'Til Death (A Rebel Ridge Novel)

by Sharon Sala

  “And my father was his son,” Linc snapped. “Are you actually implying that Grandpa lied to protect his own son’s killer?”

  “Well, I—”

  Linc was furious. “So you’re saying that no matter what I saw, you’re going to ignore the fact and let that Lewis woman continue to live in fear for her life?”

  “Hell no, I wasn’t saying that, I was just—”

  The line went dead in Marlow’s ear.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, and then glared at Bo and Pete, the two drunks who’d caused the wreck he was working, and hauled both of them to jail.

  Once he got the men booked and back in his office, he began making notes regarding the phone call from Fox. Of course he would follow up on the accusation, but he had to be careful how he did it. If Fox was right, then Meg Lewis could be in serious trouble. He didn’t know two more worthless men on Rebel Ridge than Prince and Fagan White.

  The thing was, Marlow knew he’d handled that call from Lincoln Fox all wrong. He could have kept his doubts to himself without confronting the man like that, at least until he’d talked to Prince White, but he hadn’t, and it was too late to take it back.

  What he could do was call Meg and feel her out about the White family, see if there was any bad blood between them, or if she’d had a run-in with Prince that could have been the start to all of this. But not tonight.

  Tonight was, however, the optimal time to interview a suspect. As soon as the sun rose, he was going up Rebel Ridge to talk to Prince. Maybe Lincoln Fox was on the up-and-up. If he was, it would be interesting to hear what Prince had to say once Marlow told him he had a witness.

  * * *

  Prince White was in a panic. He didn’t know who’d caught him trespassing on the old Fox place, but the man now knew too damn much about him. He needed to get the hell off the mountain or he would wind up in jail. It took nearly half an hour to get back home, and by the time he arrived, he’d already made himself a plan.

  Fagan’s truck was parked behind the house, and he was obviously still up, because all the lights were on. Prince rode the bike into the barn, parked it beside his own truck and jumped off on the run. When he went in the back door and found his brother asleep in the living room in front of the TV, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn in his lap, he yelled, “Fagan!”

  Fagan jumped, sending the popcorn flying.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he mumbled as he set the bowl aside and looked down at the mess on the floor.

  “I’m going to Mount Sterling for a while. How much cash you got on you?”

  Fagan frowned. “What have you done?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Let me ask that another way. What are you going to be charged with?”

  “For starters, probably breaking and entering, and stalking Meg Lewis.”

  Fagan’s eyes bugged. “What the fuck? You’re the one who broke into her house and got her hurt?”

  “I didn’t touch her. She’s the one who ran through broken glass.”

  Fagan groaned. “Why? Why would you do such a dumbass thing? There’s plenty of women around here who’ll spread their legs for a twenty-dollar bill. You didn’t have to go messin’ with a decent woman, especially one who’s got three mean-ass brothers.”

  Prince’s chin jutted, and his eyes narrowed angrily. He wasn’t about to share his info with Fagan and wind up giving him half the money he was looking for.

  “It’s none of your damned business,” he said.

  Fagan stared at his brother as if he’d just lost his mind. “You are truly as crazy as Wendell was.”

  Prince glared. “You don’t talk about the dead like that. Besides, you’re not my boss, and you’re not my conscience. So answer my damn question. How much cash you got on you?”

  Fagan sighed. “Less than two hundred dollars.”

  “I need it,” Prince said, and held out his hand.

  Fagan dug his wallet out of his pocket and gave him the cash. “What do you expect me to do when the law comes callin’?”

  “Tell them I left without a word and you don’t know where I went.”

  “Great. Just great,” Fagan muttered. “We haven’t been in trouble like this in years. I’m too old for all this crap. So go find yourself a hole to crawl into, because I don’t want her brothers pissed off at me. There’s three of them and only one of me.”

  Prince sneered. “They don’t scare me,” he said.

