Текст книги "Within Temptation"

Автор книги: Tanya Holmes

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CHAPTER TWENTY
Waking Nightmares

TRACE

____________________________

Two days later, I hung up the phone and slipped back under the covers. Cholly’s call had pulled me from a dream, one that didn't star Daddy, Nyle, or Lilith. This one had Shannon in it, naked and wet for me, but unlike all my other dreams of her, I remembered every erotic detail. Now I had actual experience to draw from. Facts like the sweet way she tasted, the sounds she made, and how a minute of sucking had turned her pink nipples blood red. The memory alone made my cock hard as marble.

Apart from worrying that I’d scared her off again, I had thought of nothing else but nailing her. I wanted her in my bed, on the floor, up against the wall, outside, inside…any and everywhere.

Scowling, I tossed the covers back, spat into my hand, and grasped my cock to ease the ache. My jaw worked while I moved my palm up and down with a slow twist, each gentle tug driving me to Hades and halfway back.

I grabbed Shannon’s hanky from the nightstand, put it to my nose, and closed my eyes. Pictured myself sucking her pink nipples to red peaks. Imagined pushing her legs apart and settling between them.

Shit. I could almost feel her virgin flesh give way as I eased inside her tight little—oh yeah, that was it. I was there, taking what was mine, claiming her as my own, pumping my hips, feeling her nails score my back and her legs wrap around me. I was driving into her hard, fast, and frenzied, filling her sweet body with….

My cock erupted, spurting thick ropes of semen across my chest. Five more strokes and I’d milked myself dry. I wilted into the mattress, spent, but not the least bit sated. I’d need Shannon for that.

After a minute or so, I snatched a T-shirt off the floor and cleaned myself, then collapsed on the bed again. Damn it to hell. This palm-pilot shit wasn’t cutting it.

Montgomery’s cock-blocking face rose in my mind’s eye. Perfect fucking timing. It was like waving a red flag at a bull. Just the thought of the bastard’s paws on Shannon made me want to break something.

Twelve years in stir had forced me to suppress my emotions. Not all emotions. Hate and anger came easily enough, but tender feelings, like the ones I had for Shannon…well, I wasn’t sure how to handle those.

I threw my legs over the side of the bed, stalked down the hallway to the bathroom and flipped the shower dial. Something had to give. Something had to change. This was enough to drive a man mad.

The water had run cold by the time I finally ripped the shower curtain open. I fastened a towel around my waist and padded back into the bedroom just as the phone rang.

“Dawson,” I said.

“Hi.”

My pulse tripped as I fumbled with the receiver. “Shannon?”

“Did I wake you?” Her voice was whisper soft.

“Naw. I was up.”

Seconds ticked by. “I wasn’t sure you wanted to talk to me, because…well, it’s been two days. I figured you needed some space, but….” She sighed. “Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh.” Hell, I figured she needed space. So I’d given it to her. I stared down at the puddle around my feet as static filled the awkward hush. “Um, Cholly called,” I offered. “They approved his liquor license—and he got an electrician to finish the wiring. He told me to tell you thanks.”

“He did?” Silence, then, “Wow.” There was a smile in her voice, but the light moment soon turned weightier. “Trace?”

“Yeah?”

I heard her swallow. “About the other night….”

“It scared you.”

“No,” she insisted.

I sank to the bed. “I’m listenin’.”

She sighed again, taking a moment, I guess to collect her thoughts. “I just need you to know I understand what happened, and I get why you lied. I really do. What you shared, it stays between us forever.” Static crackled when she paused. “And I don’t care who knows we’re friends. No more hoods.”

My shoulders sagged. Damn if she hadn’t knocked the wind out of me. That I’d killed a man, and she’d accepted it as easily as she’d drawn her last breath, humbled me.

“Are you there?”

I rubbed my bristled jaw. Man, was I there. “Uh-huh.”

“Promise me something.”

Anything. “What?”

“That you won’t lie to me again,” she said.

I propped a pillow against the headboard and eased back. Until now, I’d hidden my soul from all but God, yet I’d told Shannon my darkest secret, and I had the sense that confiding in her was the same as locking a diamond in a vault.

