South of the buttonwood.., p.21
South of the Buttonwood Tree, page 21
She tried to look me in the eyes but failed. “Let it go, Blue.”
With that, she ran up the steps.
Let it go. If only it were that simple.
I couldn’t let it go. Not until her name was cleared for good. All it was going to take was one warrant for Persy’s cell phone records to blow open this whole case.
Flora yawned around her pacifier, and I put her in the bouncy seat so I could clean off the dining table. When I picked up the pink hat, I wondered if it was possible that Mary Eliza had made my baby hat.
And if she had, why did that thought fill me with more uneasiness than Shep’s visit?
Chapter
17
Judge Quimby believed paperwork would one day be the death of him. He stacked another file on the corner of his desk as Willow Eakins, his administrative assistant, tapped softly on his door and stepped into his chambers.
There was another blasted file in her hands that she laid on the desk in front of him.
Though he forced himself to thank her, he rather wished she’d run the folder through the shredder.
It was, perhaps, time to schedule a vacation.
He glanced up when he realized she still stood in front of his desk, wringing her hands.
Willow had worked with him for nearly seven years, and he’d never known her to dawdle. “Something on your mind, Willow?”
“The Bishop family.”
He wasn’t surprised. Motioning for Willow to sit, he said, “What about them?”
She perched on the edge of the seat as if ready to take flight at a moment’s notice. “With you being involved with Blue’s guardianship of the abandoned baby, I feel like I need to tell you that I once had a relationship with Wade Bishop.”
“Did you?” he said, trying to act as if he hadn’t known.
“It was a long time ago. Almost thirty years.”
“Wade’s reputation didn’t bother you?” he asked.
It was quite a reputation, too. Before Wade had seen eighteen years on this earth, he’d been arrested multiple times for underage drinking, truancy, petty larceny, vandalism, and disorderly conduct. The more Wade acted out, the more convinced the judge had been that he was doing it only because no one expected anything else from him.
Shrugging, she said, “Maybe a little, but not so much that I wouldn’t date him. And he was working on turning his life around. When we met, I was working at Publix and going to school at the community college, and he had just started working as an electrician’s apprentice. We’d been dating only six months when he asked me to marry him. He wanted to settle down and start a family straight off.” She glanced at her hands. “We were both only eighteen at the time, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for all that. I thought it was all too fast, too soon, to be real. I was scared, so I told him no.”
“That is awfully young to be settling down if you have doubts.”
“We ended up breaking up, and I moved around some before coming back to town about ten years later. I called Dodd’s Electrical to install porch lamps on my new house, and I was shocked when it was Wade who showed up. He was a full-fledged electrician.”
Not many had seen any hope in Wade or given him a chance to prove himself capable of something other than accruing misdemeanors until Ray Dodd had come along.
“Wade and I quickly picked up where we’d left off, and I thought for sure we were headed back to the altar … but then the bank robbery happened.”
“I’m so sorry.”
She nodded as she stared at her hands. “To this day, I don’t know why he did it. He had everything going for him. His reputation had been cleaned up, he was making a good living, we were planning a future … and then it all went up in flames. At the very least, it’s a small comfort to me that when he died, he knew how much I loved him. I just wish I’d had more time to show him how much. Anyway, I wanted to let you know in case it comes up.”
“I appreciate it, Willow.”
After she left, he stacked his files and locked them away. There was nothing that couldn’t wait until tomorrow. Right now, he felt an urgent need to get home to Mrs. Quimby to let her know just how much he loved her.
Blue
“What time did Shep say he’d be here?” Marlo asked as she pulled the pitcher of sweet tea from the fridge.
“Ten.”
I had a bad feeling about this visit. All because of the wind and its silence.
Its deafening silence.
My gaze drifted to Flora, curled in a ball in her Moses basket. She’d finally fallen asleep, and her face was slack with peace. I put cookies on a plate and glanced out front. Moe’s health aide was walking with him around the neighborhood, as he’d been insistent that he had to go look for his beloved Skitter.
