Every Move She Makes (27 page)

But suddenly Roy saw a small light in the far corner, near the row of red tool boxes. It had to be a flashlight. That meant it wasn’t an animal. Probably kids looking to steal something. He’d just scare them off. No need to call the police and get anybody in trouble.

“Hey, you in there,” Roy called loudly as he stepped inside the garage. “I know you’re there, so you’d better come on out. If you don’t give me no problems, I won’t call the police.”

The flashlight went out, but no one answered. Roy could hear somebody moving around and he saw a shadow. He moved farther inside, then turned halfway around, searching for the wall switch.

“I’m going to turn on the light,” Roy warned. “You’d best be hightailing it out of here before I see you.” He’d just keep his back turned and give the kid a chance to leave on his own.

Roy heard a rattling sound, as if whoever was in there with him had gotten into one of the tool boxes. “You’d best not be stealing nothing.” Roy hated to do it, but he didn’t have much choice. He’d have to turn on the light and expose the thief.

He reached for the switch, but before his finger made contact, somebody hit him on the head. Hard. His head throbbed something awful. When Roy lifted his hand to rub his head, he felt something sticky. He was bleeding.

A second blow followed the first, then a third. The big, stupid retard fell to his knees, crying. A fourth blow knocked him out. Just one more to be sure he doesn’t get up.

It was regrettable that Roy Moses had heard something and come to investigate. If he’d stayed out front where he belonged, it wouldn’t have been necessary to resort to violence. Maybe he wasn’t dead. But of course, it didn’t really matter. The man was an inferior creature Mentally deficient.

Drop the wrench. You’re wearing gloves so there will be no fingerprints except Briley Joe’s and Reed’s. Too bad Reed has an alibi
.

Hurry. Get what you came here for and leave. No one saw you on the walk over here, and even if they did, they wouldn’t know it was you. With the big meeting at the Porter house going on right now, you don’t have time to waste. Once the Blalock case is reopened, it’s only a matter of time until the truth comes out. You can’t let that happen. Do what you must do to protect yourself
.

“It’s not going to be easy investigating a murder that happened fifteen years ago,” Frank Nelson said. “Some of Junior’s buddies are either dead or in the pen.” Frank cut his eyes toward Reed, giving him a quick glance, then refocused his attention on Webb. “And let’s face it, half this town had reason to hate Junior.”

“Including members of my family,” Webb admitted.

“Are you sure you want to—”

Webb interrupted Frank mid-sentence. “No, I don’t want to go there, but if we’re going to prove Reed didn’t murder his stepfather, then a lot of ugly truths are bound to come out—some secrets that I’d rather stay hidden.”

“Daddy, what are you talking about?” Ella glanced up from her seat on the sofa beside Reed and stared at Webb.

The last thing he wanted was for Ella to know that he had feet of clay, that the father she idolized was a mere mortal, a man who had committed more than his share of sins. But if there was any hope of finding out who, if not Reed, killed Junior Blalock, then Webb had to be honest—not only with Frank Nelson, but with Ella.

“Unless it becomes necessary, I’d rather Carolyn not know about this.” Webb paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, nervous tension propelling his movements. “If it becomes public knowledge, I’ll tell her myself.”

Ella rose from the sofa, walked over to Webb, and put her arm around his waist. “Are you saying that someone in our family—”

“Yes, I’m saying that several people in the family had motives.”

“Who?” Ella asked.

“Me, for one,” Webb admitted. “Jeff Henry for another. And even Cybil.”

Ella’s gasp pierced him like an arrow, causing deep pain. She slipped her arm from around his waist and stepped in front of him, her gaze directed at his face. “But you didn’t kill Junior, and I can’t believe that—”

“No, I didn’t kill Junior, but I wanted to,” Webb said. “I wanted to do what Reed did—beat Junior half to death. That son of a bitch made Judy’s life a living hell. And if I’d known he tried to rape Regina…” Webb slammed his right fist into the palm of his left hand.

Ella stared at her father and he at her. Webb realized that his daughter had never seen this side of him, a man capable of violence. She eased backward, several feet away from him.

“What about Uncle Jeff Henry and Aunt Cybil? Why would they have a reason to kill Junior?”

Reed shot up off the sofa. “Isn’t there some other way to do this?”

Reed hadn’t said, “without hurting Ella,” but the implication was there. Webb understood only too well the desire to protect her. But it seemed rather odd for another man to be as protective of his daughter as he was. However, if Reed truly cared about Ella, then it would be only natural.

Webb shook his head. “Cybil had an affair with Junior and Jeff Henry knew about it. And I knew about it.”

Ella closed her eyes, as if trying to blot out the truth. Reed went to her and put his arm around her. She opened her eyes and looked at Reed. Webb glanced away. He’d seen the look of love in his daughter’s eyes.

“Why didn’t you mention this to the police fifteen years ago?” Mark Leamon, who sat in the leather chair beside the bookshelves, glanced from Webb to Frank Nelson.

“I don’t think Jeff Henry or Cybil is capable of murder,” Webb said. “Besides, fifteen years ago I was convinced that Reed killed Junior.”

