Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 2

by Chautona Havig

  “That is my point, Willow. He never considered you. He didn’t pay your mother to get out of town or else; he paid your mother to keep her mouth shut. That check stub was insurance. If your mother decided to go after them, his lawyers would have shredded her in court—if she could have gotten a D.A. to even look at a case with money involved.”

  “Who is D.A.?”

  Life with a woman who had never watched a television crime show—just so foreign. “District Attorney. For the record, the A.D.A is the assistant District Attorney.”

  “So this man wouldn’t have hurt me?”

  “No, and he’s not likely to now. It was a mutual agreement. ‘You leave my family alone and we’ll leave you alone.’”

  She relaxed her grip. “But mother—”

  “Was a wounded woman whose own sense of self-preservation made her overreact to a terrifying situation. It’s a reasonable scenario. She’s battered, wounded, and terrified. Psychologically speaking, she was a prime candidate for a breakdown, but she rose above it. All that strength she exuded was a coping mechanism.”

  Laughter was the last thing he’d expected. Willow’s hands covered her face, her shoulders shook, but laughter filled the room. “What?”

  “Farm girl. He called me a farm girl. I’ve been looking for the right time to call you farm boy and ask you to saddle my horse or something, and he calls me farm girl.”

  “I think that should be your new nickname.”

  Another chortle escaped before Willow gasped, “As. You. Wish.”

  Lynne Solari collapsed on the couch next to her husband. Their trip to Florida had ended in an argument, tears, and the silent treatment on the flight home. Once in their own home, she realized that he’d lose his stained air of civility unless she attempted to smooth the waters. He’d been horrible, but she knew the cause. Where she soothed her pain with shopping and spas, Steve attacked.

  “I’m sorry. I knew you didn’t like Terrell. I shouldn’t have invited him.”

  His answer came in the form of the Style magazine dropped in her lap. She smiled. He’d be fine by morning. Curled against him with her feet tucked under her, she opened the magazine to read the latest scandals and to see if the charity ball had been a success with Connie in charge. Minutes later, she was lost in the story of a young woman making her stamp on the Rockland fashion scene.

  “Hey, you should read this, Steve. It’s so sad.”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  She thrust the paper on top of his financial pages. “Can you believe someone paid her mother off after their son raped her?”

  Steve set the papers aside and wrapped his arms around his wife. “Some things, I don’t care to read about, and sensationalizing crime is one of them. Besides, who can focus on something like that with a wife like you around?”

  Several hours later, once he was certain his wife’s sleeping pill would keep her asleep for hours, he crept downstairs to read the article carefully. The name was right. The time, the circumstances—everything was right. She couldn’t have known there was a child when he spoke to her. She still had bruises on her arms and a split lip.

  A baby. He’d been such a failure as a father and wasn’t much better as a husband, but that cheeky girl had raised a baby all alone. As weird as their life was, the girl had done well for herself. A baby. His granddaughter. He had a granddaughter.

  Lynne would feel cheated. She’d always wanted grandchildren, but Steve’s string of girlfriends had at least had the sense not to get pregnant. No little granddaughters to buy pretty clothes for and take to tearooms wearing big hats and pearls. No little boys to take to ball games. Willow Finley was too old for those things now, but she was old enough to marry and have children of her own. It sounded like she was domestic enough to want a family. If he was careful, perhaps he could forge a relationship. Money talked, and Willow’s mother had listened well.

  Steve folded the paper carefully and slipped it into his briefcase. He’d hand it over to Wilson in the morning. Wilson would know how to handle it.

  His son’s face mocked him from the mantle. Expressionless eyes that had antagonized him since Steve Jr. was just a toddler stared hollowly across the room. He wanted to miss his son. For his wife’s sake, if nothing else, he wanted to mourn the loss of his only child. Instead, he mourned the loss of the son he wanted and never had.

  “Is the girl a fool? What was she thinking giving an interview like this? How does she know we were looking for her? We hardly saw her at that joke of a funeral.”

