She drummed her fingers on the table. “If that’s what you want to believe.”
“Why shouldn’t I? You didn’t hack into her email account, did you?”
April didn’t respond immediately. When she did, her voice was softer. “No. That part is pure conjecture.”
Claire wished she’d never instigated this conversation. “So, according to you, Tug and Roni were having an affair and so was my mother. But if they’d both found happiness with someone else, why didn’t they simply divorce? How does that situation develop into murder?”
“Far too easily, I’m afraid. Roni was making Tug feel like a desirable man, the only man for her, and you and I both know how susceptible he is to that.”
Claire gave no indication whether she agreed with this or not. Being attractive to the opposite sex had always been important to him. The way he dressed, far younger than his age, said as much. But April didn’t know Tug, not really.
“As long as he could provide the lifestyle she craved—the lifestyle my father failed to provide—he’d be her heartthrob.”
Even though she wished she could prevent it, the mansion Roni lived in courtesy of her mother’s inheritance popped into Claire’s mind. She and Leanne had each received ninety thousand, which they’d spent on their houses and on school, but Tug had kept the bulk of Alana’s inheritance. “So you think it was all about money.”
“That, and he didn’t want to lose you and Leanne.”
Leanne’s words during their last argument came back to Claire. Her sister had stopped short of accusing Tug of murder, but she’d also said he wasn’t sad about losing Alana because it meant he wouldn’t have to worry about being separated from her children. Did a consensus make that true?
No. She was allowing this to go too far. April hated Roni and Tug. She had a vested interest in describing them in the worst possible light. And Claire was letting her. “You don’t know how he felt about us so don’t pretend you do—”
“You’re wrong there, too. He wrote what I just said in one of those emails.” April picked up her glass, stared at it in the light of the sun and took a swallow before setting it back down. “He really cares about you, if that makes you feel any better.”
It didn’t. Claire was sick inside. “Most stepparents don’t go to such lengths to keep their stepchildren.”
“But he wasn’t going to get any more. Roni had herself fixed when she married my father. He already had the four of us. She didn’t want a fifth mouth to feed. And Tug couldn’t have any of his own.”
Claire nearly dropped her glass. “What did you say?”
April watched her more closely. “You mean the part about Tug being infertile? You didn’t know?”
He wouldn’t admit it. She suspected the reason for that was his ego. He didn’t want to be perceived as damaged goods or less capable, less attactive to women. But she did know. That was the problem. She’d overheard her own mother say it, and that lent April’s whole terrible story more credibility than she wanted it to have. “Who told you?”
“It was in one of the emails. I’m guessing he sent it before she told him she couldn’t conceive, because he was trying to reassure her that she didn’t have to worry about getting pregnant.” She tore at some loose skin on her lips with her teeth, apparently struggling to recall the specifics. “If I remember right, he said something like, ‘All I ever dream about is making a baby with you. But even with Alana out of the way, you need to know it wouldn’t be possible.’ Then he went on to say that when his first wife couldn’t get pregnant, she dragged him to the doctor and they learned he had a low sperm count. He claimed that’s why she divorced him.”
When Claire merely stared, slack-jawed, April grimaced. “I really didn’t expect this to shock you quite so badly. You have to believe someone killed your mother. Who else could it be?”
Anyone. Joe. His brother. His wife. A…a stranger. A psychopath.
“Just be glad you weren’t the one to read those sickly sweet emails,” April told her. “I get a cavity just remembering them. But it was the sexual ones that really grossed me out.”
Claire lifted a hand to stop her. “Spare me the details, please.”
“No problem. I’ve already blocked them from memory.”
It seemed a bit convenient that she could remember so much about the other ones, especially after fifteen years. “Do you have copies of those emails?”
“No. I was afraid my father would see them, and—” her voice wavered “—I didn’t want him to be hurt.”
April had lost a parent, too. Claire sympathized. But that didn’t mean it was right for April to blame Roni. “So she never figured out that you knew?”
“She didn’t have to figure it out. Several months later, I accused her of it.”
Claire folded her arms. “If she’s so diabolical, weren’t you afraid of what she might do to shut you up?”
“She hadn’t killed anyone at that point. I knew she was a selfish bitch, but I never dreamed she’d go quite so far—until it happened. That convinced me pretty fast.” She pushed her lip to one side so she could reach a different spot with her teeth. “I’ll never forget where I was when I heard the news that your mother was missing. I was sitting in my father’s trailer, crying. He was drunk, passed out yet again, but the TV was blaring in the background, showing the police going in and out of your house.”
“You immediately knew Roni was responsible?”
“Of course. That’s why I went to the police.”
But there was no record of her contact with the sheriff’s department. Claire would have to ask Myles if he knew anything about it. “If you weren’t scared before, you should’ve been then.”
“I was. But I was married at the time and didn’t feel so vulnerable. As the days, months and years passed, and she got everything she wanted, I realized I wasn’t at risk. She doesn’t consider me a threat. If what I knew could hurt her, she would’ve been in prison long ago.”
“I still can’t believe you’ve stayed here.”
“Where would I go?”
“You have siblings elsewhere in Montana.”
“But this place is all I know. And my children’s father works for the fire department. Scott wouldn’t let me take them away even if I wanted to move.”