Overdue for Murder (Pecan Bayou)

by Trent, Teresa

  Barry passed by us on the steps, and when his eyes met mine, he immediately looked down. The joking manner he had shared with George suddenly vanished. He didn't want to look at me. He didn't want to talk to me. He just wanted to walk on by and forget I even existed. That is what he did best, after all.

  "Hello, Barry. Glad to see you finally got back. How's that cold of yours?" I said. He had told me he had a terrible cold and was going out for cough drops. I had no idea the closest drug store would be in El Paso. Barry didn't answer me at first but then turned to George. "I don't have to talk to her. Put me in my cell or whatever it is this podunk police department has."

  "This podunk police department has a state-of-the-art holding cell that'll keep your ass for as long as we need to." My dad's anger was rising.

  "You got nothing on me, old man."

  "Try abandonment, back child support and Lord knows what else you've been up to in your business dealings."

  "Did you get notified about the divorce?" I asked.

  "Who cares?" he sneered.

  "Now Barry," said George, "don't be rude. Betsy here was just asking you a question."

  "I still don't have to talk to her."

  His words hurt. This was the real Barry. This was the kind of guy who would leave a pregnant wife with a stack of bills.

  "You son of a bitch." I started toward him and felt my dad pull me back. Chief Wilson came out of the police station and registered surprised seeing me again so soon and yelling at somebody else besides his murder victim. "Is there a problem out here, Lieutenant Kelsey?"

  "No, no problem, Chief. I would like for you to meet my ex-son in law, Barry Livingston."

  The chief grabbed his gun belt around his round middle and smiled and extended a hand. It wasn't until Barry put out his hand that the chief noticed he was being escorted by George. He pulled his hand back.

  "We're looking at him for some fraud charges here in Pecan Bayou," said my dad.

  "I see. Well, as long as everything is okay out here."

  "Fine, just fine."

  Chief Wilson stepped back into the building.

  "Where's the kid?" asked Barry. He finally had something to say to me, and it was about the one thing I had left that he could take away.

  "The kid's name is Zachary, and if I have it my way he will never lay eyes on you."

  "Oh, yeah? If I have it my way I will take rightful ownership of MY son."

  "That's enough," my father said. "Thanks, George. I'll take your prisoner from here. Why don't you head over to Benny's Barbecue and he can fix you up with a hot meal on the police department." George tipped his Stetson and turned back to his car.

  "Betsy. You head home now. I'll call you later." My father took hold of Barry's arm to guide him to the holding cell. Barry turned toward me and looked me up and down.

  "You're still looking good, Betsy. What's this? No ring? Probably hard to find another man like me."

  I felt my skin crawl at his appraisal. The last thing I wanted was another man like Barry. At least now I knew what I was up against. Now I knew – even more important than clearing my name for murder, I would fight to the end to keep my son.

  *****

  When I returned home, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do first – call a lawyer or go into the witness protection program to get away from Barry. I actually entertained thoughts of packing my car, picking Zach up from Aunt Maggie's house and driving off to God knows where to start a new life. He had done it to me, why not do it to him?

  Deciding that might be a little too drastic, I called Rune Jackson, one of the five lawyers in town. I didn't have to tell him much before he agreed to take on my case. He had dealt mainly with DUIs in his career, and this was his first murder case.

  "Listen here now, Miss Betsy," he drawled, and I somehow knew he was sitting there with his boots up on his desk, his Stetson pitched back on his head. "I don't have any legal assistants here, so I'll be needin' you and your daddy to help me check the alibis of all the other suspects on the day Martha Hoffman was murdered."

  "I'm sure my dad has some of that already."

  "Yes, but we need to check on our own as well."

  Later, as I helped Zach get ready for Little League practice, I told my dad about my lawyerin' up, as he would say.

  "That's good. Has he done any murder cases before?" he said on the other end of the cell phone.

  "Nothing like this. He said we needed to help him to check out the alibis of the other people who might have killed her. I have to tell you, I don't want to talk to Oscar Larry again. Who knows what he'll do."

  "I'll take care of him," my father said. "You go talk to Peter Markham and that woman he was running around with."

  "The romance writer?"

  "Oh, right. I guess that's fitting. I'll ask Maggie if she can go ask around at the library to see if there might be anyone there who was angry with Martha."

