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“Okay. Uh…it’s been over four years since you were a Texas resident, you’ll have to take the written test again. Do you want to try it now or take a book home to study?”
Bay thought that was like asking how many shots you’d like at your execution. “I’ll give it a try,” she told the young woman.
She made only one error and after the eye test, the clerk instructed her to step behind the strip of yellow tape on the floor for a photo. Done, Bay signed the computerized form, paid the fee and pocketed her temporary license.
Thanking the clerk, she turned to leave…and looked straight into the eyes of Jack Burke. Jack Burke, the detective who’d arrested her for Glenn’s murder. Jack Burke who had grilled her for hours upon hours with relentless and redundant precision. Jack Burke who, when she was sentenced, had the nerve to say, “I’m sorry.”
Ducking her head and wishing for a pair of sunglasses to hide behind, Bay cut a sharper right. Time hadn’t affected his reflexes, though, and he countered her move, knocking her off balance.
“Whoa.”
At least he had no problem keeping her from cracking her jaw on the tile floor. Six years might have taken their toll other ways, but physically he remained as she remembered him, big enough to make her feel like a dry twig on a sapling and outweighing her by a good eighty-plus pounds.
“Sorry about that.”
“No problem.” Keeping her head low, she tried to move on.
His hold tightened. “It is you.”
She could feel his recognition by the tension in his hands. Hadn’t he heard she was getting out? Not caring one way or the other, she tugged harder and scrambled for the exit.
Ignoring the “Wait a minute!” he called after her, she pushed through the double glass doors and once outside broke into a dead run. Weak-kneed and sick to her stomach, she shoved the key into the truck’s door lock.
She didn’t bother turning on the air conditioner or taking time to roll down the window. The seat belt had to wait, too. Jamming the key into the ignition, she turned over the engine and drove. The need for escape had never been stronger—and grew worse when she spotted him in the rearview mirror running after her. Afraid he was about to grab on to the tailgate, she burned rubber merging into traffic, almost hitting a Brinks armored truck.
She was free, but that was temporary. Weighed with a new gloom, she drove in a mindless, circuitous route and after a good half hour of haphazard turns she located a familiar street. In order to delay her return home a little longer, she stopped at a discount store for the paint. Another encounter was inevitable, though. Detective Jack Burke had been in the right place to obtain her new address.
It happened sooner than she expected. She hadn’t yet reached the front door when the white pickup truck pulled into her driveway.
5
Doubt and worry buzzed like deer flies in her head as Bay waited for the worst. If only Madeleine would call now. She’d phoned early on to see how Bay made it through the night and once hearing Bay’s plans to go for her license, promised to check in later. Sparing the busy woman a recap of her neurotic first hours here was easy—Bay would like to forget her foolish reaction herself—but she would feel better if Madeleine knew he had arrived, her worst analogy of a bad penny.
He stopped at the far end of the house and killed the engine, all the while watching her with the same intensity she used on him. When he climbed out, she saw he’d taken off his tan suit jacket and loosened his tie, but that just made the gun on his belt obvious. She was no less resentful of his size and how capable and trustworthy he looked. Sure, she thought, trust him to ruin your life. One thing, she had to admit time hadn’t been all that kind to Jack Burke. Thanks in part to him, though, she didn’t have enough generosity of spirit to feel sorry for him.
He still possessed the kind of face movie directors chose for a big brother, strong, the features defined without being craggy. But his probing brown eyes looked sunken and the shadows beneath them suggested whatever was ailing him had become chronic. Then there was that faint scar running down from his lower lip to his chin, which had her wondering who else he’d ticked off since he’d helped put her away.
He moved with a smooth grace like someone used to physical work that involved the whole body. Rolled-up sleeves exposed tanned and well-toned arms indicating that whatever he did to keep fit, it wasn’t at an indoor gym. That healthy quality was offset by a slight slump to his broad shoulders, and the line bisecting those dark eyebrows cut deep enough to tell her that he frowned more often than he smiled.
He stopped a spare two yards away from her, his hands loose at his sides. She couldn’t keep from folding her arms across her chest and resented him for that, too.
