The Moment The Heart Shines
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I just felt so happy the moment David came into view. I was looking at him, thinking about how good it would feel to have his arms around me—when he looked up and saw my reflection in a mirror hanging on a wall across the room. His eyes widened when he noticed that I wasn’t alone. He froze for a second before slowly approaching us. “Who are you?”
“David,” I said as soon as he reached our side of the bar. I put my hand out to shake his. It was such an effort not to let go immediately.
He hesitated for a second then placed his hand in mine. For some reason, I thought he’d look down but instead, he looked straight ahead. We stood there like that, neither moving nor saying anything. Then I remembered what I had been doing earlier that morning and released his hand.
His gaze fell back on me. There was something in his face that told me he knew more than I did; that he already suspected who I was. But I couldn’t be sure because his expression gave no clues as to whether he was angry with me for having deceived him or if he was simply concerned that I might’ve gotten hurt.
When we finally spoke again, he asked, “What’s your name?”
My throat tightened and I took a deep breath to clear it. “Lila.”
“And where is Lila?”
For some reason, I found myself unable to answer his question. Instead, I focused on getting him to understand why I was there. “I need help.”
There were several things wrong with my statement: one, it was too short, which made him think I didn’t know much about the situation; two, it didn’t sound convincing enough; three, it lacked passion. And four, it sounded exactly like the kind of thing someone who was trying to get their hands dirty would say.
But still, I persisted, hoping against hope that this time I would convince him. “Please listen to me,” I pleaded. “I’m trying to find the man who killed my father.”
“A killer?” A muscle twitched in his jaw and he shook his head. “You don’t want justice.”
That got through to him. He glanced toward the door and then back at me. “Why do you care? Why do you want to bring him to justice?”
“Because he murdered my family!” My voice cracked on the last word and tears burned the corners of my eyes. “If I don’t do this now, I’ll never forgive myself.”
Suddenly he grabbed my shoulders and pulled me closer until I could see the full length of his face. Something flickered in his eyes. Maybe anger. Or maybe sorrow. Or possibly fear. Whatever emotion flashed inside his gaze caused me to hold my breath. What was he feeling? Was he even capable of understanding? Did he even believe me?
Then his mouth moved against mine. Our lips touched once and then twice before he kissed me hard. The instant our tongues met, everything changed between us. I was overwhelmed by the rush of emotions coursing through my body, all of them powerful and unfamiliar. When our kiss ended, he held both of my hands and stared into my eyes. “Are you telling me the truth?” he whispered.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Do you mean it?”
“Absolutely.”
After a long pause, he nodded and released me from his embrace.
It was so strange standing there without touching him, yet feeling him close enough that every part of me wanted to reach out to him. It was almost as though I’d lost control over my own senses. It was only after a few seconds that I realized I hadn’t heard any footsteps behind me.
At first, I assumed it was David leaving, but then I turned around to find him staring at me. He stepped forward, but then stopped when he saw the gun pointed directly at him. I quickly lowered the weapon, but not before making sure he knew I meant business.
We looked each other over, then he sighed. “You’re quite the little pistol.”
“Just doing my job,” I said, glancing at the floor. “So… what can I do for you?”
“Can you make yourself comfortable while I ask some questions?”
“Of course.” I walked away from the bar and sat on a nearby chair. I tried to keep my mind blank, but it was impossible. I kept seeing David’s lips press against mine, hearing his ragged breathing and smelling his sweat.
As far as I knew, he didn’t suspect me of being a detective, but I still needed to remain careful. After all, he was a stranger, and he probably wouldn’t hesitate to shoot anyone who posed a threat to his well-being.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“San Francisco.”
“And how long have you known the Dalton brothers?”
“About seven years.”
The room went silent for a moment. “How?” he asked, sounding surprised.
“I was hired by their mother.”
“Was she an attorney?”
“No. She was a seamstress.”
He frowned. “A seamstress? You mean you worked for her sewing clothes?”
“She owned a dress shop.”
His frown deepened. “Did she hire you to sew dresses for herself or the boys?”
I hesitated before answering. “Both.”
Another silence followed. “And did they always pay you on time?”
“They paid me whenever they felt like it.”
“Were they always polite to you?”
“Never rude.”
“Did they ever hurt you?” His voice had taken on a serious tone.
My stomach knotted up. “Once they threatened me. But they didn’t lay a hand on me.”
David took another sip of whiskey. Then he set his glass down and rubbed his forehead. “What happened?” he finally asked.
