by D. L. Wood
He tapped the top page with two fingers. “I can’t believe it. Jennifer’s diary.”
“I know!” She could hear the excitement in her voice, and resolved to take it down a notch. She didn’t want to get his hopes up too high. Adopting a calmer tone, she explained how she found the diary. “I’m sorry I couldn’t bring it before now and I know they just gave it to you back there, but, I’ve read it through and, Doc, I think it might help you.” She gave him a quick run-down, hitting the highlights about the secret boyfriend and “creep.”
Dr. Beecher rubbed his hands over his face, then exhaled hard, blowing out so that his cheeks expanded. “Have the authorities seen it?”
“Yeah. But they aren’t doing much with it. From what the Chief’s told me, they don’t think it helps you—it’s not exculpatory—and they aren’t reopening the case. They weren’t even going to give you a copy, but I wasn’t going to let that happen. I’m the one who found it. They don’t get to decide who I give it to.”
“Oh, Danielle. You could get in trouble—”
She held up a hand. “You let me worry about that. I don’t work for them. It was my call. And I think you and your lawyer should start looking into this boyfriend and this other person with this secret who may have started stalking Jennifer. One of them could be the person that really did this.”
His eyes softened. “You still believe in me after all these years.”
“You know I do. And now there’s finally evidence pointing to someone else.”
“But if they won’t reopen the case—”
“Then your lawyer has to make them. You have to follow these leads and see where they go. Promise me you’ll read it, and that you’ll get it to your lawyer—I can do that for you if you want. I can take a copy to him—”
“No. No, to review it he’ll just charge me money I don’t have. I’m nearly broke. The appeals exhausted most of my savings. I’ll read it through. If it’s got something in it worth pursuing I promise I’ll get it to him myself. Either way,” he leaned his head toward the plexiglass, his hand wrapped around the receiver, “it’s time you let this go. Make peace with it. I have.”
“Let it go? When we’ve finally found something—”
“You say I look better than you remember? Well, I am better. I mean, I still don’t want to be here and if this,” he patted the stack of paper, “is my ticket out, I’ll take it. Gladly. But if not, I’ve made my peace with where I am.”
“Doc, you’re innocent and you’ve been locked up for thirteen years. How do you make peace with that?”
“Because I finally realized something.”
“What?”
“God has me here for a reason.”
Dani shifted back in her chair. This was new. She had never heard Dr. Beecher talk about God before. Or anything religious, for that matter. “What do you mean, ‘God has you here for a reason’?”
Dr. Beecher leaned his elbows on the narrow tabletop before him and clasped his hands together, lacing his fingers as he pressed the mouthpiece to his lips.
“Two days after you visited in March, I got a new cellmate. Mac. He’s been in the system for thirty-seven years and he’s one of the few who actually admits to being guilty of what he was convicted of—robbing a liquor store. He was just eighteen when it happened, and he was so wasted when he did it that he walked out of that store with ninety-eight dollars from the register, never realizing he had shot and killed the clerk in the process.”
“Good grief.”
“Yeah. Well, Mac’s had to make peace with himself, with life and with God. And let me tell you, he’s a different bird. He just overflows with positivity, so much that it nearly drowns you. When he first moved in, I thought he was going to drive me crazy. I finally asked him what he had to be so happy about, being locked up in this place, and boy, did he tell me—wouldn’t stop telling me. How God has had his hand on his life, has forgiven him, has used him in his plans…I eventually had enough and started scheming about how to get Mac transferred to another block. I was even going to pay someone off to make it happen.”
Dani felt her face scrunch up, betraying her distaste. “Did you?” It was hard to imagine Dr. Beecher working the system inside the prison to disadvantage another person.
“No.”
“What happened?”
“All I can tell you is that one day, in the middle of Mac’s ranting, I found myself wishing that I could have that kind of peace and joy while being stuck in a place like this. I stopped wondering if he was crazy, and started wondering if there was a way to get what he has. And there was.”
