Disturbing the Dead

by Sandra Parshall

  “Why’d you come?” Holly asked Mary Lee.

  “To take you home with me, sweetheart.” Mary Lee moved closer and grasped Holly by the shoulders. “Our grandmother called and told me somebody shot at you and she’s terrified that you’re not safe here. She begged me to come get you, and of course I agreed immediately. I knew I had to take you away from here before you get hurt.”

  “Wait a minute,” Rachel said. “You can’t appear out of nowhere and expect Holly to leave with you.”

  Mary Lee threw her a warning look. This woman wasn’t used to being thwarted. “I’m sure the whole family appreciates what you’ve done for Holly,” she said, “but she’ll be better off with me now.”

  “No,” Holly said, the word flat and final.

  “You can’t stay here, sweetheart. I’m afraid for you. And I can give you everything you need. You can go to college, or—”

  “No.” Holly edged toward Rachel. “I’m not goin’ anywhere with you.”

  Rachel was ready to throw the woman out, but Mary Lee’s eyes filled with tears and she raised a trembling hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry. You must wonder what’s wrong with me, bursting in this way. Could we sit down and talk? I’ll try to make a little more sense.”

  She’d have to make a lot more sense if she expected to walk out of here with Holly. “Do you want to talk to her?” Rachel asked Holly.

  “Please.” Mary Lee smiled at Holly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Holly wavered, but in the end she nodded. She stayed close to Rachel as they walked into the living room. Instead of joining Mary Lee on the sofa, she sat on the arm of Rachel’s chair and leaned against her shoulder. Holly’s body felt rigid, tensed for flight, and when Rachel looked up at the girl’s face, she saw the hyper-alertness of a hunted animal. Holly was scared to death of Mary Lee.

  “Oh, gosh,” Rachel exclaimed, feigning dismay, “we left the hot chocolate on the burner.” She rose and caught Holly’s hand. “Come help me.”

  “No,” Mary Lee said, “stay with me. We have a lot to talk about.”

  “She’ll be right back.” Rachel forced a smile. “Make yourself comfortable. We’ll bring you something to drink.”

  “I don’t want—”

  They were already out of the room. In the kitchen, with the door closed, Rachel asked, “What’s wrong? Why are you so afraid of her?”

  Holly’s voice was a fierce whisper. “That’s not Mary Lee! That’s Amy.”

  “My God. How can you be sure? You haven’t seen either of them since—”

  “I never met Mary Lee in my life! And look at her eyes. She’s got these gray rings around the blue. Amy’s the only one in the whole family with eyes like that.”

  “But why would she claim to be Mary Lee?”

  Holly pressed her hands to her head and leaned against the wall. “I heard them talkin’ about it that night at Grandma’s house, talkin’ about hidin’ the bodies and figurin’ out how they could get away with it. My mama was cryin’ and sayin’ they’d all burn in hell for what they did. Grandma always said I didn’t hear anything, I just imagined it and I couldn’t tell anybody because people would think I was crazy and makin’ things up, but I heard them, I know I did.”

  “Oh my God,” Rachel said, her breath tight in her throat. “You mean—”

  Holly looked at Rachel. “They killed Aunt Pauline and Mary Lee. “And Amy went to Mary Lee’s college and took her place.”

  ***

  Following the aborted interview with Shackleford, Tom waited in his office for the Commonwealth’s Attorney to arrive, listen to the tape, and tell him what they could reasonably offer to make Shackleford spill everything he knew. Tom planned to pick up Bonnie and Jack Watford after seeing the prosecutor. By tonight he would probably be in Fairfax County, where he would ask the local police to assist him in picking up Mary Lee for questioning.

  He was slumped in his desk chair, wondering how much of the truth about Mary Lee his father had known, when the phone rang. Rachel was calling.

  “Why are you whispering?” Tom sat up straight. “What’s wrong?”

  Rachel’s voice was quiet but urgent. “There’s a woman here claiming to be Mary Lee.”

  Tom shot out of his chair and sent it rolling backward into the wall.

  Rachel went on, “But Holly swears the woman is Amy. She says Mary Lee’s dead and Amy took her place. And now this woman—Amy, Mary Lee—she’s here and she’s determined to take Holly away with her.”

