Читать книгу Family Sins - Sharon Sala - Страница 11

Five

Henry Clayton was at home soaking his foot, glad that the earlier chaos the Youngblood family caused when they came to Eden had ended without bloodshed.

He had an ingrown toenail that was killing him, and when he’d pulled off his boot tonight, he’d noticed that it was swollen and inflamed. He’d had visions of a doctor’s office and needles and getting part of the toenail removed, and decided to make an antiseptic foot soak in hopes that would take care of it.

He’d been soaking his foot for the better part of an hour, and the water was just beginning to cool when his cell phone rang. He reached past the reading lamp to grab it.

“Hello?”

“Henry! This is Blake Wayne. I want this crowd of rabble removed from my property ASAP.”

Henry swung his foot out of the water, splashing it everywhere as he launched himself out of the chair.

“What people? What crowd? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, you should know. You’re the police chief. I don’t know who all is involved, but if I find out names, they’re going to be sorry.”

“Okay, okay, I hear what you’re saying,” Henry said. “But where are they? What are they doing? Are they destroying your property or what?”

“No. They’re in the street outside the front gates.”

Henry’s gut knotted.

“And what, exactly, are they doing?”

“Standing there. Protesting.”

“But why?” Henry asked.

Blake roared, “I don’t give a fuck why. I want them gone! Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, sir, and—”

The line went dead in Henry’s ear.

He hung up, cursing his toe and the fact that he’d ever let himself become involved with the Wayne family. They were ruthless when things didn’t go their way.

He dried off his foot, mopped up the splatters with the towel, and then put his uniform back on and headed out the door, pulling out his phone as he went.

Lonnie Clymer was the deputy in charge tonight, so Henry called his cell, taking care to keep this conversation off the radio. Henry was backing out of his drive as Lonnie answered.

“Hello, Chief. What’s up?”

“What the hell is going on out at the Wayne estate?”

“Aw, just a few people walking around with signs about seeking justice for Stanton Youngblood.”

Henry groaned. “And you let them?”

The tone of Lonnie’s voice shifted to nervous.

“I didn’t exactly let them, Chief. They just showed up. They’re not making a sound. There’s no shouting, no vandalism. They’re just standing on public property holding signs.”

“Did they get a permit to picket?” Henry asked.

“Well, no, but there’s no law against picketing in Eden, so technically they’re not doing anything wrong.”

Henry groaned and disconnected.

Now his belly was hurting as much as his toe.

He drove without flashers or siren, because he hoped to clear them out without a fuss. He was stunned that this was happening. He couldn’t remember anyone ever challenging any member of the Wayne family in any way—except Leigh, the one who got away.

He saw a small gathering, hardly more than a dozen people, standing beneath a street light as he turned the corner. They obviously saw him, but no one moved or even pretended to make a run for it. They just stood there holding their handmade signs, and as Henry got closer, he could read what they’d written on them.

Justice for Stanton Youngblood.

Murder in Eden.

Shame to the Waynes.

He groaned as he pulled up and got out.

“Whose idea was this?” he demanded.

They all raised their hands, refusing to let any one of them bear the blame.

Henry sighed. He wasn’t about to give Blake Wayne their names, but he needed them gone.

“Look, I don’t think I need to tell you that it’s not a good idea to get on the wrong side of this family.”

A small, clean-shaven man with dark, deep-set eyes stepped forward. He looked to be in his late forties and was holding a sign that read First our land, then our lives.

“They can’t hurt us anymore,” he said.

Henry frowned.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

“My name is German Swift. I was part of the crew that put the new roof on your house last year.”

“Oh. Sorry. I wasn’t home much when that was happening.”

“No matter.” German pointed to a skinny blond woman wearing threadbare jeans and a blouse. “This is my wife, Truva. My whole family has lived on the mountain above Eden all our lives. My wife and I were living in the home where I was born when she got cancer. About three years ago we took out a loan to pay hospital bills, but we got behind on our payments. It was all fine until recently, when the bank suddenly foreclosed and we lost our home. It had been in the family for over a hundred years. So you can threaten me all you want about what could happen from making an enemy of the Waynes and it won’t matter, because we have nothing left to lose.”

“Yeah, me, too,” a man said.

“The bank foreclosed on us, too,” a woman said, and started crying.