“You didn’t have to run.”
“Then why are you here?”
“For the moment, I guess only to make sure you’re okay.”
Right, Bay thought, and on top of her already huge generosity, Madeleine had convinced the mayor to throw a parade in her honor and give her the key to the city. At least he hadn’t driven up in one of those unmarked cars. Regardless, the guy had cop written all over him and she wished they were standing farther back from the road than they were.
“I guess it’s a bit much to hope you believe me?” he continued.
She didn’t see a reason to respond to the obvious.
“Guess not. So much for my declining skill at small talk.”
“You think that’ll make it easier to haul me in?”
His troubled frown became one of confusion and made the ridge along his straight eyebrows resemble a mountain ledge. “Why would I do that?”
“To put me back where you think I belong.”
“Then you don’t know what I think.”
“Please.” Disgusted, Bay looked away. “Stop wasting my time. If your plan is to bug me day in and day out until I leave your precious town, forget it. If it’s to make me feel guilty because a good woman believed in me and helped me, is continuing to help me,” she added extending her arms to encompass her surroundings, “you can give it your best shot. But understand this, Madeleine Ridgeway will hear about it and she has connections.”
“I’m acutely aware of your friend’s connections.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Never mind. I don’t care. Your bitterness about having a case getting turned around is your problem. You should have done a better job with the investigation to begin with.”
“You’re right there. Look, I realize you’ve had plenty of time to add to your hatred of me, but if it would give you any—”
“It won’t.”
“Bay…”
“No!” Rising anger emboldened her. “You have nothing to say that I want to hear. In fact, I was hoping never to have to see you again. Since my lucky streak seems to be short-lived, I think I should at least have a right to ask you to stay away from me.”
“I’m not going to be able to do that.”
The quiet words shook her more than an angry outburst would have. “That sounds like a threat.”
“I could try to explain if you eased up on the defensiveness a bit.”
“There’s nothing to explain. I’m out. It’s over.”
“I don’t think so…and if you’re half the woman I think you are, you don’t believe it, either.”
The truth struck so close she barely refrained from stepping backward. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh. And the moment you heard your partner described as a weak gambling addict who risked your friendship and trust, not to mention his relationship with the woman he was about to marry, you didn’t want to spit in the eye of the person reciting that crap to you?”
So he did know. And he was telling her that he didn’t believe the story Catfish Tarpley had to tell any more than she did. It grated that they should agree about anything, but she wasn’t going to let him know what she thought until she did some digging herself.
Instead, she played it cool and drawled, “Haven’t visited many lifers, have you? If you did, you’d know we’d do just about anything to taste freedom again.”
“Sorry, kiddo, you’re not going to convince me that you’ve grown that hard.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“It’s the way I saw you that first night—a scared, little kid—and how I still see you.”
Bay stared at the ground between them and tried not to wonder at the sadness in his voice. He couldn’t care, not then or now. This was a ploy of some kind. She simply wasn’t smart enough to figure out what and why.
“Why can’t you just go away?” she whispered in a voice that sounded too much like the child he’d described.
“Because I owe you.”
He had that much right.
“Do you know I didn’t hear about the confession until it made front page in the papers? A little odd, don’t you think? The case detective being left out of the loop?”
She shrugged. It wasn’t her problem if his fellow cops didn’t want to talk to him and that, as a result, he’d been professionally embarrassed.
“Tyler’s not a three-cop town anymore,” Jack Burke continued. “We don’t know everything the others are doing, but for a convicted murderer who once garnered national press to have her conviction reversed without the detective on record being informed, let alone assist in the new investigation, is unusual, let me tell you.”
“Maybe your superiors were trying to avoid any more PR damage than was already done.”
“A valid point. So is the unwritten rule that people don’t do favors for strangers.”
“You think my release was a favor?” She dropped her hands to her sides, but her fingers curled into fists.
“Do you know your hero, Catfish Tarpley?”
