Текст книги "Within Temptation"
Автор книги: Tanya Holmes
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Promises To Keep
SHANNON
____________________________
Three days before Lilith Bradford’s murder….
“What’re you doing, Shadow?” Trace asked me one breezy afternoon. “Your mama said she didn’t want you coming out here.”
“Please don’t tell.”
He hesitated, then waved me closer. “All right. But this is the last time.”
Dressed in gym shorts and a long-sleeved shirt, I eased down next to him, where he reclined against a gnarled old oak. Its foliage veiled the early September sun, and painted gray dapples across the greenest tall fescue in the county.
Miller’s Pond was our place of refuge, a magical port in whatever storm the day brought. We were safe here. Nothing could harm us.
“Hey,” I said, staring at the grass.
“Hey yourself.”
“Here’s the surprise I told you about.” I handed him a ring I’d won at the fair last week. It took six tries, at twenty-five cents a pop. “Do you like it?”
He worked the small golden circle onto his pinky finger—with difficulty—and held his hand out to inspect the sparkling blue gem in the center. “It’s right nice, but my birthday’s not for another four months.”
My chin bumped my chest. Shyness weighed it down. “This isn’t a gift. It’s a reminder.” I played with my fingers. “Your middle name is Phillip, and that’s a Prince Phillip ring,” I said. “Remember the Sleeping Beauty DVD you got me the Christmas before last? You bought it because you said I look like Aurora. Well, the inscription on the inside of that ring says ‘Prince Phillip.’ I thought you’d get a kick out of it. Anyway, I want you to wear it, so you’ll remember.”
He cocked his head. “Remember what?”
“Me,” I murmured. “I’ll be eighteen in four years. So we can go travel the world. I’m thinking Paris first.”
“Paris, huh?” He smiled. “You got some big dreams.”
“It’s not a dream. I’m going to make it happen.”
“Would this trip to Paris have anything to do with what happened yesterday?”
He always did get straight to the point. Last night, he’d found me bawling my eyes out in the tree house he’d built for me. The Washington Wizards had drafted his best friend Cholly, and Trace had been about to leave for the farewell party, but he ended up going late. He’d stayed behind to coax the truth out of me, yet the truth was too ugly for words.
“Come on, Shadow. Spill it.”
Gosh, he was handsome. Stubble darkened his jaw and thick brown fans framed his hazel eyes. Even the lashes Mother glued on every day weren’t as silky. “May I ask you something first?” When he nodded, I gathered my courage. “If I broke your radio….” I paused to swallow. “Would you hate me?”
His eyes slid closed. “I could never hate you, girl.”
I set my chin against my knees and stared across the pond at the one thing dearest to his heart. He’d parked it where he always did, beneath the cool shade of a giant maple.
Blessed Mother, please let him answer right. “Trace?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“What-what if I broke your motorcycle?”
He blinked his eyes open and glanced at his Harley. “Now why would you do somethin’ like that?”
“Would you forgive me or not?”
He rewarded me with a lazy grin. “Yeah. Eventually.”
I sat up straight. “Really?”
The grin ebbed while he watched me. He eased forward, lifted my chin, and brushed my cheek with the rough pad of his thumb. “Have I ever lied to you, sweet pea?” I gave my head a slow wag, and he said, “So why do you keep doubting me?” One of his brows arched. “Didn’t I say I’ll always care?”
I lowered my eyes to escape his. Every time I looked at him, I got butterflies.
“Tell me.”
Getting the words out took some effort. “It was Mother,” I whispered, bottom lip quivering.
“Go on.”
My eyes started welling. “Sh-she said….” Tears streamed down my face as the words stumbled out of me. “I was running, and I broke her favorite vase yesterday—by accident. The flowers. The purple ones she likes. They fell and broke too. That made her mad. Then she…she said she h-hated me and—and she wished I was never b-born. And that it was my fault she had to get breast lift surgery.” I shouldered a tear. “If I ever break something of yours, you won’t hate me, will you?”
He searched my eyes as incredulity darkened his. “This why you been asking all these—” He muttered a curse and gathered me into his arms. I forced myself not to cry out, not to flinch because of the pain reverberating around my bruised ribs. Out of nowhere he asked, “Your mama ever hit you?”
