Chapter 4
FOUR
JUSTICE
Dylan kept true to his word that I wouldn’t hear from him while he’s working another case, and I wonder if there’s more to his silence. Is he putting distance between us? I’ve tried not to read too much into it, but the quiet of the early morning allows for my thoughts to taunt me.
The bell above the door dings, telling me we have our first customer of the morning.
Saturdays are usually our busiest with much of the community coming in for our famous breakfast buffet.
I make my way into the dining room with a fresh pot of coffee and mugs on my tray.
Only one man is sitting in the back booth, strong, muscular hands holding a newspaper and shielding his identity.
“Mornin’, I’m Justice; how are you?” I greet as I set the mug on the table and fill it with coffee. He folds the newspaper and places it on the table.
“Good morning, Justice.” His ominous timbre snakes down my spine, and piercing green eyes glare at me. I clutch the tray tighter to hide the sudden tremor in my hands.
“Mr. Varney.” I swallow back my fear. Drew Varney has never, not once, set foot in The Village Diner, and his presence sounds off a warning.
There’s a reason he’s here, and I don’t really want to know what it is.
I set a menu on the table and smile. “Take your time and look over the menu. I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order. ”
“The coffee will be fine.” He picks up the mug and pulls it to his lips, his eyes never leaving mine.
I nod once, then turn on my heels toward the counter, the bell over the door making me jump as more customers enter the diner.
I can’t ask Tabby to switch me sections; that would be too obvious to a man like Drew Varney.
From that point my pace never falters as the diner quickly fills with customers for the Saturday morning rush.
Drew watches me cautiously, his calculated presence making my stomach churn with nausea.
I snack on a yogurt between delivering orders to tables, but even that can’t settle the nerves he’s provoked.
I’ve checked on him three times in the last hour to see if he’d like to order or needs a refill on his coffee, and each time he’s refused.
I remain stoic with a kind smile and continue tending to my customers.
His attempt to rattle me with his presence is working, but I can’t show fear.
All my life men have tried to manipulate me, force me to bend to their will, and I’ve been compliant to that.
Enough is enough. I determined that when I made the decision to be a confidential informant for the FBI, and I can’t shrivel under Drew Varney’s gaze now.
I go to the window and grab an order, thanking Billy with a tip of the head and a wink.
I deliver the order to the table and check that they don’t need any condiments or refills before returning to the counter.
From my peripheral, I see Drew stand from his table and follow in my footsteps.
I set my tray aside and clear the counter of dirty dishes and napkins, stuffing my tips in my apron.
Drew pushes the door open then calls out, “Thank you for such stellar service today, Mrs. Daughtry.” My gaze finds his soulless glare, and he chuckles as he exits the diner.
Tabby sidles up beside me and wraps her hand around mine. It’s then I realize the grip I have on the steak knife, and I drop it to the counter as I shake loose of her hold. “That was…” Tabby begins, but I cut her off with, “Unnerving?” as I turn to look at her.
“Have you ever seen him here before?” I ask, but she shakes her head.
“He’s only ever seen at the Montgomery.”
“Is he affiliated with–”
“Tabby,” I warn. “I don’t know anything about his dealings, and I’d prefer if you didn’t insinuate that I do.”
“I’m sorry, Justice. You had to have felt the way he watched you.”
Oh, I did. “I’m sure we’re overreacting. Let’s get back to work. The morning rush should be over soon.”
I make my rounds through the dining room to check on my customers, clearing away more dishes and cashing them out. I set a bottle of cleaner and a cloth on my tray and return to the dining room to clean the empty tables.
The table Drew sat at taunts me, and as much as I’d like to avoid it like the plague, I can’t do that.
It’s stained with his darkness. I save that table for last, working up the courage to approach, just knowing what lies in wait for me.
I place the mug of cold coffee on my tray and pick up the newspaper he left behind.
Beneath it is a 100-dollar-bill, which is a large tip seeing as he only had coffee.
I pick up the cash, and my throat constricts as nausea rolls through my stomach.
I swipe the business card off the table and stuff it in my apron, then hurry about cleaning the table.
I carry the dirty dishes to the kitchen and then rush to the bathroom.
I lock the door behind me and swipe the trickle of cold sweat from my forehead as I nervously pull the card from my pocket.
