The Daughter. BEVERLY BARTON

the dutiful daughter, Ella called and left a message with Bessie to let her mother know she’d be home a little later than usual. She’d been driving around for the past half hour asking herself what the hell had happened between her and Reed Conway. She had stopped by the garage to confront him about the letter she’d received and came away badly shaken and halfway convinced that the man hadn’t sent it to her.

      You’re an idiot, she scolded herself as she turned left on Tallulah Street. She needed someone to talk to about what had happened and about her confused emotions. She certainly couldn’t run home and confess to her mother that she’d gotten all hot and bothered over Reed Conway. Carolyn was apt to have heart failure just at the thought that Ella might have spoken to the man. And if she even mentioned Reed’s name to her father, he was liable to take gun in hand and go after him. No, this situation called for the sympathetic ear of a friend.

      She parked her Jag in the driveway beside the restored Victorian house at 508 Tallulah Street. Ella’s best friend since childhood, Heather Marshall, had recently returned to Spring Creek after an absence of five years, and the two had picked up right where they’d left off. Of course, during that five years when Heather had lived in Mobile, they’d phoned each other on a regular basis and had visited twice a year. Ella had been Heather’s maid of honor when she married Lance Singleton. She’d sat by Heather’s hospital bed when she suffered a miscarriage. And she’d offered support during Heather’s ugly divorce ten months ago.

      Ella stood on the flower-lined brick walkway in front of the house that had belonged to Heather’s grandmother and had gradually fallen into disrepair after the old lady’s death ten years ago. Heather had spent a small fortune restoring the place, and now the facade boasted its original Victorian colors: pink, cream and green.

      Working on the house had, according to Heather, saved her sanity after her divorce. Luckily, Heather had inherited enough money that she didn’t have to work unless she wanted to, and Heather definitely preferred a life of leisure.

      Thinking about how different she and Heather were, how different they had always been, Ella rang the doorbell. Even as children, they’d been exact opposites in appearance and temperament. Ella waited. No one came to the door. She rang the bell again. No response. Heather was home. Her black Corvette was parked in the driveway. Ella tried the bell one final time, then gave up and walked off the porch. She’d try the back door. When she made her way around the side of the house and opened the gate that led into the enclosed backyard, she heard water splashing. Of course. Why hadn’t she realized that Heather would be in the pool?

      Ella marched across the patio and reached the side of the pool just as Heather emerged, water dripping from her tall, slender body, which was clad in a thong and nothing else. Now, as always, Ella envied her friend’s almost boyish physique. No matter how much Heather ate – and she had a ravenous appetite – she remained pencil-skinny. But whenever Ella had mentioned this fact to her best buddy, Heather had informed Ella that with boobs like hers, she didn’t need to envy anyone.

      ‘Hey, girlfriend, what are you doing here?’ Heather reached for a large white towel resting on the wicker chaise longue a couple of feet away, then picked up the towel and ran the terry cloth over her freckled arms and legs. Four sets of gold hoops in Heather’s ears and two gold toe rings glistened in the sunlight. A quartersized tattoo of a red heart stood out plainly on Heather’s tanning-bed-tawny buttock.

      ‘I need an understanding friend to tell me that I haven’t completely lost my mind.’ Ella rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers, trying unsuccessfully to ease the headache that had hit her moments after leaving Conway’s Garage.

      Heather tossed the damp towel onto the tiled patio floor, picked up a short, see-through robe and slipped into the hot pink fishnet garment. ‘The ever sane and sensible Judge Eleanor Porter thinks she might have lost her mind. I’m shocked. Sit down’ – Heather pointed to the wicker chair to her left – ‘and tell Auntie Heather all about it.’

      Ella sat, sighed and closed her eyes. ‘You cannot repeat what I’m about to say to another living soul.’

      Heather plopped down on the chaise longue. ‘Oh, boy, this must be good. Tell me it has something to do with a man.’

      Ella’s eyes popped open and she gazed at her friend with a startled expression. Maybe this was a bad idea. Heather was bound to get a great deal of pleasure from Ella’s admission. After all, Heather had always been the wild one, dating bad boys and even marrying one. On the other hand, Ella had always been the sensible one, dating only upstanding men who had received the stamp of approval from her mother.

      ‘My God, it is about a man.’ Heather twisted around on the chaise and faced Ella. ‘Surely not Dan Gilmore. The guy is as dull as dishwater.’

      ‘No, it’s not about Dan.’ Ella hesitated. Her heartbeat accelerated. ‘It’s about Reed Conway.’

      ‘Reed Conway?’ Heather’s mouth dropped open. ‘Reed Conway who was sent to prison for murdering his stepfather?’

      Ella nodded.

      Heather scooted to the edge of the chaise and leaned forward toward Ella. ‘I take it that you’ve seen him since he was released from prison yesterday. Come on’ – Heather motioned a hurry-up wave with her fingers – ‘confess. How did you happen to run into Reed and—’

      ‘I didn’t run into him,’ Ella said. ‘I … I stopped by Conway’s Garage to see him.’ She opened her purse, jerked out the letter, removed it from the envelope and handed it to Heather. ‘I found this lying on my desk this afternoon.’

      Heather took the letter, scanned it quickly and let out a long, low whistle. ‘Hmm … This must have reminded you of those two letters Reed wrote to you way back when. So, you think he wrote this letter?’

      ‘That’s what I thought.’

      ‘You went to see Reed about this letter?’ Heather stuffed the letter back into the envelope and returned it to Ella. ‘Why on earth didn’t you just call Frank Nelson? Checking into something like this is a job for our police chief. I cannot believe you actually confronted Reed. I’d have been scared spitless to accuse him to his face.’

      ‘I didn’t want Daddy to find out and go ballistic or for Mother to get all upset, so I thought that if I handled the problem myself—’

      ‘What did Reed say? Mercy, Ella, what did he do?’

      ‘He denied writing the letter.’

      ‘Of course he did. You didn’t think he’d admit to doing it, did you?’

      Ella sighed. ‘After speaking to Reed, I’m not so sure he wrote the letter.’

      ‘Uh-oh.’

      ‘What does that mean?’ Ella asked.

      ‘It means something else went on between you and Reed, didn’t it? Something besides a confrontation over that letter.’

      Ella nodded. She twined her fingers together and nervously rubbed her thumb over the palm of the opposite hand. ‘I can’t explain what happened. It was like heat lightning. For just a split second, I thought he was going to kiss me.’

      ‘You’re kidding me.’ Heather reached out and grabbed Ella by the shoulders. ‘Now, you listen to me, girlfriend – stay away from Reed Conway. The guy is trouble with a capital T. Whatever game he’s playing with you is a dangerous one. He’s got to know that the best form of revenge against your father is by using you.’

      ‘Don’t you think I know that? But it doesn’t change the fact that I … responded to him. I wanted him to kiss me. I actually hoped he would kiss me.’

      ‘Shit!’

      Reed rang the doorbell, then banged on the door. Ever since sweet Miss Ella Porter had left the garage, he’d been walking around with a hard-on. What kind of fool did that make him? He had wanted to lift her onto the desk in Briley Joe’s office, strip off her panties, part her legs and ram himself