After Dark

by Beverly Barton

  “You stay right where you are and I’ll come over immediately,” Will said.

  “No, no. You must meet me in the garden. I don’t want anyone to know you’re here. And you must promise me that you won’t tell Lane that you’re coming to see me. This must be our little secret.”

  “All right. I’ll meet you in the garden in a few minutes.”

  “Thank you, darling. I knew my baby boy would come to me if I needed him.”

  Manipulating Mary Martha had been easy. Planting a few seeds was all that had been necessary for them to take root in her fertile imagination. Just hinting that Kent was still alive and that he wanted to see Will achieved the sought-after goal. Will knew who murdered Kent, even if that memory was temporarily suppressed. They thought they were so smart. They believed that no one knew about the Chicago psychiatrist. But there were ways to find out whatever a person needed to know. Apparently Will had not regained his memory of that day—that hot, humid afternoon when a drunken Kent had finally met his fate.

  Johnny Mack posed a threat, one that still existed. Trying to kill him had been an irrational, emotional decision. Acting on impulse had been stupid. Will posed the greatest danger. If at all possible, the boy had to be dealt with tonight. Killing Will would upset Mary Martha, but perhaps a way could be found to protect her. After all, there were times when she believed that Kent was still alive, so maybe she could be convinced that Will had simply been sent away and would one day return.

  Ah, there they are now—Mary Martha and Will. In the garden. Talking.

  You must play things by ear. Wait and watch. And when the opportunity arises, take it. Strike quickly and then hide the evidence.

  They’re on the move, going down the pathway that leads toward the river. Follow them. Stay a discreet distance behind.

  Ah, that’s it, Mary Martha, lead him away from the house. Get him close enough to the river and I can drown him.

  Dammit, they’re stopping by the tool shed! Hide and listen. Find a way to distract Mary Martha, then kill Will.

  “I tell you, your father is alive.” Mary Martha gripped Will’s hands in hers. “He always liked to play games. Naughty little games. They were our secret. But I can tell you about them. You’re my baby.” She reached up and caressed his face. “Mine and Kent’s baby.”

  “Aunt Mary Martha, think about what you’re saying. Kent was your brother. I’m your nephew.”

  “You’re not my nephew. That’s what they wanted me to believe, but I knew better. They told me my baby was dead, but you’re not dead, Will. You’re alive.”

  Did she honestly believe that Will was her baby? Had she lived in that crazy, delusional world for so long that she would never return to reality? Maybe believing Will was the child that she had aborted fifteen years ago comforted her and allowed her moments of sanity. If that were the case, then how would she react to his death?

  It can’t be helped.

  If only Will didn’t have to die. But he did. There was no other choice. He couldn’t be allowed to remember. The murders and attempted murders were adding up. Such a shame. But a person did what a person had to do. In the name of love.

  “You must help me find your father,” Mary Martha said. “Then the three of us can be together for ever and always.”

  “I’m going to take you back to the house,” Will told her as he clasped her hand. “We’ll find Grandmother and—”

  She jerked away from him and ran toward the side door of the old brick building, which had once been a carriage house. “He may be hiding in the tool shed. We used to play down here when we were children. And later on, we came here to be alone. We’d play games and…I’ll bet he’s waiting inside for us.”

  Will chased Mary Martha and caught up with her just as she reached the door. “Let me go inside and see if Kent’s here, and if he’s not, then we’ll go back to the house and talk to Grandmother.”

  “All right,” she readily agreed. “But I’m sure he’s in there. Waiting for us.”

  Now was the opportunity to strike. The carriage entrance was at the front of the shed. Just go in that way. While Mary Martha waits for Will at the side door.

  Dark and dank and creepy. A ramshackle old building that should have been demolished years ago. The only illumination came from the two open doors. Will was making a great show of searching for Kent. Playing games with his aunt. Pacifying her. The boy had always been kind to Mary Martha. Such a pity he had to die.

  Being prepared always paid off. The small iron rod picked up out of the garbage made a perfect weapon. Creeping slowly, quietly. Don’t breathe. Don’t make a sound. Strike. Now!

