'Til Death (A Rebel Ridge Novel)

by Sharon Sala

  Meg put the cookie jar on the table and refilled coffee cups. “Molasses cookies. Made them yesterday. Help yourselves.”

  Quinn took out a couple while covertly eyeing the byplay between his sister and Lincoln Fox.

  “So, once you get all this mess cleared up, are you planning to stay or go back to Dallas?” Quinn asked.

  “I plan to rebuild at Grandpa’s place.”

  “You didn’t exactly answer my question,” Quinn said.

  “Quinn, mind your own business,” Meg muttered.

  “I just wanted to know where my sister was likely to wind up. If you move, we might actually miss her.”

  Meg rolled her eyes. “Oh, my God! Quinn! Stop talking! Put a cookie in your mouth and chew.”

  Linc grinned. “Don’t worry, the road between here and Dallas runs both ways. I can handle business from almost anywhere as long as I touch base now and then. I’ll make sure she doesn’t get homesick.”

  Quinn stuffed a whole cookie into his mouth and nodded. “Good to know,” he mumbled.

  Meg bopped the back of her brother’s head. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

  Linc grinned. Today just kept getting better.

  * * *

  Sheriff Marlow frowned as he hung up the phone. The one good idea he’d had in weeks, and he’d waited too long to act on it. He wouldn’t be talking to Bobby Lewis about anything, because Bobby Lewis was dead. He’d succumbed to cancer last night, and the warden had already notified the family. Hell of a deal. Now he would have to wait until after the funeral to talk to Claude and Jane to see if they had any notion of why Bobby and Prince had talked.

  He glanced at Lincoln Fox’s file, picked up one of the reports and began making notes. A few minutes later the door opened. When he saw the couple who walked in, he closed the file and stood up, struggling as to how to break the news to Meg Lewis that her ex was dead.

  “Have a seat, you two,” Marlow said. “Meg, I’m glad you’re here. I have something to tell you, and I’m not sure how you’re gonna feel.”

  Linc glanced at Meg and then took her hand.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I just talked to the warden at the prison where Bobby was housed. I’m sorry to tell you that he passed away last night. I was hoping to be able to talk to him, but that can’t happen now. I still want to talk to Claude and Jane, and see if they have any inkling of what was going on, but I won’t do that until after they bury their brother. Once again, it’s hurry up and wait.”

  Linc glanced nervously at Meg, unsure of how she was going to react.

  She frowned. “I’m sorry he’s dead, but I already knew that was inevitable. As for being sad that he’s gone, I’m way past that stage.”

  Marlow was relieved, and so was Linc. Both men settled deeper into their seats.

  “So how can I help you?” Marlow asked.

  Linc handed him the file Quinn had brought and once again explained his theory about the Whites’ windfall having something to do with his dad’s murder.

  Marlow listened politely but was frank about his opinion. “I think you’re reaching here, but I’m happy to look these over and give your idea some thought.”

  Meg leaned over and pulled out the robbery they’d been focusing on. “Take a look at this one,” she said. “The timing and the amount of money fit the scenario Linc was thinking about.”

  Marlow picked it up and scanned it, and then all of a sudden he looked up at Linc with shock on his face.

  “Son of a bitch!” He glanced at Meg. “Sorry, but I think you two have stumbled onto something.”

  Linc leaned forward. “Why? What did you see?”

  Marlow pointed at the spot where the tag number was mentioned. “I recently saw that very license tag.”

  Linc stood abruptly. “Where?”

  Marlow spoke before he thought. “In the barn on the Whites’ property...nailed onto the wall to cover up a hole.”

  Linc grabbed Meg’s hand. “We’re leaving now.”

  Marlow was on his feet. “Wait. Where are you going?”

  “To get Fagan. To make him talk.”

  “You’ll do no such thing!” Marlow said. “You leave this up to the law to handle.”

  Linc turned on him. “Like hell. The last time I left my life up to the law, I ended up in prison.”

