“Lizzie, what are you doing here?” Bill’s voice sounded hoarse. “If they find you here, you’ll give everything away.”
“I had to come, I couldn’t help it,” Elizabeth Barber said. “I’m so sorry, Bill, I don’t know what I was thinking the other day. I guess I just lost my mind for a minute. I didn’t really want to kill you.”
Bill grunted as he shifted in the bed. “I thought you trusted me.”
“I did,” she said. “I mean, I do, but you promised you’d never come back.”
“I had to, Lizzie. Mama was dying, and she wanted to see me before she passed on. I couldn’t deny her that. I owed her that much. You owed her that much.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Elizabeth said, sounding tired. “If it weren’t for her, we would have all been in trouble.”
“Mama hated lying worse than anything,” Bill said. “But she understood why I asked her to. When she found out what happened, I swear she would have killed him all over again if she’d had the chance.”
“He was a monster, he deserved to die,” Elizabeth said, her voice heated. “But I’m not here to talk about him. I wanted to let you know how sorry I am, and I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Of course I will,” Bill said. “I may not be around much longer anyway, so it won’t matter. Then you’ll always be safe.”
“No, I won’t, Bill,” Elizabeth said. “I’ve done a lot of soul-searching since I tried to run you down. There were these two men today who confronted me outside the vet clinic. They’re not going to let it go. They’re pretty sure they know what I did. I think it’s time to tell the truth and be done with it.”
“Is that what you really want?” Bill asked.
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “Would it be okay if I gave you a hug? I remember you used to give the best hugs.”
“I’d like that,” Bill said. He held up his arms.
Elizabeth’s hand slipped inside her bag as she began to lean over the bed. The hand came out with a syringe, her thumb on the plunger. She was ready to plunge the syringe into his neck, but the sheriff’s deputy burst out of the cabinet in time and knocked it out of her hand.
I emerged from the bathroom at the same time and grabbed her before she could run out of the room. She started screaming, kicking, trying to stomp my feet, anything to get away, but the deputy subdued her and got her hands behind her back. Another deputy entered the room and helped cuff her.
I hit the call button. When someone answered, I said, “Get in here fast. I think Mr. Delaney might be having another heart attack.”
I wasn’t sure whether Bill was actually in distress. He had a peculiar expression. His eyes were closed, but they popped open when I leaned over and called his name.
“Are you okay? Are you in pain?”
He didn’t answer my questions. All he said was, “You didn’t have to stop her.”
• • •
The experience with Elizabeth Barber shook me pretty badly. It would be a long time before I could get that scene out of my mind, if ever. Even with her arms behind her, cuffed, she still struggled to get to Bill Delaney. Her ranting, obscenity-laden words sounded like those of a madwoman. Her paternal grandmother’s legacy to her and her father, no doubt. Blocked from being able to kill Delaney, she seemed to lose all contact with reason.
I stayed at the hospital until nearly eight o’clock, answering questions for both the police and the sheriff’s department. Kanesha Berry was there herself, and Elmer Lee Johnson turned up halfway through my session with Kanesha.
I told them what I thought happened on that night twenty years ago when the Barber family was murdered. They were somewhat skeptical, but I was pretty sure I was right. The only two people who could confirm my suspicions were Bill Delaney and Leann Finch. I wondered whether they would be willing finally to tell what happened that night.
• • •
After a rough night with not much sleep—sleep haunted by Elizabeth Barber’s mad ranting—I got up the next morning hollow-eyed and tired. Azalea’s breakfast perked me up. By the time I arrived home the night before, I couldn’t eat anything. And for me, not being hungry or wanting to eat was a definite sign of abnormal distress.
I made up for those lost calories with a second helping of grits and a fifth biscuit with grape jam. Diesel feasted happily on bites of bacon. Azalea didn’t press me to talk. She could tell I wasn’t in the mood to discuss the events of the previous night.
By nine I was dressed and ready to go. I explained to Diesel that, once again, he would have to stay home. I was going to the hospital, and I couldn’t take him. He protested with the usual indignant meows and trills, but Azalea offered him a little more bacon to distract him. For once he didn’t fuss. I slipped out the back door and drove to the hospital.
Jack was waiting for me in the lobby. We were going to see Bill Delaney to ask him if he would tell us the whole story.
“I’m sorry that you had to witness such a terrible scene,” Jack said. “I can only imagine how bad it was.”
I nodded. I didn’t really want to talk about it right now, and Jack appeared to sense that. He let it drop. He did ask, however, whether I thought Bill would talk to us.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m hoping that he’s thought about it and decided to let the truth be known. I think I know what happened, but I want him to confirm it.”
“What do you think happened?” Jack asked as we stepped into the elevator. I had checked earlier, and Bill Delaney was still in room 227. I took that as a good sign. I was afraid he would be back in the ICU.
I answered Jack’s question without going into any details. To my surprise, he didn’t scoff at my solution. “Interesting,” was all he said.
We strolled down the hall to Bill’s room. The door was open, and I could see Bill sitting up in bed watching television. I knocked on the door, and his head turned toward us. He shrugged when he saw us, but he didn’t tell us to go away. Instead he turned the television off and motioned for us to come in.
We bade him good morning, and he returned the greeting, though he eyed us a bit warily, I thought.
“Mind if we sit?” Jack asked.
“Help yourselves,” Bill said.
Jack brought chairs to the bedside for both of us, and we sat.
“You know why we’re here,” I said.
Bill nodded. “You want the whole story.” He sighed. “I spent a lot of last night thinking about it, and I guess I should set the record straight. I realized I wasn’t quite ready to die after all. I keep thinking about my mama. She hated to lie, but she went along with it. I didn’t tell even her the whole truth. I reckon I’ll tell you, though.”
“We’re listening,” Jack said. “Do you mind if I record you?”
Bill shrugged. “Don’t see why not. Go ahead.”
Jack pulled out his digital recorder and turned it on. He placed it on the nightstand next to Bill’s bed. “Interview with William Delaney,” he said, then added the date and the location. He also included the fact that I was there as a witness. “Go ahead.”
Bill looked at me. “Do you already know what I’m going to say?”
“I think I know some of it,” I replied. “I know that you didn’t murder anybody. I think you still loved Betty Barber too much to harm her or her children.”
“No, I didn’t kill them,” Bill said. “I was trying to rescue them from Hiram. That son of a bitch deserved to die, and I’m not sorry he did.”
“You were trying to rescue them?” Jack asked.
“Yeah,” Bill said. “Betty was desperate to get away from Hiram and get the boys out, too. Hiram treated her bad, and the boys, too. He was getting crazier all the time, like his mama did before they sent her to Whitfield. I was going to get them that night after Hiram fell asleep. Betty was going to put something in his milk to make sure he slept.”