  Carol swallowed hard and tried to keep her pain to herself. Willow’s letter, however innocently sent, had been almost as gut wrenching as Kari’s complete disappearance. She’d left no note, her car abandoned in a parking lot, and their financial resources hadn’t been sufficient to keep up the search. For years, she’d imagined her daughter lying dead in a ditch, discarded by a serial killer, or wandering the halls of a psychiatric ward, the victim of amnesia or delusions.

  Instead, she lived an hour away, on a farm they’d passed a dozen times over the years. If only David had let her stop and ask to use their bathroom that time she’d needed one so badly. If only their car had gotten a flat on Kari’s side of the Fairbury turnoff. If only they’d come to Fairbury’s market more often—surely they’d have seen her. If only.

  “Don’t do it to yourself, Carol.”

  “She was right there—all those years. Why didn’t she tell us? Why didn’t she care?”

  David Finley stood behind his wife’s chair kneading her shoulders and praying for wisdom. “I think she did care. I think—” his voice broke at the mental image of his beautiful daughter broken by circumstances. “I think she was hurting so much, she couldn’t see the pain she would cause anyone else.”

  “Why didn’t we look close? We searched the city, Chicago, New Orleans, St. Louis—all those private investigators in all those cities and she was right here.”

  A guttural groan escaped before David could prevent it. Carol’s face stared up at him in alarm. “What?”

  “We concentrated our search here in hospitals and the morgue. I never imagined she’d runaway to Fairbury, so I assumed if she was here, she was—”

  “Dead. Me too.”

  After several painfully long minutes, Carol’s voice broke the silence between them. “What do we do now? We haven’t talked about it, and I understood why but now… Our friends will know. The family will ask. What can we do?”

  “I can’t think about it right now. It’s too much.”

  “She’s family.”

  His voice strained as David whispered, “I know.”

  “She’s Kari’s daughter.”

  “She’s a stranger.”

  Carol stood, fire in her eyes as she faced her husband. “That isn’t her fault. Whatever Kari did—right or wrong—it’s not that child’s fault!”

  “She’s not a child!”

  “She is to me!” Carol protested before she rushed from the room, tears blinding her as she ran.

  The mask of sternness slipped from his face, revealing the pain he’d hidden from his wife. The funeral had been a farce. They’d all come out of curiosity and in the hope of closure that had eluded them over the years. Willow’s brusque manner and lack of interest in them as people steeled his heart toward her. Kari had broken his heart—her daughter would probably shred it.

  That officer hadn’t made sense. Nothing the young man said fit any of the scenarios they’d tried. People didn’t pay unworthy girls to stay away from their foolish sons anymore. Had Willow not been an exact copy of his mother, David wouldn’t have allowed himself to believe she was truly Kari’s daughter.

  He’d expected appeals for money. Every time a personal letter arrived, he expected to see her name as the sender, but nothing came. Now he knew why. The money was real and Kari had obviously not squandered it. She’d always been a hoarder. David hoped Willow took after her.

  The article mocked him. She’d shared much too much information
with the reporter. Did she know how foolish she’d been? Was she truly as ignorant as the officer had implied? If she hadn’t given the interview, who had? Was the officer paid for information? Maybe someone in the town?

  Sighing, he folded the article and slipped it into his briefcase. He’d make a few discreet inquiries. For Carol’s sake, he’d see if his granddaughter was someone they should get to know or if they were better off considering her dead.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chad’s phone rang. The chief, Judith, and Joe watched amused as his face lit up at the sight of the number on the screen. Oblivious to the show he provided for an amused station, Chad answered cheerfully. “Hey. What’cha doing today?”

  Willow’s cryptic reply came in the form of a garbled whisper. “Wharf do away?”

  “Wharf what?” The muffled sounds of slick fabric and a zipper zipping wrinkled his brow. He protested. “What is this?”

  Another whisper came. “What are you doing today?”

