by C. B. Clark
Carrie Ann jerked upright, ready to defend Declan against Vivian’s unfair accusations. Declan didn’t have a temper, at least, not one fueled by alcohol. His anger only erupted when he was protecting someone. But she pressed her lips together and kept silent. What was the point? Vivian wouldn’t believe her.
“I couldn’t in good conscience allow you to become involved with a loose cannon like Declan.” Vivian inclined her head. “You were my responsibility, and you were just a child.” Her hand shook as she patted at the moisture gleaming on her ghostly face. “When that poor girl was found murdered, and Declan was the prime suspect, I had to ensure your safety. I didn’t want you to end up like her. I thought if he were locked in jail, you’d be safe.” She turned pleading eyes on Carrie Ann. “What I did was wrong, I see that now, but I did it for you.”
“Wrong?” Carrie Ann glared at her. “I left Cooper’s Ridge because of you, because of what you did.” In their determination to railroad Declan, Vivian and Leland had hammered at her night and day trying to convince her of his guilt, until she didn’t know which way was up. After a while, head pounding, exhausted, sick at heart, she hadn’t been able to stomach anymore of their pressure. She couldn’t fight them and everyone else in town, not with her world falling apart.
“I thought I was doing the right thing.” Vivian’s voice was a mere whisper.
“All you’ve ever cared about was what your prune-faced, tight-assed friends thought. You didn’t give a damn about me. I was an embarrassment you wanted to get rid of.” Carrie Ann gripped the arms of her chair, her nails digging into the carved wood.
Tears streamed down Vivian’s face, marring the perfect makeup, revealing the ravages of age. “I wanted what was best for you.”
Carrie Ann’s anger raged. “All these years Declan’s had to live with a dark cloud hanging over him, knowing everyone in town thinks he’s a murderer. Hell, their unfair suspicions drove him away from the only home he had.” She glared at Vivian. “You played a big part in the way he was treated.”
Vivian blew her nose with shaking hands. “I’m not proud of what I did, but I’m trying to make up for my actions.” She wiped her eyes and met Carrie Ann’s gaze. “I’d like you to help him.”
“You want me to help him?” Carrie Ann rubbed her forehead trying to quell the clamoring alarm bells. “I get it now. This is the reason you wouldn’t give me my mother’s possessions unless I returned to Cooper’s Ridge. You want me to help you ease your guilt over the way you screwed up Declan’s life. I bet you don’t even have a box.”
“Of course, I have a box. I told you. Your mother must have stored her things in my attic before she left home years before the fire. Mary Beth found the box last month when she was cleaning.”
“Where is this box then? Show it to me.”
“I will, but first, you need to listen.” Vivian rose and tottered around the desk until she stood over Carrie Ann. She grasped her niece’s hand. “What Leland and I did to Declan was wrong, but you were wrong, too.”
Carrie Ann yanked her hand away. “What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t do anything to him.”
“You were as much a part of this as Leland and I were.”
“You’re wrong.” Carrie Ann spluttered. “I didn’t try and have him convicted for a crime he didn’t commit.”
“No, but you left immediately after he was taken in for questioning. Your leaving town was as good as announcing to everyone you thought he was guilty.”
“But—”
“I realize mitigating circumstances were involved, my dear, but the people in this town saw your actions as a confirmation of Declan’s guilt.”
Silence filled the small room.
Carrie Ann’s head throbbed. “Mitigating circumstances?” All her anger and resentment spewed out in those two words. “That’s what you call it?”
“The point is,” Vivian continued as if Carrie Ann hadn’t spoken, “Declan needs help. He’s lived with the taint of guilt far too long. We must assist him in whatever way we can.”
Carrie Ann jumped to her feet. The tiny chair skittered across the polished hardwood floor and struck the wall with a crash. “Then you help him.”
Vivian stumbled back and sagged against the desk. “Believe me, I’ve tried. When I heard he’d come back to town, I tried to contact him, but he refused to talk to me. He won’t accept my help, but he will accept yours.”
Carrie Ann thought of her encounter with Declan on the dark road and shuddered. “What makes you think he’d accept my help? He despises me.”
