Unspeakable (25 page)

"Yeah, yeah, I have. It's been a much better life for me than it has been for you and the boy." Anna had never seen Delray cry, not even when he buried his son. The tears in his eyes added yet another degree to the emotion with which he was struggling.

"When Dean died, I was afraid that you would move away from the ranch, take David, and make another life for him and yourself. You could have done that. Maybe you should have. But, anyway, I appreciate that you stayed with me."

Again she tried to pull her hand away and sign, but he wouldn't let her.

"Please let me finish. Now that I've started. I'm not very good at... Fact is, I'm lousy at putting into words what I feel. But I hope you know... You've got to know that I..." She hoped he wouldn't profess the love that she had been seeing in his eyes for years. It was impossible to pinpoint exactly when she'd realized that Delray loved her. There hadn't been a brilliant burst of clarity, no precise moment when she was convinced beyond a doubt. Over the course of months and years, it had come to her gradually, quietly and without fanfare, until one day she simply knew, as a woman does.

Neither of them had acknowledged it. She had never given him any indication that she knew his feelings had evolved into something deeper. To do so would have been cruel. Because nothing could come of it.

Moral implications aside, gossip notwithstanding, she didn't return Delray's love. She loved him for accepting her in spite of his initial misgivings. He had taken the time and trouble necessary to learn sign language, and that was an effort for which she loved him. They were bound together by their common love for Dean, and then for David. She was an affectionate and devoted daughter-in-law. But that was the extent of it.

His love for her was different and much deeper.

Had he ever expressed himself, she would have had to leave. She had ardently hoped that wouldn't happen. The ranch had become her home. More importantly, it was David's home. Delray was his only father figure, and the only family they had. Uprooting her son, removing him from everything familiar and loved, would have been traumatic. Apparently Delray had guessed the position she would take. He must have realized the irony of his dilemma—declaring himself would have meant losing her and his grandson.

So they had lived under a tacit understanding: His feelings would remain unspoken, and Anna would pretend not to know of them.

She maintained that pretense now. Bending down, she tenderly and chastely kissed his forehead. When she straightened up and looked down at him, they exchanged a gaze of understanding that was far more puissant than language. Her eyes thanked him for not driving her away by professing his love. His thanked her for not ridiculing him for loving her. Both had their dignity intact.

CHAPTER TWENTY–FIVE

S
ome brainstorms really should be recorded. There should be an encyclopedia devoted exclusively to outstanding ideas so that future generations could use and study them and admire their originators.

However, if there were such a reference book, the element of surprise would be sacrificed. And basic to every brainstorm worth spit was the element of surprise. That's why this one had been so freaking fantastic. No one had expected Cecil Herbold to pay a visit to his wicked old stepdaddy. He thumped the steering wheel of his Mustang in time to the Boss's voice growling at him through the speakers. Springsteen was a genius at what he did. But Cecil Herbold was no slouch in his field, either. No sirree. He had a real creative flair that had gone largely unappreciated. Oh, Carl might be gutsier. Carl had more derring-do and dash. But Cecil was the wiser. He was the strategist. The thinker. The planner.

His foot itched to stamp the accelerator. He wanted to give the sweet ride all she would take, really see if she could go balls-out down the highway. That's what his reckless younger brother would do. Drunk on success, Carl might be stupid enough to get a speeding ticket. He might give the laws what they wanted, which was an excuse to pull him over and harass him. But Cecil was smarter than Carl. He drove within the speed limit. No tickets for him, thank you very much.

Besides, if he sped up, he might lose his tail. "That joker," he muttered with disdain as he raised a can of Pepsi to his lips. Who did the laws think they were dealing with here? Didn't they know he was borderline genius?

Keeping the speedometer just under sixty, he reviewed the day yet again. He couldn't have asked for it to go any better. It had been fucking perfect. That the old man was sick was a bonus he hadn't expected. Someone else might have taken that startling news as a setback. Someone with less imagination might have called it a day right then and there, given up and gone home.

