Saving Ben (28 page)

George’s father glared at me as though I was on the witness stand and he was waiting the opportunity to question me. “I’m not sure you’d understand,” I said under my breath to George.

“Try me,” George said.

“Can I still trust you?” I asked and he nodded. “Like I trusted you that night when we pricked our fingers and promised to always be friends?” I stared at him, hard, daring him to violate the pact we’d made that night. I didn’t know where our conversation was headed, but I knew I desperately needed to connect with the George of old, to remind him of what we’d once meant to one another. “Remember, Porgie? In the haunted boathouse?”

Mentioning the boathouse was a risk, and I held my breath hoping it would have the right effect on him. George smiled and his features softened as his mind wandered back to that night. I was all set to remind him of a dozen other stories when my cell phone rang and ruined the moment. I excused myself and walked over to the window.

Thompson’s voice was panicked. “Katherine, you need to come home. Ben’s been arrested.”

I stared across the creek at our house and watched the patrol car pull out of our driveway. I’d been so engrossed in waiting for one of the Turners to make a slip that I missed the whole event. “Where are my parents?” I asked, trying not to sound alarmed.

“Here, with Mr. Robinson, but they’re getting ready to leave for the police station.”

“You ride with them, and I’ll meet you there.” Without giving Thompson a chance to protest, I hung up and turned around to face three sets of inquiring eyes.

“In all the time I spent in this house as a child, I never noticed you have such a clear view of our place. Much more unobstructed than we have of yours.” I sounded both sarcastic and accusatory, just as I intended. “With a pair of binoculars, you can see what’s on my plate while I’m eating breakfast at the kitchen counter. I’ll be sure to close my blinds at night from now on.”

“Is there a problem at home?” Mrs. Turner nodded at the cell phone in my hand.

“What?” I asked as though I’d forgotten about the devastating call. “No, everything’s fine. My family wants me to meet them at the Sand Piper for an early dinner.”

“The Sand Piper is closed for the holidays,” Mr. Turner said.

“Really? I don’t think my parents realized that. Oh well.” I shrugged and started toward the door. “We’ll figure something out when we get there.”

All three Turners stood at once, anxious for me to leave. As I passed in front of Mr. Turner, I dropped my phone on the carpet in front of him. When I bent over to pick it up, I reached under the chair for the mysterious object. No wonder the silver and leather bracelet looked familiar.

“Interesting.” I held it up for inspection. “I gave this bracelet to Emma for Christmas a year ago. I can’t imagine how it got under your chair, unless of course Emma dropped it when she was here for a visit. I’m certain I don’t need to tell you, Mr. Commonwealth’s Attorney, that perjury is considered a felony, punishable with jail time. A considerable amount of jail time if I’m not mistaken.”

I’d seen his face turn red like that only once, many years ago when he caught George sneaking a five-dollar bill from his wallet.

“Nice to see you all.” I sauntered toward the door, but quickened my pace the moment I was outside.

“Hey, Kitty, wait up,” George called, following me out into the driveway. He caught up with me at the car and reached for the handle to open the door for me. “You seem upset. Was that phone call bad news?”

“Truthfully?” I looked up at George from the driver’s seat. “The police just arrested Ben.” Eager to get out of there, I didn’t wait for his response. I placed my foot on the brake and pushed the start button just as Thompson had instructed me, but after several frustrated attempts, I couldn’t get the engine to fire. “I need to get to Lancaster. Will you please start this car for me?”

He nodded and we switched places. “Whose truck is this anyway? Your
boy
friend’s?” he asked, running his hand over the wood paneling on the dash. He pushed the start button and the engine fired right up. “So what’s the big rush to get to the sheriff’s department? Can’t wait to show them the bracelet you found now, can you?”

I stared down at George, looking for any trace of the kindhearted boy who used to be my friend. Whether it had started with Abigail’s death or whether this mean streak had always been a part of him, hidden away beneath his outgoing personality, his good nature had succumbed to anger and hatred.

Ignoring the warning from deep within my subconscious, I asked, “How does it make you feel, George, to know one of your
best
friends may go to jail for a crime
you
committed?”

