Sidetracked-Kobo (23 page)

Watkins pulled the microphone to his own mouth. “What about the statement of Delanie Miller? She claims the person she saw hiding in the shadows the night of the murder isn’t Billy King.”

Dave Crenshaw firmed his mouth. “She’s wrong.”

My body tingled. The people in this town would end up hating me.

How ironic. I’d gone to great lengths to hide my real identity in Redbud and guard the reputation I’d earned as Delanie Miller. Now townspeople were turning against me anyway.

But I shouldn’t care, even now. I shouldn’t be worried about reporters. If I had any integrity at all I’d be driving to the county jail, trying to visit Billy. I’d keep standing up for him.

What had I become? Where had my dreams of justice gone?

The news story ended. I flipped to another local channel and caught the story again. At least I wasn’t part of the segment. But they showed my picture, naming me as a witness who insisted the man who’d been arrested was innocent.

I flicked off the TV and bent over, arms at my waist. My bones felt like they were coming apart. That video of me and my picture would live forever on the Internet, long after the media had moved on to other stories. What if someone who’d known Laura Denton stumbled upon it?

What if my aunt and uncle saw it? Pain and longing shot through me. It had been years since I’d so much as talked to them. I
missed
them.

My phone rang.
Bradshaw
appeared
on the ID. Andy’s mother.

This was all I needed.

The cell rang three times before I brought myself to answer. “Hello?”

“Delanie, it’s Phyllis.” The tone sounded so … formal. “I wanted to tell you best wishes on your engagement.”

“Thank you.”

“You couldn’t get a better man, if I do say so myself.”

“I agree.”

A beat passed. My tongue felt like lead.

“I couldn’t help but hear about your news appearance last night.” Phyllis’s voice dropped in tone. “I started getting calls right after the segment.”

Of course. From her country club friends, wondering at the behavior of her son’s girlfriend. What would they say when they heard we were engaged?

“Now that you’re joining our family, I would suggest that you refrain from discussing your opinions with the media. You never know how they’ll twist your story. And it’s always best to keep out of controversy.”

Hadn’t I known she’d do this? My fingers gripped the phone, a dozen responses crowding my head. For Andy’s sake I pushed the clamoring ones away and laid hold of an obeisant, smoothing reply.

“You’re right. I’m sorry I ever spoke to that reporter. I’ve told Andy I won’t do it again.”

“All right then. Good. And I was so sorry to hear about Clara.”

Such controlled empathy in her tone.

“Thank you.”

We ended the call, and I threw my phone across the couch.

For the rest of that afternoon one hour blurred into another. At some point Pete returned. Then later, Nicole and Colleen. I hadn’t even thought about dinner. We ordered pizza. I managed to force down one piece. It was the most I’d eaten all day.

At evening news time, like a moth to flame I sat on the couch and numbly watched as Pete flipped through channels. All local TV stations covered the story. This time Melcher made his own appearances, always declaring they “had their man.” Reporters pressed him for information on the evidence, but he would only say they were “gathering it, and there was plenty.”

Plenty?

But Melcher didn’t stop there. As for “Miss Miller’s assertions” that he had threatened to “haul her off to jail,” Melcher declared, they were “complete fabrication and totally unfounded.”

The first time I heard the words, I gripped the arm of the couch, my limbs going cold.

“That liar!” Pete shook his forefinger at the TV. “I’m not lettin’ him get away with this!”

By the third time we listened to Melcher lie, all four of us were more than incensed.

Someone from the Crenshaw family also appeared on each news show. First Clara’s parents, then her sister, Paula, followed by her Aunt Gretchen. In one way or another they accused me of interfering in the investigation. “Delanie was my sister’s good friend,” Paula said. “We were all together at the shower just before this happened. I don’t understand why she’s saying these things.”

Maybe because they were true. But who would believe that now?

The remaining pizza was growing cold on the coffee table as the last “Redbud Murder” news segment ended. None of us had eaten much, focused as we were on the screen. Nicole’s eyes kept flicking to me, as if pleading reassurance.
What will happen to our home, now that you’ve gone and taken a stand against half the town?

