Cold Waters (Normal, Alabama Book 1)

by Debbie Herbert

  “Maybe you should have kept better tabs on her whereabouts,” I snapped. “After all, you’re her mother.”

  “You think I don’t know that? Okay, maybe I did get a little lax this summer keeping up with her progress, but she wasn’t expected to be released until late this fall, at the earliest.”

  Despite Hy’s defensive retort, a guilty flush stained her face and neck.

  “Anyway, I’m here now, aren’t I? I intend to make things right.”

  “How? By offering her money? You honestly believe that you can erase the years she spent without you? The pain she’s suffered believing you’ve been dead? Still, if I had the chance to do it over, I’d have called earlier,” I admitted.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because almost as soon as she arrived, it was announced the lake was being drained. Everyone was speculating that the Dalfred remains would be found and the case reopened. It would have looked suspicious if Violet had fled town. And frankly, I didn’t want to ever see you again. You’re poison. You ruin every life you touch.”

  She drew in a sharp breath, and pain lanced her features. “You could have called for Violet’s sake, if not my own,” she whispered. “Even if you hate me now.”

  I didn’t hate her, but I couldn’t let her know she still affected me.

  “I wanted Violet to make it on her own, if possible. Might have been good for her to set old ghosts to rest. But your stepdaughter wasn’t going to let that happen.”

  “I told you years ago that Delaney was manipulative. That one won’t ever change. Best thing is for Violet to leave. Her real inheritance is waiting for her overseas. She can start a new life with me in Portugal.”

  “Money doesn’t solve everything. And I bet she has no desire to live with you. Not after what you’ve done.”

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” she asked, folding her arms tight around her waist. “I never would have gotten away with faking my death if you hadn’t helped. You’re as guilty as I am.”

  What a fool I’d been. A reckless, besotted idiot. Hyacinth had come to me all those years ago with her tears, with her pleas. She’d overheard Parker tell Delaney that he planned to divorce her as soon as Hy’s mother’s estate was settled. Parker had bragged of bombshell news he could use against Hy in divorce court. That with a good attorney and a judge who was an old friend of his family’s, he could get the majority of the money. In the end, Hyacinth had convinced me to act against everything I’d ever believed in—justice, faithfulness, even basic human decency. And not just once but twice.

  You’re as guilty as I am. Hy’s words cannonballed through me. She was right. I’d been, in part, selfishly worried about the damage to my family and career if the truth came out about that night. At least Hyacinth had acted in the belief she’d be protecting Violet’s future by setting up a safe living arrangement for the two of them.

  So again, I’d helped Hyacinth when she was in need. Given my position as a detective, the faking part had been easy. A switch with another burnt corpse that was already too damaged for DNA testing. Then setting Hy’s car on fire and writing up the fatal accident as the investigating detective of record. Hyacinth had already taken care of the detail work, slowly funneling funds from secret accounts in the States to an overseas bank and arranging a false identity and passport from an ex-con I’d recommended she contact. She’d vowed never to return to Normal, unless Violet needed her. Now her return might wreck my life and my career.

  But the present circumstances justified Hyacinth’s homecoming.

  “Let’s let sleeping dogs lie,” I said, taking the binoculars and watching Violet. She’d returned to loosening nails, and a horrible possibility seized me. “Violet must realize Delaney’s closing in on her.”

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  “Maybe Violet’s taking matters into her own hands. What if Delaney is telling the truth after all? Maybe Violet has snapped under all the pressure. Loosening those planks could set up a convenient accident. If Delaney fell, she’d hit cement. From that height, I don’t think she’d survive.”

  Hyacinth shot me a reproving frown. “You’re jaded. Violet wouldn’t hurt her sister. Besides, there’re too many variables in that scenario. Delaney would have to walk on the balcony, and then she’d have to fall, and even if she did fall, there’s no guarantee it would kill her.”

  I scrubbed a hand over my face, ashamed that I’d questioned Violet’s actions. “You’re right,” I admitted. I glanced at my watch. “Soon as you finish talking with Violet, I’ll take care of everything.”