  Marlow rolled his eyes. “Then wait, damn it. Let me get my deputy. I’ll let you, and only you, accompany us, but that’s it. Otherwise I’ll lock you up right now. Understand?”

  Linc strode back to where Marlow was standing, so furious he was struggling with the urge to punch the man. It was the same helpless, railroaded feeling he’d had when his grandfather had given him an ironclad alibi and the law had completely ignored it.

  It was Meg who calmed him down when she took him by the hand. “Linc, you want this done properly so the court can’t throw out anything Fagan might say because he claims he was coerced. Right?”

  Linc took a deep breath. When he spoke to Marlow, the threat was still in his voice.

  “If you don’t ask the right questions, I will. This is my life the law screwed up, not yours. Do you understand me?”

  “Fair enough. You can ride in the cruiser with Deputy Eddy and me. Meg, you drive his truck home. I’ll drop him off at your place when we’re done.”

  Meg gave Linc’s hand a quick squeeze. “Yes, I will. Okay, Linc?”

  He was still looking at Marlow as he dug out the car keys and handed them to her. “Drive careful.” Then he turned around and took her by the shoulders. “I’m sorry. I swear to God, once this is over, I will never lose my temper again.”

  She cupped the side of his face. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Linc. I don’t care how mad you get, as long as it’s not at me.”

  Ignoring the fact that Marlow was watching, he kissed her.

  “Like I said, drive careful.”

  “I will. See you soon.”

  She left the office, leaving Marlow and Linc alone.

  “I need to radio Eddy and have him come in,” the sheriff said.

  “Where is he?”

  “Gassing up the cruiser. Timely task, as it turns out, wouldn’t you say?”

  Linc shoved his hands in his pockets and started to pace, while Marlow had a conversation on the phone and then began digging through a file cabinet. Linc didn’t pay any attention to what the sheriff was doing and was still pacing when the deputy came in the back door.

  Marlow rolled a piece of paper out of his old typewriter and then stapled it to the others on the desk. “Let’s go,” he told the deputy. “I’ll fill you in on the way.”

  When Linc followed them, Eddy stopped. “Where’s he going?”

  “With us, and I’m driving.”

  Eddy handed him the keys.

  “We have to stop at Judge Early’s office to get this search warrant signed,” Marlow said.

  They buttoned up their coats and headed out. The day was clear, but the wind was sharp. A good day for rabbit hunting, Marlow thought, but it would be even better if they were able to take down a criminal instead.

  * * *

  Fagan White was on a mission. He was turning his grief over his brother’s untimely death into a motive for change. For the past twenty-four hours he’d been hauling crap out of the house and burning it in a fire pit in the bare ground out back. He’d cleaned out the old fireplace and had a fire going in it as he worked. Empty liquor bottles and beer cans were going into garbage bags to recycle down in Mount Sterling. He’d swept cobwebs down from ceilings that had been there so long they were crumbling. He cleaned the trophy heads mounted on the walls, then began sweeping dirt off the floors. After he’d dusted the entire house, including windowsills and blinds, the dogs were banned. As soon as he made the last trip out to the fire pit, he got down the mop and bucket and set to work.

  He seemed to remember his mama putting something in her mop water that made the house smell clean, but there wasn’t a
nything to hand but soap. It would have to do. He sloshed the sponge mop around in the bucket, squeezed out the excess water and got to work.

  The water was brown almost instantly, but he kept throwing it out and getting fresh as he mopped his way through the house until the floors were shiny and the rooms smelled like pine. That was when he realized it wasn’t anything Mama had put in the water to make it smell good. It was the raw pine floors themselves. He stood back, looking at the rooms with an air of satisfaction and eyeing the furniture. The cushions of the couch were worn down to the foam rubber padding, and the arms of the easy chair were coming apart. He thought for a minute, then got down two old quilts from the linen closet and draped one over the chair and the other over the sofa. The room looked better, but even more, Fagan felt better. When he got a little money he might get himself a new couch and chair, but for now, this would suffice.

