by DiAnn Mills
“Nothing!” Had my emotions become transparent? The lie behind the prison sentence? I fought for control. “My life is cursed—of my own making. Leave it alone, please. So how are we doing this?”
“We’ll make a transfer with the agents who’ll drive you to a safe place. I’ll say you took off when we stopped to eat, and you left a suicide note in the car. You could rewrite it to reflect your mother’s poor health pushed you to the brink.”
“Definitely believable. And I have my Bible with me.”
“One more thing—the handwriting on the sympathy card isn’t in the FBI’s database.”
“That means the person responsible hasn’t ever been caught or this is his first offense.” I repeated what Denton already knew.
A few hours later, we arrived in Sharp’s Creek. Heat slid up my shoulders to my face and covered me in a shroud of shame. No one ever questioned my confession because my reputation shouted my guilt.
We passed the Dairy Queen where Dad and I used to share sundae dates. We ate our share of hot fudge with nuts and lots of whipped cream. A former gas station had been transformed into a used-car business. A new Walmart rose on our right where an empty field had once been. The small downtown area showed unfamiliar storefronts and new businesses. Overall, I saw a community who loved their town.
“The small-town setting relaxes me,” Denton said. “Sharp’s Creek has the feel of family and community that cares for its people. I imagine your sentiments rank alongside a nightmare.”
“Bittersweet.”
“Good and bad?”
I nodded and scrutinized familiar landmarks like the library that had stolen a little girl’s heart. Other constructions had sprung up like dandelions in spring. The stone courthouse still stood as the largest structure in the center of the square.
Denton drove slowly past the worn two-story brick building known for six decades as Pearce Bakery.
“Can we stop for just a minute?” I said.
He pulled in front of the bakery and placed the truck in park. “Thought you might want to reminisce.”
The weather-beaten sign bore resemblance to the one Dad had erected when I started high school. “I spent hours here helping after school and on weekends. Dad believed his girls should know every inch of how to run a successful bakery operation. He said whatever we did in life, good business sense would take us far. I loved it. The scent of vanilla and mouthwatering delicacies is a part of who I am.”
On the other hand, Marissa avoided the bakery, but her good grades and pleasant disposition pleased Mom and Dad. Marissa walked into a room, and the world became a better place. I closed my eyes.
She and Travis were a good team. Until they weren’t.
I smiled at him. “We can go now. Thanks.”
The GPS vocalized the directions to Mom and Dad’s home, when I could have led Denton there blindfolded. The house looked the same, a modest three-bedroom brick ranch my parents bought new before I was born. Thoughts of yesterday bombarded me worse than I’d imagined.
“You okay?” he said.
“Not really.” Memories fought to get the best of me—Mom, Dad, Marissa, Travis, blood, prison. “I’d rather not talk right now, Denton.”
He nodded as though he sympathized with my pain. But I couldn’t stop the torment. How could he ever grasp the reality of the truth?
Denton parked at the curb, and I prayed for what lay ahead. The years in prison when I’d viewed coming home as a fresh start had been utter stupidity. Seeing Dad took courage when I wanted to fly into his arms. I’d hurt him, and he’d been my advocate until the conviction. Mom often saw through my wild teenage behavior, and many times I appreciated her catching me before I jumped into serious trouble. I needed those boundaries, except when it no longer mattered.
Now telling her goodbye tore at my heart. She’d go to her grave with the belief that I’d murdered Travis. But better me than Marissa. Not sure how I felt about my sister except if given the situation again, I’d do the same thing. She’d shown her love by pushing for parole four times. Travis’s parents and Dad rejected the idea. I assumed Mom felt the same.
“Shelby, are you ready? You’re pale.”
His voice soothed me as I gripped the door handle. “As ready as I’ll ever be and feeling sick about it all.”
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For honesty about how this whole thing must be for you.”
I swallowed past a lump of dread and opened the truck door. He joined me in the walk to the front entrance. Weeds had taken over the flower beds, and the shrubs had wild shoots. Mom loved gardening. How long had she been sick?