Staring up at the water stains on the ceiling, I caved. “Okay. You got it.”

“Promise to goodness?”

The memory made me smile. “Yeah. Promise to goodness.” I plowed the wet hair off my face. “Hey, I’m sorry too. Bev and Icky got me worked up. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I was an asshole.”

She fell silent.

“You hear me?”

“Yes,” she said. “You were an asshole.”

I smiled again. Profanity coming out of her sounded funny as hell. “You still up for seeing Mrs. Campbell on Wednesday?”

“Yes, but….” She quietly cleared her throat. “Why didn’t you say anything about knowing where she was? You called her?”

“Yeah, last week. That’s one of the things I was working on.” My smile faded. “Hadn’t spoken to her since the pool fight with Lilith. She wrote after Mama died, but I didn’t respond.”

“Why not?”

Took me a second to form the proper words. “I was mad. She knew the truth, but she skipped town before Gartner could get a subpoena.”

“How do you feel about her now?”

I rubbed circles over my chest. The damp hair soothed my itching palm. “I’d just like her to tell me why she ran off like that. She knew the truth, but she left me high and dry. Her testimony could’ve helped. Then she has the nerve to send me a letter in stir, like that’s gonna make up for it.”

“Can you do something for me?”

“Yep,” I yawned out, resting a foot on the mattress.

“Before we speak with Mrs. Campbell, I want you to tell me about the pool incident. I have to know what really happened.”

To say I’d rather shove a hot poker up my ass wouldn’t be an exaggeration. Silence dragged. “Okay,” I muttered with a sigh. “What do you wanna know?”

“Everything.”

TRACE

____________________________

The night before Lilith Bradford’s murder….

I was about to leave when I saw her. Still dressed in her Catholic school uniform and matching box coat, Shannon wore a pleated skirt, gray knee socks and patent leather shoes. It was a crisp fall day of sixty degrees. A temperature that, after the blazing day before, felt colder than an Antarctic winter.

Leaves danced mini funnels over the grass. The sun had just begun to set and a thin, golden arc crowned the autumn-colored treetops and hills.

Shannon sat on the gazebo’s whitewashed steps, tossing rocks at nothing in particular. Her quiet sniffles didn’t register until I’d gotten closer. The step creaked when I eased next to her.

“I’m about to head home.” I eyed her face. “Somethin’ wrong?”

She leaned over to pull one of her shoes off. The sock went next. A thin red line creased deep where the strap had been. The dainty little toenails on her exposed foot were painted bubble-gum pink. She wiggled them experimentally.

“Shoes too tight?”

She nodded and I noticed how still she kept her left arm. She’d used one hand to remove her shoe and sock. I moved around and squatted on the step in front of her, cupping her jaw to force her to look at me. Her eyes were puffy.

“What happened to your arm?”

She tucked it tighter against her body. “I fell.”

“You’re lying. Let me see it.”

Teary eyed, she gazed back at me in silence.

“Aw, jeez,” I said, my soul aching for her. “C’mere.”

She fell into my arms the second I opened them. When she finally finished crying, my shirt was drenched. I snatched a bandana from my pocket and mopped her face as best I could, then I examined her arm. She didn’t protest, just stared off, sniffling as I thrust the sleeve to her elbow. Hot, swollen skin had bloomed angry shades of purple, green, and red.

My gaze leapt to hers. “Who did this?”

Her eyes shuttered.

That’s when I knew she’d already dug the moat, bought the alligators, and yanked up the drawbridge. I’d get nothing out of her.

“You’re never gonna admit it, are you?”

Her lips tightened into a tiny pink button. Even now she refused to indict her mama. None of the staff had lifted a finger to help. Their silence, like my own, had been bought and paid for with Lilith Bradford’s money.

I reached behind my neck and unclasped a silver chain with a charm. Leaning over her, I fastened the catch around her neck. “My great-granddaddy on Mama’s side—Bisabuelo—sent me this for Christmas a long time ago. Spent some of my summers on his farm in Puerto Rico when I was a boy. It was the best time of my life. All I did was eat, feed the animals, laugh, and dance. Hell, everybody in the family danced. God, I miss that place.”