  "Okay. I can talk to Pattie, too. I wanted to thank her for doing such a nice job on the cake."

  My dad and aunt were doing it again. They were fishing me out of another mess. I might have my share of troubles, but I knew in that moment I was truly blessed with these two. "Thank you. Thank you for always being there."

  "Betsy," my dad answered, "you stop this. You're not going anywhere." As I plopped a baseball hat on Zach's head, the steady reassurance of my father's voice seemed to soothe me. We could do this.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  After watching Zach drop balls for an eternal two-hour practice at the local park, we were back home again. I was between the proverbial rock and a hard place. My son's father was sitting at the Pecan Bayou jail. This was the man he had dreamed of meeting for years on end. Should I tell him about his recent appearance, or should I stay quiet about it for as long as I can? I was deciding on the latter when Zach came into the room freshly bathed and wearing pajamas.

  "Mom, why are you staring out the window? Is there somebody out there?" Zach put his hands on the windowsill and leaned on the glass, smudging it with his nose. He smelled like strawberry bubble bath.

  "Uh, no. There's no one out there."

  "Then what are you looking at?"

  Here it was, my opening for, "Oh, by the way, I ran into your father today." I fluffed his hair with my hand. "Nothing. Just day dreaming."

  "You're too old to daydream, Mom. I thought it was only kids in school who did that."

  "Speaking of school, is your homework finished?"

  Zach's shoulders slumped. "Aw, mom."

  "Get to it, buddy. Time's a-wastin'."

  Zach turned around and slunk back into the den, where he had a crumpled math paper still waiting for him on the coffee table. As he walked away I could see his similarities to Barry. He had the same dark hair, the same pale blue eyes, and sometimes I would see Barry in the way he would move his hands when he was telling a story. Those were the times when I once again saw the guy I had fallen in love with so many years ago. That man was dead to me now, replaced with the balding, bearded man who sat in my father's jail.

  I had been trying to organize my notes on old columns all afternoon. I was due to return for another try at my on-camera NUTV appearance in only a week, and I was feeling plenty nervous about it. How would I demonstrate some of the stuff that I wrote about in my column? I couldn't exactly fix a sink or repaint a house. I had a database full of helpful hints, but the thought of sharing them with someone through a television camera was pretty scary. Maybe I would watch the home and garden channel and see how they did it.

  I heard a faint tapping at the door and looked up. At first I thought it was Rocky returning to tell me someone else had been murdered and darn it if there wasn't another note with my name on it. I saw familiar pale blue eyes peering through the screen door.

  "Betsy! I'm home ..." Barry's voice said, a la Jack Nicholson in "The Shining."

  "What are you doing here?"

  "What do you care? Where's my boy?"

  "I'm calling the po
lice, right now."

  He came barreling through the door. "Zachary? Where are you, boy? Your pappa is home."

  It was my worst nightmare come true. I was no longer in control of what Zach would know about Barry.

  "Mom?" Zach came back out of the den but then stepped back when he saw the bearded man at the door.

  "Zach, go back into the den."

  "Mom, are you okay?" He looked at the man in the doorway and started to shrink back.

  "It's me Zach. It's your dad."

  Zach's eyes opened wide as he realized he was looking at his own father. "Dad?"

  "That's right, son. I'm home." Barry put his arms out for Zach to run into them. To Zach, though, he was still a stranger. He looked to me for guidance. I walked over and held his hand tightly.

  "Zach, this is your dad, but you should know he is supposed to be in the jail right now."

  "With Grandpa? Is he a policeman like Grandpa?"

  "No, he's not a policeman. He ... "

  "Shut up!" Barry yelled.

  "Don't yell at my mom!" Zach yelled back. His eyes widened in confusion.

  I pushed Zach behind me. My hands shook as I punched in 911 on my phone. The evening dispatcher, Manny Gomez ,answered. "Manny, this is Betsy. Barry is here."

  "They're already on the way. They lost him when they took him to Benny's for supper."

  I couldn't believe they had taken Barry out of jail to go get barbecue. Life in small-town Texas.

  "Listen, son. I've been out working while I've been away. I've been working for you. I'm getting married again, and we'll have a room just for you. We need to get to know each other, son."

  "Get out of here!" I yelled.

  Barry walked toward us, and I picked up the broom in the corner of the kitchen. "I said get out!" I yelled, holding the broom out as a weapon.