  “Yeah, right. You’re not scared, you’re just running away from Rebel Ridge with your tail tucked between your legs because you like how it rubs against your balls.”

  “Shut the hell up,” Prince said, and stuffed the money into his pocket and headed down the hall to pack.

  * * *

  Linc was too pissed to sleep and wished for the distraction of a TV. Now that he had electricity, he didn’t have to run the camper on generator power, but he needed a satellite dish to hook up his flat-screen or he wouldn’t have any reception. Instead, he dug in the refrigerator for a cold beer, then grabbed a handful of cookies and a notepad and began making a list of things he needed to do to begin his investigation. He wanted a copy of the police report from the night of the fire, a copy of the transcript of the trial and copies of the affidavits from the people who’d pointed fingers at him and gotten him arrested. They were the first ones he was going to find and talk to once he moved into the shelter.

  By the time he was through with the beer and cookies, his mood had shifted. He kicked off his shoes, but when he lay down on the bed he didn’t take off his clothes. The way shit was going down around here, he would probably need them again before morning.

  But he was wrong. The sun was already up before the next knock came on his door. He groaned as he rolled out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He headed for the door, glad that he’d slept in his clothes.

  As he passed a window he noticed that whoever was here had come on foot, which brought Prince White to mind. Unwilling to go to the door unarmed, he returned to the bedroom and picked up his rifle.

  Before he could get back, his visitor knocked again and yelled, “Hey! You in this here trailer! Open the door!”

  It sounded like a woman, which meant it wasn’t Prince White. He leaned the rifle against the wall and decided to take his chances.

  He opened the door to find an old woman standing just beyond his doorstep with a rifle cradled across her arms. Her brown wool coat was patched in half a dozen places, and the knees were out in her overalls. A long gray braid hung down her shoulder, while most of her features were hidden under a well-worn felt hat she wore low on her forehead.

  “Mister, you’re trespassing, and I reckon you need to pack up your stuff and get on off here before I call the sheriff.”

  “Hi, Aunt Tildy...it’s me. Lincoln. I’m not trespassing, I just finally came home.”

  Her frown shifted to shock as Linc stepped out of the trailer. He wasn’t sure what kind of a reception she would give him, but he opened his arms, just the same.

  “Do you think I might get a hug?”

  Tildy Bennett stared at him as if he was a ghost. “Lincoln, is that really you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The rifle she was holding slid out of her arms as she walked into his embrace.

  “Oh Lord, Lord, I thought I was gonna die without ever seeing you again.”

  “I’m sorry I waited so long,” he said, and hugged her close. “Come inside. You’re half-frozen. What are you doing this far away from home on foot?”

  “It’s not so far as the crow flies, and anyway, I was checking my sang patches. Have to keep an eye on them or people will help themselves.”

  Linc hadn’t heard the mountain term for ginseng in years, but he knew immediately what she meant. It was a good money crop, especially if it was growing wild.

  Lincoln was helping her up the step when she stopped. “I gotta get my rifle.”

  “I’ll get it,” he said as he suited the acti
on to the words, then followed her into the trailer.

  As soon as he got her settled on the sofa he started the coffee and then sat down beside her.

  “I don’t know how you do it, Aunt Tildy, but you haven’t changed a bit.”

  Tildy Bennett couldn’t quit staring at him. “Well, you have. I wouldn’t have known you if I’d passed you on the street. Lordy be, but you made a big man.”

  His shirt was unbuttoned, revealing just enough of his scars to make her ask, “What happened to you there?”

  “It’s a long story, Aunt Tildy, but it’s what brought me home.”

  “Are you gonna stay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What have you been doing all this time?”

  “I’ve worked construction for most of my life. I own a construction company now in Dallas.”

  “There’s no work like that around here,” she said.

  “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t come home to build houses. I came home to find out who killed Dad.”

  She gasped. “But it’s been so long. I don’t see how you can do that.”

  “I don’t know how it’s going to turn out, but it’s why I’m here, and I don’t intend to quit until I’ve cleared my name.”

