The Daughter. BEVERLY BARTON
such a thing?
The letter was typewritten. Actually, it looked as if it had been composed on a computer and printed from a laser printer. There were several laser printers at the courthouse and one at the public library. And several copy shops provided laser printers for use by their customers. Unless there were fingerprints on the envelope or the plain white paper, there was probably no way to trace the letter.
Was this a prank? Dan Gilmore certainly hadn’t penned the heated love letter. Did she have a secret admirer out there somewhere? Was someone stalking her, watching her without her being aware of his presence? A chill raced up her spine. She’d heard of women being stalked by ex-lovers or ex-husbands, and celebrities being harassed by crazed fans. But she had no ‘ex’ anything. And she certainly wasn’t famous. However, she was a well-known figure in the community, in all of Bryant County for that matter.
Ella Porter, you aren’t the type of woman that men become obsessed with and you know it. No one would ever … Oh, dear Lord, no! Years ago, Reed Conway had written her two letters very similar to this one. Until her father had seen to it that he couldn’t send any more. And Reed Conway had been released from prison yesterday. Was it possible that he had written her this crude love letter? Yes, of course it was possible. If the man still blamed her father for his imprisonment, then he might be trying to get to her father through her. He’d done it once before; why not now?
Daddy would be furious. He would confront Reed and accuse him of harassing her. Even though she couldn’t be sure the letter had come from Reed, there would be no doubt in her father’s mind. He would condemn Reed without benefit of hard evidence. The police would be called in and the story might leak to the media, and her mother would find out and become terribly upset. Ella could well remember the hullabaloo that went on in the Porter household when Reed had written to her from prison. She didn’t want a repeat of those nerve-racking days.
The letter can’t hurt you, she reminded herself. It’s only a bunch of words. If Reed had written it, he had done it solely to get a rise out of Webb Porter. If she didn’t show anyone the letter, then Reed wouldn’t have accomplished his goal. Surely, if he realized she had ignored the silly piece of trash, he wouldn’t bother writing another.
Ella removed a key chain from her pocket and unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk. After pulling out the drawer, she lifted and opened her gray leather shoulder bag, then stuffed the letter back into the envelope. The best thing to do was forget about the message and hope that would be the end of it. But she wouldn’t destroy the letter. Not yet.
She didn’t want to involve her father or the local authorities unless it was absolutely necessary. She wasn’t a sixteen-year-old innocent any more. She was a grown woman, a thirty-year-old circuit court judge. She could certainly handle this situation without help. She would find Reed Conway and confront him with the letter, then warn him that if he knew what was good for him, he’d leave her alone.
Jeff Henry Carlisle sipped tea from a Moss Rose Haviland china cup. The silver tea service that Judy Conway had placed on his intricately carved mahogany desk in the study had been in his family for six generations. The desk itself had come overland from Virginia and then down the Tennessee River to Alabama before the War Between the States, as a wedding present for one of his ancestresses. Of all the fine rooms in his home, he thought he loved this one best. His own private domain, filled with beloved treasures, both family heirlooms and items he had acquired at estate sales and out-of-the-way antique shops. There were even a few items he had picked up on his and Cybil’s trips to Europe. Unfortunately, his wife didn’t give two hoots about the things that were precious to him. ‘A bunch of old junk,’ she’d once said of the priceless antiques that adorned each of the twelve rooms in their home. All the rooms, that is, except her bedroom. She had decorated that room in a garish nineteen-twenties art deco style that made him feel nauseated every time he entered her private quarters.
His wife might physically resemble her older sister, but that was where the similarities ended. Carolyn was a lady, through and through. Genteel, in the way Jeff Henry’s mother had been. A gentleman never used a curse word in her presence, because it would shock and offend her. Carolyn was a fragile flower to be cherished and protected from the harsh realities of the world. Ah, dear, sweet Carolyn. He had loved her madly when they’d been young, but she had thought of him only as a friend. She had wanted no one but Webb Porter. And what Carolyn wanted, Carolyn got. Who could deny such a woman anything?
He supposed that, in a way, he was still in love with Carolyn. But it was a pure love, untainted by anything physical. His love for her was a noble thing, much like that of the knights of old for their fair damsels. Carolyn was a part of his heart. That would have to be enough. She was devoted to Webb and would never leave him.
Jeff Henry sighed as he picked up one of Judy’s homemade oatmeal cookies. He knew he shouldn’t be nibbling, but he’d smelled the cookies baking when he passed the kitchen a half hour ago. In the past few years, he’d acquired a bit of a paunch, but a few extra pounds didn’t hurt a man’s looks the way it did a woman’s. Some people might consider him vain, but he wasn’t. He simply prided himself on his appearance. Cybil told him that his factitiousness drove her crazy.
Well, truth be told, everything about his wife drove him crazy. It hadn’t always been that way. Not in the beginning. When they had first married, she’d tried to please him. He’d been convinced that she actually cared for him.
‘I did my best to be like Carolyn,’ she’d told him. ‘I knew I wasn’t your first choice. I tried, damn it. I tried so hard, but it was never enough. I’m not Carolyn and you’ve never let me forget it.’
He’d made a serious mistake marrying Cybil, but he dealt with things the best he could. He turned a blind eye to her indiscretions. At least she had tried to be discreet about her numerous affairs; he was thankful for that much. The Carlisles didn’t believe in divorce. There had never been a divorce in the family, and he most certainly had no intention of breaking that tradition. Perhaps once he would have considered it, if Carolyn had been free. Poor Carolyn, married to a man who didn’t deserve her, a man who made a mockery of their marriage. But she was happy in her delusional state, and he would do anything – absolutely anything – to make sure nothing and no one ever ruined that happiness for her.
‘Mr Carlisle?’ A woman’s voice broke into his thoughts.
He glanced at the open pocket doors leading into the hallway and saw Judy Conway standing there. An attractive woman, if you liked the sexual, earthy type. ‘Yes, what is it?’
‘I’m leaving for the day,’ she said. ‘Dinner is prepared. The roast and vegetables are in the oven and the salad is in the refrigerator. Will you need anything else before I go?’
‘Has Mrs Carlisle come home?’
‘No, sir, she hasn’t.’
‘Hmm …’
‘I’ll be going now—’
‘Yes. Certainly.’ He waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. ‘I’m sure you’re eager to go home and spend some time with your son.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I do hope you understand why I couldn’t recommend that any of my friends give Reed a job. I realize you were disappointed when I refused, but in all good conscience—’
‘I understand.’ The tension in her voice said that although she might understand, she didn’t forgive. ‘Reed has a job with his cousin Briley Joe.’
‘At the garage?’
‘Yes. It’s honest work. Not quite what I’d hoped for, considering Reed has a college degree. But it was the only job he could find. No one would help him except family.’
Judy’s gaze didn’t quite meet Jeff Henry’s. Her reluctance to look him directly in the eye bothered him. He liked Judy and had a certain amount of respect for the woman. He thought she had always regarded him highly, and he valued her opinion of him. A man should be respected and liked by his employees. That had been his father’s opinion