Fox River (46 page)

“Shouldn’t be too much longer.”

“We could play cards.”

The older of the two men spoke. The younger one had hardly said a word. “You’re pretty damned calm.”

“I’m pretty damned innocent.”

“I thought Peter Claymore was your friend, Carver. You don’t bleed a little when a friend shoots himself in front of you?”

Christian was bleeding. Through all his years in prison, Peter had been his one link to the world, the one person he had permitted into his life.

The one person he had trusted with it.

He gazed up at the two men, strangers, who wouldn’t understand. Still, he tried. “Peter did what he had to do. He couldn’t have gone on. He knew he wouldn’t survive the exposure. Pride was everything to him. It was like air filling a balloon. When it was gone, there was nothing left.”

“He was a pillar of the community.”

“The mightiest pillars can be brought down.”

There was a scuffling sound in the hallway, and Mel entered. “This place is a zoo. I thought they were going to check my teeth, spray me for ticks and fleas—” He headed straight for Christian. “Did you say anything?”

“A lot.”

“You need a refresher course in Screw-You-101?”

“I didn’t say anything to incriminate myself. Not nine years ago and not now. Circumstances did it for me.”

“It’s the principle of the thing.” Mel turned to the older deputy. “I’d like to confer with my client,” he said. “Alone?”

“Want some coffee? Another Twix?” the deputy asked Christian, rising slowly to his feet.

“No, thanks.”

The two men exited.

“That’s a good sign,” Mel said. “That coffee-Twix thing. Or maybe they’re just playing good cop for a while, hoping to trip you up. But it doesn’t matter.” He fell into the chair across the table from Christian. “You’re safe, Chris. You don’t have a thing to worry about this time. I’ve already spoken with the sheriff.”

“And?”

“Suicide. No question.”

“Yeah, I know. I got to watch.” Christian closed his eyes, then opened them quickly, because the image was still there. He wouldn’t rest easily again for a long time. “So I can go?”

“Not yet. They want your statement about the Sutherland girl’s murder. They want it in writing. Are you willing?”

“Why? Does anything I say matter around here? Everybody who could have confessed to the murder or the coverup is dead now. Maybe the sheriff could find some proof for Peter’s story if he dug around, but he isn’t going to bother.”

“They don’t have to do much in the way of digging.” Mel folded his hands. “I have written corroboration. A letter from Peter, dated four years ago. And I have Robby Sutherland’s suicide note. He confesses and asks for your forgiveness. I guess he was hoping his father would do the right thing and take the note to the sheriff.”

Exhaustion washed over Christian in waves. He was almost too tired to put it together. “How did you get it?”

“Peter left an envelope in my care to be opened at his death. I didn’t know what was in it until today. I thought maybe it was stock certificates signed over to you. Something like that. It was better, though. He told the whole story, Chris. Signed, sealed and delivered to my safekeeping. The son’s suicide note finishes it with a bang. You’ll want to read it.”

Christian couldn’t speak, and had he been able, he wouldn’t have known what to say.

“There’ll never be another question about who killed Fidelity Sutherland,” Mel said. “Even your worst enemy is going to be sorry he doubted you.”

“Then it’s over.”

“No question it’s over.” Mel hesitated. “There’s a pretty young woman out in the reception area who’ll be glad to know it’s over, too.”

“Julia?”

“Still as pretty as she was all those years ago. They’ve been trying to get her to go home for hours. The sheriff told me she threatened to call the newspaper and tell them he was trying to throw a blind woman out in the street.”

Christian shook his head. The faintest of smiles tugged at his lips; then he sobered. “I don’t even know where to go tonight. I don’t have a home anymore. I guess I never did.”

Mel reached across the table and put his hand on Christian’s. “You’ve had one helluva day. I hesitate to tell you anything else and rock your boat even more. But here it is. I think you do have a home.”

Christian looked down at his hand, then up at Mel’s face. The human contact felt strange.

“What?” he said. “What are you talking about?”

Mel withdrew his hand. “It’s like this, Chris. I don’t have Peter’s will. His private attorney has that. But in the letter he left with me, he said he was leaving Claymore Park to you, and everything that goes with it. He asks you to consider it a token payment for nine years of your life.”

J
ulia heard a tangled chorus of voices coming down the hallway; then she heard Christian’s, solo and strong. She got to her feet, but she was afraid to move, since she didn’t know what was in front of her. She had been rooted to the chair for hours. She had used her cell phone to leave Maisy a message, but she hadn’t told her mother where she was. Except for a few pointed exchanges with the sheriff, she hadn’t spoken to anyone. Until Mel Powers arrived.

Mel had assured her that Christian would go free. But Peter had assured them both of the same thing for months before Christian was sent to prison. By now she was an emotional train wreck.

“Christian?” She waited, hoping he heard her.

At first there was no reply. Then she was swept into a familiar embrace. “Hey, Jules, have you been giving these folks a bad time?”

She held on to him as her heart beat faster at the old nickname. “Are you all right?”

“No. But I’m free. For good.”

She thought he kissed her hair. Tears welled in her eyes. She held him tighter.