I told him briefly about the day I left town. By the end of the story, we were both leaning forward, elbows resting on our knees, watching each other closely.
“You seem awfully familiar with these boys,” David mused. “Almost like you’ve been friends with them forever.”
I shrugged. “Maybe that’s because I am.”
He stared at me, studying my expression, looking for signs of deception. There wasn’t much to look at since I was trying very hard to hide my feelings, but eventually, he gave me a nod. “Very well,” he muttered. “Let’s hear your confession.”
***
For the next half hour, I described everything I remembered about the night my family died. All the details I thought would be important. When I finished, David listened intently. At times he scribbled notes on a pad, and I noticed several pages filled with words and numbers. Finally, he stood up, leaned across the desk, and placed the pad on top of it.
“Thank you for coming in today,” he said, picking up the bottle. “I’ll get right back to you.”
“Don’t worry; I won’t leave until you do.”
As soon as I got home, I called Tricia. We agreed to meet at a café near the train depot. I made myself a late lunch and waited patiently for her arrival. I ordered two slices of pie to go with my coffee, and by the time Trish arrived, I already had one slice cut into pieces and waiting for her.
When I opened the door, I found her smiling broadly. Her eyes sparkled. And the way her chestnut hair fell perfectly over her shoulders seemed more than natural. I could tell something good had happened between us. The smile was genuine and sweet. So different from the fake ones she usually wore.
“Hey!” she said, stepping inside. “Welcome to my new place.”
I grinned. “Nice digs.”
She nodded. “Thanks. I’m happy here. Don’t know why I resisted moving for so many months.”
“It must feel great to be out of there,” I replied, gesturing toward the window where the street below showed a mix of horse-drawn wagons and fancy cars. A few men rode past on horses, dressed in colorful suits.
Two women dressed in black hats and gloves rode side by side, holding hands. It was early afternoon, but most people were still at work, which explained why the streets weren’t crowded.
“Yeah. Feels wonderful,” she answered, sitting down and taking a bite of pie. “So what brings you here? Did you want some pie too?”
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the Dalton brothers.”
Her face darkened. “That bad?”
“Not yet. Just wanted to give you fair warning.”
She looked confused. “Why? What makes you think they’re dangerous?”
“Because I know them.”
“Know them? How?”
“We used to be neighbors.”
Tricia froze. “You’re kidding! You’re joking! They live just down the road!”
“Yes, and they were always troublemakers. Very loud and obnoxious. If I heard them arguing once, I’d hear it again ten minutes later. I couldn’t wait to move away from them.”
“But now they’re grown men who can fight their own battles. Why should you care?”
I picked up another piece of pie, ate half, and handed her the rest. “Do you remember the night of the fire?”
“Of course I do. That horrible night. Your family burned to death while you ran away. My mother cried all day long. She never stopped crying. Never stopped talking about how sorry she felt for you. She even started calling you ‘little girl.'”
I laughed softly. “Your mom has always been kind to me.”
“I don’t understand what this has to do with anything.”
“The reason I moved away from them is that I knew if I stayed, they might kill me someday.”
There was no mistaking the pain in her voice. But when I glanced up, I saw nothing but defiance in her brown eyes. She took a deep breath before speaking. “And how do you know they killed my parents?”
“I didn’t say they did,” I answered calmly. “Only that I know them.”
“How does knowing someone make them guilty of murder?”
I sat back and studied her features. Was it possible that after all these years, she didn’t realize the truth? Or was it possible that she had decided not to believe it because she didn’t want to deal with the guilt of losing her family? I hoped it wasn’t the latter.
Because if it was, then maybe she wouldn’t ever learn the truth. Maybe she would keep believing her brother’s version of events. Which meant she would stay safe. But I doubted it. This woman was tough. Strong. I sensed she was ready to take responsibility for whatever happened. To stand up and fight. No matter what.
“They may have been involved,” I finally said. “If only in some small way. But it doesn’t mean they murdered your parents.”
“But you said—”
“No, I didn’t. All I said is that it doesn’t mean they did.”
“Well, why are you telling me this now?”
“Because we’re going to see them tomorrow.”
“Going to see them?” Her tone was sharp. “What makes you think we’re going to see anyone?”
“Because I’ve arranged for an appointment. With both brothers.”
A frown formed between her eyebrows. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“Because I want you to get to know them better. See how much they really resemble their father. Understand exactly what happened that terrible night. And find out whether or not they actually did murder your folks.”
