Autumn Blue (11 page)

O
UTSIDE THE COURTHOUSE
everything looked brighter to Sidney. The sky was still gray and the streets wet enough to spray rooster tails behind passing
cars, but the torrential rain seemed to have drained the saturated clouds.

Millard hardly spoke. He unlocked the doors of his red Lincoln and Tyson crawled into the backseat. Sidney sat up front, pouring
out her gratitude to Millard for saving the day. He looked a bit dazed, probably still in shock from the overwhelming commitment
he had just made. Tyson too was quiet. Sidney found herself chattering like a goldfinch just to fill the awkward silence.

It was all she could do to refrain from jumping into the backseat with her son where she could see him and touch him. He’d
been gone so long, and she had feared that she might have lost him for good. Now here he was, safe. But of course, at fifteen,
he was too cool for his mother’s coddling and she respected that. She could no longer play with his cowlick or smooth the
worry from his forehead. Those things were taboo now. Ty was trying to be a man. If only he knew how. If only he knew what
a real man—a man of character—looked like, talked like, lived like.

Once again her mind drifted back to her encounter with Jack Mellon at the Traders Market. It had been a week and he hadn’t
called. She had watched him tuck her phone number into the pocket of his stained white apron before she wheeled her scantily
loaded shopping cart down the pickle aisle toward checkout. Even if he had forgotten about the little scrap of paper and ran
it through the wash, he could easily find her number through directory assistance. If he wanted to.

“Oh, look at those maples,” she said. “They’re as bright as pure gold. I just love this time of year, don’t you?” Millard
only nodded. “I can’t believe it’s almost October already. It seems like we were just out baking in the sun a few days ago.
Tyson, we’ll have to go get some pumpkins soon for our front porch.” She wished she could retract the “we.” Ty couldn’t go
anywhere for fifteen weeks, not even the woods behind the house. He could make a straight line from his front door to Millard’s
every weekday morning, and back again at night when she got home. The probation officer had warned against any detours en
route. Ty was to be monitored by a telephone voice recognition system. A computer would call him at random throughout the
day—weekdays at Millard’s, nights and weekends at home. He had all of two minutes to get to the phone—or else back to jail
to do his time.

“What was it like in there, Ty?” she asked.

He grunted from the backseat. “Stupid.”

“Can you elaborate on that?”

“There are no stinkin’ windows.”

“Oh. What else?”

“The food sucks, it’s noisy, and there’s nothing to do.”

Millard clucked his tongue. “That’s why they call it jail instead of the Holiday Inn.” Sidney heard the theme song from the
TV series
Baretta
in her head:
don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time
. She hadn’t seen or thought of that show since she was a kid. Her father had loved cop shows. She wondered if Millard was
transmitting it somehow from his mind to hers when he added, “Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.”

Sidney flipped down her visor mirror in time to see the scowl cross Ty’s face. He sat back against the seat, his arms locked
tightly across his chest. Oh, boy. Perhaps Ty had just hopped from the frying pan into the fire, as her dear old dad used
to say. Spending his days with old Mr. Bradbury might prove to be worse than a damp dungeon and a steady diet of bread and
water.

After a while she gave up on making pleasant conversation. As the miles passed, she turned her thoughts toward seeing the
girls, who would be home from school by now. With Ty back at their dinner table for the first time in weeks, they should have
a celebratory meal. What would Ty like? Spaghetti with lots of fresh mushrooms, some crusty garlic bread. That would be easy
and he loved it.

She breathed a relieved sigh as Millard drove up the hill toward their houses. The clouds parted and a beam of afternoon light
shone through the trees on either side of the curvy road, lighting up the leaves like red and orange neon. Almost home. Everything
was going to be all right now. Ty could sleep in his own bed tonight, and she relished the thought of tucking him in. He might
talk to her more then. That had become his way, to open up to her in the dark where there were only words and no faces. But
it had been a long time since even that dwarfed communication had taken place between them.

Her eyes followed the weathered posts and wire fence along the right side of the road to her mailbox—and the car in her driveway.
Winger County Sheriff’s Department, it said on the door. Deputy Estrada sat inside and he was not alone. Adrenaline shot through
her system. What was he doing here?

Tyson swore.

“What on earth do they want?” Millard asked. He stopped at the end of her driveway.