“No, so you see he wasn’t out to help me, he was resolving another murder in order to help himself. What validated his testimony was that it was confirmed by one of your own. Someone in Vice.” Seeing a look of distaste flash across his weary features, she drove her own verbal knife deeper adding, “Do you know him?”
“I know of him. Generally, I stay away from those guys and they choose their own friends, too.”
“Sounds like a chicken way of saying you don’t think much of Detective Martel.”
“It’s the diplomatic way of not drawing conclusions before I have all of the facts. Who came to the prison to give you your good news?”
“My…an attorney hired by a friend.”
“Madeleine Ridgeway. She has been quite the friend to you,” he added surveying the property.
Bay pointed her keys at him. “Don’t. Don’t you dare condescend to me again. You and your facts. You never took the time to learn them before, why should I believe anything’s changed?”
“Have you forgotten I challenged the DA’s line of questioning during your trial? You don’t remember how I said something didn’t feel right about your case?”
“I remember he made chopped meat out of you,” she sneered.
Jack Burke dropped his chin to his chest. “I didn’t have the experience to help you. And just prior to that they’d dumped a helluva caseload on me to where—” he swore under his breath “—excuses. Christ, listen to me.” He met her gaze, his own full of misery. “All I can say is that I’m sorry.”
Bay drew herself to her full five foot four. “Feel better now? Good. Now get lost.”
His left hand moved in an almost unconscious gesture of supplication. “I’m serious about what I said. What I’d like—”
“What I’d like is to move on to the rest of my life.”
“Doing what? Driving the streets Glenn English drove, reliving over and over the first instant you saw he’d been turned into a human shish kebab?”
“You son of a bitch.”
“Someone has to snap you out of this daydream where you’ve turned into Cinderella and all’s well with the world.”
“If you believe that’s what I’m doing, I’d be surprised to hear you’ve resolved any cases in your career, Detective.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “If what you’re suggesting is true, all the more reason for us to talk. Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, Bay. You’re not up to it. You’re a ghost of your old self and that wasn’t much to begin with. Hell, they put teens in the hospital for weighing what you do.”
“You’re one to criticize.”
“Damned straight I look like crap. Know why? Because I’ve been living with what happened to you and my part in it 24/7.”
Bay stared. She didn’t want to believe him, but his voice almost shook when he spoke.
Nodding, Jack began heading back toward his truck. “I’ll give you some space. Think about what I said.”
“You think about this—I’ll never accept your apology. Never!”
He paused and said over his shoulder, “That I can live with. You ending up like your friend is a different story.”
6
Sunday, June 2, 2001
If it hadn’t been for her lingering indignation over Jack Burke’s visit and subsequent allegations, Bay might have wimped out of meeting the Ridgeways for church services. But she awakened on time that morning and despite feeling as substantial as an under-cooked soufflé, made herself shower and slip into the clothes Madeleine had purchased for her. Then with only a hefty dose of caffeine to bolster her, she headed toward the southernmost city limits of Tyler.
While summer remained weeks away, heat had established itself in the piney woods. Bay saw it compounding the waves rising from the traffic creating a blinding glare that had her wishing again for sunglasses despite the early hour. So much traffic, she thought with disbelief. The steady stream surpassed anything she’d noticed so far around the airport, almost matching rush hour on the Loop, and many of the vehicles were pulling into the turning lane where she needed to go. Of course, she already knew the church was large, but seeing it for the first time left her openmouthed.
Mission of Mercy rose above the dogwood and pines, an unbelievable mix of the gardens of Babylon and Hollywood’s rendition of Camelot. The snow-white mountain of granite glistened brighter with tall, lead windows and taller belfries interspersed with balconies adorned with planters full of red and white geraniums and assorted lush flowers. Bay estimated the whole structure took up a full city block and stood a good eight stories at its highest point.
Torn between awe and dismay, she waited for her turn to pull into the multiacre grounds, and unlike most of the traffic, chose a parking space as far away from the front doors as possible and nearest to the first street exit. “Mercy,” she said, peering through the tinted windshield for a better look at what she’d only glimpsed on TV. “No need to fly out to Disney World when it’s in your own backyard.” No one would convince her that God listened better in something like this; however, the playoff game-size crowd streaming toward the building obviously thought otherwise. Forget worrying about sitting with the Ridge-ways, she would be lucky to find them in that swarm.
