by Kate Young
I tapped on one of the French doors, left slightly ajar, and slowly creaked it open. Mother was lying on her bed, on top of the covers, with one arm draped across her eyes and her long, slender legs crossed at the ankles. She didn’t stir as I entered the room. The entire scene looked like something from a painting. Mother certainly fit in this bedroom decorated in French countryside creams and blue floras.
“Come in, Lyla, dear.”
Softly I closed the door and made my way over to the bed. “Are you alright? I’m worried about you.”
She reached out with her hand and took mine as I sat. “Your mother is made of steel. It takes an awful lot to make me pliable, and it’s only when I expose myself to the right amount of heat.” She’d always told me that, and God, now not only did I believe her, but loved her even more for it.
“I hate that you’ve had to be that strong. I’m sorry life has forced you to harden.” I returned her squeeze.
She dropped her arm from her eyes, looking years older. “Don’t be.” She sat up against the pillows. “If I hadn’t walked through fire, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I’m sorry you saw my outburst. I never wanted a scandal or trauma to jade you.” She forced a smile, “My job, to protect you from such goings-on, has always been my priority. To give you a life I only ever dreamed of. Now, well, you see, there are fissures in my armor. Does that make you question everything I ever taught you?”
I lifted my chin and smiled, despite the ache deep within my chest, while I kept my eyes wide so I wouldn’t cry. “On the contrary. The difference between my childhood and yours is I’m strong because of how you raised me.” I smiled. “What my adult life has taught me is that sometimes life is messy, and you can control it about as much as you can control the wind.”
She laughed. A glorious tinkling kind of laugh that warmed me from the inside out. “Don’t I know it. Though, some of the trials can be prevented. Your father could have refused to treat Carol Timms.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “As you have complete control over which field you choose to work in, and you could be a little more cautious with the hobbies you engage in.”
I started to pull my hand away.
She held on with the strength of Samson. “Lyla, my path has been chosen, and I regret nothing. I’ve always wanted to be a wife and mother. To keep house and raise a well-adjusted child. To give her everything I never had growing up.”
I settled closer to her. “And I’m so grateful. Why won’t you ever let me in? Truly in? You know I love you and have always longed to be close to you. Yet, even now, you don’t confide in me about your past. Uncle Calvin doesn’t speak of it either. When I ask, he immediately shuts me down.”
Her eyes softened. “Dear, it would only bring heartache. Let the past stay where it should, buried. Neither my brother nor I desire to relive those days, especially not through your eyes.”
An awful thought ran through my mind. I wondered if there were any records of their past. Could it be as easy as a few strokes of the keyboard, and voila, enlightenment? Perhaps I’d understand her better. It might even bring us closer. Staring into my mother’s intelligent eyes, I decided, no, it wouldn’t. It would be a betrayal.
I nodded to let her know I agreed to let it drop. “Understood. But please don’t worry about me. I appreciate all you’ve given me. Trust you’ve raised a determined young woman who can make her own decisions and mistakes. Mistakes aren’t the end of the world. Like Gran says, it’s how we grow and learn. I want to make a difference. If I can affect change in even the smallest of ways, my life will mean something. Not only with Carol’s case but also all those Jane Does—”
“Lyla—”
“Please, listen to me.”
She sat back with a sigh and motioned for me to continue.
“I understand how disturbing my desire to investigate cases of dead women is to you and Daddy.” I gave my head a small shake and licked my lips as I groped for the words to reach her, to make her understand. “Those women couldn’t pull themselves out of the gutter, nor were some of them even given a chance to discover which path life would take them down. Their identities were stolen, and their lives simply erased. Someone has to care. I care.”
“And that’s so noble of you, sweetheart. It’s a dangerous and morbid sort of life to choose. I want more for you. I want happiness that comes from watching your child take her first steps and say her first words. The glorious sound of giggling on Christmas morning.” She had a faraway look in her eyes, as if remembering her time as a young mother.