“What motive did
you
have to kill Junior?” Mark asked. “Was it because of Judy?”

Webb nodded.

“Why did you care so much about what was happening to your in-laws’ housekeeper and her daughter?” Mark stood as he spoke, and when Webb didn’t respond immediately, Mark questioned him further. “Were you personally involved with Judy Conway?”

“Yes.” Webb couldn’t look at anyone in the room. He stared down at the floor. What would Ella think of him when she knew the truth? “Judy and I had an affair years ago.”

With his arm still securely around Ella’s waist, Reed glared at Webb. “Are you Regina’s father?”

Ella gasped silently, but the expression on her face said it all. Webb looked at her, hoping she could forgive him. “Yes.”

“Daddy!”

“Damn son of a bitch!” Reed cursed under his breath.

“How could you have fathered a child and never claimed her?” Ella asked. “Couldn’t you have at least acknowledged her?”

“No, of course he couldn’t,” Reed said. “Admitting that he had fathered an illegitimate child would have ruined his reputation and ended his political career.”

“The decision was Judy’s as well as mine,” Webb told them. “She knew that I couldn’t leave Carolyn—not ever. Judy loved me enough to want to protect me, and fool that I was, I let her.”

“You’re not the man I thought you were if you were capable of abandoning your own child.” Ella pulled away from Reed and went to her father, her presence demanding that he look at her. “Tell me that you’ve done something over the years to take care of Regina.”

“I have,” Webb said. “But not enough. Nothing I’ve done could even begin to make it up to her for growing up without a father and for having endured a stepfather like Junior Blalock.”

“Just what have you done for Regina?” Reed demanded.

“He got her a job with me, for one thing,” Mark Leamon said. “And I suspect that he arranged the college scholarship Regina received. Am I right?”

“I did everything that Judy would allow me to do,” Webb said, then reached out for Ella. He sighed with relief when she allowed him to take her hand. “I would have liked for you to have grown up with your sister, for the two of you to have lived together. My greatest regret is that she couldn’t be a part of our family. But Judy and I did what we thought was best for everyone.”

“Oh, Daddy, how terrible for both of you.” Ella wrapped her arms around her father.

Suddenly, a ringing noise distracted Webb, and for a few seconds he didn’t recognize the sound. Then, when he heard Frank Nelson talking, he realized that Frank had received a call on his cell phone.

Webb smiled weakly at Ella. “There are things about my marriage to your mother that—”

Ella placed her index finger over her father’s lips. “I know you and Mother love each other, but I understand that Mother’s paralysis has been as difficult for you as for her.”

Frank cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s something y’all need to know.”

Four sets of eyes focused on Spring Creek’s chief of police. Webb’s gut instincts told him that the news wasn’t good.

“What’s wrong?” Webb asked.

“There’s been a murder,” Frank said. He looked directly at Reed. “Over at Conway’s Garage.”

“Briley Joe?” The color drained from Reed’s face.

“Nope,” Frank said. “Briley Joe found the body. Seems he’d left Roy Moses at the garage to tend to things while he went over to the junkyard in Hopewell, and when he got back about fifteen minutes ago, he discovered Roy’s body in the garage.”

“Roy’s dead?” Ella grasped her father’s hand tightly.

“Seems that way.” Frank shook his head. “Poor old fellow. Somebody beat him repeatedly in the head with a twelve-inch Crescent wrench.”

“Oh, Lord!” Tears glistened in Ella’s eyes.

“Who would want to hurt Roy?” Reed asked.

“I’ve got to get on over there,” Frank said. “We think we may have a witness who saw somebody leaving the garage about half an hour before Briley Joe got back.”

“I should go with you,” Reed said. “Briley Joe’s bound to be pretty shook up.”

“Let us know what you find out,” Webb said. “I was rather fond of Roy. Simple-minded fellow, but a real sweet man. Anybody who’d hurt him would have to be downright mean.”

Her father had asked her to stay, to come home to live, but Ella had declined, saying she’d rather give her mother a while longer to come to terms with her relationship with Reed. She had fixed coffee for them and shared two cups of Irish Creme decaf while they’d discussed Roy Moses’s murder. Neither could believe that anyone would hurt such a dear, kind man.

Ella stood at the back door with her father. She leaned over and kissed him. “I’ll tell Uncle Jeff Henry and Aunt Cybil about Roy. Call me if Frank lets you know anything tonight.”

Webb clamped his hand down on her shoulder. “We need to talk more about my relationship with Judy, and about the fact that Regina is my child.”

“Yes, we do,” she agreed. “But not tonight.” She felt as sorry for her father as she did for Judy and Regina. And her poor mother. “You do realize that sooner or later, you’ll have to tell Mother.”

Webb nodded. “Ella, about your mother…”

“You don’t have to tell me that you love her. I know—”

“No, you don’t know. That’s the problem. I’ve let you believe that Carolyn and I are devoted to each other, but that’s not true. I haven’t loved your mother in a long time. The truth is that I had asked her for a divorce the very day she had her riding accident.”