“No,” I lied as a breeze ruffled my hair.
“That the truth? ’Cause if she did—”
“She didn’t, okay?”
A minute passed before he responded. His voice was quiet. Reflective. “Daddy used extension cords. Bev’s jump rope. His fist. Beat me with some jumper cables one time, too.” He wiped my tears with care. “It’s ninety degrees out here. Why the long sleeves?”
“Because.” I served up another lie. “I’ve got … um, poison ivy.”
He paused in ominous silence. When he finally spoke, there was an intensity in his voice I’d never heard before. “Listen, you’re one of the best things that ever happened to this fucked up world. Remember that.” Hugging me close, he dropped a peck atop my head. “And there’s nothin’ you could do that would make me hate you.”
“You say that now, but….”
“What?”
“Mother. She says she loves me all the time.”
“Shadow?” He jiggled my hand. “I’ll never lie to you.”
My hopeful gaze clung to his. “Promise to goodness?”
“Promise to goodness.” He drew an X over his heart. “Believe me now?”
I recalled something he’d said he’d done with Cole, his baby brother. “Yes, but can we…spit on it?”
He considered me for a moment. “You know somethin’? You’re right,” he said with mock seriousness. “A promise isn’t truly bona fide ‘til it’s sealed with spit.”
I beamed a smile, but caution weakened it. “About the spitting. You…you mustn’t tell Mother. All right?”
He managed to look insulted. “What kind of friend would I be if I did that?”
“Not a very good one.”
“You got that right.” He bared his callused palm, spat, then winked at me to do the same. My efforts barely produced a dollop, but it was enough to close the deal. “No lies?”
“No lies,” I repeated once his big hand swallowed mine.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It’s On
SHANNON
____________________________
I pulled into the carriage house at Briar and spoke into the handless cell phone receiver. “Didn’t you get the message I left with Kate?”
“Uh-no, sorry,” Darien mumbled. It was the same distracted tone I’d grown accustomed to. One I’d heard too many times before. His footsteps echoed in the background. “I just got out of court. We’re meeting with the prosecutor in a few minutes. What’s going on?”
In other words, I’m busy. Again.
“Everything is going on,” I said.
My throat was still raw from yelling. Not that Darien noticed the rasp in my voice. An hour had passed since Trace had stormed out of my office, and my fried nerves had yet to recover. Why hadn’t I taken him at his word about Mother?
He’d never lied to me.
“That’s right,” Darien said. “The luncheon is tomorrow.”
“What? Oh, yeah.” I tried to remember why I’d called him, but couldn’t. “Ah, I guess I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed. Between that and the wedding planning—”
“Oops, I’ve got another incoming. I’ll only be a second.” The phone clicked. “Darien Montgomery.”
“It’s still me.” My voice bordered on snippy. Not that he noticed that either. “Try again.”
“Sorry. New phone. Hold on.”
I yanked my keys from the ignition. Of course the phone was new. He probably burned the other one out from overuse! With Trace still on my mind, I’d needed to reconnect with Darien, but this long distance garbage was driving me crazy.
“Okay, I’m back,” he said. “Are you all right?”
Not if feeling confused, frustrated, and angry counted. I couldn’t tell him the truth. If I did, he’d know I’d broken my promise. “I just miss you.”
“Me too. So what time do the festivities begin tomorrow?”
“Twelve noon.”
“Did Granny Mae do the guest list again?”
I grabbed my things and wrenched the car door open. “No, she swore off party planning after the last one. If you’ll recall, Auntie accused her of turning the place into a trailer park who’s who.”
He laughed the same polite laugh he gave clients…and strangers. “Honey, we’re trying to wrap things up here, so….”
“Wait.” I finally remembered why I called. “Have you heard anything more about the letter?”
“I’ll be right there,” he told someone. Then to me, he said, “Nothing else has shaken loose, but I’m still on it. Now, I’ve really got to go. I’ll call you tonight at the usual time, okay? I love you, babe.”
TRACE
____________________________
The next day, I sat slumped in the passenger seat of Bev’s brand-new truck as she drove into Grace Brethren Memorial Park, New Dyer’s fanciest cemetery. She’d picked me up after work so we could visit our mother together, but considering my black mood, I should’ve gone home. Between Amber ignoring my messages, this nonsense with Shannon, the constant crank calls, and what Bev had told me last night, I was about to lose my shit. Somebody had spray painted SATAN’S SISTER on the windows of her nail salon.
