A Shred of Evidence (6 page)

“There.” A phony smile stretched his cheeks. “Is that better?”

Sarah Beth gave an emphatic nod and began to hum as she rubbed an orange slice around her plate.

“Are you going to work late this week?” Julie said.

“Probably.”

“Ross, we have to go on with our lives. We can’t just stay stuck in all this pain.”

“Look whose talking.” He hung his head over his plate and took a bite. “This is the wrong time to get into this.”

“Then when is the right time? Nighttime doesn’t work. Morning doesn’t work. You’re unavailable every second in
between. You’ve been completely shut down for over a year.”

“What do you want me to say? I’m not over it, okay? I’m doing the best I can.”

“You’re not dealing with it, you’re being consumed by it. Do you have any idea how alone that makes me feel?” Julie could almost hear the door of his heart slamming shut.

Ross pushed himself away from the table. “Yeah, you tell me a hundred times a day.” He got up and grabbed his lunch pail off the counter, then kissed Sarah Beth on the top of the head. “Bye, darlin’. Daddy loves you.”

“You need to eat breakfast,” Julie said.

“I’m not hungry anymore. I’ll see you when I see you.”

Julie sat with elbows on the table, her chin resting on her palms, and listened to Ross slam the front door, start his truck, and back out of the driveway. Her eyes brimmed with tears and she blinked rapidly to clear them.

Sarah Beth tugged at the sleeve of Julie’s bathrobe. “No cwy, Mama. Be
happy.”

Julie brushed the hair out of Sarah Beth’s searching eyes and managed a weak smile, then hurried out of the kitchen. She groped her way to the bathroom, locked the door, and wept.

Ellen managed to dress herself in spite of her sore fingers. If she couldn’t work on the book, there was no reason why she should just sit home feeling sorry for herself.

She thought about calling Julie Hamilton, then decided against it, not wanting to seem too available. Once she was working on her novel again, she wouldn’t have the time or emotional energy to nurture a friendship with someone as needy as Julie. Keeping Sarah Beth for a few hours was one thing, but Ellen thought it best not to open herself up to Julie until she was sure they had established some boundaries.

She remembered reading about a sale at Beall’s and decided
to use this stroke of misfortune as an opportunity to freshen her wardrobe. And maybe try out Gordy’s Crab Shack.

Gordy Jameson walked out the back door of his crab shack and onto the deck, delighted to see every table occupied. He let his eyes wander over the lunch crowd and walked up to an attractive lady about his age who was sitting alone.

“I’m Gordy Jameson, the owner. I trust you’re enjoyin’ your meal?”

“Indeed, I am,” the woman said. “This is my first time here, and I just love the seafood salad.” She started to extend her right hand, and instead put down her fork and offered him her left. “My name’s Ellen Jones. Sorry for the awkward handshake.” She smiled sheepishly and held up the bruised and swollen fingers of her right hand. “I tried to lift a plant that was much too heavy for me and dropped the thing on my fingers. Not one of my brighter decisions”

Gordy shook his head. “That looks painful. I’m really sorry.” He reached in his pocket and gave her a coupon. “Why don’t you try a piece of key lime pie on the house? Guaranteed to cure whatever ails you—or at least distract you from it for a while.”

“Thanks, I will. How kind of you. I’m enjoying the food, but also the view from out here. I’m glad I read the article in the newspaper. I’m going to bring my husband with me next time.”

“Great. That’s what I like to hear. Hope your fingers feel better soon.”

Gordy greeted a few more customers he didn’t recognize, then walked over to the table where his friends were sitting and dropped into the chair next to Eddie Drummond. “Whew, this place is hoppin’!”

“Must be all that good press,” Captain Jack said.

“Yeah, I suppose. I had Weezie call in an extra waitress. If this keeps up, I may be waitin’ tables. So, what’d I miss?”

“I got my Corvette back,” Adam Spalding said. “Can’t tell it’s ever been sideswiped.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Glad
you’re
happy.”

“Come on, Drummond,” Gordy said. “Don’t make Adam feel bad just because Hank gave the job to that new guy.”

Eddie didn’t say anything, but kept stabbing the ice in his glass with the straw.

Weezie Taylor came to the table carrying a big round tray “Key lime pie all around.” She set a piece of pie in front of everyone at the table except Gordy “You want one, boss?”

“Nah, I can’t sit while it’s this busy. I’ll come back inside in a minute.”

Two police officers came out on the deck and sat at the far table.

“Wonder if they’ve made any progress on that hit-and-run case?” Eddie said. “We never had problems like that till all these outsiders started movin’ here.”

“Why don’t you go ask ’em?” Captain leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “I’m sure they’d be honored to discuss police business with a fine upstanding citizen such as yourself.”

Eddie swatted the air. “Joke about it all you want, but crime’s on the rise.”

“We’re talking
one
hit-and-run,” Adam said. “It’s not like we’re becoming another Miami.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why I don’t live there.”

Gordy pushed back his chair. “I’ll let you guys handle the heavy stuff. I’d better go pitch in if I wanna keep Weezie on the payroll.”

Ellen heard bellowing laughter and looked over at the group at the next table, smiling at the owner as he walked past her table.

She let the warm breeze wash over her and took a bite of
key lime pie and let it melt in her mouth. The gulf waters shimmered in the noonday sun; and in the distance, a flock of frenzied gulls were hovering over a fishing boat and diving into the water. Near her feet, several pesky grackles meandered, stealing whatever scraps they found.

