I run down the hospital hall like a lopsided penguin but I can’t get to TB fast enough. I enter his room to find Sebastian off to the side, arms wrapped around his middle, while a doctor and nurse huddle over TB’s bed.
“He’s my husband,” I exclaim as I squeeze in between and reach his side, my fearful voice scaring me as much as everyone else in the room.
I have no idea what to expect. Sebastian had told me that TB’s truck hit a bad patch of road a couple of miles outside Emma’s Cove and tumbled down a ravine. The impact totaled the truck but TB never lost consciousness, was clear-headed enough to call Sebastian who immediately dialed 911, then me.
“It can’t be that bad,” Sebastian told me on the phone as Maribelle and I rushed into Lightning Bug. “He called me first, expecting me to drive over and get him. But I called an ambulance anyway.”
TB lights up when he sees my face, but my blood pressure soars when I see his. There’s a large bandage around his head and both eyes remind me of the makeup LSU frat boys wear on game days, a dark shade of purple.
“Hey Babe,” he says, trying to smile but the cut on his lip makes him grimace.
I take his hand and examine him like a mother, checking arms, chest, peering under the blanket.
“He suffered a head wound,” the doctor says, “but otherwise he’s fine.”
“Air bag saved me,” TB mutters.
“That’s where he got the black eyes. We think he hit his head on the truck window when it flipped over.”
That panic friend returns. “Flipped over?”
“It was long ride down,” TB says with a slur and I realized my husband’s drunk with drugs.
“We’ll keep him overnight for observation for the concussion but otherwise he’s a very lucky man.”
Lucky? In the last few years we’ve lost a daughter, our house and city to an overgrown hurricane, and now we have a lunatic on our heels threatening to kill us. My breathing intensifies and I feel the nurse to my right gently pushing me into a chair that she’s pulled up next to the bed. I’m starting to see stars again but I hear Sebastian on my other side telling me to relax, all is well.
“But it’s not well,” I manage through my ragged breathing. “It’s never going to be well.”
“Is she okay?” the nurse says over my head.
I feel Sebastian squeeze my shoulder and the two begin a conversation but it all blends into the haze.
“Vi,” a voice whispers.
I look over and TB’s trying to rise on his elbows, studying me intently. “What’s wrong? I’m worried about you.”
I let out the breath I’m holding and laugh, think back on the years since TB and I met at LSU, how I chalked up our relationship only to sex, our marriage because of Lillye. Right now, witnessing the care in his eyes, his unconditional support and love, I can’t imagine a moment without this sweet person in my life.
I lean my head onto the bed, feel his chest beneath the blankets, and start to cry. TB’s hand strokes my hair.
“It’s okay, Vi. I’m fine.”
But it’s not okay. I did this. I failed to take Dwayne seriously, thought he was gone for good, and now the son of Lucifer’s playing his cards.
I lay there forever, comforted by the rhythm of TB’s chest, his hand petting my hair, the soft voices above me discussing TB’s care. I wonder where Maribelle wandered off to, what caused TB’s truck to roll off the road. I think back to our lesson in the Chattanooga shop. Find my balance. Don’t let fear push me off center. Right now, with my breathing still labored, I can’t imagine pushing fear aside and facing Dwayne. All I can think about is packing up the houseboat and getting the hell out of town, giving up the ghost forever.
When TB’s hand goes still, I realize my husband’s drugs are doing their job. I look up to find him fast asleep.
Sebastian tugs at my sleeve. “Let’s go get a coffee.”
I shake my head, not wanting to leave TB’s side.
“He’s out for at least a few hours. Nurse said so.”
I stand up but I’m not leaving. I might resemble the Karate Kid before he learned to stand on that pole like a bird in flight but I’m determined to face whatever or whomever tries to hurt my family.
“I’m not leaving him alone,” I tell Sebastian.
My brother nods toward the hallway where Clayton’s enormous outline fills the threshold. He’s standing with his back to us, hands firmly planted on his hips. Over his shoulder, I spot Maribelle’s face, angry and frustrated, as the two engage in a heated, although quiet discussion.
“What’s going on?”
