The Running Girls(59)

“I’ll go, first thing in the morning,” said Maurice. “I’m a foolish old man, Frank. It’s taken me a long time to realize I wasn’t a very good brother to you. In truth, I haven’t been a very good person. Strange thing happened to me a few years ago, which you’ll find difficult to believe.”

“What was that, Maurice?”

Maurice turned to him, his face illuminated by the glow of the fire. “I found God.”

Randall shook his head. “Spare me the sermon.”

“No, you don’t understand. By a few years, I mean two or three years ago.”

“But you’ve been in the church since you left Galveston.”

“Exactly. That was all a lie. I’ve been hiding all this time. I guess you could call it irony, or a great mystery, but finally God spoke to me.”

Randall nodded. “Well, that’s great. I imagine there is a reason that most congregations are full of elderly people without long to live, isn’t there?”

“I don’t blame you for your cynicism, Frank. And what you say is true. Facing death often brings people closer to God. And maybe that is what happened with me. I don’t have long left now. When I found out you were being released, I wanted to reconnect. I knew we could never be really close, but I hoped perhaps you could forgive me for the person I was.”

“If you’ve changed, Maurice, that’s great. We’re both different people now. If you’re seeking my forgiveness, then you can have it if you tell me what happened between you and Annie.”

Maurice bit his lower lip, and Randall wondered if his little speech had all been for nothing. “And you’ll tell me about that girl, Frank?”

“What?”

“Grace Harrington. I’ll tell you what happened between me and Annie, and you’ll confess to me that you killed her. I can absolve you, brother. It’s not too late.”

“For heaven’s sake,” said Randall, trying to summon the energy to stand up and slap his brother. “I did not kill Grace Harrington, and you’re not a Catholic priest.”

“You had the opportunity, Frank. Your memory isn’t what it was. You were here the night she was taken. I dropped you home that morning, remember? I told the police a different story, but when they find out . . .”

Randall didn’t know if Maurice was right about the timings, but he was as sure as hell that he hadn’t killed that poor young woman. “What did you do to Annie?”

Maurice lifted his chin. Randall couldn’t tell if he was being proud, or shamefaced. “I made a move on her,” he said defiantly. “I’m ashamed of it now, as I was then.”

Randall couldn’t stifle a laugh. “You made a move on her?” he asked, his initial humor fading fast. “What exactly does that mean? Did you hurt her?” he said, standing up and grabbing his cane.

“No, no, no. I tried to . . . Listen, Frank, I’ve never been able to understand women, now or then. I’m more or less a virgin. I wanted to kiss her. I guess I was jealous. I may have grabbed her too hard, but nothing beyond that happened. I’m so sorry.”

Randall’s hand cramped on the cane. Maurice looked so pale and pitiful in the armchair, but Randall still had to fight the rage welling up in him. He lifted the cane behind him, feeling its weight. “Did you kill her?” he asked, the cane lifted high above his head, ready to strike.

“Kill who?”

“Annie, of course.”

Maurice’s head darted from side to side. “What? No, no, Frank. You killed her, remember?”

“I didn’t kill her.”

“Then why did you spend all that time in jail, brother?”

It would have been a mercy to bring the cane down on his brother’s head, but Frank resisted the urge. “I’m going to bed. If you’re still here by the time I get up, God or no God, I will strike you down. Do you understand me?”

Maurice nodded, sitting back in his chair as Randall went to the bedroom, closed the door, and bolted it shut.





Chapter Thirty-Two


Laurie had no option other than to send the officers watching Frank’s house back to the station. She couldn’t justify leaving them there when every available body was needed to help with the evacuation, and what could be an imminent disaster if Hurricane Heather made landfall. She’d come close to going back and arresting Frank, but at this stage, and with the lawyer Mosley breathing down her neck, it was too much of a risk.

She thought back to that first day here, when she’d stopped Warren and his friends from giving Frank a beating. Maybe things would have been different had Frank left the island, as Warren had wanted. She’d enjoyed getting to know Frank, but at what cost?

Driving off, she reminded herself that she couldn’t keep second-guessing her actions. What she needed was some rest and fresh perspective. Sleep felt like a privilege at the moment but things would feel much worse if she didn’t catch even a couple of hours. Despite which, she found herself making a round trip of three houses before returning home, stopping outside the Harringtons’, Tilly’s father’s house, and finally Rebecca Whitehead’s. The lights were off at each place and no sign that anyone had stayed behind. Still, she lingered outside Rebecca’s house on the chance that David would turn up.