Southern Comfort

by ANDREA SMITH

  Copyright © 2016 All rights reserved.

  Meatball Taster Publishing, LLC

  If you electronically downloaded this book for free from a pirate website, that is theft. And while you might justify it by saying, “Everyone does it,” or “Catch me if you can,” let me leave you with this: Karma’s a Bitch, and I’m a bigger one.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the authors.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except as permitted, under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior express, written consent of the authors.

  Violation of copyright, by domestic or foreign entities, is punishable by law, which may include imprisonment, a fine, or both.

  This book is intended for mature audiences only.

  Editor: Ashley Blaschak Stout

  Formatted by: Erik Gevers

  Cover Design: Cover Crush Designs

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  From the Author

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to every single person reading it!

  From the Author

  This book took me longer to write than any of my other sixteen published novels. I think there are a couple of reasons for that.

  First of all, it’s not my usual as I’ve tried to make clear pre-release. There are no alpha bad-boys, smokin’ hot FBI agents, college jocks, femme fatales, or virgins anxiously awaiting their de-flowering by the aforementioned males.

  No, this is not that kind of story at all.

  But then again, I’ve never aspired to writing cookie-cutter fiction; and I’ve never desired to be a ‘One Trick Pony,’ in this business. There are so many fascinating genres for fiction, and I’m determined not to be locked into just one or two.

  Secondly, this work of fiction is loosely based on actual events that occurred in the 1950’s actually. So, I took a bit of that story, fictionalized much of it, and brought it into a more modern time period that was more relatable.

  This is a dark suspense novel. There is some sexual content, because it is vital to the plot, but not in the way you’re used to seeing in my books. My beta and ARC readers thus far have been pleased with the pace, and the plotline has held their interest.

  The characters?

  Well, some you will like, some you will love, and a couple you will want to reach into your Kindle and throttle them, I assure you. But that is how it was intended.

  So, I hope you enjoy the suspense. And I look forward to hearing your thoughts—good or bad—on Southern Comfort.

  Prologue

  Growing up in central Alabama had its perks believe it or not. Especially if you lived in rural Alabama, better known as the “sticks.”

  Oh, I knew that most teenage girls wouldn’t feel that way, in particular if they were used to city life, whether big or small. I can tell you they might feel differently if they’d lived the first seventeen years of their lives in Layton, Alabama like me.

  I was the second child born to my mother and husband number two. My older brother, Jamie, had done the smart thing and joined the military as soon as he hit eighteen. That had been my plan as well, only things happened before I turned eighteen that changed everything. Layton, like all towns, had its secrets. For only having a population of eleven thousand, the secrets per capita were astronomical.

  But don’t go looking for Layton, Alabama on some map because you won’t find it. You see, it actually doesn’t exist.

  Well, it exists.

  It just doesn’t exist under that particular name. Yeah, I changed the name of the small rural town where I lived for the first seventeen years of my life in order to protect…the guilty.

  And let me tell you, once you have read my story you’ll understand that for yourself. In the interest of honesty, I admit that I was no angel, but who at seventeen was? I considered myself average behavior-wise. I was no goody two-shoes, but I also wasn’t a total rebellious chick by any means.

  I didn’t put on false airs, or try to come off as some holier than thou person, unlike my thrice married mama. She thought she had everyone fooled. Married to husband number three, which happened to be one of the local preachers, had done a lot to repair her reputation in the community. That was one of the nice things about living in Layton. Folks there were more than happy to forgive, once you aired your dirty laundry for all to see.

  And they loved Preacher Dawson. At least, they loved the man they saw every Sunday in the pulpit; the man of cloth that presented himself as a God-fearing instrument of the Almighty. The man that cleansed the souls of the young and the old down on the banks of the Tahatchapee River once a month when baptisms were conducted. The man that led the prayer at the monthly church picnics.

  But that’s not really who he was; it was only who he pretended to be. If the people in this sleepy southern town knew the real man beneath his black garb and wide-brimmed preacher’s hat, they most surely would have locked their doors at night and changed their religious denomination.

  No one believed that I would ever return to Layton after the scandal that had erupted nearly a year ago. At least my reckless naiveté taught me how to tough it out in order to survive, negotiate with evil when I had to, and learn to shrug off the ugliness and not let it become a part of me. I had no choice if I were to survive.

  My mother had simply turned a blind eye to it all. She thought she was playing it safe, being the loyal and supportive preacher’s wife. In Avery Dawson, she felt she had met her one true love. Unlike husbands one and two, Avery was not only ambrosia for her he
art, he was also manna for her soul. Yeah, Mama’s thing had always been taking the path of least resistance, even if it meant enduring the unthinkable, which eventually she would because of Avery Dawson and his pernicious soul.

