Cold Waters (Normal, Alabama Book 1) Page 15

  “And has that happened?” she prompted.

  “Only a few bits and snippets of memory,” I admitted. “But I have hope.”

  I pictured Doctor Lipscomb in her navy suit jacket and matching pants, the thick glasses that had sat upon her small pug nose. A remembered sensation can spark a whole series of minirecalls, she’d explained. It’s possible that you might one day recover all or partial memory of what occurred in your fugue state.

  She’d gone on to explain that it was more likely I’d never remember the lost hours, but that fact was none of my sister’s business.

  Delaney gave me a pitying smile. “Maybe it’s for the best that you never recall all the details of that night.”

  “I want the truth,” I insisted.

  She didn’t answer me, and the silence thickened between us. The crows outside cawed louder, signaling their impatience.

  “Even if the truth means knowing you killed Ainsley?” she asked.

  A pressure tightened my chest. “Yes,” I answered, the single syllable strangling my lungs.

  “I’ll tell you what you said to me that night.”

  Doubts suddenly assailed me, but I pushed them aside. It was time. “Go ahead.”

  “After Mom and Dad had gone downstairs to talk to the police, you slipped into my bedroom and stood by my bed. Mom had insisted you shower, and you’d changed into your nightgown. You stood there staring at me with these huge, sad eyes.” Delaney paused a heartbeat, as if reliving the moment. “Then I asked, ‘Did you do it?’ I didn’t think you were going to answer at first, but you whispered, ‘Yes. I hate Ainsley.’”

  “No!” I jumped out of the chair. “I wouldn’t have said that.”

  Delaney rose and came to me, drawing me into a quick embrace. I pushed her away.

  “Oh, Violet. It’s okay, honey. You were a child, and you acted in a moment of anger.” She stroked my cheek, and her cold fingers trailed down my face and neck. My nerves tingled as if a cluster of spiders was crawling my flesh.

  Again, I took a step back.

  “Think about what I told you,” Delaney said sympathetically. “Maybe that will help your memory.”

  I wouldn’t—I couldn’t—stand another minute of this conversation.

  “I have to feed my birds,” I said abruptly, striding to the corner of my bedroom and scooping a large quantity of shelled peanuts from the bag I’d purchased at the Feed and Seed store. I walked toward the balcony, holding the silver scooper of peanuts in one hand.

  “Don’t you want to hear my idea?” Delaney asked.

  I’d have no peace until she spoke her mind. I unlocked the french doors and silently waited.

  “The best solution for all of us is for you to speak to that detective again—what’s his name? The one that visited you today.”

  “How did you know he came to see me?”

  “I know everything that happens around Normal. Most people do. It’s how a small town operates.”

  I sighed. “His name’s Boone Kimbrel. What’s your big idea?”

  Her eyes widened, as if I should have figured out her meaning. “To confess, of course.”

  “Confess to a murder I don’t remember committing?”

  “You don’t have to decide tonight, but think about it.”

  “And how does this help you?” I asked dryly. “Wouldn’t it just be more bad publicity involving the family name?”

  “Yes. It’d be hell for a few weeks or months, depending on how long it took for a new scandal to happen. But eventually, it would be over. Mystery solved. Everyone could move on with their lives.”

  “You mean you could move on with me locked up and out of your hair.”

  “Not at all. You’d be getting treatment again. And surely you wouldn’t have to stay long? You were a minor when this happened. And really, it was all so long ago.”

  “No,” I ground out.

  “Think of the relief it would be for Mr. and Mrs. Dalfred to finally know the truth.”

  That was a low punch to the gut. I worked my mouth, but no words escaped.

  “It would all be for the best,” Delaney insisted. “You’d serve a year or two at some treatment facility, and then you wouldn’t have this hanging over your head anymore. Once released, you could move somewhere far away. Make a fresh start in life.”

  A hot darkness exploded within me, and I lifted my hand, slinging the scooper of peanuts at Delaney. “I did not kill Ainsley!”

  My shout echoed in the room, and even the crows stopped their squawking.

