Every Move She Makes

by Beverly Barton

  “And don’t you be so sure that my father can’t admit when he’s wrong,” she said. “Daddy trusts my judgment. If I can convince him that I believe in your innocence, then I think there’s a good chance he will at least give you the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Damn it, girl, don’t you know that man’s using you?” Webb paced back and forth in the gazebo. “Now I know why you said you wanted some privacy for our conversation, why you insisted on our coming out here.”

  “I thought you’d be more reasonable about this,” Ella said.

  “Be reasonable about my daughter having an affair with a convicted murderer. A man I prosecuted. A man who swore revenge against me. Can’t you see that the best form of revenge, even better than harming you, is him making you care about him and believe in him?”

  Ella shuddered. Her father was wrong, dead wrong. He had to be. Of course, the same suspicious thoughts had crossed her mind, but she had dismissed them. Reed wasn’t faking the passion, of that she was certain. He made love to her as if she were the only woman in the world.

  “Haven’t you ever had one single doubt about Reed’s guilt? Now or in the past?” Ella laid her hand on her father’s back and felt him tense.

  Webb hung his head. “Do you think I wanted that boy to be guilty? Well, I didn’t.” He turned to face her, inadvertently knocking her hand off his back. “I can’t even say that I blame him for what he did. Junior deserved killing. He deserved worse for the hell he put Judy through, for the beatings he gave her and Reed. And for the things he tried to do to Regina.”

  “If you’ve always felt this way, then why—”

  “If he’d beaten Junior to death, it would have been one thing—legally as well as in my mind, too. But Reed went back after he’d beaten Junior, when Junior was unconscious and couldn’t defend himself, and slit the man’s throat. That’s murder, Ella, any way you look at it. And you know it.”

  “Someone else killed Junior Blalock.”

  “Reed had motive, opportunity, and the murder weapon belonged to him.”

  “But he wasn’t the only one who had opportunity and motive, was he?” Ella moved closer to stand side by side with her father as he gazed out over the backyard flower garden. “There were others who hated Junior enough to kill him. Why did the investigation end with Reed’s arrest?”

  “The police were certain they had their man. And I was certain.” Webb shoved his hands into the front pockets of his slacks. “I was so sure. Back then, I didn’t have a doubt in my mind.”

  “And now?”

  “And now, I have a few doubts,” Webb admitted. “I still think Reed killed Junior, but…Did he tell you that I stopped by the garage this morning?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “I wanted to rip him limb from limb.” Webb stepped down from the gazebo and looked up at the early evening sky. “I warned him to stay away from you.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He told me you could make your own decisions.”

  “He’s right. I can.”

  Webb breathed deeply, then looked directly at her. “I hit him.”

  “Oh, Daddy, you didn’t.”

  “He wouldn’t hit me back,” Webb told her. “And you know why he wouldn’t hit me?”

  “Why?”

  “He said he wouldn’t hit me because I was your father.”

  Instantly tears stung her eyes. “I can’t believe he said that. He tries so hard to be tough, to never let anyone see that he has feelings, that he cares about anything or anyone.”

  “If I agree to talk to Frank Nelson about reopening Reed’s case, will you promise me to stay away from him?”

  “Oh, Daddy, you know I can’t make that kind of promise.”

  “You’ve fallen in love with him, haven’t you?”

  Ella followed her father out into the garden, and when he paused, she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him. “I don’t know if it’s love or…or…All I know is that I care about him and I want to help him.”

  “I’ll give Frank a call in the morning. I hope for your sake that I did convict an innocent man fifteen years ago.”

  By early afternoon almost half the town had heard about the confrontation between Webb Porter and Reed Conway. Some said it was the old quarrel—that Reed still claimed innocence in Junior Blalock’s murder and blamed Webb for his murder conviction. Others were saying that the good senator was accusing Reed of being the perpetrator in the recent harassment of his daughter and the death of his hunting dogs last night. But by evening, there were a few whispered innuendos floating around that something was going on between Reed Conway and Judge Eleanor Porter. Reed had been seen going into Miss Ella’s office yesterday and staying for quite some time behind locked doors. And someone thought they saw the judge’s car parked behind Conway’s Garage at dawn this morning. And then another somebody had spotted Ella getting into a beat-up old truck with Reed around noon today.