“I don’t know, but I guess I’m about to find out.” Sidney opened the car door. “Mr. . . . Millard. Thanks again.” She glanced
over her shoulder and saw the two deputies getting out of the car. “I guess Ty and I will be over at your place about eight
o’clock in the morning. I hope that’s okay.”

He winced.

“Eight-thirty?”

He nodded grimly. “That will be fine.”

“All right, then,” she said and closed the door. Ty got out and Millard turned into his own driveway across the street. She
walked straight up to Estrada, who was leaning against the hood of the official sedan. Dry leaves scurried across the gravel
near his boots like a herd of red land crabs.

“Hello, Mrs. Walker.”

“How can I help you?” She held her head high and her voice was terse. She felt Ty lingering just behind her.

The deputy looked right past her to her son and nodded. “Tyson. I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Why?” Ty asked.

“Thought you’d be locked up for a while, that’s all. Who did you get for a judge?”

Ty shrugged. “I don’t know. Some old guy.”

“Deputy,” Sidney asserted, “what are you doing here?”

He pulled a folded paper from his shirt pocket. “I have the search warrant you suggested. I noticed your daughters were home,
so I thought we’d wait for you.” He tipped his head toward his partner. “This is Deputy Shingle.” His sidekick looked a little
frail and timid, younger than Estrada, with wide blue eyes peering through wire-rimmed glasses.

Ty stepped forward, his eyes narrowing into angry slits. “What are you looking for?”

“I think you know the answer to that question.” Deputy Estrada’s glare reflected the hostility in Ty’s face. Estrada turned
toward Sidney and gestured toward her front door. “Shall we, Mrs. Walker?”

She had no choice this time. They all walked to the porch in silence, where Sidney paused. “Let me take care of the girls
before you start anything.” He didn’t argue, so she went inside. Estrada leaned against the doorjamb, while the other deputy
lingered just outside.

“Girls, we’re home!”

They came running from the kitchen, followed by Duke. The dog barked once before hurling his huge body forward. Deputy Estrada’s
right hand jerked toward the gun on his hip. Duke leapt onto Ty, paws on his master’s shoulders, and began licking him as
if he were an ice cream cone melting in the sun.

“Hey, buddy.” Ty ruffled the hair on Duke’s neck.

Sidney frowned at the deputy and shook her head. Oh, that would have been just great. Their beloved Duke blown to smithereens
right before her children’s eyes. Estrada sheepishly dropped his hand to his side.

“Ty!” Sissy hugged her brother, and his free arm rested on her shoulder though he stood as stiff as a signpost. “Hi, Ty,”
Rebecca said, staring at her brother almost shyly. Sissy’s attention shifted to Deputy Estrada. “Why were you sitting out
in our driveway so long?”

“We’ll answer all your questions in just a little while,” Sidney said. “But right now I need you girls to take the dog outside
for a while. Put him on his leash, and Rebecca, hold on tight.” Duke seemed torn. The German shepherd loved to go for walks
but he kept throwing his heavy body back toward Ty, pouncing playfully at Ty’s feet and then watching over his shoulder for
Ty to follow each time Rebecca tried to drag him to the backdoor.

As soon as the door slammed behind them, the deputies began poking around the living room—halfheartedly, it seemed. Perhaps
they didn’t think Ty would be careless or brazen enough to hide something in such a public area. Estrada perused her bookcase
where
Moby-Dick
,
Treasure Island
, and other classics stood shoulder to shoulder with vegetarian cookbooks and a collection of Oprah’s picks. He pulled a few
books out, running his fingers behind them, finding nothing but dust. At least the house looked clean and tidy—not that she
needed to impress them. It was just that she had her pride and did not care to be perceived as trailer trash, even—or especially—to
these contemptuous deputies.

Deputy Estrada headed for the hallway. Pushing open the first door, he entered the bathroom. She heard him remove the heavy
porcelain lid to the toilet tank, vanity drawers and doors opening and closing. He moved on to Ty’s room, the first door on
the left. Sidney and Ty followed him, watching from the open doorway as the swarthy deputy began poking around, running his
hands behind things on the shelf, even lifting the golf balls out of Ty’s bird nest to peer beneath them. Whatever he was
looking for must be pretty small. Deputy Shingle joined him, lifting the mattress from the bed, running his hand beneath it,
feeling the corners of the contour sheet and the freshly washed pillowcases. Sidney glanced at Ty’s expressionless face as
the deputy headed for his closet. If Ty had snuck in and hidden something in there, he was Cool Hand Luke. The sooner that
awful man finished invading their privacy and got out of there, the better. She just wanted to spend some time alone with
her son.

