By the time Ashe and Deborah made their way to her Cadillac, parked across the street in the adjacent parking lot, Deborah wanted to scream. How on earth did celebrities endure their every move being a media event?
Ashe drove the Caddy out of the parking lot and headed up Water Street, making a right turn onto Main Street. Laying her head against the back of the leather seat, Deborah closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. Her face would be spread across the morning newspapers and appear on the evening newscasts. Right then and there, she decided not to turn on the television or even look at the paper.
A train caught them before they entered Sheffield. Ashe shifted the car into Park and glanced at Deborah. She looked like she was ready to scream or cry, maybe both. If only she had taken his advice and not gone to court today. Maybe now she would wait until time for her testimony before returning. She was so damn stubborn, so determined to show him and the rest of the world what a strong woman she was.
“When is Allen’s next soccer game?” he asked.
“What?” She opened her eyes. “Oh. Day after tomorrow.”
“If you’re not on the witness stand, I think we should go to Allen’s game.”
“I try to make it to as many of his games as I possibly can. Except when she was very sick, Mother’s never missed one. She’s Allen biggest supporter.”
“You haven’t been worrying about Allen, have you?” Ashe noticed the last train car pass and the guard rails lifting. “I can assure you that Simon Roarke will guard him and your mother with his life. He’s a good man, and highly trained.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Deborah rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. “But even good men who are highly trained can be taken out. No one, not even you, Ashe, is invincible.”
Shifting the gears into Drive, Ashe followed the line of backed-up traffic over the railroad tracks and up Montgomery Avenue. “It’s all right, you know, if you want to cry or scream or hit something. I won’t think you’re weak if you do.”
“Thanks for your permission, but I don’t need to do anything except get home and show my mother and my…my brother that I’m fine.”
“Hey, they already know you’re strong and capable and in control. You don’t have to try to be a paragon for them. My God, Deborah, what are you trying to prove by this woman of steel routine? And to whom?”
To you, she wanted to scream. To you, Ashe McLaughlin. I want you to know that I’m not the same silly little girl who threw herself at your feet. I want you to see me for the woman I am now. The woman your rejection helped create. A woman in charge of her own life. A woman capable of caring for others, without any help from a man.
Ashe turned into the Vaughn driveway and saw Simon Roarke pulling Carol Vaughn’s silver Mercedes in right beside them. He parked in the three-car garage behind the house. The moment Deborah emerged from her Cadillac, Allen, in his gold-and-blue soccer uniform, raced around the cars and directly toward Deborah and Ashe.
“We won. I scored the winning goal.” Allen jumped up and down in a boyish frenzy of triumph. “Tell them, Mr. Roarke. Tell them, Mother. I was awesome, wasn’t I? You should have been there.”
“Yes, I should have been,” Deborah said. “Ashe and I will be at Wednesday’s game if I don’t have to testify that day.”
Deborah caught the quick exchange of glances between Ashe and Simon Roarke. She wanted to ask them what was going on, but didn’t dare in front of her mother and son. Besides, it might have meant nothing more than a coded recognition that all was well.
“Allen is quite an athlete,” Roarke said in his gravelly voice. “They wouldn’t have won the game without him.”
“See. See.” Full of youthful exuberance, Allen bounced around in the driveway. “Boy, Ashe, I wish you could have seen me make that goal.”
A twinge of guilt tugged on Deborah’s heartstrings. How was she going to handle Allen’s growing dependency on Ashe? How would she be able to keep Ashe from disappointing their son? And that’s the way she thought of Allen—as their son.
“Miss Carol should have videotaped it for us.” Ashe winked at Carol, who stood near the entrance to the side patio.
“Oh, I could never watch the game and videotape it at the same time. I get too excited at these games,” Carol said. “I’d end up dropping the videocamera and breaking it.”
“Hey, what’s Mazie fixing for supper tonight?” Allen asked, running around the side of the garage, Roarke following him. “I’m starving.”
“Pork chops, I think,” Carol said, opening the gate to the side patio.
“I gotta go get Huckleberry out of the backyard now that we’re home. I’ll bet he’s hungry, too.” Allen bounded out of sight, Roarke on his heels.