  Ah, that had been easy. The boy lay on the ground, unconscious. Can’t leave him here. Don’t have time to bury the body. But they’ll search for him. Can’t leave him uncovered.

  “Will, is he there? Is Kent in there with you?” Mary Martha called from outside the shed. “Does he want me to come in or are y’all coming out?”

  How to hide the body? Glancing around, up and down and—that’s it. Above. The old rowboat hanging from ancient ropes attached to the ceiling.

  “Will, why don’t you answer me?” Mary Martha asked.

  Hurry. Can’t waste time. She’ll come in here and find him. Cut the ropes. Let the hull fall on top of him and cover his body.

  Grabbing hold of Will brought a startling revelation. The boy wasn’t dead!

  “If you don’t answer me right this minute, I’m coming in there. Do you hear me, Will?” Mary Martha warned.

  Where was that damn iron rod? Dropped somewhere on the floor. But where? No time to find it.

  Rags. Dirty rags in the wheelbarrow. Hog-tie and gag the boy. Hide him away and come back later to finish the job.

  Quickly. Do it quickly. Take those rusty old hedge shears and cut through the ropes that hold the wooden boat to the ceiling. We’re far enough away from the house that no one, except Mary Martha, will hear. Once it’s done, then you can deal with her.

  Chapter 25

  “Will isn’t here, Lane,” Edith said. “What made you think he came over here tonight?”

  “He left us a note saying that he was going to see Mary Martha.”

  “Why did he have to leave a note? Where were you?”

  “Johnny Mack and I took a walk, and when we returned to the house, we found Will’s note on the kitchen table.” Lane glanced over her shoulder at Johnny Mack, who stood directly behind her. “We’ve been home over an hour and Lillie Mae’s back from her prayer meeting. It’s dark outside now and I’m worried. If he’s not there with y’all, then where is he?”

  “I have no idea, but I can assure you that I haven’t seen him tonight, but…” Deep breath.

  “But what? Dammit, Edith, if you know where Will is—”

  “I don’t know where he is, but it is possible that he was with Mary Martha tonight. You see…well, she got away from Mrs. Bryant, her new nurse. As soon as I can find a replacement, I’m firing that incompetent creature. She dozed off to sleep after supper and didn’t realize Mary Martha was gone.”

  “I assume you found Mary Martha. Is she all right?” Lane asked.

  “We found her in the backyard, several feet outside the garden. She was totally incoherent. She kept rambling about Kent. James helped me get her back into the house, and Mrs. Bryant gave her an injection.”

  “Do you think Will could have been with her?”

  “I don’t know, but I suppose it’s possible. However, I don’t think he would have left her outside alone, do you?”

  Lane bit down on her bottom lip. Of course not. Will would have taken care of Mary Martha. “No, he wouldn’t have left her.”

  “Perhaps he changed his mind about coming over here and decided to take a walk himself. Have you checked the yard or—”

  “Johnny Mack has covered the entire yard.”

  “You’re seriously worried about him, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am.” Lane took a deep breath. “If Will sho
ws up at your house, would you please have him call me immediately.”

  “Certainly. And when he comes home, let me know.” Edith paused. “I realize Will’s not my grandson, but I still care deeply for him.”

  “Yes. I know. Thank you.” Lane replaced the receiver and turned into Johnny Mack’s waiting arms. “They haven’t seen him.”

  “What good is that policeman sitting out there in his car”—Lillie Mae inclined her head toward the front of the house—“if Will can just up and disappear like that?” She snapped her fingers.

  “The man’s probably asleep, just the way Mary Martha’s new nurse was when she sneaked away from her.” Lane left Johnny Mack’s arms and began pacing the floor. Where was Will? Had something happened to him? Had the killer somehow discovered that Will’s memory was returning?

  “We know that someone from Miss Edith’s house phoned Will.” Johnny Mack pointed to the caller ID on the telephone. “My guess is that Mary Martha called him.”

  “He never refuses her when she asks for him.” Lane stopped pacing. “If he didn’t go to see Mary Martha, where is he? What could have happened to him?”

  “I think we should get that policeman in here and he can call for help,” Lillie Mae said.

