Trouble's Brewing

by Linda Evans Shepherd; Eva Marie Everson

  Larry stood straight and began to ring up my order. “Why not? We wouldn’t even have to get personal to get close, if you know what I mean.”

  As I paid, I said, “I do know what you mean, and just wipe that idea out of your brain. Because that’s not going to happen. No way, no how.”

  Larry frowned and handed me my order. I turned so fast I ran smack into Clay, who was standing a little too close.

  “Excuse me,” I said.

  He grinned foolishly as he looked down at the top of my head. “Donna, I have more to tell you about the stranger who was looking for you the other day.”

  I had to hand it to him. Clay was good; he knew just what to say to keep me from bolting. “What do you know?” I demanded, gripping my brown sack of corn bread.

  “Well, Pastor Moore told me this morning that this same man went to see him, told him you were up for a community service award. Wanted to know if you were a good little churchgoer.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s sit down at the table in the corner and try to figure this out.”

  Like a lost puppy, I obediently followed. As I sat, I said, “This is all so weird. What do you make of it?”

  “Before I tell you what I think, I want to know—are you and David Harris an item?”

  “Not really,” I said. “We’re friends.”

  “You went to L.A. to be with David, as a friend?”

  I shook my head and looked away. “It’s complicated. But we’re friends, okay?”

  “Well, I know Goldie didn’t travel with you.”

  “Did I ever say she did?”

  “No, but I still think you’re protecting someone. Vonnie?”

  “You think pure-as-the-driven-snow Vonnie is David’s mother. What have you been smoking?”

  Clay just stared at me and blinked. He was trying the read the truth from my best poker face, so I quickly changed the subject to the question at hand. “So, what do you think is going on with this stranger?”

  “Well, Donna, quite frankly, I hate to tell you, but I don’t think you’re up for an award.”

  I snorted a laugh. “Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it?”

  He shifted uneasily. “I think you’re under investigation.”

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “That’s a good question. I doubt you’re on the take. And as far as I know, your only enemies in Summit County are a few speedsters, right? I read the sheriff ’s blotter daily. There’s not really anything linking you to any major accidents or wrongful deaths. Correct?” My heart literally stopped. “Oh no.”

  “What is it? You’re as white as a sheet.”

  “I gotta go. I gotta call my dad.” I got up from the table in a fog.

  He stood with me. “You don’t think this has anything to do with that baby drowning up above Boulder, do you?”

  I turned and stared at him. “You know about that?”

  “I’m a journalist. It’s my habit to read all the papers in the vicinity. You think I wouldn’t read an article about you?”

  I sat down again, hard. My cup of coffee sloshed beneath the protective lid. “Yeah, I guess you would have. I guess that means you’ve known my secret all this time. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “You held on to it so tightly, I thought it would hurt you if I exposed it. Though it would have made a great front-page story. But I know you, and I know this baby’s death couldn’t be easy for you. I just didn’t want to make it any harder.” Clay kept standing but smiled down at me with a warmth I’d never seen in him before. “It was really a brave thing you did, going back into that flooded river to try to rescue that woman’s child. I never told you, but I think you’re a hero.”

  I stood again. “I gotta go.” I rushed to the door and pulled it open, just as a blast of icy wind hit me dead in the face. Before I could recover, a man stepped next to me. “Pardon me, Deputy. You dropped this.” I turned and stared at the stranger. Dressed in a brown overcoat, dress pants, and shoes, he seemed a bit out of place for this mountain town where everyone else was bundled in bright parkas and knit caps. He handed me an envelope. Blindly, Donna I took it, and he smiled. “Thanks, Deputy, you’ve just been served a civil lawsuit suing for monetary damages in the death of infant Bailey Ann Long. Good luck.”

  Before I could react, the stranger disappeared into the shadows.

  “No,” I whispered.

  I was trying to breathe when a hand suddenly rested on my shoulder. It was Clay. I turned to him.

