'Til Death (A Rebel Ridge Novel)

by Sharon Sala

  “I want to talk to Wes Duggan.”

  The lack of a smile and the curt tone of Lincoln’s voice told the salesman this man was pissed about something.

  “Uh, yeah, right. Let me see if he’s got a minute, okay? Just have a seat over there and I’ll—”

  “I’ll wait here.”

  Collins wasn’t going to argue with someone who made two of him. He turned on his heel and headed for the boss’s office.

  Linc watched the salesman knock and then step inside. He saw him gesturing, saw Duggan look up, then through the glass at him. It wasn’t surprising that Duggan didn’t recognize him. He was as far removed from that scared seventeen-year-old boy as a man could be. So much the better. Shock value was priceless.

  Linc didn’t wait for permission. He just started walking. When he got to the office he opened the door, then caught the salesman’s eye.

  “Get out.”

  All of a sudden Duggan was on his feet. “I don’t know who you are, but you can’t come in here and talk to my employee like that.”

  Linc smiled, but it never reached his eyes. “Why, what’s the matter, Uncle Wesley? Don’t you recognize me?”

  Wes Duggan gasped. His legs went out from under him as he sat down in the chair with a thump. Still trying to maintain control, he cleared his throat and then waved the salesman away.

  “It’s okay, Kevin. You can go.”

  Collins was still uneasy. “Are you sure? Do you want me to call the police?”

  Linc’s eyes narrowed warningly. “Yeah, how about that, Uncle Wes? Do you want him to call the police?”

  All the color washed out of Wes’s face. “No, no, that won’t be necessary.”

  Linc shut the door as Collins slipped out, then turned to face the pasty-faced man on the other side of the desk and waited for him to make the first move.

  Wes was still trying to get a grip as he started a conversation.

  “I will say, I would never have recognized you, Lincoln. You’ve grown into quite a large man.”

  “Bigger than Dad,” Linc said softly.

  Wes nodded. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing toward a chair.

  “No, thanks. I won’t be here long.”

  Wes’s heart was pounding. “I had no idea you were back. Are you here for a visit, or—”

  “I moved back to the homestead. Come spring, I’ll rebuild.”

  Sweat was popping out on Wes’s forehead even though it was almost chilly in the large building.

  “That’s great news. What finally brought you back? I hope Aunt Tildy’s all right? I’ve pretty much lost touch with everyone on Rebel Ridge since—”

  “Since you tucked my ass so neatly into prison and walked away with Dad’s wife?”

  Wes shivered. “It’s not like you think.”

  “You don’t know what I think,” Linc said.

  “You’re right, I don’t. But I hope you don’t hold a grudge against me for—”

  “Lying on the stand? Actually, I do. As a matter of fact, it’s a real big grudge, and part of why I came back. I came back to clear my name. I am doing my own investigation into Dad’s murder. And since you were one of the prime reasons I was convicted, and we both know it was because you lied, you can consider this meeting your first interrogation.”

  Wes reached for the cup of coffee sitting near the phone, but his hand was shaking too hard to hold it, so he gave up and dropped his hand back in his lap.

  “I didn’t lie.”

  Linc braced both hands on the desk as he leaned down, and as he did, he caught a glimpse of the Duggans’ home address on a bill lying on the desk.

  “Yes, you did,” he said. “You said my dad and I didn’t get along, which was the biggest damned lie I ever heard. I worshipped the ground he walked on, and you knew it. What I want to know is, why did you lie? Who were you protecting?”

  Wes gasped. “No, no, that’s not... I mean...I knew you and your dad had disagreed about your relationship with that Walker girl and—”

  “That’s another damn lie. My relationship with ‘that Walker girl’ had been going on for three years. Dad loved her. If he’d been going to object to our going out, he would have done it when we were way younger, not when we were about to graduate.”

  Sweat was emerging from Wes’s sparse hairline and running down his forehead. He mopped his face with a handkerchief, then got up and began to pace.

