One Deadly Sin (24 page)

“He was changing a light bulb at the top of the stairs. Tumbled right to the bottom. Neck broke. Died instantly.”

“Another accident.”

Holt shot his Dad a sharp look. “Had to be,” Holt said. “The ladder must have been eighty years old.”

“And Edie wasn’t in town then.”

“Okay, so I’ll give her one. But the others?” Holt shook his head.

“You sound like you want her to be guilty.” James picked his words carefully, trying not to let the hope shine through.

“What I want’s irrelevant,” Holt said flatly. “It’s what’s staring me in the face that counts.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“The only thing I can do with the evidence I have. Let her go.”

29

W
hen someone finally came to unlock the cell, it wasn’t Holt who set Edie free, but the deputy, Sam Fish. She was crisp and pressed in her starched uniform, her hair pulled back, her face bright-eyed and refreshed. The sight of her made Edie even more grumpy than she already was.

She stumbled out of the cell and into the sweeter-smelling air outside the jail room. “What happened to Holt?”

“Gone home.”

No need for long explanations from Deputy Fish.

Edie grumbled. She couldn’t help a flash of disappointment. Even in her dreams she’d been explaining herself to him, and the opposite urges to slap his face and throw herself on her knees and beg forgiveness were making her crazy.

“What about me?”

“What about you?” Sam countered. She led the way to the small office overburdened with its two desks, its steel filing cabinets, bulletin boards, chairs, and a long wooden bench against one wall.

“You just letting me go?”

“Why—you want to spend another night here?” Sam opened a desk drawer, took out an envelope, and dumped the contents on the desk. Edie’s wallet, credit cards, keys.

Edie pocketed the first two, examined the last. It was lighter than it should be. “My bike key’s not here.”

Sam frowned, but there was something manufactured about it. “It’s not? You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

The deputy shrugged. Sat in the big desk chair and leaned way back. “Maybe you didn’t have them with you when the chief brought you in.”

“I didn’t have them with me, because Holt took them.”

“Everything he confiscated was in that envelope.”

“Everything except my bike key.”

“Well…” She rocked back in the chair, clearly unperturbed. “They’ll turn up.” She grinned. “Eventually.”

Eventually, my ass. “Tell Holt he can kiss my butt.” She shoved the rest of her keys in her pocket and stalked off.

“Don’t think he’d want to get that close anymore,” Sam shouted after her.

Without her bike, Edie had to walk back to Red’s. She would have called a cab, if there even was such a thing in this deadbeat of a town, but her cell phone was back in the room above the bar. And she’d be damned if she asked Deputy Dawg for anything, let alone use of the phone.

So she set her chin and started the tramp back. After her mostly sleepless night, she was so tired she could have slept a month. When she finally got to the alley behind Red’s she clomped up the metal steps, opened the door, and crawled into bed.

And lay there, wide awake.

The night-long interrogation replayed in her head. The hurt and anger on Holt’s face. The accusation. She tried to whip up some righteous indignation, but couldn’t. Truth was, she deserved his condemnation. She’d lied. Betrayed his trust. It was her own goddamn fault if he thought her guilty.

Sure, there was a tiny pinprick of disappointment that he didn’t believe in her despite appearances. But that wasn’t the way the world worked. Not Edie Swann’s world.

She sighed and rolled over. Thought about spending the rest of her life locked inside a jail cell. Couldn’t believe it would come to that.

But if Holt didn’t believe in her, who else in Redbud would?

A chill rolled over her. No one had believed in her father’s innocence either. Was this what the black angel was all about? Standing over another Swanford sacrificed at the Redbud altar? Was she part of some great cosmic joke? A sick, twisted gag on the part of the fates?

Edie opened her eyes. Screw that. She sat up. Threw off the covers. She’d be damned if she would play the part of punch line for anyone, angel or devil. She would not throw herself over a cliff, would not go gently into a psych ward, and would not let Holt Drennen railroad her.

James nursed a cup of coffee at Claire’s, trying to decide whether to be relieved or anxious that Edie hadn’t named him. Was he even on her list? He hadn’t received a black angel. Had she not gotten around to him? Or didn’t she know about him? Was she, like him, loath to hurt Holt? Worse, would she use his name to get leverage over his son? And what would Holt do? Would his upright son bend the rules for his father?

James didn’t want to find out.

He found himself remembering all the times he’d come home late to find his young son waiting up for him.

“You catch the bad guys, Dad?” he always asked, and James accepted the pride the question implied as natural.

“They show up here I will,” he always replied.

