Page 39 of The Perfect Hosts
“Wes!” Madeline cries out.
Dalton’s eyes widen, then a weary half-smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “Good, now you’re both here,” he says.
Damn, Jamie thinks. Wes showing up now is going to make things worse. “It’s Agent Saldano,” Jamie shouts. “I’m here. Wes, do not come up here. I repeat, do not come up here.”
“No, come on up, Wes,” Dalton calls out. “I insist!”
There’s the thunder of feet pounding up the steps. Madeline looks to Jamie, and he can see the desperation in her eyes, the pleading for him to do something, anything. She’s right. Jamie has to disarm Dalton now before Wes comes into this room.
“Dalton,” Jamie says, more sternly this time, “it’s time to stop this. Give me the crowbar and the lighter, and we’ll go talk, just the two of us.”
Dalton shakes his head. “You’re no help to me,” he says,venom in his voice as Wes and Lucy appear in the doorway of the nursery.
“Jesus, Dalton! What the fuck!” Wes cries.
“Oh my God,” Lucy says, clapping a hand over her mouth.
“Stay back,” Jamie orders, but Wes steps into the room anyway.
“Yeah, what the fuck,” Dalton repeats. “What did you do to my wife, Wes?”
“Nothing. I did nothing, Dalton. Why would you think that?”
“I’ve been trying to tell him,” Madeline says, her voice shaking, “but he doesn’t believe me.”
“Listen, I’m sorry about Johanna,” Wes says, holding his hands up in supplication. “We want to know what happened as badly as you do, but we have to be patient while they do their investigation.” Wes looks to Jamie for confirmation.
“Yes,” Jamie says, “we were just talking about that. Why don’t you all head downstairs while Dalton and I talk. We’ll get this figured out.”
Dalton doesn’t seem to hear him and keeps his eyes pinned on Wes. “You fucked my wife.” He takes a step toward Wes, who doesn’t back down but takes his own step toward Dalton.
“You’re wrong,” Wes says.
“I know you were screwing my wife, and I know what you did,” Dalton says in a low growl. “I know because Johanna wrote it all down.” He bends down to retrieve the rumpled piece of paper from the floor. “What I don’t understand is why she would be with you, knowing what a monster you are.”
Confusion ripples across Wes’s face.
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Wes,” Dalton says.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. Now, get the hell out of my house before I take that crowbar away and shove it down your throat,” Wes shoots back.
“Enough,” Jamie says, unholstering his gun. He had things under control until Wes came into the room. “Put down the crowbar,” he orders. “Now.” Dalton ignores him. Jamie doesn’t want to use his weapon, he doesn’t want to ignite a fire by firing a bullet anywhere near gasoline, but he may not have a choice. He lifts his gun, but the there’s no way he can get a clean shot without hitting Wes.
“No more talking,” Dalton says through gritted teeth and swings the bar like a baseball bat. Wes steps out of the way, sending Dalton off balance and briefly to his knee. Dalton pops back up and swings the bar again. This time he hits his mark with a sickening crack of metal on bone. Blood explodes from Wes’s head, and he staggers and drops to his knees. Jamie sees an opening, finds Dalton’s center mass, but before he can pull the trigger, Madeline steps into the fray, trying to pull the crowbar from Dalton’s hands.
“Stop,” she cries. “Please stop!” Dalton shoves Madeline aside, and she falls to her knees, knocking over the gas can, causing more of its contents to stream across the floor. From the corner of his eye, Jamie sees Lucy, who has returned from corralling the dog who is now barking furiously from another room, crawl to her sister’s side.
Dalton hesitates as if deciding whether to use the lighter in his left hand or the crowbar in his right. After a moment, he raises the crowbar high over his head and strikes Wes again. Jamie knows that he won’t stop. He won’t stop swinging until Wes is dead, no matter who gets in the way.
Jamie takes aim, but before he can pull the trigger, a deafening bang fills the air, and Dalton drops to the ground, the crowbar clanging beside him. In the doorway stands Sheriff Colson, still in a shooter’s stance, breathing heavily. Dalton lies on the floor, eyes staring at the ceiling unblinking, while his white shirt blooms red. Jamie kicks the crowbar away from Dalton’s outstretched fingers, bends down, and feels fora pulse. He’s dead. On the floor, hands clutching his bloody head, sits Wes Drake.
From the floor, Lucy scrambles to her feet and grabs an ivory baby blanket from the crib and hands it Madeline, who presses it gently to the wound on Wes’s scalp. It quickly becomes sopped with blood.
Colson speaks into his radio, calling for an ambulance. “I’m fine,” Wes insists, trying to get to his feet.
“Lie down,” Jamie says, guiding him back to the floor. Wes’s eyes become unfocused and flutter open and shut. “It’s going to be okay,” Jamie says, echoing the words that Wes had whispered to him in the ditch all those years ago. But alarm bells are clanging in Jamie’s head. Had Dalton just confessed to blowing up the barn and killing his wife? Jamie replays Dalton’s words in his head.Johanna got what she deserved. Now I want to make sure Wes does too.
The case is closed, Jamie thinks. Thank God. Now he can leave this godforsaken place.