If You Ever Tell

by Carlene Thompson

  Sierra still yapped and growled, but her volume had lowered and she went completely quiet when Teresa flipped on the porch light, opened the door, and the dog saw a man she knew so well. Twenty-two-year-old Josh—tall and angular like his father with Gus’s once-sharp-planed, handsome face—looked at her with his large, intensely blue eyes filled with as much excitement as she had ever seen in them. Always outwardly calm, Josh gave her a quick once-over as if to make sure she wasn’t injured, then sent her a small, comforting smile. “I was going to break down the door when you didn’t answer at first. I thought you might be lying in here hurt or unconscious. Are you sure you’re all right, Miss Farr?”

  No matter how many times she’d told both Gus and Josh to call her Teresa, they both clung to “Miss Farr.” “Yes, I’m fine,” she said, still slightly breathless. “Just scared. I looked up and there was this strange face at the window.…” She paused. “You said you saw him. Did you recognize him?”

  “Well, no,” Josh said slowly. He looked down and the porch light shone on the longish ash-blond hair his father always nagged him to cut. “This sounds crazy, but it didn’t really look like a man. Or a woman.”

  “What?”

  “I mean I couldn’t tell because of the way it—he, probably—was dressed. From a distance, it looked like he was wearing some kind of long black coat with a hood pulled up. No need for a coat and hood on a warm night like this unless someone wants to hide himself.”

  A long black coat with a hood flashed in Teri’s mind. A hooded figure that brushed against her in a hall and sliced her arm with a razor-edged knife. She felt slightly sick at the memory. “You sure you’re okay, Miss Farr?” Josh asked.

  “Yes,” she said quickly. “I’m not hurt at all. I was just startled. I saw a face and then it seemed like an hour before you yelled at me.”

  “Sorry. I nearly floored the truck, but it took a few minutes for me to get up here.”

  “That’s okay. I guess it was a Peeping Tom.”

  “Dressed like that?” Josh said, then looked as if he’d like to take back the words. “But it’s warm and getting near Fourth of July and you know how teenagers are—always looking for trouble,” Josh said as if he was far beyond his teenage years. Teri couldn’t smother a smile, but Josh didn’t see her. He had already bent down and was picking up something that lay on the porch directly in front of Teresa’s door. “Well, huh,” he mumbled, turning it over repeatedly, staring at it in the glow of the porch light. “Wonder what this is doing here? Do you think that person left it?”

  Slowly, with dread washing through her like ice water, Teresa reached for the object and stared at it in astonishment. It was Snowflake, Celeste’s horse-shaped night-light Teri hadn’t seen since the night of the murders.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  1

  TERESA HAD BEEN SURPRISED and shaken when she’d found the note in her car and gotten the fax, but she’d calmed herself slightly by recognizing that at least one person couldn’t resist harassing her the week of Byrnes’s execution. After his latest confession, she’d braced herself for more of the same kind of cruel but cowardly pestering—the kind that came from someone who was content with sending written messages. She had not prepared herself for such bold torment, though.

  Teresa had no doubt the night-light was the actual Snowflake. When she’d bought it, she thought it looked cold and expressionless, so she’d carefully painted the eyes rich brownish green with golden highlights and added long, curved black eyelashes. She remembered the sour looks on her father’s and Wendy’s faces when Celeste had squealed with delight over the night-light after merely muttering a polite, “Thank you,” for their gift of an expensive ornate dollhouse.

  “You know what that is, Miss Farr?” Josh asked.

  “It’s a night-light. A long time ago, I gave it to a little girl. She named it Snowflake.” Teresa realized her voice sounded mechanical and she was saying more than she needed to, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “I haven’t seen it for years.…”

  “I wonder who left it here. Could it have been the girl you gave it to?”

  “What? Good heavens, no!” Teresa felt like the air had fled from her lungs at the very thought of Celeste Warner at the door, returning Snowflake. It was impossible yet somehow frightening. Teresa tried to calm her voice. “No, someone must have gotten hold of it and thought it would be funny to leave it, I guess…,” she trailed off, aware that Josh was peering closely at her. She knew she looked distressed.

