Chapter 23
Then
The Rust Bucket kicked up dust when I punched the brake, sliding to a stop a few yards from the porch, where Bunny’s arms were draped over Ruth’s shoulders as if slow dancing to the crickets and whippoorwills that sang from dusk to dawn.
I was still clutching the gearshift when Frances threw open her door and toppled out.
Horror replaced the previous calm as Ruth took in Frances running across the yard, stepping beneath the porch light, sprayed in blood. Her hand flew to her mouth when she saw my sister’s neck, where the bruise stood out against her fair skin.
I cut the engine and stepped out of the truck.
“Hattie-May?” Ruth called out, turning to the screen door. “Hattie-May, come on. We got an emergency to deal with.”
Hattie-May scuttled out of the house, a damp ring circling the neck of her peach housedress. “What you mean an emergency? What is it, Ruthie?”
When she saw us, she gasped. “Lord have mercy.”
Everything stopped. The silence was deafening. Bunny’s nails dug into Ruth’s arm as if trying to hold her back. Hattie-May’s lips parted, her sparse brows pushed together, her hand at her chest. She stared at something the rest of us couldn’t see.
Then, Frances began to speak, the entire sordid story pouring from her blood-speckled lips. Me discovering her, our fight, sneaking away. What came after.
The hands at her throat, the swing of the shovel. Shaking me awake.
As she spoke, I relived the crunch of bone. The shock waves through my arms. The euphoria. The relief. The overwhelming terror.
When Frances finished the story, Ruth bit out, “We need to go. Right now.”
Hattie-May stared a moment before setting her jaw and nodding curtly.
She shoved her feet into her clogs and mumbled something I couldn’t quite make out, something about fate finding the Robbins women.
Perhaps that’s where her gaze had been—on all the Robbinses who had come before, saddled with this legacy.
I broke every speed limit rushing toward the logging road as Frances pointed out the turns. Hattie-May was squeezed into the Rust Bucket with us while Ruth and Bunny followed in Ruth’s truck.
“I don’t understand.” Hattie-May shook her head. “How could this happen?”
I felt numb.
“Milly saved me,” Frances said plainly. “He deserved it.”
I focused on the road but caught glances of Hattie-May from the corner of my eye. She nodded so slightly I almost missed it.
“I see.” The simple phrase was laced with poison.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I should’ve told. I should’ve—”
“Hush now, honey,” Aunt Hattie said, and I snapped my mouth closed. “There is only one person at fault here.” She was quiet a moment, before adding, “He brought Frances to the woods alone? I hope to God he’s still alive.”
I pressed my lips together, hating the tears that stung my eyes. “I know. I—”
“I hope he’s alive so I can kill him myself.” The air whooshed from my lungs. My great-aunt reached across my sister and squeezed my knee. “Dearie, you did the right thing.” She paused and added, “It was the only thing you could’ve done in the moment.”
I stopped the truck next to Shane’s car and we got out. Ruth parked next to me and pulled two flashlights from behind her seat. She handed one to Frances.
“Okay.” Ruth clicked her’s on and swung the beam of light around. “Where’s the son of a bitch?”
I nodded toward the tree line. Ruth mumbled something under her breath and handed her flashlight to Aunt Hattie. Walking back to her truck, she opened the tailgate and pulled out a collapsible cart with big rubber wheels.
“What?” Ruth asked when she saw the look on my face. “It’s for hauling deer out of the woods. D’you think Hattie-May is going to grab his wrists and I’m going to take his ankles?”
Frances and I glanced at each other but said nothing.
“Now let’s get going. Y’all know being in the forest long after dark gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“Follow me,” Frances said, leading the way toward the trees.
The flashlight bobbed in Hattie-May’s hands and illuminated the back of Shane’s car.
“Hey, one second.” Bunny stopped. “Shine that light back over here, will you?”
Aunt Hattie obliged.
“I know this car.” Bunny tapped the glass with her lime green acrylic. “Dark hair and green eyes?”
I nodded.
“Yep,” Bunny continued. “This creep is always at the Lickety Split.”
