Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
As the back stoop illuminates, I let out my breath and unlock the door. “Becky, come in.”
With her arms crossed over her chest, Becky enters the cottage with a shiver. “Damn, it cooled off fast.” She rubs her hands over her upper arms. “I was about to pull out a key.”
I look down at the corkscrew, lifting it for her to see, and grin. “I’m glad you didn’t. I might have poked your eye out.”
“Eww.” Her nose scrunches. “Don’t say that.”
I close and lock the door behind her. After a peek out the window, I choose to leave the porch light on.
As I turn, Becky pulls me into a hug. “Jillian, I’m so sorry about Julie.”
Taking a step back, I look at my good friend, wondering what exactly she knows. “Thanks, Beck. She’s alive. I guess we need to count our blessings.”
Turning her head, Becky eyes my glass of wine near my computer.
“Would you like a glass?” I offer.
“After the last few days—weeks—how about the whole bottle?” She walks closer to the breakfast bar, inspecting my notebook and computer. “What are you doing?”
“Some research.” Putting down the corkscrew, I open a cupboard and retrieve another wine glass.
She’s looking at my computer screen, undoubtedly seeing the multiple open tabs. “You’re not still digging around about Coach Gilbert, are you?”
“What?” I hand her the glass with red wine. “No, not really. I still have questions about that. Now my attention is on Julie and Marty.”
Becky lets out a long breath as she climbs onto the other barstool at the breakfast bar peering down at my notes before lifting the picture I borrowed from Julie’s bedroom. “Look at them, all sweet and innocent.”
“About as innocent as we were at their age, I suspect.”
The wine in her glass swirls as she spins the glass stem between her fingers. “When did we get old, Jillian?”
“Speak for yourself.”
Her gaze meets mine. “No, I mean it. We’re not even thirty and we’re old.”
I sit beside her on the other stool. “I admit sometimes I feel that way.” I take a drink of the wine, for a moment savoring the full body, earthy aroma, and oaky flavor.
The fruity finish refreshes my taste buds, causing my throat to contract.
I continue my thought. “But being back here—in Blue Gil—makes me feel young, too.” I look in her direction.
“Not in a good way. I feel like Sheriff Manes and Deputy Morton...they look at me like I’m still seventeen or eighteen. ”
“Maybe it’s because you left.” Becky sighs. “Somehow, I’m a married old has-been.” She glances my way, with just her eyes and back to the wine in her glass. “I’m not complaining about my marital status, just that those girls...” She lifts her chin toward the picture.
“What about them?”
“The group of them had no bounds.”
“What does that mean?”
“No limits. I don’t know. I think this is all too much. I can’t believe Marty Thompson is dead.” She takes a sip. “This shit doesn’t happen in Blue Gil.”
She knows? How did she learn?
“How do you know?” I ask.
“Oh please. Everyone knows.”
I don’t ask for more specifics. Instead, I concentrate on her earlier statement, that shit like this doesn’t happen in Blue Gil. “It seems no place is immune.”
“Yeah, but Marty...Martha Thompson.” She emphasizes Marty’s full name. “With a name like Martha, you picture a sweet person, you know, like George Washington’s wife?” She laughs. “At least an older person.”
I scoff as I picture the first First Lady of the United States, white hair, plump, with a pioneer bonnet. “Was Mrs. Washington nice? I’m behind on my knowledge of First Ladies.”
“I don’t really know.” Becky takes another drink. “She was flaunty.” Becky’s brown eyes come my way. “Is that a word?”
“Flaunty?” I repeat. “Mrs. Washington? What could she possibly flaunt in...what…the late seventeen hundreds—her ankles?”
“No, not Martha Washington, Martha Thompson. And what didn’t she flaunt?
” Becky sets her nearly empty glass on the counter, stands, and begins to walk around the living room.
“Shit, Jillian. You’re the only one I can talk to.
This town...everyone thinks they know everything.
I’m not talking shit about the dead. I’m not.
” Her words come quicker as the pace of her steps increases.
“Maggie Thompson made a big deal about how her children could hold jobs along with school and whatever other activities.” Becky slows and looks my way.
“Maggie said it is important for college applications that children can multitask.”
“Marty worked?” I ask. “Where?”
“Hank’s dad, John, gave her a job at Sanders Feed Store in Lawton.”
“Your in-laws’ store?”
“Yes. She was mostly a cashier on weekends. John would joke about the pretty little brunette.” Becky turns toward me, disgust in her eyes. “Sexism is alive and well in Blue Gil.”
“In Lawton too, by the sound of things.”
“Anyway, I don’t give a shit about John. He’s ancient and is never going to change. I don’t even think Jacqueline pays attention.” Becky wrings her hands, twisting her wedding band. “You know when you’re raised one way, it’s not easy to break the mold.”
Raised? By John and Jacqueline Sanders. That would be Hank.
My gaze narrows as I take in my friend’s expression. “Goodness, Becky, what are you saying?”
