Elderberry Croft: The Complete Collection

by Becky Doughty

  “How are you, Willow?” He found his voice, and somewhere, a smile for her, but stayed behind the counter.

  “I’m fine, Al. Thanks for asking. I didn’t mean to interrupt, but this,” she held up the letter again, “was in my mailbox by mistake, and I thought I’d just hand deliver it instead of sneaking it over into your box. I hear tampering with someone else’s mail is a crime punishable by law.”

  So is murder, Al thought, then felt a flush creep up his neck. Doc snorted; he must have been thinking along the same line. Willow crossed to the counter, her eyes darting back and forth between the two men.

  “Here you go. It looks like it might be important.”

  “Thanks.” He took the letter she slid across to him. It was from the cemetery where Maggie’s remains would be cremated. “Yes. It is important.”

  Willow took a few steps toward the door, then paused, then turned back again and tipped her head to study Al. “What’s going on, guys? Al, what’s wrong? You’ve been acting strangely for the last week or so. Is everything all right?” Her eyes dropped to the letter still on the counter in front of him.

  Al opened his mouth to tell her he was fine, just fine, but what came out surprised even him. “You don’t by any chance know of a good, cheap—as in free—lawyer, do you?”

  She took a quick step backward and Doc cleared his throat. Al looked over at him, expecting to see the man rolling his eyes, but Doc’s expression was blank.

  Willow, on the other hand, had blanched noticeably, even with her already pale skin. In fact, she looked a little sickly as she spoke. “Um. Well, I…I can do a little research, if you’re serious.”

  “Oh, he’s serious all right,” Doc muttered. The room fell quiet. Finally, Willow spoke, her voice sounding shaky.

  “What’s happened, Al?” She pointed at the letter now. “Does it have something to do with that?”

  After holding tight to his secrets for so many years, it was remarkably easy to release them now. “My wife just died. Last week.” He took a deep breath, but didn’t look at her. He was pretty sure her face would register shock, and soon horror over what else he was about to say. “Twenty-six years ago, I tried to kill her. She’s been in the hospital since. I never told anyone what part I played in sending her there, because I needed to make sure she’d be taken care of. She had no other family, and if I went to prison, she’d become just another number in the system.” Oh, the relief of coming clean. Why did it have to feel so freeing when, after all was said and done, he’d be back in prison again, this time the brick and mortar kind. He tapped the envelope on the counter. “Now that she’s gone, and all the arrangements made to take care of her body, I can finally turn myself in.”

  For a few moments, she didn’t speak, but she didn’t look horrified, either. “Do you mind if I sit? I need to think a minute.” Her words surprised him but he nodded and waved at the empty end of the couch.

  “Please. Would you like a glass of water? A cold beer?”

  “Water would be great,” she replied, sinking gingerly down beside Doc. She waited until Al brought her the drink, took a few dainty sips, and sat quietly while he returned to the stool where he’d been sitting earlier. Finally, she looked up at him, her eyes large and concerned, but filled with something else, too. He just couldn’t be sure what that something else was.

  “Can you tell me what happened? I mean, I didn’t even know you had a wife, Al. But I might—there’s someone—maybe I do know someone who can help you.” She took another big sip. “But I need to know a little more, if you don’t mind telling me.”

  For the second time in less than an hour, Al unloaded the burden he’d carried around by himself for all these years.

  Chapter 5

  “Listen, Al.” Willow took a deep breath and started over, her voice still trembling a little, but loud enough that he could hear. “Listen. I do know someone who might be able to help you. I say ‘might’ because I know he can, but I don’t know if he will. I—I need to—” Her voice cracked, like her body was resisting the words she was trying to speak.

  “It’s okay, Willow. I’ll be okay.” He felt terrible; he could see she was deeply affected by all that she’d heard, but there was more to her emotional reaction than his story, and the last thing he wanted to do was burden someone else with his sordid past.

