Last Breath (The Good Daughter 0.5)(16)

Charlie folded the Visa statement in two, pulling a Scarlett O’Hara so she could think about it tomorrow.

Or maybe the day after.

Or next week.

Lenore continued, oblivious. “Leroy was into mostly petty crimes, boosting weed eaters and mowers from weekenders’ cabins, but then he went over the line with a John Deere golf cart, which graduated him from misdemeanor theft to a felony.”

Charlie silently played back Lenore’s words in her mind so that she could understand what she had been told. In the end, she was not surprised by the escalation. Most people did not wind up in prison because they were smart. She asked, “What happened to his leg?”

“He was working maintenance at the blue jean factory before it moved to Mexico. Climbed one of those old wooden ladders to change out a light bulb, but the ladder broke. Leroy fell straight down, feet first. One of his legs was longer than the other, so it took the full weight of the fall. Crushed the bones up to his hip.”

“How tall was the ladder?”

“Thirty feet.”

“Good Lord.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t pretty. I saw the X-rays from the hospital. His foot was folded up behind his calf like a clam shell.”

Charlie thought about the brace on Leroy’s leg. Was he too disabled to chase after his granddaughter? Flora was young, but she looked like she could handle herself. All she had to do was briskly walk away. Then again, if she was being assaulted by her grandfather, a man who had taken over as her father when her own father had died, then she might not feel like she could run away from anything.

“About his injury.” Charlie looked up at Lenore. “I was wondering if—”

Lenore held up a finger to stop her. The woman’s hearing was bat-level precise. Three more seconds passed before Charlie heard the humming and snapping and clicking that announced her father walking up the hallway.



“What warm delights!” He clutched his chest at the sight of them. “Two beautiful women in my kitchen. And cinnamon buns!” Rusty helped himself to a pastry. “Tell me, ladies, what does a thesaurus eat for breakfast?”

“A synonym bun,” Charlie answered. “I was asking Lenny about Leroy and Maude Faulkner.”

Rusty raised an eyebrow as he took a messy bite of bun. He had no qualms about talking with his mouth full. “Last time I dealt with those two, Maude had sliced open Leroy’s face with a switchblade.”

Charlie felt a chunk of broken glass pump through her heart. “Any particular reason?”

“The magic of inebriation, I assume. Leroy refused to press charges once he sobered up.” Rusty took the paper napkin Lenore shoved in his face. “It’s a love/hate relationship. They love to hate each other.”

Charlie asked, “Do you think they’d ever turn on each other?”

“Absolutely, but then they’d turn right back.” Rusty grinned around another bite of pastry. “Those two are the proverbial finger and the asshole. You can never tell who’s fucking who.”

Charlie had long become anesthetized to her father’s colorful remarks. She did not want to, but she looked at the calendar again. She could feel a sheen of sweat on the back of her neck. She worked to stay with the problem at hand, asking Rusty, “What do you know about their granddaughter?”

“She lost her mother in a terrible accident.”

“Are they capable of taking care of her? I mean, like, without hurting her?”

He gave her a curious look. “What are you asking?”

Charlie did not know how to ask her father if Leroy Faulkner was a pedophile. Even if Rusty knew, he was likely bound by attorney–client privilege and couldn’t tell her. “Do you think she’s safe with her grandparents?”



“People make bad decisions when they’re down on their luck.”

“So, she’s not safe?”

“I did not say that.” Rusty grabbed up another cinnamon bun. “I will, however, tell you that back when the girl’s mama died, the fact that there was a trust fund went a long way toward convincing them that they should raise her. Like tying a pork chop around a kid’s neck so the dog will play with her.”

Charlie wasn’t surprised by the news. “What happens when the money runs out?”

“Indeed.”

Another non-answer. Charlie tried to narrow down his options: “They only pretend to love her because of the money in the trust? Or do they really love her, even without the money?” She groaned. “How much money did you get for Leroy after the accident?”

“Forced arbitration,” Rusty answered, which meant that the case had not been handled by a judge and jury, but by a professional arbitrator who likely worked for the company that was being sued. “Most of the money went to the doctors and the hospital and rehab. Not much left after that. His greedy lawyer sucked up all the rest.”

Charlie looked away as pieces of pastry fell from his mouth.

Rusty took another bite. “Anything else, Charlie Bear?”

Charlie held up her hand. “You’ve been so helpful already.”

He was immune to sarcasm. “You are most welcome, my beloved daughter.”

Rusty left, snapping his fingers, humming until the cinnamon bun got caught in his throat, then hacking a cough that sounded like the late stages of tuberculosis.