He closed his eyes a moment, and I knew he was seeing everything he’d just described. It made me feel for him, for Wilder. Those weren’t the kinds of images anyone should have to see.
“The whole thing was tragic,” Garrison said finally, opening his eyes once more. “But the worst part was talking to the family. I’ll never forget the looks on their faces.”
George clucked her tongue, lip curling. “Way to take the fun out of it, Garrison.”
“Suicide isn’t fun, George. People, especially loved ones, shouldn’t be remembered that way.”
“So, it was pretty gruesome, right?”
In the face of George’s unfailing enthusiasm, Garrison had no choice. “Yeah,” he said, giving in. “Gruesome.”
“Was Wilder really covered in his sister’s blood? That’s what everybody says.”
His nod was solemn. “I’ve never seen anyone so devastated. He wouldn’t let go of her at first, like he couldn’t, holding Anne’s body to him, rocking her like you would a small child. When we got there, Jim had to help us pry her from Ethan’s grip.”
“Jim?” I asked, taken aback. “But George, I thought you said he was at church.”
She shrugged. “That’s what I heard.”
Alarms were going off in my head, persistent, loud ones that only got louder as Garrison continued.
“No,” he said with certainty, “Jim was on the scene when we got there. The whole family was.”
“Then, why didn’t you question him?” I was unable to keep the incredulous note out of my voice. Here was the missing piece I’d been looking for. “Why does everyone think Wilder killed his sister, when it could just as easily have been the reverend? How could the cops miss that?”
Garrison looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “We did, Delilah. The man was with his wife when it happened, went down to the gas station to pick up some milk.”
I scoffed. The story was straight out of one of George’s CSI episodes. If the whole “went for milk” excuse wasn’t a cover for something shady, I didn’t know what was.
“The cashier confirmed it—”
“Oh, and does that person happen to go to Mercy Hope?” From the look on Garrison’s face, the answer was a great big yes. “I knew it,” I mumbled.
“A lot of people do. That doesn’t mean they’re willing to lie for him. Besides,” he said judiciously, “it was a suicide, not murder.” He gave the paper another rude once over. “Don’t believe everything you read. He’s been through a lot, but Jim Wilder’s a good guy.”
“But Garrison, I really think he might’ve killed her.” It would explain so much: why Anne’s death was so peculiar, what had broken up Jim’s marriage, why Wilder was afraid to say anything to the police about his abuse. “I really think he might’ve. Garrison, he’s not as good as everyone thinks. He’s—”
“Stop it, Delilah. You can’t just go around accusing people.”
“I think he might be abusing, Ethan,” I insisted. “George, tell him. You’ve seen the bruises.”
“Well, yeah…” she said uncertainly.
“See?” I said.
“Delilah,” Garrison said, “you need to stop.”
“Come on, Garrison. If he hits his kid, it’s not so big a stretch to think—”
“I said stop it!”
Garrison hardly ever yelled, least of all at me. So when he did, it always managed to do two things simultaneously: shut me up on the spot and hurt my feelings like nothing else. He was one of the only male figures in my life, so whenever he blew up like that, it felt like a betrayal.
Turning away, I made myself busy, concentrating on next week’s orders, hiding my face and my feelings. Hopefully, Garrison would just leave.
“Delilah?” His voice didn’t sound angry anymore. “I’m sorry, okay? But really, you can’t go around making that kind of accusation without proof.”
“Okay,” I said, back still to him. “You can go now, Garrison.”
“Jerk,” George said and rushed around the counter to my side.
“Excuse me?” he said. “You can’t speak to me like that. I’m a police officer.”
“I don’t care if you’re the President,” George snarled. “You’re still a jerk.”
Ronnie talked over Garrison’s stammering. “You didn’t have to be so mean, you know.”
“I really am sorry, Delilah.” Garrison was pleading now.
“Sorry about what?” Aunt B walked up, munching on a sugar cookie. “What’d you do this time, Garrison?”
“He made Delilah cry,” George said.
“No, he didn’t.” My voice did sound off, but I was far from crying. Garrison hadn’t wanted to listen to me, just accepted the reverend’s innocence like everyone else. Disappointed, I said, “If you’ve got everything Officer, I think you’d better leave.”
“But Delilah—”
“You heard the girl.” Aunt B gestured to the door. “Go on now, Garrison. I’m sure there’s someone out there doing something illegal. Best if you go catch them, and give us all a chance to cool off.”
Garrison tried to catch my eye, but I resolutely ignored him until he sighed and left.
“Why don’t you take some time to recoup?” Aunt B said, pushing me over to a booth that’d just opened. “Things’ll look better tomorrow. Meanwhile, I’ve got George and Ronnie to help run the shop, right?”
My two best friends nodded, and they left me there to get myself together. Aunt B was right, of course. There’d be time for reconciliations later, but right now, I needed to think.
Jim Wilder had been there.
He could’ve easily killed his daughter, and though he abused him, Wilder might’ve never known. Shipping him off to the uncle was just a precaution. What I couldn’t understand was why. Why kill her? What had Anne done? What could be so terrible that it pushed him to go from abuser to murderer?
