“Even if it’s true,” Belle said, “what does it matter now?”
“Right.”
Belle wanted to grab her by her silk shirt and yell, No, wrong, Ally! It still matters. Bob might have been dead, but there were people who still deserved their day of reckoning—a baby boy, a lost girl, and a grown woman who’d had to live an entire lifetime with what he’d done to her.
If Ally had known what he’d attempted to pull with Chloe, would it still not matter? As incensed as Belle was with her, she couldn’t spring that one on her there.
“I’m gonna go give Shirley my condolences.”
“Are you coming to Ethel’s after?” Ally asked.
“Uh, I’ll try. I have a meeting with a realtor later.”
“Oh? For the condo or this house?”
“This one.” She lied without compunction, hoping it would get a rise out of her.
And it worked. “Um, okay,” Ally said, clearly working at being nonchalant. “If you can’t make it to Ethel’s, I’ll call you tonight.”
“Sure.” Belle gave her an awkward hug, then turned away before she could gush like a geyser about how much she loved and missed her.
This business of being mature and rational instead of a delirious romantic was no country for old women. No wonder she’d never conducted her personal affairs in that manner until now.
She entered the parlor through the back entrance of the room to avoid the casket. Shirley deserved her respect but not him. She couldn’t even fake it anymore.
Shirley was standing in front of the row of family’s chairs, lovingly flanked by an assortment of familiar mourners. A middle-aged woman, impeccably dressed, sat behind her, dour-faced and seemingly disconnected as she looked down at her phone.
That had to be the daughter.
Belle gave Shirley a warm embrace and the obligatory, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Belle, this is my daughter, Debra,” Shirley said as she put her arm around her estranged daughter. “And this is Isabelle Ashford.”
Belle offered her condolences as she shook Debra’s hand.
The woman smiled appreciatively, but her eyes were vacant. She was there for some purpose other than mourning a beloved parent—a claim to an inheritance perhaps, like a has-been TV star supporting a provocative politician to get his name in print once more.
Oh, what Belle wouldn’t give for a private word with her.
She sandwiched Shirley’s hand between hers. “You let me know if I can do anything for you.”
“I will, dear. Thank you. If you can, please join us at Ethel’s later.”
When she’d showed up at the wake, she’d had no intention of attending the repast and toasting to that creep’s memory, but now that she knew the prodigal daughter had returned…
***
When Belle arrived at Ethel’s for the buffet luncheon, she carried out her usual scan of faces, but this time it wasn’t Ally on her radar; it was Debra. Surely, the estranged daughter would have some new insight to share about her father—with the right motivation. She absently glided her hand down and felt for the pint of Jim Beam Honey concealed in her pocket.
She’d schmoozed her way through the crowd, noticing Ally, then swerving in the opposite direction toward the counter. That’s where Debra stood cupping an empty wine glass in her hand.
“Hello again,” Belle said. “Ready for another?” She indicated her glass.
“I suppose,” Debra said. “These bumpkins may know strawberry-rhubarb pie, but they don’t know good wine from possum piss.”
“I was afraid of that,” Belle said with the demeanor of a foreign spy. “That’s why I brought my own provisions.” She reached into her pocket and brandished the tip of the bourbon bottle.
“Now you’re talking.” Debra’s iceberg face at last melted into what would pass for a smile. She turned around and plucked two Styrofoam cups from the stack near the coffee percolator on the counter.
“To the great Sheriff Bob,” Belle said after pouring two shot-size portions.
Debra raised her cup, then looked away as she dumped it down, but not before Belle noticed her roll her eyes.
She immediately refilled the cups.
“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you hanging back here like you’re a stranger?”
“I basically am,” Debra said. “I haven’t lived here since I was thirteen.”
“Thirteen? What were you, a child bride?” Belle forced a charming laugh as she refilled the cups.
“Boarding school.”