“So we’re going to play it that way, are we?” He jerked the car door with such strength I was forced to let it go or risk losing four of my fingers. I grabbed at the door handle, but with a demented grin on his face, George pushed the lock button and lowered the window just a crack. “I’ve always wanted to test-drive a Land Rover to see if they really handle like everyone says they do. You know, climbing up the sides of hills and jumping over ditches, shit like that.”

He slammed the car in forward and then reverse and then into forward again as he executed a three-point turn in the driveway. He drove up beside me and motioned for me to get in. Even though every fiber of my being warned me that Thompson’s new car was not worth my life, that he would not want me to sacrifice my safety for something that could so easily be replaced, I got in anyway.

George raced to the end of his driveway and then peeled off down the street toward White Stone. “Maybe it’s time I come clean with the sheriff and tell him everything I know about what happened that night.”

I glanced over at him expectantly. “Really?” I asked.

“Duh,” he said, clucking his tongue at me. “Now why would I want to do that when Ben is doing such a fine job of taking the rap for me?”

“Because it’s only a matter of time before the detectives realize they can no longer cover for you. I mean seriously, George? You’re the one with access to a boat. And once I show them this bracelet”—I twirled the bracelet around on my finger—“and tell them what I found in her room at the Shady Oaks Motel . . .”

He cut his eyes at me. “You’re bluffing,” he said, a hint of doubt in his otherwise confident expression.

I
was
bluffing of course. The only thing two underlined names in a phone book proved was that Emma had tried to get in touch with us. “Funny thing—the motel manager is related to one of the patrolmen. Unlike the detectives who are so eager to protect your family, this patrolman likes to play by the rules. He promised me he’d make certain this evidence falls into the right hands.”

George made a sudden, sharp, right-hand turn down a long dirt driveway. Although I’d never driven there in a car before, my sense of direction told me we were headed toward the haunted boathouse. The driveway was bumpy, pitted from years of rain and snow, but Thompson’s truck handled it with ease.

“Gee, this is fun.” George glanced over at me and I could see his eyes were on fire. “Let’s test out the four-wheel drive.” He turned the knob beside the gearshift, switching into four-wheel drive. “You know, I like this ride so much, maybe I’ll ditch you here and take off for California or Seattle or Montana.”

“Right, George,” I said, rolling my eyes, pretending that I wasn’t scared out of my mind. “The police will catch you before you cross the state line.”

George pointed at me. “You see, Kitty, that’s where you’re wrong. They won’t know to be on the lookout for me without you to tell them.” He put the truck in park and nodded toward the water. “And you will be floating at the bottom of Carter’s Creek with all the other little fishies.”

A chill raced down my spine. How could I have been so foolish? George was never going to turn himself in. He was a desperate man, a murderer intent on covering his crime to save himself from a life in prison. Or the death penalty. My best chance was to escape the car.

“Look, George. This is no big deal.” I held the bracelet in the air, making sure he was watching as I lowered it to my bag. “I’m going to put this in here for now.” I dropped the bracelet and quickly removed my cell phone from the side pocket, cupping it in my hand so George couldn’t see it. “We’ll figure out a way to get Ben off without having to drag you into it. Just let me drive you back to your house so I can get to the sheriff’s office.”

“Not a chance, you dumb bitch.” George reached down and snatched the bracelet up in one quick swoop. “All this time I thought you were smarter than the rest.”

I opened my eyes wide and faked like I was seeing someone outside George’s window, a childish game Ben and I still play on occasion. Lucky for me he fell for it, at least long enough for me to unlock the door and sprint away.

It was cloudy and drizzly and close to sunset. I stumbled down toward the boathouse, ducking under vines and dodging trees and jumping over downed tree limbs. When I got close to the burned-out foundation of the house, I stepped on an old brick and twisted my ankle. I fell to the ground and, despite my best efforts to silence my sobs, I cried out in pain.

I managed to dial 911 on my phone as I crawled on my belly toward the old chimney, the only part of the house not destroyed by the fire that killed the old widow. Crouched in the fire pit, I whispered to the operator, “Please help me. My name is Katherine Langley and I’m on the property of the haunted boathouse off of Tarpon Road. Send the police. Hurry. George Turner is trying to kill me.”

