Belle sat on the newly painted steps of the veranda at dusk sipping iced green tea, still reeling from Ally’s earlier phone call. Three-finger Phil’s DNA had come back a negative match. With no leads left for male DNA, Judy’s rapist was all but guaranteed eternal impunity.
She absently raked her fingers through Red’s coat, shaking wisps of fur into the air. The tea was supposed to relax her, as was calmly stroking the dog, but she was still stewing.
“I don’t get it, Red.” She held his face as she vented. “Do you know how many cold-case detective shows I’ve watched where something as microscopic as a carpet fiber ends up breaking a fifty-year-old case wide open?”
He licked her mouth, then directed his attention toward a couple of blue jays scuffling on the front lawn.
“Anyway, I appreciate you stopping by to check on me.”
She draped her arm around him and picked up her cell phone, muttering, “I’m hoping Karma’s real, and he’s receiving his in some Dante’s Inferno-type dimension of hell.”
She called Craig’s sister, Charlene, to give her the courtesy of letting her know how her lead about Phil had panned out.
“Oh, he’s alive, and you actually found him?” she asked.
“Yeah. That’s something, isn’t it? The investigators are top-notch.”
“That’s wonderful. Was he able to give you the information you were looking for?”
“Unfortunately, no. He’s pretty gone with Alzheimer’s. They were able to determine he isn’t the father of the deceased child, though.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought that’s what you were hoping to find.”
“It was, but it’s also essential to rule people out.”
“Yes, I suppose,” Charlene said.
Belle allowed the silence to linger for a moment as she gathered the nerve to ask Charlene her next and what would possibly amount to her last question.
“Charlene, would you mind if I ask you something personal—about your family?”
“Um, okay…”
“When I’d talked to your brother,” she said delicately, “some family issues came up. Craig said your parents had divorced because your dad drank and was abusive.”
“Yes, he was. Craig and my mom got the brunt of his violence. He was the oldest and always tried to defend our mom—and us. He’d make my little brother and me hide before Dad staggered into the house. Boy, there were never three kids happier about their parents divorcing than us when Mom was finally able to get away from him.”
“Your dad never beat you?”
“I didn’t say that. I got it once in a while, too, but I got other abuse, being a girl and all.”
Aha! That bastard. Belle was exhilarated at the possibility that she was about to solve the mystery all by herself grilling Charlene. She swallowed her exuberance and steadied her voice.
“Craig said that Judy didn’t like to go over to your house.”
“She came over a few times. But as a general rule, we never wanted friends over our house. The way we lived was too embarrassing.”
“Forgive me for asking this, Charlene, but did your father ever…sexually abuse you?”
“No,” she said emphatically. “No. He never did that.”
Belle wasn’t buying it. Charlene was denying the direct question reflexively out of humiliation, even after all these years.
“But you said he did different things to you, being a girl…”
“Oh, no. That isn’t what I meant. He wouldn’t punch me either, but he enjoyed doing other abusive things. He’d shove me around or throw his dinner plate full of food all over the kitchen and make me clean it. Or dump the kitchen garbage can on the living-room carpet for me to clean. Charming things like that. He was just a cruel, petty drunk toward me.”
Just. As if psychological torture was somehow less devastating.
“Charlene, do you think there’s any way the man Judy wrote about hurting her could’ve been your father?”
“You mean hurt as in molested?”
“Yeah.”
After a lengthy pause, she exhaled into the phone. “I honestly don’t think so, Isabelle, and it’s not that I’m trying to protect the man’s reputation. He’d destroyed that and our family name decades ago.”
“I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t offend you by asking that.”
“Don’t apologize. I’d never realized how common that was until I finally came to terms with what happened to me, thanks to a wonderful therapist and supportive husband. Only that wasn’t one of my father’s crimes.”
“Wait. Are you saying you were sexually abused, too, but not by your father?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “The bastard has to be dead by now, but my therapist helped me understand that my healing hadn’t been about him for a long time.”
“Was it another member of your family?”
“No, but he was someone I should’ve been able to trust.”
“They always are. Was it a priest? Was it Father McKeenan?”
“No, it wasn’t a priest,” she replied but made no offer to name the guilty party.
“Look, I know this must be uncomfortable to talk about, but was it someone Judy also knew?”
“Yes.”
“Charlene, who was it? He could’ve been Judy’s rapist and the baby’s killer. If he had kids, the cops can question them, get DNA samples from them.”
“A guy named Bobby Morgan. His father was a big deal.”