  Though barely audible, this one, Chad understood. “I’m working. Just heading out in a minute.”

  “Car or on foot?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I need you to help me get a deer home.”

  “I’m working, Willow! I can’t just—”

  Her impatient voice interrupted. “Isn’t it against some law to shoot a deer and leave it?”

  “Well yeah, but—”

  Four hands flew to holsters as a clearly audible gunshot rang out from Chad’s phone. “Got him,” Willow gloated, her voice normal. “Either come help me with this deer, or I’ll report me, and you’ll have to come out and arrest me.”

  “Willow! I can’t go driving out there—”

  The Chief waved him to the door, “Go help her.”

  “But I’m on duty!”

  “Well, this is your duty. Now get out there, but no flirting. Get the job done and get back on the road. It’s a tough job, but somebody has to help the damsel in distress.”

  “Damsel in distress, my foot,” Chad muttered as he glared at the phone and then back up at Joe. “Why can’t Joe do it?”

  Joe pushed the station door open. “Because I’m on beat today—which, I might add, you were gloating about just a few minutes ago.”

  He knew when he was beaten. “Fine!”

  The Chief waited until Chad swung the door open irritably and then said, “That’s, ‘Fine, sir!’ to you, son.’”

  The five miles from the station to Willow’s house took half the time it should have. As he drove, Chad realized that she’d been hunting and called just as she was ready to pull the trigger—called to make sure he was around to help her move the deer. “Of all the irritating things—”

  He stared at the barn. Of course, she wasn’t home. She’d called from hunting. Where would Willow—Chad flipped open his phone and punched her number. The phone rang and slipped to voice mail. “Willow, I’m at your barn, but I don’t know where to find you.” He paused. Years of TV shows tempted him until he decided to do a little mental tormenting. “I need a twenty on your location.”

  “Well, let’s see you stew a bit over that one anyway,” he muttered to himself. He stuffed the phone in his pocket and went to find her garden cart. He’d wheel it to her and they could—the cart was gone.

  Saige dropped a knotted rope at his feet and jumped excitedly as Chad picked it up and threw it. For five minutes, Chad threw, Saige retrieved, and the anger that had tried to take root in Chad’s heart slowly melted. The brisk morning, the stiff breeze, and the scent of autumn surrounded him. Could any place on earth be more perfect?

  After another glance at his phone, Chad stepped into the kitchen. Coffee sounded good—perfect while he waited. The sight of the kitchen table stopped him short. He wasn’t accustomed to anything out of place in Willow’s home. She wasn’t persnickety about things, but a lifetime of putting things away instead of just “down” tends to keep your living space tidy.

  A glass and oak framed display case lay open on the messy table. She’d added a leaf or two to the table and spread her things all over it. A family of tiny dolls lined the edge of the windowsill. Ticking fabric and florist foam brick with indentations of every doll lay in a heap beside the glass case. Her fly-tying vice sat nearby with a few flies lying in and near the case.

  Understanding hit him in an instant. He stepped back outside, ignoring the stoves that probably needed attention, and sat on the porch step. Saige looked up at him and Chad felt reproached. “Well, how was I supposed to know? Who told her my birthday was coming anyway?” He glared at what he perceived as a reproachful look on Saige’s face. “I didn’t even get any coffee!”

  He jumped nervously as his phone rang. “Where are you! I’ve been waiting—”

  “I got another one. Couldn’t answer. What’s a twenty?”

  Chad chuckled. He’d already forgotten his attempt at payback. “It’s just something you hear a lot in TV shows. It means I can’t see you, so where are you?”

  “How would I ever have gotten that? I was wondering what you thought I should do with twenty deer!” She grunted before she said, “Ok, so walk down past the chicken coop to the fence. Follow it straight across the creek and then follow the line of trees. I’ll yell when I see you.”

  “Going north?”

  Silence hung between them for several seconds before she stammered, “Um, yeah. Sure.”