Him, he'd seen it as a golden opportunity and had taken full advantage of it. He'd gone to Blewer thinking he would drop in on the old bastard at the ranch, make sure his visit was reported by the guys tailing him, then head on back home. When questioned later, Delray would tell them the truth—because Delray Corbett did not lie. (How many times had he and Carl heard that when they begged him to provide them with an alibi? "I won't lie for you sorry boys.")

Cecil came home to ask my forgiveness," Delray would tell them. Whether he granted it or not was beside the point. It would be told that Cecil had asked Delray to forgive him. That would have been a successful day.

The day had expanded from successful to stupendous when his grief and suffering and remorse and contrition were witnessed by everybody on the third floor of Memorial Hospital. When he was barred admittance into the CCU, he had caused a scene. Not the screaming, cursing kind of spectacle that Carl would have created. That would have been the wrong strategy. Tears and anguish worked far more effectively in this situation. Everybody in the CCU waiting room had sympathized with him when the frosty nurse in charge had said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Herbold. At the request of the family, no one is being allowed to see Mr. Corbett."

"But I'm family," he sobbed, dryly at first. Then he'd managed to eke out a few tears. "I'm family." His voice had cracked a little, which had made him sound even more pathetic. "I'm not leaving until I see my stepdaddy. There's something I've got to tell him before he dies. Does he know I'm here? Have you asked him if he wants to see me?"

Actually if the son of a bitch had known a Herbold was within a hundred miles of his sickbed, he probably would have croaked.

Cecil didn't give a rat's ass about the old man, if he lived or died. In fact, he was rather glad that he had avoided a face-to-face with him. He had been prepared to eat crow and go down on bended knee in front of Delray if that was what had been required to make this act convincing. But he was glad he hadn't needed to go to that extreme. Besides, Delray wasn't an easy man to fool. He wouldn't have been as gullible as the hospital security guard who was summoned. He was a rent-a-cop who waddled over to Cecil with crumbs of his midmorning snack muffin stuck in his mustache. He asked Cecil what the problem was and Cecil told him. "Well now, I can understand why you're upset. But you're disturbing other people, and we just can't have this sort of commotion here in the hospital." He suggested that Cecil come back at a more convenient time.

When Cecil refused, the security guard looked helplessly at the nurse, who then called the local police.

The officer was old and tired and really didn't give a damn whether Cecil got to see his stepdaddy or not. But he was up to speed on the Herbold brothers. "You're in violation of parole, aren't you, buddy?"

"No, sir. I got permission to come see my stepdaddy. On the condition that I go back tonight and report in. My parole officer has got caller ID on her phone so I can't fake it. Here's her number. Call and check me out."

He had taken the business card Cecil extended to him and dialed the number. He was told that Cecil had permission to leave the State of Arkansas for a visit to his family if he were back by seven that evening. And, unless Cecil was mistaken, he was also told that Cecil was under surveillance, so he couldn't get into too much trouble along the way—such as rendezvousing with, and aiding and abetting, his brother. He was also probably being told that they were hoping this visit was all for show and that Cecil would lead them straight to Carl and Myron. The Blewer police veteran looked hard at Cecil as he listened to the information coming to him from Arkansas. Finally he said, "Okay. Thanks." He hung up and handed the business card back to Cecil. "You've gone to a lot of trouble for nothing, Mr. Herbold. You're not welcome here. Your stepdaddy's family thinks that seeing you will upset him. They say y'all didn't part on the best of terms."

"That's why I want to see him. My brother Carl and me did some awful things when we lived with him. We about ruined his life. Carl made some mighty strong statements against Delray when Delray refused to help on his appeal. Threats and all.

"I want to tell Delray that I wasn't any part of that business. I did the crime so I did the time. I'm sorry for all the bad things I did. Carl has gone 'round the bend, escaping from prison and all. Raping that girl. He's bound straight for hell. I want Delray to know that one of us turned out all right."

