The Last House on the Street(100)

Ellie and I both turn our heads away. It seems like only yesterday that I watched as Jackson was carried from our unfinished house in a similar bag.

Sam and the investigator—whose name I can’t recall—finally leave. Ellie and I walk them through the house and out the front door. Once they’re gone, Ellie turns to me.

“I’ve got to get back to Buddy and Mama.” She touches my arm and I know before she speaks that she’s apologizing. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I had to tell it the way it happened.”

“I know. But he didn’t do anything.”

She looks toward the street to where the investigator’s van had been parked. “Maybe we’ll finally get some answers,” she says, turning back to me.

And then she leaves me alone in my brand-new house that feels as haunted as any ancient mansion.



* * *



I’m tucking Rainie in that night when my phone rings. The caller ID tells me it’s Sam, and I give my daughter a rushed kiss on the forehead before leaving her room and answering the call in the hallway.

“I thought you’d want to know this,” Sam says. “We had Winston Madison’s dental records on file from the sixties when he first disappeared, so we were able to check the—”

“Is it him?” I interrupt her.

“It is,” she says, and I shut my eyes. “The remains in your yard belonged to Winston Madison, without a doubt.”





Chapter 50





I talk to my father from my car late the following morning as I drive home from work. He spent the early morning at the police station in Carlisle, where they questioned him for two hours. I’d barely slept last night as the reality of what had taken place in my backyard sank in. A man had been tortured to death there—a good man who hadn’t deserved to die. Was there a chance my father might have to pay for his death?

“For a while there, I thought they were going to slap the handcuffs on me,” Daddy says, and I hear anxiety in his voice. “They asked me five different ways how, if I dropped my truck off at Buddy’s shop when I said I did, around six, it could possibly be gone when Buddy stopped by the shop an hour later. I said I don’t know, that they need to look at the people who had access to the shop and who could have gotten my keys. I think they believed me about not being in the Klan, but they know I was the injured party in my relationship with Ellie, so I had a motive.”

“I’m so sorry you have to go through this,” I say. Then I hesitate before adding what’s been on my mind. “Did you know before now that there was a … grave … in my yard?” I ask. “Is that why you didn’t want Jackson and me to build—”

“No!” he says. “I had no idea. I only knew something terrible had gone down there.”

I think of how Ellie must be feeling, knowing for sure now that it was Win in that grave. “Poor Ellie,” I say.

“I know,” he says. Then, “Listen, Kayla. I’m going to the Hockleys’ to talk to Buddy. We haven’t said more than ‘hey’ to each other in decades. He’s the only person who could know how someone had access to my keys. Can you come with me? I’d like another set of ears on the conversation.”

“Okay,” I say. “When?”

“How about now? I have a couple of hours till I pick Rainie up at school.”

I cringe at the thought of going to the Hockleys’ to pepper that sick old man with questions, but my father needs answers and who knows how much longer Buddy will be able to provide them—assuming he has any.

“I can meet you there in half an hour,” I say.

“Thanks, honey. See you then.”



* * *



I groan as I turn onto Shadow Ridge Lane. There’s a police van in my driveway—the same van that was there before I left for work that morning. The investigators are digging through my yard, looking for forty-five-year-old clues. I park next to the van and run into the house to wolf down an apple and a slice of cheese. I look at my forested yard through the glass walls as I eat, hoping that if they do find any clues today, they have nothing to do with my father.





Chapter 51





Daddy’s car is already in front of the Hockleys’ house and he’s sitting in the driver’s seat, waiting for me. He gets out and gives me a quick hug. “Thanks for joining me,” he says. I think this is the first time he’s asked for my help since Mom died.

On the front porch, Daddy rings the bell. Through the screen, I hear the sound of a TV, then Buddy’s voice. “Come on in,” he says.

We walk into the living room, where Buddy’s sitting in a recliner, hooked up to his oxygen, as usual. He wears blue pajama bottoms and a stained white T-shirt.

“Hi, Buddy.” I stand just inside the front door, feeling intrusive.

“Hey, Bud,” Daddy says, and while Buddy doesn’t smile, he doesn’t look particularly put out either.

“Hey, Reed.” He nods toward the sofa. “Have a seat. Kayla, honey, the girls are in the kitchen. Why don’t you go in and get your daddy and me … and you … some sweet tea from the icebox?”

“All right,” I say as my father sits down on the sofa. “Be back in a minute.”