The Last Sister

by Elliot, Kendra

  How can I stop him?

  Searching around, she spotted the chain that intermittently clanked against a tetherball pole, its ball missing. She checked Harlan. His back was to her. She rose and dashed to the pole, her back hunched, praying he didn’t turn around.

  Gripping the cold metal pole, she stretched, straining her arms, rising on tiptoe and reaching for the junction of the chain and pole, hoping it wasn’t a fused attachment. Her fingers found the end, and she blindly explored the final link. One side moved and she pressed it, opening the link, and then she unhooked it from the pole. Relief made her knees weak.

  She clutched the chilled chain; it was no match for a gun.

  But it was something.

  Harlan reached the fence and followed it. He’d find Tara’s hiding spot in a few seconds.

  Emily ran silently to the parking lot, her heart in her throat.

  Zander took Madison’s advice and veered down the shoulder of the road and into the trees. It slowed him down. He could barely see where to put his feet and tripped a dozen times. The parking lot came into view and he stopped, searching for Harlan.

  He must have heard the sirens. Where would he go?

  Harlan had to know he was cornered. Dory had told Zander there was only one way in and out of the park.

  Unless you went into the ocean.

  Would Harlan react like a cornered animal with nothing to lose?

  He had been dangerous to start with. Now he might be worse.

  No one was in the parking lot. Dory had described green spaces with playground equipment along the wooded side of the lot and then steep ocean cliffs on the other side. He aimed for the ocean side, straining his vision to make out the fence Madison had mentioned.

  Emily’s mind was blank, her gaze locked on Harlan’s silhouette as she ran. The cold chain tight in her hands. She had no plan, just determination. And fear.

  Harlan stopped and leaned over the fence, his back to Emily.

  He spotted Tara.

  He said something, but he was facing the ocean, and the wind blew his words away.

  Emily drew closer, her racing footsteps silent, and spotted the shape of a gun in his hand.

  He stepped on the lower rail of the fence and swung one leg over, his weapon trained on the large boulder coming into Emily’s view. Tara’s rock.

  He’ll see me when he lifts his other leg over the fence.

  She was sprinting across the parking lot; there was nowhere to hide.

  Instead of turning to face her, Harlan sat on the top rail, kept his gun aimed toward the rock, and awkwardly brought his second leg over. He jumped down, his focus on Tara.

  His caution was Emily’s advantage.

  She leaped to the middle rail, took one step to the top, and launched herself at Harlan’s back. The impact sent him forward, landing on his knees and falling to his chest. Tuning out his shouts, Emily scrambled and got her weight on a knee in the center of his back and wrapped the chain around his neck. Once and then twice.

  His hand caught inside the loop at his neck, allowing some breathing room. He flailed his other arm, and his weapon fired twice. Emily’s ears rang, but she ignored the shots, focused on gathering a length of chain in each hand to increase the pressure around his neck. He thrashed, yanking on the chain at his neck and trying to throw her off his back. She pulled, leaning back, the chain too long between his neck and her hands. It was like riding a bucking horse.

  Her knee slipped to one side, losing her point of pressure on his back, and he scrambled out from under her, one hand still stuck at his neck. On his hands and knees, he tried to turn to face her.

  Noooo!

  She hauled back on the chain, and he hacked and choked but swung his weapon backward and fired. A piercing pain bolted up her calf. She leaned back farther, practically on her back to keep the chain taut.

  Tara scooted over and, from her position on the ground, kicked and shoved his legs and hips, screaming and effectively pushing his body toward the edge of the cliff.

  She’ll hang him.

  If I let go, he’ll fall to the rocks and ocean below. If I don’t let go, he’ll hang.

  Hot fire burned in her lower leg. She couldn’t think.

  One of Tara’s kicks knocked the gun from his hand, but not out of reach. Her foot hit the weapon again, causing it to skid away, and then she continued her barrage to push him off the edge.

  “Tara! Stop!”

  Harlan made horrible, angry choking sounds, yet Emily held strong to the chains.

