The Witch of Belladonna Bay (12 page)

“That's a hard question to answer,” I said, relieved that she'd changed the subject.

“Nope. I don't think so. It's just hard for you to think on it,” she said.

“Well, let's see if I can explain it to you. But keep in mind it's different for everyone. And each love is different, like a house with all sorts of rooms. Like the Big House.”

“Each love? How many times you been in love?” she asked, surprised.

I laughed a little. Surprise on the face of someone so clever, no matter how young, is always funny.

“Twice,” I said. “But there are a lot of people who think they fall in love way more than that. And, because you asked before … sex and love are
not
the same thing.”

“Okay, so tell me about these two loves of yours. How do they feel?”

“One was a long time ago, Byrd. And it was … furious. Not angry. Just full of fire. I always felt like I was on fire when he was around. Like it burned inside me, and then when he got close enough, the burning went away. If that means anything to such a bit of a thing like you.”

Her head popped up. “I'm not a bit of a thing,” she said.

“Fine, maybe you're not,” I agreed.

She leaned her head against my shoulder again. “So, that was the first love. What was the second like, if it's so different?”

“The second? Well, that's Ben, the man I live with in New York, and it's a wonderful love. Safe. Strong. He makes me feel…”

“Whole?”

“No … more like—”

“The center of his world?”

“No, Byrd, stop! Let me think … he makes me feel … different. Less like the person I used to be. I like that.”

“I sure as hell don't,” she said.

“Why not?” I laughed. “And don't curse, Byrd. It's not ladylike.”

She hopped off my lap and leaned against the porch railing.

“Why not? You do. Anyway, seems to me you were fine. I mean, why change who you are? It's kinda sad.”

“You didn't know me, Byrd. I was mean and spoiled. I hurt a lot of people. Especially the ones I loved.”

“That still don't mean you had to go and change everything. You coulda fixed the person you already were.”

“I guess,” I said, and closed my eyes, sinking into those soft cushions.

“Who was the person you loved first? Was he from around here?” she asked.

“Grant. Grant Masters,” I said.

“No! No, you did not! I can't even believe it. I wish more than anything I could tell Jamie! He'd have a cow! He don't like Grant much.”

“Why not? Grant's his uncle, he should love him. I'm sure they've gone out fishing and hunting together for years.”

“Not really—and Aunt Wyn? It's a
loooong
story,” she said, and then hesitated before asking her next question, “Are you sad? About your friend? I know Lottie was your best friend. Minerva and my daddy told me stories. Seems like you and me are in the same boat.”

“Well, I hadn't seen her in a long time, Byrd. But yeah. I
am
sad. And worried about your daddy. I know he didn't do what everyone says he did.”

“You're gonna get sadder, just prepare yourself,” she said, crawling back into my lap.

“What do
you
think happened to Charlotte and Jamie?” I asked.

“I don't know. Really I don't. I wish I did. I only know one thing.”

“What's that?”

“I agree with you. I know for sure my daddy didn't do it. He couldn't kill nobody. He even throws the fish he catches back into the Gulf when he goes out with Carter.”

I smiled. Even when we were little, Paddy did that. He had a soft side to him. He'd pull my hair on purpose, and when I cried, he'd hug me as if someone else had done it.

“So, why do you think he got blamed for it, Byrd?” I asked, trying to smooth back her wild hair from her face.

“Can I tell you a secret? I know you'll find out sooner than later anyhow. But I'd rather you hear it from me,” she said.

“Of course! You can tell me anything.”

“He thinks I did it,” she said quietly.

“Who thinks you did what?” I asked.

She jumped out of my lap again and stomped away from me. “Why are you being so
obtuse
? That's my new favorite word, by the way. I look them up every day in the dictionary. And if you look next to
obtuse
in the dictionary you'd—”

“See a picture of me. Yes, I know the joke, Byrd. But I still don't know what you're talking about or why you're so mad.”

She ran down the stairs, off the porch, and back up the path. “I don't even care! You'll find out soon. Go'n visit my daddy. He'll tell you!” she yelled before Dolores got up and chased after her. “We hold these truths to be self-evident,” I heard her cry as she ran away from me.

Truth was I didn't really know the circumstances of Paddy's arrest, I only knew what my family told me—
nothing.

My emotional compass was spinning too fast. I'd have to find everything out for myself.

Carter had already brought my bags to the cottage. They were stacked neatly in the bedroom with a little Post-it note stuck to the top.

“Stick is the new sheriff here. Start with him.”

Good for you, Stick,
I thought. He'd been a strange teenager, nice though, and he'd always wanted to follow in his father's footsteps. His whole life had been about becoming sheriff one day, and now he was.

“Bless your heart, Carter, for pointing me in the obvious direction,” I said out loud, before washing my face with cool, clean water and putting on a white sundress. I pulled my camera back on over my head and walked up the path to the Big House driveway, and then straight up the drive until I hit Main Street.

*   *   *

It was damn hot. I'd forgotten how two blocks could feel like ten. The sheriff's office was a storefront on Main Street, and the closer I got, the more I hoped Stick had updated the place with air-conditioning.

“Hey! Wyn!” Stick called out, hopping over the wide front counter to give me a big hug when I arrived. “Carter said you were comin', but I think I only half-believed him. How you doin', girl! Damn, you look good.”

“Forget about me, look at you! I'm glad to see you made your dream come true. All those years of pretending to be Dudley Do-Right paid off. And you haven't changed a bit, Stick. Or should I call you Sheriff?”

He was just as I remembered him. Right down to the way he scratched his belly when he was in between sentences. He'd grown into his hawklike face with small eyes and a big nose. He could even be thought handsome, if you looked real hard.

