It couldn’t possibly be true. Her mother would never let Ronnie get away with what he’d done. She was sure he’d been bluffing. He had to be bluffing because if he wasn’t, it didn’t bear thinking about.
Her hands trembled. Angry tears poured violently down her face. This wasn’t a dream. This was real.
So many questions answered in a matter of minutes.
Her recollection of Ronnie made her sick. She ran to the bathroom and emptied her stomach until she thought she would die. Standing in front of the same mirror that only days ago revealed a woman so different frightened her. Then she’d had no conception of the misery she’d endured at the hands of her brother. She’d looked forward to resuming her relationship with her mother. Now, however, the mere thought of being in the same room with her made her want to throw up again.
All those times Ronnie came to her room, and her mother knew about it! What kind of woman was she?
And that evening, the one she thought of as her last trip to hell. The evening Ronnie came to her room for the last time.
The shrill ringing of the telephone made her jump. She reached for the receiver next to her bed.
“Hello,” she murmured.
“Casey?”
“Oh, Blake, thank God it’s you! I’ve . . . you can’t imagine . . .” She couldn’t continue. How could she tell Blake about the horror she’d gone through?
“I’m pulling through the gates as we speak. I was calling to tell you to meet me in the gardens. Think you can do that?” Blake’s calming voice reassured her.
She cleared her throat before speaking. “Sure.”
“Hang on, sweet, I’ll be there in seconds.”
Casey placed the phone in the cradle and went to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth.
She hurried downstairs through the kitchen and out the back door. She’d no more seated herself on the bottom step when she felt Blake pull her into his arms.
“What happened? And why are you trembling, Casey? What happened, sweetie? Come on, out with it.”
“I remembered. That day. That night.” Casey sobbed.
“Shhh, it’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Just relax.” He pulled her onto his lap and rocked her as if she were a child.
Several minutes passed before she felt strong enough to get off Blake’s comforting lap. Blowing her nose on the washcloth she didn’t remember bringing downstairs, she turned to Blake.
She looked up into the darkened sky. Pale clouds swirled like mist around the moon, making the sky appear as if it were moving at a high rate of speed. Sort of like her life. Crickets and bullfrogs could be heard singing their throaty tunes. She remembered their gravelly calls from another time and shivered even though the humidity was thick, the temperature warm.
“I remember the evening Ronnie came to my room. When he died. And all the other nights, too. And the pregnancy. The miscarriage was a blessing.” She walked to the edge of the long wooden porch, distancing herself from Blake. Right now she wanted space.
“Casey . . .”
“It’s all right. I’m handling it. There are things, Blake. Oh my God! Maybe I can’t go on! I’m so confused. I remember it so vividly. But then everything turns black. Blake”—she jammed a hand through her hair as she paced the length of the porch—“for the life of me I can’t remember . . . killing Ronnie. I must’ve blacked out.”
“It’s in the past, Casey. Adam and I met with the sheriff this afternoon after I left the party. There’s something you should know. It might explain why you can’t remember killing your stepbrother.” Blake sounded almost . . . sinister.
She turned to him. “Why? What is it? You sound strange.”
The feeling that something was about to happen settled in her bones like a chill.
“Sit down, Casey,” Blake ordered.
She did as she was told.
“Sheriff Parker has contacted a friend of his at the GBI’s Criminal Analysis Unit. Seems he’s got several unanswered questions about the night Ronnie died. He wants an expert’s opinion.”
“He does? But, why? Lilah and everyone else said he was in charge that night. Why would he question himself now?”
“He’s always questioned what happened that night. If you think you’re up to it, I’ll tell you what the sheriff spent a good part of last night and this afternoon confessing to me and Adam.”
“I’m not sure I’ll ever be ‘up to’ anything again, but tell me anyway,” she said.
“Let’s take that stroll I promised you earlier.”
