South of the buttonwood.., p.16
South of the Buttonwood Tree, page 16
Time would tell if he was right about Persy Bishop.
Eventually, DNA always spoke the truth.
Blue
Early the next morning, Flora was making noises like she was fixin’ to start wailing, and I paced with her in my arms while singing her a lullaby under my breath.
My shirt was damp from spit-up and needed to go straight into the wash, Flora was unusually fussy, and so was I. My worries had kept me tossing and turning last night instead of sleeping, and when I had drifted off, I’d dreamed of glittery threads being pulled apart.
I stepped into my studio, which was half-packed, but until police techs finished scouring the farmhouse, I couldn’t take any of my supplies over there. Shep had said it would be a day or two.
I opened the curtains and noticed Moe sitting on the deck next door, reading the morning paper upside down. Last night I’d asked Marlo whether she and Moe had paid the restitution for the fire at the high school, telling her about the conversation I’d had with Sarah Grace. She’d denied it, saying that it had already been paid when she inquired about it, and I believed her. But her response left me more confused than before. Who’d paid the bill on my behalf?
“Does this look like a giraffe to you? Because it’s looking like a snake with arms to me,” Persy said from her spot on the couch, staring with a critical eye at the orange balloon animal she’d created. Her gaze darted between her handiwork and the YouTube instructional video she was watching on her phone.
“Are you sure you still want to go today?” I asked. I’d actually been looking forward to the festival before all this had happened.
This. Persy and police and DNA tests and principles compromised in the name of love.
My chest ached, a pain that had started when I’d picked up that ribbon the day before. I had the feeling it wasn’t going to go away until Shep finished his investigation. A field test had confirmed that it was diluted blood on the sofa, and he agreed it was likely that Persy’s and my old bedroom was where Flora had been born. He’d sent the sofa off for more testing, cordoned off the farmhouse, and then asked to talk to Persy.
She twisted the balloon a different direction. “I told you I do. I don’t care what people are saying. I know I’m not Flora’s mother. The DNA test will prove it. Let them talk. It doesn’t bother me.”
Persy hadn’t batted an eye when Shep had asked her to take a DNA test. He swabbed her cheek right here in the keeping room, and she’d been as calm as could be. He’d swabbed my cheek as well as a precautionary measure. In case Persy’s test came back negative, he’d be one step closer to identifying all the DNA samples in the room.
It was Persy’s calmness that bothered me most. Persy, who freaked out at any hint of impropriety. She followed speed limits to a frustrating degree. She wouldn’t pick up a dollar on the street out of concern that whoever lost it would come back looking for it. She would rather eat nails than return a library book late. Once, she’d broken into tears when I accidentally turned the wrong way down a one-way street, fearing I’d be arrested and thrown in jail.
I said, “Then tell the kids the balloon is a snake with arms. A hybrid. They’ll love it.”
For Persy to stay perfectly calm when there was a police officer in the house questioning her was suspicious. Highly suspicious. It was as if she had known that moment would come. She’d prepared for it. Otherwise, she’d have been a ball of nervous energy.
“A snake with arms.” She nodded. “I like it.”
Since Flora’s was a high-profile case, Shep said it would take only twenty-four to seventy-two hours for the rapid DNA test to come back. I could only hope that once it came back negative, he’d drop any inquiries into her involvement. After all, if not for that phone call, he wouldn’t have any reason to look into Persy’s behavior at all.
An anonymous phone call.
Who had it been from?
My mind spun, twisting thoughts and suspicions until they knotted. My theories weren’t giving me anything but a headache.
Marlo stepped out onto the deck, carrying Moe’s breakfast plate. Faint golden wisps fluttered around her like nervous butterflies as she set the plate in front of him and placed her hands on his shoulders.
I watched in dismay as Moe swatted her hands away, but she kept replacing them. This went on and on a few times until Moe seemed to forget what he was doing. The golden haze surrounding her gradually faded, and after a moment, Marlo stepped aside and slumped into her chair. Moe smiled and turned the paper right side up.
