Midnight Hour (Shadow Falls: After Dark #4)(106)

to go down.

Once settled in, both her parents started eyeing Ms. Wales as if wondering why a stranger had been asked to join them.

Holiday, positioned at the head of the table, sat silently as if now trying to figure out where to begin.

Holiday readjusted in her chair and started the conversation by introducing Ms. Wales—by name, not by purpose for her attendance—then she

glanced at Miranda’s father. “The reason Miranda asked about the family tree is that we suspect that Ms. Wales may be a distant relative of

yours.”

“Why would you think that?” her mother asked.

“Why, the tattoo, of course,” Ms. Wales said.

“What tattoo?” Her mom’s tightened eyes shot to Miranda. “Tell me you didn’t get a tattoo, young lady? You know how I feel about them.”

Yup. Miranda knew. Another reason she didn’t think this was a good idea. “I didn’t. It just…” She glanced at Holiday for help.

“Miranda didn’t get a tattoo,” Holiday spoke up. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let me continue.”

Holiday explained about the tattoo Miranda had gotten from the fortune reader.

“Why didn’t you tell us this?” her mom asked.

Caught in her mom’s gaze, Miranda blurted out. “It went away. I thought it would stay away.”

“Where is it?” Her mom eyed Miranda. “I want to see it.”

“It’s not here now,” Miranda said.

“So you don’t have it anymore?” Her mom looked puzzled.

“It comes and goes,” Miranda said.

“Wait,” her father finally spoke up. “What does this tattoo have to do with Ms. Wales being a relative?”

Her mom looked at Holiday for an answer.

Ms. Wales pipped up. “Let me show you.”

Miranda nearly freaked thinking the woman was about to disrobe down to her leopard skinned skivvies again. Instead, she pulled something out of

her large brown manila envelope.

She pushed something across the table to Miranda’s father. “Here is the image of your daughter’s tattoo. Here is mine.”

He looked at it. Her mom did the same then looked at Miranda. “It’s on your arm? High or low? Can it be covered up with a short sleeve?”

Miranda almost moaned at how insignificant her mother’s concerns were.

“Dare I say,” Ms. Wales spoke up, “that the tattoo’s location isn’t the point, Mrs. Evans.”

Evans! Oh, mother crackers! Miranda knew that wasn’t going to go over well.

Holiday recognized disaster as well. “Kane. They go by Kane.”

Fire lit in her mother’s eyes and her pinky twitched.

“Odd,” the old woman said, either blind to Miranda’s mom’s glare, or choosing not to see it.

Holiday opened her mouth to speak again and was cut off by Ms. Wales. “We didn’t even consider we might be related until Holiday pointed out

that we are also both dyslexic.”

Her mom shook her head. “What? Are you aware how many people suffer from this affliction?”

“‘Suffer’ is a strong word, don’t you think?” The woman looked at Miranda.

Miranda literally sank into her chair. Burnett did the same.

“Please,” Holiday said. “Can I explain—”

“Oh, dear,” Ms. Wales said. “I’ve got this. You see, Mr. Evans, the moment I heard the name Evans I knew we were related.”

Her father put his hand on top of her mom’s and spoke up. “I brought the family tree with me. Miranda requested it. What was the family name?

”

Holiday stood up. “I really don’t think—”

Ms. Wales piped up again. “You won’t find it there,” Ms. Wales said. “Your great great grandfather forced himself on my ancestor.”

“What?” Miranda’s mom asked.

Miranda sank deeper in her chair.

“I have the proof. Here’s an article of her execution. She killed the bugger. His name is here.” She pulled the article back and began to

read. “Mildred Bradley was hanged to death, accused of striking Rudolf Evans, whom she accused of sexual assault, forty-six times with an ax.

”

Everyone sat there speechless then.

“Wait,” her father said. “Are you saying that my great, great grandfather raped your great, great, grandmother then she killed him?”

“See,” Ms. Wales said to Holiday. “I told you I could explain this.”





Chapter Thirty-one

Miranda held her breath. The explosion she predicted in the room was going to be far worse than the one at the drug house.

Ms. Wales looked back at Miranda’s father. “It’s all right here.” She pushed the article back over.

Miranda’s butt slipped lower in her chair.

When a cloud of befuddlement settled around them, Ms. Wales spoke up again. “Oh dear, don’t misunderstand. I hold you at no fault. You cannot

help it if your ancestor was a bloody bastard.”

“That’s it.” Burnett stood up. “I really think we should call it a day.”