The Cat Lady's Secret

by Linda W. Yezak

  Not that it mattered. If Scott wanted to take the word of a man he’d known for a few months over the woman he’d known all his life, so be it. Best she discovered where his loyalties lay now rather than after they married.

  Married. Her giddiness over the prospect of a proposal from him seemed eons ago.

  The rational side of her brain reminded her she didn’t know what Paul and Scott were talking about last night, and she was pole vaulting to conclusions.

  Still, whether or not they were discussing her, she needed to see Wade for herself. She couldn’t wait to shove away the cloud of fear that had hung over her for far too long.

  A road sign told her she had twelve miles to go, and her body grew tense. She hadn’t seen Wade in over two years. What would he be like after all this time in prison? What must he think of her?

  She whispered a prayer for strength.

  ****

  Emily shifted on the hard bench and clenched her hands in her lap. Taut nerves held her back erect and her legs locked at the ankle.

  To her right, several men, dressed in red pullovers and khaki pants, worked between the rows of a large fall garden, where pumpkins and butternut squashes peeked from healthy green leaves.

  To her left, a pair of small girls squealed and ran giggling into the open arms of a man who smothered them with kisses. A woman approached, speaking excitedly in Spanish, and he put his girls down to crush her in a passionate embrace. The little family found a spot among picnic tables crowded with families that had made the special trip for their monthly visit.

  Behind Emily, razor wire topped a cyclone fence that stopped at a guard house where she’d signed in and left her bag. All she had in her pockets were her driver’s license and a chit to retrieve her purse. In front of her loomed a brown-brick two-story building and a high guard tower. The windows in the tower were angled in such a way that those inside could have a clear view of everything happening in the prison yard and around the buildings below.

  The sight of it made Emily shiver. She wasn’t quite sure where to direct her gaze. She tried not to stare at the tattooed men and women occupying the nearby tables. For some reason, she’d associated “white collar crime” and “minimum security prison” with a more refined type of prisoner. As she looked around from the corner of her eye, she wished she hadn’t turned down Connor’s offer to drive her.

  “Not a champagne crowd, is it?” Wade flashed a smile she’d once found appealing, but her thudding heart responded to her anxiety more than his straight, white teeth. Although he seemed fit and tan, his eyes held a hardened look in addition to the cunning she’d always misinterpreted as an alert interest in life. The combination made him almost intimidating, and she struggled to maintain her composure.

  She looked at him but couldn’t return his smile. “It’s not quite what I expected. The people look a bit rougher than I’d thought.”

  “You thought everyone would be charming con men, didn’t you?” He sat down across from her and tilted his head to his left. “Carter over there is in for rape. Next to him is Milt, a child abuser. Sanchez, in the corner, sent his wife to the hospital with broken ribs. Juarez, assault with a deadly weapon. Menendez, involuntary manslaughter. Those guys run a gang that keeps the rest of us leery.”

  Emily bit her lip. This wasn’t at all what she’d imagined. “How do you cope?”

  “For starters, I stay away from those guys I just named. But I got friends.” He nodded toward the garden. “D’Shawn is in for two counts of burglary, and Patterson’s here for fraud. There’s another guy back in the cell that ran a con game in San Antonio for eight years until he finally got caught. We play cards.” He snorted. “A lot of cards. It helps pass the time.”

  She didn’t know what to say so said nothing.

  He studied her, taking in her hair, her face, her shoulders. She squirmed under his scrutiny.

  “I was sorry you wanted an annulment,” he said. “I really loved you. I thought we’d be together forever.” His words didn’t match the look he gave her. The slightest sign of a smirk, the gentlest tinge of humor, dared her to fall for his line. The artist’s con.

  “You can’t help yourself, can you?” She shook her head. “I’m immune, Wade. Pretty words have no effect on me anymore. Perhaps I should thank you for that.”

  He snorted again, rested his forearms on the table, and leaned toward her. “Why are you here? You obviously don’t want to give our marriage—short as it was—another try, and you couldn’t possibly be concerned for my welfare. So, what do you want?”

