by Connor, Eden
“Started it Saturday. While you were working the tournament.”
“You made this? Since Saturday?”
“Yeah. I had the idea already, then heard what you told Gene and your dad. So,”—he shrugged—“you needed a net. I made a net.”
That look. He could live a lifetime, basking in that warmth.
“How are you related to Phillip?”
“His father and my mom’s father were brothers.”
“So you and he are second cousins.” She nodded. “Did they—” She covered her mouth with her hand momentarily. “You don’t wanna talk about this stuff.”
He thought the silence Dan had forced on him was why he felt mad enough to kick a kitten half the time. “It’s okay. What do you wanna know?”
“I guess things went bad with them when your mom disappeared? I can see how her side of the family might’ve blamed your dad, since no one knew what happened to her.”
“Dan’s the family historian, but I’ll see if I can explain. See, Nance Chapman, my mother’s father, made a revocable trust after my parents got engaged. The trust put Nance’s orchards in my mom’s name, and she’d inherit outright at his death. Nance never changed that trust, even though Mom disappeared. Then, Nance had a heart attack. Phil’s father, Nance’s brother Oliver, thought Nance’s wife, Livia, should revoke the trust. She needed control of the land, he said, so she could sell it, in case she needed cash since Nance was sick. But with Mom missing, Dad had control of the land, as her legal next-of-kin. What he was really saying was that he didn’t trust us to take care of her and Nance.”
“The farm wasn’t selling peaches by then, right?”
“Dad had opened the garage. Emilio was running the farm alone then. He coulda used his son’s help, I’m sure, but I think Grandpa knew Dad couldn’t do the farm without Mom. She loved it. Phil’s dad thought Livia should be mad about Rafe’s refusal to work the farm. When she told him she didn’t care, that’s when things really got ugly.”
“Ugly, how?”
“Oliver tried to have Livia declared incompetent. See, she and my dad had had their falling-out by then.”
She nodded. “Over Sarah.”
“Right. But when Oliver started pushing Liv, she showed up at the farmhouse with a contract for sale, giving Dad outright ownership of all the Chapman’s orchards, for a dollar. She recorded that deed at the courthouse, and to Ollie, that was proof his sister-in-law had lost her marbles. He accused her of forging Nance’s signature and took her to court. Even applied to be her conservator.”
“I take it he lost?”
Eric laughed. “The judge threw the case out of court after he read the psychologist’s interview with Livia.” Eric shook his head, thinking of the woman who’d taught him to read. “She was something else.”
Amy smiled and squeezed his hand. “You must take after her. I don’t know what to say. Besides thank you.”
He’d earned a kiss. Before he could bend, he heard another voice. “We gonna see a rematch today?”
To his surprise, Amy pulled away and approached an elderly man lounging on a bench, one arm thrown along the back of the seat. “Not today.” She leaned down and pressed her lips to the man’s wrinkled cheek.
“Woodrow, I’m gonna tell Hazel you were kissing on my girl,” Eric warned, laughing when he recognized the old man. “Give us a couple weeks. We’re gonna show you guys some real excitement.”
Woodrow winked at Amy and shook Eric’s outstretched hand. “Prob’ly still be right here, waitin’ on Hazel to get done pickin’ out a new Sunday dress.”
But Amy was looking at his phone. Eric cringed inwardly when she slapped the phone into his hand. “Sorry, I hit the wrong button.” The warmth in her eyes cooled.
* * * *
“Mind if we swing by Krispy Kreme?” Amy finally spoke when they were almost back to town after her game. “Dad’s with Gene Rolley and some of the players, trying to brainstorm a location for Gene to open a training camp. It’s their new favorite hangout.”
“No problem.” Eric turned on his blinker, easing the big truck into the right-hand lane. “So, that’s what Kevin was talking about? He mentioned something about a training camp the day the high school caught fire.” He’d drive her to California, if she’d only talk to him, but the ride to Greenville and back had been made in silence.
“Yes, Gene has a grant, but the grant committee has to sign off on his location before he can get the money. He’d planned to lease the gym,” she explained while Eric took the exit off the interstate that led downtown.