“You’re Puerto Rican?”

“Only a quarter—but it’s my favorite quarter.” I gazed at the sky and my lips slid into a sad smile. “The greatest lesson I learned from that old man was to do what’s right, no matter the cost.”

She squinted at the Spanish on the back. “What’s it mean?”

“Somethin’ you better not forget. It says, ‘A life lived in fear is a life half lived.’ It’s an old Spanish proverb.”

Her lips trembled. “But what does that have to do with—”

“I’m gonna fix it, okay?” I said in a soft voice. “I’m gonna make it so you never have to be afraid again.”

She sniffed, blinked her teary eyes. “H-how?”

I tipped her face to the sun and gently brushed her tears away with my thumbs. Closing my eyes, I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Te quiero, Sombra.”

“Huh?”

I smiled. “Just remember what I said at the pond. I’m always gonna care about you. No matter what. Now stay put.” I shoved to a stand and headed for the main house. When she shot up after me, I yelled, “Stay put!” over my shoulder.

I cut across the lawn, my feet thundering on the ground. I could see much of myself in Shannon. When I was nine, I’d hidden under the covers in fear of Daddy’s rage. Too scared to take a piss, I’d wet the bed, or sometimes, I’d stash a mop bucket in my closet before I left for school. That way I wouldn’t have to venture down the hall late at night. Primetime for Gary’s binge drinking. Squeaky floorboards, rusty hinges, and a flushed toilet made noise, but peeing in a bucket didn’t. Even so, the bed-wetting, and makeshift urinals just led to more beatings and missed school days.

Lilith and Gary—two halves of the same evil coin. As a child, I wore fear like a second skin. Bisabuelo had sensed it during those summer visits, even though I never said a word. The old man knew lots of things without ever being told.

Growing up, I always dreaded going home. Which father would I get? The cold hermit who favored TV and silence over family, or the bully who stank of whores and booze? Stuff changed when I turned fifteen. By then, I towered over Gary’s five-feet-six inches. By then, I was big enough to hit back. That’s when a new father emerged. This one was a defeated foe whose reign of terror had ended with a whimper.

I threw the doors open to the mansion, ignoring the wide-eyed stares and swept past the knot of servants in the foyer. In six angry strides, I’d cleared the staircase to check the second floor, but Mommie Dearest was MIA. Lilith’s personal maid stood at the landing, a scowl sandblasted on her pale face. Her bony arms were wrapped around a tower of linen. She glowered at me as if I were a fly on a cake.

“Where is she?” I asked, barreling down the steps.

The woman moved her judgmental gaze over me. “Busy.”

Witch.

I was already stalking down the narrow corridor to the kitchen. I found Mrs. Campbell hard at work on the evening meal. The smell of baked ham and cinnamon perfumed the air.

Out of breath, I said, “Where’s Miz Bradford?”

Mrs. Campbell’s apple-cheeked face scrunched into a frown at my noisy intrusion, but her steel-gray head remained bent in concentration. Her chubby hands worked a thick knot of dough. “In the pool room—where she always is this time of day,” she snapped, not missing a beat as she kneaded the yellow blob. Her voice held a warning when I stormed off. “The lady’s in a devil mood tonight, Tracemore. Best leave her be. Um-hmm.”

I cocked my head to listen. All I had to do was follow the sound. That fucking song she played all the time, “Come Live With Me” was blaring from the indoor pool. I stalked out and cut down a side hallway to the back of the house.

Lilith had just climbed out of the pool when I got there. She wore a string bikini that hid nothing. Water cascaded down her skin as she toweled herself dry. Long, sable hair shimmered along her graceful back like a midnight waterfall.

Whether her eyes were bloodshot from chlorine or liquor, I couldn’t tell. I just wondered which Lilith I’d have to deal with. Had her bitch switch been flipped, or would she try and ram her tongue into my mouth again?

I cleared my throat. “Shannon’s got bruises.”