  “I agree,” Johnny Mack said. “I’d like the idea of involving the police better if Buddy Lawler wasn’t the chief, but we need help searching for Will. And we need it now.”

  “Go get him,” Lane said. “Please. We have to do something. I’m slowly going out of my mind.”

  When Johnny Mack headed for the front door, Lillie Mae grabbed Lane’s hand and squeezed.

  No way to finish the job. Not with Johnny Mack and Lane snooping around along the row of shrubbery that separated the Graham and Noble estates. Don’t fret. Nobody’s going to find Will. Mary Martha’s in no condition to tell anyone that she saw him tonight. And when she comes to herself, she probably won’t remember anything. Even if she does, you can always chalk her accusations up to her mental condition. Just say she had to be imagining things. But if she tells them that Will is in the old carriage house, they might look. You must return and get Will before morning. Kill him and toss him into the river. And if you’re lucky, his body won’t ever be found.

  Dawn spread across the eastern horizon in a glorious pink light. People milled around on the grounds of the adjoining Noble and Graham estates. Police officers. Sheriff’s deputies. Neighbors. Everyone taking part in the search for Will. Lane hugged her arms around her waist as the cool morning breeze wafted up from the river. Johnny Mack glanced at her, and it was all he could do not to rush to her and take her into his arms. They had spent endless hours scouring the neighborhood together, neither of them concerned about their own welfare, caring only about their son. If anything had happened to Will, he didn’t think Lane could bear it. Her whole world had revolved around her son for the past fourteen years. She had sacrificed so much for Will. It wouldn’t be fair to her or to him or to Will, if—No, dammit! He couldn’t think that way. He couldn’t allow himself to believe the worst.

  Will is alive, he kept telling himself. He cannot be dead!

  “We’re bringing in the bloodhounds,” Sheriff Larry Carroll said. “I offered to bring ’em in earlier, but Buddy thought we could locate the boy without using ’em.” Larry removed his cap and scratched his glistening bald head. “Sure does have me stumped. We found footprints in the mud all over the place, and we’ve searched the grounds here at the Grahams’ and over at the Noble place, too; but we haven’t found a clue to help us find Will. It’s as if he just up and disappeared. Poof.”

  “lf we don’t find him by morning, we’ll call in some divers and search the river behind Magnolia Avenue,” Sergeant T. C. Bedlow interrupted.

  “Will you keep your voice down,” Johnny Mack said. “Will’s mother is right over there, and the last thing she needs is to hear speculation that Will’s body might be in the river.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Cahill.” T. C. looked downright embarrassed. “I sure don’t want to upset Miss Lane. We all think highly of her, you know, despite her being accused of Kent Graham’s murder.”

  Before Johnny Mack could respond, he heard a series of mournful howls, the low, throaty yelping of hunting dogs. One of the sheriff’s deputies handled the leashed pack with expert ease.

  “There’s them dogs now,” Larry Carroll said. “That bunch is the best trackers around. They belong to Old Man Farlan. If Will is anywhere around these parts, they’ll sniff him out.”

  “We’ll need something that belongs to the boy,” T. C. said. “How about I ask Lillie Mae to fetch us a piece of Will’s clothing. We don’t need to bother Miss Lane.”

  “Fine,” Johnny Mack agreed.

  When he noticed Buddy Lawler talking to Lane, he excused himself and hurried over to her. Buddy had been on the scene all night, issuing orders and sending out groups who had gone from door to door throughout the areas closest to Magnolia Avenue.

  “I’m sorry that Mary Martha hasn’t been any help to us,” Buddy said. “She got so hysterical when Miss Edith questioned her about Will a little while ago that her nurse had to give her another sedative.”

  “Poor Mary Martha.” Lane glanced up when she saw Johnny Mack approaching, then held out her hand to him.

  “Buddy, Sheriff Carroll tells me that you asked him to wait about bringing in the bloodhounds. Why did you want to wait?” Johnny Mack grasped Lane’s hand and pulled her to his side.