And now he was one of those bad guys. Hell, had always been. No, not always. Only the last twenty years or so.

Sadness filled his throat, and he looked down at his coffee cup. All those baseball teams he’d coached, the football games he’d watched. The times spent with his son had been churning in his head like an endless video loop. Would everything he’d done be for nothing? He’d wanted his son to grow up strong and happy in a thriving town. Was that so wrong?

He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Red McClure waving to him. James nodded, and the bar owner took the gesture as an invitation. He slid into the seat across from James.

“Morning, Chief.”

“Red.”

Without asking, Darcy came with a coffeepot and a cup for Red. Her gigantic earrings swung as she filled their cups. Red ordered eggs, but James didn’t have the stomach for food.

“Heard Holt arrested my bartender last night.” Red shook his head. “Hell, half the town heard. Happened right outside the bar.”

James nodded, trying to look sage but disinterested.

“I heard it’s about Reverend Parsley and those black angels,” Red prodded.

“You’ll have to talk to Holt about that,” James said.

Red nodded, but the worried look remained on his face. Darcy brought him his eggs, fried up with a side of bacon, and he gazed at the white and yellow eyes as if he was waiting for them to blink.

Tillman Crocker approached their table. A pudgy white-haired man with a gray mustache, he was Redbud’s mayor.

“Hear your boy caught that black angel,” Tillman said. “Had to hear it from Hattie Tuttle, too. Cleans the house once a week. Heard it from her boy, who saw the whole thing outside Red’s last night.” He turned to Red. “Works for you, does she?”

Red nodded. “Been released, too.”

“Really?” The mayor frowned. “Don’t know as I’m too happy about that. James? What do you think?”

“Holt brought her in for questioning. That’s all.”

“In handcuffs?” Tillman asked.

James held up his hand. “I’m not chief anymore, boys.”

The mayor pursed his lips. “Well, I’ll have to have a talk with Holt. Can’t have a killer walking the streets.” He looked pointedly at Red. “Or working for us.”

“Now, Tillman,” Red soothed. “If she was a killer, Holt wouldn’t have let her go, ain’t that right, Chief?”

James didn’t have to answer because Tillman did.

“If she wasn’t tied up in all this, he wouldn’t have brought her in either.” The mayor turned to James. “Your boy should have apprised me of this himself.”

“It only happened last night,” James said.

Tillman ran right over that. “Fact is, he should report to the whole city council.”

“You’ll have to work that out with him,” James said.

“Don’t think I won’t,” the mayor said. “Got a big delegation from IAT coming to town. Plant inspection. Now with Fred gone, we’re not in as strong a position as we were. Can’t have this hanging over us. Wouldn’t want word to get back that Redbud’s not safe. Isn’t good for business.”

Tillman left, and Red pushed his plate away. “Don’t that man know about innocent until proven guilty?”

“He’s not interested in proof,” James said. “He knows that perception is reality. Especially in Redbud.”

Red nodded glumly, put a few bills on the table, and left his untouched eggs congealing on the plate. James swiveled away from them and raised his coffee cup toward Darcy, who came over with the pot.

“Mayor’s got a bee in his bonnet.” She refilled James’s cup. “Is it true what he’s saying? Holt arrested that bartender last night for being the black angel?”

“He questioned and released her. That’s all.”

Darcy tsked. “Well, you know what they say—where there’s smoke…”

James stared into the hot black liquid steaming in his cup. He felt the mist surround him, pushing him back to a time he didn’t want to revisit.

The day they’d buried Charles Swanford had been hot as a blast furnace. He remembered sweating through his uniform. Evelyn Swanford’s dress wilting around her thin frame. Her sister—what was her name? Penny. Penny Bellingham. Wiping her neck with a tissue. Everyone shuffling, trying to breathe the searing air, wanting the ceremony done so they could get back to their air-conditioned cars.

And over them all, the looming presence of that enormous black angel.

Was it good for him that the town was about to paint Edie in its darkest colors? Would it mean the past was more likely to come out or less? With Lyle, Runkle, and Parsley gone, there was only one man left who could tell what happened. And he wasn’t talking.

But that still left the problem of Amy Lyle. He hadn’t told her that he’d found her Eden. Once he did, it could be the string that unraveled the ball. It wasn’t enough to know who Eden was. Amy would want to know why Fred left her that money.

But James had already used the truth to loosen Holt’s tie to Edie. Her identity was bound to come out. Better to control its release than let it run wild.

He felt for the cell phone at his waist and punched in Amy Lyle’s number.

30