“No,” Frances said. “No way. Shane didn’t like places like that. He didn’t even like me wearing shorts to school.”
“Sweetie, I’d never lie to you. You know that.” Bunny licked her plump lips. “This car is in the parking lot at the club all the time.”
“You sure?” Ruth grimaced.
Bunny shrugged. “We get all types at the Split, and we withhold judgment as long as the patrons are willing to pay to play and mind their manners. But when a car with an honor roll bumper sticker and a stick family in the back window spends that much time in our parking lot, it doesn’t go unnoticed.
” I shot Bunny a what the hell? look. She added, “I’m sorry, Frances, honey. It’s true.”
“It’s fine.” My sister’s face was a blank wall as she again marched toward the path, leading the way into the trees, stomping sticks and grass and brambles underfoot. “He tried to kill me. Why do I care if he wanted to look at naked girls?”
We filed behind Frances, walking quietly to the clearing as Hattie-May shined the light ahead. Once there, we circled Mr. Fortenberry’s body.
Hattie-May aimed her flashlight at his face. Red and black fire ants marched in and out of Mr. Fortenberry’s smashed nostrils and between his bloated lips. In the short hour we’d been gone, something had bitten a chunk from his earlobe. Or maybe it had been sliced off by the edge of the shovel.
I stared down at the mess of a man until I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Yep.” Bunny snapped her gum. “This guy was a regular. Practically part of the furniture.” She cocked back her leg and kicked him hard in the ribs. “Piece-of-shit child molester.”
Her signature heels had been traded for the spare rubber boots Ruth kept in the back of her truck.
“Frances?” Hattie-May’s gaze narrowed on my sister, who stood next to me. Frances’s lips were drawn and her eyes strangely serene as she stared down at the body.
Was she traumatized? Had I swung that shovel and broken my sister?
“You okay over there, dearie?” Hattie-May asked.
“Huh?” Frances said. “Yeah. I’m fine. Glad he’s dead. That’s all.”
The image of Mr. Fortenberry’s hands around Frances’s throat flashed through my mind. Desperation and panic on each of their faces. Her fingers curling at her side, stretching out in our secret SOS as the light in her eyes dimmed.
I bumped my shoulder against hers, reminding her I was there and that she’d always have me.
Hattie-May rubbed her chin. “You said you hit him with a shovel?”
“Yes ma’am,” I said. “I snapped his picture, and he freaked out. Started choking Frances. I threw the camera, and when he went for it—I smacked him… I don’t remember what happened next.”
“We’ll need the shovel.” Hattie-May tapped her chin with her index finger as she spoke. She made the same gesture when dictating our weekly shopping list. “And the camera. We can’t leave anything behind out here. And we’ll have to cross our fingers for a good rainstorm.”
“I have the camera.” I pointed to where the shovel lay in the grass, a few feet away. “And the shovel’s over there.”
Ruth began snapping her cart open. “Let’s get to it, then.”
“His car,” Hattie-May said as she carefully knelt next to the body, propping the flashlight against him. “I’m afraid that’s the thing that’s going to be a problem.”
I looked around the circle, from one face to another. That was the problem?
Everyone, even my sister, was so calm.
Meanwhile, I struggled not to disintegrate. How could I feel sick over hurting someone I was glad was dead? Who I’d kill again a million times if it meant saving my sister? How could I hate myself and be proud of what I’d done?
“Milly?” Hattie-May’s forehead wrinkled.
Hearing my name snapped me back into myself. “Yes, ma’am?”
“You and Frances don’t need to watch this—you’ve been through enough.”
“No,” Frances said before I could say okay, that I’d rather be anywhere else. “We’re staying.”
“I don’t think that’s wise, honey,” Hattie-May insisted.
Ruth shrugged, struggling with the buttons of Shane’s shirt. “Let ’em stay if they want, Hattie. This ain’t nothing compared to what they’ve been through already.”
Hattie-May sighed. “I reckon you’re right.”
I stared at the side of my sister’s face. She didn’t take her eyes off Shane as Ruth undressed the corpse, giving up on the buttons and pulling her knife from her belt and slicing the fabric down the middle.
