If You Ever Tell

by Carlene Thompson

  Two weeks later, what seemed to her a miracle happened—Roscoe Lee Byrnes confessed to the murders. Townspeople had been stunned. A few seemed disappointed. Many refused to believe him, tenaciously arguing that people sometimes confessed to crimes they hadn’t committed. Everyone knew that was true—everyone who watched television and saw movies, that is. They dismissed law enforcement’s reminder that people offering false confessions were usually harmless nuts seeking attention, men who’d probably never done anything more vicious than yell at the neighbor’s cat. Imagining Teresa Farr stabbing three people in the deep, dark night was much more exciting.

  Nevertheless, because of the certainty of the FBI that Byrnes’s confession was genuine, the local population’s distrust of Teresa gradually faded. After all, Byrnes was a serial killer, they said to one another in obsessive discussions of the case that had kept people preoccupied for months. Teresa had been out late that night and Byrnes probably was, too, hunting for victims. He’d also raped three of his female victims, girls in their teens. He’d probably seen Teresa, followed her home and waited—waited for that unlocked door, that sleeping family and the pretty teenager he’d planned to enjoy before he killed her, too. Also, newspaper articles and even a story about the crime in a national magazine informed the public that Roscoe Lee Byrnes always killed viciously at night and always used a serrated knife, repeatedly stabbing his victims.

  Adding to evidence about Byrnes being the killer was a clerk at a convenience store two miles away from the Farr home who unequivocally identified Byrnes as being a customer the evening before the murders. The clerk said that after seeing pictures of the confessed murderer, he was certain he’d waited on the guy, claiming he’d never forget those weird, pale, bulging eyes and large, bullet-shaped head. The guy had bought barbecue potato chips and beer, the clerk had said in a news clip. Cheap beer, he’d added disdainfully in his two minutes of television fame, beer Byrnes had paid for in dirty, wadded-up dollar bills. The clerk’s story had been backed up by a couple of unmistakable images of Byrnes caught on tape by the store’s surveillance camera.

  So, by summer’s end most people had absolved Teresa, who’d gone to live with her missing mother’s friend Carmen until she turned eighteen the last week of June, then went away to college in September. All the while, Teresa had tried fervently to believe in Byrnes’s guilt. She’d even pretended to believe it, but because of the killer’s leisurely departure from the home, not to mention his happening to be wearing a scent similar to her mother’s perfume, Teresa had never felt certain Byrnes was really the murderer who had struck at the Farr house on Mourning Dove Lane. For eight years, she’d been waiting for the appearance of evidence that would erase her doubts.

  Teresa stepped from the shower and reached for a big, fluffy bath towel, noting with a smile that Sierra had finally arisen and come in to supervise her morning routine. She bent down and petted the dog’s head as she sat patiently about a foot away from the shower stall. “Hey, girl, afraid I’ll go down the drain if you’re not here to look after me? Or are you just wondering if I’ve gone crazy, hanging around in here talking to myself?”

  Sierra emitted one of her habitual snorts and stood up. As she looked at the dog, cheerfully wagging her tail and gazing at Teresa with trusting amber eyes, she felt a strange but welcome sense of relief. The time for Byrnes’s execution had finally come, she thought. His appeals had ended and so would the life of Byrnes in a matter of days. Everything pointed to him being the killer. He had even admitted to the murders. Her doubts were silly and she thought that as soon as he was executed, she’d feel as if that hideous chapter in her life was finally over.

  Then another thought struck Teri as she bent at the waist and wrapped the towel around her length of wet hair. Through all the years, no one had revealed fresh evidence to absolve Byrnes of the Farr murders, so what did the note left in her car mean? Was someone asking her if after the execution, she’d feel safe from a psychopathic killer? Possibly. Probably. Especially because they’d said Celeste was talking again. If that was true, Teresa was thrilled. She had longed for the day when Celeste would speak once more, when she would become “normal” and emerge from her almost trancelike state.

