The Truth About Comfort Cove
CHAPTER ONE
A bottle clinked. She knew the sound.
Waking from a fitful sleep that Saturday morning in early November, Lucy jumped up from her mother’s couch, pushing her short blond hair away from her face, before her eyes were fully focused.
“Mama…”
Lucy moved toward the sound, her gun still on the coffee table where she’d set it when she’d finally dared to try and sleep.
Standing in front of the closet by the front door, Sandy Hayes wore an all-too-familiar guilty look as she turned to her daughter.
“I wasn’t going to drink it, Luce, I swear. I just…you know how I get…and with the…thing…this morning…” Sandy continued to ramble as Lucy took the opened bottle from one of her mother’s hands, and the top from the other.
“I… The panicky feeling was there and I just had to see that I had relief if I needed it,” Sandy said, talking to Lucy’s back as she followed her daughter into the old but clean kitchen.
Lucy’s own bungalow across the street was a bit newer than her mother’s but equally clean.
“You promised me no more hidden stash, Mama.” Lucy opened the c
upboard over the sink and slid the bottle onto the lower shelf. “No more games,” she said. “And no drinking until after we go down to the station this morning.”
Not only was Lucy tired from a night spent on her mother’s rock-hard, faux-leather couch, she was angry. And a tad disappointed. “I get that you aren’t going to stay sober for yourself,” she said. Crankiness made her add, “Or for me. But this is for Allie, Mama. This man took Allie.”
Dressed in last night’s dark slacks and a wrinkle-free pinstriped blouse—her daily detective attire—she faced her mother down. “This is important, Mama. Maybe more important than anything we’ve ever done. The prosecutor says that if you ID this guy, his case is open and shut. And once he knows he’s going to prison for life, maybe he’ll talk to us. Maybe he’ll make a deal.”
Sandy stared straight at Lucy, who knew what was coming next. Yep, there they were. The big pools of tears that spoke of a pain so deep her mother couldn’t find a way out of its grip.
“You said they have his DNA.”
“And the prosecutor is afraid that the defense might be able to lay some doubt regarding the sample they took from you twenty-eight years ago. Apparently there’s some question about the collection process they used. You know this, Mama. I told you all about it.”
“You also said you thought you’d be able to get the guy to confess and I wouldn’t ever have to appear.”
“He lawyered up before I got to him the second time. There was nothing I could do about that.”
“I can’t face him in court, Luce. Not after what he did to me.”
“You promised you’d come through for me, Mama.” Lucy stopped short of stamping her foot—not that the gesture would have had much impact coming from five foot two inches in stocking feet.
“I promised I’d stay sober and I am, Luce, I promise.”
“I know you are. Because I’ve been awake most of the night making certain that you would be sober this morning. I need you to keep it together until we get this done.”
“I will.”
“You’d better.”
“You’re angry with me.”
“Yeah, I guess I am. It’ll pass. How about you go get in the shower, put on those jeans with the embellished back pockets that you like and your new fleecy sweater, and I’ll take you out to breakfast and for a drive down by the river as soon as we’re finished this morning.”
“Can we stop in at the Belterra?”
A casino on the Ohio River. Another place an addict could find escape for a while.
“Yes, but only for a little while. I have to work today.”
Sandy turned toward the bedroom, and then stopped. “When are you going to shower?”
So Sandy would have a chance to hit the bottle?
“I showered and changed last night before I came over,” she said drily. “I’ll wash my face and do my makeup alongside you. My suit jacket will cover up any wrinkles the night brought.”