“But you inherited the farm, right?” Boone scribbled something on his notepad. “You inherited everything.”
“Yes.” Jenn started to nod. She stopped herself, wincing. “Everything but my father’s car. But it was obvious to us during the will reading that Elena thought she was going to inherit everything. She was very surprised.” Jenn glanced to me.
“This is exceptionally true,” I confirmed. “If you need someone else to corroborate, you could ask Billy or Mr. Leeward. They’ll both attest to the fact that Elena had no idea Kip had changed his will.”
Boone nodded, still scribbling. “Do you know why your father changed his will?”
“Don’t answer that,” I cut in, plotting Boone’s murder in my head all over again. “Deputy Boone, you know that’s a question Lawyer Genevieve Taylor has instructed Jennifer not to answer unless Lawyer Genevieve Taylor is present.” Then to Boone I said, “Please keep your questions focused on the car crash.”
“Fine,” he grounded out, sighed, then asked, “Jenn, do you remember anything else Elena said about Miller?”
“Um, yes. She talked about how Miller had betrayed her, tried to blackmail her.” Jennifer’s words were halting, and her eyebrows pulled together as though finding this information within her brain took effort. “She said she’d strangled—she’d killed my father with rope she’d taken off his boat.”
“So you’re saying Elena confessed to your father’s murder?” Jackson perked up at this.
“She said she’d used the rope from his fishing boat in the Keys and strangled him, more or less. She said she hated the boat and the house down in the Keys, and she hated me, and him.” Jenn seemed to squirm, her gaze anxious. “Do you think this might help my mother? Do you think you have enough to determine Elena killed my father?”
“I don’t know, Jenn.” Boone gave his head a little shake, still scribbling. “Why did Elena hate him? Did she say?”
“Uh . . .” Jenn closed her eyes. “Because of her sister? She really hated the boat. But my father, I think she said something about blaming him for her sister going to prison last year. At least that’s the impression I got. Sorry.”
I resisted the urge to touch her, to tell Boone and Jackson that their time was up. It was important she get these details out. Not just for the current investigation into her abduction, and not just for the murder investigation of Kip Sylvester, but also for Jenn’s peace of mind. Understanding why something terrible happens—or what the perpetrator was thinking at the time—can sometimes help a victim process what happened.
For example, I knew why my father had done what he had to me, to Billy, to our mother, to our family. I didn’t think his reasons were good ones, but that was also helpful. He did what he did because he was—is—evil. And so, since he was—is—evil, I never had to think about him or pay him any mind other than plotting his murder.
If that’s still on the agenda . . .
I didn’t have the mental resources at my disposal at present to give the matter the deliberation it required. But suffice it to say, watching Jenn over the last several months, and then listening to Isaac’s side of the story earlier in the week, had given me pause. Maybe, instead of exacting revenge on my father, it would be better to simply push Darrell Winston completely from my mind.
Maybe the right answer was to downgrade him to zero bandwidth and just move on, once and for all, and enjoy every second of my beautiful future with Jenn, without the stain of Darrell Winston’s blood on my hands.
Worth consideration.
“Anything else, Jenn?” Boone looked up from his notepad. “Anything else you can remember that might help?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t think so. She taunted me, she giggled a lot, she talked about how much she hated fishing, but I don’t think any of that’s helpful.” Jennifer, seeming to realize she’d been twisting the blanket, flattened it out and smoothed it with her hands.
“Okay. Well, if you think of anything.” Boone, giving her a tight smile, closed his notepad and gave her a short nod. “I’m glad to see you’re . . .” His eyes moved over her, and he seemed to struggle for a moment. “I’m glad your injuries, though serious, weren’t worse.”
Jackson huffed a laugh. “You know Boone, you should write greeting cards. ‘Get better, if you want to, but no pressure.’”
“‘I’m glad you didn’t die in that car crash, that would’ve sucked,’” Jenn also teased, laughing. I noticed she did so without wincing, and I took heart in her smile.
“Yeah, yeah.” Boone rolled his eyes, but he also smiled. “Feel better, Jenn.” Then he squinted at me and said as he left the room, “Cletus. See you around.”
I lifted my chin toward Freddie Boone, returning his squint. But truth be told, I wasn’t as sore at the man as I had been. He was a good detective, a good person, and it was obvious now that he’d been working hard to do the right thing.
“Hey, Cletus. Do you have a second?” Jackson titled his head toward the doorway.
I scowled, but nodded. “Fine. I’ll be right there.”
Turning to Jenn, and careful to keep my coffee cup from spilling on her cast, I placed a featherlight kiss on her temple. “I’ll be right back. This shouldn’t take long, wife.”
“See that it doesn’t, husband.” She nodded, her eyes full of sparkles and glitter at my use of the word wife.
I’d discovered over the last few days that nothing made her happier than when I called her wife. Likewise, she adored calling me husband. I took this as proof that we should’ve gotten married months ago, as I’d wished.
See? More proof I’m always right.
Feeling her happy gaze at my back, I walked to the door, mildly surprised to see Jackson still hovering inside the room, as though he’d been watching us.
“Hello, Jackson,” I said, walking past. “Are we . . .?”
“Yeah, of course.” He waited until I was out the door to give Jenn a wave. “I’ll be by later with my momma and Jess, if you’re up for more visitors. But don’t feel like you need to if you’re tired.”
“That sounds really nice! I’m looking forward to it. Bye, Jackson.” Jenn sounded cheerful but a tad fatigued.
The deputy gave her a nod. He turned toward the hall, gesturing to me that we should walk down toward the waiting room.
I followed, checking my watch, tempted to start a timer for three minutes.
“Hey, so—” he stopped at a corner of the waiting room, his eyes looking distracted “—who is getting married on Saturday? Not you and Jenn?”
“No. Ashley and Drew have taken over the wedding, which is appropriate since my sister planned the whole thing and it’s more representative of her tastes than ours.”
A genuine smile suffused his whole face and person, driving the exhaustion from his eyes and replacing it with happiness. “Well, that’s so great!”
I blinked, my back straightening, because his reaction to this news confounded me. Jackson’s unrequited feelings toward my sister had never been a secret, so why did he look excited for her to marry someone else? Uncertain what I wished to ask or convey, I simply settled for, “What?”