by Brynn Bonner
“Poor Uncle Riley,” she said, fishing a tissue from the pocket of her jogging suit. “How he must have suffered. He was such an upright man. This must have eaten at him over all those years. And my mother! Why couldn’t she have told me about the abuse? She didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I don’t know why she chose not to tell you,” I said. “Maybe she thought she was protecting you somehow. Things were a lot different back then. These things weren’t talked about.”
“Not so different,” Olivia said, swiping at her nose with the tissue. “Even now people don’t talk about it. And the abusers still get away with it. I don’t understand it. My mother was a strong, smart woman. She went back to school after my father left her—well,” she said, gesturing toward the diary, “I guess now I have to say after he died. She took correspondence courses, and then Aunt Celestine and Uncle Riley looked after me for a semester while she went to Greensboro to finish up her degree. She was a grade school teacher for thirty-seven years.”
“I imagine she was a proud woman, too,” Esme said. “And it seems like it’s harder for proud women to admit they’ve let themselves get into situations like that. I’m sure she was doing what she thought best, Olivia, for both of you.”
Olivia nodded. “You’re right,” she said at last. “Sometimes people blame the victim. No wonder they’re afraid to come forward. And here I am doing it myself. I suppose I should feel sad that my father died, but I didn’t know the man, and now that I know how he treated my mother I’m glad I never knew him.” She frowned. “Is there something I should do about this? I mean, should I report it to somebody?”
“The principals are all deceased,” I said, “and any evidence would be long gone, so I can’t think what would be accomplished, but I’ll check into what our legal obligations are if you’d like.”
“Okay, you do that. But I’m not going to allow this to be a secret any longer. Otherwise I’d be doing to my family and friends what my mother and aunt and uncle did to me. This is our family’s history, the good and the bad.”
I didn’t want to leave Olivia in this frame of mind, so we talked a little while about more pleasant aspects of her family history. Then I reached into my bag for the photo of Shoes, the dog. “On a happier note, did you know this little guy?”
Olivia smiled as she picked up the photo. “Ah, that’s Shoes. My best buddy.”
“You knew the dog then?” I said.
“Oh, I’ll say,” she said, sniffling into her tissue again. “That dog went everywhere I did, until he died of old age when I was about twelve. He slept in a little basket by our fireplace. He was a great little companion for a kid living out in the country.”
“Do you know how he came to join the family?” Esme asked.
“You know, he was always just there,” Olivia said. “Mama had him even before I was born. I don’t know where or when she got him.”
I pulled the page I’d scanned from Celestine’s diary out of a folder and read it to her, selectively editing out her father’s edicts about keeping the dog.
“Well, how ’bout that!” Olivia said. “All those years I should have been calling him Shui, instead of Shoes,” she said, pronouncing the word schway the way her mother had doubtless taught her. “But Shoes suited him, too, in more ways than one. He was forever taking my shoes off and hiding them somewhere. I think maybe he believed it would keep me home with him instead of me going off to school. You know, somehow that dog could tell time. I swear he could. Every day he’d trot down to the end of the road to meet the school bus and he’d arrive just as I stepped off. Perfect timing, every single school day, rain or shine.”
I got the eye signal from Esme that it was time to go. Olivia walked us out and as we were saying our good-byes Marydale’s car pulled up with Winston at the wheel. Marydale got out of the passenger side and opened the back door. Beth got out, holding Gadget. She didn’t have on a jacket and it was obvious she’d been crying.
Olivia rushed toward her, holding out her arms. “Beth, what in the world? I thought you were upstairs taking a nap.”
“I was,” Beth said, her voice almost robotic. “But I heard voices downstairs and I came down to see who it was. I wasn’t eavesdropping,” she said, turning to Olivia, “but I heard the whole story. It’s so strange. Just strange.”
“She walked over to my house,” Marydale said. “I think she needs to get inside and maybe you could make her some hot soup, Olivia.”
“Yes, yes,” Olivia said, putting her arm around Beth’s shoulders.
