Finished. Finally. It had taken two weeks to grade the one-hundred and five exams, including a thirty-one-hour marathon over the three-day New Year’s Day weekend. Overall, I was disappointed. Only nineteen students earned an A. Unsurprising, Jodie Allison’s brilliance garnered her an A+ and the top spot among all three of my classes.
Other than helping Lillian and Kyla rescue a stranded Jane the day after Christmas, I had done little else, including nothing to assist my friends and colleagues in finding justice for Kyle and Ray Archer’s other victims. That had to change since there were only twenty-five days until my return flight to New Haven on the 29th. I didn’t doubt the competence of DA Pam’s team, along with Connor Ford and Micaden Tanner, to continue the mission after I left town, but I subconsciously knew these next few weeks would likely be my last chance to discover what really happened to Kyle, and why Rachel committed suicide.
I wanted to go back to sleep, but Lillian’s clanking in the kitchen dissipated all hope. She was tired of Kyla’s dominance at Hardy Hillside, especially her unwillingness to share the cooking department. Lillian’s desire for her own pancakes was one reason we’d opted for a little sabbatical. I crawled out of bed and slipped on a pair of sweatpants and tee-shirt. At 9:30 last night, after uploading my grades to the Yale Law School teacher portal, the two of us had come to Lillian’s house for our first overnight stay since someone (Ray or Ray’s goon) had riddled Lillian’s bed and bedroom with what Etowah County investigators said were 45 caliber hollow points. I understood their explanation to mean that when the projectile impacts a soft target (the bed and wooden wall), it would expand the surface area of the projectile, increasing the kinetic energy transferred to the soft target.
I walked to the bathroom to pee and wash my face. Now that I was free from essay grading, my mind couldn’t resist regurgitating the ice and snow scene at Ray’s lodge. It had been a close call for the four of us. If he had shown up a minute earlier, our safe escape would have been impossible.
After Jane had called and announced her predicament, Lillian, Kyla, and I raced to Skyhaven Estates in her truck. Before leaving Harding Hillside, I’d grabbed a long chain from the barn and hoped Kyla’s four-wheel drive would find sufficient traction to extricate Jane’s Equinox. It had, but only after repositioning the Silverado three times. I was wet and freezing by the time the four of us exited Ray’s driveway. Halfway down Skyhaven Drive, we met Ray’s Suburban, sending us all into heart attack territory. Thankfully, he was preoccupied in thought and unfamiliar with Jane’s exchange of vehicles. Either way, he didn’t stop, or turn and follow. Regardless, one thing was certain, Ray would see the mess we’d left in his driveway and along the south side of the detached garage: the snow and ice, the footprints and tire marks.
***
I eased into the kitchen and paused. The smell of cheese-eggs and sausage triggered my hunger. Lillian was doing something at the far counter, facing away from me. I couldn’t help but notice her figure. How could a sixty-six-year-old woman be so, well, shapely? Although her house seemed a little cool, she was wearing a pair of red running shorts and a gray Nike sports bra. She must have changed clothes since donning the bulky Alabama Crimson Tide tee-shirt when she’d crawled out of bed forty-minutes ago. No doubt, kitchen work is a hot job.
Lillian’s body looked younger, tighter, and stronger. It could be the walking and slow jogging she’d done at Kyla’s the past two weeks while I was immersed in schoolwork. Whatever it was, I liked it.
Lillian had pinned her silky hair to the back of her head, exposing her neck and back. I explored every inch of exposed skin resting my eyes on her especially tight thighs. Her skin tone had always been a light caramel color, but now it seemed she’d spent a month at the beach.
“I know you’re staring.” She said without turning toward me. I smiled, amazed at my own amazement over the transformation Lillian Archer, soon-once-again-to-be Lillian Bryant, had brought into my life.
“Caught me. What’s my punishment?” Although I was still recovering from last night’s romp, I would endure a short and figurative whipping to balance the scales of justice. I shook my head sideways. I was losing it.
Lillian turned with a platter full of buttered pancakes, smiled, and answered my question: “Sing that song. Right now.”
“Uh?” Then it registered. Saturday night, when Lillian headed to bed and I was focused on essay grading, she’d placed a yellow sticky on Kyla’s table beside my laptop. In elementary print was, “listen to this song before coming to bed. ‘She’s Everything to Me.’”
