Sickness rose in his throat. He only committed murder in his books, but right now, he wanted to put his hands around Clint Thomson’s neck and squeeze until his bloodshot eyes bulged and he begged for mercy.
“I hate him, Hayden,” Brody said, mouth trembling and tears flowing. “I hate him.”
“I know. But you love him, too.”
“I guess.”
“Sometimes adults get messed up and do things they don’t mean.”
“He meant it.”
“Was he drinking?”
“Yeah.” Brody looked at the dead lizard again. “I hate him so much.”
Hayden’s chest throbbed. He draped an arm around Brody. “Living with an unpredictable parent can make you hate sometimes, but he’s still your father.”
“I wish he wasn’t. I wish my mama had taken me with her when she left.”
How many times had he wished he’d died with his father?
“I know, buddy. I know.” With a long exhale, he shifted, finding a comfortable position next to the boy so they could talk. Left unattended, this incident would fester into a lifelong sore that never, ever healed.
Aware Carrie hovered nearby, listening, he was careful. “I knew a boy once when I was in school. He was a lot like you.”
“Yeah? His dad drank, too?”
“Something like that. Only it was his mother. His daddy...left, same as your mother did.”
The dead lizard cradled against his neck, Brody listened with interest. “Was she mean?”
“Sometimes. Like your dad, she was unpredictable. The boy never knew if she would be happy or sad, mean or kind. He had hiding places in the woods. He was a friend of mine, so I went there with him sometimes.”
“Like me.”
“Yes, like you. He had a pet once, too, like you. Only his pet was just a stray dog, slick and skinny, but as loyal as daybreak.” Blackie Boy. Best dog ever.
Brody sniffed. “What happened?”
Memories flashed, cruel and rapid. The dog. His mother’s anger. The well.
Hayden’s pulse beat in his throat, heavy and painful. She’d promised as long as he was no trouble, the dog could stay. Then, in a rage, furious at Hayden for something he couldn’t even remember, she’d drowned the only thing that loved him. And she’d made him watch.
Trembling with grief and hatred, Hayden had buried Blackie Boy deep in the woods and prayed that all dogs really did go to heaven.
“His mother killed him just like your dad killed Max. It was mean and awful and the boy hated her for a long, long time until he grew up and learned that she was broken and he didn’t want to be broken, too.” He shifted to look into Brody’s face. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Brody? You can’t let this break you. You can’t let your father define who you are and who you will become.”
Brody drew a sleeve across his soggy face, saying nothing, eyes downcast and shoulders stooped.
“Hayden’s right, Brody.” Carrie smoothed Brody’s cowlick. “You are a good person with a gentle heart. Don’t let your dad’s actions change you. Go on being kind and sweet and caring.”
“I don’t want to be like him.”
“You can’t change who your father is, but you don’t have to be like him,” she added. “And you don’t have to be embarrassed or ashamed when he drinks or acts terrible. That’s his fault, not yours, and you’re not responsible for his actions. You’re not him, Brody.”
Hayden telegraphed his gratitude.
Brody sniffed and gently lifted the lizard from his neck. “I gotta take care of Max now.”
Carrie’s heart ached until she thought her chest would crack open. People didn’t do things like this to their children. Not in her world.
And yet they did.
She knelt on the wet ground, not caring that last night’s rain soaked through to her knees as she listened to Hayden speak.
She hoped the tale was a figment of his fertile imagination to cheer Brody and not reality for some poor child he’d really known. Judging by the stark grief in Hayden’s face when he’d spoken, Carrie was very afraid the story was true.
She gazed at him with fresh eyes, wondering anew about his background, his family. He’d told her plenty about New York, about his writing life and many travels but nothing of his childhood other than an upper-middle-class background. Perhaps his boyhood had not been as rosy as he let on.
“Max has been a good pet,” she said to the shattered little boy. “Would you like for us to help you bury him?”
Brody’s mouth turned down as if he might start crying again. He nodded.
Gently, Hayden took the crushed lizard from the boy’s hand and stroked a finger over the slick reptilian back. “Do you have anything in your fort we could wrap him in?”
Brody shook his head. “Maybe.”
He crawled inside and returned with a strip of white cloth. “The bunny’s leg is nearly well. He won’t need this.”
So with sad and solemn respect, Hayden and Brody burrowed a long, narrow hole while Carrie wrapped the lizard and gathered a handful of wildflowers for the grave.
It was only a lizard. A slimy, yucky lizard like the kind she’d normally avoid, but to Brody, Max was a friend. What mattered more and cut deeper than the loss of the pet was his father’s heartless betrayal.
“Ready?” Hayden asked.
Brody’s blond head dipped. Kneeling, he placed Max into the ground, scooped and patted the dirt and then tilted back on his heels. Carrie handed him the white daisy-looking flowers, which he solemnly placed on the tiny grave.
“You were a good boy, Max,” he said, patting the damp earth. “I hope God has lots of crickets for you up in heaven.”
Then he squeezed his eyes closed and began to murmur the Lord’s Prayer.
Carrie exchanged glances with Hayden. He reached for her hand and gently squeezed.
