Not One of Us

by Debbie Herbert

  From where I stood I was close enough to observe a wad of cash and then a large baggie exchanged between them. Jackson inspected the bag’s content before the two of them divided its contents into smaller baggies. Right there, right out in the open. They were that brazen.

  Their business took less than five minutes.

  Ray flung his cigarette to the ground and then waved goodbye before taking off. Making more deliveries, no doubt.

  Jackson returned inside the barn, and I presumed it was to sell the drugs he’d just bought. Losers. All of them.

  It was so easy to slink from behind the trees and then slip unnoticed into the back seat of the unlocked Mustang. I crouched low on the floorboard and resumed my wait, slipping on a pair of latex gloves. It didn’t take long for him to return.

  The front door abruptly swung open, letting in a blast of cold wind. Jackson heavily sank into the driver’s seat. With a metallic cling, the key slid into the ignition, and he started the motor before slamming the door shut. Moments later, the radio blared, and he put the car in reverse.

  I picked up the gun I’d laid beside me on the floorboard. Patience, I chided myself. It was too early. The sports car bumped along the rough field until it reached the smooth pavement of the deserted country road. At least I hoped it was deserted. I’d made the drive earlier today and concluded I should count to thirty before making my move. By then, we would be out of earshot from everyone.

  Twenty-eight, twenty-nine . . . thirty. Showtime. Adrenaline slammed through every cell in my body. I rose up swiftly and pointed the barrel of the gun against the back of his head. Jackson stared at my reflection in the dashboard mirror as he slammed on the brakes.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded loudly. The brakes squealed as the car zigzagged across the narrow road before jamming to a shuddering halt. I concentrated on keeping the gun trained on his head. Equal measures of panic and shock lit his eyes when he turned around, the gun now pointed inches from his face.

  “What are you doing?” he asked again, voice trembling this time.

  I supposed he deserved an explanation before he met his maker. “Turn off that radio.”

  Hurriedly, he obeyed. First time in my life I’d ever seen him do that.

  “You’ve caused a lot of people a lot of grief,” I began.

  “I-I’ll be better.”

  “The hell you will. You’re nothing but trouble.”

  “Please.” His lips were white around the edges with fear. “Forget I asked you for any money. Okay?”

  “Asked?” I snorted with disbelief. “You tried to blackmail me.”

  “It won’t ever happen again,” he promised, talking quick. “I promise. I made a mistake and—”

  “Who else did you tell?”

  “Nobody. I swear.”

  “Not even your dealer, Ray?”

  “No, man.”

  I didn’t believe a word coming out of his mouth. But I had another plan for that potential problem.

  “Turn around,” I ordered Jackson.

  “No. Please.” Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  No trace of the belligerent teenager remained, and my gut clenched with momentary guilt. But it was too late to change my mind. This punk wouldn’t ruin what I’d worked so hard to build. Not a chance.

  “I said, turn around.”

  Instead, Jackson suddenly ducked beneath the seat and slammed his foot against the accelerator. The car lurched forward, and then he turned the wheel sharply. We U-turned in the middle of the road, and I slid across the seat. He was heading back in the direction of the party.

  “I wasn’t gonna hurt you, Jackson,” I lied. I repositioned myself behind him. “Just stop the car.”

  He drove faster. I’d have to take my chances now with the speeding car, or I’d never surprise him like this again.

  I pulled the trigger.

  My ears rang with a thunderous explosion. Blood and sparks of fire strobed inside the car as it spun in a circle. The Mustang rumbled off the side of the road and hit a tree, at last coming to a halt.

  It took several seconds for me to catch my bearings. Wet, hot liquid ran down my face, and I brushed it away with my arm, smearing my jacket with blood. I’d take care of all that mess later. Methodically, I scanned the vehicle, making sure I left nothing behind. Nothing that would incriminate me, that is. I withdrew the plastic shopping bag hidden in my coat and pulled out Raymond Strickland’s hoodie sweatshirt. I’d pilfered it from his car a couple of weeks ago. You’d think drug dealers would be more careful about locking up their cars to keep out thieves. Carefully, I smeared the front of it with Jackson’s blood. Satisfied, I climbed out of the vehicle and headed into the woods, where I’d change clothes and dump the gun in the swamp.