“Which was what?”
“Jesus.” When Dani didn’t immediately respond, he smiled. “Now you think I’m crazy.”
“No,” she said. She didn’t, truly. It just surprised her to hear him talk like that, after years—more than a decade—of showing no interest in spiritual matters. It was quite a turnaround. But she couldn’t deny that there was something…lighter…about him. Along with whatever she had seen in his eyes when he first sat down.
“So now, I want to ask you if you ever think about it, Dani?” he asked.
“What, church?”
“No, not church. God.”
Dani sighed, her shoulders tensing. She had been raised in church, but hadn’t had much to do with it since that summer. Something about what happened to Jennifer Cartwright and the aftermath had soured her on the idea of God having a plan. Or at least one worth following. “Not anymore, Doc. Not for a long time.”
“Well, I hope you do. Everybody needs peace, Dani. Even a tough cop like you.”
“Tough detective, now,” she corrected, allowing herself a small smile.
He beamed. “Really? Oh, that’s great. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. But I don’t want to talk about me. I want to talk about getting you out of here.”
He sat up straighter, and sucked in a breath, squaring his shoulders. “Okay, then. Tell me more details about exactly what Jennifer wrote.”
For ten minutes Dani walked him through the entries and why she thought the boyfriend and person with the secret—“the creep”—could have been responsible for Jennifer’s death.
“Let me ask you,” he finally interrupted, “did she write anything about the hired hand the Pitts were using that summer?”
“No. And Chief Killen brought him up when I talked to him this morning. He said the boyfriend and the stalker she mentioned aren’t any different from that migrant worker they looked into. He said none of it changes that all the evidence still points to you. Even though we know you had explanations for all of that.”
He tossed her a grateful look. “Yes, I did, but that’s neither here nor there now. But the migrant worker…I just thought that, if Jennifer had written something about him, maybe something that implicated him in some way, or at least identified him…I just always thought it was too coincidental that he left so close to her death.”
“Did Jennifer ever interact with him?” Dani asked.
“Not that I know of. If she did, she never said anything to me. And you know I never met him.”
“But you saw him?”
“From a distance a few times, but that was it,” Dr. Beecher replied. “Mr. Pitts was insistent that the man was skittish and wanted to be left alone.”
“Yeah. I read in the file that the Pitts told the police he wanted to keep to himself. The notes say the Pitts were trying to give him a helping hand by providing him with work over the summer, but he only stayed for about a month. That was it. There wasn’t much else about him in there.”
Dr. Beecher’s eyebrows drew together. “The file?”
She offered him a guilty smile. “Chief Killen let me peruse their file on your case, but not officially, so you should probably keep that information to yourself.”
A hint of shadow eclipsed his face. “You’re risking too much for me. I don’t want you creating problems for yourself.”
“Read the diary,�
�� she said, ignoring his protests. “Maybe you’ll see something I didn’t. About the migrant worker, the boyfriend, maybe even this creepy stalker person. Maybe even something that undermines the evidence they have against you.”
“Maybe.”
“Keep the faith, Doc.”
He put a hand to the window and she matched it. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I will.”
11
It was past noon by the time Dani got home from Trenbow Prison, and though part of her wanted to get right into the boxing, she knew that without a break she would never be able to endure the marathon decorating session Sasha had committed her to that evening. So, she forced herself to sit for a few minutes and enjoy the barbecue and slaw sandwich, Coke, and signature tangy potato salad she had picked up from Pepper’s BBQ on the way home. But rather than energize her, the surfeit of food left her yearning for a nap.
I’ll just lie down for a minute.
She tossed the paper remnants of lunch in the trash and dropped hard onto the couch, curling up into a ball. The midday sunlight streamed through the front window, illuminating an army of suspended dust particles before falling across Dani’s body like a toasty electric blanket—a cozy contrast to the chilled air-conditioned air. She was out in three minutes.