  “No. No, Al. Just wait, okay? Don’t do anything yet.” She seemed to get steadier the longer she spoke, so he didn’t interrupt her. Doc still sat like a rock, listening, watching Willow with guarded eyes. “I’ll make some phone calls today, okay? If I can’t reach him today, I’ll try again in the morning. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”

  “Willow, this is my problem. It’s not something you should feel you need to take on. I don’t want—”

  “Al!” Willow held up a hand, cutting him off. “Please. Let me help. It’s the least I can do for everything you, and you, Doc—this whole place—has done for me. I want to help. I may not be able to offer more than information, but let me at least try.” She stood up and carried her empty glass to the counter. “Give me until this time tomorrow, okay? Sit tight until then.”

  Doc stood, too. “Al, listen to the lady. It’s been twenty-six years. What’s one more day?”

  Then Willow reached out and laid a hand on Al’s shoulder. “Would you mind if I—if I prayed for us right now? I know I could really use it.”

  Caught completely by surprise, he stared at her, then turned to catch Doc’s surprised expression, too. But the soldier nodded discreetly, and Al shrugged, not knowing how else to respond.

  God? What on earth did God care about any of this? Al had never asked for help from anyone, no less some ethereal deity whose existence was at best, debatable. There was no loving God in the picture of Al’s life, or Maggie’s life; not that he could see, anyway. They’d just made do on their own.

  Then Willow started praying, and Al’s thoughts slowed, stilled. Every cell in his body seemed to hone in on her voice and the name she spoke. “Jesus, Jesus. You set up this meeting today, you had this planned all along. That letter in my box? You put it there, didn’t you? Thank you. Thank you.” She paused, and he held his breath, wondering if she was finished. “But we need help, Jesus. We’re facing our own walls of Jericho, and we’re not feeling very equipped to bring them down. You’re going to have to give us your strength, Jesus, your power.”

  Al had never heard anyone talk to God like this. It almost sounded like she was ordering him around. Except she wasn’t being rude. No, she sounded…confident. She wasn’t begging, or over-dramatizing, or getting all holy-roller with her prayer. She was just talking.

  But religion made him uncomfortable, and he shifted on his stool. Wrap it up, Willow Goodhope. We’re good.

  “And I’m asking you now, Jesus, to give Al your peace, too.” Al actually flinched. It had been a long time since he’d heard a woman say his name so gently, tenderly. It soothed him and made him want to crawl out of his skin at the same time. She needed to stop. He couldn’t take any more of this. “You tell us we only have to ask, and you’re there, ready to give, so I’m asking, Jesus. Peace. Pour out your peace on this home today. Thank you, Jesus.”

  His eyes were open and he watched her, waiting for her to lift her bowed head. His palms were clammy, and even in the air conditioning, he’d begun to sweat. But to his dismay, she reached out a hand toward Doc, who stood behind her, a little apart from them. Her fingertips found his forearm, and she spoke again.

  “Jesus, thank you for Doc, for his tender heart. His very presence is healing to me. Thank you.” And she was done. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and stepped back. The place on his shoulder where her palm had rested was warm, damp, and his whole body seemed to tingle a little.

  “Whew. I feel much better.” Willow smiled, the look on her face confirming her words. “I hope I didn’t make you two uncomfortable.”

  Doc barked out a laugh and reached over to pat her chee
k. “That’s the understatement of the year, missy.”

  Willow blushed, but turned to Al, a determined look in her eye. “You’re going to wait before you do anything, right?” She raised her eyebrows in question, and her voice didn’t quaver at all this time. “You need to give me a little time to make some phone calls.”

  “I’ll wait.” Al nodded affirmatively.

  “He’ll wait. I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” Doc chuckled, then slid the door open for Willow.

  ~ ~ ~

  Morning came, and with it, the reality of his life flooding back in like a tidal wave, just like it had every morning since that phone call. Maggie was dead, and he was going to jail, two things that should have happened a quarter of a century ago.

