A Life for a Life by Lynda McDaniel (best selling autobiographies .txt) đ
- Author: Lynda McDaniel
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âSo did Kitt make all those calls and steal Jake?â I asked.
âEither she did or she was behind them,â Della said. âAnd we believe she was the person you saw setting the store on fire, though again, we canât prove those things. But your finding her hubcap clinched it for us.â
That felt good, but we all knew it was her and Alex who did the hard stuff. âWhy did you add that part about seeing her car when you were in the Rollinâ Store? You ainât even taken a ride yet.â
âHavenât. I know, I just said that to get Kitt riled, and to let her know we knew Blanche was her mother. But I plan to join you and Duane, from time to time, now that things are getting back to normal. Whatever that means.â
âI think she might have killed you next,â I said.
She patted me on the back and smiled. âI doubt that, Mister. Too many people were starting to pay attention. And she was counting on Gregg taking the rap.â
We all sat quiet-like, and then the strangest thing happened: Della started laughing. Alex and Cleva and I just looked at each other and didnât have a clue about what was going on. She carried on so that we started laughing too, for no good reason. Finally, she caught her breath. âGosh, thatâs the first good laugh Iâve had in months.â
âWell, are you going to let us in on it?â Cleva asked, wiping her eyes.
âI just pictured Blanche up on her ladder, adding a new sign to her wall: âNo Money Laundering!ââ
âI feel like such an idiot.â
Alex and Abit had left for another driving lesson. Cleva and I were enjoying the relative quiet and a glass of Champagne.
âWhyâs that, honey?â
âIâm such a bad judge of character. I never saw through Kitt.â
âWell, maybe thatâs just as well. Youâre not meant to go around judging all the time. It wears a body down being too vigilant. Just pay attention and do what you can. Thatâs what you did, and it all worked out. At least for us, not poor olâ Lucy. Besides, you donât want to be so cynical that you suspect or dislike everyone, do you?â
I shook my head. I was tired of trying to outthink the world. I was feeling better every dayâand grateful that I hadnât had my recurring dream in over a week. I thanked Cleva again for sending out an SOS to all my customers.
âWell, you needed to see that you do belong to a community.â
After that, things started to settle down. Weâd had a media frenzy for more than a week, with reporters from the Atlanta Constitution, Charlotte Observer, and other news services in town, filling up neighboring hotels, cabins, and restaurants. I even ran into an old freelance buddy of mine, who was covering the story for the AP. Brower was taking all the credit, and I was gladâthat meant I could get on with my life. The only interview I granted was to Tony Benedict, who wrote a dandy series on the crime, from our local perspective, for the Mountain Weekly. He did such a good job, I heard he was on his way to Charlotte for a job with the Observer. I was happy for himâalways glad to see a fellow member of the Fourth Estate excel.
Brower, on the other hand, had granted every interview he could talk his way into. He seemed to appreciate my bowing out, letting him have all the glory. I saw him buying a stack of newspapers in the drugstore, and he did that guy thing of holding up the paper and nodding at me. Man-speak for thank you.
And Iâd sent my condolences to Izzy. When she got my note, she called, and we talked for a while. Sheâd heard from Brower earlier, asking if Lucy had ever mentioned Gregg to her. Of course, Lucy hadnât even met Gregg until she came to Laurel Falls. To his credit, Brower did have the courtesy to follow up once Kitt was arrested. Izzy was wrestling with the idea that her father was likely murdered as wellâor at least grossly neglected, all for his meager income. When she thanked me for getting to the bottom of her familyâs story, I assured her Iâd had lots of help. I invited her to come down again and meet Abit, who played such a big role. I didnât mention Alex, but he deserved a lot of credit, too. And even Brower, hard as it was to admit. She said she wouldâand sheâd call first to make sure I had plenty of chorizo in stock.
Alex had been back in D.C. for a while. He seemed moody, unsettled even, since we wrapped up our caper. I wasnât sure why, since he had plenty of projects to work on, though heâd wisely chosen not to write about Kitt and her life of crime.
