Johnny pointed toward the darkened hallway. “Down that way you’ll find the bathroom, study, and bedrooms. And the kitchen, as you know, is back there.” He indicated where we’d come in. “I guess that completes the ten-second tour. Any questions?”
I didn’t answer. A brass-framed wall mirror in the entryway had captured my attention, and I moved in for a closer look. My fingertips rose to touch the purplish bruise high over my left cheekbone. A blood-red gash sliced down the middle and was held together by two butterfly strips. My eye was swollen and shadowed all the way around.
“I look . . . I look . . . like . . .” I couldn’t say what. The sight was so grotesque, it made me sick to look at it while I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away.
Johnny took hold of my wrist and turned me from the mirror. “You look perfect.” He swept his knuckles lightly over my cheek. “So absolutely perfect,” he echoed, his eyes revealing a look of empathy.
I reached up and took his hand, pressing the warmth of his palm to my cheek. The feel of his skin against mine penetrated like a balm to my frenzied nerves. “You’re lying but I appreciate the sentiment,” I said, allowing my eyes to slide shut over the tears pooling there.
“Darlin’ I would never lie to you.” He smiled. “Besides, I think it’s kinda sexy,” he added with the flit of a wink.
“Sexy?” I croaked. “It’s going to leave a terrible scar.”
Tracing his fingers along my jaw, he said, “Yeah, and a scar will make you look a little edgy—dangerous.” His gaze dropped to my parted lips. “Like I said, sexy.”
“You’re just trying to make me feel better,” I said, suddenly feeling out of sorts. Up to this point, my only concern had been getting away from that hospital. Now here I was alone with Johnny, in his house, and with the way he was touching me, comforting me, it all felt very intimate.
He must have sensed my apprehension, because he dropped his hand, turned and headed for the kitchen. “You want some tea?” he yelled over his shoulder but didn’t wait for me to answer. “Make yourself at home.”
Crossing my arms around my chest to stifle the chill brought on by his absence, I took a closer look around. There were no family pictures or personal photos of any kind, not even one of his children, yet the space was inviting—comfortable.
“So, where do you want to go?” he called back.
“Go?”
“Yeah to hide until we can prove your innocence.”
Exhaustion pushed behind my eyes. “Alaska. I’ve always wanted to go to Alaska,” I said, flippantly naming the first place that came to mind.
Kicking the clogs from my feet and curling my legs beneath me, I slumped onto the weathered leather of his sofa. I pulled a down-filled throw pillow into my lap, hugged it tight to my chest, and stared at the fire. The flames licked up then fell back in what looked like a constant struggle to grow taller.
Johnny must have removed his boots because his feet made little sound as he padded back into the room. “Here you go,” he said, holding out an oversized steamy mug. “You take your tea with only honey, right?”
“How’d you know?” I wrapped both hands around the heated ceramic and took my first sip. The tea soothed my raw throat. “Peppermint, my favorite,” I said, thanking him with my eyes over the rim.
He eased down onto the sofa, a safe distance away from me, and set a bottle of wine down on the coffee table. “So, you want to talk about what happened?” he asked pouring himself a glass.
I laid the warm mug against my bruised face. “It all started with Gentry.”
“Gentry,” he repeated, her name slipping through his lips in a way that made me wonder how much she had meant to him.
“Were you sleeping with her?” I asked before I could stop myself.
Johnny’s mouth fell open. “Just come right out and ask, why don’t you?” he said with an uncomfortable snort. “And no, I wasn’t. Not that I didn’t try—she was very beautiful—but Gentry wasn’t like that. She never would have cheated on Daniel.”
“Did you give her drugs?”
He choked on the sip he was taking. “Good gracious!” he said, wiping the red spatters of wine from his lips with the back of his hand. “You’re just full of loaded questions tonight, aren’t you?” He set his glass down next to the bottle.
“Well?”
