If You Ever Tell (7 page)

“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.

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?

She knew the fax could be traced with the help of the police, and she spent another ten minutes trying to decide what to do. She’d reached for the phone three times, meaning to call local law enforcement, and three times she’d jerked her hand away from the receiver as if it were a snake.

Police. The word had struck fear in her ever since the murders, ever since she’d been questioned until she’d grown too hoarse to answer and finally allowed the lawyer Kent had hired to stop the police interrogation. Even after the capture and confession of Roscoe Lee Byrnes, she’d been subjected to “follow-ups,” the FBI wanting to ask “just a few more questions, Miss Farr,” until law enforcement in general terrified her as much as the thought of a monster would a child.

So, she would not call the police, Teresa decided. If the fax turned out to be anything important and she was later forced to show it to them, she would say she hadn’t done so earlier because she thought they would dismiss it as a prank. And that’s exactly what they
would
do, Teri told herself. Dismiss it. After all, the confessed killer of Hugh and Wendy Farr would be executed in less than a week. Everyone who followed the case knew about the execution of Byrnes. So the fax was nothing more than a sick joke, just like the note in her car—something to unnerve her during the last few days of Byrnes’s life. So forget the fax, she thought. Forget the note. Forget all of it. Someone simply had a nasty sense of humor.

Determinedly cheerful, she turned to Sierra, who sat beside her chair. “I say we have some fun this morning; how about you, girl?” The dog’s tail flew back and forth and she barked once. “Okay. Race you down the stairs!”

Teresa had set the timer on the coffeemaker and could already smell the aroma of a strong African blend as the two of them ran into the kitchen. Sierra led the way, as always, and Teresa announced, “You won!” She handed Sierra a dog biscuit before pouring her own mug of coffee. The dog looked at her reproachfully, biscuit clenched between her teeth. “I know you want a big breakfast, but until I’ve had at least one cup of coffee, that’s the best I can manage. And quit glaring at me that way. I’d like to remind you that there are starving dogs all over the world who’d give
anything
—”

Like a child, Sierra began munching furiously as if trying to drown out the lecture she’d heard countless times. Satisfied, Teresa took two aspirins for the dull headache lingering behind her eyes and wandered out of the kitchen into her living room, enjoying the feel of cool varnished hardwood floors warmed here and there with thick flax rugs.

Her mother would have liked this room, Teresa thought. Her mother would have approved of Teresa having the ramshackle farmhouse torn down, and hiring an architect to design a modest home that looked like a graceful brick country house with a wide front porch, beamed wooden ceilings, and lots of windows. Although Marielle Farr had suffered from what Teresa now knew was chronic depression, she had never hidden herself in dark rooms with draperies pulled against the light. In fact, Teresa remembered her mother often standing in front of windows, her dark head leaned back, eyes closed, and a faint smile on her perfect lips as she seemed to soak in outside light, whether it was sunny or gray. She’d even loved thunderstorms, gathering her children, Teresa and Kent, close beside her and encouraging everyone to imitate the roars that sometimes shook the house. Whoever did the best imitation got an Eskimo Pie, and the kids had begun looking forward to the contests instead of fearing the storms.

The phone rang and Teresa jumped, slopping hot coffee on her hand. She cursed under her breath, reluctantly admitting to herself that she was still deeply rattled by the note and the fax no matter how hard she pretended to dismiss them. She supposed what she felt was normal, though. After all, how could she dismiss the fact that someone out there wanted to remind her of the murders, wanted to hurt and to frighten her? Teri had always thought she had better than average self-control, but she realized she didn’t have complete self-mastery. She couldn’t shut out all anxiety and worry, especially when someone was trying so hard to roil those feelings in her, but she could try.

The phone rang again. Teri took a deep breath, determinedly crossed the room, picked up the cordless receiver, and managed a jaunty, “Hello?”

“Church will be out about noon, Sharon has a roast cooking for lunch, so we’ll be eating immediately after we get home. We can make it to the farm around one thirty.”

“Pardon me?” Teresa couldn’t help grinning in spite of her rocky night and morning. “To whom am I speaking?”

“Kent, of course.”

“Oh, of course. Tell me, Kent, is this your usual phone manner or do you sometimes deign to greet people before you begin speaking at machine-gun rate?”

He paused, then asked sweetly, “Hello, Teresa; how are you on this beautiful morning?”

“Why, I’m fine; thank you for inquiring. How about Sharon? Not too hungover to go to church?”

Kent’s voice had returned to its usual abrupt rate. “No, but I wish you hadn’t taken her to Club Rendezvous.”

“I didn’t. She went of her own free will. Carmen and I didn’t kidnap her. And what’s wrong with Club Rendezvous?”