by Zoe Dawson
Her stomach immediately knotted. Most of her focus lately had been on her need to find justice. When he left, everything inside her wanted to go with him, but she couldn’t. He needed her help, but she wanted to lend him her support.
She went into the house and washed the dirt from her flower garden off her hands. She dried her hands and walked to the front door. Stopping, she saw that her photo album was on the foyer table. She sighed. Scarecrow must have brought it back with him. He was a very smart man.
She picked it up and slipped out the door. Just in time. A man was on Scarecrow’s porch knocking on the door.
“Hello,” she called out and he turned.
“Hello, I’m Michael Madison. I’m looking for Mr. Porter.”
“He had to run an errand. He asked me to let you in.” She produced the key Scarecrow had given her and unlocked the door.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“The attic is up this way.” She led him through the house and up the stairs, then opened the door to the attic, turning on the lights for him as she ascended into the eaves.
“A veritable treasure trove,” he said. It looked like he was very interested in most of the pieces, and Scarlett felt sad that Rosemary would lose everything that she had accumulated over her years in this house.
He pulled off drop cloths and ran his hand over wood and wicker. She sat down in one of the rockers and opened the album. Her heart lurched when she saw her family tree in painstaking detail. She smiled and ran her hands over the people who had come before her.
Turning the page, she allowed the memories, the good memories, to surface. Her mother’s laughter, the way her father touched her, showing his love in his eyes, the way her brothers had teased her for loving strawberries. The perfect moment when her dad had pushed her on the swing in the back yard.
She turned the pages again, and memories flooded her, saturating her in pain and nostalgia, love and sadness.
Mr. Madison cleared his throat to get her attention. “Do you know when Mr. Porter will be back?”
She looked up. “I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“Will you give him my card and tell him that I will take everything, except obviously, the personal items that Mrs. Porter may wish to keep?”
She tucked the card in her pants pocket. “I will. Thanks for coming by.”
He nodded and disappeared down the stairs.
Scarlett looked out the window, her gaze going to the field full of chilis. A sense of accomplishment washed over her. Damn, she really enjoyed growing things. Who knew?
She smiled as she turned the next page. Everything went dead still—the sounds, her hands, her heart—and it felt as if every drop of blood had drained from her head. Her brain froze. No. It couldn’t be. This couldn’t be happening. Not now.
She stared down at the picture. It was of a little girl and a woman moving across a town square. The child was wearing a tiny pink coat. She reached for the picture with trembling hands and pulled it out from beneath the plastic. Turning it over, she read the faded ink. Yana and Anna shopping. Anna was her mum and this had to be her.
“Oh, God.” Her voice caught on a sob and she rose, the album falling off her lap, hitting the floor with a clunk. She stood there, the shock reverberating through her. She rushed over to Scarecrow’s mum’s album, going to her knees on the wooden floor, frantically turning the pages. The wedding pictures blurred past…oh, God. Rosemary Porter had been older, in her early forties when she’d gotten married and then had Scarecrow. She flipped faster until, with a thunderous beat of her heart, she got to the identical picture.
She couldn’t breathe.
With frantic movement, she pulled the picture out and held them up to each other. She squeezed her eyes closed. When she opened them, she flipped rapidly back to the wedding pictures. Her hands trembled as she pulled out a picture of Rosemary when she’d been young. She studied her face, closed her eyes, and reached for the memory.
She sobbed, her eyes widening. Rosemary…she was Olga Federoff. Her husband wasn’t from Louisiana. This house hadn’t been in their family for decades. Inscribed on the back of the picture was the sentence My beloved Sasha. He was Alexander Levin, the forger who had disappeared with Olga. They must have fallen in love. But she was due to testify against…her brother! Oh, God. Hank’s father was…had been The Butcher.
She covered her face. That meant… She could barely think it. Scarecrow was directly descended from the man who had murdered her family.
“Looks like you’ve discovered our skeletons in the closet,” Hank Marshall said. She turned her head, still clutching the pictures in her hand.
The gun in his hand was pointed directly at her heart.
Scarecrow, hot, frustrated, pissed off, entered the house. He’d gone to his cousin’s dealership, to his home, and to some of his hangouts, but he was nowhere to be found. “Scarlett?”
There was no answer, and he headed for the stairs. He climbed them and saw that the attic door was ajar. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. Something he never dismissed. Gently, he pushed the door all the way open and quietly climbed the stairs. When he got to the top, Scarlett was on her knees, her photo album was on the floor near the rocker, and she was clutching three pictures in her hands, his family album open in front of her.
“I heard you were looking for me.”
Scarecrow saw Hank standing in the shadows. When he stepped into the light, the gun in his hand was pointed at Scarlett. “Don’t try anything. I’ll kill her.”
“That comes naturally to you.” Scarecrow clenched his fists. “What did you do to my dad?”
Hank ran his hand through his hair. “He kept lying to me. I was just trying to get him to tell the truth.”
“The truth about what?”
“Your uncle was Misha Federoff. The Butcher.”
