Somewhere Between Luck and Trust (37 page)

Even better, with kids still trickling out of the school and into the parking lot, Dawson was hugging her back.

Chapter Forty-Three

JUST AS SHE
was about to head down the mountain to fetch Dawson from BCAS, Cristy got a phone call from him. She hoped he and his mother would find a way to move on together. At least they were making a start.

Yesterday, since she already had an able-bodied male spending the night, she’d managed to reach Sully in time to keep him from making the trip to the Goddess House. Now when he phoned an hour later to see if his presence would be needed that night, she asked him to come.

“I don’t know how much longer I’ll need you here,” she said as he was about to hang up.

“You’re moving?”

“I’ll tell you the story in person. And don’t eat first. I’ll make dinner. Let’s plan for seven.”

While the garden wasn’t yet producing much, she had a refrigerator filled with greens from the one at the Mountain Mist, and once she hung up, she washed them and set them to cook, Southern-style, on the back of the stove with a ham hock that had been marked down at the grocery store in Asheville that morning. She had been thrilled she could tell it was marked down, and she had probably put the package in her cart as much because it was a reading victory as a complement to the greens.

She had also splurged on chicken thighs, apparently on sale, since the price was affordable. Now she readied them for frying, shaking each piece in a bag with a mixture of flour, salt and pepper, and setting them in a cast-iron skillet once the vegetable oil was hot enough. When the chicken was nicely browned on both sides, she wrapped and stored it in the refrigerator to finish in the oven just before Sully arrived. Finally, she baked cornbread the way she had learned from Betsy, who had made it her mission to teach Cristy a few basic recipes since she couldn’t use a cookbook.

Sully arrived exactly on time. She had the small table on the porch set for two because the day had been warm, and the oven had heated the kitchen even more.

“This looks nice,” he said, after a raucous greeting by Beau, who always got so excited that he forgot his manners and had to be wrestled to the ground.

“You hungry?”

“Starved. You look nice, too, not just the table.”

She was wearing a yellow blouse she had bought at the thrift store and shorts from her past that actually fit again, since she had gained back some of the weight lost after Michael’s birth. Her hair had been trimmed last week, and the girl who had done it had actually known about curly hair and given her some samples of conditioner. She felt pretty, and she was glad he had noticed.

“I would let you help me bring the food out, only Beau can’t be trusted if we leave anything on the table in between, so you stay here, and I’ll take care of it.”

“I don’t mind sitting here, I’ll tell you that.”

“Hard day?”

“I’m just glad it’s over.”

She dished up plates for both of them and brought them out for Sully to guard while she went back in for glasses of sweet tea filled to the rim with ice cubes.

“There’s plenty more,” she promised after she’d seated herself. “And it’s in the oven where Beau can’t get it.”

“This is a feast.” He held up his glass for a toast, and they performed a ceremonial clink.

“I like cooking if there’s somebody who likes eating.”

“No problem there.”

They worked on the meal in silence until both of them had eaten enough to feel the difference.

“So what happened to Dawson?” Sully asked after a long sip of tea.

She didn’t go into details, because they weren’t hers to tell. “It’s kind of a long story. He fell out with his folks, but his mother took his side and moved out of their home. She and Dawson are going to live in a house in town without his father.”

“Must have been a pretty big fight.”

“I like that his mom stood up for him. I know it had to be awful. She’s leaving her whole life behind. But it was the right thing to do, so she did it.”

“I don’t see a lot of that in my line of work. I tend to see people doing the wrong thing because it’s easier, or because they’re hoping to get something big in return.”

“Like Jackson.” She left that ringing in the air, and got up to go back into the kitchen for the pitcher of tea.

“You don’t have to wait on me,” he said when she returned, but he held out his glass for a refill anyway.

Sully had changed out of his uniform, and he looked cool and comfortable in shorts and a dark T-shirt. She realized how much she liked sitting across from him this way. She didn’t have to impress him. She didn’t have to say anything she didn’t want to. They talked when they felt like talking and lapsed into comfortable silence when they didn’t.

