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“THE WISE MAN’S EYES ARE IN HIS HEAD; BUT THE FOOL WALKETH IN DARKNESS.” —ECCLESIASTES 2:14

G inger’s voice grew incredulous. “He took you to a cock fight?”

Sydney told Ginger how she’d dropped by Kendall’s house and how Mrs. Fletcher had cornered him into taking her on a date.“

Evidently, Kendall had planned on going to the cockfight alone. He never would’ve taken me there on his own accord.”

“Still,” Ginger said in an exaggerated drawl.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not in any hurry to forgive him.” Not that he was asking for her forgiveness. They’d driven home from the cockfight in stony silence with the windows rolled down. Her clothes were crusty and her head pounding by the time they reached his house. Without a word, she got out of his truck. He might’ve been about to apologize, but the look on her face stopped him.

“Have you talked to him since?” Ginger asked.

“Not yet.”

“Well if you ask me, I’d say you’re better off without him.”

Sydney smiled. That was always Ginger’s response when another one of Sydney’s relationships went south. “You’re probably right.”

They talked for a few more minutes with Ginger going on like a chatterbox. Her voice had an unnatural edge like it was about to lift off and take flight. She’d heard that tone before, whenever Ginger was holding something back. “What is it you’re not telling me, Gin?” She gripped the phone and waited. She could just picture how Ginger’s face must look right now. Ginger always had that same expression when she tried to figure out how to put something delicately. Her brow would be furrowed and her round eyes small.

“Just spit it out, Gin. I’m a big girl. Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

“Adam’s engaged.”

“What?” Sydney’s mouth went dry and she went to the sofa.

There was a long pause.

“Sydney, are you okay?”

Sydney ran her hand through her hair. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just a shock, that’s all. When did you find out?”

“I saw it in the Star Telegram this morning.”

“Who’s the lucky girl of the minute?”

“Alicia Thomas.”

Sydney made a face. “Her?” A picture of Alicia, her big brown eyes and wispy auburn hair, came to mind. She was the perfect picture of a model with her pretzel thin figure and pouty lips. Sydney didn’t know Alicia very well but had seen her often enough at the country club. She and Adam used to joke that she was one of those permanent fixtures in the elite social circle. Sydney had always thought she was a little too friendly with Adam. She’d mentioned it once, and he’d laughed it off saying that Alicia Thomas was too high maintenance for him.

Adam had hugged Sydney. “Besides,” he said, nuzzling her ear with his lips, “I’ve got all I need right here.”

He’d said it, and like a fool, she believed him.

“I’m sorry, Sydney,” Ginger said. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No, I’m glad I know. For her sake, let’s just hope that little miss Alicia can figure out how to hold onto him before some other bimbo comes along.” She knew it was a cheap shot but couldn’t help herself.

She and Ginger talked for a few more minutes, but Sydney’s mind was far away. Ginger hung up only after repeated assurances from Sydney that she was fine.

Sydney stared unseeingly out her front window. Why was she so upset about Adam? He’d called it off weeks ago. After last night’s fiasco with Kendall, maybe she should just give up on men altogether.

Deep down, she knew the real source of her anger. Adam was a shallow jerk, and she was better off without him. It really didn’t have that much to do with him, only in a broad sense. The trouble was her. She’d never been able to hold onto a relationship for very long. Maybe they could see right through her beauty, straight to her inner self, broken and battered. Sometimes her longing for a family was so poignant that she feared it would overwhelm her.

She rose from the sofa to make her a cup of mandarin orange herbal tea. She would read more of Avery’s journal. That would take her mind off Adam.

Sydney reverently took the diary from the desk and sat down by the window. When she discovered it in the box, she thought she would read the entire book in one sitting. That hadn’t been the case. The memories it evoked were too painful. She could only handle small doses. She thumbed through the pages, her eyes skimming over the record of Avery’s day-to-day activities, searching for the meaningful phrases. She caught one.

