The Last of the Moon Girls(107)

Helen stared down at her hands, her fingers so tightly laced that her knuckles had gone white. A tear slid down her cheek, then another. Finally, she lifted her head. “They loaded the girls into an old cart and wheeled it to the pond. Dennis waded in with Heather first, and watched her sink. But when Hollis picked Darcy up, she let out a moan.”

Lizzy’s stomach did a slow, queasy roll. She’d forgotten the rest of what Roger had said. One of the girls—Darcy—had shown evidence of drowning. She looked at Helen, unable to find words.

“Dennis didn’t say anything but Hollis knew. They had to finish it. Dennis took hold of Darcy’s legs, and they dragged her in. They waited, just to make sure, but she stayed down.”

Salt and stagnant water . . . like a mud flat at low tide. Or a pond.

“She was alive when she went into the water,” Lizzy whispered, registering the horror of it. “She might have survived the blow to the head if she hadn’t been dragged into the pond.”

“Hollis never forgave himself.”

And there it was. The reason Hollis had driven his car into a tree. Lizzy closed her eyes, trying to blot out the image in her head. “When he . . . died,” she said haltingly, “there was a note. You gave it to the police, but they left it behind. Then it disappeared.”

Andrew pulled several tissues from the box Rhanna had placed nearby for Lizzy and passed them to Helen. She took them with a grateful nod. “That was Dennis,” she said, dabbing at her eyes. “He told me to burn it, to say I never saw it. He was afraid people would tie what Hollis wrote back to the girls.”

“It was never about Hollis. All of it—the note, the fire—was about protecting himself. Because he killed Heather.”

“I’m not sure Dennis knew the difference anymore. His whole identity was wrapped up in being Hollis’s protector. When Hollis died, he lost that. Then he lost the farm. And then he heard you were back, and asking questions. That’s when things got bad. When the stories started showing up in the paper, I knew it was him, but I couldn’t say anything. He said he’d take Kayla, and I’d never find her.”

“Did he mean he’d take her and run, or that he’d hurt her?”

Helen’s eyes flashed with remembered panic. “I don’t know. I just knew something terrible would happen if I went to the police. That’s why I bumped into you yesterday and said what I did. I didn’t know what else to do. And then last night, the police came to the door, and I thought . . .” She paused, pressing a hand to her mouth. “When they told me you got out, that you were okay, I knew I had to tell the police everything—and give them the letter Hollis wrote before he died.”

Lizzy gaped at her. “You have the letter?”

“It was the last thing he ever wrote, and he wrote it to me. I couldn’t just burn it. I’m going to take it to the police and tell them everything. But I needed to see you first. I felt like I owed it to you—and your grandmother. I know I can never be sorry enough, but I had to say it anyway.”

“Thank you for that,” Lizzy said quietly, knowing just how hard today must have been for her. “The bruise on your cheek—that was Dennis?”

She touched the discoloration gingerly. “He came home drunk, making a lot of noise. I had just gotten Kayla to sleep and I asked him to be quiet.”

Andrew blew out a slow breath, like a pressure cooker releasing steam. “I know Dennis was helping you financially. Will you and Kayla be able to manage?”

Helen shrugged, wadding the tissues in her hand. “I don’t know. I haven’t had time to think about it. My parents are in Florida. They’d probably let me come, but I have to talk to the police first. I might end up in jail for not telling them what I knew.”

Andrew scrubbed a thumb over his chin as he mulled over her response. “Why don’t you wait a day before talking to the police? Lizzy and I have a friend, a detective, who might be able to offer some advice. And you need to get yourself a lawyer before you say anything.”

Helen’s face fell. “I can’t afford a lawyer. Especially now.”

“Let us worry about that.”

Helen blinked at him, genuinely stunned. “I don’t know what to say. After everything . . . I don’t deserve that sort of kindness.”

Lizzy met Andrew’s eyes briefly, then laid a hand on Helen’s. “There’s been enough harm done, Helen. You ending up in jail won’t undo any of it. Let us help you if we can.”

“All right then. Thank you.” Helen stood, sniffling, and pushed her crumpled tissues into her pocket. “I’d better find Kayla and go. I work at two, and I have things to do. Should I just wait to hear from you?”

“I’ll make a call. It shouldn’t be long.”

Andrew took Helen out to the garden to find Kayla. Lizzy remained on the settee, drained and numb. She’d wanted the truth, and she’d gotten it. All of it.

The twisted lives of the Hanley boys, the by-product of a drunken and morally bankrupt father. Two girls brutally murdered, because one of them was afraid to go home. Her skin crawled at the thought of Fred Gilman standing over his daughter’s bed. At some point, she’d need to call Susan. She deserved to know the truth, and not from a headline in the Chronicle.

After years of heartache, she would finally know what happened to her girls, but the grief and the questions would never end. How could they when the loss was so inexplicably cruel?