“But what if he’s lonely out here all by himself?” Daniel asked plaintively.
Teri smiled. “He’s not all by himself. Horses often make friends with their stablemates. Caesar is very good friends with my horse Eclipse, and the gray Connemara pony on the other side of him is his girlfriend. Her name is Cleopatra. In the meantime, why don’t we go back up to the house and have something to drink? I even baked cookies this morning.”
Ten minutes later, they sat around the kitchen table, the adults drinking coffee and everyone nibbling on the cookies. “These are good, Aunt Teri!” Daniel reached for another one. “You didn’t burn them as bad as usual.”
“Daniel!” Sharon reprimanded sharply.
“From the mouths of babes.” Teresa laughed. “Thanks, Daniel. I know a lady who bakes cookies for a living.” She didn’t name Emma MacKenzie. “Maybe I’ll take lessons from her and next time my cookies won’t be burned at all.”
Daniel shook his head. “Then they wouldn’t taste a bit like your cookies.” He began stuffing a fourth cookie in his mouth when Sharon told him that would be his last or he’d get sick.
Kent rolled his eyes at Teresa and murmured, “This kid could eat two dozen cookies and not get an upset stomach.”
“I heard that,” Sharon said reproachfully. “I wish you wouldn’t undermine my authority in front of Daniel!”
“You wish he wouldn’t do what?” Daniel managed around a mouthful of cookie.
“I’m taking my coffee and one cookie to the living room and the television,” Kent said tightly. “It’s time for the golf match to start.”
“Don’t get crumbs all over Teri’s furniture,” Sharon warned. Kent said nothing, but Teresa noticed his shoulders going rigid under his polo shirt. “And don’t—”
“Spill my coffee, burn holes in the carpet with my cigarette, or get nose prints on the TV screen,” Kent finished for her, his voice edgy. “I will be on my best behavior, Mrs. Farr.”
After he’d left, Sharon looked at Teresa in bewilderment. “I don’t know why he’s so grumpy with me all the time lately.”
Because lately you never stop carping at him, Teresa almost said, but she didn’t want to say anything critical of Sharon in front of Daniel. She did intend to speak to Sharon about the matter soon, though, before her bossiness became a real problem between her and Kent. Teresa just hadn’t figured out a tactful way to approach the issue yet. Sharon was extremely sensitive to any form of censure, even when she was acting normally, and her nervousness told Teri that Sharon was experiencing more than everyday tensions.
“Isn’t this the most glorious day?” Teresa asked quickly, trying to divert Sharon’s attention from Daniel. “Seventy-five degrees, hardly a cloud in the sky, and low humidity. It’s usually much hotter and more humid at this time of year.”
Sharon nodded vaguely, clearly not thinking about the weather. She twisted her diamond and gold engagement ring round and round her long, strong finger, then said out of the blue, “I inherited my father’s hands. I used to be embarrassed about their size, but a long time ago Kent told me they had ‘character.’”
“They’re big like the Clyderdales’ hoofs,” Daniel volunteered cheerily.
Teri concentrated on not laughing at Daniel’s comparison, but Sharon smiled, her eyes twinkling. “That’s my boy—always the charmer.” She looked fondly at her son, then at Teri. “Let’s forget about my hands and get back to our former scintillating subject—the weather. You’re right, as usual. It is beautiful, but I don’t think it’s going to hold through the Fourth of July.”
“I think it will.” Relieved by Sharon’s change of mood, Teri asked, “Want to bet on it? Ten dollars says we’ll be attending the Fourth of July concert and fireworks display on a perfect evening.”
“Ten dollars says it will be pouring rain, and I always collect on bets, Teresa Farr.” They shook hands, laughing. “If it doesn’t rain, we’re going down to Tu-Endie-Wei Park to watch the fireworks display,” Sharon added, referring to the beautiful park that sat on the point where the Ohio and Kanawha rivers met. “I hope you’ll come with us.”
“I go with you every year, Sharon. Why would I miss this one?”
Sharon looked at her with innocent eyes. “Oh, I thought you might be going with Mac.”
“With Mac!” Teresa was shocked. “What on earth made you think I’d go anywhere with Mac?”
“You two looked so intimate last night.”