“Yet he helped you when you had a flat tire.” Vivian sighed. “You must realize he doesn’t hate you, my dear. Declan loved you far too much to ever hate you. He may be angry with you, but hate—” she shook her head “—never. You are the best one to help him. He needs you.”
Carrie Ann frowned. Vivian had always disliked Declan. Hell, she’d destroyed his life. Now she was supposed to think Vivian had had a change of heart and wanted to help? “What’s in this for you?”
“Is it so hard to believe I want to make amends?”
“Yes,” she said simply.
“Whatever you think of me isn’t important right now. Declan needs a friend, someone he can trust; someone who knows he’s innocent.”
“He has Sheldon Dubrowski.”
Vivian waved away the suggestion. “He needs you.”
Carrie Ann shook her head. “Whatever was between Declan McAllister and me was a long time ago. I’m sorry for what he’s been through. I’m glad they’re reopening the case. I hope he can prove his innocence, but there’s nothing between us. There never will be.” She inhaled a deep breath. “Now, may I see my mother’s things? I’d like to get back to Seattle as soon as possible.”
Vivian watched her with piercing eyes. “I’d hoped Bonnie would be with you.”
“You can’t be serious. This is the last place I’d bring her. She doesn’t know anything about you, Leland, or Cooper’s Ridge, and she never will.”
Vivian’s face paled. “I’d like to meet her one day.”
“If you’d had your way, Bonnie wouldn’t exist.” Carrie Ann’s eyes burned with unshed tears. “You have no right to be part of her life, no right at all.”
Vivian looked as if she’d aged ten years in the past few minutes. Deep lines carved across her forehead. Her shoulders hunched forward, shrinking her emaciated frame. She stepped toward Carrie Ann, but stumbled and clutched the desk to stop her fall.
A stab of alarm struck Carrie Ann. “Are you okay?”
With visible effort, Vivian straightened, squaring her shoulders into a parody of her usual rigid bearing. “Careful, my dear, you almost sound like you care.”
Anger blazed through Carrie Ann once again. “I’ve had enough of this family reunion. Hand over my mother’s possessions.”
Vivian raised a skeletal arm and pointed at a cardboard shoebox sitting on a shelf in the corner of the office.
“That’s the box you found?”
Vivian nodded.
Carrie Ann walked over to the small, rectangular box. The original white of the cardboard had dulled to a soft yellowish-gray. One corner was crushed, part of the lid torn. She ran a finger across the top, and the accumulated dust of years stuck to her skin. She lifted the box off the shelf, surprised at the weight. Her hand shook as she raised the lid and peered inside.
A stack of Polaroid photographs, their once vibrant colors faded, lay on top. Beneath them, a small book with its red, faux-leather cover cracked, and the tiny, brass lock tarnished. Her mother’s name, ‘Caroline Jane Morgenstern,’ was inscribed on the cover in faded, gold-colored letters. She reached for the diary, anxious to read her mother’s thoughts, but stopped.
Vivian watched her, a faint smile on her haggard face. “I wanted you to have her things. You have so little of hers.”
Carrie Ann placed the lid back on the shoebox and wiped her stinging eyes. No matter what Vivian had done in the past,
she’d given her this box of her mother’s personal possessions. She wouldn’t forget the simple act of kindness by her aunt. “Thank you. This means a lot to me.”
Vivian nodded, tears glinting in her faded eyes.
Carrie Ann breathed deeply. Time to leave, but she had one more task to complete before she put Cooper’s Ridge behind her forever. “Do you know where Declan’s staying while he’s in town?”
“I’ve heard he’s at the Blue Horizon Motel.” Vivian beamed. “Does this mean you’re going to help him?”
“No. I have something of his I want to return before I leave town.” She headed toward the door.
“You need to tell him the truth,” Vivian called after her. “He has a right to know.”
Carrie Ann stopped and turned and faced Vivian. “You were the one who convinced me to keep quiet. Don’t you remember?”
“I remember, all right. I remember every sad detail. I want to make amends…to both of you.”
Once again Carrie Ann’s anger flared to life, and she flung open the door.
