In the Bleak Midwinter

She felt as if she had just flown into a strong thermal and gained a thousand feet of altitude in a few seconds. Dizzy. Disoriented. From where she was now, everything was the same, but everything looked different. “Your father, Wesley.” She looked down at the young man. His face was a mask of absolute denial. “Your father is so proud of you. And so determined that you go to West Point and have a brilliant military career. What wouldn’t he do to protect you from ‘ruining your life’ with some white-trash girl and her baby?”

“No,” he said.

“He must have contacted her and invited her to Millers Kill. Maybe he tried to bribe her into forgetting about you and Cody first. But that didn’t work. He wouldn’t have known that that wouldn’t work with someone like Katie. So he got rid of the problem another way.”

“No!”

She paced around the table, talking as much to herself as to Wesley. “We assumed that Darrell McWhorter threatened to blackmail Cody’s father. But why go to a kid in college when you can tap into so much more money from his dad?” She leaned over the table. “He saw you two together, didn’t he? Darrell.”

Wesley hesitated, then nodded. “I drove her home from the library late once. She used to have me leave her at the intersection, but it was dark and starting to snow, so I took her right to her apartment house instead. She was always scared that her dad would find out about us. He was just getting back from a bar or something that night, and got a real good look at me.” He leaned back in his chair and scrubbed at his face with his hands. “Katie said he asked her a lot of questions about me, but she convinced him I was just a guy in her study group.”

“Darrell was smarter than any of us gave him credit for. As soon as he saw your family photo on the parish bulletin board, he put all the pieces together. When he called your father, they must have agreed to ride down to Albany to get any incriminating stuff left in Katie’s room as part of the deal. And when your father saw his chance to get rid of Darrell, he acted quickly and decisively.” She straightened. “Wesley, your father’s been methodically removing every person who might interfere with you becoming the fifth generation of Fowlers to graduate from West Point.”

“This is insane. My dad wouldn’t kill anybody! And if he’s willing to do anything to protect me, why the hell wouldn’t he confess instead of letting the cops cart me off to jail?”

“Your dad could kill somebody, Wes. He’s done it before, lots of times. It’s just not in the line of duty this time.” She paused. “Or maybe for him it is.” She crossed her arms and blew out a frustrated breath. “But you’re right, it doesn’t make sense that he’d let you be convicted of—” her stomach clenched into a tight ball. “Oh, my God. The baby.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“The baby, Wes, the baby! The one you told him you were ready to raise as a single father? The baby who is the root of all his troubles? Oh, holy God, I told him where to find him. I told him.” She slammed her palm against the alarm button, setting off an electronic siren that made the edge of her back teeth ache.

The door rattled and then Russ was inside the room, crouching low, his gun drilled at Wesley. “Down on the floor! Now!” Wesley fell out of his chair, flat and spread-eagled. Russ didn’t look away from him. “Clare? Are you okay?”

The siren made it impossible to talk. “Yes!” she shouted. “I just needed to get out of the room!”

“What?” Russ straightened and stalked over to the alarm. He twisted a knob. It fell silent, leaving sound-echos ringing in her ears. “What the hell did you mean, setting off an alarm just to get out? You don’t move until I say you do, mister!” He swiveled his gun back toward Wesley, who had levered himself up on his arms.

Clare opened her mouth to tell Russ everything, then shut it again. What we say here is just between you and me and God. Priestly confidence. Her throat and chest felt as if they would burst with her discovery. A discovery she couldn’t share with anyone. She groaned.

“Clare?”

“Give me your truck keys. Now.”

“What’s—”

“Now, Russ!” He fished his keys out of his pocket.

“I’m going to Deborah McDonald’s house out on Aubry Road near the intersection of old Route One Hundred.” She jabbed a finger at Wesley. “You! Tell the chief everything!” She pelted through the door before Russ could stop her with any more unanswerable questions.