  It was going to be a very long night.

  Chapter 38

  VIOLET

  Present day

  Danger, unseen, was out there . . . nimble, mysterious, and silent as a crouching black cat. Any second it would pounce, a streak of black blending seamlessly in the night. I struggled to breathe past the fear clogging my throat.

  A cool hand stroked my brow—tender and reassuring. A long-ago scent that quieted my panic—magnolias, an aromatic mixture of gardenia, honeysuckle, citrus, and spice—as fresh and sweet as lemonade. I lay in the dark, breathing in the familiar scent and vividly remembering my mother. When I was growing up, she could be distant and aloof, always racing out the door to get away from us. But there were also these moments of sweet, kind love that allowed me to glimpse a softer side of life. A memory resurfaced, a pleasant one where I was small and hurt myself and my mother comforted me, her hand pressed on my forehead as she murmured to me that all was well.

  The nightmare was gone, and so was the fuzzy haze between sleep and waking.

  That lingering smell should not be here.

  That brush against my forehead should not have happened.

  I heard nothing, but I was not alone in my bedroom. I sensed the hushed breathing of something alive, the faintest rustling of clothes.

  “Delaney?” I despised the weak quiver in my voice. I couldn’t let her see that these stupid games reduced me to a ball of flayed nerves. She was toying with me, intent on destroying her prey.

  Had I been drugged last night? I was always so careful not to drink or eat anything I hadn’t personally prepared. My hands slid across the cotton sheets, searching for the chip of sea glass or the tumbled bit of tourmaline I tucked beside me each night to ward off evil. Where had they gone? My wandering hands only brushed the smooth expanse of linen.

  Stay calm. They’re nearby. Have to be. I curled my fingers into my palms.

  “I know you’re in here, Delaney. Just cut it out.”

  “Shh.” The whispered command scraped against my chilled flesh. A warm, soft hand slipped into mine and pressed, as if reassuring me all was well.

  A childish urge to hide under the covers almost overwhelmed me. Ignoring my instincts, I squeezed onto the hand holding mine and reached for the lamp on the bedside table beside me. No slipping out for Delaney. This wasn’t the first time she’d trespassed in my room and then denied doing so later, claiming that it was just my imagination.

  “Gotcha!” I cried out triumphantly, gripping her hand and flipping on the lamp.

  A stranger hovered above me. I blinked, taking in the intense eyes. No, not a stranger at all. I screamed and jerked my hand away from the woman’s very warm hand. A very much alive hand.

  The hand of my supposedly dead mother.

  “Who are you? Get out!” I kicked at her body. This couldn’t be my mother. Delaney had found someone with a striking resemblance to our mom and then had paid her to terrorize me. This was payback for trying to expose her fake fiancé. It had to be. Unless I really was batshit crazy and beginning to suffer hallucinations.

  “Violet, hush, it’s really me. I know this must be a shock, but please hear me out before—”

  “Get away from me!” I scrabbled to the opposite side of the bed. “I’m calling the cops.”

  My eyes darted to the bedside table. Damn it. Of course, my cell phone was there beside this . . . apparition. Out
of reach.

  “Darling, it’s okay. I would never hurt you.”

  Hell’s bells. She even sounded like Mom. How had Delaney found this twin stranger? A random fact I’d come across on the internet flashed through my addled brain. There was actually a website that had the capability of scanning your face and finding up to six twins for you from around the world. This elaborate stunt must have cost Delaney a fortune.

  I rolled off the side of the bed and backed against the wall. The woman started toward me. I couldn’t get trapped here in the corner between the bed and the wall. Carefully, I moved sideways, waiting for the right moment to make a dash for the door.

  “I’m alive, Violet. I wasn’t in that car when it burned.”

  “Okay, lady. You’ve had your fun and games with me. Collect your money from Delaney and leave me alone.”

  “Remember when I took you to see Peter Pan in Huntsville? Or the time we went to The Nutcracker in Birmingham and you insisted you wanted to be a ballerina when you grew up?”