She tossed the towel and snagged a wineglass from the mini bar. “Good evening, Mister Dawson,” she trilled.

I stared down my nose at her. God, I hated the snooty way she said ‘Mister.’ I could see through the airs she was putting on. Hell, the woman had her hand on my cock four days ago! It didn’t matter that she was my boss. Or that she was rich and I was dirt-poor. The lowly servant who’d worked in obedient silence was long gone.

“The bruises, Miz Bradford. Who put ‘em there?”

That got her back up. “You forget your place, young man.”

“My ‘place’? Look, I know what you’ve been doin’ to her.”

Lilith cranked the ice-bitch routine up a notch. “Better watch yourself. You’re skating on thin ice as it is.”

“She’s bruised on the inside too,” I said, ignoring her threat. “You don’t know how lethal words are. One stupid remark can cut a child down faster than a bullet.” I moved closer. “Her back was bruised last week. She flinched when I went to hug her the other day. Now she’s got a bruised arm. Says she fell, but I know better.”

Brow arched, Lilith said, “Yes, I’m well-aware of your ‘contact’ with her.” She paused. “Let me ask you something, Mister Dawson. Do you think it’s proper for an eighteen-year-old ‘male stripper’ to have such a close relationship with a fourteen-year-old minor?”

Took a second before her insinuation hit home. It cut deep.

“I don’t like the time you spend together,” she said, mounting her imaginary high horse. “Especially now. I saw her diary last night and it was all there—every disturbing detail. The two of you dancing alone. The way you whisk her off on that bike, disappearing for hours at a time. You’re inseparable.”

My breath bounced off her. “Nothin’ is going on and you know it! She’s got nobody but me. Everyone else ignores her.”

“Get out.” She jerked away and her hair slapped my face like a wet curtain. It stung.

“Why do you hate her?” I wrenched Lilith around by the arm. She glared at my hand, but I kept a firm grip. “She’s your baby!”

“Not anymore, she isn’t.” Lilith jerked free. “You’re fired! Maybe now you can do your Playroom striptease full-time.”

An audience: Mrs. Campbell and other servants gathered, including Gerard, Lilith’s butler.

Mad as hell, and trembling with rage, I stalked off, but then she yelled, “Tell Dottie to pack up her mop and bucket. She’s fired too.”

Lilith had just poked a hornet’s nest. I was in her face within seconds. “Do what you want to me, but leave Mama out of it. She needs this job.”

“You should have thought about that before.”

“Guess what?” I hissed. “You won’t fire my mama, ‘cause if you do, I’ll spill all your dirty secrets. I’ll tell the town what a slut you are. How the only reason you kicked us out is ‘cause I wouldn’t stick my dick in your nasty hole. How you’ll spread your legs for anything that’s young, male, and fuckable!”

A flood of gasps ricocheted from the staff as my voice thundered across the room. Lilith went ballistic. Her face turned blood red and her eyes sizzled with hellfire. She hauled off and slapped me, her nails cutting a trio of red lines into my cheek.

I tried to restrain her while she bit and clawed, but she just drew more blood. I didn’t realize my own strength when I shoved her away from me with such force she hit the floor butt first, her body slamming into the mini bar. Bottles crashed around her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Calla Lilies

SHANNON

____________________________

“I’m not sure why she didn’t press charges,” Trace said, his voice raspy. “Prob’ly knew I’d make good on my promise.”

I cradled the phone and eased into the seat at my vanity table, trying to connect the mother I remembered to the monster he’d just described.

Both were strangers now.

It took me a moment to gather my thoughts amidst the pain he’d endured. Trace had recounted, in amazing detail, the last night of my mother’s life.

More than a few times, he’d had to stop to collect himself, yet he’d refused to quit, as if he were purging some disease from his soul. Now I understood why he’d taken on the role of my guardian angel. He’d done for me what he’d been powerless to do for himself.

“I went straight home afterwards,” Trace continued. “Mama was on the phone with Mrs. Campbell when I got there. Soon as she hung up, me and Mama got into it, then Daddy crawled from the bottle to add his two cents. They actually wanted me to apologize.”

