Between Now and Heartbreak - Dylan Allen Page 0,60

and I stand a little straighter now. “I’m not a fucking kid. And neither is she. Sure, her dad is powerful. But this is America.”

“This is Winsome. Wolfe owns it. All of it. Including the people. They work for him, live in homes he owns, owe money to banks he underwrites. He’s turned his money into a weapon. He’s used it to buy influence and power. But Liz is sitting on a golden egg. There’s more, but she’ll have to tell you.”

“She’s not interested in moving on from him. She made a choice and she’s sticking with it. That’s it.”

“She wants you.” She pushes back.

“Did she tell you that?” I challenge.

“I haven’t talked to her about it.”

“So how do you know?”

She groans in exasperation.

“How do you not? This would all be a lot easier if the two of you weren’t both the sensitive artist type. Just ask her. Or better yet, open your damn eyes and look. Whatever you do, don’t leave here without making sure she knows how you feel. If you don’t, it’ll break her heart and Duke will be waiting to pick up the pieces. I don’t want what happened to your mother to happen to anyone else.”

Her curveball of a subject change hits me square between the eyes.

“What do you mean?”

She squares her shoulders a little and her chin comes up as she takes a defensive posture. “I mean, when people are cornered they will do things that they wouldn’t ordinarily.”

“What you think Beth is going to…” In the heat of the argument that ensued afterwards, I’d forgotten Beth’s comments about Susan Kendicott. Until now. She said the very same thing.

“No, but no one would have believed it of Susan Kendicott. And honestly. I’m not sure that I do anymore. There was no evidence that she pulled the trigger. No evidence that she set that fire. Only her saying she did.”

“What other evidence do they need but that?” I’m incredulous at the train of her logic.

“That’s exactly what I thought, too. Her confession was clear eyed and given in open court in front of dozens of witnesses. But now…”

“Now?” I’m hanging onto every word.

“You are the game changer. Everyone, including me, thought she killed that baby. I mean, what else would she have done, right? She was a murderer after all.” She puts murderer in air quotes.

“Now… we know that when she ran away that night, she was pregnant with a child she knew wasn’t her husband’s. She traveled as far away as she could get, gave birth, and then she came all the way back home, less than a week after she left that baby on the steps of a church, and turned herself in.”

“And? It doesn’t change the fact that there’s still a missing kid and a husband she confessed to killing.”

“I think maybe she took the rap for someone else or at the very least had help.” She sits back, and watches me for a reaction.

I release a long, shuddering breath and shake my head to stop the spinning.

“That’s a very different theory than everyone else’s.”

Her expression hardens, her upper lip curls in disgust.

“There is no theory. No one cared enough about a young woman with no name, no money, and an abusive drunk of a husband. They just locked her away so they didn’t have to be reminded of their collective failure to protect her from the men who preyed on her. The culture of secrets and the concentration of power in this town and towns like it all across the country, allowed it all to happen.”

Her eyes are burning with indignation. I’m not sure Susan Kendicott is the victim cum hero she’s spun just now, but I’m sure there are plenty of women who are. After my own experience trying to access public records, I can see how tenacious corruption can be.

“So, now that you know all of that, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to write this book and blow it all wide open.” She grins baring her teeth in a blatant sinister smile. I feel sorry for whoever she’s going after.

“Thank you for helping me get answers.”

“Instructions are inside.” She nudges the back with fingertips.

I pick it up.

“How can I get it back to you?”

“Text me and I’ll swing by to get it before I head back to Austin.”

My phone rings and I grimace when I see it’s Nadia.

I send it to voicemail, but open my browser to search for a number I should have called days ago.

“Sorry

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