Sawbones

by Pamela Fagan Hutchins

  Brandon parked and hopped out. He loped over and put his arms around her waist. He swung her in a circle then kissed her right on the lips, in public. “Hey, baby. I have a surprise.”

  Her smile broke through her best efforts. Brandon was way cooler than anyone else at her school. Big city cool. “A good one or a bad one?”

  “Like, good, I think.” He released her and turned toward his truck.

  A tall boy, thicker than Brandon and with dark, straight hair, walked over from the passenger side. Trish’s mouth went dry. It was Brandon’s cousin Ben Jones, who she’d thought was still in juvie. She’d just been with Brandon that afternoon, and he hadn’t mentioned anything about Ben getting out.

  The last time she’d seen Ben was at his sentencing. She’d given a statement on his behalf, explaining that when he’d helped kidnap her and later buried a man on the mountain, it was only because he was forced into it by his lunatic father and Uncle Billy. At the time, she’d thought she was doing the right thing, even though her parents hadn’t agreed. Since then, she’d started to see their side of things. Maybe someone who grew up used to kidnapping and murder needed some time locked up where he could learn right from wrong.

  Now, seeing him out of custody, she was nervous. Not just because he had helped kidnap her, but because her dad had killed his dad during her rescue. If she were him, she’d hold a grudge against the Flints.

  It took all she had not to turn and run into the theater and call her parents to pick her up.

  “Hey, Trish,” Ben said. He pushed his hair back, and she saw a scar on his forehead. It was right where her dad had clobbered him with a gun during her rescue.

  She didn’t know what to say. “Hey.” She bit the inside of her lip. “Um, Brandon, can I talk to you for a minute?” She backed toward the theater door.

  The two boys exchanged a look, then Brandon followed her.

  “Que pasa?” He hunched his shoulders against the cold.

  She whispered, “What is he doing here?”

  “He got out.”

  “How? When?”

  “He showed up at our place tonight. Isn’t that sick? His lawyer got him early release, you know.”

  “Why isn’t he with his mom?”

  “She’s bad news. That’s why he was living with us, like, before. And now he’s back. So boss.”

  Boss wasn’t how Trish would describe it. “Did you know about this?”

  “Not until this afternoon.”

  Trish shot a quick glance at Ben. He was tying the laces on his Converse high tops. “He hates me.”

  “Mellow out. He thinks you’re cool.”

  “Well, he hates my dad then.”

  Brandon didn’t reply.

  “Is this your surprise for me?”

  “Um, it wasn’t really for you, but, yeah, like, this is the surprise.”

  Hot tears welled up in the corners of Trish’s eyes. Unexpected, surprising tears that cooled immediately, then rolled down her face in an icy trail. “Well, it’s not a good one.”

  He reached for her, trying to pull her into a hug. “Don’t be such a spaz.”

  She made her body stiff and didn’t return the hug. “So, right now, our time—it’s the three of us?”

  He released her and stepped back. “Um, yeah. You got a problem with that?”

  “Um, yeah.” Trish heard her tone and knew instantly Brandon wasn’t going to like it.

  His voice turned hard. “I told you when we got back together that things were going to be different, you know. Catch my drift?”

  The part of Trish that was angry wrestled with the part of her that was afraid of losing Brandon. She managed to say, “I’m sorry,” but her heart wasn’t in it.

  An old VW van entered the parking lot. Trish stepped into the shadows. They’d been out there too long.

  “Whatever. I’m gonna cut out.” Brandon stepped away from her.

  Trish panicked. The part of her afraid of losing him suddenly won out. Tears sprang into her eyes. “Wait. I’m sorry. I really am.”

  The van jerked to a stop between Ben and Brandon. A man with stringy hair and a droopy moustache was driving. Trish had never seen him before. But she definitely recognized the passenger. Brandon’s mother, Donna Lewis. She rolled down the passenger window and leaned her head out in a cloud of smoke. As mean as the woman was, Trish had to admit she was pretty. She had hair like Dolly Parton, and a body nearly that amazing, too.

  “Stay away from that girl, Brandon.” Her voice was raspy, like she’d smoked a million cigarettes in her life. Which she probably had.