On the front of the card in silver embossed foil reads, Montgomery Hotel.
But it’s the neat scrawl on the back that has me lunging toward the toilet and spewing my morning breakfast. I sink against the wall to catch my breath and release my grip on the card.
Drew Varney’s insidious warning stares back at me. “I know.”
Music blasts through the staticky speakers as I drive. It’s the only way to drown out the noise inside my head. I don’t want to think. To feel. I need solace. I turn up Millers Branch and bypass my house, as I make my way to my childhood home.
Momma’s been gone for five years now. Life was as unkind and tragic for her as it has been for me, and her untimely death was the wakeup call I needed to get life on a better path.
My sister, Haven, had barely turned eighteen when Momma took her last breath.
Even though I’d already lived in Georgia at the time and Haven had nothing left here for her, she refused to leave this house.
Everything happens for a reason, though, and all roads lead to home.
I made my escape back to Kentucky nearly four years ago after Harlan was charged with DUI.
That would have been a slap on the wrist had a possession charge not been tacked on to his indictment after his truck was searched at impound.
He was sentenced to three-to-five years in prison.
It was the opportunity I needed to make a fresh start for us, but time wasn’t on my side.
I had to play my cards carefully to ensure he would never have to endure a life of anguish and abuse like I did.
I turn off the car and pull the card Drew Varney left behind at the diner. I study it for a long moment, wondering exactly what his intentions were by leaving me such a message. “I know.”
Does he know I’m having an affair?
Does he know who I’m having an affair with?
What does he know?
I open my purse and pull out my journal, tucking the card between the pages for safekeeping.
I climb the chipped concrete steps and knock twice before entering.
The sweet smell of vanilla wafts through the air as I slip my shoes off.
I hear my sister’s soft voice coming from the backside of the house.
I pad down the hallway and find her in the bathroom, blowing bubbles at Ezekiel while he plays in the tub.
I watch her with him, and I’m so proud of the mom she’s become.
He was an unexpected addition in her life, one she accepted with open arms without second thought.
She’s always had a nurturing instinct that I never possessed.
I lean against the doorjamb, and the slight creak in the wood pulls Haven’s attention to the entrance, Zeke’s gaze following hers.
“Auntie!” he squeals as he climbs over the side of the tub and into Haven’s lap, bringing a splash of bubbles with him.
“I misses you!” He patters across the floor and jumps into my arms as I bend to catch him, anticipating his typical excitement at seeing me.
My soul feels complete in this moment as I hold him close to my chest, inhaling his sweet scent.
Haven stands and offers me Zeke’s hooded Spiderman towel, and I dry him off as quickly as he’ll allow then slide his roos up his legs.
I carry him into his bedroom and set him on the bed as Haven gathers his clothes from the dresser.
“I’ve missed you soooooooo much,” I emphasize.
“Have you been a good boy?” He peeks over my shoulder at Haven, and she giggles at his reaction.
“Mmmm, yes?” he questions as he jumps on his bed.
"Sure, little man. Why is Momma covered in sugar?" Haven asks him.
"We baked tuptakes!"
"More like I baked cupcakes while this little monster played in sugar, which is why he had a midday bath," Haven explains.
I grab Zeke as he jumps midair and wrangle him into his pants and T-shirt, then hang him upside down like he’s a monkey just to hear his laughter. “Auntie!” he shrills.
“Okay, okay. Get your shoes so we can get this monkey back to the zoo where he belongs!”
“So we go to the park, Auntie?” Ezekiel asks, excitement in his voice as he rushes to grab his shoes from the closet.
Haven side-eyes me and whispers, “Are you okay, sis? You don’t look very well.”
I look away; I hate lying to her. “I’m fine, sis.”
“You look weak, like you’re sick,” she challenges. Haven has always been able to see through my bullshit facade.
“Just nausea. Probably something I ate.”
Her face softens to one of pity. “Justice…”
“Are you ready, Ezekiel?”
“Esssss!!”
“I hope you know what you’re in for with him. He’s been a ball of energy all morning, waiting to spend the day with you.” Ezekiel is a bit wild at the park, but there’s nothing like the rambunctious energy of a happy three-year-old who has not a care in the world.
“I can handle it, sis,” I assure her with a wink. This time with my family is when I’m truly myself, the mask of deceit slipping.