fishing lures don’t run deep enough to snag clothin’ where she claims to sink her bodies.
That’s a terribly unfair statement for me to make, since it’s based totally on rumors and a recording of drunk talk from Renee herself taped by a shiftless Tennessee reporter who misrepresented himself as a suitor and got her plastered one night, hopin’ to break the story of what become of Renee’s husband and best friend.
That was nearly two years ago, and while the rumors and drunken statements were inadmissible, they were deemed credible enough to cause officials to devote two weeks to draggin’ the lower part of Kentucky Lake for the bodies. Of course, it was wasted effort, since the lake’s a hundred and eighty-four miles long, up to two miles wide, and three hundred-sixty feet deep. Not to mention Renee could have cut through the pass to Lake Barkley to sink the bodies. That lake is almost as long, wide, and deep.
Being that Renee’s family, I try extra hard not to judge her.
But others have.
The only reason she’s on this side of prison bars is the lack of bodies and two barely-hung juries. Both juries polled guilty, eleven to one. But eleven ain’t twelve, and the small Tennessee county where she was livin’ didn’t have the funds to try her a third time.
Renee bounced back, wound up marryin’ her jailer, Roy Williams, got a teachin’ certificate, and seemed to be headin’ in the right direction with her life. But Roy suffered a stroke and lost his job, and Renee divorced him, moved to Logan County, and got a job teaching kindergarten that came to an end a few weeks ago when her past caught up to her.
“Somethin’ wrong, Trudy?” Clem says, from his post at the back of the room.
“Nope, I’m fine.”
“Want me to re-arrange your pillows again?”
“Nope, I’m good. Thanks.”
Dr. Box arranged for me to receive ten thousand dollars a month for the next two years. While it’s much more than I need, it’s an insanely generous gift. It wouldn’t be right to accept that much money.
But I’ll accept some.
Enough to get me started with a new life.
My relationship with Dr. Box seemed to end before it got started. I was hopin’ for more, but I think my family history scared him off.
As it should have.
I’d been prepared to step aside and let him go on with his life, but that was before I realized how much he needs me. And he does, at least for the near future.
Dr. Box is in serious danger, and I need to warn him.
What concerns me most?
Renee texted me from his cell phone.
I can’t think of any scenario in which Dr. Box would willingly allow my crazy sister to screen his messages or text people from his phone.
Especially me.
I know he wants to talk to me, or he wouldn’t have called me twice this afternoon.
I shake my head, thinkin’ about the rough twenty-four hours my family’s put Dr. Box through. First, Daddy knocked him unconscious. Then he robbed him, kicked his nuts, and hung him. Then the barn roof collapsed on him. Then he lost a possible love connection with Faith, when the people my brother and husband Darrell sent to kill him shot each other instead. And now my sister Renee is likely holdin’ him against his will, and makin’ threats against me that’ll eventually drive her to punish him.
If I can somehow manage to protect Dr. Box from Renee, Daddy, Darrell, and the local police, and if he and I wind up gettin’ engaged someday, can you just imagine the scene my kinfolk will make at our weddin’?
45
“Clem, could you give me a few minutes of privacy?” I say.
“You’re not gonna call him, are you?”
“That’s none of your business.”
He frowns. “I don’t like it. And I sure as hell don’t like him.”
Great.
Dr. Box has managed to make yet another enemy in law enforcement.
When Clem leaves the room I call Dr. Box, but get no answer.
“Clem!” I shout.
He comes flyin’ through the door.
“What’s wrong?”
“Call Sheriff Boyd.”
“Why?”
“I need to talk to him.”
“What about?”
“Just call him.”
“He’s gonna ask why.”
“Maybe so, but he’ll come.”
He glares at me a minute, and I glare back.
“I don’t like it,” he says.
“Why am I not surprised?”
46
Dr. Gideon Box.
I’ve gone through a lot of emotions over the past twenty-four hours. Heard good things, weird things, bad things. Learning I was about to be hung was the worst, hands down. I mean, literally, my hands were down, cuffed behind my back. So that was the worst.
A close second was learning I’m not the first guy Trudy’s fence-kissed.
Worse, according to her own sister, Trudy’s blown other guys at the very same fence.
And here I thought I was special.
I come out of the shower, dejected.
Renee sees it. She can tell my mood has shifted.
“I’m here for you, Gideon,” she says.
I grab my clothes from the sink as I pass her, heading to the bed. I sit, put my socks on, then stand and finish dressing.
“Can I ask you a question?” she asks.
I raise a palm. “Why not?”
“What happened to your neck?”
Something in the way she asked the question makes me do a double-take.
I can’t explain how, but I do believe Renee knows her Daddy had something to do with the rope burn around my neck.
“You just noticed that?” I say.
“Of course not! I noticed it right off. I think you might have a permanent mark there.”
Now I have two lovely thoughts. The woman I love gives blowjobs at the dumpster, and her father gives permanent rope-burn tattoos.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Room service!” a voice calls out from the hall.