I watched Marlo for a second, noticing her exhaustion. The moon had started to wane, which had weakened her healing hands—so she was having to use more and more energy to help Moe. I was grateful for the approach of the new moon, as it would provide a respite from moon dancing. She needed to recharge before she was the one who needed to be healed.
I dropped a kiss on Flora’s head and placed her into her cradle and set it rocking. I needed to change, eat something to settle my stomach, then head over to the festival.
As I ran upstairs, Moe’s voice chased me up the steps.
What she hasn’t learned yet is that she’s hurting herself by keeping herself closed off. Opening up is the only way she’ll find her happiness.
For Flora’s sake, I was determined to be myself at the festival today. To keep an open mind. To meet people. To let Mrs. Tillman introduce me to the Buttonwood Moms. To step out of my comfort zone.
And I hoped to the heavens above that I wouldn’t regret it.
* * *
“Snakes don’t have arms!” a little boy shouted at Persy a few hours later as she tried to hand him a balloon.
She glanced over at me, an eyebrow arched, and I shrugged as I finished painting a unicorn horn onto a small girl’s forehead.
At the last minute, I’d balked at taking Flora with me today, suddenly worried about the heat and the crowds and protecting her. I’d called Marlo to bow out of attending and was surprised when she offered to watch Flora for me and insisted I go.
“You’re not going to be there?” I asked.
“Nope. The town needs to see Henry in charge, not me. I’ll come by later on, for the last session of story time, and will bring Flora to you then. Moe’s aide is here to keep an eye on him, a godsend she is, so I can give my full attention to little Flora.”
I’d been at the festival for three hours now, and even though I’d been enjoying the day, I missed Flora and couldn’t wait to get back to her.
Persy was holding up well under the scrutiny of our neighbors, who hadn’t been as nosy as I feared. Mostly because they were too busy talking about Sarah Grace and Fletch’s big fight last night.
As soon as I heard about it, I’d called her, but she hadn’t answered. I hadn’t quite known what to say to her voicemail, so I’d hung up. I couldn’t get any scoop from Kebbie, either, as she was absent from the tent today, calling off with what she now thought was a bad cold, not allergies.
“There you go,” I said, holding a mirror up to the girl’s face as I set down my palette. “A prettier unicorn I never did see.”
“Thank you, Miss Blue!” she said, hopping off the stool.
As soon as she galloped off to talk to her mother, Henry sat down on the vacated stool. “Do you see many unicorns?”
“What? You don’t? We need to work on your imagination.”
“We can start with a little paint.” He pointed to his face. “What should I get done?”
“You’re not serious.”
“I am. Perfectly.”
I smiled. “All right, then. Since we’re working on your imagination, you tell me what you want.”
“Hmm. Let’s see. A snake with arms?”
“Hey!” Persy said. “I heard that.”
I laughed. “I think I’ll leave those to Persy.”
She stood up. “While there’s a lull, I’m going to grab some cotton candy. Do either of y’all want anything?” When we both declined, she said, “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
“Fine, fine. A clown?” he suggested.
I winced.
“No? How about a mask? Like Zorro?”
I shook my head.
“A blue bunny?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t go borrowing my imagination. It’s like you’re not even trying.”
“All right, then. How about a rabbit with blue eyes and dimples asking a certain blue bunny on a date?”
My heart skipped a bit as I glanced down at the palette, and said, “That’s a little better.”
“You’re a hard judge, Miss Blue.”
Opening up is the only way she’ll find her happiness. I placed my hand under his chin and turned his face toward mine. I dipped a paintbrush into the brown on the palette, then swirled it with white and brought it to his face. With a few strokes from his jawline to his forehead, a tall rabbit with long, straight ears took shape. “Where would the blue-eyed rabbit think of taking her? Answer carefully.”
His dimples deepened as he smiled. “He’s thinking a picnic, somewhere quiet. A park. The woods. A lake. We’ll talk books and movies and families because we’ll be trying to get to know one another and where we come from, the good and the bad, because they’re big parts of who we are now. So, if he asked … what do you think she’d say?”