  Delaney calmly shook out a couple of peanuts that had landed in her thick hair. “Temper, temper,” she chided. “Better keep it in check, Violet. You get angry enough, I’m afraid you might commit murder.” She paused a moment. “Again.”

  Delaney left me then, turning away and sauntering out the door.

  I sank to my knees among the spilled peanuts and buried my face in my hands. A soft peck sounded beside me, breaking through my haze of grief. Lined along the bottom of the french doors, six crows intently regarded me. A reluctant smile turned up the corners of my mouth. Each had their head cocked at a slightly different angle, as if, as a collective, they could piece together what was happening.

  Or it could be they just wondered why their meal hadn’t been delivered yet.

  Chapter 23

  VIOLET

  Present day

  Of course, now I couldn’t sleep. Not after that long afternoon nap, and not after Delaney’s “helpful” suggestion that I turn myself in for murder. Gingerly, I touched the bald spot on my scalp where she’d ripped out a chunk of hair.

  I opened my nightstand drawer and picked up the amber bottle of sleeping pills. Did I really want to do this? Spend my life doped up just as I had in the mental health facility? I flung the bottle to the floor. It was two a.m., and if I took them now, I’d be groggy at work tomorrow morning. Best to just ride out the insomnia. Go to bed early tomorrow night and get back into a normal routine.

  The long night stretched before me, hours of alternating boredom and worry. Stupid me; I’d thought it’d be a relief knowing whether Ainsley was dead or alive. I hadn’t been prepared for this profound shock and grief from the news of her death.

  The lavender walls and little-girl-style bedspread weighed on my nerves. They were reminders that, in some ways, it was as if my own life had stopped the night Ainsley had disappeared. I opened the french doors and stepped out onto the balcony. The night air was fresh, with a light breeze, and the full moon beckoned—a lime orb set against a black velvet sky littered with diamond stars. The constellations were brilliant and clear here without the town’s light pollution.

  What a shame the crows couldn’t keep me company in the lonely night. It would be hours before they stirred at dawn. My gaze drifted from Delaney’s well-tended garden to the dark silhouette of the tree line. Although it wasn’t visible from my perch, I knew the Alabama River ran just past that copse of trees. I imagined the sound of its rushing water, the damp-earth smell of its shore, and the feel of its liquid caress on my hot skin. It tantalized me like the memory of a sweet dream that slipped away from consciousness seconds after awakening. A dream forever lost.

  It taunted as well as tantalized. The place where one life had ended and another had become stunted. The place I’d roamed in those few hours that had altered the course of my life—and I couldn’t remember a damn second of what had transpired. How could I ever know and accept myself without knowing if I were a murderer or a victim of some bizarre accident? Heat pressed into my palms as I gripped the iron railing.

  The black void beneath tugged at me like a seducing demon. Topple over into the darkness and end it all. My third-story bedroom was plenty high enough, and the ground below a hard cement slab of a patio. I pictured my body flying in the air, three seconds of descending terror, a flash of pain, and then . . . nothing.

  I backed away until cool glass pressed against my thin pajamas, bracing my dark fancies. Jump from a
three-story house? I’d likely end up cracking my spine and then be forced to endure the mercy of Delaney’s care. That hadn’t worked out so well for Dad, and he used to adore her, the precious older daughter born from his beloved first wife. In his eyes, Delaney had shone like a rare jewel—sunny and bright, the child of his true love. And toward the end, he’d increasingly alienated himself from me as his and Mom’s fighting worsened.

  No good came of reliving those memories, and I returned inside, away from the balcony’s dizzying height.

  As if being pulled by invisible marionette strings held by some cruel god, I stuffed my feet in a pair of slippers, walked out of my room, and crept down the hallway and stairs. The house was dark and creaky, as though it were a sentient beast that lay sound asleep and snoring. I grabbed the flashlight we always kept on the dining room chifforobe and quietly let myself out. The grass was sleek with dew. I passed the vegetable-and-herb garden and kept walking, a sleepwalker drawn by the magnetic pull of her subconscious. The droning and chirruping of insects grew as I entered the woods, a loud static, a monotone that fueled my brain’s plodding insistence. The rush of water roared in my ears now, a waterfall of doom. I heard and smelled it before I reached the cliff’s edge. Silver glinted and flashed on the moonlit river. I arched the flashlight’s beam across the canopies of trees and saw that someone had cut down the dangling rope we used to swing on. Only a short coil of rough hemp remained on the oak limb to mark where it had been.

