Shades of Gray (11 page)

“Daria did
something she thought was unforgivable.  She tried to correct what she thought
was a mistake.  In doing so, Reece caught her.  After I took care of Daria, I
went after Reece.”  Gray spewed his answer to her question in quick, short
sentences as he hurried to the carriage. 

Polly pranced
nervously as thunder rumbled.  The storm was closing in fast.  Kat’s feet
touched the metal step, and she scurried to the far side of the seat.

“And Reece
shot you for that?” she asked as he shoved the basket and blanket beneath the
seat.

“Yes,” Gray
shouted and hefted himself into the conveyance. 

“Wait,” Kat
shouted, touching her hand to his arm.  “Did Reece kill Daria?”

Gray whacked
the reins against Polly’s back and turned the horse toward the road. 
“According to everyone in town, I murdered my wife.”

Kat pulled
back and stared at him.  He had said this without any change to his demeanor. 

Gray glanced
over at her.  “Now you know what all the whispers in town are about.”  He
flipped a glance to the road and then back to her.  “I have to know, Kat, now
that you are aware of my past, do you want to leave Oak Willow?”

Kat looked at
the passing landscape.  The trees darkened and the branches bent against the
harsh breeze.  Wind blasted through the leaves.  He had given her a choice. 
She hadn’t experienced this luxury in years.  She turned her head and studied
Gray.  Reece had nearly killed him, and Daria was dead.  She wasn’t sure if
Gray had answered her question regarding the person responsible, but she knew
the answer to his question. 

“As long as
you have no objection,” she said.  He looked over to her, flicking an
occasional glance at the road.  “I want to stay at Oak Willow.”

Gray smiled
brightly.

Kat beamed in
answer, matching the brilliance of his grin.  Their conversations had been
uncomfortable at times but today, she had been rewarded with something more
satisfying than a king’s ransom.  Hopefully, future smiles wouldn’t be so
difficult to win.

Chapter 13

Kat climbed
down the last of the stairs, favoring her right foot, and glanced around the
kitchen.  The house was unusually quiet this morning.  Generally, Laura busied
herself throughout the day, humming a variety of tunes.  The tempo was usually
determined by the correlating chore.  She used a fast and speedy beat for
sweeping and mopping and a slow ballad for dusting and laundry.  A soft,
singsong tone sounded outside.  Kat couldn’t decipher the job attached to the
melody.  Remaining in the upstairs bedroom since arriving, she had not
familiarized herself with the outdoor routine.  She cracked the door open and
peeked through the slit. 

Sitting next
to a small, utility table, Laura’s rocker set an easy four/four time beat.  It
seemed her selection for this task was a cross between the two genres.  Kat
still didn’t recognize the song, but that wasn’t unusual.  Laura was quite the composer. 
Each chore was completed under an original composition.  This particular aria
was most catchy.  Kat’s head bobbed in rhythm with the captivating tune.  She
pushed the door open and stepped onto the porch.  A bushel of apples sat at the
woman’s feet.  In her hand, she worked a knife around the outer edge of the
fruit.  The peel curled over her fingers and dropped onto a pile in her apron.

“What are you
working on?” Kat asked, leaning on her crutch.  She bent her knee, holding her
foot off the floor.

“I’m trying to
decide between pie and apple butter.  It will probably depend on what I find at
the bottom of the bushel.  So far, the pulp looks a little mealy.”  She
shrugged.  “It’s just as well.  The pantry is low of preserves and sauces and
we still have half a cake.  Pull up a chair.  There’s an extra knife on the
table.”  She glanced at Kat’s one-legged stance and then pointed her blade tip
toward the side of the rail.  “Make sure you pull that stool over here.  You
need to prop your foot while you work.”  

Kat slid a
chair to the opposite side of the bushel and sat down.  She hooked her crutch
over the brace of the intended prop and dragged it to her.  “My ankle feels
much better,” she said.  “The outing yesterday did wonders for it.”

“I can see that.” 
Laura grinned and her eyes sparked with a mischievous glimmer.  “Your
ankle
seems to smile more than usual.”

Kat turned her
head away and smiled into her shoulder.  She hadn’t been the one humming this
morning.  Had Gray spoken with his mother?  From the way he rarely confirmed or
denied Laura’s comments, he didn’t seem to be the type of son who shared
intimate details with his elders.  She thought back to their picnic.  Although,
she doubted he had said anything to Laura, he didn’t have any qualms about
obtaining personal information from her.  And she had shared easily.  Whatever
he asked, she answered.  How could she have been so willing to trust him? 
Surely he dabbled in the dark arts.

“Gray does
enjoy cake,” Laura said, drawing Kat’s attention back to the porch.

“Cake?” Kat
asked.

“Yes.  If he
was still home, there would only be crumbs left on the plate.”