  Al dragged his feet out from under his blankets and headed for the bathroom. It was still early, but his body had grown too accustomed to waking up at five o’clock every morning for it to adjust quickly to his new schedule. He’d turned in his notice at the factory last week, but when he told them that his wife had died, they gave him the option of using some of his banked sick days to finish out his two weeks. That way he could continue getting paid for the next month, but he didn’t have to show up for work.

  “You might as well use them, Al,” Sherri, his boss’ secretary said gently. “That’s what they’re there for, whether you’re sick in the body or sick at heart. You rarely use those days, which means you have months of sick time stored up, but they’ll just disappear when you leave. We don’t pay you for any unused sick time.”

  He was grateful at first, because there was a surprising amount of paperwork and various arrangements to make for Maggie’s remains. But now, time was moving slowly, and Al was waiting again.

  Willow Goodhope. That girl could turn a man upside down and inside out with just the flash of her smile. In a way, she reminded him of the way Maggie had looked, way back when he’d first spotted her sitting in that vinyl chair, swinging her foot back and forth like the pendulum of a clock, waiting for Billy Raven. Waiting to be rescued. But when Willow sat across his small living room and listened intently to his sad tale, she didn’t once make him feel like the monster he figured he was.

  Wait, she’d said.

  Willow Goodhope. Good hope. She truly brought good hope with her when she moved into The Coach House Trailer Park and her little cottage across the creek. Now here he was, waiting to see what word she’d bring him today, what hope she was going to offer him.

  By noon, Al was getting impatient. Not that she owed him anything, but he’d been so set on his course of action, on turning himself in, and now he felt derailed, just standing around doing nothing.

  When the phone rang an hour later, Al just about jumped out of his skin. He hadn’t had an ounce of beer in over twenty-four hours, on the off chance he ended up ditching this crazy waiting game and drove himself to the police station, and the longer he went without it, the more irritable he felt.

  “Al here.”

  “Al, it’s Willow.” His knees wobbled and he dropped like a rock onto one of the barstools. “Do you have a minute?”

  “Too many of them.”

  “Okay. I spoke with my…with the guy I told you about. He’d like to come see you. Here at the park. He wants to help you.” She took a deep breath and sniffled a little.

  “You getting sick?” She sounded awful.

  “No, I’m fine. But I need you to know a few things about this guy before you agree to see him.”

  “Okay.” Al said the word slowly, not sure about this now. Things had seemed so simple a few days ago. For several moments, she didn’t speak, and he thought maybe they’d lost their connection. “Willow?”

  “I’m here.” She sniffed again. “Just trying to figure out where to begin.”

  “Take your time.”

  “Al, this guy is—was—is, well, he’ll tell you that he’s my husband. His name is Christian Goodhope.”

  Chapter 6

  Shadowman. Christian Goodhope. Willow’s husband.

  “I told him just enough of your story to give him an idea of what happened, but that wasn’t much. He wants to hear it straight from you, without my spin on it.”

  “Right. That makes sense.” Al’s thoughts were racing. “Is he some kind of a lawyer or something?”

  “Yes, in fact, he is. He’s an associate at Penderton Law Offices in Ontario. He’s the new guy—only been with them a little over a year now—but he’s been around the block a few times and he….” She paused, as though trying to come up with the right words. “He knows what he’s doing.”

  “I don’t want a trial or any court time, Willow. I don’t need a lawyer. I’m turning myself in.” He had no interest in trying to prove his innocence, because he wasn’t.

  “He’s not offering to be your lawyer. Not yet, anyway. He just wants to talk to you.” Her voice had a little edge to it that he’d never heard before. “But the fact that you’re going to turn yourself in is all the more reason you do need a lawyer. Don’t go to court without representation, Al; you’ll get thrown to the wolves. I don’t care what you have or haven’t done, you don’t ever want to stand alone in our crazy judicial system.”

  “He won’t try to talk me out of it?”

  “He’ll help you figure out the best way to do whatever it is you want to do. That’s what he does best.” The serrated edge of her voice cut into him. Al tried to figure out what she wasn’t saying, but didn’t know how to ask the right question.

