Waiting for Sunrise (24 page)

“Mam.” Patsy now walked toward the two of them, frustration at the morning and everything it had held coursing within her. When within reaching distance, she pulled her daughter away from her mother. “Why would you think you need to babysit?” Donna squirmed and whined against her, all the while stretching toward her grandmother.

Mam took the child back. “Because, Patsy, Rayette and Sandra are taking you out for a little shopping and some lunch.”

Captain Kangaroo
ended and the theme song to
The Alvin Show
began.
“This is the Alvin Show . . . the Alvin Show . . . you’re positively gonna love the Alvin Show . . .”

Donna, no longer enamored of Mam, pushed herself away. “Down, down, down . . .” She skipped back to her place on the floor in front of the television set.

Mam chuckled. “Well, I now know who comes first around here.”

Patsy tapped the toes of her foot. “Mam . . .”

Mam slipped the handle of her purse from the bend in her elbow, walked over to an end table, and placed it there. “Patsy,” she said firmly. “Your friends are coming to get you. Go to your room right now and put something appropriate on. You’re hardly dressed for the house much less the out-of-doors.”

Patsy felt herself frown. She’d walked to the bus stop and back in her pedal pushers and cotton shirt. Looking at herself, she thought she looked fine. Not dressed enough for town and lunch, but surely good enough for students and their parents. Looking back at Mam, she said, “What shall I put on then?”

Mam harrumphed. “Like you even need me to tell you. Go put on that pretty green frock Gilbert bought you not too long ago.”

“Gilbert didn’t buy it, Mam. I bought it.”

Mam shook her head. “I thought Gil did. Doesn’t matter. Just go do like I tell you before I take to ordering you about like you were a ten-year-old.”

“Oh, all right.” By the time she’d changed and applied a light amount of makeup, Rayette and Sandra were in her family room, chirping away like birds on a wire with Mam. Donna pitched a small fit upon realizing her mother was going somewhere without her, but Mam got the situation under control as she attempted to shoo the three younger mothers out the door.

Patsy stopped suddenly. “Wait. I left something in my room,” she said.

“What?” Rayette asked. “Looks to me like you have everything.”

But Patsy wagged fingers at her. “No. Really. I’ll be right back.”

She slipped around her friends and mother and wriggling daughter and headed back down the hallway toward the bedroom. She hadn’t really forgotten anything, of course. She wanted to call Gil one more time before she left.

Just in case . . .

27

Cedar Key, Florida

Billy sat in a folding chair on the front porch of the little cottage he shared with his wife. He’d long past loosened and shed himself of the blue and white necktie. He’d pulled his shirttails out from his pants and drawn the belt from their loops. Both belt and tie were now lying at the foot of the bed. Unless, that is, Ronni had put them away.

His hand clutched a tumbler of cold iced tea. The glass was sweating; water pooled along his fingers.

For long minutes he stared ahead to the house across the street. The structure was covered by trellises, which were matted with the thick green vines of velvety blue morning glories. It appeared the house had never been painted, but the flowers of its vertical garden exuded an abundance of color.

Billy blinked. Took a deep breath. Exhaled. An occasional insect flitted around him; he’d swat and go back to staring.

Off and on during the afternoon, Ronni pushed open the squeaky screen door, taken one step out onto the porch, and asked if he were all right. He’d simply nodded. A quick look at his watch told him she was just a hair past her usual “just checking up on you” inquiry.

As though she’d read his mind, the screen door opened. “Billy?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not quite yet.

This time, she stepped fully onto the porch, grabbed the folded chair propped against the front porch wall, and popped it open. She sat, crossed her legs. He glanced over at them. They were tanned and shapely.

My gosh, even in a moment like this, she stirred him.

“Billy Liddle, you listen to me,” she said. Her right hand came to rest on his left arm. “We’ve got some decisions to make. I’ve called Brenda. She’s already at the restaurant, getting it ready to open. She said she can handle whatever needs to be handled for as long as you need her to.”

