by Marti Green
“You’re telling me it was an accident?” Cannon said.
“I swear to God.”
“Then why didn’t you call the police?”
“How could I explain to Janine that I’d killed our daughter? How could I explain to the police? They’d see the empty beer bottles, they’d test my blood-alcohol level. They’d never believe it was an accident. I couldn’t breathe life into Stacy. The only thing I could do was save myself. I wrapped a blanket around her and put it in the trunk of my car and drove to a forest an hour north of town, where I used to go deer hunting. I walked into the forest and buried her. What was the crime in that? A father’s allowed to bury his daughter.”
“Well, for one, you were guilty of impeding a police investigation. Filing a false police statement. I could keep going. I’m sure I could come up with a long list of crimes.”
“I wasn’t thinking straight. I’d just lost my little girl.”
“Go on. What did you tell Janine?”
“When I got back to the house, the sky had just begun to brighten. It was still dark but a grayer shade of dark. I slipped into bed and waited for Janine to wake up. My mind kept racing with thoughts of what I had done. I knew my life would never be the same, that I’d never forgive myself. Only God could forgive me.… I must have fallen asleep. Janine woke me by shoving me, screaming, ‘Wake up. Stacy’s missing. Wake up. We’ve got to find her.’ The rest of that day and the next few days were a blur. Hysterics and sirens—those are the sounds I remember. I was too afraid to say anything when Janine told the police we’d left her window open for some air. I let everyone think she’d been snatched from her room by a stranger. After a week went by, I started worrying that I’d picked a forest too close to home. I drove back and got her body. I unwrapped the blanket and poured gasoline over her and then dropped a match and watched as she burned. I kept saying to myself, ‘It’s just a shell, it’s not my daughter,’ over and over. I didn’t want her to be found; I didn’t want her to be recognized. I’d seen enough police shows on TV to know a lot could be figured out with forensic evidence. I couldn’t take a chance. If the police knew it was Stacy, they’d see she had a broken neck. They’d figure I killed her on purpose. I wrapped her body in a new blanket, a store-bought blanket Janine wouldn’t recognize, and drove to the next state. When I passed a forest, I pulled off the road and buried her again.”
“You knew that another man was sentenced to death for murdering her,” Cannon said. “How could you let that be?”
“I thought it was a sign. A sign that God had forgiven me.”
“You’re a sick son of a bitch.”
Mickey looked Cannon straight in the eye. “I know I did something despicable. But I didn’t murder my daughter. You can’t charge me with that.”
Cannon leaned forward in his chair, his face inches from Mickey’s. “Maybe not. But it’s a different story with Nancy Ferguson, isn’t it?”
How could they know about that? He had to think fast and keep his mouth shut.
“Want to tell me about that?”
Mickey didn’t respond.
Cannon’s grin turned into a sneer. “Don’t worry. You don’t need to talk. See, we’ve been busy while we waited for the DNA on your daughter’s body to come back. I showed your picture to some of Ms. Ferguson’s neighbors. Seems like one remembered speaking to you. Said she gave you a brochure for Nancy’s trip. So I decided to call the last hotel Nancy stayed in before she died, and guess what.”
Mickey remained silent.
“Oh, come on. Give it a guess.… No? Well, I faxed over a picture of you and it turns out they had cameras in the elevators. They had a real clear shot of you riding up in one with Nancy Ferguson. And here’s the kicker: The police there did a thorough dusting of Nancy’s room and found a set of your fingerprints on the wall in the bathroom. I guess the maids don’t clean everything, do they?”
Mickey’s heart raced and his head spun. He couldn’t think up a story fast enough to satisfy Cannon. Say nothing, say nothing, say nothing.
“Cat got your tongue? Well, here’s the best news—for me, that is. For you it’s the worst. I’ve got an order of extradition to Arizona for you. Seems they’ve charged you with Nancy Ferguson’s murder. I’m going to escort you there myself. And by the way, Illinois has suspended the death sentence, but not Arizona. It took a long time, but you’re finally going to get what you deserve.”
A groan escaped Mickey’s lips. God hadn’t forgiven him. He’d just waited until he could exact greater retribution.
EPILOGUE
Two Months Later
Sunny and Dani sat at American Airlines’ Gate 39 at LaGuardia Airport, waiting to board their flight to Pittsburgh. She’d called Dani two days ago and told her she was finally ready to meet George and Sallie.
“What made you change your mind?” Dani asked.
“I’ve been seeing a counselor. She’s helped me sort through what I’m feeling.”
“And?”
“And I guess I’m a little clearer now. It was all so jumbled before. I had these wild swings between anger and guilt. Anger at them for abandoning me. Guilt for what they suffered. Everyone told me I wasn’t responsible for what happened, but those feelings wouldn’t go away.”
“What changed?”
