Page 142 of Hometown Girl

Davis turned in a circle like a caged animal, then rushed over to his son, kneeling down beside him. “Monty, are you okay?”

“Monty is bad.” The man didn’t look at his father.

“No, Monty. You’re not bad. It’s going to be okay, I promise.” He ran a hand through his gray hair and stood. “Please. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“A little girl is dead, Mr.Biddle,” Bishop said.

Davis covered his face with his hands, and Drew watched as the grief of the past spilled out of him. He’d been carrying his secret for twenty years too, and it had taken its toll.

He sat down on the couch across from Monty, who still quietly rocked back and forth. “You have no idea how hard this has been.”

Heat shot through Drew like a dart, but before he could put the man in his place, Davis continued.

“I know it’s been harder for you, son.” He didn’t look at Drew. “And I know—” His voice cracked. “I know how hard it was for Harold and Sonya.”

“Then why didn’t you come forward?” Beth asked.

Davis looked at them, tears in his eyes. “He’s my son.”

Drew glanced at Monty, unsure whether the man was even aware of what was happening in his own room.

“I found him in the garage, holding her—neck snapped, arms and legs draped over him like a rag doll.” Davis looked at Monty. “It was my fault. After Monty’s mother died, I worked all the time. I was never here for him. He roamed around outside, and I guess Harold felt sorry for him and gave him a few things to do around the farm. But if I’d been here like I should’ve been ...”

Drew didn’t have words to comfort this man. He was right. It was his fault that Jess was dead. His fault that Drew had spent his entire life shouldering the weight of his guilt.

“He wouldn’t have gone to prison,” Bishop said. “If you’d just turned him in, he would’ve been committed to an institution.”

“Monty’s mother was the love of my life. She made me a better man, and she was adamant that Monty live here with us, not in some institution with strangers. I made her a promise.”

“So you kept Monty here,” Beth said.

“He has twenty-four-hour care. He’s never alone. He’s not allowed out of the house by himself. When I go out of town, he doesn’t go out of the house at all.”

Drew glanced at Monty. In a way, he’d been in prison his whole life.

“I made sure another accident could never happen.” Davis reached over and clasped a hand on Monty’s shoulder. “My son is a good boy. He never meant to hurt the little girl.”

“Where is the body?” Bishop asked, the question coming out cold. It hurt Drew to hear them talk about Jess like that—as if she weren’t a person but a case to be closed.

Davis looked away. “I buried her out back on the hill underneath my wife’s favorite tree. I know how difficult this must’ve been for you, son, but I want you to know a week hasn’t gone by that I didn’t put fresh flowers on her grave.”

A thoughtful sentiment. Drew wished it were enough.

Chapter Forty

Drew stood in the driveway of the Biddle estate, watching as officers led Davis and Monty to squad cars whose lights shined flashes of red out into the darkness. He was weary and worn, and Beth was at his side, where she’d been the entire night.

She wound her arms around his waist and let her head fall to his chest. “It’s over.”

He liked the way she fit perfectly in his arms, as if they’d been made to go together.

Could he ever let her in the way he wanted to?

He kissed her forehead, and she lifted her chin, found his eyes.

“What is it?”

He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised she could sense that he was still unsettled. He loved her for that. He loved that he wanted to tell her instead of burying his feelings, giving them the ability to haunt him later.

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