The wind whirled around them, sending the windchimes on the front porch into a frenzy and echoing in the air, clashing and thrashing to the beat of Tilly’s heart. The sky was darkening as the sun slid down and the moon had yet to appear, obliterated by the clouds above. An eerie chill washed over Tilly, sending her back to that horrible night Ruth sneaked out when she’d stared through the window and willed her sister to come home while she debated what to do. Be the tattle tale or face her sister’s wrath. Even if she’d told, her parents would have defended Ruth and let her off with a talk.
Unless that wasn’t what happened at all. Unless Ruth challenged her father to the point that he lost control. She’d only seen that once.
Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself. She didn’t want to relive that night or believe that her father was capable of violence.
But she’d seen what she’d seen and it was permanently imprinted in her brain. Her mother crying and screaming that her father had been ogling the teenage waitress at the restaurant where they’d had dinner.
The rage in her father’s eyes, the sound of his fist hitting the coffee table and the wine glass shattering, Merlot streaming onto the floor like a river of blood.
NINETY-TWO
Briar Ridge Mobile Homes
Kat’s stomach churned. Her mama had witnessed her own father bury a girl’s body in the graveyard.
But she’d been too afraid to tell the police. Was that body Ruth Higgins?
A knock sounded at the door and Kat covered the laptop with her pillow, as her mama cracked open the door. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Be right there.” Kat waited until she closed the door, then stowed the laptop under her bed. She’d read more later.
She shuffled into the kitchen, saw the shepherd’s pie and groaned. She used to like it, but Mama had made it so many times lately she was sick of it. Still, she sat, her mama’s journal entry taunting her.
Mama placed water glasses on the table, then claimed the seat across from Kat.
“How was school, Kat?”
Kat took the opening. “Fine. Our English lit teacher talked about the history of the town and the memorial and asked us to write a paper about folklore surrounding the dead.”
Mama looked up at her, eyes narrowed. “That sounds like an odd topic for school.”
Kat shrugged. “I read about signs people say they’ve seen after someone died. You know signs that their loved ones are trying to communicate.”
Mama’s hand trembled as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Maybe we should talk about something else.”
“But you asked about school. Have you ever seen any signs from Granddaddy?”
“No,” her mama snapped, her lips compressing into an angry line.
Kat wanted to ask about the girl in the graveyard, but then she’d have to admit she’d been reading the journal. “Some people say Granddaddy killed that girl Ruth.”
Mama wiped sweat from her forehead with a paper towel. “Lord have mercy, Kat, I’ve been through this before.”
“Do you think he did?” Kat asked.
The ice clinked in her mama’s glass as she took a long drink of water. “Maybe,” she finally admitted.
“So he was dangerous?” Kat asked.
Anger flashed on her mama’s face. “Yes, Kat. He was a mean son of a bitch.”
Kat forced down a bite of food. “Do you think he’s back and that he’s been killing those other girls?”
The color drained from her mama’s face and she stood and pushed her plate away. “Enough talk about this. Now finish your dinner and go do your homework.”
Mama picked up her plate, raked the leftovers in the trash, then went to the kitchen cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels. With a shaky hand, she poured herself a tumbler and stomped out on the back porch, slamming the door with a thud.
NINETY-THREE