She set the pitcher on the table and went back to her meal.

“Jackson would be a good example,” he said, as if there hadn’t been an interruption. “You know, of somebody doing the wrong thing because he wants a big payoff.”

“What do people like Jackson want? I mean he grew up with money and lots of it. His family had as much or more power than anybody else in Berle. He’s good-looking, athletic, smart enough. So what else does he need?”

“A conscience. A heart?”

She made a face. “He’s perfectly happy without them.”

“Well, Jackson may not always have everything he takes for granted. I told you Pinckney hasn’t been well? Turns out, he’s having worse problems than I knew.”

“What kind of problems?”

“I’m afraid to get your hopes too high.”

“I’m not hoping for death or dismemberment. That would be beneath me.”

He grinned, and she bathed in the warmth, something stirring inside her. She quelled whatever it was—the word
desire
came to mind, but she pushed that even more firmly away.

“His health seems to be going downhill fast. I hear talk of bypass surgery, then more talk that he can’t survive it. He spent the past two weeks at some clinic up north, but he came home looking even worse than when he left.”

Cristy wondered what life would be like for Jackson if his father died. She knew what Sully
hoped
it would be like.

“Sully, are you any closer to arresting Jackson for car theft? Have you spoken to the sheriff?”

“I’m not at that point yet.”

She felt hope evaporate. She had been afraid that was exactly what he would say.

“It’s not just Pinckney’s health that’s suffering,” Sully went on. “I hear the Ford finances have taken a big hit. All that land he bought to resell? He keeps refinancing the mortgages, and he’s priced some of those acres at rock bottom, but nobody’s buying an inch. There’s a rumor he’s got the Buy-Now up for sale, and last I heard the county was about to give a new road contract to somebody over in Burnsville and bypass Pinckney entirely.”

“So the mighty have fallen.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Jackson’s causing some of his daddy’s woes. I know he gambles. I know he doesn’t always win.”

“He flew out to Las Vegas a couple of times while we were together.”

“He never took you?”

Cristy was ashamed to admit she had believed Jackson’s explanation that those were business trips, and Las Vegas wasn’t her kind of place. Instead he had promised Hawaii in their future, even hinted it might be a good place to honeymoon.

“He never even introduced me to his family,” she said. “Of course they knew who I was, but Jackson never took me to their house or treated me like a girlfriend in public. Wouldn’t you think I’d have spoken up and asked why? But, of course, I was so thrilled he’d noticed me, that was plenty good enough.”

Sully reached over and squeezed her arm. “You’re young, and he’s good at what he does. Don’t beat yourself up.”

“No, he did that.” She watched his eyes narrow. “Not physically. He never laid a hand on me. I wonder what I would have done if he had tried?”

“Sent him packing.”

She hoped he was right. Jackson had always walked a narrow line with her, but part of what made the man evil was his ability to read people and figure out just how far he could go with each one.

She put her fork down and leaned forward. “Do you think Pinckney would back away from Jackson if he got into serious trouble? Or do you think he would use all his dwindling resources to get him off?”

“Get him off. That’s what he
will
try to do. But Pinckney’s not the man he was. I don’t think his support will be a long-term proposition. I don’t think he’ll live that long, and I don’t think his money will last much past his funeral.”

She couldn’t rejoice, but the news did bolster her resolve. “Are you finished? Do you want more?”

He put his napkin on the table and pushed his chair back. “No, that was really great, but I can’t eat another bite. I’ll help you carry—”

She held up her hand. “No, I want you to listen to something, and I want to say it now, while I still have the courage. It’s important. It might be the most important thing I’ll ever say to you.”

He cocked his head and frowned. “Go ahead.”

She searched for the best way to start, then she turned up her hands. “I’ll just say it quick. I think I can prove that Kenny Glover didn’t murder Duke Howard. At the very least I have a comp—” She searched for the right word and gave up. “An important piece of evidence, Sully.” Then the word came to her. “Compelling evidence. I’m telling you this because I need you to set up a meeting with Sheriff Carter. I think if the suggestion comes from you, he’ll take me seriously.”

