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  Frank knocked at the front door and waited. When no one answered, he walked around the porch to the side door that fed into the kitchen. Lucille was sitting at the table, her back to the door.

  “Mrs. Longier,” he said, tapping at the door. She didn’t move or register his presence.

  “Mrs. Longier,” he said, knocking harder. When she failed to move, he opened the screen and walked into the room. He stepped around to face her. Her blue eyes were gazing out the kitchen window at an old shed. She seemed to be watching something of great interest, but when Frank looked out the window, he saw only the heat devils dancing in the yard and a few butterflies skimming the last of the summer flowers.

  The hard rain the night before had left the earth saturated. The sun had come up hot, vaporizing the moisture and creating a bowl of humidity over the town. Frank wiped the sweat from his brow as he turned back to the woman who had masterminded her daughter’s violent rape and the death of her grandchild.

  “Suzanna is dead,” he said simply. “You’re to blame for it.”

  “How dare you say such a thing.”

  Somewhere between his entrance and his accusation, Lucille had regained her composure. He looked into blue eyes that held fire and ice. “I dare because it’s true. You paid Junior and Pet to fall upon Marlena. John Hubbard helped you set it up. By the way, where is Hubbard?”

  “I have no idea who you’re talking about.” She smiled. “I’d offer you coffee, but my servants seem to have abandoned me.”

  Frank had wondered if he would feel any pity for Lucille. Now he knew. None. Not the first scrap. She was unrepentant. “I wouldn’t count on Ruth or Jonah ever coming back. Except to return your car, of course.”

  “I want him arrested. He’s a thief.”

  “Let’s talk about the money you paid Junior.”

  Lucille’s mouth twisted up on one side. “Frank, you come from a long line of people with defective genes. Insanity is hereditary, you know.”

  “How much did you pay them?”

  “You grandfather murdered his brother and his sister-in-law, and then turned the gun on himself. Now you’ve killed Junior Clements when he was lying on the floor wounded. Everyone in town knows you’re nuts. The kind ones say ‘shell-shocked.’ Everyone knows that’s code for insane.”

  “Did you tell Junior and Pet to frighten Marlena? Was that the plan? Or did you simply want her destroyed because she threatened your security?”

  “Rumors around town are that you killed two of your own men who were wounded. Some say it was an act of kindness. Others, though, say you didn’t want to be bothered carrying injured men. Which was it, Frank?”

  He watched her and saw the corruption that ran to the bone. She would do anything to protect herself. Anything. Sacrifice her daughter, her grandchild, anyone who happened to be convenient. Her words were cotton puffs tossed at him. She’d never had the power to injure him, only those who loved her.

  “You’re going to prison, Lucille. You’ll die there, if I have anything to do with it.”

  She laughed. “You’re a fool, Frank. Who’s going to testify against me? Junior and Pet are dead. You killed one and Jonah killed the other.” She laughed again at his expression. “Huey called me and told me. He thought he was being kind and taking care of an old woman.” She stood up. “You have no evidence that I had anything to do with what Junior and Pet did.”

  Frank’s smile was slow. “Really.”

  “Really,” she said, taking a step toward him.

  “You forget about John Hubbard.”

  “Who?” She arched an eyebrow in mock confusion.

  “Marlena’s lover. The man who set the whole thing up. The man who was here at your house last evening.” Frank grinned. “You’re going to jail, Lucille.”

  “Where is this Hubbard?” Lucille frowned and looked in every corner of the room. “Produce him, Frank.”

  Frank had the first inkling of concern. Hubbard was somewhere in the area. His car was still parked on the courthouse lawn. He had no way to get out of town.

  “Where is he, Frank?” Lucille demanded.

  “We’ll find him,” Frank said. He rested his thumb over the pistol in his holster.

  “I don’t think you’ll find him.” Lucille stepped closer to Frank. “No, I don’t think you’ll find this John Hubbard. If he ever existed, I think he’s gone.” She straightened the collar of her dress. “You have nothing to link me to any of this.” “We’ll find Hubbard and he’ll talk.”

  “No, Frank, let me tell you what’s going to happen. And you can take it to the bank. Lucas is going to bury Suzanna on Wednesday. On Thursday, he’s going to file for divorce. On Friday, Huey is going to charge Marlena with reckless neglect in the death of his daughter. She never should have had that child in the woods while she was having an affair.”

  “Huey won’t do that.” Frank’s voice lacked conviction. He knew he was lying. Huey wasn’t a bad man, but he was a weak man, and in the face of Lucas Bramlett’s insistence, he would do what Lucas wanted.

  Lucille met his gaze. “You don’t even believe that.”

  “And what about you?” Frank asked. “What will you do without Lucas’s money to support you?”

  “What makes you think I won’t have money?”

  Frank tasted only bitterness. He would do what he could to protect Marlena, but that would be too little too late. In killing Junior, he’d destroyed Marlena. He looked at the old woman, still handsome in a cold way. “How long do you think Lucas will support his ex-mother-in-law?” He watched with great satisfaction as the truth of his words stung her. “He’ll divorce Marlena and he’ll dump you. I hope you didn’t give Junior all your money, because it won’t be long before you’re begging in the streets.” He started to turn away, but looked back. “I won’t ever stop looking for Hubbard. And when I find him, dead or alive, you’re going to prison.”

  Dotty sat in the backyard swing, her foot swathed in bandages. She held a drink in her hand and used her good foot to push herself gently to and fro. The heat was unbearable. She had a terrible fear that gangrene would slip beneath the white bandages and nibble at the rest of her foot, creeping up her leg.

  “Shit,” she said, sipping her bourbon. “Am I morbid or what?”

