The Daughter. BEVERLY BARTON

that she’d been the girl he had thought about while he was in prison? Why was it that she’d been the fantasy of more than one wet dream? Was it because he’d written her those damn crude love letters? The only reason he’d written them was because he’d known they’d piss off Webb. Fifteen years ago, he’d have done just about anything to hurt Webb. And he’d found out right quick that the best way to get to the high-and-mighty Mr Porter was through his beloved little girl.

      Reed took a quick shower, then reluctantly put on the clothes he’d worn the night before. He bundled his briefs into a wad and stuffed them in his jeans back pocket. Before leaving Ivy’s apartment, he checked for her phone number and memorized it. He just might ask her for a repeat of last night’s highly satisfactory performance.

      He showed up at Conway’s Garage two hours late for his first morning on the job. But Briley Joe just grinned at him and patted him on the back.

      ‘Ain’t nothing like good pussy, is there? I’ll bet Ivy taught you a trick or two, didn’t she? As I recall, the lady knows how to please.’

      ‘She sure as hell pleased me.’

      ‘She’s not first-class, but you had to start somewhere. You can work off some of your frustration with her and then move on to something better.’

      ‘Is that your subtle way of trying to tell me that you’ve got something better?’ Reed knew Briley Joe was the sort who liked to brag about his sexual conquests. In that sense, his cousin was as immature as he’d been at eighteen.

      ‘Yeah, I’m getting some from one of the classiest broads in town. If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.’

      ‘So, tell me and let me be duly impressed.’

      ‘Talking kind of fancy, aren’t you? You haven’t let that college degree you earned in the pen go to your head, have you?’

      ‘That college degree didn’t do me a damn bit of good getting a job on the outside, did it?’ It stuck in his craw that the only job he could get was as a grease monkey in his cousin’s garage. Reed clamped his hand down on Briley Joe’s shoulder and grinned. ‘So who’s this classy broad you’re screwing?’

      ‘Cybil Carlisle.’

      ‘You’re kidding.’

      ‘Yep. I’m getting all I want from Jeff Henry Carlisle’s wife. Can you believe it? And I’m here to tell you that she’s one wild woman.’

      ‘You’re playing a dangerous game, cuz,’ Reed said. ‘If Jeff Henry ever finds out, you’re as good as dead.’

      ‘That Pillsbury Doughboy wouldn’t dirty his lily white hands on me.’

      ‘You’re right about that, but he wouldn’t think twice about hiring somebody to beat the shit out of you, and if that didn’t stop you fooling around with his wife—’

      ‘Nobody knows. You’re the only person I’ve told. She warned me that if I opened my big mouth about her to anybody, she’d cut me off.’

      ‘Damn it, man, she’s Webb Porter’s sister-in-law. She was a Walker before she got married. Her family’s been one of the ruling clans in this state for the past two hundred years. Why would she risk her reputation and your life to have an affair with you?’

      ‘Because Cybil Carlisle likes to walk on the wild side. And I can tell you that there’s nothing better than a lady who wants to get down and dirty with a bad boy. You ought to try it sometime. Maybe with that niece of hers. I’ll bet Miss Ella Porter has never forgotten those hot letters you wrote her.’

      ‘I’d like to forget those letters, and I’m sure she has forgotten them. From what my mother tells me, Judge Porter is good woman – a real lady. If I even said hello to her, she’d run scared.’

      ‘You won’t know until you give it a try. Who knows, she might not run.’

      ‘Ella was never my type. And God knows I wasn’t her type back then, and I’m sure as hell not her type now.’

      ‘Okay, so the judge doesn’t crank your motor. She’s not the only class act in town. Look around. I’m sure you’ll find somebody who suits you.’

      ‘I’ll stick with Ivy and her type for the time being,’ Reed said. ‘A good, uncomplicated fuck is all I want from a woman right now. My main focus is on finding out exactly who killed Junior Blalock and let me take the fall. Mark Leamon believes in me and he’s going to help me try to prove my innocence.’

      ‘You ever think that Aunt Judy might have done it?’

      ‘No! Mama would never have let me go to prison for a crime she’d committed.’

      ‘Yeah, you’re probably right. Aunt Judy would do just about anything for you and Regina.’ When Briley Joe removed his ball cap and scratched his head, curly brown locks fell across his forehead. The rest of his shoulder-length hair had been pulled back into a short ponytail. ‘Man, where can you start? The police didn’t find no evidence against anybody but you. And we know you didn’t kill Junior. So who did? Who else besides you, Aunt Judy and Regina had a reason to want to see Junior dead?’

      ‘I don’t know for sure,’ Reed said. ‘But I’ve made out a list of possible suspects, and Webb Porter’s name is at the top of that list.’

       4

      Ella removed her robe, hung it in the closet, and collapsed happily in the swivel desk chair. What a day! Presiding over a case fraught with emotion always got to her. She tried not to allow her own personal feelings on the matter affect her, but she found that she was only human and couldn’t completely divorce herself from her own sensitivity on certain issues. Had Clyde Kilpatrick committed suicide, or had his death been a tragic accident? The insurance company said suicide. The family said accident. From today’s evidence, she had reached a tentative decision. But would the jury come to the same conclusion that she had? Even though it meant Clyde’s two children would not see a dime of his insurance money, the facts plainly showed that the man had killed himself. He’d left a note forgiving his wife for her infidelity, but also stating that he didn’t want to live without her. The damning evidence had come from the ballistics expert, who had explained the trajectory of the bullet that entered Clyde’s body, saying that it was highly unlikely, if not impossible, for an accident to have been the cause.

      Ella kicked off her two-inch gray heels, wriggled her toes, and lifted her stockinged feet up to rest on her desk. The heel of her foot accidently brushed against a white envelope, sending it sailing off the desk and onto the floor. Grunting, she leaned over and picked up the legal-sized envelope. Her name was typed across the front. Only her name. Eleanor Porter. Odd, she didn’t remember this particular bit of correspondence being on her desk earlier today. She’d eaten lunch at her desk around twelve-thirty – a salad she’d ordered from the Oakwood Bar and Grill across the street from the courthouse.

      She flipped the letter over and noticed it was still sealed. Undoubtedly someone had hand-delivered the message. But who? Kelly had already left for the day, so she couldn’t ask her until tomorrow. Ella pulled a brass letter opener from the pencil holder that was part of the gold-monogrammed leather desk set Uncle Jeff Henry had given her when she’d been elected circuit judge last year. After slicing open the envelope, she reached inside and pulled out the single-page missive. She unfolded the white stationery and read.

       Ella, sweet Ella, I dream of you at night and wake in a cold sweat. Aroused and wanting you. Desperately. You were meant to be mine. I have made plans for us. Delicious plans. Long, hot nights together. Naked. Going at each other like a couple of wild animals. Monkey fucking. You can’t even begin to imagine all the things I want to do to you. All the things I long for you to do to me. When the time is right, I’ll come for you. I will not allow anyone to stand between us. Not ever again. I’ll make you turn against your evil family. When you