Every Move She Makes (17 page)

“You’ll let me know when you find the person who broke in and ransacked the house.” Ella gazed at the three-story structure that had been home to several generations of Porters.

“I certainly will,” Frank said. “I’ll even post a man to keep watch here tonight, until the pane in the French door is fixed. And I intend to speak to Senator Porter about having a security system installed after this.”

“Yes, you do that,” she said. “It’s obvious to me now that even here in Spring Creek decent citizens aren’t safe in their own homes.”

Her uncle draped his arm around her shoulders and escorted her up the sidewalk. Ella wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. She’d been on the bench for only a short period of time, but she had presided over numerous criminal cases. She saw the dregs of local society and heard their excuses for committing crimes ranging from marijuana possession to child molestation. It wasn’t as if she were some naive innocent who wasn’t aware of what went on in the world, even in a rural county like Bryant. But seldom did bad things happen to people in her social realm. For the most part, her parents and their peers seemed immune to the woes that plagued ordinary people. She supposed that, as their child, she, too, had subconsciously felt that she was protected.

But you aren’t their child
, she reminded herself. Not their biological child. Ella didn’t spend much time worrying about who her natural parents were or why her mother had chosen to give her up for adoption. When she’d been in her late teens, she’d considered looking into the possibility of finding out more about the woman and man who had created her. But Carolyn had assured her that her natural parents had been “our kind.”

“Your father has all the information about their medical records and education and backgrounds,” Carolyn had said. “Your biological parents weren’t married, and your mother—your first mother—decided it was best to allow a married couple to raise you. The adoption was handled privately, between her and us. Milton Leamon took care of everything for us. We never met the woman…your other mother.”

“Was money exchanged?” Ella had asked, wondering if her natural mother had sold her.

“If you’re asking if we bought you—if we paid your mother—the answer is no.”

Cybil joined Ella and Jeff Henry on their trek back to the Carlisle house. The moment they went inside, Jeff Henry gave his wife a disapproving glance, his gaze fixed on the empty brandy snifter in her hand.

“Why don’t you go on up and take a bath and get ready for bed,” Jeff Henry told Ella. “You must be exhausted after all that’s happened.”

“Thanks. I think I will.” She kissed her uncle’s cheek, then went to her aunt and gave her a hug.

Cybil reciprocated. “I’m so glad you’re all right, darling girl.”

Practically running up the stairs, Ella left her aunt and uncle, whose voices carried so that she could hear their quarrel until she rushed into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. Even when she’d been a child, she had been aware of her aunt and uncle’s arguments and had even asked her mother about them.

“You and Daddy don’t ever argue,” Ella had said. “Why do Aunt Cybil and Uncle Jeff Henry fuss at each other all the time?”

“Your father and I love each other and don’t have anything to argue about,” Carolyn had explained. “Unfortunately, your aunt and uncle aren’t always nice to each other and sometimes they hurt each other’s feelings. That’s when they get into a fuss. If they loved each other…”

Ella remembered that odd, distant look in her mother’s eyes when she had allowed her train of thought to wander off. Ella had always wondered why her aunt and uncle had married if they didn’t love each other. She had sworn then and there that she would never marry for any other reason, that she wanted a love like her parents had. Of course, since then she had come to realize that even her parents’ marriage wasn’t perfect. But despite everything, they still loved each other.

Didn’t they?

Cybil paced the floor in her bedroom. The grandfather clock on the landing in the center of the divided staircase chimed eleven o’clock. She gazed down into the dark amber liquid as she swirled the brandy in her glass. This was her third drink. No, maybe it was her fourth. Whichever, she’d had enough so that she felt very little pain. Actually, she felt very little of anything. And that was the way she liked it. If Ella weren’t here, she’d call Briley Joe and ask him to meet her at the motel over on River Road, which was on the other side of Smithville, the closest town to Spring Creek. But she wouldn’t leave, not on the off chance her niece might need her.

Her niece. Ella. The person she loved more dearly than anyone on earth.

Cybil downed the last of the brandy, set the glass on the bedside table, and then headed for the door. After opening the door, she secured the belt of her robe with unsteady fingers as she made her way down the hall. She eased open the door to Ella’s room. Her niece lay curled in a ball, fast asleep, her hair spread out on the pale pink pillowcase like black silk. Moonlight washed the room with transparent gold.

Cybil tiptoed into the room, which they had called Ella’s room since the first time Ella had spent the night with them. She’d been two years old and by night’s end had wound up in bed with Cybil, who had stayed awake the rest of the night just looking at the precious child. Having Ella was the closest she would ever come to motherhood.

