proved that.
Settled back against his pillow, Gus proclaimed himself comfortable. Mac asked him if he needed anything. He’d planned to do more repair work on the exterior of the house. Checking on Gus every thirty minutes, of course.
“Sit and talk awhile.” Gus jerked his chin to indicate the chair next to the bed. “I won’t take much of your time.” He grinned as he glanced at the clock. “My game show comes on in ten minutes.”
Smiling back, Mac took a seat. He treasured this time with his father and was grateful to have it. It almost made up for the ten years lost—almost, but not really.
“So tell me, have you seen her yet?” Gus asked.
Even though they both knew who he meant, Mac considered feigning ignorance just to tease. But in the end, he simply nodded. “I have.”
“How is she? Still as pretty?”
Mac sighed. “Even more so. She didn’t really want to talk, to put it mildly. I let her know we were back in town, and that was about it.”
“I’m sorry, son.” Gus reached up and squeezed Mac’s arm. “I know how much you loved her.”
Loved. Past tense. Sometimes Mac wished that’s where his feelings could stay. But to hope such a thing was foolish. One glance at Hailey and he’d known that.
“Still do,” he confessed. “I’m hoping to get a second chance with her.”
“Glad to hear it.” Gus studied him, his gaze sharp as ever. “But don’t just hope. Act. Good things only come to those who work hard to get them.”
Hearing his father repeat the old adage Mac had heard growing up made him grin. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Now I’d better get to work. And you’ve got your game show to watch.”
Nodding, Gus clicked on the TV. Even as the opening music came on, his eyes were already drifting closed.
Getting up and moving quietly away, Mac left him alone to rest. He removed and replaced three back window screens before heading inside to check on his father. He found Gus sound asleep, the television still on.
Next up, Mac wanted to fix a leaky pipe under the sink in the guest bathroom. He spent the next several hours repairing small things, checking them off a long list he’d made.
Come lunchtime, Mac made a couple of sandwiches. He fixed both him and his dad identical plates, chips and a large dill pickle for both of them. After pouring two glasses of iced tea, he carried everything into the living room and loudly cleared his throat.
Startled, Gus opened his eyes and sat up. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing much. Just brought us a little lunch.”
Side by side, they ate. Once again, Gus pleasantly surprised Mac with his appetite. “You’re really eating well today,” Mac told him. He’d noticed some days were better than others.
Gus shrugged. “I’m hungry for some reason.” He covered his mouth with his hand and yawned. “But all this food makes me sleepy.”
“You go ahead and rest.” Gathering up the plates, Mac carried them to the kitchen. “I’ll check on you later.”
Yawning again, Gus nodded. When Mac glanced back on his way to the kitchen, his father was already asleep.
The rest of the day passed quickly. Mac kept busy, tackling all the smaller jobs first before he attempted the bigger ones. He’d gone inside to check on Gus and to fix himself a drink when Trudy Blevins, the lone reporter for the local radio station, showed up at the front door. She rang the bell, which only made a dry buzzing sound. Of course, this was one of the many things Mac needed to repair but hadn’t gotten around to yet.
When he answered, he stepped out on the porch, unwilling to let her inside. She identified herself, and he nodded, deciding not to tell her he remembered her from the time she’d given a talk on career day during his senior year in high school. She hadn’t aged that much since then.
“I guess you heard,” she began, clearly not wanting to waste any time on small talk. “Since the murder sort of coincides with you and your father’s return, I wanted to see if you had any comments you wanted to make. I work for the newspaper, too, and I’ve been receiving calls from some of the larger TV stations in both Dallas and Houston.”
“Are you kidding?” he asked, more out of shock than any real curiosity.
Trudy didn’t even crack a smile. Chewing gum so violently her dangly earrings swayed, she stared at him hard. “Nope.”
Now he was really glad he hadn’t invited her in. “My father is sick. Actually, he’s dying. While he’s not yet completely bedridden, he’s getting to where he can barely walk. It’s a major effort for him to make it to the bathroom. So if you’re out here fishing for some clue that would make you think he did it, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Oh, it wasn’t him I was curious about,” Trudy said. Something in the caustic tone of her voice should have warned him. “It was you. Like father, like son and all that. Continuing the tradition, are ya?”
If she’d been a man, he would have decked her. Instead, hands clenched into fists, he settled for turning around, stepping inside and closing the door in her smug, supercilious face.
“Who was that, son?” His father’s querulous voice trembled with the effort required to speak.
“Somebody selling magazines,” he lied one more time, since there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d have his dad worrying about this while struggling with the process of dying.
* * *
As usual, Hailey had the early evening news on while cooking dinner. The twins were up in their room, supposedly doing homework but probably using their shared cell phone to text friends. Eli had finished his schoolwork and had gone outside to ride his bike. And her mother had not yet roused herself enough to venture out of her bedroom.
Which meant when the news story came on, Hailey heard it alone.
Shock had her frozen as she listened, unable to move. The reporter’s words echoed inside her head, as if everything had slowed down to a crawl. Another. Murdered. Girl. Anniversary of Brenda’s death.
It had happened that morning. Suddenly, Hailey was fiercely glad she hadn’t watched TV or listened to the radio all day.
They showed the dead girl’s picture, culled from Facebook. Slender, her pert nose covered in freckles. Blond hair, blue eyes. She could have been Brenda’s twin.
Pain slammed into her, followed by disbelief. Not again, not again. How was it possible that such an atrocity had been allowed to reoccur after an entire decade had passed?
Finally she sucked in a gasp of air, then another. And then she remembered. Gus Morrison. Mac had brought him back to town. The killer had been freed, and he’d killed again.
Her surroundings spun as she battled to maintain her bearings. Though Mac had claimed his father was sick, the timing was just too awful to be a coincidence. Gus goes to prison and no more killings. Gus is released and