I got to my feet and carried the phone into the bathroom. “They thought Mother would rehire you both?”

“Yep. Mama was ranting about Daddy being on disability—that we needed the money and I should’ve minded my own business.” He sighed. “I asked why she let Daddy use me for a punching bag. Told her Lilith was doing the same thing with you.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing. She just stormed off. Then Daddy cursed the day I was born. Went staggering up to me and Cole’s room. Tossed my TV out the window. My clothes. Everything I owned lay in the front yard. I didn’t speak to Mama for years after that.”

“Did your father ever abuse Beverly and Cole?”

“Naw. My little brother was his pride and joy and Bev was his princess. Seems he saved all his vinegar for me. Bev used to think he was jealous. She said I was independent and fearless. He hated that. So he tried to beat it out of me.”

Heart trembling, I leaned against the tiled wall. “But you and your mother found your way back to each other. Is that why she’d pinned all her hopes on you making parole?”

“Yeah.”

Just the thought of how he’d suffered made me ill. “Where did you go after you left your house?”

“Cholly’s,” he said, his voice staid, resigned. “The Fontanas let me stay with them. But after I dropped my stuff off there, I went straight to Sheriff Gray.”

“To report Mother.”

“Yep. I didn’t have much hope given the whole Eddie and Bev thing, but after I told him about your bruises and Lilith’s drinking, he said he’d look into it. Even thanked me for coming by. I was hopeful when I left. Looked like he believed me.”

“But he testified that your claims were baseless later.”

“Yeah,” Trace said bitterly. “Only question is why.” Silence lingered. “What do you remember about the day she died?”

Not much, but just then…. I cupped my forehead as another memory gelled of the day before the murder. Namely, the reason Mother had hurt me that last time.

I was too embarrassed to share it with Trace or any man.

I slid down the wall and hugged my knees. Sorrow washed over me. “Everything’s still fragmented,” I whispered.

“Well, I got to your house early the next day. I hopped the fence to stay hidden, but it was deserted. Not even a breeze. That’s what I’ll never forget. The quiet. It was unnatural.”

I licked my lips. “Why did you come back?”

“To give you hope. To tell you the Sheriff said he’d help.”

That he’d still been thinking about my welfare even after the horrible night he’d had was heartening. But it also made me more determined to uncover the truth. Not just for Mother’s sake, but for his as well. “I’m sorry I called you a coward when we were in the garage. I was wrong. You’re a hero…my hero.”

I guessed from his silence that I’d surprised him. Ten seconds went by before he said, “Th-thanks.” Trace Dawson had actually stuttered. He cleared his throat. “Well, I, ah, I gotta get to work.”

“I do too.” An awkward moment followed, one of unspoken words and untested emotions. Much needed saying, but I didn’t know where to begin. I got up and wandered into the adjacent walk-in closet. “So I’ll see you at two on Wednesday?” I said, staring at my rack of clothes with blind eyes.

“Yeah. Shannon?”

His tone changed, letting me know he planned to take the subject in the direction we’d both been avoiding.

I snatched a pair of jeans from a hanger. It went flying. “I’m really running late—”

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he said.

Not a smooth segue, but then, ‘it’ had loomed in the background during our entire conversation. ‘It’ being what we’d done at his house. ‘It’ being what he continued to do to me now. It was insane. Even as we’d talked about Mother’s murder, ‘it’ had been there the whole time.

Just listening to his voice dragged me back to that night. I could still feel his body pressed against mine. His mouth on my breast. The tugging. The wetness. Everything bounced between us like a flaming boomerang.

I yanked an ankle boot from the shoetree, retrieved its mate, and strode back into my room to flop on the edge of the bed. “I can’t talk about this now.”

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“Suit yourself.” His voice was sandpaper rough. “But it’s not going away.”

SHANNON

____________________________

He was right. It didn’t go away. The second I laid eyes on him at Rascal’s Wednesday afternoon, the intensity ignited. The drive to Valene Campbell’s was as uncomfortable as I’d feared, and if I thought I’d have a reprieve once we arrived at our destination, I had to think again.