Eric held the door open for her at the donut shop, scanning the seating area anxiously for the damn light-haired waitress, but to his relief, she was nowhere to be seen. He had enough to contend with without her adding to Amy’s doubts.
“Proud of you, kiddo.” Tucker’s smile was wide when they approached the big table in back. Eric grabbed chairs for him and Amy, easing them into the space between Tucker and Kevin. “Already calling playoff games. Not bad. Some damn fool told me you’d never be as much fun as havin’ a son.”
“Probably some jerk who wears dress pants on Saturday.” Amy threw her arms around her dad.
The pride in the man’s voice made Eric’s chest tighten. Had Rafe ever been proud of him?
“Y’all come up with a place for the training camp yet?” Amy asked, scooting her chair close to her father.
“Coming up with goose eggs so far. I heard Chapman got eliminated tonight. So much for sending a ringer in to referee.” Tucker glared at his daughter, but Eric could see he was kidding.
Amy jerked her thumb in Eric’s direction. “Blame my landlord. Thanks to his lack of dryer sheets, my panties went snap, crackle, and pop every time I took a step. Hard to focus on throwing a game when your underwear’s throwing a holocaust.”
She was getting even with him for all the women’s numbers stored in his phone. Eric felt heat creep up his neck. It was downright evil for her to talk about her panties with her father at the table. Eric met the man’s narrowed eyes steadily, though the vision of his daughter with her ass in the air danced across his frontal lobe.
“Didn’t you read the memo, pipsqueak? You pass Colton’s house twice a day. That’s where I get dryer sheets. Right now, Lila can’t run fast enough to catch a thief.”
Alice snickered. “That’s so mean.”
Amy didn’t look at him. “He loves to pick on Lila. Right now, she deserves to be picked on. Oh, my God, you wouldn’t believe how big she is. I think she’s having a whale. Or she needs an exorcist.”
“Your vehicle still out of commission?” Eric asked Kevin, eager to change the topic.
He made a face. “Got it back yesterday. It was in the shop for a week. I drove it to work, and now the damn thing’s dead in the parking lot. Gene picked me up.” Eric saw disgust in his green eyes.
“What’s the problem?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.
“They say when the van was converted for the ramp and the hand drive was installed, the after-market wiring was botched. When I called to complain, some asshole said the whole wiring harness might be fried. Oh, and they can’t pick it up till morning. Might get to it next week.”
Or the shop short-circuited the wiring while trying to fix it. “I can send someone to pick it up tonight,” he offered. “My little brother’s a genius with electrical stuff.”
“How much?” Kevin asked. “Smith’s wants twelve hundred dollars to rewire that van. I spent every spare dime on my basketball chair.”
He felt Amy’s gaze. “I can call Colton and get you a ballpark figure.” He spent the next half-hour on the phone, first with his brother, then with Maze. He missed the moment Amy gave the group the news about the mall exhibition, because he was in the parking lot next door, under the hood of Kevin’s van.
Community activism was her family’s legacy. His was changing oil filters and spark plugs. Who was he trying to kid?
She made him forget she was ou
t of his league.
“I need to go. I have a huge test tomorrow, plus my mock interview’s after the test,” Amy pleaded when he got off the phone. “I got so excited about the net, I forgot to pick up the dress I have on hold, too.”
All the way to the cabin, Eric thought about pulling back. She was too young, too idealistic. He could list a million reasons why he should send her packing, and they all boiled down to one. So she could find a white-collar guy like her father, one who knew the rules to every sport played in America.
A better man than him.
But he wasn’t a better man. That was why, when she yawned while they walked up the steps to the cabin, he smacked her sharply on the ass. “March your butt upstairs. Get into your flannel armor while I start a fire, make coffee for me, and pour you a tall glass of tea. Grab your laptop and your books and come back down. I’ll quiz you on your test material.”
So he could wrap his arms around her, under the guise of holding her book, and inhale the scent that made him ache, while she stretched the gap between them a little wider.
After she went to bed, he lay on the couch, deleting phone numbers and thinking about how to close that gap.
