Chapter Twenty

When I arrived home from work on Monday, I walked in on an intervention.

From the central hallway, voices rose and overlapped. I recognized them immediately—the primary speakers were Zelda and Walt, with a few interjections from Aunt Lydia.

“I just want you to be on my side, at least in public,” Zelda was saying as I walked by the open door to the sitting room. “Amy, dear. Wait. We need you to help settle this.”

I sighed and dropped my keys into the ceramic bowl on the hall side table. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask at this moment,” I said, hanging my jacket on the coatrack. “The patrons stomped on my last nerve at the library today.”

“Oh, fiddle.” Zelda appeared in the doorway and motioned me into the sitting room. “All I want is an honest answer to one question.”

I glanced at Walt’s stony face before catching Aunt Lydia’s eye. “Okay, but I retain the right to refuse to answer if I think it might incriminate me.”

“Nonsense.” Zelda bustled over to the center of the room. “Sit, sit. I’m sure you’ve been on your feet enough for one day.”

I sank down onto the sofa, mentally calculating just how diplomatic I’d have to be to get out of this situation without antagonizing at least two people.

Aunt Lydia, seated in her favorite armchair, cast me a sympathetic smile, while Walt, standing next to one of the built-in bookcases, stared fixedly over my head as if mesmerized by the painting that hung behind the sofa.

“You see, Lydia invited us here.” Zelda perched on the padded arm of the room’s other upholstered chair. “Separately, I might add. It was quite an underhanded move to pull on old friends.”

“It’s because you’re both my friends that I wanted to bring you together. You needed to hash things out,” my aunt said, her tone mild as butter. “You’ve been spatting too long over nothing as it is.”

“Nothing? You call Walt not having my back when that weasel Blackstone was smearing poor, dear Sunny, nothing?” Zelda swung her legs, which were so short they didn’t touch the floor, banging her heels into the suede fabric of her chair.

“I call it foolish, and if you don’t mind, I’d prefer that you don’t punch a hole in my armchair with those spiky heels.”

Zelda stilled her legs and threw my aunt a sharp glance. “You weren’t there, so how can you know what really happened? But Amy was. You tell her, Amy. Tell her how Walt threw me to the wolves.” Zelda’s rosebud lips puckered into a pout.

I lifted my hands. “I don’t know. I can see both sides of this.”

Walt snapped his gaze from me to Zelda. “See. It’s not as cut-and-dried as you think, Zel.”

“I just mean that I can understand why Walt isn’t quite ready to absolve Carol and P.J. Fields of all involvement in his cousin’s death.” I held up one finger as Zelda opened her mouth. “Let me finish, please. It’s not that I think they were responsible for his death, but perhaps they do know more than they’re telling. I honestly think they may be harboring some secret.”

“What secret might that be?” Zelda asked with a toss of her crisp curls.

“I’m not sure. But knowing P.J. and Carol, I can imagine them covering up an accidental death if they thought they were protecting a friend or the commune.” I tipped my head and stared directly at Zelda. “Can’t you?”

“I suppose.” Zelda slid down off the chair, teetering slightly on her high heels. “But I don’t like the mayor using this tragedy—and yes, I do consider it a tragedy,” she said, with a swift look at Walt, “to further his own interests.”

Walt’s expression softened. “We can agree on that point, at least.”

“Of course it’s a tragedy,” Aunt Lydia said. “But what’s even worse is how it’s driven a wedge between you two.” She rose gracefully to her feet. “Which is why you’re both here—to work things out instead of sulking in separate corners. And I intend to keep you here until you come to some sort of understanding.”

“Keep us here? How do you plan to do that?” Walt strode forward, towering over my slender aunt.

Aunt Lydia lifted her chin and met his gaze with a steely stare. “By appealing to your friendship. If not with one another, with me.”

Walt, looking abashed, stepped back. “Sorry,” he said, after clearing his throat. “I guess, to be perfectly honest, I’ve always been more affected by Jeremy’s disappearance than I ever let on.”

“That’s perfectly understandable.” Aunt Lydia motioned toward the armchair where Zelda had been perched. “Why don’t you have a seat, Walt. No sense standing on ceremony.”

Zelda, settling down beside me on the sofa, clasped her plump hands together in her lap. “I guess I didn’t realize it was such a big issue with you, Walt. You never talked about Jeremy that much after he disappeared.”

Walt slumped into the armchair. “I wasn’t allowed to.”

“What do you mean?” Zelda asked, her tone softening.

