River's Edge (24 page)

F
ury propelled Sheila across the street and down the beach. Sadie was nowhere in sight, so she strode as fast as she could on the sand, cursing under her breath and replaying those conversations in her mind. Who did these people think they were? How did they know she couldn’t do the right thing? How in the world could they anticipate the way she would bring up her child? They barely knew her.

The sun bore down on her, making her sweat. Summer was closing in. She wished she could move up north, where the summers were dry and cool. She could get a little house in the mountains and start over. All she had to do was work a while in Atlanta and she could make it happen.

She lifted her hair from her neck and slogged through the sand. The beach was four miles long, and she walked all the way down it, then up along the river. She was soaked and breathing hard as she went past the Bull Bridge.

She wasn’t going to find her daughter.

But maybe that was best.

After all, she was letting her down again. She knew it from the depths of her heart, but she felt powerless to change it. She couldn’t stay here. It was out of the question.

She walked and walked, hating herself more with each step. It would have been better for everyone if she’d stayed in jail. Her daughter had been settled, well adjusted, until she’d come back. Caleb couldn’t have been healthier or happier.

If she went back to Atlanta, would she do what Karen predicted? Would she fall back into the habit of using again, bringing men home, letting them ruin her life again? Was that her nature? She didn’t want to believe it, yet she knew it was true.

Sadie was right. How had her daughter gotten her head screwed on so straight? She thought about that day that Sadie came to see her in jail, with her arm broken and her eye swollen shut. Jack had beaten her, and she’d barely escaped.

Sheila felt so helpless and so frightened for her baby, still in Jack’s care. She’d told Sadie to run, to get as far from him as she could.

That’s how Sadie wound up in Cape Refuge.

Sheila had moments of repentance in jail. She went to religious counseling and talked the talk. She had even meant it at times. From inside her cell, she’d had clarity of mind and had seen the provisions that had been made for her children. She’d even been thankful.

Why now did she feel so angry, so out of control, so
oppressed?
After all this time, why couldn’t she get Atlanta out of her mind? Why couldn’t she let herself start over?

It would be so simple just to follow the rules and be there for her children, but she didn’t know if she had the character to be what they expected her to be.

She followed the river through the trees, hoping Sadie had not come back here. It was near the place where that Jackson woman had been found. Sadie had shown it to her yesterday. She
came to the flowers placed at the sight where the woman’s car had gone in.

She paused for a moment, noting the tire tracks in the grass and trying to picture where the car had plunged into the water. It didn’t look like a place of death. She’d seen places that did—crack houses and dirty hotel rooms and the alleys behind the strip clubs.

She’d kicked her crack habit once, when Sadie was a little girl, but when she’d started to gain weight, she’d changed her drug of choice to methamphetamine. That led her to Jack, a dealer with a lab, and she allowed him to come into her home and set up shop there.

What had she been thinking?

She stood at the edge of the water, staring down into it, and suddenly the reality of that horrible decision washed over her again—the shame that she felt when she was arrested in front of her daughter and taken off in handcuffs, the screams of her baby as she was driven away.

Her mother was an alcoholic, so Sheila always consoled herself with the idea that addiction was a family disease and she had no control over it. But the truth was that selfishness had more to do with her addiction than genes. She cared more about her drugs than she cared about her children.

That wasn’t who she wanted to be.

She stared down the bank into the water. If she were to jump in right now, plummet straight to the bottom, Sadie would be the only one to mourn her passing.

She wanted to be a person people would miss when she was gone, someone for whom they would bring flowers, someone who left a legacy of good things and not bad.

But that was never going to be who she was. Maybe throwing herself in the river would be the noblest act she’d ever done. Though they’d probably never say it out loud, they’d probably secretly thank God that she wasn’t causing problems anymore.

She stared at the water as it rushed by to join the sea. She wondered what it felt like to jump in. It was probably warm enough, and the river rushed fast and hard enough to keep her
from changing her mind and struggling back to the bank. No, if she did it, she needed to make sure it worked. Her cowardice could be no excuse for living.

