Rekindling Trust Page 7

  “Good morning.” Edythe took her seat as Mrs. Cameron laid a plate of fried eggs and ham in front of her. “Where is your grandfather?”

  Sarah Jane swallowed the oatmeal she’d shoved in her mouth. “He left.”

  “Did he say where he was going or when he’d be back?”

  “No, Mother.”

  Since he no longer worked regular hours, where had her father gone at seven thirty in the morning? It didn’t matter. His absence made what she had to do easier.

  “You won’t let Grandfather send Andrew to that school, will you?” Timothy’s glower reminded Edythe of the times she’d been on the receiving end of a similar expression of resentment from her eldest child. “He says that’s where Andy’s gonna go soon.”

  Her father said that to her children? Well, he was wrong.

  The thought of her mother’s ring lying in the box upstairs had tempted her to begin her search for a house of their own, away from his influence and out from under his thumb. But she couldn’t. Not now. Last night’s circumstances forced her to change her plans.

  “Timothy, I’d like you and Sarah Jane to finish your oatmeal in the kitchen, please.” Edythe waited until the twins left the room before she asked Andrew the questions that had haunted her during the night. “Do you know how that fire started?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. What did that mean?

  “Are you sure you didn’t start it, even inadvertently? Were you smoking in the area? Did you drop a cigarette or matchstick and not realize until it was too late?” But that didn’t explain the injury to Mr. Stark.

  “I only smoked that one time. I told you, it wasn’t me.” He dropped the still-clean spoon on the tablecloth and leaned back in his seat, arms crossed. “You’re taking Grandfather’s side against me.”

  “No. I’m trying to understand. Why were you on the Stark property?”

  “I didn’t want to come home, so I walked around.” Tears trickled down his face and dripped onto his pants. “I hate it here. I wish I could go back in time and stop Papa from dying. Then we wouldn’t be here.”

  She tossed her napkin on the table and knelt by Andrew, sweeping him into her embrace as he cried on her shoulder. “It will be all right.” God, why must my babies suffer for their parents’ failures?

  When his sniffles eased, she released him and stood. “Finish your breakfast, then run upstairs and dress in your Sunday suit. We’re going out this morning.”

  “Where to?”

  “I want to consult an attorney.”

  “But I didn’t do it.”

  “I know, son, but it never hurts to be prepared.” More prepared than she had been after Lamar’s death.

  WITH ANDREW AT HER side, Edythe stood outside the law office of R. C. Branfield, waiting for the attorney to open his door. He did so at nine o’clock on the dot.

  “Mrs. Westin.” He blocked her way inside.

  “Good morning, Mr. Branfield. I realize I have no appointment but would you have a few minutes to talk with us?”

  He aimed a frown at Andrew. “If this is about what happened last night, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  He knew of the incident already? “At least hear us out.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I truly am.” He shut the door on them.

  “What now, Mother?”

  What now, indeed? “We try someone else.”

  “I think we should see Mr. B. J. He’ll help us.”

  Barrett? No. “There’s another lawyer up the street. Let’s go.”

  Edythe prepared for an argument, but Andrew followed without a word. The second attorney was no more helpful than the first. However, he did provide an answer for his reluctance to see her. “Your father mentioned the situation. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do.”

  No wonder the judge left before breakfast. She wasn’t the only Danby to visit attorneys this morning.

  She and Andrew plopped down on the stairs outside the man’s office. It seemed her next move was all she had left, because she could only think of one attorney her father couldn’t intimidate.

  “Mr. B. J. won’t let us down, Mother.”

  Edythe took her son’s hand, bringing him to his feet with her. “Come along, Andrew. We’ll see if your faith in your new friend is justified.”

  And if Barrett refused to help?

  BARRETT ANSWERED A firm knock on his front door. Edythe stood on the porch, her reddened eyes underscored by shadows, as though she’d had little sleep. The sight twisted his gut, bringing back those days when she met him at the river after experiencing the judge’s sharp tongue. Andy stood at her hip, for once meek and looking as though his world was about to end. “What’s happened?”