  Do I let go?

  If she let go now, he could grab his weapon.

  Tara shrieked and kicked with both her feet at once. Harlan thrashed to push away from the edge, and the ground under his legs crumbled and vanished. His fall yanked Emily forward, and she dug in her heels. He faced her now, most of his body dangling off the edge, held from falling by the chain around his neck. His loose hand grabbed desperately at dirt, seeking a purchase. Emily couldn’t see the terror in his eyes, but she felt it.

  Her damaged leg collapsed, and her foot slipped. His body dropped another six inches.

  “Tara! Grab him!”

  Her sister sat still, her chest heaving, one hand still clamped to her side where she bled. With a soft moan, Tara lay on her back, her energy drained. Harlan’s weight pulled Emily closer to the edge, a slow but steady slide. She saw herself clinging to the cliff as a child, screaming for her father. The old terror sent ice through her veins.

  Emily’s vision narrowed, and dizziness swamped her. A pool of blood glistened in the dirt under her leg.

  I have to let go.

  I’m sorry.

  Hands grabbed the chain near hers. Madison. “I’ve got him,” she told Emily. Suddenly Zander was there, stretched out on his stomach, dispersing his weight, and reaching over the edge.

  He yanked Harlan up by his belt, and Emily fell back, her muscles powerless. Zander pulled Harlan to a safe distance and unwrapped the chain. The man wheezed and swore. Rolling Harlan to his stomach, Zander fastened his wrists with a zip tie.

  He finally turned to Emily, his face close to hers. His mouth moved. “Are you all right?” She barely heard his words as consciousness slipped away.

  “I don’t think so.”

  37

  Two days later

  A scabbing red band circled Harlan’s neck.

  Sitting across from the man in a small room at the county jail, Zander didn’t feel sorry for him. The band was a glaring reminder of Emily’s and Tara’s fight to live.

  Harlan Trapp had aged ten years in two days. Fury and anger burned in Zander. Harlan had left a path of death and destruction behind him for twenty years . . . maybe more. What kind of ego had made him run for mayor in a town that he’d haunted and torn apart?

  “Start with Cynthia Green,” Zander ordered. “She was nineteen.”

  He shrugged, and Zander ached to punch him.

  “Don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  “What if I told you we were led to that girl by someone who watched your group leave her body by a downed tree? They were too scared to come forward until now.” A stretch of the truth.

  Alice Penn would never be a credible witness. She’d known Harlan for years and never said anything. Did she even know it was him?

  Harlan mulled it over, chewing on one lip.

  “Cynthia Green’s body wasn’t found by accident. This witness is ready to talk after twenty years.” Another stretch.

  Harlan sat back in his chair, a decision on his face. “It was an opportunity. There were a lot of talkers in our group—”

  “Your race-hating white supremacist group in Portland.”

  “Your words.”

  “You bet they’re my words, and they’ll be your prosecuting attorney’s words too.”

  “I had a bunch of guys out for the weekend—some new initiates—and we spotted the girl.”

  “Membership in your exclusive club required killing someone?”


  “No.” He leaned on his forearms, holding Zander’s gaze. “But people were ready to prove themselves. Who was I to stand in their way?”

  Zander closed his eyes as he controlled his rage, a bitter taste in his mouth.

  “Everyone participated but Lincoln Mills,” Harlan said with disgust. “It’s always the biggest braggers, right? They boast and swagger to fit in when they know they’re not made of the right stuff. He was all talk, and when it came time to man up, he failed. Tried to stop us from taking the girl.”

  “Lincoln’s punishment was his death?”

  Harlan looked away. “There were rumors that he would go to the police about the black girl.”

  “You cleaned house before that could happen.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Who were the other men?”

  “I gave Sheriff Greer a list of names.”

  “What about Greer? He hung around with some of you guys back then.”

  Harlan scoffed. “Seriously? He has no backbone.”

  Zander disagreed. He’d had issues with the sheriff when he first walked the scene of the Fitch murders, but the sheriff had earned his respect. He truly cared about the people who lived in his county.