  Whoo whoo. A barred owl screeched once and then followed that with the classic hooting call that repeated twice and for all the world sounded like a human calling, “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you?”

  Rage. Remembered rage vibrated my cells. A dissonant piano note struck over and over and fevered my brain. I gasped and clutched my temples with both hands as a memory sliver resurfaced from some dark crevice in my mind.

  Adrenaline spikes my blood, and I ache for release from a terrible anger and hurt.

  Ainsley’s hand latches onto my right forearm—she wants to talk more. Fury consumes me, as if I’m a wounded wild animal that’s been cornered. She spins me around, and with my free hand, I slap her face. Hard.

  She gasps and lets go of me, taking a step backward. Surprise and then anger play across her face, and she comes at me, intent on retaliation. I don’t think; I act. Her body shoves against mine, fists flailing in hammer blows.

  “Get away from me!” I scream.

  As suddenly as the memory resurfaced, it stopped—as if someone had pressed the off button on a television set. Click. My mind was a gray static of nothingness. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to sink back into that awful night’s replay, but it was no use. The curtain had been drawn, leaving more questions than answers.

  We’d gotten into a physical altercation. But why? What had happened next? Evidently, I’d been the clear victor, as there hadn’t been any significant bruises or scratches on me in the following days.

  What more had I done to Ainsley?

  Chapter 24

  HYACINTH

  July 2, 2007

  Some faint scratching noise pierced my light sleep, and I turned on my side. I regretted this immediately as I caught a whiff of Parker’s bourbon breath. He was dead to the world, as usual, after a round of after-dinner drinks. At least he wasn’t physically abusive anymore when drunk. Scared the shit out of him that time I’d called the police. We’d established a truce, Parker and I. We stayed together for the money and reputation.

  But I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stand living here. Delaney only grew more troublesome with age and showed no signs of maturing into a decent, self-sufficient young lady. I feared how she might influence Violet, who was going through a bit of a bumpy adolescence. To my mind, she was too sensitive and intense about her attachment to the crows and to her best friend, Ainsley. Her only friend, as far as I could tell. My Violet was a loner, and that concerned me.

  I rolled onto my opposite side and scooted to the edge of the mattress, as far away as possible from my husband. Sighing, I plumped my pillow and tried to drift back to sleep, but it was useless. Sleep eluded me. Might as well go downstairs and read a bit; sometimes that helped these restless nights. I arose, making no attempt to keep quiet, and slipped into the hallway. The floorboards moaned and creaked in the usual places. One day, I’d leave this place, and when I did, I wanted a sleek, modern apartment in a large city. Or a beach cottage in an exotic location. In other words, the total opposite of my current life.

  Halfway down the stairs, I paused, listening to the night sounds—the hum of the air conditioner, Parker’s snores, a branch scraping against a window. Nothing out of the ordinary, and yet unease prickled the nape of my neck.

  Better take a quick peek at Violet. Just two weeks ago, I’d caught her trying to sneak out of her bedroom by climbing down her balcony. She’d claimed she was only going to investigate a shiny object she’d seen on the ground nearby. True, the crows might have dropped another gift for her, but that was hardly unusual, and Violet could have waited until morning to look. I had my suspicions. There’d been various other signs of sneaking out—a window not fully closed, a nightgown with mud on the hem, or damp hair in the morning when she came downstairs to breakfast immediately after waking.

  I hated being the suspicious sort of mother who snooped around her children’s business, but lately, Violet was being difficult. That’s what came of hanging around Ainsley Dalfred. I’d never liked that girl. She was sly and fast.

  As quietly as possible in our old house, I retraced my steps, proceeded down the hallway to Violet’s room, and gently turned the doorknob.

