Gone to Ground (27 page)

By the time Cherrie Mae left, my mind had numbed
out. I couldn't even cry anymore. She said she was headed home to eat supper and pray. She'd be over at Deena's before it got dark. "And, Tully." She patted my cheek. "You talk to your parents now, hear? Tell em all that's been goin on with you. And don't be afraid to tell em bout Deena and me. I know we have a pact, but this ain't the time for you to be keepin things from your parents. If you don't give em the whole story, they cain't understand your confusion right now. 'Sides, they surely heard bout Ted's and Mayor B's arrests by now anyway. Might as well tell em what you know." She looked to Deena. "You agree?"

"Yeah."

Deena stayed to help me pack a suitcase. Only as I gathered my things did I think to check the drawer where I'd hidden the second swab. The police had taken it. Of course.

What was Ted Arnoldson thinking right now, sitting in the county jail? Was he sorry for what he'd done? And how far away were they keeping him from Mike?

Two men accused of the same crime
plus
a police officer
and
the town mayor—all in that jail. Bay Springs must think Amaryllis had gone crazy.

Deena lugged the suitcases out to the car for me. Said she didn't want me lifting anything. I dragged behind her, remembering the day Mike and I had moved into the house. How happy I'd been to live with my new husband, on my own. No longer having to listen to my mother.

Now here I was, running back to her.

"You've got your list with all the phone numbers now," Deena said after she shut the trunk of my car. "Call us tonight if you need anything."

I needed a lot of things. Like a new life. "Okay."

She put her hands on my shoulders. "Listen." She brushed the hair off my neck. "No matter what happens with Mike—even if he's completely cleared of any charges—don't be afraid to admit you made a mistake. I know where you're at, more than you think. I was married once too, remember? And he turned out not to be so nice a guy. Was runnin around on me. I got to where I couldn't take it anymore and finally divorced him. You can hold your high after goin on from your mistakes. But you can't hold your head high if you live with those mistakes and never do anything about them."

I looked down and nodded.

She stepped away. "Okay. See you soon. Keep your cell phone on. We'll call you if anything comes up."

A few minutes later I pulled up to the curb of my parents' one-story brick house.

My mother hustled out, my father behind her. She was still dressed in her tailored gray business suit, her heels clacking on the sidewalk. She opened the car door and practically pulled me out. "Oh, I'm so relieved you're here! Come on, we'll get your things inside for you."

"Hi, honey." My father gave me a hug, then stood back to study me. His brown eyes were warm, concern playing around his mouth. "You doing all right?"

Another nod.

He looked at me as if he knew better. "Go on inside and sit down. I'll get your stuff."

Mom had chicken and rice baking. The smell filled the house as I walked in the front door. Can't explain why, exactly—but at that moment something inside me gave way. The house of my childhood wasn't cold and judgmental. It was warm and comforting. I could stay here. I
would
figure out what to do.

"Pop up the footrest on the couch till dinner." Mom nudged me toward the living room. "We've got another half hour or so."

My father toted my suitcase down the hall and into my old room. He returned and settled on the love seat next to Mom. "Tully." His voice was gentle. "Please tell us what's been going on. We love you. We want to help."

The tears came back. They blurred my eyes and choked my throat. Mom fetched me a tissue. I wrung it one way, then another, until I got myself under control.

"Mike's been hitting me."

"I
knew it,
" my mother hissed under her breath.

I flicked a glance at Dad. His jaw had turned to rock. "Go on."

"Not a lot. Just . . . sometimes. I kept thinking he'd stop, but . . . And now with a baby coming . . ."

"I will strangle him with my bare hands." Mom's teeth clenched.

"Hush, Judy." My father frowned at her. He looked back to me. "How is he mixed up in Erika's murder?"

For the first time I thought of all the Amaryllis gossip they must have heard since Mike's arrest, the probing questions. Waiting to hear my story couldn't have been easy on them.

I started at the beginning, with Erika's phone call. Mike coming home late the night of her murder, and how he'd choked me the next morning. My mother cried out at that, and my father visibly shook. We all had to get ourselves together before I could continue. I told them about my meeting with the police. And finally, everything about Deena and Cherrie Mae.

I wiped my forehead. I felt so tired. "You can't tell anyone the things I know from Cherrie Mae or Deena. The three of us are still trying to figure it all out."

My father focused on the carpet, as if searching for what to say first. "This is all so crazy. Mayor B bribing an officer?"

"And maybe killing those women." My mother shook her head.

"But that's just speculation."

"Then why did he have the ring?"

I listened to my parents' reactions—and a stunning thought hit me. My head snapped back. Mayor B had the ring because he
was
in Erika's house that night. But if Mike killed Erika, why was the mayor in her house at all?

Mike's words echoed in my head.
"If Erika was pregnant—which I wouldn't doubt, knowin her . . ."

Was she having an affair with Mayor B too?

My gaze drifted out the window. Erika and Austin Bradmeyer . . .

Then,
slam
—a second thought. A picture of what could've happened that night.

Breath left me. If that picture was right, Mike didn't do it. He
didn't kill Erika
.
The hope of that idea left me weak.

"Tully?"

Vaguely, I heard Mom call my name.

"Tully."

"Huh?" I blinked at her.