  “Were there any other victims besides Cynthia Green?” Zander had checked closely for missing persons and unsolved crimes in the area involving people of color but hadn’t found any.

  Harlan looked away. “I heard there was some activity in Portland. I wasn’t there. Can’t really help you. All I heard were rumors . . . no names.”

  Right.

  “How did Sean Fitch get involved?”

  Harlan shifted in his seat, discomfort on his face. “Simon Rhoads sent him my way. Said he had questions about the history of the area.”

  Zander waited.

  Licking his lips, Harlan went on. “He had a bunch of questions about shanghaiing around here. One of my ancestors ran a tavern that was infamous for it. Along with the information I had on my relative’s operation, I showed him some old trinkets that I had. Some scrimshaw, some rings and bracelets, a diary.” He scowled. “A pocket watch.”

  Aha.

  “He flipped the watch open, looked at it, and then set it back with the other stuff. He asked if he could come back again if he had more questions, and I agreed. He was back two days later. He brought a few historic pictures of Bartonville from Simon. Some weren’t that old. He’d told me Simon had identified most of the men in one of the pictures, and he asked if I knew the rest since I was in one of the photos.”

  “I think I know the photo you’re talking about. Are Lincoln Mills and the sheriff in it?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t know it was still around. Simon keeps everything. I said I couldn’t remember the two unidentified men, and Sean didn’t believe me. He was fired up and angry. Got in my face. Said his research told him Lincoln was involved with some nationalist groups and shoved the pocket watch in my face like it was some sort of proof. I told him he was full of shit, but he was raging.” Harlan glowered. “Then he asked about Cynthia Green’s disappearance.”

  Surprise struck Zander. “He figured out you were involved in that?”

  “Not exactly. I think he was grasping at straws, but he caught me off guard, and my reaction convinced him he was onto something. He kept pushing—wouldn’t shut up. He jumped to Lincoln’s death and asked me if I’d specifically chosen a hanging to make a point.”

  Zander tried to imagine what it had taken for the young man—who everyone swore was the nicest guy around—to accuse the town mayor of murder. Twice. Sean’s dead face flashed in Zander’s mind, and admiration for the high school teacher flared.

  Why do people like that get punished while the slime before me still lives?

  “Sounds like Sean had your number.”

  “When he left that night, I saw the pocket watch was gone. The watch has Mills’s initials in it along with—”

  “A Klan saying. I’ve seen the watch. It was found at the Fitch murders. Sean saw it in your possession, saw you in a photo with other white supremacists, probably did a little research into the Mills hanging and discovered a mention of a missing pocket watch—”

  “Yes, there’s an article where Brenda Mills is quoted begging for the watch’s return, saying her husband always carried it with him.”

  Zander enjoyed the sullen expression on Harlan’s face as he acknowledged that his own actions had tripped him up.

  “I searched for the watch at the Fitches’,” said Harlan. “Didn’t find it.”

  Sean must have had it on him when he was dragged outside.

  “You decided Sean had to die before he went to the police and suggested that they look at you for Lincoln Mills’s hanging.”

  Harlan was silent.

  “How’d you get Billy to help you?”

  “A little money goes a long way with Billy. And a threat to turn in evidence that he was dealing GHB.”

  “Who drugged the Fitches?”

  “Billy. He and his brother deal a little GHB on the side. It’s not hard to make. He added it to a bottle of wine and told Lindsay to share it with Sean that night. She and Billy had a thing going, you know.” Harlan’s leer turned Zander’s stomach. “Well, maybe not a thing. She was a little drunk one night at the bar a few weeks ago and hooked up with him. After that he blackmailed her by threatening to tell her husband about that night. Claims he had pictures.”

  “I can’t see Lindsay having anything to do with an ass like Billy, no matter how much she had to drink.” Both Emily and Madison had adored the woman.

  “Well . . . I suspect Billy mighta put something in her drink that first night.”