Denton rang the doorbell, giving me a few more moments to gain my composure. Where would I be if I hadn’t chosen to take Marissa’s place? The alternative of Mom and Dad raising a grandchild could never measure up to a good woman like my sister nurturing her daughter.
The door squeaked open.
Dad stood on the threshold. Less hair. Glasses. A Band-Aid on his cheek in the same spot where he’d been treated for melanoma years ago. Had the cancer returned? Perhaps later I’d ask.
“Dad, I appreciate your letting me see Mom.” My voice cracked.
The familiar lines across his forehead etched deep. “Don’t upset her. She’s not long for this world.”
“I only want to love on her. Sit by her side.”
“You will not be alone with your mother. It’s inconceivable to trust you.”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Denton stuck out his hand and introduced himself, but Dad kept his hand at his side.
“You’re that FBI agent,” Dad said. “Why are you here? Are you escorting Shelby because you think she’s a danger to someone?”
“I’m here with Shelby in a different capacity.”
“Which is?”
“Her transportation and a friend.”
Dad huffed, and in a way his orneriness reminded me of Randy Hughes. “Let’s get this done before Marissa returns.” He opened the door, and I stepped back in time. The smells were the same, except my cherished memories were tainted with medicine.
A small terrier ran to me. The animal must have smelled Joy on me.
“Aria’s dog,” Dad mumbled.
My thoughts scattered. I wanted to run, but I needed to see Mom.
32
How I longed for my reunion with my mother to be filled with life instead of death. I followed Dad into Mom and Dad’s bedroom. Denton had touched my back, and I viewed it as reassurance as he stayed behind. Shadows deepened around the room. Mom loved the sunlight, but the hospice nurse must feel otherwise. My mother’s hair likened to snow, her body frail beneath a white blanket, and I doubted even the sun could rid the ghastly shade of gray on her face.
But her blue-gray eyes were open. “Shelby?” she whispered.
I knelt at her side. “Yes, Mom. I’m here.”
A faint smile curved her mouth. “I’ve been dreaming about a visit from you.” She lifted her hand, and I took it into mine. Fragile . . . too fragile. The Bible said Jesus was strongest when we’re weak. I feared I’d crumble.
“Are you in pain?”
“Not with you here.”
I kissed her forehead. “Can I open the blinds?”
“Yes, please.”
“Let me help you.” The nurse, a pleasant-sounding woman, allowed streams of late-morning sunshine to fill the room, and I thanked her.
“Wonderful,” Mom whispered. “I’d like a few minutes alone with my daughter.”
“We talked about this.” Dad jutted his jaw.
Mom shook her head. “Clay, I’m dying, and I want time with Shelby. Go, all of you.”
“I’ll take your purse.” Dad held out his hand.
I gave it to him. Did he think I carried something to hurt Mom?
The bedroom cleared, and when the door closed, I turned to her. A tear dripped down my cheek. “I love you, Mom. I’m sorry to have disappointed you.�
��
“I hear you’re now a Christian.”
“I am. Jesus has my life. I remember when you used to take Marissa and me to Sunday school. You read us Bible stories, prayed with us. I wish I’d found Him back then.”
“But you have now.” She winced.
“Would you like me to call the nurse?”
“No, dear. The angels have been in my room. They’ve told me soon I’ll be with Jesus. Oh, they are beautiful.”
I smiled. “I hope our mansions in heaven are side by side.”
She touched my cheek. “My lovely Shelby. I’ve missed you.”
“Missed you too.”
“Your dad forbade me to see you or write.”
I leaned my cheek into her hand. “It’s okay.”
“His mandate was wrong, especially when I suspected the truth.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m certain you sacrificed your life for Marissa or someone else.”
“Of course not. I—”
Her fingers covered my mouth. “Hush. I must hear the truth before I’m gone. I’m not angry if you paid another’s debt. Just sad you took it on.” She gasped.