“No. She wasn’t takin’ drugs . . . that I knew of, anyway. She was drownin’, though, under the weight of her life, her fight for school fundin’, societal pressures, and tryin’ to be the perfect mother. And that didn’t even include Daniel’s expectations. So it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if she was takin’ somethin’. When she came to me for help, I could tell she was tired of it all. But then excited too that this benefit might actually achieve somethin’. She wanted to make it an annual thing. Her accident was an unfortunate turn of events for both her and the schools.”
“You think she died in that car crash?” I asked, and then bit down on my lip. I knew if Johnny was going to help me I would have to divulge what I’d learned from Daniel’s files, but I wasn’t ready. Not yet.
“Yeah, don’t you?” he said, and then took a closer look at my guilty face. “Marlie? What are you thinkin’? What do you know, or think you know?”
I took another sip of tea and a closer look at Johnny. The way he looked at me made me think he knew more than he was saying.
“I need you to start at the beginning and tell me everything right up to Paul’s death,” he said.
I listened a moment to the light patter of rain against the windows. “Do I have to?”
Johnny edged closer. “Afraid so. If I’m goin’ to help you, I’ll need to know everythin’.”
I started with the moment I’d come home from dropping the boys at camp and overheard Daniel and Paul in the study, including the part where Daniel said he was going to “take care” of me, then about the file and the stolen documents, ending with Paul knocking me to the ground. Leaving out the part about Paul being the leader of the Iphiclesians, I concluded with the one detail that made it all the more unbelievable.
“His eyes,” I said, my mind falling deeper into the tapping of the rain, allowing the sound to wash over me, taking with it the implausible. “I’d never noticed before, but they were different colors. He must have been wearing contacts all the time or something. He’s . . . not really Paul.” I closed my eyes and shook against the memory.
“Seems impossible, doesn’t it?” Johnny said in a stoic voice.
My eyelids snapped open. “You know what he was, don’t you?”
Johnny’s gaze avoided mine. “I do, but how do you?”
I glanced down at the gold ring circling his pinky and shrugged.
“I see,” he said, settling back against the couch. “You’ve been very busy during the short time you’ve been here in Nashville, haven’t you?” He rested his arm on the back of the sofa. “Marlie, do you believe in forgiveness? In redemption?” he asked. “In second chances?”
Looking away, I set my tea aside. “Sure. The Bible says we have to forgive in order to be forgiven,” I said, giving him the stock, Sunday school answer. “We all make mistakes, do and say things we wish we could take back.” That last part, I wholeheartedly believed. “I don’t think it’s right to hold a grudge. Doing so only poisons the soul, keeps us from finding peace—happiness.”
Johnny’s gaze drifted off across the room. “But what about the unforgiveable. What about when we’ve done somethin’ that can never be taken back?” He brought his eyes back to mine. “Can you forgive somethin’ like that?”
All of sudden, it felt as though his questions had shifted from general inquiries to a desire for something much more personal.
“I would hope that I’d do my best,” I said, breaking away from his intense gaze to fiddle with the fringe around the pillow resting in my lap. “It takes too much effort to hold onto anger. I would think that the more severe the offense, the more need there would be to let it go—to for
give.”
“Do you believe that some people belong together.” He reached over to finger a loose strand of my hair. “That we all have our perfect match?”
“Like love at first sight?” I asked, and he gave me a slow nod. “Sure.” I wrapped my arms around the pillow and pulled it to my pounding chest. “But holding onto that person might be a different story.”
“Destiny is a funny thing, isn’t it? The way it calls to everyone, guidin’ them without their knowledge, or even permission, to their fate.”
“I wish fate would take a rest for a while,” I said, not having the faintest idea where Johnny was going with this. Then exhaustion pressed in on me like an insistent voice saying, You’re getting sleepy, very sleepy. “You said ‘them’ like fate’s malicious intentions don’t apply to you, like you have destiny all figured out.” I covered a yawn with my hand.
“I have a purpose all right. Though I’m afraid divine intervention has no say in it,” he said.
