He got lost in a reverie for a moment but then snapped out of it.
“Up until I married Ava and we had Olivia, of course.”
“Of course,” Melissa said. “How’s your mother?”
“She’s settled in Palm Beach,” he said. “She has lots of friends there.”
Sean came in and greeted Will before they went back to his office.
Melissa had tried not to seem like she was grilling the man, but it was hard to ask innocuous questions when what she really wanted to know was if his wife was sleeping with her boyfriend and if she was home all night the previous evening.
At the end of her workday, Melissa was shutting down her computer when Ed walked in.
“What are you doing here?” Melissa asked.
“Claire told me about your interview with the Pendleton paper.”
“I should have expected it,” Melissa said. “Nobody takes a woman seriously when they talk like me and look like me.”
“There’s not a thing wrong with you,” Ed said. “She was probably just jealous.”
“It doesn’t matter what I do or how I dress,” Melissa said. “It’s like I’ve still got dirty feet, wearing a hand-me-down dress, and all those rich ladies can see it.”
“That’s all in your head, I’m sure,” Ed said.
“I guess you’d have to have ovaries to know what I’m talking about,” Melissa said. “You ask Claire; she’ll tell you.”
Ed laughed.
“If you have time, I’d like to interview you for the Sentinel.”
“You don’t have to do that, Ed,” she said. “It’s sweet of you, but I’m over it.”
“I think your story is one that people would be interested in,” he said. “I’d feel privileged to have it in my paper.”
“Your students would laugh.”
“No, they wouldn’t,” he said. “They’ll be disappointed they didn’t get the opportunity to interview you.”
She thought for a moment. She had wanted to share her story, to vindicate herself, maybe, but also to inspire someone like her who needed to hear what she had to say. Tommy had wanted her to do it; his college application essay had been their story.
To hell with what anyone else thought. She’d do it for him.
“What do we need to do?”
Ed took out his phone, pressed the screen a few times and sat it on her desk.
“We talk,” he said.
He took a seat in front of her desk.
“You know my story,” she said.
“Pretend I don’t.”
“How do we start?”
“Where were you born?”
“Chattanooga, Tennessee,” she said. “My mama’s family was poor, her mama had run off, and she was too young to have a baby, so her aunt raised me.”
“Did you see your mother very often?”
“Not really. Mama moved away to Oklahoma when I was in second grade,” Melissa said. “I saw her a couple times after that, but then she died in a car accident when I was nine. I can barely remember her.”
“What was your aunt like?”
“Religious and strict,” she said. “She always said I’d end up just like my mother.”
“Did she have children of her own?”
“No, she never married, and she didn’t like kids,” Melissa said. “She cleaned houses for a living. I don’t want to talk bad about her. It was pretty grim, but she did the best she could. She didn’t have to take me in, but she did. There’s some that wouldn’t have, and I could have ended up with a lot worse.”
“Did you like school?”
“I hated it,” she said. “The big boys would never leave me alone. The girls hated me and teased me, called me trailer trash.”
“Did you tell your aunt?”
“She said I was lucky to have a home at all and she didn’t want to hear any bawlin’ or squallin’. She said it was my fault, anyway, that just because I was pretty didn’t mean I should flaunt myself. I didn’t flaunt myself, though. I was like a lamb with no shepherd; I just attracted the wolves. When I was twelve, she caught some boys trying to peek in my bedroom window. Pretty soon after that, we moved to Pennsylvania.”
“Was that any better?”
“It was worse,” she said. “There I was the new kid who didn’t wear the right clothes or shoes, and I talked funny.”
“How did you do in school? Did you like any of the subjects taught?”
“I had one teacher I liked,” she said. “Mrs. Abraham. She taught music. She was kind to me, said I had a lovely voice, and didn’t let anyone pick on me in her class. She told me not to pay attention to it; if I didn’t react, they would stop.”
“Easier said than done.”
Melissa nodded.
“She was the only one I said goodbye to before I ran off,” she said. “She was sad about it and wanted to know if she could help in any way; said I could come live with her if I wanted to. She cried, and it made me cry. She gave me some money.”
“What happened to make you want to run away?”
“I was lonely, going to school was daily torture, and there was this boy in the neighborhood who was nice to me. He had quit school and was working for his father’s construction business. My aunt said if he showed up on our porch she’d have him arrested, so we had to sneak to see each other. His family was even worse than mine. His daddy liked to drink too much and beat everybody up. He seemed like a grown up at sixteen, and he said he’d take care of me.”
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen,” she said. “I can hardly believe it now, looking back. We were both just kids.”
“So you left.”
“We packed up his car one night and drove south. He’d had a falling out with his father and been fired, kicked out of their house. He had an uncle in Clearwater who said he’d take us in if we got married. We got married in Tennessee, where there wasn’t an age requirement; I forged my aunt’s name on the paper you have to have, to allow it. I didn’t reckon on them calling her, but she still gave her permission, told them to say I was not welcome back to her house when it didn’t work out.”
Ed was quiet, waiting for her to continue.