Sebastian sighs and looks at his feet. “I don’t know. Maribelle won’t tell me. But Clayton assured me he or another agent would be here until we got back from the cafeteria.”
We head out, careful to step around the two gazing at each other like foaming mouth pit bulls. When we hit the cafeteria, we both exhale.
“What the hell?”
“Something Clayton found out about Maribelle, something to do with Maine. She’s royally pissed.”
That old fear returns, causing a rush of shivers through me.
“She didn’t kill her husband,” Sebastian insists emphatically, as if he reads my mind.
I think back on that old Shakespeare saying — our mom’s one of the world’s foremost Shakespeare scholars so these things are branded into our brains. When I would argue something of dubious worth that I knew was wrong, my mom would quote from Hamlet, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
“Has your love of Maribelle clouded your thinking?” I ask softly.
He huffs and shakes his head, turns toward the coffee carafes.
“I care for her, too, Sebastian, but maybe we’re not thinking clearly here.”
Sebastian pours himself a coffee while I choose a decaf loaded down with milk. A painful silence falls and he’s avoiding my eyes, silently angry, but I can’t help wondering if he’s thinking the same thing. We pick a table away from the crowds, mainly two nurses huddled over sandwiches while badmouthing a boss, and a doctor chatting on a cell. Neither of us says a word until finally Sebastian breaks the silence.
“She’s under a lot of stress right now.”
“About Jack?”
Sebastian shakes his head, plays with the salt and pepper shakers on the table that, I realize, are bright orange and sport the University of Tennessee logos with the word “Volunteers” blazoned across.
“There’s a group of investors wanting to buy the property next to the motel,” Sebastian tells me. “They want to turn it into a resort, the kind with zip lines, spas and motor boats. Mare is freaking out about it.”
Mare?
“She took out a loan for the herb shop and the renovations of the buildings so she doesn’t have the money to hire a lawyer and fight this.”
I lean forward. “Fight what? It’s her land.”
Sebastian finally looks up and meets my gaze. “These men are ruthless, Vi. And the thing with Jack? If Clayton finds evidence they think links her to his death, and they arrest her again, it could unravel everything.” He turns the pepper around and around. “And I mean everything.”
I could argue that Mare might be guilty and worthy of arrest, could inquire if Sebastian’s money is tied to hers and therefore subject to his unraveling. But I’m of like mind, don’t want to think worst of my friend and neighbor. Even if that gnawing suspicion sits in my belly, punching me in the gut.
Or maybe that’s a tiny foot. I shift in my seat trying to get comfortable now that the twins are up and moving.
“You okay?” Sebastian asks.
“August can’t get here fast enough. I think there’s a hand inside my rib cage playing with my liver.”
“Your liver isn’t inside your rib cage.”
“Uh, it kinda is.”
“Whatever.’
I take his hands and push those god-awful orange shakers aside. What the hell are “Volunteers” anyway? I’ve always wondered. And just what does a Volunteer mascot do? Come on to the football field and sign up for something?
“Vi.”
Sebastian brings back my wandering brain. How did he not become as ADHD addled as I am?
“I have to do something tomorrow, Sebastian. Once we get TB home and settled, do you think you could watch him while I go to work?”
“I thought you were off on Wednesdays.”
“I am but there’s something I need to do, something important.”
Sebastian shrugs. “Sure.”
“I made a protection circle around the houseboat and so far, I think it’s worked well. Aunt Mimi taught me so I’m confident it’s done right.”
Sebastian squeezes my hands. “There’s no wrong or right way, Vi. You need to believe in yourself and your abilities.”
Tears rush up so fast they choke me. “Like keeping TB safe?”
“You didn’t cause this.”
“Didn’t I?”
I remove my hands from his, turn away, and take a large gulp of coffee but it doesn’t relieve the lump in my throat. I hear Sebastian call my name but the world turns blurry. Finally, I feel a finger at my chin and Sebastian turns my gaze back to his, wiping the tears that have fallen on my cheeks.
“This wasn’t an accident, Vi. Someone messed with TB’s truck and he never saw it coming. There was nothing anyone could do to stop him from rolling down that ravine.”
“But Dwayne said he would harm him, Sebastian. He warned me.”
