Judy laid her hand on Reed’s arm. “Webb Porter would never do anything to harm Regina. Take my word for it.”
“The way I took your word when you promised me that Junior Blalock would be a good stepdaddy to Regina and me?”
“Oh, Reed.” Judy bit down on her bottom lip.
“Damn, Mama, I’m sorry.” Holding the tray of drinks in one hand, Reed slipped his other arm around Judy’s shoulders. “I didn’t mean to say that to you. It’s just…I can’t bear the thought of Webb trying to pull anything with Regina.”
“Webb isn’t interested in your sister that way,” Judy said. “Don’t you ever tell her that I told you this, but…Webb saw to it that she got a scholarship to college, and he put in a good word with Mark to help her get her job with him. And I suspect that although Cybil wrote the checks that paid for Regina’s psychiatrist, Webb was the one who provided the money.”
“And why would Webb Porter go out of his way to do those things for your daughter—for my sister?”
“Maybe Webb felt partially responsible for your being sent to prison. Maybe it was his way of trying to help your family. Despite what happened between the two of you, Webb is a good man.”
“No, he’s not, Mama, and you know it. That man doesn’t do anything unless there’s something in it for him.”
Judy shook her head sadly. When Reed noticed the sheen of tears in his mother’s eyes, he dropped the subject immediately. He seemed to have a knack for saying the wrong thing and hurting her, which was the last thing on earth he wanted to do.
Reed walked Judy to their picnic table, where Regina and Briley Joe had arranged napkins and plastic utensils atop the red-and-white checked paper tablecloth. He set the tray of iced drinks on the table and then took a long, hard look at his sister. She was, in almost every way, her mother’s daughter. If she resembled the man who had fathered her, it had to be in very subtle ways. He searched again in his sister’s face for any resemblance to Webb Porter and saw none. But was it possible that he was Regina’s father? That might explain his interest in her, other than the obvious lascivious reasons that first came to mind.
More than once over the years, while he’d been struggling to survive in prison, Reed had played out countless scenarios in his mind. Who had slit Junior Blalock’s throat? And why? If Webb Porter had been involved with his mother, then Webb might have wanted to eliminate Junior. Or if Webb was Regina’s father and he’d found out that Junior had tried to rape her, then he might have killed the man. God knew that he himself had been angry enough with Junior to have murdered him, and if his mother hadn’t dragged him off that drunken bastard, he probably would have beaten him to death. But no matter what the evidence at his trial had shown, he had not gone back later and slit Junior’s throat. Someone else had—someone who obviously hated Junior enough to murder him in cold blood. And someone who didn’t mind framing an innocent eighteen-year-old boy for the crime.
Mark Leamon scanned the area where picnickers had spread quilts on the ground in front of the podium and were eating barbecue while listening to a series of country bands and regional singers. He wondered where Regina was in this huge crowd. She had mentioned that her mother hoped Reed would come with them to the annual Fourth of July festival in the park, so he knew Regina would be here. He had thought about asking Regina to attend this event with him, but every time he’d just about worked up the courage to ask her for a date, he lost his nerve at the last minute. He’d never been a ladies’ man. In high school he’d been considered a bookworm and a nerd. But since graduating from law school and taking over his father’s practice, he’d improved his image. He was still short and stocky, with nondescript brown hair and eyes and a rather ordinary-looking face. However, he dressed for success, drove a pricey car, and had learned that most women liked a man with money.
A lot of men here today would envy him having Heather Marshall on his arm. She was a sexy redhead who dressed in a way that turned men’s heads. They’d had several dates since her return to Spring Creek, but he was no more interested in a long-term relationship with her than she was with him.
“I see her,” Heather said.
“You see who?”
“Your little assistant, Regina Conway.” Heather grinned broadly. “She’s to your left, all the way back there near the pond. She’s sitting with her family.”