He choked out a dry little sob. "That's all. I just wanted to let him know that I found the Lord in prison. I've been to Calgary. I'm not like I was when Delray knew me. I'm not like my brother."

"I'm sure you'd make Delray right proud of you, Cecil," the disinterested cop said. "But you're gonna have to do it in another time and place. Come on, now. I'll escort you out."

"Okay, Officer," he said, wiping his eyes. "I don't want any trouble." So he had left. Mission accomplished. It would be channeled through all the agencies searching for Carl that Cecil was a contrite, law-abiding citizen. He had made a pilgrimage to Texas to appeal to his dying stepdaddy to forgive him. He wanted to make restitution—that was a word frequently used by the prison shrinks—for all his past transgressions. He didn't want to be linked to his little brother. Cecil's criminal days were over. They could focus their attention elsewhere. And he was right about the attention.

He spotted his tail about a hundred miles from Blewer when he stopped to refuel the Mustang and buy a Pepsi and a basket of chicken tenders. Bold as brass and not caring if he was marked or not, he had pulled into the truck stop behind Cecil and parked.

He didn't get out of his vehicle, but waited while Cecil pumped his gas, went in and paid, and returned to his car with his chicken tenders. Cecil had glared at him, he'd stared back, practically begging Cecil to confront him, something Cecil was too smart to do. He had followed him another fifty miles or so before peeling off.

"Hired hand, my ass," Cecil muttered as he crossed the state line between Arkansas and Texas. It was a good cover, but anybody could see that this guy who dressed like a cow-poke and called himself Jack Sawyer was heat. The pickup truck he drove was a nice touch. No question the guy was tough and smart.

Even so, he'd have to get up pretty early to outfox Cecil Herbold.

CHAPTER TWENTY–SIX

J
ack was asleep on his stomach, his head buried in his pillow, the sheets twisted around his legs. A solid knocking on the trailer door brought him instantly awake. He tripped over the sheet as he stumbled from the bed and staggered down the narrow hallway. He pushed open the door. Anna was wearing a long white cotton nightgown. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks rosy from sleep. She was breathless, apparently from running. She motioned for him to come and come quickly, then made the sign for the telephone.

"Be right there."

Pressing down the painful wake-up call his cock was giving him, he rushed back into the rear end of the trailer only long enough to pee and step into the cutoffs he'd been wearing the night before. He ran from the trailer, catching up with Anna before they reached the house. Once inside, she motioned him down the hallway into the study.

David, still in his pajamas, was speaking into the telephone receiver. " 'Cause if you swing too high before you're ready, you could fall and bust your head open and have to get stitches and stuff. Jack says I'm nearly ready to go real, real high, but my mom's still scared for me to. She's back now. She brought Jack to talk to you. Bye."

Handing the phone to Jack, he said, "I heard it ringing and answered it all by myself and then went to wake up my mom like the lady said."

"You did good." Jack scrubbed the top of the boy's head with his knuckles. Taking the phone, he said hello and introduced himself. "Sorry it took so long."

The caller introduced herself as a CCU nurse. "I tried to go through the relay system so I could speak with Mrs. Corbett. Unfortunately," she said, "I couldn't make the connection. The eight hundred number written down here must be wrong. I then tried Mrs. Baker, but she didn't respond to the page."

"I'll translate best I can," Jack told her.

Anna was anxiously watching his face and ignoring David, who was tugging on her nightgown and demanding his breakfast.

"I assume this is about Delray?" Expecting the worst, Jack held his breath. "Is he... How is he?"

"His condition is much improved this morning. At least it was. The nurse's aide who was bathing Mr. Corbett mentioned his stepson's visit to the hospital yesterday. He became extremely agitated. If we hadn't restrained him, he would have got out of bed and left the hospital. He's still threatening to. We thought his daughter-in-law should know. Maybe she could help calm him."