“Morgan? That was the sheriff’s last name. Was it the sheriff’s father?”
“No,” Charlene said coldly. “It was him.”
“Him? Him as in the former sheriff of Danville molested you?”
As she waited for Charlene’s reply, she stood as motionless as a mannequin, her mouth parted and her cell phone fixed to her ear.
“He’d only just got on as deputy at the time,” Charlene said, “But yeah. I heard he went on to become sheriff.”
Charlene had to be mistaken after all these years. She wanted her to be—for Ally’s sake. But deep down she knew Charlene wouldn’t be mistaken about an incident like that.
Belle inhaled slowly to gather herself before replying.
“That son of a bitch,” Charlene spat. “I hope he’s rotting in hell.”
“He may end up there eventually, but he’s not there yet. Not quite.”
“What do you mean ‘not quite’? You’re either dead or you’re not.”
“He’s in hospice now. It’s a matter of days, hours even. Who knows?”
“Please forgive my lack of empathy, but I hope his death is slow and painful.”
“No need to apologize,” Belle said. “From what I’ve heard, it is.”
It suddenly occurred to her that time was no longer their friend in this case. With Bob maybe having literally hours to live, how was she supposed to break this crushing news to Ally and convince her to convince the dying man’s wife they needed a sample of his DNA? Especially if it was to corroborate a claim of child sex abuse against him from over fifty years ago?
Sure. No sweat.
“Not that I’m doubting your credibility in any way, Charlene. The problem is I’ll have to drop this bomb on his colleague who’s investigating Judy’s case, a woman who’s been extremely close to him…You’re absolutely certain Bob Morgan was the man who molested you?”
“I know it was a long time ago, but I’ll remember that man and what he did to me—what he took from me—until the day I die.”
“Would you be willing to give a statement to the investigators if need be?”
“If I didn’t live in California, I’d go with you right now.”
Belle smiled at Charlene’s moxie. “If you didn’t live in California, I’d hug you right now.”
Charlene chuckled into the phone.
“Seriously though,” Belle said. “Thank you for sharing your story with me. This could make all the difference.”
“I hope it does, for Judy’s sake. And thank you for letting me. It’s even more freeing to talk about it openly and not in the confines of therapy. I guess I really have come to terms with it. Will you keep me posted on what happens?”
“Absolutely. Thank you again.”
She ended the call, her hands still shaking from Charlene’s stunning disclosure. She needed to tell Ally, but the mere thought of uttering those words to her left her mouth dry and pasty.
She picked up her cell. It was still hot from her conversation with Charlene. Should she call her or text to see where she was? She couldn’t tell her something like this over the phone. It would have to be done with sensitivity, in person. But then the look of horror on Ally’s face would be permanently seared into her brain. And she’d be the one who put it there.
She went to the freezer and pulled out a bottle of citrus vodka. After a shot that burned her throat like making snowballs with bare hands, she fixed herself a drink and sat at the island counter until she stopped trembling.
***
After some profound soul-searching and two stiff ones, Belle decided she needed more time to mentally prepare before enlightening Ally. They had dinner plans that evening with Chloe, and she wanted to enjoy them before bringing down the heavens on Ally and the rest of Danville.
Cradling a small arrangement of flowers in one hand, Belle tapped on the half-open door of Sheriff Bob’s hospice room before nudging it open. From her chair beside her husband’s bed, Shirley looked up from her needlepoint and smiled.
“Belle. How sweet of you to come by. Those are so lovely.”
Belle placed the bouquet on the rolling bedside tray. Shirley got up to hug her, then slid another chair beside hers.
Sheriff Bob was asleep. Or drugged. Or both. He looked pitiful—nothing like the uniformed public servant she’d first seen out and about several months earlier when she began working on the house. The disease and the attempts at a cure had ravaged him. His eyes were sunken in his skull beneath blueish, paper-thin lids, his body like a med-school cadaver dressed in plaid pajamas for a fraternity prank. He seemed barely alive as she studied his chest for the movement of breath. This was not at all the figure of a child-abusing monster, yet Charlene’s accusation against him pulsed with life.
With a DNA sample, it could be confirmed beyond question.
“Was Ally here?” Belle asked.
“Yes. You just missed her. She left about twenty minutes ago.”
Belle sucked at her teeth in feigned disappointment, but she’d known exactly when she’d left and had timed her own visit to ensure Ally wouldn’t be there when she arrived.
It was a morose errand on her part. After speaking with Charlene, she’d wanted to see Bob as the predator she’d portrayed him as, not through the filter of the kindly father figure Ally knew, the man who’d hurt one little girl in the most unspeakable way and possibly hurt another—maybe even murdered his own son.
