"If Lillie Mae was there,
then she knows what happened."
"She wasn't outside the house
when Mama came home and found me with Kent's body. You see, when Lillie
Mae begged Kent not to say all those horrible things to me, he slapped
her. He slapped her so hard that she fell to the ground." Will swallowed.
His breathing deepened and quickened. "When he did that to Lillie
Mae, I took my baseball bat and hit him to make him stop, so he wouldn't
slap her again. I hit him once and knocked him on his ass. Then I helped
Lillie Mae up and took her to her room.
"That's all I remember, until
Mama came home and found me in the backyard, standing beside Kent's
body and the baseball bat lying on the ground. She cleaned the bat and put
it back where it had been; then she told me that I was to say that Lillie
Mae and I were together the whole time and that I came outside just as
she was coming in to call the police. She said that Lillie Mae would back
up my story. I didn't realize then that Mama knew by eliminating me as
the chief suspect, she'd put herself in that spot"
"Has your mother contacted
a psychiatrist to help you try to remember what happened?"
"No!" Lane screamed as
she ran forward, past Will and straight to Johnny Mack. Her eyes wide, her
nostrils flared, her hands curved into talons, she screeched,
"Damn you! I warned you not to ask Will anything about Kent's murder.
He doesn't know what happened. He's confused about the events of that
day. Whatever he's told you-"
Johnny Mack grabbed Lane's shoulders.
Her breathing accelerated. Every muscle in her body tensed as she glared
at him, pure unadulterated rage pulsating within her.
"I understand that you're
trying to protect Will," Johnny Mack said. "But, my God, Lane, you
don't have to protect him from me. He's my son. All I want to do is help him.
Help both of you."
"Mama, it's all right,"
Will said. "It's time I told the truth."
"See what you've done!"
Lane jerked free of Johnny Mack's hold. "You come back here after fifteen
years and think you have a right to interfere in our lives. Well, you
don't have a right! Accidentally getting someone pregnant doesn't make
you a father. You had no problem leaving us behind fifteen years ago.
Sharon or me. I wish you had never come back to Noble's Crossing. I wish
Lillie Mae had never written you that damn note."
"Mama, this isn't Johnny Mack's
fault," Will said. "I've been wanting to tell the truth to somebody.
Why not to him? He is my father, and I'm beginning to believe him when he
says he wants to help us."
Lane glared at Johnny Mack. Then
when she looked at Will, her expression softened. "Please, trust
me to do what's best for you."
"I do, Mama, but we can't keep
on lying. We can't keep pretending that I wasn't in the backyard when Kent
was murdered. I know that I hit him once with my baseball bat. What if…
what if, after I helped Lillie Mae to her room, I went back out in the garden
and killed him?" The tears gathered in the corners of Will's eyes
threatened to overflow.
A tight fist of pain clenched
Johnny Mack's stomach.
Lane reached out, grasped Will's
hands and held them securely. "Oh, sweetheart, stop torturing yourself
trying to remember."
"Johnny Mack asked if I'd seen
a psychiatrist. Do you think a psychiatrist could help me remember?"
"I heard what Johnny Mack said."
Lane released one of Will's hands so that she could caress his cheek.
"Maybe a psychiatrist could help you. I don't know. But is that what
you want? Do you really want to remember what happened that day?"
Will nodded. "You didn't kill
Kent, but you're being accused because you tried to cover up the
truth-that I probably did it. I don't want you taking the blame for something
I did." Will wrapped his arms around Lane and laid his head on her
shoulder.
"Oh, Will, my sweet darling.
Don't you know that what happened with Kent is my fault? I'm the one who lied
to him. Not you. I'm the one who married him when I was in love with someone
else. I'm the one he really hated."
In his peripheral vision,
Johnny Mack noticed Lillie Mae and Quinn standing hesitantly, side by
side, on the patio, but well within earshot. He held up a hand in a restraining
signal, and Quinn nodded.