Tried to talk to Cindy today about Susan’s death. It’s impossible. Unfortunately, she’s just like me. She keeps everything bottled up inside. Susan was the glue that held us together. It’s all up to me now. I’ve never been much of a praying man, but I found myself on my knees last night, asking the good Lord to make me equal to the task. Cindy’s counting on me. How can I help her when I can barely even help myself?

Moisture formed in Sydney’s eyes. She stared out the window. Avery’s plea struck a chord somewhere deep within the recess of her heart. She’d always thought her dad was impenetrable granite. He seemed to take everything in stride. She’d been angry at him for not reaching out to her after her mom’s death. Maybe they’d both been trying to get through their loss the only way they knew how. She was starting to see Avery in a new light. He was strong, but also fragile and hurting. Her life was a thousand pieces of shattered glass, and here she was, sifting through the shards to find something to hold onto. How much more could she pick up without getting cut? She wiped away a tear and skipped to the end of the journal.

March 3,

I think someone tried to kill me today when I went to the log yard. Cecil Prichard was a witness.

The words leapt from the page and seared their way into her mind. It was so typical of Avery to skip the preliminaries and jump straight to the heart of the matter. She could just picture the events he described. The words came alive:

Avery’s heart warmed when he spotted Cecil on the far end of the yard, scaling logs. Cecil was one of those timeless people who never seemed to age. He’d been Avery’s boss in the log yard the summer after Avery’s high school graduation.

“Hey, Cecil. How’s it going?”

“Pretty good. We’re getting further and further behind though. I have a couple of stacks of logs that ain’t been scaled yet, and there are a couple of trucks that ain’t been unloaded.”

Avery frowned. “Why hasn’t Lewis gotten you some help?”

“I don’t know. I mentioned it to him yesterday and he said he would.”

“Don’t worry, Cecil, I’ll take care of it,” Avery said, cursing Lewis’ incompetence under his breath. He walked around the yard for a few minutes then over to one of the trucks that was piled high with logs.

“Look out!”

Avery turned in time to see the logs break free from their chain. The mountain came rolling toward him. His first instinct was to run and then he saw a bulldozer parked a few feet away. He jumped behind the safety of the huge metal cup just before the logs hit, nearly knocking over the dozer.

Avery came out from under the dozer, shaking. He dusted off his clothes and went to inspect the chain.

Cecil heard the commotion and came running. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, but I need to have a look at that chain.”

Cecil was quiet for a moment. He looked Avery square in the eye and lowered his voice to a whisper when he spoke. “Avery, I wanna give you some advice. You’d better watch your back.”

“What’re you saying?”

“Be careful.”

With that, Cecil turned and walked away. Avery glanced around the yard. He hadn’t seen anyone near the truck. Then again, he wasn’t paying much attention. He looked down at the heavy chain and realized what Cecil had already figured out.

It had been cut.

That was the last entry. There was nothing else except a hastily scribbled note:

Appointment with Henry on March 25.

She stared at the page. It was the same date as the boat accident. That last day on the boat Avery had said that he needed to get to an appointment. Who was Henry? That name sounded so familiar. Where had she heard it? She reread the last entry. Was that when Avery had written his letter to Judith? She made a note of the two other names: Cecil Prichard and Lewis. She’d never heard either name mentioned before. She searched through the pages to see if Avery had written down Lewis’s last name, but came up empty handed. She went to get her phone book and flipped through the pages to the p’s. Par for the course—no Prichard. She put down the directory. She should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

She thought of another avenue. The personnel files. There would be an employment file on Prichard. Too bad she didn’t have access to the personnel files. It would make matters so much easier. She knew better than to ask Barb for any more files. The last thing she wanted to do was arouse more suspicion. She thought of Walter. He would know. She frowned, remembering Walter’s comment about Avery being paranoid. No, she wouldn’t ask him yet. She’d gather more information first and then show it to Walter. He was a reasonable person. If she gathered enough evidence, she could persuade him to see it her way. She’d have to get the personnel files without Barb knowing. That was her only answer.