“I...I...” Her jaw clenches as she exhales through her nose. “Shit, Jillian, a few weeks back, I may have threatened Marty Thompson.”
“Wait. What?”
Becky walks to the counter, lifts her glass to her lips, and empties the contents. Next, she hands me the glass. “I hope you have more.”
Nodding, I take the glass around the counter to the kitchen. “You’ve never mentioned Marty before when we talked.”
Becky’s fist goes to her hip. “Because I refused to let some underage shit with perky breasts, silky black hair, and a stupid agenda get under my skin.”
Obviously.
I hand Becky back the glass, this time filled beyond the respectable serving. “But she did...get under your skin.”
“Hank has never...he wouldn’t...” She looks at me with a determined gaze. “He wouldn’t cheat. But that doesn’t mean he’s dead. He has eyes. It’s like those girls had no limit to what they’d do. It was a game to them—probably, still is. Life is a game.”
“A game? Did Marty come on to Hank?”
“Those little girls think they’re grown up. They think they can play grown-up games.” Again, she swirls the wine, each turn reaching closer and closer to the rim. Her brown eyes peer upward. “They never consider the consequences—the lives they ruin.”
“Wait...are you saying you think that’s what got Marty and Julie—”
“No,” she interrupts. “Shit, I’m not talking about Julie.
Hell, she and Austin were hot and heavy until the beginning of this year.
I’m talking about Marty and her ploy to see if she can seduce older men.
Believe me, she didn’t give a shit if they were married.
” Becky shakes her head. “I think it added to the excitement.”
The little hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. “Is it always the girl’s fault? Maybe it went both ways?”
“What?” Becky turns my way, her eyes wide.
“Not with Hank,” I correct. “I’m just saying that sometimes young girls are infatuated and men take advantage...”
Becky’s eyes close as the air seems to leave her chest. It’s like watching a balloon deflate before my eyes.
“Shit, I can talk to you because you don’t live here anymore.
I shouldn’t because...God, Jillian, I forgot.
” She sits back on the stool. “I’m sorry.
It’s just...Hank is my husband, and a few weeks ago, I showed up unexpectedly at the store.
Hank was there helping John with inventory.
I thought I’d bring them a snack. Inventory is usually a late night.
John was up front with a customer. Hank was in the back.
” She sighs. “John motioned me back. I got to the doorway and I stood. I swear, I didn’t move.
The scene was like a bad B-movie. Marty’s damn breasts were barely contained in her shirt.
Even wearing the store apron, her ass was showing from her short shorts. She was being helpful.”
“Helpful?” I ask.
“Reaching high for boxes and bending with her ass up.” Becky is again shaking her head.
The attire doesn’t sound much different than the way I saw the girls dressed at the park on Saturday.
“In Hank’s defense,” Becky says, “he acted clueless.”
“Did he know you were there?”
“No, and obviously, Marty didn’t either, calling him by his first name.” Becky takes a smaller sip. “I mean, we’re not old, but she’s working in the Sanders store.”
“What happened?”
“After I made my presence known, Hank made an excuse to check on his dad. That little slut had the nerve to not act ashamed. She said that if my husband was getting what he needed at home, he wouldn’t be looking at her.”
“No way,” I exclaim. “She said that?”
Becky nods. “I got in her face and told her that he is off-limits. I also may have said that if she didn’t keep her fucking boobs covered, I’d make sure they were never thrust in Hank’s or any other married man’s face again.”
“Was that the threat you may have said?”
Becky sighs, looking down. “Yes.”
“You didn’t threaten her life.”
Her brown gaze is back on me. “No, but I wasn’t nice. And now she’s dead.”
“Wait, tell me again how you found out she died?”
“The whole town knows.”
“Did the sheriff make an announcement?”
Becky’s lips purse. “Jillian, this is Blue Gil. Everyone knows she was found off Country Road 62 near where the coach was found.”
“Everyone knew where Craig was found?”
Becky nods.
“Did anyone hear you threaten her? Do you think the town knows about that too?”
“Shit, I don’t know. I don’t think that at the time I was overheard—the customer had left. Only the four of us were in the building. But Marty could have told anyone or...shit, everyone.”
I’m not sure what to say.
Becky turns my way. “I didn’t kill her. You know that, right?”
“Of course I know that. No one would think that.”
“I wasn’t at the party. I was home with Hank.”
“I never doubted that,” I say, reaching out and placing my hand on her knee. “You and Hank were both home?”
Becky nods. “Yes. We watched some movie on Netflix and went to bed. I don’t know what time we fell asleep, but I woke in the morning to the text messages about the missing girls.”
“Maybe you should tell Sheriff Manes.”
“Tell him what?”
“Everything you told me.”
Her head moves back and forth. “I think it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.” She finishes her second glass of wine and sets it back on the breakfast bar. “How is Julie? That’s really why I’m here.”
“She’s stable. We should know—”
Becky places her hand on mine. “Don’t tell me that. Tell me how she is. Hell, I just told you my deep, dark secret. How is Julie?”
“I think we need more wine.”