  She looked toward the parking lot beyond the fence. She should’ve anticipated his question. She knew what she wanted, what she needed to know, she just didn’t know how to express it. Are you still mad at me? Do you want to kill me? Do I need to fear you? She shook her head against all the questions and took a different path. “You ruined me in Houston.”

  “Is that what you’re here for? An apology?”

  “That would be nice, but no, that’s not why I’m here.” She took a breath. “The parole board didn’t grant your request.”

  “Nope.”

  “Why?”

  He sucked in a breath and looked away. “There’s a woman from Abilene who came out for the hearing. Seems I ruined her husband, too. He killed himself.”

  Emily grimaced at the pain that shot through her heart.

  Wade continued. “They found out later that he’d made some bad investment decisions all the way around, not just with me. But I’m the one she blames.”

  “Are you sorry? Sorry for your part in it?”

  His lips tightened. “Yeah. And I’m sorry for what happened to you, too.” He looked at her again. She studied his face and saw the pain there. He meant it. At least she thought he did. Wanted to believe...

  Boisterous laughter from the corner caught her attention. The men in the gang were pointing at several of the wives in the picnic area and making comments Emily couldn’t understand, but she was certain she didn’t want to. Lewd gestures, cat calls, vulgar expressions. The men behaved like a dog pack. Chests puffed out, eyes hard and cold. They gained their strength through their numbers and apparently used that strength to intimidate everyone who crossed their path.

  Wade had said he was leery of them.

  She believed that to be an understatement. If his parole bids kept getting rejected, he was looking at another five years in this prison. Five years of living with fear. Unimaginable.

  “You never did tell me why you’re here.”

  She focused on him. “To tell you I forgive you.”

  ****

  In the Down Home Diner on Friday, Lauren gaped at Emily. “Do you really think he was sorry?”

  Emily toyed with the lettuce protruding from the second half of her club sandwich. “It doesn’t really matter. I meant it when I forgave him.”

  “What did he say about Paul? Has he talked to him?”

  “I don’t know. I forgot to ask.”

  “But that was the point of going.”

  “Well, not entirely. I needed to see how he felt about me now, whether he still hated me.”

  Lauren drew her brows together. “So if you can’t be sure he was sorry, you don’t know whether he still hates you, right?”

  “I don’t believe he does. I doubt he’s changed his ways, but I didn’t really get the impression he harbored any anger toward me. Besides...” She tilted her head. She hadn’t thought of this until now, but it was true, “I feel at peace about it.”

  “And Scott? Do you feel at peace about him, too?”

  Emily’s stomach soured, and she shoved the remains of her sandwich away. “I’m working on it.”

  “Have you heard from him?”

  “No. And at this point, I’m not sure I want to. Think about it—he knows I got the marriage annulled, and if he’s read that file, he knows I testified against Wade and was exonerated of all charges. And he still hasn’t called.” She frowned. “If he’s still angry that I d
idn’t tell him everything earlier, there’s nothing I can do about that.”

  “You’re right. There’s nothing you can do. I personally would like to take a bullwhip after him, but there’s nothing I can do, either. You two need to figure this out yourselves.”

  “It’s figured, and I’m going to accept it. Apparently he feels that what I’ve done is unforgivable, and I’m not going to continue trying to gain his forgiveness when he has no intention of giving it.”

  “You don’t know that he won’t forgive you.”

  “How could I know? The only message I’ve received from him was that the coupons were all right.” She balled her napkin and chucked it on the table. “I’m not going to waste another moment worrying about him. It’s time to move on.”

  Lauren gave her a skeptical look but shrugged. “Maybe you want to ‘move on’ with me to Paul and Amber’s house to get their donations.”

  “Oh, no. I’m not in that forgiving of a mood.” Emily grinned. “They’re all yours.”