“Henry, I—”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say no. We’d just met. There was Flora to consider. There was so much we didn’t know about one another. But then I thought about sitting with him on a blanket on a sunny day, watching the clouds drift by, and I didn’t want to say no. I wanted to learn more about him. Not just more. I wanted to know everything.
I quickly finished the painting and held the mirror up to him. “She’d say don’t forget the kite.”
The rabbit on his cheek held a kite that soared onto his forehead, drifting upward into a sea of clouds that blended into his hairline.
He grinned at his reflection, and the curve of his cheek made the rabbit look like he had a potbelly.
“Blue! Hello!” Mrs. Tillman sailed into the tent with two older women trailing behind her. “Oh my. Did you paint that rabbit, Blue? It’s splendid.”
I stood up. “Thanks, Mrs. Tillman. Have you met Henry Dalton? He’s the new owner of The Rabbit Hole.”
Mrs. Tillman held onto his outstretched hand and grinned. “Welcome to Buttonwood, Henry! We surely will miss seeing Marlo and Moe every day, but it’s nice to know such a beloved shop is in good hands.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
She pivoted and said, “Henry, this is Mrs. Judy Rudolph and Mrs. Clem Weese, two of the judges for today’s dessert competition. Judy is also Buttonwood Baptist’s organist, and Clem is the president of the local mother’s group.”
“Even though I’m a meemaw now,” she said as she held out her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Henry.”
Mrs. Tillman sent a conspiratorial wink my way before saying, “Sadly, the third judge for the event today, Mrs. Janet Ogilvie, has come down with a cold and had to forfeit her judging chair. Blue, we were hoping you’d take her place.”
I pressed my hands to my chest. “Me?”
She smiled. “You’re an upstanding member of the community, we trust you can be fair and impartial, and we know you bake. Marlo’s raved of your cookie recipes for years. It won’t take but half an hour. Can you spare her, Henry?”
“We can make do,” he said, glancing at me. “But the decision is up to Blue.”
Truly, the thought of being a judge made me queasy. Sitting in front of my neighbors, with them watching my every move, hanging on my every word.
It seemed more like a nightmare than an opportunity.
But then I saw Sam Mantilla’s serious eyes and heard him telling me how important community was for Flora. A half hour of my time and discomfort suddenly seemed a small price to pay for this town to start seeing me as my own person.
“Your name is so familiar to me, Henry,” Miss Judy said to him as they all waited for me to make up my mind. “Is it possible we’ve met before?”
“It’s possible,” Henry said. “My family used to visit Buttonwood when I was a boy, and I spent a few Sundays sitting on church pews here. Well, squirming if I’m telling the truth. I’ve never been one to sit still too long.”
“Dalton, Dalton…” She shook her head.
The air in the tent suddenly stilled, the mood darkening as Oleta Blackstock headed straight toward me, her sturdy black block pumps soundless on grass that seemed to wilt under each of her steps.
If there were a personification of Southern Gothic, it would be Oleta. Dressed in one of her overly starched, vintage short-sleeve shirtwaist dresses with matching pillbox hat, she was altogether nightmarish with her nearly skeletal figure, short gray hair, black eyes, sharp cheekbones, barbed tongue, and utter self-righteousness.
I fought the urge to hide under a table.
“I see the rumors are true,” Oleta said as she approached, her dark gaze darting between Henry and me.
“Oh hell,” Henry whispered, then coughed.
I threw him a look at the strange reaction.
“Good afternoon, Miss Oleta!” Mrs. Tillman said. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
She raised a darkly penciled eyebrow. “No. It is not.”
Mrs. Tillman’s mouth fell open, and she glanced around like she didn’t know what to say to that.
Oleta jabbed a finger at me. “Just so you’re aware, Blue Bishop, I fully believe that baby you found is your sister’s illegitimate child and you’ve concocted finding the baby to try to hide the truth. And I’m not the only one thinking it. I’ve been hearing talk all morning.” Cold, black eyes shimmered with hatred that she polished with every fiery breath she took.