“Intimate!” Teresa blurted.
“Well, yes. You were dancing so close and gazing into each other’s eyes.” Sharon’s innocent expression dissolved as she broke into giggles. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t help teasing you, although a couple of times, when you weren’t moving around the dance floor stiff as a board, I began to wonder—”
“Hey, Teri, come here!” Kent yelled from the living room.
“Don’t tell me he wants me to watch someone sink a putt,” Teresa groaned even though she was grateful for the change of subject. “I hate golf.”
“Teri, now!” Kent shouted even louder. “Hurry!”
Teresa rose from the kitchen chair, leaving Sharon to make sure Daniel didn’t eat the entire plateful of half-burned cookies, and walked quickly into the living room. Kent sat forward on one of her rust-colored plushy armchairs, looking almost fearfully at the television rattling on in front of him. “Kent, you know I don’t like watching golf.”
He waved a hand at her for silence. “The game was delayed, so I flipped over to a news channel. They said this story was coming up next. Be quiet and listen!”
Teresa didn’t bother to sit down. She stood next to Kent as a perfectly groomed female broadcaster gazed at the television camera with practiced sincerity and began the story in her carefully unaccented voice:
“Roscoe Lee Byrnes, the forty-three-year-old man convicted of killing twenty-two people over a three-year-period, and scheduled for lethal injection in Pennsylvania on Friday, announced yesterday evening that in his confession eight years ago, he lied about murdering Hubert and Wendy Farr of Point Pleasant, West Virginia. Hubert Farr, forty-eight at the time of his murder, was the owner of Farr Coal Company, a large mining operation in Mason County, West Virginia. He and his wife, Wendy, twenty-nine, were savagely stabbed to death at night in their bed. Mrs. Farr’s eight-year-old daughter by a previous marriage also suffered a serious knife injury but survived the attack. Mr. Farr’s daughter, seventeen, received only a minor cut on the arm. When asked why he lied about the Farrs, Byrnes had this to say.”
A video of Roscoe Lee Byrnes appeared on the screen. He sat motionless at a table. The camera drew closer to his face. His bulging eyes looked even eerily paler than Teresa remembered. His face was fuller and oddly shapeless, like a lump of clay. Neither his surprisingly high, thin voice nor his gaze bore the slightest emotion when he spoke:
“I know it don’t make no difference whether I kilt twenty-two people or twenty—I’m still gonna die—but I wanna set the record straight.” Byrnes finally blinked, rubbing together his chubby cuffed hands folded in front of him. “See, I always kilt people that didn’t amount to much. I wanted credit for killin’ someone rich and important like that Farr guy. But now that I’ve found Jesus Christ and know I’ll be seein’ him soon, I feel like I gotta tell the truth about them Farr people.” Byrnes paused, blinked again, and ran his tongue over his puffy lips. “I’ve been to that town in West Virginia where they lived, Point somethin’, but I never even heard of the Farrs till the police asked me if I kilt ’em. They got kilt the night after I was in that town. That seemed real strange to me, kinda like somethin’ that was meant to be. Anyway, them police seemed all excited over those Farrs gettin’ offed, so since I’d been to that town and all, I got a notion to say I did it and impress ever’one. But I was lyin’. I want people to know it before I die. You hear that, God? I’m tellin’ people I lied and I’m sorry. I don’t want credit for killin’ nobody I really didn’t kill. But I also wanna s
ay I know one day the person that did kill them people and stabbed that li’l girl will get what’s comin’ to ’em. The Bible says: ‘An eye for an eye,’ and God told me in a dream just a couple a nights ago that’s what’s gonna happen. He’s gonna take his vengeance on whoever did kill them people, and it’s gonna happen soon. Real soon.”
CHAPTER FOUR
1
KENT LEAPED UP FROM the armchair and roared, “That’s a lie, you fat son of a—”
“Kent!” Sharon stood in the doorway, her face chalk white, her right arm wrapped tightly around Daniel, who gazed at his father with huge frightened brown eyes. “Shut up!” she hissed at her husband in a venomous voice Teresa had never heard her use before. “Have you forgotten your son is here?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten,” Kent barked. “But that Byrnes bastard is claiming—”
“I heard.” Sharon glared at Kent. “Daniel heard, too, and he’s scared to death. Byrnes didn’t scare him, though. You did. How does that make you feel?”
