Sidetracked-Kobo (14 page)

Now my brain felt numb. Where should I go now? What could I possibly do?

The overwhelming helplessness
of my own arrest and trial came flailing back, threatening to choke me. This is what Billy was feeling now. Like me, he’d probably be stuck in prison until his trial. The thought of gentle Billy in jail for even one night was too much to bear.

Something had to be done
now
.

I pulled over to the curb and picked up my cell to call Andy. His thoughts would be clearer than mine. But before I could tap his name, the phone rang.

Pete.

I answered the call.

“Del-Belle, you okay?” Pete’s gruff voice sounded scratchy with emotion. “I guess you heard.”

A sob rolled up my throat. I wanted to hit something. Scream to the mountaintops. “Cops are terrible people, Pete! I hate them
all
.”

Seconds ticked by. I gulped down air, trying to get hold of myself.

“They’re not all like Melcher, Del-Belle. Had a few police in my own family. They were honorable men.”

“I’m sorry. I just …”

“I know. This ain’t goin’ well. But sounds like you’re thinkin’ about more than just Billy. You have a run-in with some other cop in the past?”

Sickness spread through my stomach. Why had I said anything? My two worlds were about to collide, trains on the same track. And I couldn’t find the brakes.

“It’s just Melcher.” I swiped at a tear. “I
told
him. He won’t listen.”

“Yeah, well. Trouble is, he’s got louder voices to listen to than yours. Like Becky Myers, who wouldn’t lie about seein’ Billy on the street. And Cheryl King, who
did
lie about Billy bein’ home all night.”

“How do you know that for sure? Just ’cause I told you?”

“I was at her house when she heard about Billy’s arrest. She’d been tellin’ me the same thing she told you—he never left home. Until that call came. Then she just fell apart.”

I could imagine. “Did she admit to you she lied?”

“Didn’t have to. I could see it all over her face.”

I’d seen the same thing. Just hadn’t wanted to admit it to myself. The queasiness in my gut grew stronger. “Billy lied too, didn’t he. Told Melcher he was at home.”

Cheryl’s words echoed in my ears.
“Billy looked so guilty. He can be that way around authority.”
Billy’s own fear would push him into denying he was anywhere near Clara last night. And the more he lied, the guiltier he’d look to Melcher. To any cop.

“Apparently that’s just what Billy did. After I heard the news I beat feet down to the station. Tried to get Hank Shire to talk to me.”

Hank had been the first responder at the crime scene. Seemed like a nice man. Nothing like Melcher. Still, he was a policeman.

“Turns out Hank was in the interrogation room with Melcher and Billy. All Hank would tell me was, ‘Nothing he said was the truth.’”

I laid my head back against the seat rest, memories of the interrogation about my mother’s murder flashing through my head. I’d never lied to Detective Standish, not in the slightest. Yet he’d twisted the truth into his own sinister story.
“Let me tell you how it happened, Laura.”
How much more ammunition Melcher would have now, hearing Billy’s false statements. Added to that, my own account that I’d seen a man in a dark hooded sweatshirt. Billy had been on Brewer Street. Wearing a dark hoody.

And Clara’s car had been at the curb, engine running, driver’s door open. She must have gotten out of her car quickly. Most likely for someone she knew.

Who, if not Billy?

“Pete.” My throat was tight. “What do we do now?”

“We hunt around and find out who else would have wanted Clara dead.”

“I was just with her family for a couple hours. No one there has any idea, other than Billy.
I
have no idea.”

Pete grunted. “They’re probably glad the suspect’s been found so fast.”

“Exactly. They’re clinging to it. How do you take that away from them?”

For once Pete had no answer.

I checked my watch. It was almost 3:00. Andy would be picking me up for dinner at 6:30. What great company I’d be.

“Pete, I forgot to tell you I won’t be making dinner tonight. I’m going out with Andy.”

“No worries there. We’ll rustle somethin’ up.”

I ended the call and tossed down my phone. No point in calling Andy now. I’d be seeing him in a few hours.

With a sigh I pulled back onto the street—and found myself heading toward Brewer, where Clara had been killed. I parked across the street from The Spot, eyeing the fluttering crime scene tape. The mound of flowers people had left was growing. I saw a small stuffed teddy bear. Some cards and candles.