“Either you tell him, Carrie Ann, or I will.”
She slammed the door behind her and rushed through the store, almost knocking over a rack of those dreadful, Parisian-designed dresses in her need to escape. She hurried out the front door, her breath rasping in her chest.
Hurtling down the sidewalk, she clutched the shoebox, the rush of traffic on the street, and the people who stopped to stare as she passed, a blur.
****
Carrie Ann turned onto the driveway of Vivian and Leland’s stately Colonial home and switched off the car’s engine. She grabbed the shoebox from the seat beside her and climbed out of the car. Time to put the past behind her and return to her life with Bonnie in Seattle.
“Ms. Hetherington?” A man stepped out of the shadows of the oak trees lining the driveway. His broad shoulders strained a black, knee-length raincoat. Salt and pepper hair receded from his high forehead. His cold eyes watched her with an unsettling intensity.
Backing toward the security of her car, she asked, “Yes?”
“I’d like to talk to you.” He held out a massive ham of a hand. “Jessup Caruthers.”
Uncertain whether she should shake his hand or run for help, she hesitated, but her innate politeness kicked in, and she nervously placed her hand in his.
His grasp was surprisingly gentle. “We need to talk.” He released her hand and stepped back.
“We do? About what?”
“Declan McAllister.”
“Declan?” Her stomach knotted.
“I’m sure you’re aware the local authorities are re-examining Skye Lawrence’s murder. I’m a private investigator.” He reached into his coat and drew out a slim, black wallet, flipped it open and revealed a photograph of him on a state-authorized private investigator’s license. “Mr. McAllister hired me to look into the case.”
Her fingers dug into the sides of the cardboard shoebox. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. I told the police everything I knew twelve years ago when they questioned me.” She stepped around his bulk, moving toward the front door of the house.
“Don’t you want to know what really happened?” He followed her onto the porch and stood behind, his bulk looming over her.
Her hand shook as she fumbled with the key. “I told you. I can’t help you.” The key slipped from her numb fingers and fell on the porch.
Caruthers bent down and grabbed the key. His eyes bore into hers.
“May…may I have the key, please?” She hated the tremble in her voice.
“I can’t force you to talk to me, Ms. Hetherington, but if you care anything at all for Declan McAllister, you’ll help me clear his name once and for all.”
“Please, leave me alone.” All she wanted was for him to stop regarding her with those cold, accusing eyes and leave.
“Declan was right.” He stared at her like a hawk watching a mouse. “You wanted him found guilty.”
“No, I—”
“You were so angry he dumped you and took another girl to the high school prom, you lied to the police to get back at him.” He leaned closer, forcing her back a step. “Isn’t it time you grew up?”
She shook her head, wanting him to stop, but he lobbed another barb.
“You made up the story you told the sheriff.” He sneered. “What’s the saying? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?”
She willed away the imminent tears.
“Tell me, after what you did to him, how can you live with yourself? Do you have any idea the hell he’s been through? Even if you don’t care about Declan McAllister, the real killer’s walked free all these years. Doesn’t Skye Lawrence deserve justice?”
Tears filled her eyes and leaked down her face. She hadn’t lied to the sheriff. She’d wanted to, but not to incriminate Declan—to protect him.
“Come on, Carrie Ann. It’s not too late to tell the truth.” His gaze tunneled into hers. “What did you really see when you drove out to the old farm the night Skye Lawrence was murdered?”
“I told the truth.”
He snorted.
“I told the sheriff what I saw.” Tears blocked her throat. “I knew what I had to say would hurt Declan, but I—”
“You what?”
She swallowed. Vivian and Leland had forced her to tell the sheriff what she’d seen. She hadn’t been strong enough to stand up to them, not then, not with what was going on in her life. Even though she knew she was casting guilt on the man she loved, she’d told the sheriff exactly what she’d seen that night. Her damning statement had been the basis for Declan’s arrest and subsequent interrogation. The townspeople’s suspicions of him were her fault.
If she’d kept quiet… She shook her head. Too much time had passed for regrets. Besides, more than Declan’s tarnished reputation was at stake now, much more. Wiping her tears, she faced Caruthers. “I’d like you to leave.” She held out her hand for the key.