“Thank you for pointing her out to me. It’s nice to know she came out today and is enjoying herself with her family.” Mark’s gaze focused on the table where Regina sat. She was laughing at something her cousin Briley Joe said. Mark sighed. He loved listening to Regina laugh. Unfortunately, it was something she seldom did. She was such a quiet, serious young woman. But sweet. Oh, so sweet.
“You were looking for her, weren’t you?” Heather lifted one eyebrow in a don’t-lie-to-me gesture.
“Now, why would I be looking for another woman when I’m with you?”
“Don’t kid a kidder, old pal.” Heather glanced in every direction, obviously searching for someone herself.
“Okay, I was looking for Regina. She doesn’t have much of a social life and I’m glad she decided to do something fun for a change. She works too hard and doesn’t play enough. Actually, I don’t think she plays at all.” Mark lifted his arm and draped it around Heather’s bare shoulder. “So, who are you looking for?”
“Me?” Her gaze settled on the Porter table. “I’m looking for Ella, of course.”
Mark’s gaze followed Heather’s. He chuckled. “Yeah, sure.”
“What? You don’t believe me?”
“I believe you were looking for Ella all right, but only to see if Dan Gilmore was with her. I don’t see why you don’t level with Ella about your feelings for Dan. After all, you two are best friends, aren’t you?”
“Ella’s not the problem. She isn’t in love with Dan.”
“How do you know?”
“She told me she wasn’t. I felt so guilty because I was relieved. You know what I’d said to her about Dan? I told her I thought he was as dull as dishwater.”
Mark guffawed. “Well, he is, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is,” Heather admitted. “But I’ve been in love with that guy since I was in pigtails and he was the one boy in town I could never get to notice me. When he married that mealymouthed Greer Swain, I figured I’d lost him forever.”
“But now he’s free again.”
“Yeah, he’s free and still not the least bit interested in me.” Heather wrapped her arm around Mark’s waist. “Come on. Let’s go say hello to the Conway family.”
“I’m not sure we should intrude.”
“Look here, if you’re interested in that girl, then go after her. How’s she supposed to know you’re interested if you don’t show her?”
“I don’t know how she’d react if she thought I wanted to date her,” Mark said. “You know something about her history, don’t you?”
“I know that her bastard stepfather tried to rape her when she was a kid. Half the state of Alabama knows that.”
“Regina doesn’t date.”
“What? You’re kidding. You mean she has never had a date?” Heather asked. “And she’s how old, nearly thirty?”
“She’ll be twenty-six in November.”
“Uh-oh. If she’s got so many hangups that she doesn’t even date, then you’d have your work cut out for you even getting a kiss from her. Are you sure you care enough about her to go the distance?”
“If I thought that someday Regina could love me, then yeah, I’d be willing to go the distance. I’d be willing to do just about anything. But—”
“No buts about it.” Heather tightened her hold around Mark’s waist. “Just come along with Auntie Heather and follow my lead. We’re fixing to find out if Miss Conway is interested in her boss.”
“And how to you intend to do that?”
“Watch and find out.”
“Wherever did Cybil get off to?” Carolyn asked.
“I think
she went to the restroom,” Ella whispered to her mother. “You know how long those lines are.”
“She’s probably off drinking somewhere,” Carolyn said. “How Jeff Henry endures what she puts him through, I’ll never know. We’ve all tried to talk her into getting help, but she ignores us.” Carolyn reached over and patted Ella’s arm. “Dear, I wish you’d speak to her. She’s so fond of you, she just might listen to your advice.”
“Mother, I’ve spoken to her numerous times. You know that. Until Aunt Cybil wants help, there’s not much any of us can do except be there to pick up the pieces every time she falls apart.”
“I’m beginning to think we’re doing her a disservice cleaning up her messes, but it’s the only way to keep her from shaming the whole family.” Carolyn wadded the napkin in her hand, her fingers nervously tightening the cloth more and more. “But it would be terrible for your father’s career if the media were to pick up on the fact that his sister-in-law is a lush.”
“It’s only a matter of time, since just about everyone in Spring Creek knows,” Ella said. “Besides, I’m not so sure it would harm Daddy’s career. Having addiction problems seems to be in fashion these days, as does infidelity and lying.”