The scratch on his cheek had disappeared overnight, but his eyes had been cloudy, hinting that he’d been taken to another place and time. When I questioned him about what had happened last night—and about keeping his promise—he hadn’t seemed to know what I was talking about. Until today I hadn’t realized exactly how much Marlo had been helping him. No wonder she was drained.
Since her healing had been minimal these last few days, it was clear to see now how far down the rabbit hole of dementia he’d traveled, and I hoped to the heavens that he didn’t feel lost. That he somehow knew where he was, even if he was the only one who knew it.
Marlo followed my gaze and said, “Moe’s been extra tired this morning. Perhaps a nap with Flora later is just what he needs.”
A nap with Flora and her energy.
I squeezed so hard on the cookie I held that it broke, sending crumbs flying across the countertop.
Marlo, always intuitive to my feelings, put her arm around me, absorbing my hard anger into her soft curves. Her inner light glinted in her dark eyes. During this forced hiatus from healing Moe, her body was trying to heal itself. “I’d rather go with him, Blue, than live without him. I’ve been at his side for more than fifty years, so long that I can’t hardly tell where he ends and I begin. No use in separating us now.”
I wiped my hands. “Why?”
She seemed startled by the question. “I love him. Is it so hard to understand?”
“Love is a shallow answer, Marlo, and you know it. You love me. You love Persy. Yet you’re still willing to go.”
“Then what’s the deep answer, honey? Tell me.”
“You’re scared to live without him, plain and simple. But someone pretty special once told me that those we love live inside us. He wants you to stay. He wants you to keep on living because he knows he’ll be with you still. It’s his way of staying alive, too. What would you want if you were Moe? Have you put yourself in his shoes? Would you want him to die for you?”
She opened her mouth but snapped it shut when someone knocked on the door. It was just as well. I wasn’t sure there was anything else I could say that could possibly change her mind, and I was starting to think I was going to have to accept that I’d soon lose them both.
Persy came stomping down the stairs as I opened the door.
Shep took off his sunglasses as I invited him inside. He gripped a folder tightly. “Sorry for the short notice.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’m glad to get this over with.”
Marlo came over to him, and he gave her a hug. He was yet another of her little rabbits.
She said, “Would you like some sweet tea, Shep? Cookies?”
“No, thanks, Marlo.”
I checked on Flora in her basket, then gestured around the living room. “We should probably sit down.”
Despite her mood, Persy sat next to me on the couch, shoulder to shoulder. Marlo sat on the other side of me, and I felt bookended by love. It was a lovely feeling, one I’d have savored if not for the anxiety sweeping through me.
I couldn’t help thinking that Shep was about to change my life forever.
I knew it by the stillness of the wind.
And by Shep’s expression.
I said, “You look like you’re here to deliver a death sentence. You should see the look on your face.”
Persy nodded. “It’s grim.”
He tapped the folder against the palm of his hand. “I don’t know an easy way to say all this.”
“Just spit it out,” Marlo said, “before I up and die from the suspense. Is Persy Flora’s mother?”
“No,” he said. “There’s no relation between them at all.”
Persy crossed her arms. “I told you so.”
“Then why all this fuss, Shep?” I asked.
He took a deep breath and opened the folder to remove several pieces of paper. “Autosomal DNA comes from both your parents. It’s the test traditionally done to establish a DNA profile. When your test came back with an interesting result, Blue, the lab also ran a mitochondrial DNA, mtDNA, test—that type of test is often used to verify maternity, since mtDNA is passed down through maternal lines for generations.”
Verify maternity? “You tested me to see if I was Flora’s mother?” I asked, trying to follow along with what he was saying. “Why? I’d certainly know if I gave birth to her. I didn’t.”
“And the tests prove that.” He held my gaze. “But, Blue, the test proved that you are related to Flora.”
