Claire stroked the picture’s plump face. “Oh, Joe. You look so innocent....”
He shrugged, watching her, realizing that he wanted her again. “I was born innocent, like everybody else in this world,” he told her as he flipped the album closed and set it on the nightstand. “I just saw too much, too soon, to stay that way.”
He pulled her toward him. She came with a soft, willing sigh.
That evening, after dinner, they wandered out to the porch and sat in the glider, with the dogs snoozing at their feet. Not bothering or really needing to talk, they watched the stars grow brighter as night claimed the world.
Claire, who was experiencing pure happiness at that moment, and grateful beyond measure for the feeling, leaned her head on Joe’s shoulder. Then she discovered she did want to talk.
“Joe?”
“Umm?” He had his arm around her. He pulled her a little closer and brushed a kiss against her hair.
“Tell me some more.”
“About what?”
“About you.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Something that’s not about the past. Something about you right now.”
“Like what?”
“Well, if I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.” She lifted her head enough to kiss his cheek, then she rested against him once more. “I know what. Tell me who you’d be, if you could be anyone—anyone in the world.”
He was quiet. The glider silently rocked them. She almost wondered if he’d chosen not to answer. Then he said, “Sheriff Brawley.”
She sat up and peered at him, to see what he was getting at. “Sheriff Dan?”
“Yeah. If I could be anyone in the world, I’d be Dan Brawley.”
Claire gaped, and then realized gaping was not a way to get him to tell her more. She closed her mouth and tried to look interested instead of stunned. “Why Dan Brawley?”
Joe laughed. It was a good, deep laugh. When the laugh faded, he said, “Claire. You’re like looking through a window sometimes. My answer surprised the hell out of you, huh?”
She sighed and shrugged. “Well, it wasn’t what I expected, I’ll admit. I love Sheriff Dan, I really do, even with... everything that’s happened to me lately. But the man is past sixty, Joe. And if he doesn’t cut back on the pralines, he’s heading for a heart attack.” She punched his arm playfully. “Now tell me why you’d like to be him.”
Joe looked off toward the dirt road beyond the break in the fence. “He’s a good man, with a job that matters. He does what he has to do, and I think he makes a difference. When I was a kid, he used to... stick up for me with the other kids.”
Claire hadn’t known that. ‘‘He did?”
Joe nodded. “Yeah. And he always did it with class.” He glanced at Claire, and then looked out again, past the dirt road this time, to the pine-covered mountains beyond. “You know how, when I first came here, I had my mother’s name?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
He grunted. “It took my old man a while to get used to having me. My mother never told him I existed until she dropped me off on him. Oh, he believed I was his, all right. It was kind of hard to dispute that, since I looked so much like him—and I had his weird, yellowish eyes. But he didn’t rush right over to the courthouse and demand I be declared his legal son. That came later. So, for two years I was walking around looking just like him, and yet named Sweeney. Even the dim bulbs knew I was a bastard.”
Claire winced a little at the bluntness of the word but was careful not to interrupt. It was so wonderful to be sitting here on Joe’s porch and listening to him talk to her so easily about who he was and how he’d become that way.
He went on. “And kids can be mean. A couple of them, Ben Brown and Filo Morris, used to try to get me after school and mess me up a little, just to let me know that I was... well, you know, trash.”
Claire had to bite her lip to keep from announcing her outrage. During their growing-up years, Ben and Filo had truly been a couple of bullying creeps. But Claire knew that to speak right then could mean Joe would decide he’d said enough. She said nothing.
Joe didn’t stop. “Anyway, it wasn’t too bad. I got a few licks of my own in, and Ben and Filo stopped trying to take me on two-on-one. Instead they got into heckling—yelling things at me in the middle of town. Or throwing rocks when they knew I probably couldn’t catch up with them and get them back. Stuff like that.
“More than once, during school, they’d set things up so I’d be the one to get caught retaliating for something they’d started. One day, they were following me down School Street on the way to the bus stop after school let out. They were being real subtle, whispering and snickering behind their hands, saying certain words loud enough that I would hear them. Bastard, whore, crazy old man. I knew who they were whispering about—me, my mother and my dad.
“The point finally came that I’d had enough. I was ready, I swear. I was going to turn around and take them on and then I was going to be the one who ended up in detention for it. And I didn’t give a good damn.”
“So what happened?”
“Sheriff Brawley, that’s what. Right then, he appeared, to me it seemed like it was right out of nowhere, in his big white sheriff’s 4X4. Hot damn, you should have seen him. A knight in shining armor never looked so strong and righteous. He must have assessed the situation at a single glance. He leaned out the window, real casual, and he called, ‘Hey, boys. Hold on there just a minute.’
“Well, me and Ben and Filo, we just froze right in our tracks. Very slowly, like he had the rest of his life to do it, Sheriff Dan climbed down from that truck. And then, even slower, he strolled over to the three of us.
“He put an arm around Filo, and one around me, and he asked us how we were doing, if we’d got all our homework done. And the three of us, we bobbed our heads. ‘Yes, sir. You bet, sir,’ like our lives depended on it.
