- -
- 100%
- +
As much as she wanted to believe him, Bay stared at the stranger with the feminine nose and pinched lips reading him like a Times Square billboard. Not only didn’t he believe what he was spouting at her, not only didn’t he care if she did or not, he thought coming here undeserving of his time.
“Excuse me.” She gripped the phone tighter, aware that manners counted in such moments and that she had to hang on to what was left of hers. “I don’t mean any insult, and I am…I’m in shock. What I’m trying to say is that no one listened during the trial. What’s changed?”
“Facts.” The attorney focused on the unopened file before him. “It appears new evidence finally surfaced that was unknown at the time of the initial investigation. The deceased was recently discovered to have had a gambling problem. Apparently—”
“The deceased had a name. Glenn English.”
“—Mr. English’s debts,” Lyle Gessler continued frowning at the closed folder, “had gotten so out of control that a collector was sent after him.”
“Bull.” Bay would never have stood for that kind of behavior, and Glenn had known it because her father had been a compulsive gambler. Glenn had witnessed the worst of what that meant; in fact, he’d almost been as hurt by the effects of her father’s addiction as Bay was. They’d come a cold sweat away from losing the business and Bay the pitiful roof over her head. No way would Glenn have allowed himself to become consumed by the same weakness. He’d cared, cared too much.
“Look, I don’t specialize in appellate law, but Mrs. Ridgeway found someone who does. He, in turn, found the right investigators and we ended up with the testimony from a small-time crook by the name of George ‘Catfish’ Tarpley, who knew the hit man sent to settle things with Mr. English.”
“Hit man?”
Gessler stiffened and leaning back glanced around to see how much attention she’d attracted from the other booths. Satisfied that it wasn’t much, he whispered, “Do you mind? One Raymond Basque. Razor to those who use nicknames instead of Yellow Pages advertising.”
Ignoring the snide retort, Bay shot back, “Someone with the kind of debt you’re inferring would be warned several times, even at his place of business. I never saw or heard any—”
“Do you want to know why you’re getting out or not?”
There was no arguing with that. Bay nodded.
“Like Basque, Tarpley’s from Louisiana,” Gessler continued. “But he has a record here that should have been long enough to make him a permanent resident. Several weeks ago he was stopped in Houston for a traffic violation. Police found an unregistered handgun in the car, and he was also in illegal possession of prescription drugs. Needless to say, once he understood that this time he was facing Texas’s strikeout situation, he was anxious to plea bargain.”
If it happened, no doubt; but to Bay it sounded too pat. “The D.A. and a judge wouldn’t listen to me, why should they listen to a career criminal?”
“Because he helped close the book on Basque. Basque is dead…has been for over six years. He was found at DFW Airport with a single gunshot wound to the head the morning after fulfilling the contract on your friend. As luck would have it, at the time there was no reason to connect him to your friend’s murder because the Tyler police believed they had their killer.”
The whole story was insane, and yet Bay saw the way Fate had played nemesis in her life. “How much did Glenn owe?”
“I have no idea.”
“It cost him his life, what do you mean you don’t know? Ten thousand? Fifty?”
“I’m pleased to be able to say such things aren’t in my general area of expertise.”
Unfortunately, they were in hers. “Then let me enlighten you. To be worth the trouble of killing, Glenn would have to have been so deeply in debt he would be sweating blood by day and pissing it by night.” Bay had seen her father in that condition enough to know the signs. “He would have had a few scares, maybe a slashed tire or bashed headlight on a vehicle, and then if that didn’t get the message across, he would have had the crap beaten out of him. No way Glenn could have hidden all of that from me.”
Although he turned a sickly yellow against his flashy suit, Gessler managed his own share of sarcasm. “I’m sharing confidences and insights I doubt anyone else on the case would. Your protests and censure beg the question of why I’m wasting my time talking to you. Perhaps Mrs. Ridgeway needs to be informed of that.”
Bay wanted to kick through the partition and grab the little snot by his platinum silk tie. In her dreams of justice, she’d found vindication and freedom, but not like this. Never at the cost of a dear memory, someone she’d respected and trusted. Glenn hadn’t just shared everything he knew about working with metal, he stuck around through the bad times when others quit due to one too many late paychecks. That was why she’d made him a partner, and why she’d called him a friend. What could she do to disprove these filthy lies? Nothing here. She had to temper her outrage and find the real answers outside.