“The counselor helped me understand that some of my guilt came from not having any feelings at all for them, for the Calhouns. I mean, after all, they gave birth to me. I thought I should have felt more gratitude for what they sacrificed. But they’re strangers to me. I don’t remember them at all. So instead, I felt guilty. And angry. Now I want to get to know them. And I want them to be part of Rachel’s life. I’m ready for that.”
“I’m glad.”
They sat quietly reading, Sunny a Nicholas Sparks novel, Dani a newspaper.
“Sunny?”
She looked up from her book. “You have to keep your expectations low with Sallie,” Dani reminded her.
Sunny nodded. Dani had told her of Sallie’s belief that she had murdered Angelina by leaving her sick and alone at the Mayo Clinic. And how, during the two years before the police came knocking on her door, that belief had worn away at her tenuous hold on reality. Sunny could understand. She would go crazy if she were faced with that Hobson’s choice for Rachel. Thankfully, with Rachel’s father being a doctor, that would never happen.
Sunny had been told that Sallie had made strides at the halfway house. George visited her regularly, but it remained uncertain whether they’d reunite as husband and wife. She hoped they did. She wanted them to salvage some happiness after the misery they’d endured. If becoming part of their lives helped that to come about, she would do it even though they were strangers to her. It would be a minuscule sacrifice on her part.
Traffic moved at a snail’s pace as they made their way in the rental car from Pittsburgh International Airport to Sharpsburg. The overhead signs warned them of construction two miles ahead. Sunny had barely spoken a word on the flight, and she was no more talkative now. Dani fiddled with the radio dial, found a classic rock station and settled in for the ride.
They were a half hour late by the time they arrived at George’s home. A small woman leaning on a cane, her gray hair falling softly to her chin, greeted them at the door. The smell of freshly baked pie wafted from the kitchen.
“I’m Margaret,” the woman said, “George’s mother.” She took Sunny’s hands in her own and squeezed them. “They’re in the living room, dear,” she said as she pointed to the right. “They’ve been so nervous waiting for you.” She looked Sunny up and down. “My, my, you’ve become such a beautiful woman. I never thought I’d see this day. Go, go ahead inside.”
Sunny’s eyes were glued to the ground. She felt a wave of fear. She remained rooted in place, and Dani took her hand and brought her into the living room. It was a small space that looked as if
it hadn’t been redecorated in forty years, yet it had a hominess that reminded Sunny of her childhood home in Byron. Even with her eyes fixed on the floor, she could see two pairs of feet, George’s and Sallie’s, side by side.
“Hello, Sunny,” Sallie said.
At the sound of her voice, Sunny looked up. Sallie, a wide smile on her face, wore a summery frock. Her hair looked freshly washed and her cheeks were pink. With Sunny’s first glimpse of the man and woman standing across the room, a spark of recognition flashed before her. They looked different, older, more worn, but snippets of images returned to her. She saw her mother combing Sunny’s long, blond hair, telling her how pretty she was. More pictures. Of her and her mother planting marigolds in the garden, Sunny covered with dirt. Of her father sneaking her a cookie and warning her to not tell her mother. And then she remembered sitting on the bench in the strange hospital, too terrified to cry, hearing her parents tell her how much they loved her, how much they would always love her, begging her forgiveness and then walking away. Sunny strode to her parents and embraced them.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said. “Please, let’s sit down. There’s so much I want to ask you. I know you must want to learn about me too.”
“Just let us look at you first,” George said, his voice choked. “We have plenty of time for talking. We didn’t think we would, but now we have all the time in the world.”
Sunny sat between George and Sallie on the couch and held hands with both of them. She wasn’t an orphan anymore. She had a mother and father.
—The End—
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My thanks must begin with my husband, Lenny; my sons, Jason and Andy; and my daughters-in-law, Jackie and Amanda, whose love and support mean so much to me.
I have benefitted enormously from the guidance of editors Caroline Tolley and Doug Wagner. I am also grateful for those readers who willingly gave their time and constructive advice to early drafts: MaryLouise Wilson, Frank Ridge, Erika Callahan, Alice and Henri Gaudette, Dave Barnes, and last, but certainly not least, my sister, Judith Greenfield. In addition, members of the Creative Writing Group of the Villages gave me continuous feedback as the story took shape, for which I’m very appreciative. Julian Schreibman helped me avoid some legal mistakes, and those that remain are solely my doing. Thanks also to Derek Murphy for his fantastic cover design. Finally, I wish to thank the people at The Editorial Department who helped make the publication of this book a reality: Morgana Gallaway, Beth Jusino, Chris Fisher, and Jane Ryder.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Marti Green’s detail-rich fiction is filled with authority stemming from her professional background in law and psychology. A passionate traveler who has visited six continents, Marti Green now lives in central Florida with her husband, Lenny, and cat, Howie. She has two adult sons and four grandchildren.