23

Almost as soon as the thunder emitted its last soft growl, Roger’s cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and groaned. The “Cleveland Contact,” as she wanted to be referred to. No names. It was always her way, and it always had been, ever since he had known her.

“What?” He didn’t bother to mask his anger, hoping it would limit their conversation to essentials. If he could change one thing in his messed up life, it would be agreeing to help her.

“Update me on your plan.” Her voice flowed smoothly, almost sensually. “You do have one don’t you? Or have you forgotten why you’re still in Darlington?”

Rage bubbled just beneath the surface of his skin. A little more heat and his resentment would break open, but the only one to wear the scars would be him. “We need to talk.”

“Go ahead and talk.” The sound of ice tinkling against glass filtered through the phone. She must be drinking again. Great. There was no reasoning with her when she was drunk, which seemed to be most of the time.

“Lillian isn’t like what we thought.”

Raucous laughter jarred his ear. Gone was the attempt to be coy. Now the real woman emerged: a drugged-out, drunken has-been holding all the cards. A hungry barracuda anxious to feed. “You’re going soft on me. You never did have any backbone.”

“Listen, she doesn’t deserve to die.” He knew his words would mean nothing, but he had to say them. He had to tell her they were making a mistake.

Something pounded on a hard surface, either her glass or her fist. Her voice screamed through the phone. “She killed my husband. And she killed my daughter, your wife, in case you have forgotten her.”

Blood ran hot through his fists. His hands quivered in rage. Good thing she was in Cleveland or he would choke her to death—just as her husband had taught him. “How dare you think I would forget my wife or my child? Where were you when I buried them, one at a time? You didn’t even have the decency to show up even once.” She didn’t want anything to do with him then, but oh, now…now that she needed someone to do her dirty work, now she needed him. Her raspy breaths carried as though she were standing beside him. His skin prickled.

“So what will you do about the woman responsible for their deaths?”

“Lillian is not responsible.” His heart hammered against his ribs. The ache of defeat tried to swallow him. No matter the outcome, he would lose.

“You can think what you want, but I still hold you to your promise. My fingers can send this file to the police anytime I want.” She laughed. “Ah, the wonders of the digital world. Instant send.”

He knew the contents of the file; it would land him in prison for life. Even get him a death sentence. Death didn’t sound all that bad right now, but even his death would not save Lillian.

“You have three days.” Her words hissed like a cobra preparing to strike.

The line went dead.

The sickle of death swung toward his throat. Three days. He threw the phone against the far wall where it broke into pieces.

~*~

Bill stood beside Lillian, both of their shoulders sagging with exhaustion.

The blankets had been removed from the glass doors, the floor scrubbed, and the soiled towels and blankets put to wash. The couch cushions now lay outside, the only remaining testimony of what had taken place.

“I need to thank you for what you did.” Bill knew words failed to portray what he wanted to express. For the past hour, he had tried to thank her. If she had wanted to cause harm, today had been the perfect opportunity. After all, what did she know about birthing babies? He scratched the top of his head. Kind and loving, a believer in God, yet gripped by the icy hand of death. God, what are You trying to share with me?

Lillian stared up at him, and for the first time she didn’t avert her eyes.

He waited. If there was one thing Trina had taught him, it was not to push.

Tears dribbled down her face and she brushed them away with her hand. “Who are you, Bill Iver?” she murmured.

He had been asked that question before, by Sandra.

She continued to stare at him, her expression a mixture of pain and hope. “I’m not a danger to you or to your family.” She turned from him. “It’s just that…there is something I need to share with you, but not now.”

He wanted to probe for more, but she would talk when ready.

Somewhere a chain saw sounded. That log that had fallen in the front yard would need to be cut up. Amazing it hadn’t hit the house. A car drove by; pools of water arched from the tires. Soon natural darkness would replace the lingering gray from the storm.

“You haven’t heard from Sandra, have you?” He wanted to tell her about the baby.

Lillian covered her mouth with a hand. “I forgot about Sandra!”

He pulled the cell phone from his pocket and dialed. Good, he could be the one to tell her. Intermittent buzzing, and then the phone rolled to voice mail. He disconnected and stared. Something had happened.

Tension ate the back of his neck. Maybe she had gone outside. No need to invent more trouble. “I’m heading over to Sandra’s. Want to come along?” He wanted to drag the words back as soon as he said them. As regret soured in his mouth, he remembered the saying that it’s better to have an enemy at your side. He stomped out the back door, Lillian following.

In the backyard, Bill growled. “Ted parked my car in.” The space between his back bumper and Ted’s front end couldn’t be more than three inches. Streams of frustration hissed from his nose. Now they would have to walk. Urgency tugged. He needed to get to Sandra’s.

“We can take my car.” Lillian ran into the house and quickly returned, dangling car keys from her hand.

“I’ll drive.” He grabbed the keys from her hand.