“This Catfish guy,” she said, her throat aching, “he’s in custody on a commuted sentence? I can talk to him?”
“I told you, he was afraid that what he knew about Basque could be his death warrant if he went back to Huntsville, so he gave authorities various other tidbits that helped on several arrests and earned him a walk.”
She couldn’t deny the validity of that. In prison, what you knew could get you in as much trouble as speculating about what wasn’t any of your business and plenty of inmates lived in dread of returning to pay for their secrets.
“I don’t know, it still sounds as though he got the best of you guys. How do you know he didn’t?”
“We have the confirmation of a detective in Vice, one Nick Martel, who acknowledged he saw Tarpley and Basque in the exact booth at the all-night restaurant Tarpley mentioned when he described making Basque’s payoff.”
The news sucked the air out of the room until Bay felt her lungs burning. A cop…it was one thing to reject the word of a career crook and liar looking for any angle to gain a deal on his sentence, quite another to refute a cop. Sure, guys who carried badges and took oaths lied—naive she wasn’t. It would be a first for one to help someone in her kind of trouble, though.
“Would Martel talk to me?” she asked.
“To what end? He didn’t know English. He just saw what he saw.”
“Then what about Tarpley? Did they ask him who hired him to make the payoff?”
Gessler shook his head. “All of his leads dead-end because no names were used and payment was made at arranged drop-off sites for exactly those reasons.”
Bay could see she would get little from the man and had to allow that maybe that’s why he was sent. It could be that, like Tarpley, he was simply part of the conduit. For the moment it would be wise to let him believe he’d performed his role expertly. But Bay had known Glenn English. He may have cut a corner or two on projects in his time; however, his conscience always reminded him where and when, especially after becoming engaged to Holly Kirkland. And she was active in her church. The couple had been planning a modest wedding to save money for a house. It was inconceivable that he would have jeopardized her trust.
What to do…? So-called justice had already cost her six years of her life. If it took another big blunder to set things right, why not accept that as a gift? Sure as hell, she couldn’t do Glenn’s memory any good here. She also needed to get out for her sanity’s sake.
“So what’s next?” she asked, aware of a slight trembling in her legs. With her free hand she gripped her left thigh to control it.
“Sit tight for the formal paperwork to come through. You should be out by the end of the month, your record expunged.”
Incredulous, she was slow to find her voice. “That fast?”
“I told you, Mrs. Ridgeway has been working on this for some time.”
Free…and not just paroled, the sentence overturned. It was too much to take in. The only thing that saved her was the weight of her guilt. Glenn still wasn’t coming back. Her friend died because she hadn’t locked a door, wasn’t more conscious of what had been going on with him…something.
“Just don’t go doing something stupid like committing another murder before your release date,” Gessler said, breaking into her thoughts. “Mrs. Ridgeway doesn’t appreciate people who undermine her efforts.”
Bay had to wait until the throbbing behind her eyeballs eased. “I didn’t do the first one.”
As Lyle Gessler hung up the phone, she could almost hear his mind cranking away. He was doing his job. She’d gotten the same message from what’s his name, that detective who first questioned her that awful night. Despite his admitting to her that he’d believed something was fishy, he hadn’t fought too hard, either, when the D.A. twisted his words into what proved the prosecution’s strongest incriminating testimony. It was a miracle she hadn’t gotten the death penalty.
As the attorney collected his things, Bay knocked on the window. “Thank you,” she mouthed.
Gessler barely acknowledged her, but then Bay wasn’t really talking to him. She knew who deserved her thanks and she would voice them in person as soon as possible.
2
Tyler, Texas
Thursday, May 31, 2001
Things had changed. Nestled in the luxurious dove-gray leather of Madeleine Ridgeway’s white Lincoln Town Car sent to bring her home, Bay struggled to recognize landmarks as she was chauffeured around Tyler’s Loop. If it hadn’t been for the road signs, she would have sworn she wasn’t even on 323. Gone were the woods interspersed with stretches of pasture that had first given the East Texas community its charming rural appeal years ago. In their place was row after row of shopping strips, large chain stores and enough fast-food joints to keep the stomach bulging and the wallet starved. As for traffic, Bay had seen less congestion this morning as they’d passed under I-35 by Waco—the current main expressway connecting Mexico to the heartland of the U.S.A. It explained the increase of apartments, though. With everyone shopping so much, who had the money for a mortgage?