Hand in hand they strolled through the fragrant gardens of Swan House. Honeysuckle, night-blooming jasmine, and Hank’s famous roses scented the moist air. Casey wished she hadn’t remembered that fateful evening ten years earlier because in gaining her memory she’d lost a mother. Blake’s voice droned on, and she couldn’t quite make out his words.
“Casey? Have you heard anything I’ve said?” Blake asked.
“No.”
“I said Sheriff Parker thinks something is fishy about the . . . bloodstains on the mattress. His friend from CAU is on his way from Atlanta as we speak to analyze the spatters.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means there is some doubt about your mother and Robert Bentley’s story of what actually happened that night. Enough doubt to investigate.”
Casey’s heart leapt at the possibility. “What kind of doubt, Blake?”
“If what Parker says is true, and I’ve no reason to dispute him, he thinks someone murdered Ronnie, not that you killed him in self-defense.”
Casey stopped in the middle of the stone path that led to the fountain she’d viewed just days ago. The soft trickle of water sounded like a waterfall gushing in her ears.
“Then . . . I’m not . . . Oh, Blake do you know what this means? My God! It’s . . . I didn’t kill him!” The joy she felt couldn’t be put into words. There had always been that nagging doubt. Now she was about to find out if it was justified. Then as fast as it came it left. If she wasn’t responsible for taking the life of her stepbrother, who had spent nine years of his life tormenting and raping her, then that meant there was a murderer still out there somewhere. A killer who’d never paid for his or her crime.
They walked to the edge of the property, stopping once to share a kiss. Casey warmed at the direction her relationship with Blake was taking. Among all the turmoil and confusion she felt, the one thing that remained as clear and pure as the water that flowed from the fountain was her feeling for this wonderful, kind man who’d spent the last few days bringing light and spurts of happiness into her otherwise bleak and frightening life.
They headed back in the direction of the porch, both lost in thought. Casey saw the small carriage house at the edge of the gardens and asked Blake about it.
“Hank lives there. He has ever since your mother hired him. I think it was right after she and John married.”
“I don’t like him. The other day when I sneaked off to my old house, the day you patched me up”—she touched the three small stitches at her temple—“he was there. Sheriff Parker told you I’d been hit by a shutter blowing in the storm, but I knew better. I didn’t get hit by a shutter, Blake.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying someone hit me. Just as I put my hand on the screen door to open it, I heard a noise. It was raining so hard you could barely hear, but I heard someone coming up behind me. About the time I turned, I’d already been hit and he ran away, but not before I caught a glimpse of him.”
“Did you tell the sheriff? Casey, there’s a good possibility a murderer is still lurking on this island. You should have told us. You could have been killed!” He grabbed her and pulled her to him.
“It was him.” She nodded in the direction of the carriage house.
“Hank?”
“Yes, Hank,” Casey replied.
Blake released his hold on her. “I’ll kill him, Casey. I swear to God
I’ll kill him!”
He raced toward the carriage house, leaving her staring at his retreating back. She ran after him, hoping to stop him from doing something they’d both regret. Her tainted past was enough. They didn’t need another death to cloud their future.
“Blake, no!” She screamed.
He came from around the back of the small carriage house shaking his head. “The son of a bitch is gone!”
Thank God she’d caught him before he did anything he’d live to regret. “Blake, it doesn’t matter. Please don’t do anything when he comes back. I don’t think I could bear it if something were to happen to you.”
“Don’t worry, Casey, I’m not likely to kill the bastard. He’s packed all his things, lock, stock, and barrel. He’s long gone.”
“What does it mean?”
“I think it means good old Hank wanted to get out of Dodge before you recalled what you just told me.”
“Blake.” Anxiety coated her every word. “Is it possible Hank had something to do with Ronnie’s death?”
“I don’t think so. As soon as Parker’s buddy rolls in, we’ll know. And as soon as that happens, the sheriff will more than likely have enough evidence to make an arrest.”
If he found any evidence, Casey wanted to add.