“Fine.”

“But, Billy, we’ve got to make some decisions. Do you want to leave now to go to Gainesville or do you want to wait until tomorrow?”

Billy took a long swallow of his tea. “We should go today. Mama said the Stones were with her, but they’ll need to get on soon enough and . . . I’m sure she needs me. I just . . .” His words caught around a lump in his throat.

“Just?”

“Don’t know what I’m going to say to her. I’ve never had to deal with anything like this before.”

Her warm fingertips slid up and down his arm. “I know.”

He turned his head toward her. Her beauty was blurred by his tears, but she looked amazing for the middle of the afternoon just the same. “My brother is dead, Ronni,” Billy said. “I woke this morning with a brother and I’ll go to bed tonight without one.” He blinked. A tear slipped down his cheek. “All because he couldn’t just wait out his sentence.”

“I know.”

“He always thought he was tougher than everybody else.”

“Why was that, do you think?”

Billy didn’t say anything at first. Instead he watched a cluster of butterflies flitting around the lantana growing in the front yard. When they left for the neighbor’s garden, Billy answered. “Ira was the same way. He bullied those weaker than him. Harold. Mama.” He waited. “Patsy.”

“Patsy? Who is Patsy?”

“My sister.”

This time, Ronni fell silent. “Excuse me, Billy Liddle . . . did you say your
sister
?”

“Yeah.”

She uncrossed her legs, left from over right. Then right over left. Billy sensed a slight stomping of her foot. “You have a sister?” The words came out half question, half statement.

“Mmmhmm. A half sister. Half brother too. I didn’t know about him until . . . Mama waited to tell me about him.”

Ronni gripped the sides of her chair. “I’m going to try very hard not to be upset with you right now because I know you are in mourning. But would you care to explain?”

Billy blinked, kept his focus on the house across the street. On one of the morning glories. “When I was little—
little
little—there were five of us in the house. Mama. Harold. Me. A sister named Patsy—she came from Mama’s first marriage—and, of course, Ira Liddle.”

“Your mother was married before?”

“Her husband died. The ring” —he looked casually toward his wife’s left hand—“came from her marriage to her first husband.”

“I thought . . . it was . . .
her
mother’s. Why did I think that?”

Billy had to think before answering. “Maybe I told you about that other thing . . . the necklace thing.”

“Mmm.”

They sat in silence for a while before Ronni asked, “So, what happened to her?”

Billy rubbed his temple with the tips of his first and second fingers. He hadn’t had a bad headache in quite a while, but he was surely getting one now. “Patsy turned thirteen, Ira took to looking at her too long, and Mama put her on a bus.”

“Oh, my sweet Jesus.” Ronni pressed her left hand against her chest. “I cannot imagine. How horrible for your mother.” She edged her chair closer to his. “And no wonder it’s never discussed. How painful it must have been for her.” Her hand fluttered over the back of his head. “For you.”

“I hardly remember her.”

“You’re rubbing your head. You getting one of your headaches?”

“Yeah.”

Ronni stood. “I’ll go get your medicine.” She took a step toward the door. “Wait. You said a half brother too. What about him?”

Billy squeezed his eyes shut, rubbed his temple a little harder. “I don’t know much about him, Ron. He went to live in the same place as . . . Patsy . . . only right after he was born.”

Ronni said nothing. She didn’t move either.

The headache was growing. “Ronni . . . my medicine.”

The screen door opened, closed. He listened to her footsteps fade toward the back of the house. A moment later, they returned. The door opened. Closed. He felt his wife’s presence beside him. He opened his eyes; a hand with two pills nestled in the palm was just under his chin.

“Thank you,” he said.

“When you’re done taking them, I’ll take your tea glass back into the house.”

He swallowed the pills and the lukewarm tea before handing the glass to her. “Ronni?”

“What, Billy?”

“You mad at me?”

She stared down at him. “Mad? No. Disappointed? Yes. You should have told me this before now, Billy Liddle.”

