Hush (12 page)

Sweet Jesus
.

Anna had a gun—in a two-handed grip, pointed at Carlisle from across the room.

“Drop it!” She took a step forward.

Carlisle didn’t turn. Instead he kept his gun trained on Charlie as he growled at Anna, “You’re not going to shoot me, you scared little
Freak
. So why don’t
you
drop it, and we can work something out?”

“Drop it! Or I’ll blow your
motherfucking
head off!” Anna yelled.

Carlisle wheeled on Anna. His pistol arrowed her way.

Charlie catapulted to his feet, just as Anna’s arms jerked.

He heard a deafening boom.

Carlisle staggered forward a few steps, and then hit the floor, a gun in his hand and a gaping hole in his forehead—just like Megan O’Neal.

Chapter Ten

Three weeks later

Tangleheart, Saturday 7:30
P.M.

B
EFORE
C
HARLIE HAD
a chance to knock, Simone threw open the front door and motioned him inside the entryway to her home.

“I won’t be out late, I promise. If you need anything at all, just call. I can be home in a flash.” Simone grabbed her purse, rummaged for her keys.

“No worries. We can manage just fine…and tell Nate I hope he enjoys those cinnamon rolls.” He gave her a sly wink.

A sheepish look came over her face. “Anna wasn’t supposed to tell.”

Charlie couldn’t help smiling at this little subterfuge arranged by the two sisters. After Nate’s last surgery he’d finally been given the green light to eat solid foods, so Anna had volunteered to babysit while Simone smuggled homemade cinnamon rolls into Nate’s hospital room.

Charlie had volunteered to babysit the babysitter.

He had nefarious plans of his own.

Simone tiptoed up and gave Charlie a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks for helping Anna with Bobby.”

“It’s my pleasure, believe me.”

“I’m sure it is.” Simone tossed her hair back and smiled knowingly, then her brow drew down, and her expression altered. “How did your conversation with the prosecutor go today?”

“Pretty well, I suppose.” Sheriff Hawkins had survived a bullet to the chest courtesy of a Kevlar vest. Charlie had taken the prosecutor, an old friend, to lunch in exchange for an update on the case. “With our testimony, and Nate’s of course, the state has all they need to nail Hawkins for attempted murder.” He hesitated.

“But?”

“But the prosecutor didn’t think the case against Hawkins for the murder of Catherine Timmons was a sure thing—mostly circumstantial. So they offered Hawkins a deal: in exchange for a full confession, they took the death penalty off the table.”

“And Hawkins confessed to Catherine’s murder?”

Charlie nodded. “Apparently, she had been digging around in Hawkins’ finances and asking questions about the gunshot residue on Megan’s hands. Hawkins panicked. If it came out that he’d tampered with evidence, that he’d covered up Megan’s murder in exchange for a bribe, he stood to lose everything.”

“Tampered with evidence, how?”

“It’s complicated.”

The look on Simone’s face had him hanging his head. Her world had been turned upside down. Her own life had been threatened, and her husband still lay in a hospital bed recovering from near fatal injuries. She wanted details, and he owed them to her. “The night Megan died, Hawkins took two different gunshot residue samples, one for a quick on-the-scene test and another to send out to the crime lab. The Blue View, that’s the rapid test, showed no nitrates present on Megan’s hand, despite the fact she was still holding the gun that killed her.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Caleb shot Megan, then wiped the gun clean to remove his prints before planting it in her hand. That’s why the rapid test showed no nitrates. No nitrates, therefore no gunpowder. Hawkins realized right away Megan didn’t shoot herself. After questioning Megan’s mother, he went straight to the Carlisle home looking for Nate.”

“Only Caleb intervened.” She put her palm to her forehead.

“That’s right. Caleb bribed Hawkins to help expedite a suicide ruling. So Hawkins fired his own gun, then simply took a gunshot residue sample from his own hand and switched it with the one that had been earmarked for the crime lab.”

“I think I see. But if the two tests showed different results…” Simone drew her bottom lip between her teeth in a mannerism that made him think of Anna.

Almost every thing these days made him think of Anna.

He shook his head to snap himself out of it. “The crime lab looks at the sample under an electron microscope. Those results are far more accurate than a quick chemical test, so the rapid test was simply dismissed as error.”

Simone looked away, her posture sagging, her mood more serious than a few moments ago when all her thoughts had been focused on sneaking cinnamon rolls into the hospital. “I’m so sorry, Drex.”

“Hey.” He softened his voice. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for.”

Her back straightened. “But Nate does, and I’m his wife. Did you know Nate sent five hundred dollars every two weeks to Mrs. O’Neal—for years?”

“I suspected as much.”

“Nate told me he was so ashamed of what happened between him and Megan, he couldn’t bear for us—for you and me, Drex—to know the truth.” She located a Kleenex in her purse and dabbed her eyes. “So he sent Megan’s mother money, knowing she wouldn’t tell, and he kept on sending her money until Bobby was born. He said after his son was born he couldn’t bear to look at me and keep on lying, so he just stopped sending the money and waited for the chips to fall.”

Charlie offered Simone his hand. “Nate’s not perfect, Simone. None of us are.”

“I love my husband, Drex.” She held her head high. “I just wish we could’ve trusted each other sooner.” Then she squeezed his hand and walked through the door.