  39

  Thirty minutes before the auction guests would begin to arrive, white-shirted waiters bustled around in the community center’s professional kitchen, arranging appetizers and canapes on silver serving trays. Crudités with spinach dip, bacon-wrapped scallops in a peach-brandy glaze, crimini mushrooms with crab stuffing; the savory scents filled the kitchen and proved a temptation beyond Emily’s resistance level. She popped a scallop in her mouth and moaned with pleasure. “Karen, you’ve outdone yourself.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” Karen Fitzhugh, the caterer, prepared some glass flutes to serve her mimosas in. A mid-price champagne chilled in the refrigerator alongside a few gallons of mint tea so guests could have their pick.

  “You don’t know how much I appreciate this. Donating your time and skills to this cause goes beyond generous.”

  “Well, one of those houses belonged to my aunt. I think this is the least I can do.” She winked at Emily from under a shock of sandy blonde hair. “Besides, good food leads to happy contributors, and happy contributors tend to bid higher at auctions.”

  “Then we’re in good shape. With your food as our secret weapon, a toothpick could go for fifty dollars.” Emily passed the chocolate tuxedo strawberries awaiting space on a tray and snitched one on her way to the swinging doors, which opened into the auditorium. A flurry of activity filled the large room.

  Lauren had recruited the help of the church youth group. They swarmed the auditorium, using peach bows to secure white linens to long tables, arranging auction items on display stands, and bringing in more items from the trucks outside. Lauren roamed from table to table with the auctioneer, their heads bent close together to be able to hear over the din.

  Emily whispered a thankful prayer as she looked over the crowded tables. The auction was destined to be a success. She considered joining Lauren for a closer look but glimpsed Scott and Paul toting in a custom-made cedar chest and thought better of it. She retreated, and the door closed behind her on the sound of Lauren’s voice ordering the men where to put the chest. Lauren was handling everything just fine.

  Emily preferred to stay out of sight in the kitchen and away from Scott and Paul and any reminder of Wednesday’s fiasco.

  The fact the two men worked together so congenially caused an uneasy feeling to rise in Emily’s chest. Since Scott still hadn’t called, she didn’t want to think of their chumminess.

  With her mood soured, she went to the sink and washed her hands.

  Karen was spreading a sun-dried tomato and ricotta mixture over slices of baguette, which she had already grilled and coated with pesto.

  Emily grabbed a towel and stood by her side.

  “Can I help with the bruschetta?”

  Karen placed a completed slice on the tray and reached for another. “Don’t you think you should get ready for the big show?”

  “I’m not part of the big show.” Emily grabbed a spatula and began spreading. “I’m more of a behind-the-scenes girl.”

  Before long, the noise from the auditorium grew exponentially as guests arrived, hopefully with big bank accounts or fat wads of cash.

  Emily stole a glance at the laden tables. The cake Rita had been decorating the day Emily had visited held center stage on the front table. A masterpiece, as were all her cakes. Emily didn’t know whether Rita planned to auction it or serve it, but she hoped for the latter.

  Lauren caught sight of her and scowled as she headed toward the swinging doors. Dressed in an amethyst shift and five-inch heels guaranteed to kill her feet before day’s end, she slammed into the kitchen and confronted Emily. “Why aren’t you dressed? Everyone is arriving. It’s hopping out there.”

  The blood rushed from Emily’s face. “I’m staying in here.”

  A server excused himself so he could get out.

  Lauren grabbed Emily’s elbow and drew her aside. “I thought you’d be out there helping me.”

  “And I thought you understood I wanted to remain anonymous.”

  “That was before this whole episode with Paul Goodrich, before your visit with Wade,” Lauren whispered harshly. “It’s moot now.”

  “I know. It’s just...” Just that she didn’t want to see Scott, or Paul—or anyone else who’d witnessed her outburst Wednesday night. “I’m not ready to hobnob in big crowds yet. I’m a bit out of practice.”

  “Oh, and you think I’m experienced? You roped me into this.”