  She bestowed a tender smile, and my fear gave way to anger. How dare this stranger play such a cruel act? I slow clapped and stepped away from the wall. “Quite a performance. Delaney prepared you well. But my real mother would never have let me believe she was dead and then never contacted me.”

  I brushed past her and grabbed my phone off the table. “I’m calling the cops now. Game’s over.”

  “Call Detective Boone Kimbrel, then. He’ll verify my story.”

  Shock rooted me to the ground, and I tried to tamp down the shiver that spread through my body. Boone Kimbrel. The detective who’d always seemed way too interested in my case, who’d been way too gentle in his interviews, and who also had happened to be with my mom when she’d found me That Night. What did he have to do with this? I shook off my misgivings. All of that was coincidence. “You’re crazy. Either that, or you think I am.”

  “Don’t ever say that. You suffered a trauma—that’s all.”

  “Delaney?” I raised my voice, loud enough to carry down the hall. This charade had to end. “Where are you? If I call the cops, you’re going down with this actress you hired.”

  “Delaney’s not here,” the woman said calmly. “And Parker is out of it for the night. Go on and call Boone. We thought you might have trouble believing the truth. He’s waiting outside.”

  There were more than one of them. I was in deep trouble if there really was a second person waiting to pounce on me.

  “How did you get in here?” I asked past dry lips. I’d locked all the doors and windows before coming to bed. Was this a vivid dream? A hallucination? Maybe returning home had finally unraveled my sanity.

  “I let myself in the back door. The spare key was under the back-porch planter, same old place we always kept it.” She pulled out a cell phone from her pants pocket and punched in some numbers. “I’m calling Boone to come inside and corroborate my story.”

  Boone. There was something about the familiar way she said his name that again set me on edge. “No!”

  “You’re frightened. I can’t blame you. I’ll just have him step out of the woods a moment.”

  She spoke into the phone. “Shine your flashlight at Violet’s window.”

  Seconds later, a beam of light bounced through the glass french doors.

  This woman wasn’t acting alone. It had to be Delaney out there, but I wasn’t taking any chances. These people might be dangerous—if they were even real. I ran to the dresser and grabbed my car keys.

  “Boone. Shine the light on your face so she knows it’s really you.”

  I couldn’t help but look back over my shoulder. A man stepped out of the woods, a flashlight spotlighting his face. Impossible to make out the features, though.

  I bolted for the door and ran down the stairs, practically taking a tumble in my desperate hurry. For a moment, I paused by Dad’s shut bedroom door. Leave him and find help, or stay and wait for the trespassers to close in?

  I ran to the door. Best thing to do between two awful choices was to make a compromise. I’d lock myself in the car while I called the cops. If the man outside entered the house, I’d go back in and try to protect Dad until the police arrived. And if this was all another mental breakdown . . . well, I’d have to take a chance on looking ridiculous to the cops. Outside, the crickets chirruped, and a gazillion insects buzzed. I flew down the steps and ran to the car. Almost there.

  A set of strong arms gripped my shoulders. I screamed, useless since no one was within hearing distance, but it beat a silent submission to brute force. My heart jackhammered against my ribs.

  “Violet, it’s Detective Kimbrel. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you. We need to talk.”

  He released me, and I stumbled backward, gaping at the tall man. The woman in my bedroom hadn’t lied. It was indeed Kimbrel. My gaze flitted to the house, where she stood in the doorway, backlit by the light within.

  “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  “Helping Hyacinth. I’m sorry for the scare.” He loomed over me, awkward and lanky as always. Tall like me. Again, I tamped down the errant whispers in my mind. Kimbrel ran a hand through his hair and gestured to the woman who walked toward us. “There’s no good way to break the news. This really is your mother.”

  My body shook violently, and I took another step back. I fought facing the truth, even as it paraded itself before my very eyes. “You’re in on this with Delaney,” I accused.

  “Why would I do that? Delaney means nothing to me. It’s you I care about.”