  My brother was smart to get the hell out of Layton after Avery came into our lives. Me, on the other hand, I reacted the only way I knew how at sixteen. I lived on the edge, occasionally pushing my limits at home and at school. Life for me had become about avoiding my home life once Avery became part of it. My mama might have been inclined to turn a blind eye to his evil, but I wasn’t allowed that luxury once the truth hit me square in the face.

  My story is about when they did. About when the truth about Avery Dawson came to light with his congregation witnessing the proof of his evil ways. Sure, I had helped with exposing him for the hypocrite that he was, but how could I have known how far Avery would go in his duplicitous ways? Even my own mother had betrayed me, spreading lies and turning the town against me so that Avery would continue to be held in high esteem.

  Her own damn daughter.

  And now I have some unfinished business back in Layton, Alabama. I’m eighteen and the year I’ve spent away has given me the courage to find out the truth about myself and, in doing so, I found out so much more. Maybe I did flee in shame a year ago, but I’ve learned a lot since then and the truth, however unpalatable it might be, has given me the raw courage and determination to set the record straight.

  I think it’s about time that I show my face again, and deal with the people I left in my wake. The people that claim to be Born Again Christians in one breath, and in the next pointing accusatory fingers at those who are innocent, and deny the truth when it smacks them in the face.

  In Layton, they are big on forgiveness. But the thing is? I’m not looking for forgiveness. All I want is vindication.

  Chapter 1

  Eighteen months earlier…

  Summer of 1979

  The sun had left the sky as the blue Mercury Marquis pulled into the winding drive leading up to the ticket booth. The car slowed as it took its place in line. The radio was blasting the newest Rolling Stones tune and I watched as Gina expertly lit her cigarette with one hand while she rolled her window down with the other.

  In the back seat, Rene and Robin were still arguing as to whose turn it was to pay for their tickets into the drive-in movie. It was a “twin thing,” I had learned, and it was best not to get into the middle of it.

  Gina coasted up to the ticket window, and flashed her sweetest smile to the cashier. He was wearing a gold shirt, and a small black bow tie. There was a plastic nametag pinned on the pocket of his shirt. Jerry. He was probably in college, working at the drive-in for the summer to help with his tuition. He didn’t appear too impressed with Gina’s smile and glanced surreptitiously into the car for a quick scan of the occupants.

  “Sorry, girls. No can do. The movies are rated “X” and that means eighteen years of age or older.”

  Gina took a slow, long drag off of her cigarette, French inhaling, and gave him a flirtatious smile. “Aww, c’mon Jerry. I’m eighteen, see?” she replied, flipping out her driver’s license to show him.

  “What about the rest of you?” he asked, peering back inside of the car. Got I.D.’s?

  “Aww, come on now, sugar. We won’t tell if you won’t.” Her New Jersey accent was endearing to us Southerners, and I was always amazed at how worldly it made her sound.

  She had moved back from Hoboken a few years ago after her parents had split. She still went back every summer to spend a month with her dad. This was her first week back.

  “I’m sorry,” Jerry responded, irritation mounting, “but rules are rules. Now you need to turn the vehicle around on the right and head out so the cars behind you can get in.”

  Gina, not one to give up, stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray, making sure that her candy-red nails remained ashless. She turned her full attention to Jerry. She leaned out the window, allowing him clear view of her ample cleavage from his vantage point. The white halter top she was wearing showed off her beautifully tanned skin, and accentuated her dark brown eyes. Her eyebrows, always perfectly plucked in a Scarlet O’Hara arch, now moved into a slight frown.

  “But Jerry,” she cooed, “what we got here are four girls on a Saturday night, just looking to see a movie. Now you’re not going to spoil our night out by being some stickler, are you?”

  Gina reached into her halter top and pulled out a wad of bills. “Hey, I bet you could use a nice tip for the great job you do, how about it?”

  Jerry was now flustered, but his eyes widened nonetheless. I wasn’t sure if that was because he got a nice glimpse of Gina’s boobs or if he was impressed with the wad of cash she pulled out. Gina rifled through the bills with one long, red fingernail, and I saw at least four ten dollar bills flash by before she stopped and pulled them out, folded them over and then stuck them in Jerry’s front pocket with a wink.

  “There ya go, doll,” she purred flirtatiously.

  Jerry wasn’t sure what to think. Neither was I. He finally stepped back to the booth and returned with four tickets, handing them through the window to Gina.

  “Thanks, doll,” she giggled, and the car lurched forward.

  “Geez, when did you get rich? I asked.