She glanced side-eyed at Shirley as she thought such appalling things about her dying husband. So many more were tumbling into her mind.
They’d had one child, an adopted daughter, who wanted nothing to do with them as an adult. What had Shirley known about her husband’s predilections? Had he stopped messing with young girls after he’d married her? Or was his own daughter one of his victims and hanging out at a bar somewhere toasting to his terminal illness?
“Is there anything I can do for you, Shirley? Anything I can get?”
“Thank you, doll. We’re all set for now. How’s Chloe?”
“She’s good, busy getting her summer reading and math work done.”
“That’s right,” she said, finishing a stitch. “School will be starting before we know it. Bob always loved welcoming the kids back on the first day each year.”
I’ll bet he did, Belle thought, repulsed.
Bob coughed a little in his sleep, and Belle flinched.
“I better get him some more water.”
“I can go for you.” Belle sprang up from her chair.
“No. That’s okay.” Shirley laid her needlepoint aside. “I’d like to stretch my legs a bit and hit the ladies’ room while I’m up. Would you mind?” She motioned toward Bob as though releasing him into Belle’s care.
“Yeah, yeah, take your time,” she said, hoping Bob wouldn’t pick the precise moment his wife was gone to die.
When Shirley left the room, Belle tightened her stare on him. His lips moved. Was he about to speak? Make a deathbed confession? Should she have taken out her cell phone and started recording?
Nothing. It must’ve been a muscle spasm or something.
She glanced over her shoulder toward the hall, then pretending to look out the window by his bed, she leaned over him and uttered in a barely audible whisper, “You did it, didn’t you? You raped Judy and buried that infant. C’mon. Clear your conscience before it’s too late. It’s not like you’ll go to prison.”
If he was at all lucid, that statement would’ve roused him. Maybe it was too late after all.
Too late for a confession, but not too late for…
She eyed his water cup, then jerked her head toward the door when she heard the squeaks of sneakers on linoleum.
It was only a hospice volunteer passing by.
She exhaled, turned back toward the bedside tray table, and continued slogging her way through the moral quagmire she’d dove into headfirst.
Shirley would be back any minute. If Belle was going to snatch the straw from Bob’s cup, she needed to act immediately.
She slid the Ziploc Baggie out of her shorts and deposited the straw, holding it toward the bottom. She pinched the bag closed with her thumb and index finger, and stuffed it back into her pocket.
Whatever came of it from there, at least Belle had made every effort to do right by Judy, baby Ashford, and Charlene Wheeler. And anyone else who’d had the misfortune of being tainted by his evil.
She returned to her chair, her knee bouncing as she pretended to read a magazine, waiting for her opportunity to leave. As soon as Shirley returned, she’d be out of there to stash her plunder until she figured out how to approach Ally.
When she finally came around the corner, Belle leapt up, and the magazine flapped to the floor. “Well, I have to be going now. Are you sure there isn’t anything I can help you with?”
“Yes, dear. I’m fine, but it’s nice to know the offer is there. Thank you.” Still holding the plastic pitcher of water, she gave Belle a peck on the cheek. “Oh, what happened to Bob’s straw,” she said, more to herself.
Belle panicked for a second as Shirley glanced around the table, then the floor. It gave her an idea.
“Oh, um, I noticed it on the floor, so I threw it out. I’ll go get another one.” She bolted out without giving Shirley a chance to respond and returned with a new straw.
“Thank you again for taking time to visit with us,” Shirley said. “You’re a good neighbor, Isabelle.”
Belle managed a smile through her mounting guilt. How would she ever be able to look Shirley in the eyes again, especially if she was truly innocent of the knowledge of Bob’s secret pastime?
Then again, what if she wasn’t?
***
After dinner and a few games of pool that Belle had lost thanks to the residual angst from going behind Ally’s back and stealing Sheriff Bob’s DNA, they ended up back at Ally’s making s’mores around the fire pit. She’d wanted to broach the subject of Charlene with her since leaving the hospice, but when Chloe and her BFF, Emma, met them at Ally’s, Belle resigned herself to having to sit on the secret all night.
In the small yard, she watched the girls through the crackling fire when they toasted marshmallows and giggled as they mashed them between graham crackers. While Ally, sitting beside her, was maintaining a sepulchral vigil at the impending doom of her good friend, Chloe didn’t seem terribly fazed about losing the man Ally had once referred to as a grandfatherly influence in her life.