  Edy balled a handkerchief in her hand. “Please, Barrett, may we come in?”

  At the desperation in her voice, he stepped aside and let them enter. Edythe strode to his office, her back like a steel rod, shoulders squared, and her purpose resolute. In contrast, Andy shuffled across the floor behind her, head ducked and posture slumped. Quite the reversal in character.

  After gesturing for Edy to sit in the chair near his desk, Barrett slipped into his own chair across from her. Andy stood behind his mother.

  “What is this about?”

  “I’d like to hire you.”

  He stemmed the impulse to shout out a refusal of her business. “For what purpose?”

  She twisted and glanced over her shoulder at her son. “Andrew might be in trouble.”

  “What happened this time?” His question earned him a pinched expression from her and a scowl from her son.

  “Someone set fire to a shed on the property of a man named Stark.”

  Barrett had overheard a couple in the café where he’d eaten breakfast this morning as they’d talked about it. From the conversation, he’d assumed the incident was an accident, that Stark’s building caught fire and he was injured while trying to put it out. No one mentioned Andy, but if he’d had anything to do with what happened, it was no wonder Edy and her son walked around with dark skin shading their eyes.

  “From what I understand, Stark was injured.”

  Edy wound the handkerchief so tightly, her fingertips turned red beneath the lace of her glove. “Yes. The police think Andrew was involved.” Her voice trembled. “They think he started the fire, then hit Mr. Stark on the head with a board and knocked him unconscious.”

  Barrett’s gaze whipped to the boy and back to Edy. “Why Andy?”

  “They found him nearby.” She dipped her chin. “Hiding.”

  That didn’t sound like the boy Barrett was getting to know. He would imagine Andy standing in the open and defiant or running off before being caught. “Did they find him with the board?”

  “No.”

  Barrett leaned forward in his chair, curious to hear the boy’s story. “Did you set that fire, Andy? Did you injure Mr. Stark?”

  Edythe leaned forward in her seat. “He wouldn’t—”

  He held up a hand. “Let your son speak for himself.”

  Andy slid from behind the chair and approached the desk. “No, sir. It wasn’t me. I had nothing to do with the fire and never touched that board.”

  “Then why were you there?”

  “I...I didn’t want to go home, so I walked around. I cut through the Stark place.”

  “What did you see?”

  The boy’s chin dropped, as though he feared looking Barrett in the eye. “I saw the shed on fire and Mr. Stark on the ground.”

  “Nothing else?”

  Again, the hesitation. “No.”

  “Did you try to help him?”

  “He wasn’t moving. I thought he was dead.”

  The boy withheld something. “What happened next?”

  “I started to run away, but I heard people coming, so I hid in the bushes.”

  “Why didn’t you make yourself known?”

  “I was scared.” Andy wrapped his arms around his middle as a shudder moved through him, a gr
im understanding of the seriousness of the situation. He looked up, the normal brash rebellion absent.

  Still, Barrett would lay odds the boy knew more than he said. “There’s nothing I can do for him, Edythe.”

  She bolted from the chair. “Why not?”

  For one thing, your son isn’t telling the truth...the whole truth.

  “Please, Barrett.” She leaned forward, her hands propped on the desk. “We’ve been to two other attorneys. My father has convinced them not to help.”

  He overlooked the fact she hadn’t come to him first. Why should she? “What do you expect from me?”

  Her round-eyed stare said he should know what she expected. “I want you to represent Andrew should they charge him. I want his name cleared of suspicion.”

  The latter request might be asking more of him than he could manage, based on the fact that trouble was something her son excelled at. “In juvenile cases, the judge makes the decision.” As far as he was concerned, it was a flaw in the system. Even children should have representation in court.

