The Witch of Belladonna Bay (34 page)

“Mama?” they asked in unison.

Naomi turned away from me, holding out her arms. And those children—her babies, me and Paddy from another time and place—came running, open-armed and openhearted in the way only children can run.

They closed their eyes, more than content in her embrace. Not a trace of disappointment.

A million moments came back to me.

Paddy on his way to a birthday party with Minerva and not his own mama: “But why can't you be like other mothers?”

Me shouting from my bedroom about books she said she'd read only didn't have the energy once bedtime came around: “I hate you! I hate when you promise to do something and don't do it!”

But she was right. These children she held, they were still little. Too little to care about what she could and couldn't do. All they wanted was her love.

Naomi loved us.

The three of them were so peaceful. Breathing together, fluttering hands and eyelashes. I wished I could hold on to her, too, but you don't get do-overs after death. You only get to remember things differently. And that's what she'd needed. For me to see how much she loved me. For me to quit questioning that. All I could hear were the three of them murmuring to one another:
Where were you? Right here! I looked and I looked, you are good hiders! We love you, Mama. You are the best, prettiest mama. I love you the universe. I love you bigger than that. I'm so lucky to be your mama. Shh. Thirty-eight freckles, thirty-two …

Completely enfolded now, it was getting harder to tell where she left off and the children began.

I thought she'd kiss them and then blow into her hands to make the rose glow she's always dreamed of … but that isn't what happened.

Instead, she burst into starlight.

Thousands of pieces of Naomi taking flight.

My mother was free. She'd been the light in the sky.

Thank you, darling
was a whisper in the air as I stumbled, aching, back across the bay.

 

29

Wyn (Carter Tells a Tale)

 

After I got back, Jackson picked me up like a baby and put me in a wide chair on the porch. Everything went fuzzy for a while.

I heard muffled voices and felt Byrd's soft kisses. “Time to wake up,” she whispered. And I did. Just in time to see Jackson coming out onto the porch with Carter and Min and a whole bunch of food.

“We made your favorite, Wyn. Shrimp and grits. Byrd stirred the grits for the whole time they cooked,” said Minerva.

“You gotta keep on 'em and give them love, else they won't love you back in your mouth,” said Byrd.

The shrimp were pink and coated in golden butter. Ben handed me a bowl, He was quiet, but I wasn't mad at him anymore. Just glad he was there. He'd given me a gift. I knew that now. He did, too.

“All right,” I said. “What the hell happened when I was gone? Everyone's so calm and peaceful. We have an innocent man in prison. Did we forget?”

That's when it all came unraveling like the vacuum cleaner cord.

“Well,” said Jackson, “a funny thing happened when we were making this here meal. And you were making peace with your mama.” His eyes flashed for a second, as if he wanted to say,
Did she ask for me?
He cleared his throat and went on, “Seems Carter's been holding out on us.”

“It's a confession of sorts,” said Carter.

“Tell me, Carter. Tell me how you can help fix all this,” I said.

Stick put his bowl on the railing and stood up slow, smoothing out his sheriff uniform pants.

“Well, Carter, it seems Wyn is about to make you do this all over again, so why don't we go down to the station and make it official. If you're ready, that is,” said Stick.

Carter nodded. Hands in his pockets now. He'd come clean, this strange, quiet, loyal gentleman. Finally.

“I'm coming,” I said.

“I didn't think I would be able to stop you. But only you, okay? The rest of you,” he said—waving his finger around at Ben, Jackson, Minerva, looking sadder than I'd ever seen her, and Byrd—“you crazy lot better steer clear until I get this sorted out.”

“Well, I'm taking Min to Sam's,” said Jackson. “We need to be at a bar after all this, I think. Ben, you want to come?”

“Sure, that'd be great,” he said.

“Byrd, you can come with me if you want. I don't care what this fool says. I don't want to leave you alone,” I said.

She shook her head, but she never turned around. She stood there, looking over at that damned island and pushing her grits back and forth in her bowl.