Now Belle recalled the time recently when Ally practically had to shame Chloe into visiting him before he’d gone into hospice.
She shook away the thought that Chloe could’ve been his last victim. Chloe seemed as normal and well-adjusted as any girl. Yes, she was moody and irritable at times, but what twelve-year-old girl wasn’t?
She then silently chastised herself. Not every victim of child sex abuse turned into a raging delinquent. Some suffered quietly living with the trauma. But if Bob had chosen her as his final victim, she would need intervention soon to address any long-term effects.
“Are you okay?” Ally asked. “You haven’t been yourself all night.”
“Really? Who have I been?” Belle replied with a smirk.
“Well, with your reticent, lost-in-the-wilderness demeanor, I’d say me of late.”
Belle turned to her with a concerned smile. “Yeah, that has been you lately.”
“I’m sorry. This waiting on the inevitable has me all knotted up inside.”
Belle rubbed Ally’s knee and smiled reassuringly, feeling like a fraud.
“And not that I have cause for lamentation, given what Bob and Shirley are going through,” Ally said, “but when I envisioned becoming sheriff, I’d assumed Bob would be by my side for a while ushering me in with fifty years’ worth of sage advice and colorful anecdotes about the job and the residents.
“Now here I am flying by the seat of my pants as everyone’s already begun mourning their beloved sheriff.”
“Oh, honey.” Belle grabbed her hand. “I can appreciate how intimidating it must be to try filling the shoes of the guy who’s been sheriff since Moses brought down the commandments, but you got this. You’re every bit as intelligent, capable, and dedicated to the job as he was—even more so, especially when it comes to integrity.”
Ally’s head whipped toward her. “Integrity? Why would you say that?”
Belle gulped. “Did I say integrity? I meant intelligence. I mean you have a degree in criminal justice, after all.”
“Back then they didn’t need one. Crime investigation was a lot different even twenty years ago.”
“But bad guys have always been bad guys. Some just had an advantage.”
“That’s true now, too.”
“And it doesn’t matter if they’re behind a cassock, a desk in the Oval Office, or a badge.”
“Belle, you’re being cryptic. If something’s on your mind, would you just say it?”
She exhaled and stared into the flames. The veil of heat was drying her lips and eyes. Yes, she had something on her mind, but it wasn’t the right time. Unfortunately, if she couldn’t switch off the anxiety of keeping that big of a secret from Ally, their night together would disintegrate into one replete with frustration and suspicion.
“I need a drink.” She jumped up from her chair. “Want one?”
“We had drinks at dinner, several, I might add. Why do you want more?”
Belle ignored her and went into the kitchen, not to be passive-aggressive, but because she truly was about to collapse under the pressure. Inside, she poured herself a small glass of bourbon over ice, filled the gully under her tongue, then sucked down a burning gulp.
“What’s going on with you, Belle?”
“Nothing. I just want a drink.”
“Don’t tell me ‘nothing.’ I know exactly what that word and that behavior mixed together mean.”
The look on Ally’s face devastated her—her eyes brooding and distrustful, her mouth twinging like an aging levee holding back a flood.
Belle grabbed one of Ally’s hands dangling helplessly at her side. “I can guarantee you it’s not what you think. Maybe we should take this iced tea out to the girls before they come in here for it.”
“Belle, if you’ve met someone or are having second thoughts about where this is going, please show me the respect to say it. I have neither the energy nor the desire for games of any kind.”
“What?” Belle cupped Ally’s face in her hands to calm her. “Honey, I swear to you that’s not at all what’s on my mind.” She kissed her passionately, a kiss that Ally hungrily returned.
“Are you sure?” Ally kissed her harder. “Do you promise?”
“Yes, yes, I promise.” Belle kissed her forehead, down the bridge of her nose, and squarely on the lips, sucking at them as though trying to inhale her essence. “Ally, I’m madly in love with you. I don’t want anything more than to be with you. That’s why I’m scared to tell you what I need to.”
“Honey, if it’s not a problem with us or your feelings for me, then you shouldn’t be scared to say anything. Just tell me.”
“It’s not something we should discuss with the kids around. Let’s wait till they go to bed. It has to do with the case.”
Ally scratched at her chin in apparent frustration. “In the future, you might want to lead with that instead of being all ‘cloak and dagger’ and practically giving me a fucking heart attack.”
“Well, keep your defibrillator handy. When you hear what I have to say, you’re gonna need it.”
With that, Belle polished off her bourbon and took a new pitcher of iced tea out to the girls on the patio.
