“No! I never argued with her, other than on my lunch break. Not after I stopped by the house to check on the kids.” Pauline’s hands clenched and unclenched, sweat beaded on her lip. But her eyes remained on Miranda. Almost fixed.
“Pauline, once we speak to Mon—Diane, it’ll be hard for me to remember that name. Wasn’t it her middle name? No. That was Daphne. She always loved the fact that she had the same initials as my sisters, cousins, and me. Said she wished my grandmother would take her in, too.” Monica had always made a big deal—sometimes embarrassingly so—about how Miranda’s grandmother hadn’t had to take her and her sisters—or her cousins—in after their mother had died. That they were just living on her good graces.
Miranda had never understood it. Not back then.
Now she had an inkling why. No doubt that same sentiment had been pounded into her head from the time she was a small child. “Did your mother routinely hit your children?”
They knew she had. Both Luke and Lesley had made that very clear.
Luke had the scars to prove it.
He had freely admitted to shoving his grandmother down. Miranda had called Nate Masterson and confirmed with him, and with Dr. Stephenson back at PAVAD, that the injury to Helen’s forehead could have occurred in the manner Luke had described.
Both agreed it was possible. And that it wasn’t fatal. Nowhere near.
The first injury to her forehead hadn’t caused her death. Technically, neither had the second blow. Being buried alive had.
“Pauline, we know you were there. We know you argued with your mother. Tell us what happened next. Or we’re going to charge you with murdering your mother. It’s just a matter of time until we get the story from everyone else. If you know more than you are saying, now’s the time to spill, before it gets really bad for you.”
“It wasn’t me! I argued with her, yes. Told her never to put one of her filthy hands on my kids again. What would you have done if she’d gone after your little boy with a piece of stainless steel? Beating him because he was sick, ridiculing him for puking. Kids puke when their sick. But she didn’t care. I think she wanted to kill him that day. Probably would have, too.”
“What stopped her? Luke knocking her down? We know he’s responsible for the first head injury, but who wrapped your mother in a half-sewn quilt so tightly thread sliced through her arms as she fought to escape the soil heaped on top of her? Who? Did you kill your mother?”
The lawyer refused to let her answer after that. Miranda mentally shrugged. They’d find the answers they sought, one way or another. But one thing was absolutely certain—Pauline knew exactly what had happened to Helen.
Miranda had other ways to get the answers she needed.
58
Miranda knew what they were doing was a major gamble. But with the fourteen years that had passed since Helen’s death, memories had grown convoluted and incomplete. Especially when the ages of the younger children were considered.
She was ninety-nine percent certain the people in the room now were innocent of Helen’s death. They just had to tie up all the loose ends.
It bugged her that they hadn’t been able to find Monica. Miranda liked details, liked things tied up. She didn’t like these kinds of loose ends.
Miranda took the seat at the head of the conference table. It was a position of power, and she understood the psychology behind it. Knight stood at her immediate left. She almost smiled at the enforcer position.
Max took up a position by the door, along with Joel. Clint stood by the window, taking the position next to Jac, who had taken the seat on Miranda’s left. He’d attached himself to Jac, almost, since the attack on his home. No wonder. Jac and Maggie Tyler not only favored each other physically but had similar personalities. Jac was doing what she could to help him through this, too. She had a soft heart and was very empathetic for those she knew were hurting.
They had Luke, Olivia, Marnie and Kayla, and their father. Lesley would be joining them from the county jail shortly. Pauline, on advice of her attorney, had refused to say anything else. Luther’s younger child, a girl named Megan, was in school for the day. She hadn’t even been born, so they didn’t need to speak with her. She was only thirteen.
Miranda had two priorities—confirm that Pauline was in the barn with her mother and find Monica. Monica had been home before Lesley that day. Luke had been hiding beneath his bed, but Monica had been in the center of the action. And had been old enough to be a credible witness. If they could get her to talk.
Monica could hold the key to everything.
It was her mother they wanted her to roll over on. That probably wouldn’t go over well.
They were banking on the people in the room not knowing what had happened to Pauline yet.
“Thank you for coming here today,” Miranda started softly. She’d known all of these people since she had been nine years old. Kayla had been just a baby when she’d first met her.
“What is this about?” Luther asked, quietly. He looked at Knight for clarification. Miranda had gotten the impression he was drawn to Knight’s scar. To the obvious similarity between them. Luther just came across as far more vulnerable to Miranda than he had when she’d been a girl. No doubt it was due to the traumatic brain injury, and the changes it had caused. “I have a kid at home I need to see.”
“Dad, we’re going to listen, ok? We’ll take a pizza home after this,” Olivia said. Miranda studied her, looking for hints of the girl she’d once been. Her biggest memories of the Beise kids had been timidity. She was