“Let’s get out of here.” This time she was sure he kissed her hair.

“I’ll drive you wherever you want to go,” Mel said.

Julia could feel Christian’s hesitation. “Ashbourne?” she offered. “You know you’ll be welcome.”

“No. Drop us at Claymore Park, would you?” he asked Mel.

“You’re sure?” Julia said. “You don’t have to go back there tonight.”

“I have to be sure Night Ranger and the hounds are okay.” His arms tightened convulsively. “I guess Peter taught me well, huh?”

She swallowed tears. “I know what he did.”

“Yeah, and in the end it killed him.” Christian cupped her face and lifted it. “You can ease up a little now. I’m not going anywhere.”

Reluctantly, she unwrapped her arms. “Who could blame you if you did?”

“I have a daughter in Ridge’s Race.”

She tried to smile, although her lips trembled. “Yes.”

“You two wait out front,” Mel said. “I’ll pull my car out of the lot.”

The sheriff spoke. “In your place I’d be bitter. None of us feels good knowing we put an innocent man in prison.”

“It didn’t feel so good to the innocent man, either,” Christian said.

“’I’m sorry’ is pretty inadequate. I wish things had been different.”

“We agree on that.”

“Let me know if I can help with anything in the coming weeks.”

“Thanks.” The word sounded as if Christian had chipped it from granite. He put his arm around Julia’s waist and guided her toward the front door.

She found it easy enough to walk beside him, although clearly he was in a hurry to leave. He gave her room to move but expertly guided her through the darkness so she felt she was floating instead of slogging through mud. When the cold wind slammed against her, he pulled her closer to keep her warm. “When did you eat last?”

“Hours ago. I don’t know what time it is.”

“About eight. I’ll get Mel to pick up something on the way back.”

“He’ll drop me off at Ashbourne if we ask. I can get something there.”

“Don’t go. I’ll take you home.”

“Christian…I don’t want to get in your way. I just had to make sure you were all right. I just couldn’t let them take you away again.”

“Do you want to come with me?”

She recognized a turning point. They were beyond simple questions. “Yes.”

“Then come back to Claymore Park.”

She gripped his arm tighter in answer. The pressure of not knowing his fate changed subtly into something else, more pleasurable but just as uncertain.

Christian helped her into the front seat beside Mel and took the back seat for himself. They stopped once for takeout hamburgers and soft drinks, but the trip to Claymore Park was mostly silent. Even Mel, who would probably gab away his last breath, had little to say.

“You’re sure this is what you want to do?” Mel turned into the long driveway leading back to the house and barns.

“I remember the first time I saw this place.” Christian leaned forward, his breath warm and ticklish against Julia’s neck. “I was ten. I took one look at it and knew it was so far beyond reach I didn’t have a chance of living here.”

“Maybe you’d be better off if you’d just kept going,” Mel said.

Christian brushed his fingertips against Julia’s shoulder. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Well, it belongs to you now,” Mel said.

“What?” Julia turned instinctively, as if she could still see Christian’s face.

Christian sounded annoyed. “That would be good to keep to yourself until it gets out naturally, Mel.”

“I’m sorry.” Mel sounded genuinely contrite.

“What did he mean?” Julia said.

“It appears Peter left Claymore Park to me.”

She let out a long breath. “Well, of course he did. Who better?”

“You think so? He said it was payment for nine years of my life.”

“It was also quintessential Peter, wasn’t it? Nobody else knows or understands everything he was trying to do here or has the emotional ties. Now the land will never give way to development, even if the law changes, and for years to come Claymore Park horses will win shows and races and the Mosby foxhounds will still have a home. You’ll carry on his legacy.”

“I’ll be damned…” Mel turned a corner. “She’s right, you know. Absolutely right. That crafty old bastard.”

“I’ll bet when the will’s read,” Julia said, “there’ll be a condition that you can’t change the name.”

“I wouldn’t change it anyway,” Christian said.

“Why not?” Mel said. “The Claymores ran you into the ground.”

“They died for it.”

Mel gave a humorless laugh. “You’re a better man than either of them.” He slowed and asked where they wanted to get out. Christian directed him to the barn where Night Ranger was kept. The car came to a stop. “You’re sure about this?” Mel said.

“We’ll be fine. Thanks. For everything.”

“Don’t forget your hamburgers.”

Julia heard the back door, then the passenger door opened, too. She unhooked her seat belt and swung her legs to the ground. “I…Thanks for taking care of Christian, Mel.”

“I could have done a better job of it if somebody had told me the truth a long time ago.”

She got out, and Christian closed the door behind her. They waited as Mel drove off. Only then did she notice how chilly it was. A frost-tinged wind blew through the windbreaker that had seemed appropriate that afternoon. Instinctively she curled her arms over her midriff. Winter was on the way.

“Let’s get inside. You’ll warm up.” Christian took her arm.

She let him lead her through the door. Out of the wind the barn was snug. She smelled hay and manure and warm horseflesh. Somebody whinnied in greeting; there was a restless stamping of hoofs and the clanking of metal mesh gates. Somebody else snorted impatiently.