“There’s more to this than Dwayne.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re being attacked on all sides, Vi. Can’t you feel it? Dwayne’s at the center of it all but he’s only part of the problem. Something’s brewing and it’s only going to get worse.”
“Like what?”
Sebastian shakes his head looking down at what’s left of his coffee. “I don’t know, Vi. Maybe Dwayne’s talking to the developers, maybe he’s stirring up trouble in town.”
I think back on the bank lender who may have told Dwayne where we would be today.
“Wouldn’t Clayton know if Dwayne was around, if he was influencing people?”
Sebastian’s eyes turn dark. “If he’s looking in the right place. He seems dead set on putting Maribelle in jail.”
History repeating itself? I wonder, thinking of those angry men jealous of the Cove’s success, storming Emma’s homestead and killing Caroline. What evidence does Clayton have? And will it unravel us all, as Sebastian predicts?
“Thanks for the inspiring talk,” I whisper.
Sebastian attempts a smile but fails. “We have to be vigilant and we have to be fearless.”
I think back on Maribelle’s lesson, given an opportune time after witnessing Dwayne’s little altar at the rear of the store. I rub the back of my neck wondering about the coincidences when my twin makes a comment that sends shivers through me, no doubt my twins feeling every one.
“There are no coincidences, Vi.”
I believe that, I truly do, but what if Dwayne isn’t involved and Maribelle planted the altar and harmed TB to distract the FBI and the men trying to purchase her land? Dwayne would be the perfect diversion from a murder investigation, allowing Maribelle to remain free to fight off the resort and finish her herb shop.
But if that’s the case, a murderer is shagging my twin brother.
We finish our coffee and return to TB’s room where an agent is standing watch at the door. I look for Clayton but Agent Sheridan — it’s on his lanyard — informs us the boss has retired for the evening and will visit again tomorrow. I spend the night in TB’s room while Sebastian leaves to check on Maribelle and our houseboat.
“Be careful,” I practically yell as he leaves the room.
There’s a pull-out sofa by the window so I make myself comfortable, which is a relative term. Nothing is comfy these days due to the enormous belly protruding from my middle, but I make the best of it.
TB wakes at the crack of dawn, complaining that his head might split open, but still all smiles. The man amazes me. The nurse gives him a thorough going-over and more drugs — this time the pill form — and we’re released, required to exit the hospital by wheelchair. Where I would balk at being wheeled to my car like an invalid, TB enjoys the ride, waving to the little kids in the waiting room like a float rider at Mardi Gras. Everyone laughs but me, the worries of the world still firmly planted on my shoulders.
Plus, I have to visit the bathroom for the tenth time this morning.
Sebastian’s waiting for us at the exit and we pile into his Toyota, Michael gazing down from the dash toward his heir in the passenger seat, his angelic foot still firmly planted on the dragon, sword held high in his outstretched hand.
“I’m sorry about the truck,” TB tells me as I lock his seatbelt into place.
“What? Who cares about the truck?”
For the first time this morning, his smile fades. “I do. That was my first truck, saved for years and bought it when I graduated high school.”
I gaze into his French chocolate eyes and wonder if he realizes what happened here.
“You could have died, sweetheart. The truck doesn’t matter.”
There are times in winter when the sun shines brightly on your face and it warms your soul, but then a cloud passes over and chills invade. That’s how I feel looking at my husband who’s now realizing he lost control of his beloved truck. My angelic husband who routinely sees trouble coming and works to save those in its path.
I place my check close to his and whisper, “It’s okay, my love. We’ll figure it out.”
We drive back to Emma’s Cove in silence, TB’s cheerful attitude long gone. Sebastian notices and glances at me through the rearview mirror. I shrug from the back seat but I know what TB’s thinking, that somehow he missed the danger, like when he had failed to sense Dwayne at the train station. He’s failing to conquer the dragon.
We pull up to the houseboat and get settled inside after a careful search of the place, Sebastian insisting we wait in the car until he determines the coast is clear. It is, my protection circle working — that or Dwayne isn’t chancing visiting our home. Once inside, we settle TB on the couch with a soft pillow while Sebastian cooks up breakfast. Stinky immediately jumps into TB’s lap, smelling him up, checking him out. My psychic cat turns to me as if I have the answers.