She thought of the water closing over her head, fighting to catch her breath as the current swept her down river and then out to sea. Would a shark come along and end things quickly? Would they think she’d run away, until her body washed up several days later?

No, that was no better for Sadie than going to Atlanta.

She stepped back from the river’s edge and wiped the tears from her face. What had Karen said, about her having a choice? She’d said there was nothing noble about snatching Caleb and going back to Atlanta. She’d probably say there was nothing noble about making your daughter suffer through a suicide, especially after they’d exchanged harsh words, either. Sadie would blame herself. It would change the rest of her life. Nothing good could come of it.

What Karen was doing was noble—coming here and committing herself to starting a new life for the sake of her little baby. And now she was planning her wedding. Maybe the prison chaplain had been right. Maybe there were blessings in living right.

Breaking her daughter’s heart for the hundredth time in her life was not noble. Staying here and submitting to Jonathan and Morgan’s authority would be. The sacrifice would be theirs, not hers.

They’d offered her a life, a second chance, a new beginning. She’d thrown it back in their faces.

Her mind sorted through the possibilities. If she went back, begged their forgiveness, promised Sadie she would do better…would they let her stay? Or were they already making plans to throw her out?

She heard a screen door slam and looked up to the pier just around the bend of the river. There must be a house hidden in the trees there.

Then she saw him, coming through the trees, walking the path straight toward her.

Carson Graham.

He looked startled when he saw her standing there. She started to speak, but then she heard a woman’s voice. “Carson! You forgot your wallet!”

He turned back, and Sheila saw a pretty blonde woman hurrying out to meet him. She handed him his wallet, then reached up to kiss him. Carson pulled back and nodded toward Sheila. The woman jumped away, then hurried back into the house. Carson followed her.

Was he fooling around? He’d told her that he lived in that Palm Reading house, and at the beach she could have sworn that his wife was a brunette.

It wasn’t surprising that he’d have an affair. He’d certainly put out the signals with her, and she hadn’t dissuaded him. In fact, she had told him to call her, even though she knew he wasn’t single.

It didn’t matter. Carson Graham’s fidelity wasn’t her concern. She had enough problems of her own.

She left the river to keep from walking through that yard, and followed the road back to Hanover House. Her feet hurt and she needed water. She hadn’t meant to walk so far.

She’d been gone for over two hours by the time she made it back to Hanover House. She walked into the house and found everyone seated around the kitchen table. Sadie was home, but her eyes were swollen, and disappointment seemed etched into her young face.

It was an awful sight, that disappointment. That acceptance that her mother was a loser. Sheila wanted to erase that from her face.

They all looked up at her. They were angry, and she couldn’t blame them for it anymore.

Caleb sat in his highchair between Morgan and Jonathan, feeding himself with a spoon. He was the only one who didn’t look at her as if bracing himself. Instead, he ignored her, as if she had nothing to do with him.

Sheila drew a deep breath. “I used to think that all the bad things in my life were other people’s fault, and I guess I blamed
everybody but myself. But it’s no one else’s fault. It’s just mine. I’m the one who’s failed myself. I’m the one who’s failed my children.”

It clearly wasn’t what they’d expected her to say. She went around the table to Sadie. Her daughter looked up at her, tears streaming from her red eyes. Sheila’s mouth trembled. “Honey, I’m so sorry that I’ve broken your heart so many times. You don’t deserve it. If you’ll give me another chance, I’ll do better. I promise.”

Sadie just looked at her as if she’d heard this before, and Sheila knew she would have to prove it. She turned to Morgan and Jonathan.

“Morgan and Jonathan…” She looked away, ashamed to meet their eyes. “I made up my mind in jail that when I got out I was gonna be somebody. I was gonna turn my life around and start taking care of my children. But the fact is, Morgan, you take a lot better care of my children than I do, and I’ve been having a hard time with that.”