“Leave her,” said Minerva. “She'll be fine. She needs—”

“You people, I swear!” I shouted. “She needs, she needs … dear God. What about what's right and what's wrong? It's damn wrong to leave her here alone with that boy out there.”

“Fine, stay here then,” said Minerva, who knew I wasn't going to let Stick interview Carter without me present.

“Nope. I'm going,” I said. We'd never be the family that lived by right and wrong. Our moral compass was shot to shit. But at least I knew, finally, that there was love.

I held my arms out to my niece, who came without hesitation.

“Byrd, listen to me, if you're scared or you feel alone, you come right on down to Stick's office, you hear? And don't even think about crossing that creek. I mean it, you haven't seen me mad yet.”

“It's okay, Aunt Wyn. I kinda want a little solitude anyhow. And if you think I'm gonna venture on over there, you're being all
obtuse
again.”

That girl. I swear.

*   *   *

The whole story unwound exactly where it should have the night it all happened—in the sheriff's office.

“Sit down, Carter. Try and make yourself comfortable. You want anything, a coffee or something?” asked Stick.

“No, sir. I'm fine. I just wanna get this whole thing over with.”

“I'm gonna record you, so Wyn here needs to be quiet, and you need to refrain from speaking to her as well.” He turned to me. “Not a word, you hear? This recording has to hold up with the district judges. Not even a deep breath, okay?”

I nodded my head and pulled my fingers across my lips.

He cleared his throat and pushed Record: “Interview with Carter Simpson: Magnolia Creek. Sheriff Bill Croft.

“Carter, would you like me to ask you questions? Or would you prefer to simply tell the story of the night Charlotte Masters was killed?”

“Well, Sti—I mean, Sheriff, I suppose I'd like to tell my story. How about you just interrupt me when there's somethin' that needs clarification?”

“Sounds good, Carter. Start whenever you're ready.”

“Well, I suppose we need to start at the beginning. Paddy 'n' Charlotte. What a pair. Both of them getting more and more tired of life as it wore on, you know? And each tryin' their absolute best to raise their children up right. And Byrd and Jamie? They weren't a pair who took kindly to bein' raised. So it was only a matter of time before Charlotte and Paddy just sort of fell in with one another. Only, they didn't get no comfort. They got more, I don't know, full of sorrow. That's what it was. And they drank too much together. Other drugs, too.

“I tried to warn Paddy. Tried to warn him many times that Charlotte and him were a toxic sort of combination. And Jamie? He hated Paddy trying to get ‘fatherly' with him. I suppose I had a little to do with that, too. I urged him to try. I mean, everyone needs a father, don't they? But the more Paddy tried with Jamie, the more Jamie pulled away from him and Charlotte, too.

“Anyway, they'd had a big fight. And that weren't no surprise. Toward the end they were always fighting, those two. Fighting about how they felt toward one another. Fighting about the kids. Fighting about what color the sky was by the end of it.

“And the night Charlotte was killed, Paddy was on his way over there with fire in his eyes. I stopped him in the hall. Had a talk with him. Convinced him to come with me to Sam's before he went over there. Figured I could stop somethin' bad before it happened. But I was wrong about that. If I'd let Paddy go straight over, he could have stopped the whole thing.

“Those damn best-laid plans.

“So there we are, a little drunk, walkin' back up Main Street when Patrick decides he's going over to talk to Charlotte anyhow.

“‘I'm goin' with you then. You're in no shape to handle yourself right,' I told him. And he didn't mind. He just wanted to see her, I think. Try to convince her to stay with him.

“When we got there, the house was dark, all except the kitchen. And the front door was wide open.

“‘What do you thinks goin' on here?' I asked Paddy. ‘Maybe we should call Stick first?'

“‘Nah,' he said. ‘Nothin's goin on. Charlotte never locks her doors. Hell, no one does round here.'

“But I could tell. I could feel something bad had happened. And all we could see once we got inside were Lottie's feet in a pool of blood. Patrick ran in there so fast he slipped in the blood and skidded into the cabinets. He was on her and cradling her in his arms before I could stop him. I knew immediately he'd be one of the suspects, so I wanted to keep him as clean as possible. But then I realized neither one of us would ever be clean again. There she was, stabbed—damn, Stick—how many times?”