Ashe and Deborah followed Carol through the gate and onto the side patio. A cool evening breeze swirled around them. Carol shivered.
“I think autumn weather is here to stay,” she said.
“Yes, it seems—” Deborah said.
A loud scream pierced the evening stillness. Allen’s scream!
“Allen!” Deborah cried, gripping Ashe by the sleeve, then breaking into a run.
Ashe grabbed her by the arm, stopping her. “You and Miss Carol go into the house and lock the patio door. I’ll see what’s wrong.”
Deborah nodded agreement, then led her mother inside, locking the door behind them. “Sit down in here and rest, Mother. I’ll go see what’s happened.”
Once she had seated her mother on the sofa, Deborah raced through the house, meeting Mazie coming down the stairs.
“What was that screaming all about?” Mazie asked. “It sounded like Allen.”
“It was,” Deborah said. “Go see about Mother. She’s in the living room.”
Deborah rushed through the kitchen, flung open the back door and ran into the fenced backyard. Roarke stood facing Deborah, but his attention was riveted to the boy and man and dog on the ground. Deborah’s heart stopped, her lungs filling with air as she sucked in a terrified breath.
Huckleberry lay on the ground, Allen on his knees beside him, trying to hug the big dog in his arms. Ashe hovered over Allen, his hand on Allen’s shoulder as he talked in a low voice.
In the throes of a spasm, Huckleberry jerked. His spine arched, his head leaned backward, his legs twitched.
“What—what happened?” Deborah walked forward slowly.
“Looks like the dog’s been poisoned,” Roarke said.
“He’s vomited,” Ashe said, nodding toward the foul-smelling evidence. “If he has been poisoned, vomiting is a good sign. There’s hope a vet might save him.”
Tears streamed down Allen’s face. He glanced up at Deborah. “Why would anybody want to hurt Huckleberry?”
Why indeed? Ashe looked at Deborah and she knew. This was another warning from Buck Stansell.
“Come on, Allen.” Ashe pried the boy’s arms from around his dog, lifting him to his feet. “Go inside and get a quilt to wrap Huckleberry in. He’s still alive. If we hurry we might be able to help him.”
Allen nodded in numb silence, then flew through the open back door.
“Roarke, get the vet’s phone number from Miss Carol and call and tell him to meet us.” Kneeling, Ashe hoisted the big, stiff-legged Lab into his arms. “Deborah, go get the car started. Allen and I will bring Huckleberry around.”
Deborah had the car ready when Allen opened the door and helped Ashe place Huckleberry on the backseat. Father and son leaped into the backseat beside the dog, Ashe pulling Allen onto his lap.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Deborah drove like a madman, running several red lights as she flew down Second Street. She prayed that nothing would prevent them from making it to Dr. Carradine’s Pet Hospital in Muscle Shoals. She heard Ashe talking to Allen, reassuring him without giving him false hope.
“Talk to Huckleberry, son. Tell him we’re taking care of him. Tell him he’s a fine dog.”
Tears gathered in Deborah’s eyes. She
swatted them away with the back of her left hand while she kept her right hand on the steering wheel. It was so unfair for this to happen to Huckleberry. He was an innocent animal, a child’s pet. The rage inside her boiled. If she could have gotten her hands around Buck Stansell’s neck, she didn’t doubt that, at this precise moment, she had the strength to strangle the man.
When she swerved into Carradine’s Pet Hospital, Dr. Carradine rushed out the front door and over to the car. Ashe got out, pulling Allen with him. Dr. Carradine leaned over inside the car.
“I’d say from the looks of Huckleberry that he has been poisoned. My guess is strychnine.” Dr. Carradine lifted Huckleberry, straining himself in the process, his small, slender arms barely able to manage the dog’s weight.
Ashe took Huckleberry from the vet the moment he emerged from the car.
“Bring him inside quickly. I’ll anesthetize him. It’ll stop the spasms.”
Deborah took Allen’s hand and they followed Ashe into the veterinary clinic. When they entered the lobby, Ashe turned to Deborah.
“You and Allen stay out here.”
“No, I want to go with Huckleberry,” Allen cried.
“You can help Huckleberry by letting me take care of him,” Dr. Carradine said.
