving Shangri-La, another text came in from Jack: I know you were at the house. You didn’t say a word about Chloe and Legolas. I get it. I’m headed to court.
For a moment my mind reeled. How did he know I’d been here? Then I shook my head. Duh. Our security system and nanny cam. The security system would have notified him via text when I entered. Then he could have watched me on the nanny cam the whole time I was out in the backyard. On the phone, but not calling him to say thank you. I felt small and ugly and really confused. But what to do about it? He still hadn’t said he wanted me or loved me or needed me, and I had to have those things. Had to. So maybe it was better this way, with him getting frustrated and angry at me. Without him trying to make me stay, when he didn’t love me. When he couldn’t.
Well, I needed to go by the office for my laptop and files. I’d work from home for a while to make it less awkward. For as long as we could continue to work together, anyway. Would we be one of those couples who could go back to being friends, or at least coworkers? The job offer I hadn’t responded to popped into my head. I was glad I hadn’t turned it down. I needed options. Only where would Greg go if Dallas was the option I chose? My stomach tightened. A new complication, even if a welcome one. Meanwhile, I had to deactivate Jack on the security system and nanny cam soon.
I scrolled through my email on my phone to the job offer and shot off a reply:
I am so flattered you thought of me. Can you tell me more about your firm and the position? And where it’s located in Dallas?
I hit send, and pain shot through my body, like I needed to take a bath in Tiger Balm. But there wasn’t enough analgesic in the world to make this pain better. The pressure of all the uncertainty alone was like thumbscrews to my head. Would anything help? A solution came to me, taking me by surprise, but it shouldn’t have. I dropped to my knees in the kitchen and prayed with all my might. After, I breathed in deep through my nose to the back of my throat and out through my mouth, then went to the garage and got in the car. I didn’t feel all better, but there was a minute loosening of the screws.
Twenty minutes later I opened the door to the
office.
“Helloooooo?” a creaky voice called from far down the hallway.
I didn’t want to see other humans, but I wasn’t going to get the choice. “Hi, Clyde. It’s Emily.”
I set my purse down on my desk and walked to Jack’s office. I was surprised Clyde was here again so soon. Staying plugged in with the cases, feeling his advice was essential kept him going, though. When I reached Jack’s door, Betty was waiting for me, leaning against the frame.
She smiled at me and rolled her eyes. “His royal highness is at his throne.”
“I heard that, Betty Ray. Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”
I stopped to hug Betty’s soft body before I walked in. “Are you giving her a hard time again, Clyde? You know, she could leave you for a younger fella.”
He raised a gnarled hand and smoothed back a flyaway strand of his meager white hair. “But none half so handsome.”
I kissed his cheek. “Of course not.”
“I’d get up, but—”
“Don’t. It’s just me.” I took a seat in one of the leather armchairs in front of him. I glanced quickly at the built-ins that hid Jack’s Murphy bed, where he’d spent the night without me.
“Your teeth,” Betty exclaimed. “Your braces are off. You look great.”
“Thank you.” Summoning pageant mode, I flashed her a wide smile. “How are things, Clyde?”
“Seem busy enough. Jack needed a consult on this murder case he’s got going, you know.” He held up a finger, and his hand shook so hard it looked like he was waffling it. Behind the large desk that he used to rule from, he looked even smaller than usual, which emphasized his rather large and pointy ears. His immaculate dress shirt hung from him, and his shoulders had winnowed down to nubs. His usually jaunty bowtie—a pink, green, yellow, and blue plaid number that made him look like a wizened Easter bunny—had come untied.
“Jack really counts on you,” I agreed.
“Good attorney, but there’s nothing like experience when it comes to civil rights and the Constitution.”
“And so few understand that’s what the practice is truly about, and the nobility of it.”
“Most of the time.” He nodded. “Sometimes, though, it gets ugly. Like Jack’s case. He thinks he’s got a lead, though.”
Every nerve in my body went on alert, and I pushed my hair behind my ear. “Yeah. But I haven’t caught up with him today. What’s the latest?”
“It’s taken him in a totally new direction, but my instincts tell me he’s onto something.”
My hangover, emotional distress, and lack of sleep had reduced my mental capacity to a half brain cell above vegetative state. Whatever Clyde was talking about, I didn’t follow. Maybe Phil’s murder case?
Betty walked to Clyde’s side. “Time’s up, Boss.”
Clyde narrowed his eyes at me. “She calls me boss when she’s about to tell me what to do.”
I laughed. “Hey, did you see me in the paper the other day, with my quesadilla?”
“I don’t read that hogwash.”
I’d forgotten that Clyde swore off the Amarillo Globe News when they ran a profile on him a few months back and didn’t write what he told them to.
“You agreed to one hour, Clyde Williams, and it’s been an hour and a half. I’ve got to get you back to lunch. You remember what happened last time your blood sugar dropped.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.” He shifted in his chair. “Oh, I fixed my will, and Betty and I got it notarized. None of my tainted money will ever damn my son’s soul.” He put his hand on a stack of paper-clipped papers.
Betty pulled his chair backward, so gently that if I hadn’t been watching her, I’d have believed—like it seemed Clyde did—that he was pushing the chair back himself. She handed him his cane, a fancy wooden one with a brass eagle head as the grip. When he had shifted his weight forward, she gave him a little boost under his arms. He hobbled forward and Betty stayed back and to the side, watchful and ready, but letting him motor along independently. He huffed and puffed and took a rest at the exit before he started down the hall to the elevator. The process took ten minutes on a good day, and it was clear from how he was moving that today was not one. But eventually he breached the door, and I heard Betty’s encouraging voice diminishing as she coaxed and encouraged him.