“But why would Hank want to hurt me?”
“I’m just guessing, but I’d say someone asked, or rather paid him to keep you quiet. And I think we both know who it is.”
“It always comes back to the same person, doesn’t it?”
“Seems old Bentley’s days as a free man are numbered.”
Chapter 26
Jason Dewitt stumbled onto the darkened porch and slumped into one of the white wicker chairs placed casually around a matching table. He gasped when he realized how close he’d come to getting killed by a crazed driver. The Valium he’d popped earlier had knocked him out, and he’d slept for two hours on the side of the road, in a ditch. He’d misplaced his map and wandered around the island in a frantic state, finally winding up on the front porch of Dr. Blake Hunter’s house. Somewhere along the way, he’d also lost the contents of his hip pack. When he screwed up, he screwed up royally.
The drugs he knew he would find inside, the legal drugs, would be traced back to Dr. Hunter. By then he would be back on the ferry, returning to the horrid little hotel in Brunswick. Bentley would never utter a single word again. By noon he could be back in Atlanta in search of a new office.
Perfect.
He jiggled the front door handle. Locked, just as it should be. Now, all he had to do was figure out a way to get inside. He looked around the front porch, hoping to find something to jimmy the antique lock.
About to give up, and head around to the back, he stopped short when he realized he didn’t need a tool to pick the lock. A giant clay pot filled with geraniums rested in the corner of the porch. People kept keys under flowerpots. That’s when he felt something hard jabbed into his back.
He dropped the pot. Dirt, flowers, and chunks of clay flew in all directions. “Who the hell are you?” He didn’t move but only because he was frozen with fear. “I said, who in the hell are you?”
Think fast, motherfucker, think fast!
Suddenly, he wanted to cry. The damn Valium slowed his thinking and his reflexes, too. Spinning around like a top off center, he lashed out at the owner of the gun. Not fast enough, he thought as he felt a fist smashing into his jaw. He slumped to the floor and moaned.
“Now,” the voice above him came again, “I’m gonna give you one more chance to tell me what the hell you’re doing here on the doc’s porch this time of night.”
“Sick . . .” He really was sick. He touched his cheek and knew it would be black-and-blue in a matter of minutes.
“Then why didn’t you say something? Jesus Christ! C’mere.” Jason felt himself being hoisted into the air.
The hulking figure dropped him in the chair.
Seated in the same wicker chair where he’d planned his break-in a few minutes before, he sat there trying to imagine a terrible illness that would bring him out to this godforsaken hole in the middle of the night. He was a doctor himself, so that didn’t look too good. He’d worry about that when the time came.
“Now,” The man seated himself in the chair across from him. “I can’t leave you here in this condition. I’m gonna take you over to Memorial and have you checked out.”
“Uh . . . no, I’m fine really.” Jason struggled to his feet. “I guess it was something I ate.” He patted his stomach, then doubled over for effect. “It’ll pass.”
“No, I’m not going to leave you here. I hit you, so that makes me responsible for your well-being. The doctors at the hospital are just as good as Dr. Blake.”
Jason wobbled when he stood, and knew it was now or never. He had to make a run for it. He leapt down the porch steps as fast as he could, but he wasn’t fast enough. He cursed the Valium a second time as the hulk grabbed him from behind, yanking his arms in a painful grip while he locked a pair of handcuffs securely in place.
“Let’s go.”
Jesus, Holy Mary, Mother of God! It was finally closing in on him.
Norma Bentley tossed the empty bottle of vodka on the floor. For the last three hours the images had continued to swim before her eyes. She sat up in bed, tugging at the skirt that inched up around her waist. She pulled it off, throwing it on the floor alongside the vodka bottle. Her panty hose were ripped to shreds. She tossed them on top of the skirt. She ripped her blouse off, sending mother-of-pearl buttons bouncing onto the floor. She still had one shoe. Somewhere along the way she’d lost the other one.