“So you want to go along?”
“No. I’ll meet you there first and introduce myself as a reporter looking into the case.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning I will interview them. Get the story straight from the source. Then I’ll ask you questions. But you won’t answer until I tell you to. Does that sound fair?”
“Fair? Is that all you think of me?”
“Don’t misunderstand. There’s nothing wrong with being fair. It’s just that sometimes fairness isn’t enough.”
She stared at me. “Then what else is?”
“Justice.”
***
THE NEXT MORNING TUESDAY, Tricia left early and came to pick me up in her car. The sun hadn’t risen yet; the sky was dark blue and filled with stars. The temperature hovered around thirty degrees, and it looked like snow would fall soon.
We drove through the town of Dalton, which consisted of a general store, post office, two saloons, one church, three hotels—two on either side of the street—and twenty-four houses.
As we passed each house, I pointed to the door. “This was yours,” I told her. “Which means this is where you lived.”
“My home. Yes, and I loved it.”
We turned onto Main Street and continued driving south toward the railroad tracks. After passing by the hotel on our right, we reached a wide spot in the road. On the other side of the tracks was a large dirt field dotted with trees. Beyond the trees lay the forest.
“Where are we headed?”
“To the woods,” I answered.
Tricia slowed the car down as we approached the edge of the woods. A single lantern hung from a tree branch near the path. When I opened the passenger door, I stepped out onto the gravel driveway and walked across the road. As I made my way to the edge of the trees, I noticed that the ground underfoot was covered in dead leaves and fallen twigs.
“Do you hear that?” Tricia asked. “Hear what?”
“Sounds like people talking.”
“That could be any number of things.”
“It sounds like laughter, too. Like kids playing.”
“Let’s hope so.”
After crossing the dirt path, I climbed over a fence and followed it deeper into the forest. The smell of damp earth permeated the air. For the moment, the only sound I heard was the wind rustling through the branches.
But I knew that eventually, I would stumble upon something interesting. That’s why I’d come here. To listen to the stories of those who called this place home. To get the real scoop. Just like I always did.
I stopped walking and waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. After several minutes, I started moving again and began making my way deeper inside the forest. Eventually, the moonlight shone through the canopy of trees, lighting my path.
At last, I found myself standing beneath a huge oak tree. My heart beat faster. This was the very spot I’d wanted to visit since I learned about the murders. Now I had no choice but to continue searching for answers.
When I reached the base of the trunk, I saw that the wood was split almost in half, probably caused by lightning years ago. Nearby stood a wooden bench, its seat stained red from blood. I took off my hat and sat down. From there, I watched as the full moon rose higher above the treetops, illuminating the surrounding area.
“You can’t hide forever,” I whispered.
“Who are you?” someone said behind me.
Startled, I jumped to my feet and spun around. No one was there. Nothing moved within the shadows of the trees. Still, the voice had sounded human. Maybe it was the wind whispering through the trees. Or maybe it was the memory of another night long ago when I heard the same voice.
“Hello?” I said.
Silence.
A few seconds later, I heard footsteps approaching from behind. Someone was coming. Sooner than expected. In fact, it was happening now. One step after another, closer and closer…
Someone grabbed me from behind and pulled me backward. Another hand wrapped itself tightly around my throat, cutting off my breathing. With both hands, he forced me to my knees. His face loomed above mine. He was holding a gun. I struggled against him, trying to free myself from his grasp. Then suddenly he let go of me.
For a brief second, I thought he might have decided not to hurt me. Instead, he dropped the gun on the ground beside us and then pushed me forward. Before I hit the dirt, he shoved his knee between my legs. Pain shot through my body.
He leaned down close to my ear and spoke softly. “What do you want?”
“Nothing,” I mumbled. “Just some help.”
The man chuckled. “Help? You don’t need anyone’s help. Not even mine.”
Then he kicked me hard in the stomach. It sent a jolt of pain shooting through my back. I doubled over and clutched at my midsection. I didn’t know how much more abuse I could take. All I wanted was to escape this nightmare. To find the murderer before he killed again. And yet, all I got was more torment.
“Why should I believe anything you say?” I cried.
His grip tightened on my shoulder. “Because I’m going to kill you if you don’t start talking.”
“How many times must I tell you I don’t know anything?”
“This is your lucky day, lady. We’ve been looking for an eyewitness to these killings.”