Winston reached over to retrieve Gadget. He practically had to pry the dog out of Beth’s arms.
Esme and I both turned to Marydale after Olivia took Beth inside, but she put up a hand. “I don’t know what she overheard, and I’m not going to ask,” she said. “She wants to talk to you, Sophreena, but she says to give her a little time first. She was awfully upset. I think maybe she’s starting to remember some things about the day Blaine died, too.”
“Like what,” Esme asked.
“We don’t know, exactly,” Winston said, casting a sidelong glance at Marydale. “She wasn’t making sense. Something about history repeating and being a brother’s keeper but none of it was tied together right. It was like she couldn’t even hear Marydale or me talking to her.” He looked over at Marydale again and I had the distinct impression they were hiding something from Esme and me. This was the first time I’d ever felt anything but total honesty in our tight little club.
I didn’t like this feeling one bit.
sixteen
ESME HAS A THING FOR outdoor decorating, and ever since she’s come to live with me our house gets decked out for all the seasons. We’d come home from Olivia’s and set in working on the autumnal display. I was checking every few minutes to make sure I didn’t miss a call from Beth, but no word yet. As we arranged a cornstalk teepee on our front porch Denny called to ask if he could stop by.
“Why does he bother to call?” I asked. “Surely he knows by now he’s welcome.”
“He calls ahead because he is courteous—and because I have explained to him those are the rules,” Esme said. “I don’t like being taken for granted.”
“You mean you don’t want to be caught when you’re not all spiffed up,” I said with a grin.
“There is that,” Esme allowed. “But that’s not all of it, Sophreena,” she said firmly. “I never expected to be in a relationship again in my life and I don’t like the idea of giving over my independence to any man, even Denny Carlson.”
“He’s a good man, Esme,” I said.
“I know,” she said with a sigh. “And he’s handsome, and he’s taller than me.”
“How many men have all that going for them?” I asked. “And he’s willing to put up with your quirks?”
“He doesn’t know about all my quirks, Sophreena, as you well know.”
“Why don’t you just tell him?”
“Oh no,” Esme said, holding up a hand. “Absolutely not! I’m not going to have him thinking I’m some kind of circus freak.”
“You’re certainly not a freak, Esme,” I said. “You’re a sensible, caring person. A person who just happens to have a gift.”
“You say gift, other folks say peculiarity. And some days even I say it’s a blue ruin.”
“Well, you know I don’t agree,” I said, as I hung a pinecone wreath Esme had made onto our front door. “You do a lot of good with your gift. And you’ve trusted our friends with your secret and they’ve been totally accepting.”
“Our friends are accepting people,” Esme said, “otherwise I wouldn’t have told them in the first place. But not everybody’s like that.”
I thought Denny Carlson was exactly like that, but I could see Esme wasn’t going to be moved by any argument from me right now.
A few moments later the man himself pulled up and parked on the street. He ambled toward the house, his long legs covering the walkway in a few strides.
“Good jo
b,” he said, admiring our harvest display. “Makes me hanker for a cup of hot cocoa or something.”
“Well, come on in,” Esme said. “I can make you one.”
“Strong black coffee might do better,” Denny said. “I go on duty in an hour and I need every synapse firing.”
Esme put on the coffee and then got out a saucepan. “I think I want a cup of cocoa now that you’ve put the idea in my head. I like to make it the old-fashioned way, none of these foil packets with those gravels of marshmallow. That’s sacrilege.”
“I called Jack this morning to let him know we’re done with his place,” Denny said, settling at the table.
“I’m sure he’s relieved,” I said. “He was creeped out big-time.”
Denny nodded. “Don’t blame him. And there’s still plenty to be disturbed about. The blood on the tarp was human blood and the type was the same as Blaine Branch’s. We’re still waiting for the DNA, but I have a hunch it’s his—a strong hunch. I know that doesn’t sound like cool, analytical thinking,” he shrugged, “but I believe sometimes you’ve got to go with your gut.”
“Yes, I believe that, too!” I said, giving Esme the wide eyes.