  “So, why does he want to help me?” He heard her sigh deeply on the other end of the line.

  “You want the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Don’t take this the wrong way, but he doesn’t want to help you, specifically. He wants to help me. If helping you will get him access to me, he’s yours.”

  Al stood up. Nope. Not going there. “I don’t need this, Willow. And clearly, neither do you.”

  “Actually, you’re wrong on both counts.” Resignation seeped through the phone line and he waited for her to explain. “You need him. Believe me, you need him and whatever advice he can give you.” She paused only long enough to take a breath. “I need him, too. He’s paying my bills here, he’s paying my daddy’s bills, and he’s the man to whom I committed myself for as long as we both shall live. I haven’t seen him since January, Al. Don’t you think it’s time I grow up?”

  What did one say to a question like that? Not knowing what had transpired between them that they were now bitterly estranged, if not divorced, he had no way of knowing how to respond. “Okay. I’ll talk to him, but I’m not promising anything else.”

  “Good. Are you going to be home this evening around five?”

  Al grunted. “Where else would I be?”

  “Good. Now I need you to do something for me.” Great. Now what?

  “He and I are going to meet at the mailboxes so he can see that I’m alive and well. I told him I’d give him ten minutes tops, just the two of us. Then we’ll come over and I’ll introduce you two, then leave.” She listed off the details as though she’d thought through things carefully.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I don’t want to be completely alone with him. I want Doc there, and I want you both sitting outside on your front porch where he can see the two of you watching us. Can you do that for me?”

  “Is he dangerous?” Al did not like this one bit.

  Willow snorted. “Only if you love him, Al. Then he’s the most dangerous man in the world.”

  At 4:38 p.m., Doc arrived and set up two folding chairs on the otherwise empty front porch of Al’s trailer.

  “Brought you some front row seating.” He pulled a silver flask from his back pocket, dropped into one of the chairs, then lit a cigarette. “I could use a glass of ice and an ashtray.”

  Al obliged his old friend, accustomed to his frankness, then joined him, a cigarette of his own in one hand, a cold RC cola in the other. He desperately wanted
a beer, but he needed to make sure he kept his wits about him for the next hour or so.

  They didn’t talk, but just sat and stared out at the row of mailboxes not much more than fifty feet away. Five minutes later, Willow crossed the little creek that divided the front of the trailer park from the back and Doc whistled softly at the sight of her.

  She looked like a million bucks in a long copper skirt and a shirt the color of moss that hugged her every curve. Something about that tone gave her skin an almost see-through texture, and the way the late afternoon sun shone on her hair made it look alive, all loose around her face and shoulders like that. Willow Goodhope was armed and dangerous, and that man of hers better play his cards carefully. Al was actually glad when she just waved at them, and didn’t stop to chat; going straight to the end of the driveway just past the last mailbox. She was strategically positioned so the whole front half of the park could see her if they wanted to. He was fairly sure she’d planned it that way.

  At 4:49 p.m., according to the Timex around Al’s wrist, a shiny silver Toyota Avalon pulled into the drive and slowed to a stop next to Willow. The two men on the front porch got even quieter, if possible.

  Willow stepped behind the mailboxes and waited, arms crossed. Doc let out another whistle, this one a little longer, as the man unfolded himself from behind the wheel of the car. If ever there was such a thing as tall, dark, and handsome, Christian Goodhope was it. He really wasn’t so tall, but everything about him seemed pronounced, defined, like he was chiseled from rock by one of the great sculptors of old, all combining together to make him someone not to be ignored. His gray suit only added to the affect.

  Doc muttered something unintelligible, and Al could see that the veteran was poised and ready to launch himself off the patio, if necessary. Al would be right behind him.

  But the man just stood at his open car door studying Willow, waiting for a cue from her.

  “Where’s your truck?” she asked, not even bothering to offer a polite greeting. Her voice carried the short distance to the two on the porch, and Al remembered Eddie saying the guy had been driving a Dodge Ram the night he was escorted off the property.