Annemarie Crowell stood at the entry to the barn, a .22 in her right hand, her face just as clownishly made-up as always.
“Well done, Ms. Squire,” she said.
Teri held the pitchfork upright beside her, in an American Gothic pose. “Is that my gun?”
“Does it matter?”
“I suppose not. What are you doing here?”
“I was concerned about your safety.”
“So you came all the way here from California?”
“So it would appear.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“It’s like your question about the gun. Does it matter?”
“Just curious.”
“It’s a common story,” Annemarie said. “Children usually run to their mothers when they’re in trouble.” She attempted what Teri assumed was meant to be a smile, but more closely resembled a grimace. “And sometimes they run to their lawyers. At least that’s what your Mr. Capalletti told me.”
“And so you’re here.” Teri spoke with a calmness that she didn’t feel upon hearing Annemarie essentially confess to killing Mike. Unless she managed to close the distance between them, the .22 trumped the pitchfork. But she also knew that Annemarie would only shoot her as a last resort. It was more likely that she had some sort of staged scene in mind that, she believed, would exempt her from scrutiny. What she didn’t know was that the detectives were already on to her and that if anything untoward happened to Teri, Annemarie Crowell would be their prime suspect. Of course, if Annemarie simply disappeared again, it wouldn’t matter if she was a suspect. She definitely held the upper hand here, even if she didn’t fully recognize it.
“We need to reach a...business arrangement,” Annemarie said.
“So you’re here to pick up where Leland or Rodney—or whatever his name was—left off.”
“Leland really did write that script. He was always very creative, even as a boy. He just didn’t have a business head.”
“Who went off that cliff two years ago?”
“Leland. He couldn’t cope with rejection. He’d had too much of it in his life.”
“Then Rodney played the resurrected Leland. Was that your idea?”
“Maybe I should think about a career in show business. I have lots of story ideas. And Rodney is a natural actor, don’t you think? Maybe you should think about putting him in one of your movies.”
Hansel and Gretel both whinnied, almost in unison. Hansel sniffed the air, as if aware of the aroma of impending doom.
Or maybe someone was approaching. The CHP detectives, maybe?
No, they were still at the hospital in San Antonio.
Then who?
She had to keep Annemarie talking, keep her distracted until whoever was out there was close enough to see what was happening, and more particularly, see the gun in Annemarie’s hand.
“It’s a little late for Rodney’s movie debut, isn’t it?” Teri asked.
“Oh, that’s right. I nearly forgot.”
“I have a feeling you never forget anything.”
“I’m going to miss Rodney, more so than Leland. He knew things that Leland either didn’t know or was unwilling to share with his mother.” She paused, as if for dramatic effect. “Sexual things.”
Teri recoiled a step. For the briefest of seconds, her grip relaxed on the pitchfork then she snagged it again before it fell to the floor.
“You’re even sicker than I thought,” Teri said.
“Mothers and sons are not really all that different from brothers and sisters when it comes to sexual things, are they?” She paused again, but this time Teri didn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. “But then you know all about that, don’t you?”
“Go to hell.”
Annemarie laughed, an emotionless cackle suited for the barn in which they stood. Teri shifted her focus from Annemarie’s face to the gun. Annemarie raised it, as if to allow them both to admire it in her hand.
“It’s amazing how easy it is to get into someone’s house when they’re overconfident in their security system,” Annemarie said.
“And of course you had a chance to scout it out from the inside.”
“You were most gracious to allow me into your house. It must have been the Texas hospitality in you.”
“All right, enough of the bullshit,” Teri said, a curt tone to her voice. She intended to sound confident, but worried that she came across as shrill, because that would make her seem desperate. Which, of course, she was. “How much do you want?”
“Is it always about money with you Hollywood types? Box office and production bonuses and back end and gross points, and all that?”
“It’s what Rodney had in mind when he paid me a visit. I have no reason to believe it died with him.”
“That was certainly my original plan,” Annemarie said. “To get my fair share.”
“By blackmailing me.”
“Such a terrible word.”
“Such an accurate word. And now, with Rodney dead—with a bullet in his back from my gun, I assume—if the police ever found it—”
“And they would.”
“–it would all lead back to me.”
“Yes, poor Leland. When he showed up alive on your doorstep, you killed him to guarantee your bequest.”
