Church Bells

by Jennifer Rebecca

  “What can I help you with?” I ask him, suddenly serious.

  “I sent you a fax this morning on a BOLO, did you get it?” he asks telling me about a Be on the Look Out order he sent me. It must be important.

  “No, the damned machine jammed before it could come through. What’s the BOLO?” I ask.

  “We had a woman pass through here about a month or so ago,” he tells me. “She was nice enough. Kept to herself mostly. Worked with Katy at the diner and then one day just disappeared.”

  “So, you have a missing person?” I ask not quite sure where this is going.

  “Well, that’s where things get kind of hinky. I knew she was down on her luck. I was pretty sure she was running from a mean husband, you know? She just had that look in her eyes.”

  “Yeah . . .” I say with more red flags popping up in my head than at a God damned ticker tape parade.

  “When she disappeared, I didn’t think much of it, but then a few days ago we got this BOLO from West Virginia,” he goes on. “It seems the wife of a big coal guy got tired of him and tried to kill him.”

  “For the money?” I ask.

  “That’s the funny part, she hasn’t touched a dime of it. She went into the wind and never looked back. But the guy’s not dead and really wants to find his wife,” Holt says, and I feel a pit in my stomach open up and take root.

  “And you think she’s the same woman who blew through Tall Pines?” I ask.

  “The very same one,” he sighs.

  “And you think she came this way? Because I have to tell you I served on a search warrant team not even a month ago, looking for someone from the east coast suspected of killing their husband but we had no details and it wasn’t her. It was someone using the same name to book a motel for their affairs.”

  “After talking to the husband and some of his very powerful friends on the phone, I think she’d go to the ends of the earth to not be found, so who knows where she will pop up next.”

  “It sounds like she’s already been to hell and back,” I muse.

  “And between you and me, I’m hoping he doesn’t find her,” Holt says off the record, of course.

  “So, what does this woman look like?” I ask.

  “Petite, blonde hair, brown eyes, killer body she hides under baggy, second hand clothes. Seen anyone like that around?” he asks.

  “Maybe,” I hedge. More like abso-fucking-lutely. “What’s her name?”

  “Ginnie Winslow,” he says.

  “Never heard of her,” I say honestly. Thank God that I can. The need to get to Abby is overwhelming.

  “Well keep an eye out,” Holt says. “I have the feeling she could use a friend. Especially if the husband catches up to her.”

  “Yeah,” I say absent-mindedly. “I will.” I most definitely will.

  I hang up the phone and push back from my desk. I grab my white ranger hat from the coat rack by the door and rush out to my truck, eager to get to the cafe and see Abby. I just need to see that she’s okay—safe.

  The drive to the cafe takes me about half the time it should have and when I hurry through the front door and the bell chimes my arrival, Abby looks up and smiles at me. My long-legged stride takes me to her with a purpose and the smile slide right off of her face.

  “Wh-what’s wrong?” she asks me in her quiet voice. She’s scared, and I hate that I have put that look on her face.

  “Do you know a Ginnie Winslow from West Virginia?” I ask her. Her expression completely shutters, closing me out. Her lack of reaction is all the response that I need. I just don’t know how to go from there.

  “Ginnie Winslow is dead,” she says.

  “That’s all I need to know for now,” I say before turning on my heels and heading back out the door. It’s not until I’m in my truck that I realize I didn’t hug her or kiss her or promise Abby that everything would be okay. I went into full battle mode and my warrior forgot that Abby is soft and sweet and need reassurance and affection. It’ll have to wait for later. I only hope that I get the chance.

  Chapter 12

  Abigail

  WHEN THE BELL OVER THE door chimes as I watch Tanner’s broad back and trim waist as his long legs carry him from the cafe and away from me—possibly forever—I am lost to the memories and I’m helpless to shake free from their shackles as the past sucks me under . . .

  I hate dancing. I hate taking my clothes off for strangers who take liberties that they shouldn’t. But then again, I like to eat so . . .