  But the note did not have a reassuring tone. It had sounded threatening in a sickly gleeful way, especially when it said Celeste would finally tell the truth. What truth? That she’d seen the murderer? A tiny, cold finger seemed to run down Teresa’s spine as she realized why the note’s tone had been triumphant. The writer was elated because he was telling her that Celeste would soon identify the real killer of her mommy and Hugh and that murderer would be Teresa.

  I am not going to think about that stupid note, Teresa thought. It had ruined the end of what had been a great day—her realization that she had not only emerged from the trauma of the murders but also accomplished her dream to have her very own riding school. And then she’d found the note. But it was just a note. A note couldn’t harm her, couldn’t take away her peace of mind, unless she let it, and she didn’t intend to be daunted so easily.

  Feeling stronger, Teresa made herself smile at nothing, as if the old song lyrics “Put on a happy face” could make her uneasiness disappear. Just as she left her bedroom and headed for the stairs, her fax machine emitted an imperative beep alerting her to an incoming message. She walked into the small spare bedroom she used as an office, noting absently that she definitely needed to do some filing and general straightening, and went to the machine. Yesterday morning, she’d e-mailed a horse equipment company asking for their price list on particular tack items. She hadn’t expected an answer early Sunday morning, but she couldn’t think of who else might be sending her a fax.

  Teri tapped her foot impatiently as the machine ground out the paper. Really, she needed a new one, she thought. She’d bought this machine when she started college, it had served her well for years, but now that she was in business and that business was nicely increasing, she really needed something faster, more updated—

  Teresa’s wandering thoughts slammed to a halt as she picked up the paper, still warm from the machine, and read the message:

  Have you learned your lesson, Teresa? The guilty will be punished. Accept it.

  For you there is no escape. No Escape NO ESCAPE

  NO ESCAPE

  The paper shook in Teri’s hand, but she said aloud in a dry, unconcerned voice, “A prank. Just a stupid prank.” Then she looked at the top of the fax. As her vision wavered, the paper slipped between her suddenly cold fingers and fell to the floor.

  According to the header, the sender was Hubert Farr.

  2

  Celeste Warner daintily cut a piece of her blueberry pancake, popped it into her small mouth, and began chewing, her big eyes seeming to smile although her facial expression was serious. “You sure do like pancakes, don’t you, darlin’?” her grandmother asked heartily. Fay had pulled her long light brown gray-streaked hair into a French twist decorated with three rhinestone-tipped hairpins, a style she usually saved for the few social events in her life. “You eat as many as you like. I made enough batter to feed the whole neighborhood!”

  “Mom, you seem to think the more you feed her, the more she’ll talk,” Jason said half-jokingly. “You’ve been pushing food at her since we came home yesterday afternoon from Bennigan’s.”

  “Well, food made her talk there. It only makes sense that food’s the trigger,” Fay answered as if with ultimate logic.

  “She ate for years and she didn’t speak,” Jason returned patiently. “Why would food suddenly have been the trigger yesterday?”

  Fay gave her son a deep look. “The mind is a mysterious thing, Jason Warner. It’s way beyond our understanding.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Jason answered mildly. Fay seemed satisfied with her explanation and he didn’t care to mention Celeste’s referral to a “smell” that set off her talking spree. After all, he’d have to explain that smell is the strongest of the five senses and h
is mother would probably start an argument claiming that he had no way of knowing such a thing about the mysterious mind. “I just wish she’d speak again, Mom.”

  “Celeste will talk when she has something to say, won’t you, darlin’?” Fay swooped by with the frying pan and placed another pancake on the girl’s plate almost like a bribe. “But you won’t talk about that terrible night so long ago. And you won’t say that awful rhyme again, will you? You’ll say something nice and pretty and sweet.”

  Celeste raised her head and, smiling, looked into her grandmother’s hopeful blue eyes.

  “The clock struck three,

  And Death came for me.

  When I opened my eyes,

  There was Teri!

  “The clock struck three,

  And Death came for—”

  “Okay, honey, we heard you the first time.” Jason’s voice remained calm, but his mother stepped back, looking ready to drop the frying pan. After yesterday, he’d recovered from the shock of his daughter finally speaking and decided that he’d handle things more professionally this time instead of merely gaping at her. He began in a matter-of-fact voice. “In Bennigan’s you said that on the night of the murders, you ran into someone coming out of your mommy’s room and the person stabbed you.” Celeste nodded serenely. “Are you absolutely sure it wasn’t Teresa?”