Time to pack up. One of my files was missing, so I went back to Jack’s office where I found it on his desk. I shuffled through his papers to see if I could figure out what case Clyde had been talking about, but found nothing unexpected. I kept a special lookout for mention of Paige but struck out on her, too. I ran my fingertips across the desktop, picked up a picture he kept there of the two of us laughing in the kitchen at Wrong Turn Ranch, one that Laura had snapped. I felt a heaviness in my chest, and I put it back, then took off my engagement ring and laid it in front of the picture. I had to get out of there. I returned to my desk and gathered up my things.
Betty leaned in our door, her face bright red, and shouted, “Call 911! Clyde is down and I can’t find a pulse.”
Chapter Twenty-six
I sat in the Maxor Building parking garage with my forehead on the steering wheel of the rented Mustang. It hadn’t been low blood sugar this time. The paramedics had come and done all they could, but they’d taken Clyde away with a sheet over his face and Betty holding his hand. The man who had raised a son and created a crusading law firm and fought for the people others wouldn’t touch was gone. Dead. Forever. The ink on his will barely dry, the relationship with his son unrepaired.
If he’d known today was going to be his last day, what would he have done differently, I wondered. What would I do if I knew it was mine? What was really important to me? Jack’s face, left dimple punched in and pushing up the brow that lifted the corner of his mouth as if by a marionette’s string. Not saying much, his eyes twinkling as they watched me. My parents: the mother who embarrassed me most of the time and the dad I hadn’t learned to trust again, not completely anyway. My faraway friends like Katie and Ava. Nadine, Wallace, and Laura, the friends I’d made in my second life in Amarillo, so unlike anyone else I’d ever known before. The baby that I had lost, the ones I most likely couldn’t have. Betsy. Sweet, sweet Betsy. Farrah. Greg, caught in his mother’s maze of mental illness. I pulled at the steering wheel, the flesh of my forehead welcoming the bite of hard plastic, the pain that reminded me I was still here. Clyde. Oh, sweet, charming Clyde. How I would miss him.
If I truly believed the Mighty is His Word congregation was bad news, I owed it to Greg and Betsy and all the other foster kids to find out all I could and do whatever was necessary to help them. It was in the best interests of the kids and everyone that knew and loved them. I lifted my head and wiped my tears. That meant making good on my commitment to brave the Wednesday night services in Sanford. I tried to be more positive about it. Maybe I had exaggerated their creepiness in my mind Sunday. They were enthusiastic and assertive. Those weren’t inherently bad qualities. Bible studies began at six, if I remembered correctly, which left me time for some puppy and horse therapy.
But first I had to find Jack and let him know about Clyde. A fresh wave of sadness washed over me. Clyde had rescued Jack when he’d lost his family, and he was far more important to Jack than a mere boss. I held my phone in both hands and stared at it in the half-light of the garage. I hated making this call. Long seconds passed, maybe minutes, before I pressed Jack’s number.
It rang four times. “Leave a message for Jack,” his recording said.
I clenched and unclenched my jaw. I didn’t know what to say to him. The system hung up on me before I could decide.
***
Sister Elise in olive drab and Brother Tom in gray camo were standing outside the church door when I arrived. The parking lot was packed, and people were streaming in. Yet when I got to the door, it was as if they’d been waiting just for me.
“Sister Cecilia,” Elise said. She tucked my arm through hers. “Something
’s different about you.”
“Hi,” I said, looking down then up then down, going for shy enthusiasm. “Um, I got my braces off.”
“You look great.”
“Where did you drive in from?” Tom asked.
“What?”
“You came from the wrong direction if you’re from Pampa.”
I swiveled my head from them to my car, to the road running past the church. “Oh! Yes, I came from Amarillo. Took my mother to the airport.” In actuality I’d driven all over Amarillo trying to find Jack. I’d even enlisted Judith to help me, with no success. I hated leaving the news about Clyde on his voice mail, but I finally did it, as gently as I could.
Elise gave my arm a gentle tug and we began walking. “Ah. Well, we’re glad you’re here. It’s not often that we don’t get any contact information from a visitor, so we couldn’t call you.”
“Sorry.” I licked my lips. “I’ve, uh, decided I’d like to apply for membership, if the church will have me.”
Elise clapped her hands and Tom beamed. They looked at each other, and Tom nodded.
He said, “In that case, we have a new members class for you. Usually there’s a waiting period, but we sensed you were special right away.”
“Great.” Lifting the corners of my mouth felt like bench pressing my body weight, but I got them to turn up, just barely.
We turned down a sparsely lit cream-colored hallway completely devoid of any artwork but teeming with people. Voices around us were subdued, so quiet that I could hear the sound of our footsteps. From somewhere not too far away I smelled burned coffee.
“Here we are,” Elise announced in a bouncy voice, stopping at an open door.
Tom gestured me in ahead of him.
There were four rows of four chairs and only five people in the room, all men, each with something camo somewhere on his body. I had far too little facial hair and hunting gear for this group. I racked my brain for how to fit in. Virtue? Submissiveness? I cast my eyes down and fisted my hand into my skirt. From my side view I saw Tom watching me. I chewed my bottom lip. Looking under my lids back toward the room, I found all five men eyeing me. It didn’t take advanced math skills to calculate the ratio of women to men, and I began to suspect why Tom thought I was so “special.”
Hell to Pay (What Doesn’t Kill You, #7): An Emily Romantic Mystery Page 23