He looked confused. They had been talking about Jackson, and suddenly she was talking about Kenny. “Are you going to fill me in?”

“I talked to somebody about this today, one of the goddesses. I told her something, and we talked about what I should do. The thing is, this could...” She swallowed, because suddenly, tears were close to the surface. She waited a moment. “The thing is... What I want to show the sheriff might incriminate me instead. I didn’t kill Duke. I promise you that. I had no reason to. I never had a fight with him, never even had a real conversation. He was Jackson’s friend, and Kenny’s friend, and so I saw him sometimes, but—”

“Cristy, Kenny’s awaiting trial in the county jail,
our
jail. Sheriff Carter is sure he got the right man.”

“Well, he didn’t. But I know once the trial begins, it’s going to be harder to change his mind, so I have to do this now. The sheriff will have his reputation to protect, and he won’t be willing to listen to anything that doesn’t shore up his case. And it’s not fair to Kenny to keep him in jail another minute. Even if it means...” She looked away. “Even if it means they put
me
in jail again for something I didn’t do.”

He began to drum his fingers on the table. “Why would you incriminate yourself for something you didn’t do? This is making no sense.”

“It will when you hear the whole story. But I want to tell you and the sheriff at the same time. I don’t want you trying to talk me out of this or putting a spin on things. I have something to say, something to show everybody, but I only want to put myself through this once.”

He stared at her awhile, then he stopped drumming. “What about your son?”

She didn’t try to misunderstand. She knew exactly what he meant. He wasn’t asking what she intended to do about Michael, he was asking her how whatever she planned to reveal would affect him. Going back to Berle to see the sheriff would be a red flag for Jackson.

“Michael is the reason I’m doing it.” She lifted her chin. The tears were gone. “I never, ever, want my son to think I took the easy way out because it was safer. How could I ever admit to him I let a good man go to prison, maybe even be put to death, because I was scared? I want my son to be brave and strong. And that’s why I have to be brave and strong, as well.”

“And Jackson?”

“I’m praying that what I tell Sheriff Carter will take care of that threat.”

She could tell he was aching to follow up, but to his credit, he didn’t.

“Have you talked to Clara?” he asked instead.

“I’m going to call her tonight.”

“Then I want you to wait until she gets here, because she’ll want to fly in. You know she will.”

“She can come with me to speak to the sheriff, but I’m not changing my mind.”

His tone softened. “I don’t want you to go back to prison.”

“Me, either.”

“You’re sure about this?”

She bit her lip, then she stood. “As sure as I am that it’s time to do the dishes. You’ll talk to the sheriff?”

“He’s not going to like it.”

She knew Sheriff Carter would be angry and probably bullheaded, and that wasn’t a good thing for her. In the end, though, she had no control over what the sheriff felt. Reverend Ana had been right. She could only control what she herself thought and did.

And right now, despite a pervasive fear that was only going to balloon until she drove across the city limits of Berle, she felt sure she was on the right path.

“I’ll wash, you dry,” she said.

“You’re already brave and strong.” Sully got to his feet. “And I just want you to know that whatever you say, I’ll be standing right beside you.”

She couldn’t let that pass. She extended her hand across the table. He took it; then, with uncharacteristic emotion, he brought it to his cheek, and then to his lips, and kissed it.

She wasn’t sure she had ever experienced anything that sweet or that stirring.

He dropped her hand. “I just have one thing more to say.”

She waited.

“I’ll wash,
you
dry. I don’t know where anything goes.”

She smiled. “It’s a deal, Deputy.”

Chapter Forty-Four

ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON
Georgia and Lucas picked up Clara Haviland at the Asheville airport and started toward Berle. Cristy was driving directly from the Goddess House with Jim Sullivan, who had made the arrangements to meet with Sheriff Carter today.