  Believing the worst about Ella was difficult, but hearing with one’s own ears was proof positive. Eavesdropping sometimes paid off royally. Learning that Webb was actually going to help Reed Conway, that he planned to suggest to Frank Nelson that he reopen a fifteen-year-old murder case, came as quite a surprise.

  Things were going to have to progress a little faster, get a little more deadly. Reed Conway had to return to prison before the truth about Junior’s murder was revealed. And the only way to get rid of Reed was to see to it that he committed another crime. Another murder, maybe, or at least an attempted murder.

  Getting hold of the gun that Briley Joe kept in his desk at the garage shouldn’t prove too difficult, not for someone very clever. Half of Spring Creek knew Briley Joe kept the old Sauer & Sohn .308—the weapon his father had taken off a dead German soldier in World War II—loaded and in his unlocked desk. He liked to bring the pistol out from time to time, wave it around, show it off, and threaten to blow to smithereens any thieves who might be foolish enough to try to rob him. There probably wouldn’t be any way to get Reed’s fingerprints on the gun, but as long as no one’s fingerprints other than Briley Joe’s were on it, the plan might work.

  Time was running out. Drastic action needed to be taken—tonight.

  A sense of excitement radiated through Ella as she eased her Jag up beside the old truck Reed had once again borrowed from his cousin. She wondered if he’d told Briley Joe that he had a late evening rendezvous with a lady judge. She’d like to think that Reed wouldn’t discuss the personal aspects of their relationship with anyone, that what transpired between them was sacred.

  A giddy ripple of laughter emerged from her throat. Sacred? Get a grip, Ella. This isn’t a love affair, not some grand passion. At least not for Reed. Not for you either. You know what this is—it’s sex, pure and simple. But that was just it. There was nothing pure or simple about her feelings for Reed. If she had a lick of sense, she wouldn’t be here right now. She’d be home—safe and secure, and as far away from Reed as she could get.

  She heard his truck door slam shut. Her heartbeat accelerated. You can start the Jag’s engine, back up, and drive away, she told herself. Escape before it’s too late. But it was already too late and she knew it. She wanted to be with Reed. To lie in his arms tonight and look up at the starry sky. She wanted to make love with him again.

  He pecked on her closed window and motioned for her to get out. The sun had disappeared beyond the horizon, leaving streaks of multicolored light spreading across the sky. At sundown the world took on a hazy, golden glow, a surreal beauty that masked the ugliness so clearly seen in the bright light of day.

  She looked out the window. He carried a blanket draped over his arm and a small tape player in his hand. More cool jazz? she wondered. As long as she lived, whenever she heard a saxophone’s sweet moan, she’d think of Reed and the night she’d spent in his arms. Hurriedly she unlocked her door, stuffed her keys into the pocket of her shorts, and got out of the car. Before she had a chance to close the
door, Reed draped his free arm around her waist and dragged her up against him. He kissed her thoroughly, taking her breath away in the process. How was it possible that when this man touched her, she lost every ounce of common sense she possessed?

  “Come on, babe, let’s find a perfect spot to spread this blanket.”

  She closed her car door, clasped Reed’s hand, and followed where he led. Off behind the huge live oaks and into a clearing close to where the winding stream joined the nearby creek. A train’s horn blew in the distance. The railroad tracks spanned a nearby bridge. Here with Reed, on the back side of the park, she had indeed crossed over from the right side of the tracks to the wrong side. Streets lined with houses that were little more than shacks lay on the other side of this hidden grove. Reed had grown up in one of those houses. His mother and sister still lived there.

