After Dark

by Beverly Barton

  “Are you going to shoot hoops with me or are you going to stand back there and watch me all night?” With the basketball held high, Will turned his gaze on Johnny Mack.

  Barely able to halt the smile forming on his lips, Johnny Mack stepped out of the shadows and held out his hands. Will tossed him the ball. And the game was on. For a good thirty minutes, father and son ran, dribbled, blocked and scored. In the end, Will won by making the final hoop with a jump shot.

  Johnny Mack, sweat glistening on his forehead and dampening his cotton knit shirt, laid a hesitant hand on his son’s damp back. Will grinned, then tossed the ball through the hoop one final time. When it slipped through the net and bounced off the driveway, Will let the ball roll off into the yard.

  “You play in school, don’t you?” Johnny Mack commented.

  “Yep. Football, baseball and basketball. Kent…”

  He balked after mentioning his adoptive father’s name. “Kent wanted me to play all the sports, just like he did. There was a time when his approval was very important to me.”

  “Before he found out that you weren’t his biological son.”

  “No, before that even,” Will said. “My feelings for Kent started changing right before he and Mama got a divorce. By then, I was ten and old enough to understand that he wasn’t good to her. He never hit her—except that once, after he got the letter from Sharon Hickman. But he talked awful to her all the time, and he treated her like dirt. He treated just about everybody like dirt when he was drinking. And the past few years, he drank all the time.”

  “Kent wasn’t a very nice man,” Johnny Mack said. “When your mother married him, I don’t think she realized what a bad person he was or how much damage he could inflict on her. And on you.”

  “He used to think I was the greatest thing in the world. His son. But when he found out that you were my real father, he hated me. He did a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn. You can’t imagine the things he said to me.”

  “Do you want to tell me what he said that day? Want to tell me what happened?”

  Will looked Johnny Mack square in the eye. “What you’re really asking me is did I kill him? Did I pick up my baseball bat and beat him to death when he was too drunk to fight back?”

  Chapter 16

  “No one could blame you if you did kill Kent,” Johnny Mack said. “If he attacked you, it was self-defense.”

  “He didn’t attack me,” Will said. “Not physically, just verbally. He told me all about you or at least his version of who and what you were. And he said I’d turn out to be a no-good, sorry bastard just like you. Guess he didn’t know you were a fucking multimillionaire, did he?”

  “Do you want to tell me what happened that day?” Johnny Mack asked.

  Will shrugged. “Mama told me not to say anything to anyone about what really happened, and I agreed. But that was before she was arrested. I can’t let her take the blame for something I probably did.”

  “What do you mean something you probably did?”

  “I don’t remember everything that happened that afternoon. I remember that Kent came by the house. Mama wasn’t home. She was down at the Herald checking on something or other. Lillie Mae was home, and she tried to stop Kent from coming into the backyard; but she couldn’t stop him. He was drunk and angry. When Kent got drunk, he got mean.”

  “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 overwhel
ming 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 lie 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, there,” 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 than 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?

  Floating across the room, leaving behind the lifeless body of the woman she didn’t know, Mary Martha made her way back into the bathroom. With a weak, shaky hand, she searched through the row of medicine bottles on the shelf inside the linen closet until she found the one containing her sleeping pills. She read the label to make sure, then emptied the pills into the palm of her hand. After dumping the sleeping tablets into her mouth, she ran water into a glass and washed the medicine down her throat.

  All I have to do now is go to sleep, and when I wake up, I’ll be in heaven with Kent. He’ll be so glad to see me. I know he’s been lonely without me. Lane will take care of my baby, the way she always has. Will doesn’t need me as much as Kent does.

  After hours of restless sleep, Johnny Mack woke with a start. Sitting straight up in bed, he listened, thinking a noise might have awakened him. But he heard only the breathing of an old house in the wee hours of the morning. After lifting his wristwatch from the nightstand, he noted it was fifteen till five.

  He crawled out of bed and padded barefoot across the room. Glancing out the window, he saw no hint of the approaching dawn. Still dark. Quietly, serenely dark. Mysteriously, deadly dark.

  Yawning, he scratched his bare chest. Maybe he should go down to the kitchen and fix himself some coffee. In a couple of hours, he would have to face his son again. And face the boy’s possessive, protective mother. He had to find a way to convince them both that before they could help Will, the boy would first have to remember what had happened the day Kent was murdered.

  Suddenly Johnny Mack noticed movement below in the garden. From the pale illumination of light coming from inside the house, he saw the shadow of a woman moving across the patio and through the garden. Lane? What was she doing awake this early? And where was she going? Or where had she been?

  Picking up his discarded jeans from where he had tossed them on a nearby chair the night before, Johnny Mack removed his pajama bottoms and replaced them with his pants, then put on his wrinkled shirt. Quickly slipping into his leather house shoes, he made an instant decision. He was going after her. Obviously she’d had as bad a night as he had. If she needed him, he wanted to be there for her. Besides, maybe it was better if they spoke privately, before they met with Will.