Page 91 of Thick as Thieves

It pained Arden to say that, and her sister couldn’t dispute it.

“True,” Lisa said. “Those facts do point a finger at him. Collectively, it’s compelling, but it’s all circumstantial. Every scrap of it. When you read the reports, you’ll see what I mean.”

Musing aloud, Arden said, “I wonder what a prosecutor today would think of them. How much stock one would put into them?”

“Probably none if Rusty Dyle is still the DA.”

Arden couldn’t believe that Lisa had spoken the name that, not five minutes ago, she had determined not to mention. “What do you know about him?”

“Only that he’s irksome. You remember Sheriff Dyle?”

“Yes.”

“Rusty is his son. Growing up, he was a thoroughly obnoxious brat, always pulling pranks. Often cruel ones. He picked on the underdogs. Thinking of him as DA is enough to make one cringe.”

Lisa went on to describe the man exactly as Arden would. “He had this sly grin that suggested he had the goods on you. You know the type.”

Yes, Arden had come face-to-face with that type half an hour ago, but she was reluctant to tell Lisa about it, afraid she would go into orbit.

“He was odious back then, and I doubt he’s improved with age. In fact, he’s probably worse because of the power he wields.” Lisa gave a light laugh. “I’m sure Ledge Burnet finds that hard to swallow.”

For a second time, Arden was taken aback. Was Ledge’s grudge with the DA common knowledge? “Why do you say that?”

“They were rivals over this girl. Crissy. Kristin. Something like that. I knew her only by reputation. She was a hot ticket. I wonder if she’s still around. If so, those two might still be feuding over her favors.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Arden murmured.

“Speaking of Burnet, before you left yesterday, you promised to call me after you had talked to him, but I didn’t hear from you. What did you tell him?”

“That his services wouldn’t be needed after all.” She recalled the moment with embarrassing clarity. She’d wanted to flail at him, while at the same time wanting to throw herself against him and demand that he resume the make-out session they’d begun on the stairs.

“Ah, good,” Lisa was saying. “That’s one worry I can cross off. There’s really no reason for you to stay there any longer, is there? Why don’t you just come here? Please? I can tell by your tone of voice that you’re troubled. What’s going on?”

Arden drew her focus from near space to the investigation reports. “Lisa, in your heart of hearts, do you believe Dad committed those crimes? Don’t answer as my guardian. We’re beyond that. You’ve done me no favors by shielding me from knowing the more appalling aspects of all this.

“I’ve reached this low point in my life because I’ve been spared the worst. Please, from now on, be brutally honest with me like you were yesterday. Tell me true. Did he do it?”

Lisa took a long time before answering. “If the father that I knew was guilty, I think that rather than put us—all three of us—through the humiliation of a criminal investigation, a trial, and probable conviction, he would have chosen to make a clean break.”

“So,” Arden said quietly, “his running away could be construed as an admission of guilt.”

Lisa hesitated, then asked, “What else would have compelled him to abandon his children?”

This answer was the most difficult for Arden to accept. “The money.” She whispered the two condemning words.

“Yes,” Lisa said. “Compared to Wallace’s net worth, five hundred thousand would be a negligible amount. But to Dad, given his situation, his destitution, it would have represented a ticket out.”

Or as Ledge had succinctly put it: Flight.

Chapter 25

That night in 2000—Joe

Joe had gotten through the entire day without taking so much as a nip. He’d tinkered in the detached garage, organizing tools that he never used anymore. He’d weeded the beds of his late wife’s rosebushes, which hadn’t bloomed since her death because only she knew the proper nutrients to feed them. He’d oiled every door hinge in the house, even those that didn’t squeak.

He did anything he could think of to keep his mind occupied and hands too busy to pour a drink.

When Lisa had called him to supper, the first thing he’d noticed was the basket of Easter eggs on the dining table. The centerpiece had so reminded him of Marjorie, it had almost been his undoing. Somehow, though, he’d gotten through the meal without revealing his desperate craving for the anesthetizing effects of Jim Beam.