She returned a snort that muffled a French swearword.
“Anyway,” Denny went on, “I followed up on Alan Corrigan. Thanks for that lead. Turns out he was actually still in town the day Blaine died. He took the red-eye out of RDU that night. Jenny questioned him by phone and he says the last time he saw Blaine was that morning. Him and Peyton gave Blaine a ride to the store. I talked to Peyton and I’m convinced there’s more to the story, but they’ve both clammed up. ’Nother thing,” he said, stopping to take a deep draft of the coffee Esme set in front of him. “Jenny’s got a burr under her saddle about that kid, Tony Barrett. Beth’s neighbor has called the station probably ten times or more, insisting he was at the house the afternoon Blaine died. She claims she heard his motorcycle backfiring. Jenny remembers Tony from back when she was the liaison officer at the high school. He was trouble back then and I believe she’s letting that color her judgment, but I expect she’ll be dragging him in for questioning.”
“Are you telling us we should give him a heads-up?” Esme asked, stirring the pot as the aroma of hot cocoa permeated the kitchen.
“Not at all,” Denny said, giving me a wink. “I’m simply saying if you were to talk with him anytime soon you might mention that it would be a good thing if he could account for his movements for that entire day.”
After Denny left, Esme went up for her traditional Sunday afternoon nap. I put away our outdoor tools and checked my phone for the dozenth time to make sure I hadn’t missed a message from Beth. I was just closing up the shed door when Tony pulled his motorcycle into our driveway.
“Hey,” I called out, wincing as he turned the key, expecting the motorcycle’s backfire.
“You got a minute?” he asked, peeling off the helmet and shaking out his mop of hair.
“Just about that,” I said, making a show of looking at an imaginary watch. “I’ve got to be somewhere in a little bit. What’s up?”
“I wanted to show you some of the footage from the interview with Charlie.”
I motioned him inside and he set up his laptop on the kitchen table. “You’re a great interviewer,” he said, as he powered up the computer. “Even better than Beth, but don’t tell her I said that. After seeing this I really want to go forward with this project on Charlie.”
“I’m glad, Tony,” I said, “but remember what I told you about my schedule. We leave for Wilmington on Thursday and I’ll be gone for at least two weeks.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said, punching at the keys. “And we still have to convince Charlie, but watch this, then tell me you don’t think it’s worth the hassle.”
He played a series of rough clips and I watched, at first distractedly and then mesmerized by the emotions playing out on Charlie Martin’s face. It was powerful.
“He’s a charismatic old dude, isn’t he?” Tony asked, clicking a key to put his computer to sleep.
I sighed. “Yes, okay, it’s worth going after. We’ll work out the logistics. I’m sure Olivia won’t mind putting you up a while longer.”
“Hey, I’m a paying tenant now. I finally got paid for a wedding video job I did a while back. I got my motorcycle fixed and, after some fast talking, I got Olivia to let me chip in for the electric and water I’m using at least.”
“I’m really glad to hear your bike won’t be backfiring anymore,” I said. “And speaking of which, are you sure you didn’t go by Beth’s house at some point earlier on the day Blaine died?”
“No, not till you all sent me over there to check on Beth just before dinner that night. You already asked me that. Twice. Why are you bringing it up again?”
I told him someone thought they’d heard his motorcycle backfire. I tried to keep it offhanded and didn’t mention names.
“Let me guess,” Tony said, his chin jutting out. “That lady next door. Man, what did I ever do to her? She hates me for some reason.”
“She hates pretty much everybody; try not to take it personally,” I said. “Thing is, she’s pushing her claim pretty hard, so it might be a good idea to work up a timeline and whatever documentation you can gather that shows where you were at any given time on that day.”