  Tonight hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but I’d done what was necessary.

  Chapter 17

  JORI

  “This is where I found that . . . that thing. Right there. It was gross.” I still shuddered at the memory and found myself looking over my shoulder whenever I entered or exited a room. Maybe I always would.

  Dana peered into the closet and shook her head. “You’ve always been a fraidy-cat, but I’d have totally freaked out too.”

  I left her standing there and sat on my bed. “Right? Every time I open the closet, I remember it lying there on the floor.”

  “Did the creep destroy all your journals?”

  “What he didn’t tear up, I went ahead and burned. At least he didn’t get all my keepsakes from high school.”

  Dana crossed the room and sat down next to me. “What else have you kept?”

  “Open the bottom drawer of my nightstand.”

  She did so and then chuckled, pulling out our old school yearbooks. “I lost all mine in the fire,” she said.

  A fire had destroyed the house she’d shared with her first husband, Kenny. They’d lost everything, but at least Kenny had managed to escape. He’d been home alone asleep and had almost died from smoke inhalation. Thankfully, Dana had been visiting her cousin in Montgomery at the time.

  She opened the book from our senior year, and I marveled at how outdated the clothes and haircuts already appeared in our individual photos. Dana pointed at my picture. “You were so pretty back then.”

  “Meaning what? I’m nothing but chopped liver now?” I joked.

  She nudged me with her elbow. “No! You know what I mean.”

  It was true. It wasn’t like my face had deteriorated to a mass of sagging wrinkles or that I’d gained a ton of weight. But the schoolgirl in the photo had that youthful gleam and innocence in her eyes that could never be recaptured. I wished I were that girl again. To experience that unbridled optimism and happiness I hadn’t managed to achieve since then. Not since Deacon’s disappearance and the terrible weeks that had followed.

  I flipped through the book on her lap and located Dana’s old picture. “And there you are. Pretty then, but even more attractive now.”

  Her mouth twisted. “Don’t lie. I looked like shit in high school. My acne was photoshopped for the yearbook, but I haven’t forgotten how hideous it was or that I was a good twenty pounds overweight.”

  “You’re way too critical of yourself,” I protested loyally. “Besides, look at that long blonde hair. I remember it came all the way down to your waist.”

  “My only saving grace.”

  “Kenny adored you.” I wanted to bite my tongue after the words slipped out. Their marriage had lasted less than three years, much to everyone’s surprise. Dana always maintained they’d grown apart, although I suspected the real reason went deeper, even if she didn’t want to talk about it.

  “Eh, Kenny.” She shrugged dismissively. “He wasn’t near as cute or exciting as Deacon. You were so lucky to have him as a boyfriend.”

  Her words caught me off guard. Was this some backhanded passive-aggressive remark—as in, who was I to have attracted such a great guy as Deacon? I immediately vetoed the thought. More
likely, she still harbored bitterness about Kenny as well as the fairly recent divorce from her second husband, Mark. She probably just thought she’d picked the wrong men while I’d lucked out with a better choice. Or it could be that what I’d heard about her drug rehab was true and her drug addiction had wreaked havoc in her marriages.

  “Hardly lucky,” I reminded her softly. “I lost Deacon.”

  “Lost.” She winced. “You’re right. Sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago.” Silence stretched between us, and I asked what had been weighing on my mind. “Listen, you’ve stayed here in town all these years. Have you ever come up with any new theory on what happened to Deacon and his parents? Have you heard anybody say anything recently?”

  “Not even a whisper. As shocking as their disappearances were, it’s been a long time. People have moved on.”

  And so should you. She didn’t say it aloud, but I felt the unspoken words. “What’s everyone saying about Ray Strickland’s murder? Do they think it has anything to do with Jackson’s long-ago murder? Like some kind of revenge killing?”