  “No, Linc, that’s not true. You were fighting. He told me—”

  “No. Dad didn’t tell you anything, because there was nothing to tell. That’s how I know you lied. Again, who the hell were you protecting?”

  Wes shook his head, too rattled to think.

  “Since you can’t find the balls to tell me the truth about that, I’m guessing you won’t have the balls to tell me the truth about my last question, either, but I came all this way, so I have to ask. Were you sleeping with your best friend’s wife before he was murdered?”

  Wes’s face turned red, then white, then red again. Linc was wondering if the man was about to drop dead in front of him when Wes finally got his wits about him and pointed to the door.

  “Get out,” Wes said, wincing noticeably because his voice was more squeak than censure.

  Linc’s eyes narrowed angrily. “That’s answer enough for me. And know you’ve been forewarned. I was convicted on the lies you and Lucy told. Damn the both of you to hell and back. You killed the boy I was and destroyed the future I could have had. I will find out who really killed Dad, and if you’re mixed up in it, I will do the same to yours.”

  He turned away. Behind him, Wes Duggan reeled as if he’d been sucker punched, watching as Linc strode out of the office, letting the door slam as he went.

  A few minutes later Linc merged back into traffic with one more stop on his mind. Now that he’d seen the address where Wes lived, it would be downright rude not to pay his respects to his ex-stepmother—just to see what happened.

  * * *

  Lucy Duggan unplugged her curling iron, then leaned toward the mirror and smiled widely, checking to make sure there was no lipstick on her teeth. They gleamed as pure a white as money could buy. She patted her hair, making sure every curl was in place, and eyed the lilac-colored sweater and cream-colored slacks she was wearing to make sure there were no snags or lint that didn’t belong. Then she smiled. As Wes would say, she had her war paint on and looked good enough to eat.

  She glanced at her watch. Quarter to eleven. She was on her way to meet her girlfriends for lunch. They’d recently discovered this charming little Asian fusion place on the other side of town, and now everyone was talking about it. Being a trend starter was what she lived for. She stepped into lilac-colored Louboutins and began digging through her handbag for the car keys.

  She was getting her coat out of the closet when the doorbell rang. She glanced at her watch again and frowned. Just enough time to get rid of whoever it was and make her date.

  The doorbell rang again. The click-click sound of her four-inch heels marked the length of her stride.

  “I’m coming, damn it.”

  When she opened the door to find one seriously huge but good-looking hunk on her doorstep, her aggravation shifted as she flashed him a quick smile.

  “Yes? How may I help you?”

  “You could ask me to come in. It’s cold out here,” Linc said.

  A little taken aback by the familiarity, her mood shifted to caution. “I’m sorry I—”

  “Come on now, Lucy. Surely you haven’t forgotten the stepson you used to tuck into bed at night?”

  “Oh, my God!”

  She gasped and staggered backward, hung the toe of her right shoe behind the heel of her left and fell flat on her butt.

  Linc followed her inside, shut the door and grabbed her by the arm.

  “Upsy-daisy,” he said as he yanked her upright.

  Lucy was shaking so hard she couldn’t think. She wanted to tell him to get out, but he’d just helped her
up, and she was still struggling between manners and shock.

  “I...uh...”

  “I would have appreciated a simple ‘I’m sorry.’ You didn’t have to fall at my feet,” Linc drawled.

  Lucy’s eyes narrowed as she took in the size of the man in front of her and tried to see the boy she’d known. It was impossible. He looked a little like Marcus, but better—and bigger, much bigger.

  She lifted her chin. “I have nothing to apologize for, and I’d like for you to leave.”

  “Actually, yes, you do, Lucy. You lied, and your lie got me sent to prison. I thought it only fair to warn you and your husband that I’ve come back to find out who killed Dad.”

  Breath caught in the back of her throat. “That’s ridiculous. You were convicted, sentenced and did the time.”