“You need to rest, save your strength.” Another tear trailed over my cheek. “I’m sure you’d rather think a stranger destroyed our family, but that’s a delusion. You heard my confession and the evidence against me at the trial. Why would you think any differently?”
“You never asked for money. You worked for every penny you spent. Shooting Travis because he denied you a loan makes no sense, especially when you despised guns. Two months before the shooting, you had changed. Your eyes softened. You were kinder, gentler. I remember your asking me about college and how to obtain funding. No more slipping out when we were in bed.” She drew in a breath that looked painful. “You took a blame that wasn’t yours to take.”
“My being here is upsetting you, and I promised Dad I wouldn’t do that.”
“You aren’t. You’re giving me joy. Promise me one thing.”
I nodded.
“Bring the truth to light. Your dad’s blinded by too many things, and sweet Aria is confused about where she fits. Justice is light. Will you make sure your dad—?”
The door opened, and Dad stepped in with the nurse. “Shelby, you’ve had long enough with your mother.”
I fixed my attention on Mom. “I love you.”
“And I love you. You’ll make sure the truth is made clear?”
I was unable to make a promise I couldn’t keep.
“You are the bravest young woman God ever created.” She smiled and closed her eyes. “I understand your reluctance.”
“Shelby. Now,” Dad said.
I rose from the floor and captured Dad’s gaze. “Thank you for these moments with her.” I turned to the nurse. “And thank you for taking good care of my mother.”
He moved away from the door, and I passed by and down the hall. Mom’s medication must be fogging her mind and her request, a type of delirium. I hoped she hadn’t mentioned anything about her suspicions to anyone else.
In the living room, Denton sat in a high-back chair. Across from him Marissa petted the pecan-colored terrier I’d seen earlier. She bent to the dog and it scurried to Denton’s feet and sniffed at my purse. My sister hadn’t changed. White-blonde hair to her shoulders and delicate features. She must have sensed my presence because she lifted her head.
Marissa leaped to her feet and wrapped her arms around me. I hugged her back. “Oh, Shelby, I’m so glad to see you. You look amazing. I was afraid I’d miss you.” We clung to each other for several seconds. She pointed to my purse at Denton’s feet. “Aria’s naughty dog knocked over your purse, but I put everything back. I’m so sorry.”
“No problem at all. I have a puppy too.”
“I hope it’s better behaved.” She hugged me again. “Thank you for coming to see Mom.” She kissed my cheek and held me at arm’s length. “So many times I’ve longed to see you and hear your voice.”
“I feel the same way.”
She inhaled and glanced over her shoulder down the hall. “Dad gave me a choice of contacting you or finding financial support elsewhere.”
“What else could you have done?”
“Nothing really. My daughter and I live here, and Dad has eyes like a hawk. He’s about to retire and hand the business over to me.” Marissa pointed to Denton. “I never expected to see Agent McClure with you.”
I smiled. “It does seem unusual. But we’re friends.”
“He and I have been talking, and he says someone has threatened you?”
I wish he hadn’t mentioned that to her. “Appears so.”
My sister shuddered. “The nightmare lives on. I don’t know anyone who’d want to hurt you.”
“The FBI and local law enforcement in Valleysburg are handling the situation.”
“Be safe, Sister.” Marissa rubbed her arms. “Hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t think it was a good idea for Aria to . . . meet you.”
“Of course.” But my heart ached for the lies separating me from my family.
Footsteps from the hallway alerted me to Dad’s presence. “Why are you still here?”
“I’m leaving now.”
“Shelby, don’t come back.” Dad’s voice dripped with bitterness and grief. How could I fault him when his life had fallen apart?
Marissa touched my hand. “Can I speak to you privately?”
“I will not allow it.” Dad’s voice rose. “She’s seen her mother. Time for her to leave.”
“The ‘her’ is my sister. I haven’t seen Shelby in fifteen years.”