“My family discouraged any talk about Jeremy. I suppose they must’ve felt betrayed by him as well as concerned. And then there was the worry about the sheriff’s office and other legal authorities investigating our family. Related to finding Jeremy, they said, but you have to understand—we were one of the only African-American families in Taylorsford in the sixties.” Walt shared a glance with Aunt Lydia, who nodded.

“I remember how it was,” she said. “The sheriff’s department had only white officers back then.”

“Yes, and many of them weren’t too keen on investigating the disappearance of some black kid who’d lived on a hippie commune. We had to be cautious, too, because we knew that Jeremy did do some drugs. Of course, I had no idea the extent of his involvement in that scene. I guess my aunt and my parents might’ve known a lot more, and maybe that’s why they didn’t force the investigators to dig deeper.” Walt frowned. “Strange, it never really occurred to me before, but I imagine they didn’t want to implicate Jeremy in any major drug activity, because they hoped he’d come home safe and sound one day.”

“You mean they didn’t want to push too hard on the investigation because they were worried that if he’d fled due to threats from drug dealers, he’d be arrested when he returned?” I asked, saddened by the realization that Jeremy wouldn’t have been likely to receive justice even if his murder had been discovered much sooner.

“Yes, I imagine so.” Walt tapped one finger against his chin. “It wasn’t like we were always treated with the greatest courtesy by the deputies, either. I got the feeling they were suspicious of our statements and were asking questions that even I, as a kid, felt were more like fishing for something to pin on other members of my family than intended to gather any leads on Jeremy’s whereabouts. So we all finally just shut up.” He sighed. “Which is what they wanted, I guess. Anyway, when we never heard anything more, it was like my family didn’t want to even acknowledge Jeremy’s existence. Which also meant that even though I was hurting”—Walt’s dark eyes glistened with unshed tears—“I couldn’t say anything. Not without a reprimand.”

“I didn’t know.” Tears welled up in Zelda’s light-brown eyes. “You’ve never shared that with me.”

Walt roughly brushed the dampness from his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I was trained not to. Even though Jeremy was like an older brother to me, I was supposed to forget him and not care anymore. When I even mentioned his name, my mother would shush me, saying it pained my aunt too much. So I just bottled it all up.”

Aunt Lydia nodded. “But you never stopped wondering what happened. And when you found out that he was killed, you wanted justice.”

Walt nodded before pulling a tissue from his pocket and blowing his nose.

“Oh, poor lamb,” Zelda said. “I can just picture you as a little boy having to deal with such a thing.” She bounced up off the sofa and tapped her way across the room to reach Walt’s chair. “I’m so sorry. I can see I’ve been too quick to accuse you of being mean-spirited, dear.”

He looked up at her, his expression brightening. “And I’ve been too judgmental. I should give Carol and P.J. Fields the benefit of the doubt. It’s what I’d want someone to do for me, after all.”

When Zelda bounced onto his lap, he made a grunting sound. But both of them were smiling.

My aunt rested her hand on the back of her chair and shared an amused glance with me. “So now perhaps we can enjoy some coffee and dessert? What do you say? I made a lemon pound cake just yesterday.”

“Sounds lovely,” Zelda said, before leaning in to give Walt a peck on the cheek.

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” Walt agreed, tightening his arms around Zelda’s waist.

“Let me go and put that together. No, no, you two stay here. Amy can help me, can’t you, Amy?”

“Sure,” I said, as my aunt breezed past me and headed into the hall. I jumped to my feet and followed her, while Walt and Zelda continued to intersperse endearments with kisses.

“Good work there, Mrs. Talbot,” I said, following her into the kitchen.

Aunt Lydia patted her smooth cap of white hair, a little grin tugging at her lips. “I have some skills. And I can be rather clever sometimes, you know.”

I smiled back at her. “All the time, I’d say.”

*   *   *

After assisting Aunt Lydia with cutting the cake, I excused myself, telling her I wanted to head outside. “I thought I’d take a little stroll through the backyard before it gets too dark,” I said as I left the kitchen.

Twilight had already dulled the color of the flowers and thickened the shadows in the woods behind the garden. As I walked the white pea-gravel paths, I considered the possibility of using the garden as a backdrop for some wedding photos. We could certainly stop by the house to take a few pictures, regardless of where we held the ceremony. Even Fiona would approve of that.

Absentmindedly spinning my engagement ring around my finger, I strolled past the back edge of the yard and onto the path into the woods. The path, just a beaten track bordered by arching vines and undergrowth, led me to an old wooden arbor draped with wisteria vines.

