Final Scream

by Lisa Jackson

  But she hadn’t suspected that he’d fathered a son—even though rumors had abounded when Brig had been born and Frank had left. Dena hadn’t listened. It was so obvious that Brig had been a McKenzie; he looked so much like his father and older brother…but now…Finally she understood. For years she’d begged Rex to get rid of Willie and had just assumed that his philanthropic nature had made him want to keep the boy. But it had gone deeper than that. Much deeper. Sick inside, she heard footsteps in the rooms overhead. Willie moving in. Willie living with them, eating at the dining-room table, sleeping right down the hall, creeping through the house. She shivered at the thought. The boy wasn’t right. Everyone knew it.

  Everyone but Rex.

  The town would be buzzing with the news. As if it wasn’t enough that Chase was involved in something underhanded with the man who had died in the fire. As if it wasn’t enough that Derrick was a drunk and Felicity a jealous shrew. As if it wasn’t enough that Sunny McKenzie was on the loose somewhere. Dena drew hard on her cigarette, trying to calm herself before letting out a long breath of smoke.

  She could handle this. She could. She reached for the phone and punched out her daughter’s telephone number.

  Cassidy found Willie in the stable. He was working hard, sweat soaking the shoulders and armpits of his shirt. He offered her a weak grin as she walked through the open door.

  “Hi, Willie.”

  “You haven’t been here in a long time.”

  “Too long,” she admitted, watching as each horse buried a velvet-soft nose into the loose hay. Teeth ground, dust swirled, and the familiar scents of horsehide, dung, sweat and dry hay brought back memories of her youth.

  “Dena called you.”

  “Yes.”

  “She don’t like me livin’ in Derrick’s house.”

  “It’s not Derrick’s house.”

  “His room.” Willie shrugged and threw his shoulders into his task, forking hay into the manger.

  She reached forward and petted a black nose. The horse snorted and shook his head, dark eyes bright with an inner fire.

  “I should be down here. With the horses.”

  “Would you like that better?”

  He nodded, held her gaze a second longer than was comfortable and began working again. She remembered how often she’d found him staring. At her. At Angie. “I’m sure Dad would reconsider. He just wants you to be happy.” And Dena would be relieved. She’d already bent Cassidy’s ear, sounded nearly hysterical at the thought of Willie being in the house.

  “Derrick won’t like me in his room. Uh-uh.” He worried his lip between his teeth.

  “Derrick moved out a long time ago. He lives with Felicity and the girls on the other side of the property. He won’t bother you.”

  Willie didn’t seem convinced, and Cassidy leaned against one of the support beams. “You found a wallet in the ashes of the fire.”

  Willie bit his lip harder and scooped up the loose strands of hay with a pitchfork.

  “Whose wallet was it?”

  “I didn’t steal it!”

  “I know, but it belonged to someone.”

  Willie looked at the floor, but his eyes were restless, his gaze moving quickly over the dusty cement, as if trailing swift little rats scurrying through the shadows.

  “Whose was it?” she repeated.

  “The man’s,” he said, worrying his lip.

  “What man?”

  “They call him John.”

  “The man who died in the fire?”

  Nodding, Willie turned away from Cassidy and hung the pitchfork on the wall next to the shovel. Horses shifted and chewed, rustling hay, grinding teeth, snorting loudly. The stable was hot and flies buzzed near the windows. Higher up in the rafters, wasps were busy crawling into their paper nests.

  Cassidy’s heart was pounding so loudly she was certain Willie could hear it. Running the fingers of both hands through his hair, he leaned against the wall and blinked rapidly.

  “You know who the guy was, don’t you?” Cassidy whispered.

  Willie shook his head so violently spittle was flung from his mouth.

  “You do.”

  “No!”

  Slowly she advanced on him. “Willie?”

  His jaw worked and his eyes bulged. “It weren’t nobody from around here and it weren’t Brig. Swear to God, Cassidy, it weren’t Brig.”

  Despair and certainty touched her heart with cold, cruel fingers. “I didn’t ask you if it was Brig,” she said, her insides trembling as Willie half-ran out of the barn. The sun was intense, heat waves rising from the earth, no breath of a breeze offering any kind of relief.

  Willie headed through a gate to the curve of Lost Dog Creek to the willow tree where Cassidy had played as a child, where she’d seen Derrick making out with a dark-haired girl, where Brig had caught her beneath the leafy swaying branches.

  Plopping down on a flat rock, Willie stared into the thin stream of water that wandered down an otherwise bone-dry chasm. He didn’t look over his shoulder when he sensed her presence. “It happened here. In this creek,” he said suddenly, his voice choked. “That’s why I got stupid.”

  “You’re not—”

  “I am! I know what they say. ‘Dumb as a doornail…doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground…half-brain…stupid son of a bitch…retard.’ I know, Cassidy.”

  An ache burned deep in her heart. She reached for his shoulder, but he shrugged her off.

  “You know I’m your sister.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “Our father is the same.”

  “I’m too stupid to know.”

  “It’s…it’s like the horses, Willie. You know that one stallion can be with a lot of different mares and—”

  “People aren’t horses, Cassidy. I’m not that dumb!”