  “Tell Grady Duncan I want him to stop her if she tries to leave. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  Chapter Forty-two

  When Rachel and Holly reentered the living room with four mugs of hot chocolate on a tray, they found Amy pacing in front of the cold fireplace. She still wore her coat and gloves, as if she intended to leave any second.

  The mantel clock told Rachel five minutes had passed since she’d talked to Tom. Fifteen more minutes and he would be here. She had to keep Amy in the house till then.

  Placing the tray on the coffee table, Rachel asked, “May I take your coat?” She wondered if Amy was hiding a gun under it.

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.” Amy returned to the couch and sat with her hands clasped in her lap. Her purse hung from her shoulder by a golden chain. After Holly took a chair opposite, she said, “I’ve been very concerned about you ever since…since all this started.”

  “You never called me or anything,” Holly said.

  “I should have. I’m sorry.”

  Rachel held out a mug and saw with dismay that her hand was shaking. “Have some chocolate. It’s the perfect thing for a day like this. It’s nice and hot.”

  Amy’s quick little frown of irritation matched the edge in her voice. “No, thank you. Really. I don’t care for any.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure. I made a cup for the deputy. He must be freezing out there. I’ll tell him to come in and warm up.” Rachel headed for the door.

  “No, wait,” Amy said. “Can’t Holly and I have some privacy to talk?”

  Rachel pretended not to hear, and she was unlocking the front door before Amy could say anything else. She stepped out into a blast of icy wind. Duncan saw her wave and climbed out of the cruiser, unsuspecting, a smile on his face.

  “Come have something hot to drink,” Rachel called. She waited till he’d clumped up the front steps to the porch and stamped the snow off his boots. She leaned close and whispered, “I can’t explain right now, but Tom’s on his way to arrest this woman and he wants us to keep her from leaving. She might be dangerous, so don’t alarm her. Act as if you just need to warm up.”

  Duncan’s expression turned grim and his right hand shifted to the pistol on his hip. He nodded.

  When the deputy entered the living room, Amy’s mask of composure fell away for a split second to reveal pure, wide-eyed panic. But she quickly hid her fear with a tight little smile.

  Rachel’s heart thumped so hard and fast that she felt breathless, lightheaded.

  Duncan dropped his bulk onto the sofa next to Amy. She leaned slightly away from him. He yanked off his gloves, stuffed them in his jacket pockets, and rubbed his palms together. “Man, it’s colder than a witch’s—” He caught himself and broke off with a cough. “Real cold.”

  He downed his hot chocolate in three gulps and accepted the cup Amy had refused. Holly, her gaze never leaving Amy, clutched her mug so tightly that Rachel could imagine it cracking under the pressure.

  A few more minutes at the most, and Tom would be here. Come on, come on, drive faster.

  What did Amy’s sudden appearance mean? Holly had said the whole Watford family was involved in the cover-up, but she wasn’t sure who’d actually killed Pauline and the real Mary Lee. This elegant woman would have been a teenager at the time. Could she have committed those horrifying murders? Had she killed Holly’s mother too? And what fate did she have in mind for Holly?

>   “I know you’ll be happy with us,” Amy said, her smile frozen on her face. “We have a big house. You’ll have all the privacy you need. If you want to work with animals, we’ll you get into a training program.”

  Rachel watched over the rim of her mug. Holly set her drink on the coffee table, untouched, and stared at Amy with cold, unforgiving eyes. “I’m stayin’ right where I am.”

  “Sweetheart, you aren’t safe here. You have to come home with me.”

  “She’s given you her answer,” Rachel said.

  “This is between Holly and me. I’d appreciate it if you—”

  The doorbell rang.

  Rachel jumped up. Tom. Thank God.

  She set down her mug and started for the door, but Deputy Duncan rose and said, “I’ll see who it is.” He gave Rachel a look so freighted with conspiratorial meaning that she was afraid Amy would realize something was about to happen.

  He strode out of the room.

  Her whole body thrumming with tension, Rachel stood waiting for Tom to walk into the house and take control of this insane situation. Instead, she heard Jack Watford’s unmistakable voice, loud and demanding. “We come to get Holly.”

  Holly leapt from her chair and grabbed Rachel’s hand.

