by Libby Howard
The similarities between this and Holt sending pictures around of Ashley Chen bloomed in my mind. Violet had been right. Her sister was a lot like Holt. I suddenly realized why Judge Beck was so uneasy about Peony being friends with Madison, and it had nothing to do with her impoverished family. Or maybe it did have a lot to do with her impoverished family. Holt Dupree had dodged a bullet by dying in that car accident, because whether or not he succumbed to nostalgia and heart-break and decided a girl who looked like Violet was good enough for one night, he was going to be faced with a hard decision.
Marry an almost sixteen-year-old girl, or pay up in blackmail money for the rest of his life.
“You need to go down to the police station and confess, Peony. They’ll find out. They’ll track down the kid at the party that sold them to you. He’ll say how you bought them right after Kendra and Holt fought. A kid sold you the drugs, the lab results show those drugs were in Holt’s bloodstream at the time of death, and the waiter saw you add them to Holt’s water. You’re going to be arrested, Peony. The best thing you can do is turn yourself in and confess, and beg for leniency.”
Her eyes filled with tears, her face crumbling as she looked at me. Then she sat up straight, and swiped a hand across her cheek. “If that happens, then I’ll do some time in juvie for drug possession. Big deal. It’s practically a rite of passage in my family. Slipping Holt something in his water shouldn’t be what the police are worrying about right now. Someone murdered him. They should be looking for the murderer.”
“They are looking for the murderer,” I told her gently. “The murderer is you, Peony. Holt didn’t die in the car accident, he died from the drugs you gave him.”
She stared at me, her eyes wild. “No! The pickup went crazy. We went off the road. It was a horrible accident. I saw the pictures of the truck. You’re wrong. He died of internal injuries, or a head wound. That’s what happened.”
“No, that’s not what happened. He did have injuries, but he should have walked out of the hospital in a few days just like you did. He died of the drugs. Cardiac arrest because of the roofies and the Viagra.”
She began to sob. “No! I didn’t mean for him to die. He was my friend. We grew up together. I would never have hurt him, never would have killed him. I didn’t mean for him to die. I just wanted him, or maybe some money if that didn’t work out. It was just roofies. He shouldn’t have died from that. I didn’t know he was taking Viagra too. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean for him to die.”
He was her friend. She would never have hurt or killed him, just drugged and blackmailed him. He’d died because of her. So why did I feel so sorry for this crying teenager sitting across from me?
“He shouldn’t have died,” Peony insisted. “Sean said there wouldn’t be any lasting effects, that roofied people wake up in the morning and are fine. He didn’t say that someone might die. It’s Sean’s fault. The police should arrest Sean. He’s the one that murdered Holt, not me. It was Sean and whoever messed with his truck, not me.”
What would need to happen for her to take ownership of what she’d done? I thought about Violet, so hardworking and wise, and Peony ruthless and desperate. How could two girls be so different when they’d grown up exactly the same? Was there something worth saving in Peony? I really didn’t know. But I knew Madison liked her. I knew that she’d been dealt a really bad hand in life and was deserving of some kind of second chance. She might have murdered Holt Dupree, but I hated the thought of a fifteen-year-old girl being written off as not worth saving.
Then I thought of what she’d said, about wanting just enough money to get out of her mom’s home, buy a car, and start a business—a dog-grooming business. Maybe she was more like Violet than I thought. She just didn’t have her older sister’s confidence in her own ability to make things happen. I looked at her tear-streaked face, the terrified look in her eyes. She’d need to face this. She needed to find the strength to face this.
“It wasn’t Sean that put the drugs in Holt’s water,” I told her firmly, trying for my best ‘mom’ tone of voice. “And although the police intend to prosecute whoever tampered with Holt’s car, that accident didn’t kill him. You did, Peony. You made a horrible mistake. You saw an easy way out of Trenslertown. You gambled with a man’s life and lost.”
She started to cry again. “Everyone is going to hate me. I killed our local football hero. I killed Holt Dupree. Everyone in town will hate me. My mom will kick me out. Violet will hate me.” Peony looked at me, her face red, blotchy, and wet with tears. “Madison will hate me. Her dad will put me in jail. She’ll hate me and she’s really the only friend I have.”
I rose from my chair and held out my hand. “Maybe. Maybe not. But the scandal will die down and you have your whole life to redeem yourself. You still have a chance at a future—at a little apartment, an old car, a dog-grooming business. But you need to take responsibility for your actions. You need to do the right thing, starting now.”
She stood and stared at my hand then reached shaking fingers toward mine. “Will you go with me to the police? Will you sit beside me when I talk to them, help me find a lawyer? Will you…will you tell them I’m not a horrible person? That I didn’t mean to kill him? Will you tell Madison that I’m sorry?”
A character reference. I’d be providing one for Violet and a very different one for Peony. I reached out and took her hand, gripping it tight.
“Yes. I’ll go with you. And I’ll be right by your side if you need me.”
Chapter 25
“I made a few phone calls. Dennis Rout said he’d take her case pro-bono.” Judge Beck ran a hand through his blond hair and grimaced. “Am I a bad person for hoping she goes to jail and vanishes? That I never see her again in my life? That Madison never sees her again in her life?”