  “It doesn’t matter how it works anyway. And don’t believe what everyone says. They’re the stupid ones.”

  She knelt beside him and he sniffed loudly, his eyes red and blinking, though he wouldn’t cry. He’d learned long ago to keep his emotions deep inside.

  “Tell me about Brig. Why was he here with Chase?”

  Willie shook his head. “Don’t know.”

  “But you saw him?”

  “I—I was at the mill.” He swallowed hard. “I saw Chase and a man.”

  “Brig?”

  Rubbing his nose furiously, as if the motion might make him concentrate, Willie scowled. “It was dark.”

  “But you saw him.”

  Willie quit moving altogether as he thought.

  “What were you doing there?”

  “Watchin’.”

  “For what?”

  “Dunno.” Turning to face her, he said, “I always watch. I watch you. I watch Chase. I watched Angie.” Standing, he strode to the tree and pointed upward, past the first split of branches to an old limb. “See here—I seen this, too.”

  “What?” she asked, squinting against the sun as the drooping branches rustled in the breeze. Shadows played upon the ground and her eyes adjusted slowly. Then she saw it—a heart carved deep into the bark of the tree. Angie’s name was hewn across the heart and Cassidy remembered sitting here beneath this very tree while Brig, fingering a jackknife, had talked to her. With a tug on her heart, she wondered if he’d chiseled her sister’s name into the thick branch.

  “Didn’t know it was there, did ya?”

  “No—I’ve never noticed it.”

  “’Cause you ain’t been watchin’.”

  “What else did you see, Willie?” she asked and he just stared at her, his blue eyes blank.

  When he smiled, she felt the wind pick up. “Everything.” He stared at her so long goose bumps rose on her flesh. She saw shadows race through his eyes. Dark, knowing shadows. Finally he looked away then turned and started back to the stable. “I see everything,” he repeated, and his whisper was like the soft knell of doom.

  The rest of the afternoon Cassidy worked at
the paper. Half the time she’d spent avoiding Bill Laszlo, who had called her several times at home and cornered her twice in the office. Currently, he was hovering again.

  “‘No comment’ won’t do,” he warned.

  “I have nothing more to say.”

  “Even though our friendly John Doe died?” He leaned a slim hip against the edge of her desk.

  “I’m sorry he’s dead.”

  “Your husband didn’t say anything.”

  “He barely talks. His jaw is still wired shut. At least for a few more days.”

  “Isn’t that convenient?”

  “Painful is what it is.”

  “Well, what can you say about Sunny McKenzie taking a hike right out of the lobby of Northwest General?”

  “I was with her and I’m worried about her and anyone who has seen her should contact me. I assume you’ll put that in your piece, won’t you? Where to call if she’s located?”

  He clucked his tongue and looked up at the ceiling. “You’re stonewalling me, Cassidy.”

  “I don’t have any more to give.”

  He scratched his arm and frowned at the ceiling tiles. “You know, I’ve been pretty patient with you. Because we’re really on the same team.”

  “Same team? Save that speech for someone who hasn’t heard it a million times, will ya, Bill?”

  “Give it a rest, Laszlo.” Selma fished into the bottom of her purse and dug out a pack of Virginia Slims. “You know you were a lot more friendly when you smoked. Want to join me on the back porch with the rest of the gang?”

  “You’re killing yourself.”

  “I’ll quit someday. Maybe I’ll take up running, too, and tell everyone else what they should do with their lives.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Cassidy said.

  “You don’t smoke!” Bill was aghast.

  “Not yet, but maybe I’ll have to take it up so that you’ll quit badgering me.”

  “Badgering you?” A wounded expression converged over his even features. “Hey—you know all about this job.”

  Selma threw out a hip, and the gauzy fabric of her skirt swung just above her knees. “Look, I need a hit. Are we going to argue here or go outside and have a laugh or two?”

  Cassidy needed a laugh. Or two. Or six hundred. Ever since the fire she’d been wound tighter than a watch spring, her nerves so tight she could barely sleep at night. Grabbing her purse, she left her computer humming and Bill muttering under his breath. They stopped at the machine for a couple of sodas, then continued on their mission.

  Outside, the sun was still beating down, and a few other employees were enjoying a break. “The Coke and smoke crowd,” Selma said as she offered Cassidy a cigarette.

  Cassidy shook her head and flipped the top of her Diet Coke. “I don’t think this is the time to take up another vice.”

  “Didn’t know you had any.” Selma struck a match and drew on her filter tip.

  “Secret vices.”

  “Don’t tell Bill. They’ll all be exposed in the next edition.”

  “And I’ll get a sermon.”

  “Amen,” Selma said, laughing. Other employees joined them and the talk covered the next election, baseball, complaints about married life, jokes about single life and inevitably the fire. By the time they returned to their desks, Bill had given up his vigil and Cassidy finished two articles, one on possible new funding measures for schools, the other on one of the gubernatorial candidates.