Like her sister Clara had curly blond hair, cut shorter than Cristy’s, but she had little of Cristy’s natural beauty. Instead she had poise and a confident smile that Georgia had warmed to immediately. She wore clothes that were a size too large, but Georgia guessed the young woman was dieting and waiting to see where she ended up before committing herself to anything new.

She guessed Cristy’s problems with the law had been difficult for Clara, and Georgia didn’t push her to talk about it. When they talked at all, they chatted about the scenery or the weather. Clara told them a little about her studies and about a trip she had recently made to Honduras. From the way she brightened as she described the village where she had helped set up a health clinic, her heart was back on the Mosquito Coast, and while she might genuinely offer Cristy and her baby a home with her, Clara would be happiest doing what she really loved in Central America.

“Cristy has made good friends,” Clara said, surprising Georgia with the first personal comment about her sister. “So many people care about her.”

“She’s very easy to care about,” Lucas said. “I’m sure you know that.”

“Some of the people who should have, didn’t.”

Georgia turned. “You did, and Cristy knows it.”

“We had each other,” Clara said. “Still do.”

Georgia hoped their show of support was going to help today. Cristy had refused to go into detail. She had just warned Georgia and Lucas that whatever she was planning might have negative consequences, but she hoped her actions might result in an innocent man going free after months in jail.

Analiese, who seemed to know the whole story, had assured Georgia that Cristy was doing the right thing. A skeptical Lucas had offered to find her a lawyer to discuss options, but Cristy had refused. She was determined to go ahead her own way, then worry about a lawyer, if one was needed.

They finally left the interstate and drove along winding two-lane roads, passing houses that looked as if they’d sprung up in patches, like mushrooms after rain. Georgia noted brick ranches with mobile homes parked only yards away. Frame houses with corn waving in surrounding fields. The rusted hulks of abandoned cars, and everywhere the lavender-gray shadows of mountains.

“I haven’t been back in a while,” Clara said as they neared their destination. “I came to help my parents pack up the parsonage, and I thought that would be the last time I saw Berle. I was sure Cristy would never come back after everything that happened. I never factored in an afternoon like this one.”

“Do your parents know what’s going on today?” Lucas asked, although Georgia wished he hadn’t. Lucas was a realist, but she thought he filtered too much through his own happy upbringing. In his world parents stood by their children, no matter how badly they screwed up.

Clara’s tone could best be described as resigned, as if even a young woman dedicating her life to mission work knew that some people were incapable of change. “There was no point in telling them.”

“They’re that unhappy with her?” Lucas asked.

“They hold her personally responsible for my father being asked to leave Berle Memorial. In their eyes, that’s an insurmountable sin.”

Georgia couldn’t think of anything to say.

“They should never have had children,” Clara said. “And now that they’re living in Ohio, they can pretend they don’t.”

“Not even you?”

“I’ll visit when Cristy’s invited, too.”

Georgia thought that this young woman had, for all practical purposes, lost her parents. She hoped she wasn’t about to lose her sister, too.

They passed the rest of the trip in silence. Berle wasn’t particularly scenic. The road leading into town was two lanes, both sides dotted by ordinary businesses like service stations, a drugstore and one ramshackle building that promised everything from plumbing supplies to fresh-baked apple pies.

The center of town was prettier and busy, brick-and-stone buildings housing restaurants and gift shops plus a historic hotel. A block away the spire of a church dwarfed everything else, and Clara told them it belonged to Berle Memorial.

She directed them to a side road leading to Betsy’s Bouquets. The shop was outside the city limits in a rural area populated by houses and a business or two, with stretches of woods in between. They parked in front of an abandoned one-story shop with a For Sale sign on a post in the yard. Clara commented that Betsy’s daughter seemed to be keeping up with things, because the grass had been freshly cut and flowers had been planted in two small beds that bordered the entrance.

