by Lucy Score
Attacking me from my romantic and analytical sides in one fell swoop. I approved.
What made the researcher in me push back from my chair and do a little boogie was the idea of the levels of assimilation. It wasn’t just one group like a church or an office full of coworkers that did the heavy lifting when it came to providing a sense of belonging. Bootleg Springs was an organism that used multiple prongs of attack.
You weren’t only welcome at Moonshine Diner or just Yee Haw Yarn & Coffee. You were welcome in the park, the church, the police station, Sallie Mae Brickman’s kitchen table. They called you by name in the Pop In and were happy to see you at Build A Shine. Jimmy Bob Prosser remembered what kind of a dishwasher you had in your kitchen when you came into the hardware store.
The entire town worked together to entice and welcome and infiltrate every aspect of residents’ lives. Until there was no boundary between the individual and the society.
I envisioned vines, all sprouting from the same place, all wriggling and stretching and winding their way in and around the society binding everyone and everything together.
Jonah Bodine had just unlocked my entire thesis. Removed the block. Turned the angel chorus on in my head.
He’d also just inserted a key directly into my heart. And I wasn’t surprised at all.
I pirouetted, startling Billy Ray who barked himself awake from under the table. I picked up the puppy, swooping him into the air in a circle.
He wriggled with joy.
“Billy Ray, your daddy is a genius, and your mommy is going to get her doctorate. Doctor Mommy!”
I set him on the ground and tossed a ball for him. He tore after it, little feet scrabbling on the floor. A glance at my watch told me I needed to leave now to get my ten miles in if I didn’t want to do the entire ride in the dark.
Good. Exercise seemed to juggle everything that swam in my head into neat and tidy boxes. A nice summer evening bike ride would give me a chance to figure out exactly how to make Jonah’s answer the center of it all.
* * *
With Billy Ray mournfully ensconced in his crate with a handful of treats and his favorite stuffed bear toy, I pulled on my fluorescent green cycling shirt, clipped on my helmet, and set off on the route Jonah had programmed for me.
The crickets were loud, and a few early fireflies lit up over the fields.
A part of me couldn’t believe that I, Shelby Thompson, was pedaling a bike over hill and dale in rural West Virginia. Not too many years ago, I’d been convinced that I needed to be in a city, working in the trenches with families and children in need. It was the most direct way to help. Yet even then, with that naïve confidence in the cause, the work didn’t sit well with me. I’d sit in my car, eyes closed, taking slow deep breaths to work up the nerve to knock on doors I dreaded.
I felt like a failure giving it up. But I also knew, after the attack, I couldn’t knock on another door again. I hadn’t exactly embraced the sense of failure. More like tucked it away and tried to think about anything and everything else.
Research was safe. But it was also essential. And it brought me joy—bright, exciting, nerd-like joy—every time I dove into new data. It made me happy. Now, I was on the very early side of accepting that being happy in my life was more important than fulfilling a duty I didn’t feel cut out to perform. Maybe I didn’t have to feel so guilty about not finding the meaning I’d expected social work to provide? Maybe doing what I enjoyed would still help make a difference in the world?
I juggled gears and came out of my seat. Jonah had, of course, incorporated some of the hillier sections of road around Bootleg Springs. I kept an eye on my heart rate and my speed.
But my mind was racing with all the ways I could thread Jonah’s insight into my paper. I couldn’t wait to talk to him about it.
That wasn’t something new. I looked forward to my time with him every day. I liked watching him cook. Enjoyed playing with Billy Ray in the yard.
He’d accidentally built a life, and I was part of it.
Could I continue to be part of it?
If Jonah was staying, could I stay, too?
The hair on my arms stood up. I needed to look into universities and nonprofits within driving distance. If Jonah was staying. If I was staying. If we wanted a future together… Well, it was a lot of ifs. But they excited me rather than terrified me.
Headlights caught me from behind, and I moved to hug the edge of the road. I was a mile out of town on Mountain Road where there was road, guardrail, and then nothing but a steep drop.
