To Write a Wrong Page 3

  “He’s nice enough. Don’t know if he’s good enough for our Bella, though.”

  “Mom . . .” Hayden grabbed a grape from the bowl on the counter and popped it into his mouth to sweeten the bitterness that rose in him toward his mother at her ownership of Bella. But, of course, they’d been cohorts in secret keeping. He swallowed the grape and pushed aside the mistrust. “Rafe’s great, and you think so too. You liked him well enough before.”

  “We’ll see.” She flitted about the kitchen, stirring the pot on the stove and straightening the canisters on the counter.

  If he didn’t know better, Hayden would think she was nervous. He sniffed the air. “Dinner sure smells good.”

  “We’re having gumbo and cornbread. Bella loves my gumbo, you know.”

  “Bell—er, Remington loves your cooking period, Mom.”

  She smiled back at him. “Emily will be joining us tonight as well, and gumbo is her favorite.”

  He fought against the groan.

  “She’s doing great, Hayden. Really.” Mom wiped her already-dry hands on the kitchen towel. “It’s like having the old Emily again.” The chipper tone sounded too forced.

  Translation: There was no telling what mood she’d be in tonight. Could be that Emily would be happy and upbeat, a joy to be around. Or she could be angry and rude. Even better, she could be depressed and sullen.

  “Mom, have you—?”

  A horn blasted outside.

  “Bella’s here!” She dropped the towel onto the counter and rushed toward the front door, patting her bun as she walked barefoot on the hardwoods. Chubbers met her step for step, nose at the door.

  “They’re here,” Hayden said, but was only speaking to himself as his mother had left him in her wake.

  Remington bounded from the car and ran up the stairs, straight into his mother’s open arms. “Oh, Ardy, it’s so good to see you!”

  Rafe lifted two suitcases from the trunk, then dogged Remington’s path at a much more sedate pace.

  Hayden held out his hand to him. “How was the trip?”

  “Long drive, but the scenery was beautiful.” Rafe gripped his palm.

  Remington knelt, hugging Chubbers. The dog’s entire hindquarters swayed as he wagged his tail. Then she stood and flung her arms around Hayden, drawing him against her. “And you.” She buried her face in his neck. “I’ve missed you so much.” Her breath was a whisper against his skin.

  He squeezed her tightly before releasing her. “Let me look at you.” He held her at arm’s length. She’d let her once caramel-colored hair return to its natural blonde. The effect was staggering when combined with the glow of her face. “You look good, kid. Really good. Arkansas must be treating you right.” And she did look great, as if her worries had dissipated with the south Louisiana humidity.

  She smiled and held out her hand to Rafe. “You remember Hayden’s mom, Ardy, don’t you?”

  Rafe smiled and gave a quick nod. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Simpson. Thank you for having us.”

  Mom pulled him into a hug. “It’s Ardy, and I’m thrilled to have y’all.” She turned to Hayden. “Well, don’t just stand there. Help him get their suitcases in. Rafe’s in the guest room, I have the bed made up in the den for his sister when she arrives, and Bella’s in Emily’s old room.”

  “It’s Remington, Mom.” Hayden opened the door and waved Rafe inside.

  “It’s okay.” Remington stepped alongside him, Chubbers heeling automatically. “She can call me Bella.” She linked her arm through his and joined him down the hall, whispering, “Emily’s old room? What’s going on?”

  While he loved his little sister immensely, Emily worked the range of his emotions. She made bad choices and blamed them on her illness, then expected everyone to overlook her behavior. That would be fine for most, but he was the police commissioner. Some of her bad choices were also against the law, and he’d had to treat her like any other twenty-two-year-old who’d broken the law. Didn’t exactly win him any points with his sister . . . or his mother. “She checked herself out of the hospital and moved out of the house into an apartment with a friend. One she met in the hospital.”

  “Ah, I see.” She squeezed his arm, then slipped out of his touch into the bedroom. “Want me to talk to her tonight?”

