“He had this problem, you see. An eye for pretty women. Always. I should have known but I was in love. I gave up everything to be with him, to have his children, and then the bastard let our son drive that damned car when he knew Elton had been drinking! It was Alex’s fault that they died that night, you know. If he hadn’t given Elton the keys, both of them, Elton and Hollis, would be alive today!” Her voice cracked with heartbreak.
“But there was Effie—”
“Effie?” Aunty-Pen sneered. “She was never my daughter. Never. I could never have acknowledged her, the shame of it all.”
“She’s dead, Aunty-Pen. Roland killed her! She’s in the shower in the bathroom. Your own daughter.”
“Didn’t you hear me! She was not my daughter. She was fathered by my stepfather. The bastard who raped me every chance he got. Don’t you see? She should never have been born!” Aunty-Pen was shaking now, the gun wobbling, and over the sound of the wind rushing through the open doorway, Nikki thought she heard the sound of another car’s engine. Reed’s Cadillac! Aunty-Pen didn’t seem to notice. “Alex. He was my savior. He was supposed to take care of me. Of us. But he fell for that horrid tramp and her daughter while my precious babies died. He didn’t even care enough to protect them!”
The rumble of the engine was no more.
Nikki’s heart was pounding, her eyes trained on the pistol being waved in her face, the weapon that had ended Amity O’Henry’s life.
“You killed Amity,” Nikki said, finally understanding. “It was you. You wounded the others and shot Blondell.”
“Roland ran out like a scared rat and I stepped in.”
“But why didn’t Blondell say anything . . . ?”
“Because she didn’t know. I wore a disguise, you see. Bushy hair. Fake tattoo . . . your uncle’s gun.
I thought that was a nice touch. I even left the cigarette butt that he smoked here, but no one figured that out. Not even you. You know he was interested in you too, don’t you? His favorite niece.”
“No . . . Aunty-Pen, don’t even—”
“Shut up! I’m not ‘Aunty-Pen’! Do you know how I abhor that?”
“Penelope—” she tried, but the older woman swept on in a righteous fury.
“The irony of it all is that he asked me to be his alibi for that night. Isn’t that rich? Not only was I his, but he was mine.”
“You were both here.”
“He paddled over in his stupid little canoe, but I rode my horse around the perimeter of the lake. He never saw my car as I parked it in the garage at the farmhouse, but his was right in front. I knew where he was, where he was going. I always knew,” she said sadly, then as if realizing she was getting caught in her memories, she cleared her throat. “Now, you get back into the bathroom!” She waggled the gun toward the open door. “As much as I hate to admit it, I think the moron had a decent idea.”
“No,” Nikki said, not budging. She wasn’t going to be locked in that tiny room with the corpse of Effie Savoy.
“You want me to kill you right here?” Penelope asked.
Out of the corner of her eye Nikki saw one of the coral snakes moving silently across the floor, closer and closer to the open toe of Aunty-Pen’s shoe.
“I think you should turn yourself in,” Nikki said. The snake had chosen a path between her aunt’s legs. And better yet, another one was joining it. Penelope didn’t seem to notice. The copperhead moved silently too, so close to Nikki’s feet that it was all she could do to stay still as it brushed her boot and continued on its slithering path.
“And I think you’re a foolish, foolish woman!” She leveled the gun at Nikki just as one of the smaller snakes started an inquisitive path up Aunty-Pen’s leg.
“Whhaa . . . ?” she cried, then let out a little screech of horror. With a scream she started running, shaking, trying to get rid of the snake that had crawled up her leg. “Get it off me! Oh, God, get it off me!”
“Police!” Reed’s voice boomed as he stood in the doorway. “Drop your weapon!”
Penelope spun, falling onto the floor, screaming as she dropped Uncle Alex’s gun, and the sounds of sirens could be heard cutting through the night. The flashlight twirled in an arc as, squealing, she writhed, crying and screeching, the copperhead wrapped tightly around her ankle, its mouth open wide, its fangs visible.
Nikki made her way to Reed, who held a gun on the stricken woman with one hand, while with the other he called for backup, barking out orders for an ambulance and animal control.
Gingerly, he picked up her gun as the first of the backup units arrived, sirens screaming, lights flashing. By this time Penelope Hilton McBaine was nearly catatonic and Roland Camp was unconscious.
Nikki threw herself into Reed’s arms, thankful for his strength and wondering how she ever thought for a second that she couldn’t marry him.
Finally, after twenty long years, the scandalous truth of Amity O’Henry’s murder could finally be told.