Cold Waters (Normal, Alabama Book 1)

by Debbie Herbert

  “Someone’s sitting out there.”

  “What?” A tingling shot through my veins. “That’s impossible.”

  I’d been home for more than an hour, cooking an early supper for Dad and then preparing for the detective’s visit. No one else had been in the house with me, not even a damn ghost. What was this foolishness? I brushed past him and walked onto the deck.

  A woman stood at the far end, casually leaning against the railing, her back to us. There was something familiar about the slender curve of her shoulders. She slowly turned and stared at me. Her Mona Lisa smile was calm and mysterious, as though she owned this place and all its secrets. The air in my lungs collapsed. I couldn’t suck in enough oxygen; every breath burned.

  “Hello, Delaney.”

  It’s really her. Mom. Impossible. “It can’t be. You’re supposed to be—”

  “Dead?”

  Her crimson lips curled, and her smile turned sardonic. She had the upper hand here. All collected and powerful. I felt battered and confused. Utterly crushed. Black splinters crashed inside me, their sharp edges spiking my panicked mind. Bits and pieces of the past needled my brain . . . the ruined body charred from the fire of the car crash, too burnt for proper identification . . . her horrible fights with Dad . . .

  “How? Why?” I stumbled to the iron baluster and clutched it as though it were an anchor and I were drowning. “I-I don’t understand.”

  “What I don’t understand is how you came into possession of this.” Mom held up the cross-pendant necklace. Ainsley’s necklace.

  Chills prickled my flesh, and I swirled around, seeking Detective Kimbrel. Were they both ganging up on me? He stood not three feet behind me. His face was grim, even malevolent; not a trace of the detective-bureaucrat remained in his dark eyes. I’d been set up. He came toward me, and I involuntarily stepped back. There was a threat of danger in his measured gait and calculating eyes. He jabbed a finger at me. “Violet didn’t kill Ainsley. You did.”

  “Whaa . . . no. Violet pushed Ainsley off the cliff. I saw her do it.”

  “You admit you were there that night?”

  Too late, I realized my slip. Must have poured too much vodka in my vodka tonic. “Maybe.” I chewed the inside of my mouth, drawing the tang of blood. How had they guessed? I glanced back and forth between the two, my neck whiplashing. “You two know each other,” I reasoned aloud, trying to crystallize information with each new bombshell that detonated. “You’re lovers.”

  “Always knew you were a smart girl,” Mom said with a smirk.

  Same old Hyacinth, same old hatred. I turned back to the detective. “You helped Mom fake her death. Why? There must be money behind . . .” I shook my head. “Of course! Bet you squirreled away money from your parents’ inheritance. We were surprised how little there was when we collected. How did you manage to pull it off?”

  “Never mind that,” Kimbrel answered for her.

  I snorted. “Yeah, y’all wouldn’t want to discuss your illegal activities, would you? Didn’t figure you for a dirty cop, Kimbrel. Her—” I cast Mom a scathing look. “Her I could see orchestrating a stunt like this. But she needed your help to make it work.”

  “She had her reasons. Let’s stick to the present.”

  He still protected Mom, I noticed. The man must still be in love. “The present. After scamming Dad and me from our money, you want to move on to a more serious criminal act. Like covering up Violet’s murder. You didn’t come here to arrest her. You came here to threaten me with blackmail.”

  His silence and implacable gaze confirmed everything.

  “It’s not going to work. I could turn you both in for what you’ve done.”

  “And who do you think they’re going to believe—the tramp of Normal with her wild tale of the dead coming back to life? Or me, a respected detective with over twenty-five years’ service?”

  I let the tramp remark go. “But why?” I cocked my head at Mom. “Why risk everything? You’re doing all this for her?”

  “Not entirely,” Mom answered. I switched my gaze her way. “He’s doing it for his daughter.”

  My thoughts had slowed to poured-molasses stage, and it took me several seconds to catch her drift.

  “Fuck,” I whispered softly. I was so screwed. Blood was blood, and once again, Violet had won. Unless I could turn this whole thing around. And quick.

