Chapter Thirteen
chapter-seperator
THEY TALKED and laughed and teased their way through dinner, save for when Aunt Maude had to rescue the apple pie from the oven. As they cleared the dishes, moving back and forth between rooms, Uncle Russ asked Cash about his sister, Ainsley.
“She’s a senior this year, isn’t she?” Uncle Russ set two more plates beside the sink, where Gwynn rinsed the dishes and loaded them in the dishwasher. “Any plans for college?”
“She’d like to go.” Utensils clinked as Cash slipped them into the silverware basket. “But whether that’s to further her education or simply get away from home, who knows.” He expelled a breath and tugged at his shirt front. “I make a decent living at what I do, and I’m grateful. But I can’t afford to send Ainsley to college without her accruing debt, nor is it fair for me to ask the Forresters to pitch in.” He looked at Gwynn. “Erik and Dani Forrester were best friends with my parents and became Ainsley’s and my legal guardians when our parents died.”
Gwynn pretended the news was unknown to her. Pretended she didn’t also know Dani and her mother, Vivian, were sisters, making the Forresters her biological aunt and uncle.
Aunt Maude scooped grounds into the coffeemaker for a fresh pot, its caramel aroma filling the room. “What does she want to study?”
“Business.” Cash took the last plate from Gwynn and set it in the dishwasher. “She wants to open a coffee shop geared toward high school and college age youths. Whatever that entails.”
“Lots of techie stuff,” Gwynn said.
Cash chuckled. “You’re not wrong.”
Uncle Russ removed four matching mugs from the cupboard and motioned for them to follow him back to the dining room. “Do Ainsley’s college aspirations mean you’re still searching for that treasure?” he asked Cash.
“Again with the treasure?” Gwynn grabbed the carton of cream from the fridge and hurried after the two men. “Does it actually exist, or is it a local fairy tale?” Had Charlie Parker been referring to this treasure when he’d asked her about the money?
“It exists,” Cash said as Uncle Russ put the mugs by their places. “My dad had been working for Alex Jacobs, Hadley’s father, at the time. Dad was an honest ranch hand—not like the other miscreants Alex employed—and had been digging new post holes along Alex’s back property line when he found the … well, the buried treasure.”
Aunt Maude whisked into the room, plonked the pie on the table, and whisked away again. Gwynn went over to switch on the Christmas Story lamp before taking her seat. “What happened to the treasure, that you’re having to search for it now?” She tucked one foot under her leg with a frown. “How does one lose something like that?”
Cash puffed out his cheeks, rubbing the handle to his mug with his thumb. “Technically, my dad didn’t lose it. Alex stole it from him. And”—he tilted the empty mug toward him—“Hadley stole it from Alex. Who knows where it ended up.”
Gwynn’s world tilted with the mug, and her breathing stalled. She’d done what ?
Uncle Russ sat back in his chair. “I never heard that bit of information.”
“Oh. Yeah …” Color seeped up Cash’s neck. “I may not have told Officer Keyes everything that happened that night.”
“That night?” Uncle Russ crossed his arms. “Are you saying you knew about this when your father was killed?”
Gwynn’s heart batted against her ribcage, and she forced herself to take normal breaths. Aunt Maude reentered with the coffee carafe and four dessert plates. Placing the items on the table, she squinted first at her husband then at Cash. “What’d I miss?”
Cash let out a self-conscious laugh and ran his hands down his thighs. “I think I’m about to get into trouble.”
“I’m retired, son. And the case is cold.” A muscle pulsed in Uncle Russ’s temple. “Still, you should start talking.”
Gwynn put her hand on Cash’s arm and gave Uncle Russ a significant look. “He doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to. Like you said, the case is cold.” And maybe she didn’t want to learn what Cash would reveal.
Cash cleared his throat. “I appreciate that, Gwynn, but since it’s part of my past, it informs my future, and you may as well hear it from me than the rumor mill.” He poured himself coffee, his gaze moving from Gwynn to Uncle Russ. “Everyone knows I went to the AJ Ranch that evening hoping to talk to Hadley, and that when I arrived, I found Hadley’s parents already dead and my father dying.” He tapped a finger against his cup. “What no one knows is that I caught my father’s last words … and witnessed Hadley fleeing the house.”