  At the same instant, Amy bolted off the couch, banged her knees against the coffee table, and upset one of the mugs. Hot chocolate splattered her white cashmere coat, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes fixed on the doorway, she stumbled toward a corner.

  “It’s okay,” Rachel told Holly. Don’t panic, don’t panic. “Deputy Duncan won’t let anything happen.”

  “You can’t come in here,” Duncan was saying. “Just get back in your truck and go home.”

  The sounds of a scuffle followed, and Jack appeared in the living room doorway with a black-haired, teary woman at his side.

  “Aunt Bonnie,” Holly whispered.

  Amy’s parents. Murderers? Amy’s accomplices?

  “Come on, Holly,” Jack said.

  “No!” Holly cried. Her hand tightened painfully on Rachel’s.

  Duncan hustled around Jack and Bonnie to block their way. “You people are trespassing, You get on out of here right now or I’m putting you under arrest.”

  Bonnie Watford craned her neck to see around the deputy. “Holly, honey,” she whined, “you need to be with your family. Your grandma’s real tore up over all this bad news. She needs you to come home.”

  Rachel fought to stay calm and give away nothing of what she knew. Wiping a sweaty palm on her slacks, she said, “I’m sorry Mrs. Turner has to go through this. I’m sure Holly will call her later.”

  “That girl’s goin’ back where she belongs,” Watford said.

  “Something the matter with your hearing?” Deputy Duncan said. “I’m giving you one more chance—”

  “She’s not going anywhere,” Rachel said. Tom, where are you?

  “Get your coat on, Holly,” Watford said. “We ain’t goin’ without you.”

  “Leave her alone.” Amy stepped from the dim corner and into the light.

  Bonnie squeaked in surprise. Watford stared at Amy. “What the hell are you doin’ here?” he said. “I told you I’d take care of this.”

  Rachel pulled Holly off to one side. God only knew what might happen next. These crazy people could kill each other for all Rachel cared. Her only concern was keeping Holly safe.

  “She’s going home with me,” Amy said.

  Watford shook his head. “We’re takin’ her.”

  Duncan gripped Jack’s arm. “Nobody’s taking that girl anywhere.”

  “Amy, sweetheart,” Bonnie cried. “My baby girl.” She darted past Duncan and tried to throw her arms around Amy, but Amy dodged the embrace and bumped into the fireplace mantel.

  “No, I’m Mary Lee,” Amy said. “Remember? Aunt Bonnie, I’m Mary Lee.”

  “It’s so good to see you, baby.” Bonnie reached out and Amy cringed from the touch on her cheek.

  “Bonnie! Shut up!” Watford jerked his arm free of Duncan’s grasp and started across the room. “Watch what you’re sayin’. She’s Pauline’s girl, Mary Lee.”

  Duncan fumbled with his holstered gun.

  Rachel shoved Holly behind a chair, pushed her to the floor, and crouched beside her. What the hell was taking Tom so long?

  Grabbing Bonnie by the arm, Watford wrenched her away from Amy. Bonnie twisted and squirmed but couldn’t get free. “She’s my baby girl! I want my daughter back.”

  “Let go of her and get your hands up,” Duncan ordered. Gun drawn, he advanced on Watford.

  Watford thrust Bonnie aside, seized the fireplace poker and whacked Duncan across the wrist. Duncan screamed in pain. The pistol went flying and landed with a clunk ten feet from Rachel. Watford slammed the poker against Duncan’s temple. The deputy fell unconscious on the floor.

  On her knees, Rachel scrambled for the gun. As her fingers closed around it, Watford’s foot connected with her arm and knocked her off balance. He stooped, his black eyes meeting hers, and snatched up the deputy’s gun.

  ***

  Tom and Brandon sped north toward the horse farm with two deputies following in a second cruiser.

  “That’s what Shackleford was holding back,” Tom said. “Mary Lee’s dead, and Amy took her place. She went off to freshman year at college and there was nobody around to say she wasn’t who she claimed to be. As long as she didn’t come back to Mason County, she could get away with it. The whole damned family was part of the cover-up.”

  “Not Holly,” Brandon said.

  “No. But she knew bits and pieces, and the rest of them were afraid she might put it all together. Sounds like that’s exactly what happened when she came face to face with Mary Lee— Amy.”