  “Want me to get rid of it for you?”

  Teresa realized her hands trembled. “No! I mean, I’d like to know who left it here and report that I had a prowler, so I guess I’ll give it to the police.”

  “You want to call the police now? I’ll stay with you until they get here.”

  Teresa looked back at the phone. In the distance, she could hear Carmen nearly howling, “Teri! For God’s sake, what’s going on?”

  “Oh, I was talking to my friend on the phone,” Teresa said quickly. “She probably thinks I’ve been murdered. I don’t think I’ll call the police tonight—the guy is gone, anyway. I’ll talk to them tomorrow.” She was already pushing the door shut. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ll be okay here alone. I’ll just be sure to lock up tight. And would you look in on the horses? I don’t think anyone would have broken into the barn, but I’d still feel more secure if I knew they were safe.”

  “Dad’s home,” Josh said, nodding at the small cottage he and his father occupied not far from the barn. “His hearing is still good enough to have picked up on them kicking and whinnying, but I’ll make sure they’re safe. Want me to call you after I’ve checked on them?”

  “That’s not necessary. I’ve imposed on you enough for one night. I’ll take no call as a good sign.”

  “You didn’t impose on me. I’m just mad at myself for not getting up here fast enough to catch that guy.”

  “Well, you gave it a good try. Thanks for looking out for me, Josh.”

  She closed the door before he could utter a word and immediately turned the lock and the dead bolt. No doubt Josh was puzzled by her abruptness, but she didn’t want him to know how upset she was, both by the significance of finding Snowflake on her porch and by the thought of facing the police. After all these years they still terrified her.

  She took a deep breath and hurried to the phone, cutting off Carmen in mid-shout. “I’m here! I’m okay!”

  “Couldn’t you tell me that earlier?” Carmen was still yelling. “You just left me hanging. Do you know what I was imagining?”

  “That I was going deaf from your bellowing?”

  “I do not bellow!” Carmen roared. Then, after a moment of silence, she started laughing. “I simply raise my voice.”

  “That’s an understatement. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know anything. Frankly, I forgot you were on the phone. Josh was on the porch.”

  “Was that young, handsome horse whisperer of yours peeping in the window?”

  “No. Well, yes, because he was driving up the road when he saw someone else peeping in my window. He ran before Josh could get here, so we don’t know who it was.”

  Carmen’s voice took on a comforting tone. “You sound scared to death, Teri. It was probably just some teenager prowling around on a warm summer night and he couldn’t resist looking in the window. I’m sure he’s not a threat.”

  “I’m glad you’re sure, because I’m not,” Teresa said shakily. “Carmen, Josh said the person had on a long black coat and a hood. Does that remind you of anything?”

  “Uh, well, it was no doubt just a disguise, someone having fun,” Carmen floundered.

  “Someone dressed like the person who murdered Dad and Wendy and almost killed Celeste just happened to come looking in my window tonight?”

  Carmen hesitated. Then she said in a dispirited voice, “Teri, you had to know a few people in town were going to make something of Byrnes’s claim that he didn’t kill Hugh and Wendy. I mean, n
o sensible person would believe that horrible man, but not everyone is sensible. And even some fairly sensible people have a twisted sense of humor.”

  “I know, Carmen, but that’s not all. Josh spotted something lying on the porch right in front of my door. It was Snowflake.”

  “Snowflake?” Carmen repeated blankly.

  “The night-light I gave to Celeste for Christmas. Don’t you remember me telling you how much she loved it and how mad Dad and Wendy were that she made such a big deal over a simple night-light and nearly ignored all their expensive gifts?”

  After a moment, Carmen said, “Now that you mention it, I do remember. I didn’t recall that Celeste had named the night-light.”

  “Well, she did. It was white, which is why she named it Snowflake.” Teresa heard her voice growing louder. “She was always going on about how she wanted to have a horse just like Snowflake and now Snowflake has been delivered right to my door!”

