Long Black Veil (26 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

They were back from winter break. The halls were subdued as kids slowly got back into the swing of things. Devon and Brock hadn’t seen each other at all over the holiday break; his family went to the beach for the week. She’d kept herself busy, getting caught up on her reading and hanging out with Gil.

The three of them had agreed to meet in the school library after classes let out to go over the latest information they’d found. As Devon walked down the hall toward the library, she took a good look around the near-empty hallways, the beat up lockers, and the sagging bulletin board notices. Soon this would be a memory. She was shocked to discover she might actually miss the school. Not necessarily the people, but the place itself.

She got a move on once she hit the double doors leading outside. The wind was frigid, whipping her hair into her eyes. Devon tucked her gloved hands into the pockets of her heavy jacket and put on some speed to make it to the library before her extremities fell off. As it was, she already couldn’t feel her nose or ears. She should have at least packed a hat.

Gil was waiting for her at what he had dubbed the Nancy Drew table. He enjoyed teasing her about the whole girl detective angle, to the point that she thought she might never stop slapping him if he said one more word about it. She flung her bag on the table, then began to unwrap herself from her layers of outerwear.

“I’ve got some good stuff for you,” he said, rubbing his hands together like a B-movie villain.

“Take it down a notch, Montgomery Burns,” she replied, unspooling her scarf from around her neck. Gammy certainly didn’t do things by halves; the scarf could be used to hog-tie livestock. “We need to wait for Brock.”

Gil sulked for a moment; he had a near pathological need to share all of the best gossip immediately, which made him perfect for the task she’d given him. He was excellent at ferreting out the secrets people wanted to keep. Gil’s problem was keeping any secrets told to him.

Brock showed up a few minutes later, looking tired and drawn. He didn’t look like someone who had just come back from a restful vacation. Devon went to him, guiding him away from the table. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” He put his arm around her, pulling her close. “Why?”

“You look tired. Vacation not good?” Devon put a hand to his cheek.

Brock captured his hand with his. “Trapped in a condo with my perfect brother, his perfect girlfriend, and my parents and grandmother. It was a delight.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “Eh. As long as I never hear the word college again, I’ll be fine.” He kissed her fingers.

She led him over to their table. When he had shucked off his coat and they were all seated, Devon gestured for Gil to start. “Dazzle us, you silver-tongued devil.”

He grinned, leaning forward. “My entire family was in town for the holidays, including my maiden aunt who has more to say about the people of this town than anyone else I know. She was more than willing to talk about the scandal of Jackson Duvall.”

“She was a young woman when he went to trial. The Duvalls were new money—only  a generation or two off of the mountain. Jackson had been spoiled and allowed to run wild, but Aunt Bitty never believed he was capable of murder. Especially considering how close he was to your dad, Devon.”

“What do you mean?” Brock asked, but Devon already had an idea of what Gil was going to say.

“Deacon Mackson was from the best family in town. His father could trace his lineage to the town founders. Deacon’s mother had been a debutant from Richmond, and came from massive amounts of old southern money. Aunt Bitty said that Deacon was expected to behave in a certain way, especially once his daddy died. She said Charlotte Mackson was a hard, proud woman, who brooked no disrespect.

“Bitty said that it was obvious Charlotte didn’t approve of Deacon’s friendship with Jackson, but there wasn’t a whole lot she could do about it. She said that it was only after your mom entered the picture,” here he looked at Devon, “that she really took a hard line. Rumor has it that she completely lost her mind when your father told her that he was marrying your mother. Screaming, crying, threats—she tried everything she could do to break them up.”

“It obviously didn’t work,” Brock said, looking at Devon as if gauging her reaction.

“Nope. Lucky for us,” Gil answered, winking at Devon. “Anyway, they got married—it was a much smaller ceremony than anyone would have expected for a Mackson, but Charlotte was a sore loser—and everything seemed to be okay. Oh, there was some talk that Lorelei wasn’t happy with Deacon, but no one thought much of it.

“Aunt Bitty remembered one whispered rumor that Lorelei might even been unfaithful, but everyone assumed that Charlotte had started it herself. You see, my aunt said that Charlotte wanted nothing to do with the newlyweds—she didn’t invite them to holidays, she refused to even let Lorelei into her house. Nobody paid any attention to any of the talk.”

“That’s why it was so shocking when Jackson Duvall was arrested for the murder of that drifter. He and Deacon were best friends and Deacon stood by him throughout the trial. The evidence was primarily circumstantial, Aunt Bitty said, until Abernathy came forward as a witness.”

“Didn’t anybody find it odd that the one witness to the crime worked for Charlotte?” Devon asked.

Gil nodded. “A few did—Bitty remembered talk of it. But no one could figure out what she had against Jackson. He was Deacon’s oldest friend. And when Jackson had no alibi, well, there wasn’t anything that could be done for him. The talk died down once he was sentenced. And then Lorelei and Deacon left town and nobody thought anything more about it.” He spread his hands. “So that’s it.”

They sat quietly, staring at each other, unsure of what to say after Gil’s monologue. Finally, Devon asked, “Did you find out anything from your mother about mine?”

He nodded. “A little. My mom only had a few classes with yours. But she did say that everyone thought that she’d wind up with Jackson Duvall—it was pretty obvious that they both had a thing for each other. But then he started dating some other girl. She said your mother seemed pretty happy when she and Deacon got together and the three were still close friends. Mom said she doesn’t remember much about the trial, except that your mother was pretty upset during the whole thing.”

“Did she say anything about Charlotte?”

Gil shook his head. “Nothing new. Charlotte didn’t like that Deacon married your mom, but that was about it. She and your mother were always nice to each other in public.” He shrugged. “In private, well, that’s something else entirely.”