“Okay, here we go again,” Tony said, throwing his hand up in exasperation. “Anything bad happens, pin it on the juvenile delinquent.” He clicked some keys on his laptop again. “Like I told you before, I was out shooting b-roll stuff. I may have gone somewhere near Beth’s house, maybe even near enough for that old hag to hear my bike, but I didn’t go to the house and I didn’t see either one of them that day until Beth came to Olivia’s for supper that night. Here,” he said, turning the laptop so I could see the screen. “Here’s my b-roll from that day.” He hit the fast-forward button and I watched as he zipped through a series of shots in and around Morningside. I was relieved. The video was time-stamped and it covered most of the afternoon of the day of the murder. Still, there were several gaps where he’d presumably been moving from place to place, and since the time of death had been difficult to pin down, the gaps were problematic.
“Wait,” I said, as an image on his laptop caught my eye. “Slow it down.” I squinted at the screen view of a couple of guys in a kayak out on Potter’s Creek. They paddled in unison, veering toward the shoreline of the river. I recognized the spot. It was about a quarter mile down from The Sporting Life.
“That’s Peyton Branch and who’s that with him?” I asked.
“It’s that college friend of Beth and Blaine’s, the one who came to visit from Chicago. Alan somebody,” Tony said.
I watched as the two men continued to paddle toward the shoreline. They made a sharp turn and I saw Peyton’s hand reach down to the water. A moment later he lifted a paddle from the water and pulled it into the boat and they reversed direction, moving toward the pier in back of Blaine’s sporting goods store.
“Somebody must’ve lost an oar,” Tony said.
“Yeah, an oar,” I said, my mind spinning.
* * *
After Tony left I decided Beth must have changed her mind about talking to me. I was seriously considering laying a fire in the family room fireplace and snuggling up for a nap, but then Olivia called, sounding frantic. I told her I’d be right over.
As I was searching for my keys, Jack called to ask if I wanted to hang out. I told him I couldn’t and got perverse pleasure in how disappointed he seemed. I told him I’d call him later if he was willing to play it by ear.
He was.
This was the wonderful thing about being friends instead of a couple. We didn’t get hung up on expectations or pout about being neglected or any of that stuff.
That’s what I told myself.
Olivia met me at the door and practically marched me to the backyard. She grabbed an afghan off the back of the sofa when we went through the family room. Beth w
as sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs next to a cast-iron fire pit. It was filled with red embers so it must have been going for quite a while.
Beth smiled at me, but her eyes looked vacant. “Thanks for coming, Sophreena.” She motioned toward a matching chair and I sat down. Olivia handed me the afghan.
“Mom,” Beth said, frowning as if she needed to concentrate to get her words into the proper sequence. “I’d like to talk with Sophreena for a few minutes. And then I want to tell you and Daniel some things. Would you call him and ask if he could come over? Tell him it’s important.”
“Beth, you’re scaring me,” Olivia said.
Beth made a tutting sound. “There’s no reason to be afraid, Mom. Not anymore. Just tell Daniel to come and we’ll all have a talk later, okay?”
“Okay, honey,” Olivia said, wringing her hands. “I’ll leave you two alone.” She started back into the house, but stopped a couple of times to look back as if she thought Beth might change her mind and ask her to stay.
When she’d closed the door I waited. Beth stared into the fire for a long time. Finally she brought her chin up slowly and looked me square in the eyes, a deep frown furrowing her forehead.
“I always liked you, Sophreena,” she said. “Did you know that?”
“Well, not really, but I’m glad to hear it,” I said.
“I mean it,” Beth said. “When we were kids I used to like it when our families got together. I always found you had interesting things to talk about and you were smart and funny. There was the age difference then, but now we’re both adults and we’re on equal footing. And I know I can trust you to keep a confidence. I can, can’t I?”
“Yes,” I said. “If what you have to tell me doesn’t hurt anyone else, I’m good at keeping things to myself.”
Beth nodded. “I’m sorry we’ve never gotten to be closer friends. You may have noticed I don’t have any close friends.”
“Well, that’s certainly not true, Beth,” I said. “You’ve always been one of the most popular people I know.”
Beth smiled ruefully. “I have a lot of very lovely acquaintances,” she said. “And back in high school and college I did have friends. Wonderful friends.” She stared into the fire again. “But later I wasn’t allowed friends,” she said at last. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
