by Ann McMan
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just thought what you were playing sounded really beautiful.”
“It is,” Celine agreed with her. “In fact, I was just thinking about this as a good piece for you to learn.”
“Me? Do you think I could?”
“I absolutely think you could. Would you like to work on it with me?”
Dorothy nodded enthusiastically. “I don’t have any homework tonight. Our math teacher was out today so we had a study hall. I finished everything there.”
“Well, that’s especially fortuitous since tonight is taco night.”
“I know. I thought we could practice before you take me over there. Henry wanted me to ride home with him on the bus, but I told him I wanted to practice before dinner.”
“And what did Henry say about that?”
“He looked at me like I was crazy, but he got over it when I told him we were bringing him a present from New York.”
They both started when Celine’s doorbell rang—which was remarkable because nobody ever rang the doorbell out here.
“I wonder who that could be?” Celine pushed back the bench and got up to answer the door.
“Maybe Amazon?” Dorothy suggested.
“Could be. But they usually just leave things on the porch.”
Celine opened the door and was surprised to see Rita Chriscoe standing there.
“Rita,” Celine greeted her. “This is a surprise. Would you like to come inside?”
“No ma’am.” Rita looked uncertain. “I’m here to talk with Dorothy for just a bit . . . if that’s okay with you?”
“Um,” Celine looked over her shoulder at Dorothy, who was now standing beside the piano looking at sheet music, “sure. She just got home from school. Let me go and get her.”
Dorothy seemed surprised and somewhat confused when Celine told her Rita Chriscoe was there to see her. But she dutifully followed Celine to the foyer.
“Hey, Miss Rita,” Dorothy greeted her. “Dr. Heller said you’re here to see me.”
“I am, if that’s okay with you?” Celine was intrigued by the way Rita was looking at Dorothy. Her expression was almost shy.
“Sure,” Dorothy said. “It’s . . . fine. Do you wanna come inside and sit down?”
“If it’s all the same to you,” Rita glanced at Celine, “I’d rather, maybe, sit outside someplace? I promise not to stay too long.”
Now Dorothy looked at Celine, plainly inviting input.
“Why don’t you two go sit on the patio? I’ll just finish working on the etude. Would you like something cold to drink, Rita?”
“No, ma’am. Thank you. I won’t be here too long.”
“Come on, Miss Rita.” Dorothy urged her inside. “We can go out through the kitchen. It’s closer.”
Rita meekly followed her and the two of them left the house.
I wonder what in the world this is about? Celine knew that Rita had once been close friends—and possibly more, if the rumors were to be believed—with Dorothy’s mother, Eva. Maybe she’d heard about the impending destruction of the house, and was here to commiserate with Dorothy? Maybe she wanted to ask for some special keepsake?
Or maybe she’d brought some special keepsake she wanted Dorothy to have?
Either way, it was strange. She hoped it didn’t portend anything more serious. Dorothy already had enough parental baggage on her plate.
◊ ◊ ◊
All the way over here, and for most of the night before, Rita had practiced what she wanted to say to Dorothy . . . to Eva’s little girl. But now that she was here, she had a hard time getting the words to come out. She’d even called James Lawrence to tell him about what she’d decided to do. She didn’t know how he’d react, but she figured he knew a lot more about kids than she did, and she wanted his advice about the best way to approach the girl.
James had listened to her story without saying much of anything. Rita figured that was because she had pretty much just confessed to being a murderer, and he was probably trying to figure out how fast he could get off the phone. But when she finished talking, she realized he hadn’t been thinking that at all.
“Well, Rita,” he said. “That’s about the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m sorry all of that happened to you. I remember when you told me how you’d once had a shot at happiness. But I had no idea you’d been talking about Dorothy’s mother.”
That was it? That was the first thing he thought about?
“Did you hear what I said?” she reminded him. “I said I was there with him at the river, and I saw him go into the water. He begged me for help, but I walked away and left him there to die.”
