If You Ever Tell (17 page)

“Someone dressed like the person who murdered Dad and Wendy and almost killed Celeste just
happened
to come looking in my window tonight?”

Carmen hesitated. Then she said in a dispirited voice, “Teri, you had to know a few people in town were going to make something of Byrnes’s claim that he didn’t kill Hugh and Wendy. I mean, no sensible person would believe that horrible man, but not everyone is sensible. And even some fairly sensible people have a twisted sense of humor.”

“I know, Carmen, but that’s not all. Josh spotted something lying on the porch right in front of my door. It was Snowflake.”

“Snowflake?” Carmen repeated blankly.

“The night-light I gave to Celeste for Christmas. Don’t you remember me telling you how much she loved it and how mad Dad and Wendy were that she made such a big deal over a simple night-light and nearly ignored all their expensive gifts?”

After a moment, Carmen said, “Now that you mention it, I do remember. I didn’t recall that Celeste had named the night-light.”

“Well, she did. It was white, which is why she named it Snowflake.” Teresa heard her voice growing louder. “She was always going on about how she wanted to have a horse just like Snowflake and now Snowflake has been delivered right to my door!”

“Take it easy, kid. Now
you’re
the one who’s shouting.” After a moment, Carmen went on in a composed tone. “Now I do remember you telling me about the night-light, Teri. In fact, I think you got it in Trinkets and Treasures just after I bought the store. But my God, there must have been three dozen of them. The former owner didn’t believe in having much of a selection of merchandise—just about a hundred of the few items he did stock. That’s why the store wasn’t too successful before it fell into my capable hands. Anyway, I’m sure there isn’t just one white horse-shaped night-light floating around town.”

“This one was distinctive,” Teresa argued. “I painted its eyes hazel and put little gold flecks in them—you know, like the flecks in Mac’s eyes?” Teresa felt like kicking herself for mentioning Mac. “Celeste had seen Mac and she’d developed a little-girl crush on him and said something about him having dreamy eyes, some silliness.” Teresa could have kissed Carmen for remaining silent. “Anyway, I gave it long, curling black eyelashes and a little smile, just like
this
night-light has. It
is
Snowflake, Carmen. I’m absolutely certain of it.”

“Couldn’t someone else—” Carmen halted. “I started to suggest that someone else had painted one of the night-lights exactly the same way, but that would be too much of a coincidence. So let’s say it
is
Celeste’s night-light. Because she loved it so much, couldn’t someone have taken it out of your old house for her?”

“Like who? Kent? The police?”

“How about Celeste’s father? What’s his name? Jason?”

“Yes, it’s Jason, but Celeste was taken to the hospital the night of the murders. She never returned to the house. I’m fairly certain Jason didn’t, either.”

“What about Celeste’s clothes? Someone had to get those for her.”

Teresa shook her head although Carmen couldn’t see her. “Someone told me Jason didn’t want anything from that house, including Celeste’s toys and clothes. After Wendy married Dad, she bought everything new for Celeste, right down to her underwear. I remember Celeste telling me she liked her old clothes better, but Wendy had left them behind with Jason. Celeste said on the weekends she spent with her daddy, she got to wear her other clothes, so I know he didn’t throw them away.”

“Well, I’m not talking about clothes and toys that Wendy and Hugh bought for the child. I’m talking about that little night-light
you
got for her. I’m sure before the murders she’d told her father how much she loved it. When she was in the hospital, he might have thought it would cheer her up, make her speak.”

Teresa sighed. “Sounds good, but I can’t see Jason Warner entering a bedroom splashed with his daughter’s blood to retrieve a night-light given to her by me, who everyone thought had nearly killed the child.”

“I thought Jason was one of the people who didn’t think you’d committed the murders. As I remember, it was his mother who was ready to send you straight to life in prison without parole.” Teresa winced, and, almost as if Carmen could see her, she said, “Sorry, Teri. I shouldn’t have mentioned Mrs. Warner. But the point I was trying to make is that Jason didn’t seem to think you were guilty, and if Celeste wanted that night-light, he might have gotten it for her. You always said he nearly worshipped the child.” After a moment of silence, Carmen added, “The only alternative I can think of is that after the police released it as a crime scene, someone broke into the house and stole the light. You did leave the house furnished, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have the locks changed?”