My mouth stretched open with another yawn. “Could you please save all the cryptic language for a time when I’m better able to process it?”
Johnny pushed up from the sofa. “It’s been a long day, and I should let you get some rest.” He dragged me to my feet then led me down the hallway and into his bedroom. “Tomorrow we’ll get to work on how we’re going to handle this mess you’re in.”
He turned back the covers on a king-sized bed and pushed me down onto the mattress. Covering me in what I’d come to know since my marriage to Daniel as the feel of very expensive sheets, he said, “See you in the mornin’,” in a hushed voice as he folded the bedding over me and reached for the light.
“You’re not planning to leave me in here alone, are you?” I asked like a frightened child.
He moved his hands to his hips with a faint groan. “I think it would be best if I slept in the guest room, don’t you?” he said, his face a mask.
Feeling half-insulted, half-terrified, I asked, “Why is it that a man with a well-established reputation as a womanizer is willing to make passes at just about every woman on the planet . . . except me?”
“Because with you, Marlie, it would never be that simple, never be just a casual flirtation, or a quick roll in the sack.”
Taken aback, I choked on my indignation. “Just so you know, I wasn’t insinuating that I wanted you to seduce me, I just—I—I don’t want to be by myself,” I insisted, reaching out to him. “Please don’t leave me alone. Not tonight.”
Johnny wiped his hands down his face and over the back of his neck. “Fine. Let me change,” he agreed and disappeared into the bathroom.
A few too many agonizing minutes later, he returned in a pair of navy house pants and a plain white t-shirt. After switching off the light, he slumped down into the overstuffed chair at the foot of the bed.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Anytime darlin’.”
I nestled under the covers, my eyes taking in the cozy manliness of Johnny’s bedroom. Delighting in the spicy sweet scent of his aftershave, I listened to the symphony of raindrops hitting the roof and windows. Daniel’s house, his bed, his arms around me at night had been exciting—new—and up until last night, safe. But lying here, right now, knowing that Johnny was close, I felt like I’d finally come home.
Chapter Thirty
I was an accused murderer, a fugitive on the run, wife to a man I didn’t recognize, and still, there was a lightness in my heart. You really shouldn’t be smiling, I thought as I leaned in to inspect the black and purple bruise next to my eye. The crescent-shaped gash held together with butterfly bandages curved down in a frown from my cheekbone. I grinned back at it in contradiction.
On the sink below the mirror, Johnny had left me a toothbrush and a note that read:
I thought you could use this, and please do before I return.
(smiley face)
Make yourself at home. Back soon.
Johnny
And I couldn’t help but allow my smile to broaden. Though my situation was dire, my heart aching for Bridger and Bodie, for what I’d uncovered about their father, and the evidence I still needed to piece together, somehow a few words from Johnny were just enough to lessen the load.
In the kitchen I fixed myself a cup of tea and returned to the living room. I brought the mug up to my lips.
A sound.
I listened. Had I heard something? A clicking noise maybe?
Nothing.
Must have been my imagination, I decided, when the same sound came at me again. This time I was sure it had come from the kitchen. The back door? I bolted upright. Tea sloshed onto my hand. I wiped it away then stood motionless, praying that the next sound would be Johnny’s boots against the kitchen floor. For the few seconds that followed, I heard nothing, nothing but my rapidly beating heart. I set my mug down on the coffee table. Another click followed by a forceful jiggling this time had me turning with a start.
What are the chances Johnny forgot his key?
I wasn’t that lucky. The sound of shattering glass sent me tripping and stumbling straight to Johnny’s secret hiding place. At the closet my hands fumbled, slipping from the doorknob like one of those doomed actors, futilely running for her life in a horror film. A brief stilling of my nerves and I was able to grip the knob and turn.
No sooner had I thrust myself into the dark, musty crevice and latched the false wall behind me, did the sound of carefully placed footfalls pass across the floor outside of the closet. Down the hall the feet went, stopping at each room before entering for a closer examination. At the end of the hall, the steps turned back, moving past me again and out into the living room where the intruder hesitated.
