Identity (5 page)

“I mean we’re hunters and gatherers from prehistory on,” he’d explained. “It’s only been in the last few centuries that man has settled in one place and started screwing up the world. I don’t want no part of that.”

Liza remembered his thoughtful, gaunt face and still had a world of respect for him. Her opinion was different, however. She wasn’t stricken with the same wanderlust. She
liked
having her little plot of land to tend. She couldn’t imagine not having a home, a place that was significantly hers.

She’d also seen the way the homeless at New Life would fight bitterly about which alley belonged to whom. They even fought over which mission bed they slept in, though all the cots were identical and cleaned daily. As best she could tell, it had something to do with vantage point, closeness to the door or to the bathroom, whatever. Bobman’s viewpoint, his excuse, bless his heart, seemed to be a bit flawed.

Decisions, decided Liza, as she mopped up the serving table with paper towels. It’s all about the decisions we make in life.

“So, about this woman…” Rosemary continued coming up behind Liza.

“What woman?” Kim said. The small, energetic woman had silently followed her partner into the serving area. “Beds are all made up and the laundry started,” she told Rosemary, then waited expectantly, glancing back and forth between the other two. “There’s a woman?”

Rosemary sighed and turned apologetic eyes toward her friend. “Liza met someone.”

“No way! Who? Do I know her? I bet I do, I know everyone in this town.” Her ice blue eyes lit with curiosity.

Liza had to laugh. Kim was a notorious busybody but a truly delightful person, so it took a while to realize she was masterfully pulling information from you. Kim had accompanied Rosemary home eight years ago from their time at a central Virginia college and they were still going strong. Liza couldn’t think of a more perfectly matched couple. Kim was the flame to Rosemary’s candle, and they complemented one another well.

“If only I’d had that with Gina,” Liza murmured thoughtfully.

“Huh?” Kim wrinkled her nose and placed her hands on her slender hips. “Fess up, Liza honey. You can’t keep a secret from us, you know. It never works.”

“Believe me, I know. Truthfully, I don’t know much about her. She bought the old Carson homestead over off Dooley.”

“A guy bought that place,” Rosemary said, drying her hands with a dishtowel. “Is she married?”

“No, of course not…I…” Liza frowned. She really didn’t know. “How did you know it was a man?”

Rosemary shrugged. “I do read the newspaper, Liza honey. Even the property transactions. They’re public records filed over there with Moses’s bunch at the county courthouse.”

“Ahh.” Liza hadn’t thought of that. “What was this owner’s name?”

Her friend raised an eyebrow. “Please! You expect me to remember details like that?”

Kim giggled. “So, what’s her
name?”

“Shay. That’s all I know.” She went on to tell them in brief about the encounter at Dooley’s Folly.

“So what made her so mad? What did you do?” Kim asked, chewing on a thumbnail. She rested one denim-clad hip on the side of the serving counter and crossed her feet in a nonchalant stance. She watched Liza with keen eyes. Her stare was unusual. It was odd to see such beautiful, cool blue eyes—natural ones—shining from such a dark Egyptian face. A shock of short spiky white-tipped dark hair above those eyes further added to the dichotomy.

“God knows. Some people are just born ornery,” Liza answered.

Rosemary made a face at Kim. “Yep. That’s the kind of person I’d be mooning about.”

Liza growled playfully. “Just serve your damned sandwiches and hush.”

Kim laughed and strolled away. Rosemary playfully pushed Liza before retreating to the kitchen for more sloppy joe filling.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Shay liked her new home. She had enjoyed the small home she’d owned in suburban Washington, DC, but hadn’t been sorry to bid it farewell when the time had come. The home and grounds held far too many bad memories.

She knew she’d miss the large, custom-built dog compound out back as well as the convenience of being so close to a major city, but overall it hadn’t been a bad trade.

She took another satisfying sip of hot coffee as she strolled across her back deck. She leaned forward and rested her forearms on the deck railing. Dappled sunlight frolicked along the edges of the yard as a calm breeze moved the trees.

Southern Alabama really was beautiful. Her parcel, the house and the acre lot surrounding it was, according to the realtors, a “prime historic venue.” Somewhat hilly and surrounded by forest, the land soothed Shay, imparting a gentle peacefulness that she welcomed.