  Brandon held his hands up. “Chill, Mom. We ran into each other.”

  Trish swiped at her nearly frozen tears. “I was just going.”

  Mrs. Lewis wagged her finger at Trish. “Tell your parents that your family wasn’t able to keep Ben locked up, and they won’t be ruining my brother’s life either.”

  From inside the car, Trish heard the man laugh. He sounded like a hyena.

  Mrs. Lewis’s brothers were bad people, and Billy Kemecke had done horrible things. He deserved to be punished. It wasn’t Trish’s or her mom’s fault that he got caught, and if they didn’t testify, then what would happen? Kemecke might not be convicted. Trish felt a responsibility to testify, and, whether she wanted to or not, she had to do it. She would do it.

  Trish’s emotions were amped up. She was worried about Ben’s arrival, hurt by how Brandon had treated her, and so tired of Mrs. Lewis’s attitude and the things the woman said to her. So tired of it. She blurted out, “You can’t keep us from testifying.” She wanted to clap a hand over her mouth as soon as she said it, but it was too late to do any good anyway. Her words were already out there.

  Mrs. Lewis smirked at her. “We’ll just see about that.” Then she turned to the driver. “Get me out of here, Stamey.”

  The van peeled out of the parking lot. Brandon and Ben drove away after it. Trish was left standing alone, with Mrs. Lewis’s threat ringing in her head.

  Chapter Eight: Gossip

  Buffalo, Wyoming

  Sunday, March 6, 1977, 9:00 a.m.

  Susanne

  Susanne walked arm-in-arm with Vangie from the sanctuary down the hall past the Sunday school classrooms toward the community room in the First United Methodist Church of Buffalo. It was a small church, modest and spartan. Warm and welcoming. The cross in the nave was natural wood, the walls unadorned. The exterior was plain white siding. While it wasn’t a replacement for her church back in Texas, she’d learned to love it and the congregation. It was important to her to have a church home. The kids needed it. She needed it.

  Henry turned to her and Vangie from the doorway of the adult room. “Have a doughnut for me, ladies.”

  Henry was teaching a series on handling hardship. Ranchers certainly learned about that honestly, and with Vangie’s series of miscarriages, the couple had faced more than their share of heartache. Susanne had tried to talk Patrick into coming to the series, without any success. Patrick wasn’t very religious, at least with respect to church attendance. He prayed daily, and he was a better Christian than many of the regular attendees. But with all the time he spent on middle of the night callouts to the hospital, he refused to sacrifice any chance to sleep in or catch up on his endless list of projects around their new house. She had learned to be satisfied that he kept his promise to attend with the family every Christmas and Easter.

  Susanne smiled at Henry. “Of course.”

  He motioned for them to stop, and they stepped through the doorway of his classroom. “Did you hear Judge Ellis in Sheridan died last night? Max just told me.” Susanne knew the Max he was referring to was Max Alexandrov, the new attorney for Johnson county.

  Vangie said, “He was so young. Only in his forties! And he took care of himself.”

  Susanne had heard that Ellis was into jogging, like Patrick had been in the last year.

  Henry lowered his voice. “He was found in his Bronco, inside hi
s garage, with the engine running.”

  “Suicide?” Susanne was aghast.

  Vangie’s face looked stricken. She touched her belly. “But he loved his wife and kids. He was successful. He always seemed confident. What could have possibly been wrong?”

  Susanne pursed her lips, disturbed by a thought. “He had the Kemecke trial in his court, didn’t he?” Where she and Trish were set to testify.

  Henry tapped a finger on his lips. “Had to. He’s the county district court judge for Sheridan.”

  Susanne remembered well the controversy over jurisdiction in the Kemecke case in the first place. With crimes committed in Big Horn, Sheridan, and their own Johnson county, she and Patrick had sweated that one out. They had been immensely relieved when it was first assigned to Big Horn. Then the trial had been moved to Sheridan since the judge in Big Horn county was the father of the deputy Kemecke killed in his escape from custody. That was still better than Johnson county, since the district court for Johnson was in Buffalo—too close to home in many ways. Would Judge Ellis’s death mean the trial would move to Buffalo after all? Judge Renkin would need time to grieve Jeannie’s death. That could mean a postponement. The uncertainty gnawed at her.