“The life you gave me was akin to a fairy tale, and I’m so grateful.”
She shook her head, her gaze intense. “I’m not after gratitude. I’m advocating for you to reach your potential. For your life to be good. This dead club isn’t good. Your obsession with murder victims isn’t good.”
She loved me and meant well, but we would never see eye to eye on this matter.
I sighed. “I don’t want to cause you problems. Or to fuel rumors about our family.”
“That’s on your father at present. He’s aware of how I despise scandal.” She rubbed between her perfectly arched eyebrows with her index finger, and just like that, we were back in a familiar realm. “Please, honey. I understand you want to help those who need justice, and your friend is on that list now. Just be careful and give this club a rest. This isn’t one of your little games where you guess who the murderer is. This is real life with upstanding folks’ reputations on the line. Are you truly so naive you can’t see the danger you’re in?”
“Let’s just agree to disagree. This isn’t about my club or my decision to work for your brother. My friend is dead. Someone took her life and crumpled her up as if she were garbage. I’m no fool.”
Time to get real. “Could the fact that Carol was delivered to my house have been some sort of message? Sure. Likely even. Is that going to make me shy away from helping the authorities hunt down the SOB and lock him away? Not a chance.”
Mother pursed her lips, and I rose. At least she’d regained her strength. I’d accomplished that, at least.
Chapter Eighteen
Monday, Gran called as I unlocked the office door.
“’Morning. You’re up early.” I’d left my parents’ house shortly after Gran returned Saturday night from her banquet.
She’d come home with a widower from church, instead of Sally Anne. The old man had looked to be a hundred and was bonier than even Gran, and that was saying something. She’d had her arm looped through his, and they waltzed through the house giggling like school kids. Gran offered him a piece of pound cake that “she” had baked. And he made little kissing sounds while they ate from the same fork. Daddy hadn’t even had the energy to make a fuss as he usually did when Gran brought a man home. I was just happy she’d found some joy after the brutal day we’d had.
“Yes, I’m in love.” Gran giggled on the other side of the line.
I laughed despite myself. “In love that fast, huh?”
“When you’re my age, fast is the only way to live. He’s a real looker, don’t you think?”
“Uh-huh. Sure.” I put a pod in the Keurig and pressed for a strong brew. The dripping began, and I placed my earbuds in my ears and my purse under my desk. My grandmother had gone from the depths of despair about Daddy to madly in love in record time. She’d always been the carefree sort, but this was something, even for her.
“I thought maybe we could double-date sometime. Let him get to know you.” Crunching came from her end of the line.
“Oh well, when I get a date, we’ll have to do that.” The image of Gran and me out on the town with our dates in tow was the levity this morning needed. I sipped on my black coffee.
“You’ll get a date. You’re like your ole Gran. We have this aura that draws the opposite sex like moths to a flame.”
Pounding on the office door startled me, and some coffee sloshed over the side and onto the sleeve of the green cashmere sweater mother bought me for Christma
s last year. “Shoot! Gran, I have to go.”
“Okay, sugar. Think about the double-date idea. I’m comin’, Frances. Hold your horses. I’m just chatting with my granddaughter.”
“I’ll think about it. Bye.” I disconnected the call and snatched some napkins off the bar and began to blot as I went to the front door. I opened the blinds, and there stood Mrs. Ross, banging with such intensity that her chunky necklace and bracelet bounced around on her neck and wrist.
I unlocked the door and met the frantic gaze of my parents’ neighbor. “Mrs. Ross, please come in.” I moved to allow her to pass.
“Is Mr. Cousins here?” She stormed past me and began pacing, glancing behind her as if she feared she’d been followed.
“No. He’s working a case in Atlanta.” I closed the door. Her behavior had me on full alert.
“Good. You’re the one I want to speak with, and if at all possible”—she lowered her tone as if someone could overhear her—“I’d like to keep this confidential.”
I nodded my head and tried not to act alarmed.
