Jilted

by Varina Denman

  He shook his head. “There’s no way an animal could have dragged the bones that far. It’s miles away from the truck.”

  “Clyde.” She dragged his name out, grating on his nerves. “They said the body was wedged in a deep crevice and covered with rocks.”

  He frowned. “Well, it ain’t Hoby, then. He drove his truck off a cliff.”

  “You don’t understand.” Susan’s entire body shook from shoulders to knees, and her voice took on an annoying whine. “They’re saying Hoby may have been murdered.”

  A dull ringing in Clyde’s ears overpowered the sounds of the game. “Murdered?”

  “I think I should go to the sheriff. I think I should talk to him.”

  “What would you have to say to Hector?”

  She paced the length of the front bumper, her ankles wobbling in her high heels. “Hoby came back once,” she blurted. “Years ago. He showed up on our doorstep asking for Neil.” She stopped in front of Clyde again but kept her gaze on the windshield of the sedan. “They left the house together.”

  A knot formed in Clyde’s stomach, and he felt even more desperate to get back to Lynda. “Where did they go?”

  “Neil said he followed him into town, and they got a cup of coffee and talked.” Her hands fluttered again. “But Neil was gone for hours.”

  Clyde paused with his hand on the door handle. “Are you accusing Neil?”

  “I don’t know what to think. They don’t even know if that’s Hoby out there, so maybe I shouldn’t go to Hector. Neil’s already stressed, and I don’t know how much more he can take.” She nibbled a painted fingernail. “I’m afraid for him, Clyde.”

  He stared at her, disgusted and itching to get away where he wouldn’t have to listen to her self-centeredness, her ever-present tendency to look out for herself, her inability to see past the end of her nose. Susan may have grown stronger through the course of her marriage, but she would always have a selfish streak. Even while she accused her husband of murder, she couldn’t fathom that he might be a danger to someone else.

  “Susan?” Clyde opened the car door. “You should be afraid for all of us.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “Lyn? You here?”

  “In the kitchen.” And I didn’t have the strength to open the door for Clyde. He let himself in and followed my voice to where I sat at the kitchen table with my head resting on my arms. My life was spinning out of control, and I couldn’t catch my breath.

  He touched the middle of my spine.

  “Pam called.” I held up my cell phone, then let my hand fall back to the table. I sat up slowly. “What did you hear?”

  Clyde sat hesitantly in the chair catty-corner from me, and I remembered the last time he had sat there. The night I told him he was moving too fast. He glanced at the oven, and I wondered if he was thinking the same thing. Frozen pizza, ranch dressing, and our first kiss.

  “They found the rest of the skeleton,” he said, “and they’re testing it to see if it’s Hoby. From the sound of it, they’re assuming it’s him.” Clyde studied me. “Are you okay talking about this?”

  Of course not. I hated hearing Hoby’s name attached to such a gruesome conversation, but in the past week, I’d had so many gruesome conversations, it almost seemed routine. “I’m fine.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “I don’t understand why they can run DNA tests now, but they couldn’t on those other two bones. Do you think this is all just gossip?”

  “I heard they use the teeth.” My shoulders trembled as I thought of the small gap between Hoby’s front teeth, as well as the chip in his incisor from when he took a hard fall during a basketball game.

  Clyde stood and paced to the window above the sink, then back. “I can’t believe we’re even talking about this. It’s crazy.”

  “Maybe it’s not him.” I lifted my chin. “Everybody’s assuming it’s Hoby, but maybe it’s not. Maybe his body is still in the lake.” My imagination took me deep into the dirty lake water, where a pale body bumped and banged its way through the open windows of a wrecker. When the body swirled and turned in the wake of a fishing boat, the face smiled at me, with a gap between the front teeth. I shoved away from the table and lunged down the hall, barely making it to the bathroom before I vomited.

