Redemption At Hawk's Landing

The third lady clacked her teeth. “Wonder what he was doing up there?”

“Probably drunk,” the thin lady said.

“He was always drunk,” the curly-haired one whispered. “Such a sorry excuse for a man.”

The third lady pushed her pie plate away, the pie half-eaten. “You know the Hawks always thought he killed their little girl, Chrissy?”

Honey averted her face so she didn’t have to look at the women, but their voices reached her anyway.

“I heard that, too,” the curly-haired one said. “He did have a temper.”

“He sure did. I always felt sorry for that girl of his. No wonder she left town.”

“I thought she left because she was pregnant.”

“Could have been.”

Honey sank down in the booth, hoping no one recognized her.

“I figured the Hawks ran her off,” the woman continued. “I heard Ava saying that Granger’s girl was white trash.”

“If you ask me, Ava shouldn’t have been pointing a finger.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the night their little girl went missing, the Hawks were at a party for the mayor.” She paused dramatically. “Steven accused Ava of having an affair.”

The other women gasped. “What?”

“No.”

“They were talking about Chrissy, too. Made me think that she wasn’t Steven’s baby.”

“What did Ava say?”

“I don’t know. They left in a huff.”

Honey tensed. She despised gossip because she’d borne the brunt of it.

But what if the Hawks’ marriage hadn’t been perfect like everyone thought? What if Ava Hawk had had an affair?

What if Chrissy wasn’t Steven Hawk’s child?

Chapter Six (#u244747f7-4056-50ea-9982-5a2b658f93e0)

Honey’s head reeled. Harrison’s father had left the family and town a few months after the investigation into Chrissy’s disappearance went cold.

Rumors surfaced then that he had something to do with his daughter’s disappearance. Others whispered that he’d left because the tragedy of losing his daughter had broken his heart.

She drummed her fingers on the table. Now she wondered—had he left because his wife had cheated on him?

The waitress appeared with her soup and sandwich, and Honey thanked her, then dug in. She hadn’t realized she was so hungry but hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was starved.

The women stood, gathering their purses and hats, and Honey sank lower in the booth, angling her face away from them in case they recognized her. The woman in the blue knit pantsuit paused and peered at her, but Honey looked down at her phone to avoid eye contact.

The bell on the door tinkled as it opened and they left, then a tall woman with sharp features entered, a big guy with an awkward gait beside her holding her hand. One of his eyes looked blurry, his mouth twitched and he made an odd, high-pitched sound.

“Let’s sit in that booth, Elden,” the woman said.

Honey straightened. Elden?

She’d known him. Elden Lynch was three years older than she was and mentally challenged. She’d felt sorry for him because the kids at school made fun of him. Worse, some of the parents had been afraid of him and had warned their children away from him. Not that he was mean or violent.

In fact, he was sweet and childlike and just wanted to make friends.

He shuffled past, rocking his head back and forth. It was him, the boy she’d known.

Honey was tempted to say something, but his mother glared at her.

Mrs. Lynch ushered him into a chair. “Stay put, Elden.”

The big woman stepped over to Honey’s booth. “I heard you were back in town.”

Honey tensed at the vehemence in her tone.

“I don’t know if you’re staying around here,” Mrs. Lynch continued, “but if you are, keep away from my son. He doesn’t need any trouble.”

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” Honey said, her voice firm. “I—”

“Then get your sorry daddy buried and leave town,” Mrs. Lynch barked. “Tumbleweed is better off without any of you Grangers.”

Hurt and anger bled through Honey. She wanted to defend her father and herself.

But an image of that yellow ribbon taunted her, and she kept her mouth shut.

When word about that surfaced, people would definitely condemn her father.

It shouldn’t bother her. He had been a sorry drunk.

Elden’s mother didn’t have to worry about her staying. She’d leave as soon as possible.

* * *

“MOTHER,” HARRISON SAID, measuring his words carefully, “I wouldn’t go around telling everyone how glad you are that Waylon Granger is dead.”

She gave him a sharp look. “Why not? I am glad he’s dead.”

“He was murdered,” Harrison said, hoping to drive home his point. “That means there has to be an investigation.”