“Fourteen.”

“There was so much blood,” continued Carter. “That's when I really looked around. To see what could have possibly happened.

“Paddy and I saw the knife at the same time. He let out a wail that I thought would bring down the whole house. It was Byrd's knife. Her favorite one.

“‘Oh, God, Carter! We gotta get rid of all this! We gotta make sure she ain't held responsible,' he cried at me, covered in blood.”

Stick interrupted at this point. “Carter, why did Paddy think Byrd did it?”

“Well, see … there was this incident a few years back with her old dog. The sweet thing killed it because it bit him. And then there were all those dead animals we found. When he asked her about it, she just said she and Jamie did it. So, I guess he was scared she'd lost her mind with all those strange ways and simply killed Charlotte for hurting him like she'd killed the dog. Hell, Stick, I don't know. All I know is that once the thing was in motion, it rolled away from us like a rock down a slope.”

“Okay, go on,” said Stick.

“That's when I noticed young Jamie. He'd been pushed, it seemed, through the glass doors that went into the dining room. And there was all this glass stickin' in him where it shouldn't have been. He'd lost a lot of blood, too, and there was a small knife mark on his neck.

“‘He's still alive,' I said.

“And Paddy sat there, nodding like a fool. ‘Yessir, he is. Because she wouldn't have killed him, not if she came to her senses. Looks like whatever happened to him was an accident. Like he came in, and she just pushed him away before she knew what she was doin'.'

“‘We got to get him to the hospital, Paddy. We got to call Stick. Now.'

“‘Can't we take him somewhere and help him ourselves? He'll tell on her when he wakes up. He's just a kid. He won't know what to say to all them folks. We need to help him and figure out what to tell everyone.'”

“‘How we gonna explain it when they find him?' I asked.

“‘I can't think about that now. Just … just take him somewhere. Somewhere no one can find him. Then we'll get him well and tell him what he can and cannot say. Once he's better, he won't turn on our girl. I know he won't.'

“I don't know why I listened to him, Stick, I swear. But the whole situation was crazy. We were there, mourning Lottie. That sweet lost girl. And looking at a seriously injured child. All the while thinking our Byrd was the killer and we had to protect her. That's what families do. So Paddy told me, ‘So, you take him, okay? Take him. And take the knife, too. Do something with it. I'm gonna leave my hands all over this place,' while he's still holdin' on to Charlotte. Still cryin'. Moving his hands around in the puddle of blood on the floor. Broke my heart.

“I folded up Byrd's knife and put it in my pocket.

“So that's what I did. I picked up Jamie who was still breathing, but just barely. I had no idea how that kid would survive. But I made that choice.

“Then it hit me. The only place no one would look was over at Belladonna. So that's where I took him. There's an old shack in the center of that dammed island and I took him there, laid him down, and made a fire.”

“How'd you know there was a cottage there, Carter?” asked Stick.

Carter laughed. “I'm not from here, remember? I never believed those stories. So the first thing I wanted to do after Minerva and me got back from our honeymoon was to explore that place.

“And it ain't much of a place. But there is one small cottage sort of a ruin. But when I saw it again that night, it was livable. Looked to me like someone had been there a bunch. Kept it up, you know? I didn't know then what we all know now. I didn't know I was bringin' Jamie to the exact place he wanted to be. His own place. Guess he'd been going there for years. If'n you can have ‘years' when you're still only about eleven. Anyway, I got him settled on a cot and covered him up with a blanket that was left there. Then I ran on back over the creek to get some first aid supplies.

“But there was Byrd, in her white nightgown. Holding her arms out to me. Her eyes so big and wide and full of fear. I knew right then that she'd done it and that she didn't remember doin' it. Paddy had made me so damn sure, I couldn't even think past the idea.”

“It's called loyalty, Carter. It's okay. Just keep goin'. Why were you so sure, right then that it was her? Besides the fact that Paddy got the idea stuck in your head?” asked Stick.