Part 20 (2/2)

'It must have been a bad night,' he said.

'Oh, yeah. We didn't know Glory was there until Sheriff Reich came and told us. Mom freaked. Glory was just - well, in the hospital, she was all confused, thinking it was our our house that had burned down, wanting to make sure we were all OK. She blocked it out, but my mom never forgot.' house that had burned down, wanting to make sure we were all OK. She blocked it out, but my mom never forgot.'

'And your friend Jen lost her family.'

Tresa looked away, as if the pain was fresh. 'Yeah.'

'Did she hate her father?'

'Jen? I think it was harder to lose Mr Bone the way she did. She loved him. I know that sounds crazy, but the boys sided with their mom, and she always sided with her dad.'

'Except if she'd been home, she would have been killed too,' Mark reminded her.

'No, Mr Bone would never hurt Jen,' Tresa insisted. 'He knew she was staying with us that night. He talked to my mom.'

'Harris talked to Delia?' Mark asked.

'Yes, he was over at our place all the time. I think he wanted to get away from home. You don't know what that family was like. You don't know how bad it was in their house.'

'It sounds like you knew him pretty well,' Mark said.

'Yeah, I guess.'

'Did Glory?'

'Sure.'

Mark hesitated. 'Do you think she'd know Harris if she saw him today?'

Tresa c.o.c.ked her head in confusion. 'What are you saying?' Then she almost leaped across the bench, taking Mark's shoulders. He winced at the pressure. 'Oh, my G.o.d, do you think he could have been there?'

Mark watched her hopeful blue eyes. It was as if she was looking for an answer, an explanation, anything to replace the doubt in her brain. He understood. Even Tresa wondered if he'd killed her sister. No matter how much she loved him, or how much she defended him, her heart of hearts told her that he was guilty.

'What would Glory have done if she'd seen him?' he asked.

Tresa bit her lip. 'I'm not sure. Wow, I don't know.'

'Did you you see anyone in Florida who might have been Harris Bone?' see anyone in Florida who might have been Harris Bone?'

'No, no, I would have said something. I hung out by myself a lot. I'm not sure I would have seen anybody at all.' 'OK.'

'I'm going to tell my mom. She's got it in her head that it was you, but you're right. Maybe it was Harris. Maybe he was there.'

'Don't tell Delia you saw me,' Mark advised her. 'That won't help either one of us.'

The girl nodded. 'I understand.'

'You should go, Tresa.'

'Yeah. OK.'

As if swept up by an impulse she couldn't resist, Tresa wrapped her skinny arms around Mark's chest. Her cheek and red hair rested against his face, and her body pressed against him. She held him there longer than she should have, and he had to push her away. Her face glowed with pa.s.sion.

'I can still taste your lips,' she whispered to him. 'Even after all this time.'

Chapter Twenty-Five.

At the end of the school day, Hilary drove north along County Road 42 in the Ford Taurus she'd borrowed from Terri Duecker. She'd popped Advil like candy, but her body still ached. All she wanted to do was take the ferry back to the island and slip into a hot bubble bath and stay there for about three hours.

As she neared the Northport ferry terminal, she remembered that she needed to make one stop before going home. She checked her watch and saw that she still had one more chance to cross the pa.s.sage that evening if she missed the next ferry. She turned off the highway and backtracked along Port des Morts Drive. At the end of the road, in a turnaround protected by giant evergreens, she parked outside the home of Peter Hoffman.

Hilary wasn't sure if he would talk to her. She knew the rumors about Mark and Glory had made their way through the county grapevine, and Hoffman was close to Delia Fischer. Then again, if there was anyone who had reason to hate Harris Bone and want to see him found, it was the father and grandfather of the people Harris had killed.

She got out of the Taurus and made her way down the muddy driveway. As she approached Hoffman's A-frame home, she saw an older man at work on the wide front porch. She smelled freshly cut wood, and she heard the banging of his hammer. He was on his knees, and he looked up when she reached the steps. He appeared to be nearly seventy years old, although his hair was jet black and appeared even blacker against his pale, deeply lined face. He got up slowly, favoring one leg. He wore a flannel s.h.i.+rt with the sleeves rolled up and black cargo pants with years of paint stains on the fabric. His eyes were suspicious.

'Mr Hoffman?' she asked. 'My name is-'

'I know who you are,' he interrupted her. 'What do you want, Mrs Bradley?'

'I'd like to talk to you.'

Hoffman's face tightened with discomfort. He sucked in a breath and straightened his back. He was a tall man. 'About Harris and the fire?'

'That's right.'

'There's nothing I can tell you,' he said.

'That may be true, but I'd really appreciate five minutes.'

Hoffman grunted and laid his hammer on the ledge of the front window. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the top of his toolbox and eased himself down on the front steps. Hilary sat down next to him. He unscrewed the top of the flask, and without offering her a drink, he took a long swallow. She could tell from the aroma of whiskey on his breath that he'd already been drinking before she arrived.

'I don't talk about the fire,' he said. 'You're wasting your time.'

'I understand.'

'I heard what happened to you, and I'm sorry about that, but that doesn't mean I'm going to help you.'

Hilary pulled aside the silk flap of her blouse far enough to show Hoffman the edge of the purple bruise discoloring her chest. 'This is from the accident last night. There are people around here who want to give me and my husband the death penalty, Mr Hoffman, even though Mark is guilty of nothing.'

'You believe that, do you?'

'I do.'

Hoffman took another drink. 'Trust is bulls.h.i.+t.'

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