I’d only gotten four hours of sleep, one of which I’d spent trapped in Daddy’s nightmare. Seconds after I woke, my thoughts flew straight to Shannon. The fear and mistrust I’d seen in her eyes haunted me even now. I didn’t think I’d ever care what she thought, but I did. She was terrified of me. Hell, if I’d told her the truth about Nyle, she probably would’ve run off screaming.
As Bev taxied up the two-lane road, intermittent winks of sunlight flashed above a thick line of skeletal trees. This was where all the well-to-dos went when they kicked the bucket. Mama had cleaned their houses, so if she couldn’t live like them, she figured her final resting place would be as swanky as theirs. I was just glad she’d gotten the last laugh.
“We've gone as far as we can go,” Bev said, tugging me back. She cut the engine and pulled some Marlboros from the visor. Staring straight ahead, she tapped the crumpled pack until a cigarette inched out. She lit it and exhaled. “The north access road is closed. We gotta hike the rest of the way.” She pointed to a path on a hill that faded into a copse of snow-speckled evergreens. “Mama’s up there,” she said in monotone.
Clearly neither of us was in the mood for this visit. Having avoided the cemetery since Mama and Daddy’s funeral, Bev claimed grief kept her away, but I knew better. Mother and daughter had never been close.
From Bev’s cradle to Mama’s grave, they’d fought 365 days a year.
Out of the blue, she said, “I’ve been putting this off, but now’s a good a time as any. Zoe called about the job.”
“It’s a no-go, right?”
She nodded sadly. “Her husband Jerome heard one of the Bradfords was behind it. Betty Todd’s the county purchasing director and she told Jerome if he hired you, he could lose the Temptation library contract. Jerome said Sears Bradford is friends with all three commissioners. So’s his son Mead. They’ve basically blacklisted y’all…everywhere. That’s prob’ly why Cholly can’t get any local contractors for his club.”
I ground my jaw. An all too familiar hellish shade of red flashed before me. “Devious sons-a-bitches. I should’ve known.”
Not that I’d thought I’d had a snowball’s chance of getting that job, but I’d hoped something would’ve shaken loose by now so I wouldn’t have to lean so much on Cholly.
Sears and Mead Bradford wouldn’t be happy until they’d run us both off.
Bev took a drag. “Can’t you ask Shannon to talk to them?”
“Why should I?”
“Aren’t y’all friends now?”
Friends? Yeah, right. “Where’d you get that impression?”
“She called when I was at the house and Randa Quince saw you leave her office yesterday. Others have seen y’all as well.”
I rubbed my tired eyes. So Bev’s House of Nails also doubled as a hen-pecking factory. “Those women need to mind their own damn business.”
“Well, if y’all are friends it gives me hope. I mean, if you can forgive her…I dunno. Maybe you can forgive Patrick.”
I drew myself up. The girl was relentless. “I don’t want to talk about this no more, Beverly.” I fanned the air. “And stop blowing smoke in my face.”
“So now it’s ‘Beverly’? Yeah, you’re pissed.” She sucked on her cigarette as two crows landed on a nearby crypt. “Look, Patrick told me what he done at the plaza. He was just actin’ a fool, okay? But he’s my husband. Nothin’s gonna change that.”
“Does he even know you’re here? With me?” Soon as she hooded her eyes, I said, “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming at me with this when you’re sneaking around just to see your own brother.”
“It’s up to you to make amends. You started this war.”
I fixed her with a coarse look. “Your judgment’s always been off. The friends you pick, the men you choose—you’re a pleaser. Just like Mama. Every man you ever had treated you like shit. Hell, you up and married the first bum you met in stir. And why? ‘Cause you don’t think you deserve better.”
“Patrick’s not a bum. He’s a sinner—like all of us.”
“Uh-oh, I hear a sermon coming on.”
“Well, God knows you’ve lost your way.”
“And you’ve lost your damn mind.” I yanked off my seatbelt. “All that scripture slinging won’t erase the truth. You’re clueless when it comes to men. Eddie Gray proves it.”