  “But I didn’t do the crime,” he said softly. “Someone on Rebel Ridge got away with murder, and I came back to clear my name.” He took a step forward. “Why did you lie about me?”

  “I did not—”

  “Shut up, Lucy. I’m not a scared seventeen-year-old kid this time around. You did lie. What I want to know is, why? Who were you protecting?”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Hmm, I can see we’re getting nowhere with this question. So I have another. How long had you and Uncle Wes been screwing around before Dad was murdered?”

  It felt as if he’d just punched her in the stomach. It took a few seconds for her to realize they’d only been words. Then it took her another few moments to regain her senses.

  “Get out!” She doubled up her fist and screamed, “How dare you come back here and accuse me of—”

  Linc took another step forward.

  She choked in the middle of the word. She wanted to defy him. She couldn’t let him walk out of here thinking he’d had the last word, but all she could think was how fast a carefully structured world could fall.

  He pointed a finger in her face. “When you close your eyes at night, think of what you did. With every waking hour of your existence, think of me digging up the secrets you thought you’d buried for good...turning over the rocks of respectability you and Wes have been hiding under. The law on Rebel Ridge already knows I’m back and why...and soon so will everyone who lives there.”

  Her voice was shaking, but from a blind fury she couldn’t express.

  “I want you to leave.”

  Linc stared her down. “No problem. I’ve said all I came to say.”

  He turned his back on her and left as abruptly as he’d come in, leaving the door wide-open behind him, inviting the cold air to enter at will.

  The air was so cold, Lucy thought. All she had to do was take six steps and close the door, but her feet wouldn’t move. As he was getting in his truck and driving away, the heat went out and the cold came in. She was afraid to move, to lose sight of him for fear he would sneak up on her again when she wasn’t looking. She watched the truck grow smaller the farther he drove, and the farther he drove, the colder the room became. When he finally turned the corner and disappeared, she jerked as if she’d been slapped, then leaped forward and slammed the door.

  Her chest felt tight, her breath coming in short, painful gasps as if she’d been running, and then she slowly turned around, gazing at every piece of fine art on their walls and the high-end furniture the interior decorator had placed so carefully to show the rooms to their best advantage. She looked down at her clothing, running her palms against the cashmere sweater and then down further to the lilac Louboutins she’d chosen with such pride. They cost more than her father had ever made in a single year. She’d spent too many years climbing out of that hell they called poverty to go back without a fight.

  Lunch was off. She had a war to plan and soldiers to recruit. She picked her purse up off the floor where she’d dropped it, then headed for her room at a fast clip, with those same high heels still marking the cadence. She traded the heels for a pair of flats, then turned to her first order of business: canceling lunch.

  She thought about calling Wes, but this wasn’t something she could discuss over the phone. That left her with only one more call to make. It was time to phone home. But first she needed a drink.

  Twelve

  Fagan watched his last customer driving away and smiled as he pocketed the money. Nearly a kilo of weed, and it was good stuff. He knew the guy would cut it and make a bigger profit, but Fagan was comfortable where he was at. It was far less dangerous to be a marijuana grower and sell to the dealers who peddled it than to be on the streets dodging cops and getting screwed over by potheads trying to score with no dough. With this sale and the other two he’d made in the past week, he had a little over three thousand dollars in the house. The rub was that the White brothers didn’t do banks, and having money in the house and a brother who would have no qualms in taking it posed a problem. He needed to hide the bigger part of it, but where?

  He walked through the house a couple of times, looking for a place that would be off Prince’s radar. And then it hit him. Prince never cooked.

  Fagan headed for the kitchen, dug an empty coffee can out of the trash, counted out all but three hundred dollars into the can, then started pulling out pots and pans beneath the counter. When he came to an old enamel pan his mother had used to cook down her collard greens, he poked the can inside, stacked a couple of pans on top of it and shoved it as far back as it would go.

  He pocketed what was left of the money and went to get his car keys. Like it or not, he needed some food in the house. If he got snowed in again before he made a trip to the grocery store he would be out in the woods trying to hunt down something to eat, and he was a lousy shot.