Tears seeped from the corners of Carrie’s eyelids. For the boy and his lost pet but also for the man who told stories that broke her heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THAT NIGHT, HAYDEN murdered two people.
The fictional deaths relieved some of the rage brewing under his skull like a witch’s poison, but the relief left him vaguely ashamed.
If that wasn’t enough to disturb his rest, when he’d finally settled into the Mulberry Room, he’d had the dream again. Thaddeus and Josie.
At 3:00 a.m. he’d flung the story onto his laptop and then called himself an idiot.
He squeezed the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eye sockets, worn and irritated.
Maybe dreaming of a time past reflected his own psychological condition and his need to work through a boyhood he’d yet to reconcile, a past much like Brody’s. It made more sense than a message-sending house or ghosts.
Skipping breakfast, he drove to Brody’s house. Thomson was likely still in bed, working off a hangover. He hoped the jerk had a raging headache.
With grim satisfaction, Hayden pounded his fist on the door.
Thomson appeared, blurry eyed and unshaven. Scowling, he said, “What do you want?”
“Do you have any idea where your son is?”
The man straightened. “What’s he done?”
“You’re the one who’s done something.”
Thomson squinted, hackles raised. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about your worst nightmare. Me. I came by to give you a warning. Don’t do anything to hurt Brody again.”
“I never—Did he say I hit him?” Thomson gritted his teeth and pulled his shoulders back, defiant. “The lying, sniveling little—”
Hayden sliced a hand through the air, cutting him off. “You killed his pet.”
“That boy’s got no pet. I don
’t allow animals in the house.”
“Max may not have been a pet to you, but he was to Brody. He loved that lizard.” Hayden’s fists tightened at his sides. “And you stomped him to death. In front of Brody. While you were getting drunk, your devastated son was alone, burying Max in the woods.”
“Whining little wuss. Always sniffling about some poor little animal. Doesn’t have the gumption to kill a bug. Just like his worthless mama.”
Hayden itched with the need for release. He was a peaceable man and certainly didn’t want the negative publicity, but Thomson released a monster in his soul.
“Do you have any idea how much you hurt your boy? His own father, the person he’s supposed to trust and depend on?”
“It was a filthy lizard! How was I to know the kid kept it as a pet?”
“The box should have been a clue, Einstein, and the fact that Brody tried to keep him hidden under the bed. Away from you. Or are you stupid as well as a drunk?”
Thomson’s face worked with emotions, fury, confusion, guilt. Through tight, flat lips, he said, “You need to mind your own business, Mr. Big Shot.”
Hayden realized he was breathing hard, as if he’d run the distance from Peach Orchard Inn to this little house on the west of Honey Ridge. His heart hammered, pumping hot fury through his veins. “You’ve had your warning, Thomson. Do anything to hurt that boy again, and you answer to me.”
“What I do in my own house is up to me. You come here again, and I’ll call the cops on you.”
Hayden froze, calculating, smiling a little, though his smile was anything but friendly. “You do that, Thomson, and while they’re here, tell them what happened to your wife.”
Thomson drew back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. Penny Thomson disappeared from this town, and no one has ever heard from her again. There’s no driver’s license in her name, no record of her anywhere. I find that more than a little suspicious.”
“You accusing me of something, mister?”
“No accusation. Only the facts.” He turned to leave but spun back. “Remember what I said about Brody. I’m watching.”
* * *
“THE MAN SHOULD be horsewhipped.” Carrie’s mother, Mary Riley, stood at the back door of Bailey’s modern brick home watching her grandsons and Brody play catch. “Poor little boy.”
“I’ll gladly provide the whip.” Carrie dipped a celery stick into a puddle of ranch dressing and gnawed the end, doing more thinking than eating as she discussed yesterday’s incident with her mom and sisters.
As often as possible, the Riley women gathered for lunch on Saturday after Carrie closed the library at noon. Today, they were shocked and angered by the treatment of one little boy.
“He’s a nice child,” Mary said. “His father has no business mistreating him that way.”
Nikki’s face was a mask of concern, furious as well as fashionable. “Do you think he’s physically abusive?”
Carrie waved the celery stick. “Hayden and I have both looked for bruises and found none. Brody insists his father doesn’t hit him, and he talks to Hayden a lot. More than to me.”
“It’s still not right,” Bailey said. “Trey should go over there and give that man a talking-to.”
“I think Hayden beat him to it.”
Nikki’s head swiveled toward Carrie. “Really? He went to Thomson’s house?”
She nodded. “Surprised me, too, but he and Brody have a strong connection, and Hayden was quite upset over what happened.”
“Speaking of our rather attractive author-in-residence, Clara Stanfield said Hayden was at your house really late the other night.” Nikki pointed a carrot stick. “The wayward one returns. So, what’s the little midnight rendezvous all about?”
Clara, Carrie’s next-door neighbor, never missed anything that went on in the neighborhood. “You know how I hate storms.”
“Apparently, Hayden does, too, because he needed your comfort.” Nikki grinned at her own cleverness. “Then dinner at Julia’s last night. He must have missed you something fierce when he went off to...” A furrow appeared in her forehead. “Where did he go?”