  “That idea’s been floated. As well as the idea that Ray was either dealing drugs or involved in some other criminal mischief and got in trouble with a bad crowd.”

  “Are drugs really a major problem in Enigma?” I asked skeptically.

  “Yep. Just like anywhere else.” Dana hugged her arms to her chest. “We’ve never talked about it, but I’ve had my share of addiction problems. Spent several months in rehab after my last divorce and got my life back in order.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “That must have been rough. But I’m proud that you overcame it.”

  She flashed a twisted smile and shrugged. “I finally decided it was time to get it together. I started smoking pot in high school and graduated to harder stuff over the years. Eventually, I got hooked on opioids.” Dana searched my face. “I never told you, but I had a serious crush on Deacon back in the day.”

  For the second time this afternoon, she’d surprised me. “I had no idea.”

  “Deacon never looked twice at me. Not in the way he looked at you.” She laughed, a tad too off key to be a real laugh. The notes of green arrows in her voice appeared sharper and sleeker than normal. “I even came on to him a couple of times. He acted like he didn’t notice what I was trying to do. Insisted we were just buddies.”

  My teeth ground together, and my thoughts raced. I was at once thankful for Deacon’s steady, loyal character and irritated at Dana’s confession. What kind of friend would come on to your boyfriend? I stared at her, the clear-eyed, freckle-faced woman I’d known all my life. How well did I really understand her, after all? Until seconds ago, I’d have sworn Dana was my best friend and I trusted her completely.

  “I shouldn’t have told you,” she said at last. “Do you hate me for it?”

  “Hate? Of course not. Forget it. We were kids.” I tried to believe my reassurance to her, but a secret part of me was shaken. I doubted I’d ever feel as close to her as I once had.

  Dana exhaled loudly. “Whew. That’s a relief. While we’re playing true confessions, I might as well admit that I’ve always been a little jealous of you.” She slanted me a curious glance. “Good grades came easily for you; you were pretty and had the best-looking guy in school as your boyfriend.”

  I said nothing, not sure what to think of this new side to Dana. It wasn’t like her to be so open. Sure, we’d been friends for ages, but she’d always had a wall of reserve and often kept silent on private matters. Which was fine by me—I had my own secrets.

  Dana tapped a finger against her chin, regarding me quizzically. “What I want to know is—why haven’t you ever married? I mean, you’re attractive and available. Plus, you’re fun and easy to get along with when you make the effort.”

  I squirmed uncomfortably on the bed. “Just haven’t met the right one yet, I suppose.”

  “Such a shame.”

  She rustled through the yearbook some more, and several faded color photographs fell from the pages. “What’s this?” she asked, picking up the photos from the floor.

  “Homecoming photos,” I said, staring at the half dozen images of me and Deacon after the football game. In one of them, my favorite, he had an arm tossed over my shoulders. Even sweaty and dirty in his uniform, he was still handsome, his grin looking even cuter and sexier than ever. A rush of pleasure mixed with pain flushed my body.

  “I’d totally forgotten all about these,” I said slowly.

  A thundering crash sounded from the front of the house. “Mimi!” I cried, jumping off the bed and racing through the hallway.

  I found her in the kitchen, standing by the counter, the coffeepot shattered all around her on the floor.

  “Don’t move,” I cautioned. Her feet were bare, and I feared the broken glass would shred them. Quickly, I gathered the broom and dustpan and swept up the debris.

  “I don’t know how it happened,” she said with a whimper. Her eyes were clouded with confusion. “All of a sudden . . .” Mimi’s voice trailed off as she swept a trembling hand over the mess at her feet.

  “It’s okay,” I reassured her. “I’ll have this cleaned up in a jiffy.”

  After I was sure I’d gathered every tiniest shard, I took her hand. “Why don’t you take a nap until Zach gets home?”

  Like a child, she let me lead her to bed. I tucked her in, then shut her bedroom door behind me. Dana stood in the hallway.

  “She okay?” Dana whispered.

  “Just a little shaken and tired. I hope she sleeps for a while—I have to pick up Zach. His driver’s out today.”

  “You want me to stay here with her while you go? Or I could pick him up if you want.”