“What? That can’t be true. That would make my mother—”
“Olga Federoff,” his mom said from behind him.”
He spun as the shock of her words hit him hard. This. This is the secret his dad wanted to tell him. He must have realized in a lucid moment that Hank was manipulating him. He was worried about his wife. She would be vulnerable, and he’d protected her all these years.
Scarecrow reeled from the truth. His uncle was a mass murderer.
A mass murderer who had executed Scarlett’s family. Oh fuck.
“Scarlett.” She turned to look at him, her eyes dull. “I’m so sorry.”
“Dad hated you all. He wanted what was his, but he said you had evidence on him and he couldn’t do anything. He took his frustration out on us.”
“My brother was a beast, a monster. He followed us here, threatened us. He wanted what he thought we had.”
“Timavir,” Scarlett whispered.
“Yes.”
“You saved me.” His mom’s face softened.
“You were the sole survivor. If he’d found you, he would have eliminated you, too. I had to get you out of there. I’ve been running from my past for so long, it was easy to forget I was ever Olga. Don’t make the same mistake, Yana.”
“You knew who I was from the moment I got here.”
“Of course, I did. Sasha found that picture in a smashed frame. He kept it to always remind us where we have come from. We have always tried to live our lives with honor.”
“You sent the letter?”
“No, I sent it to you knowing you’d come here and shake up Auntie Rosemary, but she just kept to her lie. You have the stash, all the loot from Timavir. Where is it!”
“It doesn’t belong to you. It never belonged to my brother.” His mom said fiercely, her hands curling into fists. “He had so much innocent blood on his hands and by association, so did I. If it wasn’t for my Sasha, I would have died in Kirikhanistan.”
“You were supposed to testify against him,” Scarecrow said.
She met his gaze. “Yes. That was the plan, but then I found myself pregnant with you. I couldn’t risk it.
Sasha forged our identities when we got here. He set the fire in the town hall to erase our immigration. We blended in, started living.” Her voice caught. “I loved him so. We had what few ever experience. He was my true love.” She stepped into the attic. “Misha followed us, tried to make me talk, but I was determined to go to my grave with that secret.” Scarecrow realized now why his uncle and dad fought so much. It was all about this secret they kept. He was so proud of them. “I was adamant that he wouldn’t rob those poor innocents again.” She raised her hands. “Stop this, Hank. Nothing good will ever come from that blood trove. There is only one person who deserves it, one person who needs it to find her way. You were right to bring her here. I should have had the courage. But you muddled me up by spiking my lemonade.”
“I just wanted you to tell me. I need that loot. I’m losing everything.”
“It’s not yours, Hank.”
“I know where it is.” Scarlett set the pictures down, stood up.
Hank swung the gun toward her. “Where?”
“In this attic.”
Hank looked around, his face contorting into a rage. He strode over to her and grabbed her by the hair. Scarecrow moved, but Hank brought the gun up. “Don’t!”
Scarlett watched as his rage gave his eyes a demon glow, and she was thinking of a way out of this when he backhanded her across the face. She reeled with the impact, hitting the wall, her face exploding in hot pain.
Her eyes watered, and she worked her jaw. “That’s not going to get you what you want. Violence never does.” She tasted blood in her mouth.
“You’re going to tell me, now, or I’ll kill both of them.”
“No,” she shouted, lifting her hands in supplication. She moved to Hank, her expression giving nothing away.
He smiled as if she were the stupid kid in the class and waited.
That’s all she needed. She grabbed his wrist, dug her thumb into the apex of his finger and thumb, and twisted hard, forcing his arm and elbow backward. She disarmed him as easily as taking candy from a baby, tossing the weapon to Scarecrow who caught it. Hank reached for her, but Scarlett threw her weight into him, lowering him to the floor. Then she slammed her knee into the side of his head. He dropped like a stone toward the floor.
Scarecrow took a step toward her, but she backed up almost in a panic. She needed time to absorb all this shocking information that was currently overloading her brain cells. The hurt look on his face ripped her up inside.
“I noticed that this house’s attic should extend all the way to the end, but it doesn’t, does it, Rosemary? You’ve built a room and there’s a switch or something on this desk. I noticed how the dust is blown across it like there was a wind. How does it work?”
Rosemary walked over to the rolltop desk. She pressed something on the side, and a panel popped open. She pushed a button, and the trunks started sliding away from a hidden door. A rush of cold air raced over her body, making her shiver. When the door was fully open, Scarlett stood at the entrance to the vault. Everything inside was neatly organized: paintings, sculptures, antiques, and bins full of jewelry and other valuable items. Everything from Timavir, from the people who had once lived and loved there. It was as if opening the vault had set the ghosts tethered to her free.
She turned to Rosemary. “Thank you for preserving this. I need to make some arrangements.” She went to go past Scarecrow, but Hank rose up and charged her. At the last minute, she side stepped him, and he couldn’t stop his forward momentum in time. He crashed through the window and disappeared.
She ran to the window. Below them lay his broken body.
They had both been victims.
Hank had allowed himself to be one.
She was done with that.
It was over.