Kent sagged, his tone lowering. “Lousy, Sharon. I didn’t know the two of you were standing there. I’m sorry, but I can’t monitor what I say every minute.”
“You should when you have a child!” Sharon’s face had gone from the color of parchment to scarlet. “What kind of father doesn’t always think about his child?”
“Dammit, Sharon, will you settle down?” Kent’s voice rose again. “For God’s sake!”
“If you can’t get control of yourself and your language, Daniel and I are going home right this minute!” Sharon shouted just before Daniel, who’d been looking from Kent to Sharon with fear and bewilderment, suddenly broke into noisy sobs. “Now look what you’ve done!” Sharon flung at Kent.
“Okay, you two, that… is… enough,” Teresa said loudly and firmly over the sound of Daniel’s crying. “You’re acting like a couple of brats yelling at each other and you’re both frightening Daniel.” Sharon gave her an injured look. “Yes, Sharon, you’re as bad as Kent.” Teresa looked at her nephew wiping the backs of his hands over his tear-streaked face and letting out one last wail before he began to hiccup. “Sharon, take Daniel back to the barn to visit Caesar while I talk to Kent.”
“Me?” Sharon looked affronted. “I don’t know anything about horses!”
“You don’t have to be an equestrian to stand by Daniel while he pets Caesar,” Teresa said sharply, losing patience. “You’ve already seen the pony isn’t going to bite him.”
“We’ll go home,” Sharon snapped.
Daniel hiccupped again, then whimpered, “Please take me to see Caesar, Mommy. I wanna pet him again and tell him I’m comin’ back tomorrow. Please!”
Sharon sighed, shot murderous glances at both Kent and Teresa, then led Daniel out the front door, clutching his hand so hard he yelped, “Ouch!” As soon as the door closed behind them, Kent looked at Teresa. “Thanks, Teri. She’s driving me crazy lately.”
“And I’m sure she feels the same way about you. Look, Kent, I didn’t ask her to leave so we could discuss your marriage. I asked her to leave because Daniel was so upset and because you and I need to talk about what we just heard on the news. Roscoe Lee Byrnes is saying he didn’t kill Dad and Wendy.”
Kent flopped back into the armchair as if he’d been punched in the abdomen. “He’s lying.”
“Why?”
“How should I know? Maybe he’s making one last-ditch effort to save himself.”
“He’s a serial killer, Kent. He said it himself—he killed all those other people and he’s going to be executed on Friday whether or not he killed Dad and Wendy.”
“Then maybe he wants to generate a little last-minute publicity for himself. After all, he said he’d never killed anyone important. Dad and Wendy were hardly celebrities, but apparently their murders caused a bigger splash in the news than any of his other victims did.”
Kent went silent, gazing past Teresa out the front window. Suddenly she noticed that her brother’s eyes were bloodshot and the lines between his mouth and nose had deepened noticeably in the last few years. His black hair was also turning silver at the temples. She’d known he worked hard managing the coal mine, but he must be under a lot of strain to be aging so quickly—maybe more strain than his job caused. But now wasn’t the time to ask questions about how his life was going. “Kent, you look like you’re daydreaming. Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, I’m listening.” He rubbed his hand across his forehead. “But I don’t want to talk about Byrnes anymore. And I don’t want you talking about his so-called confession with Sharon.”
“I hadn’t given a thought to talking about it with Sharon. She’s nervous enough already, although I don’t know why. She didn’t used to be that way.”
“I regularly beat her.”
Teresa closed her eyes. “This is not the time for bad jokes, Kent. Let’s concentrate on the matter at hand, which is Roscoe Lee Byrnes denying that he killed Dad and Wendy and stabbed Celeste. We have to talk about it whether you want to or not.”
Kent flung out his arms in exasperation. “Well, what is there to say? Do you expect me to do something about it?”
“I expect you to think about the effect what he said is going to have on us. Sure, Byrnes might be lying, but I don’t know why. He knows it can’t save him, and I don’t buy your theory that he’s seeking last-minute fame and glory. He’s not the type.”