  “How did you get Ainsley’s bracelet and necklace?” Detective Kimbrel asked. “You weren’t just there that night. You stole the jewelry off a dead girl, didn’t you?”

  I pursed my lips. He wasn’t the only one who could keep his mouth shut.

  “You killed Ainsley Dalfred,” he continued. “There’s no other explanation. Confess now, and it will go easier on you.”

  “Violet killed her, not me! They were arguing, and after Violet pushed her off the cliff, I rushed down to the river to see if Ainsley was okay.”

  “Go on,” the detective urged. “What happened next? Why were you even there?”

  I licked my dry lips and swallowed hard, forming the rest of my story.

  “Okay, I was spying on them,” I admitted slowly. “Only because I was worried about Violet. She’d been acting strange and was all obsessed with Ainsley. When she sneaked out of the house that night, I followed. I was concerned she was in some kind of trouble, and I wanted to help.”

  Mom snickered, but I ignored her.

  “I saw them together. They were doing . . . you know, naughty stuff. Kissing and fondling.”

  There, did they really want that tidbit about their daughter to become public knowledge?

  “Go on,” Detective Kimbrel grumbled.

  “I hid, intending to follow Violet home and talk sense into her before they got caught, and hell broke loose. After Ainsley fell, I called out to Violet, but she ignored me and ran into the woods. I found Ainsley in the water. She’d landed on a rock and injured her head.” I managed a little sob. “She was dead before I got to her.”

  “Again, how did you get her jewelry?” the detective asked.

  I brought my hands to my face and swiped at imaginary tears, buying time as I thought fast. “Their clothes and shoes were at the riverbank. Ainsley had tucked her bracelet and necklace inside her T-shirt.”

  “Liar,” Mom said, her voice lashing with scorn. “I’d bet that you pushed Ainsley off that cliff. Then you took her jewelry as a sick trophy.”

  Her uncanny guess about the jewelry stabbed fear in my gut. That bitch had figured out my number almost from the start, before she’d even married Dad. Attempting to fool her was a waste of time.

  “It will come down to my story versus Violet’s story,” I told the detective, hoping to sway him with reason. I turned Kimbrel’s earlier question back on him. “Who do you think people will believe? A woman long suspected of murder and who was recently released from psychiatric care—or me? If you really love your daughter, maybe you should convince her to leave town and never come back. That way, we can all have what we want.”

  “We’re not here about Ainsley Dalfred’s murder. Richard ‘Dinky’ Stedmyer was arrested and charged with her murder less than an hour ago.”

  My world shifted, and my thoughts were out of kilter. “What are you talking about?”

  The detective’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Thanks to an anonymous tip, Stedmyer’s house was searched, and cops found a bracelet belonging to the victim. Violet’s name has finally been cleared.”

  I gaped at him, horrified. “You took that bracelet and planted it on someone else.”

  “A sex offender who admitted being at the scene that night.”

  All my plans, destroyed by a dirty cop. If only I’d brought the evidence to someone else, anyone but this detective. It wasn’t fair. I was stuck with Violet now.

  “What’s your game?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “Why are you here?”

  “We want you to leave Normal and stay out of Violet’s life. Parker’s as well.”

&nbs
p; “Gladly. If the price is right.”

  “I’m not giving you a dime,” Mom said quickly. “You have as much to lose as we do if the truth comes out.”

  “You’re bluffing. Both of you get out of my house, before I call a real cop.”

  “Told you she wouldn’t listen to reason,” Mom said, looking past me to Kimbrel. “And there’s no appealing to her sense of decency. She has none.”

  “You’ve no right to talk like that,” I scoffed. “Not after the things you’ve done, Mother.”

  Mom’s face flushed, and she took a step toward me. “You know nothing of love. Nothing of honor. And stop calling me Mom. You were never my real daughter—now were you, Delaney?”

  Lava-hot rage burned and blistered my veins. Violet was the only one she’d ever loved. Growing up, it was always about Violet, never me.

  Mom’s vitriol continued. Her eyes hardened even more. “You killed Ainsley and then tried to blame my Violet.”

