If You Ever Tell (14 page)

Emma began to cry and Mac moved to the couch, sitting close to his mother and closing his arms around her slender body. “Don’t cry, Mom. It was a long time ago.”

Emma sobbed. “Hugh said he was going to the police about you and say you’d done something vile to his daughter. In spite of that, you wanted to confront Hugh, but I told you to stay away from the house. Hugh also said he was going to tell on Marielle for coming to the house and breaking the court order for her to stay away. He said they’d put her back in the institution.”

Emma wiped at tears with the back of her hand like a child. “Hugh really hurt Teresa when he slapped her the second time—her face was fire red and her lip bled, all because she’d been trying to protect me. And nobody, not even Wendy, paid any attention to Celeste, who stood like a little stone statue. She didn’t even blink.”

“She must have been terrified.”

“Maybe,” Emma said slowly. “But she wasn’t crying. She just stood and stared. It didn’t seem natural, not natural at all.”

“Okay, Mom. Don’t think about it anymore. It was a long time ago.”

“Yes, a long time ago.” Emma let out one final, wrenching sob, then pulled herself up and looked into Mac’s eyes with a fierceness he’d never seen. “All of that violence ended a long time ago because Hugh and Wendy were stopped,” she ground out. “God forgive me, they
had
to be stopped before they ruined all of our lives!”

A
S HE HEADED BACK
toward the club, Mac would find himself gripping the steering wheel of his car, relax his hands, and in a few moments discover he had a death grip on the wheel again. He turned up the music, turned down the music, and finally turned off the music. His mother’s words tolled in his head:
“God forgive me, they
had
to be stopped before they ruined all of our lives!
When he asked her what she meant, she’d only said, “Some things shouldn’t be discussed.”

After he’d asked for the third time, she’d looked at him with dulled eyes, run her hand over his wavy hair, and said in a sad, tired voice, “I don’t mean to be rude, Son, but I’d really like to be alone now. I’ll talk to you again in a few days.” When he left, she didn’t even say good-bye. She’d simply gone back to the kitchen and begun absently stirring what was left of her muffin batter.

She’s been hiding from her memories, Mac thought. That’s why she’d thrown herself into her little pastry business. His mother had always tried to repress the dark parts of her life by keeping herself busy. Apparently, she’s been doing a good job of it, he mused dolefully, until I made her dredge up the past, go over the details of one of the worst days of her life. Of course, he’d gone to her apartment with good intentions, but good intentions often led to disastrous outcomes.

“God forgive me, they
had
to be stopped… they
had
to be stopped… God forgive me…”
Emma’s words echoed in Mac’s mind. What the hell had she meant? Did she think that Hugh’s and Wendy’s deaths were the result of divine intervention? Did she think God had sent someone else to the house that night to murder the couple she considered evil? Was she asking God to forgive her for thinking they’d gotten what they deserved? Or was she asking God to forgive her for something worse? For something
she
had done?

The last question sent a shock wave of apprehension through Mac. Quickly he lit a cigarette, although he’d promised himself he would stop smoking by the end of summer. When he was nervous or troubled, though, holding a cigarette in his hand seemed to comfort him, and he was troubled now. In fact, he was just about as troubled as he’d been eight years ago when he’d realized that the death of Hugh Farr hadn’t set Teresa free, but instead had put her in serious jeopardy of being found guilty of murder.

At first Mac had planned to go back to his apartment above the club and try to relax, but he knew he was incapable of relaxing. Suddenly he knew there was one other woman he needed to see today. He drove past his club and headed north, and turned onto the narrow road leading to Farr Fields.

As he drove past the acres of emerald green grass covering the fields, he remembered what they had looked like four years ago—patchy, weed-filled, dry—and thought of the Herculean job Teresa had done turning this place into rich and beautiful land. Although he had not been in contact with her at the time, friends told him Teresa hadn’t turned all of the work over to hired hands. She had been out here working just as hard as the men.

Mac had always admired Teri’s tenacity, her industriousness, her willingness to get her hands dirty and sweat like crazy helping with jobs in any way she could. She didn’t have a snobbish or lazy bone in her body. In that way, she reminded him of his mother. But there was a difference—Emma MacKenzie had always been timid and easily browbeaten.

