Sidetracked-Kobo (21 page)

April 2013

The morning after my engagement I lay in bed staring at my outstretched left hand. Emotions warred within me. Hope. Joy. Relief. Fear. Dread.

If I had known what was to come on that day, I would have pulled the covers over my head and never moved.

As it was, I ogled my ring, hardly believing it was there. The pain and shock of Clara’s death still gripped me. And yet … here was this promise of new life. A family. What I’d dreamed of for so many years.

After I said “yes” the previous night, Andy and I had talked for hours about so many things. I could still barely process it all. He’d brought up the subject of where we would live. Where I might find a job—if I wanted. Andy made it clear that I didn’t have to work. If I was content to stay home and take care of the house, that was fine with him.

“Do you want to move into my place in Redbud?” he asked. “Or would you rather go to Lexington, where we could find a much grander house?”

I squeezed his hand. “I don’t need a grand house. I’d much rather stay in Redbud, where I know people.” There I could be close to my own house, which I wouldn’t sell. As far as I was concerned, Pete, Nicole and Colleen could stay right where they were.

Andy and I had also talked about our engagement. With the town of Redbud still mourning Clara, this wasn’t the time to announce it to the world. “I’d love to run through the streets shouting you’ll be my wife, but …” Andy winced.

I thought of the dreams I’d had about this moment. How I’d be calling everyone I knew. Now the very idea seemed callous.

“You won’t need to shout in the streets. All we need is for Colleen to see my ring. She’ll tell everybody who comes into Grangers, plus those passing by on the sidewalk.”

Andy gave me a rueful smile. “Oh, boy.”

“I’ll just tell her we want to keep it a quiet engagement for now because of Clara. Colleen will make sure to include that bit of information when she’s spreading it across town.”

Andy laughed.

When I’d arrived home Colleen and Nicole were still up. As expected they made a huge fuss over my ring, oohing and aahing. I assured them they needn’t worry about moving from the house once I was married. And I cued them in that Andy and I wanted to “keep the engagement quiet” for now.

One thing Andy and I hadn’t discussed at dinner was money. Andy had plenty of his own; he didn’t need mine. Months ago I told him I’d inherited substantial funds from my parents. But he didn’t know the real story of that, of course. Nor did he have any idea how much.

I should tell him the amount soon. Keeping such information from a boyfriend was one thing. Now that we were engaged, Andy deserved to know. Besides, I spent time every few weeks on my computer, adding up bills and moving enough money to a local bank from my offshore accounts to cover them. He’d be bound to wonder what I was doing.

I turned the diamond on my finger, watching it glisten in the morning light. A sense of entrapment nagged deep in my gut. Now I had all the more reason to keep the Secret of how I came here. Even as I should be totally honest with the man who’d pledged me his life.

My cell phone rang, jarring my nerves. I picked it up from my bedside table and checked the ID.

Cheryl King.

I took a breath—and hit
answer.
“Hi, Cheryl.”

“I saw you on TV last night.” No
hello
. But when your innocent son sat in jail, who wanted to waste words?

He
was
innocent, right?

“Thanks for standing up for Billy. I can’t believe Chief Melcher threatened you like that.”

Something in her voice … exoneration? As in—the end justified the means? I still believed she’d lied to me and Melcher about Billy’s being home the night Clara was killed.

“The Chief’s just not willing to listen to anybody.” Cheryl’s voice caught. “I can’t
stand
to think of Billy in jail.”

I couldn’t either. “We’ll keep working on it, Cheryl. We’ll think of something.”

Useless words. Billy King would likely spend years in prison. The thought squeezed my heart.

“Have you been allowed to see him, Cheryl?”

“I’ve tried. But not yet.”

“Does he have an attorney?”

“They appointed him a public defender. I don’t have the money to pay for a lawyer.”

A public defender. Billy would get the minimum of help. “Let me know when you see him. I’ll want to visit him too.”

That last sentence barely made it out of my throat. The mere thought of entering a jail flooded me with horrific memories. I pictured Billy behind bars, helpless and scared. How could I witness that?