Or maybe I was looking at it the wrong way.
I went back and grabbed the Telegraph and my bag, digging around until I found what I’d been looking for. I’d been carrying the Mercy Hope memory book around, hoping for inspiration to strike, and finally it had.
I opened the book to the photo of the Wilders, looked at Anne and…yes, there it was.
She was wearing the same promise ring in that photo as she was in the Telegraph.
How had I missed that?
I turned to the S.C.A.L.P. photo, lay the Telegraph beside it, and sat back. There was no doubt now. I’d bet a million dollars that the smudge-faced guy standing next to Anne was Dave Diamond. I’d been asking the wrong question because I’d been thinking about it too rationally.
The question I should’ve been asking was: What would Reverend Jim Wilder think was so terrible, so completely unforgiveable, that he’d kill his own daughter?
My heart was pounding like I’d just run a 5k. It’d been Bruce’s words paired with George’s comment about promise rings being like “chastity belts” that finally made me get it. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before. Everywhere I looked someone was talking about S.C.A.L.P., how important it was to maintain your virtue, to “live pure.”
But, according to Bruce, Anne Wilder and Dave Diamond had been “hot and heavy.” If Reverend Jim found out that his baby girl was having sex, there’s no telling how he’d react. Bruises you could hide, but it was a lot harder to cover up a baby bump. That would explain why she was shot in the stomach, not the head. It had always bothered me. To really make it look like a suicide, he should’ve shot her in the head. Jim had probably wanted to erase any signs of the baby. If there was anything left, he could’ve convinced his wife and the doctors not to say anything. Maybe that’s why Pearl left him. Maybe Ethan had no idea what his father had done.
And maybe Dave really had killed himself. I mean, how many people actually die by train? Maybe he’d been so distraught about losing his one true love and the unborn baby that he’d decided to take his own life.
I swallowed, realiz
ing the implications this might have if it turned out to be true. An unplanned pregnancy, a reputable Holy Roller who’d lost his daughter to sin, a murder covered up as a suicide. I could be making something out of nothing, seeing connections that weren’t there, but…it all fit. And more than that, it felt right.
Now, the big question was: Who would believe me?
CHAPTER 21
Wilder wasn’t at school Monday.
Tuesday, absent again.
George convinced me to wait until Wednesday before doing anything rash. She’d talked to Barbara Jean in the front office, and the official excuse for Wilder’s absences was that he was sick. His father had called it in.
By the third day, I’d reached my limit. Maybe if I’d seen him at the music store it would’ve been different, but he wasn’t there either. Doc had bought the sick excuse like everyone else. Of course, if that’s what Jim Wilder said, it just had to be true. But I had to see for myself.
The final bell rang, and I raced to my car, pulling out before anyone else, driving past the bakery to a place I’d only been once before. I remembered the way. Even though it’d been dark and raining, I found Wilder’s house easily, no wrong turns, as if I’d been driving there for years. Considering the number of times I’d made the trip in my mind, it made sense.
I passed Mae’s now empty house, and pulled into the Wilder’s driveway. Walking past the white fence, ignoring the feeling that I shouldn’t be there, I reached out and rang the bell. Even if Wilder wasn’t talking to me, I needed to know he was okay. If he got upset, he got upset. I was prepared for that, willing to take the humiliation as long as it meant I got to make sure, absolutely sure, he was alive and well.
After a few moments, I pressed the button again.
My finger was itching; I couldn’t seem to stand still. I’d been twitchy since I’d put all the pieces together. Now that I was here all I wanted to do was see him. I was about to ring again when I heard the sound of the lock, watched the knob turn. The door slowly opened, and a second later I was standing face to face with Wilder.
Just not the Wilder I’d expected.
“Good afternoon,” the reverend said, smiling. “What brings you all the way out here, Delilah Doherty?”
“Oh nothing,” I said, quick to recover. Jim Wilder was still using the cane, but he looked much better than he had at the church. It’d been a few days, so that was only natural. Still, the sight of him looking so strong didn’t inspire much confidence. “I came to drop off Ethan’s homework. We have Chemistry together.”
I mentally scoffed at the lie. As if Rapier would go to the trouble of assigning homework.
Jim Wilder lifted an eyebrow. “Well, that was very kind of you. I’m sure Ethan will appreciate the thought.” He held out his hand, waiting, I realized belatedly, for the non-existent homework. When I just stood there, he said, “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure he gets it.”
“Can I see him?” I forced myself not to take a step back. I didn’t want Jim Wilder’s hands anywhere near me.
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “Ethan’s not well, Delilah. I wouldn’t want you to get sick. Maybe you could just give me the homework?”
“I’d really like to see him.” The words came out harder than I’d intended. I tried to look past Jim Wilder into the house, but his body was in the way, blocking my view.
The reverend dropped his hand. “I’m sorry, but that’s just not possible. My son is sick. He can’t see anyone right now.”
“I don’t care if he’s sick. I’d really like to see him.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll tell Ethan you stopped by.”
And then, he started to close the door.
I’d never moved faster in my life. My hand was pressed against the wood before he could shut it more than an inch. Jim Wilder looked surprised. I was surprised myself, but that didn’t stop me from saying what I did next.