  Clyde was right. Things were crazy. For so many years, I was the only one thinking about Hoby, but now the entire town revolved around those missing years. I felt as though my life had derailed, but maybe finding the answers would help me make peace. After splashing cool water on my face and brushing my teeth, I opened the bathroom door and only paused in front of my bedroom for a few seconds. Lord, it would feel good to go in there, shut the door, and hide myself beneath the blankets, but if those bones belonged to Hoby, then this was the answer I had to face. For my sake, and Ruthie’s, and now Clyde’s. Hiding was no longer an option.

  I didn’t want to be that woman—the one who badgered herself with regrets and bitterness and shoved away the people who cared about her. No, I wanted to be the girl who climbed ten feet up the ladder inside a wind turbine, who started reading again for the first time since high school, who challenged an ex-convict to better himself and swore she would do the same. I wanted to be a healthy person who could live life, and I wanted to live it with Clyde Felton.

  In the meantime I needed to deal with these disgusting rumors. I returned to my seat in the kitchen, more hopeful and determined than I’d been when I left it.

  “I hope you don’t mind.” Clyde was standing next to the stove. “I’m making tea.”

  “Sure. Tea bags are in the cabinet to the left of the sink.”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry this thing is happening.”

  I didn’t answer.

  The water on the stove boiled, and Clyde dug out two tea bags, then held them by the paper tabs and dunked them up and down in the water. “I left the football game during the first quarter. We were down by six.”

  “Who told you about the bones?”

  He let the strings slip through his fingers. “Susan. She heard it up in the stands, and I reckon she figured I could use a heads-up.” He measured sugar into the pan and stirred it several times before he continued. “She thinks Neil might be involved in it.”

  “Involved how?” Neil hadn’t seen Hoby since before he left, and I didn’t see the connection.

  “She’s just speculating is all. Said he’s acting quirky. Feeling a lot of guilt.”

  “He deserves to feel guilty, but what is Susan speculating about?”

  He poured the tea into a pitcher, then looked at me. “Well, if they found the skeleton all the way up at Picnic Hollow, on the opposite end of the lake from the truck …”

  “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” And I was getting frustrated with him.

  “The bones were found in a shallow grave, Lyn.” He held the pitcher over the sink, then hesitated before saying, “For some reason, Susan thinks Neil may have had something to do with it.”

  Whatever normalcy remained in my imagination evaporated. “Seriously?”

  Clyde shoved the pitcher under the faucet and turned on the water. He left his back to me until the pitcher was full. “I reckon.”

  I picked at a speck of food stuck to the table. The gossip was already flowing, but I didn’t want to admit that Pam had mentioned the same possibility when she called. Even though I despised Neil, I couldn’t picture him killing someone. Especially Hoby. They had been friends once. We all had.

  Clyde dropped ice cubes into a glass, filled it with tea, and brought it to me. “You should drink.”

  The cool wetness felt good as it ran across my throat, cleansing my palate and quenching my thirst, but not coming close to washing away the filth that smeared my mood.

  A knock sounded at the front door, and when Clyde raised his eyebrows, I answered his u
nspoken question.

  “Probably Ruthie. I’ll get it.” I stepped across the living room and flipped on the porch light at the same time I opened the door, but then my stomach tightened.

  Neil leaned against the iron porch railing, leering at me through the screen door.

  “I figured the two of you would be holed up in that love nest up on the Cap.” He motioned to Clyde’s sedan at the curb. “Neither of you have enough sense to get out of town.”

  “I don’t—” I glanced over my shoulder as Clyde followed me to the door.

  “What can we do for you, Neil?” Clyde put his palm in the small of my back.

  “Just stopped by to make sure you were all right, what with the ruckus over at the stadium in Tahoka.” He peered down the street, and I expected him to loll his eyes lazily, but instead they skittered back and forth.

  “I was there less than an hour ago,” Clyde said. “Things seemed peaceful enough to me.”

  “Did you hear what the Rangers found?” His voice broke on the last word. “They think it’s the rest of Hoby’s body.”

