this is Beula Simms.”
Oh, Lord. What now?
“Get out to Jed Baker’s house right away. Your daddy and Jed’s at it again.”
She didn’t have to say at what; Jed and Grady’s father had hated each other for years. “I’ll be right there.” He hung up and snagged the keys to his patrol car. A headache pounded at his skull, the painkillers he’d managed to swallow barely touching the incessant throbbing. He should have left off the tequila the night before, but the approaching anniversary of his half sister’s death always brought out his dark side, the destructive one.
And now this call.
Five minutes later, he screeched up the graveled drive to Baker’s clapboard house. His father and Baker were yelling at each other on the sagging front porch. Grady opened the squad car door and climbed out, although both men seemed oblivious that he’d arrived.
“You should have left town a long time ago.” His father waved a fist at Jed.
“I did what I had to do and so did you,” Jed yelled.
Grady’s father raised a Scotch bottle and downed another swallow, staggering backward and nearly falling off the porch. “But if we’d done things differently, my little girl might be alive. And so would my Teresa.”
“I know the guilt’s eatin’ at you, Walt.” Jed ran his hand through his sweaty, thinning hair. “We’ll both be burning in hell for keeping quiet.”
“Hell, I’ve been living there for years.”
“But you don’t get it—someone’s been asking around.” Jed’s voice sounded raw with panic. “Claims he’s a reporter.”
His father coughed. “You didn’t tell him anything, did you?”
“Hell, no, but I don’t like him asking questions. What are we gonna do?”
“Keep your goddamn mouth shut, that’s what.”
“I ain’t the one who wanted to blab years ago. And what if he gets to Violet?”
“It’s always about her. What about what I lost?” Walt lunged at Jed, ripping his plaid shirt and dragging them both to the floor. Jed fought back, and they tumbled down the stairs, wood splintering beneath them, before they crashed to the dirt.
The late evening heat blistered his back as Grady strode over to them. “Get up, Dad.” He yanked his father off Jed, and the other man rolled away, spitting out dry dirt and brittle grass.
Walt swung a fist at his son. “Leave us alone!”
Grady grabbed him by both arms and tried to shake some sense into him. “For God’s sake, Dad, do you want me to haul your ass to jail for the night?”
Jed swiped a handkerchief across his bloody nose and climbed onto the lowest step. Grady’s father wobbled backward, a trickle of blood seeping from his dust-coated lower lip.
Grady jerked a finger toward his vehicle. “Get in the damn car before I handcuff you.”
His father muttered an obscenity as Grady shoved him into the back seat. He slammed the door and glared at Baker. “Are you all right?
Jed merely grunted.
“You want to press charges?”
“No.”
Grady narrowed his eyes, wondering why Baker would allow his dad to assault him and get away with it. But as usual when the two men fought, neither Jed nor his father offered an explanation. Although this time the conversation had triggered more questions than usual.
It was senseless to ask, though. Something had happened years ago that had caused a permanent rift between the men. Something they refused to talk about.
Judging from their conversation, it had to do with Darlene.
And sooner or later, Grady was going to find out exactly what it was. Then maybe he’d figure out who had killed his sister.
A FEW MINUTES LATER, he pulled up to his dad’s house. The Georgian style two-story had once been impressive, almost stately with its front columns, but had deteriorated in the past twenty years from lack of upkeep. Paint peeled from the weathered boards, shingles had blown off the roof in the recent storm, and the columns needing painting. A sad testament to his father’s life. “You’d better stay put tonight, Dad,” Grady ordered.
His father staggered toward the den, his face ruddy with rage. “You should have left us alone.”
“Sleep it off, Dad.” Grady slammed the door and jogged to his car. Dammit, just as he’d expected, his father had clammed up, refusing to talk about his fight with Baker or offer an explanation.
His nerves shot, Grady reached for a cigarette, then remembered he’d quit smoking for the dozenth time this year. Rummaging through the papers littering the console, he grabbed a piece of Juicy Fruit gum and shoved it in his mouth instead. The shortest span without his Marlboros had been six days. The longest, six months.
He automatically veered toward the graveyard beside Crow’s Landing Church, the daisies he’d bought for his little sister’s grave a reminder of the reason he’d started smoking in the first place.
Darlene’s death.
Everything in his life could somehow be related to that one crucial event. And the fact that her killer had never been caught.
Twenty years ago today she had been kidnapped. Twenty years ago tomorrow, they had found her dead. He knew his father was in pain. Hell, so was he. Grady had lost his entire family that day.
He’d never forgive himself for it, either.
If only he hadn’t stopped to hang out with the boys…If he’d come straight home to watch Darlene, she wouldn’t have set off across the hollow by herself to see that little friend of hers, Violet. And she wouldn’t be dead.
The small graveyard loomed ahead, shadows of tombstones darkening with age. Some graves were littered with debris, others better tended, a few decorated with artificial flowers. The dank air and smell of freshly turned dirt from a new grave enveloped Grady as he forced his rubbery legs to carry him through the aisles of cement landmarks. It was almost midnight, the day of mourning upon him.
Night sounds surrounded him, plus the crunch of his boots, the snapping of twigs and leaves. He knelt and traced his finger over the curved lines of Darlene’s name carved in slick marble, then laid the flowers across the headstone, his gaze straying to her mother’s grave beside her. At least the two of them were together; he tried to take solace in that fact. God only knew where his own mother was. She might be dead for all he knew. His father refused to talk about her.
Grady reached into his pocket and removed the bag of marbles he’d purchased earlier at the Dollar General, fingering each colorful ball as he arranged them in a heart shape on top of the grassy mound. A streetlight in the distance illuminated the colors. A green one with swirls of gold flecks looked almost iridescent, like mother-of-pearl, the cascade of bright reds, oranges, purples and yellows a kaleidoscope of colors against the earth.