Wondering about how many people the building could hold, she joined the parade; that’s when she spotted the less gaudy two-story complex behind and to the left of the church. Satellite dishes and microwave towers identified its purpose as the nerve center or communication studios from which KWRD transmitted their message for Mission of Mercy. Bay had done a little homework over the last few days watching TV so as not to disappoint or embarrass Madeleine in front of others, and had gotten an earful about services as well the church’s ministry. KWRD transmitted to much of the South and Southwest, also Mexico, several Central American countries and Colombia. Services or alternative spiritual programming were available virtually around the clock. Aside from live services, there was a talk show where Pastor Davis was joined by either his wife, the perpetually smiling Odessa, or Madeleine herself. Then there was home-shopping programming where a “faith representative” reviewed audio tapes, books, musical cassettes and CDs available for purchase. Years ago, Bay would flip by those channels thinking, “You see one of those, you’ve seen them all.” But she’d felt a strange mix of emotions as she’d watched this time because she’d met Martin Davis and knew Madeleine, who was such an important member of the church. Bitten by the celebrity bug, she thought with a cynical twist of her lips.
Her conflicted emotions blossomed into outright panic as Bay entered the sprawling vestibule and remembered from commercials how the congregation was often shown during the taped services. Bay hadn’t seen Madeleine or her son in them and hoped they sat out of camera range. The idea of finding herself in front of cameras again had her clenching her fingers tight to keep from scratching at the sudden itching along her neck.
“Praise God and welcome, sister. Do you need the assistance of a senior?”
Bay paused before the beaming man clutching a Bible. The glorious sunshine streaming in through the huge glass panes of the vestibule intensified his flushed, shining face and made it impossible to miss that his gray eyes were feverish with anticipation. “Senior what?” she asked.
“That’s our term for deacon or elder.”
A hand, as warm as the voice near her ear, cupped her elbow. Startled, Bay glanced around and experienced the double impact of Duncan Ridgeway’s dimples and amused blue eyes. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him. He was the darling of East Texas media and she’d glimpsed numerous photos of him at the Ridgeway estate. But one-dimensional images didn’t do justice to the face best suited for color and animation, a leonine mane attractive from any angle, and intimate eyes that sparkled like a Caribbean sea as they observed the world with untiring focus. His was a face every fund-raiser yearned for, the kind of face that women would describe as romantic and men would see as competition but too friendly to resent. No wonder the ministry was doing so well, she thought with a mixture of artistic respect and cynical amusement.
“This is Mother’s very special guest, Ed,” Duncan Ridgeway said to the other man. “Thank you for looking out for her.” To Bay he said, “I’m—”
“Duncan. I recognize you from your photos.”
Even grimacing he charmed. “Of course, you’ve been to her office. She’s worse than a small-town talent agent who’s only success has been one client with a walk-on part in Cats.”
“Oh, I think she has more reason than that to be proud of you. You favor your father, though.”
Duncan touched his ringless left hand against the tie matching his pearl-gray suit. “That does my heart good. He was a lovely soul…but had just enough wickedness to make him the life of any party. I’ll tell you a few of my favorite stories sometime. Right now we’d better get inside. Mother was about to dispatch Elvin to your house.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was late.”
“You’re not. She’s chronically networking-orientated and thinks everyone else should arrive for services thirty minutes early.”
Duncan moved his hand to the small of her back as he directed her through the doorway and into the nave or what she’d heard referred to on TV as the Grand Hall. “She has her work cut out to convince me.”
Duncan chuckled as he acknowledged the wave of someone in an aisle seat. “So I heard. Don’t let her change you. Your strength is part of what she admires most.”
“She’ll probably end up labeling me stubborn.”
“Challenge keeps her young. To know Mother is to understand her middle name is Strategy.”
