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But all that had changed with time. Fifteen years ago she’d had her mother moved to a private mausoleum here in this much more proper setting. Ellen sat on the white marble bench she’d had installed for the rare occasions when she visited. Tonight, like the other times she felt the need, she’d contacted the senior caretaker, who gladly came and opened the gate for her. The hour never mattered to the kindly old man. He was always grateful for the nice tip.
As for the darkness, that was not a concern either. Ellen had had a solar-powered light installed when the mausoleum was built to ensure her mother never had to spend another night in total darkness.
When Ellen was a child, her father had shut her and her mother in a closet, in the dark, whenever he wanted to punish them. He’d beaten her mother so often in those days that, looking back, Ellen didn’t see how the poor woman had survived. Her mother could have disappeared. Run away and never looked back. But the bastard she’d married would never have allowed her to take Ellen. And her mother wouldn’t leave her. So she’d lived with the horrendous abuse until cancer stole her away. She’d suffered so much those final weeks that her death had been a relief even to a ten-year-old who desperately loved and needed her mother.
Ellen had been sure her life could not be any more miserable than it was those final days.
She’d been wrong.
Her mother was barely cold in her grave the first time Ellen’s father whored out his ten-year-old daughter.
The man who’d bought her for the weekend had done things to her that no one, especially a child, should know about, much less suffer. Something had clicked inside Ellen that weekend. Changed her. Made her see more clearly.
Three years later, her father had died in a freak accident. He’d come home inebriated late one night—as usual. Evidently when he’d shut off the engine and climbed out of the dilapidated old truck, he’d stumbledand fallen to the ground. He often passed out in a drunken stupor right where he fell. Ellen would call her one and only friend, a teacher from her school—Laney Pettit. That night, Laney had come, but she hadn’t helped Ellen drag her unconscious father into the house. That night everything had changed. Perhaps it was because that was the night Ellen had finally told Laney the whole truth about what her father had been forcing her to do.
Ellen would never forget the look on Laney’s face.
She exiled the horrific memories. If anyone bothered to look, the police report from that long-ago night stated that Ellen’s father had been so drunk that he had left his truck in neutral and failed to engage the emergency brake. The truck had rolled backward until it stalled on an object.
The object had been her father.
Thanks to Laney’s selfless bravery, Ellen never had to worry about him again. Her dear friend had taken Ellen in and given her the life she’d only ever dreamed of. No one had ever been as kind to Ellen as Laney. Despite all she’d done, to this day Laney was burdened with guilt that she hadn’t found a way to rescue Ellen sooner.
Ellen stood and pressed her hand to her mother’s bronze marker. She wished the bastard had died sooner. Perhaps if she’d been smarter or cleverer, he would have had an accident far sooner, but she had been a mere child.
Ellen dropped her hand and walked away.
Her childhood had taught her a great lesson. There were men who lived for nothing but to cause pain, particularly to women and children. Men who used brute strength and fear to control the very people they professed to love.
It was a travesty. A blight on the human race. One that should have been eradicated long ago.
Ellen climbed into her car and closed the door.
“Home?” Amy asked.
Ellen nodded. “Yes, Amy. Thank you.”
Men like Jarrod Grady were part of the blight.
Ellen hadn’t dared to believe that she might be able to make a difference, but in time and with her tremendous success, the dream had sparked to life. It had started with her generous donations to shelters for abused women and children. Their stories were so often the same as Ellen’s. Hearing those countless stories had ignited a new plan—one that would hit the problem at its core. In time those closest to her had joined in Ellen’s efforts. For more than a dozen years, they had made a real, tangible difference.
Murder had never been part of the plan.
Certainly, Jarrod’s death was no great loss to humanity, but it was a step too far. Like the others they chose, he was a repeat offender many times over. But unlike the rest, his final offense had been immensely personal. Perhaps the others were right, and the personal aspect had been the trouble from the beginning.
No. Ellen understood the problem all too well.
It was appalling enough that any woman could be so uncaring as to take part in the pain the bastard wielded. But the utterly unforgivable part was that a woman so informed and so powerful in her own right would ally herself with such a plan.
A smile touched Ellen’s lips. Both should have realized they couldn’t possibly hope to win.
Ellen would never allow that to happen.
29
Friday, September 23
8:00 a.m.
