Ripple of Secrets: Rose Gardner Mystery Novella #6.5 (Rose Gardner series Book 3) (11 page)

Hilary

Henryetta, Arkansas.

Of all the places that man could pick to live, he chose Henryetta in Fenton County. I hated this God-forsaken cesspool of a town. But then he probably counted on that when he chose to move here, thinking I wouldn’t follow him.

But he was wrong. I would follow him anywhere.

Following him was yet another way of proving how much I loved him, although I’d never given him reason to doubt me. I’d proved my love for him over and over and over again, even when other women paraded through his life.

I was used to philandering. My own father was guilty of it. J.R. Simmons was the king of it. Most successful political men were promiscuous. I’d accepted this from an early age. My duty was to support Joe in his political role. Only Joe wasn’t stepping up to fulfill his duty, and I was catching the brunt of both of our families’ disappointment.

My father and J.R. had been friends since grade school, even attending college together. Both families came from oil money, but the Simmons family had evolved into law and then politics. J.R.’s father was a U.S. Representative, and he expected similar greatness from his son. But J.R.’s strength lay in reading people within minutes of meeting them, a talent he used to detect a person’s strengths and weaknesses and exploit them to meet his own ends. This would have been a superlative attribute in a politician, of course, but as a politician, J.R. Simmons would have been a puppet. He was much more effective as the puppet master. He ran multiple businesses, broadening his influence through forming connections with all the people in high places around him.

J.R. had many men in his pocket, but what he really wanted was a man he could truly own. A man who would do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, without question. He needed a son.

And as soon as his wife was pregnant with that son, he started to plan for the boy’s future. In exchange for Ed Wilder’s help in propelling J.R.’s soon-to-be-born son into the White House, J.R.’s son would marry Ed’s soon-to-be-born daughter. A simple handshake, several pats on the back, a couple of whiskey chasers, and my fate was sealed. Before either of us were even born. They never once questioned that they had agreed to an arranged marriage, something unheard of in the twentieth century. It never occurred to them that their children might rebel.

And I hadn’t. I’d understood my role from the beginning, since before I could read or write. One day, come what may, I would marry Joseph Simmons.

Only Joe
never
knew. His father felt it best to keep the news from him until he was older. After all, young Joe needed to focus on preparing for his future political career. Camps and debate. Current events and diplomacy. Joe learned at his grandfather’s knee. Literally. J.R.’s most cherished photo was taken in his father’s Washington, D.C., office—it showed a toddling Joe next to his formidable grandfather in a wooden chair, with J.R. behind them, looking down on the two most important men in his life.

The photo was more accurate than anyone could guess.

But by the end of Bill Simmons’ political career, his savvy young son was calling the shots, all while grooming his son to take his father’s place.

J.R. had a master plan. His father would stay in the House until Joe graduated from law school, then Joe would take over Bill’s seat in the next election. And everything was going according to plan until Bill had the audacity to have a heart attack when Joe was in fifth grade.

Kate was right about one thing. The three of us had grown up together. We’d shared an idyllic childhood. Summers spent at the Simmons house and playing in their pool. Family dinners and combined trips. I was with Joe and Kate Simmons more than with any of my other friends, and our parents loved it, always watching Joe and me with a special look.

But even though we spent all that time together, I never saw Joe as a brother. Of course, my mother’s whispers helped with that, but I was certain Joe had never viewed me as a sibling either. We had always been close, but it was in fifth grade, the year Bill Simmons died, that our relationship changed.

Our parents had enrolled us in Cotillion, and the class covered meal etiquette. Joe and I giggled over the fact that so many of our fellow attendees couldn’t tell the difference between a salad and a dessert fork.

Joe’s mother Betsy picked us up after our class, and she watched us with a smile as we tumbled into the back of her Cadillac. “How’d it go?” she asked.

“It’s a total waste of time,” Joe grumbled. “Hilary and I know everything already. We could teach the class. Do we have to go next week?”