“But you and I both know that the most recent son to die was Rodney, which means that Leland really did die two years ago. And that means I have owned the script all along.”
“An argument to be made. Of course, that assumes those facts are discovered.”
Teri flinched, involuntarily. She hoped Annemarie hadn’t noticed the movement. After all, Annemarie had just confirmed that she was unaware that the cops were already on to the existence of her twins. Good. Teri needed to keep her in the dark.
“But even so...” Annemarie paused. “Do you know what a codicil is?”
“It’s a change to a will.”
“It turns out that there was a codicil to Leland’s will that no one knew about. Prepared by his attorney, Mr. West.”
“Who conveniently committed suicide.”
“Yes, an unfortunate man. I only recently found the codicil, myself. It seems that, instead of an outright bequest of his script to you, Leland only gave you a life estate. Upon your death, it and any proceeds from it go to the secondary beneficiary.”
“His beloved mother.”
“A predictable storyline, I’m afraid. No movie there.”
“Am I going to commit suicide now with my own gun? Is that what happened to Mike?”
Annemarie shook her head and made a shushing sound. “You really don’t pay much attention, do you? You’ve already made the movie, but I wonder if you ever really read the script. Our hero killed people by—”
“You mean the villain, don’t you?”
“Potato, potahto. It’s all about point of view, isn’t it? I prefer to think that Leland viewed his mother as the hero.”
Annemarie waved the gun then settled her hand with the barrel aimed directly at Teri’s face. “But we’re getting off topic here. Let’s go through it again. Our hero disposes of her enemies by—”
“Hypnotizing others into killing them for her.”
A shadow appeared on the ground behind Annemarie. Sure enough, someone else was there.
A familiar figure stepped into view. Tom Tucker, Teri’s father.
He walked up beside Annemarie, who handed him the gun. “There she is, Tom. The woman who killed your son.”
CHAPTER 55
Tom took the gun, his face devoid of emotion. His eyes were on Teri, but she knew he saw nothing more than what Annemarie had just pointed out to him. Not his daughter, but the woman who killed his son. The woman who killed Adam. The woman he had never forgiven for the past twenty years.
A lump rose in Teri’s throat as tears filled her eyes. “Daddy? It’s me. Peggy.”
“Her name is Teri now,” Annemarie said. “Peggy killed your boy, then abandoned you. She r
an away to California. Changed her name. Changed her face. Buried her past, just like she made you bury your son.”
Tom raised the gun and aimed it at Teri, just as Annemarie had done.
“What was your boy’s name? Adam, was it? Your pride. The boy who would carry on your legacy on your ranch. Who would carry on the Tucker name.”
“Daddy, you know what really happened,” Teri said. “Don’t listen to her. Don’t even listen to me. Listen to your heart.”
Emotion filled her voice, which came out in a husky whisper, barely audible, yet echoing in the high-roofed barn. Tears streamed down her cheeks, rivulets joining at her chin and dropping to the floor.
“Crocodile tears, Tom,” Annemarie said. “She’s an actress. She’s used to playing on emotions. Playing with emotions. Your emotions, Tom. That’s all she’s doing now. Just more playacting. And all the while your boy is rotting in his grave.”
Moving as an automaton, devoid of emotion, devoid of expression, Tom stepped forward, gun still pointed at Teri.
“Listen to your heart, Daddy,” Teri said. “You knew, didn’t you? You knew all along what really happened.”
There was a slight hesitation in Tom’s forward progress. A blink, more of a flutter, of the eyelids.
Annemarie spoke in a harsh tone. No longer the soothing hypnotist; she was now the commanding shrew. “You’ve wanted to do this ever since you buried Adam. This woman hated Adam, the son you loved. She hated the attention you gave him. She knew she could never live up to him in your eyes, so she did the next best thing. She took him away from you.”
“Mama knew, Daddy. And I know you knew.”
He took another step forward, the gun held at shoulder level. When he stopped, Teri took a step toward him.
Then another step, and another, until she was at arm’s length from him. She leaned her head forward, the barrel of the gun making contact in the middle of her forehead. She pressed against it, grinding the barrel into her skin as she dropped the pitchfork, which clattered to the floor, and held her hands at her sides.
“If you hate me that much, then I won’t stop you, Daddy.”
She looked him squarely in his eyes, staring down the barrel of the gun, her gaze locked onto his. “Go ahead, Daddy. If that’s what you want.”