“I heard you,” James said. “But that doesn’t mean you killed him.”
“Well, it ain’t like the man chose to die with a chestful of muddy water. He was screamin’ at me, but I didn’t help him—” Her voice choked. “I didn’t . . . And instead of doin’ right and turnin’ myself in, I ran away like a dog. I ran away and I let Eva’s little girl go right on believin’ she killed her papa.”
She heard James sigh. “Rita, I can’t make that part right for you. Nobody can. But if you think telling Dorothy the truth about what happened that day will help her not to blame herself, then I agree that’s the right thing for you to do.”
James didn’t offer any other advice. But he did tell her that if she wanted to come to Killeen, he knew a place she could stay until she could figure things out.
James Lawrence was a good man.
Now she was here to try and make things right with Eva’s girl.
It was harder than she thought it would be—and she’d already decided it was gonna be plenty hard.
“I hope me showin’ up here today didn’t scare you,” she began.
“No,” the girl said. “Not really.”
“I come out here because I have some things I need to tell you about . . . about that day at the river.”
She saw the way the girl’s face changed. Her skin seemed to get tighter-looking. But she didn’t say anything.
“The truth is,” Rita continued. “I was there, hidin’ in the bushes, when you’n Buddy were down there with your daddy. I followed you down there from the food tables after he drug you off. I knew he was up to no good, and I wanted to stop him from hurtin’ you . . . anymore. I hid when Bert’s boy showed up. I saw everything that happened.”
Dorothy began to look more agitated. “You saw me hit him with the piece of wood?”
“I saw you stop him from hurtin’ Buddy . . . we both know he would’a kept right at him. He was so outta his head. You did right to save your friend.”
Dorothy dropped her eyes. “I killed him.”
“No!” Rita hadn’t meant to bark the word at her. Dorothy recoiled and Rita reached out a hand to try and claw the word back. “No,” she said more gently. “You didn’t kill him, Dorothy. I was there. I saw him after you’n Buddy escaped. I talked to him. He was alive and tryin’ to get up. He was alive and still madder’n a hornet—and just as hateful, too. We had words . . .”
“He was alive?” Dorothy said the words so quietly, Rita wasn’t sure she’d heard them right.
“He was alive,” Rita repeated. “Hear me, Dorothy: you didn’t kill your daddy.” I did, she thought. But there was no reason to dump that on Eva’s little girl. What she’d done was her own hell to endure.
Rita had one more thing to apologize to Dorothy for. “Your mama and I were . . . well. We were friends. Special friends. And she made me promise that I’d always look after you, even if she couldn’t. She wanted to make sure you’d be safe and protected from . . . from anything bad. That day at the river, I knew I’d failed my Eva. I didn’t keep my promise to take care of you, and I’m sorry about that.” She forced herself to look Dorothy in the eyes—eyes just like Eva’s. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you from him. He was a bad man and he didn’t deserve your mama—and he wadn’t never worthy to be your papa. But you need not car
ry this burden about what happened to him that day around no more. It don’t belong to you. So you put it down now, and let it rest.” She slowly got up from her chair. “I’m gonna go on. There’s one more person I need to see. You take care now, little girl.” She gestured toward the house. “It looks to me like you found a safe place to be at last.”
She turned away and began the slow walk back to her car.
“Miss Rita!”
She stopped dead in her tracks. The girl had followed her. She tried to blink away her tears, before she turned around.
Dorothy closed the distance between them, and threw her arms around her without saying a word. Rita stood there rigid as a statue, before awkwardly wrapping her arms around the girl’s small frame, and hugging her back.
Then, as quickly as it started, the hug was over. Dorothy released her and took off running toward the house.
◊ ◊ ◊
Roma Jean ended up spending the night at Charlie’s after all. Charlie had been so upset and concerned about her after she learned the details of what all had happened with Manfred, she’d insisted that Roma Jean stay so she could keep an eye on her.