Something within me turned inside out. I slid from the car and crossed the street. Walked toward Clara’s shrine, a lump in my throat. My thoughts jumbled as I surveyed the scene. I pictured Clara sprawled on the sidewalk in the dark. The hooded figure in the Graysons’ yard. Those memories morphed to those of my mother. Her blood, her battered body. Yelling at Detective Standish in the interrogation room. Being hauled off to jail. Back then a murderer had walked the streets of my hometown and killed my mother. What murderer walked
these
streets, here in the quiet town of Redbud? Had he visited this spot where I now stood? Watched grieving friends and family bring Clara flowers?

Vaguely I registered the sound of a vehicle pulling to the curb across the street. Two car doors opened and closed. Footsteps approached. I glanced in their direction and saw two men, one with a microphone and another with a TV camera. Behind them sat a WTVQ van—the ABC station in Lexington. The man with the camera swung it up and turned it on.

I jerked my head away.

“Ma’am, I’m Barlow Watkins.” The reporter stepped onto the sidewalk. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“No thanks.” The cameraman had come around and was filming me from the side. I turned my back to him.

“It’ll just take a minute.” Watkins stepped in front of me once more. His voice was gentle, full of concern. “You’re Delanie Miller, aren’t you? The one who discovered Clara Crenshaw’s body? I’ve been hoping to speak with you. We stopped by your house, but no one was home.”

Reporters. I should have known they’d come. I focused past Watkins to the flowers left for Clara. Suddenly it hit me what a story this would be for the local media. A beautiful young woman on the way home from her
wedding shower
. In small, typically safe Redbud.

How fast would the media convict Billy King?

“Miss Miller?” Watkins raised his eyebrows. “Is it okay if I ask you a few questions? I’m going to do a segment for tonight’s news from here. I hoped to include you.”

“I don’t want to be on camera.” I worked to keep fear out of my voice. This was the last thing I needed. What if someone had moved here from the California Bay Area and recognized me?

“You don’t have to be. I’d just like to understand from you what you saw last night.”

What I saw
. My gaze cut to the reporter. “Have you talked to the police?”

“Just came from the station. I know they’ve arrested a man named Billy King. Apparently he had a crush on Miss Crenshaw. You know anything about that?”

I stared at Watkins. It had already begun—the public molding of facts to fit Melcher’s scenario. The twisting of quiet, slow-minded Billy King into a hidden killer, a jealous bomb waiting to explode.

In my mind I pictured Bruce Melcher’s rage-filled expression as he stood in my kitchen, his finger stuck in my face.
“I’ll haul you off to jail!”

Arrested. My background checked …

I could not talk to this reporter.

“Do you, Miss Miller?”

“Yes.” The word popped from my mouth.

Watkins waited but I said no more. “What do you know?”

I pictured Billy in jail. Remembered how numb I’d felt in juvey all those years ago.

“I know that Billy would have done anything for Clara. Chief Melcher arrested the wrong man.”

The cameraman eased in front of me, still filming.

“How do you know he’s the wrong man?”

No way for me to keep quiet now. I
couldn’t.
In a matter-of-fact tone I told Barlow Watkins what I’d seen the night Clara was killed. The figure that stood by the bush just down the street—a figure too short to be Billy. Barlow wanted to see the bush. I walked him down to the Graysons’ yard and pointed it out, the cameraman following. Told the reporter how Mr. Grayson and I had measured the bush.

“Have you told all this to your police chief?” Watkins and I remained in front of the Graysons’ house.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“What was his response?”

I looked back up the street toward the yellow crime scene tape and Clara’s flowers. Dare I speak the answer ready to spring off my tongue? How incendiary it would be. How the media would eat up the controversy.

But maybe that’s just what we needed here. If Chief Melcher was going to play his game in public, so could I.

“Miss Miller?”

My heart fluttered. I lifted my chin and stared directly at the camera. “Chief Melcher came to my house and told me flat out if I interfered anymore in his investigation he would ‘haul me off to jail.’”

When I pulled into my driveway, exhausted and railing at myself for what I’d done, Colleen’s and Nicole’s cars were out front. Pete’s was gone.

A chime
from my cell phone signaled a message. It was from Andy.
Can’t wait to see you tonight. Love you.