“Night Ranger,” he said. “Waiting to be noticed.”

“You knew he’d be fine.”

“I know. But he’s an old friend. He would never let me down. I have to return the favor.”

“And next you’ll go down to the kennel and check on the hounds.”

“Not right away. Let me make sure he’s really okay. Then we’ll eat.”

She used the closetlike bathroom while he checked on Night Ranger, washing up as best she could. She wondered how she looked and how different she seemed from the girl he had loved. How much had she changed since her sight had failed? Did she look older? Sadder? She brushed her hair, wishing she could take stock and gather courage. When she emerged, he was right there.

“Night Ranger okay?” she asked, as if she wasn’t a seething tangle of nerves.

“I closed the wooden gate to his stall. To keep him warm. Old bones.”

“Not so old. He’ll be around a long time.”

“Peter gave him to me.” He paused. “I guess that’s a moot point, huh? If Mel’s right, every one of these horses is mine now…. I can’t begin to think what that means.”

“Nobody better.” She stood waiting. She had no real sense of where they were, but she wasn’t afraid. Christian would make sure she was all right. The loss of her sight had taught her valuable lessons about taking care of herself, but it had also taught her to trust the people she loved.

“This is the only building that still has an open hayloft.”

“Does it?”

“The others are walled in, with chutes into the stalls. Very efficient. We’re in the Mosby barn, mostly hunt staff horses and tack. It’s so small Peter never got around to remodeling. Too many other fish to fry, I guess.”

She knew what he was suggesting. “We’d be warmer up in the hay.”

“You’ll have to climb. I’ll be right behind you. Can you do it?”

“Just tell me how many steps.”

“Let me get blankets.”

He stayed one rung below her, his body a barrier if she needed one. She climbed fearlessly.

“You’re almost at the top. Next step, just lean forward and reach out with your right hand. Then feel your way. I’ll be right here.”

She managed to get from the ladder to the loft on her knees, wiggling aside so Christian could join her.

“Don’t try to stand straight,” he warned. “The ceiling’s peaked, but you could knock your head on a rafter.”

“How far do I have to move?”

“Not very. Take my hand and lean over.”

They stopped what seemed like a few yards away. He dropped her hand. “Let me make a little nest here for you.”

She could hear the rustling of hay as he spread the blankets. “It’s warmer up here. Is it as cozy as it seems?”

“Yeah.” He reached for her hand. “Come on down and see.”

She lowered herself to soft, fresh-smelling wool. The hay was fragrant and, if not soft, at least supple.

“We came up here once before. Remem—” She clamped her lips shut.

His voice was heavy. “I remember. You, me and Robby.”

“We were going to play some trick or other on Fidelity. Swoop down on her or yell or make silly noises.” She refused to cry, although the urge was there.

“Are we going to reach a point when the good memories don’t hurt anymore?”

“Probably not.”

“What have we got left, then?”

She reached for him, bringing him to rest against her, although he was half again her weight. “All the days and years ahead. We both have Callie. And you have this place. I know it’ll be tough for a while, but you were meant to live here. And you’ll have the support of most people in Ridge’s Race. They’re a little full of themselves sometimes, but they’re fair.”

He twisted, and suddenly her face was in his hands.

“What else do I have? Be honest. I can’t take another drop of dishonesty. My cup runneth over.”

“You have
me.
If that’s what you want.”

“So many years went by. How can you know?”

“Because I never stopped loving you.”

He kissed her then and she circled his neck with her arms. It was a surprisingly gentle kiss, as if he was afraid of anything more. She felt as if she was falling back in time to lazy summer days when the hardest decision they’d made was whether to go out for pizza or scavenge for leftovers in Maisy’s kitchen. He tasted the same; his lips were as warm and as firm. Hers gave with the same sweet fire.

She fell back against the hay, taking him with her. He covered her, angling to one side so his weight didn’t smother her.

Desire rose inside her, but it hadn’t had far to go. Now she knew she had wanted this since the moment she’d heard his voice in Maisy’s garden. She had wanted him since the last time they had made love.

“Jules…” He traced one eyebrow with a fingertip.

She shuddered. “Can you see me?”

“Not very well.”

“That’s better than I can see you. You don’t know how much I’ve missed that, how much I want to open my eyes and see your face.”

“I’m the same old me, just older.”

She stretched out her hands again and found his shoulders. She let her fingertips drift to his collarbone, into the open neck of his shirt, up his throat where his pulse was pounding like hoofbeats on racing turf, and finally to his face.

She cradled his face in her hands as he had cradled hers. She could feel her own hands trembling. Her entire body seemed to resonate to an inaudible vibration. “I’ve wanted to do this since the first moment I heard your voice again.” She cleared her throat. The tears were still lingering there. “It’s as close to seeing as I get these days.”

He didn’t speak. She felt the tension in his jaw, the strain of a man holding himself back. She let her trembling fingers drift slowly. He hadn’t shaved since early that morning. His cheeks were rough and firmer than she remembered, as if the malleable flesh had toughened into the final portrait of the man. She found an indentation that hadn’t been there before, a scar about an inch long along the ridge of one cheekbone.