“Daddy, you can’t be one hundred percent sure it’s—”
“Of course it’s Reed Conway. Who else could it be?”
Patrons seated nearby turned their heads to stare at Webb. Ella reached across the table and laid her hand over her father’s big fist. “Calm down. People are staring.”
Webb glanced around at the curious faces. Placing a fake politician’s smile on his face, he nodded at several acquaintances, then opened his tight fist and clutched Ella’s hand.
“If that man ever comes near you, I’ll kill him!” Webb spoke in a low but deadly serious voice.
“I was afraid you would react this way. That’s why I hesitated to tell you.”
With a large serving tray hoisted on one hand, their waitress paused by the side of the table. Webb released Ella’s hand and offered the waitress a smile.
“Please let me know if you need anything else, Senator Porter.”
“I’ll surely do that.”
The minute the waitress served the food and went on to take the order at another table, Webb lifted his steak knife and cut into the thick T-bone. Blood oozed from the rare meat.
“You leave everything to me,” he said. “After lunch, I’m going straight to Frank Nelson’s office. Reed Conway won’t be bothering you again.”
Ella eyed her filet mignon. “You have no proof that Reed sent those letters. Without proof, what can Frank do?”
“First of all, he can have these letters tested for fingerprints other than yours and mine. And in the meantime, he can put the fear of God into that boy. Let him know that we won’t tolerate such behavior from him.”
“Daddy, Reed’s fingerprints will be on the first letter,” Ella said reluctantly. Although she didn’t want to explain how Reed’s fingerprints came to be on the letter, she had no choice but to tell her father the truth. She wasn’t going to allow her silence to condemn a possibly innocent man.
“How do you know his fingerprints are on the first letter?” Webb asked. He glared at her, his dark eyes narrowing.
“I confronted Reed with the letter the day I received it.”
“You what?”
“Lower your voice. People are staring again.”
“To hell with people staring!” Webb dropped his knife and fork onto his plate. The metal clanged against the china. “Are you telling me that you—”
“He swore to me that he didn’t do it—that he didn’t write the letter. And strange as it may sound to you, I think I believe him.”
“Little girl, you stay away from the likes of Reed Conway. Do you hear me? I thought you had better sense than to go anywhere near him. Don’t you know that he’d like nothing better than to hurt you in order to get to me?”
“Yes, of course, I’m aware of your past history with him and the fact that he swore revenge against you and—”
“Promise me that you’ll never go anywhere near him again.”
“But Daddy—”
“Dammit, promise me.”
“I—I promise.”
By now Ella would have received the second letter. No doubt that was the reason she had been seen having lunch with her father at Callahan’s. She had run to her daddy. Ella was so predictable. Using her was almost too easy. Webb’s next stop would be at Frank Nelson’s office.
Laughter filled the room. Self-satisfied laughter. Making Webb miserable was such a pleasure. It was past time that the senator suffered for his sins. And nothing made Webb Porter suffer more than to think his precious daughter was in danger.
Ella wasn’t in any real danger. Not now. Not yet. One did what one had to do to survive, to protect one’s self. And to get a little sweet revenge.
A short walk across the room to the computer on the desk. A few clicks and the screen opened to the word processing program. One more message, similar to the others, and then it would be time to up the ante, raise the stakes, unnerve the senator’s daughter to a greater degree.
“I want you to go over to where he’s working at his cousin’s garage and warn him to stay away from my family—my daughter in particular.”
Frank Nelson watched Webb Porter, his father’s old friend, as he paced the floor. The man was more agitated than he’d ever seen him. There was a sense of desperation in Webb that Frank didn’t think he’d ever seen. But when it came to Ella, Webb was a typical father. Only he was a father who possessed a great deal of power and influence.
“I can give him an unofficial warning, but that’s all I can do unless we can come up with some proof that he’s the one harassing Ella,” Frank explained.
“Of course he’s the one.”