Even as we followed Jane Younger down the hall of her federal style home, I had to fight to keep my mind on the task at hand. I made a point of not looking at Trace since it would just lead to distraction.

Instead, I concentrated on the waspish, middle-aged woman in front of me.

Jane Younger was a reedy, whey-faced brunette with frosty gray eyes and a brusque gait. Wearing a chignon and a stodgy, gray dress that made a whooshing sound as she walked, she marched us down a corridor flanked by ugly paintings and cheap knickknacks.

The place resembled its owner, cold and hollow.

“I don’t like this,” Jane said. She threw a terse glance at us over her rigid shoulders. “But Nana insisted.”

I exchanged a guarded look with Trace. “We do appreciate your hospitality, Ms. Younger.”

“Just don’t upset her,” came the snippy reply. To Trace she said, “Had I been home to receive your call, you wouldn’t be here. Only reason you are now is because Nana answered.”

We came to a long staircase and Trace stepped back in deference to the stodgy Ms. Younger. He gave her a good ‘ol boy grin, and the corners of her pencil-thin lips fell south.

When we’d reached the top, Jane led us to a sitting room that smelled of mothballs and liniment. A bay window centered the stone-faced south wall. Light speared across the hardwood floor from a lone table lamp.

Jane approached a small, shriveled old woman with steel-gray hair. She sat hunched over in a wooden wheelchair by the window. A thin green quilt draped her spindly legs.

“Nana?” Jane spoke as if she were conversing with a child. “Your visitors are here. This is Shannon Bradford and—”

“I know who she is,” Valene snapped. She did a complete one-eighty when she flashed a cavernous smile at me. “The Little Miss. How’ve you been?”

“Just fine, Mrs. Campbell. And yourself?”

“Can’t complain. Can’t complain.” She hiked a frail shoulder, then cast a testy glance at her granddaughter. “‘Cept for Janie hiding my mail and screening my calls. Thinks she’s my mother, she does. Um-hmm.”

“Oh, Nana, please.” Jane rolled her eyes and waved a dismissive hand. She turned to Trace who stood behind the old woman. “This is Mister….” She frowned into a unibrow. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

Panic made my pulse dance. We’d not given his full name for good reason. Trace had mentioned that when he’d spoken to Mrs. Campbell on the phone, she told him to use another name. Jane wouldn’t have let him in otherwise. So we’d introduced him as Mr. Phillips—a play off his middle name.

Before Trace could respond, Valene turned an eye on him. When he came around the chair, she extended a claw-like hand. Her knuckles were bulbous and liver-spotted. “Tracemore Dawson, as I live and breathe.”

Jane Younger’s eyes bugged out of her head. She sputtered, “Trace Dawson? You mean The Butcher—”

“Yep, that’s the one.” Valene chuckled as Trace squatted beside her wheelchair to clasp her hand. “Run along now, Janie. I’ll be fine.”

“But Nana—”

“Run along,” Valene drawled, her smile as crooked and toothless as it was brittle. “And close the door.”

Jane batted a worried look between Trace and me. “See that you don’t get her worked up,” she hissed. After one last cagey glance at Trace, she stalked out and shut the door soundly behind her.

I stood over the old woman’s chair. “If this is a bad time….”

“Forget about Janie,” Valene said. “That’s just her way.” Trace was still crouched beside her, his face expressionless. She patted his hand. “Hearing your voice last week was a blessing. I didn’t think you wanted to see me, boy. I wasn’t even sure you got my letter, much less read it.”

There was something in his eyes when he looked at the old woman, something I couldn’t read. Anxiety? Resentment? Maybe a little of both. “Well, I’m here,” he said in a low, edgy voice. “And I’m listenin’.”

The web of lines in Valene’s careworn face deepened. She shook her gray head and the loose bun tacked to her crown drooped to the left. “Sorry about your mama, boy,” she said in a quiet voice. “A sweet soul, that Dottie. Um-hmm.”

“Yes, ma’am, she was,” Trace muttered, his eyes hard.

