The Taking of Libbie, SD (Mac McKenzie #7)

Sara nodded.

“You told him to meet you at Lake Mataya.”

Sara nodded again. Her hands began to tremble, and tears formed in her eyes.

“Why?” I said.

“I wanted—because of what he did to me, I wanted—I wanted to kill him.”

The chief’s entire body flinched, yet he continued to stare out the window, continued to remain silent.

“You didn’t kill him, though, did you?” I said.

Sara shook her head vigorously. Tears fell and splattered against the tabletop. She gripped her hands more tightly. The chief exhaled as if he had been holding his breath.

“It’s okay,” I said and patted her hands. “No one thought that you did.”

“I was so angry,” Sara said. “After what happened at the hotel; the way he laughed. It was already all over town, and other people were laughing, too. Even my father laughed. And he accused me, my father accused me of, of—you know what he accused me of. He said I damaged his reputation. His. I hated him. Rush. I hated Rush and I wanted—I wanted…”

“It’s okay,” I said again.

“No, it isn’t. Being that way; wanting to kill someone. I still shake when I think of it.”

“Everyone has black and evil thoughts. Everyone knows lust, malice, envy, greed, hate. There is no shame in owning these—these what? Instincts? The shame is giving in to them, giving them dominance. You didn’t.”

“I wanted to. I wanted…”

Sara’s tears flowed more freely, yet I noticed that she had relaxed her hands.

“What happened?” the chief said. His voice was gentle. He didn’t look at either of us.

“I…”

“It’s okay,” I said.

“I called Rush like you said. I asked him to meet me at the lake; I didn’t know any other place where I wouldn’t be seen. He asked why. I told him—I told him that since everyone already thinks we slept together we might as well—we might as well…” Sara sighed deeply. “I told him to meet me in the clearing. There’s a clearing in the trees about halfway around the lake. I don’t know if you’ve been there.”

“I’ve been there.”

“I told him to meet me in the clearing, and I waited. When he arrived—when he arrived, I pointed the gun at him.”

“What gun?” the chief said.

“My father’s, one of my father’s guns. He laughed at me just like he did in the hotel room. He said—Rush said I must be kidding. Then he stopped laughing. I don’t know why. I didn’t say a word to him, nothing at all. I just started walking toward him with the gun, pointing the gun at his face, and he started backing up. There’s a kind of low bench, a bench made of the trunk of a tree, and he kept backing up until his legs hit the bench and he tumbled over. He fell over and he covered his head with his hands and he started—he started begging, I guess. He said he was sorry. He said…”

Sara sighed again.

“I wanted to shoot him. I couldn’t. I couldn’t make my finger squeeze the trigger. I tried so hard. Then I started crying. I was crying because I felt so helpless. I was crying louder than Rush was. Then I ran away. I ran back to the car and I drove home.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

“McKenzie, why do you keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true.”

I rested my hands on top of hers, and she smiled slightly.

“At what time was this?” the chief said.

“Ten o’clock,” Sara said.

“Were there any other cars in the parking lot?”

“Cars? No. Well, there was Rush’s car and mine, that was all.”

“Did you see anyone else?”

“No, Chief, I didn’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything. Are you going to arrest me?”

The chief grinned. He turned his head and looked her in the eye for the first time.

“There’s no law against not shooting someone,” he said. “Not even for not shooting a louse like Rush.”

“Thank you.”

“Sara,” I said, “when you went home, did you tell your mother what happened?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she said. “I was so embarrassed and hurt and—only I couldn’t stop crying. She came into my bedroom and hugged me and asked me what was wrong and it just came out—everything—including what happened at the hotel, what really happened. She said the same thing you did.”

“What?”

“It’s okay.”

And then she took the blame, my inner voice told me. She said that she lured the Imposter to the clearing, substituting a tree branch for the gun because, let’s face it, who would believe that she’d be unable to squeeze the trigger?

“I like your mother,” I said aloud. “I didn’t before. Now—she’s all right. Tell her I said so. Tell her I said, ‘Pretty good for an Edina girl.’”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

I didn’t think it was my place to explain it to her, so I simply shrugged as I pushed my chair back and rose from the table.

“You’ll have to ask her,” I said. I gestured at the chief with my chin. “Are you ready?”