I missed my family, but my decision was vested in love.

Back inside, I reached inside my backpack and placed one of my treasured possessions on my nightstand. For my twelfth birthday, Dad had given me a kaleidoscope. He showed me how the pieces of colored glass formed intricate designs. I’d spend hours creating patterns and sketching them until interior design attracted my interest. That kaleidoscope went with me to prison. The intricacy of color helped me process the valleys and mountains of my life journey. I simply applied bright colors in place of dark and gray.

A knock at the door startled me. Neither the sound of tires crunching pea gravel nor a car door slamming had given me any indication of a visitor. I walked to the window and took a look. A cowboy or cowgirl had paid a call. Not Officer Hughes, whom I’d nicknamed Bubba Valleysburg.

I opened the door to a mostly white-haired man, more like premature white because only a few lines fanned from his brown eyes. “Can I help you?”

A smile greeted me, framed by a salt-and-pepper mustache and a goatee. “Hey, I’m Denton McClure. I live on the other side of the woods.” A slow drawl rolled off his tongue. “I heard you’d moved in from Edie. Wanted to introduce myself. Give you my cell number in case you need something.”

“How kind of you. I moved in late last night.” I glanced at my pajamas. “I apologize for my lack of dress.”

“It’s early, and I’m sure you had a late night.” He inhaled deeply. “Oh, I smell coffee. For sure another day. You must have plenty to do, so I’ll leave you alone.” He handed me a folded piece of paper. “My number’s there, and your name?”

Heat rose into my face for not offering it earlier. “Sorry. I’m Shelby Pearce. Pleased to meet you, but I don’t have a phone yet.”

“Just text me when you do. That way we can keep in touch.”

First I needed to buy a phone and figure out how to text.

“We’re isolated here,” he continued, “and you don’t seem to have a car. I believe neighbors should look out for each other.”

He said goodbye and rode off on his horse . . . sorta like one of the many John Wayne Westerns I used to watch with Dad. Denton’s dark eyes had studied me in a type of peculiar curiosity. Trust him or beware? I’d play it safe and not return the good-neighbor persona. The truth about me would rise like smoke signals soon enough.

Someone had laid the foundation for trouble last night with a gunshot. Until I found out who was responsible, Officer Hughes and Denton McClure weren’t above suspicion.

5

Prison had given me hours to deliberate life. In my seventeen-year-old naiveté, I had never imagined Dad and Mom’s abandonment or a prison sentence. When first charged with murder, I’d thought my age would soften the judge’s heart. I’d land a few years in juvenile jail and lengthy probation linked with community service. In essence have my hands smacked. That didn’t happen. As the years inched by, I learned my parents protested my parole three times. I might never learn all the reasons why they chose to close the door on our relationship. Although I had confessed to a horrendous crime. Once I’d gotten past the feeling-sorry-for-myself syndrome, I chose to make the best of my circumstances by pursuing an undergrad and master’s degree in business.