“You don’t love Mother?” Ella couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. All her life her parents had presented a picture of marital happiness. She didn’t think she’d ever heard them arguing, at least not about anything serious. And all this time, her father hadn’t loved her mother.

“The only woman I’ve ever truly loved is Judy Conway,” Webb said. “We dated when she was in high school, but I broke up with her because my parents didn’t approve of her. By the time I realized how much she meant to me, she was already married to Reed’s father.”

Ella wondered why she wasn’t more shocked, why this revelation hadn’t been a total surprise. Perhaps it was because on some instinctive level, she had known that something wasn’t right in her parents’ marriage, that despite their shows of affection and devotion, there had been no passion between them. As their child, she had seen only what she wanted to see, believed only what she wanted to believe.

“You still love Judy, don’t you? All these years, you’ve stayed with Mother because of her paralysis, because you weren’t the kind of man who would desert his crippled wife.”

Webb hung his head. “I won’t ever leave Carolyn. She needs me too much. And if I hadn’t argued with her that afternoon about a divorce, she would never have ridden off in a huff the way she did and—”

Ella grabbed her father, hugged him fiercely, and spoke softly, emotion tightening her throat. “I love you, Daddy. And whatever happens, I’ll be right at your side.”

Webb returned her hug, then released her and kissed her on the forehead. “You go on. I need to look in on Carolyn. I’ll call you if Frank phones me tonight.”

Ella hesitated, then smiled, turned around, and went out the back door. The night sky was alive with stars—diamond specks glittering in the black heavens. A slight breeze rustled through the treetops, but the wind was warm and saturated with moisture. She hurried along through their backyard into her aunt and uncle’s yard next door. Before she reached the back porch, she removed the key from her pocket. Once inside the kitchen, she heard voices. Two male voices. Uncle Jeff Henry and…and Frank Nelson!

Following the voices, Ella rushed out of the kitchen and down the hall. She found the two men in the living room. Frank had the look of a funeral mourner, as if the news he bore was tragic. Uncle Jeff Henry’s face was red-splotched, the way it got when he was very angry. She paused in the doorway, listening, realizing that neither man was aware of her presence.

“I don’t give a damn what Jim Pendleton thinks he saw. I’m telling you that Cybil wouldn’t have been anywhere near Conway’s Garage tonight.” Jeff Henry stomped back and forth between the two sofas facing each other in the center of the room.

“I’m not accusing Cybil of anything,” Frank said. “But if she was there, she might have seen or heard something. All I want to do is see her for a few minutes and ask her a couple of questions.”

Jeff Henry halted abruptly, narrowed his gaze, and glowered at the police chief. “And I told you that she had a sick headache and went on to bed early. I absolutely refuse to bother her with this nonsense.”

“If there hadn’t been a murder, I wouldn’t be so insistent. But damnation, Jeff Henry, this town’s going to be in a panic when word gets out. The shooting of a U.S. senator was bad enough, but now we’ve got this mess—the murder of a sweet, harmless guy like Roy. Things like this don’t happen in Spring Creek. If Cybil was there, like Jim Pendleton says, then I’ve got to talk to her. Tonight.”

“You might as well leave,” Jeff Henry said. “Unless you have a warrant to arrest Cybil, then—”

“Frank, what’s this all about?” Ella entered the room. “You can’t honestly believe that my aunt was in anyway involved in Roy’s death.”

The moment he turned and saw Ella, Jeff Henry’s face lit up and a fragile smile played at the corners of his lips. “Oh, my dear, thank goodness. You must talk sense to our police chief. That idiot, Jim Pendleton, thinks he saw your aunt near Conway’s Garage tonight.” Jeff Henry looked at her pleadingly. “I’ve assured Frank that it’s not possible. Cybil has been here with me tonight, and she’s upstairs asleep right this minute.”

“Frank, is it absolutely necessary for you to speak to Aunt Cybil tonight?” Ella asked. “Couldn’t she come down to the station and answer your questions in the morning?”

“If this weren’t a murder case, then—”

Ella heard the noise the moment Frank did. Jeff Henry tensed. Someone had just come in the front door. Footsteps—high-heeled footsteps—clicked across the foyer floor. Within a minute, a tipsy Cybil appeared in the doorway. She clutched the door frame as she glanced around the room.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her speech slightly slurred. “Are we having a party and nobody told me?”

Frank looked point-blank at Jeff Henry. “I thought you said Cybil had been with you all evening and was upstairs asleep.”

“What?” Cybil laughed, a rather throaty, almost gurgling sound. “I don’t know why he’d tell you such a thing.”

“Mrs. Carlisle, would you mind telling me where you’ve been tonight?” Frank asked.

“Don’t answer that, Cybil!” Jeff Henry rushed to his wife’s side.

“I think perhaps we need to call Mark Leamon or one of your lawyers, Uncle Jeff Henry,” Ella said.

“Why do we need to call a lawyer?” Cybil asked, puzzlement in her voice. “And Frank, why so formal? You don’t have to call me Mrs. Carlisle.”