As her hymn-humming driver Elvin Capps wove his way between slower vehicles—most of them SUVs or pickups and all freshly washed—she dealt with a dizzying mixture of elation and alienation. “Is there a plan for street expansion or another loop?” she asked once the car stopped for yet another red light.
Darkly lashed hazel eyes met hers in the rearview mirror and crinkled at their corners. “My, yes. There’s always a plan. There’s a plan to adjust the latest plan, and a plan to oust the people wanting to stick with the original plan. In the meantime the traffic gets worse, accidents more frequent, insurance rates skyrocket and—” He punctuated his opinion with a shrug and sheepish smile. “I’m no expert, ask Mrs. Ridgeway. Next to her church commitments, improving the roads is her biggest interest.”
Then no doubt something would get done. Bay believed if Madeleine Ridgeway could get her out from under a murder conviction, unraveling the political and economic bird’s nest delaying a new multimillion dollar road system should be no problem.
The congestion didn’t ease up once Elvin turned south on Broadway. Before they cleared the second traffic light, she witnessed several near collisions…and the city stretched onward.
“Good grief!” Torn between a laugh and shout of warning as another impatient driver cut in front of them, she gripped the back of the front seat.
“Don’t fret none,” Elvin drawled, stopping before the intersection that featured one of the Ridgeways’ gourmet grocery stores. “You’re in good hands. Jesus watches over this car.”
As he went back to humming the latest gospel tune playing on the radio, Bay reconsidered his earlier advice that she fasten her seat belt. Back in Waco, she’d rejected the idea as too close a reminder of driving shackled in the back of a patrol car. To avoid it now she averted her eyes from the traffic to the growing city’s infrastructure.
Discount department store, super hardware store, super furniture store…American corporations were making a killing on cheap imports. Bay wondered…did she have a future in this kind of economical environment? Why would anyone pay premium prices for her one-of-a-kind creations when they could get slapped-together facsimiles for a fraction of the cost? Of course, the dream of having her own business again, let alone focusing on her sculpture was just that, a dream that would have to wait until she could manage to simply support herself. What she needed to think about was would anyone want to hire her? She’d been forewarned by the warden at Gatesville that the media knew of her release and was treating it as top-story material.
By the time Elvin steered the sedan past the electronic gates of the Ridgeway estate, some of Bay’s euphoria over being released faded under the weight of her cloudy future. When they stopped beneath the two-car-wide portico of the sprawling three-story structure, Bay, feeling less worthy than ever, got out before the cherub-faced driver could make it to her door. Elvin Capps seemed a genuine dear, comfortable in that middle-aged, barrel-chested way that probably made him a top candidate by organizations seeking volunteer Santas at Christmas. What won her approval was his unmistakable devotion to Mrs. Ridgeway.
But as Bay eyed his crisp white shirt, khaki slacks and navy blazer, she experienced renewed doubt. For all of their simplicity, Elvin’s clothes were designer quality compared to her cheap T-shirt and jeans. She might as well be back in her orange jumpsuit. How did she face Mrs. Ridgeway looking like someone even her chauffeur would find tacky?
“I don’t know about this,” she began. “Maybe I’ll come back after I get properly settled somewhere.”
“You get in there and let her enjoy the reunion.” Brusque as he pressed the doorbell, Elvin was beaming as he stepped back to make room for her. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
The door opened. A young Latino girl in a white uniform beckoned her inside, keeping Bay from questioning the latter half of his comment.
The maid led her across the foyer to a door on the left. Softly knocking, she opened it and gestured for Bay to enter.