I managed a tired smile and texted back.
Love you too.

You doing okay, Del?

Hanging in there. :)

I stared at the smiley face I’d added as a way to soften my answer. It looked ridiculous.

With a sigh, I grabbed my purse and got out of the car.

Inside the house I found Nicole on the couch, watching TV with a blank expression. I gave her a hug. “Where’s Colleen?”

“In her room.”

I surveyed her. “You okay?”

She shrugged. “Been a hard day.”

Tell me about it.

I headed for the kitchen, hunger gnawing at my stomach. I hadn’t eaten all day. From the fridge I pulled a small container of yogurt. I slumped at the kitchen table and spooned it down, barely tasting. Over and over in my mind I relived the words I’d said to the Lexington reporter.
Why
had I done that? Even if the news was only local, I couldn’t afford to be seen on TV.

Why had I done it? For Billy.

Colleen appeared from the hallway. She’d traded the knee high hose and pumps she always wore to work for her Dr. Seuss socks. Her short brown hair looked only a little better than when she’d gotten out of bed. Colleen’s perpetually frazzled appearance was her trademark.

She was full of news from her work at Granger’s Gift Store. People had come in and out all day talking about Clara’s murder—and then Billy’s arrest. “A lot of people pegged Billy even before he was taken in.” Colleen sat on the big couch next to Nicole and tucked her colorful feet beneath her. “They’re all saying how so many of those crazy people in the past who shot up schools or movie theaters or whatever were quiet and not right in the head.”

I took a seat across from Colleen and Nicole on the smaller sofa. Would people like that change their minds after hearing my story on the news?

What would Andy say about what I’d done?

What would Chief Melcher do?

Nicole turned off the TV. She focused on her lap, lacing and unlacing her hands. “I couldn’t concentrate in any of my classes today. All I could think of was Clara. I just still can’t believe it.” A tear rolled down her face.

Colleen patted her on the leg. “None of us can, honey. This is just … too much.”

“We’ll get through this together, Nicole.” I gave her a wan smile. She nodded.

A headache had set in. I pressed a hand to my forehead. “You both need to know Billy didn’t kill Clara. I’m absolutely sure of that.”

“It’s hard to believe he would.” Colleen waved a hand in the air. “But from what I’ve heard Chief Melcher thinks he’s got his guy. Still, I say no way Billy did this. He loved Clara. He told me so. I knew they’d never get together, but still … I felt so sorry for Billy. His heart ached over her.”

My brain flashed to Billy standing next to me at the crime scene. “Either of you know a Susan in town? Blonde woman. Someone who’d tell Billy that Clara wanted to be more than a friend to him?”

Nicole screwed up her face. “What?”

“Billy tell you that?” Colleen asked.

I nodded.

She seemed to ponder that. “So what else have you heard today?”

I pushed away the pictures of Billy and began detailing my going to the
Graysons’ and measuring the bush. My time at the Crenshaws, and Chief Melcher’s not so friendly visit. I didn’t tell them about my talk with Billy’s mother, Cheryl, and how she’d lied about Billy being home. Colleen would likely repeat it to all the Granger customers the following day, and that wouldn’t help Billy.

“I can’t believe Melcher came into your own house and told you that!” Colleen sounded incensed.

I nodded. “Pete was here. He heard it.”

Nicole made a face. “Sounds like the chief of police doesn’t want to know the truth.”

I pictured Detective Standish eighteen years ago, facing me across a wooden table. “It’s not that he doesn’t want to. It’s that he thinks he
does
know the truth, so anything not fitting into his scenario has to be wrong.”

“Poor Billy.” Colleen closed her eyes.

I checked my watch. Time to change clothes for dinner with Andy. I wanted to be ready early enough to see the news before he arrived.

“Let’s watch the local ABC news,” I told Colleen and Nicole. “I’m supposed to be on it.”

“Really?” Nicole’s eyes widened. “What did you say?”

I gave her a grim smile. “Enough to get me in more trouble.”

The front door opened—and Pete appeared. “Hello, ladies.” He shuffled over to his favorite chair and sank into it. “Whew. What a day.”

“Want a Coke, Pete?” It was his favorite drink. I rose.

He waved me back down. “Don’t you worry, I’ll get it.”