“He came to see me.”

Wade sneered derisively. “I knew it. I knew he was weak. I knew he would be the first one to speak. Goddamn him!”

“He told me some of what happened.”

“Did he, now?”

“Yes.”

“And what did he tell you? What did he tell you exactly?”

“He told you nothing, Sheriff Gaines.”

Gaines turned suddenly.

Della Wade stood there in the doorway. She took three steps forward, snatched the half-smoked cigarette from her father’s hand, and dropped it in the teacup.

“Martha!” she shouted. “Martha, get in here right now!”

Martha hurried into the room.

“I don’t know who the hell you thought this was, or why you let him in, but he has been in here with Father, upsetting him and giving him cigarettes. Take Father upstairs now.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Martha said. “I thought it was some sort of official business.”

“See?” Wade said to Gaines. “See the kind of crap I have to put up with from these inconsiderate, selfish . . . Jesus Christ, this is intolerable.” He looked up at Della as he was wheeled from the room. “Whore!” he snapped.

Della closed her eyes for a moment and said nothing until her father was gone. She closed the door behind him and then stood there looking at Gaines as if Gaines had himself been the one to curse at her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“It has to end, Miss Wade. This has to end. I can’t let this go on anymore.”

“Let what go on, exactly? What is it that you think has to end?”

“All the lies. Whatever happened to Nancy, whatever happened to Michael Webster and Leon Devereaux. Your brother knows the truth, and if he is involved, then he needs to be held accountable for what he’s done.”

“You came to me for help. I helped you. I am doing this my way, and that is the way it is going to be done.”

“I can’t let that happen. This is police business. People have been killed. Not only killed, but their bodies—”

“I know what has happened, Sheriff, and I told you that I would help you. What I did not expect was to find you in my house, talking to my father.”

“Your father said—”

“What my father said or did not say is neither here nor there, Sheriff. My father does not understand what he is saying, and even if he does, it bears no relevance to what is happening here.”

“He said that Marvin Wallace needed to keep his mouth shut or they were all going to pay the price. What did he mean, Miss Wade? What did your father mean by that?”

For a split second, the air of self-possession became transparent. Had Gaines not been looking directly at her, he would not have seen it.

“I do not know, Sheriff Gaines. I have absolutely no idea what he might have meant.”

“I think you do, Miss Wade. I think you know precisely what he meant.”

Gaines got to his feet. He looked back at her unerringly.

“So what? You’re now going to start accusing me of being involved in what has happened here? What my brother is involved in is not something I know about, or want to know about.”

“I don’t believe you, Miss Wade,” Gaines said. “I don’t think Matthias spoke to Eugene, or maybe he spoke to him but he did not tell him about Leon Devereaux. I think Matthias is far smarter than that. He would not name names, would he, Miss Wade? He did not threaten you with Leon Devereaux, did he? That’s not what you said. You said that he threatened Eugene. And Clifton never mentioned Leon. Clifton did not know who cut his fingers off. That name came from you, and only you.”

Della Wade waved Gaines’s comments aside. “You are imagining connections where no connection exists, Sheriff,” she said.

“No, Miss Wade, I don’t believe I am. I think this is a family matter. I think this has always been a family matter, and you each are doing whatever you can to protect the precious Wade name. I think something happened here in 1954, and something else happened in January of 1968 out near Morgan City, and your older brother, the black sheep of the family, was responsible. I think your father knew, and I think you knew, and I think you have been hiding the truth for all these years.”

“You really are reaching, Sheriff.”

“And Leon Devereaux? I think he killed Michael Webster, and he was told to do this by Matthias, and then maybe Matthias got scared that Devereaux would talk, or maybe you finally found out that Devereaux was the one who hurt Clifton, and you went out there and you shot Devereaux. Devereaux was dead two days after I found Michael Webster’s head buried in the field behind my house. Leon Devereaux was dead five days before you even showed up at Nate Ross’s place, and you performed so well, Miss Wade. You acted your part so very well, and you made us all believe that you knew nothing of what was going on.”

Della Wade smiled quietly. “You don’t know anything about me, Sheriff, and you know nothing about my family. Matthias is the very last person in the world I would protect. Matthias is a vicious son of a bitch, intent on nothing more than controlling everything and everyone around him. He keeps me here, he keeps our father here, and anyone who does not agree with him—Catherine and Eugene most of all—he disowns them, doesn’t speak to them, threatens them to stay away from here or he will ruin them. If Leon Devereaux killed Michael Webster, then it was Matthias who told him to do it. And if Leon Devereaux is dead, then either Matthias killed him or he sent someone to do it. I spoke to Eugene, and Eugene told me that Matthias had threatened him. I have no wish to see my father suffer for what Matthias may or may not have done, but I have even less of a desire to protect Matthias from the consequences of his actions. If Matthias killed Nancy Denton, then so be it. If that is the truth, then he should be charged and tried and sentenced like anyone else. If he killed Michael Webster, or he was involved in his death, then he should suffer the penalty for that as well.”

“Did Matthias kill Nancy Denton, Miss Wade? Or did someone else kill her?”

Della Wade stood silently. She did not blink.

“Was it Matthias, or was it someone else? Someone you could never have challenged as a child, someone who would have been believed so much more than you? Is that why your mother drank herself to death, Miss Wade? Is that why your father is so afraid the truth will come out? Did your father kill her, Miss Wade? Did he strangle Nancy Denton? Did he kill those girls in Morgan City in 1968? Is that the truth, Miss Wade?”

“Enough!” she snapped. “I will not have you stand here and accuse my father of being a murderer—”

“But you are not defending him, Miss Wade. You are not denying it, are you?”

“You need to leave now, Sheriff. You need to leave this house right now.”

“And what about Michael Webster, crazy son of a bitch that he was, believing that he could bring her back to life? You didn’t know he did that, did you? You didn’t know that that was what had happened to her body, did you? You just thought that your father had buried her somewhere, or maybe thrown her down a dry well or something. You never thought she would be found, did you? How much of a surprise was that? It came back, after all these years, and now your father is sick; now he’s lost half his mind, and there is no way he could ever be brought to trial for this. So what do you do? You want Matthias to pay for your father’s crimes. You want Matthias to pay because he’s caused you so much upset. You want him to pay for what he did to you and Clifton. You want Matthias to spend the rest of his life looking out through the bars of a prison cell—”

Della Wade did not say a word. She smiled, and she slowly shook her head.

“You are more like Michael than you think,” she said. “You went to war. War makes men crazy. There is no way a man can return from war and be a whole man ever again. You left some piece of yourself there, just like Michael did. Nancy was ours. She belonged to us. To me and Matthias. Then he came back and he took her from us. And I was glad when she disappeared. I was pleased she was gone, because life could get back to how it was before. But that didn’t happen, because she wasn’t there. Michael came home, and because of Michael she was gone, and then everything was ruined—”