It had taken her several months to decide it was right for her, especially based on photos alone. After she’d clawed her way out of the deep emotional well she’d escaped into after Pepper’s prosecution, she’d known the only path to full healing would be a move. Pepper’s aura had permeated the DC home, souring it for Shay. She had cringed at the entry of every room, expecting an attack just inside every door. The closet, much like the one at Pepper’s where she’d been locked for hour upon agonizing hour, seemed to mock her. And the sorrow she’d felt upon walking into the backyard, well, it was unbearable.

Now, as she stared out over the sparsely wooded land surrounding her 1960s ranch-style home, the idea of starting over and building something anew felt almost plausible. Her imagination envisioned a new and better compound, with covered runs and a long barn. She’d try that new Norwegian influence with family-style rooms instead of kennels. Cuddly sofas and old-fashioned Dutch doors seemed infinitely preferable to chain-link enclosures. She’d go radical and paint the outside lemon yellow to match her car.

She smiled and shook her head in disbelief. What was she thinking? Reluctantly, she turned to go back inside. She was still nervous about remaining exposed outside for too long.

Her eye caught the neighbor’s house. From this vantage point, just outside the side door of her home, she could see the terra- cotta tile roof and upper veranda of the huge, mid-nineteenth century mansion. The elderly woman who lived there was out on the top deck again. Shay often saw her there in the mornings and, although nagged with guilt for her voyeuristic tendencies, would watch enraptured as the woman went through a series of yoga-style stretches. Pulling her gaze away was almost impossible due to the poetic beauty of the exercise. It was a stylistic welcome to the sun and Shay was touched each time she watched. Today the ritual was already over and the faceless rail-thin woman, white hair in a bun atop her head, was enjoying her own coffee, swaying back and forth in a tall rocking chair on the veranda.

Back inside, Shay double-locked the French doors, using a burglar bar and a slide bolt. When she’d bought the house, she’d immediately had the steps leading from the ground to the deck outside removed, but the deck was only about five feet above ground level and still could be easily scaled.

Each time Shay entered her home, she felt a pang of loss because there was no dog to greet her. Since the age of twenty-seven, she’d had at least one dog—often more. Until this past three years. She sighed and moved to the bulletin board atop her makeshift desk.

There she was. Swampwitch Hattie Dawn von Deutscher. The photo had been taken at Lafayette Park in DC. It showed a much younger, happier Shay pressing cheek to cheek with the gorgeous fawn boxer. Hattie’s flash had been minimal, so her color had been rich and extensive and almost the British red in tone. Shay had deliberately left her ears and tail uncropped, even knowing that meant she could never be a show dog. But that had been okay—she had been so much more to Shay. Hattie had been Shay’s friend.

Tears welled in Shay’s eyes and she turned from the photo. Heartbroken and feeling somewhat suicidal, she took huge gasping breaths, trying to employ techniques taught her by Dr. Frye. She rushed to the kitchen and placed both palms on the table for grounding. She leaned her body forward and closed her eyes. The counting began. With each number said aloud, she rocked backward while envisioning a good time with Hattie. One, Hattie as a puppy, newly birthed and clumsy. Two, Hattie patting Shay’s leg with her puppy paws. Three, the adorable loopy grin. Four, one ear folded upon itself and tongue lolling from her mouth after rolling in the grass. Five, jogging along Pennsylvania Avenue, Hattie’s stride erect and effortless. Six, training and Hattie’s pout as she is reprimanded. Seven, Shay reading on the sofa, Hattie’s head in her lap. Eight, velvet ears waiting to be rubbed. Nine, Hattie snoring gently in bed next to her. Ten, soft, hot kisses backed by not unpleasant doggie breath.

Breathing deeply, Shay forced away the other images. Of what she had discovered that October day, two years after escaping Pepper. She didn’t remember the exact date, didn’t want to. She knew it had been fall, after the first frost because of the layer of ice that had coated the cold, stiff...

A visceral cry escaped and Shay knew the horror hadn’t gone. Might never go. There are things in this life that are unforgettable and finding Hattie that morning was one of them. Unforgettable and unforgivable. Finally realizing what a complete and utter monster Pepper was had enabled her to go after the woman with every bit of money and energy she could scrape together. What she had done to Shay had been secondary to what she had done to the dogs, to Hattie.

Shay’s eyes roved madly around her home and lit on boxes still awaiting unpacking. She leapt toward them with a frantic burst of energy. Keeping busy wasn’t a cure, but it would change the focus enough for her to survive.