One by one, all the people there told the same sad tale.

Henry’s frown deepened.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see what the bank foreclosing on you has to do with the Waynes.”

“You would if you saw what’s happening to our land,” German said.

“Then tell me,” Henry said.

“Take a drive up to the north side of the lake and check out the land they’re clearing for that new resort. It all used to belong to us,” German said. “Ask around up there. Find out who the biggest investors are.”

“What does all of this have to do with Stanton Youngblood’s murder?” Henry asked.

“Polly and Carl Cyrus. Thomas and Beth Youngblood. That’s what,” German said.

“I don’t understand,” Henry said.

“Then it’s time you did your job and found out,” German said. “We’re going now.”

And one by one, they laid the signs they’d been holding at Henry Clayton’s feet and walked off into the night.

Henry sighed. This wasn’t his case, and he didn’t want any part of bucking the Waynes, but he’d grown up with Stanton. The man deserved his justice.

Henry began gathering up the signs and tossing them into the back of his cruiser. He would deal with them tomorrow. Tonight, he just needed to get home and take off his damn shoe.

* * *

The killer stood in the dark, watching from his bedroom window as the police car arrived and dispersed the protestors.

He was wondering who in Eden would have the guts to protest so openly, knowing full well what his family could do to them. Then he thought about the people who’d already been displaced. They had nothing left to lose, and obviously Stanton Youngblood had been their friend.

He frowned. Right now the family had only been called out by a grieving woman. But their lawyer had warned them that the authorities would soon be all over them. They would have no choice but to put up with the interrogations. The final word of a dying man was powerful.

He watched until the cop car was gone, and then stepped away from the window and sat down in the dark. He needed to think—to make sure there were no loose ends that would tie him to this. He was thoroughly disgusted that he hadn’t gone to make sure Stanton was dead before he ran. He frowned, thinking back to the day’s events. Even though he hadn’t seen this situation coming, he still wouldn’t change what he’d done.

* * *

Bowie woke up before daybreak to the sound of footsteps in the hall outside his room. He glanced at the time and frowned. It was barely five. He didn’t have to look to know who it was. Every time he’d turned over in the night he’d heard movement somewhere in the house. His mother was struggling. They were all struggling. A death is one thing. A murder is another.

It had occurred to Bowie after he’d gone to bed last night to wonder if his mother could be a target, too. Until this was resolved, they needed to make sure she was never alone.

He heard a cabinet door bang and guessed she was starting her day, so he got up and dressed, then headed into the kitchen. She’d started the coffeemaker but not the food, and she wasn’t anywhere in the house. He noticed the back door was ajar and walked out, guided by the light coming from the kitchen behind him.

She was sitting in the porch swing in the dark, with her hands pressed against her chest.

“Mama?”

Leigh looked up.

“Did I wake you?” she asked.

“No, ma’am. Are you in physical pain?” he asked, pointing at the way she was clutching at the blouse over her heart.

She shook her head and then patted the seat beside her.

“Come talk to me, Bowie. I need to think about something besides the hell we’re living, if only for a moment.”

He sat down beside her, kissed the side of her cheek and then pushed off with the toe of his boot, letting the swing rock them into daybreak.

“I’d talk about the scenery, but it’s too dark to see it,” he said.

“I couldn’t lay in that bed alone,” she said, and then started to cry.

Bowie groaned inwardly as tears welled.

“I can’t begin to know what you’re feeling, Mama. I grieve from the standpoint of a son, but I know he was your life and you were his. We love you so much. Just hang on to that fact while you find a new way to be in this world.”

Leigh leaned her head against his shoulder for a moment before she could gather herself to speak.

“When did you get so smart?” she asked, and then felt him shrug.

“She didn’t die, but when I lost Talia, I didn’t know how to be here without her. I had to find new footing. It’s why I left.”

Leigh wiped her eyes and blew her nose as her mother instinct kicked in. This was something they’d all known, but since he’d never talked of it to them, they’d respected that choice. This opened the door.

“What happened, son? We wondered. All of us did. We were so sad for your heartache, but as sorry as we were to see you go, we understood.”

“I asked her to marry me. She said no without an explanation. It was a shock, and it broke my heart. I grew up and got over it.”

Leigh turned to him then, and even though it was dark, she saw enough—from the set of his jaw to the way he looked everywhere but at her—to know that wasn’t true.