"Let's clear this up once and
for all." Johnny Mack approached mother and son. "I'm the one
Kent Graham hated. Any fault in this matter is mine. If I had known what
was happening, that Kent took his frustration out on the two of you, I
would have killed him."
"But you didn't kill him,"
Will said. "I did."
"We don't know that for a
fact." Lane hugged her son tightly.
Despite the overwhelming desire
to wrap Lane and Will in his arms, Johnny Mack made no move to touch either
of them. He watched. An outsider. A father by biological accident
only. But he intended to change that fact. If ever Will needed a father,
now was that time. Especially if the boy really had bludgeoned Kent to
death with his baseball bat.
God in heaven, this was his fault.
All of it. Every miserable moment Lane and Will had spent at the mercy of
Kent Graham. What was that old saying? Oh, yeah. All his chickens had come
home to roost As a teenager, he had been a hell-raiser, with no thought
beyond getting some pussy and irritating the hell out of the snobs who lived
in Rich Man's Land. He had sowed more than his share of wild oats and in the
process had damaged so many lives, including his own. But by the grace
of God, via Judge Harwood Brown, he had been given a chance to reinvent
himself. For years it seemed that he had gotten off scot-free.
Others had paid for his sins. The
most innocent of all. His son. And Lane, who had saved two lives and been
rewarded with a double portion of misery.
''Why don't we pick up this discussion
in the morning?" Johnny Mack suggested. "We all need some breathing
space and a chance to let our emotions cool off a bit. Tomorrow, if you
both agree, I'll make some phone calls and have the best qualified psychiatrist
in the U.S. come to Noble's Crossing. Once we get to the bottom of what really
happened that day, then we can decide where to go from there."
Johnny Mack's gaze connected with
Lane's.
"Don't overstep the boundaries,"
she told him. "You aren't making the decisions for Will or for
me."
"How about if the three of us
make the decisions together?" Johnny Mack asked.
"Like a family?" Will lifted
his head from Lane's shoulder and gazed at his father.
"No," Lane said.
"Yes," Johnny Mack countered.
"I think you're right; we should
pick this up in the morning, when we're all thinking more clearly." Lane
tugged on Will's hand. "Let's go in."
Johnny Mack waited until Lane and
Will had walked past Quinn and Lillie Mae and into the house before he
even so much as took a deep breath. When Johnny Mack joined the others on
the patio, Quinn laid his hand on Johnny Mack's shoulder.
"In the morning, let me talk
to Lane," Quinn said. "If it turns out that Will killed Kent in
self-defense or if he had some sort of mental breakdown, then there's no
way the boy will serve time for the crime. Six months or a year in a private
hospital and-"
"Miss Lane or I would rather
go to prison than see that child suffer any more than he already
has," Lillie Mae said.
Johnny Mack's gaze settled on the
housekeeper. "If I didn't know you so well, I'd think you might have
killed Kent. But you wouldn't let Lane and Will go through this torment if
you'd committed the crime."
''Just because I didn't do it, doesn't
mean I couldn't convince the police and a jury that I did."
"My son's a lucky boy to have a
mother and a grandmother who love him so much."
"Yeah, well, all our maternal
love can only do so much for him, protect him only so far. I think what happened
tonight proves how much our boy needs his father. We all need a strong man
to help us through what lies ahead. And for all your faults, past and present,
you, Johnny Mack, are the strongest man I've ever known."
"You can count on me, Lillie
Mae. My days of running away are over. I'm back in Noble's Crossing to stay
for as long as Will and Lane need me."
* * *
No one had seen. No one had heard.
Slipping up the stairs while everyone was asleep had been easy. Having
a key to the back door. Knowing the code for the alarm system. Being familiar
with all the rooms in the house. Everything had come together just
right.
Do what has to be done before daylight.
Leave no clues. Make the death appear to be a suicide. The handwriting
in the note wasn't a perfect match, but close enough. Pray that no one questions
its authenticity.