“Yes.” Betsy turned around and started to drive out of the parking lot. “Next week you start dance lessons.”

“
Dance
lessons,” Joe grumbled. “What on earth do I need to learn dance for? I don’t have to wear tap or ballet shoes do I?”

“No, Joseph,” she murmured good-naturedly. “You won’t be learning tap dancing or even ballet—although your grandmother and I will teach you how to appreciate attending a ballet soon enough. But in Cotillion you will learn to waltz and do the foxtrot.”

“Is that anything like fox hunting? Dad said he’d take me hunting for quail next month.”

“No,” she chuckled. “Although I suspect you’ll have more fun quail hunting than you will learning the foxtrot. But Hilary will be there with you, so that will help to make it more fun.”

Joe turned to me and smiled.

My heart warmed in my chest and my breath caught. While I’d always known we would get married one day,
that
was the moment I fell in love with Joe Simmons.

But he still only saw us as friends. My mother hushed my fears before I went to bed that night. “Don’t worry, Hilary,” she said, smoothing back my hair. “Joe’s young. Much too young to fall in love.”

“He doesn’t even know he’s supposed to marry me,” I said, big fat tears falling down my cheeks. “He’s been playing foursquare with Margery Pope at recess. I think he likes
her
.”

My mother’s fingers delicately lifted my chin until my gaze met hers. “Hilary, I wish I could tell you that your life with Joe Simmons will be an easy one, but if he’s anything like his father, I’m sure it won’t be. But you must have faith that everything will work out in the end.”

That was enough to calm me for the moment. For if Joe was going to be like his daddy, I wasn’t sure I wanted to marry him after all.

Even at the tender age of ten, I knew J.R. Simmons was capable of terrible things. The J.R. I usually saw was all campaign smiles and cheerfulness, but I had seen something the summer before.

I was at the Simmons’ house swimming with Kate and Joe that day. Kate and I had a disagreement over something stupid, so I stomped inside. Only I forgot my towel and I immediately began to shiver in the air-conditioned house. Rather than go back outside, I decided to head up to the laundry room and see if I could find a towel there. As I walked past J.R.’s office, I heard strange sounds. I hurried down the hall, partially out of my fear and partially because my teeth were chattering. I was excited to find a load of towels tumbling in the dryer, with only a few minutes left on the cycle. I opened the door, pulled out a fluffy towel, and wrapped it around my shoulders, letting the warmth seep into my body. By the time I walked back down the hall, I had forgotten about the strange noises until I reached the office door. I pressed my ear against the wood, trying to figure out what was happening. My eyes flew wide when I realized a woman was crying inside. Worried she was hurt, I broke a cardinal rule of the Simmons household:
Never
go into J.R. Simmons’ office without an invitation. Truth be told, Joe, Kate and I had broken the rule over a half dozen times without anything bad happening, but I was still cautious as I slowly turned the knob and cracked the door, pressing my cheek to the doorframe to see inside.

My heart thudded wildly and fear raced through my body as I registered the sight of a woman bent over the side of J.R.’s desk—her torso pressed flat to the surface, her hands splayed out beside her head, and her face turned to face the back wall. Her green floral skirt was pushed up to her waist so I could see her pale, round butt cheeks. J.R. stood behind her, his pants dropped to his knees. One hand was pressed hard on her back, keeping her down as she struggled against him. But his front pounded against her with a violence I had never seen before. There was a look of pure evil in his eyes, but his smile was what scared me the most. I was too young to understand what I was seeing other than that J.R. Simmons, the man who’d been like a second father to me, was purposely hurting the woman on the desk.

He gave several last hard shoves against her, making her cry out again, and he let out a loud groan before grabbing a handful of her short blonde hair and lifting her head slightly off the desk. “Is that what you had in mind when you offered to repay me for your husband’s transgressions, Della?”

She didn’t answer, only whimpered softly.

He released her hair and her face fell onto the desk. His hands palmed her ass and a wider grin spread across his face. “Yes, I do believe we
can
work something out.”

