by Sharon Sala
The grocery was small, the merchandise limited, but Linc wasn’t hard to please. Bread, milk, eggs, cheese, lunch meat and cookies. The rest he could get in Mount Sterling next time he went. He hit the meat and dairy aisle first, and quickly cleared four items off his list. He was heading for the bread aisle when he saw her.
“Hey, Meg,” he said softly.
She looked up, saw the hat and then the face beneath it, towering head and shoulders above the endcap. She grinned.
“What are we having for supper?” he asked in a teasing manner.
And just like that, she felt the world open up before her. This was it. This was the answer to what she’d been feeling. All she had to do was go for it. So she did.
She arched an eyebrow. “What do you want to eat?”
Linc’s heart skipped a beat. Was she flirting? “Uh...pork chops?”
“I can do that,” she said. “When are you free?”
He couldn’t believe this was happening. Not after the way she’d left the other day.
“Uh...tonight?”
She nodded. “Sure. Why not?”
Now he was past curious. “Are you serious?”
“I am if you want me to be.”
He grinned. “Six o’clock good for you?”
She nodded again.
“Want me to bring anything?”
“Your appetite?”
“Then we’re set, because I don’t go anywhere without it.”
And just like that, he had a date.
All of a sudden he realized Meg was wheeling her basket around.
“Hey, where are you going?”
“To get pork chops.”
“Oh. Right. So I’ll see you later?”
The last sight he had of her face, she was smiling.
He grabbed a loaf of bread, moved to the end of the aisle and threw a couple of packages of Oreos into the cart, and headed for the checkout with a bounce in his step. Not even that file full of riddles riding shotgun beside him could ruin the good mood he was in.
* * *
Meg’s hands were shaking by the time she got to the checkout. She was still in shock at the brazen way she’d just conducted herself. She’d heard of women picking up guys in a bar, but not in the bread aisle at Barney’s, and she was hoping the little interlude had not been overheard. She would never hear the end of it, if it had.
“Hey, Meg, how’s it going?” Louise said as she began scanning the items from Meg’s cart.
“Just staying busy making quilts. You know how it goes.”
Louise nodded as she picked up the first package of pork chops and scanned it. When she picked up the second package, she paused.
“Reckon this will be enough? That’s a real big fellow you’re about to feed.”
Meg sighed. So much for not being overheard. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“He’s a looker, that one,” Louise said as she continued scanning.
“Uh, yes, I guess he is,” Meg said. “Oh, wait. I have a coupon for that.” She pointed to a big can of pineapple rings. She dug the coupon out of her purse and gave it to Louise.
“Gonna make pineapple upside-down cake for dessert?” Louise asked. “My man likes his sweets after a meal, too. Oh, by the way, I didn’t hear you call his name.”
Meg was writing a check and pretended not to hear. By the time Louise handed her the receipt, she was ready to bolt.
“Hey, Meg. Wait up,” Louise called as Meg headed for the door.
“Gotta hurry or this ice cream will melt,” Meg said, and kept on moving.
She quickly transferred the sacks to the hatch of her new SUV, gave Honey a pat and praise for being such a good girl and then headed home. It wasn’t until she was driving out of town that she began to smile. Her life was taking a turn for the better, and all she could think was that it was about damn time.
* * *
Most days Wesley Duggan considered himself a fortunate man. He had himself a pretty wife and a business that was making good money. He’d gone from hiring on as a car salesman at the Ford dealership in Mount Sterling to owning it ten years later.
He’d tried to call his wife off and on all morning, but without any luck. He’d assumed she was simply out shopping and hadn’t heard her cell ring, but when lunch came and went and she hadn’t called back, he decided to go home to eat and make sure she was all right. She’d been in bed asleep when he left, and she might be sick.
He wheeled into their driveway, tapped the garage-door opener and drove inside. He was thinking about making a sandwich with some of that baked ham left over from Wednesday night’s dinner when he entered the kitchen, but the moment he walked in, he knew something was wrong. There was an empty liquor bottle on the kitchen island and a bowl of melting ice cubes on the counter.
“What the hell?”
He strode through the house, yelling, “Lucy! Lucy! Where are you?”
She stepped out of their bedroom into the hall in her bare feet. Her hair was awry and she was still in her nightgown, but the glass in her hand was full of ice and whiskey. He could smell it from where he was standing.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?”
She swung her glass up in the air as if she was about to make a toast and then began to laugh. The hollow sound was anything but funny. He grabbed her by the arms and gave her a little shake, and when he did, part of the whiskey splashed onto his pant leg and then his shoe.
“Damn it, Lucy! I thought you’d put this kind of drinking behind you.”
“I can’t put anything behind me,” she said, and then started to bawl. “No matter how good I try to be, or how hard I try to make everything pretty and nice, it all turns to shit.”
Wes frowned, then took the glass out of her hands, set it aside and pulled her into his arms.
“Talk to me, honey. Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll make it all go away.”
She buried her face against the front of his suit coat. “You can’t. I’m cursed by the blood running through my veins, and there’s nothing you can do to fix it or me.”
The mention of the blood in her veins was all it took. “Who was here? Prince or Fagan?”