Richard had proposed to me under the arbor, back in early May. The wisteria had been blooming then, its curling vines dripping with blossoms as purple as amethysts. I smiled, recalling that evening, and thinking that if we timed it right, we might even be able to have some photos taken when the wisteria bloomed again.

Lost in my examination of the arbor, I didn’t even flinch when something whistled past my ear. But at the crack of metal splintering wood, I jumped and spun around.

That was a bullet. My mind processed this information with detachment. Why was someone shooting in these woods? It wasn’t the right season, and Aunt Lydia didn’t allow hunting on her property …

Twigs crackled and snapped as someone moved through the woods. The shooter was drawing closer.

Close enough to see that I was no deer or other wild creature. Through a mosaic of leaves, I spied a flash of light bouncing off metal and a distinct circle that indicated a gun barrel.

I dropped to the ground, ignoring the sting of small stones stabbing my flattened palms. Another bullet whistled over my head.

Scrabbling through the undergrowth like a lizard, I crawled toward the edge of the woods. I had to reach the garden before my assailant reached me.

It doesn’t make sense, I thought, ignoring the sharp twigs piercing the knees of my light slacks and the vines whipping against my bare lower arms. The shooter had to have seen me. Which meant they weren’t simply a befuddled hunter, too quick to fire on anything that moved.

They’d meant to shoot me.

Reaching the point where a narrow strip of grass separated Aunt Lydia’s garden from the woods, I debated jumping to my feet. The shooter wasn’t an expert marksman or they would’ve already hit me, but if I stood up, I risked giving them a bigger target.

At that moment, shouts exploded from Aunt Lydia’s back-porch stoop.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Walt’s strong voice sailed across the garden, followed by Zelda’s shrieks of protest.

“No shooting allowed on my property!” my aunt yelled, her voice vibrating with anger. “Get out!”

A thump and crackle of boots ripping through the undergrowth echoed through the woods. Assuming the shooter was beating a retreat, I stood up. Swaying on legs that were weak as cooked noodles, I grabbed the closest tree trunk for support.

“Amy!” My aunt raced toward me, arms outstretched. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay. Physically, that is.” As I brushed the leaf meal from my clothes, I noticed that my hands and arms were bleeding from a web of scratches.

“Hang on, I’m coming,” Walt said, striding down the path to meet us. “Here, lean on me, Amy. And maybe you too, Lydia,” he added, giving my aunt a swift glance.

“I’m fine,” my aunt said, through trembling lips. “The authorities …”

“Zel’s calling them right now. Let’s get you both inside before we do anything else.”

With Walt’s lean arm wrapped around my shoulders, I slowly made my way to the house. “Didn’t see who it was,” I said as we climbed the back-porch steps to meet a waiting Zelda.

“Oh, my poor lamb! Whatever happened?”

I winced as Zelda grabbed my hands and pulled me over to the wicker fan-backed chair. “Going to bleed all over,” I muttered as I slumped down onto the rose-patterned cushions.

“That doesn’t matter,” my aunt said firmly. “What matters is that, except for some nicks and bruises, you seem to be okay.” She leaned over me and tipped up my chin. “Eyes look a little glazed, though. Better raise her feet while I get something to clean her up.” She scurried out of the room.

Galvanized by Aunt Lydia’s commands, Zelda grabbed some loose pillows from the glider while Walt dragged one of the tile-topped side tables across the cement floor of the porch. They set the table at my feet and balanced the cushions on top.

“Dang fool inexperienced hunters,” Walt said as he propped my feet on the pillows. “Probably some idiot who just bought a gun and never took any firearms training. The type that hunts out of season and fires at anything that moves.”

“Brad Tucker’s on his way, along with some other deputies,” Zelda said, as Aunt Lydia reappeared with a small bowl of water. A kitchen towel was draped over her arm.

“Unfortunately, the shooter will probably be long gone,” she said. “Now, stay still, Amy, and let me sponge off some of this dirt and grime.”

I twitched as she gently ran the damp cloth over my skin. “They must’ve thought I was someone else. Or maybe they were just drunk and shooting at random. I can’t imagine who’d want to take potshots at me.”

“Can’t you?” My aunt’s blue eyes were very bright under her pale eyelashes. “I thought maybe it could be connected to the help you’ve been giving the authorities recently. And all those visits to former Vista View commune members.”

She hadn’t been fooled. Of course not. My aunt was, as she’d said earlier, quite clever.

