Beneath Blackwater River Leslie Wolfe (me reader txt) 📖

apologized. “I’m just thinking about my son, that’s all. He lost his daughter, and soon he’ll lose his wife too. Any mother would be concerned.”

“Who was Alyssa closest to in the family?” Kay asked. “Who was her best friend here?”

Carole walked to the window and looked outside, at the rolling fields in gold and light brown, stubbly and coarse where the harvesters had passed. “I’d have to say Blanche, Bill’s sister, although many times I caught Alyssa chatting with the help. Our domestics are not here to be anyone’s friends; I’m sure you must agree.”

“Of course,” Kay replied, unable to hide the sarcasm in her voice, but that flew undetected by Carole, lost in her aloofness and whatever anxious thoughts that kept her on her feet, pacing restlessly. “Oh, I meant to ask, do you know a Shelley Harrelson?”

A beat of taut silence, while Kay stared intently at Carole’s back. Tension brought her shoulders up just a hint. “Who?”

The door swung open, and Bill stormed inside, dragging a slender, middle-aged, blond woman by her arm. She wasn’t resisting him; she was letting herself be hauled around, her expression resigned, exuding sadness. Her hair had partially escaped the bun at the back of her head, and loose strands covered her face. When she noticed Kay, she froze in place, flush with embarrassment.

Kay had seen Bill only a few moments earlier, but now she barely recognized him. He was disheveled, his hair tousled as if he’d been trying to pull it out, his shirt covered in sweat and missing a couple of buttons. His eyes were maniacal, his rage all-consuming, filling the air inside the room with a kind of static charge.

Springing to her feet, Kay took two steps toward Bill, concerned for the safety of all those present. She’d seen it happen, when people destroyed by the grief of losing a loved one took to violence, giving into moments of insanity fueled by unbearable pain.

“Here, meet my beloved sister, Blanche,” Bill shouted, letting go of the woman’s arm and looking straight at Kay. Blanche faltered a little, but then stood tall, holding her head up high, although her eyes were filled with an unspeakable sorrow. She wrapped her red cardigan around her body, then crossed her arms at her chest. “Tell her what you told us,” Bill commanded.

Kay stared at him for a brief moment, surprised.

“Come on,” Bill insisted, raising his voice, “tell her she’s a murderer.”

The woman’s pupils dilated as she looked straight into Kay’s eyes. “What…”

Kay cleared her throat silently, then said, “I’m afraid I brought some bad news to the family today. Alyssa Caldwell has been murdered.”

She gasped, her hands quick to cover her open mouth. “What happened?” she managed to articulate, her voice strangled, the knot in her throat seemingly painful enough to make her swallow hard a couple of times.

“You should have the nerve to ask,” Bill snapped, his eyes shooting fiery arrows at his sister. “You killed her, Blanche.” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her, but Kay stepped between them and gently removed the man’s hands.

“I hope there’s no need for violence here,” Kay said, the unspoken threat in her voice abundantly clear. “If you’d rather continue this conversation down at the precinct, I’d be more than happy to drive you there myself.”

Bill took one step sideways, glaring furiously at his sister, then turned to Kay and lifted his palms in the air, shaking them ostentatiously. “There, happy? I’m not touching your precious killer.”

Carole approached Bill and touched his arm. “Son, you’re heartbroken, and we understand,” she said. “Blanche will forgive you—”

He yanked away from her touch as if it burned his skin. “Forgive me? She will forgive me?” He was turning livid, crimson coloring his face and neck in unhealthy blotches. The man was about to have a heart attack. He stuttered, trying to say something, his inability to articulate fueling his anger. “She needs to confess,” he eventually said, pointing a trembling index at his sister.

Blanche cried silently, looking at him through a web of tears. She wasn’t angry, nor was she insulted by his accusations; she was heartbroken. There wasn’t anything in the woman’s reaction to the news of Alyssa’s death and to her brother’s accusations to indicate she’d been involved in her murder, or she’d known anything about it. From what Kay could see, Blanche Caldwell wasn’t a viable suspect, although Kay still wanted to know why Bill had thought about her the moment he’d learned his daughter had been killed, and what all that heiress business was about.

There was something slightly off about Blanche’s demeanor, though. She had just been physically and emotionally abused by her brother, and yet she showed nothing but empathy for his sorrow, understanding for his grief, and forgiveness for his bitter words and rash gestures. Carole had been right; Blanche loved her brother very much.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Bill bellowed, “cry me a river.”

“Bill,” Carole interjected, raising her voice and sharpening the tone. “That’s enough. Blanche didn’t do anything.”

“I don’t believe it!” he shouted, turning to his mother and taking a couple of menacing steps toward her. Kay grabbed his shoulder firmly, stopping him in place.

“Mr. Caldwell, please, this ends now.”

Bill froze. “How would you know she didn’t kill my baby? Huh? Just ’cause she’s crying?” He ran his hands through his hair in a gesture of pure despair. “It’s your damn system, Mother, it’s what you always wanted, to see us fighting for your precious estate.” He paused for a moment, panting, out of breath, while Carole’s jaw dropped. “Yes, Mother, that’s what you’ve always wanted, for us and our children to kill one another over your money.” He spat the word, as if it was poisonous. “Well, now we’ve done it. One of us has killed at your whim,” he added, his voice loaded with tears. “Damned be the day I agreed to stay here and be your puppet, Mother. Madelyn and Kendall were the smart ones, running as far away from you