  “I can’t ask you to do that.” He tossed her duffel on the foot of the bed. Emily was, well . . . Emily. Difficult.

  Remington chuckled. “Of course you can. We’re family, remember?” She plopped onto the bed, bouncing the duffel.

  He shrugged, the pain of her betrayal still too recent for him to shrug it off.

  She bounced on the bed like he and Emily had done many, many years ago. “So, tell me all the Hopewell news. Aside from Emily, what else is happening?”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “You know how it is, nothing new.”

  “Aw, c’mon, Hay, tell me something. I’m dying here.”

  “You want gossip?” He struggled to put on his sternest expression and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know better than that, missy.”

  She stood and hugged him again, giggling. “Oh, Hay, I’ve really missed you.”

  His throat clogged as he returned the embrace. Even now, he loved her so much, which made his issues even more grappling. “Miss you too, kid.”

  “Hayden! Bella!” His mother’s holler made them both laugh.

  “Ah, the voice of authority beckons.” She grabbed his hand and led him down the hall. Chubbers followed on their heels.

  Mom flitted about the stove while Rafe sat at the kitchen bar. Remington dropped onto the stool next to him. “It smells heavenly.” She leaned, resting her head on Rafe’s shoulder. “Ardy’s the best cook this side of Baton Rouge.”

  “I can’t wait to taste it.” He leaned forward and flashed his smile at Mom. “Remington raves about your cooking. I think she dreams about it.”

  Remington threw a mock punch on his arm. “I do not.” She chuckled and sniffed. “Well, maybe.”

  Hayden grabbed the stool on the other side of Remington. “Admit it, food is your weakness.”

  “You know me too well.”

  Seeing her so blissful with Rafe truly made Hayden happy, but it also made him all too aware that he had a void in his own life.

  “So, Rafe, tell us about your sister.” Mom pointed a wooden spoon at him. “She’s the reporter, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am. She works for Life in the South magazine.”

  “I read that every week. Even have a subscription.” Mom stared at Hayden. “You know, the weekly magazine that always has good articles on politics and stuff?”

  He nodded, clueless. His idea of reading material was the Bible, mens’ studies, books relating to work, and fishing magazines. It was just easier to agree with Mom. If he didn’t, she’d pull out copies for him to read this instant.

  “That’s the one,” Rafe continued. “She mainly does the fluff pieces.”

  “Rafe.” Remington tossed him that stern look of hers before smiling at his mother. “She’s done a few serious pieces, which didn’t make it into print. Then her editor assigned her to a big story and he thought she blew it.” She hopped off the stool and went around to the stove, lifted the lid, and sniffed. “Riley’s really working hard to find her footing.”

  Rafe shook his head. “She used to work at the Memphis Daily News and had regular assignments.”

  “The obits and wedding features aren’t exactly Pulitzer-prize considerations.” Remington grabbed a spoon from the drawer and stole a quick taste of the gumbo. “She wants to be a great investigative reporter. The Diane Sawyer–type.”

  “So far, she’s not doing so hot.” Rafe switched his focus. “More of an answer than you wanted to hear, I’m sure, Mrs. Simpson.”

  �
��Please, it’s Ardy, and I’m sure she’ll be fine. It takes a while to get your footing in any profession.” She smiled at Remington. “How is it?”

  “Divine!”

  Mom turned back to Rafe. “My daughter, Emily . . . she’s still trying to figure out what she wants to do with her life.”

  “For the past six months, she’s been trying to destroy it.” Hayden spoke before he could stop the words.

  “She has an illness, Hayden.” Mom glared.

  Remington pointed the spoon at him. “Bipolar disorder is an illness.” She set the spoon in the sink and leaned against the counter, attention solely on Mom. “How’s Emily doing these days? Hayden told me she’s moved out.”

  He tuned out Mom’s response. In her eyes, Emily would always be misunderstood, no matter what she did.