“To visit his mother.”
“Oh.” Nikki slumped in disappointment. “I expected something more exciting from a famous author. A movie premiere or something. Ooh, wouldn’t it be great if he invited you to one of those? You could hobnob with the likes of Reese Witherspoon!”
Carrie groaned. “Nikki, stop. You’re having an out-of-mind experience.”
“You mean out of body.”
“No. I meant out of your mind.”
The four women chuckled as Bailey dragged a chair away from the table, sat and leaned her chin on the heel of her hand. “So, back to you and Hayden. Spill the goods. What’s going on?”
I love him. But she didn’t say that.
“Hayden likes thunderstorms. I hate them. He knew I’d be nervous, so he came over to hang out.”
“That’s so sweet!” Bailey pitter-patted a hand over her heart.
“And he talked you down from the ledge,” Nikki said.
Bailey snickered. “More like out from under the bed. Remember, Carrie, how you used to drag your Elmo doll under there and have him talk to you to drown out the storm noise?”
Hayden’s company had been far more effective than dear old Elmo. She’d been so focused on him and the bracelet that she’d almost stopped jumping at every thunderclap.
“Hayden is no Elmo doll, Bailey.” Nikki twitched an eyebrow. “And if she’s dragging him anywhere, I hope it’s not under the bed.”
“We played Scrabble, people!” And snuggled on the couch and held each other and kissed.
“If that’s true, you’re pathetic. I’ve never seen you like this with a guy. Not since—” At Carrie’s warning glare, Nikki finished, “The unmentionable one.”
Carrie raised her hands in surrender. “Don’t bring that up.”
“Girls,” Mary admonished softly. “Stop teasing your sister. She can’t help her phobias any more than Nikki can help her lust for expensive clothes.” She nailed Nikki with the mother eye. “Hayden and Carrie have things in common, and I think he’s a fine young man.”
Carrie shot her mom a grateful look. “Mama’s right. Hayden’s a wonderful man, and we both love books. Right now, we’re both concerned about Brody.”
Bailey’s voice softened, losing its teasing edge. “And you like him a lot.”
Carrie pressed her lips together and sighed, deep and long. She needed to discuss him with someone, and who better than her sisters? They teased, but they loved her.
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite like this about anyone. But we all have to remember, especially me, Hayden is only here in Honey Ridge for a limited time. We can’t get any crazy ideas.” Like the ones already flowing through her own head.
“Since when did that matter?”
“It matters to me. He’ll go back to New York and his busy life. As you well know, I’m not going anywhere. Not that he’s inviting. We all know who he is.” And who she wasn’t. “When this is all over, I’d like to remain friends and maybe talk now and then.”
“Well, he is certainly not too good for my daughter!”
“Hayden would be the last to claim that, Mama, but we’re from different worlds. I’m smart enough to know that.”
Mama stroked a hand over the top of Carrie’s head. “I don’t want you hurt again, honey.”
Carrie reached up and caressed her mother’s hand. “I know.”
Sometimes the heart had a mind of its own.
“How close is he to finishing his book?”
“He doesn’t have to be in Honey Ridge to write, Bailey. Once he has the information he needs, he’ll go home.” Sh
e grabbed a broccoli spear and munched. At least she was getting a healthy load of greens during this interrogation.
Her mother pulled out a chair. “I still think it’s odd that a man without intentions would buy you jewelry.”
“Mom! I told you the story behind that. It’s not a big deal.” But the ankle bracelet had felt like a big deal the night of Hayden’s return from Kentucky. She’d gone to sleep with his kiss on her lips, his silver chain on her ankle and his name on her mind.
“Jewelry is always a good sign.” Nikki slid a plate of chicken quesadillas on the table. “I think he’s smitten. A man with his taste in clothes is a man to grab on to. New York is not that far away. I’d be glad to keep you company while we hang out with the rich and famous crowd.”
Carrie laughed. “Nik, I’d say you’re hopeless except you love Rick and he’s an ordinary guy who couldn’t be hog-tied and mailed to New York City.”
“He’s worse than ordinary. He bought his last pair of jeans at a yard sale.” She shrugged and forked a bite of quesadilla, lofting it to study the melting cheese. “However, I would love a brother-in-law with excellent taste.”
Carrie rolled her eyes and was saved from coming up with a reply when a knock sounded on the door and a male voice called, “Hey, Mama, got any food for your baby boy?”
“We’re in the kitchen!” Mary called. “Come on in.”
Bailey pulled another plate from the cabinet as Trey entered the room. “Something smells good.”
“You always know when lunch is ready.”
“You trained me well, my sweet mama.” He leaned over and kissed his mother on the cheek. “Hey, sisters times three,” he greeted. “I’m on duty, so I can’t stay long.”
“Even policemen get a lunch break, Trey.”
“I’ll tell the captain my mama said so.”
She pointed a finger at him. “You do that. Charlie Wright’s a good boy. He’ll do right by you.”
The siblings exchanged grins. Captain Charlie Wright was a former marine, six foot five and tough as boot leather.
The Rain Sparrow Page 40