  “Ainsley was already nearly dead from a fall when I found her and finished the job. Call it a mercy killing.”

  “You don’t know the meaning of mercy.” Mom stepped closer, jabbing a finger toward my chest. “I’ve heard about your father’s drastic mental and physical decline, and I suspect you might be behind that as well. Not that I care what happens to Parker.”

  “But . . . how could you possibly . . . I mean, that’s not true. I’d never hurt—”

  “You’re evil. I’d put nothing past you, Delaney. You have no conscience. Not even with your own family.”

  “Oh yeah? No one would ever nominate you for the Mother of the Year award.”

  “What’s all the ruckus?” Dad stood in the doorway—wearing only boxer shorts and a T-shirt, silver hair disheveled and eyes bloodshot. His gaze locked on Mom. He lifted a shaky hand to his wrinkled face, scrubbed, and looked again. “Hyacinth?”

  The controlled tightness in her face loosened, and she cocked her head to the side. “Parker. You don’t look well.”

  “You’re not dead?” His face crumpled like a whipped child’s. “This can’t be. It can’t . . .” He looked at me, seeking help.

  “What a bitch, Dad! She and her lover think they can just waltz into your house. After all these years of deceiving you.”

  He appeared to notice Detective Kimbrel for the first time. Red mottled Dad’s cheeks. “I remember you.”

  That made two of us now aware Hyacinth was alive and that Kimbrel must have helped fake her death. Surely I could swing this fact to my advantage. I egged Dad on, welcoming the diversion from Kimbrel’s grilling.

  “Did you know this man is Violet’s real father? Mom was cheating on you. She’s been lying to you for years.”

  “What? I’d suspected, but . . . is that true?”

  Mom nodded.

  Dad stumbled from the doorway, an arm raised at Kimbrel.

  The detective caught it midair, as effortlessly as though he were swatting flies.

  “How dare you come in my home? First you fuck my wife, and then you trespass.”

  Kimbrel dropped his arm. “Go back to bed, Parker. And forget you ever saw Hyacinth again.”

  “You and that slut don’t tell me what to do. This is my—”

  “Shut up, Parker,” Mom interrupted. “I put up with your abuse for way too long. I won’t tolerate it anymore.”

  I’d seen Dad plenty drunk and pretty mad over the years, but drugged or no, his temper flared as it had in the old days. His eyes dilated, and his hands formed fists at his sides. With surprising speed, he lunged forward. “I’ll teach you . . . you . . .”

  He shoved against me in his zeal to reach Mom, and I lost my balance. A creaking noise sounded, and something beneath my feet shifted.

  I was falling, tumbling through the open cracks. The deck opened, and my legs, then waist, fell through. Instinctively, I grabbed onto a plank. I dangled in the air, only four fingers curled over a rotten board. Far below was a wide expanse of cement. This couldn’t be happening. Not to me. Nobody defeated my plans. My gaze swept over my beautiful gardens and the empty backyard.

  A crow dive-bombed my head, beating its ugly black wings about my face, and I started to lose my tenuous hold.

  Chapter 41

  VIOLET

  Present day

  I was in the grips of the worst nightmare of my life. How else to explain the sight before me? Delaney dangled by an arm from my balcony. Several crows darted and flitted at her, cawing in a raucous cacophony that must surely be the symphony of hell. Mom, Boone, and Dad stood above, frozen figures, watching in horror.

  I ran to her, out of breath in no time, as though my lungs were full of punctures. Her blonde hair blew in the breeze.

  Boone was the first to act. He got on his knees and reached a hand out for Delaney. Dad quickly did the same.

  I bent over double, exhausted and wheezing. My crows, those naughty birds, escaped to the trees, as if they’d been caught in the act of wrongdoing. I felt my mother’s eyes on me.

  Silence stretched and warped time as the setting sun beat down on my numb face and arms. The rasp of my labored breathing gusted my ears like the roar of an advancing hurricane. My sister’s blonde hair transformed to black, and I was at the river once more. A scream rent the air.

  Ainsley!