  Suddenly I grew cold, but my head felt clearer than it had moments before. “They don’t know that for sure,” I said.

  “Oh, it’s Hoby, all right.” Neil’s lips drew back to show his teeth, but it seemed more like a grimace than a smile.

  “What makes you think so?” Clyde’s fingertips dug gently into my side.

  Neil backed away, lowering one foot to the second step. “The Rangers sent those teenage boys away as soon as they found the body. I heard there were details they didn’t want the Scouts to spread around.”

  I felt as if a housefly were buzzing around my head, and I had the overwhelming urge to slap it with a plastic swatter. Neil always tried to push my buttons, but if he thought he could rattle me this time, he was wrong. With a strength I didn’t feel, I snapped, “Why did you come here?”

  “To warn you.”

  “About what? So far you haven’t told us anything we didn’t already know.”

  “People are talking, Lynda, and they’re figuring things out. Before morning they’re going to know what you did.”

  Clyde’s fist gripped the doorframe.

  “What are you accusing me of?” I asked.

  “I’m not accusing you of a thing. I’m just saying I know Hoby was suicidal before he left—he was always weak like that—but the town never knew everything you did to drive him there.”

  His statement sounded like a rehearsed monologue. Empty.

  Clyde thrust the screen door open, and it slammed back against the house. “You should leave.” He towered over Neil, who seemed much smaller on the second step.

  I remembered Clyde’s explanation about his anger, and I put my hand solidly on the inside of his elbow and tugged. If Clyde couldn’t handle seeing a puppy get kicked, I had a feeling we were about to have an explosion.

  “Now, Lynda.” Neil looked past Clyde and shook his head. “You just lost one pitiful husband. Are you already working to get another one?”

  Clyde shook his head as though he thought Neil was the pitiful one, and I felt him yield slightly to my tugging.

  But then Neil clucked his tongue. “Well, loose women can’t attract anything else.”

  In one swift movement, Clyde shoved Neil backward down the steps, and Neil stumbled before falling hard on the front walk.

  “Don’t, Clyde!” I clung to his arm with both hands, but Clyde was already backing away. He lowered his head and rested a hand on the post, then took a deep breath.

  Neil scurried backward on all fours. “No!”—he raised his voice—“I didn’t do anything to you.” He stumbled to his feet. “Don’t hit me again!”

  I stepped onto the porch beside Clyde, wondering if Neil were having a nervous breakdown right here, right now, in my front yard. He had seemed tense before, but his behavior had just spiraled toward erratic.

  Neil clambered into his truck, but instead of driving away quickly, he lowered the window and pulled slowly past the neighbor’s house while he rubbed his neck.

  “Has he lost his mind?” I mumbled.

  The two of us stood on the porch, staring after the truck as it drove away, but suddenly Clyde made a guttural sound, almost like a growl. “Good God!” His arm caught me at the waist, and he guided me back in the house. Just as he slammed the door, I saw what he had seen.

  A news camera was pointed at us from behind the neighbor’s carport.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  By Saturday morning Clyde and I were on every local channel. Besides the clip of Hoby’s truck being pulled from the lake—a video they had aired every day for the past week—they now had footage of Clyde shoving Neil off my porch. Channel Eleven even ran exclusive coverage of me kissing Clyde just before the truck was pulled out of the lake … and fainting afterward.

  I recalled Neil’s suggestion that I move away from Trapp, and the idea now sounded blissful, even though it was clear he had hoped to make Clyde and me look guilty.

  “Can’t we just keep driving and not stop?” We were headed down Highway 84, and the hum of Clyde’s sedan soothed my nerves.

  He laughed lightly, but it didn’t sound like he thought anything was funny. “Might look bad, huh?”

  I nestled my chin in my hand, and my hair fell across one eye, causing me to feel half hidden, half exposed, half clothed, half naked. I peeked from behind the locks and stared at the windmills just coming into view. Today they were scarecrows stomping across the cotton fields, flailing their arms as we passed. Hundreds of pumpkins with thousands of arms spiraling endlessly day and night. Mocking me.