  He picked up his phone, checking to see if Prince had returned his call, but he had not. He was so disgusted. How the hell did Prince expect to learn what was going on if he chose to drop off the face of the earth every time it suited him? Just as he pocketed the phone, it rang.

  “About time,” he muttered as he pulled it back out and answered. “Hello.”

  “Hello. Fagan, is that you? It’s me, Lucy.”

  Fagan was dumbstruck. His sister hadn’t called home since their mama died, which had been a good many years ago.

  “Yes, it’s me, and you would have known it if you’d ever called here before. What do you want?”

  “Where is Prince?”

  “No idea. I tried to call him last night, but he didn’t return the call, why? What’s wrong?”

  She laughed, and the hair stood up on the back of his neck. She was pissed about something for sure.

  “What’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong. Lincoln Fox was just at my house, threatening me. He said he came back to Rebel Ridge to clear his name. He’s about to start digging into things that need to stay buried, if you know what I mean.”

  “I know exactly what you mean, but don’t expect me to get involved,” he snapped.

  “You’re involved by blood, you idiot, so don’t go playing all innocent with me. Here’s what I want you to...”

  Fagan felt sick to his stomach. Why did he have to be born into such a crazy-ass family? Lucy was still talking when he hung up. He didn’t want to hear another word. He just grabbed his car keys and headed out the door.

  * * *

  Lucy was in the kitchen screaming into the phone as the dial tone buzzed in her ear, calling her brother every filthy word she’d ever heard. She didn’t know her husband had just walked in the door.

  Wes was already in a panic about Lincoln’s reappearance and what he had said. He had come home to reassure himself that he had not been duped by the woman he loved, but when he heard her tirade, he stopped, listening to the filth spilling out of her mouth. His shoulders slumped as he closed his eyes. No matter how much money they had and how fancy their clothes, they were never going to live down their upbringing. It was the sound of breaking glass that got his attention. He headed for the kitchen.

  “What the hell’s going on in here?” he shouted.

&nb
sp; Lucy spun to face him. Her hair was awry, her eyes swollen from crying. And she was drunk. Again.

  He already felt defeated. “We need to talk.”

  Her head went back and her chin came up. “I don’t like your tone.”

  “And I don’t like to come home and find my wife throwing dishes and screaming like a madwoman. Who the fuck were you yelling at?”

  She threw her hands up in the air. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters,” she muttered, and headed for the whiskey bottle on the counter.

  He cut her off. “No more booze.”

  She spun and slapped him, then gasped. She knew the moment she’d done it that it was a mistake.

  “I’m sorry, Wes. I didn’t—”

  He jammed his finger against her breast, punctuating every word with a jab.

  “I had a visitor at work today, and from the way you’re behaving, I’d say you had the same one.”

  She was shaking. “Lincoln Fox pushed his way into my house and threatened me.”

  “He was at the dealership, as well. What I want to know is, who were you screaming at when I came in?”

  She blinked. “What does that matter? I’m telling you that Lincoln—”

  “He thinks I lied on the stand.”

  “I need a drink,” she mumbled.

  Wes grabbed her by the shoulders. “Why would he say I lied? He and Marcus were fighting, right?”

  “Let me go. How dare you treat me like this?”

  The knot in Wes’s gut grew tighter. “You answer me, damn it! He and Marcus were fighting. Right?”

  Lucy wouldn’t look at him. “Yes, of course. I said it, didn’t I?”

  He shook her. “Look at me!”

  “You’re hurting me!” she screamed, and slapped him again.

  He picked her up, dragged her kicking and screaming into the living room, and slammed her down on the sofa so hard her shoes came off. The silence that ensued was frightening for both of them.

  Lucy was losing control, and Wes was losing his wife, and they both knew it was happening.

  “Did you lie to me?” he asked.

  Lucy covered her face and started to weep.

  “Son of a holy bitch,” he whispered, and walked out of the room.