  I hurtled down a rabbit hole with frightening speed. The wormhole in my memory burst, revealing the lost hours of that night, complete and uncompromised. I’d landed again in that moment when I had pushed Ainsley.

  Ainsley’s eyes widen, and her mouth forms an O of surprise. Her body topples backward, and her arms windmill uselessly to break the fall, while her heels fail to dig into the ground. Her legs churn as if peddling a broken unicycle. A tragic clown stumbling to her doom.

  Her eyes lock on to mine, stunned. I cannot move.

  And then, with a sharp outcry of fear, Ainsley falls from the cliff. My paralysis shatters, and I run to the edge. Naked arms and legs thrash in the air.

  Until the splash.

  A cannonball of black river water geysers up like a fountain. Of course, the water. Ainsley will be okay, will emerge from the water angry as a wet hen, but alive. I wait as the splash settles and the river is again a smooth black mirror.

  One second, two, then three . . . and yet Ainsley doesn’t resurface from the mysterious depths. She must be playing a trick on me, trying to scare me. How many times have we jumped down to the river from this very spot? I stare hard at the scene below. Ainsley must be swimming underwater and heading for the opposite shore.

  I wait.

  As the seconds tick by, the oppressive humidity grows so heavy it feels like a blanket of heat smothering me. And still no Ainsley.

  Something is very wrong.

  “Ainsley?” I call out to the darkness. My cry is weak and tentative, quickly absorbed by the night. I take a deep breath. “Ainsley? Where are you?” This time my voice is louder, but there’s still no answer. The still water and unmoving trees seem to mock my pleas.

  I race down the cliff, partly sliding most of the way on my naked butt. I barely note the sand abrading my skin. At the river’s edge, I call again. “Ainsley?”

  Water licks the shoreline by my toes, and my brain scrambles, fighting the inevitable conclusion.

  I killed her.

  No, no, no.

  I run away. As fast and far as I can until only the pain in my chest and legs consumes me. Inhale, exhale, keep going, keep moving.

  The trees whisper, taunting me.

  You killed her.

  You killed her.

  You’re in trouble now.

  Another high-pitched scream from Delaney, and the past dissolved. How could I save her?

  Her hold broke, and she fell, screaming on the descent. I couldn’t look away, not even when she landed with a sickening thump on the patio cement and the scream abruptly stopped. Her lifeless body lay twisted and broken. Blood pooled under her head, tinting her blonde hair crimson.

  I
thought I should go over, check to see if she was still alive.

  My legs couldn’t obey my brain’s logic. I couldn’t and wouldn’t do it. I had enough horrifying memories rattling in my mind without adding Delaney’s dead face to the list. And what if her eyes were still open? Everyone knew that if a dead person’s eyes remained open, they were in search of someone to return with them to the grave.

  I dropped to my knees and shut my eyes. From a great distance, I heard the front door bang open and footsteps pound down the porch and then the side of the house.

  Dad wailed. A long, mournful cry that I’d never forget. “No! Oh my God, no!”

  The scent of magnolias enveloped me as Mom’s arms wrapped around my shoulders. I stepped away from her embrace.

  “It’s over, honey. She’ll never hurt you again.”

  “What happened?”

  “Boone and I were having a little conversation with her about how she was treating you. Parker walked in on us, and things got . . . heated. Parker came at me, and Delaney happened to be in his way. She lost her footing and—”

  “You two have to go,” Kimbrel urged, patting the top of my head as if I were a child. “You weren’t supposed to be home for another half an hour, Violet. We’d wanted to be finished speaking with Delaney before you arrived. The police are on their way now.”

  I stared at him, trying to process his words past the blizzard of thoughts in my mind. I still resented that he thought he had the right to order me around. “I don’t see why I have to leave.”

  Kimbrel turned to my mom. “Get her out of here. I’ll strike a deal with Parker. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Just as she had when I was only fourteen years old, Mom led me away from the danger, whisking me to my car. “Drive to Wesson’s General Store. Once you see the police cars go by, wait a minute; then buy something inside before getting back on the road and returning home. You never saw any of us, and you never witnessed Delaney’s fall. It was an accident.”

  “Then let me tell that to the police.”