  And he’d always be the serious, stern one. He couldn’t win for losing.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have pushed, but she’d seen the anger and pain in the line of the teenager’s unmarred face—and recognized the emotions from having seen them too many times in her own mirror. No one should have such worry-creases, as her sister, Maddie, called them.

  Riley had more than enough of her share. It broke her heart to acknowledge them on the pretty young girl with tawny hair and bright green eyes.

  Not to mention that the girl’s obvious anger and pain jerked Riley out of her own misery. Wasn’t that something her pastor preached: The best way to stop worrying about your problems is to pray and help someone else’s with theirs? It’d certainly worked in this instance.

  “Riley! Riley!” Mr. Patterson rushed across the parking lot, dodging puddles left and right. “Are you okay?”

  He’d made no qualms that he’d like her to go out with him, but she couldn’t get past the used-car-salesman feel she got from him. Riley shook off her animosity. It wasn’t the attorney’s fault Simon Lancaster killed her parents and now had the opportunity for parole. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?” He peered down at her, worry and concern weighted in his every pore. “I told you this would be difficult. This is the main reason most of the hearings are done via videoconferencing and why victims and their families speak separately from the incarcerated and those speaking on their behalf.”

  “I’m fine, Mr. Patterson. Really.” She rubbed the back of her neck, willing the tension to return to wherever it came from. “So, what was the outcome?”

  “As I informed you earlier, they heard from Mr. Lancaster and his sister and his . . . uh, his fiancée. They’ll hear from you and your family before they make their decision. It will take weeks for their determination to be finalized.”

  “Does he stand a chance of getting released?” Just because his sister showed up and cried and produced some woman who agreed to say she’d marry Simon? Had the justice system gone that far downhill?

  The attorney shrugged. “There’s no way to know for certain, of course. You and your brother are set to speak at the hearing on Monday morning. I’m sure what you have to say will weigh heavily on the board’s decision.”

  Just the thought that he could get out . . . Riley’s stomach knotted and burned. She shoved the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder. “I think I’ll head out now. Thank you again for coming with me today.”

  “No problem.” He eyed her. “Are you sure you’re okay? Would you like me to call your brother?”

  “No. No, thank you. I’m on my way to meet him.” Just what she didn’t need right now—a lecture from Rafe on how she shouldn’t have come today. How she was just borrowing trouble.

  But he’d gotten to talk to Mom before she died. He’d had the chance to say good-bye. She hadn’t.

  “I’ll be just fine after a hot shower, something to eat, and a good night’s sleep.” She forced the smile she didn’t feel. “I’ll see you Monday.”

  “Ten o’clock, sharp.” He nodded.

  She pulled up the address in the GPS, then gave a little wave as she pulled out of the parking lot and passed Mr. Patterson standing outside his car. Great. She could just hear his recounting of today to Rafe.

  Riley pressed harder on the accelerator as she headed to the interstate toward Hopewell. She’d agreed to stay with Rafe’s new girlfriend, Remington, in the Podunk town. She’d miss the beautiful Hyatt hotel in Baton Rouge that she’d checked out of this morning, but she didn’t have a choice. Remington and Rafe were probably already in Hopewell. She’d endure the small-town boredom tonight, then tomorrow she’d call on Mrs. Wilson, the lady she’d met today.

  Following the instructions of the female robotized GPS voice, she took the ramp onto the interstate and built up speed.

  Riley smiled as she recalled the fire and spunk in the teenager Jasmine. So outspoken and furious . . . so much like Riley had once been. In the meantime, she’d pull up everything she could on Mr. Wilson’s case. Jasmine had been adamant her father was innocent. If there was any question of his guilt, this would be a story Jeremy would kill for.

  Her editor had told her he’d give her one last chance. If she couldn’t pull off her next story, she’d lose her job. She had to come up with something that readers would call the magazine for more of. That kind of response would guarantee she’d keep her job—even get some of the plum assignments.

  “Exit ramp right.”