“So, we went to Clearwater, where he worked for his cousin’s family, washing boats at their marina. Later, he worked at their boat tour company, taking people on water tours of the Gulf Coast.”
“Did you work, too?”
“I waitressed at a diner in Largo, off the books on account of my age.”
“Were you happy?”
“For a while I was,” she said. “I loved being free, and I liked the people I worked with. My husband’s aunt took me under her wing, was motherly to me. Until he fell out with them I had it pretty good, I’d say for about two years. I was sixteen when we got kicked out of their house.”
“Why did that happen?”
“My husband was using their boats to run drugs, and they found out.”
“What happened then?”
“We moved into a ratty apartment near the beach. I waitressed in a hotel there, and my husband sold drugs.”
Ed was silent but looked at her with compassion and affection.
“He took up with some pretty bad characters,” she said. “There was one couple who cooked meth in their rental house at the beach. They had a baby.”
Melissa looked at Ed, who smiled sadly but said nothing.
“I’m not sure I want to include this part,” she said.
“Only if you want to share it.”
Melissa paused and took a deep, shuddering breath.
“I offered to take care of their little boy during the day, before my night shift. They didn’t care about him; all they cared about was the crack and meth or anything they could smoke out of a pipe, snort up their noses, or poke in their veins. I kept him at our apartment during the day, and our neighbor kept him until I got off work in the night. I fell in love with the little fella. He was starved for affection, and they had neglecte
d him something awful. I got him fattened up and cleaned up, and over time, I started feeling like he was mine.”
Ed nodded, and Melissa continued.
“His mother got arrested for possession with intent. Her folks were rich, and they talked the judge into rehab instead of jail. When she got out of rehab, she wanted her baby back, and I had no choice. The police came, and I had to let her have him.”
Melissa paused, tears in her eyes.
“It was easy to keep track of them, on account of my husband lived over there. He ratted out some bad people to keep from going to jail, so he was scared all the time someone was gonna kill him. They went back to smoking crack, and when they weren’t too high, they were cooking meth and selling it. Before too long, Tommy’s mama was even worse than before.
“One morning I woke up, went over there, and took the baby. It was the weirdest thing. I just woke up knowing what I was going to do and I went and did it. He was so glad to see me. He was sitting in his crib, soaked with pee and covered in poop. His little voice was hoarse from crying. His mother was so out of it she didn’t even notice what was happening. My husband and her boyfriend were passed out. I took the baby back to the apartment, cleaned him up, and my neighbor agreed to hide him if the cops came.”
“Did they?”
“No one came because no one cared.”
“What happened then?”
“Not too long after, they blew the house up, with them and my husband in it.”
“How did you find out?”
“I heard it happen; we didn’t live too far away. I knew what it was. I was with my neighbor, sitting outside, watching Tommy play with her little daughter in their baby pool. We both heard it. She said, ‘what was that?’ and I said, ‘Lord, Connie, they’ve blowed their selves up.’ I left Tommy with her and went over there.
“The flames were shooting high up in the air. There was an awful smell. Miranda’s fancy car was just sitting there, parked at the curb. I got in it, and there was her purse, full of money, crack rocks, pipes, and her IDs. I only intended to take what cash there was, for the baby.”
Melissa paused.
“On her driver’s license she looked so much younger, so much prettier,” Melissa said. “She looked a lot like me.”
“I heard the sirens, and I had the idea. I didn’t think about it for more than a few seconds. People were gathering around, watching the fire, so I had to hurry. I put the money and her IDs in my pocket. I got out of the car and waited with the crowd for the police.”
Ed was silent. Melissa heard the furnace kick on, felt the warm air from the vent. Outside, some college students were talking loudly as they walked past.
“After the police came, I went up to the friendliest looking one and told him I used to live in that house, and I knew who was in there. He asked for my ID, and I showed him her driver’s license. He looked at it, looked at me, and handed it back. And just like that, I was Miranda.
“I told him Melissa had been in the house with her husband. He wanted me to come down to the station to give my statement. I said I had a baby that I had to pick up from the sitter. He wanted to know how to get in touch with me. I gave him a fake number and address. There was another explosion, and while everybody was freaking out, I took off.
“I could feel the heat from the fire on my back as I walked away. There was another loud bang, and I heard the police shout for everyone to get back. I kept waiting for someone to call out, to stop me, but no one did. I went home, packed up my things, put Tommy in my car, and left Florida.”
She took another deep breath and blew it out.
“First I drove to Chattanooga. I wanted to see the house I grew up in, but it had been knocked down, there was a drugstore there instead. I was having trouble with my car, so I stopped at a gas station, and the man there replaced something but told me it wasn’t going to last long. We slept all night in the car in his parking lot but left before he came to work the next morning.
“I drove north to Pennsylvania. I decided to show up at my aunt’s house. I thought if she saw Tommy she wouldn’t turn us away. When I got there, her neighbor told me she had died.
“I didn’t know what to do so I just drove. We were just about broke, and I was worn out from nerves. I was on the highway just north of here when the car broke down. A cop stopped and called for a wrecker. It was Curtis Fitzpatrick who showed up to tow us.”