Chapter Twenty
Amy smiled at her reflection in the huge pane of glass surrounding the mall exit doors. The tweed dress made her look like she had an actual waist. New boots hugged her upper thighs. She’d flip the tops down before she stepped into Dr. Reston’s office, but she couldn’t resist wearing them as thigh-highs for now. Yet again, Tina had proven outstanding at her job. She’d spent nearly every dime she’d earned from the tournament. She even had makeup. Not much, but the few essentials were her first.
Daydreaming about how Eric might react to the new boots, Amy stepped off the curb. A blaring horn made her look left. Her pulse soared. Dropping her bags, she flung out her hands and for one horrible second, what flashed before her wasn’t her life, but Eric’s eyes.
Brakes shrieked. The bumper came to a stop a fraction of an inch from Amy’s knee. The older car bounced on its suspension. Staring through the windshield at the driver, she wasn’t surprised to see the woman raise her middle finger. The stream of outraged Spanish, barely muffled by the glass, made her take a second look.
Amy stared, open-mouthed at the woman she’d bumped into in the mall office. Before she could think what to do next, the woman wrenched the wheel and sped around her. Gold... older car. She wasn’t good at identifying vehicles made before she’d been born. She memorized the license plate, but what good would the tag number do? It wasn’t like she had the authority to have the vehicle traced.
Amy bent on shaking legs to pick up her packages. Staggering to her car, she slung the bags into the back seat, got behind the wheel, and glanced at the time. She still had an hour before her mock interview. She jammed the key into the switch, then punched the tag number into a note on her cell phone.
Her pulse was still pounding. She was sure she had sweat stains on the new dress. She felt lucky she wasn’t a greasy spot on the asphalt.
Blowing out a deep breath, she leaned her forehead on the steering wheel, waiting for her hands to stop shaking before she cranked the Honda.
When she stopped at the traffic light at the mall exit, she realized the gold car was only three vehicles ahead of her. The Latino woman was in the left-hand turn lane. The lane Amy was in forced her to go straight.
I have to talk to this woman. I have to see if she might know something—anything—that might keep John Carpenter in jail. Diving into the left lane after she crossed the intersection, Amy turned at the next light, cutting behind a strip mall into a residential neighborhood. One more turn brought her out on the road the Latino woman had taken. She made a right and pressed the gas, scanning the road ahead for faded gold paint.
She topped two hills before she spied the car, moving faster than she thought it looked capable of. Passing a truck, Amy pressed the gas, urging her speedometer over ninety. The light ahead was turning red. Should she try and talk to the girl while they waited at the traffic signal?
Lila was a horrible driver—almost as bad as Amy’s father—but this girl might be worse. Slamming on her brakes, she watched in amazement as the older car barreled through the red light. Horns blared, tires skidded, brakes squealed, but somehow, the woman made it through the intersection unscathed.
Amy eyed the clock. She was fifteen miles in the wrong direction and she needed to be at school in less than forty minutes. The mock interview was critical to her workshop grade. The intersection cleared, but the light was still red. Looking in both directions, Amy jabbed the gas. If she got stopped, she’d tell the cop what she was doing and pray he’d help. She sped around a curve, only seeing the gold car when she shot past the driveway where the Latino girl had turned in.
Hitting her brakes, Amy knew she had to make a decision. She’d come this far. She couldn’t turn back. She reversed into the driveway. The girl sprang from her car. Amy turned off her engine and grabbed her phone. When she opened her car door, the girl dashed across the yard and leaped onto the porch.
“Tu saliste primero !Y yo no te hice daño. Dejame tranquila! Deja de seguirme o llamo a la policia.”
“This isn’t about me walking out in front of you at the mall.” Amy lifted her hands, gripping her phone. “That was my fault. I take full responsibility.”
The young woman stopped yelling, thank God. “Then what do you want?”