I’d gotten more confident biking with traffic. But dusk had fallen, and the car wasn’t making any attempt to pass me. I could feel it inching closer and closer.
Maybe the driver didn’t feel safe passing me on such a twisty stretch of road. I let off the brake and folded over the handlebars.
Immediately, I picked up speed. So did the car.
I broke out of the turn, pedaling like hell toward the lights of town. Something felt wrong. And yet oh so familiar.
I wanted to twist in my seat, to look behind me. But I couldn’t do that without falling and probably breaking my neck. The tiny mirror on my handlebars did nothing but reflect headlights. The road was flattening, my speed dropping.
The angle of the headlights changed.
“Oh, thank God,” I whispered. The car was going to pass me.
But it didn’t. It pulled alongside me. An older sedan. Gray or dark blue. I couldn’t tell in the dark. The front wheel was missing the hubcap. I couldn’t see the driver. But they were riding the double yellow line keeping pace with me.
Did I know them? Was this just a joke?
But nothing about this felt funny.
I needed to get into town. Needed to be around people. Witnesses.
The car swerved into my lane and then back again. Too close for comfort. This wasn’t a joke. I wasn’t overthinking. I was in danger.
I shifted gears again and focused on form. I didn’t need to see the heart rate readout on my watch to know it was stratospheric.
The car slid toward me again, claiming the lane, but there were streetlights now. People ahead. I heard music coming from the park. I ignored my instinct to turn down an alley and try to get away from the car. I needed to lure them closer. Into the light and buzz of town. I needed to see who was behind the wheel.
One block and the car slowed, sliding in behind me again. I pedaled like mad, bursting onto Main Street across from the park. There was a band in the gazebo. A summer night concert I realized. The town square was crawling with people, and I felt tears of relief prick at my eyes.
I chanced a glance over my shoulder. But the car was gone.
I didn’t feel any safer.
Jumping off my bike, I pushed it over the curb and into the park, joining the throng of summertimers and residents. But someone was out there in the night. And I felt them watching me.
45
Jonah
“Hey, honey. How was your ride?” I asked, answering the phone on the first ring. Gibson and I had just stopped wedding trellis construction for a root beer break. He’d magically reemerged from his self-imposed exile and demanded I drop everything to help with the woodworking project.
It hadn’t exactly been a fun evening with Gibson’s black mood hanging like a toxic fog between us. But I was here for it. As a good brother would be.
He’d never been the happy-go-lucky type, but I’d also never seen him quite this broody before. Something was going on, but I hadn’t been able to pry it out of him. “I’m fucking fine,” was his answer to everything.
“It was, uh, eventful,” Shelby said.
I slid off the stool in Gibs’s shop, clueing in on her shaky voice.
“What’s wrong? What happened? Are you hurt?”
Gibson was already reaching for his truck keys. We both started for the door, not a word exchanged. But I noticed he’d shed the dark cloud as if it had never existed.
“I’m fine,�
�� she said, but I didn’t like the nerves I heard in her voice. She was rattled.
“Where are you? Gibs and I are coming to you.”
“I feel like a big baby, and it was probably nothing. Just a stupid prank, but I wouldn’t say no to some friendly faces. I’m in town in the park near the gazebo.”
“I’ll follow you in,” Gibson said as I yanked open my car door. He locked the shop behind him, Bowie and Cassidy’s wedding trellis still on its side inside.
On my short but breakneck trip into town, I got most of the story out of her. I double-parked on the street, Gibson nipping into a space on a side street just behind me.
I stayed on the phone with her until I spotted her in the crowd. She was standing under a lamp on the park path as if she didn’t want to leave the protection of the light.
I grabbed her and pulled her in for a hard hug to reassure her as much as myself. “Are you okay?”
“Honestly, I’m probably overreacting. It just felt so… familiar,” Shelby said. I could feel her heart pounding against me.
Gibson plowed his way through the crowd, Jameson and George on his heels.