Aunt Maude froze in the middle of handing Uncle Russ a piece of pie. “You saw Hadley … fleeing ?”
“Yeah. We’d broken up a few weeks earlier, after I found her making out with another guy.” Cash took a sip of coffee. “Once the initial shock wore off, though, I couldn’t let things end without talking it over first. We had too much history between us.”
With halting movements, Aunt Maude slid a piece of pie in front of Gwynn, one in front of Cash, and sat down with her own piece. Gwynn poked at an apple slice, her stomach roiling.
Cash pulled his plate closer. “As I was about to knock, the front door opened, and Hadley barreled outside. Into me. She’d been crying.” He sunk his fork into his crust. “She had blood smeared on her cheek, her sweater, her hands. I didn’t know what to think. She tried to run past me, but I caught her arm and asked what happened.”
He gazed across the room toward the Christmas lamp. “‘It’s my fault,’ she’d said. ‘Please forgive me.’ I demanded more details, but she kept repeating the same words, over and over. Then Dad called my name from inside the house. That’s when Hadley broke away and started running. I almost took off after her, but Dad called again, and I went inside.” Cash’s throat convulsed. “There was so much blood. Alex lay a few feet away, lifeless. Vivian’s body … also lifeless.
“I cradled Dad’s head in my lap and asked who had done this to him. ‘Hadley,’ was his answer. ‘Hadley’s got the money. She took it. Hid it.’ Dad made me promise him I’d find it, but who cared about money? I wanted to know who shot him. He became incoherent after that, mumbling half-phrases that didn’t make any sense. And then … he was gone. A good man, a godly man … gone.”
Silence followed his words. Gwynn’s eyes burned as she stared at her pie. Lord …? How …?
Cash’s mother, torn up with grief, had died a few months later. Gwynn had cried when the Davisons told her the news. It was the last time she’d allowed them to talk about the goings-on in Prospect or update her on anyone from her former life.
She should be thankful Cash’s account of that night hadn’t conjured up any memories. Lesser, inconsequential memories were clanging to get free, but the others … the others she’d locked in a separate cage, buried deep, and thrown away the key. She grieved Cash’s loss, yet even more, she feared the ramifications if she remembered the missing details.
Beside her, Cash sucked in a breath and straightened. He glanced around the table. “I’m sorry,” he rasped, his voice thick. “I didn’t mean for the conversation to take such an ominous turn.”
Gwynn shook her head. “Don’t apologize. Ever. What happened to you is unthinkable. How you’ve managed to thrive after what you saw is incredible. You’re incredible.”
“I didn’t get where I am today without a lot of divine help, prayers, and support from people who cared about me.” Cash brushed a crumb from the tablecloth. “Don’t put me on a pedestal, Gwynn. I’m far from perfect.”
He was closer to perfection than she was. It’s my fault. Please forgive me . Had she actually said those words? They could only mean one thing … couldn’t they? Gwynn pushed away from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”
She escaped into the hallway, moving out of sight around the corner, and staggered against the wall. Blinking at the tin-plated ceiling, she bit down on her knuckle. She was a monster! And she had caused so much pain.
“Sorry I didn’t divulge this information at the time.” Cash’s voice drifted into the hall. Gwynn held her breath. “Looking back now, I should have. I don’t know why I didn’t.”
“Maybe you were subconsciously trying to protect Hadley,” Uncle Russ said. “Her words certainly raise suspicion.”
“But the autopsies—”
“Yes, the autopsies exonerated her.” Uncle Russ’s voice was muffled, as if he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Although Alex’s Glock bore her fingerprints.”
“Hadley didn’t kill anyone,” Aunt Maude declared, a fork clinking against a plate. “Russell, you said there was evidence someone else had been at the house, so the fact is, even after what Cash has told us, we still don’t know exactly what led to the shoot out or who stabbed Alex.”
“And any hopes to know the truth,” Cash added, “died the day Hadley did.”