“It was Prince!” she cried, and then let out a wail. “He’s running from the law about something, and he coerced me into giving him all my money or else he was going to rob some store. He said if he got caught then everyone would know he was my kin.”
Wes’s eyes narrowed angrily. “The sorry little bastard. Did he say where he was staying? I’ll teach him to threaten you!”
“No. I don’t know anything except that I gave him about six hundred dollars and told him if he came back I’d kill him and tell the cops it was self-defense.”
Wes rocked her where she stood, feeling sorry for her misery and at the same time so damned pissed off at his worthless brother-in-law that he couldn’t think.
“There, there,” he said, patting her on the back and smoothing the wild hair away from her face. “Let’s get you out of that gown and into some nice warm sweats. I’ll go make us some sandwiches and coffee while you clean up a bit. It’s gonna be okay, Lucy Bee. You’ll see. He won’t come back, but if he does, I’ll tend to him then.”
It was the pet name he used that touched her heart. Even when she’d been married to her first husband, Marcus, she’d been Wesley’s Lucy Bee.
“Yes, give me a few minutes to clean up,” she muttered, shoving her hair out of her eyes and smoothing her hands down the front of her gown.
Wes kissed her cheek and left, taking the half-finished glass of whiskey with him and downing it on the way to the kitchen. By the time Lucy got there he had sandwiches made and hot coffee in the pot, and was thawing a half of a coconut cake that he’d found in the freezer.
She paused in the doorway, eyeing the spread, and then sniffled to remind him she was still upset.
“My sweet Wesley...you are such a good man,” she said.
He turned and gave her the once-over. She didn’t even look
like the same woman from a few minutes ago. Her sweats were a robin’s-egg blue, and her long blond hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail and fastened at the nape of her neck. She had on just enough makeup to take away the pale tinge in her skin, but when she blinked, he could still see tears.
“Come sit with me,” he said, and held out his hand.
She offered her cheek for a kiss, which he dutifully gave, and then she sat in the chair he’d pulled out for her. She was a lifetime away from the way she’d been raised and wasn’t ever going back, no matter what it took.
“Would you rather have ham or turkey, Lucy Bee? I made some of both,” he said as he handed her the platter of sandwiches.
“I think turkey,” she said as she took a half sandwich from the platter and put it on her plate. “I don’t want to ruin my girlish figure.”
He winked. “Your figure is perfect—just like you.”
Perfect? Lucy blinked as a memory slid through her mind so fast she could almost have imagined it never happened. She took a bite of her sandwich, chewing and swallowing before she spoke.
“How was your morning? Everything going okay at the dealership?”
“Yes, everything is fine,” he said. “Want some chips?”
“A few,” she said, and slid her plate toward the sack of chips he was holding and then took a quick sip of her coffee.
Wes watched her closely, making sure her meltdown had safely passed. He didn’t want to go back to work and think she would fall back in the bottle. He had known Lucy all his life. He’d been in love with her since the age of fourteen, and when she’d married his best friend, Marcus, a few years later, he’d nearly died. When Marcus and Lucy began having troubles, he’d shamelessly stepped in as the shoulder she needed to cry on, and when Marcus was murdered, he’d felt joy that she was free instead of grief that his friend was dead.
He downed half a sandwich and reached for another, as well as a few more chips.
“Do you think you’re going to be all right if I go back to work?”
She nodded. “Yes, and I promise I won’t drive anywhere. I’ve had too much to drink to get behind the wheel. Thank you for worrying about me, but I’ll be okay. It was just the shock of seeing Prince and then being threatened like that.”
She shuddered, which pissed Wes off all over again.
“If he comes back, don’t let him in,” he said.
“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t. But I doubt he’ll be back. I made it pretty clear that I’d call the cops on him myself if he did.”
“I wonder what he did,” he said.
“I don’t want to know,” she said, and got up to refill her coffee, then tested the cake he’d set out. “Do you want some cake? It’s thawed enough to slice.”
“Yes, please.”
She cut two pieces and carried them back to the table, then watched him take the first bite.
“Is it still good?”
He rolled his eyes. “No, Lucy Bee, it’s not good, it’s amazing.”
Lucy smiled. It was good to be appreciated.
* * *
Linc set his groceries on the table, dropped the file on the sofa as he walked past, then took off his coat and hat and left them on the bed. The quilt reminded him of Meg and the fact that he was going to eat supper at her house tonight. He was still a bit surprised that she’d invited him and hoped he wasn’t reading too much into the offer.
He started a pot of coffee, then put away the groceries, except for the cookies. He grabbed a handful and headed for the sofa. He popped a cookie in his mouth and began chewing as he reached for the file. It was weird that he had no idea what was in these reports, and yet they were part of what had put him in prison. It didn’t take long to get caught up in the cut-and-dried sentences, although they were shockingly sparse. How could such a traumatic event be captured in such emotionless words?
Call to suspicious fire at the residence of Marcus Fox.
Empty gas can found behind a shed.
Body of a male believed to be M. Fox found just inside the back door.
Teenage son, Lincoln Fox, found on his back beside his truck, unconscious, with blast burns on exposed skin.