“I need to ask about what you said the first time I slammed into you. Remember? In the mall office?” She moved her finger to the button that would play the audio clip and took another two steps toward the porch. “I’ve had my hair cut since then, but I think you were filling out a job application when I bumped into you.” She was nearly to the steps. “I was with Eric De Marco. You said this.” The girl had her hand on the doorknob, but Amy’s finger on the phone was quicker. She pressed the button, watching the woman’s eyes go even wider when she heard her own voice.
“I know what it means now,” she assured the girl when the short clip ended. “John Carpenter was the bee man for De Marco Farms, wasn’t he? You’ve seen his picture in the newspaper and on television.”
“No puedo hablar de eso. Vete ! Go away. I can’t talk about that.”
Amy’s pulse was racing. There wasn’t any doubt in her mind, this girl was scared. “Just hear me out, okay? You’ve seen his picture in the newspaper, haven’t you? You know he killed Cammie De Marco. You know he left four children without a mother. Then he looked those kids in the eye every day for twenty-seven years, threw up a hand when they drove by his place, and pretended to be their friend. Unless a witness turns up to contradict his story, or he’s accused of another crime, he might do five years in prison. They’ll give him credit for his jail time. What if he hurts someone else when he gets released? What if we can stop that from happening?”
The girl’s chest heaved. She darted a look over her shoulder at the closed door. “Mi madre. I cannot tell you what you want. It will bring shame on her. Shame on my whole family.” Tears spilled down the girl’s cheeks.
“Please. I’m begging you. Did John Carpenter hurt your mother?”
The girl swallowed hard, and Amy saw indecision in her eyes. Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “Do you know a policía? One you trust?”
No. But I sure as hell know how to get to the sheriff’s department. “Yes. Absolutely.”
The girl stepped closer. “Then you tell them they stopped digging too soon.”
Amy sagged against a porch post, staring at the slamming door. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears. Is she talking about another murder? For the second time in less than an hour, her kneecaps turned to water. The girl whirled and dashed into the house, slamming the door.
* * * *
Eric closed the door to the garage office and grabbed the phone book. He dialed the number for Parks and Recreation and saved it in his cell phone. He gave his name and was put through to Tucker Sizemore right away.
“Eric? Is Amy okay?”
He yanked the rag from his back pocket and swiped his forehead. “Oh, yes, sir. Far as I know. She’s at school. I was calling about something else.”
“Whew. Okay.” Tucker’s chuckle reminded him of Dan’s rumbling laugh. “Her boyfriend never called me once in three years, so you scared me.”
“Ex-boyfriend.” That detail mattered. He took a deep breath, eyeing the clock. It wasn’t quitting time, but Dan would have to deal. “I called to see if Mr. Rolley found a place for his training camp yet.”
“No. Why? Do you know of a place?”
“I might. I mean, I know of a place, I just don’t know whether you guys will think it’s good enough.”
“When can I see it?” Tucker demanded.
“What are you doing right now?”
* * * *
It was idiotic to be worried about a pretend interview when she needed to find a cop. Amy yanked open the door to the Education building and ran down the long hallway, dodging students. Skidding to a stop outside Professor Reston’s door, she raked her fingers through her hair, took a deep breath in an attempt to slow her panting, and grasped the knob.
Thirty nerve-wracking minutes later, the professor got to her feet, indicating the interview was over. Amy had no idea whether she’d made a good impression. She didn’t care. This was fake, a waste of time. The woman peered over her glasses. Amy darted a look at her cell phone to check the time.
“One final question, Miss Sizemore.”
She wanted to scream. “Yes, ma’am?”
“If your heart’s in Special Education, why are you a Mathematics major? Shall I guess? Because the state offered incentives to attract teachers in that field?”
What a bitch, thinking everybody’s mercenary. “I’m a math major because I’m good at math and I believe I can teach others to be good at math, too. I’m certified as an official in many sports. Not only handicapped sports.” She’d spent too much time babbling about her extracurricular activities, but what else was there to talk about? She had no direct teaching experience. “My dad taught me that athletics can reach across all social groups. When you play, you’re not black, or white, or handicapped. You’re a competitor, period. I’m proud to help make those games happen.” The professor didn’t seem impressed. “When you see my community service project, I hope you’ll understand.”
