Home for the Haunting(96)

“That was a stroke of luck, right? I guess I was born under a lucky star.”

Yeah. I wasn’t going to engage in that conversation.

“I thought little Linda would run and tell. Fully expected her to. But she said it was her daddy. I guess she was so traumatized by what she saw, she couldn’t tell fact from fiction anymore. And then I realized: I should be her daddy. Those children needed someone to take care of them. I took their parents away; the least I could do was take care of them. And now that Sidney was gone, the embezzlement charges evaporated, and I could take good care of them financially as well.”

“That was good. You did well by them. You’ve done a lot of good things, Ray. Anyone can see that. You’ve given a lot to the community. Let me have Dog, and we can get out of here, okay? This house . . . It isn’t good for anyone.”

There was a long pause. My mind raced, trying to think of what to do next. There was nothing within reach to defend myself with, and he had a gun. Even my cell phone was downstairs, in my purse.

“You’re right—this house is bad. Evil.” In one fluid movement, Ray released Dog and brought the gun up to his temple. Dog whipped around and sunk his teeth into Ray’s thigh with a ferocious growl.

Ray cried out, and when he tried to strike Dog the gun flew out of his grasp.

I launched myself at the deadly hardware, landing on my stomach on the floor, my fingers wrapping around the cold steel.

I felt Ray try to grab it from me, but we rolled on the floor, tussling. Dog flung himself into the fray, snarling and spitting, sinking his teeth into Ray’s neck and shoulders. I heard Ray cry out in pain, and as he reared back to push Dog away, I scrambled to my feet and pointed the gun at him.

“Dog! Stop!” I yelled. “C’m’ere, boy!”

Dog released Ray and came over to my side, though he continued to growl and bare his teeth in warning.

“Don’t move, Ray,” I said. “My dad gave me my first gun when I was eight years old, so you better believe I know how to use one. I don’t want to shoot you, but I will.”

Only a few moments ago, Ray had held the gun to his own head, but if he had been truly motivated, he would have had time to use it. I was betting the drive for self-preservation was strong enough to overcome his rash actions.

Ray saw the gun in my hand and stayed on his knees, blood flowing from the wounds on his thigh, neck, and shoulders. “Is he a police dog?”

“As a matter of fact, he’s a retired member of Oakland’s K-9 Corps, a highly trained canine weapon,” I said, lying my head off. In the entire time I had known him, Dog had never shown the slightest aggression toward anyone except when I was being threatened. Heaven knows we hadn’t trained him to attack; we hadn’t even trained him to sit on command. Dog spent almost all his nonsleep hours (there weren’t many) begging for food or barking at squirrels. This was a whole new side of him: WonderDog.

“Let’s go downstairs. And Ray? No sudden moves. Though it would be fitting if you were to die here, with the others.”

Although I was reasonably confident I would shoot Ray if he tried anything, I really didn’t want to find out.

“Just keep that dog off me,” he whined.

“Do what I say and you won’t have to worry about Dog. Now start walking.”

Ray headed for the stairs. I followed. Dog took up the rear, now trotting jauntily behind me as though we were out for a picnic. He was pretty Bay Area Zen about the whole thing, living in the moment.

When we reached the top of the stairs, Ray halted abruptly.

For a moment I thought I was seeing Sidney’s ghost.

Hugh stood there, pointing a gun at Ray. Seems I wasn’t the only one who had figured things out.

“It was you!” Hugh said, tears streaming down his face. No longer seemingly detached from the world, Hugh’s anguish was piercing. “All this time, all these years . . . And you . . . you were the one who did it!”

“Hugh,” I said. “It’s okay; I’ve got this. Put down the gun; I’ve got one, too. Ray’s not going anywhere.”

“I’m going to . . . I’m going to kill him! Let him die right here, like the rest of my family. My whole family. You’ve destroyed us!”

“Hugh, don’t!” I was willing to bet Hugh hadn’t spent much time at the gun range, and I didn’t fancy the idea of Hugh accidentally shooting me or Dog. Besides, although Hugh would no doubt find killing the man who had caused him so much pain to be cathartic, I feared the guilt would finish him off for good.

“Listen to me,” I continued. “You’re right; he’s responsible for all of this. But you’re a better man than he is; you know that, don’t you? So much better. If you kill him, it’ll be murder, Hugh, not self-defense. You’ll go to prison. And then he would have truly destroyed the Lawrence family. Express your emotions in your poetry instead. Your words offer beauty and insight to so many.”