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He was angry now, saying, “All those years. All those lies, and I didn’t know it.”
I heard him, but I was working out the DNA puzzle. Jamie had punched Brock. It was Brock’s DNA on Jamie’s knuckles. Brock had Fricke genes. Brock had killed his father.
“I killed Holly first,” Brock said. “I called her to tell her that I had something of hers and wanted to give it back. She came out to meet me. When she got out of her car, I shot her.Took some things off her to make it look like a robbery. Diamond jewelry. Her car.
“I was still furious at everyone, still couldn’t get over it or make it stop. Months later, I called Jamie. Told him I was in town and Mom had a book for him, asked me to give it to him. He met me on the street and I gunned him down. Are you getting all this, Detectives? These people played huge roles in my life but never gave a shit about me.”
Conklin said, “And your mother?”
“What can I say? She was loose and selfish. She kept Chris hanging all those years and he’s screwing Holly. I love Chris, though. Still, he was a dummy in a lot of ways. My mom told him Jamie was my biological father, but never told me. There’s your capital murder offense and punishment.
“Heard enough?” he said. “Any more questions? Because I’m not sticking around to answer.”
“Brock, we appreciate you telling—”
He said, “You’re welcome.”
He put his gun on the flat of his right hand and stretched out his arm to Conklin.
“I won’t be needing this anymore,” he said. “Oh, wait. I forgot something.”
He got a grip on his gun, pointed it at his temple, and as Conklin and I shouted “No!” in unison, he fired a round into his head and fell off the pew and onto the floor.
I checked. No pulse. No breath. No heartbeat.
Brock was dead.
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER 115
CINDY HAD A question for me.
“Will you be my maid of honor?” She looked shy, hesitant, as if she was afraid I would say no.
“Aww, Cindy. You know I will.”
But when I looked her square in the eyes, she squirmed and looked down. I had to ask, “Are you sure you’re ready?”
“Lindsay, I am. Of course I am. I think I am. I’m sure, right? How can you know more than that?”
As my expression changed from hope and happiness to doubt and consternation, she cracked up and said, “You should see yourself. Don’t you know me by now? Don’t you know how much I love him?”
Yes, I did. But. Richie was an honest and kind man who loved Cindy entirely, and I really wouldn’t forgive her if she hurt him now in front of God and everyone. At the same time, my stubborn friend Cindy had been building her writing career and doing it very well. She’d said from the beginning that she had to devote herself to her work. And Richie hadbeen supportive even though it had hurt him, and he was pretty sure that Cindy might never move off that position.
“So, Linds,” she said. “Is that a promise?”
I said, yes, yes, yes, and after she hugged me she asked Claire and Yuki to be bridesmaids, and now here we all were, flanking Cindy in the Chapel of Our Lady at the Presidio.
Cindy was wearing a white gown even her mother loved, with buttons and bows and satin to her toes. I was standing to Cindy’s left, Yuki beside me, Claire beside her. Richie was standing to Cindy’s right and four of his brothers were lined up beside him.
The officiant was a young reverend named Michael Romano, and he smiled as he asked if Rich and Cindy had prepared vows. Richie said they had and Cindy, clutching a small white square of paper, said, “Right. Here goes.”
“I, Cindy Thomas, take you, Richard John Conklin, to be my partner in marriage and in life. To love you, to give thanks for you, and to honor you, with my wit and my strength—”
Cindy stopped speaking, shook her head, and, veering off script, crumpled the note card. She looked at Reverend Romano and said to him. “That was my first draft. May I start over?”
“Of course,” said the reverend. “Go right ahead.”