Chapter 8

The sheriff's name was Walter Priddy, and he had known Delphine Bellrose since he was a boy bagging groceries at the Piggly Wiggly. He arrived at 11:15 in a county cruiser with his hat already wet, and he walked into the gin hall looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.

The guests were still there. Clay had tried to herd them toward the cars, but the storm had flooded the road, and nobody was going anywhere until the water dropped. So they stood in clusters under the string lights, holding paper plates and watching the front of the room, where Delphine and Mari and Eli and Roy had gathered like a tableau.

Sheriff Priddy walked up to Delphine first. "Mrs. Bellrose. What's going on?"

"An unpleasant family matter," Delphine said. "Eli Corrigan came here uninvited and made threats."

"He invited himself into my electrical room and assaulted my brother," Roy said, still sitting on a folding chair with a blanket around his shoulders. His voice was hoarse.

Priddy looked at Eli. "That true?"

"No," Eli said. He took the leather envelope out of his jacket and set it on the table. "This is."

He opened it and let the fitting roll out.

Priddy picked it up and turned it in the light. "What is this?"

"A fuel-line fitting from Daniel Bellrose's crop-duster. Serial 47-C. It failed eighteen years ago and killed him."

"I know the case."

"This is the fitting that failed. Roy Bellrose installed it. His repair stamp is on it. And there's a log in the electrical room that shows he did unauthorized work on the fuel line the morning of the crash."

"The log is gone," Roy said quickly.

"No," Eli said. He walked to the corner, picked up the green ledger from the floor, and set it on the table next to the fitting. "It's right here. Your handwriting. Your stamp. And Marcus heard you confess in the electrical room twenty minutes ago."

Marcus was standing by the door, still holding his flashlight. He looked at Delphine, then at Priddy, then at Mari.

"I heard him," Marcus said. "Mr. Roy said he didn't mean for Mr. Daniel to die. Said he sabotaged the line so his brother wouldn't ground the plane. Said Mrs. Bellrose knew."

Delphine closed her eyes.

Priddy opened the ledger. He flipped through a few pages, frowning. Then he looked up at Roy.

"Roy, is this your writing?"

Roy didn't answer.

"Roy."

"I want a lawyer," Roy said.

"That's your right." Priddy looked at Delphine. "Mrs. Bellrose, I need to ask you some questions."

"I have nothing to say," Delphine said.

Mari stepped forward. Her engagement dress was damp, and there was mud on her shoes. She picked up the fitting from the table and held it so the whole room could see it-the crowd under the string lights, Clay at the back, Delphine at the front.

"This is the part that killed my father," she said. Her voice was loud and steady. "My uncle installed it. My grandmother helped cover it up. And eighteen years ago, she sent Eli Corrigan to prison for a crime he didn't commit."

Nobody spoke.

Clay took a step forward. "Mari, sweetheart, let's do this privately-"

"No," Mari said. "You've been standing back there letting her run this family like a chessboard and you've known it. You've known it the whole time we've been engaged."

"I haven't known anything-"

"You knew what kind of family you were marrying into. You just figured you could outlast her."

Clay's face went red. He looked around at the other guests, then at the sheriff. "This is a family matter. It has nothing to do with me."

"That's right," Mari said. "It doesn't."

She turned to Eli.

"You came to my engagement supper with the truth," she said. "You stood at the gate and let her dump it in the mud. You waited eighteen years and you never once asked me for anything."

"Mari," Eli said. "You don't have to do this tonight."

"Yes I do." She held the fitting up. "This is my father."

She wasn't talking about Daniel.

Every guest in the gin hall heard it. Delphine's face went gray. Clay turned and walked toward the door, pushing through the crowd without looking back.

The sheriff took out his radio.

In the corner, Roy Bellrose put his head down on the folding table and sobbed.

Delphine Bellrose stood alone under the string lights, in her cream silk blouse and her pearls, and for the first time in eighteen years, she had nothing to say.