Free Family Ties (Flesh & Blood Trilogy Book 2) by Christina Morgan Page B

didn’t want to offend Alma, but I had a job to do. “Alma, have you always worn glasses?”
    “Yes, but I don’t understand…” Alma’s face changed from one of confusion to one of sudden awareness. “Oh, I see where you’re going with this. Yes, I’ve always worn glasses, but no, I did not make a mistake.” The tone of her voice had changed too. Gone was the syrupy sweet tea voice; in its place, something harsher and colder. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you, being the daughter of a serial killer, but I assure you, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I saw your father yelling at that girl the same night she was murdered. Sure as I’m seeing you right now. The police knew I was telling the truth. Your father got what he deserved. Better, actually. He should have gotten the electric chair for what he did to those poor, innocent girls.”
    I couldn’t help myself. “The electric chair hasn’t been used in thirty years.”
    She looked at me with squinty, piercing eyes. “I think we’re done here. Waitress!”
    “I didn’t mean to offend you, Alma. I’m simply trying to find the truth.”
    “The truth is that your father is a serial killer. It’s been twenty years. Let sleeping dogs lie. Accept the truth and get on with your life.”
    “Here,” I said, laying a ten-dollar bill down on the table between us. “It’s on me.”
    “I don’t want your money. Just don’t ever contact me again.”
    “I’m sorry, Alma. I really am.” And with that, I left Alma sitting there at the table and walked out of the restaurant toward my car.
    I slid behind the wheel and turned on the heat and warmed my hands in front of the vents. I sat there in the parking lot of Beans, thinking over what I’d just learned. I watched as Alma exited the restaurant and fumbled with the keys to her minivan. She finally found the right key and screeched out of the parking lot, leaving a plume of gravel and dust in her wake.
    On my drive back to Nicholasville, I contemplated everything Alma had said. It was one of two things. Either Alma was right and she had correctly identified my father, in which case, Randy was arguing loudly with the last victim the same night she was murdered. Or, Alma had incorrectly identified Randy, due to her horrible eyesight, and she had hammered the final nail in a possibly innocent man’s coffin. But if it wasn’t Randy she had seen that night, who was it?
    Just as all these thoughts were beginning to overwhelm me, my cell phone rang. It was a collect call from the prison, which meant it was Randy.
    “Hello,” I said after the prerecorded message ended.
    “Libs?” I still hated when he called me that, but I was tired of correcting him. “You there?”
    “Yes, Randy. I’m here. What do you want?”
    “I just wanted to see how you were doing…with the investigation, that is. Found out anything useful?”
    I told him how I’d retrieved his file from Mr. Hayes, spoken with the detective on his case, and interviewed the sole witness to his alleged confrontation with the final victim.
    He drew in a deep breath and let it out. “That wasn’t me,” he said.
    While it was true Alma Jean Glover was blind as a bat, she had still identified him in the police lineup. I said as much.
    “That proves it!” he nearly shouted into the phone.
    “What proves what?”
    “If she can’t see very well, that explains how she mistakenly identified me. That’s great, Libs. You can use that, can’t you?”
    “Maybe. But she was very unhappy with me when I suggested as much to her. She’ll stand by her story and swear it was you, so it’s a double-edged sword. I don’t know what else to do, Randy.”
    “You’ll come up with something. I believe in you. Plus, I’m innocent. Please don’t give up on me yet.”
    “I’m not giving up, Randy. It’s just…do you promise me you’re innocent?”
    “As God is my witness. I’m innocent. I wouldn’t put you in this position if I weren’t. I