Her Lost Alibi David Berens (recommended reading TXT) 📖

Marcario Morales in trouble for attempted sexual assault, it was actually, a pretty solid alibi for the jerk. She wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but she thought the statute of limitations might have run out for the attack a long time ago anyway.

The flecks of flamingo snow had settled, so she picked up the globe and shook it again. On a whim, she took out her phone and took a picture of it. Then she did a Google search for similar images. Four-hundred-ninety-two thousand and eighty-nine photos of random snow globes appeared, but on page two, a picture caught her eye. There it was. A glass shelf full of flamingo snow globes just like the one on her desk. She clicked over to the hosting page and froze.

Just above the section for Symbolic Animal Adoption and below the link about Wild Encounters was the title of the page.

Bronx Zoo.

She grabbed the flamingo globe and flipped it over. BZ $29.99.

Her father had left her all those years ago to fly to New York, following Marcario Morales …

A gasp caught in her throat as she finished the thought.

To dispense God’s justice.

14

End of Innocence

She pounded on his bedroom door. “Daddy, what did you do?”

He didn’t answer, but she knew he could hear her. He wasn’t speaking directly to her, but she could hear him whispering … to someone. She leaned against the door; her ear pressed to the painted wood. He’s praying, she thought. She looked down at the knob and rattled it a few more times unsuccessfully. Then the tiny hole in the center of it caught her eye. It had one of those safety pin holes to open the door in emergencies. She ran her fingers on the top of the door frame and along with a hefty amount of dust, she raked the special key down from its hiding place. She jammed it into the hole and popped the lock.

Flinging the door open, she entered into a completely dark room. His heavy curtains were pulled. The threadbare quilt that her mother had made long ago had been pulled from the bed. He had it folded beneath his knees. He was kneeling and had his forehead pressed onto the quilt-covered floor as well.

“Daddy,” she said, struggling to keep calm, “tell me what happened. What is the meaning of this?”

She jabbed her hand forward. In it, she held the flamingo snow globe that had been purchased at the Bronx Zoo. For a second, he looked at it, his eyes showing only confusion. But slowly, the light came on in them.

“It was a gift. I bought it for you, but … but when I came home … you were so grown up. It didn’t seem like something you …”

His speech was nearly incoherent. He was blathering on, staring at the small glass ball with the tiny pink flamingo inside.

“So, what are you saying? You bought this for me when you followed Morales to New York to do what exactly?”

The impassive calm that she was used to in her father’s face turned to rage as quickly as if an internal switch had been flipped. He jumped to his feet and jammed a finger into her chest. “You are no person to judge me. That man, that beast, defiled you, my only daughter. My angel…”

His breathing was harsh and shallow and his face was as red as a low flame.

“I don’t have to explain myself when I am doing the work of God,” he said, absently rubbing his arm. “You were only fourteen. My baby. Your innocence … your … your …”

A strange look flitted over his face. His words slurred. He slumped to one knee, his lips working furiously as if he were still trying to speak. And without warning, he fell face first onto the rumpled, patchwork quilt.

Four hours later, the doctor spoke with Amber, informing her that her father had just had a stroke and that with his age, full recovery didn’t look likely to happen for a long time. “Please be gentle with him,” the doctor said, ushering her into his room.

She was startled at how old he suddenly looked. His hair was matted and brushed back on his head. He had more wires and tubes that she could count. There was a mild slump to his face on one side, and his eyes were dark and puffy.

She ran to the bed and grabbed his hand. “Oh, daddy, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have— “

He held up a hand. “I should’ve told you,” he croaked.

“It’s okay, daddy. Don’t…”

“No. I’ve let you down. When I came back from New York … I … you were … you had forgotten it all. Somehow, it was as if nothing had ever happened. So, I let it fade with what you remembered. But now, it seems as if … the memory has returned to haunt you.”

She wiped at the tears streaming down her face. “Then, it’s true. You followed Marcario to New York?”

“I … I think so. Yes. I did.”

“And, did you, I mean … what did you do? Daddy, someone killed a man in New York. A man named Eric Torres. The police say it was Marcario Morales … but … was it … was it you?”

Joseph Cross squinted his eyes and looked away from her. “I don’t know. I can’t remember it now. I … I think … I thought it was the man who attacked you, Bear-bear.”

A sob escaped her throat. The picture snapped into focus. Marcario Morales had come to Florida for a visit. He had maneuvered his way into her father’s house on the pretense of sharing dinner with them and expressing his newfound desire to serve the Lord. Then, Morales had attacked her. Her father had followed him to New York to exact vengeance. He must have shot the wrong man … Eric Torres. Marcario was probably hanging out with Eric at the time—they had been friends, or at least acquaintances before the murder. He must’ve been