“No, you’re just a father,” I told him. “And you’re someone who sees the worst of society every day.”
“So do you with your skip traces and bail bond applications. But you still think she’s worth saving, that somehow she’s going to come out of this and be an asset to society?”
I cringed at the edge of disbelief in his voice. I knew the recidivism rate. I knew that the decks were stacked against Peony, but the decks seemed to be stacked against any kid from Trenslertown. Right then I made a silent vow to help Daisy with her mock interviews, to help Matt with more of his fundraisers. We couldn’t just turn our backs on people. We couldn’t just write them off when things like this happened. There had to be some way to help people turn their lives around.
“Yes. I know she’s worth saving, that she’s going to come out of this okay as long as she feels there’s something worthwhile once she makes it through.”
The judge shook his head. “I’m not the DA, but I think she’ll probably be able to plead out with possession and involuntary manslaughter. I don’t know what’s going to be harder for her: the jail time, or the stigma of being the girl that killed Holt Dupree.”
Like a scarlet ‘A’ forever on her chest—an ‘M’ for murderer. I winced. “What do you think Madison will do? Peony said she’s her only friend.”
“I know what I hope Madison will do, but she’s got a soft heart like you and your friend Daisy.” He hesitated. “And like her mother.”
“And like you?” I teased.
His eyes narrowed, but he was on the edge of a smile. “No, not like me. I’m a judge. Soft hearts do you no good in the courtroom.”
“The hanging judge then?” I grinned at him. “I’ve seen your decisions, Judge Beck. Glare at me all you want, but there’s a soft heart under those robes.”
He grinned back. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? I’ve got a reputation, and I don’t want the criminals thinking all they have to do is cry and I’ll let them off with a PBJ.”
Probation Before Judgement. My smile faded. “How much jail time do you think she’ll get?”
The judge shrugged. “Her mom won’t post bail, so probably time served up to the plea and
possibly another three months.”
I thought of Peony having to go back to school after having missed half the year, of how her classmates might react. Then I thought of something else.
“What if her mom kicks her out?”
“There are foster homes, shelters. Your friend Daisy can help her find something. We can force her mom to take her back, but she’ll be sixteen and it would probably be easier on her if she asked to be emancipated and got public assistance in housing.” Judge Beck sucked in a breath. “Oh no. You’re not seriously thinking of letting her live here. No, no, no.”
It was an idea. A crazy, reckless idea. I couldn’t foster Peony. I had no experience in being a parent, and a teenager like her would be far more than I could handle. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to the judge or his family to foist a troubled girl on them.
“I’ll admit I thought about it, but I’d never do that unless you and the kids were totally on board with it.”
He shook his head. “I can’t, Kay. Not with the divorce and final custody still unresolved. Heather and her lawyer would have a field day if I was living with a convicted murderer.”
He was right. But I still worried about Peony, murderer or not.
The judge put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “She’s got a good lawyer. We’ll work with Daisy when she gets out to get her everything she needs to turn her life around. I promise.”
It would be okay. Between me and Judge Beck and Daisy, it would all be okay.
“Now let’s spread some paperwork across your dining room table and get some work done,” the judge continued. “Working dinner tonight. If we finish up early, we can watch some Monty Python movies.”
I looked over near the sofa where Eli’s ghost hovered, so familiar and reassuring a presence that I almost took him for granted now. Holt’s ghost was gone—I hoped gone for good now that Peony had confessed, although I wouldn’t be surprised if he stuck around until the police caught who’d tampered with his truck. Hopefully if he came back, he would just float around like Eli did and stop knocking stuff over.
In the meantime I had skip traces to work. Bail bond applicants to research. And I had that application to fill out for my private investigator’s license. There would be a background check, and a whole bunch of classes I’d need to take, but J.T. was thrilled at the prospect of expanding his business and my job duties. And hopefully my pay.
It would be a new future for me. But in the meantime I needed to get through the backlog of work that had piled up in the last few days.
I stepped out from under Judge Beck’s arm and picked up my files and laptop case. “You microwave the leftovers while I get set up. And when we’re done, I’ve got a batch of cookies to go with our movie tonight.”
The judge moved toward the kitchen. “You know, I think these work-and-movie nights are the best ways to end my day.”
I plopped my laptop on the dining room table. Me too. Me too.
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to Lyndsey Lewellen for cover design and typography, and to Jennifer Cosham for copyediting.
About the Author
Libby Howard lives in a little house in the woods with her sons and two exuberant bloodhounds. She occasionally knits, occasionally bakes, and occasionally manages to do a load of laundry. Most of her writing is done in a bar where she can combine work with people-watching, a decent micro-brew, and a plate of Old Bay wings.
For more information:
libbyhowardbooks.com/
Also by Libby Howard
Locust Point Mystery Series:
The Tell All
Junkyard Man
Antique Secrets
Hometown Hero
A Literary Scandal (Spring 2018)
Root of All Evil (Fall 2018)
