“I’ve spent months locked up in an eight by ten cell. Stayed silent so your son—”
“Your nephew,” she was quick to add to make it clear that he was still Jessie’s uncle.
“YOUR SON could stay out of jail. I didn’t expect to be in there any longer than a week, two at the most.”
“Yes. Well. We had our hands full with the militia.”
“For three months?”
“No. But we’ve had other important matters to tend to.”
“Important matters? More important than me?” he bellowed loudly. She wasn’t afraid of him but he was a large man and as sly as she could be, even she knew her limitations. If he wanted to wrestle her to the ground and strangle her, there would be little she could do without a gun, a knife, or… her eyes crossed to a baseball bat in the living room across the way.
“We would have gotten you out eventually.”
“Is that so? Huh. Maybe I missed you on my short trip to STATE PRISON!” He threw his bottle of beer across the room and it smashed against the wall.
“Hold on. State prison? They were transferring you?”
“Oh, don’t be coy with me. You knew. I expect you put in a word to get me transferred with those assholes.”
“I didn’t know anything about that.”
“Sure you didn’t. Just like when you were asked if you had anything to do with Ryland’s death — or my brother’s death!”
Her eyes widened. She hadn’t told him about Bruce. Had Colby been to see him? Jessie perhaps? No, they wouldn’t purposely throw her under the bus. Surely?
“That’s right. I know the truth.”
“Who told you?” she asked, demanding an answer.
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is you didn’t tell me. Oh no, you kept it to yourself. Made me kill those three boys.”
“I didn’t make you do shit. That’s on you!”
“You knew it would happen. Now I probably will have the Stricklands show up here, breathing down my neck.”
“Oh please. Don’t give me that martyr story. You chose to kill them. You also chose to hang them out to dry. Remember that? Hank would have never known about that if you had just been a little smarter.”
“Smarter? Like you? You bitch!”
“Now Alby. I’m warning you,” she said, taking a few steps back, her ass bumping into an armoire. “You touch me, my boys will gut you like a pig.”
“Your boys don’t care about you, Martha. Look around. Where are they? Huh? Let me guess. They left you here alone. They don’t want anything to do with you. My brother didn’t want anything to do with you. Did you know Bruce was going to divorce you?”
“Bullshit.”
He laughed. “If you disappear, ain’t none of your family going to look for your bones or who did it. Because you pushed them away. Killed their father.”
“I did not kill Bruce.”
“No. You just lit the match and let him burn. If it wasn’t him, it would have been one of your boys. But oh, no, the great matriarch. The protector of the Rikers. You wouldn’t allow that. Not your boys. No, that couldn’t happen, now could it? I mean if they were gone, who would you have to control? Huh?” He paused. “I expect you think Colby’s forgiven you.”
“He has.”
“No he hasn’t.”
“Yes he did. He told me.”
“He told you what you wanted to hear. He didn’t want to hurt you like the way you hurt him.”
“Shut up!” she said, holding back volume but speaking clearly through her teeth.
“Like the way you hurt Skye.”
“SHUT UP!”
“But you might be right. He might have forgiven you but I don’t. You are like a rotten apple. Rotten to the core.”
Her eyes flashed to the baseball bat. She was seconds from pummeling his fat face in when they heard the noise of a horse galloping up the driveway. Her eyes glanced off to the left through the window. It was Miriam. Alby averted his gaze then locked onto her.
“I should kill you right now. This county would be better off if you were dead but I won’t do it. Not because of Miriam. Not because of your boys. But because that would be too easy. I’d prefer to stick around and watch your downfall. I’d rather see you suffer. Trust me, Martha, you are going to suffer for your involvement in Bruce’s death, in Skye’s death. I look forward to it.”
His features morphed from anger to a smile as Miriam came jogging into the house, surprised to see him. “Uncle Alby.”
“Hey kitten,” he said, wrapping an arm around her while placing Martha’s gun on the counter.
“Are you here to stay?”
“Oh yes,” he replied, casting a smug glance at Martha who had gone white with fear. “I’m going to stick around for a long time, honey. You won’t be able to get rid of me even if you try.”
Chapter Five
A small get-together? There had to be over a hundred people at the Carson Mansion in Eureka. Dylan’s decision on which house he would stay in was no surprise. A hipster, given to the arts, reading, cigars, premium whiskey and triple shots of espresso, it made sense that he would select a large Victorian house located in Old Town. How he’d managed to convince Sheriff Johnson, who approved newcomers’ homes, was a mystery.
Owned by the late William Carson, one of the first lumber barons in the area, it had been purchased back in the 1950s by the Ingomar Club. The oh so private social club had made it off limits to the public even though many in the town were vying for tours.
It seemed fitting that Dylan would snap it up.
As Alicia and Colby arrived by foot, many Eureka residents were