  “He must have seen your Bronco parked outside and known you were here,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

  I stared up at Clay, trembling with either shock or the cold or both. I didn’t know. Neither did I know what to say or what to do. Clay did. He swallowed me into his arms, holding me tight as I wept into his chest.

  The dam had finally broken, releasing a flood of emotion I didn’t even know one person could contain. Standing on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, Clay gently stroked my hair as I sobbed in his arms. I did nothing to resist. “Donna,” he finally whispered in my ear. “How have you carried this all by yourself?”

  I cried harder, and he pulled me to his jeep. “Get in,” he instructed. “It’s cold out here. Besides, we can’t let all of Summit View see you like this.”

  I shook my head. “I’m on duty. I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “But I don’t think you’re in any shape to drive. Can I take you to your dad’s?”

  I wiped my eyes on the sleeve of my leather jacket. “I’m okay. I’m just going to sit in my Bronco for a while.”

  “Then I’ll sit with you. I’ll be your ride-along.”

  That’s when I looked at him. I was startled to see how his eyes glistened with fire. I’d always thought of him as chubby, but had he been losing weight? I hadn’t noticed till that very moment. And there was something else. It was … he looked so earnest … so … so in love?

  My head was spinning. “No. No, I’m on duty. I’m okay. I need to be alone.”

  Reluctantly, Clay let me go, and I climbed into my Bronco and powered it up before pulling into traffic without looking back. It was 8:45, and I needed a place to hide, to think. I drove into the back of the bank’s parking lot and let the truck idle.

  I picked up my cell phone and dialed. “Dad?”

  My father’s deep voice resonated with concern. “Donna, you sound upset. Are you okay?”

  I took a deep breath. “Not really.”

  The cell phone crackled as he asked, “Where are you?”

  “At the bank.”

  “Was there a robbery? Are you hurt?”

  I sobbed softly before answering. “No, no, but something’s happened—the thing we were afraid of.”

  “You’re not making sense. Stay put; I’m coming over there.”

  A few minutes later, Dad’s Bronco pulled up next to mine, and my father climbed into the cab of my truck. He handed me his hanky and said, “Girl, tell me what’s wrong.”

  I blew my nose before answering. “I got served.”

  “What?”

  I handed him the papers. He hit the overhead light then read them in silence.

  “Donna, you can beat this. No jury in the world is going to blame you for what happened on the river that night. You risked your life to save that child.”

  “But a baby’s dead, and it’s all my fault.”

  Daddy looked at me, then lifted my chin with his hand. “The baby’s death is not your fault. It was a freak accident, an act of nature.”

  My eyes couldn’t meet his. “Or God is punishing me.”

  He snorted. “I know I haven’t been to church in years. But I don’t believe that. I can’t say I understand the mind of God or why these things happen. But you’ve suffered enough. It’s time for you to face this thing so you can let go of it. Maybe this bogus lawsuit will help you put it all behind you.”

  “I’ve already tried to do that. But it’s swallowed me whole. I don’t think I ca
n take any more.”

  “But why not? You’re stronger than that.”

  I studied my dad in the yellowed light of the cab. Shadows deepened over his brow, and his blue eyes crinkled with worry. I dared to look into his eyes as I spoke in a hushed whisper. “I think you know.”

  His eyebrows arched. “Know what?”

  “Maybe I didn’t kill Bailey Ann, but you know that I killed my own baby. You were there. You drove me to the clinic. You waited for me in the waiting room. And now I just can’t seem to separate one baby’s death from the other.”

  Dad put his arm around me, and I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Oh, Donna. You were my little girl, and it was just too early for you and Wade to start a family. What were you, all of eighteen? You had plans, goals. I couldn’t let your pregnancy take that away from you. And truthfully, after your mama left in such a scandal, I couldn’t bear the thought of going through another one. I didn’t want to see you start a family that way.”

  My breath caught on a sob. “But did you ever stop to think of the consequences?”

  He pulled back and leaned his head back into the seat. “No. I’m afraid I didn’t. As far as I knew, your baby was, what, just ten weeks along? It was only a clump of cells at that stage.”