After Cheryl’s call I tried to take a shower and dress quickly, but the phone kept ringing.
“I saw you on the news last night.”
Friends. Neighbors. Women who’d been at Clara’s shower. If I’d become engaged two days ago, they’d all be calling to congratulate me. Now I made no mention of how my life had radically changed. Many of the callers said they’d never believe Billy King had done this. With each conversation I felt a little more hope. Maybe if the townspeople got up in arms over Melcher arresting the wrong man, he’d succumb to the pressure and start looking at other possibilities for suspects.

Then Clara’s mother phoned. I saw the name
Dora Crenshaw
on my cell—and stilled. I braced myself before answering.

“Hi, Dora.”

“I saw you on the news last night.”

I sat down on the bed.

“Do you really think Billy is innocent?” Grief and weariness and something akin to indignation tinged her tone.

“He’s not who I saw that night, Dora. Someone else was there on Brewster. Hiding.”

“Maybe that was Billy.”

“The man I saw wasn’t that tall.”

“How do you
know
?” Her voice rose. “You didn’t
see
his face, and meanwhile my daughter is
dead
!”

My throat closed. I hung my head, the phone pressed to my ear, and could not think of a single word to say.

“Well, I think he did it, you hear me? He killed my daughter. Someone who would never hurt him or anybody. And I don’t think you should be telling people he didn’t!”

“Dora, I’m so sorry. I—”

“She was your
friend,
Delanie!”

“I know. And I loved her.”

“Then stop talking against her.”

My fingers tightened on the phone. “I didn’t mean to talk against Clara.”

A sob broke from Dora. “Really? What exactly would you call standing up for the person who choked her to death!”

A click sounded in my ear.

I sat like stone, staring at nothing. Then threw the cell on my bed and lowered my face in my hands.

January – April 2004

After her father’s death the passing days no longer had meaning for Laura. She stopped the countdown to her release date. She didn’t even want to get out of CYA anymore. At least she had a bed to sleep in, food to eat. What was she going to do on the outside? She hadn’t even driven a car for almost nine years.

As for pursuing her case, whatever her father had discovered about Roger Weiner, he’d taken it to his grave. And she had no energy—or money—to track it down herself.

Grief for her father alternated with roiling anger. Florence Wright had told Laura her father was in a one-car accident. He’d been driving up Highway 1 on the coast, lost control of his car, and plunged over a cliff. Swerve marks leading up to the scene told the tale. So did his body. The autopsy showed a high level of alcohol.

How
could he do that to her? Get drunk and then go out driving? He’d always loved Highway 1, Laura knew that. The ocean, the winding road. She’d driven it with him more than once when his Porsche was new and shiny. But to be so careless. Just when she needed him most.

If only he’d never walked back into her life.

With less than two months left, Laura began having private counseling sessions twice a week—both to help her deal with her father’s death and plan for getting out of CYA. Her counselor was a black woman named Yolanda. Spoke her mind but full of empathy. Said she had three daughters of her own. She mothered Laura, let her cry on her shoulder. Listened to everything she had to say—including her claims of innocence. Not that they mattered much anymore.

“Listen,” Yolanda told her in February. “I’ve been making some calls. You’ve got an inheritance coming to you, did you know that? And from what I hear, it’s pretty substantial.”

Laura lifted a shoulder.

“Well, that should matter to you. You’re gonna have to have money, aren’t you? And that house your dad owned, it’s coming to you also.”

Laura shivered. She couldn’t imagine walking into that house, with all its memories of two dead parents.

Yolanda sighed. “Fine then. I’ll give you time to think about this. But like it or not, you’re being released next month, and you’re gonna have to make a living. And I’m not about to let you go without preparing you all I can.”

Laura tried to think about it—amidst her grief. But it was no use. The pain over losing her father so soon after finding him was more than she could bear. And that loss brought up the sadness for her mother all over again.