“I agree. He probably is, but without proof—”
“That boy was trouble fifteen years ago and he’s even more trouble now.” Webb forked his fingers through his silver hair. “His mother didn’t deserve the problems he created for her.”
“Yes, sir, I agree. Judy Conway is a good woman. God knows what she’s gone through over the years.”
Webb cleared his throat. “Yes, well, Judy’s almost a member of the family, you know. She’s been with Jeff Henry and Cybil for ages.”
Frank tapped the envelopes lying on his desk. “Webb, you leave these letters with me and I’ll drive over to Conway’s later on today and have a talk with Reed.”
“Thanks, Frank. I knew I could count on you.”
Judy said her good-byes to Carolyn Porter and slipped away quietly while Viola lifted the crippled woman into her arms and carried her back to her bed. Judy closed the door behind her. She both pitied and envied Carolyn, as she was sure almost everyone in town did. The poor thing had been an invalid for over thirty years. Judy made a point of not coming to the Porter house unless she had no other choice. There was too much bad blood between their families. But occasionally, like today, Jeff Henry would insist that Judy drop by with some of her homemade bread, since he knew Carolyn loved it so. She had intended to simply leave the bread in the kitchen with Bessie, but the housekeeper had been out shopping and Viola had answered the doorbell’s ring. Carolyn had inquired who their visitor was and then insisted that Judy come up for a visit.
“I get out rarely,” Carolyn had said. “Especially not in this hot weather. It’s such a delight to have a visitor. Come, sit and chat with me awhile.”
The woman was Webb Porter’s wife, and that very fact made Judy uncomfortable in her presence. But she had stayed twenty minutes. As usual, Carolyn was charming. A true Southern lady. But as usual, Judy felt an underlying tension in Webb’s wife.
The moment Judy started down the back staircase, she met Webb. Her heart leaped to her throat. She had prayed she wouldn’t run into him. What would she say? How should she act?
“Judy?”
“Hello, Webb.”
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Jeff Henry sent me over with some homemade bread for Carolyn. He’s aware that it’s a favorite of hers.”
Webb stopped his ascent. Judy continued down the stairs. When she passed him, he reached out for her, but dropped his hand to his side before actually touching her.
“I’d like to talk to you,” he said.
“I don’t think we have anything to talk about.”
“Please, give me a few minutes of your time.”
She forced herself to look him squarely in the eye, but regretted the action when he stared at her pleadingly. Don’t let him get to you, she cautioned herself. Webb Porter knows how to charm a lady. But this man is your son’s enemy and don’t you forget it.
“What do you want to talk to me about?” she asked.
“Would you come downstairs with me? We can talk in my study.”
“We can talk in the kitchen, on my way out,” she told him.
“If that’s what you prefer.”
“It is.”
He followed her down the back stairs and into the kitchen. She paused by the door. “What is it?”
“Ella has received three disturbing phone calls and t
wo obscene, threatening letters since Reed was paroled.”
Judy gasped. “Are you saying that you think Reed made those phone calls and sent those letters?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I think.”
“You’re wrong. Dead wrong. Just like you were wrong about him slitting Junior’s throat fifteen years ago.”
“You’re Reed’s mother. I’d expect you to defend him.”
“And you’re the man who prosecuted him for murder. I’d expect you to suspect him. But I’m telling you that all Reed wants is a second chance. He’s not going to do anything to mess up his parole.”
“I hope you’re right. But I think you should caution Reed to stay away from Ella.”
“Stay away from…Are you saying that Reed’s been bothering Ella?”
“They made contact and it upset Ella.”
“What do you mean they made contact?”
“After she received the first letter, Ella confronted Reed.”
“Ah, I see.” Judy tilted her chin and glared at Webb. “If you’re so worried about Reed contaminating Ella, then perhaps you should tell your daughter to stay away from my son.”
Judy left hurriedly while Webb Porter stood there, mouth agape. She closed the door quietly behind her and ran from the back porch and down the brick sidewalk. Her head throbbed. Her heart raced. Damn Webb Porter. Damn him to hell and back.