“Dad had them changed after he married Wendy. As far as I know, they only gave out one of the new keys—to Emma, so she could get in without waking Wendy. Dad didn’t even give Kent and me keys. The police gave us the keys when the house was no longer a crime scene.”

“I didn’t know that!” Carmen sounded shocked. “I know the police let us in to get a few of your belongings right after the murders, but I didn’t realize you didn’t have a key.”

“Well, I didn’t and neither did Kent,” Teresa said flatly. “Later the police turned over the keys to us, but neither of us had the stomach to go into that house and sort through everything. We both just wanted to shut the door and never look back.”

“Well, no one could blame you for that. But if the house is fully furnished, Teri, it’s even more likely that someone broke in, took things, and is using them to unnerve you.”

“I know, but…”

“But what?”

“Carmen, when I heard Byrnes this morning saying he didn’t kill Dad and Wendy, I knew the harassment would start up again and most of it would be directed at me.” Teri paused. “But this couldn’t be just the random act of some nut who wanted to spook me.”

“Why not?”

Teresa’s voice became high and tight. “Because the person who was on my porch, the person who left the night-light at my door, knew they were leaving something of significance to
me.
Somehow they knew
I
bought the night-light and I’d recognize it immediately because I’d painted the horse’s face for Celeste.”

“Kent, I don’t think it’s a good idea for Daniel to take riding lessons. He’s too young. He’s too timid.”

Kent Farr lay against pillows propped against the head of the king-sized bed and watched his wife brush her gleaming strawberry blond hair. That hair was the first thing that had attracted him to her over a decade ago when he’d seen her standing in the sun wearing a cheerleader’s outfit. The magnificent hair had hung nearly to her waist, then, and framed her lovely porcelain-skinned heart-shaped face with its freckles and big, soft eyes. She really didn’t look much older than she had at sixteen, he thought in amazement as he looked at her now. But she acted as if she’d had twenty birthdays.

Kent took a breath, knowing they were headed for an argument they’d already had at least five times. “Sharon, Daniel is not too young to take lessons—you heard Teri say she has students even younger than he is—and the kid is
not
timid. Not by nature, anyway. After you’ve told him some story about a child who did the things he wants to do and met with disaster,
then
he gets nervous.”

Sharon smacked the brush down on the dresser and whirled to face Kent, color high in her cheeks. “For one thing, Teresa is not a disinterested party. She’s trying to start a riding school. She needs students.”

“She needs paying students. Daniel’s lessons are gratis, if you remember.”

“And second,” Sharon went on as if Kent hadn’t said anything, “I do
not
try to keep Daniel from doing things little boys his age are supposed to do. I am
so
tired of you acting like I’m trying to turn him into some neurotic child afraid of the world—”

“That’s exactly what you’re doing. I just can’t figure out why.”

“I warn him about dangers because I want him to be
safe.
I am more interested in my son being
safe
than
macho
!”

Kent burst out laughing. “You think I want our little boy to be macho?”

“Yes, I do. You act like he’s twelve or thirteen, not seven!”

“Sharon, that’s ridiculous!” Some of the humor had left Kent’s expression. “In what way do I encourage him to act thirteen?”

“Sex, for one!”

Kent’s eyes widened and he sat straight up in bed. “Sex! Are you saying I’ve been encouraging my seven-year-old son to have sex?”

“Not exactly, but when we were having dinner out last weekend and that pregnant woman walked by he said, ‘Gosh, she’s fat,’ and you said, ‘She’s not fat, Son; she has a baby in her tummy. All babies come from their mommies’ tummies.’”

Kent stared at her. “Was I wrong? Do they come from somewhere else?”

Sharon cocked her head and gave him a look of supreme annoyance. “Don’t try to turn this into a joke. Daniel is far too young to learn all the ins and outs of sex.”

“I’m not even going to touch that last phrase, Sharon.” Kent tried unsuccessfully not to grin. “And I wasn’t exactly explaining the sex act to him—just where babies come from.”

“He’s only
seven
!”

“Do you know how many times you’ve told me he’s seven? I haven’t forgotten my son’s age, Sharon, and I don’t encourage him to do daredevil things—”

“Like riding a horse!”

