His Golden Heart (27 page)

It wasn’t as if he didn’t love his adopted family. Kelly with her debutante looks, and whiter-than-white smile was as close to him as blood. Victoria, who looked as if she could give movie star, Debbie Reynolds a run for her money, and Ed, with his scowling demeanor and sometimes self-righteous air had brought him up like their own. Even his brother Jason, who looked as if he’d stepped off the cover of
Fortune
Magazine
, was the only brother he knew
.
The Anderson family had always treated him like he were their own, giving a poor hurting boy a safe place to land and creating some very fine memories in the process.

Chapter Twenty-two

Beau and his dad walked the short distance to the western-style restaurant, Beau using his cane and taking halting steps besides his father.

“How are those legs holding up?” Ed asked after a while, his concern disguised behind his usual scowl.

“As good as can be expected. I’m getting there.”

There were breathtaking views Beau had never noticed before. Scenery that looked like a picture postcard. Ever since his recovery, he had been acutely aware of his surroundings and how lucky he was to live in this part of the country. He had renewed appreciation for being outdoors and breathing the fresh air. For so long he’d taken all of this wide-open space and invigorating breeze for granted. He’d gotten used to the majestic mountains that towered behind him. The pinkish blue hues that were snowcapped in winter and turned a lush green as summer approached.

Feelings of nostalgia washed over Beau. What he wouldn’t give to be up there, conquering those faraway slopes. Skiing had been to him what breathing now was.

“Smells like summer’s on its way,” he commented, brushing aside those maudlin thoughts. He would ski again. He was bent and determined.

“It’s already here,” Ed said, cutting to the chase. “Memorial Weekend is only a few days away.”

A replica of a saloon loomed ahead of them, its sign shaped like a gigantic cowboy’s hat. THE TROUGH, it read.

Ed repeated the name out loud adding, “Everyone’s got a gimmick these days.”

Inside, hay covered the floor and the smell of parched peanuts and brewed ale could make you choke. A perky brunette wearing an itsy-bitsy skirt, boots, and a jaunty neckerchief escorted them to a booth at the back of the room.

“Is this all right?” she asked, eyeing Beau as if he were the luncheon special. “Hey, aren’t you Beau Hill?”

Beau just grinned. It was starting again, recognition that he was somebody. He flashed another smile, the one that had made him popular with the ladies.

“Yes, you are,” the hostess insisted loudly. “I watched every time you competed. You were my crush. I know that smile. Everyone, Beau Hill’s joining us today,” she shouted.

Thank God the lunch crowd didn’t seem overly impressed. They nodded politely and went back to eating. It was he who wanted to die. A few curious looks and some whispered conversation, but that was it. Humbling. His dad was getting more attention than he, and rightly so.

Seated, Beau faced his father. The two began a tentative but somewhat awkward conversation about sports. The small talk continued until their entrees were served.

“Nice boots,” Ed said sarcastically, scowling at Beau’s gray snakeskin boots. “A lot flashy though.”

“I know they’re not your thing, Dad.”

Ed was relentless. “What’s with the buzz haircut?”

Beau ran a hand over his pate, “I’m comfortable.” He twirled his tiny hoop earring for effect, knowing that inwardly Ed was fuming.

“All right, I give up. You’re a grown man I have nothing to say.” Ed’s, eyes twinkled. His roar was notoriously worse than his bite.

“That would be a first.”

Ignoring his wife’s efforts to keep him healthy and fit, Ed began to devour most of the oversized portion of ribs the server set down. “Okay, so why am I here?” he asked, picking up his napkin and dabbing at his lips. “You brought me out to lunch for a reason, let’s get to it.”

Beau swallowed his own burger in a few quick gobbles. The opening had presented itself at last. “I want to know what’s happening with the Simpkins’ case.”

Ed squinted at him. “Why are you suddenly interested in my clients?”

Beau explained that Reggie DaCosta was volunteering at his center, adding, “He seems like a good kid.”

“Yes, and he just happened to pick your center to volunteer at, never mind there are others in Denver. Don’t you think it’s a little late for him to try to change his image? His attorney’s coaching him obviously.”

“That might be so. Reggie’s sister is…was my physical therapist, Dad.”

Beau had recently received official notification that someone else would be taking over his therapy. The idea made him mad. He still hadn’t been able to talk to Shayna.

“How long have you known they were related?” Ed cross-examined.

“Not until recently.”

Ed scowled at Beau. “And you’re not suspicious of that woman’s interest in you? Your mom tells me she’s been over to your house numerous times.”

His father continued his interrogation and Beau tried his best to answer. He could only imagine how any witness must feel. Browbeaten.

Eventually running out of questions, or bored by the topic, his dad said, “Johnson, who represents the boy, dug up three witnesses.” He nibbled on a rib. “Neither is credible. One’s a vagrant, the other a drunk.” He harrumphed, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.

“The most recent seems to be on the ball,” Beau corrected.

“How come you know so much?”

“Shayna filled me in.”

“Sounds like this Shayna is a lot more to you than a therapist?”

Beau snapped his mouth shut while his dad wiped his hands and mouth on the checkered napkin.

“I guess it’s worth checking out this new development,” Ed said. “I have to call Colin Johnson anyway. The trial’s only days away and Mrs. Simpkins is waffling back and forth. She’s worried she may have identified the wrong kids. She claims she doesn’t see too well, and to use her words, one black boy looks like the other.”

Beau bristled. “And you’re willing to represent a confused and obviously bigoted woman, who’s willing to tarnish a young boy’s reputation and ruin his life.” He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

His father stood abruptly. “I’ve got work to do. You did say you were picking up the check.” He gestured to the server in the swirling mini-skirt. “My son’s got it covered.”