At midnight, I’d found it on YouTube. Written by Brad Paisley, it was redneck country. Not my favorite, but intimately meaningful. My favorite line, one I dared not share, “She’s the giver I wish I could be and the stealer of the covers.”
I couldn’t resist and belted out with my oh so terrible voice, “She’s a soft place to land.” My second favorite line.
Lillian set the pancakes on the table. That’s when I noticed she’d prepared a feast. She motioned me to sit and gave me a pardon. “Let’s eat before it gets cold. You can hum it to me tonight.” Relieved, I obeyed.
While she poured coffee, I noted the spread before me. Besides pancakes, Lillian’s table hosted scrambled cheese-eggs, bacon, sausage links, blueberries, banana slices, and both maple and strawberry syrup. This woman offered way more than a shapely body, including domestic skills that would rival my sister.
***
We ate in silence for the next ten minutes, other than a few “Mmm mmm good” declarations from me. When I forked a banana slice to sop my remaining syrup, Lillian walked to the counter and returned with the coffeepot and a plain #10 envelope. She laid the latter halfway between my plate and hers while filling our cups. After re-nesting the pot in the coffeemaker, she turned and leaned against the sink. The slightly upward cock of her head made me believe she had shed some of the sadness she’d worn since before her accident. I wondered if it had anything to do with her recently revived exercise program.
“Open says-a-me.” Lillian’s eyes glanced at the blank envelope.
“Is that the bill for this wonderful breakfast? If so, I’ll gladly pay.” I glanced from the envelope to the beauty standing at the sink. I considered offering a tip of the non-cash type but declined.
“Look first. The amount might be more than you can handle.” I tried to imagine what little game Lillian was playing. She normally wasn’t as mysterious. Again, I did as instructed, and was pleased by what I found inside the envelope. It was a Delta airline ticket, a one-way flight on January 29th from Birmingham to New Haven. I chose a smart-ass response.
“I don’t need another ticket. Remember, I already bought one.” Lillian rolled her eyes and walked to me. She took my hands in hers and gently had me reposition my chair. As she knelt on one knee beside me, I noticed she wasn’t wearing any makeup. The slow crawling of crow’s feet away from both her eyes reminded me we were two individuals on a fast track to the big 70.
“Lee, that’s my ticket.” She released my right hand and placed her left on my cheek. “I’ve changed my mind. If you will have me, I’m yours forever.” Although she didn’t mention the marriage word, that’s where my mind went. It didn’t matter. This was Lillian’s way of proposing, accepting my earlier invitation, she return to New Haven with me at the end of the month.
I semi-stood, scooted my chair backwards, and joined Lillian on one knee. I smiled, nodding affirmatively and pulled her close. “Thank you,” I said, hugging her tightly. “I love you baby and am ecstatic over your decision.”
“Are you sure?” Lillian asked as we untangled and stood. Her smile evaporated and she creased her eyebrows as she stared into my eyes—that always means she’s serious. “You better be because once we touch down in New Haven, I’m never leaving.”
“I’m sure. Surer than you can imagine, or I can express. That’s what I mean when I say I love you.” I meant exactly what I said, but this didn’t imply I wasn’t dumbfounded over what had happened since I’d arrived in Alabama shortly before Thanksgiving.
“And I love you more Lee Harding.”
Lillian insisted we sit. Over our second cup of coffee, she brought us down from the clouds and encouraged me to share my vision of our future life together in New Haven. When I’d finished sketching a picture of me as professor and her as household manager, she took out a figurative eraser. “Old boy, you’re in for a rude awakening. I’m ready to live and learn. I’ve been dreaming of going back to school for a creative writing degree. We’ll share household duties. On weekends, I want to explore all New England.” And on and on Lillian painted the landscape of our upcoming weeks, months, and years.
At 7:45, I interrupted. “What time do you have to be at Micaden’s?” Even though it had only been eighteen days since he’d filed Lillian’s divorce complaint, the case had launched like a rocket. This afternoon, Lillian and Micaden were traveling to Huntsville to meet with Ray and his attorney for a quasi-mediation session (absent the professional mediator). Such settlement attempts normally followed months of pretrial proceedings, including in-court motion arguments and several rounds of out-of-court discovery.
“He wants to leave at 11:00. The meeting is at 1:00.” Lillian stood and transferred our plates and coffee cups to the counter next to the sink. She probably was regretting her earlier decision not to install a dishwasher given the pile of dirty dishes scattered about.
