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“I’m not excited. Just surprised. Seems they have a more realistic idea of Butch than you do.”
Anger put an edge to Paris’s voice. “Shut up! You wouldn’t be saying that if he was standing here.”
“True. But if he was as nonviolent as you claim, I could speak freely, correct?”
Hands curled into fists, she stepped up to him. “How dare you! You’re lucky he provides a living for you. Where would you be without him? On the street? Lord knows you can’t function like a normal human being.”
He remained unflustered. “You think a killer is normal?”
Their mother finally came between them. “That’s enough. Both of you. Don’t let this throw us all into a panic. We know Butch would never hurt anyone.”
Did she really believe that? Jonah wondered.
“You mean other than Kelly Martin?” Dean sounded as pleased as Paris had accused him of being. “Because he’s smacked her around before. Remember? It was for driving by one too many times and making their affair too obvious.”
“Dean!” her mother cried, but Paris tried to hit her brother and would’ve succeeded if not for the old lady, who did her best to protect him.
“You little prick!” she shouted. “You leave Kelly out of this. He never touched her.”
Poking his head around his mother, Dean came right back at her. “Oh, yeah? An affair means he did touch her, dear sister. In some very intimate places.”
“That’s it! We’re kicking you out. You can fend for yourself,” Paris screamed.
“We still own this property,” her mother said. “Don’t forget that.”
Paris appeared to have a ready response, but they all grew silent when Butch interrupted. Already on his way back from the van, he was carrying some object Jonah couldn’t quite make out. “It’s her,” he called.
Jonah caught his breath.
“It’s who?” Paris’s father asked.
Distracted from their squabble, even Paris and Dean turned to face him, silently expectant. “Francesca Moretti.”
Smothering a groan, Jonah cursed to himself.
“How do you know?” Paris asked.
“Recognize this?” He held up what he carried and Dean began to laugh.
“That’s her purse,” he said. “Again.”
“So where is she?” the old man muttered.
Butch threw Francesca’s bag at their feet. Then he propped his hands on his hips and stared into the salvage yard. “She’s got to be around here somewhere.”
“She’s got no right.” Paris sounded worried. Was it because she secretly feared Butch might not be as innocent as she wanted to believe? There had to be some element of denial in her reaction. “She’ll do anything to see you behind bars.”
“What are you going to do now?” Dean asked.
Butch didn’t react to the glee in his voice the way Paris had. He tossed a set of keys at Dean instead. “Lock up the yard.”
CHAPTER 18
Butch knew it was her. And he had her purse again. Francesca couldn’t believe it. Her new phone was in that purse. She hadn’t taken it with her when she left the van. She’d wanted to be light on her feet, hadn’t wanted to carry anything, especially an object she could drop and break as easily as her iPhone if she had to move fast. That darn screen was expensive to replace. But she’d been thinking only as far as escaping Jonah. She hadn’t planned for this. What now?
Careful not to make any noise, she hid behind a piece of heavy equipment as she waited for Butch and his family to go inside. She couldn’t remember what the giant machine was called, but she knew what it was used for. Some kind of industrial-size lift, it stacked car frames. An excavator, which was even bigger, towered over the junk piles on her other side. Both pieces of equipment reminded her of a horror show she’d seen when she was a kid, where the cranes, bulldozers and lifts at a construction site came alive at night and killed the unsuspecting people who found themselves in proximity. To an adult the concept seemed corny, but those images had made a real impact on her when she was young. And, despite the impossibility of a machine killing on its own, it gave her the creeps to think about that movie now. Butch himself and all the garbage and the rats at the salvage yard made this the last place she wanted to spend the night.
When Butch, Paris and the others finally went into the house, the lights stayed on, but silence settled over the yard. Francesca had a chance to escape—if she could figure out how. She couldn’t get out the way she’d gotten in. When Dean locked the gate, he’d used a heavy chain and padlock.