Belle immediately sensed a story in there but was treading lightly. “Your mom must be happy you’re back—despite the sad occasion.”
“It’s the only occasion I’d bother coming back for. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not really close with my parents.”
“Eh, who is?” Belle poured them another, feeling like a shit for her shameless subterfuge. But in all fairness, Debra seemed like she wanted to get it off her chest, and Belle was providing an attentive ear.
And bourbon.
“Your dad sure was one popular guy.” Belle looked around the café. “I think literally the whole town is here.”
“Everybody loved old Sheriff Bob,” Debra drawled.
“Mmm. Not everybody.” At that, Belle hid the mouth that dared utter the suggestion behind her cup.
“I was being facetious.”
“I wasn’t.” Belle looked directly at her.
Debra’s eyes met hers and flared with what Belle could only interpret as recognition until she glanced away.
“Look, I’m a stranger here myself,” Belle said. “I only ended up in Danville because a distant relative willed me some property. But since I’ve been here, I’ve heard some rumors—disturbing ones…”
That won Debra’s attention back. “Like what?”
Belle shrugged. “That he roughed up a teenage boy who was dating my dad’s cousin years ago. Got him sent off to juvie or some kind of military school. She ended up killing herself.”
Debra looked at her, aghast. “Really?”
“Well, I don’t know if it was intentional, but she definitely died of an overdose.”
“That’s rough.” Debra drained her cup.
Belle reached for the bottle again. Although her head had started spinning, she couldn’t stop now. Debra hadn’t waved her off when she splashed more bourbon into their cups.
“My dad’s cousin, Judy was her name, had other problems. You know, the ugly kind that sometimes happen to innocent little girls.”
“Too often, to too many girls.”
“Yeah, especially in Danville it seems. I talked to an older woman who grew up here who was molested as a kid. I wonder if they ever caught the guy.” Belle watched for a reaction out of the corner of her eye.
“I’m sure they never did,” Debra said. “He probably had connections.”
“Probably.” Belle sipped her drink for courage and almost tumbled off the stool. “Did you ever hear any stories about it happening to anyone you knew?”
Debra took a drink and paused, staring blankly into the crowd. Finally, she said, “I didn’t have to hear them.”
A little nauseous now, Belle swallowed the remnants of bourbon on the back of her tongue. “Why is that?” She already knew the answer but put it out there anyway.
With her back against the counter, Debra continued staring straight ahead, the empty cup cradled in both hands. “Why do you think?”
Belle downed the last of her bourbon and allowed a moment to absorb everything before she asked, “Did you know the guy?”
Debra nodded.
“Did getting shipped off to a private school have anything to do with it?”
Another nod.
At that point, Belle passed the rest of the pint to her.
“Did your mother have any idea what was going on?”
“It took me a year after it started to find the courage, but I finally told her.” She knocked back her next sh
ot like a cowboy in a saloon.
“What happened?”
She smiled mirthlessly. “I ended up getting the best high school education money can buy at a prestigious prep school seventy miles away.”
“She didn’t believe you?”
Debra pursed her lips. “I’m certain she did. That’s why she got me out of there. She was one of those dutiful wives—the obedient, stand-by-your man type. And after all, I wasn’t really theirs. I was adopted.” She looked down at her cup, her chin dimpling with emotion. “I never went back either. I went right from Choate to Quinnipiac University. That’s where I met my husband.”
“You met your husband at college? I’d heard you’d become estranged with your parents after throwing your life away to marry an illegal immigrant.”
She laughed derisively. “Illegal immigrant? Miguel was here from Barcelona on a student visa. He obtained his citizenship when he was hired by Dana-Farber as a cancer researcher. We’re divorced now, but we have two children and co-parent them with no problems.”
“You live up in the Boston area?”
She nodded as she took another swig.
Man, this woman could drink. By then Belle was pretending to sip lest she end up being scooped up off the floor by Danville’s fire department that consisted of the two young, burly volunteers drinking Miller Lite by the door.