Morgan sighed and looked at Jonathan. “Sheila, I appreciate your saying that. I know it’s not easy.”

“No, it’s not easy, but it should be. I mean, why is it so hard for me to admit things? I ought to be down on my knees, thanking you.”

Jonathan got up and stepped toward her. “Sheila, why don’t we start over? If you’ll commit to our program and stop seeing us as the enemy, then we’d love for you to stay.”

A sob caught in her throat, and she covered her mouth. “I promise. Thank you.”

“All right then. Welcome back.”

Morgan got up and hugged her, and she wept against her shoulder. How could Morgan stand to hold her after the way she’d spoken to her, the things she’d said?

But Morgan wasn’t like anyone else she’d ever known.

Sheila went to Sadie, touched her shoulder. “Will you forgive me, honey?”

Sadie was crying so hard she could hardly speak. She got up too, and came to put her arms around her mother. Sheila clung longer than she needed to. She almost didn’t dare let her go. Sadie felt so small in her arms, so vulnerable, so broken. She swore to herself—and to God—that she would never hurt her again.

C
uriouser and curiouser.” McCormick came into Cade’s office and sat down. “Another twist in this continuing saga.”

Cade didn’t need another twist. He’d been too busy trying to untwist the things they already knew. “All right. Let’s hear it.”

“We’ve got a match on the handwriting. Sam Sullivan wrote the letters to Lisa Jackson, all right, and his prints were all over them. He tried to disguise his handwriting, but the analyst says that it’s definitely his.”

Cade laced his fingers in front of his face. He couldn’t say he was surprised. After all, he’d had enough suspicion to give Sam’s sample to the analyst. Sam had been bonded for his work, so his prints had already been in the system.

“Okay, so we have Sam Sullivan, Jackson’s opponent in the race, stirring up trouble for the front-runner. I guess the question is, how far was he willing to go? There are miles between mail fraud and murder.”

“You want to come with me to question him?”

Cade thought that over for a moment. “No, I’d rather you picked him up and brought him in for questioning. That’ll be better than getting his whole office involved. Meanwhile, I’ll get on the phone with the DA and see about getting an arrest warrant for mail fraud. Anything to hold him.”

Half an hour later, they brought Sam in, still wearing the Hawaiian shirt he’d had on during the debate that morning. His neck and face were sunburned after a full day of campaigning door-to-door. He announced that he didn’t know what this was about, but he wasn’t saying a word until his lawyer joined him. Sam clearly knew that he’d been found out—but just how deep did his guilt run?

His lawyer, Richard Mason from Savannah, got there an hour later, and they all assembled in the interview room, as if they were sitting down to negotiate a deal.

“What’s this all about, Cade?” Sullivan demanded.

Cade pulled out the letters that had been sent to Lisa Jackson. “Sam, have you ever seen these?”

Sam glanced at his lawyer. A thin sheen of perspiration glistened on his lip. “No, I haven’t. What are they?”

“They’re letters that were sent to Lisa from someone who claimed to be Ben’s lover.”

Sam wiped his mouth. “So the rumors were true?”

Cade didn’t answer. “Sam, your fingerprints are on these letters, and we have it on good authority that they’re in your handwriting.”

“No way!” Sam got to his feet and looked at his lawyer. “Why would I do a thing like that?”

Cade didn’t move. “Sit down, Sam. Tell us where you were on the morning of May 16.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!”

His attorney touched his arm to silence him. “Chief, I’d rather my client didn’t answer that until I’ve had the chance to confer with him.”

Sam slapped his hand on the table. “No, I’ll answer it. I have nothing to hide, Cade. I was in my office on the morning of May 16,
and my secretary and a dozen others can vouch for it. In fact, that was the morning I had the cell phone people in.” A sweat drop ran from his hairline to his jaw. “You gotta believe me, Cade.”

“We’ll talk to them, and if it’s true, we’ll find out. But for now, I’d like to know how you explain those letters.”