“Why, Eleanor Porter, when did you become such a cynic?”
“Since I’ve matured some and begun seeing the world as it really is instead of the way I’d like for it to be.”
“Oh, that makes me sad. My little girl has lost her rose-colored glasses.”
Ella leaned down and hugged her mother. As always, Carolyn’s small body stiffened, but she lifted her hand and patted Ella on the back with restrained affection. Not once in her life had her mother wrapped her in her arms with motherly abandon and lavished a show of love on her. Of course, she’d never seen her mother overly affectionate with anyone, not even her father. But Webb was different. Boisterous, gregarious, and demonstrative, her father had more than made up for her mother’s restraint. And Aunt Cybil, high-strung, nervous, and overly emotional, had always given her bear hugs. And when Ella had been a child, she’d covered her face with kisses. Even Uncle Jeff Henry had the capacity to offer big hugs and an occasional kiss on the forehead or cheek.
As if on cue, her uncle appeared, dressed in his elaborate Confederate general’s costume. He looked so authentic, you would think he’d traveled through time, straight from the early 1860s. Ella thought once again, as she had so often, that Jeff Henry Carlisle had been born in the wrong century. He’s missed his mark by a good hundred years or more.
“The reinactment is set for three-thirty,” Jeff Henry said. “The troops are setting up the cannons and bringing in the horses over on the west side of the park.” He removed a white linen handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the perspiration from his face. “This costume is hot, but if I didn’t get dressed early, I’d have to miss part of Webb’s speech.”
“You look very dashing,” Ella said.
“Why, thank you, my dear.”
“Jeff Henry always looks dashing,” Carolyn said. “It’s because he’s a gentleman and gentlemen always take pride in their appearance. My papa always looked like he’d stepped out of a bandbox.”
“I wish I’d known Grandfather Walker.”
“Mr. John was quite a gentleman,” Jeff Henry said. “I thought highly of him. When I was just a boy, he took me under his wing. I suppose he took pity on me because I’d lost my own father when I was only five, and although Mother did her best, Mr. John, having been one of my father’s associates, saw that I needed a strong masculine influence in my life.”
Ella smiled as her uncle recounted bygone days. She’d heard this particular story numerous times, but she listened attentively out of respect, and because reminiscences about Grandfather Walker seemed to give both her mother and her uncle great pleasure.
While Jeff Henry continued to drone on and on, delightfully entertaining Carolyn, Webb approached them, laughing happily. Her father was in his element when he was working the crowd.
“Carolyn, you haven’t seen the local art work, yet,” Webb said. “Why don’t we go over to the artists’ tent and have a look. I’d like to buy something to show my support. You have such a keen eye, I’m sure you’ll choose the perfect item. Something I can display in my Spring Creek office.”
Carolyn beamed, so obviously thrilled by her husband’s attention. A tremor of emotion showed on her face for a fraction of a second. “What a good idea. I’d love to choose something for you.” She glanced from Ella to Jeff Henry. “Would y’all like to go with us?”
“Too damn hot in those tents for me in this getup,” Jeff Henry said. “I’ll save the art tent for when I’ve changed back into my street clothes.”
“You two go on,” Ella said. “I have an idea how to cool off Uncle Jeff Henry.”
“Indeed? And just what would that be?” Jeff Henry inquired. “A dip in the pond?”
Ella slipped her arm through her uncle’s. “I thought a nice, long walk in the park’s garden area, where there are a lot of shade trees, might be just the thing.”
“Well, y’all be sure to finish up your walk before time for Webb’s speech,” Carolyn reminded them as her husband wheeled her away toward the art tent.
Jeff Henry took the lead, escorting Ella through the throng of celebrators, many of them in shorts, tank tops, and flip-flops.
“Some people just don’t care how they look,” Jeff Henry said. “Of course the white trash element in our society is noted for a lack of good taste, but it’s the appearance of the children of some of our friends that bothers me greatly.”