The truth was that Roma Jean didn’t really want to leave Charlie that night, either. Even if that meant her mama would have to weigh up all that pasta salad by herself. Roma Jean made the phone call to her mama short and sweet, and kept details to a minimum. There’d be plenty of time later on to face all the doubt and disappointment she knew her parents would express once she got back home. But for right then, she explained that Charlie had just experienced a traumatic family event, and needed to have her best friends around her. That meant Roma Jean was going to stay—and that was final.
She’d been surprised when her mama appeared to back down as quickly as she did. At least, she got quiet—which was about as close to backing down as her mama ever got. Probably that was because Roma Jean almost never used “that tone” with her. It occurred to her that maybe she should exercise her burgeoning adult privilege more often—especially if it meant her parents would be less vocal expressing their judgments about what was and wasn’t acceptable behavior. She’d already been thinking that once she graduated from Radford and began pursuing her online library science degree at East Carolina, she’d approach Charlie about the possibility of moving in with her.
She thought that decision would be simple. Charlie was always looking ahead to the day they could be together—really together—full time.
Roma Jean was excited about that prospect, too. Charlie’s house was nice enough, but it was missing some homey touches she knew she could provide. Like better curtains in the front room—ones that didn’t look like refugees from the ’80s. And maybe a new set of bath towels . . . ones with a higher thread count that might actually sop up water, instead of just spreading it around.
It took a couple of hours before all the police reports and tending to Glenadine got sorted out. Byron told Roma Jean she’d have to come down to the station at some point, but said he had enough to hold Manfred overnight, so she could just come down in the morning. That was fine with her. Her head hurt from where Manfred had grabbed her by the hair, and her knees and elbows were all scraped up from the pavement.
Charlie had hovered over her like a nursemaid, cleaning up her scratches with hydrogen peroxide and triple antibiotic ointment, and giving her Tylenol for her headache. She wanted Roma Jean to go and lie down on the bed, but Roma Jean refused. She wanted to stay awake and be near Charlie. So Charlie wrapped her up in a fleece blanket like a sushi roll, and they sat close together on the sofa.
The worst part was how Charlie kept apologizing for what Manfred had done.
“It’s not your fault,” she told Charlie for the umpteenth time. “You didn’t know he was going to be here—and you didn’t know I was going to be here, either.”
“I should’ve made him leave. I knew he was lying about why he came back. He’ll never change.”
“Well, we all know that now. And Byron says he’ll be going away for a long time. Glenadine is pressing charges, too. She doesn’t want him threatening her anymore, either.”
“I won’t ever forgive him for hurting you.” Charlie gently kissed the top of her head. “I would’ve killed him if I’d gotten here first.”
“Then it’s good you didn’t. And he didn’t hurt me as bad as he hurt you.” Roma Jean looked up at Charlie’s worried face. “You have to stop this, Charlie. We both need to get over it and move on. I don’t want that man or the memory of this to keep growing until it becomes this big thing between us. He’s gone. We both need to let him be gone.”
Roma Jean could tell it took an effort, but Charlie smiled at her. “I’ll try. I promise.”
“Good.” Roma Jean snuggled back into her shoulder. “This place is barely big enough for two people, as it is. If he crowds us out, we’ll have to move.”
“We’ll have to move?” Charlie asked.
“Well, yeah. I mean, after college, when I move in here.”
“Roma Jean?” Charlie drew back to look at her.
“You want me to, don’t you?”
It didn’t seem to take any effort for Charlie to smile now.
“Hell yes, I want you to. I didn’t think you’d ever do it.”
“Well, that’s dumb. You think I’d be scared off by Grandma Azalea’s crazy reminders that loose women end up meeting bad ends . . . like getting capped by car thieves in video games?”
“I don’t think she meant that kind of bad end . . .”
“Why not? It’s a lot more relevant to her current beliefs. And it sure beats having your entrails lapped up by a pack of wild dogs—like that woman in the Old Testament she’s always running on about.”