My teacup! I’d left it on the table, still warm. I admonished myself to settle down, reasoning that the darkened space surrounding me would keep me safe. The wave of hysteria quieted just enough for me to listen. Beyond my confinement, there was only silence.
He won’t know where to find you. You’re all right for now, I repeated until I almost believed it.
I listened for any sound. Again, nothing.
I should have stayed where I was but the small space was closing in, the darkness coiling itself around me. Reaching for the latch to release the wall, I stopped when a clicking sound from the other side had me yanking my hand back in alarm. Pressing my body against the back wall, I knew there was nowhere for me to go.
The false wall began to inch toward me. My eyes pulled back wide and unblinking. I balled my hands into fists ready to fight whoever had come for me. An instant later, light flooded the small space and I shrank back, blinking against the intrusive beam as I forced my gaze defiantly to that of the intruder on the other side.
Blinking once, twice more, I refocused on the last person I expected to see. “Electra?”
Reaching in, she grabbed hold of my arm. “Miss Marlie. What you doing in there?” she scolded as she yanked me out and into the open.
“What am I doing?” I said, floored by her presence. “What are you doing?”
She threw her hands in the air. “I come for you! What else?”
“But how did you know,” I started when my next thought surged to the forefront. “How is Herbert? Is he okay?”
Electra gave her head a shake. “Herbert, es vijo loco, but he going to be fine,” she said, brushing dust from the closet off my shoulder with a frown. “He should know better than to take on man half his age.”
Relief overcame me. I slumped back against the wall.
“So, it wasn’t me who attacked Herbert?” I said, pressing a hand to my chest—one less thing to worry about. “Thank heaven.” I was about to shout for joy when something she’d said struck me. “Wait a minute. If I didn’t kill Paul, and Herbert didn’t kill Paul, then who did?”
“I promise Miss Gentry mama and papa, and I try, but I no able to protect her. This time, I no let those boys lose another mama.” Electra smoothed her tight bun, her finger absently trailing the scar down her
cheek. “I not as young as I use to be, but I still have fight in me.” She crossed herself and spit to the side. “Mister Paul, el demonio, he get what he deserve,” she said and spat again.
I was confused. “Why didn’t you say something last night? The police think it was me; they think I attacked Herbert, they think I killed Paul.”
She jabbed a fist to her hip, tapping her toe at me. “What you think I doing now?” she said like I was being ungrateful. “Beside, Mister Cannon, he need to trust you, to decide for himself that you tell truth. If I tell ’em first then maybe he always wonder, maybe you worry too he still question, that he no trust you, and you no trust him.”
I gave her a questioning look. “Wait, I don’t understand.”
She rolled her shoulder like it should be obvious. “I keep quiet ’til Mister Cannon come to me and ask for help. He come this morning and say he know you no do this, that Mister Paul was the one,” she said, and I thought I heard a hint of sympathy, or maybe apology, ringing through her heavily accented words. “Then, I tell him what happen and he say he think he know where to find you.”
It sounded like she was saying that Daniel wasn’t against me. That he believed me. But just to make sure, I recapped. “So Daniel doesn’t think I was trying to sabotage him? That I killed Paul or was sleeping with him . . . that I took drugs?”
Electra opened her mouth to answer but the words that came next were not hers.
“He doesn’t and did not, not even for an instant.” The voice came out of nowhere, irrevocably responding to my question.
“Daniel!” I gasped.
He held his hands up to show me he meant no harm. “Marlie, it’s all right. I know everythin’,” he said gently.
I had no idea what to say. In all my hoping for a positive outcome—one that didn’t end with me behind bars—I hadn’t imagined a moment like this. I hadn’t dared to consider that Daniel would end up on my side.
“I leave you two alone,” Electra said, starting for the kitchen door. As she passed by, she shot me a look of caution. “I be out back if anyone need me.”
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