Cybil stood at the foot of the bed and stared at her niece. If she could have given Jeff Henry a child, would he have loved her? She would never know, of course. There had never been even the slightest possibility for them.

What do you think of me, Ella, my darling girl?
Cybil asked silently.
That I’m a drunk and a slut? Are you as ashamed of me as Carolyn is? As Jeff Henry is? You’ve never said, never implied that you were. I didn’t want to disappoint you. Truly I didn’t. I foolishly thought that you’d never have to know what a terrible person I am
.

Cybil sensed someone else’s presence. She glanced sidelong at the shadow hovering in the doorway. She took one last look at Ella and quietly walked out of the room, passing her husband, who eased the door shut.

“Is she all right?” Jeff Henry asked.

“Yes, she’s sleeping like a baby.” Cybil staggered awkwardly down the hall.

Jeff Henry came up beside her and slipped his hand beneath her elbow. She looked right at him. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“She should have been ours,” Cybil said, her voice a slurred whisper.

“Yes, you’re right. She should have been ours.”

Jeff Henry assisted Cybil to her room, helped her off with her robe and then into bed. She lay there naked, her husband only a few feet away. She held open her arms to him, inviting him. She could barely make out his face through the sheen of tears in her eyes. When she blinked the tears away, she noted the melancholy expression on his face.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Get some sleep.” Then he turned and walked out of the room.

Cybil flung herself over onto her stomach, grabbed her pillow, and buried her face in its softness. Sobs racked her body as she cried herself to sleep.

Reed dumped his duffle bag on the floor, then took a long, hard look at the room. Nothing fancy, that was for sure, but it was four walls around him and a roof over his head. His mother had asked him not to leave, but he’d convinced her that moving out on his own was the best thing for all of them. He felt smothered living with his mother. No man his age should live with his mother. Part of being free was not having to report in to anyone, not having to tell somebody what time you’d be home and explain where you’d been or who you’d been with.

Damn lucky for him that the room above Conway’s Garage was empty. There was a bathroom of sorts, with a shower that produced only cold water. For now, cold showers were okay. The weather was hot and Reed was even hotter. Hot and bothered over Ella Porter. Go figure. Of course, before winter he’d have to put in a new water heater. And by then he’d either have had Miss Ella in his bed, or he would have found another way to get her out of his system.

He’d spent the past four hours working his new place into shape. He had swept, dusted, mopped, and aired out the fifteen-by-fifteen-foot square, and he’d scrubbed the toilet, sink, and shower stall. The only windows in the room ran the length of the back wall and overlooked an alley that separated the garage from the back wall of the building that had once housed the local theater. The hot summer air had cooled a fraction. The overhead ceiling fan, a relic from the past that whined and moaned with each rotation, whipped the warm, humid breeze and spread it throughout the room.

He’d borrowed bedding from his mother for the ancient metal bed. The tan sheets looked cool and crisp and inviting. He was bone weary after working all day and then cleaning his new abode before moving in. Living here should work out just fine. Since he didn’t own a car and had to borrow one from Briley Joe whenever he couldn’t get where he was going on foot, being this close to work saved him a long walk in the mornings and evenings.

Reed removed his dirty shirt and tossed it into the plastic clothes basket he’d picked up along with numerous other items at the local Dollar Store on his lunch break today.
Be it ever so humble
, he thought as he headed toward the tiny bathroom. He’d been out of prison for only a few weeks, and the heady sense of freedom still seemed new to him. In a way, he was almost afraid to rock the boat, to create any waves. But on the other hand, he felt that things were moving too slowly. Every day that passed was one more day that Junior Blalock’s real killer had an opportunity to find a way to put Reed back in jail. But solving a fifteen-year-old murder wasn’t an easy task. Especially not in a town like Spring Creek, where everyone believed him guilty and the police had never investigated any other suspects. Mark’s father and then Mark had tried unsuccessfully to have the case reopened. And years ago, Reed’s last appeal had changed nothing.

He’d gone over the possible suspects time and again, but everyone had an alibi. Of course, considering how many people detested Junior, there was always the chance that someone with a hidden motive might have taken the opportunity to slit the semiconscious man’s throat. Reed had ruled out his mother and his sister. Even though both of them had had motive and opportunity, neither would have let him go to prison. But Regina seemed to recall only bits and pieces of that horrible night. Was it possible that she’d taken Reed’s knife, killed her attacker, and then couldn’t remember what she’d done? If Regina were the killer, Reed knew he’d go to his grave keeping her secret.