The wind suddenly breathed a gusty sigh of relief that whistled down the fireplace and swept through my soul, stirring the familiar pull to the woods. It beckoned, begging me to hurry. But I couldn’t leave. Not yet. I looked down at Flora, at the familiar shape of her eyes. I had believed the similarity to be a coincidence. “How?”
“You and Flora come from the same maternal line.” His eyebrows furrowed as he leaned forward, as if the gravity of the situation was pulling him downward. He set his elbows on his knees. “But, Blue, you and Persy do not. There is no possible way that you and Persy have the same mother. And further examination of both your results shows that in all likelihood, Persy is actually your aunt—and one of your brothers is your real father. Twyla and Cobb are your grandparents, likely adopting you as their own when you were born. It happens in a lot of families. Sometimes the kids know; sometimes they don’t.”
“Gad night a livin’,” Marlo said under her breath.
Persy stiffened. “Say what now?”
I stood up, too flustered to sit still, jolted by Shep’s words, summoned by the wind. My mother wasn’t my mother, and my father wasn’t my father? “This is nonsense. The tests are obviously wrong. Contaminated or something.”
The wind roared in my head, threatening to drown out every thought other than running into the woods. I planted my feet to the floor so I wouldn’t run for the door.
“There was no contamination. I’m sorry, Blue,” Shep said, true remorse shining in his eyes. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”
Persy’s face had drained of color, and her mouth hung open like she was trying to speak, but no words were coming out.
Shep said, “The amount of DNA you share with Flora is about the same as you being her first cousin once removed. Do you know if any of your brothers had illegitimate children?”
“Besides me, you mean?” I said, my voice high with disbelief.
He winced.
“Ty would’ve been only seven when I was born,” I said. “Wade was eighteen, so it’s possible he’d gotten someone pregnant, I suppose. I don’t know much about Mac’s life. He was in the army and died a few months after I was born.”
Marlo nodded and said, “Wade dated someone pretty seriously back then. Asked her to marry him. Willow Eakins. She works for Judge Quimby now.”
Persy glanced at me, looking pained. “Twyla always did say you came as quite a surprise.”
Twyla had never liked to talk about my birth at all, and now I wondered if that was because she didn’t know the details. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but it didn’t feel wrong. Why didn’t it feel wrong?
“And,” Persy added, “wasn’t there an issue with your birth certificate at one point?”
There had been. I’d been held back a year because I hadn’t had a birth certificate when Twyla tried to register me. An oversight, she had said, since mine had been a home birth with no witnesses, and she hadn’t bothered to fill out the necessary government paperwork. We’d had to get a “delayed” certificate of birth, and by the time everything was sorted out I’d already missed too many days of classes and was forced to wait until the next school year to start kindergarten.
Shep made a note on one of the papers. “I’ll talk to Willow.”
I paced. Two steps forward. Pivot. Two steps back. The wind gusted, urging me to follow it. I froze, midpivot, listening to it calling.
Marlo came to stand next to me as if recognizing that I was prepping to flee. “This is all too fantastical to be real, Shep. If there was no contamination, could the tests have been mixed up? You took Sarah Grace Fulton’s DNA too, right? Maybe the two tests were mixed up accidentally? Could be she’s Wade’s love child.”
My jaw dropped. Was it possible? Was Sarah Grace a Bishop?
Persy shot off the couch. “Sarah Grace took a DNA test? Why?” Panic pulsed off her in manic undulations, banishing the wind’s plea, forcing me to focus on her. She looked near tears at the news, restless as she gestured madly at nothing in particular.
Shep slowly rose from his chair. “She took it for the same reason as Blue, to help with the case.” His eyes had darkened and narrowed. A cop who was seeing cause for concern. “Why does that upset you so much, Persy?”
Placing a shaky hand to her forehead, she mumbled under her breath. Tears gathered in her eyes. Her chest heaved, and her breath came out in tiny huffs as she fought to keep her composure.