“I'm only Sheriff when people are in trouble or in need of help. Other than that, I'm Stick. It's the best way for me to figure out what hat I gotta put on, so to speak. So who are you here to see? Stick or the sheriff?”

“I suppose I'm here to see the sheriff, but it
is
really good to see Stick, too.”

“Well, word on the street says you're gonna stay around for a while, so you and Stick can go out for a drink and catch up. Right now the sheriff is proud to be at your service.”

He bowed, and we both laughed as he hopped back over the counter.

“You have a little gate there, you know.”

“Where's the fun in that?” he said. Same old Stick.

“I'm assuming you're here about your brother.”

“What else would I be here for?”

“Well, I gotta tell you, it's been downright interesting around here lately. I'm about drown'n in calls and reports about things goin' missing. More every day. Strange things. Odd is what it is. Downright odd. And it's not only things goin' missing. There's been strange lights over Belladonna. This job used to be a piece of cake. But now with your brother … I mean, excuse me, Wyn. With the murders and now with this crazy stuff going on, I don't even know what to think anymore.”

“Well, I could help, why not deputize me? I'd like to go over to the Masters and see the crime scene. Lottie was still living there, right? I remember Jackson telling me that she stayed there after Jamie was born.” I didn't realize how much I needed to see where Lottie spent her last hours until I said it.

“Yep. Lottie never strayed too far from home. And, man, I wish I could deputize you, only I'm pretty sure that stuff only happens on the ‘boob tube,' as your mama used to call it. All those old westerns Paddy and I used to watch on Sundays over there with the Masters, 'cause with all your money, you Whalens didn't have no TV.”

He got quiet for a few seconds and looked past me into a distant, simpler time. Then he cleared his throat. “But you
can
go on over there, I just have to go with you. Those state cops are all finished, but we still haven't found the murder weapon, or Jamie for that matter. I'm at a loss. Have been for a while. Not one clue about where to find Jamie's body.”

“Are you sure there's a body to find?”

“Damn sure. There was just too much of his blood. He'd have to be dead.”

“What does Paddy say?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, did Paddy give you any information about it?”

“How could he? He don't know nothin'—he didn't do this damn thing.”

I stood very still, listening to the air conditioner blow and rattle in the window next to his desk.

“Stick, if you don't think he did it, why the hell did you arrest him?”

“'Cause he confessed. But I don't care, I don't believe him. I think he's coverin' for someone.”

“You always had clouded judgment when it came to my brother, Stick. Thinkin' he was more than what he was. He was just a teenage boy, like you. I gotta see him. Like, today. Can you make that happen?”

“I sure can, but not today. It's already too late for you to get to Angola.”

“Will he even want to see me?” I asked quietly.

“Shit, girl, he's been askin' for ya.”

My heart stopped. My poor Paddy.

“Stick?” I asked,

“Yes?” He leaned over the counter like we were still all of sixteen and he was trying for a kiss.

I flicked his big sheriff star with my finger.

“Who do you think he's covering for?”

He straightened up and looked away from me for a long time before saying, “Hell if I know.”

And then I realized I'd been gone too long. I didn't know anything. Not now. Fourteen years is a long time. I hadn't even talked to anyone except Jackson. And he never said a word to me about it. I was, as Byrd said, “New here.”

If I'd stayed in Magnolia Creek, I'd know who he was covering for. I never would have let him confess. The whole thing probably wouldn't have happened in the first place.

I needed to get to that house and see some things up close for myself. I had to make this whole thing right because in so many ways it was revealing itself as being my fault.

All four lines on his phone started ringing at once.

“You want to be my secretary, too?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“Okay, look, if you keep it quiet, I'll let you go on over to the Masters' house without me. Then, first chance I get, I'll call Angola and make some arrangements for you to see Paddy.”

“Thank you so much, Stick. Also … one more thing,”

“Anything, Wyn.”

“Where's Grant?”

I'd been thinking about him since Jackson called me home. Then Byrd got me thinking, too. But I hadn't let myself
really
wonder about him or even remember specific things. Saying his name, here with Stick … who used to ride with us and tag along … well, it's a damn shame the things we allow ourselves to forget.

The night Naomi died, after I'd witnessed Minerva's ritual, I'd run for my sanity all the way to his house, appearing like a ghost out of nowhere in my white nightgown. Somehow or other he was on the porch waiting, and without saying a word we took his boat out for a midnight ride in the bay.

I gave myself to him that night. We'd been going together forever, but we'd never let it get that far.

And then I ran away. I told him I was leaving just as soon as Naomi was buried. And his words that night came flooding back.

I love you, Wyn. I ain't never loved anyone as much as I love you. Oh God … please don't go. Don't leave me here. Can't I come? I've got gypsy legs … I can come with you. We'll be like Bonnie and Clyde only we won't get ourselves shot … I'll be different if you leave. You'll take my soul with you, girl … they might as well bury me. I'll be dead.

I must have looked dreamy eyed and lost in thought because a big, gossipy smile woke up Stick's worried, overstressed face. “You still interested in him?”

“What? Like, love interest?” I asked.

“Well, you two were … you know.” Stick blushed. The phone broke through again.

“Yeah, I know. Of course not. I'm engaged. See?” I showed him my ring.

“Congratulations,” he said, distracted. He began trying to put what sounded like the whole damn town on hold.

“But really, where is he? I don't feel like running into him right now.”

“Sheriff's office. Hold, please.… Not to worry, he ain't around here no more. I'll tell you what…”

An odd mix of relief and disappointment washed over me.

He grabbed a set of keys and threw them at me. “You go searchin', take some of them pictures you're so famous for, and we'll talk about all this other stuff later, okay? And call me if you find anything. Here's my card. All my numbers, home and office are there. And don't tell no one I let you go there alone. Swear it.”

“I swear it,” I said and left the office in search of answers.

*   *   *