CHAPTER NINE

Wicked Wings was rowdy. And it was only Friday night; Lord knew what Saturday would bring. Liza’s brother Rich, cooking in the back, had only been out once for a perfunctory beer before hurrying back to flip burgers and sop wings in barbecue sauce. A huge platter of said wings rested in front of Liza and they were disappearing fast. Luckily, wings weren’t a particular favorite of hers, but she did enjoy seeing the joy Arlie Russell experienced from munching them.

Arlie
was
enjoying them. Liza had to smile at the large woman’s enthusiasm. Without pause in her intense conversation with Rosemary, Arlie palmed a handful of wings and dropped them onto her plate. She swiped her sauce-covered hand on one of a pile of soiled napkins next to her unused fork and took a mighty swig of beer. Rosemary snagged a wing off Arlie’s plate and nibbled it as she nodded agreement with something Arlie said. Arlie caught Liza’s fond gaze and smiled at her, a gold tooth gleaming in the bright glow from one of the many televisions lining the walls.

“Hey, Liza.You eating or what?”

“Of course, if you leave me some.”

“Ass. There’s more in the back. You don’t have to worry.”

Liza laughed and gently kicked Arlie’s leg under the table. “Just giving you a hard time, Woodpecker.”

“How is everything over at the lumberyard?” Kim asked. “We haven’t heard you talk about it much lately.”

Kim seemed a little tired today, not her usual vivacious, annoying self. Even her short, spiky hair seemed flat.

Arlie mopped at her mouth. “Too much work. I don’t have time even to talk about it. There’s tons of houses going up east of town. We’re doing all the lumber for that, even some of the prefab.”

“Wow. That’s the new subdivision. What’s it called?” Kim leaned forward and cupped her chin in one propped up hand.

“Whispering Pines,” interjected Mindy Quintero, placing her tray on Arlie’s lap. She rested her hands on Arlie’s shoulders. Arlie, in a tender gesture, laid her cheek against one of them in a brief caress. “As if pine really whispers. Those names are sometimes so stupid.”

“Hey, pines whisper like crazy when the wind blows. You just have to be quiet and listen,” Liza responded.

“No one’s quiet anymore,” commented Kim, looking around the noisy restaurant as if for emphasis. “That’s what’s wrong with the whole country.”

Liza caught Rosemary’s eye. Ro shrugged meaningfully, as if letting Liza know she had no idea why her partner was in such poor spirits.

“I know, Kim,” Mindy commiserated. “I’m not so sure I like the way our world’s turning out. I wish we could have a life like our parents.”

“I don’t know about that,” Arlie said. “A big bad dyke like me would have had a harder time then than I do now.”

Mindy pressed her lips to Arlie’s cheek, her hands smoothing Arlie’s closely shorn hair. “I know, baby. I’m glad things are easier for you now that everyone’s a little more accepting.”

“Only a precious little,” interjected Kim, sourly.

“Hey, who peed in your Cheerios?” asked Mindy, leaning back and putting her hands on her hips. “No negativity allowed.”

Kim was taken aback, as if she hadn’t realized the extent of her bad mood. She laughed suddenly, momentarily transforming into her usual bubbly self. “I’m sorry, guys. I’m just letting the stories get to me, rape, abuse. Sometimes it really does bother me, you know?”

“Must have been a rough day at the mission,” Liza said.

“We’ve got this new couple in. The woman is just out of a really bad relationship, abusive. She was beaten, raped and cheated on by this alcoholic demon,” Kim continued soberly.

“It’s horrible,” agreed Rosemary. “I feel so bad for her.” She nodded toward Liza, “It’s that new one you met yesterday.”

“But look who she’s with now—another drunk. And she’s traveling all over the country with him. What is she thinking?” Kim’s voice was low, almost a hiss of contempt.

“She’s not thinking…at all,” said Liza calmly. She could tell Kim was really worked up about the situation. “I’ll never understand why women feel like they deserve to be mistreated. And why, when they’re offered the opportunity to leave, they don’t. It makes no sense to me.” She paused. “But then, I’m not in their shoes.”

Kim sighed. “I don’t know why I do this, sometimes. Seems just as stupid.”

“It’s all the glamour and the big paychecks,” Rosemary offered.