Linc stopped, too shaky to keep reading, and got up to pour himself a cup of coffee. He walked outside to get some air, relishing the slap of cold against his skin, and watched a hawk circling in the sky overhead. The quiet here was still something remarkable to him. Coming back was good for more than clearing his name. It was refilling his soul. He stood until his coffee was cool enough to drink before he went inside.
It had been a very long time since he’d let himself “go there,” but reading the reports brought back every moment of the nightmare and made it difficult to stay objective. He took a drink, popped another cookie in his mouth and kept reading.
Arrived on scene at 8:37 p.m. Neighbors in the act of fighting the fire. See attached list for names and numbers.
He flipped through the pages until he found the list and quickly scanned it. He knew the people but didn’t remember a one of them being there. All he could remember was someone shouting his name as he lay there looking up into a night sky blanketed with stars, and then the silhouette of some man blocking his view. He felt the heat before he saw the fire, and when he tried to get up he passed out again. That was all he remembered before waking up in a hospital bed with his grandpa holding his hand and Aunt Tildy standing at the foot of his bed crying. She was the one who’d told him his dad was dead.
A couple of names caught his eye, and then he leaned forward, a little surprised to see them bunched together. Dolly Walker. Margaret Walker. Ryal Walker. Prince White. Wendell White. It took him a few minutes to realize they were listed in alphabetical order.
He stared at Meg’s name. He’d had no idea she was there.
He went back to reading and found a note penned in the margin near the bottom, almost as an afterthought.
Wayne Fox and grandson Lincoln Fox fishing all afternoon. Lincoln Fox at grandfather’s house until approx 7:30 p.m.
He scanned the report, trying to find when they’d gotten the call about the fire and found a note where the call had come into the sheriff’s office at 8:15 p.m. Then he searched for a report from the fire department as to when the fire had started, but there was nothing else.
It figured. This was Rebel Ridge, not Dallas. There was no fire marshal to run an arson test. Just the word of bystanders who found an empty gas can. Then another bit of info surprised him. Fagan White was the one who’d called in the fire to the sheriff’s office. He went back and read the names on the list of witnesses at the fire. How did the one brother who wasn’t there become the one to call in the fire? This deserved some investigation for sure.
Granted, his stepmother, Lucy, was their sister, and they’d been at the house a time or two before. But he knew for a fact that Lucy didn’t like them coming over, and she had left early that morning for a family funeral on the other side of Lexington. Her brothers would have known that she was gone. Why hadn’t they gone, too? They wouldn’t have been dropping by to visit, knowing full well she wasn’t there. Still, he guessed if they’d been driving by, they could have seen the fire. The house wasn’t that far off the road, and Linc remembered that he’d seen the glow of the flames before he got there, too.
He closed the file, then laid it aside. He would read more later, but right now he needed to do something to take his mind off the past, and there were several hours to kill until his supper date with Meg. He changed into his work clothes and headed for the door. He had a rick of wood to haul to Aunt Tildy’s, and he wanted to talk to her about what he’d read. He glanced up at the sky as he got in the truck. It looked like that storm was coming for sure. He just hoped whatever came out of those clouds stayed liquid.
A short while later he pulled up to his aunt’s house and hit the brakes. There were three pickup trucks in the front yard. Unless she was having an impromptu party, he was guessing there were some sick or injured people
in her house. Rather than block anyone’s exit, he drove around to the back to park, then went in the back door and found her and three men standing around the kitchen table.
“Aunt Tildy?”
She looked up and when she stepped aside Linc saw the trembling man stretched out on an old oilcloth on top of her kitchen table, caught up in coils of barbed wire.
“Come in, son. George here got himself in something of a fix. Do you happen to have some wire cutters in your truck? We could use another pair.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and hurried back outside.
He came back on the run, shed his coat, put on a pair of leather gloves and slipped into place around the table where the others were methodically cutting away the rusting barbs from George’s clothes and skin.
The others gave him a quick look and nodded, but they were too caught up in helping their friend to pay him much attention.
The pain on George’s face was as obvious as the tears on his cheeks.
Tildy pointed at the coils still wrapped around the man’s head and shoulders.
“We’ve figured ourselves out something of a system here. If you make a cut down close to the wire beneath him and then hang on to the wire that comes loose it will work better. Then cut off what you’re holding on to as far down as you can without making it worse. Lay what you cut away on that pile on the floor.”
He got what she meant and glanced down at the man. “I’m real sorry,” he said. “I’ll try not to hurt you.”
“You can’t do much worse than what I already done to myself,” George said. “It’s the last time I’ll ride a four-wheeler, I can tell you that for sure.”
Tildy paused to stretch a kink out of her neck, adding even more to the explanation.
“George was out hunting. Thought he was just riding through a brushy patch and didn’t know it was an old fencerow. The posts had rotted away, but the wire was still caught up in the underbrush. I’m guessing from the amount of wire we been cuttin’ off that it was a four-wire fence. He’s lucky it didn’t blind him or cut a major artery, and even more lucky that his son was following a short distance behind in the truck. His family tried to get it off, but there was some wrapped too tight against that big vein in his neck, so they brought him to me.”