Allen clung to Deborah, tears pouring from his eyes, streaking his face, falling in huge drops from his nose and chin.
Ashe laid the big Lab on the examining table. Huckleberry panted wildly, then went into another spasm. Ashe watched while the doctor filled a syringe and plunged it deep into the dog’s body. Poor animal. The veterinarian refilled the syringe and administered a second injection.
“What now?” Ashe wondered if there was any hope of saving Allen’s pet.
“Wait and pray,” Dr. Carradine said. “I’ve given him enough anesthesia to put him in a deep sleep. If we can keep him this way, he has a slight chance of pulling through. But I have to be honest with you. It doesn’t look good.”
“Huckleberry had been vomiting when we found him.” Ashe looked down at the short, slender young veterinarian. “It’s possible he didn’t completely digest all the poison.”
“Good. It’s the best possible sign, and that’s what we’ll tell Allen. There’s nothing to do now but wait. If Allen and Deborah want to come on back here and be with him, it’ll be all right.”
The moment they saw Ashe in the doorway leading to the examining room, Deborah and Allen hurried toward him.
“Huckleberry is resting,” Ashe said. “He’s sound asleep. Dr. Carradine says that since Huckleberry vomited, there’s a good chance his body hasn’t absorbed enough poison to kill him. We have hope he’ll pull through.”
Allen flung his arms around Ashe’s waist. Ashe laid his hand on Allen’s head, then leaned down and picked him up into his arms and carried him into the examining room. Deborah followed behind them, tears blurring her vision.
“Huckleberry needs to rest,” Dr. Carradine said. “I’ll continue to give him injections to keep him peaceful. We’ll hope for the best.”
Ashe set Allen on his feet beside the examining table, keeping his hand on the boy’s shoulder. Allen reached out, stroking his pet’s back.
“Y’all can go on home and I’ll call if there’s any change,” the vet said.
“No, I can’t leave Huckleberry. What if he wakes up and I’m not here?” Allen threw his arms around the comatose animal.
Ashe pulled Allen away from the dog, turned the child to face him and knelt down on one knee. “We aren’t going anywhere until Huckleberry wakes up. You and Deborah and I will keep watch over him.”
Deborah gulped down the sobs when she saw the tentative little smile trembling on Allen’s lips as he nodded his head.
Ashe glanced over at Dr. Carradine. “I’ll bring in some chairs from the waiting room.”
The doctor smiled. “I’ll help you.”
For what seemed like endless hours to Deborah, she and Ashe and Allen waited at Huckleberry’s side, rising in fear each time the dog showed signs of going into another spasm. Dr. Carradine kept him medicated, and as the hours wore on, Deborah almost wished she, too, could be given an injection that would ease her pain. Watching the way Allen suffered tore at her heart the way nothing ever had. To watch her child hurting and know she could do nothing to ease his pain became unbearable.
Standing quickly, Deborah paced the floor. Allen had fallen asleep, his head resting in Ashe’s lap. Deborah walked into the waiting room and looked out the windows. Evening had turned to night. The bright lights along Woodward Avenue sparkled like Christmas tree decorations. She glanced down at her watch. Ten-thirty.
Turning around, she walked back to the examining room, stopping in the doorway. Ashe was in the process of removing his jacket. He raised his leg just a fraction to give Allen’s head a slight incline, then draped his jacket over the sleeping child. Covering her face with one hand, Deborah closed her eyes and said a silent prayer, asking God to save Huckleberry.
Ashe felt a hot fury rising inside him. A killing rage. Buck Stansell had no respect for animal life and little for human life. Buck’s kind thought of animals as unfeeling, worthless creatures. Killing a dog would mean no more to him than flicking ashes off his cigarette.
Ashe adjusted his jacket around Allen, amazed how much he’d grown to care about Deborah’s young brother. He had never been around children, had never allowed himself to think much about what it would be like to be a father. But he couldn’t help wondering about how it would feel to have a son like Allen. The boy was intelligent and inquisitive and filled with a joy for life. He was sensitive and caring. In so many ways, Allen reminded Ashe of the young Deborah he had known and loved. Perhaps that was the reason he felt so close to Allen, so connected. Because he was so very much like Deborah.