On the far side of the high-ceilinged room sitting behind a huge rectangle of thick, smoky glass held up by a pair of marble elephants waited Madeleine Ridgeway. She sat framed in the mauve-ivory-and-silver decor, a sight to behold dressed in a silk tunic pantsuit that matched her platinum hair. Bay had never forgotten the elegance of the office; the woman had her gaping. Once Madeleine’s trademark had been her long, steel-gray mane coifed in a sophisticated bun at the nape, à la dancing legend Martha Graham. Today she wore it as short as a boy’s, as short as her own, and almost the same color. Bay had the oddest sensation that she was seeing herself in thirty years.
“My dear.”
Her mature alter ego rose from a gray leather chair similar to the car’s interior and swept toward her with arms wide. The women were twins in build now, too, except that Madeleine stood inches taller even without high heels. Despite her initial shock, Bay saw that time had been kind to her benefactress. Her skin was as luminescent as the six rows of pearls gracing her throat, complimenting well-defined features that held just enough secret humor in those clear blue eyes, only a shade darker than her own, to keep from looking severe. Madeleine’s smile broadened, diminishing the fine lines around lips painted a passionate burgundy. The life-size portrait on the wall behind her couldn’t compete with her flesh-and-blood radiance.
“You made it. This morning I woke in a sweat dreaming they’d kept you.”
As Madeleine drew her closer for an exuberant hug, Bay fought the impulse to reject. Displays of affection had been few and far between even before her incarceration, and that history compounded her awkwardness. But to her surprise, the harder Madeleine laughed and hugged, the deeper she felt a seeping warmth. It was a relief to finally break away before she turned into a blubbering fool.
“Mrs. Ridgeway. How do I begin to thank you?”
“Oh, don’t start.”
“I have to. I owe you everything.”
“I only did what I had to do for my own peace of mind.” Hands with rings on every manicured finger including the thumbs gripped Bay’s upper arms, while intelligent eyes held her gaze with as much concern as warmth. “How are you, my friend? You’ve cost me many a night of sleep from worry.”
Where to begin? Did she really want to know? Bay had narrowed her philosophy of life to match her social one—believe in no one and nothing save herself. This woman’s kindness worked against that, as did the bite of seawater as it washed away the germs in a deep wound. Curiously, it left her weak in an unfamiliar and uneasy way. She needed time to regain her strength, not to mention her voice.
“I’m fine now.” The recited words were from a dozen or so she’d prepared to aid her in getting through the initial days. “Great, thanks to you.”
“Huh.” After another hug, Madeleine Ridgeway pushed her to arm’s length. “You’re as substantial as a morning glory. Let me call Lulu and have her get Cook to make you a calorie-saturated omelet. Lulu is actually Lucia, but I only call her that in formal situations.”
Bay thought fleetingly of the girl who’d worked here before. What had become of her? A job with the Ridgeways undoubtedly paid better than most service jobs and would be prized. “Really, I don’t need anything.”
“After such a ride? What about coffee, tea, a lemonade? I’m leaving shortly for a luncheon. Nevertheless, you’re welcome to—”
Bay took a step back toward the door. “I won’t keep you. I only wanted to thank you…for everything. The ride, too.”
“Isn’t Elvin a treasure? He’ll take you to your new home. Any questions or needs you have just tell him.”
This was like stepping into a movie theater ten minutes into the film. “I don’t understand.” At the prison they’d returned her belongings—a wallet containing sixty-three dollars, an expired license and equally useless credit cards, keys to a car, trailer and business that no longer existed. Her new residence would be wherever her exhausted body landed once she found a job that she could start immediately.
Madeleine threw back her head and laughed. “I’m ahead of myself, aren’t I? Blame it on sheer giddiness.” Beckoning, she returned to the desk, picked up a manila envelope and offered it to Bay with both hands. “This is for you. It’s a little property west of town. The cottage isn’t much larger than a dollhouse and it’s as old as my poor bones, which should warn you that it needs substantial work beyond what Elvin’s had time to put into it. On the plus side, it’s on the airport highway and has a tin building out front close to the road that can serve as a shop.”
The envelope might as well have been a new warrant. Bay shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “I can’t afford anything like that, Mrs. Ridgeway. I’ll be lucky to find someone to hire me to wash dishes on a trial basis, let alone give me a chance to work in my own field.”
“That’s utter nonsense. Darling, surely Lyle explained it to you? Your record is cleared.”
“Then someone neglected to inform the reporters waiting outside the prison as I got out.”