“Honey . . .”
“I don’t know why Rock Star doesn’t just set one of their stupid car heist games back in Bible times. They’d have a lot more fresh material to draw on.”
“Sweetie . . .”
“If you read all those religious stories, you know there probably had to be about a thousand harlots running wild in every one of those ancient towns. All I can say is that the Israelites had to be up to something besides the Lord’s work to keep all those women in business.”
“Baby, please . . . you have to stop.”
Roma Jean blinked up at her. Oh man. I went off on one of those jags again . . .
“I’m sorry, Charlie. I guess I got carried away on one of my silly rants.”
Charlie raised her hands and gently took hold of her face. Roma Jean felt a thrill race through her body at Charlie’s sweetly intimate touch.
It was always like that between them.
Charlie’s hands felt warm and strong, and her kiss was making Roma Jean forget all about Old Testament stories.
Roma Jean sank back against the cushions and pulled Charlie along with her.
“Are you sure about this?” Charlie’s voice was husky. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Roma Jean pulled her head down for another long kiss.
“Now who’s being silly?”
◊ ◊ ◊
Byron was wrapping a final few things up before leaving the office to head for Celine’s. He was frustrated that he couldn’t share any details about Watson’s autopsy results with her—or with Dorothy—tonight, but he knew Maddie was right. They needed to wait until they were sure the final report had been entered into public record.
It was impossible to guess how much relief this news would bring to a community that had been so badly shaken by what had happened on the 4th of July. He hoped the town residents would breathe more easily, quit eyeing each other as suspects, and begin to find ways to reclaim the innocence the place had lost. For all its fall from grace, Jericho was still an extraordinary place full of good and well-intentioned people. Maybe in time, the pace of life here would settle back into its normal rhythms.
For his part, he’d welcome having the worst job of his day be disarming Gladys Pitzer’s car alarm.
H
e finished his paperwork and had one last bit of business to take care of. Roma Jean Freemantle and Glenadine Langtree had each filed assault—and, in Roma Jean’s case, unlawful restraint—charges that were sufficient to keep Manfred Davis in custody until he could appear before the magistrate—which would happen tomorrow, or possibly as late as Friday. In addition, Charlie had filed unlawful entry and trespass charges—and Byron had rounded those out with citations for resisting arrest and evading capture.
With luck, Manfred Davis would be looking at some hard time. And Byron wanted to walk the paperwork over to the courthouse himself.
He’d just finished putting all the requisite forms into a folder when someone knocked on his office door.
“Come on in,” he called out.
The door pushed open, and he saw Rita Chriscoe standing there. She stared at him uncertainly before stepping inside.
“I need to talk with you, Sheriff.”
“Sure, Rita. Come on in and take a seat.”
Rita closed the door behind her before sitting down in a chair, across from his desk.
Byron didn’t like her coloring. She looked unusually pale to him—paler than she normally looked with her head of bright red hair.
“Are you okay, Rita? Do you need a glass of water or anything?”
Rita shook her head. “No. I just got some things to tell you about me and the mayor, and what all happened that day at the river.”
“What do you mean, Rita? Didn’t you already make your statement during your inquest interview?”
“I made a statement, but I didn’t tell everything. There’s more you need to know.”
“All right.” Byron pulled a yellow notepad from a stack on his desk and picked up a pencil. “Do you mind if I take a few notes?”
“No, sir. That’ll be fine. It won’t take too long.” When Byron nodded, she continued. “What I didn’t tell nobody was that I was down there that day, by the water, where Watson drug his little girl. I saw what happened.”
Byron put down his pencil and folded his hands. “You saw Watson down there with Dorothy?”
“Yes, sir. I followed them after he pushed David Jenkins into that table. I knew what that man was capable of and I wadn’t gonna let him hurt that little girl no more. I hid in the bushes when I heard that whistle blowin’, cause I didn’t know for sure who was comin’. After that, things happened real fast.”
