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AFTERPARTY
Three months later
Istand at the fence, coffee in hand, and watch horse and rider canter in a perfect circle. It’s far too early on a Sunday morning to be inhaling horse manure, but the opportunity to spend time with Petra is a godsend. An impossibility I never dreamed would come true.
My baby sister laughs as her mare throws her head. I find myself laughing too. How can I not? Her laugher is the most beautiful sound in the world.
Doris and Paul join me at the fence. I smile at my sister’s adoptive parents and we watch her in silence for a few minutes.
“She’s a natural, isn’t she?” Doris’s voice radiates pure maternal pride.
I nod. “She sure is.” I look over at her. “Thank you.”
The older woman squeezes my arm. “Thank you for all you did to protect her. At least now that man is behind bars, we can all rest a little easier.”
That man.
Clayton Getty.
The road to his incarceration wasn’t easy. He had too many officials in his back pocket and tried to call in favors far and wide, stalling for as long as possible the FBI’s attempts to bring multiple charges.
Eventually, it was his own deputy who proved instrumental in putting him away.
Turns out, the FBI’d had their eye on what was going on in Getty Falls for a while. Sadly, none of the cops were willing to stand up to Clayton. Not until Deputy Rick Daniels stepped into Clay’s shoes and decided he never wanted to take them off.
Daniels convinced a few key people to come forward with the promise of immunity from prosecution. After that, Clay’s corrupt empire started to tumble. He’s now behind bars for fraud, prostitution, racketeering and kidnapping. There were a few dozen minor charges thrown in too, but suffice it to say, he won’t be breathing free air for at least thirty years, which is fine by me.
For myself, the FBI decided not to press charges after I confessed to what happened at The Villa. As it turned out, Ridge Mathews wasn’t the golden boy Clay made him out to be. He was dishonorably discharged from the army for raping an underage girl in Iraq. And with Clay having already documented his death as accidental, the authorities were happy to let the matter rest in return for my testimony.
Now that the danger is behind me, I know I have to come to terms with killing a man.
Being here, in Vancouver, with Petra, helps me a little in thinking I did the wrong thing for the right reasons.
Petra waves from across the field. I smile and wave back, and my soul settles a little bit. She canters over with Winnie, her favorite mare, the newest gift to arrive at the farm.
“Are you sure I can’t tempt you into riding with me?” Her light green eyes blaze with enthusiasm and happiness.
I wrinkle my nose in mock horror. “Uh, no. After falling off three times last week, I need a huge ego boost, and several layers of padding before I’m tempted to try again.”
She laughs and trots off again.
“Breakfast in half an hour,” Paul shouts after her.
As they discuss what to have for breakfast, the phone in my pocket buzzes.
My heart wobbles, but I make no move to reach for it.
I know who it is. I also know it’s time to change my number. Again.
Four times in three months. Each time, it takes about a week before he discovers the new number. I probably shouldn’t bother.
Maybe it’s a game we’re playing.
Maybe this is destined to be my life.
When the buzzing continues, Doris glances over at me. “Everything okay?”