Rita Herron - Redemption At Hawk's Landing

She forced herself to go into her old room. He hadn’t changed the pink-and-white-gingham bedspread or curtains. Her teddy bear and dolls still sat on the shelf on the wall. She spotted the jewelry box she’d gotten for Christmas the year before her mother left, picked it up and sank onto the bed.

The springs creaked beneath her weight. Her mother had loved costume jewelry and had given Honey some of her pieces when she’d grown tired of them. Honey had called them her treasures and had played dress up in them, pretending to be glamorous.

A bitter chuckle rumbled from her chest.

She’d never been glamorous. Instead her attempts at dressing up her homely clothes as a teenager had only made her look cheap. No wonder Harrison’s mother hadn’t wanted Chrissy around her.

Unable to resist, she opened the jewelry box to see what was left of the costume jewelry.

Instead her heart leaped.

On top of the pop beads and clunky gold-and-rhinestone pieces lay a yellow ribbon.

Nausea churned in her stomach.

Chrissy had been wearing yellow ribbons the night she’d disappeared.

Chapter Four

Honey draped the shiny bright yellow satin across her hand. An image of Chrissy’s pigtails, tied with yellow ribbons, flashed behind her eyes.

Little Chrissy singing, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” as she skipped across the yard.

One day it would be yellow ribbons, the next day purple or red or blue.

Sometimes she wore ribbons of different colors and called them her rainbow hair.

She had been such a happy kid, all smiles and singing and curiosity. She had sneaked over to Honey’s one day and asked Honey to show her how to wear makeup. Honey had thought it was sweet. Since the little girl only had brothers, she’d figured Chrissy needed a female in her life to teach her girl things.

In spite of Chrissy’s pleas for layers of blush, eye shadow and lipstick, Honey had brushed her cheeks with a light powder, applied a pale pink gloss on her lips, then a very faint dusting of sparkly white eye shadow. Chrissy had thought she was beautiful.

But Chrissy’s mother had stormed over to Honey’s that night and ordered her to stay away from Chrissy. Mrs. Hawk finished by saying she didn’t intend to allow Honey to make Chrissy look like a tramp.

Tears blurred Honey’s eyes. She’d realized then that the gossip about her mother and father extended to her, and that she would never fit into the same social circle as people like Harrison Hawk and his family.

She’d also made up her mind to leave town as soon as she was old enough to get a job.

And she had.

She blinked to clear her vision and the memory. The yellow ribbon mocked her with questions, though.

How had it gotten in Honey’s jewelry box?

If Chrissy was wearing this ribbon the night she disappeared, that meant whoever had killed her must have taken it. Which made it even more curious as to how it had gotten in her own jewelry box.

Rumors had spread that Chrissy had come to see Honey the night she went missing, and that Honey’s father had done something to her. Honey had hated her father, but she didn’t think he would have hurt Chrissy.

But this ribbon... What if her father had done something to Chrissy?

If so, why would he have kept the ribbon?

She’d never seen it before, and she’d used her jewelry box plenty of times after Chrissy went missing.

Maybe her father had hidden it, then after Honey moved out, he stashed it in the jewelry box, thinking that if anyone searched the premises and found it, they’d think it belonged to Honey.

Her hand trembled, the ribbon dangling between her fingers. If her father or Chrissy’s abductor/killer had taken this ribbon, their fingerprints might be on it.

And she’d just contaminated it with her own.

Indecision warred in her mind. What should she do? She’d spent her childhood hiding her family’s dirty little secrets. She could just stuff the ribbon back in the jewelry box and no one would ever know about it.

If she showed it to Harrison, he and everyone in town would assume, even believe, that her father was guilty of...murdering Chrissy.

Her stomach roiled. But could she keep quiet?

The Hawk family had been tormented for years, wondering what had happened to their little girl. They’d probably imagined a hundred different awful scenarios.

Although Mrs. Hawk hadn’t liked Honey, Honey still had compassion for the woman and her family.

This ribbon might help them find the truth.

They deserved to have closure, didn’t they?

* * *

HARRISON DREADED THE conversation with his family. Their dinners were meant to keep the family close, although Chrissy’s disappearance had thrown a permanent kink in their relationships.

No dinner, holiday or amount of alcohol could smooth over the awkward tension between the brothers and their mother.

Still, he had to tell his family about Granger’s death. Warn them that even if he didn’t ask questions, others would.

Warn them that even though they might not have liked the man, it was Harrison’s job to investigate his murder.

His phone buzzed just as he climbed inside his SUV. He checked the number. Honey Granger.

What did she want? Answers about her father’s death?

Or maybe news about his body and what to do next?

The phone buzzed again, and he pressed Connect. “Sheriff Hawk.”

Breathing rattled over the line. “Hello?”

“Harrison, it’s me. Honey.”

Her voice sounded shaky. Uncertain.

“Yes?”

“I...have to show you something. I don’t know what it means or if it means anything, but, well, can you come out to my house? I mean, my father’s house.”

Harrison gritted his teeth. He had to deal with her, find her father’s killer. But seeing her was difficult. It resurrected memories he’d tried to forget. And another kind of guilt—he should have stood up for Honey when his mother had judged her.

“Can you come?” Honey asked again.

“I’ll be right there.” Harrison’s pulse clamored as he started the engine and drove toward the Granger’s house. He phoned his deputy and asked him to do rounds around town.

Harrison had to be at his mother’s house for dinner and drop the bombshell about Granger before she and his brothers heard the news from the local grapevine.

In a small town like Tumbleweed, word spread as quickly as butter melting on hot Texas pavement.

Night shadows hovered along the streets as he drove, the gray sky dark and desolate as he veered onto the road to Lower Tumbleweed. The yards were overgrown with weeds, the houses deserted, dilapidated and in need of repairs.

The neighborhood certainly didn’t look welcoming or inviting to an outsider. The place probably held bad memories for Honey. An image of Honey, thin and wearing hand-me-downs two sizes too big for her, haunted him. She’d looked tiny and lost and lonely. She’d also been smart enough to understand the whispers and stares from the other kids.

No wonder she’d left town and never looked back.

He winced at the rotting porch with the brick for a makeshift step, then parked in the drive behind her van. Admiration for her for owning her own business mushroomed inside him. He didn’t know how she’d done it, but he was proud of her for overcoming the obstacles her family had put in front of her. She’d made a success of herself in spite of adversity, an admirable accomplishment in his book.

He glanced around the unkempt yard and at the peeling paint on the weathered house and wondered what Honey planned to do with the place. Sell it as it was or fix it up then sell? Judging from the lack of curb appeal and run-down condition of the homes, the comps would be low.