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Tillman said, covering her mouth with her hand.
I could take Oleta’s viciousness, but she had no right to drag Persy into her attacks. Anger built, flowing hotly from the tips of my toes to my ears.
“Lolly, stop,” Henry said sharply.
Lolly?
She turned her finger on him. “I’ll get to you in a moment.”
“No.” He stepped in front of me. “This stops with me right now.”
Oleta straightened, pulling her shoulders back. “I’ll remind you to mind your manners, Grandson. Respect your elders.”
A collective gasp echoed through the tent.
I backed up a step, looking between Henry and Oleta. My breath hitched, and I cursed the moisture in my eyes and the stinging in my nose, hating that I couldn’t hide the pain, the hurt that overwhelmed me at the force of the truth. “You’re a Blackstock?”
“Lordy be! You’re Aubrey’s boy,” Miss Clem cried. “I didn’t realize you were one of Buttonwood’s own! Why didn’t you say so?”
“Yes, why?” I asked, my heart feeling like it was near to breaking flat open.
“I can explain, Blue,” he said. “Let’s take a walk.”
I could feel everyone watching me, and suddenly I didn’t want to hear what he had to say. I wanted only to be swallowed whole by the earth. My head swam, and I felt faint. I grabbed my knapsack and quickly said, “I have to go home. Tell Persy where I went.”
“Blue, wait,” Henry said, reaching for me. “Stay. Please stay.”
Oleta clamped onto his arm and pasted on a brittle smile. “Let her go.”
As I ran through the crowds, tears streaming from my eyes and embarrassed heat flooding my cheeks, I could hear Moe’s voice in my head again as he asked Henry if he’d planned on hurting me.
Never. I like her.
Well, Henry might not have planned it, but he’d gone and done it anyway.
Chapter
13
Former town council member Ezra Atherton sidled up to Judge Quimby at the country club bar and pinned him with a glassy-eyed stare. “This is a fool’s game you’re playing, Quimby. Reelection is in five months. Your constituents, including me and my bank account, don’t want you to make the wrong decision when it comes to that baby Blue Bishop found. You’d do best to terminate her guardianship.”
Judge Quimby could only assume Ezra meant to intimidate with the pointed look, but he succeeded only in making the judge want to go fishing. No question Ezra’s slightly bulging eyes, big loose lips, and slightly green cast to his flaky skin reminded the judge of a largemouth bass.
He ordered a whiskey neat. “I appreciate your concern, Ezra, but my decision will be based on what’s best for the child.”
“I know we ain’t always seen eye to eye, Quimby, but I can’t believe you’re even considering letting Blue adopt that girl. Don’t you remember the fire Blue set in high school? How she got out of that mess I still don’t understand. The Bishops don’t have a decent bone in their bodies. Bad to the bone. There’s other good families to consider.”
Of course he remembered the fire Blue set. It was the only time she’d been inside his courtroom. But he also knew that Ezra, who was well-known for taking kickbacks and accepting bribes, should be the last one, in the judge’s opinion, to cast stones.
In this town, your last name could make sins vanish.
Everywhere except in his courtroom.
Sarah Grace
Storm clouds hung low in the sky, and the threat of rain lurked in the humid air early Sunday morning as Hazey set our snail-like pace, sniffing every bench, rock, and tree trunk along the paved paths that snaked through the park.
Doc Hennessey had released her into my care yesterday morning, and Hazey and I had spent the day together at home, playing ball, watching movies, and throwing Fletch’s clothes into trash bags that I piled in the garage. I’d kept my phone off, and I hadn’t answered any knocks at the door. I had wanted to be alone with my dog and my newfound freedom.
The park was quiet at this time of the morning, a little before seven. A few people milled about, cleaning up after yesterday’s festival. By nightfall, the Ferris wheel would be disassembled along with all the tents and booths, and the park would be back to normal.
