Chapter Nineteen #2
Jude saw Taybee’s finger tapping her leg, a Morse code from her autonomic nervous system telegraphing her anxiety in triplicate.
“Chief Stevens said an old fishing net was wrapped around the propeller. He told me Daddy must’ve dropped anchor and jumped into the water to unwrap the net. Next thing, the dam reverted. Water came rushing up. Daddy didn’t have time to get out of the way.”
Taybee’s finger stopped tapping. She looked at Jude.
“That sounds plausible, doesn’t it?”
“It sounds like an accident.”
“Except the temperature of the water was seventy that day. It’s right there in the police report. Daddy never put on his waders unless it was south of sixty-five. He wouldn’t have even had them in the boat, let alone put them on.”
Jude leaned her arm on the back of the bench. “What about the fuel?”
Taybee wagged her finger at Jude. “You sniffed it out. The water was smooth that day. Daddy should’ve had at least two-thirds left in the tank, but it was dry as a bone.
The engine would’ve braked when the net got caught up in the propeller, so it’s not like it kept running.
Almost like somebody staged the whole thing. ”
“Do you still have copies of the police report?”
“Cousin, I’ve got everything. All the paperwork and pictures.
Even got the boat in dry dock. I had an independent medical examiner look at the autopsy years ago.
She told me everything on his body fits the story.
Daddy didn’t have any scratches or defensive wounds.
Two of his fingernails were broken off at the quick, but that could’ve happened when he tried to grab on to the boat when the water started to pull him down.
There’s two deep gouges in the paint on the hull.
Whoever put him in that water knew what they were doing. ”
“You were in college when it happened,” Jude remembered. “Did your mother think anything was off?”
“No, but I went to your daddy and I asked him what he thought.” Taybee patted her hand to her chest three times.
She was trying to tamp down the anxiety.
“He told me I might be right, but there was a difference between being right and proving it in court. It’s one of the reasons I went into family practice instead of criminal law.
I can’t stand the idea of bad people getting away with bad things.
At least if I’m fighting for somebody in a divorce, I know I have a chance of winning. ”
Jude trod carefully. “Your father was a juror on a very important trial when he died.”
“Oh, yeah, I know all about that. Gerald told me if somebody killed my daddy, it’s because Ezekial Gilchrist paid them to do it.”
Jude felt a strange sensation in her heart—a swell of pride for her father. He’d figured this out decades before them. “Did you ever speak to any of the other jurors?”
“One of them was at Daddy’s funeral. Bless his heart, he was the only person there whose name isn’t on a street sign or a building. Bell-something.”
“Mitch Bellingham?”
“Sounds right,” Taybee said. “He was gruff, kind of unpolished. Not used to wearing a suit, that’s for sure. But he told me Daddy was a good man. That he would make sure his death wasn’t in vain.”
“What did he mean by that?”
“I guess that he would be a good juror in the trial? That he would make sure his voice was heard?” Taybee shrugged.
“I didn’t think to push him. My mama had to be drugged to get through the funeral and my brothers were all falling apart.
One of us had to hold it together, and I guess that job fell on me. ”
Jude saw her start tapping the code on her leg again. Taking on that job had come at a cost. “Taybee, I think your father would’ve been very proud of you.”
Taybee smiled. “Cousin, I think your father would’ve been very proud of you, too.”
Jude was glad at least one of them was telling the truth. “Can you drive me back to your house and let me see the files you have on your father?”
“Of course.” Taybee stood up. “And I’ve got four types of cobbler and loads of ice cream. I tried to give it to Kaitlynn but, bless her heart, she’s gone off sweets. That baby’s driving her crazy.”
She kept rambling as Jude felt her phone vibrate. She didn’t need her glasses to read the screen. Her heart lurched, because Emmy would only be calling right now if something had gone very wrong.
Jude tried to keep the panic out of her voice. “Emmy?”
There was no response.
“Emmy Lou?”
“Uh—” Emmy took a deep breath. Then another. Then another. Her throat was making a dry clicking sound. “J-Jude.”
“Okay, sweetheart.” Jude was mindful that Taybee was listening. “I’ll be right there.”
Jude didn’t end the call. She kept the phone in her hand.
She told Taybee, “I forgot to ask her where she is. Can you look it up on Life360?”
Taybee whipped her phone out of her purse. Frowned at the screen. “That’s weird. She told me after Myrna died, she was never going to the nursing home again.”
