Chapter 4
Irene Cooper perched on the edge of the sofa. She had waited ten minutes already. She’d run out of things to do with her hands. She’d twisted her purse straps every which way. She’d tugged at the hem of her skirt until it was out of shape. Then she had wrung her hands until her fingers felt numb.
This was wrong.
She’d made a terrible, terrible mistake.
And her daughter could never know.
Lord, Irene didn’t even want to think what Adeline would say if she learned about any of this.
The squeak of wheels turning drew Irene’s attention to the parlor doors. She should’ve known better than to come to him about this. His help always came with a heavy price.
But just like thirty years ago, the situation had been desperate.
Now things were out of control. Again.
How had she allowed fear to drive her to make the same poor choice twice?
Cyrus Cooper rolled his wheelchair through the double parlor doors.
He looked old. Not just because of the wheelchair.
He’d been a prisoner to the crutches and then to that thing for more than thirty years and that had never stopped him from doing a single thing he decided to do.
Never once prevented him from looking powerful.
And as mean as a junkyard dog if the need arose.
No, this was the cancer. He had maybe six or eight months at most.
And then he would finally be dead.
No other man on earth deserved to die more than Cyrus Cooper. Irene, for one, would dance on his grave the same day the old bastard was buried.
God forgive her for the thought . . . but it was true.
As had been the case for more than thirty years, she had no other place to turn. She was a prisoner to the decision she had made all those years ago.
“Irene.” He rolled across the room, parked his ambulatory chair on the opposite side of the fancy coffee table from where she sat.
Every piece of furniture in the room was a priceless antique.
The man owned nothing that wasn’t valuable, more often than not bartered in blood.
“Is something wrong?” Those too-seeing brown eyes scrutinized her.
“You look pale as a ghost. What’s happened? ”
A sudden burst of determination chased away the weaker emotions that had her hands sweating. “She’s on her way here. I couldn’t stop her.”
His eyebrows winged up his forehead, accenting the surprise that flared in his eyes. “I suppose her reaction is only natural. Considering.”
Irene wanted to shake him. Though she didn’t dare.
“I want your word, Cyrus, that no one will bother her while she’s here.
My daughter has obeyed your decree for all these years, as have I.
As you said, under the circumstances you can understand why she might not be able to hold to that agreement now.
” Irene summoned her sternest tone. “I mean it, Cyrus Cooper. I want you to swear to me here and now that she’ll be protected. ”
“I sent her away nine years ago,” he clarified. “That decree, as you call it, was to protect her. She knows it’s not safe to come back here. Not even now. I’ll do what I can to see that she’s protected, but I can hardly make any promises, as you well know.”
Her bravado gave way to fear and frustration. “This thing has gone all wrong.” What in God’s name had she done? “That woman is missing. That’s why Addy’s coming back. It has nothing to do with what happened nine years ago.”
Cyrus nodded. “This is a terrible tragedy, there’s no question. But one that’s as big a mystery to me as it is to anyone else.”
Irene searched his eyes. Tried to see the lie. “Swear to me, Cyrus. Swear on your baby brother’s grave that you had nothing to do with that woman’s disappearance.”
“You came to me,” he said, adding salt to her wounds, “and you asked for my help. I was more than happy to provide whatever assistance you needed.”
“But not like this,” Irene exclaimed. “I only wanted you to . . .” She shook her head. “To . . .”
“Make the problem go away,” he finished for her.
Dear Lord, that is what she’d wanted. She had known before coming to him that this ending was a strong possibility. But she’d hoped, considering the cancer, he would handle things differently now. She should have known better.
“Sweet Jesus, Cyrus! It wasn’t my intention for you to do something like this,” she argued. This was insane. Just insane. Did the man have no conscience at all? “This is—”
He held up a hand to quiet her. “You’re getting yourself all worked up for no reason. Aren’t you listening? This wasn’t my doing. I sent Jed and Simon to talk to the woman,” he explained, his tone uncharacteristically gentle.
Mercy, Jed Stovall and Simon Cook were pure hoodlums.
“Prescott was nowhere to be found,” Cyrus went on.
“They discovered her abandoned car, just like the police did a few hours later. My boys never even got to say boo to the woman. She was already gone, Irene. You have no reason to worry. Whatever misfortune has befallen the poor woman had nothing to do with you or with me.”
Irene pressed her fist to her mouth. Didn’t know whether to cry or to rejoice. What was she thinking? The woman may have been killed! God forgive her for the relief she felt even now . . . even knowing this woman’s disappearance was clearly due to foul play. “Who could’ve done this?”
“I’m sure the police will be able to answer that question in time,” Cyrus offered.
“Prescott is an attorney, enemies come with the territory. I suppose someone she crossed in the past was just waiting for an opportunity to have revenge. Since her family’s quite wealthy, the fact that there’s been no ransom demand is a very bad sign, in my opinion. ”
Irene watched the news. The consensus was the same. “Whoever did this,” she began, not sure how much she should tell him . . . he already knew too much, “sent a letter to my Addy. That’s why she’s coming. She’s bringing some kind of evidence for Sheriff Henderson.”
Cyrus nodded. “I was informed of this turn of events a little while ago.”
Of course he’d already heard. He knew everything that went on in this county. He likely knew Addy was on her way well before Irene did. The surprise he’d shown moments ago had been nothing more than for show . . . for her benefit. The bastard. Even now he played his games.
No matter what he claimed, he would have some inkling about the Prescott woman’s fate. No one came into Cyrus Cooper’s territory and took a breath without his knowledge.
Somehow Irene had to ensure Addy never found out . . . about any of this. “No one can know what we’ve talked about, Cyrus. No one.”
His gaze held hers. She wanted to look away, but she didn’t dare. She needed him to promise despite knowing what that would mean.
“This will be our little secret, Irene.”
Vomit rose in her throat. She would rather die than owe this man anything more than she already did. But she would likewise do anything to spare her daughter this particular truth. Anything.
“The Prescott woman appears to be out of the way for now,” he went on. “Whatever she had hoped to accomplish by coming to you is irrelevant under the circumstances.”
That was another thing Irene would have to live with. The idea that she had lied to that poor woman. Dear God. Had her lies sent Prescott in search of the truth elsewhere? Had that search ended in tragedy?
Irene had to get out of this house. She pushed to her feet, her legs unsteady. “Thank you for your time, Cyrus.” She rounded the table, tried to veer beyond his reach.
She wasn’t quite fast enough. He grabbed her hand as she passed. “Try not to worry, Irene.” Those doughy fingers squeezed hers, making her shudder inside. “No one’s ever going to know our little secrets.”
She wrenched her hand free of his and rushed out the door. Managing to climb into her car before her knees gave way, she was halfway down the mile-long drive before she had to slam on the brakes and open the car door.
The bitter bile strangled her as she retched it from her throat.
She’d made a pact with the devil . . .
There would be a hefty price to pay. Just like before.
Irene prayed that Cherry Prescott had not been a part of that price.