Webb didn’t move for several minutes after Judy Conway’s hasty departure. He hadn’t meant to upset her, but he should have known that it would be useless to ask her to warn Reed to stay away from Ella. Judy had been Reed’s staunchest defender during his trial, and whatever goodwill there had been between Webb and her before then had come to an end when Reed had been convicted of Junior’s murder.
He would never forget the night she came to him, pleading for him to have the police search elsewhere for her dead husband’s killer.
“Someone else killed Junior,” she had said. “I swear to you that Reed didn’t slit his throat. He beat him to within an inch of his life, yes, but he didn’t come back later while Junior was unconscious and murder him.”
Webb had wanted to help her. More than she would ever know. But how could he, when all the evidence pointed clearly to Reed? Webb had despised Junior Blalock almost as much as Reed had. He’d never understood what Judy had seen in that white trash drunkard. He realized how hard it had been for her trying to raise two children on her own, but marrying Junior had only added to her troubles, not relieved them. Of course, Junior had been a good-looking devil and had possessed a certain amount of crude charm. But he’d been a sleaze—a wife beater and a child molester. Webb cringed at the thought of that slimy bastard touching sweet little Regina. If back then Webb had ever suspected that Junior had tried to rape Regina, he wasn’t sure what he would have done to the man. You would have killed him, a nagging inner voice said.
“Yes, I would have killed him,” Webb said aloud.
The intercom buzzer sounded. “Webb? If you’re there, dear, would you please come upstairs. I haven’t seen you since breakfast this morning.”
Webb froze to the spot. There had been a time, long ago, when he had loved the sound of Carolyn’s voice: soft, sultry, and honey-coated Southern. But that had been a lifetime ago. Now, the sound irritated the hell out of him. There were times when he couldn’t bear even being in the same room with her. She was clinging and whiny and needy, so very needy. He had loved her once, but that, too, had been a lifetime ago. He pitied her. He had stayed married to her out of duty and obligation. Carolyn knew why he stayed, but she didn’t seem to mind why he remained her husband, just as long as she could be, now and forever, Mrs. Webb Porter. She claimed to love him, and in her own way, perhaps she did.
They both loved Ella, the one good thing in their lives. But how many times had the truth about Ella’s bloodlines haunted him? How often had he wondered exactly how Carolyn would feel about Ella if she knew the truth about their adopted child? If his wife knew about Ella’s true parentage, would she hate their daughter? But there was no reason for Carolyn to ever know the truth. And no reason for Ella ever to learn about her biological mother and father. Her adoption had been private—handled by the Porters’ family lawyer, Milton Leamon, Webb’s cousin. And thankfully, Ella had never asked any questions about her natural parents.
“Webb? Webb?” Carolyn called again and again.
With slumped shoulders, he left the kitchen and headed up the back stairs. When he reached Carolyn’s closed door, he hesitated, then knocked. Viola opened the door. The woman glared at him. She had the look of an army sergeant. Hard as nails, tough through and through. Viola could be unpleasant and aggravating, but she was devoted to Carolyn. He didn’t know what they would have done without the woman these past thirty-one years.
“Please come in, Mr. Porter.” Viola moved out of his way. “Miss Carolyn is quite eager to see you.”
Viola walked past him, leaving him alone with his wife. Carolyn sat propped up in the bed, pillows surrounding her. She was still a lovely woman. He tried his best to be devoted and caring. Occasionally he even shared her bed. But Carolyn’s paralysis kept her from fully enjoying sex, so their intimate moments together lacked any real satisfaction for either of them. If he loved her, it would have been different. But he didn’t love her. He hadn’t loved his wife in over thirty years. If he ever confessed that to anyone, they would assume it was because of her condition. But they would be wrong.
“Darling, there you are. What kept you so long? Viola heard you speaking to Judy Conway on the stairs. Has Judy gone?”
“Yes, she’s gone.”
“Such a sweet woman.”
“Yes.”
Carolyn patted the bed. “Come sit with me.”