  The aroma of freshly brewing coffee filled the trailer as she took off her hat.

  “I’ll help you in any way I can, boy. I know pretty near ever’thing there is to know about the people living on Rebel Ridge. You just ask me, and if I don’t know, I know how to find out.”

  Linc grinned. “Want some coffee?”

  Her eyes crinkled up at the sides as she smiled. “I don’t mind if I do, and I take mine black.”

  “So do I,” Linc said. He filled two cups and carried them back to the sofa.

  She took her cup carefully, warming her hands on the thick crockery. “Smells good.”

  He lifted his mug. “To us...and to justice.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” she said, and took the first sip, then set it aside to cool. “So you’re here, now what’s your plan?”

  “Rebuild on the homesite, but it’ll take time, so I’m remodeling the old bomb shelter to live in during the winter. It’ll be warmer than this travel trailer.”

  “You could come stay with me,” she said.

  “Thank you for the offer, but no. I’m not going to be a popular guy once word gets out what I’m doing. I’ve already made my first enemy.”

  She frowned. “How so?”

  “The night I got here I became an accidental witness in a stalking case. A guy’s been bothering a lady down the road. The sheriff says her name is Mrs. Lewis. The only Lewis family I remember lived a good distance farther up. Anyway, I happened to see the man who’s bothering her.”

  Tildy shook her head. “Oh, you know her, honey. It’s Meg Walker. She married Bobby Lewis right out of high school and then divorced him a couple years later, after he went to prison. She lives in her granddaddy Walker’s old house, which is about a mile from here, as the crow flies. He gave it to her right before he died, and up until a year ago her mother, Dolly, was living with her. Then she remarried and moved out.”

  The hair stood up on the back of Linc’s neck. He’d blanked out on everything his aunt was saying after he heard her say Meg’s name.

  “Meg Walker is the woman who’s being stalked?”

  “Yes, it’s the talk of Rebel Ridge. Got every single woman on the mountain antsy and sleeping with a gun beside her bed. You say you saw who it was? Reckon I’d like to know that. I wouldn’t be spreading it around or anything.”

  “Prince White,” Linc said.

  Tildy gasped. “Well, if that don’t beat all.”

  “What?”

  “He was at my house a few weeks back with a suspicious wound I went and doctored. I thought it looked like a bullet wound, but he swore different.”

  “What’s the deal with him? Why would he be chasing after Meg? Did they date or something?”

  Tildy rolled her eyes. “Lord, no. No one wants Prince or his brother Fagan. They’re worthless as tits on a boar hog. Besides, Meg don’t have a thing to do with men of any sort. Years back her ex went to prison for killing Prince’s older brother, Wendell. That was a very long time ago, though. I can’t imagine him trying some kind of payback at this late date, especially since Meg and Bobby have been divorced for so long.”

  There was a knot in Linc’s belly, just thinking of his pretty Meg going through so much heartache. First him, then the man she married. No wonder she was done with men. The only ones she’d given her heart to had let her down.

  Linc listened absently as Tildy rattled on, but he was picturing Meg Walker as he’d seen her last, at the courthouse after the trial, crying as they took him into custody. She’d been his first love—the first girl he’d kissed, the first girl he’d made love to—and Prince White was causing her grief. If Sheriff Marlow didn’t do something about things, he might have to pay a visit to White himself.

  They visited a little longer, and when she was ready to leave he loaded her up in his truck and drove her home. He came back with a dried apricot pie and half a fried chicken, stored both in the trailer for later and got to work. All he needed now was to figure out a way to get both a bathroom and a washer/dryer hookup into that old shelter and he would be ready for winter.

  By the end of the day he’d come to the conclusion that building a small room in front of the existing doorway was the only possible answer. The shelter was small enough as it was, without taking up space with a bathroom or a washer and dryer. It would be simple to build and plumb the small structure and install ventilation. Once the propane was hooked up, he would have to vent that, too, and it would be easy to do through the new structure.

