Chapter Fifteen

Late Monday afternoon, Benjamin got the news he dreaded. Peter Hill had committed suicide. Why had that come as a surprise? He had witnessed firsthand the desperation in his eyes. The police had found his car in nearby Niagara Falls. He had left a note on the front seat of his car.

When Benjamin had called Kathryn, she insisted on taking him to comfort Peter’s widow since he couldn’t drive with one arm. On the drive over, she seemed frail and shaky as if her world had tipped on its axis. No doubt horrible memories of her own father’s suicide replayed in her mind.

When they arrived at the Hill home, the sun had not yet set, but all the shades were drawn. Meg’s car sat in the driveway. After ringing the bell a few times with no response, the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on edge. “Something’s not right. I told her we’d be over.”

He stared at the door. A paper pumpkin hung on it. Its black construction-paper eyes and mouth were glued on top of each other—the handiwork of a child. Apprehension clawed at his insides.

Benjamin opened the screen door and listened for a sound. Voices. Movement. Anything.

Nothing.

He tried the handle on the door. It didn’t turn. He stepped back and lifted the welcome mat and threw it back down.

“You didn’t actually think they kept a key outside, did you?” Kathryn whispered.

As she asked the question, Benjamin stepped down into the garden, his shoes sinking into the soft muck. “Oh man,” he murmured under his breath. He leaned over and lifted one rock with his good arm, then a second. He found what he was searching for. He offered the rock to Kathryn. She slid open a compartment on the bottom of the fake rock. “Yeah, I guess they do,” he said, reaching over and pulling the key from its hidden compartment. His victory felt hollow under the circumstances.

He stepped onto the porch, mud-caked shoes and all. He brushed past Kathryn, her floral scent tickling his nose. He cut her a sideways gaze and smiled. “You and I need to talk when this is all over.”

Kathryn lowered her gaze and pink colored her cheeks.

He turned and unlocked the door. Slowly, he pushed it open, sensing something was off. The shadows in the darkened rooms played tricks on his mind. As far as he could tell, there were no lights on in the house. The living room on his left was empty, save for a lonely white stuffed rabbit.

Abby’s favorite toy.

He poked his head around the door. The dining room on the right also sat empty. He grabbed Kathryn’s hand. She squeezed it tightly in response. Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments. A connection. He pulled her into the foyer. He knew she wouldn’t stay outside, so he decided he’d better keep an eye on her.

The house seemed quiet. Eerily quiet. Deathly quiet. He tried to dismiss the unease pumping through his veins. “Maybe they aren’t here,” he whispered over his shoulder. “Maybe they packed up and went to her mother’s.”

She shook her head. “Meg,” she called out. “Meg.”

There was no answer.

“I’d hate to wake Abby if she’s sleeping,” Kathryn said. “But I’d hate to frighten Meg by sneaking up on her.”

“Let’s go upstairs. Check in the bedrooms,” Benjamin suggested. He led the way. He stopped dead in his tracks outside Abby’s door. All the shades were drawn.

Peter sat in a rocking chair. Eyes closed. Shock spiked Benjamin’s pulse. He heard Kathryn suck in a quick breath. “Oh, no.”

An afghan covered his lap and hands. What is he doing here? The thought of Peter’s suicide note came to mind. Is he dead?

“Wait here,” Benjamin whispered. He entered Abby’s room, decorated in a Winnie the Pooh theme. He crouched down in front of his uncle and touched his wrist. A steady pulse thrummed through the older man’s veins. He glanced briefly over his shoulder at Kathryn standing in the doorway. He couldn’t read the expression in her shadowed features before she stepped away.

Peter’s head twitched and he opened his heavy eyelids. “What are you doing here, Benny?” he asked, his tongue thick around the words.

“Peter?” Benjamin couldn’t form a coherent thought. Hadn’t the police found his car in Niagara Falls? A suicide note?

