Parlor Tricks

Chapter 39

Hank knew where to find Josie. He dressed quickly before rushing out to the street. Dillard's house was not far. He had walked the path many times, but in his urgency, the distance stretched on. The beating of his heart was painful in his chest as he finally drew near. It confirmed his suspicions when he saw the lights on inside. There would be no other reason for anyone to be up at this hour unless an unexpected visitor had disrupted the quiet of the night. Hank charged the front door but then faltered, not knowing how to proceed. Peter had spoken of Josie with such warmth just hours earlier; indeed, no harm could come to her at his hands.

Hank snaked around the house like a prowler in the night. He knew Peter would be in his office; that's where he would take her. Perhaps they were sharing a drink, forging a path. But when Hank arrived at the backdoor to the office, it was only Peter. He looked disheveled as his face sunk to his hands at his desk. Hank's eyes flickered anxiously around the room, looking for Josie, but she was nowhere. It was the slightest tremble of Peter's hand that tore through Hank like a knife.

Hank's hand ripped at the door in fevered insanity. "Where is she?" He demanded, his voice far too loud for the delicate hour.

Peter's eyes widened. "Get out, Hank. Get away!" Peter's voice dripped with pleading and fear.

"I'm not going anywhere without Josie."

Hank tore his way through the office and deeper into the house. If she weren't in his office, she would be in the parlor. He streaked frantically through the house until he found her. He sunk to the floor next to her, his knees causing a sickening splash in the pool of blood that surrounded her.

"Josie," he whispered as his hand hovered over the crack in her skull.

"Hank, leave now," Peter's voice was an urgent whisper. His hand fell to Hank's shoulder, tugging at it.

The gentle touch inflamed Hank further. "You did this. You did all of this. She was right all along." It was all spilling from him like Josie's blood flowed to the floor.

Hank's delusional wish that this man had been the friend his father had supported for all those years, that the years of support Peter had offered to Hank and Clara had been out of care and not guilt. Josie's lifeless body dashed the hopes.

"You killed her mother and my father; wasn't that enough?"

"Hank, you don't understand. Leave." Peter was still tugging on Hank, a futile attempt to pull him from Josie.

"I understand." Hank gathered Josie in his arms.

He couldn't stand the thought of her in this house. Her words from the morning rolled in his head, 'don't go to that house.' He had done this, filled her head with thoughts that Peter was not the villain that he so clearly was. Hank carried her with him back through the house and through the office, where the ghost of his father must still be lingering.

"Hank," Peter's voice was defeated and weak.

"You killed my father, didn't you?"

Chief Fox's words suddenly made sense. He had asked if there was any proof, 'fingerprints on the gun.' Hank had never thought to question the suicide until Josie swept into town.

"Hank, leave now."

"Admit it. You've killed everything that you've ever loved. I suppose it should offend me that you haven't killed me. Or is that in a few weeks? Drop by the house to finish the sad remains of the Carroll family."

"Sad remains," there was a haughty laugh to the tone, but it wasn't Peter. Elise stood in the doorway, unmoved by the gory scene before her. "Your family got what they deserved—your father with his unfailing kindness, always judging the rest of us. Nothing would ever touch the Carroll family, the perfect couple with their well-mannered son. It is easy to be perfect when you have nothing to challenge you."

"Elise, please..." Peter's voice wavered with fear.

"Oh, shut up, you pathetic twit." All the pieces fit. She turned her attention back to Hank. "All you had to do was ask for something; anything. This little man could have moved on with his life. But you wouldn't do that, would you? You wouldn't give this broken toy his solace. You're stubborn like your mother that way. But you shouldn't play with cracked morals; they bite." Her eyes widened with a more resonant ring of insanity than before. "He kept saying you would come. But then, of course, this one showed up." Elise let out another maniacal laugh. "I was about to say the bastard child of a bastard, but Peter is far too weak to be a bastard."

"They were leaving; why would you..." Hank's voice felt distant, like someone else was speaking.

"He loved her. It was only a matter of time before he got the nerve to leave me. I couldn't have that. As much of a pitiful embarrassment as he was, the scandal of a divorce would be so much worse. The woman left by this useless man," Elise's head snapped back and forth. "He could never get over that damned child. I could see it every time he looked at me. Judging me, like I was the only one on the beach that day. And this thing comes waltzing back in here like she was just ready to take the keys to the kingdom."

"She wanted nothing from you." Hank pulled Josie tighter to him. "She needed nothing from either of you."

"Oh, because a Carroll man had saved her," she was laughing at him now. "It was obvious the way you orbited her. It was like suffering through your parents all over again, splashing it in our faces with that old dress of Clara's. And here we are with another failed Carroll man."

"My father, how did you?" Hank's eyes flickered to the chair where his father had been sitting. Peter slumped there now.

"Oh, that was such a stroke of genius," Elise was delighted with herself. "He was here. This one was out of his mind drunk, the terrible despair of lost love." She faked the woe of the scene. "He had the same look you have now. When he went stumbling about for more liquor, I just slipped in and shot Henry. I don't think he even saw me. It was easy enough to wrap his hand around the gun. Oh, and plant the affair story. You know how this town loves a piece of gossip. I knew someone would offer it up as a fact."

Peter's head had sunk into his hands. "It's over now," he murmured.

"Not quite. We have this pesky body, but there is an obvious answer." She looked between Hank and Peter with an air of annoyed superiority. "Honestly, it's clear; this girl shows up out of nowhere trying to blackmail the families. But your temper got the best of you, didn't it, Hank?" Hank knew where the story was going; the way all stories end. He gently laid Josie down on the ground. He couldn't bear the tumbling of her body to be the last thing he heard. "Look at you: covered in blood, moving the body. I couldn't have staged it any better. I tried to save her, to protect her from you. But you were too fast in your anger. And then you turn on us, your dearest and oldest friends. I did the only thing I could." Elise lifted the gun from her side. "Does it help that this is the same gun I turned on your father?"

"Elise, no." The shot that tore through Hank's chest obscured Peter's scream.

Hank's last words were the desperate plea that Peter had always hoped for, not for himself, not for the family name, not even for the vindication of poor lost Josie. "Take care of my mother, Peter. Take care of my mother.

A man shouldn't watch his own life seep out of him; it is a cruel fate, but it felt comforting for Hank. The slow trickle of red soaked the breast of his shirt. He was aware of his coat roughly catching on the door handle as he sunk to the ground. The memories that had haunted him were draining from him with only the slightest hint of pain. He gave the memories willingly; giving was his parlor trick. He was stubborn, like his mother. He reached a hand out to Josie's. The faintest flicker of a smile tipped his lips as his other reddened hand lifted to his hat. Hank gave one last nod before he let his hat-filled hand fall to his chest, covering the gory destruction, too uncivilized for his mother's eyes.