“Well, I wanted to talk to you about this yesterday, but Thelma was there, and you know what a gossip she is.”
I motioned to the chair opposite my desk. “Please have a seat and tell me how I can help you.”
She sat on the edge of one of the chairs across from my desk. “It’s my daughter-in-law Chelsea.” She dug a Kleenex out of her purse and put it up to her well-powdered nose. “She’s got herself involved in something awful. I just know it!”
I pulled my chair from around the desk, to be face-to-face with her. “Take a deep breath and explain.”
She vigorously nodded. “Okay.” An exhale. “Well, the day after Carol Timms was found, I had my son Trace and Chelsea over for dinner. Chelsea had a little too much wine and got to talking about Carol. They were tennis partners.”
I hadn’t known Carol to play tennis.
“She said Carol gave her something to hold for her.”
She had my attention.
“Now I’m terrified. I went to the police, but they told me to have Chelsea come in and speak to them if she were concerned. They brushed me off as if what I had to say was completely inconsequential.” She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “If you ask me, I bet Carol Timms would still be alive if the police had moved faster. Don’t you?”
I opened my mouth and closed it again.
“I know you can’t speak to the specifics of that particular case”—she waved the tissue—“but folks talk. I heard how she was brutalized after being held in confinement for several days. And then how she escaped and fled to the safety of your home because it was the closest.” She shook her head. “Only for it to be too late in the end. Her poor heart couldn’t take such treatment, you know, with her heart condition. And I won’t have it be too late for Chelsea.”
I swallowed. “Mrs. Ross, I’m not sure you have the facts.” I made a “whoa” gesture with my hands. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.” Now I understood why people weren’t looking at me sideways. Instead of being demonized, those who heard the rumors saw me as the person who had tried to save Carol.
I stared at the jumpy woman before me. “What did Carol give your daughter-in-law?”
“Oh.” Mrs. Ross began digging through her oversized shoulder bag and pulled out a crumpled manila envelope.
I had my hand on the envelope when the office door opened and in walked the chief of police. I stood, and before I could address Quinn, Mrs. Ross was on her feet and wagging her finger at him. “Chief Daniels, you should be ashamed of the pathetic job your department is doing. Ignoring a concerned citizen when they come to do their civic duty. That poor Timms woman would have lucked out if she’d died in a different county.”
“Mrs. Ross, I understand you’re upset. I heard from my officer you weren’t happy when you left. I assure you the safety of our citizens is our highest priority.” Quinn shifted on his feet and maintained eye contact with the older woman. “Have your daughter-in-law come in and I’ll speak to her personally.”
“Ha! Now you want to help. What are you doing here sniffing around Lyla when you could be out there” —she flung her hand toward the window—“searching for whoever is responsible for that poor Timms girl’s death?”
When Quinn blinked at the mention of sniffing around me, Mrs. Ross smirked.
She put her hands on her narrow hips. “Oh yes, we all know how you’re still hung up on her.”
My eyes went wide, and I glanced from Quinn, who stood as if frozen, but only his mouth opening and closing, trying to get a word in.
“Mrs. Ross, please. I’m sure the chief is here on an official capacity.”
“Pfft. The entire department is out of their depth! And I won’t stand by doing nothing. You hear me?”
This was quickly escalating, and I had to put an end to it. “Quinn,” I moved to his side and placed a hand on his forearm, “if you have business with Calvin, he isn’t on the premises at present. You might try him on his cell phone. Otherwise, it might be best if you come back another time.”
“Yeah, get outta here, you worthless good for nothin’ waste of space!”
Both Quinn and I swung our heads toward Mrs. Ross, who, moments before he entered, had seemed so feeble and lost. Now she looked stark raving mad.
“Perhaps it would be best if we speak at a later date.” He walked over to my desk and reached into his pocket, took out a card, scribbled something on the back, and left it on the desk. “Mrs. Ross, please don’t hesitate to reach back out or have your daughter-in-law come by.” He nodded to us and left.