But there were more plausible suspects, people in power who could have easily used their influence to keep the law from probing deeper into the crime. First and foremost, Webb Porter came to mind. If he hadn’t killed Junior for reasons of his own, perhaps he did the deed as a service for his family. Reed suspected that Junior had tried blackmailing more than one member of the Porter and Carlisle families. There were dozens of possible scenarios. He wasn’t quite sure how to go about untangling such an intricate web of lies and secrets.

Just as Reed walked into the six-by-six bathroom and unzipped his jeans, a loud, demanding series of knocks sounded on the outer door.
Who the hell?
He glanced at the old windup alarm clock he had brought from his mother’s. Eleven-thirty! Who would be beating down his door at this time of night?

Reed zipped up his pants, crossed the room, and called out, “Hold your horses.” When he reached the door, he hollered, “Who is it?”

“Chief Nelson. Open up, Reed. We need to talk.”

Reed flung open the door. Frank Nelson appeared a bit frazzled, as if he’d had a bad day and the night wasn’t looking much better.

“What could you and I possibly have to talk about?” Bracing his body by clasping either side of the door frame, Reed leaned forward and glared right at the police chief.

“Where were you tonight, let’s say between seven and eight-thirty?”

“Moving into this place,” Reed said. “Why? What business is it of yours?”

“Anybody with you?” Frank asked. “You got someone who can verify where you were?”

A sickening feeling of déjà vu seeped through Reed like a slow-acting poison. “Am I being accused of a crime?”

“No. I’m simply checking out a few possible suspects. Anyone with a motive to want to create problems for or harm the Porter family.”

“Ah, I see. So, naturally, mine was the first name that came to mind.” Reed grinned. Better to try for humor in this situation, he thought. Anger would definitely work against him. “So, what’s happened now? Miss Ella get another ugly letter? Another breathy phone call?”

“Someone broke into the Porter house and ransacked the place—destroyed quite a few priceless antiques.”

“Was Ella there? Was she hurt?” An irrational fear surfaced. And a possessive, protective attitude that Reed could not control. If anyone had harmed Ella, he’d take them apart piece by piece.

“Ella’s fine. She came home and found the place torn apart,” Frank said. “Our guess is that the culprit left just as Ella arrived.”

“I haven’t been anywhere near the Porter house.” Reed removed his hands from the door frame, hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, and surveyed Frank from head to toe. “There’s no way you could have any evidence to the contrary.”

“Didn’t say I had any evidence.” Frank’s cheeks flushed beneath the heavy cluster of freckles.

“Look, I’m getting sick and tired of every time something happens with Ella Porter, you come knocking on my door. I’m going to have to speak to my attorney about pressing harassment charges against the Spring Creek Police Department.”

Frank took a tentative step forward, the tip of his shiny black shoes touching the threshold. “Now you listen to me, you cocky son of a bitch. I’m going to nail your ass and send you back to Donaldson if I find out that you’re the one messing with the Porter family. That is, if I get the chance. Webb Porter is liable to get ahold of you first. And whatever he does, he’ll be within his rights as a father protecting his daughter.”

Reed glared at Frank Nelson, but said nothing. Anger boiled inside him like molten lava, threatening to overflow and annihilate everything in its path. He had butted heads with the law once before and the law had won. He might have been a hotheaded fool back then, but not any longer. In fifteen years of time served, he had learned one thing if nothing else. Patience.

“Stay away from Ella Porter,” Chief Nelson warned before he turned and walked down the wooden stairs attached to the back side of the garage.

Reed slammed the door and cursed aloud. Had Ella been the one who had sicced the police on him once again? Had she counted on the police chief’s threats to keep him at arm’s length?

“Sorry, babe,” Reed said aloud. “I don’t scare off that easy.”

Everything had gone just as planned: a break-in at the Porter home; destruction throughout several rooms; executed without a hitch only moments before Ella arrived. No doubt, she’d been frightened, perhaps even terrified. No evidence to point to anyone in particular, but Reed Conway would be the chief suspect. One more nail in the man’s coffin. One more step in his journey back to prison.

There was far too much to lose if the truth ever came out. That could not be allowed to happen, whatever the price, and no matter who got hurt in the process. One did what one had to do to protect oneself. If loved ones were hurt, it was regrettable. But when a person had suffered the torment of the damned for so many years, it became easier and easier to feel no sympathy for others.

After a lifetime of playing to win, there could be no compromise. All or nothing, the motto to live by. Junior Blalock had learned, the hard way, the price of going up against a superior opponent. Reed Conway would have to be taught the same lesson.