When she stirred an hour later, she saw that it was two o’clock, and though her drowsy, heavy body would have relished staying exactly where she was, it was time to get some work done. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she looked around the room, her stomach sinking. There was still so much to be done. Pushing herself up she started in, filling box after box marked “Sell,” “Donate,” “Toss,” and “Me.” After working for a little while she noticed how much more quickly the other boxes—the ones not marked “Me”—were filling up. Her heart winced. It was hard to think of so many of her parents’ things being given away or sold for a fraction of what they were worth.
But I can’t take it all. I don’t have a choice.
So, into the “Toss” boxes went the magazines, random instruction booklets and electronics cords buried in the cabinets. The “Donate” boxes got the DVDs—although she did grab a few of the Christmas favorites they had watched year after year—along with flower arrangements, couch pillows and throws. She cleared her dad’s books from the entertainment center, packing most of them up in the “Donate” boxes too, except for several she knew to be his favorites—Unbroken, a soldier’s account of his experience in World War II, and a three-book series of Westerns that had belonged to her grandfather.
As she deposited those books into a “Me” box, it occurred to her that there were two books even more precious to her mother and father. Marching straight into their master bedroom, she found them exactly where she knew they would be. One worn, thick Bible covered in black leather on her father’s nightstand, and one equally worn, thinner Bible, encased in flower-patterned fabric on her mother’s nightstand. She reached for her father’s first. He had read this, held this, prayed with this so many times, that when her fingers made contact, it was almost as if she were holding his hand once more. She choked back a sob, walked around the bed and gently lifted her mother’s Bible, the same sensation overcoming her. She returned to the living room, gently deposited them side by side into a “Me” box, and continued working.
“I can’t believe you went to that prison by yourself again,” Sasha said from atop the ladder, as she wove white lights into one of the plastic ficus trees scattered throughout the main event room of the Skye Civic Center. “One of us would have gone with you.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Dani said. She stood below Sasha, feeding her the string of lights as Sasha wound them through the limbs.
“I know, but, still.”
“I couldn’t not go. Not after what was in that diary. Not after the Chief said the prosecution is dropping it.”
Sasha made her way down the ladder. “And you think Dr. Beecher’s lawyer can really do something with it?”
“He has to try.”
The large, open space was a multi-purpose room, the size of a standard gymnasium, with a platform stage at the front. In preparation for the reunion, a dusky brown carpet had been rolled out over the tile, except for the area directly in front of the stage, where a sizable square of faux wood had been laid to serve as a dance floor. Dozens of round, white-linen-covered tables filled the rest of the room, each topped with a vase containing white carnations and greenery, wrapped with a royal-blue ribbon, representing the white and blue of Skye High. Silver-glittered foam numbers affixed to plastic stems rose from the center of the arrangements, forming the number “98.”
Sasha turned in a circle, scanning the space. “It’s really coming together. I think we’re close.” A few other volunteers were working in the room, unfolding and spacing chairs around the tables, also stringing lights and hanging an enormous “CLASS OF ’98” banner across the back of the stage.
Dani checked her watch. It was already six o’clock. “It should be, we’ve been working for three hours.”
“You’ve been here for three hours. I got here at noon,” Sasha chided.
“Sash, I’m sorry. I had to go to the prison and I had to pack up—”
Sasha waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I know I drafted you into this. You’ve got real things to do at home.” She squeezed her friend’s shoulder. “How’s that coming? I forgot to ask, I got so wrapped up in your tales from prison.”
Dani sighed. “It’s coming. I finished the living room. Hopefully I can finish a couple of the other rooms before the reunion tomorrow.”
“Looks good!” a familiar male voice sounded from behind them, and Dani turned to see Peter walking in through the main doors at the back, a jovial grin on his face. “I finished up at work and thought I’d come check it out. See if you needed any help.” The Skye Youth Center where Peter worked as director was in the same municipal complex, in a building adjacent to the civic center.