Teresa Farr, on the other hand, was stubborn, impetuous, sometimes reckless, and probably emotionally the strongest woman he’d ever known. And right now, it was those very qualities, along with her refusal to admit she was as destructible as anyone else was, that frightened Mac. If she believed Roscoe Lee Byrnes was telling the truth, she’d start looking for who did kill Hugh and Wendy, not out of love for the dead couple, but out of need to clear her brother and herself. And Mac knew that digging for the truth could get her hurt or even worse.

He saw a pale face glance out the front window and the door opened before he’d even rung the bell. Teresa, standing tall and unsmiling, asked in a dull, tired voice, “Here to offer condolences?”

“No, I’m here to offer support,” Mac said evenly. “May I come in?”

Teri motioned for him to enter. As soon as he stepped inside, a brown whirlwind circled him, growing and barking ferociously. Mac’s hazel eyes widened and he moved back toward the door until Teresa said loudly, “Sierra, no! That’s enough!” The dog stopped spinning around him but continued to stare fiercely, shining brown hair along her backbone raised, a low growl lingering in her throat. Teri stooped down and put her arms around the dog. “This is a friend. Understand?” Teri reached out and patted Mac on the calf of his leg.
“Friend.”
The dog looked at Teri, then her hand on the stranger’s leg, then sat down, although she continued to stare at Mac balefully.

“Good lord,” Mac said in a mixture of surprise and relief. “Looks like you’ve got a pretty good watchdog there.”

“Her name is Sierra and she
is
a good watchdog. Sometimes too good. The only problem is that while she sounds fierce, she’s never bitten anyone in the three years I’ve had her.” Teri paused. “Would you mind saying her name and patting her on the head or something so she’ll know you don’t mean me any harm?”

Mac, a long time dog lover, smiled at the glowering dog and said, “Hi, Sierra. You sure are a pretty girl.” He then bent and put his hand, palm down, under her nose. “I’m Mac,” he went on as the dog sniffed him assiduously. “I won’t hurt Teri. I promise.”

Somewhat appeased, Sierra stood up, took two steps back, and allowed Mac to enter the room. He flashed her one last smile, then glanced around him. He’d never seen Teri’s house and he admired the gleaming oak hardwood floors, the beams on the high ceiling, and all the windows allowing sun to shine on the pale yellow walls and cream-colored furniture decorated with large rust and golden tapestry pillows. The room emanated a pleasant feeling of rustic coziness.

“Good heavens!” Mac exclaimed. “Someone told me you’d just remodeled the farmhouse on this property.”

“That was my original plan, but the house was too far gone. I had it torn down and an architect friend helped me design this place. I was going for romantic country inn.” Teresa finally smiled slightly. “I guess you approve.”

Mac’s gaze traveled over the airy room with its two sets of fanlight-topped French doors leading onto a veranda, and a beautiful French-style masonry fireplace. “It’s gorgeous, Teri. Really. You know, looking at this place and my club, I think you should have been an architect.”

Teresa blushed. “Oh, I’m a fairly good
amateur
architect, but I as I said, I had the help of a real one. We had a couple of squabbles—I knew exactly what I wanted and he had some other ideas that he claimed would make the house more distinctive—but I stuck to my guns.”

“You always do.” Mac laughed, although he was already wondering if this architect was more than a casual friend. “Once Teresa Farr has her mind made up, there’s no changing it.”

“Some people call that being mule-headed and don’t find it too attractive.”

“I call it unfaltering and I find it damned attractive.”

“Well… thank you.” Teresa suddenly felt embarrassed and completely at a loss for something to do or say. At last she managed, “Do you want some iced tea?”

“Sounds good,” he said, although he’d just had tea at his mother’s apartment. “Will Sierra let me sit down?”

“Probably. Just move slowly and
very
cautiously.”

Mac kept a stiff smile directed at the dog as he nearly crept over to a deep, cushiony chair. Once he was settled, Sierra must have decided he was no longer a threat, because she abandoned her guard duties and followed Teri out of the room into what Mac thought must be the kitchen. Mac took advantage of his time alone to study the room more closely. Beautiful pieces of Fenton Art Glass sat on the fireplace mantle, their gold, fern green, aqua, and ruby hues shimmering in the late-afternoon sun. On the middle of the shelf rested a tall black vase decorated with delicate hand-painted flowers. Mac was almost certain he remembered that vase from the Farr home. No doubt, it had been a choice of Marielle’s, not Hugh’s, he thought dryly.