“We’re all going to be together again. Even Amy.” He moved back and forth slowly in the rocking chair. “Amy died ten years ago today. Did you know that? Kind of ironic, huh?” Peter didn’t wait for a response. “I’ve always hated this time of year. Every time the leaves start to change, I can’t help but think of Amy wasting away.” He seemed to shudder, his eyes glazing over. “I figured today would be a good day for a reunion.”

“Where’s Abby?” Benjamin barked, not wanting to hear anymore.

The mention of his daughter seemed to rouse Peter from his haze. His attention drifted to the twin bed across the room. Benjamin rose to his feet, his senses heightened. Moving toward the bed, he held his breath. Little Abby lay quiet. Not moving. “What have you done?” Benjamin asked, turning his glare on his uncle. “What evil, selfish thing have you done?”

Kathryn ran into the room directly toward Abby’s bed. The toddler lay still. A cry escaped Kathryn’s lips. She scooped up the girl. Abby uttered a small wail. A wave of relief crashed over him. Kathryn hugged the child tight and closed her eyes. A tear ran down her cheek. She rocked back and forth. Benjamin planted a kiss on the child’s head, then Kathryn’s forehead. The sight of Kathryn with a child tugged at his heart.

“I called the police,” she whispered so Peter couldn’t hear. “I told them to send an ambulance. Meg’s in her bed, but she must be drugged because I can’t wake her up. She is breathing, thank God.”

Benjamin nodded and turned his attention back to his uncle, only to find his lips twisted into a grimace. Peter lowered his eyes to his lap. Benjamin’s gaze followed. The man sat fingering a gun he had hidden under the blanket.

Icy dread pulsed through his veins. Kathryn took in a sharp breath. Benjamin reached up and instinctively touched his wounded arm.

As if reading his mind, Peter said, “I didn’t want to hurt you, Benjamin. But…” He lifted the gun to his own forehead then lowered it. “I really didn’t.”

“Peter, put the gun away, please,” Kathryn whispered.

Peter’s eyes locked on Kathryn, as if seeing her for the first time. She was still holding his daughter. “Abby,” he said, stretching out his free hand but making no attempt to stand. “If the drugs didn’t kill me and I woke up tomorrow, I wanted to know I had a plan B.” His lips formed a straight line and he waved the gun. “Meet plan B.”

Benjamin held his hand out. “This has gone on long enough. Give me the gun.” He took a step forward and Peter lifted the weapon.

“Benjamin, stop,” Kathryn demanded, turning her back to Peter, placing herself between Peter and his child. However, if Peter decided to shoot them, there would be little either of them could do for Abby.

“We can help you,” Benjamin blurted, stalling for time. He needed to keep Peter talking. Distract him until the police arrived.

“How?” he gestured toward them, waving the gun with a limp wrist.

“We’ll get you the best lawyer. Psychiatric help.” Anything. Anything to get us out of this mess.

Peter smiled a wicked smile. “I’m not crazy.” He lowered the gun to his lap, his finger still on the trigger. With his left hand, he traced the barrel of the gun. “I knew exactly what I was doing. I just couldn’t stop.”

“You can stop it now.” Kathryn glanced over her shoulder, her back still to him. “Do it for Abby.” The child snuggled contentedly.

Peter shook his head. A chuckle bubbled up. His eyes seemed fixated as if in a trance and unable to follow the conversation.

“Amy was only seventeen when she got sick. I’ll never forget that moment,” Peter said. He seemed to go somewhere right then, perhaps reliving it. “I was downstairs eating breakfast. Her bedroom was directly above the kitchen.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I heard a horrible thumping noise. When I reached her, she was convulsing on her bed. The bed’s metal frame went bam-bam-bam against the hardwood floor. Amy’s eyes rolled back into her head.”

Peter tapped the gun against his temple. “Brain tumor. That’s what they said. Stage four. They treated it for a while. Then told us to go home and make her comfortable.” Peter sobbed. Abby lifted her head and Kathryn put her hand on the child’s hair to settle her back in.