The only case on the docket for the morning had been a sentencing hearing for a recently convicted murderess, whose trial had concluded in record time. Considering the damning evidence, Ella had had no choice but to give the woman the stiffest sentence possible.

With part of the morning left free, Ella had been able to speak to Steve Williamson about insurance on the house, as well as get a report from Frank Nelson. Although the insurance would cover the cost of replacing the furniture and other items, no amount of money could restore the destroyed antiques. And to add insult to injury, the police had come up with a big fat goose egg as far as evidence. No fingerprints other than those of people who regularly frequented the Porter house. Nothing found inside or outside the house to indicate who the offender might be. And no one in the neighborhood had seen anyone suspicious that evening. Of course, what made matters worse, at least in Ella’s mind, was the fact that Frank had confronted Reed again. Her feminine instincts told her that it was only a matter of time before she would be forced to face Reed’s wrath. He would think she had been the one who’d instigated Frank’s visit.

“I don’t believe Reed Conway will bother you again,” Frank had told her this morning. “He knows that by harassing you, he’s putting his parole at risk.”

But what if Reed isn’t the one harassing me?
She had barely stopped herself from voicing her opinion. Neither Frank Nelson nor her father wanted to look beyond the obvious, to search for someone other than Reed as a suspect. Was this what had happened fifteen years ago? Had everyone assumed Reed was guilty and therefore closed the case without a thorough investigation?

Maybe Reed is guilty. Maybe I’m wrong and everyone else is right. He could have killed Junior Blalock and he could be the person tormenting me
.

The telephone rang. Ella jumped. She was a nervous wreck lately, but especially after last night.

“Judge Porter.”

“Ella, are you all right?”

A silent groan reverberated inside Ella’s head. “Yes, Daddy, I’m fine.”

“I just got off the phone with Jeff Henry,” Webb said. “Why the hell didn’t someone call us last night? You just wait until I see Frank Nelson. He’s going to get a piece of my mind.”

“Daddy, will you stop ranting and raving. Frank didn’t call you because I asked him not to. The same holds true for Uncle Jeff Henry and Aunt Cybil. You and Mother have so little time alone together. I didn’t want to disrupt your last days at the beach when there’s nothing you can do back here.”

“Your mother and I are hardly alone. Viola is here with us.”

Ella heard the displeasure in her father’s voice. Neither she nor her father was overly fond of Viola, but they tolerated the woman for Carolyn’s sake. Her mother depended on Viola and seemed to genuinely care for the sour-faced, unfriendly woman. And Viola was obsessively loyal to Carolyn. Sometimes Ella felt that the two women shared a symbiotic relationship, each feeding off the other.

“I haven’t told Carolyn yet,” Webb said. “I’m going to make some excuse for coming home early and then I’ll tell her the truth right before we get there.” He huffed loudly. “I knew leaving you there alone with that man on the loose was a bad idea.”

“That man? I assume you mean Reed Conway.”

“Who else?”

“There is no evidence that Reed was the person who broke into the house and ransacked it.”

“I don’t need any evidence to know he did it.”

“Just the way you didn’t need any evidence to convict him of killing his stepfather?”

Ella wished the words back the moment they were out of her mouth, but it was too late. A painful silence interrupted the conversation. She could hear her father’s deep, agitated breathing.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Ella said.

“Why are you defending that man?”

“I’m not defending him. I’m merely stating that there is no evidence to indicate he’s done anything illegal since he was paroled several weeks ago.”

“I want you to stay away from him. Do you hear me?”

“Believe me, if I never see Reed Conway again, it will suit me just fine.”

Webb walked along the crowded beach, but paid no attention to anyone, not even the bathing beauties who usually caught his eye. He had to come up with a plausible reason for their leaving the Gulf a day early. He would use business—government business—as an excuse. Carolyn never questioned his excuses, no matter how feeble they might be. She tolerated a great deal from him, more than most women would endure. Her life couldn’t be easy, paralyzed as she was. And being married to a man who didn’t love her should have added to her unhappiness, but she didn’t seem to mind so much. What mattered to Carolyn was that she remain his wife.

“I intend to be Mrs. Webb Porter as long as I live,” she’d told him. “You would never divorce me, would you? Not with me in this condition? Please, Webb, promise me that you’ll never leave me.”

She’d been right. He would never leave her. How could he? Thirty years ago he had given her the promise she’d asked for, and in return she had agreed to adopt a child. Their marriage had become a series of compromises. Not what he wanted, but the price he had to pay. For Ella. For his political career. To ease his guilty conscience.