Dust to Dust

teeth.
    “Apparently,” Diane said. “Sometimes, though, it doesn’t play out the way you expect. You’ve made some assumptions that aren’t supported by the facts. Now, you can tell me to shut up, like Tyler did. But I’m the one with the knowledge of all the crimes and what the police actually have. That’s why you sent the assassin to my house, isn’t it? To kill the person who could make the connection.”
    Diane heard someone suck in a breath.
    “Everett,” said Wendy, “this has gone too far. Look what you’ve done to my son. Don’t you have any conscience?”
    “Shut up, woman.” He didn’t even look at her when he spoke, but stared at Diane.
    “She got a text message on her phone,” said Tyler. His face was streaked with blood and tears, even though he made an effort to wipe it with his sleeve.
    “Text message? Is that something we should be concerned about?” said Everett.
    “There is so much you don’t know,” said Diane. “Yes, it is something you should be concerned about. But first, you need to tell Tyler how you played him. Tell him the truth . . . that he didn’t kill Ellie Rose.”

Chapter 60
    Diane attracted all their attention, including Kingsley’s. It was Marsha who recovered first.
    “What? You mean Ryan Dance is guilty after all? After all this! Just what are you playing at?”
    “Ryan is not guilty,” said Diane. “What Colton said is true, to a point. I tried to explain, but Tyler threatened to shoot me if I spoke. Mr. Walters, you need to tell Tyler the truth.”
    Diane had a plan in mind. It wasn’t a particularly good one, but it seemed like very few of her plans were, in this kind of situation. Rushing either one of them was out of the question, so she would try the old divide et impera approach. It had worked for the Romans.
    “What?” said Tyler. He rocked back and forth, still holding his leg, trying not to cry.
    “Tyler raped Ellie Rose,” continued Diane. “He choked her to unconsciousness and she was badly hurt. She hit her head in a fall, I suspect, while Tyler was fighting with her. But then Tyler called his grandfather for help, and Everett Walters came, prepared with a hatchet, just in case he got the chance. And he did. When Ellie was trying to get up, he struck her down.”
    “Oh,” whimpered Marsha. “Oh God.” She put a hand over her mouth and rocked forward. Her husband reached out to her.
    “When he got rid of her body,” said Diane, “he struck her head against a rock to disfigure the wound—using blunt-force trauma in an attempt to hide the evidence of the sharp weapon that killed her.”
    Diane stared Everett in the eyes. “You tried to make it look as if her head were injured when Dance threw her body down the embankment. And fortunately for you, Gainesville had a brand-new medical examiner with a track record of making wrong calls. But another medical examiner recently analyzed the photos of the autopsy and saw the sharp cuts in the skull that you tried to obscure.”
    “You bastard,” said Wendy. “You freaking bastard—all this time . . .”
    “Just your ME’s word against ours, seems like to me,” Everett said. “Don’t listen to her.”
    “Tyler needs to listen. He can redeem himself,” said Diane. “It’s not too late.”
    “You got nothing,” Everett said. He pulled a straight-back chair from its place near the wall beside the fireplace, sat down, crossed his legs, and looked very smug.
    “You saying I didn’t kill El?” groaned Tyler.
    “That’s what I’m saying,” said Diane.
    “Don’t listen to her, boy. She’d say anything,” said Everett. “She’s desperate.” He grinned at Diane.
    She could see her plan had little chance. Tyler was in too much pain, he was only half listening, and his grandfather had a big hold over him.
    “What was the text message?” said Tyler. “What does it mean? Someone please get me some painkillers?”
    “Please,” said Wendy. “Samuel, you must have something. Give him something.”
    “He can take the pain for a little while,” said Everett. “Just until we figure this thing out. Everybody stays in the room so I can see them.”
    “Pour him a drink,” said Kingsley. He nodded toward the bar in the corner where Wendy poured Marsha’s drinks.
    Everett nodded and Wendy got her son a bottle of vodka and poured him a drink, which he downed in one gulp.
    “Now, what’s this about the text message?” said Walters. “The boy seems to think it’s