  Reed spread the blanket on the ground, then set the tape player to the side and pushed the “Play” button. Soft and low, a jazz tune began, a sweet reminder of last night.

  Why was she so nervous? It wasn’t as if she and Reed hadn’t been together before. They had been—yesterday, last night, and again early this morning.

  “I spoke to Daddy, and he’s agreed to talk to Frank Nelson about reopening the Blalock murder case,” Ella said.

  “You’re kidding,” Reed laughed.

  “No, I’m not kidding.” Ella sat on the blanket, crossing her legs at the ankles. “When I saw you earlier today, you didn’t mention that my father paid you a visit this morning.”

  “I’m surprised he mentioned it to you.” Reed lay flat on his back and crossed his arms behind his head.

  “He said that when he hit you, you didn’t hit him back. I think by showing him that you could control your temper, you impressed Daddy.”

  “I seriously doubt that I impressed Webb Porter,” Reed said. “He’s just pacifying you, Ella, if he’s told you that he’ll help me.”

  Ella stretched out beside Reed and looked up at the sky. With sundown, nighttime hurried to take charge, darkening the sky and cooling the temperature. The moon appeared, pale and almost transparent.

  “Think what you will,” she said. “But I know my father. If he said he’ll speak to Frank Nelson, he will.

  “Whatever you say, babe.” He eased up, bracing himself on one elbow as he leaned over her. “Right now, I don’t want to talk about the chief of police or your daddy.”

  “What do you want to do?” she asked, her body already tightening with anticipation.

  “I want to kiss you, Miss Ella,” he told her.

  “Is that all you want to do, just kiss me?”

  “That will be enough to start with; then I’m sure we’ll think of what to do next.”

  “I’m sure we will.”

  Webb Porter sat alone in his den, a bottle of bourbon resting beside his chair, and an empty glass in his hand. The armchair stood near the window, positioned with one arm to the window and the other to the room. There had been a time when harming Webb would never have been an option. But that time had long since passed. Perhaps, by being very careful and taking precise aim, the shot wouldn’t kill him but only severely wound him. Reed Conway had been alone in the room above the garage less than twenty minutes ago, so it stood to reason he was still there. Alone. Without an alibi. Whether the bullet killed Webb or merely wounded him, the mission would be accomplished. Reed would be charged with a crime and sent back to prison, thus ending any chances of having the old Blalock murder case reopened.

  I must be very careful. Can’t let Webb see a shadow outside the window. Wait for the right moment…when he turns this way. I must make the shot count. I can’t risk two shots. Webb might see me. And if he lives, he could identify me. Take a deep breath. Count to ten, then aim and pull the trigger. This close, I can’t miss.

  Something was wrong. Horribly wrong. The moment Ella saw the flashing lights of the police cars in her driveway, her heart caught in her throat. Oh, God, please, let everyone be all right.

  She whizzed her Jag around the corner, then came to a screeching halt at the edge of the sidewalk. Frank Nelson stood on the front porch talking to two uniformed policemen. The moment he saw Ella jump out of her car, he came down the front steps and onto the brick walkway to meet her.

  “What’s happened?” she asked.

  Frank grasped her shoulders. “It’s bad. I won’t try to kid you. Your father’s been shot, but he’s alive.”

  Ella gasped. Tears lodged in her throat. “How? When? Who?”

  “About an hour ago,” Frank said. “Your mother and Viola heard the shot and Miss Carolyn sent Viola downstairs to see what had happened. Viola found Webb and called nine-one-one immediately.”

  “You said it was bad—how bad?”

  “He got hit in the chest, pretty close to his heart,” Frank told her. “They rushed him straight to Bryant County Hospital. One of my boys can drive you over there right now.”

  “Thank you, Frank.”

  He nodded, then released her.

  “Oh, Lord,” Ella cried. “Mother! She must be out of her mind with worry. I’ll have to see her before I leave.”

  “Viola has taken Miss Carolyn to the hospital,” Frank said. “She insisted on going. She’s upset, but holding it together pretty good. You know what a strong woman your mother is.”