Seconds ticked by as she waited, pinned by the force of his steely gaze.
After a dozen heartbeats, he nodded. “This isn’t over. I’ll be back.” He dropped the key into her palm and strode across the porch and down the steps. A car door slammed, followed by the roar of a motor and the squeal of tires as he drove away.
The sharp edges of the key dug into her palm. Her legs wobbled. She staggered over to an Adirondack chair and collapsed onto the hard, wooden surface.
“Are you all right, Carrie Ann? Did he hurt you? Should I call the sheriff?”
Swiping her damp face, Carrie Ann met the inquisitive eyes of the woman hovering over her. “Mrs. Higgensdorf.” Her heart sank.
Mary Higgensdorf had lived next door for as long as Carrie Ann could remember. Her husband had died years ago, and ever since his untimely death, she’d lived for gossip…the juicier the better. The old woman’s pudgy cheeks were flushed, and her button nose twitched with excitement. “Are you sure you’re okay, dear? It looked to me like that man was threatening you. Who is he? Is he the private detective Declan McAllister hired? He has a lot of nerve coming here and bothering you, though, I’ve heard he’s been questioning people all over town.” Her beady-eyed gaze raced over Carrie Ann.
Carrie Ann steadied her breathing. The last thing she wanted was to give Mary Higgensdorf any fuel for the grapevine. “I’m fine. It’s nothing to worry about.”
The old woman’s mouth tightened, her red lipstick bleeding into the innumerable, tiny lines radiating from her lips. “It’s wonderful you’re back. Your aunt has missed you something fierce. I was telling Louise Jorgensen down at the Handy Mart the other day, it was a real tragedy you left town so long ago and never returned.” Her bosom heaved, and her cheeks flushed.
A fierce pounding hit Carrie Ann’s temples, worsening with each word the woman uttered, like nails pounding the lid of a coffin.
“But, my dear.” Mary Higgensdorf barely paused for breath. “I must tell you, I couldn’t have been more shocked than when I saw you get out
of Declan McAllister’s truck the other night. You could have blown me away with a breath. Is he the reason you’re back in town? Are you here to help him in his foolish quest to prove his innocence?” She made a loud tsking sound. “I mean, I ask you, does anyone really think he’s innocent?” She peered at Carrie Ann. “He may have escaped prosecution, but we all know he killed that poor girl.”
Past experience had taught Carrie Ann the futility of reasoning with the interfering, old woman. Once she set her mind on something, she was a force to be reckoned with. But no matter Carrie Ann’s feelings for him, Declan didn’t deserve to be treated like a criminal. “The sheriff must think he has a good reason to re-examine the case.”
Mrs. Higgensdorf set her hands on her ample hips. “Come on, Carrie Ann. That boy was always trouble, like his father and his father before him. Those McAllisters have always been trouble.” Her nose wrinkled in disdain. “He did it, mark my words. Declan McAllister murdered Skye Lawrence as sure as I’m standing here. You ask me, he should be in jail, not living the high life in Dallas. Now he’s back in town, no one’s safe. Not while he’s walking around free and clear.” She shuddered. “I swear I haven’t slept a wink since he showed up.”
Unable to stomach anymore, Carrie Ann jumped up and faced the old woman. “Declan is innocent.” Her voice gained strength as she vented her outrage. “People like you drove him away. You hounded him and hounded him with your baseless accusations until he couldn’t stand the hatred anymore. And why?” She sneered. “Because his dad was a drunk? Declan’s nothing like his father. He never was.”
Mrs. Higgensdorf stared at her, her eyes bulging, her mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. For once, she didn’t have anything to say. She blinked, her thin eyelashes fluttering on her now-pale cheeks.
The pungent aroma of fried onions and boiled cabbage assailed Carrie Ann when she stepped closer. “Go home, Mrs. Higgensdorf. Lock your door, close your curtains, and stop sticking your nose into other people’s business.”
The old woman patted Carrie Ann’s shoulder. “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. You still love him, don’t you?” She shook her head. “You foolish girl. He broke your heart once. Don’t let him do it again.”