“That was some good luck.”
“The best,” she said. “Curtis took us to the service station here in Rose Hill and then his brother, Ian, the chief of police, came to look us over. I was in tears by that point. I told him my fake story, said I was Miranda, showed him her ID. I expected he would arrest me, then and there. Instead, he offered us a place to stay overnight.”
“He was a good man.”
“He was like a father to me,” Melissa said, “and a grandad to Tommy. He and Delia saved us.”
“Did he ever question your story?”
“He never believed a word of it; I heard him talking to his wife about it that night when they thought we were asleep. My car registration was in my husband’s name, him who died in the explosion. I fully expected to be arrested that next morning. Instead, he told me Curtis said my car repairs were going to be expensive and offered I could stay with them until it was ready, and work at the Rose and Thorn to pay for it.”
“Did you consider running away?”
“I didn’t know what else to do, and where could we go? You know Ian and Delia’s son died when he was young, and Claire was in California with her husband, Pip. Delia and Tommy got on like a house on fire, and she offered to watch him while I worked at the bar.
“Come to find out, the car was a lost cause, only good enough to sell for parts. Curtis knew that right off, but he and Ian knew we were in some kind of trouble, so they put off telling me. Everyone was so friendly to Tommy and me. Ian and Delia said we could stay as long as we wanted. Somehow, we fit into their family, and because of them, we belonged in Rose Hill.”
“Did Ian ever talk to you about what had happened in Florida?”
“Not until the truth came out, and then he just wanted to help,” Melissa said. “Later, when he got the dementia he started calling me Mandy, again, and we all just let him do it.”
“Did you ever regret what you’d done?”
“Not once.”
“So, fast forward a few years. Tommy’s a young man, and you’re virtually a member of the Fitzpatrick family. What changed?”
“You know what changed.”
“Pretend I don’t.”
“I don’t want stuff about me and you in the paper.”
“It won’t be,” he said. “You can trust me, you know that. We’ll call that information ‘off the record.’ ”
“Well then, off the record, I took up with the editor of the newspaper,” she said with a rueful smile. “It didn’t work out, but I don’t think it was meant to.”
“I agree,” he said. “But with no regrets.”
“If you’re too nice to me today I’ll cry,” Melissa said.
“I’ll try to reign it in,” he said.
“There were some letters stolen from the post office; you remember that business with Margie, the postmaster. The new chief who took Ian’s place, Scott Gordon, found her stash of stolen mail, and in it was a letter from Miranda’s mother, who was looking for her. Scott looked into it, figured out who I was and what I did. He confronted me with the evidence, and I confessed. It felt good to tell someone, actually, and you know Scott, he was kind about it.”
“What happened then?”
“I called Miranda’s mother and confessed to her. She had been hoping her daughter was still alive somewhere, so she was pretty ticked off by what I’d done. She called the cops. Scott took me to Florida to turn myself in. Tommy stayed with Delia and Ian. You know all this.”
“Keep going.”
“Miranda’s mother was dying of cancer. She met me, heard my confessio
n, and went to Rose Hill to meet Tommy. She wanted to withdraw the charges but the law is the law, and I broke it. Kidnapping and identity theft are felonies. She ended up pleading with the judge on my behalf, and I got a lesser sentence because of it.”
“What was your sentence?”
“Three to five, but I got out after three for good behavior, with a year of parole.”
“What was that like, going to prison?”
“Scaredest I ever been in my life,” Melissa said. “Sorry. Don’t put that in. Say I was frightened.”
“Done.”
“I lucked out again, though. My cellmate was an embezzler from Orlando, named Glenda. She was big enough no one messed with her, but she wasn’t mean on the inside. She was my friend, and she set me on the right path.”
“Prison has a right path?”
“It sure does,” she said. “She told me you can get harder and meaner or you can use your time to prepare for getting out. I got my GED and took secretarial courses.”
“Did anyone come to see you?”
“Miranda’s mother did until she got too sick. Some Rose Hill folks came; all the Fitzpatricks, and you.”
“What happened to Tommy?”
Melissa rolled her eyes.
“Pretend I don’t know,” he said.
“Miranda’s mother took him to Florida, but she knew she was going to die soon. She asked him who he wanted to live with other than Delia and Ian, who she thought were too old to raise him. He chose Ed Harrison, the editor of the Sentinel, who lived next door to Delia and Ian. It was the right choice.”
“He never blamed you or hated you for what you did. He understood.”
“I know,” she said. “But three years is a long time for a boy to go without his mama. Four visits per year were no substitute.”
“Did you resent me?”
“Sometimes,” she said, “but I know he loves me. He will always be mine.”
They were both silent for a few moments.
“What happened after you got out?”
“I came home,” she said. “Rose Hill was home, and I was still welcome here. Turned out most folks felt like I did the right thing rescuing a little boy from dying in an explosion, even if what I did afterward wasn’t legal.”
Pumpkin Ridge (Rose Hill Mystery Series Book 10) Page 4