  Ella nodded again.

  “Goodman!” Frank called out, and a dark-haired policeman in his mid-twenties came running.

  “Yes sir, Chief?”

  “I want you to drive Judge Porter to Bryant County Hospital.”

  “Yes, sir.” Officer Goodman turned to Ella. “Ready whenever you are, ma’am.”

  She followed the officer to his patrol car. When he opened the door, she slid onto the front seat. He eased the vehicle out into the street and headed toward downtown Spring Creek. None of this seemed real. But it was real. Someone had shot her father. But who? And why? Please, God, don’t let him die. The very thought was unbearable. Since her earliest memories, Webb Porter had been the center of her world—a doting father, who called her “princess” and made her feel like one.

  She wished she could phone Reed and tell him that she needed him desperately. Odd that he was the one person she wanted at a time like this. But even if he would be willing to come to the hospital and hold her hand—which she doubted he would—he would hardly be welcomed by her family. They’d probably even accuse him of shooting her father. But they’d be wrong. No one knew better than she that this was one crime Reed Conway most definitely hadn’t committed.

  Chapter 24

  After taking a hefty swig, Reed set his beer bottle on the bar. He would have liked nothing better than for Ella to have spent the night in his arms, but that wasn’t possible. She had a reputation to uphold, and for now, their affair had to remain a secret. He was willing to accept her terms. Hell, he’d accept her on any terms, take her any way he could get her. Chuckling to himself, he shook his head. He’d gone and done something really stupid. He had let himself get emotionally involved with Webb Porter’s daughter. Why her, of all the women in the world? She wasn’t the most beautiful, didn’t have a built-like-a-brick-shithouse body, and wasn’t even the sexiest. But there was something about her that gave him a hard-on just thinking about her. She had the blackest, silkiest hair, the kindest brown eyes, the softest, sweetest lips, and a luscious, tempting body. And when he touched her, he set her on fire. He could tell by the way she looked at him that she was crazy about him. And God help him if he wasn’t just as crazy about her.

  The bartender scowled at a group of particularly rowdy customers at the far end of the bar. “Hey, there, you guys keep it down for a minute, will you? I’m trying to listen to this news bulletin.” He turned up the sound on the wall-mounted television.

  Reed glanced at the screen just as a picture of Webb Porter appeared. He lifted his beer and moved down the bar, getting closer to the TV.

  “Tonight at approximately nine o’clock, Senator Webb P
orter was critically wounded. At this time details are sketchy, but Spring Creek Police Chief Frank Nelson, informed us that there was a single gunshot wound to the chest and that the shooter stood outside the senator’s den window and shot him from no more than ten feet away. The senator was rushed to Bryant County Hospital, where at this time the family and close friends are holding a prayer vigil.”

  Reed laid a five-dollar bill on the bar beside his half-finished beer and headed for the door. His first instinct was to rush to the hospital, to see how Ella was doing. Had she gone home and found her father? Had the police already been there when she arrived? She had to be half out of her mind with worry. Ella loved her daddy better than anything.

  As he walked outside, the warm evening air clung to him, heavy with moisture and heat. Sweat broke out on his face immediately. He wiped his forehead with his hand and headed toward his truck. He unlocked the door, opened it, then hopped up and slid behind the wheel. Sitting inside the truck, with the door open and his crossed arms resting on the steering wheel, he gave his jumbled thoughts time to separate and settle into something vaguely resembling logic. Should he rush to the hospital to comfort Ella? Would she even want him there? Or should he drive over to his mother’s place and see if she’d heard the news. He wasn’t sure just what his mother’s relationship with Webb Porter had been, whether he was Regina’s father or not, but he knew his mother had cared about the man. Maybe she still did.

  After slamming the door, he stuck the key in the switch and started the engine. Still considering his options, he pulled out of the parking lot. Go see your mother first, he told himself. That would give him more time to make the right decision. He could always just call the hospital and ask to speak to Ella.