Down by the River (28 page)

The sheriff took a drink of his coffee. “The best clue we had was that Ira Nelle was seen talking for a little while to a trucker passing through. We didn't find her body for three days. By then any truckers going through this area were long gone. It's hard to track without any description of the truck or the trucking company. We did our best.”

He looked apologetic. “We even hired a retired detective living in the area to help us on the case, but no one could find any good clues.”

Jack spoke up. “I can vouch that the sheriff and his department did everything they could to find Ira Nelle's killer. No one liked to think a brutal murderer was lurking around our town.”

The sheriff shook his head. “See, that's the kind of thinking that started turning around in Beecher's mind. He'd helped with the investigation as he could, questioning people, trying to learn more about who Ira Nelle saw that night. Later, some of the things he learned started to fester in his mind.”

Jack looked up suddenly. “I had stopped by at the Riverside earlier that evening. I actually spoke to Ira Nelle.”

“You did.” The sheriff bit into another chunk of banana bread. “So did Roger, if you'll recall. The Statton boy was there, too.”

Jack pivoted to look directly at the sheriff. “Beecher got to thinking it might have been one of us.”

The sheriff nodded. “You three and a few more. I heard Beecher got fixated on some of the people who last saw Ira Nelle. Felt like he needed to watch them and to watch folks who spent too much time around them. Especially felt he needed to watch out for women and girls they might get too close to.”

Grace looked up thoughtfully. “He began to think he might take care of other women and girls like he didn't take care of Ira Nelle.”

“That's about it.” The sheriff played with a spoon on the table. “It started out with little things and little warning notes here and there. But it got worse. Mental problems sort of escalate like that sometimes.”

“Why did he follow me that day?” Margaret asked this.

“Well, you look so much like Ira Nelle—young and blond. And musical.” The sheriff grinned at Margaret. “He heard you playing the piano and singing when he was out working in the yard. And he worried that you spent time around Jack. Also, that you walked around so much on your own. Plus the day he followed you it was because he saw the Statton boy talking to you outside of the Hart Gallery. He thought you might be in danger. He meant to follow you for a while to see you got to your next stop safely.”

Margaret sighed. “That's really sad.”

“Yeah, it is. He's going to need a lot of help to get all this sorted out.” The sheriff pushed his chair back and crossed one leg over his knee. “The medical folks seem to think he can be rehabilitated.”

Grace leaned forward. “How did Lora Jean know it might be Beecher?”

“She wasn't sure it was.” The sheriff reached over to get his coffee cup. “But when she got her own little note, she got suspicious. You see, the Webb boys had been down at her house the day before playing a card game with Janelle. Lora Jean heard them, offhand, fussing that all their cards were messed up because some of them kept getting lost.”

“I bet she got her note on a playing card,” Jack said.

“That she did.” The sheriff grinned at Jack. “And it got her to thinking. She also remembered picking up Janelle from Scouts the day Margaret got followed. She remembered Janelle and the girls talking about Crazy Man's driving a black truck with a headlight out and wearing a cowboy hat. Beecher and all the Webb men always wear cowboy hats. And Janelle remembered Beecher had run into a fence post up at the farm and busted out a headlight last month. She'd noticed it when he came down to pick up the boys one day.”

Margaret leaned her elbows on the table. “Did Beecher Webb admit it right away when you went to confront him?”

“Nope. Wouldn't say a word for a while.” The sheriff leaned down to scratch the dogs' ears; they'd come padding into the room. “But he broke down and snapped after a while. Said if I'd done my job he wouldn't have needed to protect other women from getting hurt like Ira Nelle did.” The sheriff shook his head back and forth. “Made me feel real bad to hear that.”

“What will happen to Beecher now?” Jack asked. “This must be hard for Beecher's boys, after losing their mother only a year ago.”

“Well, the boys' granddad is helping with that.” The sheriff looked at Vincent. “And it would be right fine if you went over to counsel with the family some. Maybe prayed with them and gave them some spiritual help at a bad time like this.”

Vincent nodded. “I'll go today.”

