In the end, she decided to stay quiet. The way June carried on, Hailey figured it’d be better if she didn’t know, at least for now. She’d gather the kids upstairs and fill them all in. After they were aware, then and only then would Hailey discuss it with her mother. That way, everyone would be prepared to deal with June’s reaction, whatever that may be.
Chapter 3
Mac hadn’t gotten much sleep the first few nights after bringing his father home. Though his bedroom was down the hall from the living room where they’d placed the hospital bed, every little sound had him getting up to check and make sure his dad was okay. Paranoid, true. But he couldn’t seem to help himself.
While he knew intellectually his father had come home to die, part of him felt as if by being vigilant, he could somehow prevent it. Indefinitely, even.
But after the first week, Mac had relaxed somewhat. Gus seemed stronger, he was eating well and despite his marked lack of energy, he appeared happy. Things seemed to be looking up.
Then another young girl had been murdered. Mac wondered if he’d ever sleep again. In all his life, Gus had only asked two things of him. One, that they come back to Legacy and, two, to find out who’d really killed Brenda Green and by doing so, clear his name. Not only his, but the reputation of their entire family.
Now that another killing had occurred with obvious ties to the first one a decade earlier, Mac imagined the police were in an uproar. They needed to find the killer before anyone else got hurt. In fact, he’d only just had the thought when a police cruiser pulled up in front of the house and stopped. Mac felt his entire body tense.
One day. One day since the murder. He actually was surprised it had taken them this long. Since he’d been expecting this once he’d learned the news, he simply waited on the front porch. Two uniformed cops exited the car and came up the walk toward him.
“Afternoon,” the officer who’d been driving, wearing a dark blue uniform and mirrored sunglasses, greeted him. “Are you Mr. Mac Morrison?”
“I am.” Mac kept his tone cordial. “What can I do for you?”
“We’d like a word with your father, Gus. We understand he received early parole. Is he home?”
“He is. I believe he’s asleep. He’s basically confined to a hospital bed, you know.” Imparting this information as casually as if chatting about the weather, Mac forced a smile. “Come on in. We’ll wake him if we have to.”
Both officers’ boots clomped heavily on the creaky wooden porch as they followed him inside.
In the living room, Mac stepped aside so they could see. The room smelled of medicine and disease. His father slept, a shrunken version of his former hearty self, with his mouth open, and slight gurgling sounds escaped him.
The two policemen exchanged glances. “This is Gus Morrison?”
“Yes. His illness is the reason he was released from prison early.” A rare exception had been made. Timed with the fact that he’d be up for parole, and someone in the prison hierarchy had given Gus his first—and only—break in ten long years.
Officer Number One nodded. “Mr. Morrison?” he said, looking at Gus. “Sir, we’d like to ask you a few questions.”
When Gus continued sleeping, the second officer stepped forward. Loudly clearing his throat, he leaned in. “Sir?”
Startled, Gus jumped and opened his eyes. “Who, what?” When he caught sight of the uniformed policemen, distrust flashed across his face. Mac couldn’t actually blame him. He hadn’t been treated fairly since the day he’d been arrested and charged with a murder he didn’t commit.
Still, a second later Gus regained his composure. “How can I help you fellas?” he asked, his tone cordial.
“We’d like to ask you a few questions. Starting with, can you tell us your whereabouts the night before last?”
Shaking his head, Gus exchanged a glance with Mac before giving the officer a wry smile. “Here. I was right here in this bed. It may have somehow escaped your notice, but I’m terminally ill.”
The two cops looked to Mac for confirmation. “He’s not very mobile at all,” Mac said.
“No disrespect intended, sir, but do you have proof of that?”
Mac crossed to the side table and picked up the thick manila folder containing all of Gus’s medical diagnosis records. Another folder, marked in red, came from the hospice provider. Silently, he passed these over to the first policeman and waited while the other man skimmed the paperwork.
When that man had finished, instead of giving them to his partner, he handed them back to Mac. “My mother died of pancreatic cancer,” he said, his mouth turning down at the corners. “I’m sorry. We didn’t know.”
This despite the fact that any good investigator would have checked the prison records. Everything, from what time Gus got up in the morning, to when he used the bathroom, was detailed there.
“I understand,” Mac lied. “There’s a lot to deal with. May I ask, since you have a new murder to investigate, if anyone is considering reopening the old Brenda Green case?”
At the question, Gus’s tired eyes brightened. Again he tried to sit up as he waited to hear the answer.
“I...um... I’m not sure,” the officer stammered.
“Who’s in charge of this investigation?” Mac pressed. “I want to give him a call and set up a meeting.”
From the perplexed expression on the two men’s faces, clearly they hadn’t been expecting this. “We’re not sure, actually,” the first guy said. “I think the FBI might be helping us out with this one.”
“Good, but someone in your office is running point. I need to know who.”
“Detective Logan,” Officer Number Two finally answered. “And he reports to Lieutenant Gage. Either one of them would be able to help you, though it’d be easier to get an appointment with Logan.”
“Thank you.” Mac looked from one to the other. “Do either of you happen to have a card?”
