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“So when I kill her,” he said, indicating Lisa, “it’ll look like you did it before shooting yourself.”
“What a foolish plan,” Arden said. “Nobody will believe that I killed my sister. I have no reason to.”
“Yeah, you do. You just don’t know it yet.” He gave her a wide grin. Then going back to Lisa, he said, “Where was I? Oh, the bug.” He bounced it in his palm, then returned it to his pocket. “Luckily, I successfully planted it last night. Because, today, I caught you lying through your pretty porcelains.”
“I confessed that I was in on the burglary, not our dad.”
“Oh, I know. I heard. And it was touching. Truly. But, no, see, what I’m referring to came later in the conversation, when you were telling her and Burnet about me coming here, ranting and raving like a man possessed. Et cetera.”
“Do you deny it?”
“No. Not at all. If I’d’ve found Joe and the money that night, I probably would have killed him, and you with him, taken the money, and been a happy camper.”
He pursed his lips and frowned down at Arden. “Wouldn’t have made a very good Easter morning for little Arden, though, would it?” Then his features became taut with malevolence as he turned back to Lisa. “Did baby sister’s welfare cross your mind when you were murdering her daddy?”
Arden’s stomach heaved. She had to swallow quickly to keep from spewing bile.
Lisa fell back a step, her spine landing hard enough against the door frame to make a knocking sound. “You’re demented.”
“I’m crazy like a fox is what I am. I pick up on things. Like when you told your appreciative audience that I went into the kitchen there, looking for Joe, and all that was left of him were muddy footprints just inside the back door and a wet patch where the bag of money had been.”
“So?”
“There were no footprints. No wet spot.”
Arden looked over at Lisa, whose lips had gone as white as her fingers still gripping the doorknob.
“When I heard that,” Rusty continued, “it got me to thinking that the rigmarole about you hearing him come in, finding him in the kitchen with the money, and telling you the jig was up, yada yada, was bunk. He never made it back to the house that night, did he?”
Lisa’s throat worked. “I told Arden the truth. Dad—”
“Okay,” he said, cutting her off. “Have it your way. One thing you did tell the truth about, I did warn you that, if you betrayed me, I would kill her with you watching.”
“No!” Lisa cried as she thrust her arm out toward him.
Arden surged to her feet and raised her knee, trying to knock the pistol out of Rusty’s hand, but dizziness made her uncoordinated. She did no harm to Rusty. He secured her around the waist with his free arm, pulled her back against his chest, and jammed the pistol up under her chin.
He yelled at Lisa, “Now, I don’t care that you killed the old drunkard, I just want the money!”
“It’s gone, you idiot! I spent it!”
Hearing that from Lisa caused Arden’s knees to give way. She sagged against Rusty, making it an effort for him to hold her up. “Stand up,” he demanded and jabbed her under the chin with the gun barrel.
She forced herself to remain upright, but that endeavor was secondary to trying to grasp and accept that Lisa had done what Rusty accused her of. It couldn’t be true. Could it?
Yes. Guilt was inscribed on her sister’s face. It was on display in her slumped posture, starkly evident in her eyes. It emanated from her. How had she managed to mask it so well for all these years?
She spoke in a hoarse voice. “It was an accident. I swear.”
Arden could only look at her. What was she expected to say?
Lisa wet her lips. “I was so relieved that I had made it back to the house without something dreadful happening. I actually went to sleep. I woke up when I heard Dad going out the back door.
“I went downstairs to see what he was doing. Through the window, I saw him in the far distance, walking toward the cypress grove. I thought, he’s drunk, and decided to let him be. But it had gotten foggy. There was drizzle, and it was dark. I was afraid he would injure himself, stumbling around out there. So I talked myself into getting dressed and going after him.
“He had already pushed off into the water when I caught up to him and asked what the hell he thought he was doing, taking that boat out in the middle of the night. He told me about the call he’d gotten from Brian Foster.” She raised her hand and rubbed her forehead.
“He knew about my participation in the burglary. I was humiliated, ashamed. He didn’t scold, but said he had to try to prevent the situation from becoming worse. Since it was my fault we’d been dragged into it, I couldn’t let him act alone. I had to make reparation myself. I got into the boat with him.”
