Authors: Judith E French
“Hell, Lizzy, how could you think that? How old were you?”
“Eleven.”
He gripped her hand. “Are you certain you even did it? You must have been pretty scared. You—”
“Buck came into our house,” she replied in a low monotone. “I screamed at him to go away, but he kept coming. He tore off my T-shirt. He was . . .” She stiffened. “He exposed himself. He meant to rape me, Jack. But when he tried to yank my shorts down, I jabbed my finger in his eye and ran. He came after me, but I found Daddy’s pistol and . . .”
“Your father took the blame for the shooting to protect you, didn’t he?”
She nodded. “He made me swear never to tell. He said I hadn’t done anything to be ashamed of, but other people might not see it that way. He said it wasn’t right that his little girl should be branded a killer for protecting herself.”
“Buck deserved killing. You’ve got no reason to feel ashamed.”
“He was a monster. He did terrible things to Michael . . . to his son. Molested him—twisted him.”
“Mom and I talked about Buck, when she was in earlier this morning. She said all the Juneys were stark raving lunatics. It didn’t surprise her that Michael turned out the same way. But she said she thought you were right—that the boy was named after his father.”
“Eugene Winston Juney. Michael was a name that he must have assumed later. At least, that’s what he told me. He rambled on. I didn’t understand half of it, but he did say that he killed his mother, and that Buck buried her in the swamp. I know about Tracy and my father, but how many others? Cameron Whitaker seems to have vanished. Did Michael have a part in that, too?”
“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe Whitaker’s buried out there in the marsh someplace. I don’t think we’ll ever have all the answers.”
“Jack, there were piles of human bones in that cellar. It was hideous.” She hesitated. “I think Michael may have murdered Amelia, too.”
“It’s not your fault,” Jack said. “You stopped him from ever hurting anyone again.”
“But why did he insist that I learn to shoot? I killed him with the revolver he bought for me. How crazy is that? Did he want to be stopped, or was it all part of his sick game?”
“It’s beyond me, honey. Maybe they’ll find a tumor the size of a baseball in that skull of his.”
“No.” She shook her head. “There’s nothing there but pure unadulterated evil.” She rose and kissed Jack’s forehead. “Maybe there’s a best-seller in it, Mr. Marshall?”
“I don’t need to glorify that bastard by writing about him. It’s better that we forget he ever existed.” Jack’s eyes were growing heavy. “If I never write another word, I don’t have to worry about money. My last advance was half a million.”
“I’m glad for you. You deserve your success.”
“It was never the money. It’s nice. Hell, it’s great, but I don’t write for the money. Books influence people, maybe change some ideas. Who knows? Maybe in time we can even clean up the bay, get rid of the chemicals and the parasites and bring back the fish. Make things the way they used to be.”
“You’re starting to sound like my father after two six-packs and a pint of Wild Turkey.”
“Is that bad?”
“No, it’s not. There was a lot of common sense behind his rambling.”
“Will you be all right, Lizzy? Can you put the bad stuff behind you and go back to teaching kids? Or will you be afraid to return to the farmhouse? Mom told me that your phone lines were cut, that the police found cameras in your ceiling, and electronic bugs in your walls. Will you ever be able to sleep under that roof again?”
She shrugged. “Do you think I’d let Buck Juney’s crazy kid drive me off my land? Not no, but
hell
no.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Jack’s mouth, and he looked at her with admiration. “You’re a stubborn woman.”
“Not stubborn, rational. If Michael couldn’t get the best of me, why should I be afraid of anything else life throws at me?”
“Your daddy would be proud.”
“Maybe there’s more of me in him than I thought.”
“You’re not telling me anything I didn’t know.”
She glanced at a mirrored wall. Her face and arms were a mass of bruises, her eyes sunken and bloodshot. “I look like Daddy did after a rough night at Rick’s.” She touched her swollen cheek gingerly.
“You’ll heal, and you clean up good,” Jack said. “It’s me I’m worried about. Is there any hope for us? Mom keeps telling me she wants to die a grandmother.”
“Isn’t there a slight problem with that idea? You told me you couldn’t father a child.”
“We could always figure out something. Mom says that there are plenty of kids out there who need families. Adoption wouldn’t be the worst suggestion she’s ever come up with. Of course, if you’re dead set against any more babies . . .”
Liz settled back in her chair, folded her arms, and scowled at him. “You lie to me, drag me into the middle of a redneck bar fight, and let me believe you’re a drug dealer in league with organized crime. No self-respecting, intelligent woman would date an out-of-work commercial fisherman who’s just gotten out of prison, let alone let him sweet-talk her into a commitment.”
“Lizzy.” Jack groaned.
“But then again, as my daddy used to say, ‘Where there’s life, there’s always hope.’”