The door creaked slightly. The nightlight
in Mary Martha's bedroom cast a soft, pale glow over the frilly decor. Move
quietly. Don't wake her.
Jackie was snoring. Good. A deep
sleep. She would never know what hit her. No pain. No suffering. She had
made a big mistake. Blackmailed the wrong person. If she told what she
knew, the results would be devastating. Couldn't let her live. Couldn't
allow her to cause harm to someone so dear.
Killing a person like this was
wrong. But the only other choice was unthinkable. Kent's murder had been
justified. He had been an evil son of a bitch. A monster who had inflicted
pain and suffering on others. But Jackie's only crime was greed. Poor,
stupid bitch.
Don't think about it. Just do it.
And be careful not to wake Mary Martha. But what if, even with the silencer
on the gun, the sound of the muffled shot woke her? No, it won't wake her.
Jackie had been instructed to give her a sedative before bedtime
so they both could rest during the night.
Carefully creeping closer and closer
to Jackie's bed. Ever watchful. Mindful that discovery was possible,
though highly improbable. The grandfather clock in
the hallway struck the half hour.
Damn unnerving racket!
Adjusting the silencer. Listening.
Waiting. Warming the cold steel with the heat of a hand. Leaning over Jackie's
body. Placing the gun to her forehead at just the right angle. Her eyes
flashing open. Shock. Fear.
Pulling the trigger. Bile rising
from the stomach, the taste lingering in the mouth.
Glancing across the room to where
Mary Martha lay undisturbed. Thank God. Poor, sweet Mary Martha.
Blood oozing from the wound, creating
a large red blot on the pristine white pillowcase.
Lifting her lifeless hand. Placing
the gun. Readjusting the arm to a position in which it would have been
had Jackie actually fired the weapon and ended her own life.
Laying the forged note on the
desk. Propping it up so it wouldn't be missed by the servant who brought
up the breakfast tray.
One more problem solved. One less
thing to worry about. Now, to find a way to eliminate an even more deadly
enemy. Johnny Mack Cahill had to be dealt with-and soon. He and that damn
lawyer he had hired would keep digging until they unearthed the truth.
That mustn't happen. Even if it meant committing another murder.
Mary Martha woke, got out of bed
and went to the bathroom. It was still dark outside. Wonder what time it
is? Wonder if Mother and Kent are already downstairs eating breakfast?
Sometimes they liked to eat early. But not this early.
She could go to Kent's room and wake
him. He had told her that she could come to his room any time she wanted
and he didn't mind if she woke him. He was always so good to her. Her brother.
Her dear brother.
Kent loved her. Loved her more
than Mother or Father ever had. He told her so and she believed him. Kent
wouldn't he to her.
But he had lied about her baby. He
had told her it was dead. But it wasn't. Kent and Lane had adopted her little
boy and named him Will. Why had Kent lied about her baby? Why had he given
her baby to Lane?
Wandering around in a haze, searching
for something, but she wasn't sure what, Mary Martha saw the bed on the opposite
side of her bedroom. Why was there another bed in her room? Had someone
spent the night with her?
She tiptoed closer and closer until
she saw that someone indeed was asleep in the other bed. But I don't
know who she is.
"Hello, mere," Mary Martha
said. "Who are you?"
When the person didn't respond,
Mary Martha reached out and shook the still body. That was when she noticed
the big, wet, red spot on the pillow and the wide-open eyes of the woman in
the bed.
Something was wrong. The woman wouldn't
speak. She wouldn't move. Was she dead? Dead like Kent!
Kent was dead. Dead and buried.
Tears filled Mary Martha's eyes. How could she live without Kent? He loved
her more man anyone else. Without him, her life was meaningless. Kent
had wanted a little sister, so Mother had given him one. He had told her
so. They were soul mates. Always and forever. If Kent had gone to heaven,
then she should be there with him. Why had he gone there without her?