In the Arms of Stone Angels - By Jordan Dane Page 0,107
she was in no position to talk. She had a wild look in her eye. And he had no idea what to make of all this.
“Sheriff, you gotta see this.”
Matt turned to see what his deputy was talking about.
“This looks like a real scalp, sheriff. I think this came off Heather Madsen.” Deputy Sanford grimaced and lifted a bloody strand of hair off Jade, using his pen to lift it.
“What the hell did you do, Brenna?”
He’d been wrong about the Nash girl. At the hospital, he’d felt sorry for her. He had the feeling she’d gotten caught up in something she couldn’t handle. Now it looked as if he’d been all wrong. And he would have arrested her on the spot for assaulting both these girls, if he hadn’t heard the garbled voice coming from the bed.
Jade DeLuca was alive.
“No. Not…B-Brenna.” Jade choked on every word. And she struggled to sit up, but couldn’t. The battered girl pointed a trembling finger. And she pointed it at Chloe Seaver. “She did it. Chloe killed…H-Heather. And almost…me, too.”
“That’s not true,” the Seaver girl ranted. “Jade and Derek. They were the ones who killed Heather. They did it! They’re ganging up on me, like they always do. Just ask anyone. They’ll tell you.”
Matt had no clue what had happened, but given the fact that Heather’s scalp had been in Chloe’s possession in her room, that evidence was as hard to refute as a smoking gun. And given the finger pointing between Jade and Chloe, he had a feeling that he owed a serious apology to Brenna Nash and her mother. He had a lot to figure out and from the looks of things, it would be a long night.
“Get an ambulance for Jade. And arrest this one for assault, for starters, until we sort this out.” He pointed at Chloe, who was still screaming and giving him a serious headache.
When Brenna stood, she almost collapsed. He grabbed her in time and held on to the thin, trembling girl. When he wrapped his arms around her, she didn’t pull away. The girl was sobbing.
“Shhh. You’re okay. You’re safe now, Brenna. It’s over. It’s really over this time.” He held her tight and whispered in her ear. “Come on. I’m taking you home. I’ve got something to say to you and your mom.”
An apology to the Nashes would be hard enough. But if what Jade said was true, and Chloe had killed Heather Madsen, then what would he say to Isaac Henry?
chapter nineteen
Ever since he’d said them, the sheriff’s words kept playing in my head. “It’s over. It’s really over this time.” I thought if I heard them enough, especially coming from him, I would believe it was true.
Guess I still needed time. And wounds that had cut so deep would never go away without a trace. I had to accept that.
After the sheriff had driven me home and explained things to Mom, it was my turn. She wanted my version of the truth. And after I got done with that and she’d patched me up, there wasn’t much nighttime left, but I made good use of my sack time. I had slept hard and I didn’t remember dreaming—until I heard a lawn mower outside my bedroom window.
That’s when I knew I was definitely dreaming. When I looked out my window, I saw Derek Bast and his buddies hard at work.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” I shook my head.
I got dressed real fast, as fast as I could with a fresh bandage on my stomach from where Chloe had clipped me with that butcher knife. Thinking about that gave me chills. So I raced downstairs looking for Mom. She was in the kitchen, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper.
“They’re calling you heroic, honey.” Mom grinned and raised her coffee mug.
“Oh, my God. I definitely must be dreaming.” I shook my head. “A friggin’ nightmare.”
Me, in the damned papers again. Two years ago the local papers were nothing but a rumor mill. Today I was heroic. Jeez! I didn’t need any of it. I wanted the whole thing to blow over. Mom didn’t look like she minded the story getting out, given the way she was glomming onto every word in that small-town paper. But me? I could use some serious downtime.
“And tell me that’s not Derek Bast and his buddies out there, fixing Grams’s house?” I scrunched my face, not doing a very good job of hiding a smirk.