Sheryl wore her uniform, as did her fellow officers. Her eyes remained dry throughout the ceremony. Allie couldn’t say the same. She had loved Joe like a brother. Sometimes, an older brother; sometimes, a younger one. He had been a good man in so many ways, and she would never forget that. The rest she could now put aside.
One day, not long after the funeral, Sheryl marched into the house. She hadn’t yet moved into the house down the street. In fact, Allie hadn’t even begun her campaign to wear her down. Sheryl wore civilian clothes, but she had her cop face on.
“What’s up?” Allie asked, as Sheryl passed her on the way to the kitchen.
Sheryl grabbed two cans of Diet Coke out of the refrigerator. “Let’s sit upstairs,” she said. She headed out the back door without waiting to see if Allie followed.
When Allie reached the roof, Sheryl was already sitting on the edge of a lounge chair. Allie sat down on the other and waited. Sheryl reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a gun. “I told evidence I’d return this to you. It’s unloaded. They kept the bullets.”
Allie took it from her. “Good, I don’t want any bullets.”
Sheryl looked at her over her sunglasses. “If you change your mind, I can get some for you. Teach you how to use it. Just saying,” she added when Allie didn’t respond.
Sheryl pushed to her feet and walked to the front edge of the roof looking down, her back to Allie. Allie waited. She knew that the gun wasn’t the reason Sheryl came. She didn’t have to wait long to find out the real reason.
“He asked me to rob two attorneys’ offices,” she said abruptly, coming back and perching on the chair next to Allie. Allie didn’t have to ask who he was or whose attorneys they were.
Sheryl seemed anxious. “Joe and Cornelius had some crazy kind of Mexican standoff going on. Joe took a deposition from that scumbag in West Palm Beach saying he killed Eve at Rupert’s request, a bunch of other stuff. The guy took off after he signed it. Joe never could have found him to testify. It wouldn’t have stood up in court, but it would have cast suspicion, and Cornelius couldn’t afford that.”
“And?”
“A tape. Rupert taped him once when Joe came to him for money. It was pretty much all there. The whole story.” She chugged the Coke. Allie could see her throat working hard to swallow it. “And now, it’s not. None of it. It’s gone.”
“What’s gone?”
“The tape. The deposition. All of it. Destroyed. Burned.” She rose and paced to the front of the deck. Then, she came back. “I want you to tell me if I was right to do it.” She started pacing again. “If you think I should, I’ll turn myself in to the sheriff. Tell him everything. I know I was stupid to do it, but—”
As the words formed in her mind, Allie knew they were Lou’s words, but in some strange sort of way, they were hers too. “No you weren’t.”
Sheryl stopped and looked back over her shoulder.
“You weren’t stupid, Sheryl. You did the right thing. The man you loved, the man who loved you, asked you to destroy evidence that would serve no purpose except to hurt the living. Exposing the truth would accomplish nothing. It was the only thing you could do.”
Sheryl studied her closely. “OK,” she said finally. “OK, that’s good. Thanks.”
She crossed the deck in three strides. Before Allie knew what she intended, Sheryl leaned down and hugged her. Then, she straightened up and smiled. It came out more of a grimace than a smile, but she tried.
“See ya.”
“See ya,” Allie said to her retreating back.
She heard Sheryl’s car start and drive away, and she lay back against the chair. She let the peace of the day creep into her. She could hear the water below, the rhythmic music of the sea. She could see the water undulating lazily way out beyond the breakers, the gentle rise and fall of it. There were a few clouds in the sky, not enough to mar the beauty of the day, but enough to promise a fiery sunset later. It would be spectacular. She closed her eyes.
When she heard footsteps on the stairs leading up to the deck, she thought it might be Sheryl coming back, at least until he spoke.
“OK if I sit down?”
She shielded her eyes against the sun, peering up at Marc. “Sure.”
He took the chair Sheryl had vacated. “I heard about your friend. About the accident. I’m sorry.”
She remained silent.
“Look, Allie, I was wrong? I should have trusted your judgment. You knew Joe as a person. To me, he was just another cop trying to make the facts fit the way he wanted them to. I’m sure if it hadn’t been for the accident, he would have gone to the sheriff and—”
“It wasn’t an accident.” The statement was greeted with silence. “It was ruled an accident, but it was Joe’s way of cleaning up the loose ends and taking care of his parents. This way they get to keep his pension and life insurance. He had an accidental death policy too.”
“Did you know—”
She came up off her chair. “Of course, I didn’t know!” Tears spurted from her eyes. “My God, don’t you think I would have tried to stop him? What kind of person do you think I am?”
“An amazing one,” he said softly. He rose and came to sit beside her. When she didn’t move away, he pulled her into his arms. “I think you’re one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. You’re kind and loyal. You’re brave and resourceful.” He tucked her head under his chin. “You’re everything a woman should be and more. I was a fool to doubt you, even for a minute. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Allie allowed him to hold her. This was Marc, she reminded herself, the man who raced her to the hospital for stitches. The one who saved her life when Rupert Cornelius would have taken it. Tentatively, she put her arms around him. After another moment, she leaned into him, feeling layers of anger and hurt fall away like leaves from a tree in autumn. Maybe it would be all right with them, but it would take time. She would know this man well before things went to the next level, and hopefully, she would know herself better as well. She had all the time in the world.
She would call Myrna soon and have her put through her paperwork. Probably. The tragedies of the last few weeks were over, and now she could look ahead. She might change the living room curtains. Spruce up her bedroom.
Marc stayed for a while, but they spoke little. For now, it seemed enough to be together with nothing hanging over them. After he left, she wandered downstairs into the living room. She dropped the gun on the coffee table.