Devon looked down at her hands. She wasn’t sure what to think now. Gil’s information was good, but it didn’t tell her anything really new. Everything seemed to hinge on Abernathy’s testimony. She knew Jackson had been innocent, so what reason did Mr. Abernathy have to lie? She chewed on her lower lip, unsure if she wanted to continue to look into this mystery.

“Dev?” Brock’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “What’s on your mind?”

She met his eyes. “I don’t know what I want to do next.”

He nodded like he knew the thoughts that were flying through her head. Gil sat watching them, a thoughtful look on his face. Finally he said, “We need to find Abernathy.”

Brock turned to him. “How do we even know he’s still alive?”

“We don’t. But let me see if what I can find out.” Gil grinned. He apparently wasn’t done with the mystery yet.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The flyers papered the school. Posters appeared in the cafeteria, the hallways, and the stairwells. Banners hung above the doors to the gym. The winter dance was coming.

Every time Devon walked by one of them, a lump formed in the pit of her stomach. The winter dance traditionally had the girl asking the guy. Devon had never been to any of the school dances. She’d never wanted to go before. She never really had a reason before.

Gil caught her staring at one. “You asked Brock yet?” When she shook her head, he asked, “Why not? He’s probably waiting for you to.”

Devon dragged a hand through her thick hair, gathering it in her fist and pulling it over her shoulder. She didn’t know why she hadn’t asked Brock yet. “I know, but I just haven’t been able to yet.”

Gil gave her a long-suffering look. “What’s the problem? It’s not like he’s going to say no.”

She twisted her hair around in her hands. “It’s a dance, Gil. Like, in public.”

“So?” He stopped her, his hand on her arm. “Dev, you’re dating. Everyone in school pretty much knows it.”

“I guess.” She wouldn’t look at him. She wasn’t sure she was ready to make a statement like that, and a mountain girl going to the dance with Brock Cutler was a statement of the highest order.

“Oh, you are just pathetic.” He looked away from her, eyes searching the hallway. “Hey Brock!” he called, spotting the basketball player at the other end of the hall. “Devon wants to ask you something!”

Devon glared at her best friend. “You’re an ass, you know that?”

He kissed her cheek. “Yep. Bye.” He hightailed it out of there.

“What’s up?” Brock asked as he came closer. He gave her a smile that made her toes curl.

Devon stared up at him, memorizing the lines and angles of his face. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. Finally she said the words that she had been trying to work up the courage to say over the past few weeks. “Brock, would you go to the dance with me?”

He pulled her close to him, a huge smile on his face. “I thought you’d never ask me.”

*****

Devon spun around in front of the mirror on the back of her door. The dress was a deep green, almost black, satin and it swirled around her ankles when she turned. The fact that she was going to the dance was mind-blowing; that she was going with Brock Cutler was even stranger. She was a little nervous about doing this, about going out in public with Brock, about making it official.

There had been lots of rumors surrounding her and Brock over the past few months, but the two of them made sure that nothing could really be confirmed. But now, going to the dance would mean everyone would know. She still wasn’t sure this would be worth it. Brock may not know the Pandora’s box they were about to open, but Devon certainly did.

“Come on out, Devon,” her grandmother called from the other side of the door.

Devon wrapped the black lace shawl around her shoulders and opened her bedroom door. Gammy stood in the hall, holding an ancient camera. Devon was amazed it still worked or that it hadn’t been put in a museum somewhere. She followed her grandmother down the hall and into the living room.

“Let me get a good look at you,” Gammy said. She walked around her granddaughter, smoothing out the satin as she went. She adjusted the lace shawl that had once been hers around Devon’s shoulders. “You look lovely, my girl.”

Devon smiled so wide she thought her head might split in half. She’d never been to a school dance, never had a dress this nice. Gammy hadn’t been thrilled when she’d mentioned the dance, and that she was going with Brock. But then one day a few weeks ago, a large box appeared on her bed. Inside was the dress she wore now. It was more than she ever expected from her grandmother.

“Thank you, Gammy,” she said, so grateful to her grandmother for this opportunity to be a normal girl that she wanted to cry.

There was a knock at the door. Gammy only frowned briefly; she still wasn’t sure about Brock. But then she smiled at Devon and went to answer the door. Brock stood there in a long winter coat over his suit, a beautiful wrist corsage in his hand.

“Good evening, Ma’am.” He waited on the porch.

“Hello Brock. You come on inside now so I can get a picture.” She moved out of the way to allow him space to come in.

He stepped in, his megawatt smile brightening even further when Devon turned around in a swirl of crinoline. “You look beautiful,” he breathed, stopping where he stood.

Devon ducked her head, suddenly shy. His words pleased her. She walked over to him, taking his hand. “So do you.”

Gammy clucked at them, the camera in her hand. They posed for pictures: one of Brock putting the corsage on Devon’s wrist, the two of them standing in their dance finery, another one of Brock helping Devon with her coat. She even snapped photos of them getting in the car.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Brock said as they drove down the drive.

“She’s coming around,” Devon answered, trying to ignore the tiny knot in her stomach that seemed to get a little bit bigger the closer they got to school. “Hang on a second,” she said as they passed the church. “Stop the car.”

“Devon…” Brock looked worried.

“Just for a minute.” Devon waited for the car to stop, then opened the door and stepped out. She wrapped her coat closer around herself. The late January air was bitingly cold. She walked over to the cemetery, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jessamy. For some reason, she wanted to see the ghost tonight, almost like she wanted her blessing as well.

She stepped inside the church. It was empty. “Jessamy?” she called. There was no sign of the ghost. With one last look behind her, she returned to the car.