His eyelids fluttered again. Then a single tear squeezed over the rim of the bottom lid and spilled onto his cheek. His lips moved, as if he wanted to speak.
“What is it, Daddy?”
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “You had to do it.”
“That’s right, Daddy. I’m sorry, but that’s right.”
“Adam raped you?” It came out as a question, but then Tom repeated it as a simple declarative statement. “Adam raped you. He would have done it again.”
He lowered the gun and held it at his side.
“No!” Annemarie screamed. She lunged forward and jerked the gun away from Tom.
In the same instant, Teri picked up the pitchfork and spun to face her. Annemarie swung her gunhand up. Teri plunged forward the pitchfork and ducked to the right.
The gun went off, the bullet zipping harmlessly by Teri’s head. But the pitchfork hit its target, driving deep into Annemarie’s chest. She opened her mouth, but the only sound that came out was a soft wail, like the mewling of a cat.
Teri pressed forward, leaning into the pitchfork with her entire body. Her face was inches from Annemarie’s as she moved her hands up the handle, closer to the fork itself. She stared into Annemarie’s black, lifeless eyes. Annemarie bent backward then fell to the ground on her back, almost as if in slow motion, suspended on the metal tines.
As Teri stepped forward, she felt hands on hers. She turned and saw her father standing next to her. He gently pried her fingers loose and gripped the pitchfork himself. He leaned into it, the full weight of his muscular body driving the tines all the way through Annemarie’s torso until they met the concrete floor of the barn.
Annemarie gasped, her eyes opened wide. She gurgled. Blood welled up in her mouth then spilled over, running down the side of her cheek to the floor. She coughed. Blood erupted from her mouth then fell back onto her ghostly white face.
Her eyes closed.
And she lay still.
Tom backed away, leaving the pitchfork standing upright in her breastplate. “Go, Baby,” he said. “You were never here. I did this.”
“No, Daddy.” She put her arms around her father and pulled him to her. “This time, we rely on the truth. The whole truth.”
EPILOGUE
Teri brushed down Gretel in the corral while Hansel strutted around, watching and waiting for his turn.
“You look good doing that.”
She turned and smiled at Chad, who approached, damaged arm in a sling. He was pale, but moving well.
“It feels good,” she said. “I never realized how much I missed it until I did it again.”
“I thought you’d want to know I got through to the hospital in Los Angeles. Mona’s brother is there with her. He said she’s out of danger and is gonna be just fine. I told him to tell her she was welcome to come to Texas to recuperate. Who knows, maybe you can teach her to brush down a horse.”
Teri laughed. “Fat chance. She’d be too worried about breaking her nails.”
“Things aren’t looking so good for Doug Bozarth, though. It turns out that, in addition to oil and gas, he was into weapons and drug trafficking in the Middle East. But I think that’s going to be the least of his troubles. Bandera County’s got him on state charges, and they might even be able to get him for felony murder.”
“But I shot those men in the woods.”
“One of them was shot twice, and the fatal shot was from a handgun fired into his head. They’ve got Bozarth’s fingerprints on the gun that fired the shot. He’s probably going to be looking at the death penalty.”
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”
She kept brushing, as if the effort, alone, would brush away all memories of what had happened.
“Your folks are here,” Chad said.
Teri looked back toward the house, where Mary stood on the back porch. Mary called inside, and Tom exited, a newspaper in his hands.
“How are things with your dad?” Chad asked.
“We’re going to get there.”
Tom waved the paper as he approached. “You seen this yet, Baby?”
“I don’t read the papers anymore,” Teri said.
“It’s a blockbuster. Biggest box office opening in history.”
“That’s great, Daddy.”
“Phone keeps ringing off the wall back at the house. Lots of people in Hollywood want to talk to Teri Squire.”
Teri looked at her dad for a long moment, and then smiled. “I don’t know who that is. My name’s Peggy Tucker.”
Then she turned back to brushing Gretel.
Acknowledgments
No matter how long you sit alone in a room, staring at a computer, a book is always a collaborative process. Big thanks to my agents, Donna Eastman and Gloria Koehler, for their faith in me. I also want to thank Ken Coffman, Stacey Benson, Chris Benson, and the folks at Stairway Press, for their professionalism and enthusiasm in shepherding this book to its final product. I couldn’t have done it without you.
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