“Can I borrow your car?”
Taybee narrowed her eyes. She could tell something was wrong. Still, she reached into her purse and pulled out her keys. “I’ll get a lift to the farm. Keep it as long as you want.”
Jude clicked the key fob. The lights flashed on the red Mercedes at the back of the lot. She didn’t remember getting into the car, pulling onto the road, speeding down Main Street. She kept the phone on speaker as she drove toward the highway.
“Emmy, I’m in the car now. I’m about ten minutes away.”
“I’m sorry,” Emmy said. “I can’t—I’m just—”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything, but I’m here.”
“Oh-okay.”
She went silent after that, but the panicked breathing continued.
Every short intake felt like a box knife stabbing into Jude’s heart.
The needle on the speedometer danced around one hundred when she hit the interstate.
Jude didn’t think about the last time she’d raced down this stretch of road, that Tommy had been thrown thirty feet from the car and Lee had nearly died.
She thought about her baby, the first time they’d been in a car together.
Jude had kept Emmy Lou in her lap the entire drive down from Memphis.
She had soothed her, sung to her, told her how much she loved her, promised to never, ever let her go.
By the time she spotted the Azalea Place Assisted Living and Nursing Home, tears were flooding her eyes.
The dread that Jude felt every time she saw the building had to be exponentially worse for Emmy.
Jude had only experienced six weeks of hell.
Emmy had endured years of watching Myrna decline.
Being back here must have felt like she was trapped all over again.
Jude circled the parking lot. Emmy was sitting inside her cruiser in the row farthest from the entrance. Her hands were gripped in her lap. Her seat belt was tight across her chest, cutting into the side of her neck. Jude got into the cruiser beside her.
“I’m here, sweetheart.”
Emmy looked at her, eyes wide, lips trembling. “I’m—I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Jude placed her hand over Emmy’s. “You’re having a panic attack.”
“N-no shit.” Emmy huffed out a laugh. “Oh, Jesus. Jesus. Wh-what’s wrong with me?”
“Seeing the nursing home triggered your fight-or-flight into overdrive. Your brain perceived danger and rushed a surge of adrenaline that caused your muscles to tense and your heart rate to increase. The choking sensation you’re feeling is hyperventilation.
Your thoughts are racing because you feel like you’re losing control, but you’re not.
If you don’t get your breathing under control, you’re going to pass out.
I told you. If you don’t slow down, your body finds a way to make you. ”
“Sh-shit.” Emmy huffed out another laugh. “Lecturing me when—when I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying.” Jude unbuckled Emmy’s seat belt, then loosened the straps on her vest. “This is temporary. You’re going to be okay in a few minutes if you just do as I tell you. All right?”
Emmy’s lips started to tremble, but her chin tilted down in a nod.
“We’re going to breathe together. Inhale slowly through your nose, then exhale slowly through your mouth. Okay?” Jude reached over and closed Emmy’s mouth. “Inhale.”
Emmy’s chest shook as she tried to draw in air.
“Exhale.”
They did a few more rounds together before Emmy’s breathing started to regulate.
Jude took off her watch.
Forty-two years ago, she’d stolen the Cartier Ronde from Myrna’s jewelry box on her way out of North Falls and pawned it at every strip mall from here to California.
Every time, Jude would find a reason to go back for it.
They hadn’t given her enough money. She could pawn it somewhere else for more.
She’d slept out of her car and skipped meals just to keep the watch in her possession.
Her attachment to an object her mother had never worn and kept in the box had been the subject of many therapy sessions. Now, she offered it to her daughter.
“I want you to take this. It belonged to your grandmother.”
When Emmy didn’t move, Jude lifted Emmy’s hand and placed the watch on her palm. Then she folded over Emmy’s fingers and held on tightly.
“When you start to feel like you’re losing control, I want you to focus on this watch.
Look at the hands on the face. Wind the crown.
Feel the texture on the buckle and the band.
Find something about it that tethers you to the physical world.
I do the same thing with objects when I feel myself slipping out of control.
I look at a toaster on a kitchen counter, or a tree by a lake, or the logo on a T-shirt.
It’s called anchoring. Just focus and breathe. It helps keep the panic at bay.”
Emmy was too shaken to protest. She looked down at the watch. Her thumb worked the crown. She took a deep breath. “I’ve been hearing this ticking sound since Mom’s funeral. I thought it went away, but then it came back and I—I don’t know.”