  “Is it true that Zerty’s in jail?” The boy came out from behind the tree. She’d learned that his name was Luke.

  “He’s in jail and he’s going to rot there.” She sipped the bourbon. “If he ever does get out, I’m going to hang him from a tree limb, gut him, and let the wasps have him.”

  Luke’s hand traced his sightless eye. “Would you really?”

  “Do you doubt it?” She’d do worse than that if Archey ever got out of the pen. “Where’s your ma?”

  “Inside.” The boy’s voice faded.

  “She’s going to be okay,” Dotty said. When the boy didn’t respond, she stopped the swing and touched his shoulder. “She’ll be okay. She just has to believe that no one is going to hurt her again.”

  “Does she have to go away?”

  Dotty thought about it. A strange bond had formed between the three of them, and she was reluctant to let the doctors in Mobile have Katy, even though she’d been assured that a stay in a sanitarium, with proper care, would be the best thing for her. “We’ll give it a try,” she said. “If Katy doesn’t do well, or if she seems unhappy, we’ll get her out.”

  “Promise?”

  Dotty nodded. “I promise.” She stood up and Luke handed her a crutch. “What about you?” she asked. “That doctor said he could do skin grafts. Lucas has set up a fund for you and your mom so there’s money.” She thought of Lucas and felt a flush of fury. Lucas had established the medical fund only after being threatened with exposing the fact that Luke was his child. Frank had handled the delicate negotiations, and she felt a smile building at the thought of how that conversation must have gone. “What about it?” she asked.

  The boy shook his head. “No.”
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  “What are you going to do?” Dotty asked.

  “What are you going to do?” he responded.

  She laughed. “I don’t know for certain.”

  “Can I stay here?” He looked down at the ground.

  Dotty felt the tears in her eyes. Seemed like most folks couldn’t get away from her fast enough. Her husband, Joe, had stepped in front of a train, and sometimes she thought it might have been deliberate. Luke was different, though. Folks stared at him like he was a freak, and it made her mad enough to fight. For the first time she could remember, she was willing to fight for someone other than herself. Luke liked being with her, and if it was because no one else would have him, that didn’t matter.

  “Sure,” she said. “You can stay here as long as you like. We’ll figure out together what we’re going to do.”

  35

  Jade stood in the cold, tiled embalming room at Rideout Funeral Home. The door was open. She was the only person in the back rooms. Junior Clements was dead. His body had been shipped back to Laurel, a burden for his relatives and all who knew him. Jade looked at the small body beneath the sheet on the table. It was the last thing she could do for her niece.

  She took a long breath and blinked back her tears. Suzanna was gone, forever free of the pain and suffering of this life. Jade imagined her playing in a garden filled with sunshine and flowers, laughing in a carefree way she’d never owned in reality.

  Jade walked to the table and lifted the sheet. A gray pallor had settled over the child’s features. She’d been in the water too long. Lucas had ordered a closed casket, one of the few such services in Jebediah County. He did not want the community to look upon the tragedy of his only child. Jade got her kit of makeup and carefully touched a light pink gloss over Suzanna’s lips. She put the child’s head on a block and combed the long chestnut hair, removing the tangles and finally braiding two pigtails. From the pocket of her smock she took two bright red ribbons and tied one onto each braid. She wondered if her niece would speak to her. She waited, but the room remained silent. At last she picked up Suzanna’s cold hand.

  “I know what’s going to happen.” Jade stroked her niece’s forehead. “Your mama never meant for anything bad to happen to you, but she’s going to pay anyway. When she goes off to Parchman, I’ll go with her.” She closed her eyes and fought to control the trembling of her body. Frank had been silent when she told him her plans. They both knew that Marlena would be convicted. There was no jury of peers for Marlena. Everyone in Jebediah County either feared Lucas or owned him money. He would get the verdict he wanted, and Marlena would die if she was abandoned to the state penal system alone. Jonah had been tight-lipped at Jade’s decision, and Ruth had broken three of her cherished cups. Frank had listened and then nodded. Jade’s heart had fluttered at the possibilities in his smile.

  She bent closer to her niece. “I want you to know that I won’t leave your mama alone. She loved you, Suzanna. She just didn’t love herself enough.”

  Jade kissed the dead girl’s forehead, so cool and smooth. “Your troubles are over now, child. I’ll think of you running and laughing in the sunshine.” She pulled the sheet up, covered Suzanna’s face, and walked out of the room.

  PRAISE FOR CAROLYN HAINES

  “Fans of Haines’s Bones series will welcome this latest novel’s haunted characters and driving narrative.”

  —Julia Spencer-Fleming, Edgar finalist and author of To Darkness and to Death

  “Haines’s sentences neatly and exactly delineate passionate emotions and richly drawn characters.”

  — Rocky Mountain News on Judas Burning

  “Like the heat of a Deep South summer, Ms. Haines’s novel has an undeniable intensity; it’s impossible to shake its brooding atmosphere.”

  — The New York Times Book Review on Judas Burning

  “Clever and impressive.”

  —Publishers Weekly on Hallowed Bones

  “A writer of exceptional talent.”

  — Milwaukee Journal on Them Bones

  “Wickedly funny. Devilishly clever. Scintillatingly Southern. Carolyn Haines is an author to die for.”

  —Carolyn Hart, author of April Fool Dead

  Published in Electronic Format by

  TYRUS BOOKS

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  4700 East Galbraith Road

  Cincinnati, Ohio 45236

  www.tyrusbooks.com

  Copyright © 2006 by Carolyn Haines

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction.

  Any similarities to people or places, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-3352-0

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-3352-5

  This work has been previously published in print format by:

  St. Martin’s Press,

  a division of Macmillan Publishers

  Print ISBN: 0-312-35160-7