Bay was as conscious of Duncan’s touch as she was of the stares aimed their way. She wanted to believe that it had little to do with her, that like his mother Duncan Ridgeway possessed a charisma that drew the eye, as did their stature in the church. But there was no missing the whispering, and when her gaze locked with Holly Kirkland’s dark stare, her step faltered.
“Are you all right?” Duncan asked.
“Yes.” She wasn’t but she wouldn’t let him know.
Glenn’s fiancée had matured, advancing from girlishly pretty to striking, her lush dark hair cut stylishly short and her makeup subtle, since her dramatic coloring didn’t require more. But it was her white suit that struck Bay strongest. It would be perfect for a quiet wedding, which left her wondering if Holly had chosen it to remind her that she wasn’t the only one who had something stolen from her.
Reaching their front row seats turned out to be something of a relief after all.
“Darling.” Madeleine reached out her hand and drew Bay down onto the plush theater seat on her left. “I’m so glad you could come. Doesn’t she look enchanting, Duncan? She could be your baby sister.”
“As radiant as you look today, more like yours.”
Madeleine laughed throatily as her son lowered his lanky length into the chair on her right and she patted his long thigh affectionately. She could have been the mother of a bride in her silvery-blue silk suit, positively glowing with happiness. At the same time, the cynic in Bay couldn’t help but note that framed by the royal-blue-and-white color scheme, the three of them created almost too perfect a photo opportunity. Almost on cue, the KWRD TV cameraman swept their way and lingered.
“Oh, no.”
Although she’d whispered the protest between stiff lips, Madeleine heard and leaned toward her. “Chin up and smile, darling. Think of something else, lunch for instance. Cook is preparing the most divine lobster salad.”
Cook must not be in need of spiritual support or networking, Bay thought enviously. To Madeleine she replied, “Thank you, but I’m not sure I’ll have an appetite after this.”
Duncan leaned forward and pointed behind him with his program. “If you need to leave in a hurry, that door to our right leads to the vestibule. Don’t try the fire exits, or you’ll trigger the alarms and then you will have more attention than you want.”
“Oh, sweetheart, don’t encourage her.”
Grinning at his mother’s protest, Duncan winked at Bay before sitting back. The choir stood and began singing. Thankfully, the cameras turned to them and Bay worked at getting her heart out of her throat and back where it belonged.
“How’re y’all this blessed of all mornings?” Martin Davis said approaching the dais, once the choir finished. “I told my darling Odessa as we got in the car, no one could have gotten out of the wrong side of the bed on a day this fine. Moments later at the first traffic light, I stopped rather than drive through yellow, and the guy behind me gave me the finger.” After a pause for laughter, he continued, “It just goes to show you that everything can be perfect, you can obey every law, follow the rules…and somebody’s still gonna have that finger ready. Reminds me of what happened to the apostle Peter while…”
For the next twenty minutes, Bay rode a strange sea of emotions as Pastor Davis navigated his way through the service with the energy of a decathlon athlete and intelligent wit of Johnny Carson. Blatant, however, was how for all of his country boy charm, ambition ran like a heady wine in this minister’s veins. Bay caught glimpses of his shrewd speculation as he studied his congregation gauging how firmly he had them in his control; nevertheless, she found him more tolerable than most evangelists on TV. If she was a neophyte attending with an open mind and heart and in need of familial attention, needy in general, she could see herself succumbing to Davis’s brand of, “Trust me and the Lord will bless you” manipulation. At least he didn’t reduce her to yawns. Where did he envision himself to be in five years? As grand as this place was, somehow she didn’t think thriving, but modest little Tyler, Texas, was the end of his visionary rainbow.
“Well, now, I dare you to tell me that you weren’t inspired?” Madeleine said as they rose along with everyone else.
Bay gazed around the huge auditorium. “These are such soothing cool colors to counterbalance the pastor’s passion, did you pick them out?”
Duncan laughed and linked his mother’s arm through his. “Good for you, Bay. It’s so refreshing to meet someone who refuses to say anything she doesn’t mean. Mother, when I get you to the car, I’ll drive to the house with Bay, show her a back way so she’s not trapped in that infernal midday traffic.”