She let her mind wander and soon had an idea where her novel would take her when she was able to type again. Why hadn’t she brought something to jot notes on? Then again, how fast could she write with her left hand? She pictured in her mind the setting of the
next chapter
and tried to memorize the details. She visualized the new characters and rehearsed the dialog over and over until she was sure she wouldn’t forget it.

Ellen came back to the present and realized all the customers had left the deck except those seated at the table next to her.

“Okay, you wanna know what’s eatin’ me?” she heard a man say. “I overheard some real scary stuff about Ross Hamilton.”

“Like what?”

The man lowered his voice and Ellen strained to hear. “I heard Hank talking on the phone. Sounded to me like Hamilton’s a
child molester.”

“Hank actually said that?”

“More or less.”

“Has the guy done time?”

“I don’t know, but he must have.”

“What were Hank’s exact words, Eddie?”

“I can’t remember
exactly
. But he was talking with someone on the phone about Ross Hamilton being accused of doing something to a little boy named Nathaniel in Biloxi. Then the other person must’ve said something because Hank sounded mad and said that nosy reporter couldn’t prove Ross was involved in the deaths of those
other
boys or the disappearance of those young women.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“No kidding. What if the guy’s a pedophile and a murderer?
Heaven knows how many other victims there might be. You can’t cure these guys.”

“Man, that’s scary.”

“Then Hank said, and I quote, ‘Like it or not, Ross is family. And he’s got nowhere else to go.’ Wanna bet that’s the only reason Hank hired him?”

“No wonder Hamilton’s keeping to himself. You think he’s a registered sex offender?”

“I dunno, but I’m sure as heck gonna find out. I don’t want him near
my
kids.”

Ellen opened a menu, her heart racing, and pretended to be engrossed. She stole a glance at the table and saw that the man talking had a crew cut and wore blue coveralls, the name Eddie embroidered above the pocket. One of the other men told him to lower his voice; and after that, she couldn’t hear any more of the conversation.

She thought back on Julie’s sad eyes and her seeming depression. Had the Hamiltons moved here to escape the wrath of people in Biloxi who didn’t want them living next door? And what about Sarah Beth? Was Julie in denial—or naïve enough to think a pedophile husband wouldn’t hurt his own child? Is that what had caused the friction between Ross and her parents? Or caused her to cry when Ellen told her how blessed she was?

Out of the corner of her eye, Ellen saw the three men at the table get up. She kept her eyes on the menu as they filed past her and went inside.

E
llen Jones walked in the kitchen, set her purse on the island, and hurried down the hallway. She stood in front of the closed door to Guy’s study and started to knock, then thought better of it. Would he think what she had just overheard was important enough to interrupt his work? She decided it could wait.

She walked softly down the hall, through the living room, and out onto the veranda. The muggy air turned her around and sent her right back inside. She sank into the couch.

If only she hadn’t chosen today to go to Gordy’s! The last thing she needed was time on her hands and a story that begged to be reported—especially when it involved someone she knew. When she left Baxter, hadn’t she vowed to leave her newspaper career behind and take up something tamer and less obsessive?

She jumped up from the couch, went out to the kitchen, and poured a glass of lemonade. She sat on a stool at the breakfast bar, her mind reeling with the implications of Julie’s husband being a child molester.

Ellen started to pour another glass of lemonade and realized she hadn’t touched the one in front of her. If Ross was abusing Sarah Beth, it was unconscionable that Julie would simply ignore it. Then again, Cynthia’s mother had.

Ellen had never forgotten her friend Cynthia’s emotional retelling of how her father had abused her when she was a child. Cynthia had never told anyone until she and Ellen were roommates in college. But once Ellen showed herself to be a
compassionate listener, it was as though Cynthia couldn’t stop talking until she had rid herself of the dark, oppressive secret. Some of the images filed in Ellen’s mind still bothered her. How could she ignore what might be happening to Sarah Beth?

Ellen considered calling Julie and telling her what Eddie had said. But it seemed wiser to call Cynthia and ask her advice.

Ellen reached in the drawer and took out her address book. She found Cynthia’s number and dialed, and then hung up. What if Cynthia resented her bringing this up after all these years? And did Ellen really want to get involved in the Hamiltons’ situation?

She thought of Sarah Beth and dialed again.

“Hello.”

“Cynthia?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Ellen Madison—Jones.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. How in the world are you? I got your Christmas letter and couldn’t be happier about Guy’s law partnership. And you’re writing a novel! How exciting. Though I’ve got to tell you, it was a bit sobering to find out Owen got married. Last time I saw him he was just a smidgen taller than the kitchen table.”

“Tell me about it. Seems like only yesterday we were in college. And now our
kids
have graduated from college.”

There was an awkward stretch of silence. Ellen suddenly lost her nerve and wished she hadn’t made the call.

“You haven’t phoned me in years,” Cynthia said. “Is everything all right?”

“With us, yes. But I do have a situation I’m not sure how to handle. I hesitated to call you, but I don’t know who else could offer the input I need. I recently met a young woman with a two-year-old daughter. I think her husband is a pedophile.”

“Go on,” Cynthia said.

Ellen spent the next couple of minutes telling Cynthia
everything she knew about Julie, Ross, and Sarah Beth Hamilton, and about the conversation she had overheard at Gordy’s. “Should I confront Julie with what I overheard?”