French colonial-style house came into view. It had an expansive veranda with a balcony above and the stately Greek columns typical of a Southern plantation. The Corbett home had been in the family for years, and Asa had completely renovated it for his wife, a Dallas socialite. She’d stayed long enough to have two sons and then returned to the city without them. Asa refused to let her take them, according to Carson’s aunt Fran. Asa’s wife had died one year later in a plane crash. Carson vaguely remembered the funeral.
He drove around back to the garages. The kids jumped out and ran through the breezeway to the sunroom. Aunt Fran, his dad’s sister, had a snack waiting for them. After Carson and Jared’s mother had left, their aunt came to help. She was the only mother figure they’d had in their lives. When he and Jared were older, she decided to travel and see the world. She’d returned for good when Jared died. Carson didn’t know what he would have done if she hadn’t. She could deal with Asa better than anyone.
“Where’s Pa?” He kissed his aunt’s cheek.
“In the den,” she replied, pouring milk into glasses. “He’s sitting in there with a picture of Jared in his lap. One of these days I’m going to hide it. It’s not healthy for him to stare at it all the time.”
In her late fifties, Aunt Fran had a reddish tint to her short, bobbed, graying blond hair. She was strong-willed and determined, like Asa, except she was a much softer version of him.
Carson walked into the den. Asa sat in his motorized wheelchair. He could work the joystick with his right hand. A physiotherapist was working with him, and Asa could stand and shuffle a couple of steps, but his left side was weak and stiff.
In his younger years, Asa had been a formidable, well-respected rancher. Governors, senators, congressmen courted Asa for favors. Many barbecues had been thrown on the Bar C to support the candidate of Asa’s choice. He’d ruled Willow Creek. Nothing had been done here without his approval. That was then. Now it was disheartening to see his robustly strong dad reduced to a shell of his former self.
“Hi, Pa,” he said.
Asa turned the chair to face his son. “K-ids.”
“They’re having a snack. They’ll be here in a minute.” The only bright spot in his dad’s life was his grandkids. Claire would crawl into his lap and help to work his fingers for exercise. Trey would help to work his legs, and he’d read to him. It was good for his kids. It taught them how to treat the disabled and the elderly...except his dad was only sixty-five.
Carson intended to bring up Jena Brooks but decided to wait. He didn’t want to upset Asa without showing him some hard evidence. He had to prove Ms. Brooks was lying, and the only way to do that was with facts.
The kids ran in, and Claire climbed up to sit in Asa’s lap, looking at the photo of Jared. Trey sat at his feet, telling his grandfather about his good grades.
“I’ve got to go out, guys. Trey, do your homework, and, Claire, I’ll help you when I get back.”
“I’ll help her, Dad,” Trey offered.
“Thanks, son.”
He got in his constable’s car and headed for Minnie Voltree’s house. The woman had to be in her seventies now, but the last time he’d seen her she was still spry and had all her mental faculties, as far as he could tell.
After crossing the tracks that divided the community, he turned onto a narrow dirt road that curled into a hilly wooded area. Minnie and her family lived deep in the woods, but people were still able to find her if they needed her. Since everyone, including the poor, had access to better medical care than used to be available in Willow Creek, Minnie’s midwife services were rarely needed these days.
A trailer house was barely visible. Carson drove over a cattle guard and into the front yard. Chickens pecked freely in the grass. Minnie sat in a chair on the attached front porch, snapping green beans. An old redbone coonhound lay at her feet.
“Afternoon, Constable,” Minnie said as he walked up the steps. The dog raised his head and then went back to sleep.
“Minnie.” He tipped his hat.
“What brings you out this way?” Minnie had a blue bandanna tied around her long gray hair. Her fingers continued to snap the beans deftly.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“About what?”
“Jena Brooks?”
Her fingers paused for a second. A bad sign. “Sure.”
“Did you deliver her baby?”
Minnie stopped snapping and stared at him with narrowed gray eyes. “No. Last I heard she left town, after the scandal and all.”
“She’s back.”
“You don’t say.” Minnie went back to her work, but her fingers were shaky. The second bad sign.
“She said you delivered her baby.”
“She’s lying.”
“She also said Asa took the baby from her.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Yeah, it is, but if you and Asa took her baby that means you stole it, and that’s illegal.”
Minnie stood abruptly, clutching the bowl. “I did not deliver Jena Brooks’s baby.”
“Not even for money?”
“I resent that.”
He ignored her indignation. “Did my father pay you to deliver her baby and give it away?”
“I’m not answering any more questions.” She stormed into the trailer and slammed the screen door. She stood just inside.
“If you want to talk to me, you know where my office is. Jena Brooks isn’t going away. She believes she has a real grievance, and she’s got an attorney working on her case.”
No response, as he’d expected.
He drove away with a niggling in his gut. Something fishy was going on, and his dad was right in the middle of it. His first instinct was to notify the sheriff of Hays County. They had the resources and the manpower to deal with this.
As the constable in this precinct, he provided law-enforcement services for Willow Creek and the surrounding rural areas. People called 911 for major crimes, which were rare. Those calls were handled by the sheriff’s department in San Marcos, and Carson would usually assist. Most people in town had his direct number and would call for minor incidents like a fight at the beer joint, trespassers or family squabbles.
They called Carson because they didn’t want to draw the attention of the sheriff. They just wanted the annoyance to go away. Very rarely did he have to arrest anyone. If he did, he had to transport them to the county jail in San Marcos.
Carson would contact the sheriff about Ms. Brooks’s allegation, but he had to be cautious for his dad’s sake. Asa wasn’t in good health, and sometimes he wasn’t even in his right mind. All his thoughts were focused on