  "What are you going to do, sweep me to death? Oh, and by the way, I heard all about your little troubles in the library. Doesn't look too good for you, sweetie, if the judge has to decide custody for Zach between a con man father or a murdering mother...I think I win."

  I pushed at him with the broom. He took hold of it with his hand and threw it behind him. "Now give me my son, dammit." He reached out and backhanded me. A sudden pain hit my jaw. I fell against the refrigerator and hit the floor. Zach screamed and ran to the front the door of the house. He was trying desperately to open the chain lock on the door, but his little fingers couldn't make it work. He was screaming as his fingers failed around the metal chain.

  "Time to go home, son."

  I grabbed my cast-iron frying pan from the wall and ran after him. My arm swooped through the air. The weight of the pan felt like it would pull out my limb at the elbow, but I connected and knocked Barry in the back of the head. He stumbled to the ground.

  "That's for leaving us, you jerk," I said, standing over him. George Beckman came running in behind me and grabbed Barry by the arms. Barry was holding his head as the blood seeped between his fingers.

  "You hit me, you sniveling bitch. Where did you get that from? Yeah, well you weren't worth staying for. You and your idiot son."

  Zach ran to my arms, crying and saying my name over and over again.

  George started walking Barry to the door. "We'll get you to the emergency room. Miss Betsy has quite a wild swing there when she needs it."

  Oh great, wait until Chief Wilson heard about this. I had just done what I was accused of doing at the library, except Barry lived through it. I'm sure the comparison would be drawn between the two crimes.

  "Why did that have to be my daddy, Mom? Why? He wasn't nice at all, and he hit you."

  "It's okay, baby. It's okay."

  Zach held me tight in his little arms. "Don't let him get me, Mom. Don't let him take me."

  *****

  Later as I soaked in a hot tub, I thought at least now they had some real charges against Barry. Breaking and entering, attempted abduction of a child and whatever else my dad would think of. Before my bath I sat with Zach until he fell asleep, his homework untouched. I tried to sort out all that had happened over the last couple of weeks. This all started with that darn crocodile cake. Sometimes you just have to come to the conclusion that baking leads nowhere but trouble. The smell of the lavender bath salts drifted through the air as I scrunched down in the tub, letting the warmth of the water seep through me.

  Why did someone want to kill Vanessa? Everybody disliked the woman, that was true, but someone must have truly hated her to go that far. Maybe it was some random serial killer who had crept into the library to check the newest Curious George books. No, that wasn't it.

  Okay, whoever killed her had to get past the library staff and into the partitioned-off children's section that was closed for painting. I knew that the painters left sometime in the afternoon, so they had to have come in after that. People came in for the meeting at 6:30, so the murder had to have occurred in that time frame. Who was available during that time? Probably everyone who came to the meeting that night. Even the dead Martha Hoffman was around. Of course, even though Martha was dead, that didn't mean she didn't kill Vanessa and then was killed herself by the random serial killer.

  I took a deep breath from the steam rising up off the water. There were too many what-ifs in this murder. What if it was Edith out of jealousy? What if it was Damien because of her rejection of him? What if I can't figure it out and end up going to jail for a crime I didn't commit?

  I was about to put my head under the water when my cell phone rang. I jumped out of the tub and grabbed a towel.

  "Betsy?"

  "Hi, Leo."

  "Did I disturb you?"

  "No, just taking a bath."

  "Oh, uh you want me to call back?"

  "No. Listen, I'm probably going to have to postpone our weekend for a few weeks."

  "Really, that's good to know," he said. "We are about to open hurricane season here, and it looks like this is going to be a busy one. We already have one system in the Gulf, although it's too early for it to really turn into something at this point. We will be charting away on this one, though. Pretty exciting stuff. What's going on with you?"

  "Oh, not much," I lied. "I just needed to put off our weekend because I'm still dealing with all of the fallout with finding Vanessa Markham dead."

  "Oh yeah, what's happening now?"

  I decided to tell him the latest. Better he know now I'd been accused of two murders than later when he visits me in the women's prison.

  "Betsy, explain to me just how it is you get yourself so embroiled in these messes?"

  "I didn't get myself into this on purpose, you know." This was starting to get me a little angry. Like I would purposely get myself accused of murder?

  "I didn't mean it that way. I'm sorry, it's just that ... "