“Not yet,” I say. “But I’m working on it.”
“Working on what?” TB asks.
I smile. “Nothing.”
There it is again, that haunted look. I sit next to TB on the couch and do my mommy thing again, check him out all over.
“I didn’t see it coming,” he whispers to me as I’m examining his arms for bruises.
I sigh, try to diffuse the topic. “I know, sweetheart. You were probably worried about your upcoming math test.”
He shakes his head. “My brain is muddled, Vi. It’s been that way for a while.”
I pull the couch blanket over his lap, even though it’s warm outside, and Stinky immediately starts kneading the material, purring like an engine.
“College will do that to you,” I say, trying to keep the subject in one direction.
The smile’s not returning, so unlike my happy-go-lucky man. “You don’t understand, Vi. I can’t feel anything.”
I look him over with alarm. Did the doctor miss something?
He leans forward and runs a hand through his thick blond hair. “No, not like that. I can’t feel danger coming.” He looks at me to make sure I understand. “It’s like there’s a fog inside my brain.”
I’m seriously worried but I don’t want it leaking out into my countenance.
“You’ve been working really hard at school. The whole reason we moved here was for you to do an accelerated program so you could graduate in nine months. That’s hard for anyone and you especially, since you were out of college for all those years we had….”
I look away, wonder for the ten millionth time when speaking her name won’t cause me such pain. TB leans forward, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
“That’s just it, Vi. I’m worried sick about you, the babies. What if…?”
I shake my head. “Don’t go there.”
“I can’t help it. I’m telling you this fog, this worry has taken over. I can’t sleep at night, I can’t concentrate.”
“It’s natural, sweetheart. We lost a child. How do we stop worrying about the health of our kids? Don’t you think I’m feeling the same? But the ultrasounds have been normal and the two of them are kicking the hell out of my insides.”
I send him a warm smile and he absorbs it. Sort of. I still see the confusion brewing behind his eyes.
And I can’t stop recalling what Maribelle said the day before, that a sense of paranoia has taking over the people of Emma’s Cove.
We enjoy Sebastian’s breakfast spread that includes farm eggs from a neighbor, homemade biscuits, and strawberry jam Maribelle created the summer before. I’m constantly amazed at how Sebastian produces meals from the freshest ingredients found locally and “Mare’s” genius with plants.
TB turns sleepy, lies down on the couch and falls into a deep slumber while watching This Old House on PBS. I look at Sebastian who nods toward the door. Without another word, I slip away, take his Toyota into town to the newsroom of the Lightning Bug Chronicle.
It’s heading toward ten a.m. so the morning budget meeting’s in progress. The section editors, a few reporters, and the managing editor pile into a tight meeting room and discuss what’s brewing in the news and where these stories might be placed in print. They’ll do it again at three, when stories are more developed, and that’s when the front page gets finalized.
I wait outside until I hear chairs being pushed aside. Finally, the door opens and Olivia Bradley emerges, her arms full of newspapers and the initial story budget.
“Hey Vi,” the managing editor tells me as she sizes up my large belly. “You must be due any day now.”
“I wish. Another month.”
“You’re kidding,” my skinny boss exclaims, which makes me cringe.
“Yeah.” I place a hand at my lower back which is killing me today. “Can’t arrive fast enough.”
“Don’t push it. You’ll have twins to take care of. That can’t be much fun.”
Funny how when you’re pregnant people say the most encouraging things.
“Pick out names yet?”
“Not yet.” TB and I have been going round and round trying to whittle down the field.
“Olivia’s a great name.” Then my editor bursts into laughter.
I smile and slip behind her and into the meeting room, quickly close the door. The other editors pause in their socializing and look my way.
“I need all y’all’s help.”
Carol looks past me to the closed door. “Why the secret?”
“It’s a favor and it’s not Chronicle business, although it could be a very big story if we discover something.”
I’m waiting for someone to object, some conscientious person to remind the group they don’t work for me, they answer to Olivia, but the mention of a big story ignites the room. I seize the moment and explain Jack’s unsolved murder, the strange deaths of Maribelle’s parents, and a group of investors looking to place a modern resort at the edge of Emma’s Cove. I also mention Sebastian and Maribelle’s new businesses, so everyone knows I have a personal part to play.