She placed the journal in the desk before heading into the bathroom. She sat down on the edge of the tub and turned on the water. When the tub was full, she slipped off her robe and got in. She closed her eyes and let the warm water and sudsy bubbles cover her body. Who did Avery have an appointment with? Henry who? What was his last name, and why did she feel like she should know? She leaned her head back against the cool tub and then sat right back up when the answer came like a bolt of lightning. She jumped out and threw on her robe. She went to the secretary and pulled open the drawer. She reached for the newspaper clippings and skimmed the one about the judge. Then she saw it. The judge’s first name was Henry. Her heart began to pound. Avery had planned on meeting Judge Henry Crawford. What was the name of the judge’s wife? She skimmed down the page. Harriet. His wife’s name was Harriet Crawford. If she could get in touch with her then maybe, just maybe she could get some answers.

Sydney spent the next morning searching the Internet for Harriet Crawford. She began her search in Glendale. When she didn’t find any listing there, she searched the state of Alabama. That proved fruitless as well. Finally, she searched the entire country and found only three listings. California, Michigan, and Georgia. She zeroed in on Georgia. The city was Alpharetta, near Atlanta. Her heart was in her throat when she dialed. A lady with a strong cultured voice answered on the third ring. When Sydney explained that she was looking for the late Judge Henry Crawford’s wife, the voice grew suspicious, and she knew she’d struck gold. Sydney decided that honesty was the best policy. Even so, she hadn’t intended to spell it out so bluntly. It just came out that way.

“My father was killed in a boat explosion.” She enunciated the next words so the lady would get the full implication of their meaning. “The same day your husband was killed. I believe my father had an appointment with your husband on the day he was killed. I was wondering if you would mind if I paid you a visit?”

She was met with silence on the other end. “Who did you say you were?” the lady finally asked.

“My name is Syd—Cindy McClain.”

There was another pause.

“I won’t stay very long,” Sydney added.

“You can come this Tuesday afternoon at 4.” From the tone of the woman’s voice, Sydney could tell it was Tuesday or never.

“That sounds great. Thank you, Mrs. Crawford.”

The dial tone sounded in Sydney’s ear.

It was a typical Monday. Sydney rubbed her tired eyes and stifled a yawn, trying to concentrate on the paperwork in front of her. She’d barely gotten any sleep the night before. Dreams of bloody roosters with wings flapping like propellers taunted her. One minute they were trying to peck her eyes out and the next they were piled in a smothering heap on top of her. Kendall stood in the distance, watching the scene with indifference.

“Rough weekend?”

“Something like that.”

Sean was standing in the doorway. She studied his face and wondered again for the hundredth time if it was him she saw at the cockfight.

“Well, it’s about to get worse.”

She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Haven’t you heard?”

Sydney remained silent.

“Crandell Martin, a second shift log handler, got trapped in the kiln Friday afternoon.”

“Oh no,” Sydney’s hands flew to her mouth.

“By the time they got him out, he’d collapsed. He was rushed to Glendale Memorial and then released a few hours later.”

“Why wasn’t I contacted?”

“I was called.”

“Well, why didn’t you call me?”

He shrugged.

“I figured what was done was done. There wouldn’t have been anything you could’ve done about it over the weekend.”

Sydney cocked her head. “Well, why didn’t Crandell go out the escape door?”

Sean looked her squarely in the eyes. “The handle was broken, and if that’s not bad enough, there was a mountain of lumber piled outside the door.”

“What?”

“If the escape door had been working properly, he could’ve gotten out as soon as he got locked in.”

She shook her head. “What are you saying? That this is my fault? I talked to Buck. I told him to make sure it was fixed. I?—”

“Save it for the meeting.”

“What meeting?”

“The meeting I called this morning to find out how a blatant accident could occur right under our noses.” He looked at his watch. “It starts in fifteen minutes in my office.”

“Why wasn’t I informed?”

“Consider yourself informed.” He turned on his heel and walked out the door.