I sat staring at my hands, trying to untangle everything that was going on in my head. I needed to leave, but I was uncomfortable leaving Petty here alone with Mitch. We still didn’t really know anything about him. Just because he was Petty’s father didn’t make him a good man.
What I needed was an impartial assessment from someone I trusted who didn’t have these confused and possessive feelings about Petty.
“Hey,” I said in a low voice, even though I heard the box fan turn on in Mitch’s room. “I have an idea. Why don’t you come to Kansas City with me, see the concert, and then we’ll pick up Uncle Curt and Aunt Rita, and they can come back here with us.”
“Why would we do that?” Petty asked.
“I don’t feel right about leaving you here alone.”
“Actually, I think maybe you ought to go on home without me.” She didn’t look at me as she said this.
I was taken aback. “But I have a -couple of days before I need to be in KC. I don’t mind hanging around.”
“That’s okay,” she said.
“But didn’t you notice he doesn’t have a TV? How would you survive?” I looked at my hands. “And the truth is, you don’t know anything about this guy.”
“I know he’s my father,” Petty said. “What else do I need to know?”
“Where’s he from? Does he have any family? Did he go to college?” I gulped. “Does he have a police record?”
“You have a police record, and I’ve been hanging around with you for a week.”
I slumped.
More gently, Petty said, “It’s going to take a little time to find all this stuff out.”
“I’d think you’d want to know a little more about him before you decide you’re going to move in here.”
“I didn’t say I was going to move in,” Petty said. “But I want to understand why my dad—-why Michael Rhones—-was the way he was. I want to understand why I’m the way I am.”
I glanced toward the hall and lowered my voice. “No, I get that. But I can’t help feeling that there’s something he’s not telling us.” I hadn’t known I felt this until it was out of my mouth.
She frowned at me. “I’m sure there’s plenty he hasn’t told us. We’ve been here less than twenty--four hours.”
“I guess it’s just me,” I said, realizing I was losing the argument, “but don’t you kind of wonder . . . what kind of a man . . . goes after another man’s wife?”
-“People marry the wrong -people all the time,” Petty said. “Your mom did.”
It was as if she’d slapped me across the face. “Thanks, Petty.”
Mitch’s bedroom door opened and he stepped out into the hall. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”
Petty’s face went a deep shade of red. I felt as if we’d been caught smoking crack or making a pipe bomb.
How had Mitch heard us with his box fan going? He must have been standing right behind his door, listening. I felt a pang of unease.
“Anne Marie, of course your friend is going to be worried. He’s right. You don’t know anything about me. But think about it, Dekker. You two show up in the middle of the night unannounced and come in here claiming that this girl is my daughter. You could be robbers or worse, but I opened my home to you. I didn’t question you. I trusted you, and I don’t think asking you to trust me in return is asking too much.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said, feeling chastened. He was right. I’d met plenty of slightly odd -people in my life. I was even related to some. I was just feeling possessive of Petty. “We’ve been through a lot in the last few days.”
“But having said that, you were right about something else. There is something I haven’t told you. And I suppose I should go ahead and tell you now. I won’t be able to sleep unless I do.” He sat on the rocking chair and stared down at his hands, which he wrung together. “Your mother didn’t die in a house fire.”
My heart seemed to stop in my chest.
Petty sat straight and alert. “She didn’t?”
“Your mother was murdered. By Michael Rhones.”
Chapter 26
“MURDERED,” I SAID, the word reverberating in my ears.
Tears ran down Mitch’s face behind his glasses. “He also tried to—-tried to . . .”
“What?” But I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
Mitch wiped his eyes, stood and went to the mantel, moving the figurines around. “He came to our house to take Marianne away while I was at work, and she wouldn’t go. So he held you underwater in the tub until you almost drowned and she agreed to go with him.”
I couldn’t breathe. My mom, the woman I’d never known, had sacrificed herself for me. It had been my life or hers. Suddenly I was on my back staring at the misshapen, shifting bathroom ceiling, trying to breathe, unable to because someone was holding me underwater. My dream was no dream. It had really happened. And now I could make out the face. It was Michael Rhones, and he was pushing down on me with huge hands, smiling down at me as if we were playing a game, saying something I couldn’t make out, trying to make me inhale. Death was coming for me. And his name was Michael Rhones. My mother had chosen to die rather than let me die.
My mom was dead because of me.