  “If you could get him, that’d be great,” I said with a rush of gratitude. I felt a little guilty at my earlier irritation. So what if she’d crushed on Deacon in high school and had hit on him a couple of times? Probably half the girls at Enigma High had done the same. What mattered was that she was here now, offering to help when I needed it.

  The cell phone vibrated in my back pocket, and I pulled it out.

  A text from Tegan Blackwell. Maybe they had a lead on who’d broken into our house.

  The blood drained from my face as I read her message asking if Deacon had ever broken his toe. The question could only mean one thing. I quickly texted her back about his old sports injury.

  My ears filled with a rush as loud as the ocean, and I leaned my weight against the wall. Dana stepped to the other side of me and put her arm around my waist. The phone slipped through my numb fingers and crashed to the floor.

  “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Dana cried. “Here. Let’s get you seated. Can you walk? I’ll steady you.”

  I leaned against her, and we made slow, stumbling progress toward my room. One step in front of the other. There. And again and again. At last I flopped onto my bed.

  “Would you like a glass of water?” Dana asked.

  “No,” I protested, taking deep breaths. “I’m okay.”

  “Who was that on the phone?”

  “A sheriff’s deputy.”

  Dana’s face hovered next to mine, her skin pale beneath her freckles.

  “She believes they’ve finally found Deacon,” I explained.

  Dana gasped, and her mouth hung open. “He’s alive?”

  “No, no. I mean . . . I think they’ve found his bones.”

  Dana sat beside me and squeezed my hand. “I’ll get Zach,” she said at last. “Will you be okay?”

  “Sure,” I answered woodenly. Dana gave my hand one last squeeze before leaving. The front door opened and slammed shut. Cars motored up and down the street; people called out to one another from afar. Normal, everyday sounds. I envied everyone to whom this was just another day, business as usual. I held the phone in my hand, staring at the blank screen. How long would it take before Tegan called back? It seemed to take forever, but at last Tegan’s name flashed on my screen. T
egan identified herself and then hesitated. That silent pause told me everything.

  “What’s happened?” I asked flatly. “You found Deacon’s body, didn’t you?”

  She confirmed it and a weighted silence fell between us before she spoke again.

  “I’m sorry. From what you told me of his old sports injury, I feel confident we’ve at last discovered why he disappeared.”

  “Murder?”

  “Most likely.”

  I tried to infuse my voice with a calm strength I was far from feeling. “Tell me everything.”

  “We received a call early this morning. A fisherman retrieved a skull on his line at Black Bottom Creek. A team of divers arrived shortly afterward.”

  Tegan again paused slightly, and I braced myself for the grisly details.

  “They collected over a dozen bone fragments, one of which was a tarsal with a healed fracture in the right toe.”

  “Did all the bones belong to Deacon?” I asked quietly.

  “No. We’re awaiting confirmation that the remains also include Louis and Clotille.”

  Silence charged the phone connection.

  “Go ahead. Tell me anything you can,” I urged. “It actually helps.”

  “We expect dental records and other bone fragments will confirm the identity of Louis’s and Clotille’s remains.”

  Black Bottom Creek was less than five miles from their old home. All this time, they’d been so close by, lying at the bottom of the stygian waters.

  “Wh-why the fragments?” I asked finally, my voice catching. “Do you think their limbs were severed prior to being dumped in the swamp, or do you think it’s the work of alligators? Maybe even wild animals?”

  “Could be any of those things,” she answered. “We’ll know more soon.”

  I was unable to speak past the lump lodged in my throat.

  “That’s really all I can say for now,” Tegan said gently. “It will be on the news tonight, so I wanted to tell you first.”

  “Thank you,” I managed to say past numb lips. I hung up and drifted from my bedroom, stopping along the way to check in on Mimi. She still slept. Her silver-white hair was so thin that the delicate pink skin of her scalp peeked through. Her mouth was parted; her chest slowly rose and fell with each breath. How delicate and fragile life seemed, as though she could easily slip from life to death, her heart worn out and ticking its final beat.