The Bequest (36 page)

Tom took the
gun, his face devoid of emotion. His eyes were on
Teri, but she knew he saw nothing more than what Annemarie had just
pointed out to him. Not his daughter, but the woman who killed his son.
The woman who killed Adam. The woman he had never forgiven for the
past twenty years.

A lump rose in Teri’s throat as tears filled her eyes. “Daddy? It’s me.
Peggy.”
“Her name is Teri now,” Annemarie said. “Peggy killed your boy,
then abandoned you. She ran away to California. Changed her name.
Changed her face. Buried her past, just like she made you bury your son.”
Tom raised the gun and aimed it at Teri, just as Annemarie had done.
“What was your boy’s name? Adam, was it? Your pride. The boy
who would carry on your legacy on your ranch. Who would carry on the
Tucker name.”
“Daddy, you know what really happened,” Teri said. “Don’t listen to
her. Don’t even listen to me. Listen to your heart.”
Emotion filled her voice, which came out in a husky whisper, barely
audible, yet echoing in the high-roofed barn. Tears streamed down her
cheeks, rivulets joining at her chin and dropping to the floor.
“Crocodile tears, Tom,” Annemarie said. “She’s an actress. She’s
used to playing on emotions. Playing
with
emotions. Your emotions, Tom.
That’s all she’s doing now. Just more playacting. And all the while your
boy is rotting in his grave.”
Moving as an automaton, devoid of emotion, devoid of expression,
Tom stepped forward, gun still pointed at Teri.
“Listen to your heart, Daddy,” Teri said. “You knew, didn’t you? You
knew all along what really happened.”
There was a slight hesitation in Tom’s forward progress. A blink,
more of a flutter, of the eyelids.
Annemarie spoke in a harsh tone. No longer the soothing hypnotist;
she was now the commanding shrew. “You’ve wanted to do this ever since
you buried Adam. This woman hated Adam, the son you loved. She hated
the attention you gave him. She knew she could never live up to him in
your eyes, so she did the next best thing. She took him away from you.”
“Mama knew, Daddy. And I know you knew.”
He took another step forward, the gun held at shoulder level. When
he stopped, Teri took a step toward him.
Then another step, and another, until she was at arm’s length from
him. She leaned her head forward, the barrel of the gun making contact in
the middle of her forehead. She pressed against it, grinding the barrel into
her skin as she dropped the pitchfork, which clattered to the floor, and
held her hands at her sides.
“If you hate me that much, then I won’t stop you, Daddy.”
She looked him squarely in his eyes, staring down the barrel of the
gun, her gaze locked onto his. “Go ahead, Daddy. If that’s what you
want.”
His eyelids fluttered again. Then a single tear squeezed over the rim
of the bottom lid and spilled onto his cheek. His lips moved, as if he
wanted to speak.
“What is it, Daddy?”
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “You had to do it.”
“That’s right, Daddy. I’m sorry, but that’s right.”
“Adam raped you?” It came out as a question, but then Tom repeated
it as a simple declarative statement. “Adam raped you. He would have
done it again.”
He lowered the gun and held it at his side.
“No!” Annemarie screamed. She lunged forward and jerked the gun
away from Tom.
In the same instant, Teri picked up the pitchfork and spun to face
her.
Annemarie
swung her
gunhand
up.
Teri plunged forward the
pitchfork and ducked to the right.
The gun went off, the bullet zipping harmlessly by Teri’s head. But
the pitchfork hit its target, driving deep into Annemarie’s chest. She
opened her mouth, but the only sound that came out was a soft wail, like
the mewling of a cat.
Teri pressed forward, leaning into the pitchfork with her entire
body. Her face was inches from Annemarie’s as she moved her hands up
the handle, closer to the fork itself. She stared into Annemarie’s black,
lifeless eyes. Annemarie bent backward then fell to the ground on her
back, almost as if in slow motion, suspended on the metal tines.
As Teri stepped forward, she felt hands on hers. She turned and saw
her father standing next to her. He gently pried her fingers loose and
gripped the pitchfork himself. He leaned into it, the full weight of his
muscular body driving the tines all the way through Annemarie’s torso
until they met the concrete floor of the barn.
Annemarie gasped, her eyes opened wide. She gurgled. Blood welled
up in her mouth then spilled over, running down the side of her cheek to
the floor. She coughed. Blood erupted from her mouth then fell back onto
her ghostly white face.
Her eyes closed.
And she lay still.
Tom backed away, leaving the pitchfork standing upright in her
breastplate. “Go, Baby,” he said. “You were never here. I did this.”
“No, Daddy.” She put her arms around her father and pulled him to
her. “This time, we rely on the truth. The whole truth.”

Teri brushed down
Gretel in the corral while Hansel strutted
around, watching and waiting for his turn.
“You look good doing that.”
She turned and smiled at Chad, who approached, damaged arm in a
sling. He was pale, but moving well.
“It feels good,” she said. “I never realized how much I missed it until I
did it again.”
“I thought you’d want to know I got through to the hospital in Los
Angeles. Mona’s brother is there with her. He said she’s out of danger and
is gonna be just fine. I told him to tell her she was welcome to come to
Texas to recuperate. Who knows, maybe you can teach her to brush down
a horse.”
Teri laughed. “Fat chance. She’d be too worried about breaking her
nails.”
“Things aren’t looking so good for Doug Bozarth, though. It turns
out that, in addition to oil and gas, he was into weapons and drug
trafficking in the Middle East. But I think that’s going to be the least of his
troubles. Bandera County’s got him on state charges, and they might even
be able to get him for felony murder.”
“But I shot those men in the woods.”
“One of them was shot twice, and the fatal shot was from a handgun
fired into his head. They’ve got Bozarth’s fingerprints on the gun that fired
the shot. He’s probably going to be looking at the death penalty.”
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”
She kept brushing, as if the effort, alone, would brush away all
memories of what had happened.
“Your folks are here,” Chad said.
Teri looked back toward the house, where Mary stood on the back
porch. Mary called inside, and Tom exited, a newspaper in his hands.
“How are things with your dad?” Chad asked.
“We’re going to get there.”
Tom waved the paper as he approached. “You seen this yet, Baby?”
“I don’t read the papers anymore,” Teri said.
“It’s a blockbuster. Biggest box office opening in history.”
“That’s great, Daddy.”
“Phone keeps ringing off the wall back at the house. Lots of people in
Hollywood want to talk to Teri Squire.”
Teri looked at her dad for a long moment, and then smiled. “I don’t
know who that is. My name’s Peggy Tucker.”
Then she turned back to brushing Gretel.

No matter how long you sit alone in a room, staring at a computer, a book
is always a collaborative process. Big thanks to my agents, Donna Eastman
and Gloria Koehler, for their faith in me. I also want to thank Ken
Coffman, Stacey Benson, Chris Benson, and the folks at Stairway Press,
for their professionalism and enthusiasm in shepherding this book to its
final product. I couldn’t have done it without you.