“You never did tell me about the gun. Or about the man in your life.”
“It was Cord, if you must know.”
“Cord Arbutten? But he’s married.”
“I know that. I didn’t say we had an affair. I would have in a minute, but Cord never would have gone along with it. I loved him, and he loved me. That was the beginning and the end of it. He gave me the gun, by the way.”
“Why?”
“He worried about me. A woman living alone. It would have hurt his feelings if I’d refused it.”
As the words faded, Allie realized she’d suspected the truth for some time. If Lou had a boyfriend, it would be someone like Cord, someone kind and strong and admirable. Still, it allowed the last piece to fall into place. The sheriff’s suspicion of her, his reaction the day she brought the picture to him. His surprise when she left. He probably thought her aunt told her all about them. He must have thought she would expose their sad love affair. Who could blame him? He didn’t know Allie. All he knew is that she’d taken all Lou had to give year after year and then hadn’t been around when Lou needed her most. He probably despised her. She couldn’t do anything about that, but she at least could set his mind at rest. The only question was when and where.
Once again, she wondered if the voice in her head was her own. Not that of a ghost, but merely the echo of her own inner knowledge.
“Are you here? Are you real, or am I talking to myself?”
She thought she heard faint laught
er, but again, that might have been her imagination.
Chapter 27
Three months ago to the day, Louise Smith had been lowered into the ground. Allie went into the bedroom and pulled on the oversized sweater she found soon after she arrived. A man’s sweater, she realized now, and she felt sure she knew whose. She took down the purse from the back corner of the closet. When her hand closed on the hard shape of the gun, it no longer felt like an enemy. She dropped it in the sweater pocket.
Cord was at the cemetery, as Allie expected he would be. She looked around. She had come here once after her return to Cape Canaveral, not to feel closer to her aunt, but to see where she was buried. Cord looked startled when he saw her approaching but covered it quickly. He took in the sweater she wore and pain suffused his face, no less intense because it was fleeting.
Allie reached into the pocket and pulled out the gun by the barrel, holding it out to him. “I think this is yours.”
His eyes narrowed. “How did you—” Then, his craggy face softened. He took the gun and cleared his throat. “So, she did tell you about us.”
Allie smiled. “Sort of, but don’t worry. No one will ever hear about it from me.”
He stood silently, looking down at the gun in his hand.
Allie had done what she came to do. She turned and started back to her car. As she moved away, she heard his voice, soft as a breath of breeze. “You’re a lot like her, you know.”
Allie smiled, but pretended not to hear. He was right. She was getting to be a lot like Lou and was damn proud of it.
*
Back home, she slipped into a bikini and laughed when she realized it was tight. Maybe the pounds were beginning to return. She picked up the sunscreen on her dresser, but then she put it back. If she was going to be a Floridian, she should look like one.
Up on the deck, she stared out at the horizon, at the ocean reflecting the silvery gray of the sky. Marc had returned to Miami. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. He’d promised to come back, but only time would tell if he meant it.
She heard children down on the beach, squealing as they raced in the shallows like sand fleas. Underlying that—although not underlying for long if her dog-sitting neighbor was right—were the sounds of heavy equipment clearing lots on the next block. It was changing. All of it was changing, much as the season was changing from spring to summer. Off in the distance, she heard a lawn mower cutting some optimist’s sparse lawn, and in her mind, she could see the cloud of dust that billowed up behind him. It was dry, this new season. They were already talking about possible watering restrictions.
Hopefully, summer would bring rain and a new beginning. Fear no longer stalked her, although it would be a while before she forgot what happened. It infuriated her that Lou could have told her what would happen. She had known Joe would break Sheryl’s heart. She could have at least have dropped a hint about how. When Allie thought of what Sheryl went through—
“She’ll be all right, Allie. Sheryl’s a strong woman. She’ll deal with this.”
“Leave me alone.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do mean that. You almost got me killed. You let Joe die.”
“I didn’t let anything happen. It happened. Period. Life took its course, and some people suffered. Sheryl was one of those people.”
“She shouldn’t have to suffer.”
“Are you so sure of that?”
“What’s that, some kind of all-knowing ghost bullshit?”
“Allie—”
“I’m sorry, but you could have warned me what would happen.”
“You mean I should have protected you from it. Would that have been fair to you?”
“It sounds fair to me.”
“Like your family protected you, deciding you needed some big, strong man to take care of you? How insulting can you get? No. You mustn’t allow anyone to protect you, Allie. You’re here to experience life, and that means the bad as well as the good. If you were protected from all the bad things in life, you’d miss so much of what makes it worth living. The depth. The contrast. The learning that results from living life as it comes. You’ll be all right, honey. Like Sheryl, you’re strong. Stronger than you realize, and that’s good because you’ll need that strength. You’ll see.”
Allie shot to a sitting position. “What do you mean, ‘I’ll need it’? What are you talking about? Come back here, you chicken. Come back here and tell me what the hell you mean.”
About the Author
Lynda Fitzgerald currently lives and writes in Snellville, Georgia, a small town just east of Atlanta, but she hails from Central Florida, where she spent most of her formative years. Florida still holds a special place in her heart, and you can see that influence reflected in her writing. Her recent novel, If Truth Be Told, was set in that location, as is LIVE Ringer and its sequels.
She studied creative writing at both Georgia Perimeter College, where she was awarded a Creative Writing Scholarship, and through Emory University.
Lynda is an Active member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, the Atlanta Writers Club and the Florida Writers Association. More information can be found on her website,
www.fitzgeraldwrites.com.
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Live Ringer Page 28