“And then, he stepped back. He put his hand on that nine millimeter he always carries, and he said how he’d hate to see any one of us end up in trouble. ‘Trouble’s a problem,’ he told us. ‘Once it gets started, it’s got a habit of following a guy around. Understand?’
“Ben and Filo and me nodded so hard, we were lucky our heads didn’t break off. Then the sheriff smiled and got back in his 4X4 and drove away.” Joe allowed himself a low chuckle. “Those two didn’t bother me for a week after that, at least.” He turned to grin at Claire. “And that is why I’d like to be Sheriff Dan.”
All at once, looking at Joe as he talked about the sheriff, Claire realized what he was trying to tell her. “You want to work for the sheriff’s office, don’t you? You’d like to be a deputy, and someday sheriff, right? You want to be a cop.” She sat up straighter, proud of what she’d deduced. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
For a moment he said nothing. Then, “Yeah.” His voice dripped sarcasm. “Wouldn’t that be a kick in the pants? Bad Joe Tally as your local law enforcement officer.”
Claire pulled away from him enough to let him know she would not be brushed off about this. “Admit it. Someday you’d like to run for Sheriff of Excelsior County. What’s wrong with that? It’s an admirable ambition. If I were you, I’d be proud of it.”
“You would, huh?”
“You bet I would.”
Suddenly Joe seemed unable to sit still. He stood up, nudging Gonzo, who gave him an injured doggy whine. “These damn dogs,” he muttered. “You can’t take a step around here without falling on one of them....”
“You’re not changing the subject on me, Joe.” Claire was determined. “Not this time.”
He strode to the porch rail and turned on her. “It’s an insane idea. I’d have to go back to school.”
“Do you have any money?”
“Yeah.” He looked at his boots. “Some.”
“You’d manage. If you really wanted to manage.”
“Come on. They’re not going to hire me over at the sheriff’s office.”
“You
won’t know until you apply.”
He refused to be convinced. “And, besides that, who the hell is going to vote for me for sheriff, anyway?”
Claire stood up, too. “Joe Tally, this is your major problem in life. You think too little of yourself. You always have. You’ve got to look at this logically. If anybody has prior experience suitable for a career in law enforcement, it’s you. And would you please give the people of Excelsior County a little credit? Who’s to say they aren’t smart enough to realize that you’re exactly the man to take over when Sheriff Dan retires? And in case you never noticed, lots of people in their thirties go to school.” She realized Joe was smiling at her. “What is so funny?”
“You. You’re all... het up.”
“Well, I have a right to be het up. You get me het up when you talk that defeatist baloney.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll tell you what you should do, and I just pray you have sense enough to take my advice.”
“I’m listening.”
“Good. This is it. You should...follow your dream, that’s what you should do. I don’t care if it’s corny. It’s what a person has to do. You can’t just sit around and let things happen to you, you have to make them happen, you have to...” Claire’s voice trailed off. Her zeal deserted her as suddenly as it had come. She sank to the glider, feeling utterly foolish.
Who was she to talk about making things happen? She was sitting here, powerless, doing nothing at all, when next Monday she very well might be indicted for shooting a man.
“Claire?” Joe’s voice was so tender.
She looked down at her hands. “I guess it’s always easier to tell someone else what they should do,” she murmured. “Too bad I don’t have any answers for myself.”
“Give it time,” he suggested, and came to sit by her again. His hand closed over hers. “The answers will come.”
Chapter Ten
Claire woke the next morning feeling wonderful, though she didn’t really know why right at first. Then she reached out a toe and felt Joe’s hairy leg and remembered that she was in his bed. She had slept there the whole night—well, they hadn’t really done a lot of sleeping. She blushed at the ceiling and grinned fatuously to herself. Then she stretched and yawned and rolled over to kiss Joe awake.
Right then, the phone rang.
In spite of her little moan of protest, he reached across her and answered it on the third ring.
“This is Joe Tally.”
The voice on the other end, a male voice, said something.
Suddenly, Joe was all business. “How many are there?” He listened. Then, “Nah. The one fax machine in town is an iffy proposition. I’d rather just copy them down, okay? Let me get a piece of paper. Hold on.” He shoved back the light cover and was out of the bed in an instant.
He was so beautiful, so lean and lithe and yet powerful-looking, too, that Claire caught her breath at the sight of him standing by the bed.
He asked, “Hang this up for me, would you, when you hear me pick up in the kitchen?” She nodded, thinking that she’d gladly walk off a cliff for him if he asked her. She figured she could manage to hang up the phone. He handed her the handset and brushed a quick kiss on her lips. “This won’t take long,” he promised, only mouthing the words, so the man on the other end of the line couldn’t hear. “Keep the bed warm.”
She nodded again, a little vacantly, a woman already anticipating the return of her man to their bed, and not really caring about much else. And then she remembered that Joe had said he was taking some time off from chasing bail jumpers.
“Joe, is this about a job?”
He had already pulled on his jeans and was halfway across the room. He paused. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”
She was on the alert now. “Joe—?”
“Will you please just hang up when I get it.” And he left her sitting there.
She stared at the spot in the doorway from which he’d disappeared, until she heard his voice on the extension. Then she quietly did as he’d asked.