A lot smarter than me sometimes, I thought, grimacing as she scrubbed at the dirt embedded in my scratches. When she finished and stepped away, I lowered my feet to the floor.

Sirens wailed outside. “I’ll get the door,” Zelda said, trotting into the hall.

Her tapping steps were soon followed by the slam of the front door, voices mixed with two-way radio squawking, and the thud of heavy shoes thundering down the hallway.

“What happened?” Brad Tucker slid aside the small table in front of me before grabbing the nearby rocker and pulling it up in front of my chair.

“It was in the woods,” Walt said. “You might want to search …”

“I’ve already sent deputies out to investigate and establish a perimeter,” Brad said, his gaze fixed on my face. “I want to know what you saw, Amy.”

I pushed my tangled hair behind my ears with both hands. “Not much, I’m afraid. I heard a bullet whiz past me and hit the arbor, then turned and saw a gun barrel some distance off; then I hit the ground before whoever it was got another shot off.”

“A rifle, you think?”

“Yeah, that’s what it looked like, what little I saw. Long barrel poking out of the shrubbery.”

“Good girl.” Brad leaned in and enclosed my hands in his. His touch was surprisingly gentle. “Did they say anything?”

“No, nothing.”

“They didn’t call out your name?”

I shook my head. “No. You think it’s possible they didn’t know who I was?” I looked up at Brad hopefully. “I’d much rather the shooter be just some loose cannon, taking shots at anything that moved, rather than someone targeting me.”

He sighed. “Doubtful. I think they must’ve been watching and waiting before heading into the woods.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because we got a report from one of your neighbors across the street earlier—something about someone skulking about in their yard. I sent out a car, but the deputies couldn’t find anyone and left.” He shook his head. “Now I wonder if the intruder just gave my deputies the slip and hid in the woods behind your house.”

I slid my hands from his loose grip and crossed my arms over my chest, hugging my upper arms to still my trembling. “You think someone was specifically watching our house? Waiting to see if I’d go outside?”

“Maybe.” Brad sat back and studied my face. “Which means you need to be especially careful right now. I’m going to keep a patrol posted on your house tonight. We’ll make sure there’s a presence of deputies, just to let this shooter know they’re the one being watched now.”

“Thanks,” I said, as Deputy Coleman pushed open the back door.

“Anything?” Brad asked, standing to face the deputy.

Coleman shook his head. “No individuals anywhere in the area, but there was proof that someone was in the woods and took some shots. We gathered up all the casings and other evidence we could find. So at least we can analyze those.”

“There may be a bullet stuck in the arbor,” I said. “I heard wood splinter.”

“Yeah, we found that. Which means we can track the gun, or at least the specific type of rifle. Hopefully.” Deputy Coleman shared a glance with Brad. “We’ll keep searching until it gets too dark. See what else we might find.”

“Good. I want to view the scene, of course, so let’s head back to the woods and let Ms. Webber relax with her family and friends.” Brad tipped his hat to Aunt Lydia and the others. “I think we can wait until tomorrow for Amy to make a formal statement. We’ll keep a watch over the area, though, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Aunt Lydia said. “Just let us know if you need anything more.”

“Sure thing.” Brad turned to me. “Try not to worry too much. I’m sure we’ll track this perp down soon enough.” He gave me a little smile. “Judging by them taking shots at you in your own backyard, they don’t appear to be a mastermind.”

I mustered up a faint smile in return before he followed Deputy Coleman out the back door.

“Probably time we should be going,” Walt said.

Despite my scratches, which were stinging like a bad sunburn, I smiled. He and Zelda were standing close together, Walt’s arm draped around her shoulders. “We’ll be sure to keep you posted on any developments.”

“Please do,” Zelda said. “And you take care of yourself, poor lamb.”

“She will,” Aunt Lydia said firmly. “Once I see you off, I’m going to make sure of that.”

Zelda hurried over and gave me a kiss on the forehead as she and Walt said their goodbyes.

When Aunt Lydia returned after escorting her friends to the front door, she looked me over with a critical eye. “I think it’s time for a nice, hot bath. That and changing into some comfortable PJs will do you a world of good. No need to worry about dinner—you just relax in your bedroom and I’ll bring up something on a tray.”

“I’m not an invalid,” I said, biting back a yelp of pain as I pushed myself out of the chair and stood to face her.

“No, but you’ve had quite a shock.” My aunt linked her arm through mine. “It’s not every day that someone takes a shot at you. Although,” she added grimly as she guided me toward the stairs, “in your case it does seem to happen far too frequently.”