The hat Hank had been wearing during that fishing derby with the shape Ophelia hadn’t been able to recognize. The hat had a moose embroidered on it. A huge moose just like this one.
Flossy used animals for people in her quilts. An owl for her deceased husband, a vulture for Monica, an eagle for Brock…and a moose for Hank?
Ophelia started to move from the chair.
Flossy returned from the kitchen with her teapot in one hand and a shotgun in the other.
“Flossy,” Ophelia breathed, sinking back down. “The moose represents Hank? You wanted me to see this.”
“I did. I’m tired of secrets.” Flossy placed the teapot on the table. “Hank and I courted for quite a few years, but we kept our love to ourselves. Both private people, I guess. We even met at the Tundra Complex when I had boarders and he had one of the boys home.” Tears filled her faded eyes behind the thick glasses. “He was in so much pain from the cancer. Yet as a religious man, he couldn’t do it himself. He asked me, and I said yes.”
Ophelia couldn’t move. “But?—”
“I killed Hank, Olly. It was me.” Flossy looked down at the weapon. “With this shotgun.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Brock finished filling out the paperwork for Monica’s arrest, sitting at his desk in the sheriff’s station.
“You’re good at this,” Damian drawled, kicked back in a wooden guest chair across from Brock’s desk. Ace sat next to him, drinking a large mug of coffee.
“Thanks.” Brock rolled his neck. They’d just finished a supper of soup from Amka, and his body felt relaxed, but he wanted to get back to Ophelia. After he led this little family meeting. The time for harboring secrets had ended.
Christian lounged against the doorframe with his wolf pup at his feet. “I came because you called. Can we have this talk later?”
“No.” Brock crossed his arms. “We’re a family, and we’re going to handle our problems together. Now.”
The outside door opened, and light footsteps sounded down the hallway.
Christian’s eyebrows rose, and he slid to the side.
Ophelia walked inside with a shotgun held in the elbow of her healthy arm, the barrels pointed at the ground. She was pale, and lines extended from her eyes. With her other arm in a sling, she looked wounded.
Flossy entered after her, dressed to the nines in her pretty floral summer dress, the good one. To accommodate the winter, she wore pink tights and puffy white boots that matched her coat. “Good evening, gentlemen.”
Brock stood. What in the world was happening?
Ophelia looked at the floor, and he could swear sadness filtered from her.
Flossy stood to her full five-foot height, chin up, makeup fresh on her thin face. Her curly hair had that going-to-town for the evening look. “I killed Hank.”
Ophelia gave a small sound of distress.
Ace’s jaw dropped, Damian turned to face her more fully, and Christian just tilted his head.
Brock took in the shotgun, and his gut ached. Hard. The reality hit him as he remembered little clues that Hank had been seeing somebody. Kind of. “You and Hank dated each other?”
“We were in love.” She shrugged bony shoulders. “Our romance was private and all ours. I was the first person he told when he found out about the cancer.” She paled even further, making her bright pink lipstick stand out. “We went through his illness together, and that last day, the pain became too strong for him. He only had a week or so left, and neither of us wanted him to hurt like that. I shot him and then hurried to work that morning, not knowing what else to do.”
Fuck. Brock wanted to sit back down but couldn’t move. “Flossy?—”
“I confess.” She kept her chin up. “Sometimes we met each other at the Tundra, and sometimes when the sheriff was out, well, the cells are kind of fun.”
Ace made a low sound in the back of his throat.
Flossy ignored him and continued confessing. “The shotgun will match whatever the scientists found on the body.” She smacked Christian on the arm—and he let her. “You boys. Nottalking to each other because you couldn’t face the truth. Grow up, all of you. The truth is the truth, and I’ve given it to you.” She held out her thin arms. “Cuff me, Sheriff.”
Brock might actually throw up.