Georgia was more interested in the tiny house that was set behind the shop. The word
cottage
was too grand, although probably the one that best suited. The house was painted a buttery-yellow, with dark green trim around the windows and on the concrete steps. Someone, Cristy most likely, had painted an arbor blooming with flowers of all descriptions and hues around the front door. An old frame garage sat to one side and well behind the house.

“Cristy is so artistic,” Clara said. “She painted that arbor in one weekend. The house wasn’t much more than a shack when she moved into it.”

Georgia thought of the garden at the Goddess House, and the floral arrangements that adorned every room. Cristy had added her own unique touches there, too. She said a silent prayer that nothing that happened today would destroy all the progress the talented young woman had made toward a better life.

They got out and waited. Georgia was surprised that they had arrived before Cristy, as well as a few surprise visitors who were on their way. But it was entirely possible Cristy had gone to the sheriff’s office to make a statement first or answer questions. All they could do was wait. Clara wandered toward the house to try the back door to see if any of Cristy’s belongings had been left inside.

Lucas put his arm around Georgia’s shoulders. “You doing all right?” he asked.

“I’ll be doing better when the sheriff thanks her for her information and dismisses us.”

“I called an old friend, a criminal attorney in Charlotte. I told him we might need him, so he’s just waiting for another call.”

She was grateful. “You’re as worried as I am.”

“I wish we could have had children together, but I suspect there are going to be a succession of Cristys and Dawsons in our life.”

She liked the way he said that. They’d yet to have a real discussion about their future. She thought Lucas was giving her time to absorb her personal history, but their mutual expectations were clear. They were going to spend the future together.

“Sometime we’ll have to talk about that life,” she said.

“Want to spend it in a new house where the old A-frame is standing now?”

She looked at him. “What?”

“I just found out the house and property are mine if I want them. My friend’s staying in Europe for the foreseeable future, so he called early this morning to say he’ll sell to me if I want it.”

“Lucas, you never even mentioned the possibility.”

“He’s been hinting for a while. I wanted it to be a surprise. Will you help me design our house?”

“
Our
house?”

He warmed her with a smile. “I’m easing into this slowly, Georgia. I don’t want to scare you away. But yes, our house. I hope you’ll live in it with me. Maybe get married someday in our front yard?”

She answered his smile with her own. “We do have a lot to talk about.”

“We’ll get Cristy’s input on the design. She’s the one with an artist’s eye.”

“You think she’s going to make it through this?”

“We’ll make sure she does.”

* * *

Until she was arrested for something she didn’t do, Cristy had never known all the faces of fear. As a child she had been afraid to go to school because she knew she was going to fail. At home she had been afraid of her father’s self-righteous anger and her mother’s cold disdain. Once as a teenager she had been caught in a sudden thunderstorm, and she had been certain that lightning would strike her before she could find shelter. But none of those things had compared to the moment when a cell door closed behind her, and she realized that her life had spun out of control and nothing she could do would change the outcome.

Today she was frightened, too. She knew that by stepping forward to help Kenny Glover, she might well be putting herself in a jail cell instead. Again, as before, she was innocent, but this time the choice to step forward was hers. She understood the risks.

“I hope you’re going to make this worth my while,” Sheriff Carter told her as he stopped his county car in the driveway of Betsy’s Bouquets and opened his door.

Sully was in the passenger seat beside him, and before the sheriff could let Cristy out, Sully came around and did it instead. He extended his hand to her, and once she was out, he held it a moment longer than helping called for.

“You okay?” he asked.

She straightened the hem of her yellow blouse. “As okay as I’m going to be.”

“We’ve got company.”

With relief she saw he was right. Lucas’s SUV was parked closer to the house, and now she glimpsed her sister with Georgia and Lucas. She had expected them to be here, because Georgia had offered to pick up Clara and bring her from the airport, but seeing them meant everything.

“Not just them,” Sully said.

She heard the crunching of gravel behind her and turned. She recognized Analiese’s new sedan pulling into the driveway. Tears sprang to her eyes. Reverend Ana had come to support her.