  “I’ve tried to believe that. Lord knows. But in my heart, I knew the truth. I killed my baby, and now I’m paying for it with the death of Bailey Ann. At least, it was her death that made me realize what I’d done.”

  Dad sat quietly, but when he finally spoke, I turned to see him wiping tears from his eyes. “Donna, I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

  I nodded. “We both were.”

  We sat together for a long time, quietly breathing as pain engulfed us. Finally Dad gave me a hug. “You stay on duty. I’ll call you in the morning, unless you’d like me to relieve you now,” he said.

  “No, you go on home. I’ll be okay.”

  How I managed to outlast my shift, I’ll never know. I was glad it was a slow night. Too cold for any pranksters to be out, and as it Serving Trouble was Sunday, the weekend tourists had left for Denver. That gave me plenty of time to think in that frigid parking lot. I was glad I had the hot soup and coffee to keep me from turning into an icicle.

  Later, when I got home, I collapsed into bed, drifting into a rare, dreamless sleep. I pulled about five hours of sleep and took a hot shower as my coffee brewed. Later, I sat drinking my joe as I looked out the kitchen window. The morning was beautiful. A cloud was lifting from the mountain behind my house, leaving ice crystals glistening on the pine trees. The phone rang. It was Clay.

  “Donna, how are you?”

  “Not so good. And yourself?”

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “Don’t, Clay. I’m not worth it.”

  There was a pause on the end of the line. “What are you saying?”

  “Don’t get attached to me, Clay. I don’t have anything to give anyone. Even someone who has been a friend to me, like you.”

  “Donna, I don’t believe that, and I’m not giving up. Why don’t you meet me down at the café?”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Then let me drop by.”

  “No, I’m sorry.” Then with nothing more to say, I bid Clay goodbye, and I went back to the window. The cloud had completely evaporated, leaving a bright blue sky to contrast against the white landscape. The beauty helped my soul relax, if only a little. That’s when it hit me. To my amazement I realized that Clay Whitefield, my enemy, was a real friend. Maybe my only one, unless you counted Vonnie and a few of the Potluckers.

  I pulled into the church parking lot at 12:30, hoping to catch Wade before he went into the church. I was hoping to find out why we had to talk to the pastor together.

  When he pulled his blue pickup into the lot at a quarter till, I got out and met him. He looked sheepish, though as handsome as ever. He was wearing khaki pants and a nice black cable-knit sweater with a white pointed collar. Gone was his ever-present Rockies baseball Donna cap, and it looked as if he’d actually trimmed his golden locks and bothered to shave. This was a side to Wade I didn’t know. Though, it was an improvement.

  “What’s all this about?” I asked him.

  Wade looked around uneasily. “I’d rather not talk about it out here.”

  “Well, I don’t want to talk to the pastor if I don’t know what I’m facing.”

  Wade squinted his blue eyes. “Are you okay, Donna? Your face is swollen. Have you been crying?”

  I shrugged. “Just tell me why I’m here or I’m leaving.”

  “It’s about closure, Donna. You and me. We both need it.”

  “Wade, our relationship is long over.”

  “Is it? In one afternoon, fourteen years ago, I lost my family.”

  I stared at him. “We were never a family.”

  “You carried my baby. You’d agreed to be my wife.”

  I heard a car pull into the parking lot, but I didn’t bother to look up.

  “And?”

  “And I lost you both. One trip down the mountain, to 16th and Vine in Denver, and it was over.”

  I heard a car door slam, but I stared at the ground. “You told the pastor?” I looked up at him. “Wade, I go to church here.”

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  “Embarrass me? You had no right. By telling Pastor Moore, you’ve taken the only thing I had left in my miserable life.”

  Wade reached for my hand. I looked up and once again saw his pain. “What did I take from you?” he asked.

  “My pride.” I pulled my hand away, and with tears blurring my vision, I ran back to the Bronco.

  “Donna!” I heard a familiar voice call.

  I turned my head to see Vonnie standing by my truck. I swung open the cab door and leaped inside. Between sobs, I managed to stammer, “I can’t talk, Vonnie, I’ve got to run.”

