Free Forbidden Son by Loretta C. Rogers Page A

head spun. Her mind went blank. She was lost in a crescendo of
confusion.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter
Ten
     
    The
day after Tripp left for Harvard, Honey Belle received an unexpected visit from
the most unlikely person. A visit that made her feel as if she’d died and gone
to Hell.
    The
morning was insufferably hot. Honey Belle was sure if there was a thermometer
inside the house the temperature would register at a hundred degrees. The
ceiling fan circulated dust, and the floor fans circulated hot air.
    “Honey
Belle, the heat has got to me. Go next door and use the phone. Tell the boss
man I’m too sick to come in today.”
    The
sickly yellow tinge to her mother’s skin worried Honey Belle. “Let me take you
to the health department, Mama. When was the last time you had a physical
examination?”
    “There’s
nothing wrong with me, except this blasted heat. Come November, when it cools
down, I’ll be right as rain.” Almost as an afterthought, she added, “Besides we
ain’t made of money.”
    Honey
Belle’s morning shower had left her feeling sticky and uncomfortable. “The heat
is taking a toll on both you and Daddy. We’re not behind on the rent. If we
ask, maybe Mr. Ellerby will put in an air conditioner for us.”
    Her
mother harrumphed. “That old skinflint isn’t interested in fixin’ up anything
for the likes of us. All he’s concerned with is if he’s gonna get the next
month’s rent.”
    The
words “slum lord” came to mind as Honey Belle ran two clean dishrags under the
faucet. She wrung out the excess water, filled both cloths with ice cubes from
the freezer, and handed them to her mother. “Maybe this will help cool you and
Daddy off.”
    “It’s
too hot to cook, Honey Belle. Run to town and pick up some chicken tenders and
fries. Your daddy might like some ice cream, too.”
    “Cherry
vanilla for Daddy, chocolate for you and me.”
    Her
mother offered a haggard smile and trod toward the bedroom, an ice pack in each
hand.
    A
wave of heat shimmered toward the road when Honey Belle stepped out the front
door. At first she thought she was seeing a mirage. She blinked to clear her
eyes. The mirage didn’t go away. A sleek black limousine sat parked at the edge
of the dirt road in front of the house.
    She
became painfully aware of the front yard—a sandy, sandspur-filled weed patch in
dire need of mowing. Plastic flowerpots, cracked and faded from the sun, the
plants long dead and gone, bordered the edges of the house. The mailbox, rusted
and battered from multiple hits from baseball bats, sat askew on its post.
    The
contrast between the expensive vehicle and her surroundings made her
uncomfortable. Who in their right mind, she wondered, would risk a car-jacking
to drive through Shanty Groves in broad daylight?
    She
lifted her hand to shade her eyes from the sun. Hesitant, she walked toward the
vehicle. Raising her voice, she called toward the dark-tinted windows. “Are you
lost...can I help you?”
    A
man dressed in a black uniform opened the limo’s door and stepped toward her.
“Is this the residence of Miss Honey Belle Garrett?”
    In
spite of the heat, a chill prickled her arms. “Yes, who are you?”
    “Judge
Hartwell wishes to speak with you.”
    Unease
twisted the pit of her stomach. Why did Tripp’s father wish to speak to her?
Better, yet, how did he find where she lived? The wheels of her brain rotated
in overtime. Had she slipped up and given Tripp clues to where she lived?
    No!
    Perhaps
Tripp had asked Carla.
    No,
again. Carla, whose circumstances matched her own, wouldn’t betray her address
to Tripp. Then how did Judge Hartwell find her?
    Honey
Belle’s heart did a little leap. Perhaps Tripp had changed his mind and asked
his father to take her shopping for an engagement ring.
    No,
that still didn’t answer the question of how the Judge had located her and his
reason for being here.
    The
uniformed driver opened the limousine’s door and, with a sweep of his