  He started to sit down, then thought of the dogs he’d abandoned to the cold and sighed. It was hard being responsible. He grabbed his work coat and a pair of gloves, and headed out back to the dog run. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d put new straw in the doghouses, but there were a few bales left in the barn.

  A short while later he had all four doghouses filled with straw, and put bowls of food and fresh water inside the run. The dogs kept moving around him with their tails between their legs. It shamed him that he’d treated the dogs like Prince had treated him, but that wasn’t happening anymore. After a quick pat on their heads, he closed the gate to the pen and hurried back inside.

  The day had started out all sunny, but the sky was getting grayer. Only a couple of days before Thanksgiving and it felt like it was going to snow. If it did, it would be their second snow of the season, and it wasn’t even winter yet, which didn’t bode well for what lay ahead.

  He hurried back inside, carrying an armload of new wood with him, and set it down in a small pile beside the fireplace. When he hung up his coat, the scent of his clothes and body were the only offensive smells in the house. He took himself to the laundry, stripped off everything he was wearing and dumped in into the washer, along with some of the clothes piled against the wall, and started up the machine. He took clean sheets and pillowcases out of the dryer, and walked naked through the house to remake his bed.

  It felt weird to be taking a shower and washing his hair in the middle of the day, but he couldn’t stop at just cleaning the house. He felt an overwhelming need to clean himself inside and out, as well. By the time he was dry and dressed in clean clothes, he was starving.

  A quick glance out the window assured him that the fire in the fire pit was down to ashes. A thin wisp of smoke drifted up into the air and dissipated above the treetops. He turned on the television in the other room so he could hear it as he worked and began making himself a meal. After he started a pot of coffee, he opened a can of soup and put it on to heat, then cut some cheese off the block of cheddar to go with his crackers.

  He carried his food to the table, then sat down to eat, crumbling some crackers in his soup without thought and popping a hunk of cheese into his mouth as he waited for his soup to cool.

  As he sat, he thought about his brother’s body, floating somewhere in the Kentucky River, and wanted to cry. They’d been close when they were little. It was only after they got older that Prince changed. He hung out more with Wendell and turned mean. Fagan never had understood how a person could change that radically and wondered if Prince had always been that way, and if he himself had been too little and timid to understand.

  He worried some about how he would pay for the funeral when they finally found Prince and hoped Lucy would be willing to chip in. They didn’t have to like each other, but when it came to dying, blood was blood and family had to do their part.

  He was washing up his dishes when he heard the dogs begin to bark. He turned off the water and was drying his hands as he headed to the living room. When he peeked out the window he saw the sheriff’s car and his heart dropped. They must have found Prince’s body. Oh Lord, he hoped they didn’t make him identify it. He didn’t want to remember Prince that way.

  When he heard their footsteps on the porch he opened the door, then nearly slammed it in their faces. It took everything he had not to cut and run when he saw Lincoln Fox coming up behind the sheriff and his deputy.

  “What’s he doing here?” Fagan asked.

  “Can we come in?” Marlow asked.

  Fagan stepped aside, keeping a watchful eye on Fox as the men came into the house.

  Marlow and Eddy had been in this house not too long ago and were stunned at the change. They glanced at each other and rolled their eyes, but didn’t comment.

  “I reckon y’all can take a seat,” Fagan said, but Lincoln Fox didn’t sit down when the others did. He was standing between the sofa and the door, like he was blocking the exit. It made Fagan nervous all over again. He glanced up at Fox and then quickly looked away.

  “We need to talk,” Marlow said.

  Tears began to roll down Fagan’s face. “Did you find Prince? Did you find his body?”

  Marlow frowned. “No, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to lead you on about that. As far as I know they’re still looking.”

  Fagan covered his face, ashamed to be crying in front of them, but he couldn’t stop.

  “Last time I saw him, we had a fight. I made him leave the house ’cause he’s nothing but trouble.”

  Lincoln kept moving from one window to the other, then back again, wanting to take control of the conversation and get it over with.

  Marlow could hear him pacing the floor and knew it was just a matter of time until he lost it. He pulled the search warrant out of his pocket and handed it to Fagan.