“Did you really get over it?” she asked.

“I thought so. Until I heard Aunt Polly talking about Talia and her dad.”

“Are you going to go see her?”

Bowie was silent for a few moments.

“I think I have to,” he finally said.

“What if you find out you still care for her?”

“It won’t matter, not if she’s moved on,” he said.

“And if she didn’t forget?”

“I’m not sure.”

Leigh patted his hand.

“If you love someone with all your heart and you walk away, your life will never be as it was meant to be. You will always be unhappy. You will never be rich enough or successful enough to fill that void. Love matters, Bowie. It matters most of all.”

He heard, but he didn’t have the composure to comment.

His mother must have sensed his dilemma, because she changed the subject and kept talking.

“I’ll need a lot of groceries in the next couple of days,” she said. “If I make a list, will you go shopping for me? I don’t want to go to Eden and face the comments.”

“I’ll do anything you need of me, Mama. It’s why I’m here.”

“Okay, then I also need one more favor.”

“Absolutely. What do you want?”

“I want you to go to Talia’s house, knock on her door and follow your heart to wherever it leads you. But don’t do this for me. Do it for yourself and for her.”

The skin crawled on the back of Bowie’s neck. It had taken him so long to bury that pain, but he knew she was right.

“I’ll go,” he said.

“Good,” Leigh said, and then pointed toward the east. “Look, the sky is getting lighter. It will be daylight soon. Jesse will do the chores later if you’ll go with him to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”

“Sure thing,” Bowie said, and then thought about what would happen here when he was gone. “Can you take care of Jesse by yourself?”

Leigh tossed her head and then stood abruptly.

“I can do anything I have to. God gave Jesse to me twice. Once when he was born, and once when He saved Jesse’s life. I’ve thought all night about this very thing, and I’ve come to a conclusion that gives me ease. God knew I was going to lose Stanton. That’s why Jesse came home from the war this way. He knew I would need purpose or I would die from a broken heart. As long as I have Jesse, I have purpose. It isn’t what I would have wanted, but it’s what I have been given. I’m going to start breakfast. Biscuits or pancakes?”

“Biscuits, please. No one makes biscuits as good as you do.”

Leigh ran her fingers through the thick length of Bowie’s hair.

“I love you with all my heart,” she said softly, and went inside, leaving Bowie alone in the swing.

* * *

Talia’s sleep was restless. She slept on a cot beside her father’s bed, and every moan he made, every creak of the bed springs, had her up on her feet within seconds.

Before hospice stepped in, she’d been in constant fear that he would roll out of bed. Hospice had helped her get a hospital bed, and then she’d moved him from the bedroom at the back of the house to the living room up front. Now it was easier for her to care for him, and cook and do laundry, as well. And, with the hospital bed, she no longer had to be afraid he would fall.

Still, every sound he made had her up and checking to be sure he wasn’t choking, or if she needed to change his diaper before he messed up his bed. Even though he was a shadow of his former self, he was still heavy. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold on, and seeing Bowie after all these years had been a bitter reminder of what she’d lost.

After tossing and turning for hours, she got up and dressed, ran a brush through her hair and then tied it back out of her face. Her feet were dragging when she went to start the coffee. She needed to eat, but the thought of food turned her stomach, so she started the coffee and then went to check on Marshall.

His chest was barely moving, but his eyelids were fluttering. She wondered what he was seeing. Mama, she hoped, or maybe angels.

Daddy was dying.

She didn’t want him to be afraid.

* * *

It was after ten when Bowie drove into Eden in Stanton’s truck. It smelled like Stanton’s aftershave, and there were bits of paper with notes he had written to himself all over the seat. Bowie picked them up and dropped them into the console without reading them. It was hard enough to accept he was gone without all the tangible bits and pieces he’d left behind.

Bowie had his mother’s list in his pocket, but his thoughts were on Talia. If he was honest with himself, he was afraid—afraid to find out that her father’s illness had nothing to do with her telling him no.

The supermarket was busy, and because he didn’t know the layout of the store, it took longer than he’d intended to get everything. More than once someone stopped him to ask about his mother and send their condolences. After the sixth or seventh time he got cornered in an aisle, he understood his mother’s reluctance to do this herself.