  “At least, you can advise us.” When he didn’t give in, her lips flattened. She stood and clasped Andy’s hand, defeat written in the lines dragging down her mouth. “Come, Andrew. We’ll find someone else if we have to go to Indianapolis.”

  Andy broke free and gripped the edge of Barrett’s desk. “I thought you’d be the one person to believe me.” His hurt appeal turned into an angry sneer. “I shoulda known you were no better than my grandfather. He’d like to see me at the reform school. He’d like to get me out of his house. I don’t know why I thought you were different.” He spun and stomped across the room toward the front hall.

  Barrett had based his whole practice on taking the cases of people he believed were innocent but for one reason or another wouldn’t receive the justice they deserved. Perhaps Andy didn’t set the fire or injure Stark, but what was he hiding?

  He ran a hand down his face, smoothing his beard while he questioned his motive for denying the boy his help. Was he so petty as to use Andy to get back at the judge for sentencing Wynn to prison, or Edy for marrying another man? That sounded too much like the actions of Judge Danby for his comfort. “Hold on, Andy. There’s an apple pie on the kitchen counter. Get yourself a piece while I speak with your mother.”

  The boy glanced between Barrett and Edythe. A tiny smile of hope lit his face before he left the room.

  “And stay out of trouble in there, please.”

  From the hall, Andy called out, “Yes, sir.”

  Edythe sighed and returned to the chair. “Thank you, Barrett.”

  “Don’t thank me. I’m making no promises. You do realize your son is hiding something?”

  She tilted her head. “Because he hesitated in answering some of your questions? He was recalling the scene and—”

  “He was trying to decide what and how much he should say.” Barrett pressed back in his chair. “Why are you convinced Andy is innocent? I wasn’t here but a few days before I learned of his reputation around town.”

  “Because I know my son. No, he’s not an angel, but when caught, he accepts responsibility. Sometimes, I think he takes pleasure in it.” She shook her head. “This time is different. This time he says he didn’t do it, and I believe him.”

  Barrett wished he had that same confidence in the boy.

  He’d believed Wynn when his brother claimed he was innocent, that the judge only wanted to punish Barrett for his relationship with his daughter. At the time, Edythe told him he had a blind spot when it came to Wynn’s behavior. Not a blind spot. Trust. She had that same trust in her son.

  The question was, could Barrett trust Andrew Westin?

  Edy opened her purse and pulled out a small box, opened it, and laid it on the desk in front of him. A ring—a ruby ring with pearls. “I haven’t had this appraised or the time to sell it, but I’m sure it will more than cover your fee.”

  Jewelry given to her by Lamar Westin? No, thanks. Just seeing it made him squirm. “I don’t want your wedding ring.”

  “This isn’t my wedding ring. It belonged to my mother.”

  She felt no sentiment in keeping it? One day, she might regret giving it up. “You know the fire that killed my parents left me nothing belonging to them. Your memories of your mother are tainted by her leaving. What she did wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair to you. But I don’t want you to regret losing something that was hers. There’s no such thing as a time limit on forgiveness. The day might come when you see her again and discover she’s not the monster you believe her to be.”

  “I know why she left and can forgive her for it. What I can’t forgive is the fact that she left me behind.” A lifetime of hurt sharpened her voice. “My son is more important to me than a piece of jewelry.”

  “Be that as it may, someday, I’m certain you’ll wish you had it back. Besides, money doesn’t concern me.”

  “Then what is it? You said you liked Andrew.” She closed the box and set it on the desk in front of him. “I thought you, of all people, would understand the necessity of defending the innocent, Barrett. Didn’t you always tell me that justice mattered above anything else when it came to the law?”

  She would throw his words back at him, but she was a fine one to talk. Where was her plea for justice when his brother needed it? Where was her effort to influence her father’s act of reprisal? “I met the judge last week.”

  “He told me.”

  “You said nothing to him about seeing Wynn at the sanitarium.”

  “I promised you and Wynn I wouldn’t.”

  Barrett read nothing more in her expression than surprise at the suggestion she would go back on her word.