Her cheeks burned red. “He has nothin’ to do with this.”
“Oh, really?” I stared a hole into the windshield. “Well, if you ask me, you went from one slimeball to another.”
“God’s word says I’m to cleave to my husband, rain or shine. Nobody’s perfect, so I don’t hold all his mistakes—”
“Mistakes?” I tore around. “Icky’s a crackhead and a wife beater. Mama even had him figured. Mama, the same woman who put up with Daddy’s shit. And you up and marry a sorry son-of-a-bitch just like him.”
“Judge not lest you be judged!”
“Don’t preach at me, Beverly,” I hollered. “You know that Bible-thumpin’ of yours drives me nuts.”
“‘Bible-thumpin’ helped me and him forgive each other.”
“What the hell does Icky gotta forgive you for?”
“We’ve all fallen short of God’s grace and glory!”
Any minute now she’d start speaking in tongues. I just shook my head. “No wonder you and Mama never got along. You’re both alike. Neither of you had the sense God gave a brick.”
I felt like an ass the second the words left my mouth. Especially after she ripped her seatbelt off and stormed out. I snatched up the flowers I’d bought at 7-11 and shouldered the door open. Wind hit my face and tugged at my jacket. Even in the dead of winter, cemetery air smelled of death and decay.
Bev tossed her cigarette. Her breath came in misty bursts while she paced back and forth in a frenzy. “You can be a hateful somethin’ when you wanna be.”
“Look, I’m just in a mood. We both are.” I slammed the door and the truck wobbled. “Swear to God, I didn’t mean it.”
“Yeah, you did.” She hugged herself. “You’re as judgmental as those prigs in Willow’s Corner. Lord help you.”
I set an apologetic hand on her shoulder when she zipped past me. “Hell, Bevy, I said I’m sorry.”
“Bastard,” she whimpered, jerking away. “Who are you? And what have you done with my brother?” Her ponytail waved as she blazed a trail up the hill.
Bev’s words had barely sunk in before her screams pierced the silence.
With my stomach lodged in my throat, I stumbled up the ruddy path, only to encounter my worst nightmare. Our differences forgotten, Bev and me stood side by side at the foot of our mother’s grave, both of us frozen in shock.
My flowers fell to the ground just as Bev’s legs gave out.
“Mama,” she sobbed. “Maamaah!” She grasped fistfuls of snow as her tortured cries echoed over the barren cemetery.
Something in me shattered. Dropping to my knees, I scooped her into my arms and she clung to me like a life preserver. “Aw, Bevy, please don’t cry,” I whispered. “Shhh. It’ll be okay. I promise, it will.”
But it was a lie. Nothing would ever be okay. Not until I did something. Just what that ‘something’ was, I hadn’t a clue. Squeezing my eyes shut, I took a slow lungful of air—like Doc had taught me—but my blood was already at a rolling boil, and the fire beneath it wouldn’t be quenched. Not today.
Jerome Dillon’s contract. The boycott. Cholly’s club troubles. The hate mail and crank calls. Bev’s window and now this. Everything pointed in one direction.
Sears and Mead Bradford had stirred all this shit up. What was next on their evil agenda? Torches and pitchforks?
I was a big boy, okay? And I’d made every effort to keep the bastards from getting to me. Hell, I’d survived Gainstown, after all. But this was different. This time they’d aimed true.
This time, they’d gone and fucked with my mama.
SHANNON
____________________________
Mead stared into his Scotch glass. “So what does Darien think?”
I took a leisurely sip of strong coffee. No doubt he was referring to the current edition of The Dirty Dish. He’d been on a tear about it all afternoon. With the party over, Granny Mae, Digger, Mead’s wife Francine, Uncle, Auntie, and I had retired to the dining hall for drinks, sweets, and peace.
That is, until Mead pulled up a chair.
“Well?” he prompted, his cultured southern voice issuing a challenge. “The man can’t be pleased with your behavior.”
Aunt Hesta sent her son a quelling look from across the massive table. “Must we discuss these unpleasantries now?”
Mead slipped a crumpled magazine page from his jacket in answer, and tossed it next to the remains of Granny Mae’s peach cobbler dish. It was a copy of the latest tabloid article by the same vulgar gossip columnist. From everyone’s stunned reaction you’d think he’d thrown a serpent atop a holy altar.