Talk about awkward moments. I pulled up a chair and joined them, anxious to pick the old woman’s brain. “We don’t want to take too much of your time.” I slipped my cell phone from my purse. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”

Mrs. Campbell looked taken aback for a moment. She glanced off. “Well…no. No, I guess I don’t mind, Little Miss.” She folded her gnarled hands. “This is a great opportunity for me. Now I get to say what I didn’t in the letter I sent Tracemore. So yeah, record away.” She gave a solemn nod. “Go on. Park yourself.”

Trace pushed to a stand and grabbed an armless Windsor chair from the corner. He flipped the thing around, straddled it and propped his arms over the back.

We formed a triangle, with the wheelchair-bound woman making the top point. He glanced at me, but didn’t hold my gaze. Even with this old woman in the room, the tension from earlier was still there, still sharp—still hot.

We’d barely spoken ten words on the long drive over here.

“First things first,” Valene said, looking at me. “You have questions about Lily.”

Lily? I wasn’t used to hearing Mother referred to in such familiar terms, especially by a former servant. But then, I suspected there were more surprises to come.

“How well did you know Miz Bradford?” Trace asked.

Valene flicked her gaze at the ceiling and the cataract in her left eye caught the light. “Oh, I knew her real good. Um-hmm. Too good, actually.” She sighed. “Always figured she’d self-destruct. First time she showed up for a meeting, I sensed it. It was the darkness. Lost souls give it off, you know.”

Trace rested his chin on a fist. “What meeting?”

“AA. That’s where me and Lily first met.”

I blinked hard. “Alcoholics Anonymous?”

“Don’t be surprised.” Valene chuckled and her expression warmed. “Yes, I’m an alcoholic. Been dry twenty-three years.”

“Forgive me, Mrs. Campbell….” I shook my head. “It’s just such a surprise. I didn’t know Mother had sought help.”

The old woman gave a swift nod. “Oh, she did. Many times. Went back to the meetings after your daddy died. Master Harrison’s passing was a wake-up call for her, but she didn’t stick it out. Every day I asked her to get help knowing what she was doing to you.” She lowered her eyes. “I just didn’t do enough, I guess. I’m sorry, Little Miss.”

Absolution. That’s why Valene Campbell wanted to meet. She’d carried this guilt for years. The three of us had a lot in common there. I reached out and squeezed her hand.

Valene slanted a glance at Trace. “They never should’ve sent you away. I always know’d you was innocent. Would’ve said as much were it not for that green-eyed devil.”

Trace and I exchanged a puzzled look.

Valene’s toothless mouth worked. “Gray,” she spat the name out like a curse. “Lord, but it feels good to get this off my chest.” Then she whispered, “He’s why Janie didn’t want me speakin’ with ya. She was just trying to protect me.”

TRACE

____________________________

Now stuff was getting interesting. I tipped the chair forward, my attention lasered on the old woman. “Did Sheriff Gray make a threat?”

Her silver brows crested. “In a way, yes. It started with the calls. First one come ‘bout two months before you got out.”

“That’s when I started asking questions,” Shannon added.

“I answered his first call,” Valene said. “Got so mad my pressure shot up. It put me in the hospital for a week. Janie—she started answering the phone after that. She had them rollin’ over to her cell phone so she could deal with ‘im.” Valene’s eyes lifted to me. “If she hadn’t forgotten to take the phone with her the day you called, y’all wouldn’t be here.”

“Wow.” Surprise edged Shannon’s voice. “So Jane really was concerned about your health.”

“Oh, yeah. I tole you, Gray gets me worked up. She worries ‘cause I’m all she’s got. What, with her husband dead. No chil’ren of her own. A sad one, she is, my Jane.” Valene pursed her lips, then reached for Shannon’s hand. “I tried to help you when you was little, but that devil Gray had something on me.”

“He was blackmailing you?” I asked.

Valene tossed a nod in my direction. “‘Cept money wasn’t involved. I called him the night before Lily died when y’all had the pool fight—soon as I hung up with Dottie. I thought it would help since Gray was Master Harrison’s best friend.” She swung a look at Shannon. “I tole him Lily was still beating on you.”