  What harm would it do to ask a few questions at the police station? Barring the past, he supposed he owed her for keeping Wynn’s secret. “I’ll make some inquiries and see what I can learn. It’s possible you and Andy have nothing to worry about.”

  She shut her eyes and blew out a breath. “Thank you.”

  Barrett ground his molars. He’d regret this. He already did.

  Chapter Nine

  Barrett justified stopping inside the doorway of City Hall with the excuse that it gave his eyes time to adjust to the dim interior. In reality, he needed a moment to vanquish the bad memories. To defeat the sudden remembrance of the night of Wynn’s arrest.

  As soon as he’d heard the news, Barrett rushed to this building, his heart a battering ram against his chest. He burst through the door of the police department and found his brother slumped in a hard chair, handcuffs clasped around his wrists. Barrett could smell the alcohol from five feet away. The officers explained that they’d found Wynn sleeping in the back alley adjacent to the drugstore. Dried blood spotted his hands, but despite having no money in his possession, no one believed Wynn’s denial that he’d robbed the place.

  Barrett shrugged off the memory and strode down the hallway. The sooner he got this over with the better. He didn’t need the sign on the wall to tell him where to find the portion of the building he sought. Even with the growth of the town, the police department hadn’t moved in twelve years. Expanded, perhaps, but it remained in the same place.

  An officer stood behind the counter at the front of the room. He looked up when Barrett shut the door. “Help you, sir?”

  “My name is Barrett Seaton. I’d like to speak with Officer Brennan.”

  “Wait here.” The officer left his station and disappeared down a short hallway.

  The name Edy had given him hadn’t sounded familiar, so he supposed Brennan had been employed after Barrett left town. Good. There would be no prejudice on the man’s part, no remembrance of Wynn’s case to cloud their conversation.

  A few minutes later, the first officer returned, accompanied by a man, fresh-faced but with the leery stare of a veteran on the force. His uniform, crisp and black with buttons of shiny brass, fit his slim frame as though tailor-made.

  After introductions and a few pleasantries, Barrett go
t down to business. “I’d like to speak with you about the incident on the Stark property.”

  Officer Brennan’s eyes glinted in a way that said he would not be swayed by Barrett’s argument, whichever side it came down on. “Are you here on behalf of Judge Danby or his grandson?”

  “His mother asked that I look into the situation.”

  “Then you can tell her we’re still investigating the circumstances.”

  “You have no plans to charge him?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Ah, that was how this would play out—each piece of information pulled from the man’s mouth like a rotted tooth. “I’d like to hear from you why he is a suspect.”

  “For one thing, he was hiding in the bushes not far from where Mr. Stark was sprawled unconscious on the ground.”

  As Wynn had been found near the scene of the robbery he’d been accused of committing.

  “Then young Mr. Westin gave us a go-round when we found him. He tried to run off several times.”

  “It’s my understanding that Andy came upon the fire and saw the man on the ground. He was frightened and unsure what to do.” Barrett moderated his voice to keep from sounding as though he argued with the officer. Antagonism would get him nowhere and might hurt Andy’s case. “Seeing someone unconscious, perhaps dead, would frighten a man, to say nothing of its impact on a young boy.”

  “I’d agree that most would take a fright at witnessing such a scene. However, Andrew has quite the reputation, Mr. Seaton, so it’s no wonder he’s brought suspicion upon himself.”

  Barrett kept his expression neutral, but inside he feared for Andy’s future. “I understand your reasoning for questioning him, Officer Brennan, but a reputation for childish antics doesn’t prove he injured Mr. Stark or set the man’s building on fire.”

  “No, sir. Those childish antics you speak of include things like knocking over outhouses and trampling a flower garden. We’ve dealt with that kind of behavior by him in the past.” Officer Brennan frowned. “Not so childish was his stealing a boat and rowing up and down the river. Eventually, he left the boat beached on one of the little islands and swam to the riverbank.”