“Teenagers want to look like their peers,” Ella said. “When you’re sixteen, being different is a fate worse than death.”
“Hmm…I suppose you’re right.”
Jeff Henry’s Civil War apparel, regal bearing, and snobbish attitude set him apart from the vast majority of people in the park.
But he didn’t mind at all. Actually, Ella felt certain that he enjoyed it, that he reveled in it. No doubt about it—her uncle thought himself superior to just about everyone. Others despised him for this offensive trait, but somehow Ella found it rather endearing—an odd quirk that made him unique. It wasn’t as if he actually harmed anyone other than himself with his antiquated notions of class differences.
The east end of the park had long been a garden area, and several of the local ladies’ clubs in various Bryant County towns had made the Sarah Rogers Garden their pet project. A recently laid stone walkway circled around and about the various flower beds and led into the wooded section, where huge trees, some well over a hundred years old, towered into the sky.
“Ella, my brilliant niece, a walk through the garden was an inspired idea,” Jeff Henry said. “It is much cooler over here and a great deal less crowded.”
Only a dozen or so people meandered through the garden area, where beauty and quiet prevailed. Most people were too involved in the riot of events taking place all over the park to be bothered with seeking out a tranquil, soothing atmosphere. The tall, thick-leaved trees blocked out a great deal of the afternoon summer sun. All sorts of secluded nooks and crannies offered privacy for those seeking it.
Ella glanced to her left and saw, half-hidden behind a tree, a pair of lovers embracing. Kissing. Even at a distance, she could tell they were young, no more than twenty. The couple apparently couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
“Disgusting display,” Jeff Henry said. “There is a time and a place for everything, and that sort of behavior should be confined to behind closed doors.”
“They’re young and in love,” Ella said. “Don’t you remember what that was like?”
Jeff Henry harrumphed. “Of course I remember. When I was their age, I was madly in love with your mother. But never would I…would we have carried on like those two are doing. I respected your mother far too much to have manhandled her that way, especially in a public place.”
“Why don’t we give them their privacy?” Ella
suggested. “The bridge over the pond isn’t far and there are benches where we can sit down for a bit.”
“Don’t let us lose track of time. Carolyn would be upset if we missed Webb’s speech.”
Carolyn. Always Carolyn. Poor Uncle Jeff Henry. But the person Ella truly pitied was her aunt Cybil. What would it be like to be married to a man you knew was in love with your sister?
The bridge came into view—a wooden arch over the narrow backwaters of the pond that extended from the park into the woods and down to the nearby creek. As they approached the bridge, Ella caught a glimpse of someone in the wooded area, a flash of flesh among all the lush greenery. Another set of young lovers, Ella thought. Perhaps she could distract her uncle enough so that he wouldn’t notice. But when they stepped onto the bridge, Ella heard the couple. Grunting, moaning, panting. Damn! What were they doing, having sex? It sure sounded that way.
She had to turn Uncle Jeff Henry around before he noticed. “Why don’t we head back to—”
“My God!” Jeff Henry’s cheeks flushed scarlet. “Is there no shame? Those two are—”
Before she could stop him, her uncle dashed across the bridge, his Civil War saber thumping against his hip. She hurried after him, uncertain what he might say or do. At this point she wasn’t sure whether she was more concerned about the couple, who were still oblivious to being watched, or her uncle, primed and ready for an attack.
Suddenly, Jeff Henry stopped, frozen to the spot. All color drained from his face. Ella came up beside him and started to speak, but before a word formed on her lips, she saw that her uncle was hypnotized by the sight. The man in the woods had the woman backed up against a tree, her skirt lifted enough to reveal her slender thighs. He had his hands under her skirt, cupping her buttocks as he pumped into her. Ella’s mouth dropped open.
The woman cried out in the throes of orgasm. Ella forced herself to look away. When she glanced at her uncle, she noted the fine mist covering his eyes. Without saying a word, he turned and walked away.
Every Move She Makes Page 14
