Don't Cry Part 15

Whitney.

When she noticed him staring at the name tag, she said, "I'm Whitney Poole."

He nodded. "Nice to meet you, Whitney. I'm Jeremy Arden."

"h.e.l.lo, Jeremy."

He glanced down at the menu. "What do you recommend?"

She leaned across the counter and whispered, "That you eat at a better restaurant."

They both laughed, and then she said, "But if you have to eat here, the pancakes aren't bad."

"Pancakes it is."

He tried not to stare at her, but when she left to place his order, he inspected her narrow waist, her long, slender legs, and the way her trim hips swayed as she walked. He had a thing for pretty brunettes. Always had. Every important woman in his life had been a brunette and quite a few unimportant ones, too.

You're going to be important to me, Whitney Poole. Very important. You just don't know it yet.

"Yeah, sure, we thought it odd that Regina Bennett would kidnap two boys in one year, if she actually kidnapped all the other boys," George Bonner said. "We had no proof that she abducted either Blake Sherrod or Shane Douglas. h.e.l.l, we never had any proof that she kidnapped or killed any of the boys, except Jeremy Arden. And if it hadn't been for an anonymous phone call telling us where to look for Jeremy, he would have become just another statistic."

"An anonymous caller?" J.D. asked. "I thought I'd skimmed through the records, but that info didn't jump out at me."

"It should be in there somewhere," Bonner told him. "Somebody called the Hamilton County sheriff's office, but he or she didn't leave a name."

"The person who took the call couldn't identify the person's s.e.x by their voice?"

"Apparently not. I remember him saying whoever called was whispering and if he had to make a guess, he'd say it was a woman because the voice wasn't as deep as most men's voices."

"Regina Bennett lived on a farm in Sale Creek with her aunt and uncle, right? Could it have been the aunt who called?"

"The aunt and uncle swore they knew nothing about Regina kidnapping the Arden kid, or any other kid, for that matter."

"How's that possible, if she lived with them?"

"She didn't actually live in the house with them," Bonner said. "She lived on the farm, but in a separate house. It was a neat little two-bedroom clapboard. One of the bedrooms was a real pretty nursery. We found Jeremy Arden in a blue baby bed. He was clean and well dressed and healthy and unharmed in any way."

"Physically, maybe."

"What?"

"I said Jeremy Arden might have been physically unharmed when y'all rescued him, but he was nearly three years old. He had been stolen from his mother, from his parents. That had to be traumatic for a toddler."

"Yes, I'm sure it was," Bonner agreed. "h.e.l.l, I know it was. He didn't talk. Not a word. And he didn't cry. Not when we found him. Not when we turned him over to his parents. He just stared at us with those big blue eyes."

"Were you able to question him? Later on, I mean," J.D. said.

"Once he'd been given a complete physical after the rescue, and social services were called in, he was questioned. But like I said, the kid didn't talk. Not then. And later, weeks later, when he'd been home with his parents for a while, he couldn't answer any of our questions."

"Couldn't?"

"His answer to every question was 'I don't know.' So we had nothing. The doctors seem to think that he would probably never remember any details, that his mind had blotted it all out."

"I guess that makes sense." J.D. had one final question about Jeremy Arden. "Did anyone ever talk to him when he was older, as a teenager or a young adult?"

"Not that I know of. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious if he ever did actually remember anything about the months he spent with Regina Bennett." J.D. paused, and then asked, "And as far as you know, Arden still lives here in Chattanooga?"

"He lives here now, but I think he's moved around a lot over the years. I haven't kept close tabs on him."

"Hmm...The aunt and uncle, Regina Bennett's aunt and uncle, do you think they really didn't know anything?"

"I think they were hiding something," Bonner said. "But we had no evidence against them, nothing concrete."

"And they're both dead now."

"Yeah."

"Did Regina have any other relatives? Siblings? Cousins?"

"No siblings. And the aunt and uncle didn't have any children. We checked, but couldn't find anyone who would admit being related to her. n.o.body else lived on the farm, although there were day laborers who worked for the uncle."

"Was it one of the day laborers who raped Regina?"

