Page 141 of Hometown Girl

Bishop appeared in the doorway and shot Drew an irritated look, but Drew held up a hand to tell him to wait. Bishop stayed where he was, but pulled out his phone, most likely to record whatever conversation was about to take place.

“A lot of people have been looking for Jess, Monty,” Beth said evenly. “Did something happen to her?”

Monty’s nods were quick, his eyes blank, as if replaying a distant memory. “Yes.”

“Can you tell me what happened to her? We’d really love to help her if we can.”

“My Jess.” Monty started crying, as if the memory tore the stitches from a long-abandoned wound.

“It’s okay, Monty. We just want to help.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

“No, of course not.” She glanced at Drew quickly, then back to Monty.

“That boy came. He came, and I lost her. I saw them laughing. I had to get her out.” Monty’s eyes went dark as his memory wandered back. “The boy fell down. I took my Jess.”

Drew swallowed, his throat dry. His eyes welled, his heart sank.

“I took her home. She screamed at me.” Monty stared out into nothing, still holding the Superman action figure. “I told her it was okay. It’s okay, Jess. It’s okay.” He pulled the toy closer and rocked back and forth. “She was my friend. It was okay.”

His voice grew louder, his eyebrows knit into one straight line.

“Quiet, Jess. Be quiet or Daddy will hear you.” His hands shook as he held the toy even closer, rocking it in his arms. He grew agitated, rocking faster—face angry, hands shaking. “Quiet, Jess. Quiet! Quiet!”

The toy snapped in his hands.

The image of Jess’s frail, lifeless body in Monty’s arms sprang to Drew’s mind. Beth covered her mouth with her hand.

“Quiet.” Monty looked at the toy, broken in two pieces.

No one moved for a long moment. No one could.

Monty had killed Jess.

Drew closed his eyes and let his head fall forward into his hands. It had been an accident—a case of Monty not knowing his own strength.

Slowly, Beth took the toy from Monty and ushered him back to the recliner.

“Monty is sorry.” He sat down, broken, a man who’d relived unbearable pain.

Drew knew a little something about that.

“Monty, do you know where Jess is now?” Beth asked.

He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Outside. Daddy put her in a deep, deep hole. She’s sleeping now. I can’t see her anymore. I’m not allowed to see her anymore. Monty did a bad thing. Monty is bad.”

So Davis did know what his son had done. He not only knew, he’d covered it up. Drew’s sorrow dissipated, and anger moved into its place. Maybe Monty couldn’t be held accountable for his actions, but his father certainly could.

Because of him, Harold and Sonya had gone to their graves still unsure of what had happened to their daughter. Because of him, Drew had lived with the ache of a million unknowns.

He had the answers he’d come for, yet part of him wondered if things had been better before he knew.

Footfalls in the hallway pulled their attention. Monty’s father appeared in the doorway. Drew turned and faced him, daring Davis Biddle to say a single word in his own defense.

“You can’t talk to my son without my permission.” His eyes fell on the large man in the recliner, who slowly rocked back and forth, a blank stare on his face. “Monty ...”

“It’s too late, Davis,” Bishop said. “Both you and your son need to come with me.”

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