A shoe. Oh, yes. It was her shoe she’d found in the back of Robert’s closet yesterday. The girl’s. When she’d asked Robert about it tonight, he’d acted like he didn’t know what she was talking about.
“How much did you have to drink at the luncheon, Norma?” Robert asked.
“Not nearly enough.” She walked around his office, opening and closing drawers, thumbing through his files. “Where’d you put ’em?” Her voice slurred.
“Put what, Norma? I’ve got work to do. You need to get home. I’ll have Becky drive you.” He punched the small black box on his desk.
Norma stumbled over to his desk and swept her hand across its immaculate surface, sending the contraption to the floor.
“Listen to me, Robert! For fucking once I wish you would just listen!”
“I hate it when you use foul language, Norma. It’s unbecoming to a lady.”
“Do you really think I care what you think Robert? Really? And since when did you become an authority on what constitutes a lady? Tell me, Robert.” Norma plopped down in the stuffed chair across from Robert’s desk and tossed her high-heeled pumps at him, just missing him by inches.
“The shoe,” Norma bellowed.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. As I said, I’ve got work to do. Now, either you can let Becky drive you home or risk being picked up for drunkenness by Sheriff Parker. The choice is yours.”
“That’s what I love about you most, Robert. Your fucking compassion, consideration, and general good-fucking-heartedness. Most husbands would drive their wives home if they were in my condition.” She released a loud burp, then smacked her lips.
“My God, Norma you sound like a rooting hog. You disgust me.” Robert straightened a pile of papers she’d messed up.
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“And that was?”
“Save the smart tone for someone you’re trying to impress, Robert. I caught on to your game years ago.”
Robert looked up from his pile of papers, hate etched all over his face. “Then why have you stayed, Norma? Tell me. Apparently I’ve made you miserable.”
“It sure as hell hasn’t been for the sex. You never had enough left over for me. That bitch sucked you dry. Literally.” She laughed at herself. “You really don’t know, do you Robert?”
“This is
getting very tiresome, Norma. What is it you think I don’t know?”
“About Daddy’s will.”
“You’ve tossed your inheritance in my face for years, you and those stuffed shirts your father called attorneys. You can stop now Norma. I no longer care about your money.”
“Yes, I know, you have the Worthington money, or you will as soon as the old man dies. I heard you talking on the phone to Eve. I heard her tell you he’d recently changed his will, leaving his fortune to her. Most of it anyway.”
Robert’s face turned a bright shade of red. “Think twice before you do that again, Norma. My business with Mrs. Worthington has nothing to do with you.”
“I’m well aware of that, and truly I don’t give a damn, Robert. You can have her. But I still want to know why you have the shoe. The shoe I saw Marianne pick up the day that girl, uh . . . fell in the street. After the car nudged her.” Norma saw Robert’s intake of breath, and she knew she had him. For a minute at least.
“Marianne wanted me to give it to Eve to return to Casey.”
“That’s good. Chalk one up for Robbie. Remember when I used to call you that? You know what Robert? I’ve always secretly admired you. You’ve pretended for years to be something you’re not and done a damned good job of it. Let me ask you this, Robert, the proverbial question: What did she have that I didn’t?” Norma angrily wiped a tear from her face.
He drew in another deep breath. “Truly, you really want to know?”
“I asked, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did. And I’m about to tell you. It’s really quite simple, every man’s desire. She loved me. Me. Not anything I had, she didn’t have anything to gain, she simply loved me.”
That wasn’t the answer she’d expected. Nor did she believe for one minute it was the truth, but it didn’t matter. Robert’s days were numbered anyway.
“Then thank her for me.”
“Certainly.”
“One more thing, then I’ll leave. Did it ever occur to you uh . . . What did we refer to them the other day as?” She paused to think. “Oh, I remember now. Your ‘indiscretions.’ Did you ever consider how you and all the whores of Sweetwater were humiliating me?”
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