Webb crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed. “Have you had a good day?”
“As good as most. What about you? Did you enjoy your lunch with Ella?”
How did he answer that question truthfully without divulging the truth about the harassing letters Ella had received? Telling Carolyn would only upset her. “I always enjoy time with our daughter.”
“We have every reason to be proud of her, don’t we?”
“Yes, we do. We’ve done a fine job with her. You’ve been a good mother.”
“Thank you, Webb. It’s nice to know that I’m not a failure at everything.”
“Carolyn, please…”
“Yes, of course, no need to ruin a perfectly pleasant visit with an unpleasant subject.”
“Will you be joining us for dinner tonight?” Webb asked.
“Yes, certainly…if you’re going to be home. You haven’t made other plans, have you?”
“No.”
“Webb?”
“Hmm?”
“What were you and Judy talking about?”
Webb noted the hint of jealousy in Carolyn’s voice. She had been insanely jealous when they’d first married—a trait that had driven him crazy. Back then, she’d had no reason to be jealous. He’d been a faithful husband. She was still a jealous wife, but she controlled the emotion and hid her feelings quite well. He knew she suspected him of infidelity, but it was a taboo subject between them.
“I asked her about Reed,” Webb said.
“Ah, yes, of course. What else would the two of you have to discuss except her son? I assume he still hates you as much as he did when he first went to prison.”
“Yes, I assume he does.”
“Let’s hope he doesn’t make good on the threats he made back then.” Carolyn reached for Webb’s hand. Reluctantly, he accepted her gentle touch. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you. Or to Ella. You and our daughter are my life. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, Carolyn, I know.” He leaned over and kissed her soft cheek. “You mustn’t worry, dear. I’ll make sure that Reed Conway isn’t a threat to me or to Ella.”
“What will you do if he…?”
Webb laid his index finger ove
r her parted lips. “Hush now. Don’t fret. Just know that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Reed from disrupting our lives.”
Chapter 7
When he heard a car screech to a halt outside the garage, Reed looked up from under the hood of the Pontiac Grand Prix a customer had dropped off to have the air filter changed. A 1957 Thunderbird convertible was a beautiful machine, a classic. And the lady who emerged from behind the wheel was herself a classic beauty. He would have known her anywhere. Remarkably, she’d changed very little in fifteen years. How old was she now? In her late forties, but she didn’t look a day over thirty-five. At least not at a distance. Petite but with curves in all the right places. Her shapely body filled out a pair of red capri pants, and her full breasts strained against the red-and-white cotton halter top. Her thick, black hair had been cut in the latest short fashion. A pair of large fourteen-karat gold hoops dangled from her ears. As she approached the garage entrance, she lowered her sunglasses and peered over the rims at Reed. When she recognized him, she threw up her hand and waved.
“Hi, there, Reed.” Cybil Carlisle bestowed one of her thousand-watt smiles on him. “Welcome home.”
“Hello, Mrs. Carlisle.”
Before Cybil could advance their conversation, Briley Joe opened the door to the office and came outside to greet their customer.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Carlisle.” Briley Joe appraised her obvious physical assets, skimming her from top to bottom. A smug, I’ve-had-some-of-that-and-it-was-good grin spread across his face.
Her smile broadened when she turned her attention to Briley Joe. “I’m glad you’re here. I need to talk to you about tuning up my engine.”
“Come on into my office and let’s discuss your problem.”
Briley Joe held open the door for Cybil, who slunk past him and into the cool air-conditioned interior. Before he followed her inside, he paused, glanced over his shoulder, and winked at Reed.
Reed laughed, then shook his head. Hell, that Briley Joe was a hound dog. Screwing around with Jeff Henry Carlisle’s wife wasn’t the smartest thing his cousin had ever done. He could understand the fascination, but no piece of ass was worth risking your life. Enraged husbands shot their wives’ lovers every day of the week. And a guy as rich as Jeff Henry was the type to hire somebody else to do the dirty work while keeping his own hands clean.
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