  She hurried out of the office, glad to be able to go home for the evening. Except she had to face Chase. At the thought, her stomach churned. How much longer could she keep up the charade? How long before the inevitable, that one of them moved out, occurred? She hoped to hold the marriage together until Chase was recovered, until the mystery surrounding the fire was solved, until she was certain that there was no chance for them.

  Had there ever been one?

  Had they ever truly loved each other?

  A part of her cried out to be his wife, but then she remembered their last argument, the one that had simmered for days, then sparked on the day of the fire, and she knew that it was only a matter of time until they agreed to part company forever. And then what?

  She climbed into the Jeep, rolled down the windows and started driving. Her future stretched out before her like an empty road across a desert—endless pavement leading to an unknown destination, the mirage of wedded bliss an illusion, the ribbon of highway desolate and lonely.

  “Oh, stop it,” she told herself. This was no way to act. Like a maudlin fool. She needed to find some answers, that was all—to get to the bottom of this fire as well as the last one. And the first person she had to deal with would help her, whether he wanted to or not.

  It was time to have it out with her husband.

  Thirty-three

  Chase wasn’t inside. She called for him and walked through each room, her heart racing as the stillness of the house swept over her. Aside from the hum of the refrigerator, the tick of the clock, the soft whir of the air-conditioning system, the house was silent. Empty. Her footsteps rang out against the tile and wood floor then were muffled when she crossed carpeting.

  His crutches were missing, but as she threw open his closet, she saw his clothes, all neatly pressed and hanging where they had been. So he hadn’t been foolish enough to move out. But where was he? His car, a green Jaguar, was still in the garage. The truck he’d taken to the sawmill had burned in the fire.

  She walked back to the den, searched for a note, some clue, when she looked out the window in the back and found him leaning against a rock in the shade of a walnut tree near the lake he’d had dug the second summer they lived in the house.

  He’d only been home a day, was still on pain medication, and though he could walk with crutches, he was, for the most part, dependent upon her. And he hated it. Each time she talked to him, she saw the anger in his good eye, the silent fury that seemed to radiate from him. There had been other emotions as well, hot and simmering under the surface, an electric current that neither one of them wanted to examine too closely.

  The sun was beginning to set and he looked more at ease than he had since returning home. She thought about leaving him be, starting dinner and waiting for him, but decided instead to join him. Maybe it was time to heal some old wounds.

  The argument they’d had before the fire still clamored in her ears.

  “You never loved me,” she’d accused, tears building behind her eyes. “You married me just to be a part of this…this empire of my father’s.”

  “And you married me because I was the closest thing to Brig.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  “Is it?” he’d snarled, a big hand curling over the lapels of her jacket.

  “I married you because I thought I loved you, because I wanted to settle down and have children, but all you wanted was to come back here and make a name for yourself. Prove that you were as good as the people with money, show how smart you were. And you did it, didn’t you? Even convinced my father. Well, you’ve made your point, Chase, and you’ve got what you always wanted—a pile of money and a piece of the Buchanan fortune.”

  “And one of the richest women in the county for my wife.”

  “That was it, wasn’t it? All along. It wasn’t me you wanted,” she said, her fists curling in frustration while she strove to keep her composure, refusing to break down into sobs. “It was my name and social status.”

  “You’d understand, if you hadn’t been born with more money than you could ever spend in a lifetime. If you’d had to work two jobs to help support your nutcase of a mother, if you had to hold your head high even though your ears burned with the gossip that the town was whispering about her, about your brother, about a father who had just walked away one day.” His anger had seeped away and he’d stared at her with pained eyes. “So you want a divorce.”

  “I want us to have a life. You don’t have to work eighty-hour weeks. You don’t have to leave town on
business trips that last for days. You don’t have to prove anything to me or the rest of the damned town.”

  “Why? So I can be home more nights? So we can start a family?”

  “Yes, I think—”

  “It would be a mistake, Cassidy. I don’t want children. I’ve never wanted kids.”

  Her heart had cracked at that point. “I thought you’d change your mind, you said that it was possible—”

  “Stop twisting my words around. Kids ruined my mother’s life. Kids ruined your father’s life. Kids are only trouble.”

  “And joy.”

  “Not enough,” he said with feeling, and as she’d stared into his blue eyes, she’d finally understood.

  “You won’t be happy until you have it all, will you? The company. The subsidiaries. The property.”

  “The respect, damn it! Don’t you understand? That’s all I want, all I’ve ever wanted. I’d sell it all if it bought me one iota of respect.”

  “And you thought it could be bought by marrying the right woman or owning the right things…”

  “I know it can.”

  All her dreams had shattered. The illusions she’d held so dear so foolishly, were instantly destroyed. “Then I want a divorce, Chase.”

  “Over my dead body.”

  “But—”

  “Listen, Cassidy,” he’d threatened, a vein throbbing at his temple. “Listen hard and good. I’ll never let you divorce me, and if you try, I’ll do everything and anything to force you to stop. I’ll hire lawyers, private investigators, whatever it takes and I’ll be sure that if you do finally get rid of me, you’ll end up without a dime.”

  She’d recoiled at the thought, her face twisted in pain. “Why?”