"She didn't say who raped her. She claimed to have been forced to have s.e.x." Bonner cleared his throat. "The way she told it, she was repeatedly raped. And the only information we could get out of the aunt and uncle was the fact that Regina gave birth at home, with the aid of a midwife who was a member of that lunatic church they all belonged to. They claim they had no idea who Cody Bennett's father was."

"The Holy Brethren Church," J.D. said. "I never heard of it before."

"They were a bunch of fundamentalist crazies. I don't think the church still exists, or if it does, they've gone underground."

"And there was no way to substantiate the fact that Regina was raped, right? I mean she's the one who told the doctors at Moccasin Bend that she'd been raped." J.D. flipped through the copied files. "According to the records, Regina told the doctors that he-whoever he was-hurt her, that he forced her to have s.e.x numerous times."

"She wouldn't name the guy. But we thought at the time that it was probably the uncle," Bonner said. "There were rumors about the Holy Brethren Church. Rumors that the elders in that church, which Regina's uncle Luther Chaney was, had the right to initiate any of the young women they chose."

"Did y'all follow up, try to prove-?"

"There was no point. The uncle died while the investigation was ongoing, less than a month after we rescued Jeremy Arden. Heart attack."

"And the aunt?"

"She sold the farm a few months later and moved away. We didn't keep track of her."

"Did she ever visit her niece at-?"

"I have no idea." Bonner cleared his throat. "Look, once we returned Jeremy Arden to his parents and Regina Bennett was locked up in Moccasin Bend for evaluation and we thoroughly searched the Bennett farm for bodies or any other evidence and found nothing, the Baby Blue kidnappings became a cold case. After Regina was apprehended, there were no more similar kidnappings, so we felt reasonably certain we had the right person."

"I understand. But now, if it turns out that the skeletons left with Jill Scott's and Debra Gregory's bodies belong to two of the kidnapped toddlers, your old cold case is going to be red hot again."

Audrey met Porter for Wednesday lunch at the Big River Grill & Brewing Works, as she did every week when they were both free. Since it was such a gorgeous early autumn day, they chose to sit outside beneath one of the huge red umbrellas. As always, Porter was immaculate, from his perfectly styled blond hair to his expensive suit and matching silk necktie and handkerchief stuffed precisely in his coat pocket. Occasionally, Audrey had the urge to muss his hair or spill something on his suit, but she never had. Not even in their more intimate moments had she dared to run her fingers through his hair. Of course, their intimate moments were never wild and pa.s.sionate and hadn't gone beyond a few kisses. Audrey had never been a s.e.xually pa.s.sionate person, and she suspected that Porter hadn't, either. That was one reason they had seemed so well suited. But recently Audrey had realized that she wasn't being fair to Porter or to herself. He needed to be free to find someone else, someone who could truly love him. And she? Well, she just needed to be free. She hoped that Porter wouldn't get upset when she broached the subject of their not dating each other exclusively.

She liked Porter, for all his faults and idiosyncrasies, and they shared some common interests which they could enjoy together. Also, it was nice not to have to find a date for social occasions where a date was required. And being in a relations.h.i.+p kept her friends and acquaintances from constantly arranging blind dates. Why was it that married people-or those who wished they were married-couldn't believe that a woman could be happy single and living alone?

"You're awfully quiet," Porter said only moments after the waitress took their drink order.

"Sorry. I'm afraid I have a lot on my mind."

He studied her for a moment. "One of your patients or-?"

"Let's have lunch first," Audrey suggested. "Then we can talk."

He lifted an inquisitive brow. "Talk? That sounds serious."

The waitress returned with their iced teas. "Are you folks ready to order?"

Audrey didn't need to look at the menu. "I'd like the gorgonzola pear salad, please."

"Yes, ma'am." She turned to Porter. "And you, sir?"

"The low country shrimp and grits." And before the waitress could ask, he said, "No salad."

When they ate lunch at this particular restaurant, they always chose exactly what they had just ordered. Another thing they had in common-they were both creatures of habit and horribly predictable.

As soon as the waitress was out of earshot, Porter focused on Audrey, concern in his eyes and obvious tension in his neck and shoulders. "You aren't going to tell me that there's someone else, are you? Another man?"

"No, Porter, there is no one else, no other man."

Visibly relaxing, he smiled. "Then there's no reason to ruin a perfectly lovely lunch, is there?"