  “Jason!” Fay gasped, but for once Jason abruptly held up his hand and silenced his mother.

  Meanwhile, Celeste stared blankly at him before saying, “I didn’t see a face. The hood was in the way.”

  Fay couldn’t remain silent. “So you’re not sure that Teresa didn’t hurt you.”

  Celeste put down her fork, then reluctantly nodded. “Well, Teri did hurt me.”

  “Teresa hurt you?” Jason asked in loud surprise. After Wendy’s marriage to Hugh, Celeste had always spoken glowingly about Teri. When Jason had finally met Teresa Farr, he’d liked her, too, not just for her kindness and friendliness to him but also for her surprising warmth toward Celeste. He couldn’t fathom the girl fooling him so profoundly. Jason leaned forward and demanded again, “Teresa hurt you?”

  “Don’t shout and her name is Teri,” Celeste said irritably. “I was in the toy box. Teri hurt me when she lifted me out and put me on my bed.”

  “So she could stab you again?” Fay asked breathlessly.

  “I got stabbed one time outside Mommy’s door,” Celeste said. “Teri hurt me after that when she put a pillow on my stomach and pressed hard!”

  “To stop the blood loss,” Jason murmured in relief.

  “Or to smother her,” Fay argued.

  Celeste flung down her fork. “I’m not dumb! I know I don’t breathe through my tummy, Grandma!” Celeste looked ferociously at her grandmother and father. “Grandma, you tell me not to talk about that night, but you keep askin’ questions. And Daddy, I keep sayin’ I didn’t see who stabbed me, but you don’t even listen to me!”

  “I’m sorry, sugar pie.” Fay’s voice was weak and she backed away from the girl.

  “Well, I’m done talkin’ today,” Celeste announced, and firmly shut her mouth. Jason felt sudden fury with his mother when Celeste pushed herself away from the kitchen table and stomped into the living room. In a moment, they heard the television turned up almost full volume.

  “Satisfied?” he demanded of Fay.

  “She’s mad at you, too!” Fay shot back, tears glistening in her eyes, before he sat down on Celeste’s abandoned seat. “I said I’m sorry. I guess I never did know when to be quiet.”

  Jason wanted to agree, but his mother was right—he’d been guilty of giving Celeste the third degree, too. Besides, Fay looked so ashamed he couldn’t add to her misery, so he said nothing, but glanced away from her tremulous face. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to continue the discussion he was determined to have with a woman who’d decided never to even consider Teresa Farr’s innocence.

  “Okay, I’m guilty, too. But what really gets to me, Mom, is that you haven’t accepted the fact that a serial killer confessed to murdering the Farrs.” She remained stubbornly silent. “Aren’t you paying attention to what Celeste is telling us? Why would Teresa stab her, then try to save her life?”

  “Celeste is in shock. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

  “She was in shock. She’s obviously coming out of it and beginning to talk about that night, but she’ll stop if you keep hammering on Teresa Farr.”

  “Well, maybe she should stop. Maybe Celeste should never remember what happened on that godforsaken night!”

  Jason took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He believed that no matter what conflicts he might be holding silently within himself, the right thing to do was not make Celeste a prisoner of her memories. “Mom, for eight years, when Celeste wasn’t in some institute where they promised to have her talking in two weeks, she’s been with you, and you’ve kept her wrapped up in a cocoon. I know you did it to ensure her safety, but she hasn’t led anything resembling a normal life. Maybe that’s why it took her so long to start talking again. To her, the whole world has become dangerous.”

  “For her, the whole world is dangerous,” Fay said defiantly. “Especially the world around here and most especially this town since Teresa Farr decided to come back and settle here. I’ve made sure that woman hasn’t even gotten a glimpse of Celeste. I’ve kept Celeste secluded from her.”

