A Shred of Evidence (25 page)

“At least three dozen protesters still hold a vigil outside the Hamiltons’ home tonight, an indication that some here still believe Ross Hamilton may have been involved in the early Wednesday morning disappearance of his daughter …”

Ellen tuned out the anchorman’s words, which were starting to feel oppressive.

A commercial came on and Guy muted the TV “What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” Ellen said. “Who am I to talk about being falsely accused? I’m the one who told Chief Seevers that Ross Hamilton might be the south side hit-and-run driver.”

“It was a valid hunch, honey. You just overstepped.”

“That’s an understatement.” Ellen laid her head against the back of the couch. “I know how betrayed I feel. I can only imagine what Ross must be going through.”

“If he’s innocent of any wrongdoing with his daughter. We still don’t know that.”

Ellen jabbed him with her elbow. “You’re playing both sides of the fence, Counselor.”

“Not really. The only facts I have are what the media’s reported.”

“But more and more it’s looking as if Ross may have been falsely accused.”

“No, more and more it’s
feeling
as if he may have been falsely accused. Stick with the facts, Ellen. The hit-and-run has nothing to do with the other allegations.”

Gordy Jameson scraped the bottom of the carton for the last bite of peach ice cream and then threw it in the trash. He turned out the lights and went to the bedroom. He undressed and flopped on the bed, his mind racing with the events of the day.

He had studied everything about Pam Townsend while he played dominoes with her, Margaret, and Meagan. He felt the chemistry, but promptly shut it down. Pam was nice enough—friendly, sensitive, talkative. He liked her laugh. And the way she seemed interested in the things that were important to him. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time any woman had shown a real interest in his business.

But it bothered him that he saw pain in her eyes when she mentioned Todd. He wondered if she had seen that same look in his eyes when Jenny’s name came up. He also wondered why he said he’d call sometime and maybe they could have dinner. He wasn’t sure he even knew how to carry on a meaningful conversation with a woman anymore. And how could he find time for a relationship when he had to work every night? He owned a business. He had responsibilities.

Gordy watched the ceiling fan go round and round in the dark. Who was he kidding? Weezie would jump at the chance to be assistant manager. She already knew how to run the place. He hadn’t promoted her because having to run the restaurant was a convenient excuse not to move on with his life.

Gordy’s heart raced. He felt jittery all over and wanted to run. Jenny had told him these anxiety attacks only happened when he felt trapped—like the day he found out her chemotherapy hadn’t worked. Why was he feeling trapped now? He had the choice to pursue a relationship with Pam or to walk away. Will and Margaret had promised not to press him about it.

Gordy lay on his back with his arms outstretched and let the ceiling fan dry his perspiration. Something Jenny had said before she died came rushing back to him, something he’d forgotten—or didn’t want to remember.

I know you can’t imagine going on without me, but don’t keep your love bottled up for long. Find someone to give it to. Otherwise, you’ll self-destruct
.

Gordy reached for Jenny’s pillow and clutched it to his
chest, painfully aware that it had long ago lost the scent of her perfume. He buried his face in the downy softness, his chest convulsing with the anguish of her absence, and muffled the sound of his weeping.

Julie Hamilton carried a mug of Sleepy Time herb tea into the living room and handed it to Ross. “Maybe this will help you sleep.”

She sat next to him on the couch, thinking the only thing that would put either of them to sleep was total exhaustion.

Ross blew on the tea and then took a sip. “You’ve been quiet today.”

“I’m trying to cope. I wasn’t doing too well even before this happened.”
Not that you ever noticed
.

“At least be glad they’ve stopped suspecting me for the hit-and-run. Our lives can get back to normal once Sarah Beth is home.”

Julie felt her neck and shoulders tighten. “Ross, we have to start dealing with the possibility that she’s not coming home.”

“Don’t say that. She’s—”

“She’s what …? It’s been five days! The odds of us finding her—”

“I don’t wanna get into this.”

“Well, we have to! What if they find her body and we have to bury her?” Julie put her hand over her mouth and choked back the emotion. “While we can still think, we need to decide if we want her buried in Biloxi with Nathaniel. There’s no way I’m leaving my daughter in this godforsaken town. And there’s no way we can stay here after this.”

Ross sat with his arms folded and stared at the wall. She just wanted to shake him.

“Don’t talk to me about burying another child,” he said. “We’re getting Sarah Beth back.”

“How can you say that so matter-of-factly?” Julie pulled at
the fringe on the couch pillow. Doubt began to gnaw at her again. Was she brave enough to ask him? “Ross, if you knew where Sarah Beth was … you’d tell me, wouldn’t you? Because I keep picturing her in the clutches of some monster, and it’s all I can do to make it through the day.” Julie’s voice failed.

“What are you asking?” Ross stood and threw up his hands. “I can’t believe this. My own wife …”

“I know you wouldn’t hurt Sarah Beth. Just tell me if you’ve got her hidden somewhere.”

“I wish I did! At least she’d be safe.” Ross raked his hands through his hair. “How could you think I’d do something like that without telling you? I’d never put you through this torment. What kind of man do you think I am?”

Julie stood and grasped his arm. “I don’t know what to think anymore! We never communicate!”

Ross stared at her, his eyes brimming with tears, his chin quivering.

Julie cupped his face in her hands. “I’m sorry. Don’t make me feel worse than I already do. I
had
to ask.”

Ross closed his eyes, a tear trickling down one side of his face.