  The same men are here that are here every week . . . and then there’s him. Sitting in the back corner, is a man, too handsome to be here. He is wearing jeans and a button-down shirt. A black cowboy hat sits low on his head. Even in the dark, from behind the curtain, I can see his cool blue eyes glitter. And then the cut straight to me.

  My dance on the stage was routine, it went like it does every night—music, dancing, take my bikini off, shimmy some more, and exit stage right—but tonight he’s here. I watched him watch me the whole time I danced, my eyes locked on his.

  As soon as I was done dancing, I snuck back here to where I could watch him just a little longer. I see him wave one of the cocktail waitresses over and I’m flooded with jealousy. I’m never jealous, especially not of the attention that men in this club pay to other girls. I don’t want their attention I just need their money to survive. But something about his talking to Brandy stirs something not nice inside me. I push it back down. I’m not this person.

  I head back into the dressing room to re-don my sort-of outfit. I pull the sting bikini back on and then toss a torn, off the shoulder crop top on over it. I bend over to rub my feet when Ben, the club owner comes in.

  “Grease up, kid,” he says to me. “You have a private dance. Room two.”

  I drag my feet as I head down the hall towards the private dance room where one of my regulars is waiting. The worst part about private dances are the liberties the men are allowed to take . . . and then usually leave shitty tips after an even worse grope before they head home to their wives.

  Not ready to look at who was sitting in the chair, I close the door and take a deep breath before turning around. The music starts, and I spin on my feet delicately—seductively—until I face him.

  I dance my way towards the man I couldn’t keep my eyes off of and enjoy the way he watches my body move. I turn my back to him and cock my hip as I slip my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor before I look over my shoulder at him and wink.

  I shimmy my way over to him and climb in his lap for the more intimate portion of the show. The look on his face screams hungry. For me!

  “You can touch me if you like,” I whisper my lips a breath away from his.

  “Honey, I’m going to do way more than that.”

  After my dance was over, the handsome stranger helped me redress and then led me from the club to his home where he made love to me, promising me all the fairytales he would give me all night long.

  One week later I was his wife . . . but it was whole other week after that before he struck my face for the first time.

  Chapter 13

  Abigail

  SHIT. SHIT. DOUBLE SHIT. CRAP!

  I have to go. I have to get out of here. If Tanner knows I killed my husband, he will have to turn me in. He’ll have to. He’s a Texas Ranger, after all.

  Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

  It was so stupid of me to get involved with a Ranger. I didn’t escape my life with Brandon only to go to jail! And that is exactly where I will go if Tanner finds out. Or the electric chair. They still use Old Smokey in Texas, right? Oh God, I’m fucked. A whimper escapes my mouth and I clamp it closed, gritting my teeth hard. Now is not the time to fall apart.

  “Hey, kid,” Russell says snapping me out of my trance. I look around and Ellie and Ari are sitting at the counter their untouched lunches in front of them, staring at me with concerned faces.

  “What just happened, Abby?” Ari asks me.

  �
�I killed my husband, that’s what.” My eyes go wide mirroring theirs. As soon as the words were out of my mouth I wish I could draw them back in.

  “Wait, what?” Ellie asks quietly.

  I turn to run but Russell grabs me by my arms. “Please,” I beg. “Let me go. You have to let me go.”

  “No, girl,” he says firmly. “You have to get it all out now. It’s a poison, you have to purge to poison to heal.”

  “I can’t!” I cry out.

  “Yes!” he grumbles back. “You can. Get the poison out.”

  “Maybe we should start at the beginning,” Ellie says kindly.

  “Everyone out! Restaurant’s closed for the afternoon,” Russell shouts. “The toilets are all overflowing in the back! It’s shit everywhere. Run while you can!” he covers for the reason everyone has to leave.

  “Well, that cleared the place pretty quickly,” Ari muses.

  “Lock the door for me, would you doll?” Russell asks her as he tosses her his set of keys from his pocket.

  “Coffee!” Ellie shouts jumping up. “I’ll just pour everyone a cup of coffee!”