“No,” Officer Number One muttered. “We don’t. Sorry.”
Mac decided to let it go. “All right then. Is there anything else we can do for you?”
A quick glance at his father showed the elder Morrison struggled to stay awake.
After the two policemen had left, Mac headed off to take a shower. He’d give Detective Logan a call first thing in the morning and check on the possibility of reopening his father’s old case.
The next morning, after showering and preparing breakfast, Mac watched the clock, wondering when would be the best time to call. He and Gus had settled into a comfortable routine.
At nine sharp, Mac made the call while Gus listened. When he asked for Detective Logan, he got voice mail. After leaving his name and number, he pocketed his phone. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll keep after them. If I have to go down there, I will.”
The rest of the day, Mac kept himself busy. The old house needed constant repairs, springing a leak here or there, and it seemed he’d no sooner fixed one thing when another needed his attention. Since the work required his hands rather than his mind, he couldn’t help but think of Hailey. He’d let her get away once. Not this time. Somehow, someway, he had to persuade her to give him a second chance. To give them a second chance.
He just didn’t know how. After a lunch break during which he also fixed his father some soup, since the elusive Detective Logan still hadn’t called, Mac phoned again. Once more he got voice mail. He resigned himself to having to make a trip to the police station in the morning. For now, he needed to complete his rewiring of the doorbell. Once he’d finished that, he made a glass of iced tea and planned to sit on the front porch and drink it. He carried it there and grasped the handle to go outside.
The little kid standing on his front porch stepped back in surprise when Mac opened the front door. Towheaded, with freckles and bright blue eyes, he couldn’t have been
much older than ten or eleven. A battered blue bicycle leaned against the porch railing.
“Can I help you?” Mac asked, keeping his tone kind.
Nodding, the boy swallowed hard, before meeting Mac’s gaze. “I’m Eli,” he said, holding out his hand. “Eli Green.”
Stunned, Mac shook Eli’s hand. “Hailey’s brother? You were barely walking when I saw you last.”
With more dignity than his age warranted, Eli nodded. “So you are the right guy.”
“The right guy? For what?”
The little guy lifted his chin. “My sister Hailey’s old boyfriend from high school.”
For whatever reason, Eli’s choice of words made Mac smile. “I’m not all that old,” he teased. “But, yes, I was Hailey’s boyfriend back in school.”
Eli nodded solemnly. He eyed Mac, looking him over as if inspecting him. “I need to know what’s wrong with you.”
“Wrong with me?”
“Yes. Our mother doesn’t want Hailey to go anywhere near you.”
That didn’t surprise him. Mac hadn’t been in town long enough to find out the Green family dynamic, but the family had been heavily fractured by Brenda’s murder. The loss of her daughter had damn near destroyed Hailey’s mother, June. She’d turned to solace in the bottle. Mac wondered if she’d managed to make her way out of the depths of despair.
He thought not, since Hailey still lived at her childhood home.
Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs off his thoughts, Mac squatted down in front to Eli. “What’d you come here for, little man?”
“I wanted to check you out for myself.” Again, the kid’s quiet dignity made him seem older than his what—ten? eleven?—years. “Hailey deserves to be happy. She does everything for us and hardly anything for herself.”
Still not sure where Eli was going with this, Mac nodded. “She’s a good person.”
“My other sister Tara showed me and Tom the photo albums. The ones from when Hailey and you were boyfriend and girlfriend. She looked like a different person.”
“Well, it’s been ten years,” Mac pointed out. “We’re all older now.” His legs had started to ache from crouching down, so he stood and walked over to the porch steps and took a seat. Patting a spot next to him, he motioned for Eli to join him.
After the boy had gotten settled, he sighed heavily, sounding more like a middle-aged man than a young kid. “I’m not talking about being older. She looked different because she was happy.” His solemn expression matched his tone. “Poor Hailey. I can’t even think of the last time I saw her laugh like that.”
Concerned, Mac couldn’t help but ask. “She’s not happy now?”
“No.” Sadness colored his young/old voice. “She tries, but she’s not happy. Not like that.”
“What do you mean?” He felt kind of bad, pumping a kid for information about Hailey, but Eli had come to him, not the other way around.
Eli shrugged. “She’s tired a lot. Whenever she’s not taking care of us—and Mom—she works. We’re really poor. She thinks I don’t know, but it’s hard not to, you know? Our mom is an alcoholic.”
Stunned that a kid this young knew such a word so intimately, Mac realized he might not really know Hailey anymore. Not now.
“How old are you?” Mac had to ask, since he couldn’t remember exactly how old Eli had been ten years ago.
The kid’s chin came up, the gesture so like Hailey’s, Mac caught his breath. “I’m eleven. But I see things, too, you know. I might only be eleven, but even I can tell that Hailey needs more.”
“More what?”
When Eli met his gaze, Mac saw wisdom far beyond the boy’s years. “More smiles. More happy times. Tara—that’s my other sister—says after high school, and our other sister’s death, Hailey never got to be young again.”
