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“Morgan…” Lenny reached out to her. “Please try to—”
“No.” She jerked away as if he were a loathsome monster. “No more excuses.” Her voice sounded rough, unsteady, nothing like her own. “No more words of affection. No more pleas. No more remorse. The truth. Lenny, how much of this was you? How much was Arthur? Who’s lied to me more? Dammit, I want the truth. Tell me what happened that night. You owe me that much.”
“Morgan.” This time it was Lane who interceded, taking her cold hands betwee
n his. “Are you sure you want to—”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“Let her be, Lane,” Monty said. “She needs closure.”
Lane nodded, but didn’t release her hands, determined to show her she wasn’t alone.
“I’m calling our lawyer,” Arthur announced, whipping out his cell.
“Call whoever you want,” Lenny replied bleakly. “I’m telling Morgan what she wants to know. It’s over, Arthur. And you know what? I’m glad. I can’t take it anymore—not even for you.”
Ignoring his son’s protests, he turned to Morgan, making no further move to touch her. “I never planned to hurt them. I went to deliver the food. The gun was just for protection. It was Christmas Eve, it was nighttime, and it was a lousy section of Brooklyn. I went in through the basement door. Arthur and your parents were down there, arguing. Your mother was accusing Arthur of being a coward and of cheating on Elyse with a teenage girl. She told him she’d seen him with her own two eyes, and that she couldn’t stay silent, knowing everything she knew. Arthur told her to butt out, to stop trying to heal the world, and to keep her mouth shut or he’d sue her for slander.”
Remembering, Lenny gave a hard shudder. “That set your father off like a firecracker. He called Arthur a sick bastard and a rapist, and said he’d make sure he was prosecuted and put away for statutory rape. He said that when he was through, Arthur’s marriage would be destroyed, and his career would be over.”
Lenny wiped a palm across his face. “I couldn’t believe he was saying those things—not about my boy. I couldn’t keep quiet. I yelled at him to shut up, to leave my son and his family alone. Arthur denied everything—again and again—but they wouldn’t believe him. Lara kept calling him a liar and a cheat, and Jack kept threatening him with criminal prosecution.
“Then, out of nowhere, Jack announced that they were changing their wills so Arthur could never raise Morgan. He said their feelings for Elyse no longer outweighed the fact that Arthur was barely one step better than a pedophile. Arthur went crazy. He started throwing things, swearing he was innocent, that they were just out to ruin him. That tore out my heart. I didn’t know what to do. So I pulled out the gun and started waving it around. I’m not sure what I hoped to accomplish—maybe to scare Jack enough to take back his lies and his plans to ruin Arthur. Lara must have thought I meant to use the pistol, because the next thing I knew, she was swinging a two-by-four at me. I never meant to shoot her. I’m not even sure if I fired the damned thing or if it just went off—I didn’t even know how to use it. But what difference does any of that make? One minute Lara was swinging the board at me, the next, she was lying on the floor…and there was blood everywhere…”
Lenny had to pause to control his sobs. “Jack lunged at me like a wild animal. We fought. I whacked him on the side of the head with the gun. The gun went flying off somewhere. But Jack and I kept fighting. I punched him hard in the face. At some point, we tripped over a bucket, and went down. Jack fell on his face. All I could think was that I had to stop him, to keep him from hurting Arthur. But I was a lot older than he was, and I was getting tired. I just knelt there, trying to breathe, trying to get past the shock of what I’d done.”
“What about Arthur?” Monty asked. “Where was he through all this?”
“First he rushed over to Lara. He checked her pulse to see if maybe she was still alive. But it was too late. She was gone. He looked lost for a minute, like a kid who didn’t know what to do. Then—” Lenny broke off, clearly aware that whatever he said next could do nothing but incriminate Arthur.
“Then he realized that the only way to save his ass—and yours—was to finish what you’d started,” Monty deduced. “So he found the gun on the floor. He picked it up and crossed over to where Jack was lying, facedown and dazed. He had to move fast, before Jack came around and reacted. So he convinced you that the only way he could protect you from the crime you’d just committed and to silence Jack’s lies was to kill Jack, too. You were so out of it by then, you didn’t even know which end was up. But Arthur did. He knew exactly what he was doing when he aimed that gun and fired two shots into the back of Jack Winter’s head. After that, the rest was pretty much as Lane described. Except that your son had two sets of fingerprints to wipe off that gun, not one.”
“God help me…” Lenny bowed his head.
“You shot my father in cold blood?” Morgan wrenched her hands out of Lane’s. Trembling with rage, she slapped Arthur across the face with every ounce of strength she possessed.
His head snapped sideways from the impact, and when he turned back, there were angry marks where her fingers had been. “Morgan…”
“Don’t say my name. Don’t even speak to me. Not now. Not ever. Lenny is pathetic. But you…you’re an animal. A cowardly, hypocritical, inhuman…” She sucked in her breath, still staring him down. “Who else knows?” she asked in that same odd, stony voice. “Does Elyse?”
“I have no answer for that,” Arthur replied tonelessly.
“You have no answers for anything,” Monty noted. “Just sick lies and an even sicker sense of retribution.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Arthur’s jaw was working. “What I meant was, Elyse and I never discussed it. It was better that way. Did she figure it out? I’m sure she suspected something. One thing’s for sure—she’s never been the same since that night.”
“And Rhoda?”
“My mother knows nothing. Neither does Jill. They wouldn’t have been able to live with it.”
“Jill,” Morgan repeated, a tremor in her voice. “This is going to break her heart.”
“It’ll mend,” Monty assured her gently. “Jill’s strong. And you’re stronger. Plus, she’s not alone. And this time, neither are you.” He watched as Lane came up behind Morgan, planting his hands firmly on her shoulders and easing her back against him. No words were necessary.
Satisfied, Monty whipped out his cell phone. “I’m calling the cops. Oh, and Arthur?” He shot the congressman a look. “Now would be a good time to call your lawyer.”
EPILOGUE
