A Mistake
The ride home was tense, but I hoped I’d planted enough doubt in Detective Stanek’s mind. I wanted to investigate Claire’s alibi myself, but first, I needed to see all the evidence.
After a few minutes spent in silence, I glanced at Colton. His jaw was firmly clenched. His hands, gripping the steering wheel, were white knuckled.
“Thank you,” I said softly. “For being there for me today and—”
“You made a huge mistake!” His voice, shouting inside the confines of the car, made me jolt, startled.
He slammed a hand against the steering wheel, weaving aggressively through dense interstate traffic.
“You don’t even understand the damage you’ve done.
” When he looked at me, I saw the raw fear in his eyes.
My heart sank. I hated being so deeply and impossibly in the dark. “What are you talking about?”
“You don’t trust me one bit, do you?” He glanced at me quickly. “It’s either that, or you think I’m an idiot.”
“What? No! How could you say that? I’d be rotting in jail if it weren’t for you.”
He exhaled angrily, cursing under his breath as he took the off ramp.
“Don’t you think I noticed the missing fingerprints on the door handle?” he demanded. “It was stated in the report that they found other prints, not yours. If you’d only bothered to read. Well, I did!”
“And why didn’t you say something?” My head spun . . . I didn’t know what to believe anymore.
“To whom? To you? Didn’t I say I believe you’re innocent? What more do you want?”
“To tell me how you’re going to get me off, Colton! To share your thinking with me. And to share your doubts with the cops; maybe they’ll start looking at Claire as a suspect. Then we wouldn’t have to go to trial.”
He pulled into the driveway in front of my house and cut the engine. “You never share your concerns with the police, Hattie. You save all that for court, to instill reasonable doubt into the jurors. Now they’ll have time to prepare. To cover it up under motions and experts and heaps of witnesses.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “What have I done?” I whispered.
Panic spread through me like wildfire, and a sob escaped my lips.
I breathed deeply a few times, willing myself steady.
Colton got out of the car and opened the door for me.
I took his hand and climbed out, feeling my shaky legs about to give in.
His arm wrapped around my shoulders, lending me some of his strength.
“It’s not over yet,” he said as we entered the house, sounding a little calmer. “Next time, just tell me what’s on your mind. I’m on your side, no matter what.”
“What’s going on?” Billy Ray asked, frowning a little. He stood by the counter holding a large knife. Several onions were lined up on the cutting board, peeled and rinsed. The smell of basted ribs filled the house, mouthwatering and at the same time nauseating.
“Nothing. Just a hiccup,” Colton said. “Let’s sit outside. It’s nice out there.”
I followed him obediently, the understanding of what I’d done weighing me down. Billy Ray stayed behind, his knife rapping quickly against the cutting board like a drum. I sat on the wicker couch and wrapped my arms around my body, bothered by the breezy chill despite the bright morning sunshine.
Colton undid his jacket buttons and pulled a chair across from me, then lowered his head into his hands. When he looked up, he seemed drawn and tired. Overwhelmed with emotion.
“Is this personal, Hattie?”
His question took me by surprise. “It doesn’t get any more personal than trying to save my own life. Of course it’s personal.”
He closed his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them again, all that emotion was gone.
“I mean, about Winston Donovan. You said you loved him. You’re still wearing his ring.” His eyes focused toward my hand.
I resisted the urge to hide it in my pocket. “What’s this about, Colton? Why does it matter?”
“It does, if you’re risking your own life—your own defense—to find his killer.” He rubbed his forehead with his fingers, angrily, as if trying to control the thoughts spinning in his mind. “Tell me, what do you do for a living?”
“What?” My pulse spiked, and my chest tightened with a suffocating pressure.
My mind raced through the possible answers I could give, each feeling like a loaded weapon aimed back at me.
I stood and started pacing the patio angrily, my hands plunged deeply into the pockets of my slacks.
I didn’t like where the conversation was going. I felt trapped again, cornered.
“I just want to know, are we going to get hit with a nasty surprise during trial?” His gaze followed me, unescapable.
I stopped. He had a good point. “No,” I answered, voicing baseless hope rather than fact. “We’re fine there.”
Of course, we were not fine. If the authorities had the curiosity to look for previous employment or tax returns, there’d be an entirely new world of trouble.
“Hattie . . . I need to know,” he said gently. “You can trust me.” He held my gaze firmly, but there was kindness in his eyes . . . the kindness that had made me fall in love with him all those years ago. “Do you work with green energy?”
I smiled weakly, shifting my eyes for a moment. “No.”
“Then what is it you do that pays for all this?” He gestured vaguely toward the house. “Must be something quite lucrative.”
How could I begin to explain what I did? Telling the truth wasn’t an option. Some truths were better left in the dark. “Sometimes men give me gifts,” I said softly, feeling my cheeks catch fire.
“Jeez, Hattie . . .” His fingers found his forehead, rubbing furiously. Then he stood and walked over, stopping squarely in front of me. “I can’t believe it . . .” he mumbled, looking anywhere but at me. “Can’t fucking believe it. You know they’re going to find out, right?”
I drew air in forcefully, steeling myself. “They might. And it will be embarrassing, but it’s not illegal,” I said with a bitter scoff. “It’s not like you don’t know what I’m talking about. And why do you care? We haven’t been together—”
“It’s not about you and me, for crying out loud!” He paced slowly, one hand on his hip, the other stubbornly glued to his forehead.
“Then what? What aren’t you telling me?” Fear unfurled in my gut like a cold-blooded snake.
“This little . . . hobby of yours could put you on death row, that’s what! If it comes out, that means motive.”
My throat went dry. I felt the need to sit down, my heart thumping desperately inside my chest. I walked over to the couch and collapsed, the entire world spinning faster and faster. “I’m not following,” I whispered.
“The prosecution could argue that Winston found out about who you really were, or how you make your money, and threatened you. And you killed him to keep him quiet. Until now, the biggest cause for reasonable doubt we had was lack of motive. Now that’s down the drain.”
Tears started burning the corners of my eyes. “What are we going to do?”
He didn’t reply; he kept looking at the pavement, absent-mindedly playing the tip of his shoe against the edges of pavers. When he finally spoke, his voice was distant, professional, and brutally cold. “How about this name-change business? Was it legal?”
I hesitated for a moment, so tempted to offer one more lie. “The ID is legal,” I said instead.
Stunned, he raised his head and stared at me. A storm of emotions battled on his face. Disbelief. Regret. Anger. Sorrow.
“Why, Hattie?” he eventually asked in a fraught voice. “Why? You could’ve called me, no matter what it was. You know I love you. I always will.”
Why? I didn’t know where to start, so I didn’t. Silence engulfed us. After a while, I stood and walked over to him, then lost myself in his embrace.
“Save me,” I whispered, my face buried in his chest. “Oh, Colton, I’m so scared . . . Please, promise me everything will be all right.”
A long beat of silence passed while he rocked me back and forth, gently, like a slow dance without music and without steps. “I promise, we’ll get through this,” he whispered, his lips close to my ear. “We’ll find a way, you and me.”
I didn’t believe a single word.
He was just as terrified as I was.