Will Seevers closed the April issue of
Salt Water Sportsman
and realized he didn’t remember anything he’d read. He turned off the lamp in the living room and walked down the hall to the bedroom. He ever so quietly opened and closed the door, then walked softly toward the closet.

“I’m wide awake,” Margaret said.

Will went over and sat on the side of the bed. “How come?”

“I heard you come in two hours ago. I figured you needed to unwind. So
is
this guy the south side hit-and-run driver?”

“Yeah. And he’s a stinking drunk. Didn’t even remember hitting the kid. Saw the damage on his truck after he sobered up and thought he’d hit a deer. Ran his truck through a car wash.
CSIs found traces of hair, blood, and skin embedded in the chrome around the right headlight. The DNA matches the boy’s.”

Margaret put her hand on his. “How horrible. Those poor parents.”

“This guy should’ve been locked up a long time ago. He’s got a string of DUIs in three states and was driving with a revoked license. One more slosh head falls through the system.” Will sighed. “And to make matters worse, I’m sure MADD will show up with picket signs before I even have time to swallow my breakfast. Then I get to deal with two groups of protesters, two dead kids, and two sets of devastated parents.”

“Where are you with the Hamilton case?”

“Hanging by our thumbs. At least Jeremy Hudson’s parents can find some closure now, though closure sounds trite when you’re struggling to deal with the death of a child.”

“You’re not going to sleep tonight, are you?” Margaret said.

“Probably not. But I need to at least rest my eyes. How’d the evening go with Pam and Gordy?”

“Good. After you left, Meagan and I got out the dominoes. Everyone seemed to be having fun.”

“What time did Gordy leave?”

“Around eight-thirty. Pam said she thought he was nice and enjoyed the evening. I heard Gordy say maybe they could have dinner sometime.”

Will smiled. “That’s a big step.”

“I think they hit it off. But both of them are so closed-mouthed, we may never know unless it develops into something. I’m not holding my breath.

E
llen Jones sat on the veranda hiding behind Monday’s newspaper. She was vaguely aware of the glowing pink sky visible between the live oak branches, a Carolina wren chirping, and Guy stirring inside the house. But all she could focus on at the moment was finding out which neighbor had had the audacity to go to Pastor Crawford and tell him she was having an affair.

“Honey, I’m ready to head out.” Guy came out onto the veranda and pressed his lips to hers. “I’ll see you Wednesday night.”

“I hope your meeting with the Brinkmont people goes well. I’ll be praying for you.”

“Thanks. I feel prepared. Sorry I had to work all weekend.”

“That’s all right. You’ve certainly done your share of weekending it alone.”

“Ah, the good ol’ days,” Guy said. “I didn’t always like playing second fiddle to the newspaper.”

Ellen smiled. “I’m not looking to be a weekend widow. Things will get back to normal once you get a handle on this case.”

“What’re your plans?”

“My hand feels a lot better today and I’d like to get back to writing. Only now I’m distracted by my disgust at the gossip-monger who lurks about.”

“Like I said, maybe the woman went to the pastor, thinking that was the proper way to handle it. She’ll probably never bring it up again.”

“In the meantime, my reputation is in the toilet.”

“Not with me it isn’t.”

Ellen sighed. “Unfortunately, I care a whole lot more about what other people think than you do.”

“I care, honey. Just not enough to lose sleep over it. Do yourself a favor and sink your energy into writing and get your mind off this—and off the Hamilton case.”

“I wish I were feeling creative.”

“Maybe a few hours up in the widow’s watch will get you back into the story.” He looked at his watch, and kissed her hand. “I’ve got to run before the traffic gets horrendous. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Ellen was aware of the kitchen door opening and closing and Guy’s Mercedes backing out of the garage. She held out her right hand and wiggled her fingers. He was right. She just needed to get back to work.

Gordy Jameson put the last of the stock orders in Weezie’s to-do box and heard the front door open. “That you, Billy?”

Gordy got up and hurried out to the dining room and saw Billy Lewis pulling on the knob of the locked door to the deck. He put his hand on Billy’s shoulder and turned him around. “Almost on time doesn’t cut it. Ten minutes late is still late.”

Billy looked down, and Gordy was sure he was blushing. “I did not mean to be late. I am a good worker.”

“Yes, you are. But there’s more to bein’ a good employee than just bein’ a good worker. I see a trend startin’, and I want it stopped before it becomes a problem. I’m a fair boss, and you have to follow the schedule if you want to work for me—just like all my other employees.”

Billy nodded, his weight shifting back and forth from one foot to the other. “I will come at eight-thirty. I will work now.”

Gordy unlocked the door and held it open. “Okay but I’m serious about this.”

Billy walked outside and looked over his shoulder. “I will do an ex-cel-lent job—an ex-cel-lent job!”

Gordy closed the door and shook his head. Billy Lewis was at the same time predictable and unpredictable.

Weezie walked in the front door, a grin on her face that was anything but subtle. “I came in early to get the scoop. How was the blind date?”

“It wasn’t a date. I was invited to dinner at Will and Margaret’s.”

“What’d you think of Pam?”

“She’s a nice lady.”

Weezie put her hand on her hip and held his gaze.

“Okay, I had a nice time. You happy?”

Weezie’s smile looked like a half moon against her mahogany skin. “I’m so proud of you for takin’ that first step. I’ve watched you dyin’ inside since Jenny passed away. It doesn’t matter to me whether this thing goes anywhere. What matters is you gettin’ your life unstuck, gettin’ out of the mire and movin’ on.”