She sat there in the bed for a moment, then tossed the covers back and found her robe. Belting it, she followed him into the kitchen and stood in the doorway, watching him as he wrote himself notes on a yellow legal pad. He glanced up right away and saw her. He eyed her for a moment, then gave a quick, fatalistic shrug, and went back to his phone call.
His side of the conversation was cryptic. “Yes, okay. Go on....I’ve got that one. She’s what?”
Slowly, Claire approached him and gazed over his shoulder. He was making a list of names, addresses and phone numbers. On the top, he’d written All alibis airtight... described financial planner... lawsuits pending.
Beside some of the names, he’d also jotted notes. Took her for fifty thou...retired, college professor, housewife. All of the addresses were in the Bay Area. The last one was the address of Henson’s wife.
Claire had seen enough to have a general idea of what the call was about. She went to the cupboard and got down a can of coffee and began setting up the maker to brew.
Within minutes, Joe said, “Thanks, Ted. I owe you one. Yeah. You take care.” He hung up.
Claire pushed the coffeemaker back to its spot against the wall and flipped the switch on. She felt rather than heard Joe’s approach.
And then his arms were around her waist and he was brushing kisses along her neck. She sighed, in spite of the fact that she had a few questions that demanded immediate answers.
His warm, rough hands cupped her breasts through the thin fabric of her robe. Her nipples grew instantly jutting and hard, and she knew in a moment she would forget all the questions she needed to ask.
Firmly, though her body cried don’t, she put her hands on his and straightened her spine. “What’s going on, Joe?”
He teased her nipples with his thumbs. They ached to be unconfined, completely exposed to his tender ministrations.
Somehow she managed to demand, “I mean it, Joe. I want to know.”
He let out a long breath, and rested his chin on the top of her head. Then, his regret as palpable as her own, his teasing hands left her breasts and settled on the curve of her waist. “All right. That was Ted Hanks, a private investigator I know in San Francisco. He’s been doing some checking around for me.”
She turned to face him. “And?”
“And he’s found out some things about Henson.”
“Like?”
“Like he’s a real sonofabitch. Calls himself a ‘financial planner,’ when what he really does is convince people what a trustworthy guy he is and then take them for everything they’re worth.”
Claire thought, rather grimly, of her mother. “Lord. The night he was shot, he told me just what you said—that he was a financial planner. He was setting up my mother to give her a few pointers.”
Joe gestured at the yellow pad on the table. “Your mother’s lucky. Those are mostly the names of people with lawsuits for fraud and theft pending against him. From what I’ve pieced together so far, it looks like he was laying low in Pine Bluff, trying to decide what to do about all the people who were suing him—and probably wondering when the San Francisco police would step in with criminal charges.”
“So there are a lot of people who might have wanted to shoot him?” She couldn’t keep the sudden elation from her voice.
“Claire, don’t get carried away....”
She brushed around Joe and strode to the table. “Someone on this list could have shot him, couldn’t they, Joe? The person who really shot him could be right here on this list!” She stared down at the list, her spirits rising, her heart beating faster in her chest. She felt on the brink of something—of vindication, of final proof that she was innocent beyond all doubt.
“Probably not.”
She jerked her head up and glared at him, angry at him, though she knew she was not being fair. But fairness had nothing to do with it; his words dealt a blow to her hope. She needed that hope, and so did the bab
y. “What do you mean? You just said—”
“I said all those people were bilked by Henson. But every one of them has an airtight alibi for the night he was attacked.”
“No...”
Slowly, he approached her. “Claire. Listen. I understand how betrayed you must feel, but Leven and Brawley do know their jobs. They never would have gone after you unless everyone else with a possible motive had been eliminated. From San Francisco to Pine Bluff is a good four-hour ride. Each one of these people, including the wife Henson apparently ran out on, can prove that they couldn’t have been both in Pine Bluff in time to shoot Alan Henson and also at the other locations where witnesses place them.”
Claire slowly sank to a chair. Her heart settled down. Now it felt dead in her chest.
Joe put a hand on her shoulder. She knew it was a gesture of support—to let her know he was there for her. “Look. I’m sorry.”
She tipped her head back and forced a smile for him. And then she put her hand on his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry I jumped on you.”
He hooked her chair with his foot and pulled it around, until she was facing him. He then knelt in front of her. His eyes were softer, full of more emotion and promise than she’d ever seen in them in all the years she’d longed for him and been denied.
“I swear to you,” he told her. “I’ll do every damn thing I can to find out what really happened. I’ll pull in every marker I’ve got out there—and I’ve got a few. But the best bet to find out who really did this thing is still the police.
They are the experts, and they have resources we can’t even get near.”
“But, Joe, they believe I did it. They’ve stopped looking. How are they going to find out anything, if they consider the case closed?”
Claire was looking right into Joe’s eyes or she wouldn’t have seen the way they changed. She saw beyond his impassioned reassurances to his secret concern. He was thinking she was right. Her arrest meant the police had stopped looking for other suspects. If things went on as they were, Claire could be convicted of shooting Henson—and the real culprit might never be found.
Born Innocent Page 12
