a smarmy, spoiled brat. He was sick. Psycho. Evil. My worst transgression, even above the theft, was my naïveté regarding his depravity.
“So I agreed with Dad. However, he and I knew better than to call the sheriff’s department. Dad told me that he would call the Texas Rangers, maybe even the FBI. But he suggested that we wait until daylight. He wanted to clean himself up, get cold sober and clear-headed. He said we had to place ourselves in the best possible bargaining position for my clemency.
“He told me to go upstairs and try to sleep. He held my face between his hands and apologized for all his shortcomings. He blamed himself for driving me to commit a crime, and told me he would make certain the authorities understood that desperation had led me to do it. He kissed my forehead.
“Obediently I went to my room. I was nervous and frightened. Even if I surrendered and threw myself on the mercy of the law, there was still a chance I would go to prison.”
She reflected for a moment, then shook off her pensiveness and shifted her position in the chair. “I never saw Dad again. He’d seemed so contrite over his failings. There were even tears standing in his eyes. It never occurred to me that his mea culpa was a ploy.”
No one said anything; then Ledge prefaced speaking by clearing his throat. “When did you discover that he was gone?”
Lisa looked at him, then at Arden. “When Rusty nearly beat down the door looking for him.”
“You’re lying.”
“Rusty was here that night?” Arden asked.
She and Ledge had spoken in unison, but it was his accusation of lying that Lisa addressed. “I’m not lying! I was in my room, but it was a ridiculous notion that I could sleep. When the pounding on the door started, I was afraid it was lawmen, here to arrest me.” She looked at Ledge. “I thought perhaps you’d done as Rusty had feared, that you had turned on the rest of us to save your own skin.”
He gave her a baleful look but didn’t comment.
She went back to Arden. “I was afraid that you would wake up and be terrified. Not even taking time to dress, I ran downstairs in my pajamas and answered the door. It wasn’t men in uniform. It was Rusty, and he was a wreck. His clothes were filthy. He was all banged up and in obvious pain. He couldn’t even stand upright, but he barged in, ranting, demanding to know where Dad was, threatening to kill him.
“I had to pretend to be shocked by his appearance, pretend not to know about his fierce fight with Foster and how it ended. I kept asking him what had happened to him, who had beaten him up, what had Dad to do with anything.
“He said, ‘Foster told your old man about the burglary. He knew where I was going to meet Foster. He hoodwinked both of us and took the money. Where is he?’ He told me that when he found Dad, he was going to kill him, and I believed him.
“He pushed me aside and hobbled into the kitchen here. There were Dad’s fresh muddy footprints, and a wet patch on the floor where the bag had been. I gaped at them as though I didn’t understand what they signified.
“Actually, at that point in time, I didn’t,” she said with a wry grimace. “I thought maybe Dad had seen Rusty’s car coming toward the house and had sneaked out. Something like that. I was glad that he and the money were safe from this crazy person ranting at me. He went out the back door and into the garage. I followed, fearing Dad would be cowering in there. But he was nowhere to be found. Rusty was relentless, saying he was going to find him if he had to tear the place apart.
“When we came back inside, he went from room to room. I kept trying to distract him by asking how he’d been injured. He was grunting and groaning in pain, but he dragged himself upstairs. He looked into your room,” she said to Arden, “with me begging him not to wake you. If you had woken up and seen him in his condition, you would have been traumatized.”
“No doubt,” Arden said caustically.
Lisa plowed on. “Rusty searched in my room. That left only Dad’s bedroom. It was empty. But what struck me then was that Rusty’s muddy footprints on the stairs