"What are you thinking?" Her voice was tight, so frightened for me.

"N-nothing." I pressed my hands to my temples. "It's just . . . my brain is so full."

The oven timer dinged. Supper was ready. Somehow I made it through the meal, barely tasting it.

"Tully," Mom said at the table, "you know you're welcome here. Come back. We'll help you with the baby. And I know that look in your eyes. You're beating yourself up because you think you've failed. Well, you
haven't
. You've got lots of years to live yet. It's not too late to start over."

I looked at my plate, forcing back tears. "I know. Thanks."

After supper I fled to my room, saying I had to rest. I lay on my old bed, hoping, praying. Trying to think through it all. My brain dredged up facts from the notes with Deena and Cherrie Mae. I imagined Mike going to Erika's last Tuesday night. The pictures in Mayor B's drawer. Remembered what Stevie said when Deena visited him in jail. I heard Erika sneering how she was coming into "big money." Thought of Ted Arnoldson taking Mayor B's bribe . . .

Wait.

I sat up. Stared at the floor.

Ten days.

DNA.

My mind whirled.

I shoved to my feet, then swayed. Where was my purse with my cell phone? I had to call Deena and Cherrie Mae. Had to see them.

I knew what happened. I
knew.

Halfway between home and Deena's house, I heard a
voice shout in my head:
"Go see Eva Bradmeyer."
I was bout to cross Main, checkin for traffic on the old brick street. My small packed suitcase sat in the backseat.

"What?" I said aloud. My fingers tightened on the steerin wheel.

"Go see Eva B."

"You crazy?"

The command echoed inside me. Guilt came not far behind. I knew that Voice. Had heard it plenty in my lifetime. Now here I was, tellin God he was crazy.

"I'm sorry, Lord." I crossed Main, tryin to fool myself into thinkin sayin sorry was enough. Cause absolutely last thing I wanted to do right now was face Eva B.

But the words beat on:
"Go see her."

Shakin my head, I made the next right turn toward the Bradmeyer house.

I pulled up to the curb, thinkin why would Eva B even answer the doh? Her husband sat in jail thanks to me. Plus she'd been sick. She was either in bed with the covers over her head, or she was talkin to a lawyer.

My finger pushed the bell. My arm was shakin.

I fixed my gaze on the little peephole in the doh. Surely if she got as far as seein my face, she wouldn't let me in.

Footsteps sounded.

A long moment passed. Then the doh flung back. Eva B stood there in her robe, hair messy, cheeks and eyes red. Unsteady on her feet.

"I can't
believe
you're on my porch." Her voice came out high and strangled. "Get out, Cherrie Mae! Get your feet off my property. And don't you
ever
come back!"

She started to close the doh. Something made me stick my foot in the threshold. "Wait."

The heavy thing hit my foot. Eva B shoved harder. "Get
out
of the way!"

"No, Mrs. B. I got to talk to you." I
did
? And jus what was I gon say?

"No. Go away!" She tried to close it again, but she was too weak. I held up my hand against the doh and nudged it back.

"I don't
want
to talk to you, Cherrie Mae! I don't want to see you ever again!" Tears spilled from her eyes.

My heart liked to turn over. This woman and I'd been friends for years. Now I'd betrayed her.

I forced myself into the house. "You need to hear what I got to say."

She sobbed. "I don't want to hear it. I don't!" Mrs. B swayed. I caught her elbow. She wrenched away and swayed some more. "Get
out
."

But her words sounded as feeble as a newborn lamb. Poor thing looked like she had no strength left in her. I took her by the arm. "Come on. You need to sit down."

"No. Go." But she stumbled toward the den as I led her, too spent to fight. "I don't . . . I can't . . ."

We reached the couch. I nudged her down. She half fell into it.

Eva B's body folded in half. Her hands covered her face as she cried. "
Why
, Cherrie Mae. Why did you do it?"

I perched alongside her, searchin for what to say. Hatred and need rolled off her in waves. If I hadn't been the one who told on her husband, she'd be weepin on my shoulder. Now she just wanted to hit me.

"I'm gon get you a tissue." Up I rose and hurried into the kitchen. Came back with a whole box a Kleenex. I pressed one into her hands.

"You lied to me." Her shoulders drew in. She rocked forward and back, forward and back. "Putting me in bed, acting so worried about me. All the while you just wanted to get me out of the way so you could take pictures. Isn't that right?"

How to deny it? "Yes'm. Fraid I did."

"But Austin didn't
do
anything."

She rocked and rocked, tryin to comfort herself. Tryin to tell herself her husband was completely innocent—when deep inside she knew it wasn't so. Only then, when I saw the conflict inside her, did I know why I'd come.

"Mrs. B, listen to me—"

"I don't
want
to listen to you."

But she wasn't tellin me to go. Truth was, she needed to know what
I
knew. She needed to understand.

I waited till she calmed a little. In time her rockin and cryin slowed. She still wouldn't look at me. "You snooped in my husband's private things."

"Yes."

"Why?"

I thought back to that day. "Can't tell you why, exactly. It's like my hand just went to that drawer. And first thing I saw was the file a those pictures. And the ring."

"You didn't have to look in the file." Her voice was thick. Accusin. "You had to
search
to find that ring."

Oh, this was hard. "Yes."