“Peter, please, give me the gun,” Benjamin pleaded. He felt a growing sense of urgency to get Kathryn and Abby out of the room before his uncle’s desperation morphed into more tragedy. Peter lifted the gun again and Benjamin jumped back.

Peter clenched his jaw. “I hope you never experience the pain of losing a child.” He looked past Benjamin to Kathryn. “You want to know why? Why I started dealing drugs? The stupid health insurance wouldn’t pay for additional treatment.” He hiccupped on a sob. “How do you tell your baby girl you’re giving up on her?”

Peter laughed, an awkward sound. Almost painful. “Funny thing. All this trouble and it was still too late for Amy.”

“Amy died ten years ago. Why now?” Kathryn asked, her voice gentle. “Why are you still dealing drugs?”

“You think these bigwig dealers are going to let me stop a good thing? Stuff the drugs in the AC units going to the Canadian assembly plants. Easy trip over the border. No one’s the wiser.” He shook his head. “No way. Trust me, I tried. The drugs may change over the years. The need never does.”

“That’s how the units got cracked. When they tried to stuff the drugs in,” Benjamin said, shaking his head.

“Idiots. They’d pry the units apart. The cracked units gave me away. Made people wonder how they got damaged.” Peter moved back and forth rhythmically in the rocker.

“Your father started asking questions, Kathryn. He didn’t know the extent of my dealings, but he was on to me. Even brought his concerns to George. But George, your dear old dad—” he lifted his forlorn face to Benjamin, “—stood by me the whole time. He had no idea.” Peter snorted, running a shaky hand under his nose. “He couldn’t believe Frank had the audacity to accuse me of doing anything underhanded, especially when I was dealing with a dying child.”

Heat crept up Benjamin’s cheeks as a thought took root. “That’s why my father and Frank had a falling out. Frank figured you were up to something and George didn’t believe him.” His eyes moved to Kathryn, locking on her horrified expression.

 

Peter tapped his nose with the barrel of the gun.

“Frank was such a naïve guy. He took a while to give me an ultimatum. When he did, he told me I had one week to shape up or he’d call the police.” Peter’s rueful smile sent a shudder coursing through her. “Six days later I killed him.”

Kathryn stood silent. Little white dots floated in her vision. The room spun. She tucked Abby’s head against her neck. The sweet smell of baby shampoo reached her nose as the truth rocked her.

Peter Hill had killed her father. He hadn’t committed suicide.

“How could you?” Dark emotions compressed her chest. “You killed my father.”

Abby let out a loud cry. Kathryn pressed her lips to the child’s temple as tears clouded her vision. “It’s okay,” she whispered, immediately sorry she’d upset the child.

Peter lifted the gun with a shaky hand, blinking his lids slowly, his gaze locking on Kathryn and his daughter. Benjamin made a quick movement and struck his uncle’s hand. The gun fell, landing on the floor with a clatter. Kathryn braced herself for an explosion that never came. The gun slid across the floor and disappeared under the bed skirt.

On what Kathryn could only imagine was pure instinct and adrenaline, Benjamin yanked Peter out of the rocker and threw him on the floor. With his good arm, he pulled one of Peter’s arms behind him and jammed a knee into his back. Peter’s breath whooshed out of him.

“Enough, Peter. Enough.”

“Daddy. Daddy,” Abby screamed, high-pitched and desperate. Kathryn struggled to hold the frantic child as she crouched to retrieve the gun. Its cold weight in her hand sent a chill down her spine. She passed it to Benjamin as she ran toward the door.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” she cooed to the little girl. “Everything’s okay now.” She ran down the stairs to get out of harm’s way.

How would anything ever be okay?

“Amy!” Peter’s hoarse scream floated down the stairs. “Amy, honey. It’s okay. Daddy’s here. Daddy’s here. Daddy won’t let anything happen to you. We’ll be together. I promise.”

Sirens sounded in the distance. Kathryn fought the emotions clawing at her throat. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she repeated, hoping the child was too young to recognize a lie.