Mac swiveled around and looked at the bookcase built into the wall between the French doors. Leather-bound editions of Thackeray, Austen, Dickens, Stendhal, Melville, Hemingway, and Bellow caught his eye. And of course there was an abundance of books by Fitzgerald. Mac remembered that Fitzgerald was Teri’s favorite author and her eyes always became dreamy when she talked about the beauty of his prose. Until Mac met her, he’d never read a classic in his life. Now he, too, had a collection of Fitzgerald’s works along with a couple of works by Hawthorne, and Tolstoy’s
War and Peace
, a novel it had taken him an entire summer to read. Good heavens, he thought now. The woman had turned him into a literary giant!

He was still smiling at the image of himself as a master of literature when Teri walked back in the room carrying a tray bearing glasses of lemonade. She set the tray on the large cream-finished coffee table. “I brought chocolate-chip cookies, too. I baked them and Daniel says I didn’t burn them as bad as I usually do, but I won’t be insulted if you take a pass on them.”

“Daniel’s quite flattering, isn’t he?” Mac grinned, immediately picking up a cookie.

“He’s honest.” Teri sat down on the couch across from him. “As you know, cooking isn’t my forte.”

“How would I know that? You’ve never cooked for me.”

“Count your blessings.” Teri grinned at him and Mac immediately felt more relaxed. Then she said, “So, you’ve obviously heard about Roscoe Lee Byrnes. Do you have an opinion about his veracity?”

“Do I have an opinion about the veracity of a serial killer dropping a bombshell the week he’s to be executed?” Mac rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t believe him if he put his hand on a whole stack of Bibles, in spite of his newfound belief in Christianity.”

“Then why is he claiming he didn’t kill Dad and Wendy?”

“To get attention. He wants to go out with a bang—maybe have someone write a book about him, at the very least stir up a little excitement before the end. He’s no Einstein, but he’s smart enough to know he’ll have people discussing him before he is executed. Hell, at the very least he’ll make some headlines.”

“That was one of Kent’s theories, too.” Teri took a sip of lemonade and looked beyond him listlessly. “I can’t believe that after all these years, after all the mental and emotional effort I’ve put into leaving this tragedy in the past, it’s come right up to slap me in the face again, right when I’m trying to start a new business.”

“Teri, some people are going to grab on to this and gossip about it for weeks. But most people are going to see this for what it is—a ridiculous and cruel attempt to snatch a little excitement, a little fame. After all, even Byrnes must know that after all this time, people have lost interest in him, so he’s simply fanning the flame of publicity.”

“Do you really believe he’s capable of that kind of thinking?”

“Yes, Teresa. He pulled off at least twenty murders without getting caught. He’s definitely crazy, but he’s not stupid. Most of Point Pleasant’s population is going to realize that and not pull their business from Farr Fields.”

“God, I hope not,” Teri sighed. “I had such high hopes for this place.”

“It’s beautiful, Teresa. It’s the only thing like it around here. You can’t let yourself think everyone is going to come, mount their horses, and gallop to the hills. As for your students, I don’t believe many parents want to put up with heartbroken children sobbing and throwing tantrums because they can’t take their riding lessons anymore.”

Teri thought of Daniel. After only one meeting with Caesar, the child had been crying because he thought his mother wasn’t going to let him see the pony again before going home. “I hope you’re right,” Teri said, trying to make her voice sound more positive than she felt. Then she looked at him closely. “Is that why you came to see me today, Mac? To tell me to keep my chin up, think positive thoughts, pretend Roscoe Byrnes didn’t decide to make himself a star the last week of his life?”

“Well, partly.” Mac leaned forward, his hazel eyes intense. The sun shone on his wavy mahogany-colored hair and Teri couldn’t help noticing his skin had turned that beautiful shade of golden tan so many women tried to get out of an instant-tanner bottle. She realized how closely she was studying his face and drew back, flustered. “I went to see my mother this afternoon and—”

“Really? How is she?” Teri asked quickly before taking another quick sip of lemonade and almost spilling it down her chin.