“And my husband’s truck went off the road yesterday,” I add, trying to keep the catch from my throat. “I don’t think it was an accident.”
“Why would you say that?” Carol asks.
I shake my head because I have no evidence to prove foul play but I offer a few theories. I don’t mention Dwayne’s name but I do explain how a man tried to kill me in Natchez and has been on the run ever since, threatened my family earlier this year.
“The FBI’s looking into that but I’d like to know what’s going on in town, what happened to Jack, who these developers are and what, if any, this has to do with me and my brother’s new business.”
“What do you need?” Carol asks.
The room becomes a symphony of suggestions. Nellie Ridley, who covers the cops beat, will call Maribelle’s hometown and see if she can obtain police reports. She will do the same locally about Jack’s murder and TB’s accident from the night before. The business editor, a stout balding man in his fifties named Morgan Culotta, will dig into the group looking to develop Emma’s Cove, do a title search on Maribelle’s properties.
“I’ll use the newspaper archives to see what I can find on Maribelle’s parents,” I add.
“Those are at the library,” Carol tells me. “Talk to Camille Smith over there. She can help you.”
I smile gratefully at my tribe, feeling like the day TB and I were rescued from our roof after Hurricane Katrina. The National Guard pulled us into a helicopter and then landed on the nearby elevated interstate where we were immediately surrounded by first responders, each one offering water, food, medical attention.
“Thank you,” I tell my friends. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Or belly as it were.”
The business editor laughs. “Thank you. This might be a great story.”
The door opens and Olivia sticks her head in. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” Carol says with a big smile. “We’re planning the Fourth of July potluck.”
Olivia brightens. She might be a hard-nose editor but she adores free food in the newsroom. “Ooh, do bring your deviled eggs.”
“You bet,” Carol says, and it’s all we can do not to laugh.
I waddle through Lightning Bug’s streets towards the library but I have another person to contact. My sister Portia answers on the second ring.
“Is the baby coming?”
“Four more weeks.”
“Oh darn. I was hoping to get a vacation.”
“You can still do that. In fact, I wish you would.”
I’m trying to be funny in a serious way, but what emerges sound nervous and scared. Portia doesn’t miss a thing.
“Why? What’s the matter?”
I explain the accident but insist TB’s fine, resting at home with Sebastian.
“Where are you?”
“In town. That’s why I’m calling. I need your help.”
Portia and I have never been close, have butted heads our entire lives, but we’ve reached a truce since taking a long road trip through Texas last fall. In fact, things have improved so much we actually call each other now and catch up. She still doesn’t know the extent of my ghostly and witchy talents, nor that TB’s a descendant. Or that Dwayne tried to kill me in Natchez and is at it again.
Maybe we still aren’t that close. But, that’s all about to change now.
“Portia, there’s something I need to tell you,” I begin, pausing in front of the library. “I can do it now or in person. I think being here and sitting down might be preferable.”
There’s a heavy pause on the other end.
“It’s a long story and Sebastian’s involved,” I add. “And we need a good lawyer.”
Finally, I hear her exhale. “I’m on the next plane, but at least give me some information.”
I take a deep breath and begin. “There’s a man I met on a previous press trip who’s dangerous. He attempted to kill me then and may want to try again. The FBI’s involved but it’s possible he could have been the reason TB had the accident. Our neighbor, who Sebastian is in love with, is a suspect in the murder of her husband last year, and we’re not sure she’s innocent but we hope she is. But if she goes down, Sebastian may lose the restaurant. There’s also a weird history in Emma’s Cove and a group of developers may be conspiring to run Maribelle off her land.”
Another pregnant pause, and yes, I’m using that metaphor again.
“Is that enough?” I ask. “We can get into details when….”
Finally, she laughs. “Is that it? Sheesh, Vi, why don’t you call when you have a serious problem?”
Did my stalwart sister, nicknamed Jackie McCoy by her colleagues in a nod toward Law and Order, just offer sarcasm? I’m so shocked I have nothing to say.
“I’ll make flight arrangements now.”
Family. So crazy, so infuriating. And yet, so reliable when you need them the most.