He watched Scarlett walk away from him, and he couldn’t move. He turned to his mom as she called the sheriff’s office, the sadness on her face warring with the guilt and worry.
“Do you hate me?” she asked as she hung up.
“No, I could never hate you,” he said. He closed his eyes. “Was it all a lie? Everything?”
“Your father, my Sasha, forged the papers to this old rundown farm. This isn’t our family home, but he didn’t lie. All the stories he told you about his childhood and his parents are true. They never happened in Louisiana. He made us the heirs so that we could settle in this town. We thought we had outrun Misha, but we hadn’t. He came here several years after we had already established our identities.”
“So you’re not French.”
“No, we spoke it and pretended we were from France to hide our identities. We were careful never to use our native language in front of you or anyone.
“I’m sorry, Arlo. It was our intention to tell you about your heritage. Then we got old and your father wanted you to know, especially after Hank started questioning him about the treasure his father never believed had been lost. We shipped everything here, built this vault and put everything inside, preserving their legacy. There are documents in my safe deposit box that would have given you all this information once we had passed. We never meant to hurt you, only protect all that we loved.”
He walked over to her and dragged her against him. There was pain that they hadn’t confided in him, but there was pride, too that his parents had gone against The Butcher. They had given Scarlett back her legacy. “I love you, too, Mom. I just need time to process this.”
A few days later, a truck pulled up and unloaded the attic, but Scarlett didn’t return or contact him. He didn’t blame her. He gave her the space she needed to figure it out on her own. If it was one thing he knew about her, she was a survivor.
He felt the loss of her in his bones, realized that she had taught him a valuable lesson about family. It was yours no matter what.
Maybe that was why he found himself standing in front of his dad’s grave, the sun bright, birds singing, the air moist and hot. He closed his eyes missing him more than ever. “I love you, Dad. You were as brave as hell. Thank you for taking care of Mom and me. Thank you for always being there for me. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you when you needed me the most.”
It was then he let it go, knowing that his life wasn’t to be lived in the past. All that was behind him. There was only the now to live, the future would work itself out.
It was two days before the end of his leave. His mom was doing great. They had talked a lot. They didn’t know what Scarlett would do with their family secret. They had told the sheriff that Hank had tried to extort money from his mom, and when he’d charged Scarecrow, he’d sidestepped to avoid the assault and Hank had gone out the window.
This small town wouldn’t question that story. It was common knowledge his business was failing.
“Mom, I’ve been thinking. If you’d like to stay here in Bellise, here in this house where you have so many memories, I think you’re mentally and physically able to do that.
Her eyes lit up. “Susan said that she would move in with me.”
“I’ll call and take the house off the market. Do you want your antiques to go to the estate broker?”
“Yes, I think it’s time that attic was cleaned out.” She walked up to him and said, “Do you think less of me? Are you angry that I lied to you all these years? Your whole life?”
“No. I understand why you did it. This explains a lot. Do you think your brother killed Aunt Eva?
“Yes. He was a mean son of a bitch, never a care for anyone, and that poor girl put up with enough from him. May she rest in peace.”
“May they all rest in peace.” The sound of Scarlett’s voice made him whip around. He just stood there absorbing her presence. She took a step, then another, and he was on her in a heartbeat, pulling her flush against him. He didn’t have to seek, she was there, and he took her mouth, then took more. His relief swelled, and he unleashed it, his hands mapping her contours as the kiss turned raw, primitive. He couldn’t resist her before, and now…he didn’t have to. She was his.
“Did you think I ran out on you?”
“Honestly, no. I thought you needed to take the time to absorb that the blood that runs through me is part of the man who killed your family. I knew you’d come back to me.”
“How did you know that?”
“Because you’re in love with me, Scarlett.”
His deep voice trembled over her skin, and her heartbeat staggered with so much joy, so much freedom. “I no longer go by that name. It’s Yana. How do you feel about me, Arlo “Scarecrow” Porter?”
His answer was to cup her face between his hands and kiss her like she was the sky and the moon. Words were not necessary, but he said them anyway. “I love you, sugar. I used to think the world was so evil that I had to make a choice to fight it and not have a normal life. I had to give it my all.”
“And now?”
“Now I know that everyone needs a balance between the bad and the good. There is beauty all around us and there is beauty in us. I need that beauty to fight evil. I need you. I want you in my life forever.”
“I came back for you, Arlo. I want you. I need you. I’ll cherish my good memories and forget the bad ones. I believe in love. I believe in us. That’s all that’s important. We have our whole life ahead of us.
“Well, then, sugar,” he drawled “Why don’t you kiss me like that again, and we’ll get this party started.”
She smiled, and they moved toward each other slowly. Her kiss told him everything he needed to know.
His soul had awakened the day he had seen her hiding in the shadows. She’d given him a place to balance. Yana hadn’t slid into his life; she came rushing like a storm, dragging emotions from him he never even knew he had, but they were there, on the edge of his skin, in his words, and while she wanted her life back, it was Scarecrow who found his way home.
Epilogue
Kumma
Kirikhanistan, Russia