your folks was murdered, bad things have been happening. Livestock and animals attacking one another. Children dying before their time. Folks rising from the grave. Men becoming animals. Teenagers turning against their folks that raised them.”
Miss Nellie was superstitious. It was the way of the people of Appalachia. But Ivy couldn’t argue. She’d seen the stories, too, had read the papers. Every few years, always after a bout of bad thunderstorms and rain, the entire town seemed to go crazy. Crime spiked to a high. There had been several killings.
Even more odd was the fact that very few people ever left the town—alive, anyway. And the ones who’d lost loved ones seemed trapped by the old legends. Either that or they were held there by the spirits of the dead, who supposedly roamed the graveyard on the side of the mountain.
“No town or person is all bad,” Ivy said, clinging to her optimistic nature. “There has to be some good there, too.”
Miss Nellie’s expression softened slightly. “You’re so naive, Ivy. You always try to find good in everything. But there ain’t no good there. Just ghosts and the devil.” The old woman coughed and reached for her oxygen mask, inhaled a deep breath, then continued in a wheezing voice. “I used to hear the children chant when they were skipping rope.
‘Evil in the kudzu
devil in the men
Death in the hollow
again and again.’
And it’s true. People are afraid to stay. Afraid to leave.”
Ivy shivered. She’d been so afraid to return.
But those old fears were keeping her from having a sane life. From being with a man. From loving.
Even the colors hadn’t returned. The fall leaves outside had already started changing, but all she would see were brown and hints of yellow. There was no red. Even oranges appeared a muddy color.
She crossed the room to Miss Nellie’s bed and sat down beside her in the hard wooden chair. “If you don’t want me to go back, then tell me the truth about the night my parents died.”
Miss Nellie’s face turned ashen. “The only thing you need to know is that they locked up the killer. None of them Mahoney boys were ever any account.”
Ivy bit her bottom lip, her stomach knotting. Matt Mahoney hadn’t been all bad. She wasn’t sure how she knew that, but she did.
So why had everyone been so quick to blame him? She’d written him letters to find out, but he’d never responded. And six months ago, she’d drummed up enough courage to drive to the prison to hear his side, but he’d refused her visit.
The past few months, the local paper had featured articles on a lawyer named Willis who was writing a book on old cases and corruption in small-town politics. He’d managed to clear prisoners who’d been falsely arrested, citing new evidence based on advances in DNA testing. He was working on Matt’s case now.
What if they’d convicted the wrong man for her parents’ murders? Matt had been sixteen at the time. Why would he have killed her folks? That question had haunted her for years now.
That and the fact that if he was innocent, Matt had spent fifteen years in jail for a crime he hadn’t committed.
All because she’d been too much of a coward to remember the events of that night.
Six weeks later
MATT MAHONEY HAD SPENT the last fifteen years in jail for a murder he hadn’t committed. And someone was going to pay for the way he’d been wronged.
Thank God Abram Willis had taken an interest in his case. Willis had chosen to devote half of his practice to cold case files, to “the Innocents,” as he referred to them. Men and women falsely imprisoned.
And he’d been digging into Matt’s case for months now. Today would tell if he’d been successful.
Matt glanced at the lawyer and hoped he’d presented the case effectively, that he’d crossed all his t’s and dotted all the i’s. The judge had reviewed the evidence and called them to reconvene for his decision.
Willis fidgeted with his tie, then adjusted his wire-rims. The damn lawyer looked as nervous as Matt felt. Except Matt’s future was on the line here.
What was left of it.
The bailiff called the court to order, and the judge slammed down the gavel, then cleared his throat. Tufts of white hair stood up on the back of his balding head, making him look almost approachable. But his lack of expression during the hours Willis had presented the case made Matt wonder. And the steady gaze that he settled on Matt at that moment added to the mounting tension in the courtroom. Matt glanced at the sunlight streaming through the window, aching to step outside and bask in it. This judge was the only thing standing between him and freedom. He could almost taste the fresh air, smell the grass and leaves, feel the heat beating on his face and back.
But if he didn’t win today, he would go back inside.
Back to the dismal existence and that damn cell block that had become his life.
The judge cleared his throat. “After studying the evidence collected fifteen years ago, and after reviewing the current DNA evidence supplied, the court agrees that a mistake was made in this case. I’m ruling to overturn your conviction.” His expression turned grave. “The court offers its deepest apologies to you, Mr. Mahoney, but also issues you a warning. We’re trying to right a wrong here today. Remember that, and don’t use your incarceration as an excuse to make trouble.”
Matt exhaled slowly, the burning ache of disbelief rolling through him. Had he really heard the judge correctly? After all this time, was he ruling in Matt’s favor?
“You are free to go, Mr. Mahoney. With the court’s regrets, of course.”
He pounded the gavel, ending the session, and Willis jumped up and slapped Matt on the back in congratulations. A deputy stepped forward and removed the ankle bracelet. Matt stood immobile, breathless, as the metal fell away. He couldn’t believe it. He was free. Free to walk out the door for the first time in fifteen years. Free to go anywhere he wanted without a guard breathing down his shoulder, without handcuffs and chains around his ankles. Free to go to bed at night without another man watching him, or worrying that he might never live to see freedom.
But if the judge thought he’d righted the wrong just by releasing him, he was a damn idiot.
Matt had lost fifteen years of his life.
And someone had to answer for that. The town of Kudzu Hollow. Ivy Stanton.
And the person responsible for the Stanton slayings. The real killer had to be punished this time. And Matt would make certain that happened.
Even if it killed him.
“I KNOW YOU’RE STILL grieving over Miss Nellie’s death, Ivy,” George Riddon said. “And I want to help you if you’d let me.”
Ivy stared at her partner at Southern Scrapbooks, the magazine she’d birthed with the help of her own savings and George’s funding, and bit her lip. She’d thought George had stopped