“What happened?” George demanded. “Are you okay?”
When she didn’t put up a fuss about Gibs pulling her brother into it, I realized just how scared she’d been.
Shelby ran through it again. I kept her tucked under my arm and scanned the crowd, looking for anyone who seemed out of place.
“I think they pulled out behind me from Chestnut Road,” she said. “There was a car sitting there when I rode by. It almost felt like they were waiting for me.”
“You would know,” George said, reaching out to squeeze her hand.
“What are we missing?” Jameson asked, a frown furrowing his forehead.
“George, why don’t you fill them in? I’m going to take Shelby and get some water,” I told him.
He nodded.
Shelby stayed cuddled up against me, and to the outsider, we looked like a young couple in love just enjoying the starry summer night.
I grabbed bottles of water for both of us and then on second thought bought two moonshines from the stand.
“Here,” I said, holding both beverages out in offering.
She gave me the ghost of a smile and went straight for the moonshine. “Thanks,” she coughed as it burned down her throat.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I pressed.
“Physically yes. But mentally… Abbie is dead, Jonah. And someone scared that Mrs. Benefiel half to death. What if they found out that I was asking questions?”
I’d been considering the same possibility, and I didn’t like it.
“Shelby honey, I think we should go to the police.” I expected a denial, an argument. And when I didn’t immediately get one, I pulled her in for another hug. Resting my chin on the top of her head, I wrapped my arms around her.
No one was going to get to her. Not without going through me.
“I’m willing to talk to the police,” she said. “Especially if it makes them take the rest of it more seriously.”
She took another drink of the moonshine. “Jonah, what if I did this? What if I stirred this up and someone thinks they need to take care of Mrs. Benefiel now? She has kids. Grandkids.”
“Let’s call the sheriff,” I said firmly.
We returned to the Bodines and George. Bowie had arrived with Cassidy in tow. She was in civilian clothes, her new engagement ring winking on her left hand. But her pretty face was all business.
“Let’s go somewhere we can talk,” she said, putting her arm around Shelby and leading her away.
“I don’t like this,” George said as the rest of us started after them.
Scarlett leading Devlin appeared out of the crowd. “What in the hell happened? Is Shelby okay?”
News in Bootleg traveled almost as fast as it did within the Bodine ranks.
“Cassidy has her,” I explained. “Why don’t you two go sit with her?” I wanted Shelby surrounded by people. I wanted to make it impossible for a stranger to get within twenty feet of her.
I needed to move my car. I needed to go find this son of a bitch and rearrange his face. I needed to glue myself to her side. “Gray or blue sedan missing the front passenger side hubcap,” I muttered.
“You stick with Shelby,” Gibson said. “GT, move the car. Jameson and I are gonna do a few laps around downtown looking for this asshole.”
“If you find him, you’ll call me?” I said.
“You’ll get the first crack at his face,” Gibson promised me.
“Dibs on what’s left over,” George called over his shoulder as he jogged toward where my truck was backing up traffic.
I nodded and clapped my brother on the shoulder. “Thank you.”
“Go be with your girl,” Gibson said, shrugging off the thanks.
It was good to have family.
* * *
Cassidy was just wrapping up her questions when I got to them. Shelby looked relieved to see me, and I elbowed Scarlett out of the way to get to her.
“Hey!” she complained.
“Do you know of anyone who might want to hurt you?” Cassidy asked, tucking her notebook into the back pocket of her shorts. She nodded as her father strolled up.
“The only person I can think of is whoever ran down Abbie Gilbert or whoever intimidated Mrs. Benefiel into retracting her claim that Callie Kendall was being abused in junior high,” Shelby said. She didn’t sound scared now. She sounded downright pissed off.
“The girl who pretended to be Callie is dead?” Scarlett screeched.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Cassidy insisted. “Dad just told me this afternoon.”
“I need to call June,” George said, tossing me my keys. “Make sure she’s okay.”