Beau slapped down his credit card. He’d tried and that was all he could do. Hopefully his father would take it from there and convince his client to drop the case. He hadn’t given up on Shayna though. Not speaking with her for a whole week had been difficult. Now he was hell bent on finding her, making amends, and moving their relationship to another level. But first he needed to call Miles Williams and see just what he knew.

So instead of returning home, Beau drove up the steep mountain road and parked his car on the side of the road. The fresh air always helped clear his head. He could think better. It gave him time to plan his strategy, and not just with Shayna. While he couldn’t prove it yet, he was more and more convinced that someone had deliberately tried to sabotage him.

He took a deep breath, got out his cell phone, and punched in Miles’s number. It rang forever. Eventually an out-of-breath man picked up. Beau didn’t know Miles well enough to determine if it was he that had answered.

“I’m looking for Miles Williams,” he opened with.

“That’s me.”

“Miles. This is Beau Hill.”

There was a very pregnant pause on the other end, then, “How are you, man? I meant to visit you. But time has a way of getting away from you.”

“Of course it does.” What else was he to say?

Maybe it was his imagination, but Miles sounded not particularly happy to hear from him. Beau leaned over the railing staring down at the valley below, a patchwork quilt of greenery. He let the silence build.

“It’s good to hear from you, man,” Miles eventually said. “Was there something you wanted?”

“I’d like some information, for starters.”

“With what?” Miles asked, his voice steadier.

“Is this a good time to talk?” Beau countered.

“As good as any. With all the rumors flying, I guess you want to find out what happened that day. David must have told you what I said.”

“Actually he didn’t say much.”

“Where are you right now?” Miles asked.

“Driving around. Thinking about things.”

“Why don’t you stop by tomorrow, say, around two. We’ll talk and I’ll try my best to answer your questions.”

Beau got directions to his house and hung up. He stood for a long time staring down into the endless greenness, strategizing a plan. Miles had initially been uncomfortable when he called. He’d sounded wary, yet he’d invited him to his home. He could easily have blown him off. Maybe he did have a guilty conscience and needed to unload. Tomorrow he’d let Miles do most of the talking. But right now he had one more stop to make; then he was off to see Shayna.

* * *

Across town, Shayna faced her parents in the tiny townhouse’s kitchen. Kara and Vincent had flown in from Seattle the evening before and Reggie was volunteering at the center. He seemed to be spending more and more time there lately. So far he was putting in more time than the days he’d committed to.

Kara’s fingers circled the cup of coffee she was sipping on. “I’m sick with worry,” she admitted. “Your brother hasn’t had a very good track record. Who will believe him?”

“He does have a good attorney,” Shayna came back with.

“Colin Johnson was a find. He’s been nothing but wonderful.”

“Single too,” Vincent said astutely. “Bright and successful, and a role model for African American boys. He likes you.”

“Single is a good thing,” Kara said, perking up. “You two get along then?”

Shayna scrubbed at an imaginary spot on the kitchen counter. “Yes, we get along. I’m just not interested in Colin in that way.” She held her breath, waiting for the inevitable questions that would follow. Her mother had already voiced the concern that maybe she was too picky or simply afraid of getting involved. She feared that by the time Shayna got serious about any man it might be too late to have kids.

Her mother surprised her by letting it go.

“We’ve got three witnesses for sure,” Vincent said, changing the subject. He looked to Shayna for confirmation.

She nodded.

Vincent was a medium-sized man, about five foot ten in his stockinged feet Shayna had taken after her mother, who barely made it to five feet in heels.

“And this Bert person is our best shot?” he quizzed.

“Looks like it.”

Her mother put her head down on the table and began to sob. “What am I going to do if my baby boy gets put in jail,” she said, sniffing.

“He’s not going to jail,” Vincent said stoically, placing comforting hands on her shoulders. “Johnson knows what he’s doing and Reggie doesn’t have a history of previous arrests. Juries take that type of thing into consideration.”

Shayna certainly hoped that he was right. She stood awkwardly looking at her mother. What did you say when your parent was so obviously in distress? Words were not appropriate enough to comfort an anguished mother. The phone rang and Shayna’s dad signaled that he would pick up. He spoke into the mouthpiece briefly and held out the receiver. “It’s for you.”

Shayna swore there were tears in his eyes. Her heart pounded and her mouth went dry. Oh, God, something must have happened to Reggie.

“Hello,” she said her stomach plummeting, conscious of her father in the background conducting a whispered conversation with her mother.

“Hi,” Colin said. “I’m glad I was able to catch the whole family at home.”

“Has something happened?” The question popped out before she could stop it.

“Actually something has happened. You probably aren’t ready for this.”

Just break the news to me, Colin. Bad, good, or indifferent.

More than a beat or two went by.

“Shayna, Ed Anderson called,” Colin eventually said.

She wanted to gag. “What did he want?”

“It’s good news, Shayna. Mrs. Simpkins has second thoughts. I know she identified Reggie in the initial lineup, but she’s since had an attack of conscience. She’s waffling now. She’s not sure Reggie’s the right person. She told Ed that the teenager who accosted her had a tattoo on his right bicep.”

“Reggie doesn’t have any tattoos. We wouldn’t let him,” Shayna said, her voice stronger.

“I know that”

“So what happens now?” Shayna asked.

“Ed says he’s going to speak with the judge, tell him about Mrs. Simpkins’s doubts. The fact that we have three witnesses may have helped change her mind. Bert

Templeton is a credible witness. He’s down on his luck but has no history of mental instability or substance abuse. He was very clear on the time the kids came in and ordered their burgers and fries. He remembers their clothing in detail, and can describe each and every one of them. He even remembers what they were talking about.”