  Henry cocked his head. “Are you okay, Susanne?”

  She waggled her hand. “Yes. Lost in thought for a moment.”

  He dipped over from the waist. “Well, ladies, I have to do some last minute preparations for my class. Have fun.”

  Vangie blew him a kiss from her fingertips. “See you in a few minutes.”

  As the women reentered the hallway, Susanne changed the subject, eager to think happier thoughts. “Are you having any Braxton Hicks contractions yet?” She’d had the false labor contractions herself for days before she delivered each of her kids. They were nothing to worry about. Just a sign that a woman’s body was getting ready for the big event.

  Vangie nodded. “Starting to. When I told Henry about them, he said not to worry. He’s helped dogs, cats, cows, horses, donkeys, and sheep deliver. That he’s short-handed at the ranch, but he can fit me in if he has to.”

  Susanne’s jaw dropped. “He did not.”

  “He did. But remember, this is the same man that let Trish convince him it was okay for her to leave with Brandon yesterday. He’s got a big heart, but he makes some dumb decisions.” Vangie grimaced. “I’m so sorry about that.”

  “Don’t worry about it. She’s pulled one over on us a few times ,too.”

  Vangie leaned her head against Susanne’s shoulder. “But what if we have a girl? Henry will be the most inept girl-father ever.”

  “Right in line behind Patrick. Trish has him wrapped around her little finger.”

  Vangie laughed.

  “But even Patrick agrees with me that Trish’s relationship with Brandon is a disaster. Especially now, with the trial coming up.”

  The two friends entered the community room. On one end was an elevated platform used for children’s programs. Snacks and coffee were on a credenza at the other end. The center of the room was filled with folding tables and chairs. The coffee smelled burned, but Susanne and Vangie beelined for it anyway, passing by the doughnuts.

  “Well, she looks gorgeous as usual.” Vangie cut her eyes toward Barb Lamkin, the Buffalo High girls’ basketball and volleyball coach. She was nearly six-feet tall, with wavy auburn hair and a posterior Susanne would have died for. All the women in Susanne’s family were curvy, especially in the rear. Barb had lean hips and a flat bottom. Susanne knew she couldn’t fight genetics. However, Barb also probably exercised a lot more than Susanne. She’d played basketball at the University of Wyoming back in the days of six-on-six. Trish idolized her. Not that it did her any good. Trish warmed the bench for the junior varsity. The poor girl seemed to take after Susanne when it came to athletic ability.

  Barb was hugging a shorter woman with light-brown hair pulled back in a clip, large eyeglasses, and a sweater set and skirt that looked prim and old-fashioned. Susanne hadn’t seen her before. She must be a visitor. She and Barb separated, and she left.

  Susanne studied Barb. Had she put on some weight? If so, it just made her chest look bigger and her angular face softer. Susanne sighed and filled a Styrofoam cup with coffee. “I hate her.”

  “I know. Me, too. Except that she’s so nice. And successful. I mean, her girls did win state last year.”

  The things to like were exactly why Susanne hated her. She struggled to be more charitable and latched on to a thought. “She is unmarried in her thirties. I’m sure that’s hard.”

  Barb walked up behind them. “Hello, Susanne, Vangie.”

  They shared a wide-eyed look. “Hello,” they chorused.

  Had she heard them talking about her? Susanne felt a twinge of guilt. She hurried to cover up any awkwardness, just in case. She had been raised Southern, after all, and there was nothing worse than making other people uncomfortable, except for wearing white shoes after Labor Day. “Good luck next weekend at the state tournament. Are the girls excited?”

  Barb filled her own cup of coffee. If she’d overheard them, she didn’t give any sign of it. “Pretty much. It ranks slightly below being asked to prom and picking out a dress, but higher than fly fishing. If I can just keep their attention for one more week, we have a shot at it. But I’m not as optimistic as I was last year.”

  “Well, good luck, anyway,” Vangie said. “The community is very proud of them and you.”

  “Are you girls getting a doughnut?” Barb turned back and eyed the table with the food.

  A doughnut? Susanne had been planning on having more than one.

  Vangie rested her hand on the bulge of her stomach. “I only have a few more weeks to eat for two, so, of course I am.”