“This is a police matter,” the sheriff said. “Who told these people to show up here?”

He was interrupted by another car pulling into the driveway behind Analiese, a familiar yellow VW. Cristy watched as people began to spill out. She saw Harmony getting out of the backseat of Analiese’s car, then leaning in to get Lottie. Samantha wasn’t alone in the VW, either. Taylor was with her, although not Maddie or Edna. All the goddesses had come to support her. Every single one of them.

She heard her sister’s voice behind her. “I think half of North Carolina came to see this through.”

Cristy spun around, and suddenly she was in Clara’s arms. Clara stroked her hair. “And the Berle Memorial deacons told me to pass on a message. They just want you to know they’re standing beside you if you need them.” She seemed to be aiming her words in Sheriff Carter’s direction.

Cristy didn’t understand. “But they fired Daddy because of me.”

Clara took her sister’s hand. “They didn’t fire him because of what
you
did. They asked him to leave because they didn’t want a minister who wouldn’t show his own daughter mercy or compassion. I thought you understood that.”

Cristy couldn’t remember what she had heard or when, but she did know the word had gotten to her that her parents blamed her for everything that had happened. She guessed she had assumed the rest.

Sheriff Carter was watching. He was in full uniform, khaki shirt complete with star-shaped badge and narrow, dark tie, a tall man in his fifties who still looked as if he could easily chase down a purse snatcher or get to the finish line first in any car chase.

“I don’t have all day, Miss Haviland. If you would like to show me whatever evidence you think you have, I have a lot to do. And I would prefer your friends stay behind.”

“I don’t think our being here is against the law, is it?” Analiese had reached them now, and her comment was seconded by Samantha, who moved up beside her.

“This isn’t a crime scene, is it?” Taylor asked.

Clara drew herself up to her full five-foot-four. “I called the owner of this property, and she said she might see us here, so that sounds like permission to me.”

The sheriff looked like he could easily dispute the point, but he gave a curt nod. “Just stay back or I’m going to call for backup.”

Cristy was fairly sure that was an empty threat. If the deacons of Berle Memorial were standing beside her, as Clara had proclaimed loudly enough to wake the dead, they were influential citizens, and the sheriff’s job was an elected position.

“Let’s get this finished.” Cristy started toward her little house and felt, more than saw, her friends behind her. She nodded to Lucas and Georgia, who were joining the others. “We need to go around back.”

She led the way, walking on the path she had carefully mulched when she lived in this house, now overgrown with weeds. The yard was exactly as she remembered it, although a little wilder, of course, since no one had lived here after she left. The woods that bordered the tiny backyard seemed to be advancing, and she wondered how long any yard would prevail unless somebody moved in and tamed them again. The shell of an old smokehouse was now walled in by saplings.

“I’m going to explain what happened,” she said, after everybody who had followed stopped well behind her. Everybody except the sheriff, that is, and Sully. Sully had quietly taken a place beside her, his only way to offer support now. In the background she could hear Lottie gurgling happily and, somewhere in the woods beyond, the trilling of a bird.

“You do that, and fast, okay?” Sheriff Carter asked. “This is beginning to look like some sort of stunt, and I’m going to put a stop to it if it is.”

Cristy couldn’t help herself. She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I’d be careful what you say,” she said for the sheriff’s ears only. “Lucas Ramsey is a columnist for the Atlanta newspaper and a well-known author.”

“You think you’re funny?”

She knew she had to speak loudly now so everyone could hear. Out of the corner of her eye she saw another woman join the crowd and recognized Betsy’s daughter, but it was too late to greet her. The sheriff’s patience was running thin.

She gathered herself and began. “During the time I lived in this house I had a little trouble with some of the local boys. Nothing terrible, but if you check your records, Sheriff, you’ll see I made a couple of requests that somebody drive by in the evenings, mostly on Saturday nights. Those woods back there were a great place to build campfires, get drunk or shoot off whatever they happened to be shooting. A couple of times stray bullets went winging by my house and scared me to death.”