  “My dad, Sunny, ya know how it is. The parents, they’re all like guilty when they split for the rest of their lives apparently.”

  No, I didn’t know. The truth was, I hadn’t seen my father since Mama divorced him years ago. He lived in Chicago now. Mama said he had a new wife. The most he did was to pay child support. My brother had a different dad. I can’t recall him being a part of his life, either. I suppose whenever Mama cut a husband loose, they made tracks fast.

  “Hey Sunny!” Rene shouted from the back seat over the music. “Are you still going with me to pick out something to wear to Randy’s party?”

  I turned my attention to the back seat while Gina searched up and down the various rows for the best space to park. Robin and Rene Marshall were twins, and while they shared identical features, their tastes in boys, clothes, and music were worlds apart. This was why either one of them always asked either Gina or myself to help with those decisions. Randy was Rene’s steady boyfriend. He would be turning eighteen the week before we started our senior year of high school.

  “I can,” I replied, “as long as it’s after work.”

  I worked a part-time summer job at the local Tastee-Freez. I did it for the money and to get out of the house as much as possible. My friends considered it a burden for them. They couldn’t fathom any teenager wanting to work during the summer. But I actually enjoyed the work and having my own money. That was the only way I would have any spending money since Mama didn’t believe in giving an allowance. Well, I think she did, but since she’d remarried, I noticed things she used to do for fun and for me disappeared, little by little.

  “Well, how late are you working Monday? I want to get something before the stores all put their winter clothes out, ya know?”

  “I’m off at three,” I replied.

  “Good.” Rene was pleased. “I’ll pick you up at three then.”

  “What about you, Robin?” I asked. “Are you coming with us?”

  “No fucking way,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “She drives me nuts with her shopping. The dance is lame. I’ve got other plans for that night.”

  “Better hope the parents don’t find out,” Rene chided. I was sure I’d hear all about Robin’s plans while shopping. Those two were certainly a trip. Both were blonde, blue-eyed, and petite. In my world that was the whole package.

  As for me, I was considered average height at 5’6” and my friends claimed they envied my build, but really, I didn’t give a shit about that stuff. I considered myself average on all fronts. But, at almost seventeen, my goal was to surpass average on some level or another.

  My height was average, my build was average, my looks were average, and my intelli
gence was average. Perhaps my life was destined for mediocrity.

  My mother’s vanity was enough for the both of us. She loved when people at church commented that we looked like sisters instead of mother and daughter. She had my older brother when she was just eighteen, and I came along three years later. At thirty-eight she took pains to make sure every hair was in place, and every nail was painted perfectly.

  She borrowed my makeup and clothes, which, as a preacher’s wife, I found to be a bit…unconventional, if not objectionable, although Avery didn’t seem to object as long as she presented herself more conservatively when she attended church services.

  Preacher or not, a man was a man. No matter what their vocation, they all wanted a pretty woman on their arm. That’s what Mama said anyway. And a woman’s job was to make sure to please her man or else he’d stray. She wasn’t about to let that happen with the best ‘catch’ of Compton County. They had only been married for a year and my eighteenth birthday wouldn’t get here soon enough. But first I had to hit my seventeenth birthday.

  “I love your eyes,” Gina said out of the blue ones glancing over at me. It was almost as if she’d been tuned into my thoughts. “They’re such a fucking pretty shade of blue. They’re like blue ice…ya know? Like a Siberian Husky. I hate my eyes. I’m just so average.”

  See what I mean? Telepathic was the word.

  There was nothing average about Gina. She was just a bit shorter than me, and built like the proverbial brick shit-house. She had gorgeous and flawless olive skin, obviously passed through her Italian ancestors. Gina was way bustier than any of us, with size Double D cups as she liked to remind us as often as possible.

  Her mom had remarried since they moved back here. Her stepfather, Eddie Sanders, made good money at the factory where he worked. Gina had turned eighteen this past March. She was the oldest in our group. She’d been held back a year in first grade, so we were all going into our senior year. I would turn seventeen in September, and the twins would catch up with me in October.

  Gina’s mom, Gloria, was a hair stylist in town. Gloria had grown up in Layton, but they’d moved to New Jersey when Gina’s dad had been transferred there when she’d been a baby. Having a hair stylist as a mother had its perks. Gina always presented the newest hairstyles and manicures as a result. Her mom didn’t load her down with a lot of chores or rules. She was a free spirit and that was what made her so much fun. My mother didn’t necessarily approve of Gina, although she had never articulated why. I think it was because Avery didn’t approve of her. He was very outspoken on things like that but he had only met Gina a handful of times. Mama explained that Avery’s gift was the ability to assess one’s soul in a matter of minutes.