Laura wanted
to be mad at God, wanted someone to blame. Instead, lonelier than ever, she found herself turning to Him for comfort. She read the Bible more. Prayed more. Even if sometimes all she could say was, “God, help me, help me, help me.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, the day she’d waited nearly nine years for arrived. On March 15, Laura’s twenty-fifth birthday, she was declared free—and released from prison.

Out she walked.

Yolanda had arranged with Laura’s Aunt Nicky to come pick her up. Laura had spoken to her dad’s sister on the phone. “We know you’re innocent, Laura,” Aunt Nicky told her. “Your father told us about what he remembered. Your Uncle Ted and I want you to come stay with us until things are settled.”

What he remembered.
What about the final information on Weiner he’d discovered just before he died? The mere thought made Laura’s heart skip. But she didn’t want to talk about details over the phone.

Walking free into the afternoon air on that auspicious day, her aunt by her side, was almost more than Laura could process. She had to be dreaming. In truth she was back on her cot, locked in her room. The forever years behind her could not have ended. Laura slid into her aunt’s car and fiddled with the seatbelt, the experience out-of-body. She heard herself speak, forced a smile, but she felt removed and alien. How could she ever live in this outside world?

When she could find her tongue, Laura posed her burning question.

“Aunt Nicky, did Dad tell you what he found out the last week he was alive? Some way to prove Roger Weiner killed my mom?”

Please, please.

Her aunt raised her eyebrows. “He did? I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about that.”

With those words Laura’s dream of being exonerated and seeing justice done for her mother died.

For the first two weeks out of CYA, Laura barely dragged through the days. Her aunt and uncle asked nothing of her. They just wanted her to “heal” and “get on her feet.”

Time blurred by, meaningless. Laura couldn’t feel much of anything. And she had no future. Why even get out of bed?

As for Roger Weiner, he was out there somewhere on the streets. Maybe still in Arizona? Maybe he’d attacked another woman by now. Or even killed again. She should do something to stop him. But Laura was powerless. All the same, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. In her dreams she testified against him on the stand. Saw him handcuffed and led off to jail.

“Laura,” her aunt said gently one day, “at some point you’ll have to start living your own life and stop obsessing about this man.”

“But he killed my mom!”

Her aunt’s head shook. “But you can’t prove it. You never will be able to prove it. A terrible injustice has been done. But at some point you need to move on, hard as it is. If you don’t, you will allow your past to rule you forever. This has already taken nine years of your life. Don’t let it take any more.”

Laura hung her head, tears falling. “
How
can I move on? It’s so
unfair
. My mom deserves for him to be punished.”

“Yes. It is unfair. Many terrible things in this world should never happen. But they do. And some wrongs aren’t righted on this earth. Sometimes the innocent are punished, and the guilty go free.” Her aunt’s eyes glistened. “In the end, God will judge. But we can’t always see a happy ending to the story in our lifetime. What we
can
do is make the best of the life we have left. Let God help you do that.”

A rational voice within Laura said her aunt was right. She couldn’t be the victim forever. And she couldn’t spend the rest of her life seeking a justice for her mother that would never come. Even if her mother’s killer was found—then what? Her mom would still be dead. Laura would still have lost nine years of her life. What she accomplished in the future would be up to her. And wasn’t God faithful enough to see her through?

But this wasn’t the future, it was
now
. And right now Laura had no strength or desire to do anything. She couldn’t even pray.

The days muddled on.

Then her aunt and uncle made an announcement. They had to start talking about Laura’s inheritance. Apparently her father had changed his will just after the divorce. Taken Tina out completely and left everything to Laura. Her father’s lawyer, Russ McConally, was acting as executor.

Did she
have
to deal with this? Laura still had no energy. But her aunt and uncle pushed her to meet with McConally. “You have to take care of this, Laura,” Aunt Nicky said. “Your father did this for you, and he wants you to have his estate.”

Heavy-hearted, Laura went to the appointment they set up for her. Aunt Nicky drove. Laura watched the buildings stream by on El Camino. In nine years little had changed. How could that be, when she’d changed so much?