  He set to work on the new plans at a steady pace, but his thoughts were never far from Meg. Knowing she was so close was maddening. But he had too much to do to set himself up for what was bound to be heartbreak or rejection—or both.

  Either way, living this close to her meant nothing, because they were still a thousand miles away in his heart.

  Five

  Roger Eddy had been Marlow’s deputy for more than ten years, and from day one Marlow couldn’t take a simple ride anywhere with the man without Eddy keeping up a running commentary, which was making the ride to Prince and Fagan White’s home seem endless. Marlow was relieved when they finally reached the property.

  “Man, what a dump,” Roger said as the sheriff parked beside a large rock at the edge of the yard, eyeing the single-story dwelling and the sagging porch. “All it needs are a few scrawny chickens pecking around.”

  Before they could get out, the front door opened. Fagan White came out, followed by a couple of hounds who promptly flopped down at his feet. He was a younger version of Prince—medium height and skinny, but his hair was blond and thin. The jeans and shirt he was wearing were stained, and he didn’t appear bothered by the fact.

  Roger eyed the man and the state of his clothing, and he frowned. “Are we going in?”

  “Not if I can help it,” Marlow muttered. He took the little black car charm out of his pocket and palmed it. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  “Morning, Sheriff! What brings you up this way?” Fagan asked.

  Marlow nodded his hello and got right to the point. “We need to talk to Prince.”

  Fagan shrugged. “He didn’t come home last night. I don’t rightly know where he is. What do you want to talk to him about?”

  Marlow’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re saying he’s not hiding out somewhere inside?”

  Fagan threw up his arms. “Look for yourself, damn it. His truck’s not here, and neither is he.”

  Marlow rolled the little car charm around in his hand, making sure that Fagan got a good look. And the man bit, just like a hungry fish after a dragonfly.

  “Hey, where’d you get that?” Fagan said, pointing to the charm. “That was on Prince’s key ring. Did you find it lying out here in the yard?”

&n
bsp; Bingo, Marlow thought. “No, it’s evidence from a crime. Do you have any problem with my deputy checking your house?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Fagan muttered, but he stepped aside.

  Roger Eddy looked at his boss in dismay. When Marlow gave him a nod, he gritted his teeth and moved toward the doorway. One of the dogs stood up and growled as he walked past.

  “Dog! Shut the hell up!” Fagan yelled.

  The dog tucked his tail between his legs and slunk off the porch.

  “Sorry about that,” Fagan said, then eyed the sheriff. “You sure you won’t come in?”

  “Mind if I look around first?” Marlow asked.

  “Feel free,” Fagan said, and closed the door.

  Marlow began to circle the house. Except for weeds and the occasional pile of rusting iron, the yard was vacant. He headed toward the barn, but it, too, was empty. No hay, no signs that a horse or a milk cow had been in there in ages, and the upkeep on the building was a joke. They’d been patching up holes in the roof and walls with odds and ends—pieces of tin, half a sheet of plywood, even an old Wisconsin license tag. He saw the numbers and knew no one from this mountain would ever drive a car with 666 on the tag. That was the mark of the devil.

  He could see tire tracks going in and out of the structure, but no truck. Then he saw the dirt bike leaning against the far wall and stopped.

  “I’ll be damned.”

  He went back to the front door and knocked, then poked his head in the house.

  “Hey, Fagan, whose bike is that in the barn?”

  “Well, it’s mine, but I don’t ride it anymore. Broke my leg in two places on that thing about a year ago. Kinda took the fun out of it for me, if you know what I mean. Prince rides it some. Why?”

  “What do you know about the attacks on Meg Lewis?”

  Fagan blinked. He hadn’t expected the sheriff to come right out and ask that.

  “Well, I heard about ’em, for sure. I guess everybody has. Why?”

  “Do you own any guns?”

  Fagan laughed. “Well hell, Sheriff, don’t everyone?”