  A shaft of moonlight through the half-open window spotlighted an empty bed. I flipped on the light switch and marched over to her bed, drawing back the lavender-and-pink quilt as if she were still a small child I might find curled up at the foot of the blanket. My worst suspicions were confirmed. Violet had indeed sneaked out of the house, and I would bet it wasn’t the first time either.

  Fueled by anger, I marched to Delaney’s room and opened the door without knocking.

  “Wh-what—” came her drowsy voice in the darkness.

  I switched on the light. “Do you know where Violet is?” I asked without preamble.

  Delaney slowly rose up on one elbow and yawned. “She’s not in her room?”

  “No. Do you know where she might have gone?”

  A mischievous gleam lit her eyes. “Maybe she slipped out to go meet someone.”

  “Who?”

  “Someone she wanted to meet in secret.”

  I didn’t care for the smirk that hovered on my stepdaughter’s mouth. “If you know something, spit it out. I’m in no mood for your games right now.”

  “Ainsley Dalfred. Who else?”

  I tried to absorb the implication of Delaney’s sly manner but came up empty. This was merely Delaney being her usual undelightful self, spreading lies and discord in the path of anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby. A pied piper of mischief and meanness.

  “Any idea where they might be?”

  I hated the thought of calling Ainsley’s mother at this ungodly hour for help. Actually, I hated the thought of communicating with Ainsley’s family at all.

  “Maybe. But I don’t want to be a tattletale.” Delaney said the words sweetly, but I knew the venom behind her every word and action. As a child, she’d constantly reported Violet’s least little wrongdoing, always trying to make herself look good and Violet look like the naughty one. Parker might not see his daughter for who she truly was, but I damn sure did.

  I grabbed Delaney’s arm and shook her as hard as I could. “Tell me, damn you.”

  “Okay. Let go of me.” Delaney jerked her arm away, and we glared at one another, each of us breathing hard.

  Our hatred had never been so open.

  “I know where she might be,” Delaney said at last. “Down by the river at the swinging rope. They meet there sometimes.”

  I knew tha
t spot exactly. It wasn’t far from our backyard. When they were young, I used to take the girls there on summer afternoons for picnics and a swim. I spun on my heel and headed to the door.

  “I wouldn’t go down there, if I were you,” Delaney called out in a singsong voice. “Might see something you shouldn’t.”

  My palms itched to slap Delaney, but what good would that do? She was past disciplining, always had been since I’d known her. Besides, I had to find Violet. I slammed the door behind me and heard her laugh.

  Forget her. Find Violet and bring her home.

  Quickly, I returned to my bedroom and dressed. Parker never stirred. Not that I expected any help or concern from that quarter. I’d never confessed that Violet wasn’t his child, but he had plenty of suspicions. I rushed downstairs. What else would I need? A flashlight and a cell phone.

  The humid air wrapped around me like an invisible wet blanket. Mosquitoes and gnats buzzed and nipped at exposed skin. I’d flipped on the back-porch light, so now I marched into its yellow beam and followed it out until the air was again a curtain of darkness. Turning on the flashlight, I continued forward, mindful of snakes that might suddenly dart onto my path.

  The anger and initial adrenaline rush flushed out of my body, leaving me tired and worried. Was Violet okay? Delaney’s malicious insinuations taunted me, and I feared what I might find when I arrived. If Delaney was right, what would I say? What would I do?

  I stopped abruptly and trembled as I considered my course. Should I keep going and discover the truth? Or return home and wait for daylight before calling the cops and neighbors? But no, I knew my duty. My child needed me. Again, I marched forward.

  This was merely a teenage prank. A lark. Just two girls out for a little fun. They were probably having a good old time swimming.

  Violet was going to be in so much trouble when I got ahold of her.

  Chapter 25

  VIOLET

  Present day

  “It’s raining.”

  The little boy stood at Libby’s front door, a red lollipop clenched in one hand. He regarded me solemnly after that rather obvious weather pronouncement. His brown hair curled in adorable ringlets, and his round, bright eyes were curious.