“I probably shouldn’t be mentioning this, but since we’re bonding here…” Belle glanced around to see who was within earshot. “There’s an investigation going on that’ll probably tie him to my father’s cousin and the remains of an infant found in my backyard this summer.”
Debra’s face withered in shock and revulsion. “What? They think he killed the baby?”
“They can’t determine how it died. The bones showed no sign of trauma. I’ve convinced myself he was stillborn.”
“Amazing,” Debra said. “The fucker got away with everything.”
“Maybe not. If the DNA comes back proving Bob was the father, people will find out about it. He sure won’t go down in Danville history as a superhero.”
Debra shrugged. “Without a guilty verdict, any villain can be remembered as a hero—especially when someone’s around to help rewrite history.”
Belle assumed Debra was referring to her mother, but she wondered if Ally wasn’t a bigger threat to the truth if she intercepted the results of the test.
“Thank you for your candor,” Belle said.
On her way to the ladies’ room, which seemed a lot farther from the counter than she remembered, Ally sidled up to her.
“You’re not putting the moves on Shirley’s daughter, are you?”
The attempt at a joke fell flat.
Belle stopped and wheeled around to face her. “Are you saying I’m free to put the moves on someone else?”
“I hope not.”
“It’s hard to know these days. Am I free or not?”
“Belle, I know this has been hard, but I need a little more time. I want to make sure Shirley is okay and that all her affairs are in order, and I’m still dealing with what you’ve told me about Bob.”
The request irritated her on multiple levels. It was bad enough that Ally was still overplaying her devastation at Belle exposing her daddy figure as a sexual deviant, but Belle’s patience was worn too thin for such a lame excuse for why they were apart.
“Don’t you mean decide whether Charlene was full of shit or not? Here’s an idea. Go talk to Bob’s daughter for a few minutes, then tell me whether Charlene was lying.”
“I never said Charlene was…”
Belle held up her hand. “Save it.”
Overwhelmed with sadness, disappointment, and bourbon, she needed to get away from Ally before this became a two-for-one repast dinner.
***
A few days later, Belle kicked the shovel down into the soil in the cleared-out area abutting the veranda. She’d picked up a few small azalea bushes at Busby’s Farm to add some colorful curbside appeal, still uncertain if it would turn out to be for her own pleasure or luring prospective buyers.
She reached into her pocket to check her phone in case she’d missed the vibrations of a call or text from Ally. She hadn’t phoned the night of Bob’s funeral like Belle thought she would’ve—not so surprising after the way she’d stormed out.
It had been three days since the funeral, five since she’d turned over the straw to Gallagher for analysis. She was sure he would eventually rat her out to Ally despite his promise—he’d have to since they were both on the case. By that time, Ally would hopefully have returned to her old, rational self and understood Belle’s decision to take it upon herself to, oh, let’s call it expedite that critical piece of evidence.
Wasn’t Ally missing her? Belle felt like she was dying inside, her petals wilting and falling to the ground one by one till nothing was left of her but a stem.
No notification on the phone’s lock screen.
Ally hadn’t even fallen into the elaborate trap Belle had set where she’d called her and ended the call before Ally picked up. She was supposed to call her back out of curiosity, and Belle would say she’d accidentally butt-dialed her. Then they’d segue into the reconciliation conversation. The scheme had never failed her before—but then she’d never dated a woman like Ally before.
She sighed and stuffed the phone into her back pocket. She flung the shovel to the ground and crouched down to deposit the second azalea bush into the hole.
That was when the sound of Ally’s truck barreling up the driveway, tires spitting gravel chunks everywhere, knocked Belle off balance and onto the damp grass.
She hurried to her feet as the door slammed and Ally marched toward her.
“How fucking dare you? How could you do that to me?” Ally shouted as though she were a trashy crime suspect about to be wrestled to the ground on an episode of Cops.