Billy reached for her left hand, squeezed it in his. It was warm to the touch, but he felt a chill all the same. “Would you have thought any less of me?”

“Of course not. What kind of Christian do you take me for?”

He squeezed her hand again in answer, noticing this time that her engagement ring was no longer wrapped around the third finger. He wanted to say something, but now was not the time.

“Billy,” she said softly. “Come inside and lie down. When you wake, we’ll drive to Gainesville. Your mother needs you now.”

Billy nodded. It was all he could do.

Trinity, South Carolina

Gilbert was poring over the monthly profit and loss forms when he heard the phone from the outside office ring. He stole a glance at his Timex. It was nearly four in the afternoon. If Mary Ann buzzed his office line, that would mean one of two things. One, Patsy was calling him again, or, two, Sandra was calling to report on her “kidnapping.”

He prayed for the latter.

He got neither.

“Gil, Walter Bonfield is on the phone for you.”

“Bonfield?” He hadn’t heard from the man in months. In fact, he’d thought about hiring another private investigator. “Put him through.”

“Sure thing.”

Seconds later, Bonfield’s voice said, “Mr. Milstrap?”

“I thought maybe you’d quit on me.”

“No, sir.”

“Last I heard from you, we’d hit a wall in Miami, Florida.”

“Well, I think I may have something for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“Didn’t you say your wife had a brother named Harold?”

“That’s right. He’s the older of the two boys.” Gilbert bounced his pencil along the edge of the desk pad.

“Well, I got a call from a man I know down near Orlando. I’d asked him to keep his eyes and ears open for me.”

“And?”

“And . . . he tells me that early this morning there was an attempted breakout of a prison situated over there in Raiford, Florida.”

“Raiford?”

“Over in Bradford County.”

“I’ve never heard of it.” He tapped his pencil twice more. “What does this have to do with my wife’s family, Mr. Bonfield?”

“A Harold Liddle was the name of the convict who tried to escape.”

“And you think this could be my wife’s brother?”

“I’m willing to go check on it for you. It’s the best lead we’ve had in months.” He sighed. “It’ll mean a road trip, though. I’ve called down there to talk to the warden, but he’s got his mouth shut tighter than a pickle jar.”

“What about the local paper down there? Did you try to call them?”

“Of course. Of course. They’re not saying a whole lot either. I know my job, Mr. Milstrap. I can get people to talk, but I gotta go down there to do it.”

That much was true. Walter Bonfield had managed to get enough information out of some of the old-timers in Casselton to track down Ira Liddle’s business dealings. The family had moved to Miami shortly after Bernice Liddle put Patsy on a bus. In Miami, Walter had learned enough to know what life was like for the Liddle family. From what he was able to surmise, Ira Liddle had been fired for immoral behavior with some of the salesclerks and had moved his family without much to-do. And no one seemed to know where. Even the neighbors were at a loss, but they’d told Bonfield what they knew.

“That’s fine. I’ll wire some money to you in the morning if that works.”

“Works fine for me.”

“Mr. Bonfield?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Harold Liddle—what’s he in for?”

“You mean what
was
he in for . . .”

“He’s . . . ?” Gilbert gripped the phone tighter.

“Dead. Yes-siree-bob. Shot him.”

Gilbert closed his eyes and exhaled. The pages of the P&L statement ruffled beneath him. “That’s too bad.”

“Yes, sir. If this turns out to be your wife’s brother . . . my condolences.”

“Thank you.” After exchanging good-byes, Gilbert replaced the receiver. He ran the fingers of his left hand over his forehead and into the crown of thick wavy hair he constantly fought to tame. For a moment, he allowed his brow to rest in the palm of his hand while he breathed in and out through his nostrils.

This was not good. Not good at all. If
this
Harold Liddle turned out to be Patsy’s brother, she’d never recover from the news. Unless, of course, there was something good to tack on to the end of it.

Bonfield had to find Billy and Bernice. He had to.