His lawyer tried to silence him again, but Sam shook him off. “If I don’t talk, they’re going to think I’m guilty of murder!” He rubbed the sweat off of his mouth and took a deep breath. “Okay, Cade. I’m gonna lay all my cards on the table, because I don’t need a murder rap. I did something stupid, but not
murder.
I sent the letters, okay? I admit it.”

Cade met McCormick’s eyes. Now they were getting somewhere.

“It was a lousy thing to do, I admit. I was trying to get a leg up in the race. I thought if I stirred up a little trouble in paradise, that might knock Ben’s legs out from under him. If I’d known that Lisa was gonna wind up dead, I never would have done it. It was unethical, but it wasn’t criminal.”

“Ever heard of mail fraud?” Cade asked. “How about harassment?”

McCormick agreed. “How about murder one? Lining up things to make it look like Ben had a motive for killing his wife.”

“I wouldn’t be that stupid!” Sam sat back down and made an effort to calm himself. “I just wanted to start a rumor to sway opinion. I approached Vince Barr and tried to get him to write about it, but he wouldn’t. Said he wasn’t interested in local politics—and the
Savannah Morning News
wouldn’t print it because they couldn’t confirm it. I knew better than to approach Blair Owens with it. I never expected police involvement. If there hadn’t been a murder, this would have been a harmless prank.”

“A prank that might have broken up a marriage and ruined a man’s life,” Cade said.

McCormick chuckled. “And you didn’t have much faith in the police department, did you, Sam? This Podunk outfit couldn’t figure out anything that complicated.”

“Oh, boy.” Sam sat back hard in his chair. Despite his tanning-bed tan, he was beginning to pale. “Cade, I know you don’t have good feelings toward me, after all I’ve said about you during the race, but so help me, if you try to pin this murder on me, I’ll scream harassment so loud that they’ll hear it all the way in Atlanta.”

Cade leaned his elbows on the table and leveled his eyes on him. “That sounds like a threat, Sam.”

Sam backed off. “That’s not how I meant it, Cade. I’m just saying that people might
perceive
it wrong.”

“They might perceive it right,” McCormick said, “and then where would you be?”

W
hen they’d finished questioning Sam, Cade realized holding him would invite accusations that Cade had worked things so Jonathan would win the election. If he let him go, they could keep an eye on him until they could corroborate his alibi. Cade watched Sam drive off with his attorney.

McCormick shook his head. “What a guy.”

Cade looked around at the other cops in the squad room. They all watched him for a rundown of what they’d found out. “McCormick, I want you to check out Sullivan’s alibi with every person he claims he saw that morning. Check his phone records, see who called him. Johnson, Caldwell, you interview everybody who talked to him, see if they spoke to him personally. I want this done before you go home tonight.”

“So he did send the letters?” Caldwell asked him.

“Yeah, he sent them. He confessed to that much.”

“You think he’s the killer, Chief?” Johnson asked.

“He’s got an alibi. We just have to see if it’s real. At best, he’s a scumbag who would lie and cheat to win an election. At worst, he’s a murderer.”

McCormick rubbed his hand over his bald head. “I say we leak it to the press. Let the voters know who they’re dealing with before the election Tuesday.”

“He’s got a point, Chief,” Johnson said.

Cade stared out the window. It was a temptation. A sure win for Jonathan. A way to ensure he kept his job. Didn’t the voters have the right to know? Wasn’t it critical information?

The room seemed to go quiet. The printers stopped printing, the radio ceased to crackle, the air-conditioner cycled off. Everyone waited for an answer.

“Hear me and hear me good, every one of you,” Cade said. “Every bit of evidence we’ve uncovered is part of a criminal investigation. We don’t do leaks, not in my department. If I hear of any, trust me, I’ll find out who did it, and your career in law enforcement will be a thing of the past. Any questions?”

There weren’t any.

“Good. Now get on it.”