I gasped. He was going to hurt her again.

I shut the door as quickly and quietly as I could, but it wasn’t fast enough. J.R.’s face turned toward the door as I closed it, and I couldn’t be sure if he’d seen me or not. I ran down the hall and into the kitchen, unable to face Joe and Kate but unsure of where else to go. I opened the pantry door and huddled in the back for several minutes before the door started to open. Terrified that J.R. had found me and would hurt me too, my eyes burned with tears. Momma had told me strong Southern women do not cry in public, so I swallowed them down.

But it was Roberta’s warm mocha-colored face that filled the doorway. She took one look at me and knew something was up. “What on earth are you doin’ in here, girl?”

I jumped to my feet and ran to her, wrapping my arms around her wide waist and burying my face into her breast.

Within less than a second I was cocooned in her arms. “Baby girl, you’re shakin’ like a leaf. What’s got you so scared?”

I shook my head against her, fighting back tears again. “Don’t tell him. Please don’t tell him.”

“Who you talkin’ about?” she asked, but even as the words escaped, a certain knowing crept in at the end. She grabbed my arms and pulled me away from her, trying to mask the fear in her eyes. “Tell him what?”

I never considered the possibility that she might not know whom I was talking about. Only one man could induce such fear. “That I saw,” I whispered.

She took a step back, her hands shaking, but then she bent to look into my face. “Saw what, baby girl?”

I squeezed my eyes shut and violently shook my head. I couldn’t repeat it. I wouldn’t.

“Did you look into Mr. J.R.’s office?”

I nodded, my chin quivering, and the tears finally began to fall.

She pulled me back to her chest, rubbing my back in sweeping circles. “Ain’t nobody tellin’ nobody nothin’, ya hear?” She squeezed me tight to her and her heart raced in my ear. “Nobody’s tellin’ nothin’.”

“Okay.”

“Roberta.” J.R.’s voice boomed in the kitchen.

Roberta’s eyes flew open wide and she glanced over her shoulder, then back down at me. “You act normal. You understand?” She spoke in a whisper, but her tone was stern and absolute.

“Yes, ma’am,” I whispered back, wiping away my tears.

“In here, Mr. J.R.,” Roberta said in a cheery voice. “Miss Hilary is helping me make cookies.” She grabbed a container of flour and shoved it at me before grabbing sugar and chocolate chips.

I reluctantly followed her out of the pantry, leaving my damp towel on the floor where it had fallen when Roberta hugged me. I started to avert my eyes from J.R., but then I remembered hearing Daddy tell someone that he always knew when the people in his courtroom were guilty because they couldn’t look him in the eye. So I lifted my gaze to his and forced a smile. “Hello, Mr. J.R. I didn’t know you were home from work already.”

I set the flour on the island, trying not to shiver from the cold.

“Why aren’t you out swimming with Joe and Kate?” he asked, an edge of suspicion in his voice.

“Oh, you know those kids,” Roberta grumbled. “They always spattin’ about somethin’. Kate hurt Hilary’s feelings, so I told her to come in here and help me make some cookies.”

He watched us both carefully, then turned his gaze to me. “Hilary, were you outside my office door just now?” His voice was sweet, but I didn’t trust him for a second.

I shook my head slowly. “No, sir.”

“She’s been in here with me for a good ten to fifteen minutes,” Roberta said, pulling out a mixing bowl. “Why you askin’?”

He looked over his shoulder, suddenly unsure. “Never mind.” Then he walked out of the room, leaving us behind.

Roberta carried on with the cookies for a few minutes before she looked down at me, terror in her eyes. “I don’t know what you saw in that man’s office, but you can never tell a soul any of it, you hear?”

I nodded, tears filling my eyes again.

She licked her lips, then leaned down until our faces were only inches apart. “Evil goes on in that office, baby girl, so you best stay far, far away.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and snugged me into a side hug. “That’s my good girl.”