  Chad strode away from the house at a brisk pace; Saige followed. He shooed the animal back to the yard, and to his amazement, the dog went, head hanging and a look of despondence on her face. “Sorry, girl. If Willow didn’t take you, I’m not going to.”

  The bridge—just a few logs tethered together with rope and tied to trees and the fence—surprised him. Then again, how else would they carry back an animal like that? He followed the tree line, looking and listening for Willow. It wasn’t far.

  “Hey, Chad!”

  Just inside the trees, Chad found Willow removing the entrails of a second deer. “What are you going to do with two deer?”

  “Give them to the Mr. McFarland. He gives us the loins and keeps the rest.”

  “The butcher?” Her explanation annoyed him. The arrangements they had with the butcher seemed to be much more advantageous to Clyde McFarland than could possibly be equitable. “That seems like an awfully nice deal for him.”

  “It’s better now. We used to cut off the loins ourselves, and Mother would walk to town and call him to come take away the rest, but he finally convinced her to let him do the work.”

  “What does he do with the extra meat? Does he pay you for it?”

  Her head whipped up as she retorted indignantly, “Of course not! He does us the favor of butchering our deer for us, and we expect payment?”

  “He keeps most of the deer!”

  “No,” she answered with studied patience, “We give him most of the deer. Without him, we’d have to butcher the whole thing ourselves and get a few more dogs to eat it all, or we’d have to allow people to come hunt on our land. The deer get thick in there some years.”

  A familiar feeling swept over him—understanding the incomprehensible. This was another one of what he’d dubbed as “Willowisms.” Along with why saving time is so important and why buy what you can make, why charge for what you can give away seemed to be at the top of the chain.

  “Let’s load them up then.”

  “We can only take one at a time.”

  Chad bit his lip. He bit it from the trees, across the stream, over the fields, and to the tree near the chicken coop. Here, Willow strung the deer up by his feet without much help from Chad.

  “You know, you could have just strung him up in one of the trees out there, pushed the cart under him, and lowered him into it…”

  “But—” Chagrin masked her face “I never thought of that. All those years I walked back to get mother’s help and neither of us thought of that. It would have saved so much time, which of course, is a precious commod
ity isn’t it?” she teased. “I’ll remember that next time though. That’ll save you a trip.”

  Chad felt terrible. He hadn’t intended to make her feel like a burden. “Hey, Willow, I didn’t mean it like that—I just know how much you like to do things for yourself, and it amused me that you hadn’t thought of that.”

  The blank look on her face unnerved him. “What?”

  “Well, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad—”

  “I don’t feel bad. I asked for help, like you’re always insisting that I do, I might add. You gave me a better way to do it in the future. What’s the problem?”

  What indeed? He grabbed the cart handles and nodded toward the general direction of the other animal. “Nothing. Let’s go get the other deer.”

  Once back with the second deer, Willow pointed absently to the kitchen. “I need a drink of water, would you mind getting me some?”

  Chad nodded, trying to fabricate a way to warn her that he shouldn’t go into her house as he shuffled toward the house. “Hey!”

  He whirled around and nearly knocked her over. “What?”

  “I need the tarps in the barn. They’re up in the loft over the kitchen. I’ll wash my hands, get me water, and call.” She swallowed hard, rushing on as if to keep him from talking. “You’ve been gone long enough—” She glanced at his uniform. “And you have blood on your pants. I’m really sorry. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “I’m not upset, Willow. It’s fine.”

  She bit her lip. “But—”

  “Look, don’t give it another thought. I don’t want you nervous about calling when you need something now—”

  “‘I wasn’t nervous. Maybe I was a little ‘concerned,’ but that’s not the same thing.’”

  His laughter echoed through the yard as he jogged to the barn for the tarps. Chad met Willow at her back door, handed her several, and whispered as she waited for the butcher to answer the phone, “‘Good afternoon, Willow. Good work. Sleep well. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.’“