“Here we have a glorious exposé featuring Shannon’s nail-biting brush with death,” he continued. “Followed by her touching reunion with the Butcher Boy at the plaza. Next came the hospital melee with the Grays, and then the battle royale on Jefferson Boulevard at the peak of rush hour. And last, but not least, a rendezvous in the parking lot at Home Depot. How does Erica Davies know all this? The bitch has tentacles everywhere.”
“Stop being a bore, Mead.” Uncle’s droll voice drifted from the other side of the table where he sat sequestered behind a newspaper, his manicured fingers the only visible part of him. It was the most he’d said all afternoon—to anyone, including Auntie. “Talk will die down soon enough.”
“Not if she doesn’t stay away from him,” Mead complained. “Any shit between her and Dawson floats back to me. That invariably unearths Lilith’s stench. Are folks talking about my credentials for governor? No. They’re gabbing about The Dirty Dish and Shannon’s sordid misadventures with the resident psychopath. I’ve got a fickle constituency and a drop in campaign contributions. All this, since that nutjob came back to town.”
Francine patted his hand. Her long, expressionless face gave evidence of recent Botox injections. “You worry too much.”
“Forget about my campaign.” Mead turned to me. Up to this point, I had put him on ignore. “Think of yourself, Shannon. Next they’ll be saying you’re taking Lilith’s sloppy seconds.”
Silence echoed as servants scurried to refill water glasses. Mead could wrap his constituents around his finger, but here, in the presence of relatives and under the influence of too many fingers of Scotch, he wore a different face.
Tall, blonde, and filthy rich, the mayor of New Dyer had the looks of a Calvin Klein model but the self-serving personality of a jackal.
I slammed my napkin on the table. “You’re a monster.”
“And here I thought you liked monsters,” he taunted. “Why else would you keep sniffing around one?”
I stared him down with as much contempt as I could bridle, then cut my gaze from one end of the table to the other, examining each person respectively. “I don’t suppose anyone knows about a letter to the parole board?”
Auntie tossed me a pained look.
“Someone sent a forged letter to the state board protesting Trace’s parole,” I said. “It destroyed his family.”
“Poor, poor, Butcher Boy.” Mead signaled for another Scotch by giving his glass a rude jiggle. A servant was by his side immediately with a refill. “My dear cousin, any one of us could have written our own letter. And we would’ve been justified.”
“Let’s get real here,” I said. “The intent was to hurt Trace. That’s why they did it. A letter from me has more impact. She was my mother after all.”
Mead slurped his drink. “Obviously. Except for the hair and eye color, you could be her double. And if you keep sniffing around Dawson, you’ll end up just like her. Dead and gutted.”
Francine’s botoxed face drooped. “I can’t believe you just went there.”
“Lord ‘a mercy,” Granny Mae muttered as Digger quietly snored beside her.
“Say what you want,” Mead drawled, “but y’all know I’m right.”
I hurled a fiery glower at him. “You soulless gnome. I have had it up to here with your constant—”
Auntie tapped her wine glass with her cobbler fork. “That’ll be enough, children. I’ll not have any more disunity in this house.” She split her attention between her son and me. “This bickering is getting us nowhere. You—” She stabbed a bony finger at Mead. “—leave her alone this instant. I don’t want to hear anything else about this sordid business. Do you understand?”
“But, Mom—”
“Shut it,” Hesta told him.
“And on that note, I’ll make my exit.” Uncle lowered the shroud of newsprint as one of the servers set his evening glass of Alka Seltzer before him. He wrinkled his nose at the fizzing liquid. Saluting the table, he lifted a silver brow and murmured, “Here’s to unity.” Then he drained his glass and without fanfare quit the room by way of the back stairs.
With a long-suffering sigh, Auntie made her excuses and followed after him.
I’d had enough. Ignoring Mead, I said a polite goodbye to Francine, kissed Granny Mae and a snoozing Digger, then threw the double doors open and stalked out. I’d almost reached the end of the hallway when shouts exploded from the foyer. It was two men. The echo reverberated in the house.
My stomach dropped like a brick once I recognized the deeper of the two voices.