"No, no reason whatsoever."

Audrey listened as Porter talked, responding to his idle chitchat often enough so he didn't realize that, for the most part, she wasn't really listening. She was thinking about how a person could know something about herself and could understand why she was the way she was and still be unable to change. She was by nature a loving, caring person and quite emotional. In every aspect of her life, she was true to her nature, but when it came to romantic relations.h.i.+ps, she guarded her emotions. She never truly gave herself, heart and soul, to another person, nor had she ever wanted that type of pa.s.sion reciprocated. Oh, she knew all the textbook reasons. She and Hart had both gone through some minor counseling after Blake's disappearance and Enid's suicide. Garth had been opposed to their undergoing any type of therapy, calling it a bunch of c.r.a.p. But in the end her father had taken advice from Geraldine and Willie, and months after Enid's suicide had allowed both children to see a therapist for a few weeks, just long enough to convince everyone that he'd done his job as a parent.

And of course, over the years, Audrey had psycho-a.n.a.lyzed herself more than once. Physician, heal thyself! Physician, heal thyself! Audrey groaned silently. A mental health therapist treating herself was as stupid as a lawyer defending himself. Audrey groaned silently. A mental health therapist treating herself was as stupid as a lawyer defending himself.

She had commitment issues. Big-time. And her fear of being rejected and unloved colored every aspect of her life. And yes, it was all her father's fault, wasn't it? No, of course it wasn't. Sure, Wayne Sherrod had been a failure as a father. He had been and still was a cold, distant man who had instilled a sense of unworthiness in his only daughter. But she wasn't a child any longer. She was a grown woman. An intelligent, attractive, successful woman. And mentally, she understood that she had to own her problems and no longer blame anyone else. But emotionally, she often still felt like the lonely, unloved, and unwanted child she had believed herself to be.

No wonder she understood Hart so well and repeatedly forgave him.

While they ate, Porter continued to talk, the conversation ranging from the warm weather in late September to his purchase of tickets for the Chattanooga Symphony on Friday night.

"It's Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade, Scheherazade," Porter said as he wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin.

"Porter, I don't think I can make it this Friday night," she said.

"Why can't-?"

The waitress reappeared, asked if she could remove their plates, and inquired if they wanted dessert.

"No dessert," Porter told her. "But I'd like coffee, please. Cream. No sugar."

"And you, ma'am?" the waitress asked.

"Nothing for me, thanks."

Porter waited until the waitress left to prepare his coffee, then asked, "Does your not being free to attend the symphony with me on Friday night have anything to do with the talk you want us to have?"

He sounded upset. She thought he might be, but knowing him as she did, she felt certain he wouldn't make a scene. Nor would he beg her not to end their going-nowhere relations.h.i.+p.

She reached across the table and laid her hand over his. His gaze met hers, head-on.

"You're breaking up with me, aren't you?" He drew in a deep breath and released it on a soft moan, as if he were in pain.

"Porter, I'm very fond of you. We're great friends. But...that's all we are. Friends. Anything else just won't work for us."

"If you're referring to s.e.x..." he said in a hushed tone, well aware that if he spoke louder, he might be overheard. "We haven't even given that a try, yet. And so far, our relations.h.i.+p has been quite satisfactory, or so I thought."

"Do you love me?" she asked point-blank.

His eyes widened with surprise. "I-I'm very fond of you."

"And I of you, but I don't love you. And if we haven't had s.e.x by now, then I think that should tell us both something, don't you?"

"Then there is someone else, isn't there?" He jerked his hand away from hers. "Someone you want to-"

"No, Porter. I told you that there is no one else. I simply think we both deserve more from a relations.h.i.+p than being friends, than just being compatible. I've sensed that you want more from our relations.h.i.+p and I...well, I don't."

"I can wait."

"No, I don't want you to wait. I want you to be free to find someone else, someone who can give you what you deserve in a relations.h.i.+p."

Dear G.o.d, he looked as if he was going to cry. Did she actually mean that much to him? Could she have misjudged the depth of his feelings for her?

"Porter?"

He swallowed. "I'm quite all right."

He didn't look all right. He looked devastated.

The waitress returned with his coffee.