  Riley slowed and eased off the interstate. She needed her job. Especially after breaking up with Damon. She hated to admit it, but once again, her brother was right about a guy. First Garrison, now Damon. Jerks. And Rafe had called it early on, which annoyed her something awful.

  “Turn left, then turn right.”

  Just because Rafe was all lovey-dovey with his new girlfriend, he thought he knew everything about relationships. “Damon’s trouble.” Well, he was, but that was beside the point. She missed Damon, even though he was a cheat. And a liar. On the day Jeremy had threatened to fire her, she’d gone home, eaten a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, and cried herself to sleep. Alone.

  “Turn right.”

  It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy for Rafe, she was, and she liked Remington. It was just . . . well . . . she didn’t like being alone. Loneliness did not become her.

  “Turn left.”

  Riley slammed on her brakes. Turn left? There was nothing to turn onto, left or right. She hunched over the steering wheel, grabbed the GPS from its base, and studied the digital screen. A road? Where? She pressed the button to roll down her window for a better look.

  That was a road? That barely-wider-than-a-dirt-path? Seriously?

  Yep, the GPS had it highlighted.

  She turned slowly into the break in the woods. The dirt under her tires had turned to mud with the morning’s storm. She pushed the accelerator . . . the back end of the car fishtailed. Riley gripped the steering wheel harder and slowed.

  Creeping, she maneuvered around curves and sharp turns. Over rocks that were on their way to becoming boulders. Almost getting lost in potholes big enough for small children to go missing in.

  Finally, the car cleared the woods and nosed into a clearing. Then another curve and a beautiful house nestled against a row of trees emerged.

  Riley eased alongside Rafe’s car. She killed the engine and took a moment to catch her breath.

  The front door opened and her brother stepped onto the porch, followed by Remington, an older lady, and . . . a man.

  A very handsome man. Standing about six feet tall, his muscular build was defined through the cut of his shirt, the line of his jeans. His dark hair was short and neat, nice. He had the broadest shoulders Riley had seen in some time.

  Riley’s pulse spiked. Well, now this visit could be interesting after all.

  Chapter Three

  “So justice is far from us, and righteousness does not reach us. We look for light, but all is darkness; for b
rightness, but we walk in deep shadows.”

  ISAIAH 59:9

  Four years.

  That’s how long it’d been since he’d taken the steps to come into his own. To take the necessary path to become the man he was born to be. He glanced out his office window, studying the leaves drifting down in the spring breeze. He could now take the time to appreciate the beauty in things. Like nature. And the art hanging on his office walls.

  Four years.

  Of course, it took patience and time to plan such a detailed and brilliant scheme as his. The research had nearly made him quit, but he’d prevailed. Of course, there were many hours he’d had nothing but time to carefully plan. Once he had a plan, he’d worked every angle, every scenario. He knew each phase would take months to prepare. Acquiring the right people. The right place. The right time. No, these things couldn’t be rushed. He’d taken his time.

  Four years.

  His time, attention, and effort had paid off. Why bother being elected into state government when you could control all the ones already there? Much more fun, and a lot more productive. The best thing was that his hands were clean. No one could link anything back to him.

  He could move on to the next phase of his plan.

  Personal vengeance.

  His phone buzzed and he barely glanced at the caller ID. Didn’t matter who called, he didn’t have anything to say to anybody right now, so why bother talking? He’d call the people he needed to when he wanted something done.

  The next move was almost upon him.

  He wouldn’t rush this. Each piece of the plan had to be perfectly planned to be perfectly executed.

  He’d already waited four years, what were a few mere months?

  This was Rafe’s little sister? The one who wanted to be an investigative journalist?

  Hayden tried to imagine her questioning any type of hardened criminal as Rafe rushed down the stairs to greet her. She was a tiny little thing, even shorter than Emily, as she stood on tiptoe to hug her brother, and couldn’t weigh more than a buck twenty soaking wet. The afternoon sun caught the highs and lows of her sandy-brown hair bouncing on top of her shoulders.