  “I felt certain we could find Will without using those damn yapping dogs. And”—he glanced meaningfully at Lane—“I was concerned that Lane would believe we thought Will was dead if we brought in the hounds.” Buddy removed a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his face. “Damn hot for a September morning.”

  Ignoring Buddy altogether, Lane leaned against Johnny Mack. “I don’t know how much more of this waiting I can stand. Something terrible has happened to Will or we would have found him by now.”

  Johnny Mack hugged her close, then bent to kiss her check. “Don’t you give up hope. We’re going to find Will…find him alive. And when I discover who’s responsible for whatever’s happened to him, there’s going to be hell to pay.”

  If only he had hired bodyguards for Will, Lane and himself immediately upon his release from the hospital. Yeah, if only. But then hindsight was always twenty-twenty. Why he ever thought that the police in a Podunk hick town like Noble’s Crossing could offer substantial protection, he didn’t know. If Will was dead, if the killer had murdered again, Johnny Mack knew he would never forgive himself.

  Suddenly the tracking hounds bayed as if they had trapped their quarry. Deep, prolonged wailing. The kind of howling that chilled the blood. Lane clutched the front of Johnny Mack’s shirt. He soothed her with strokes across her back.

  “Do you think they’ve found Will?” Her anxious gaze met Johnny Mack’s, hope and fear warring within each of them.

  “Maybe.”

  “Let’s go see what they’ve found.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him with her as she broke into a run.

  The howls came from the far side of the Graham estate. Lane and Johnny Mack, along with most of the searchers, both lawmen and civilians, rushed toward the sound. Within minutes, they reached the old carriage house, used as nothing more than a tool and storage shed for the past fifty-some-odd years. The pack of hounds strained on their leashes at the carriage entrance of the dilapidated building.

  “The boy must be in there,” Larry Carroll proclaimed. “Them dogs aren’t ever wrong.”

  “But the carriage house has been searched,” Buddy Lawler said. “I checked it myself and there’s nobody in there.”

  “You must have missed a spot,” Larry said. “If Old Man Farlan’s dogs have tracked Will Graham here from the scent off that shirt Lillie Mae gave us, then you can bet your next week’s paycheck that the boy’s in there somewhere.”

  Buried in the carriage house? The unthinkable went through Johnn
y Mack’s mind. God, please! Not for my sake, but for Lane’s. Don’t let our son be dead.

  “Open the doors,” Larry shouted. “Take the dogs inside. They’ll pinpoint the spot for us.”

  Johnny Mack restrained Lane. “Why don’t you stay out here with Lillie Mae and let me go inside and see—”

  “No! I’m going with you.”

  “Lane, honey…”

  “Please, don’t try to stop me.”

  As he wrapped his arm around Lane’s shoulders, he caught a glimpse of Miss Edith standing beneath a nearby oak tree, a look of sincere concern on her face. Despite herself, the old bitch actually cared about Will.

  “There, under that rowboat,” T. C. Bedlow said. “The dogs have stopped right by it.”

  After surrounding the boat, several men lifted the mildewed, rotting hull, while the sheriff’s deputy held tightly to the dogs’ leashes. Lane gripped Johnny Mack’s hand so tightly that her nails bit into his flesh. Swallowing hard, he prayed, prayed harder and more fervently than he ever had. He pleaded with God for his son’s life, instead of cursing the Lord the way he had when Buddy Lawler had dumped him in the Chickasaw River fifteen years ago.

  “Look there!” T. C. cried.

  “Good God Almighty.” Sheriff Carroll shoved aside several onlookers. “Miss Lane, come here. We’ve found your boy, and by the way he’s squirming around, I’d say he’s alive.”

  “I’ve told you a hundred times, Buddy, that I didn’t see who hit me over the head.” Will sat on the edge of the examining table in the Samuel Noble Memorial Hospital emergency room.

  “I don’t mean to upset you, son, but somebody tried their best to kill you last night and it’s my job to find out just who that was.” Buddy puffed out his chest. “Already looks bad that my department hasn’t found out who shot Johnny Mack. How’s it going to look if we can’t find the person who tried to kill you?”

  “I’d say if you find one, you’ll find the other,” Johnny Mack commented.