  I wanted to clamp my hands over my ears. “Care about me? You don’t even know me. You must be some kind of sick—”

  “He’s your father, Violet.”

  I gaped at the woman.

  “Think about it,” she said softly. “You remember what it was like in that house. Parker and I never got along, to put it mildly. And Delaney? We despised each other from day one. Boone and I would never help Delaney to hurt you. Never.”

  I continued to shiver, despite the oppressive humidity. Mom alive? Parker not my real father?

  She reached a hand out toward me, palm up. “And see? I brought you this all the way from Portugal. A blue chip of sea glass, just like the one the crows gifted you so many years ago.”

  Who else would know that about me? Even Delaney didn’t know the significance of that bit of glass. Only Mom. I stared at them, and the truth stared back.

  “But . . . why?” I asked Mom in a small voice. “You just”—I raised an arm and then let it drop—“just left me all alone, believing you were dead.”

  “It was better this way. For both of us. I was miserable and scared, trapped in a horrible marriage, trapped in this small town. I always intended to return when you were ready.”

  She made it sound like she’d left me for a short vacation instead of the truth that she’d abandoned me for years. Hurt lanced my heart, shredding it into tiny pieces. The betrayal cut me to the quick. I quickly tried to force it down and focus on my outrage. Anger braced me, and the trembling was replaced by a burning resolve that tingled like an electrical burn from my scalp to my toes. “You left me,” I said, each syllable steady and clear. “Left when I needed you most. Abandoned me to the mercy of Alabama’s psychiatric system. Did you think you’d left me where I’d get compassionate care, Mother?”

  She flinched, and I took a petty satisfaction in her discomfort. It wasn’t a fraction of what she’d put me through. Boone regarded me with his head hung low, an apology in his eyes. My biological father? I wanted nothing to do with him.

  “Honey, please.” Mom held out an arm, as if she wanted to touch me, pull me into an embrace.

  Fat chance. I wanted nothing to do with either of them. I picked up the car keys I’d dropped when Boone had grabbed me, and I strode toward the house, needing to distance myself from their presence. A deep desire for a sleeping pill fueled my steps. I wanted to down at least two and then burrow into my familiar bed with the covers over my head.


  “We know this is a shock, but you need to hear us out,” Boone said.

  I whirled to face him. “You don’t get to order me around. You’ve never been a father to me, so don’t think I owe you any respect.”

  “Violet, hush. If you would only—”

  Boone shook his head. “Might be better if you talked to her alone.”

  I kept walking. How could they do this to me? Lie to me all these years?

  Mom caught up and walked alongside me. “I know you’re angry. You have every right. But let’s go back to your room and talk, okay? You’re in trouble, and we can help.”

  She wouldn’t leave me alone until she’d had her say. I stood in the doorway and spread my arms, blocking her path. “Fine. But don’t you dare wake up Dad. My real dad. I won’t have you upsetting him.”

  “Since when did you start caring for Parker? He was never nice to anyone but Delaney.”

  I kept her barred from the entrance.

  “All right, then,” she sighed. “I’ll be quiet.”

  We proceeded through the kitchen and softly crept up the stairs into my bedroom. Carefully, I closed the door with a gentle click and stood in the middle of the room, arms folded. “Why are you here?”

  “First, I’m truly sorry for scaring you in the middle of the night like this.”

  “There’s no good way to break the news that you faked your death. And that you stayed away when I needed you most.”

  “For months, I did visit you in the hospital. Sent money to you for years as well. Boone made sure the funds were put into your own personal account.”

  That explained that little mystery. It hadn’t been Dad or Delaney slipping me money out of guilt. It had been Mom all along.

  “And when I did visit, you acted like you either didn’t know who I was or didn’t care that I’d come. I was depressed, honey. I couldn’t live with Parker anymore.”

  As if it were yesterday, I recalled the screaming matches between them, which were followed by long stretches of brittle silence that could last for weeks at a time. I remembered walking on eggshells when Dad started drinking, and Mom’s often-distracted air of being physically present but having her mind adrift elsewhere, somewhere I played no part in and didn’t belong.