“Like taking riding lessons on a Shetland pony. Some of his friends do. Some of the kids who are younger than he is do. Six-year-olds. Think of it, Sharon. Some parents actually feel safe having their six-year-olds take riding lessons. It boggles the mind!”

A year ago, Sharon would have laughed at the exaggeration. Six months ago, she would have thrown back a sarcastic retort. Tonight she sat down on the edge of the bed and looked deep into his dark blue eyes—the same shade as his mother’s eyes. “Kent, do you realize Daniel is almost exactly the same age Celeste Warner was when she was almost stabbed to death?”

Kent drew back slightly; then he frowned. “Is that what all of this overprotection is about? Because Daniel is nearing the age of Celeste when she was attacked? Do you think eight is some magical age when horrible things start happening to children?”

“Of course not! I’m not a ninny, Kent, although sometimes you treat me like I don’t have any sense. But I can’t help thinking about it. Celeste was eight. Daniel is almost eight. It’s just… eerie.”

“Eerie! What in the name of God is eerie about two children turning eight? Most children do, you know. Sharon, what’s the matter with you lately? You’re jumpy; you’re suspicious; you fly off the handle over the least little thing. I know you’re unhappy about my working so much, but I can’t help it. I always expected to be head of Farr Coal Company one day, but I didn’t expect it to be dropped in my lap when I was in my twenties. I’ve had to work twice as hard as anyone else would to prove myself. But it’s work that keeps me away from you and Daniel. Not another woman.” Sharon’s eyes narrowed. “That’s what you think, isn’t it? That I’m a chip off the old block? That I have another woman on the side?”

“I am not even going to discuss that subject.”

“Thanks for your trust in my fidelity,” Kent snapped. “I feel so much better knowing my wife believes I’m faithful.”

He knew from the look on her face she was about to come back with a scathing remark, but instead she drew herself up and gazed at him coolly, as if she were making all the sense in the world and he was being irrational. “Kent, how do you think this Roscoe Lee Byrnes business is going to affect Daniel?” Sharon asked softly.

“Roscoe Byrnes! Talk about changing the subject.” Nevertheless, Kent stiffened. “Daniel doesn’t know anything about Byrnes recanting his confession. Why should it affect him?”

“Daniel doesn’t know anything about it, but other people do. If they don’t mention it to him directly, they’ll talk in front of their children and the kids will hit him with it.”

“I guess that’s true,” Kent said thoughtfully, “but there’s nothing we can do about it except leave town, and I can’t take off from work right now. We’ll just have to explain the situation to him before he hears it from anyone else.”

“Explain what, Kent? That his grandfather and his stepgrandmother were murdered in their bed? That a girl just a few months older than Daniel was stabbed and could have died?” She paused, then added emphatically, “That everyone believed his aunt Teresa had committed the murders?”

“Not everyone believed that!” Kent sat up, threw off the sheet, and headed for the dresser. Sharon knew he was going for a cigarette. “You didn’t believe it; I didn’t believe it; your father didn’t believe it—none of the people Daniel knows and trusts believed it. I think their opinion is going to mean more to him than that of a bunch of strangers.”

“Or he’ll be smart enough to know that no one who knew and cared about Teri
wanted
to believe it.”

Kent had struck a match but let it burn almost to his fingertips without touching it to the cigarette between his lips. Finally, he said with an almost threatening quiet, “What I can’t believe is what you just said.” His tone frightened Sharon a bit and she sat still, hands folded, her eyes focused on Kent’s chest, not his face. “Sharon, tell me the truth,” Kent said coldly. “Were you just pretending to believe Teri was innocent back then?”

Sharon swallowed. “There was so much tension in that house. Even you can’t deny that Teri hated her father and Wendy for what they’d done to Marielle. To make things worse, Teri had to live with Hugh and Wendy and she’d just found out they were going to have a baby.” Kent stared at her stonily. “And finally,” Sharon forged on, “in the afternoon, before the murders, no one saw Teri. She said she’d stayed in after she’d fallen and gotten that split lip. Yet she said she was out that night and she came in late.”

“If you had a split lip, would you have gone out in the daylight? And you never came in past your curfew?”