“No, sir, I’m sorry.” Why wouldn’t he let me see him? “But I’m not leaving until I make sure Wilder’s alright. You might as well just give in.”
At first, the door remained frozen, simply lying there between Jim and me like he wasn’t trying to shut me out. But when I stopped speaking, he started shoving again, a persistent force against my palm that I matched, push for push.
“Now, young lady, I don’t know what you think you’re doing.” His voice had risen, taking on the outright authority he used in his sermons, but I wouldn’t be scared off. “Let go of this door right now.”
“Not until I see Wilder.”
“I told you: He’s not well.”
“I don’t believe you.” My voice rose to match his, more out of fear than bravery. I knew something wasn’t right. “What’d you do to him, huh? Where is he?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Where is he?” To my dismay, I felt tears filling my eyes. He’d done something to Wilder. I’d known he would. God, why hadn’t I come sooner? Why hadn’t I told someone my suspicions?
“You get out of here right now!”
“No,” I cried as he succeeded in closing the door another couple inches. My strength was failing. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold on. “Wilder! Wilder!”
Even with his injury, Jim was stronger than me. “Stand back before you hurt yourself.”
“Dad?” I stopped struggling at the sound of Wilder’s voice. As he came into view and looked over his father’s shoulder, he caught sight of me and frowned. “What’s going on?”
Jim Wilder threw up both hands, pointed his cane in my direction. “This young lady came to see you, but when I told her you were sick, she tried to force her way into the house. Apparently”—his voice was indignant —”she was under the impression I’d done something unpleasant to you.”
Yes, I thought, murder is usually unpleasant. I didn’t say it out loud though. My voice was temporarily out of commission, my brain trying to adjust to the fact that Wilder was still breathing.
As he shouldered past Jim, I heard him say, “Go inside, Dad. I told you I’m feeling better. I’ll be back in after I see what she wants.”
“Don’t be out here long. Remember what I said: Appearances matter, son,” the reverend muttered before shutting the door, but I couldn’t care less.
Wilder was alive. He was standing next to me, a little red-nosed but beyond that looked completely fine. His eyes, the ones I had thought only moments before that I’d never see again, were staring at me, confusion warring with what looked like concern.
We stood there silent, simply looking at each other, until Wilder finally spoke.
“Doherty?” he said cautiously. “Is everything okay?”
I threw myself at him. I couldn’t help it. My arms were around his neck before I knew what was happening. It was a completely unconscious decision, pure reflex. Something inside me had snapped at the sound of my name, and then I was hugging him, holding on as if he might disappear.
“I was…” I could barely get the words out; my throat was tight with emotion. “I was so scared. I thought...”
“You thought what?”
Drawing air into my lungs, I clung tighter. “I thought you were gone. I was afraid he’d hurt you.”
I felt Wilder tense beneath my hands. “Well, he didn’t.”
That’s when I noticed he wasn’t hugging me back. Stepping away slowly, I released my hold on him. If his voice was impassive, his face gave nothing away. The only hint that he felt anything at all was the war playing out behind his eyes.
“I’m glad,” I said.
“What are you doing here?”
The question stung. “I came for you. Just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
He shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“Yes,” I said. “I can see that.”
“So, I guess you’ll be leaving.” He turned away. With his back to me, he added, “I’ll be in school tomorrow. You won’t need to come here again.”
I knew what he was really
saying. He didn’t want me showing up again. But Wilder couldn’t make me stop caring about him. I couldn’t make myself stop.
“I’ll see you later,” I promised, ignoring the clear dismissal.
“No. You won’t,” he said. “I don’t work for Doc anymore.”
“Wh—?”
“Bye, Doherty.”
“Hey, Wilder.” Just as the door was closing, he stopped, turned to face me. “If you need anything, anything, let me know, okay?”
He was on the verge of throwing me out. The discussion I’d had earlier with his father ended similarly. But I needed to tell him, let him know that no matter how much he tried to push me away I would always be there, on his side, ready to help if he’d only let me.
He shook his head, an unhappy smile forming on his lips. “You can’t help me, Doherty. No one can.”
The door closed with a firm click.
I blinked. What was that supposed to mean?
A second later I was pounding on the door.
Wilder answered, opening it no more than a crack. As if he was afraid I’d try to break it down or something—which considering the state I was in probably wasn’t out of the question. I’d gone from overwrought to relieved to overwrought again in the space of ten minutes, but now I was just plain irritated.
“What does that mean, ‘You can’t help me, Doherty’?” I threw the words back at him like the nonsense they were. “Listen Wilder, I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know who you’re protecting, but it’s definitely not yourself. If you don’t care about you, then who will? Somebody’s got to look out for you, and if that somebody’s me so be it.”
That got no response.
“Why can’t you just tell me?” I shook my head. “You know I wouldn’t say anything. Don’t you get it, Wilder? Caring about you wasn’t a choice for me. I just do. You can trust me, you know. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
Wilder didn’t say a word.
The Unbelievable, Inconceivable, Unforeseeable Truth About Ethan Wilder Page 22