Finally, she said, “Blue, your DNA test and Sarah Grace’s were definitely mixed up.” Her bottom lip pushed out, trembling. She looked between all of us, her gaze lingering on Flora, before she bolted for the door. She flung it open and was gone in a flash.
Stunned, I looked at Shep. His eyes were closed as if he was praying. When he opened them, regret poured out in shiny green waves. “I’ll be in touch,” he said in barely a whisper before he, too, went running out the door.
Sarah Grace
I was drowning in a sea of invoices when the office door flew open, making me jump nearly out of my skin.
“I stopped by Kitty’s for muffins,” Kebbie said as she came inside, kicking the door shut with her foot. “A peace offering. Sorry I’m so late.”
At the sudden noise Hazey barked and scrambled to her feet. She whined and ignored my commands to get down as she excitedly jumped on Kebbie, nearly knocking her over. Her purse, its contents, and the bag of muffins went flying.
“Down, Hazey, down!” I grabbed her collar and she finally sat, though not until after she grabbed a blueberry muffin that was rolling by, eating it in two big bites.
Kebbie righted herself, fixed her dress, and then let Hazey sniff and lick her hand. “I didn’t know she was here or I would’ve knocked a warning first. Hi, Hazey, I’m happy to meet you—aren’t you a pretty girl? I’m sure glad I bought extra mufflers.”
“Mufflers?” I asked with a smile.
Kebbie cocked her head. “What?”
“You said mufflers, not muffins.”
“Oh. Did I?” She frowned. “Weird. Slip of the tongue, I guess.”
Her reaction was weirder than her original comment. A humorous slip of the tongue should’ve been cause for a laugh, but she didn’t seem to recognize that she’d made the mistake in the first place. “I’m so sorry about Hazey jumping on you. We’ll work on her manners.” I gave Kebbie a once-over, suddenly extremely worried about her. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. No harm, no foul.” She took a second to catch her breath. “Hazey barely touched me before you grabbed her.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You’re breathing heavy. And you look … Maybe it’s time to see a doctor, Kebbie. Whatever you have is more than a cold.”
She chuckled and fluffed her hair. “Gee, thanks, Sarah Grace.”
Her hair was done—her makeup, too. But it did little to hide that her skin was ghastly white dashed with mottled redness. Her face was puffy, too, especially around her eyes.
I bent low to help pick up the contents of her purse. “How long have you been sick now? A week?”
“I’m fine. And I can pick all this up,” she said, sucking in a breath and wincing in pain as she crouched down.
“And I can help.” She most certainly wasn’t fine. She looked like death warmed up, spit out, run over, buried, and resurrected. “Are you having trouble breathing? And what hurts? I saw you wince in pain.”
“This conversation is pretty painful. Drop it, Sarah Grace.”
“No.” I reached under her desk for her phone that had skidded underneath it. I handed it to her, and when she took it, I noticed her hand shaking. I took hold of it—felt its heat. She was burning up. “Do you have a fever? Why’re you shaking?”
She tugged her hand free. “I’m just a little marshmallow.”
I stared at her. “Marshmallow?”
She stared back, looking thoroughly confused. “S’mores on your mind, Sarah Grace?”
It was clear she had no idea she was randomly saying the wrong words. “That’s it. We’re going to collect the rest of your things; then we’re going to the doctor.” I knee-walked over to my desk, reached under, and came back with a prescription bottle.
“No, we’re not,” she said, reaching for the bottle. “That’s mine.”
I snatched it away before she could grab it and stood up. “What is this about, Kebbie?”
I held the bottle toward her, the label facing outward. It was clearly a prescription for Persy Bishop, a seven-day supply of acetaminophen with codeine. Painkillers—I recognized the name from when I had my wisdom teeth removed a few years ago. “Why do you have Persy’s pain pills?”
Kebbie stood up and swayed slightly before grabbing onto the edge of her desk. She lifted her chin and said, “She gave them to me.”