Kat scanned
the grounds.  The barn doors were open, but none of the animals had been turned
out.  By this time of morning, the horses had generally eaten and were
galloping around the corrals for exercise.  She glanced at Laura.  The woman
seemed unconcerned about her son’s absence.  “Gray is gone?” she asked.

“Um-hmm,”
Laura answered.  “He left early this morning.  It was barely light enough to
see.  It’s a good thing Stonewall knows the way.  I suppose that horse could
find his way to Crest Ridge even in the dead of night with no moon.  God knows
he’s traveled the road well enough.”

“Crest Ridge?”
Kat asked.  “Gray went to Crest Ridge?”

“It’s nothing
to be concerned with.  He makes the trip at least once a week, sometimes more
frequently.”  She waved an unconcerned hand through the air. 

Kat laid a
kitchen towel across her lap and palmed an apple.  Gray hadn’t mentioned the
details concerning Daria’s death, but from their conversation yesterday, she
assumed he had been a widower for several years.  Arrangements following his
wife’s demise shouldn’t require continuous visits to her last residence.

Laura patted
Kat’s knee.  “Don’t you fret.  He’ll be back late tomorrow or the following day
at the latest.”

“Wasn’t Daria
in Crest Ridge?”

Laura’s knife
slipped through the peel, severing her tantamount hold on the fruit.  The
liberated apple hurtled from her grip into a flat arc and thumped to the floor. 
White and fleshy, the ball rolled to the edge of the porch and disappeared over
the wide slats.  Gritty pulp would make a nice meal for an opossum. 

Kat visually
traced the pitted line from the wood to Laura’s apron.  The woman had wielded
her utensil all morning with expert artistry.  The long, continuous coils in
her lap could attest to her skill, but her hands had faltered at the mention of
Gray’s destination. 

Laura rested
her wrists in her lap.  The knife handle drooped in her fingertips.  “Gray told
you about Daria and Crest Ridge?” she asked, her voice soft.

Kat turned in
her chair, curious about Laura’s reaction.  Had she entered into a labyrinth of
family secrets?  “He told me about her yesterday.”

“I see.” 
Laura’s lips jutted forward and she nodded her head as though she mentally
broke the information into small, understandable bits.  Once comprehensible,
she appeared to accept the facts one notion at a time. 

Kat dropped
her attention to the apple in her hand.  It would be better to concentrate on
her task than on Laura’s creased brow.  A small leaf clung to the stem.  She
rotated the red ball and inspected the skin for blemishes.  Under the backside
of the green sprig, a black dot caught her attention.  She brushed her thumb
across the flaw and abandoned her interest in Laura’s reaction to yesterday’s
conversation.  Pricking the outer edge of the worm hole, she trenched the area
surrounding the flaw and sank her blade beneath the rotted bruise, leveraging
it free. 

“What else did
Gray tell you?” Laura asked.  She stared off into the distance as though she
tried to summon Gray’s presence to appear from the tree line.

“He told me
that the entire town believes he killed Daria.”

“He told you
that, did he?”  When her clairvoyant abilities failed to produce anything but a
soothing breeze, Laura stabbed a peeled apple, whacked off a bare chunk, and
popped it in her mouth.  She shrugged.  “I doubt there’s any harm in your
knowing.  It’s not likely he could keep you from discovering the lie on your own.”  

“If you don’t
mind my asking,” Kat said, “and since I’m no threat to anyone, why would an
entire town think that Gray murdered his wife?  From what I’ve noticed of him
this past week. . . ”  Kat paused and looked at Laura. 

Dark blonde
tendrils fell away from the loose bun tied on the back of Laura’s head.  She turned
to face Kat, and her hazel eyes widened under raised brows.  “You’ve formed an
opinion about the situation, have you?”

Kat sliced off
a chunk of apple and held it to her mouth.  “It’s hard not to.”

Laura pursed
her lips and nodded her head.  “So tell me, Miss Bailey.  Do you think my boy
could murder a woman he loved beyond life?”

Kat flicked a
glance down at the woman’s knife.  Light flashed and dimmed as she worked her
wrist back and forth.  She was quite skilled with separating flesh and peel. 
There was no doubt her skills transcended fruit.  Since the blade lay limp on
her thigh, Kat breathed deep and prepared her answer. 

“With all due
respect, I believe your son is very capable of ending a life and yes, I do
believe he could end the life of someone he loved.  But it would destroy him to
do it.”  A mental image of Gray standing next to Daria’s bedside formed in
Kat’s mind.  His shoulders were slumped like that of an old man and his face
looked just as haggard.  He lifted her hand, kissed it softly, and held it to
his heart.  Kat closed her eyes and forced the image to fade.  “If Gray saw
that a loved one’s pain was without end,” she said.  “I believe he would do
anything, even sacrifice his own peace of mind, to stop their misery.”

Blood drained
from Laura’s face and her hands trembled.  She gathered the ends of her apron,
held the bowl of fruit to her hip, and stood to her feet.  “We have enough
apples for dinner.”  Her voice squeaked as she spoke.  Sidestepping Kat’s
bandaged foot, she stomped into the kitchen.  The door slammed shut behind her.