  My gaze landed on a slow-moving windmill whose arms needed oiling like the Tin Man. He moved slowly, trying to keep up, but was inevitably headed toward an early death. And far ahead, on the edge of the cliff, one windmill stood completely motionless, its rotors set at the wrong angle to catch the wind. The frozen structure appeared deformed compared to the rest, and I looked away from it, forcing my eyes to the machines that were still alive, still moving, still toiling on and on.

  After a few minutes, Clyde pulled over and killed the ignition, but he didn’t break the spell. He didn’t invade my time. He just sat with me. Without his saying so, I knew Clyde didn’t want me to fall back into depression. He didn’t want me to hole up in my house again, not for three days and not for three years. He had brought me out here to remind me of that, and his presence comforted me even though I felt like a fragile leaf blowing on a raging wind.

  “When’s the funeral?” he asked.

  At first his question confused me because they hadn’t even identified the body, but then the nightmare before this nightmare flashed across my mind, and I remembered Ansel was gone. “Tuesday.”

  “I guess Dixie’s closing the diner?”

  I nodded, but the mm-hmm I tried to add got stuck in my lungs.

  “You handling it all right?”

  “I’m not handling it at all.” My mind, my thoughts, my heart were all neatly distracted from the pain of Ansel’s death, held captive by a greater urgency. The fear of being accused, possibly even convicted, of something I didn’t do.

  I once heard about an infant picked up by a tornado and carried away, but when the storm blew over, that baby had been found in a bar ditch half a mile away, safely settled in a bed of knee-high johnsongrass. I felt like that baby. If everything happened just right, I might survive the chaos, but if one little thing went wrong, I might get slammed against a brick wall and die before the storm settled.

  Without turning toward me, Clyde reached out, and I took his hand.

  “Do you think they really suspect me of murder?” I asked softly, knowing the answer.

  “Depends on what evidence they have. No telling what the Rangers will find once they get the lab results back from Austin.”

  “It�
��ll be Hoby.” I gazed blankly at the arms of the turbines turning, turning, turning. Life was like that. Never ending. Always pulling something away from me. Always coming back around to slap me across the face. I squinted at Clyde. “I didn’t drive him to suicide like Neil said. He was coming back to talk to me. He was better, and we were going to work things out.”

  “Don’t you be thinking about anything Neil said. He’s half crazed right now.”

  I knew I shouldn’t think back over the conversation, but there was no way not to. Neil had seemed so nervous and desperate and—I chuckled—antsy. But there wasn’t anything to laugh about. Hoby might have been murdered, and Neil might have done it, but I looked the most guilty.

  Everything seemed so absurd. “Do you think he set up the camera crew at my house?”

  “I do, Lyn.”

  Leaning my head against the headrest, I suddenly recalled something Neil had said that seemed strange. “Why would he refer to your shack as a love nest? He said we should hide there.”

  When Clyde didn’t answer, I turned to look at him, but his gaze was focused on the rearview mirror. “Here comes Hector.”

  The highway patrol car pulled to a stop behind the sedan.

  “Maybe he thinks we’re stranded.” My words sounded unconvincing, even to me. “Right?”

  Clyde rolled down his window. “Hey there, Sheriff.”

  “Clyde.”

  I leaned across the seat. “Hector, what’s up?” I asked.

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions. Sort of off the record.”

  “Off the record?” I asked dumbly, as all feeling left my arms and legs.

  “The Rangers are starting to wonder about some things. They’ll probably bring you in for questioning Monday morning.” He looked up and down the highway. “But since I happened to bump into you, I can ask you a few questions of my own.”

  “Do you want us to meet you somewhere?” Clyde asked.

  “Lynda, would you mind riding with me?” Hector waited until I nodded. “And Clyde, can you meet us at my office?”