Kent gave her a hard look. “Are you an expert on serial killers now, Teri?”
“I’ve read quite a bit about them the last few years. I’m no expert, but… well, some of them try to be flashy and make names for themselves.”
“You think Roscoe Lee Byrnes is the flashy type?”
“No. I’m just offering a suggestion to explain what he’s doing—a desperate and unprofessional suggestion, I admit.” Teresa sighed. “I hate to say this, Kent, but though he’s a psychopath, I think he’s telling the truth because he believes he’s going to see God soon and he wants to have a clear conscience, or whatever psychopaths have instead of consciences.”
“Maybe so, but how can we stop him from making a show before he’s executed?”
“We can’t. He’s already done it. We have to think about the fact that a lot of people will take him seriously—people here, where we live, where we do business. How will we handle that?”
Kent’s expression turned to one of a furious little boy. “I don’t think anyone will believe him,” he said with childish bravado. “I don’t think they’ll believe him one little bit.”
In spite of her misery, Teri burst out laughing. “Kent, you sound like you’re about Daniel’s age because you’re afraid people will believe him and you feel helpless.”
Kent glared at her, flushing. She knew she’d hit the nail on the head and she wished she could just drop the matter, pretend Byrnes had never recanted his confession. But he had, and she and her brother had to deal with the fallout, not hide from it.
“Kent, there’s more going on than Byrnes altering his confession.”
He closed his eyes. “Oh no. Please don’t make this worse.”
“Sorry, but I can’t help it. You told me Celeste had started speaking yesterday in Bennigan’s. What did she say?”
Kent’s gaze darted away from Teresa. “It’s just a lot of nonsense, Teri. Forget it.”
“I will not forget it. You said you’d get all the details from the churchgoers this morning. If they didn’t say much to you, I know they did to Sharon and she would have told you. Now you tell me or…”
Kent looked back at her and raised an eyebrow. “Or what? You’ll beat me up?”
“Don’t look so cocky. If you’ll remember, I did a pretty good job of thumping you when you were eleven and tore up my Barbie doll.”
“I accidentally set her hair on fire and all you did, tough girl, was kick me on the ankle. Big deal. It didn’t even hurt.”
“Oh yeah? Then why did you limp for two days?” Kent came close to grinning.
“Tell me what Celeste said in Bennigan’s or I’ll kick you again and this time it won’t be on the ankle!”
Kent shook his head. “You’ve always been a glutton for punishment, Teri; otherwise you wouldn’t have settled in this town when you could have lived somewhere else. Okay, here’s all I know. Apparently Celeste said that the night of the murders there was someone in the house wearing a hood.”
Teri’s stomach tightened as the image of a hooded figure flashed in her mind. “Go on.”
“Celeste said she’d gotten up to go to the bathroom and just as she was going back to bed, the figure—obviously the killer—opened the door to Hugh and Wendy’s bedroom, saw her, seemed surprised, and then stabbed her.”
Teresa drew back, surprised. “So the killer stabbed her in a reflex action. Maybe the person didn’t mean to kill her—only Dad and Wendy—but he thought Celeste had seen him so he went after her. My God, we never knew this. Did she see who it was?”
Kent looked uncomfortable. “I don’t think so. Not that anyone heard, that is. She said after she was stabbed, she ran back to her room and someone came after her.”
“That had to be the killer! The person I bumped into in the hall.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Well, she said something about the killer wanting to stab her some more.”
“So she did know it wasn’t me who came to her room first.”
“I guess.”
“She had to know it wasn’t me!”
“Teri, I told you I wasn’t sure I know exactly what she said. I don’t know if she’s sure of exactly what she thought or knew that night.”
“I collided into that hooded figure when he was coming down the hall from Celeste’s room and I was going to her room to see if she’d been murdered. That’s when he cut my arm,” Teresa said emphatically. “I’ve told you that a hundred times!”
“Okay, settle down. I’m not contradicting you—I’m telling you what Celeste said, and that’s secondhand. I didn’t hear her and I don’t believe even the people in Bennigan’s who did hear her either got straight what she was saying or aren’t making it more dramatic.”
If You Ever Tell Page 8