Home for the Haunting(95)

“Uh-uh—keep your hands up.”

Ray shook his head, looked at me with tears in his already red-rimmed eyes. His skin had a gray cast, haggard. He looked like a man on his last legs.

“You already figured it out, right? I mean, it’s not like I gave myself away right this second, what with the gun and everything?”

I shook my head. I don’t know why it would comfort him to know the gig was already up, but I played into it.

“We all figured it out,” I said, hoping that now that all was said and done, he would let me go. “It’s over, Ray. Time to get it off your chest, move on.”

Unfortunately, my two-bit psychology wasn’t enough to get this madman to put down his gun. Dog squirmed and wriggled, looking at me with imploring eyes, certain I had everything under control. Such trust felt like a burden under the circumstances.

“I can’t . . . I can’t go on like this.”

“Of course not. Ray, you never intended for this to happen; I know that. I can see what happened that night.”

“I wondered if you could. Why didn’t you turn me in then?”

“I couldn’t see you clearly . . . but the events of that night played out like one of Sidney’s home movies.”

He let out a mirthless chuckle. “He loved that damned vintage movie player. I bought it for him, you know.”

“You two were good friends, weren’t you?”

“Best friends. People thought we were brothers.”

“You really were Uncle Ray. You never intended to hurt anyone, did you?”

“Oh, I meant to kill Sidney.”

So much for assuming good intentions. “Why?”

“I had to. He was just about to figure out what was going on, that I was skimming funds from the company. There was an independent review scheduled. But . . . I really don’t know if I could have done it. Really. I’d been drinking that night, and I had it in my mind, but even when I was knocking, I thought, I can’t do this. And then the family was home. . . . They weren’t supposed to be home.”

“I know. They surprised you.” I remember Annette telling me how it sickened her, to have to pretend to empathize with killers, be their pal, so she’d gain their confidence and they’d tell her what happened. I understood that now, at a visceral level, as my guts roiled in my belly.

“It was Bridget at first. She found the gun; she was about to make a stink. I didn’t think, just picked up the closest thing to shut her up. But then Jean came running out of the kitchen, screaming at me, calling out for ‘my baby, my baby. . . .’ It was horrible.”

I nodded because I didn’t trust my voice to speak.

Dog tried to move away, but Ray yanked him back, and he let out another yelp, tail wagging frenetically as he stared at me as if to say, “Get me out of here, please?” I tried to relax, hoping that would ease his anxiety.

“And I had to keep her quiet, too, so I shot her. She didn’t die right away, though. She fell at the foot of the stairs, whapped her head so hard on the tile I thought she’d be out, but she kept trying to get up. Kept calling for Sidney. He was out in the shed, of course, tinkering like he always did. He must have heard the gunshot, because he came running in. He was in the kitchen, yelling for Jean, when I looked up and saw little Linda at the top of the stairs. In a flannel nightie. White with pink roses. I . . . I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t shoot her. I shot Jean again because she wouldn’t stop screaming; it was too horrible. . . . Then I was going to shoot myself. I swear I was. But then Sidney was there, running toward me . . . and I shot him as well.” He shook his head. “I didn’t . . . I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol since, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Ray, you didn’t mean for any of it to happen like that; I can see that. Let’s just get you to someone who will understand—you don’t have to keep this up. Now let me have my dog.”

“He tried to bite me. I was about to shoot him, but then you showed up. Do you have any idea how easy it is to shoot someone? Or some . . . dog? Too easy.”

I shook my head again. Ray looked down at the wriggling dog with cold, distant eyes.

“You’re okay, though, right?” I asked. “I mean, now Linda’s gone, no one can tell on you. No one needs to know the truth.”

“You know.”

I tried to laugh. It didn’t sound natural, but I was hoping it would fool Ray. “Hey, who’s going to believe me? I’m just a nosy general contractor. Really, you should see my track record—I’m always wrong. You let me leave with my dog, and it’s my word against yours, right? What am I doing to say, that I saw you commit a murder during a séance? No prosecutor in his right mind would put me on the witness stand—if he even believed me. There’s no proof you were even here that night. There’s no evidence of anything, Ray: nothing from the long-ago crime, and Linda’s body was moved, so there wasn’t any forensic evidence from that, either.”