“Do I need to remind you Aria is minus a father because of her inexcusable crime? This is for your own good. You’re too old to believe there’s good in everyone.”
“I’m talking to my sister and making a start to narrow the distance between us. She’s paid for her crimes. If I can forgive her, why can’t you?”
I heard them discuss me as though I weren’t there. The humiliation of Denton listening to the dysfunction made me cringe inside. “No need to quarrel. If one of you will call Sheriff Wendall when Mom’s time is over, I’d appreciate it. And I’d like to attend the funeral.”
“Out of the question.” Dad stiffened. “I won’t have a celebration of life destroyed by a killer.”
Marissa stepped between Dad and me. “Dad, I will speak to my sister outside alone, and I will contact her when Mom passes.”
“The consequences of rebellion are ugly. Ask Shelby about the last fifteen years.”
Marissa whirled toward him, an action I’d never seen. “Think about Aria gone from your life.” She hooked her arm in mine and led me to the front yard. There we faced the street. “I apologize for Dad’s rude behavior.”
“I hurt him beyond repair. Please apologize to him. You have too much at stake.”
“You’ve always thought of me first.”
“I love you, and the world is a better place because you’re a shining, beautiful light. Now, go tell Dad he’s right, and you don’t think I’ve changed. I’m fine. I have a good job. I’m designing jewelry, and I have wonderful new friends.”
“Like Agent McClure?”
“The jury’s still out on him. It’s a strange relationship.”
“Maybe something more than friends?” She tilted her head.
“And how would he explain me to his family full of police officers?”
“Love overcomes a lot of barriers.”
I shook my head. “But not good sense.”
“Can I have your phone number?” she said.
I gave her my burner info, and she borrowed a pen to write the numbers on the palm of her hand.
“Don’t tell anyone you have this.”
“I’ll keep it secret.”
I took her shoulders like she’d grasped mine earlier. “Go. Make peace with Dad.”
Marissa made her way back to the house. At the door, she turned and blew me a kiss like w
e were girls again. Mom’s words washed over me. Even in her dying days, she suspected the truth.
The first line of The Color Purple swirled through my mind. “You better not never tell nobody but God.”
33
DENTON
The view of Shelby’s and Marissa’s backs through the Pearces’ picture window hijacked reading any facial expressions. But when Marissa walked toward the house and Shelby stayed at the truck with her face to the street, I assumed the conversation had been smeared with bitterness. Neither woman displayed any sign of cohesiveness.
My noncommunication with Clay Pearce left the room eerily quiet. From his stubborn stance, which I’d seen in Shelby, he’d jump down my throat no matter what I said.
Marissa opened the door and with reddened eyes approached her dad. “You’re right. She’s more hardened than before. I’m sorry.”
“Why did you disobey me?”
“Fear and stupidity. I hoped my sister had changed.” She sighed and stepped into his arms. He rested his chin on her head. “Fear for Aria drove me to risk alienating you.”
“She made a threat?” Clay said.
Marissa nodded. “The memory of what she did stares back at me every time I look into Aria’s face. Out there, I told her never to show her face in this town again, or I’d take legal action.”
“I’ll initiate a restraining order for all of us.” Clay eyed me with the same contempt he’d given Shelby. “Get out of my house and stay away from my family. The best place for Shelby is behind bars.”
What had I witnessed? Unless I heard Shelby threaten her sister, I wouldn’t believe it. Had I encountered a web of deceit I’d never imagined?
I tried to persuade Shelby to stop for a lunch break, but she merely shook her head. No words, only soft sobs. She had processing of her own to do. I took the long way toward the meeting point with my agent friends, winding around country roads. The investigative side of me analyzed every moment from the time we’d entered Sharp’s Creek. Clay Pearce ruled the household with an iron fist. Had he always been a tyrant, or had the tragedy changed him? From what Shelby had relayed, he adjusted to survive.
I waited fifteen more minutes before speaking. “Any surprises?”