“Thank you, Portia. I know it sounds insane.”
“If you’re involved, it’s always insane.”
True dat. “Sorry.”
“Just stay safe.”
“Will do.”
“Keep the FBI close.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“And don’t tell Mom.”
And with those final words, my sister hangs up.
I enter the public library and ask for Camille, find my helpful friend alone in the genealogy room restocking books.
“More research?” she asks with a smile.
“Actually, I need to check old newspaper articles.”
“You know where those are located. Help yourself.”
“From Maine.”
Camille stops mid-reach, looks around the room, then discreetly closes the door. “What’s the big deal about Maine?”
“What do you mean?”
“There were three men in here this week doing the same research.”
It’s hot in this stuffy back room but I shiver. “What men?”
Camille shrugs. “Guys in suits.”
“Did they give their names?”
Camille thinks for a moment. “Not to me, but to use the library resources without a local library card they would have had to sign in at the reference desk.” She gives me a wary gaze. “What’s going on?”
I look around the stacks, even though I’m sure we’re alone, then pull Camille toward the back of the room.
“Some people are trying to get Maribelle Greene’s land, the property next to her hotel. They want to build some fancy resort there.”
Camille crosses her arms about her chest. “Those gorgeous old-growth woods?”
I nod.
“But what’s that got to do with Maine?”
A family walks by the room, the kids talking animatedly about the story time they enjoyed. I wait for their voices to die away.
“Maribelle’s parents lived in Maine. They were found dead and ruled a suicide.”
Camille utters a sentence in Spanish and performs the sign of the cross.
“I’m wondering if these men are looking for ways to tie Maribelle to the crime, compromise her finances fighting the charges and snatch that land.”
“Or find a way that proves she doesn’t own it to begin with.”
I step back in surprise. “What?”
“You didn’t find that in the folders I gave you on Emma’s Cove? That once Emma Harrington became successful, the timber company tried to lay claim to the land?”
I think back on that newspaper article about litigation. “I did, but there was nothing else about it so I figured it was thrown out of court.”
Camille smiles sadly. “Nothing rich corporations do gets thrown out of court that easily. They sue and hope you won’t have the money to fight them and give up. But they underestimated Emma. She had support from her own rich friends in New York City. They took on her case and won.”
Good for you, Emma.
“You think that’s what these developers might do to Maribelle?”
The light that routinely shines in Camille’s eyes fades. “I think that when powerful men want something, they will do anything they can to get it.”
We’ve never discussed Camille’s background, where she came from, why she moved to Emma’s Cove and then Lightning Bug and changed her name. I’ve always assumed there was a violent husband or boyfriend in her past, possibly someone who took her to court or vice versa. But she doesn’t have to explain for me to feel the pain emanating from those eyes. I touch her arm and she acknowledges me with gratitude.
“You access the newspaper database through our computers,” Camille explains. “I can show you how to do that on your own computer at home, but discretion is called for.”
“That would be awesome.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” she states firmly. “Library rules say everyone must do this in-house and I could get in big trouble.”
I slide a hand across my lips pantomiming a zipper.
We head toward the reference desk and I wait on the other side while she writes me instructions. She passes me the information, then holds up a finger. While I slip the paper into my purse, Camille examines the sign-in sheet from the past week.
“Here it is,” she says, then straightens as if a lightning bolt cascaded down her back.
“What is it?”
She leans across the desk, silently checking for anyone within earshot.
“Those three men,” she whispers. “They were from Clark-Everhart.”
“The timber company?”
She nods her head. “They’re a major corporation now and have several divisions. One is a hotel chain.”
I lean back, absorbing this news. “Any names?”
She glances back at the sheet and frowns. “Three. One is Dr. Patrick Touché.”
“Shit.” The word emerges before I have time to check myself. “Sorry. But he’s the man who stripped Maribelle of her midwifery license.”
She shakes her head at the other names. “Gunnar Bronagh.”
“What a weird name.” Reminds me of a Masterpiece Theatre mystery series. “But it doesn’t ring a bell.”
Camille tilts her head and her eyes narrow. “I don’t know this one, although it sounds familiar.”
“Who is it?”
“Robert Johnson.”