“I'll go, too.” Margaret reached over to take Vincent's hand. “I want them to know I hold no hard feelings. Beecher was sick. I don't think he would have ever hurt me. He just meant to protect me.”

Jack slanted the sheriff a sharp glance. “Why do you think Beecher sent that note to my girls about their mother? That doesn't seem to fit the protective picture.”

“Well, yeah, it does.” The sheriff scratched his nose. “You see, Beecher thought you the most likely suspect among the ones he watched—what with your past reputation with women and all.”

He sent an apologetic look to Grace. “When Beecher was working in the yard at the Mimosa one day and heard the girls in the gazebo—wondering about their mother and wishing they could know about her—he got to thinking maybe they would be safer and better off to be with her. He'd heard the old rumors about Jack's having run his young wife off long ago, and it all rolled around and mixed in with his twisted thinking.”

“Dang it!” Jack pounded a fist on the table. “I liked that man. Always talked to him whenever he mowed our property. Asked about his boys.”

Grace leaned over to put a hand on Jack's arm. “He wasn't well, Jack. You can't take it personally when Beecher wasn't well. His mind was all twisted.”

Margaret sighed deeply. “Well, I for one am surely glad we found out who this man is. I'm sick and tired of always needing to have someone with me whenever I go anywhere.”

Vincent grinned at her. “Well, maybe not
always
sorry to have someone with you.”

She giggled. “Well, maybe not
always
.”

The couple passed some looks Grace didn't even want to try to analyze. Perhaps it was a good thing the wedding date wasn't far away now.

The sheriff stood and picked up his hat. “I'd best be getting on now. I just wanted you folks to know we'd found our man and that things would be safer around here now.”

“Where is Beecher now?” Margaret asked the sheriff.

“Staying in a mental health facility of some sort for a spell. But then the doctors think they can work with him as an out-patient. He's already saying he needs to give a lot of folks some apologies—and they say that's a real good sign.”

Jack got up, too. “I'll walk you out, Swofford. I need to go on to the office. I have a closing in twenty minutes.”

“I need to go, too.” Vincent stood up. “The florist is coming to look at the church at nine thirty.”

Margaret jumped up eagerly. “I'll go with you, Vince. I want to talk with them about tying some roses on each of the pews with white ribbons.”

Grace cleaned up the kitchen and then took the dogs outside into the backyard. She walked down toward the river as the dogs played with a stick and chased each other through the yard. She thought about all she'd learned about Crazy Man as she walked down to the tumbling mountain stream and out onto the swinging bridge. It felt nice to stand here on the bridge, looking down the river, hearing the creek rushing over the rocks below. Enjoying a moment of quiet after such a busy sweep of days.

 

Grace stood in the same spot again a few weeks later—savoring the quiet once more. It was late evening with a full moon floating in the sky overhead. Margaret and Vincent were happily married and off on their honeymoon. And this morning Grace had seen the last of her family and houseguests out the door and then spent the day cleaning, stripping beds, and doing laundry. The house felt suddenly lonely after being full with family and friends for so many days.

Grace sighed and leaned her arms on the bridge rail, looking down on the river below. She could see the moonlight flickering over the top of the water as it rushed on its way downstream. Late fireflies flickered in the shrubbery by the riverside, and the soft sounds of tree frogs kept the night from being totally quiet.

Hearing a footfall, Grace looked up to see Jack coming out onto the bridge toward her. He came to stand beside her, leaning his arms on the rail to look up the river, too. They stood there quietly, enjoying the evening for a time before either of them spoke.

“You were watching for me, weren't you?” Grace said into the darkness.

Jack's voice came back, husky and silky. “You know I was.”

Grace felt herself shiver. She waited, expectant, knowing Jack would soon touch her or kiss her. Her body stirred with expectancy.

But Jack only stood looking up the river, quiet.

A little thread of alarm skittered up Grace's spine. Jack was seldom quiet like this, and she could feel a tension coiled in him. Humming. Troubling him.

She waited, wondering if she should ask him what was wrong.

Grace moved one of her hands to cover his on the rail, but he jerked his hand away from hers. Stepped back from her a little, too.