A solid oak
plank slammed against the jamb, and Kat jumped.  If there had been a glass
inlay, she was certain it would have shattered.  Unsure if she should remain
outside and allow Laura a few minutes alone with her anger, or if she should
enter the house to check on her, she leaned to the side of her chair and
listened.  The silence grew chilling.  Had she spoken too closely to the
truth? 

Kat hooked a
strand of hair behind her ear and glanced over her shoulder to the basket.  Red
apples barely rose to the lip of the bin.  She had only meant for her comments
to insinuate the depth of Gray’s character, not upset Laura.  No longer waiting
for a clue from within the house, she reached for her crutch, pushed herself to
her feet, and followed Laura.  Elbowing the door open, she limped inside and
walked to the side of the room.

Laura stood at
the table, the bowl of apples in front of her.  Her face was drawn and ashen
colored, and she clung to the top slat of the chair with a white knuckled
grip.  Her eyes were closed and her body swayed as though she might faint. 

“You are right
in your assessment,” Laura said, seeming to sense Kat’s presence. 

Kat cursed
herself for disturbing her, but it was hard to maneuver quietly when holding a
crutch to her side. 

“But you’re
dead wrong in your conclusion,” Laura continued.  “My son is a compassionate
man who loved his wife deeply.  It killed him to see what happened to Daria.” 
She pulled the chair away from the table and sat down.  She motioned for Kat to
do the same.  “And while I do believe he would have done anything to end
Daria’s suffering, he did not murder his wife.”

Kat lifted her
chair as quietly as possible and pulled it backward.  She sat down, struggling
to form any words to bring comfort to this woman.  None came.  Maybe her
silence would work as well.

Laura pushed
the bowl to the center of the table and folded her hands in front of her. 
“Reece Mullins is solely responsible for Daria’s demise.”

Kat swallowed
and took a figurative step.  “Was any of this reported to the authorities?” she
asked.

One side of
Laura’s face twisted, and Kat wished she could retract every word of her
question.  “You don’t understand this town,” Laura said.   “Reece’s family has
been a part of this community for generations.  They are responsible for its
growth and existence.  No one questions a word that is uttered from a Mullins’
lips.”  Her head dropped forward, and she stared at her clasped hands. 

“Gray found
Daria in the woods.  She was beaten so badly, she barely looked human.”  Tears
dripped down her cheeks, and she shook her head as though trying to undo the
outcome of the memory.  “He was out of his mind.  He refused to let anyone near
her.” 

Laura raised
her head and looked across the table.  Kat gasped and pulled back into the
chair.  The sockets around Laura’s eyes deepened and her pupils dilated.  A
cold chill descended over the normally cheerful room, and evil slithered around
Kat.  Her skin pearled like a plucked goose, and she shivered to shed the
unwelcome casing. 

“He wanted to
kill Reece so badly for what he had done,” Laura continued.  “We were certain
she would lose the baby she carried.”

Kat widened
her eyes nearly as large as Laura’s fist.  She didn’t realize Daria had been
expecting a child.  “Why didn’t she tell the magistrate what happened?” Kat
asked again, trying to make sense of the events that led to Daria’s death. 
“Doesn’t this town have laws against certain things, even if the person is a
Mullins?”

“By the time
Gray allowed anyone into their bedroom, Daria couldn’t convince anyone of
anything.  She blamed herself for the miscarriage and was convinced she lost
the child because of her actions.” 

A pink warmth
returned to Laura’s face, and Kat reached for the pitcher.  She poured a glass
of water and handed the tumbler across the table.  “Wasn’t there any chance of
a recovery?” she asked.

“Daria did
improve, but her mind was never the same.”  Laura accepted the drink and sipped
the liquid.  Placing the container on the table, she fitted her hands around
the base.  “By the time her wounds had healed, the gossip was rampant.  Wild
stories circulated throughout town faster than a smallpox outbreak.” 

“Daria went
insane?” Kat asked.

Laura stared
straight ahead as though envisioning happier times.  “She had been such a
loving and giving person.  The woman we knew was lost to us forever.” 

Lost to
them forever? 
Kat thought back to all of the phrasing Laura had used. 
Demise,
lost to us, never the same, murder opposed to kill.
 Had she come to the
wrong conclusions?

Kat cocked her
head to the side and asked, “Is Daria still alive, or did Reece kill her?”

Laura pursed
her lips, reminding Kat of a disappointed child.  “I said Reece is responsible
for what happened to Daria.  And he is.”  She spoke as though she would not
relent on her decision.  “After it became evident to us that Daria would only
recovery physically, Gray refused to allow anyone to see her in that
condition.” 

“So he moved
her to Crest Ridge?”

Laura nodded. 
“He didn’t abandon her,” she was quick to add.  “There is a very good home
there, and Gray provided for all of her needs.”