I had an idea. “That means you have a couple of hours before getting ready. Let’s take a walk or go sit on the pier. I promise I’ll cleanup this mess.” Lillian gave me a frown. I took it to mean, ‘let’s see if you can do any better when it’s your turn to cook a breakfast feast.’
Instead, she stopped running water in the sink and said, “Sounds good, but first let me put on a sweatsuit.” That was a good idea, given the forty-degree weather.
After feeding the fish, Lillian and I settled into the two Adirondack chairs at the end of the pier. I wished I’d grabbed a thicker jacket.
“Today is going to be a total waste.” Lillian said, crossing her arms in frustration. I nodded in support, but she was staring across the pond at the homesteading geese making their way from an adventure on the other side of Cox Gap Road. “He’ll be such an ass.”
“Because he feels emboldened?” This was the umpteenth time since New Year’s Day Lillian had raised this subject. She wasn’t the only one frustrated. One of my chief pet peeves is plowing the same ground over and over. Two times was usually my outside limit but given the subject’s importance (not to mention my feelings toward Lillian), I made an exception.
“Ray’s like Teflon.” Again, I nodded. I had no basis for disagreement. In fact, Lillian was spot on. Last Friday, the Marshall County District Attorney’s office had directed the execution of a search warrant at Ray’s lodge. To everyone’s surprise—other than Ray—the hidden safe was empty.
The DA had spent the better part of two weeks evaluating the photos Jane had given to Micaden Tanner, her attorney. He’d performed admirably as usual and had extracted a conditional immunity agreement for her in exchange for illegal discoveries inside Ray’s home (conditional on Jane not being involved with the murder of Kyle Bennett, Sharon Teague, or anyone else).
The leading explanation among the DA’s office, Micaden, Connor Ford, and the four horsemen (a label I’d adopted for Lillian, Kyla, Jane and myself) for Ray’s decision to empty his safe, was the mess he had found in his driveway and yard the afternoon of Jane’s burglary. The DA had reasoned that Ray’s empty safe gave defense counsel an almost unbeatable argument: the whole thing was a setup; Jane had fabricated the whole scenario. The missing evidence also meant the DA had insufficient evidence to pursue murder charges against Ray for the deaths of Sharon Teague, Kyle Bennett and Billy and Buddy James.
And, if an empty safe wasn’t good enough to assure Ray’s Teflon status, yesterday afternoon’s news would do the job. Apparently, Judge Broadside worked weekends, including holiday weekends. At least sometimes. Micaden had called a few minutes before 5:00 pm and read me the two-sentence Order that had just been posted to AlaCourt. “This Court grants Defendant Archer’s motion to suppress evidence. An agent of law enforcement illegally discovered it.”
Although he didn’t know for sure, Micaden speculated that Judge Broadside had based his decision on Ray’s Brief in support of his motion. To me, it was too tenuous a connection. Attorney Morton Selvidge had argued that Lillian and I were acting as agents of the District Attorney when we’d recorded Ray meeting Buddy James at Ted King’s cabin.
Unbelievable. I had called P.I. Connor Ford to ask him to perform the task, but he had been in Gatlinburg. What I didn’t know until I’d read Selvidge’s Brief was that after I called Ford, he had called Avery Proctor, the DA’s investigator, who had admitted saying, “that’s a good idea.”
There was no way an appeals court would uphold Judge Broadside’s Order, but the Alabama Court of Criminal Appeals could take weeks to consider and rule. In the meantime, the DA’s office would have to keep searching for credible evidence in order to proceed with the Hunt House arson case.
For sure, Ray was the Teflon man.
***
“There’s Jane.” Lillian said, snatching me back from an intensifying nightmare. I looked to my left and saw the blue Equinox pulling to a stop beside the pasture gate.
“Are you expecting her?” I figured Lillian would have told me, but it could have slipped her mind.
“No.” She walked the pier halfway. “Hey, we’re out here.” Jane apparently had not seen us and was headed to the back porch. “Grab a chair.” Lillian pointed to the small gazebo where several were stored.
I tried to read Jane’s face as she and Lillian approached. My conclusion was mixed. Other than a quick exchange of hellos between Jane and me, the first thing she said was, “I’ve got to get something off my chest.”
“Okay.” Lillian said, giving Jane’s arm a soft touch. “But first, let me give you some good news. I’m moving to New Haven with Lee.” I couldn’t have been more surprised. First, Lillian had butted in just as Jane had an urgent need to confess something. Second, although I knew Lillian was excited about our move, but now didn’t seem the time to make such an announcement. Mainly because I still had this nagging feeling about Jane, that she was still playing chess.