Ally trailed closely behind. “Okay, girls. Fill up your glasses and go inside now. It’s getting late.”
“Late? It’s ten thirty,” Chloe said. “It’s so nice out. We want to stay and hang with you guys.”
Ally glanced at Belle. “The other nine hundred and fifty times I didn’t want them up in her room on their phones, and the one time I don’t mind…”
Belle had nothing to offer except a shrug and a knowing grin.
When the fire finally died out around eleven, the girls had lost interest in outdoor quality time with Chloe’s aunt. They said good night and disappeared up to Chloe’s bedroom.
Ally gave the sliding-glass door an extra push to make sure it was sealed and soundproof, then hunkered down next to Belle.
“Okay. Spill it.”
“All right, but you have to promise me you won’t kill the messenger.”
“I’m going to kill her if she doesn’t give me the goddamn message already.”
“I talked to Charlene earlier today. I wanted to thank her for giving us the lead on Phil’s last name even though he didn’t turn out to be our guy. While I had her on the phone, I figured I’d try to settle the question once and for all about whether her father was Judy’s molester. She was emphatic that it wasn’t him.”
“Of course she’s gonna say that. It’s her father.”
“No. I don’t think so. She has no loyalty toward him. She said he was a shit father but insisted he wasn’t a sex offender. She and her brother both strike me as sincere.”
“What did she say?”
“That she was molested as a kid, too, so I asked her if she remembered who it was.”
“And…”
Belle opened her mouth but had to shove the words out. “She said it was Sheriff Bob.”
“What?” Ally’s contorted face screamed disbelief, but not how could Bob do that. It was clearly that Charlene woman must be out of her fucking mind. “That can’t be. She has to be confusing him with someone else.”
“I don’t think so. She seemed to remember the incident with stark clarity.”
“What exactly did she tell you?”
“After I asked her if her father could’ve molested Judy, she brought up how she’d been molested, too. I asked if Judy also knew the guy, and she said yes. Then when I asked her who it was, she hesitated. She wasn’t comfortable blurting it out, so I basically had to drag it out of her.”
“And she said Sheriff Morgan?”
“No, she said Bobby Morgan. He wasn’t the sheriff back then.”
Ally paused, her mental gears evidently trying to grind out any plausible reason why Charlene could’ve been mistaken.
“Ally, this is the last news I’d ever want to break to you, but you can’t…”
“I can’t what, Belle?”
“You can’t just dismiss it because you know him.”
“I more than know him. I’ve worked side by side with him for twelve years. He and his wife have been like family to me.”
“I know that. Your love and admiration for him have been apparent since I met you. They seem like great people, but—”
“You know, the Wheelers were never model citizens. They had so many run-ins with the law. Hell, her father ended up in prison, partly thanks to Bob. You said Craig still carries a grudge against him for forcing him to get his life together.”
“He forced him away from Judy, which, in light of recent developments, seems like the more accurate version of the story.”
Ally exhaled and rested her forehead in her hand. Her silence weighed on Belle worse than the burden of betrayal.
“I’m sorry, babe.”
She didn’t respond to Belle’s sentiment or hand on her forearm.
“Ally, please say something.”
She turned toward Belle, her face a wall of dejection. “What could I say at this moment? I’m still trying to catch my breath. I need a little time to process this.”
Belle hadn’t been sure of what reaction to expect, but this one definitely wasn’t it. Why did she suddenly feel like they were on different teams? Why hadn’t Ally thanked her for the lead and promised she’d follow up on it like all the others?
She was going to—wasn’t she?
“Maybe I should leave you alone tonight, let you sleep on it.” Belle felt sad even suggesting it.
“That’s probably a good idea. Thanks.”
What? No, no, no, Belle wanted to shout. She wasn’t supposed to agree with her. She was supposed to say she needed her by her side, to make her feel better about doing the right thing.
“Are you going to try to get his DNA?”
She glared at her as though Belle had asked if she could have Bob’s car when he croaked. “He’s dying. He could’ve expired as we’re having this conversation. Please, just give me some time to digest this.”
Ally stood up, a blatant sign Belle was about to be swept out the door. Heartbroken, Belle stood facing her, silently pleading for Ally to change her mind, ask her to stay.
“Will you call me in the morning?” she asked.
Ally agreed but was irritatingly slow following her to the door.
It took all the self-restraint Belle had not to protest Ally’s emotional freeze-out. She kissed Ally’s lips, warm but unresponsive.
After a plaintive “good night,” she barely made it into her car before dissolving into tears.