Page 45 of The Couple's Secret
“I hate you! I hate you!” Riley’s voice was high and shrill, carrying across the cemetery with perfect clarity.
The murmurs of the crowd became a buzz. More reporters pushed through, trying to reach the bottom of the hill, with no regard to those around them. One woman stumbled and fell when a camera bumped her shoulder. People started shouting.
Finally, the plainclothes officers were there, stomping forward, taking Dalton’s arms just as Jackson pushed him backward.
“It should have been you who died!” Riley screamed, twisting and flailing in Zane’s arms.
“What a shitshow,” Fanning said.
Hollis used his grip on Jackson’s shoulder to spin him toward his wife. Zane let her go and she sprang forward, rushing toward Dalton. Jackson caught her around the waist. She pointed a finger at her father. “You should be the one in the ground! I wish it was you! I hate you!”
One reporter made it through the throng with her cameraman who was filming the entire exchange. The crowd went chillingly silent, leaving only birdsong, and the sound of Riley’s angry cries.
Until Dalton laughed.
Riley glared at him with red-rimmed eyes. “How dare you.”
Dalton lurched forward, managing to free one of his arms from the officers holding him. He reached for Riley. Hollis stepped between them. Dalton registered the move, fisted his hand, and punched Hollis. The blow glanced off his chin, snapping his head back.
The entire thing unfolded in a matter of seconds.
Josie and Gretchen started to move forward in tandem, their bodies reacting to the threat before their minds could catch up to the fact that this wasn’t their jurisdiction. Fanning threw out his arms, barring them. It was just as well since the plainclothes officers had Dalton on his stomach, cinching his wrists with zip ties.
“He just went from disorderly conduct to simple assault,” said Gretchen.
He’d be in a holding cell within the hour. If Hollis decided to press charges, Dalton would be detained, processed, and possibly arraigned.
“You think I’m shit but your mom, she had secrets, Riley,” he shouted as he was dragged away. “She wasn’t the saint you all make her out to be! It’s time you knew.”
Hollis rubbed his chin and turned back to Riley. “Sorry, Ri.”
Jackson loosened his grip on her waist so she could go to Hollis. She reached up and touched his chin. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, kiddo. I’m just sorry he had to ruin this, and saying stupid shit like that…”
Riley shook her head. “He knows I won’t have anything to do with him and he hates it. He’ll say anything to get my attention.”
Jackson said, “She’s right. He’s just trying to get under her skin.”
“But Ri won’t let him,” Zane piped up.
“That’s right,” she said, lifting her chin proudly. “And I’m not letting him take another thing from my mom. Let’s lay her and Tobias to rest and never think about that asshole ever again.”
Hollis joined the kids around the caskets. They kept their backs to the crowd as they composed themselves before finally placing flowers on the coffins.
The press continued to push forward, cameras trained on the final farewells, invading a moment that should have been private. Except that nothing about the lives of Tobias and Cora had been private since their disappearance, since the public had become morbidly fascinated with what had happened to them. In minutes, the videos of the confrontation next to the caskets would be on the internet. They’d probably go viral. Josie was watching the hungry reporters so closely, she didn’t notice Hollis ambling over until he was only a foot away from them.
“Thank you for coming,” he said. “Even you, Fanning.”
John smiled insincerely. “Right.”
With an exasperated sigh, Hollis added, “It meant a lot to the kids. They know how hard you worked on the case, okay? So let’s just call a truce for today.”
Chastened, Fanning nodded. “Of course.”
Hollis turned to Josie and Gretchen. “Zane told me he’d give you two a tour of the house but with the press… The kids are going to head to Denton. All of them.”
“Unfortunately, the press will be there as well,” Josie said.