Pete muted the TV. For a moment we sat in silence, each of us stewing.

“Did you hear from Chief Melcher today?” Colleen asked.

“Not a word.”

Nicole raised a shoulder. “He won’t threaten you again. For all he knows someone would hear him next time.”

Pete grunted. “Somebody already did.”

My gaze fell to the floor. Melcher may not be overtly threatening me, but it was clear I’d now made a serious enemy. He would rejoice to see me brought down.

I closed my eyes and pictured him putting me in handcuffs …

My phone rang. I checked the screen.
Cheryl King
. Exhaustion swept over me, trailed by guilt. What had I done all day to help her son?

With a reluctant hand, I picked up the cell. “Hi, Cheryl.”

“Delanie. Did you
see
?” She sounded terrified, desperate.

A rubber band pulled tight around my chest. “What?”

“My poor Billy’s picture is plastered on national TV! Now everyone in the country thinks he’s a murderer.” Cheryl’s voice broke in two.

No, no, no
.

“And that interview you did yesterday with WTVQ? That was on there too, every word of it.”

Dread flooded me. I buffed my forehead hard, trying to think. This couldn’t be true, Billy’s mom was just confused.

“Are you sure, Cheryl? Where did you see it?”

“On CNN!”

April 2004 – March 2008

When the doorbell rang at her aunt and uncle’s house, Laura ignored it. She’d been lying in bed, unable to gather the energy to do anything. Probably some salesman anyway.

The bell sounded again.

Laura sighed.

Someone started banging on the door. Hard.

Who in the world?

When it didn’t stop, Laura pushed to her feet and trundled down the stairs.

She swung back the door—and found herself facing a woman in a black jacket and pants. Her straight black hair glossed to her shoulders, blunt cut to perfection. Flawless skin. Oval face and eyes dark enough to laser right through a person. Barely controlled rage contorted the woman’s face.

“It’s about time.” The coral lips sneered. “You must be the famous Laura Denton.”

Laura shrank back. There was only one person this could be.

“That’s right, I’m Tina. The woman your father walked all over. Dragged through the mud, chewed up and spit out. And now—cut out of his will.”

Laura tried to close the door.

Tina stuck her foot in the threshold. “Oh, no, you don’t, Miss Mommy-Killer. You’re going to listen to what I have to say.” She shoved her way into the foyer. Laura stumbled back.

With great satisfaction Tina closed the door. Laura looked at her with frightened eyes.

Tina raised a forefinger and pointed it at Laura. “You are
not
getting
one penny
of your father’s money, got that? It’s
mine
. I will fight you in court until the day I die. I will fight you until you’ve got no strength left.
If
you have any to begin with.”

Anger burst in Laura’s lungs. “That money’s not yours! It came from my mother.”

“Who you killed, remember? Cold-blooded murdered her to get that money, and now you’re trying to get it again.”

“I did not—”

“Oh, save your breath, Laura.” Tina’s eyes narrowed. “I know you did it, as much as you tried to convince your poor father otherwise. And the courts know. They’ll
always
know. And guess what—you still can’t inherit that money. It may be coming from your father now, but he got it from your mother. And by law you can’t reap any rewards from your own crime.”

Who did this woman think she was?

“Get out.” Laura stalked around Tina and flung open the door.

Tina smiled—the most evil smile Laura had ever seen. “Oh, I’ll leave, but that won’t help you any.” She stepped closer. “I’m a detective, remember? I can hound your life. I wouldn’t do one tiny thing wrong if I were you. Because I’ll be all over you.”

Laura’s teeth clenched. “Get
out.”

Tina moved into the doorway. “Leave town, Laura. Don’t fight me on this. You’ll be sorry. And in the end—you’ll lose.”

She threw Laura a final, taunting smile. “Have a good day.”

Tina stepped out onto the porch. Laura slammed the door and locked it.

Ten days later Laura received formal paperwork from the courts. Tina was suing her for her father’s estate.

Laura tried to prepare herself emotionally to fight for her inheritance.