Mac felt a sharp stab of pain. This kid wasn’t old enough to remember. He didn’t understand the chain of events that had pulled the rug out from under them all. So much pain. The town had become a cesspool. People had taken sides, drawn lines, made enemies. Even time hadn’t been able to heal the old wounds. Coming here made them all fresh and new again. He could only imagine how Hailey felt, still living here, reminded constantly.
“Do you like baseball?” Eli asked, apparently ready to change the subject.
“Sure. What about you?”
“It’s my favorite sport. I’m hoping to get to play Little League someday.”
This seemed slightly odd. From what Mac could remember, T-ball started really young, like four or five years old. From there, the kids played in leagues, all the way up to Little League baseball.
“Where do you play if you’re not in a league?” he asked.
Eli looked down. “Sometimes my brother and I play catch. And in school, we have games. But no one will pick me for their team because I haven’t played Little League.” He shuffled his feet. “I’m not really very good.”
“That stinks,” Mac said, meaning it. “But I bet all you need is some practice. How about you and I hit the ball around? I’ve got time.”
The kid’s head snapped up so fast it’s a wonder he didn’t pop his neck. “When?”
“How about now?”
As he turned to go rummage around for his old baseball equipment, he heard a screech of tires as a car came around the corner. It barreled down his street, a little too fast. He recognized the car. Hailey’s, the same jalopy she’d been driving back in high school.
Eyeing it, he was surprised it still ran. Various creases and dents marred the shape of the body. In the not crumpled areas, the red paint had faded and chipped, and the tires didn’t match. It slowed as it pulled up in front of Mac’s house and slammed on the brakes.
Eli groaned. “Great. I won’t get to play catch.” He swallowed hard. “And I’m also in big trouble.”
Mac didn’t have time to ask him what he meant. The door creaked open, and Hailey burst from the driver’s seat. She hurried up the path, her expression grim and furious. Of course the second Mac saw her, he felt that same instant zing of attraction.
“Eli Green.” Her crossed arms and stern tone left no room for argument. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“Talking to your friend.” The boy stayed put, his expression defiant. “We were just about to practice baseball.”
“You know better,” she said, directing her comment at both of them.
Biting back a smile, Mac nodded. “I promise you, he’s safe. I could have run him home.”
“I have my bike,” Eli pointed out.
“You’re in so much trouble, young man.” Hailey shot Mac a fierce glare. “You still haven’t explained what you’re doing over here, clear across town.”
“I told you, I—”
“Mac?” His father’s voice, both unsteady and querulous. “Who’s here? What’s happening?”
Hailey froze. She looked torn between jumping in her car and driving off at breakneck speed, and standing in between Eli and the house, as if to protect him.
“Just a second, Dad,” Mac called back. “I’ll be there in a minute. Everything is okay.”
Eli looked at his sister, frozen in place, her eyes wide with shock. Then he glanced at Mac, who tried like hell not to relay tension. “Is your father sick?”
“Yes. Yes, he is. Very sick.”
“Let me go say hi to him.” Before Hailey could protest, Eli bounded up the steps and disappeared into the house.
Hailey cursed. “Now look what you’ve done,” she cried out. Casting him a withering look, she sailed up the steps after her brother, hell-bent on protecting him from the perceived menace lurking inside.
* * *
Hailey stopped short at the sight of the hospital bed. The withered man in it wasn’t recognizable as the larger-th
an-life Gus Morrison she remembered. Eli stood close to him, chattering away. Too close, she thought, her stomach clenching as she wondered if her baby brother was in danger.
“Eli?” She kept her voice calm, not wanting to alarm her brother or Mac’s dad. Mac had come up behind her, standing between her and the doorway. She wanted to ask him to move since she’d need a clear path if she had to flee. Well, she’d just barrel into him if she had to.
“Just a minute, Hailey,” Eli answered. “Me and Mr. Morrison are talking about baseball.”
She remembered Mac’s father had been a baseball fanatic, just like her baby brother.
“Hailey?” Struggling to rise up on his elbows, Gus failed. He settled back into his spot with a grunt. “Come here, baby girl, and let me have a look at you.”
A shudder skittered up her spine. She couldn’t make herself move, not a step toward him or away.
“Please, don’t hurt him,” Mac murmured in her ear. “Just go over and say hello, then I promise I’ll figure out a way for you and your brother to beat a hasty retreat.”
Retreat. Like a coward. Except he was right. Retreating was all she wanted, with every fiber of her body. She wanted to snatch Eli up and run.
Instead, she found herself taking one step, then two. She stopped when a good three feet separated her from the man in the bed.
Gus’s faded gray eyes, so like Mac’s, searched her face. “You came to see my son?” he asked, hope lightening the raspy exhaustion in his voice.
Heaven help her, she didn’t have the heart to disappoint him. Why? Why was that? This man had all but destroyed everything important to her.
Instead of outright denial, she settled on the truth. “I came to get my little brother Eli. His other brother told me where he’d gone.”
“Tom?” Eli squeaked, shocked and hurt all at once. “He promised he wouldn’t tell.”
“Well, maybe he realized he needed to,” she retorted back. She held out her hand for him to take, aware the second their fingers connected, they’d beat a fast track to the door.
The Texan's Return Page 4