“Mrs. Walker,” Deputy Estrada said after running his hands through and beneath the dresser drawers, “I’d like to take a look
in your bedroom.”

Sidney’s face grew instantly hot. “Why on earth—”

“It’s not that I suspect you of anything. It’s just a hunch I want to check out, that’s all. I’m sure you don’t want me coming
back.”

She laughed out loud. He turned to look at her. “Nothing personal,” she added, though somehow it did feel personal, especially
now that he was invading her bedroom. Would he go so far as to ransack her lingerie drawer? For the first time, her eyes went
to his left hand. No ring. She might have felt a little more comfortable about this if he had a wife—not that that meant anything
anymore. She studied his stony face as he surveyed the room. He had dark eyes set like shallow caves beneath a ledge of high
forehead, a square granite jaw, and a straight nose. He was handsome, strikingly so, but that hard face and rigid body might
have been chiseled out of granite. What woman would want to snuggle up to that on a cold night?

He walked straight to her highboy, opening the Italian inlaid wood jewelry box she had received as a wedding gift, while his
partner stepped into the master bath. The music box began playing a cheery version of “Some Enchanted Evening.” Estrada pushed
aside the gold bracelet her father had given her on her sixteenth birthday, her silver locket, Great-Aunt Louise’s sapphire
and diamond ring, and a tangle of costume jewelry, picking up her wedding ring from the red velvet lining. She didn’t know
why she kept it. Dodge had probably stolen it; there was no way he could have afforded a rock like that back then. Of course
that hadn’t occurred to her at the time. She had been blinded—not just by love, but by the brilliance of the three-carat diamond
set between two smaller stones. The rest of the jewelry her ex had given her over the years had gradually and quietly disappeared.
He would have pawned the ring, too, no doubt, if it had not been snugly attached to her finger.

“Nice,” the deputy said, fondling the gold ring.

“Put it back,” Ty ordered from the doorway. “That’s my mom’s wedding ring.”

The deputy’s eyes darted to each of their faces as if to detect any sign of guilt. “Is that right, Mrs. Walker?”

“That’s right, Deputy.” She caught her reflection in the dresser mirror and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.
“So, it’s a ring you’re looking for.”

He nodded grimly. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take this temporarily just to confirm that it’s not part of the stolen property.
It’s just procedure, you understand, and I’ll give you a receipt.”

Tyson spat out a word that shocked Sidney. “I didn’t steal any ring! There’s nothing here for you to find, so why don’t you
just leave my mom alone!”

“I’m not the one that got her involved in this.” He stared hard at Ty for a moment. “I don’t know what kind of a sweet deal
you got in court today, but I’ll be talking to your probation officer, and believe me, you better not slip—not once, because
I’m going to be your shadow. I’ll be watching. And next time you screw up, you’re not going to get off so easy! Not if I have
anything to do with it.”

M
ILLARD SAT UNEASILY
in his faded blue easy chair, trying to work the morning crossword puzzle, suspecting that hell was not a hot place after
all but his own living room in the presence of a sulking teenager. Was he supposed to entertain the kid all day? Pull rabbits
out of a hat, maybe do a little tap dance on the old coffee table? He tried to ignore the glares radiating from the sofa where
Tyson Walker slouched with his arms locked across his chest. It was like in that article Millard read in the paper about dangerous
radioactive waves escaping from faulty microwave ovens. You couldn’t see them, but they were deadly just the same.

Fifteen weeks. He hadn’t done the crime but here he was doing the time right along with this skinny little delinquent. Millard
didn’t get out much anymore, but he suddenly felt trapped. What if he decided to go on down to Clara’s Café to see the old
gang one of these Wednesdays? He hadn’t joined them for the weekly ritual since Molly passed on, but the temptation had been
lingering at the back of his mind. What on earth had he been thinking when he stood up in court and volunteered himself? It
was the boy’s mother, Sidney. She had looked so pale, those wide green eyes of hers so plaintive, so desperate. And then when
the officer came forward to haul the kid away, her shoulders had deflated like a parachute hitting ground. He wanted to save
her somehow, like she was his own daughter. The next thing he knew, he was on his feet and those fateful words had fallen
out of his mouth. Damn.