Later that afternoon, the phone rang. âRemember when I did that story a few years ago when the movie Gandhi came out?â Alex said, without as much as a hello. âThe one about how much was fact and how much was Hollywood? I was always struck by the part in the movie when Nahari killed a child from a Muslim sect after the Muslims killed his Hindu son.â
He paused for such a long time, I finally asked, âOkay, and where are you going with this?â
âGandhi told him, just a minute, I have it transcribed from the movie.â I heard papers shuffling, and then he said, âGandhi told him, âI know a way out of Hell. Find a child, a child whose mother and father have been killed and raise him as your own. Only be sure that he is a Muslim and that you raise him as one.â Thatâs what I need to do.â
âRaise a Muslim?â
âDammit, Della, youâre being intentionally obtuse. Please, Iâm trying to figure something out. Itâs been rumbling around in my head, and I need to get it straight.â
Once he told me the rest of his idea, I couldnât wait for him to come back down here.
Three days later, I was dreading our visit next door, even though Alex and I had what I considered great news to share with Vester and Mildred. I had a niggling feeling it wouldnât go well. When we knocked on their door, we could see through the screen door that they were just finishing supper. Vester opened the door, welcoming us in his own way.
Mildred offered peach pie and coffee, which were impossible to refuse, even though my stomach was churning. She waved away the fuss we made over her delicious baking. âTheyâre just last yearâs peaches Iâd put up.â Just.
After we chatted a while and finished our pie, I cleared my throat and said, âWeâve got something we wanted to share with you. Abit, I didnât want to tell you about this before we talked with your folks.â He looked scared, and I saw a marked change in Vesterâs expression. I looked at Alex.
âWell,â Alex said, clearing his throat. âIt will come as no surprise that Della and I think the world of your boy.â Abit shot him a look that made Alex stumble. âI mean your young man, er, your son.â Abit nodded, though he still looked worried.
âWell, I have an editor friend in D.C. whose son went to a school in Boone. A great school thatâs affiliated with the university thatâs for kids, er, young folks who need a little help with their schooling. Itâs a remarkable program. Anyway, I told him about Abit and how much potential he has, and this editor, well, he owed me a favor. So he talked with the board membersâhe serves on the board. Cleva Hall also knows some of those board members from her school principal days, so she wrote letters and made phone calls. The board ...â
Alex paused. The tension in the room thrummed, and he was struggling for the right words. â... is offering a two-year scholarship for Abit. I know itâs a long drive, so Abit, with your permission, of course, could stay in one of the dorms thereâsupervised housingâand I want to pay for that. I made a big mistake a few years ago, and I have longed for a fresh start. I want to give that fresh start to Abit, which could help me heal, too, and do something worthwhile for your family at the same time. We could drive up there and I could show ...â
âThank you, but we donât take no charity,â Vester interrupted, spitting his words out like a bad taste.
No one said a word. A long, painful silence hung in the room, until Mildred finally spoke. âThis ainât no charity, Vester.â
âThe hell it ainât. We can take care of our own. These bigshots think they can come down here and show us the way. If that ainât charity, I donât know what is.â He untucked his napkin, threw it on the table, and stood up, his chair scraping on the linoleum floor.
Mildred stood too, looking him in the eye, her voice stronger than Iâd ever heard. âIt may be charity, but itâs Christian charity, and thatâs not the same thing as what youâre talkinâ about.â
âChristian?â Vester said, sneering. âI bet that man ainât seen the inside of a church since, since ...â
âSince you did?â
âWoman, whose side are you on?â
âVester Juniorâs. And you donât have to go to church to love people and do the right thing.â She turned to Alex and said, âWe accept. With open heartsâand broken hearts that we cainât do it for him ourselves.â
Vester glared at her, then sat back down and sighed like a dying man. No one budged. Except for Abit. He jumped up, tears streaking his face, and threw his arms around his mother. Then he awkwardly hugged me and Alex, trying to get his arms around us both at the same time. Mildred dabbed at her eyes with her napkin.
Vester looked horrified when Abit headed toward him, and, without a thought about whether the man deserved it or wanted it, hugged his father as hard as Vesterâs rigid body would allow. Abit wouldnât let go. Slowly, Vester reached around his sonâs back, and Mildred moved to stand by her family. We slipped away, down the steps toward home.
I barely slept last night. I felt both excited and scared about the idea of school. Iâd always wanted to get away, but once I got the chance, all I could think about was what if I couldnât learnâeven at that special school? And I hated to think about leaving Mama, especially with only Daddy for company.
I tossed and turned and then woke up from a dream where I
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