  Susanne followed Vangie to the snack table. Vangie took a chocolate covered glazed. Susanne willed her to take a second one, but she didn’t, so Susanne chose only a plain glazed. Barb walked with them to a round table, without a doughnut for herself.

  “Aren’t you getting one?” Susanne asked.

  “I can’t eat them. They go straight to my backside. My boyfriend doesn’t like it.”

  Susanne wondered who the boyfriend was—she hadn’t heard about Barb dating anyone. She really did hate her. But Patrick loved Susanne’s figure, and she got to enjoy a doughnut, while Barb didn’t. She bit into the glazed confection and chewed slowly, making sure to telegraph exactly how much she enjoyed it.

  While Susanne and Vangie were chewing, Barb said, “Did you hear Jeannie Renkin was shot yesterday?”

  Susanne set her doughnut on a napkin. “We were there. My husband Patrick and I drove her down the mountain.”

  Barb’s green eyes widened. Susanne thought her blue eye shadow was a little much for church. Then she chastised herself. What was it about this woman that was making her act this way, even if only in her head?

  Barb said, “Did you see who shot her?”

  Susanne pointed at Vangie. “The Sibleys were there, too. And our kids. It was awful. But no one saw the shooter.” Then she smiled at her pregnant friend. “I assume Perry didn’t see anything. He went straight to his slumber party as soon as you brought him home. We haven’t seen him since I dropped him off.”

  Vangie was chewing. She covered her mouth. “He didn’t say anything. But . . .”

  “What?”

  “We didn’t actually tell him what happened. Just said there’d been an accident. I know someone’s probably told him by now, but it just felt wrong to tell a child something so horrible.”

  “Don’t let him hear you call him a child.” Susanne winked. “Ever since his thirteenth birthday, he has insisted I call him a ‘young man’ or a ‘teen.’ He says he’s sick and tired of being treated like a baby.”

  “Ah, he’s such a sweetie.”

  “Also a forbidden term.”

  All three women laughed.

  Barb’s face grew serious. “I don’t mind telling you that as a single woman, this has me pre
tty rattled. Who would kill Jeannie, and does this mean the rest of us aren’t safe either?”

  Susanne picked her doughnut up and poised it at her lips. “Maybe it was a poacher. And now he’s afraid to come forward because someone died.” She took another bite of doughnut and held it in her mouth, letting the sugar dissolve into her tongue. Delectable.

  Vangie nodded. “Or, who knows? Maybe they weren’t aiming at Jeannie. Or even anyone.”

  Barb looked around, then leaned in and lowered her voice. “Well, that would make more sense. Who would want to hurt a nice lady like Mrs. Renkin? Now, her husband is a different story. I’ll bet he’s made a lot of enemies as a judge.”

  As Jeannie’s neighbor, Susanne wouldn’t have described her as nice, but she took Barb’s point.

  Vangie licked chocolate from her fingers. “Or even as an attorney. Everyone hates attorneys.”

  Barb smiled slyly. “I heard he’s thinking about running for the U.S. Senate. I wonder if the shooting has something to do with that.”

  Susanne’s eyebrows shot up. Their neighbor was running for Senator? That was big news.

  Vangie pushed her chair back. “Well, whoever it is, I’m sure the sheriff will figure it out.”

  Susanne had a chilling thought. The Kemecke capital murder trial—it was presumably now in Judge Renkin’s court. What if the judge in Sheridan had been murdered to keep him from presiding over the Kemecke trial? If so, Jeannie’s shooting could be related to the trial as well. Kemecke and his family were bad news and certainly no strangers to violence.

  Could the man who’d held her hostage and kidnapped her daughter be behind two new murders? And, if so, who else was in his line of fire? She suddenly felt very vulnerable and exposed.

  And concerned about her family, especially Trish.

  Chapter Nine: View

  Buffalo, Wyoming

  Wednesday, March 9, 1977, 1:00 p.m.

  Patrick

  When he climbed out of the Suburban, the sun warmed Patrick’s face and the glare made him squint. He wished he’d worn sunglasses, but he’d be inside soon enough. He and Susanne were attending the viewing for Jeannie Renkin at Yardley Funeral Home.