Gibson and Jameson jogged up. “We saw a dark gray four-door sitting about a block down,” Jameson reported. “But when Gibs started running toward it looking like he was gonna bust open the windshield, the driver pulled a U-ey and peeled outta here.”
So he’d been waiting. And watching. I pulled Shelby a little closer.
“What’s with you, man?” Jameson asked Gibson. “You look like you’re ready to either get up and murder someone or give up and pray for the good Lord to take you now.”
Jameson’s phone rang, saving Gibson from having to answer.
“Leah Mae,” Jameson said.
George was on his phone, plugging one ear.
Shelby’s phone rang. “Dang it! Which one of you big mouths told my parents?”
My phone vibrated next. It was my mother calling. News traveled fast.
Sheriff Tucker appeared in full uniform, a face etched with concern. “Why don’t we all go someplace a little less chaotic and talk this through,” he suggested.
* * *
We descended on the Tucker house. The sheriff felt like privacy was more important than professionalism in this case.
June arrived shortly after with her potbellied pig on a leash. In a much-appreciated moment of empathy, she’d swung by our place and picked up Billy Ray, who was snuggled up in Shelby’s lap in the Tucker dining room while Nadine made tea and put out a buffet of snacks. The lights, the crowd of friendly faces, it all seemed to calm Shelby down.
I, on the other hand, was so angry I could feel it vibrating in my bones.
Sheriff Tucker, with help from June, filled everyone else in on the now infamous road trip and what they discovered.
“I don’t know if this is connected,” Shelby said. “If it’s not, it’s an awfully big coincidence that once I start poking around into this case file and the Callie Kendall impersonator, someone just happens to decide to play cat and mouse with me on Mountain Road.”
I noticed my brothers and sister sharing a quiet look. Mountain Road was where their mother had lost her life when her car went through a guardrail. Until recently, it had been thought to be an accident.
“Look. I know it sounds all conspiracy-theory
-like,” Shelby said when silence descended around the table. “And I know that we don’t have proof. But how many coincidences have to occur before we start asking questions?”
Sheriff Tucker leaned back in his chair. “I passed the information along to the investigators,” he began. “They said they’d look into it.”
“Bullshit,” Devlin muttered under his breath.
“I also decided to reach out to the Bethesda authorities and raised some concerns with them,” the sheriff continued. “They were pretty interested. Went to her house to pay her a visit. A neighbor told them Mrs. Benefiel and her dog left with suitcases at around four yesterday afternoon.”
“That is approximately thirty minutes after we left,” June said.
“Another coincidence?” Shelby snorted.
“And at around midnight last night, the Bethesda authorities got a series of calls of suspicious activity at the Benefiel house. Seems the neighbors keep a close watch on each other and noticed two people ringing the doorbell and peering in windows. They were gone by the time authorities arrived on the scene.”
Shelby’s hand tightened in mine.
“So we’ve got an unsolved vehicular homicide, suspicious activity at a retired teacher’s home, and now someone trying to chase Shelby down in a car the day after she goes looking for the dead girl and the teacher,” Cassidy summarized. “That’s more than coincidental.”
“What we’ve got is a whole lot of suspicion and not one scrap of solid evidence,” Sheriff Tucker said.
“What do we do?” I asked.
“We remain watchful,” he said, his eyes skimming every face around the table until he got a nod out of each one of us. “We stay together. We let the police do their job.”
“Where did Mrs. Benefiel go?”
“We tracked her to a golf resort in South Carolina. Seems her husband and some family are there now.”
“They need to be warned,” she insisted.
“Already have been. And authorities are watching the house.”
“I can’t just sit back and wait,” Shelby insisted. She got a lot of agreeing nods from everyone else including Nadine.
“If these events are connected to Callie Kendall’s murder,” Sheriff Tucker said, “we can’t afford to let word get out and have a whole town gossipin’ about the possibilities. Whoever is behind all of this is already nervous. And because of that, I can’t have you, young lady,” he pointed at Shelby, “or you, JuneBug, doing any more digging. Do I make myself clear?”