Odd thing was, the boy reminded him of himself, too. Tall and lanky, with hands and feet almost too big for his body. He’d been the same as a kid. And cursed with being left-handed himself, he understood the adjustments Allen had had to make.
Ashe felt a twinge of sadness. Eleven years ago, he’d been thankful he hadn’t gotten Deborah pregnant, but being around Allen so much these days had made him wonder if a child of theirs wouldn’t have been a lot like Deborah’s little brother.
For a couple of months after their passionate night down by the river, Ashe had worried about not having used any protection. But it had been an unfounded worry. By the time Wallace Vaughn had had him run out of town, Deborah would have known whether or not she was pregnant. And if she’d been carrying his child, she would have told him. Deborah had loved him, and she would have known that a child could have bound them together forever.
Deborah came in and sat down beside Ashe. Reaching out, he draped her shoulders with his arm and drew her close. She sighed.
“It’s going to be all right, honey,” Ashe said. “No way is God going to let that dog die and break Allen’s heart.”
She couldn’t reply; instead she nodded and tried to smile. Closing her eyes, she relaxed against him.
Ashe sat there in the veterinarian’s examining room, one arm holding Deborah possessively, the other laid protectively over Allen. As the hours passed, his leg fell asleep and his arms became stiff, but he didn’t readjust his position. Both Allen and Deborah slept, as did Huckleberry.
Ashe closed his eyes for a few minutes, resting, then reopened them quickly when he heard movement from the examining table. Huckleberry opened his eyes and raised his head. No longer was his big body grossly contorted, but lay relaxed on the table.
Ashe gave Deborah a gentle shake. Opening her eyes, she glanced up at him. “Huckleberry’s awake. Take a look.”
“Oh, my God!” She jumped up out of the chair and ran toward the dog, taking his huge face in her hands. “Hey, there, big boy. You sure had us worried.”
Ashe shook Allen, who groaned in his sleep. Ashe shook him again.
“What?”
“Wake up, son. Huckleberry wants to see
you.” Ashe lifted Allen in his arms and carried the boy across the room, sitting him down on the examining table beside his dog. “Go get Dr. Carradine,” Ashe told Deborah.
She rushed out of the room. Allen hugged Huckleberry, who, though still groggy, raised his head and tried to sit up. “He’s going to be all right!” Allen repeated the words several times, as if to convince himself.
Deborah returned with Dr. Carradine, who took a good look at Huckleberry and smiled. “Looks like we got lucky. I think Huckleberry will soon be as good as new.”
The dog struggled to get up. Ashe lifted him off the table and set him on the floor. He staggered around slowly, like a drunken sailor. Sitting on the floor, Allen called his pet to him. The Lab padded over to the boy, who threw his arms around the big dog and hugged him.
“Why don’t you folks go on home and get some rest,” Dr. Carradine said. “Leave Huckleberry here until—” he glanced down at his watch “—it’s after midnight. Well, I was going to say until tomorrow afternoon. Pick him up anytime after 2:00 p.m. today.”
“If he’s all right, why can’t I take him home now?” Allen asked.
“Because Huckleberry needs some rest and so do you, young man.” Dr. Carradine glanced at Deborah. “And so does your sister and Mr. McLaughlin. I have a feeling that if you take Huckleberry home now, all three of you would stay up the rest of the night with him.”
“Come on, pal.” Ashe leaned down to give Huckleberry a pat on the head. “Let’s go home. Huckleberry is in good hands with Dr. Carradine. And I promise we’ll pick him up at two o’clock.”
Allen agreed reluctantly, giving Huckleberry a farewell hug before leaving.
ASHE CARRIED ALLEN, who’d gone to sleep on the drive home, from the car into the house. The boy roused from his sleep and smiled at Ashe.
Allen yawned. “I’m not a baby. I can walk.”
“Sure you can, pal,” Ashe said.
He set Allen on his feet, then he and Deborah followed the child upstairs and into his room. Deborah spread back the covers. Allen’s eyelids drooped. Curling up in the middle of the bed, he made no objections when Deborah removed his shoes, jeans and shirt. By the time she had stripped him down to his white cotton briefs, he had fallen fast asleep.
Witness Page 14