  Wade walked up and stood next to this dear woman I’d always thought of as my mom. I looked back at them in the rearview mirror as I peeled out of the driveway. Was Wade going to tell her too? But then, she already knew, didn’t she?

  My Bronco fishtailed on the road, but I didn’t care. I didn’t know where I was going—I thought maybe I should consider driving off the nearest cliff. Besides, what difference would it make if I lived or died? Though in most ways, it seemed I was already dead. I died the same night God ripped Bailey Ann from my arms.

  29

  Friendship with Attitude Takes a Holiday

  Clay wasn’t sure what Donna had been thinking when he’d wrapped her in his arms, but he was keenly aware of his own thoughts and feelings. He suspected—though he couldn’t be sure—that Donna had noticed his weight loss too. The very thought of it made him want to add another mile to his exercise routine.

  But there was something else he’d noted. Maybe it was his sharp reporter’s skills kicking in, or maybe it was something else, like his love and devotion to the little nut.

  He was worried, truly concerned, and that was a new emotion for him. Not that he hadn’t ever had a troubled thought for another human being; he’d been very anxious about his mother’s well-being after his father died and still sent money from his paycheck to both her and his beloved grandmother so they could enjoy a few of life’s “little pleasures.” But his relationship with Donna had always been one of ribbing and teasing. Jest. Friendship with attitude.

  When she’d fallen into his arms, he’d felt a sense of protection toward her. Something bold and warriorlike. It came to him, then, that Donna Vesey was a woman holding on to more than one secret. The floodgates of tears had been about more than just a baby drowning.

  What more, he could only imagine.

  30

  A little Tart

  My life had turned upside down.

  The man of my dreams—the man I wanted to marry and live happily with for the rest of my life—was, once again, in love with another woman. My Potluck Club was going to blazes in a basket. Another meeting
like this past one, and we might as well close up shop. If it hadn’t been for Lizzie staying and praying with me, I think I would have just curled into a small ball in the middle of my bed, pulled the covers over my head, and never come back out.

  But, of course, I had to come out. I had to go to church the following day, which only added another complication to my life. Lisa Leann’s meddling led to Pastor Kevin pairing us together to direct the Christmas Tea. Well, if that little gal from Texas thought she was going to run the Tea …

  I sat in the family room of my parents’ old home, the house I’ve occupied my whole life long, watching a morning talk show and doodling on a pad of paper. It wasn’t anything I was interested in. As a matter of fact, it was pretty loud and obnoxious. Right now, I just needed a bit of a distraction. Something—anything—to keep my mind off of Vernon, my Potluck Club, and Lisa Leann running (or ruining) the Christmas Tea.

  The Christmas Tea made me think about Jan, and I made a note on the paper that we should somehow honor her at this year’s event. How, I wasn’t quite sure. I made another note: call Vonnie, Lizzie, and Goldie. Get opinions on honoring Jan.

  I glanced up at the television, peering over the rim of my reading glasses. The host of the show, Jason Sanders, was speaking into his microphone, staring into the camera. “We’re talking to women today who were dumped by their lifelong mates, and we’re offering them hope and help for the future.”

  The camera swung over to a woman with thick blond hair and full cheeks. Her makeup was clearly locked in the eighties, as was her choice in fashion and accessories. I chuckled a bit, amazed that I would even be aware of such. Maybe knowing Lisa Leann for the past few months hadn’t been such a bad experience after all. What that woman knows about makeup and fashion could fill a glossy three-hundred-page magazine. “I don’t like to use the word dumped,” the woman was saying. “It’s demeaning. It says I wasn’t worthy of this man. Well, the fact of the matter is, Jason, he wasn’t worthy of me.”

  The audience erupted in applause. “Preach it, sister,” I said.

  “Jason, may I say something?” a voice rang out over the ovation. The camera now rested on a slender woman with short, groomed hair and caramel skin. She wore a blue suit, and even my untrained eye could see it was expensive.