Page 101 of Justice Delayed

“I’ve spent the last eighteen years hating a woman who had nothing to do with my son’s disappearance. A hatred my dear husband fanned with comments over the years. Because as long as I was fixated on Melender, I wasn’t asking the questions I should have been asking. If I hadn’t been blinded by my grief and despair, I would have seen the inconsistencies years ago. If I had, Jesse might have come home sooner.”

“Mom? What are you saying?” Jillian pushed past Collier. “Are you saying Dad had something to do with Jesse’s death?”

“Of course he did.” Ruby snarled, her sharp tone sending Jillian reeling back a step. “You think someone buried your little brother in our backyard without his knowledge? I doubt he did the dirty work himself because he had people for that sort of thing. I have no doubt Quentin knew exactly where Jesse was all these years for one reason. Your father put him there.”

Jillian’s eyes widened, and she stumbled back to sit on the bench at the foot of the king-sized bed. “Oh, no.” She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, bending over at the waist to rock back and forth. “It wasn’t a dream, it wasn’t a dream.”

“What wasn’t a dream?” Collier stepped to Jillian, laying a hand on her shoulder.

Her anger spent, Ruby gaped at her daughter. “Oh, dear God.” She covered her mouth with her hand. “Jillian, what happened?”

ChapterForty

Melender tried to process what her uncle said to Smith, but the words didn’t make sense. Even after hearing Jillian and Jared on the recording, she was sure Jesse had been buried where his body would never be recovered, casting suspicion on her forever.

“The little tyke’s final resting place was underneath his wife’s prized roses,” Smith said, the gun still resting comfortably in his hand.

“Cat’s got your tongue, Quentin?” Smith glanced at Melender, swung his gun toward Quentin, who tightened his lips into a firm line. “I get it. You don’t care to repeat it in front of the niece you threw to the wolves.”

Smith paced a few feet toward the only window, moving the faded curtain aside to peer out. “Your uncle wanted Jesse close by, though he was the only one who knew exactly where the body was buried. Well, except for me. After all, he doesn’t like to get his hands dirty, figuratively or literally.”

Melender hoped her face didn’t show revulsion. All these years, Jesse had been buried in the Thompson’s backyard. Another thought rolled through on the heels of that revelation. Jillian’s nightmare wasn’t a dream at all. Was Smith the man Jillian had seen taking Jesse out of the crib?

The truth was much uglier than anticipated. Once the recording came to light, Jillian would come to know she had accidentally killed her baby brother. When Melender set out to clear her name, she hadn’t wanted to destroy her cousin in the process.

“Got nothing to say, Harman?”

Smith’s question jerked Melender out of her thoughts. “About what?”

“Surely you know by now your uncle orchestrated the events leading to your arrest and conviction.” Smith waved his gun as he spoke. “What punishment should Quentin get for his role in putting the blame for Jesse’s disappearance on you?”

Melender turned to look at Quentin, but he stood with his body angled away from her. Her pulse quickened at the slump of her uncle’s shoulders and the scent of despair permeating the shed. From her prison experience, hopelessness made people do the unexpected, often with disastrous results.

“Quentin paid your attorney to put up a minimal defense and funnel inside trial information to him. Then your uncle prepped the family witnesses to testify in a way designed to put you behind bars.” Smith’s voice had an admiring tone. “I knew Quentin could be devious in his business dealings, but I had no idea how diabolical his mind worked until I got a firsthand glimpse during your trial. It was a masterful handling of the case. And no one suspected a thing. Especially with Ruby wailing and gnashing her teeth at you for killing her baby boy. Truly a work of art.”

Hearing about her uncle’s machinations turned her stomach, but Smith’s adulation for Quentin’s shenanigans poured acid on her churning insides.

“After you served your sentence and came back here,” Smith continued, “you started poking around, wanting to find out what happened. I knew it was only a matter of time before you picked apart the flimsy evidence that sent you away.”

“Quentin called you to clean things up once and for all,” Melender interjected.

“By Jove, she’s got it.” Smith touched the side of the gun to his forehead in a mock salute. “I told Quentin you had brains as well as beauty. You and your boyfriend nearly figured everything out. If Jared hadn’t panicked, the cops would still be in the dark.”

“You leave my son out of this,” Quentin snapped, turning to face Smith.

Smith snorted, derision tightening the lines of his face. “All you rich people are alike. Covering up for your offspring.”

As the two men argued about Jared, Melender shifted, her shoulders aching from her wrists being secured behind her back. She tried to reposition on the plastic sacks, but with her feet bound, she slipped onto the dusty floor, and her hands brushed against something hard. Rotating her shoulders up and down brought her fingers into contact with the object. Tentatively, she explored the outline. Gardening shears. Maybe she could maneuver the shears enough to cut the plastic ties around her wrists. To even attempt it, she would need to distract the men from her movements. Fanning their animosity toward each other ought to work.

She broke into their argument. “It wasn’t Jared who brought the cops to the Thompson house with a search warrant.”

Both men turned to stare at her.

“What are you talking about?” Smith narrowed his eyes.

Swallowing hard, Melender looked from one to the other. “The recording.”

“What recording?” Smith stalked a few steps closer to her.

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