  “You’ve kept Celeste secluded from just about everything.” Jason looked at his mother tenderly. “Mom, I appreciate all you’ve done for Celeste and me the last few years, but she’s my daughter and I have to insist that you follow my wishes. For one, you have to stop making her a captive in this house. For another, I want you to listen to her. Don’t contradict her and above all, don’t force words into her mouth, especially about Teresa. If we let her talk about what she wants, when she wants, we might find out more about that night and about Byrnes.”

  Fay looked at Jason with rebellious eyes. “She remembers Teresa Farr. She doesn’t know anything about Roscoe Byrnes.”

  “What makes you think Celeste knows nothing of Byrnes? She’s not blind and deaf. She reads. She watches television. She took classes when she was in the hospital. We’ve hired tutors for her when she’s home. She’s not autistic—she was mute because of trauma. She can write almost as well as an adult when it suits her. You have to accept that Celeste didn’t stop learning when she was eight years old and Byrnes killed her mother. The psychiatrists’ tests for kids like Celeste show she’s very bright and observant.”

  “They claim she’s damaged,” Fay said flatly.

  “Mom, I know you don’t have a high opinion of psychiatrists, but not one of them has called Celeste damaged. They’ve told me shock probably turned her involuntarily mute when she was younger, but they’re certain she became voluntarily mute years ago. She just decided not to talk. Now, thank God, she’s finally willing to talk. She might not sound like a regular sixteen-year-old because she’s been so isolated from kids her own age, but that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with her intelligence or her memory. She needs to talk about that night. In her own way, in her own time, without interruptions.”

  Jason leaned toward his mother, who, since the murders, no longer looked younger than her age. In fact, Jason thought she looked a good deal older than sixty, even though she was still physically strong and full of energy. “Mom, I want to help Celeste return to full health—to the girl she would have been if Wendy hadn’t taken her away from me.” Fay’s eyes flared at his last phrase. Her hatred of Wendy would never die, and he was a bit ashamed of himself for using his ex-wife’s name to manipulate his mother, but he felt desperate. “Isn’t that what you want—for your granddaughter to be completely normal and happy?”

  “Yes, of course, but I’m afraid this isn’t the way to do it…”

  Jason took a deep breath. “For once I’m not going to listen to your advice. This is what I think is best, and you know how much I love my daughter.
I wouldn’t do anything I felt could harm her.” Jason loved his mother and he respected her, but this was one time he knew that Celeste had to come first, no matter how much his course of action hurt Fay. “Mom, if you can’t go along with what I want, I’ll take Celeste away.”

  “You won’t!” Fay nearly choked. “You wouldn’t do that!”

  “Yes, I will take her—not as a punishment to you, but as what I feel is the wisest move for Celeste.” He paused as Fay looked at the table, her shoulders shaking, her mouth clamped shut so tightly her lips turned white. He knew she was trying to conquer the fiery words within her, something she’d rarely done in her life. “I realize how hard this is for you, Mom,” Jason said patiently. “I’m not trying to be a bully—just a good father. Just as you’ve been a good mother to me and grandmother to Celeste. Please, Mom. Don’t fight me—help me.”

  Fay remained silent, her gaze locked on to the checked tablecloth for a few moments. Then she sighed and looked at him with defeat in her gaze. “All right, Jason. I think you’re doing exactly the wrong thing, but I won’t fight you if it means I might lose Celeste. When the time comes that you’ve seen what a colossal mistake you’ve made, though—”

  “It won’t come to that,” Jason cut her off with a confidence he didn’t really feel. “I promise no harm will result from what I’m doing for my daughter.”

  Although he sounded completely confident, part of Jason was terrified he might drive Celeste so deep into herself that this time she wouldn’t ever come out again.

  3

  Five minutes later, Teresa sat on her desk chair, staring at the fax lying in front of her. She knew obtaining her fax number was no hard task—she’d distributed business cards listing her telephone and fax number along with her e-mail address. She also knew how easy it was to change the header on a fax machine or to generate a fax from a computer, so she wasn’t scared by the header reading that the fax had been sent by Hubert Farr. What worried her was the fact that someone was trying to scare her. Was this person just childishly malicious? Or were they a definite threat to her?