  “Amy wouldn’t kill Holly, would she? Not right there in Mrs. McKendrick’s house.” Brandon fidgeted, cracked his knuckles, stared out the window.

  Unable to reassure him, Tom said, “I can’t even guess what these people might do.” What was happening? Was Grady Duncan in the house? Was he quick enough, sensible enough to keep things under control? God, why hadn’t he assigned somebody younger and stronger to guard Rachel and Holly?

  When they reached the farm gate, Tom pulled to the side of the road and the second cruiser stopped behind his. Everyone got out and the deputies huddled around Tom for instructions. “Go over the fence here and through the trees, stay out of sight as long as you can. Brandon and I are going in the front. I want one of you outside the back door and one at the front, ready to grab her if she gets away from us. Let’s go.”

  As soon as he and Brandon cleared the stand of evergreens inside the fence, Tom saw the pickup parked behind Duncan’s cruiser. “Jesus Christ, Watford’s here.”

  He broke into a sprint across the snow-covered lawn, Brandon keeping pace. They slowed when they reached the house. With Brandon following, Tom crept up the steps and onto the porch. He’d seen no movement at the windows to indicate they’d been spotted. He eased open the screen door and silently thanked Joanna for keeping the hinges oiled. The main door, he realized, was standing open a couple of inches, and that sent a fresh ripple of apprehension through him. What the hell had happened here?

  In two seconds Tom was in the living room doorway, Brandon behind him. Tom saw Grady Duncan inert and bleeding on the floor near the fireplace. Rachel sat on the couch, an arm around Holly’s shoulders, and Jack Watford stood above them, pointing a pistol at Rachel’s head.

  Heat fueled by fury rose in Tom and washed through every muscle. “Jack!” Tom yelled, leveling his gun at the man across the room. “Drop it!”

  Watford whirled, the pistol wobbling in his hand, seeking a target.

  “Lay the gun on the floor, Jack.”

  Watford steadied his gun hand with the other, took aim at Tom.

  Tom didn’t take his eyes off Watford’s pistol, but he heard a gasp from one of the women, a muffled
sob from another. “Rachel, Holly,” he said, “get up and come over here. Bonnie, Mary Lee—I guess I should call you Amy, shouldn’t I?—the two of you get out of the way.”

  Rachel and Holly started to rise, but Watford caught Rachel’s arm and pulled her against him. He pressed the pistol to her temple.

  Tom’s body went cold, his mouth dry, and dread squeezed the air from his lungs.

  “You let her go!” Holly cried.

  “Holly, please,” Rachel begged in a whisper. “Be quiet.” Her eyes met Tom’s with a fierce intensity. Not a plea but a promise that she would stay calm, she wouldn’t do anything to make Watford pull the trigger.

  “Let her go, Jack,” Tom said. Jesus Christ, why had he told Rachel to move? “You want to come out of this alive, don’t you? Let her go and lay the gun on the floor.”

  “You’re not takin’ me in,” Watford said. “I’ll blow her head off first.”

  “If you hurt her, you’re dead.” Tom tightened his clammy hands around his pistol and imagined a target in the middle of Watford’s forehead. But if he shot Jack, the man’s finger might pull the trigger reflexively and Rachel would die. “You can come out of this alive or dead, your choice.”

  Watford looked left at his terrified wife, right at Amy, who clutched her stomach as if in physical pain. “We’re gonna walk out of here,” he said, “and nobody’s gonna stop us.”

  “The house is surrounded by armed officers. You can’t get away.”

  “You tell ’em to back off!” Watford tugged Rachel closer to him, his arm across her waist, pinning both her arms. “I’m takin’ her with me, and you’re gonna tell ’em to back off or I’ll shoot her.”

  Tom kept his voice calm. He was not going to lose Rachel to this lunatic. “There’s nowhere for you to go now, Jack. It’s all out in the open. The murders. Amy taking Mary Lee’s place.”

  A moan tore from Amy and she bent double. The gold chain of her purse slid down her arm and hooked on her wrist. “Oh, God, what’s going to happen to my children?” She raised her tear-streaked face to Watford, then Bonnie. “Look at all the people you’ve hurt. Why did I let you drag me into this?”