“That’s great, I needed some good news.” Jane said, glancing my way. “When are you guys leaving?” I thought she knew my plans, but she could assume Lillian and I had bumped-up our departure date.
“End of the month, now, back to you. Sorry I interrupted.” I sometimes wished Lillian was a little more careful about sharing.
“No problem.” Jane twisted in her chair, probably because it wasn’t comfortable, being it was metal with no cushion or padding. “This is going to be shocking, and that’s one reason I haven’t told either of you, but it’s time.”
Lillian activated her iPhone to check the time. “Just tell us, you know I’m on a schedule today.”
Jane sat straighter and said, “I betrayed Elita and received a reward for disclosing her whereabouts.” At first, my mind locked. It couldn’t decide the time frame.
I quickly said, “explain, please.” Before she responded, I concluded she was referring to something that happened thirty-five years ago.
“The flier. Clipped to a newspaper article. At your house.” Lillian’s mind was working faster than mine.
“Yes. Let me give you the full story.” Jane looked straight at me. “It was late fall 1985, around Thanksgiving. You and Rachel were living in Washington, DC. You were working for a law firm and…”
“White and Case.” I added.
“Rachel was teaching.”
“At Hardy Middle School.” Lillian gave me her cocked head with creased eyebrows look. “Hardy, not Harding.”
Jane continued. “Somehow Elita had found Rachel. The fifteen-year-old was pregnant. Elita’s adoptive parents, the Packer’s, had recently shared the truth, which included that her biological mother had got pregnant when she was fifteen. Elita and Rachel bonded almost instantly, but she knew she was ill-equipped to deal with a teenager and an infant, not to mention the shock this would be to you.” Again, Jane poured her piercing green eyes into mine. “Plus, Elita had shared that her parents were good people determined to find their daughter. They had already hired an investigative team and had posted a reward offer.”
“Take a breath and let me project.” Jane waved me away, but Lillian came to my rescue, insisting it would be best. Jane agreed. “You and Rachel were close and the two of you concocted a plan. Rachel was a mothering figure to you. So, she suggested you notify the Packers of Elita’s whereabouts and receive the reward. Right?” If true, this was wrong on so many levels.
“Pretty close, but there was an intermediary. A guy she taught with. The Packer’s never knew about me.” Lillian stood and eased past me to the end of the pier. I wondered if she was going for a swim. If she did, I’d join her in the frigid water. Anything to get away from this sordid tale.
“Cut to the chase. I’m about to have to get ready.” Lillian was angry, probably because she knew how personal this was to me. Rachel, my wife, had never breathed a word of this to me. I wondered where Elita had stayed the few days she was in DC, certainly not at our townhouse.
“A pair of investigators came and escorted Elita back to Sydney and her adoptive parents.” Jane paused and Lillian returned to my side, placing her hand on my shoulder. “Sit, this is the sad part.”
Lillian did as instructed. “Go ahead.”
“Six months later, Elita was dead, complications during the delivery.”
“What about the baby?” Lillian’s question was instant.
Jane paused, stood, glanced at the geese swimming by, and answered. “It was a little girl. Although born a few weeks premature, it lived. After a few weeks of intensive care in the hospital, they placed the baby in foster care.”
“What?” I said. Something was wrong with Jane’s story. The Packer’s would never have allowed that.
“It gets sadder. Shortly before the baby was born, Elita had run away again. This time to Hong Kong. Before you ask, yes, she and Rachel had kept in touch. By this time, Elita knew every detail about Rachel’s teenage pregnancy, including the hospital where she had given birth. Elita apparently wanted her baby to be born in the same place, maybe in the same hospital room, as she was sixteen years earlier.”
Lillian stood again. “Why didn’t the Packer’s keep the little girl? Quickly, please.”
“They didn’t know. Somehow Elita had concealed her identity, and the baby went into foster care until it was adopted almost two years later.”
“Who? Who adopted Elita’s baby?” I couldn’t help but sense, strangely, a connection between the little girl and myself. It was almost like she was my responsibility.
“I don’t know. Neither did Rachel, but it was a couple here in the states.”
“You two can talk as long as you want. I have thirty minutes to shower and drive to Micaden’s.” Lillian blew me a kiss and headed to the cabin.
The Pencil-Driven Life 