Belle straightened her posture and wiped a forearm across her sweaty forehead. Horrified at this new version of Ally, she licked her dry lips as her heart pounded in her throat. “I’m assuming you’re referring to my giving Gallagher the straw with Bob’s DNA.”
“What right did you think you had to go behind my back to my colleague and insinuate that I can’t be trusted to do the right thing? That was totally fucked up, Belle, completely out of line.”
“It wasn’t just an insinuation,” Belle said calmly. “Did you go and get a DNA sample after I told you what Charlene said about him?”
“And if that wasn’t bad enough”—Ally’s rage was now pulsing in her forehead—“you talked to Chloe about him? Where did you get the balls to betray me like this? I feel like I don’t even know you.”
“Did you get a sample of Bob’s DNA before he died?” she repeated slowly, somehow maintaining her cool.
“Stay out of this case and stay the hell away from my niece, or I’ll slap a protective order on you.” She turned to walk away.
“I asked you a question, Ally,” Belle shouted. “Answer me.”
“No, I didn’t,” she said through clenched teeth. “And that should’ve been enough for you.”
She attempted to storm off again, but this time Belle grabbed her arm.
“You should’ve done your fucking job.”
Ally jerked her arm away. “Who the hell appointed you police commissioner?”
Belle stared her down. “You know it’s true about him, don’t you? Have the DNA results come back yet?”
Ally glanced up toward the trees, her nostrils flaring like a prize fighter drinking in oxygen between rounds.
“You know your sainted Sheriff Bob is a pedophile.” Belle was taunting her. “Maybe even a baby killer, and you did nothing about it.”
“What should I have done, Belle? Arrested a man who’d be dead before his fingerprints had time to dry? When I get the results back, do you want to come with me when I destroy his elderly widow with the news? And for what? For Justice? Judy and the baby and the perpetrator will all still be dead.”
<
br /> “That’s not the goddamn point. That infant deserves an identity.”
“And he’s going to get one once Judy’s exhumed. At this point, I’m certain she was his mother. And we’ll probably know his father, too, once the DNA results come back.”
Belle’s heart became too heavy to buoy her anger. “He deserves a voice, Ally,” she said softly. Her voice quavered as she choked back a deluge of emotion. “Maybe he wasn’t murdered. Maybe it was a still birth, but he ended up in a bag in the ground somehow. The circumstances that led to that should be spoken. Even if it won’t bring him back and the person or persons responsible can’t be punished, it’s the right thing to do. You’re an officer of the law. I should not be standing here explaining this to you.”
By now Ally’s face was streaked with tears. “What do you want me to do, Belle?”
“I want them both to finally be able to rest in peace.”
“So do I,” Ally whispered.
“Then this isn’t over—the case, I mean.”
“I know.” Ally shielded her eyes with her thumb and forefinger against her forehead.
Belle wrapped her arms around her, and they sobbed together on the front lawn. When Ally embraced her tightly, Belle soaked in every drop of her, loving her with every molecule of her being.
Then she stepped back.
“Listen.” She wiped her face with the tops of her hands. “You can pretend that Bob wasn’t Judy’s rapist since they’re all dead, but don’t pretend Chloe wasn’t tainted by his wickedness. Talk to her. Get her professional help if she needs it.”
“I will.”
They studied each other for another moment, Belle suddenly lost for words.
“What’s happened to us?” Ally asked.
“I’ve been asking myself that ever since you froze me out weeks ago. I don’t want a life partner who runs from me rather than toward me in a crisis. That’s not what a real relationship is about. That was too hard a lesson for me to learn to ever forget it.”
“I get it,” Ally said softly. “And I regret the way I reacted to everything initially. But my life partner should trust me and not question my moral convictions.”
Belle exhaled deeply. “You know, of all the twists and turns on this wild ride, the fact that you don’t find anything questionable about your convictions in this has surprised me most of all. You let me down, Ally.”
The Ashford Place Page 24