A skeptical look crossed Sasha’s face as he neared them. “Funny that you made it here just in time to watch us finish.”
Peter’s face contorted in obviously feigned offense. “Well, I was working all day—”
“Uh, huh—” Sasha droned.
“And besides, it doesn’t look like you needed me. It looks great in here.”
“It really does, babe. Amazing!” Willett Mason’s voice boomed through the space, deeper and louder than Peter’s. He had someone in tow, and as they wove their way toward them through the tables, Sasha’s eyes flashed to Dani, wide with expectation.
Chris Newton. Dani’s stomach dropped, embarrassment rolling through her at the undisguised glee on Sasha’s face. She prayed her own face hadn’t turned red.
“I kicked off a little early to see if you needed help,” Willett said, “and Chris, here, happened to be at the Grille when I mentioned I was on my way over.”
“I thought I could maybe lend a hand—if you needed an extra one,” Chris said, a bit hesitantly.
Willett eyed him conspiratorially. “Well, I did bribe him. The man was getting takeout to eat by himself at home, and I said that if he wanted to come by here first, we could feed him a proper meal with good company. Of course,” he hedged, “it’s still takeout from the Grille.”
Dani felt her neck grow hot as she watched Sasha turn an electric smile on Chris. “Absolutely. And, we could use a little muscle.” She pointed toward the stage. “There’s several boxes over there that need to be moved into the storage area behind the stage until it’s time to clean all this up. If you men can handle that, it would be a huge help.”
“Done and done,” Willett said, motioning for Peter and Chris to follow. As they went, Chris looked over his shoulder to cast a fleeting, questioning glance in Dani’s direction before facing forward again.
Dani and Sasha watched the men’s backs as they went. “Did you do this?” Dani hissed quietly.
“I swear, I had nothing to do with it. And if you want me to undo it, I can make an
excuse or something,” Sasha whispered.
“And make me look like the bad guy?”
“You won’t look like anything. But,” Sasha grinned, leveling a pointed gaze at Dani, “it seems like an awful waste to uninvite him at this point. Not to mention rude.”
Dani expelled a weary breath.
Sasha tilted her head imploringly. “Look, Peter and Amy are already coming. It won’t be like a date or anything.”
Dani’s eyes narrowed. “And you won’t do something stupid or embarrassing to shove us together, like leaving me alone with him while the rest of you get ‘caught up’ doing something else?”
Sasha solemnly drew an “X” over her heart with her forefinger.
12
“I think we’re the victims of a sinister plot,” Chris whispered, inclining his head toward Dani, who was seated on the bench next to him at the table on Sasha’s back porch. The rest of the group had already followed Sasha inside, carrying the last of the plates into the kitchen, ending with Willett closing the sliding glass door with a soft click after he passed through.
“I think you might be right,” Dani grumbled, the muted sounds of dishes clanking inside mixing with the summer night song of the crickets. At just after eight o’clock, the last of the gold, orange and pink rays of the sun had set, ushering in the dim dusk. “Sorry about that.”
Chris shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not like I didn’t have my suspicions. Willett was asking a lot of questions about the time you and I spent together at the shed. I figured it was a setup, but I didn’t mind.” He raised his glass and took a swig of sweet tea.
“You didn’t?”
“There’s worse ways to spend an evening.” He lifted a forefinger from the glass, and pointed it toward the door as a peal of laughter sounded from inside. “They all seem to really love you.”
Dani nodded. “We’re family. It’s mutual.”
Though still in the same positions they had occupied during dinner, now, with everyone else gone, Dani became acutely aware of his proximity. She could see the faint freckles on his nose and the length of his eyelashes. She fidgeted, smoothing her capris and trying to inconspicuously scoot a little more toward the other end of the bench. Chris responded by fully twisting toward her and propping an elbow onto the table, resting his cheek in his hand.