  “Take it easy, kid. Now you’re the one who’s shouting.” After a moment, Carmen went on in a composed tone. “Now I do remember you telling me about the night-light, Teri. In fact, I think you got it in Trinkets and Treasures just after I bought the store. But my God, there must have been three dozen of them. The former owner didn’t believe in having much of a selection of merchandise—just about a hundred of the few items he did stock. That’s why the store wasn’t too successful before it fell into my capable hands. Anyway, I’m sure there isn’t just one white horse-shaped night-light floating around town.”

  “This one was distinctive,” Teresa argued. “I painted its eyes hazel and put little gold flecks in them—you know, like the flecks in Mac’s eyes?” Teresa felt like kicking herself for mentioning Mac. “Celeste had seen Mac and she’d developed a little-girl crush on him and said something about him having dreamy eyes, some silliness.” Teresa could have kissed Carmen for remaining silent. “Anyway, I gave it long, curling black eyelashes and a little smile, just like this night-light has. It is Snowflake, Carmen. I’m absolutely certain of it.”

  “Couldn’t someone else—” Carmen halted. “I started to suggest that someone else had painted one of the night-lights exactly the same way, but that would be too much of a coincidence. So let’s say it is Celeste’s night-light. Because she loved it so much, couldn’t someone have taken it out of your old house for her?”

  “Like who? Kent? The police?”

  “How about Celeste’s father? What’s his name? Jason?”

  “Yes, it’s Jason, but Celeste was taken to the hospital the night of the murders. She never returned to the house. I’m fairly certain Jason didn’t, either.”

  “What about Celeste’s clothes? Someone had to get those for her.”

  Teresa shook her head although Carmen couldn’t see her. “Someone told me Jason didn’t want anything from that house, including Celeste’s toys and clothes. After Wendy married Dad, she bought everything new for Celeste, right down to her underwear. I remember Celeste telling me she liked her old clothes better, but Wendy had left them behind with Jason. Celeste said on the weekends she spent with her daddy, she got to wear her other clothes, so I know he didn’t throw them away.”

  “Well, I’m not talking about clothes and toys that Wendy and Hugh bought for the child. I’m talking about that little night-light you got for her. I’m sure before the murders she’d told her father how much she loved it. When she was in the hospital, he might have thought it would cheer her up, make her speak.”

  Teresa sighed. “Sounds good, but I can’t see Jason Warner entering a bedroom splashed with his daughter’s blood to retrieve a night-light given to her by me, who everyone thought had nearly killed the child.”

  “I thought Jason was one of the people who didn’t think you’d committed the murders. As I remember, it was his mother who was ready to send you straight to life in prison without parole.” Teresa winced, and, almost as if Carmen could see her, she said, “Sorry, Teri. I shouldn’t have mentioned Mrs. Warner. But the point I was trying to make is that Jason didn’t seem to think you were guilty, and if Celeste wanted that night-light, he might have gotten it for her. You always said he nearly worshipped the child.” After a moment of silence, Carmen added, “The only alternative I can think of is that after the police released it as a crime scene, someone broke into the house and stole the light. You did leave the house furnished, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you have the locks changed?”

  “Dad had them changed after he married Wendy. As far as I know, they only gave out one of the new keys—to Emma, so she could get in without waking Wendy. Dad didn’t even give Kent and me keys. The police gave us the keys when the house was no longer a crime scene.”

  “I didn’t know that!” Carmen sounded shocked. “I know the police let us in to get a few of your belongings right after the murders, but I didn’t realize you didn’t have a key.”

  “Well, I didn’t and neither did Kent,” Teresa said flatly. “Later the police turned over the keys to us, but neither of us had the stomach to go into that house and sort through everything. We both just wanted to shut the door and never look back.”

  “Well, no one could blame you for that. But if the house is fully furnished, Teri, it’s even more likely that someone broke in, took things, and is using them to unnerve you.”

  “I know, but…”

  “But what?”

  “Carmen, when I heard Byrnes this morning saying he didn’t kill Dad and Wendy, I knew the harassment would start up again and most of it would be directed at me.” Teri paused. “But this couldn’t be just the random act of some nut who wanted to spook me.”