“You’re damn straight I am,” George said, towering over me. He grabbed me by the wrist and yanked me to my feet, pinning me back against the chimney. I was reminded of the night Ben tried to choke me, the night I vowed never to be that vulnerable again. With all my strength, I rammed my knee in George’s groin. Despite the immense pain in my ankle, I limped as fast as I could toward the boathouse, aware of George’s cries of agony behind me. I hid in the corner behind the door and waited for him to come after me. Minutes later he swung open the door, but I pushed it back on him, causing him to lose his balance. He stumbled but managed to catch himself on a piling to keep from falling into the water.

He came after me with all the fury I imagined he used to kill Emma. As he grabbed a handful of my hair and wrestled me to the dock, I caught sight of a large brown stain, the dried blood from Emma’s head wound. As much as I disliked her, I never wanted her to die. Was it like this for her? Was she as terrified as me?

“Why couldn’t you have just left it alone, Kitty?” George said, sitting on top of my chest, pinning my arms to the dock with his knees. “Now I’m gonna have to kill you just like I killed Emma.”

“Why
did
you kill her, George?” I struggled to breathe beneath his weight. “The George Turner I know is not a murderer.”

“The bitch deserved to die.” He wiped a line of drool off his mouth with the back of his hand. “She lured me out here with the promise of sex, but then the little tease turned on me. When I got mad at her for holding out on me, she started saying all these horrible things about Abigail.”

“Tell me what she said to you, Porgie. Talk to me.” As much as I was buying time for the police to arrive, I felt the need to comfort George. I could see
my
George, buried beneath his crazed state, crying out for help.

“She said it was better for Abigail to be dead than for her to have to look at herself in the mirror every day and know she would never be beautiful.”

Tears filled my eyes at the cruelty of my dead roommate’s final words. And to think I was responsible for bringing Emma into George’s life. So much of what’d happened to Emma, she’d brought on herself. I had the scratch—healing now but still visible—on my face to prove how easily she could get under someone’s skin.

“I’m sure Abigail is proud of you for defending her. She loved you, George.” I sniffled, unable to wipe my nose with my arms pinned. “But she loved me too. And Ben. Just as we loved her.”

His expression confused, George gently ran a finger down my cheek, tracing the track of my tears.

“Think about what you’re doing, George. Our Yabba-Dabba-Abigail would not have wanted you to hurt us, under any circumstances.”

He opened his eyes wide as if he’d just woken from a bad dream. Slowly and evenly, he let out a deep breath, relaxing his body. He looked down at me, as if seeing me for the first time. “That’s right, Porgie. It’s me, Cat,” I said softly. We stared at one another as all of his anger and my fear washed away. We were friends again, taken back in time to the night before Abigail’s funeral.

George brushed a stray strand of hair from my forehead and then he rolled off of me and leaned back against a piling. “How’d my life get so screwed up, Kitty?” He rubbed his eyes with his balled fists. “Things are so fucked, right now. Nothing seems real.”

I sat up and wrapped my arms around my knees. “People handle grief in different ways.”

“Most days I feel like just giving up. I want to die and go to heaven so I can see Abigail and know she’s safe. Except now, because of Emma, I won’t be going to heaven.”

I certainly wasn’t one to cast judgment at the pearly gates of heaven, but I wanted to give my friend whatever smidgeon of hope I could summon. “Emma was evil, George, pure and simple. We found a car full of jewelry and cash she’d stolen from her aunt and uncle. That is,
after
she’d broken up their marriage by sleeping with her uncle.”

“Nice.” George rolled his eyes. “Your roommate was twisted, Kitty, but then you already knew that, didn’t you? What a waste of such beauty. I can still hear my mother saying to Yabba, ‘Beauty is as beauty does.’”

We fell silent for a minute, and I could hear a dog barking off in the distance. When the sirens of the rescue vehicles pierced the quiet, I locked eyes with George.

“Here they come,” he said. “My life is over now.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Don’t forget your father is the commonwealth’s attorney.”

“Yeah, boy. I did him proud, didn’t I?”

“My grandmother used to say that parents always love their children no matter what.” I reached for George’s hand and squeezed it. “Your father is well respected throughout this county. He’s done a ton of favors over the years, favors that will now be returned. This is a tight-knit community. These people are your family. They will take care of you.”