“I need some space to say what I came to say tonight, Grace.” His voice sounded strained. Tight.

Grace heard him take a deep breath.

Had he found someone else? She wondered. Did he want to stop seeing her? A barrage of thoughts and doubts assailed her. She had never been sure about Jack's feelings for her.

He looked toward her with a troubled face. “I'm in love with you, Grace Conley.”

Relief swept her. She tried to reach for him again.

“No.” He backed way. “Let me say what I need to say. It isn't easy for me to say words like these. I've only said them once in my life to a woman. And I was a fool then for saying them. I didn't think I would ever say them again to any woman.”

Grace saw his hands gripping the railing of the bridge.

“I haven't been a good man for much of my life. You know that. I've enjoyed a lot of women.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “When I met you, I knew I was attracted to you. But I also knew there was more. I kept waiting to grow tired of you, for the fascination with you to wear off. It usually did, Grace. My interest in any woman never lasted for very long before I found myself noticing another one. I'm not proud of that, but it was the way it was.”

He moved restlessly on the bridge. Grace felt tense, waiting for what else he had to say.

“You got to me in a way no woman ever has before. I knew that for a surety not long after you moved here. I lost my interest in other women. I thought about you more than normal for me. Wanted you. Fantasized about you. But also began to like you. Respect you. That was new for me. I enjoyed your company. I liked sitting next to you, talking with you, being with you. I liked the different sides of you I learned about. One of my first thoughts when I met you was that you had a lot of layers. That I would enjoy peeling them back. I have, and I'm still enjoying that. I don't think I'll ever stop enjoying it.”

Grace reached to touch him again, but he pulled away once more, held up a hand to her.

“I need to say this without touching you, Grace.” He took a deep breath again. “I don't know when I realized I was in love with you. Maybe after that trip to California. I just looked at you one day, and I knew. It scared the crap out of me. I've almost been glad you were so busy the last few weeks. It gave me time to think. Gave me time to decide what to do.”

He turned to her with anguished eyes. “I'm not good enough for you, Grace. You deserve a better man than me. But I can't bear to think of letting you go to find a better man. I have no right to speak to you of love and commitment when I've lived the way I have. But I have to take a chance and offer. It isn't much of a deal for you. I'd understand if you didn't even want to consider it.”

Jack took a deep breath, almost shuddering. His eyes looked dark and troubled. It wasn't an expression Grace was used to seeing on Jack's face.

She started to reach out a hand to touch him again, but then stopped herself.

Instead Grace looked up into Jack's eyes in the moonlight and saw the love—swimming with the fear and tension. It wasn't easy for a man like Jack to admit to love.

She smiled at him. “I'm waiting for the question that's supposed to come at the end of all this talk of love and commitment, Jack.”

He gave her a pained look. “You're going to make me step all the way out on the plank, aren't you?”

“Absolutely.” Grace looked at Jack with honest, warm eyes. “And I want the romantic memories to go with the moment.”

Jack groaned, and then dropped down to one knee and took Grace's hand. “Grace Conley, I love you with all the heart I have. With all I have to offer, which is much less than you deserve, I offer you myself. My love, my protection, my caring, my passion.” He grinned. “And I have a lot of the latter.”

Grace tried to stay serious and hold back a grin.

“I'd like you to consider being my wife. I'd like you to consider taking on the job of being a mother to my girls. I hope you will love them and love me. As you've already seen, it won't always be easy. We'll have the teen years ahead, God help us. But we'll have each other, too. Every day. In every way.”

Grace gave Jack a serious look then. “I want to be the only one, Jack. I want you to be sure of that—that you're ready for that.”

He took her other hand in his. “I stopped thinking of anyone after meeting you, Grace. I stopped wanting anyone after you. And then, the Lord up there has been doing His work on me and changing me more. I bonfired all my Playboy magazines last month. They held no interest for me anymore. He's changing me from the inside out; you've been changing me. I'm different in my skin. But like you told me on the plane, I like who I am now. I like who I am today a lot better than who I was. You should understand that. People change. People
can
change.”