With no money of her own in the meantime, she had to stay with her aunt and uncle. She wanted to pay for rent and food. Desperately she tried to find work, but no one would hire her. When filling out applications at first she left the lines asking about any felonies on her record blank. Only to be nearly hired—then summarily dismissed when the background checks came in. After that she told the truth, trying to explain she’d been wrongly convicted when asked for details. The looks on people’s faces when they learned the nature of her “crime” were more than degrading. After slinking out of office after office, Laura gave up.

“When I win my case,” she told her aunt and uncle, “I’ll pay you back for all you’ve done for me.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Uncle Ted patted her shoulder. “You’ve been through enough. We’re glad to help.”

They were good, good people. The only positive thing in her life as an outcast.

Laura found a lawyer, considered one of the best in cases regarding inheritance. Lou Traxton was in his sixties, gray-haired, thick-jowled and big-bellied. Intimidated by no one. In their first meeting, with Aunt Nicky by Laura’s side, Traxton tried to answer her roiling questions about Tina Fulder’s claim.

“How can she even
do
this?” Laura had begun the meeting with a notebook and pen in her lap for taking notes. She’d certainly learned how convoluted the law could be, and she didn’t want to miss anything. But now she found no energy to record what her lawyer said. She could barely sit there without crying.

Laura shoved the notebook and pen into her aunt’s hands.

Traxton leaned back in his swivel chair, fingers steepled. “A will contest is generally difficult to prevail on. The applicable law here is a part of the California probate code known as the ‘slayer statute.’ It states that a person who feloniously and intentionally kills the decedent is not entitled to any inheritance from that person. However, there’s a loophole, and that’s what we’ll argue. The statute only bars a convicted murderer from inheriting
directly
from the victim. It doesn’t address situations such as yours, in which the inheritance is indirect.”

Aunt Nicky was scribbling furiously.

“So how can she claim this, with that loophole?” Laura spread her hands. “Especially when she wasn’t even married to my dad when he died?”

“Well, she’ll argue her side. She has standing to fight this new will because she was treated more favorably in a prior one. She has numerous causes to raise a challenge. In this case she’s claiming your father was under ‘undue influence’ in changing his will.”

“From who?” Laura already knew the answer.

“You. According to the claim, once your father started visiting you in jail, you persuaded him of your innocence—even though the evidence shows otherwise—and as a result, he changed his will and cheated her out of her money.”

Laura leaned forward. “So
I’m
the bad guy here?”

“According to Tina Fulder Denton.”

Laura winced. She couldn’t stand to hear her own last name attached to that woman.

“Potentially she can also argue based on the ‘clean hands’ doctrine, a different part of the Civil Code that prohibits a person from profiting by his or her own wrongdoing. The general public policy establishes the idea that one should not be unjustly enriched. Under this doctrine she could say it doesn’t matter that your inheritance is indirect. You’d still be profiting from your crime.”

“But I didn’t
do
it!” Tears bit Laura’s eyes.

Traxton sat forward, resting both elbows on his desk. His voice gentled. “Laura, according to the courts, you were convicted and are guilty. The only way your claims of innocence would ever matter would be if your verdict was overturned.”

Which was never going to happen. Unless she could somehow discover the information about Weiner her father had taken to his death. And Laura didn’t even know where to begin.

Her throat tightened. “So. She’ll win, right? I’ll lose. Again. What’s the point of fighting?”

Traxton lifted a shoulder. “Don’t be so sure about that. Fact is, your father wrote his will after you were convicted. After you’d served the majority of your sentence. That’s a strong presumption in your favor. He purposely chose
you
to be his heir, despite your criminal record.”

“But I ‘influenced’ him!” Laura’s voice rose. “I cast some sort of magic spell and forced him to take out Tina’s name and put mine in.”

Traxton inclined his head. “See how stupid her argument sounds?”

Aunt Nicky patted Laura’s leg. Laura looked away out the window. Tried to pull herself together.

“How long is all this going to take?” Her voice sounded toneless.

“Hard to say. Two years or more.”

Laura’s heart sank.
Two years
. After all her time in CYA. The crossing off of days, one by one. Did God expect her to wait forever for her life to begin?