  Zander wasn’t shocked; Billy Osburne’s actions no longer surprised him. “Why Lindsay?” he asked. “You didn’t have to kill her too.”

  “She’s a race traitor.”

  Chills locked Zander’s limbs at the ugly words. Harlan Trapp was pure hate. The medical examiner’s description of the huge number of stab wounds in both bodies echoed in his head. Zander had suspected a high level of anger was involved.

  He had been right.

  “I had more issues with her actions than Sean’s. She married the piece of shit and then cheated on him with Billy. Cheap whore.”

  “I assume he drugged Nate Copeland’s beer before killing him. Did Nate see you at the Fitches’?”

  “I wasn’t sure. Billy and I were in the woods behind the home when Emily and then Nate arrived. We stayed too late trying to get the fire to take hold . . . shoulda left as soon as we saw Emily, but I wanted as much evidence destroyed as possible.”

  “You decided to play it safe and eliminate any possible witnesses.” Zander held very still. “You shot at Emily.”

  Harlan scratched his arm. “Was just trying to scare her.”

  “Bullshit. You were starting to panic and getting sloppy. You don’t scare people, you kill them. You nearly killed an FBI agent and Emily that day.”

  The man simply looked at him. No regret.

  “Who dumped dead animals at the Barton Mansion?”

  Harlan snorted. “That’s all Billy’s doing, stupid fuck. He did some tire slashing too. He holds a long-standing grudge against the Bartons that goes back to the mill closing and his father losing his job. Idiot. As if those three old hens had anything to do with it closing.”

  Standards à la Harlan.

  “The fire you set at Lincoln Mills’s death could have killed his entire family.”

  A muscle twitched in Harlan’s cheek.

  “Why in the hell did this town elect you mayor? From what I’ve heard, your name’s been connected to racism rumors for years.”

  Harlan looked confused. “Do you really think people care? They were just rumors. And besides, I’ve done a lot of good for this town.”

  Zander didn’t agree. “How do you feel about Chet Carlson spending twenty years in prison?”

  “He shouldn’t have been so stupid and pled guilty.” Harlan w
rinkled his brow in puzzlement. “Who admits to a murder they didn’t do?”

  Harlan Trapp would spend the rest of his life in prison. Zander should feel elated that Harlan wasn’t fighting the charges, but instead he felt drained and empty from the exposure to how Harlan’s brain worked. It was narcissistic. Indifferent. Twisted.

  Zander was done asking him questions.

  But he had questions for Tara.

  38

  After leaving the county jail, Zander drove to the mansion. The weather had cleared, showing cloudless skies for the first time since Zander had arrived at the coast. The ocean and sky were rich blues, but the temperature was a chilly forty-five.

  Tara and Emily had been treated and released from the hospital that morning. Both of their gunshot injuries had caused muscle damage and heavy bleeding. Zander had checked in with both of them several times. The doctors were optimistic about their recovery, but neither woman would be up and about very soon.

  Vina let him into the mansion and directed him upstairs when he asked for Tara. He knocked on the open door to a bedroom where Tara sat in a rocking chair, staring out a window.

  She jumped at the knock and then winced, a hand going to her side. “Agent Wells.”

  “Call me Zander.”

  Her brown gaze eyed him skeptically, but she agreed. “What can I do for you?”

  “I have a few questions.”

  “You and everybody else. I’ve already talked to detectives from the county and state police departments. I hoped you would give me a break.” A small twitch at the corner of her lips told him she was teasing.

  In that second she reminded him of Emily. Her smile and the shape of her face were like Madison’s, but the attitude and intensity in her eyes at the moment were all Emily.

  “Did I thank you for the other night?” she asked. Then she scowled. “Maybe I shouldn’t thank you. He’s still alive because of you.”

  “You didn’t want him to go over the cliff.”

  “Wanna bet?” she asked softly.

  “What happened the night your dad died?” he asked abruptly, slightly disturbed by the truth he’d heard in her words.

  She looked back out the window. “I’m not sure.”