“Well, the case did receive broad media attention from the first. It’s understandable the discovery of that awful Basque man being responsible would stir things back up again. But it’s died down considerably what with the other horrors going on in the state and around the world. That’s the one thing you can rely on with the press—a short attention span for anything that doesn’t provide juicy video and meaty sound bites. In any case, you have nothing to apologize for, let alone explain to anyone.
“I think you misunderstand me on another front, too,” Madeleine continued with a knowing smile. “The property described in that envelope has been deeded over to you. What’s more, you begin work tomorrow on your first contract.”
“Doing what?”
“Get that hideous animal cage monstrosity called a gate off of my property and put up The Iron Maiden.”
There had been no missing the boring wall of metal bars as Elvin drove into the estate. Whoever contracted the job did competent work, but the design lacked the imagination and flair to do the estate justice, creating instead something better suited for the entranceway to a storage rental business.
“It takes more than a building and a dream to create what you’re asking me to do,” Bay said with unabashed regret. “As much as I’d love getting the job done right for you, I can’t. Probably not for some time yet. I don’t have the credit record to obtain adequate equipment, let alone purchase the material. Then there’s a matter of personnel.”
White gold and diamonds glittered and jingled as Madeleine waved away Bay’s excuses. “Some of what you need you’ll find already there. I had Elvin look into the situation. The rest, I’ll finance you. It’s all in that envelope. You keep record of everything else and we’ll work out a payment schedule later. As for staff, I have people who work the grounds, perhaps they can help until you find experienced staff. And don’t discount Elvin. He may be all thumbs for what you need, as well, but in a clinch, he’s the strongest thing on two feet.”
This was amazing, and impossible. Convinced the past could never be buried completely, Bay held tight to her angst. “Mrs. Ridgeway, you’ll never know—this means the world to me. But how can you, as brilliant a businesswoman as you are, take this kind of risk?”
“I’m not suggesting it will be easy. First and foremost I’ll worry dreadfully about you being out there day and night by your lonesome. I’d be happier if you stayed here with me. The place is like a giant mausoleum with my dear son Duncan constantly traveling.” The instant Bay started to protest again, Madeleine held up her hand. “I know better than to ask. So I’ll chew on carrot sticks to burn up frustration and chip my nails punching in your number on my phone.”
Dazed, Bay struggled to find new words of thanks. This marvelous woman was throwing her completely off balance with her generosity. “Why are you being so good to me? Don’t you realize this might hurt your reputation socially as well as—okay, I’ll say it. What about your position in the church?”
“Ho-ho. No one there had better utter a peep, not one word. Not if they dare call themselves Christians in my presence. As for our pastor, Martin Davis has been wholly supportive of my mission since I first discussed the matter with him.” Madeleine grasped Bay’s hands. “Stop fighting me. Yes, I can see you are. This is the least I can do for someone who’s been so wronged. I’ll never forgive myself for not doing more sooner.”
“The D.A. was intent on getting me convicted. It would have been double the nightmare if he’d injured you somehow in the process.”
“Then we must all put that terrible time behind us. Oh, I know you can’t get back the years you lost, but you can rebuild your life. I know. I did it twice, remember, first when I lost my darling father and again when dear Herman passed so prematurely.”
Bay nodded remembering the story she’d shared about how each had devastated her.
“If it wasn’t for my son,” Madeleine continued, “I wouldn’t have found the strength to go on. I can be that rock for you, dear. I admire you enormously, your talent, as well as your endurance.”
“Maybe you should wait for proof there’s enough of that endurance left to be worth your while.” At the moment Bay was feeling a shadow of her former self, vulnerable and unsure.
“You need to find your footing, that’s all. This is your opportunity.”
It sounded too good to be true and Bay had firsthand experience about that unwritten law. “What about Holly? Once she learns what you’ve done—”
“She knows.”
One more shock and Bay was going to have to sit down. Holly Kirkland was aware that Madeleine Ridgeway was sponsoring her? Glenn’s former fiancée would never accept her presence in Tyler, let alone being the recipient of such benevolence at the hands of this good soul. “Mrs. Ridgeway, with all due respect, you’re way off on your perceptions about her. This is going to—I’m afraid she’ll see this as a betrayal.”