“And where exactly does your search lead?” I demanded. “To some dead end.”
With a growl, he slammed his fist into my face. I tasted blood. Blood trickled down my chin and dripped onto my shirt. But still I refused to give up.
“We’re getting nowhere with this case,” he said. “So we’re taking matters into our own hands.”
“But you’ll never catch him!” I shouted.
“Are you sure?” he said.
“Yes! Yes! Of course!”
At first, he appeared satisfied with my response. But then he shook his head slowly. “If that’s true, why haven’t we caught him yet? Why hasn’t anybody else figured out who the killer really is?”
My mouth went dry. What kind of game were they playing? Did they actually think I knew something? I’d told them everything. About the letters. About the diary. I couldn’t be any more helpful than that. Wasn’t that obvious?
Still, he didn’t seem convinced. When I didn’t answer, he punched me in the ribs. I gasped and tried to block the blows with my arms. They fell on top of each other. Over and over again until I was gasping for air.
Suddenly, the sound of horses drew nearer. A loud whistle echoed across the clearing. The sound seemed to come from every direction. At least ten riders came galloping toward us. I looked past them and saw several others moving in the woods.
More men were riding into the clearing. This time, I recognized their faces. Men I hadn’t seen since I left town years earlier. Some were officers from the law offices in St. Louis; others were detectives hired by the city marshal.
All of them wore guns and badges. That meant they were armed. How did they get here so quickly? Had the marshal called for reinforcements? If so, why weren’t they using the telephone booth?
I glanced back at the man standing over me. There wasn’t enough room in the clearing for all those men. Where were they hiding? Surely, they wouldn’t fire on the sheriff and his deputies. Could they?
One of the men dismounted. He stepped toward me.
“Sheriff!” he shouted.
When I turned around to see what had happened, I nearly choked. Standing next to the sheriff was the man I’d just escaped from. He grinned as he watched me struggling under the weight of four or five men. My arms flailed wildly, trying desperately to keep them away from me. I fought like hell. I couldn’t let them take me alive.
In the distance, someone yelled. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”
“Shut up!” the man with the gun roared. Then he aimed it at me.
Before he fired, a voice boomed behind me. “Stop!”
It was the man who’d rescued me. Now he held two guns pointed at the man with the pistol. His eyes flashed with anger.
“That’s enough, Jake.”
Jake lowered both guns and gave the deputy a dark glare. Then he walked closer to me.
“Let her go,” he ordered.
Two of the men immediately released me. I stumbled backward, rubbing at my bruised wrists. I glared at Jake.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Protecting you. No sense risking yourself when you can do nothing to stop these killers.”
“They have no idea who they’re dealing with,” another man declared. “She’s one tough woman.”
“Yeah?” Jake asked.
I raised my eyebrows. “Who are you?”
“Me?” He smiled. “You probably don’t remember me. We met once upon a time.”
“A long time ago.”
“Oh, but I remember you well.” With a wink, he added: “Or maybe not quite well enough. You were much prettier then.”
“Just wait until I’m free again.”
The smile faded from his lips. “There isn’t much time before we find him.”
“No,” I admitted. “Not even close.”
Jake reached down and helped me to my feet. “Where will you run now?”
“Nowhere.”
His gaze narrowed. “Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because I know where the killer is headed.”
He frowned. “How could you possibly know?”
“Because he wrote about it in the letter. It’s written right there on the cover of his diary.”
Jake scowled. “Then how—”
“It’s only three miles east of here,” I explained. “And I’ve been there before. I used to live near the edge of town.”
“Three miles… From this spot? Impossible.”
“Maybe not impossible if somebody wants to hide something badly enough. And the killer does want to hide something badly enough—his crimes. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have taken such extreme measures to conceal it.
He hid the body of one victim in the trunk of his car, buried the second one in a shallow grave, and dumped the third in the river. So far, he hasn’t found anything useful inside your house.”
The sheriff scratched his chin thoughtfully. “You might be right. But what makes you think the killer will stay in that area?”
“He has to. The letter said he had to be careful. He knew that sooner or later, the police would catch up with him. Once they caught sight of him, they’d put out an alert for his whereabouts. He didn’t want any more trouble than necessary. So he’ll need someplace to hide out. Somewhere nearby.”
“But that means we’ll never find him,” the sheriff muttered.
“If you give me enough time…”
“Time to track him down? Time to make sure he doesn’t escape?”
“Yes,” I answered. “So please, give me plenty of time.”
The End