Page 43 of Little Hidden Fears

“Alone?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ve learned a lot about you today, about your home life in your younger years, your father, the night you assaulted and raped Noelle.”

He closed his eyes. “I’m trying to engage in conversation with you, to answer any questions you’ve come to ask, but you’re making it hard.”

“I’m just stating the facts.”

He opened his eyes, and even though I didn’t want to admit it, those same eyes, the ones I’d seen in the photos, so dark, so menacing, had somehow changed. They were much softer now.

“As I was saying, I do everything I can to keep my mind clear, in the present where it belongs, and not in the past,” he said. “Nothing positive will come from dragging up unpleasant memories.”

“I understand, and I hopeyouunderstand I have a job to do.”

“I suppose me telling you I’m innocent isn’t enough, is it?”

“I’m sorry to say it isn’t. Not yet.”

“I look forward to the day you’re sure of my innocence. Is there anything else I can answer for you?”

“I have some questions about your father.”

“What about him?”

“Is he still alive?”

“As far as I know, he’s still around, though I’m surprised the alcohol hasn’t gotten the better of him by now. I can’t imagine he’s kicked the habit. Don’t see why he ever would.”

“Do you see him?”

“Not since the day I was arrested.”

“Why not?”

“I thought it best to cut him out of my life. With him in it, there’s no chance for me to be a better person, to be the man I work day and night to be.”

“And what kind of man is that?”

“A humble one, a man who seeks to better himself and the world around him, so that one day, when I die, I may be forgiven for my past sins.”

He was either doing a superb job of acting, or he had become the one person I didn’t believe he could—a changed man.

“Since your release from prison, what have you been doing?” I asked.

“I live a modest life.” He got up and walked to the kitchen. “I’d like to show you something.”

On the off chance he couldn’t be trusted, I dipped my hand inside my bag, palming my gun.

He opened a kitchen cabinet and pulled out a tray full of handmade soap, a bit of glitter spilling off the tray in the process. “There’s a local craft market up the road. I have a booth there each week on Saturday. Sell out just about every time. You ever been to Crafty Couture on Main Street?”

“I haven’t.”

“My soap is sold there too.”

“How did you get into soap making?”

“I read a book about it when I was locked up. I thought it would be something I’d enjoy doing, and I was right. Been making soap ever since I got my own place.”

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