  “I’ll help,” I say. I owe my new friends—the people who took me in and were so kind to me no matter what—an explanation before I run again. Maybe this time I’ll head to California.

  I help Ellie pour four mugs of hot coffee and then carry them over to a small four top table in the back where Russell and Ari meet us. We all sit down, and they seem to stare at me, waiting.

  “Well?” Russell booms and the ridiculousness of the situation makes me laugh nervously. Is this what happens when you have a mental break? I hope not. Although the padded cell my be better than death row.

  I sigh. “It’s like I said,” I tell them. “I killed my husband.”

  “I think there’s more to it than that,” Ari says softly. I let out a sigh.

  “I was eighteen, barely, when I met him,” I start. “I was dancing in a club to pay the bills because we were so very poor after my dad left us. It was just me and my mom for as long as I can remember, and we were a team. We did what we had to do to get by,” I smile at the memory.

  “Go on,” Russell says.

  I swallow before I pick the story back up. “She wanted better for me. She wanted me out of our trailer in our small town. She wanted me to have the life she had always dreamed of. And I was stripping to pay the bills while she waited tables at a dive of a diner. She hated it, I hated it. Every night was worse than the night before. There are clubs that treat the girls right and make sure they’re protected and paid well, this was not one of those clubs.

  “I saw him when I was on stage and I was just drawn to him. He was dressed nice and had an in-control air about him. Later, I would find out he was in control of everything because he ran all of the shadier businesses in the area on top of his family owning the big coal mines.” I have to stop and take a breath before continuing. “He promised me everything I had never had before,” I whisper. “Not just the money and security, but a family. Someone who loved me . . . wanted me. Mama loved Brandon and all he had to offer. She told me one night, I either left as his wife and didn’t come back or I just left, but either way, I wouldn’t be coming back to her home. We were married a week later, and I was young and dumb enough to think that it was all a fairytale . . . but it wasn’t.”

  “Oh honey,” Ellie whispers.

  “A week later I burned an expensive roast. He had invited some business associates over for dinner and I was so nervous that I burned the roast. He laughed it off with them and joked about my being a new bride. He took them all out to dinner leaving me at home to fret about all that I had done wrong to disgrace him which he had laid out for me in painstaking detail. When he came home, drunk as a skunk, he hit me. It surprised me. It’s shocking to be hit.

  “The next morning, Brandon swore it would never happen again and I promised him I would do better, try harder to make him happy. But the thing is, Brandon was never happy. I see that now. Over the years, it only got worse.”

  “Did you ever try to leave him?” Ari asks, and I laugh without humor.

  “Only once,” I explain. “I had gotten as far as a few towns over when he found me and the lesson he taught me was that he would never let me go alive.”

  “So, what did you do?” Ellie asks.

  “I knew that I couldn’t live like that. I knew that it was only a matter of time before he killed me, and he would get away with it too. He told me all the time about how important his friends were in town. So, one day I decided, if it was going to come down to him or me, it was going to be me. That very next day I started putting a little bit of rat poison in his morning coffee. Not a lot at first, just enough to weaken him. Make him feel sick.

  “I think he started to suspect something. He started preparing his cup of coffee himself in the mornings. But I was watching, I was ready. Brandon would only drink this one type of coffee. He made me go all over town to find where I could buy the little cups that go in those single serving brewers. And I wasn’t allowed to drink them. They were his only. So, while he was at work, I started making a solution out of the rat poison and water and injecting it into the cup under the label.

  “On that last morning, he was feeling miserable, although that didn’t stop him from hitting me two nights before, he collapsed right there at the breakfast table. I never looked back. I just walked to the hall closet and grabbed a bag I had hidden under all of the winter coats and Christmas decorations with a few changes of clothes and all the cash I could pilfer from my grocery allowance.”

  “And then what?” Ari asks.

  “And then I got in my car and drove to Kentucky. I sold my car for a junker with no paper trail and—”

  “And you drove here,” Russell interrupts.