C
HARLIE INHALED A
sweet breath of honeysuckle evening, and a warm feeling spread through his chest like a widening smile. It was good to be sitting on a porch swing, watching fireflies race across the summer sky. It was even better to be sitting on that swing, watching the firefly derby with Anna. They’d finally gotten Bobby to sleep, and with the little guy tucked in safely, Charlie knew this was his moment.

“I’ve been thinking it over, Anna,” he said without preliminary. “And I’ve decided to postpone med school for a year. I’ve decided to stay here, in Tangleheart…with you.” His pulse changed rhythms, lost a beat—like his heart was holding its breath.

Anna propped her wrist-cast on the arm of the porch swing and looked down at her other hand in her lap. “I don’t think that’s the right thing to do. I don’t want you to give up your dream—”

He grabbed her good hand. “
You’re
my dream, Peaches. Besides I’d only be delaying school for a year.”

She shook her head.

Maybe he’d come on too strong. Maybe he should go to Plan B.

At his side stood a wooden crate he’d brought with him from the farmer’s market.

He reached inside and picked out a choice specimen: soft—but not too soft, plump and luscious with a gentle hint of fuzz that tickled his nose when he tested its fresh aroma. Yes sir, this was one perfect Tangleheart peach all right. “I’ve got something for you, Anna.”

He offered her his hand-selected peach.

“No thanks.” She shook her hair, and fireflies swarmed above her head like an electric tiara.

The night air hung hot and still around them, as if it, too, were in a state of limbo. He snuggled the fruit back in the crate. Maybe he’d go back to Plan A. “Can we talk about this, before you shut me down? I know you’re thinking you don’t want me to make a sacrifice, but I don’t look at it that way. I’ve already gotten permission from the Dean of Admissions and—”

“Geography is not the problem, Charlie. Austin’s only a few hours away, and besides, I’m not planning on staying in Tangleheart forever. Of course, I can’t leave right now, not when Simone needs me so much and not until I’ve got Daddy squared away with his new nurse.” Her throat worked in a long swallow. “But I checked out the library school at UT, and Charlie, it looks exciting.”

He could hardly believe his luck. He hadn’t needed the peach after all. He leaned forward, eager for her next words.

“But…”

No. No. No.
But
was not an option.

Her vanilla scent came to him on a breeze, calling up a near holographic memory of her body moving on top of him. He traced his thumb along the soft underside of her forearm.

“
But,
I just don’t know. After six years without a word from you, I thought I’d never see you again—and it nearly killed me getting over you. It’s been so long…” Her voice trailed off, and her chin dropped.

He didn’t have his charm gun on him, but he did have that crate of peaches. He tucked his index finger between her chin and her chest and nudged her face up until her gaze met his. “We don’t have to decide all the details tonight.”

Her eyes glistened in the starlight.

He turned her hand over and pressed a soft kiss into her palm. “Let’s just sit out here on the front porch and enjoy this beautiful summer night. Like the old days…remember?”

She brushed her hair off her forehead, gave him a tight smile. “Sounds good.”

Pulling a prime specimen from his treasure trove of peaches, he coaxed her. “How about a bite?”

Her nose scrunched up, and she turned her face away. “You forget I hate peaches.”

“No,” he countered. “You forget you love peaches.”

Seconds ticked by. He waited, tried to tempt her by wafting the fragrant peach beneath her nose, waited some more.

Finally she said, “It’s true. I used to love peaches…but now I don’t.”

Detecting uncertainty in her voice, his chest expanded with fresh hope. He could work with an opening like that. In fact, Anna was headed right where he’d wanted to lead. Stopping by the farmer’s market on the way over had been a stroke of pure genius. “It’s because of that worm, isn’t it?”

Her brow lifted. “I can’t believe you remember.”

He pressed his unspoiled peach into her hand.

“No thank you,” she said firmly, setting it back in the crate.

He was going to get her to bite into that peach, even if it took all night. He held up his hand. “Just hear me out.”

“I don’t want a peach, Charlie.”

“Anna, listen to me. You love peaches. You always have.” Leaning toward her, he mentally prepared his case. “I’m not making this up on my own. I’ve watched you dance when the season turns, and the first peaches hit the farmers’ stands. I’ve seen you feed your dinner to the dog, just to get to the peach pie at the end of the meal quicker. I’ve even seen you lick peach juice off your chin at a church social.”

“Okay, I admit it.” She fiddled with the hem of her shirt. “I
used
to love peaches. That’s exactly what I just said. But ever since I bit into a bad one and found half a grody worm hanging out of it, I
stopped
loving peaches.”

Her mouth twisted into a defiant pink pucker.

She was putty in his hands.

“Anna, there isn’t a single worm in any of these peaches. I checked every peach in this box. You’re turning your nose up at something wonderful based on a wrong assumption. You love peaches. You always have. It’s
worms
you hate.”

That beautiful smile of Anna’s—the one that lit his world like a million fireflies on a thousand summer nights—appeared.

“My stars, Charlie, do you have some sort of point to this whole peach de résistance campaign?”

So she could feel the truth of his words, he took her hand and placed it against his pounding heart. “I love you, Anna. I always have, and I want a chance to earn back your trust. I want a chance to prove that no matter how sad and terrible the world around us becomes, I won’t run away from you again. You loved me once, Anna. You told me so yourself. All you have to do is remember.”

She pulled her hand away.

His throat tightened. He was beginning to lose hope again…but then, thank God, she tugged his hand to her own racing heart and tilted her face up invitingly.