  “Why not?”

  Teresa’s voice became high and tight. “Because the person who was on my porch, the person who left the night-light at my door, knew they were leaving something of significance to me. Somehow they knew I bought the night-light and I’d recognize it immediately because I’d painted the horse’s face for Celeste.”

  2

  “Kent, I don’t think it’s a good idea for Daniel to take riding lessons. He’s too young. He’s too timid.”

  Kent Farr lay against pillows propped against the head of the king-sized bed and watched his wife brush her gleaming strawberry blond hair. That hair was the first thing that had attracted him to her over a decade ago when he’d seen her standing in the sun wearing a cheerleader’s outfit. The magnificent hair had hung nearly to her waist, then, and framed her lovely porcelain-skinned heart-shaped face with its freckles and big, soft eyes. She really didn’t look much older than she had at sixteen, he thought in amazement as he looked at her now. But she acted as if she’d had twenty birthdays.

  Kent took a breath, knowing they were headed for an argument they’d already had at least five times. “Sharon, Daniel is not too young to take lessons—you heard Teri say she has students even younger than he is—and the kid is not timid. Not by nature, anyway. After you’ve told him some story about a child who did the things he wants to do and met with disaster, then he gets nervous.”

  Sharon smacked the brush down on the dresser and whirled to face Kent, color high in her cheeks. “For one thing, Teresa is not a disinterested party. She’s trying to start a riding school. She needs students.”

  “She needs paying students. Daniel’s lessons are gratis, if you remember.”

  “And second,” Sharon went on as if Kent hadn’t said anything, “I do not try to keep Daniel from doing things little boys his age are supposed to do. I am so tired of you acting like I’m trying to turn him into some neurotic child afraid of the world—”

  “That’s exactly what you’re doing. I just can’t figure out why.”

  “I warn him about dangers because I want him to be safe. I am more interested in my son being safe than macho!”

  Kent burst out laughing. “You think I want our little boy to be macho?”

  “Yes, I do. You act like he’s twelve or thirteen, not seven!”

  “S
haron, that’s ridiculous!” Some of the humor had left Kent’s expression. “In what way do I encourage him to act thirteen?”

  “Sex, for one!”

  Kent’s eyes widened and he sat straight up in bed. “Sex! Are you saying I’ve been encouraging my seven-year-old son to have sex?”

  “Not exactly, but when we were having dinner out last weekend and that pregnant woman walked by he said, ‘Gosh, she’s fat,’ and you said, ‘She’s not fat, Son; she has a baby in her tummy. All babies come from their mommies’ tummies.’”

  Kent stared at her. “Was I wrong? Do they come from somewhere else?”

  Sharon cocked her head and gave him a look of supreme annoyance. “Don’t try to turn this into a joke. Daniel is far too young to learn all the ins and outs of sex.”

  “I’m not even going to touch that last phrase, Sharon.” Kent tried unsuccessfully not to grin. “And I wasn’t exactly explaining the sex act to him—just where babies come from.”

  “He’s only seven!”

  “Do you know how many times you’ve told me he’s seven? I haven’t forgotten my son’s age, Sharon, and I don’t encourage him to do daredevil things—”

  “Like riding a horse!”

  “Like taking riding lessons on a Shetland pony. Some of his friends do. Some of the kids who are younger than he is do. Six-year-olds. Think of it, Sharon. Some parents actually feel safe having their six-year-olds take riding lessons. It boggles the mind!”

  A year ago, Sharon would have laughed at the exaggeration. Six months ago, she would have thrown back a sarcastic retort. Tonight she sat down on the edge of the bed and looked deep into his dark blue eyes—the same shade as his mother’s eyes. “Kent, do you realize Daniel is almost exactly the same age Celeste Warner was when she was almost stabbed to death?”

  Kent drew back slightly; then he frowned. “Is that what all of this overprotection is about? Because Daniel is nearing the age of Celeste when she was attacked? Do you think eight is some magical age when horrible things start happening to children?”