  “No,” I smile at him. “I landed in Tall Pines for a few months before coming here.”

  “I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Ellie says placing her hand on top of mine on the table.

  “Me too,” Ari joins in.

  “But you see, I’m a cold-blooded killer. I have to go before Tanner has to lock me up and throw away the key,” I explain.

  “Girl, that was more ‘Earl Had to Die’ and some straight up Dixie Chick shit, not ‘Making a Murderer.’” He shakes his head as if he’s disappointed in me.

  “I’ll admit it was a little more ‘Arsenic and Old Lace’ instead of ’48 hours,’” Ellie says and Ari laughs.

  “Have you all lost your damn minds?” I shout. “This shit is serious.”

  “Good Lord,” Russell groans. “Do you even know if the bastard is dead?”

  “What?” I whisper.

  “Well, you didn’t stick around to watch him die, how do you know he’s really dead? You might not be a murderer after all.” The thought had never occurred to me. I always assumed Brandon was dead. But if he’s not . . .

  “Oh no,” I whisper. “I have to go!” I shout before getting to my feet and running out the back door. I don’t stop until I’m in my old clunker of a car and heading down the road towards Tanner’s house.

  I have to go.

  I can’t let Tanner arrest me for murder. I won’t go to jail. And if Brandon isn’t dead . . . If Brandon hurt any of these people who I have grown to . . . love—especially Tanner who is so kind and sweet and generous—I would die.

  Chapter 14

  Tanner

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY can’t fucking find him?” I roar into the phone on my desk.

  “He’s in the wind, Savage,” Holt informs me.

  “Well someone better fucking find him before he gets here!” I shout.

  “We’ll find him,” he promises me but we both know he can’t guarantee that. “We’ve got people looking for him all over between West Virginia and here.”

  “He’s here,” I say voicing my biggest fear.

  “We don’t know that yet,” Holt says trying to placate me.

  “I feel it in my bones, man.” I sigh. “He’s her
e.”

  “Major has a call in to his super-secret squirrel contacts—” he starts, but I don’t let him finish.

  “I gotta go. I have to find Abby,” I say before I hang up the phone. “Thanks for all of your help, brother.”

  “Anytime. All you have to do is call.” At least there’s something satisfying about slamming a desk phone down. You can’t do that with a cell phone. But now, I have to find Abby.

  I put on my white Ranger hat and jog to my truck. I need to see Abigail. If not for her, for me. I need to know that she’s still here, that she’s okay. I fire up my truck and peel out of the station lot.

  My drive home is full of anxiety. I hate the unknown. I hate that this asshole is here somewhere in my town, threatening my woman. And that’s exactly what she is. Abigail is as much mine as I am hers. Somewhere along the line this tiny little slip of a woman stole my heart. It’s then that I realize.

  I’m in love with her.

  I press my boot down on the accelerator. My need to see her, to tell her how I feel before it’s too late just ratcheted up tenfold.

  I pull into the driveway and cut the engine. I run up the steps and throw the door open and find complete and total chaos to me neat and orderly home—our home.

  “What the fuck?” I shout as she races by me, not noticing that I’m home. Abigail is in a frenzy and it makes me wonder if that asshole has contacted her.

  “I have to go,” she shouts, her eyes wide like a deer that realizes it’s about to get smoked by an eighteen-wheeler.

  “No, you don’t,” I tell her in my calmest voice. I hold my hand out, palm down, towards her as if I’m gentling a skittish colt.

  “Yes, I do!” she screams as she tears at her hair. “But I can’t find the money. Where is the money?”

  I always knew this day would come, the one where she would try to leave me. When Abby first moved in with me after the football game, I found her bug out bag—a small duffle containing two changes of clothes, travel toiletries, and just enough cash to start over somewhere. So, I did what I had to do. One morning when she had to open at the cafe, I took her bag and locked it up in my locker at the station. It was selfish of me, but I couldn’t bear it if she left without word, disappearing into the wind then and I couldn’t bear it now.