  “Fagan, this here is a search warrant. It gives us the right to search the premises, including all the outbuildings.”

  Linc was watching Fagan’s face. The man didn’t look perturbed in any way. Maybe he thought too many years had passed for him to worry, and maybe he’d been nothing more than a bystander to other people’s crimes. Still, he must have known, and he had chosen to say nothing. In Lincoln’s book, whether you did the killing or watched it being done, it didn’t change the guilt factor.

  “Okay,” Fagan said. “I don’t mind. If you tell me what you’re lookin’ for, I might be able to help you find it sooner. I been cleaning up a bit around here, and I sure would hate to have it messed up all over again.”

  “We noticed,” Deputy Eddy said. “It’s nice.”

  Fagan smiled. “Like Mama used to keep it.”

  Marlow took advantage of the fortuitous opportunity. “Speaking of your mama, God rest her soul...remember back to the time when the bank was gonna take your place? When the foreclosure notice had already been served?”

  Fagan nodded. “Lord, yes. Mama cried for days. We were all just sick about it. We didn’t know what to do.”

  Marlow leaned forward. “So how did you come by all the money to pay off the bank so suddenly?”

  Fagan never blinked. “Wendell and Prince. They left one day and came back the next with it. Told Mama they’d gone to Louisiana and won it gambling.”

  “Like hell,” Linc said.

  That made Fagan nervous. He stood abruptly, fairly certain that if he confronted Fox the sheriff wouldn’t let anything happen. “Damn it, Fox, either sit down or be still. You’re getting on my nerves.”

  And just like that, Lincoln was in his face. “How did Wendell and Prince come by that money? And don’t give us any bullshit about gambling. Marlow didn’t ask what lie they told your mama. He asked where they got it.”

  Fagan blinked. He looked to Marlow, and it appeared he wasn’t buying the story, either, so he sat back down and tried another one.

  “I know they stole it. But I don’t know where from.”

  Marlow frowned at Lincoln, but he wasn’t backing down, so the sheriff sighed and motioned to his deputy. “Roger...go out back, get the evidence. Take pictures before you remove i
t. Bag everything else that looks interesting, too, and bring it all back inside.”

  “Yes, sir,” Eddy said, and left the house.

  Fagan stood up. “Where’s he going?”

  “To the barn to get the evidence nailed to the wall that proves your brothers robbed a Lexington bank over eighteen years ago.”

  Fagan frowned. “What evidence?”

  “The license tag nailed on the barn wall matches the tag number of the car the thieves were driving when they made their getaway.”

  Fagan sat down with a flop. All of a sudden he was wondering if he’d begun these changes in his life a little too late to make a difference.

  “I didn’t know that,” he muttered, and combed his hands through his hair in frustration.

  “It’s hell being the only one alive to take the blame, isn’t it?” Linc said.

  Fagan gasped. “But I didn’t do it!”

  “Yeah, neither did I, but it didn’t stop a jury from sending me to prison,” Linc snapped.

  Fagan moaned.

  “You’ll need an alibi,” Marlow said. “Where were you on April twelfth that year?”

  “Well, hell! I don’t remember!” Fagan cried. “Everyone’s gone now except me and Lucy, and she’s pissed off at me and wouldn’t tell the truth if it kept me from hanging.”

  Lincoln frowned. “Why is Lucy mad at you?”

  Fagan glared. “You started it by going to her house and threatening her,” he said.

  Linc smiled, and it made Fagan more nervous than the man’s anger had done.

  “I didn’t threaten her. Is that what she called it? I just told her why I’d come back and asked her if she’d been fucking Uncle Wes while she was still married to Dad.”

  Breath caught in the back of Fagan’s throat. He’d opened up a conversation he didn’t want to have by mentioning his sister’s name. Now how did he get out of it?

  “I don’t know anything about her love life,” he muttered.

  “But you knew your brothers stole the money that paid off your place,” Marlow said.

  Fagan shrugged.

  “Who else knew about the theft?” Lincoln asked.