  Emily winced. “I know. You’re doing a great job, too. Please don’t drag me out there.”

  “Fine.” Lauren puffed a breath through her cheeks. “Are you going to stay in here all day?”

  “As long as Karen needs me.”

  “Then what?”

  Emily shrugged and stepped away to straighten the strawberries on the tray. “I may hover in the background for a while and see how things are going. We’ll see.”

  Lauren studied her for a minute, with questions and skepticism drawing her lips taut. “You’re not hiding from Scott, are you?”

  “Yep. Scott and Paul. Both of them. I don’t want to be cornered by either of them.” Her honest answer seemed to elicit sympathy from Lauren, or maybe it was her pleading tone, her trembling voice, her shaking hands.

  “Well, I hope you hang around. It’ll really get good when all the bidding starts.” She smiled and became more animated, talking as much with her hands as her excited voice. “Did you see all those women examining Rita’s cake? I can’t wait to see what her coupons go for. And they’re planning to start the bid for the bass boat at seven thousand dollars. Can you imagine? The golf cart will go for almost as much, I’m sure. We’ll be able to provide a decent-sized check to each of the families who lost their homes. Isn’t it exciting?” Lauren slipped back into the auditorium.

  Her enthusiasm lightened Emily’s mood. But it dampened quickly when she saw Scott and Roger deep in conversation with Paul. She turned and found Karen, who was washing red grapes at the sink. Emily smiled. “How’s it going?”

  “Everything’s under control.”

  “Good.” She slipped out the back door.

  ****

  Scott smiled at Lauren as she approached and slid into Roger’s open arm.

  Paul gave her a smile, too. “Looks like you’ve got a success on your hands.”

  “Let’s not start counting chickens,” she said. “The bidding won’t start for a while, and we won’t know how we did until long after the final ‘sold.’”

  “Well, you and Emily managed to gather quite a collection of goodies.” He glanced around the auditorium. “Where is your partner? I haven’t seen her all day.”

  “I haven’t, either,” Scott said. “I was wondering whether she would come.”

  “Oh, she’s here somewhere. I’m sure she’s just been busy.” Her voice sounded casual, but she gave Scott a pointed stare.

  After a moment, he understood. No way was she going to announce Emily’s whereabouts in front of the journalist.

&n
bsp; She returned her attention to Paul. “I overheard a group of young golfers carry on about that score card you donated. Even so young, they knew who Arnold Palmer is.”

  “The man’s a legend.” Paul lifted his tea glass in acknowledgment of someone across the room—Amber, who waved an invitation for him to join her. “Excuse me. Catch y’all later.” He maneuvered through the crowd.

  Scott stood closer to Lauren. “Now, where is Emily?”

  “She’s in the kitchen, where she plans to stay until certain people”—she jerked her head toward the retreating Goodrich—“are gone. Probably for the duration.”

  “She’s not hiding from me?”

  “Oh, yeah. You, too. She’s under the impression you don’t want to talk to her.”

  “That’s not true. I do want to talk to her.”

  “Then why haven’t you called?”

  “Someone told me not to.” Scott jabbed Roger.

  “You have got to be kidding me. Since when did you start taking love advice from Roger?”

  Scott hung his head. “Well, it kinda made sense.”

  Lauren glared at him.

  Roger clapped Scott on the shoulder. “Buddy, you’re on your own. You guys don’t need me for this conversation.” He watched a server toting a full platter of scallops. “I’ll catch you later.”

  “I kept missing Emily on the phone,” Scott explained once they were alone. “Then, after that episode Wednesday night, Roger said I should let her calm down. Let her be the one to call me.”

  Lauren smirked. “Well, he got it half right. You did need to let her calm down a bit. But that was Wednesday night. This is Saturday. You should’ve called.”

  “I’m not sure whether it matters. She hasn’t been answering my calls. Was she screening me?”

  “I don’t know, but maybe you should stop relying on the telephone. She’s here now. Get off your duff and go to her.”