I didn’t have time to focus on Quinn or ponder what he’d come here to discuss.
Mrs. Ross grabbed her shoulder bag. “I better get goin’. Now that I’ve turned this over to you, I can put my mind to rest.”
“Could I perhaps have Chelsea’s contact info? I’d like to have a word with her.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why? I told you everything. You have whatever it is.” She motioned to the envelope in my hand.” I could clearly see that she’d snooped through its contents.
“Like you just reminded our chief of police, this is serious. I need to speak to her directly. I’ll be discreet. You have my word on that.” I gave her a smile. “And of course, I appreciate y’all’s help.”
The old woman dithered momentarily. “Look, Chelsea doesn’t know I took that from her house. And to be perfectly honest, I did look through it.” She raised both her hands. “But only after they were so rude to me at the police station. That’s when I knew I had to come see you.” She snatched a pen off the desk and jotted down her number on a sticky note.
“Thank you, Mrs. Ross.”
Mrs. Ross straightened and nodded. “I will expect you to keep your word. I don’t want to hear you’ve blabbed to Frances. Chelsea is an upstanding young woman, and I plan to keep her that way.”
Chapter Nineteen
I sat at my desk and dialed Chelsea’s number while I began opening the envelope. I got her voicemail. Expecting as much, I left a detailed message. With all the spam risks out there, if you don’t recognize the number, straight to voicemail it goes.
I pulled the seal free and my heart skipped a beat. Inside was a scarf—our majorette alumnae orange and blue scarf. A sticky note fell out of the envelope. In Carol’s handwriting, it read, Give to Lyla Moody before there are ro—.
The rest of the message was smudged with what appeared to be bronze foundation, making it difficult to read. It looked like Mrs. Ross’s shade of choice. Was this Carol’s scarf? Someone else’s? Not Chelsea’s. She’d never attended Sweet Mountain High.
My mind raced back to the picture I’d saved from the dumping ground doc. I pulled it up and compared the two. They were so similar. It would be difficult to make a definite determination without viewing the one they had in evidence. Carol had hidden this. From who?
Panic flooded me, and I shoved the scarf back into the envelope and stuffed i
t into my bag. I had no idea what to make of this.
My cell rang. I’d hoped the caller was Chelsea but was disappointed. “Uncle Calvin, how’s it going?”
“It’s going. What’s happening there?”
“We have a few new developments. Daddy’s back at home. He and I had a long talk, which was good. Mel is no longer being harassed by the police.” I fingered the envelope. “And Mrs. Ross came in, concerned about her daughter-in-law.”
“What about her?”
“Carol left something at her house.” I debated how much to go into. “A scarf. She thought it might be important.”
“And was it?”
“Yeah, I think it might be. I’m going to do a little digging. Have you heard from Judge Timms?”
“Actually, Lyla, that’s why I’m calling. He’s keeping me updated. There’s been a development in the case.”
My shoulders tensed. Maybe that’s what Quinn had come by to discuss with me. “Do the police have a suspect in custody?”
“I’m afraid not. There’s no easy way to say this.”
“Don’t even try to make it easy.” My tone sounded strong, even to my own ears, and I steeled myself for the worse.
“Very well. With the unusual circumstances surrounding the case, Carol’s heart condition, and the way she was discovered, the coroner has ruled the cause of death undetermined. They’re releasing her body for burial.”
“Wait a minute. You mean they’re not ruling the death a homicide?” No ruling, no crime.
“No, they’re not.”
“That’s bullshit!”
Calvin coughed. “It’s how it goes sometimes in cases, Lyla.”
“So, the most we can expect is unlawful disposal of a corpse?” I couldn’t believe my ears.
“From the information I was given, yes. Without a homicidal cause of death, legally there aren’t many more options.”
“Wait a minute. I thought the judge was vying for a second opinion or something.” I gripped the envelope containing the scarf. Could this even help us now?