“About the car,” Bunny said as she untied Mr. Fortenberry’s shoes—the kind of sneakers old guys wore when they wanted to look cool. “I know someone.”
“No,” Hattie-May said. “No one else can know about this. Bunny, dearie—”
“Just hear me out, Hattie-May. It’s a good idea,” Bunny interrupted.
Aunt Hattie glanced from Bunny to Ruth, who shrugged. Finally, she nodded. “Okay.”
“I told you this man was at the club often.” Bunny scrunched her face. “Tonight’s dollar dances. It’ll be crowded… It’d be completely normal for him to slip in and slink into the background.”
Bunny pulled Mr. Fortenberry’s left sock off, then began working on his right.
“I’ll park his car at the edge of the lot.
There’s no security cameras outside the club—can you even imagine?
Cameras would cut our business in half.” She snorted.
“We’d lose the church crowd if there was any sort of video evidence and—”
“Bun, sweetie. The point?” Ruth said gently.
“Right,” Bunny said. “Anyway, I’ll park and sneak in the back entrance.
The car will be noticed. Someone’s bound to report seeing it.
Probably my girls will even say they saw him inside.
Memories are weird like that. Then…” She paused, smiling, palms and fingers splayed in front of her as if she was about to share the best news of her life.
“My cousin—technically he’s my third cousin—but he owes me a favor. A big one.”
“I’m scared to ask what kind of favor could help us with our current predicament.” Ruth stood and wiped her hands down the front of her Wranglers.
“Thing is, he’s got a garage—but really it’s a chop shop,” Bunny said “Once folks notice the car, I’ll call him and tell him to come grab it. He’ll take it to his shop. Chop it up, sell it off. And you ain’t gotta worry. He’s not the type of man who’s volunteering information to the cops.”
“The cops?” I whispered, my knees going weak.
“You let us worry about that, Milly dear,” Hattie-May said, grunting as she reached to pick up the shirt and socks, then took Shane’s belt from Ruth.
She dropped them into the bottom of Aunt Ruth’s cart.
“In fact, you need to go now. You girls need an alibi. An unimpeachable one. Ruthie, what do you think?”
“All right.” Ruth’s dark eyes narrowed as she thought.
“Y’all run home—quickly—and wash up. Don’t dawdle.
Put on clean shirts. Frances, wear something to cover your neck.
I know you’re probably hurting, but the both of you have to get back to that bonfire.
Talk with friends, and act as if you’ve been there the whole time.
If those parties are like I remember, no one’s going to be sober enough to contradict you. ”
“Wait,” I said. “You want us to go back?” It seemed impossible—going back to something so normal after life had taken such a sharp turn.
“No,” Aunt Ruth said. “I’m telling you that you have to.” She put a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll finish up here. You don’t need to know what happens next. Now go on. Both of you.”
I looked from my sister, then down at the corpse I’d made. His pale chest was waxy in the moonlight.
I froze.
The smallest movement—so minuscule, so shallow, it could’ve been a trick of the light, but I didn’t think so. Mr. Fortenberry’s chest rose as if with the slightest breath.
“He’s not dead.” I dropped to the ground next to my English teacher and reached for his arm, pressing my fingers to his clammy skin.
Maybe he had a pulse. Maybe I wasn’t a murderer.
Maybe we could take him to the hospital, and he’d live and get arrested for what he’d done to my sister.
I didn’t care what anyone thought about us—if they said horrible things.
I didn’t even care if he went free. At least I wouldn’t have blood on my hands.
We could get back to our normal life—back to our plan. Frances would go to the boarding school. I’d get the salutatorian scholarships and go to college. We’d pretend this never happened.
I hadn’t realized that I’d wanted this until it was a possibility.
I pressed Mr. Fortenberry’s wrist harder, desperate to feel a twitch or thump or anything.
“Milly, stop.” Hattie-May’s voice was stern with a thrum of panic at the edge. She pulled me backward, surprisingly strong. Aunt Ruth grabbed me around the middle.
“I heard something,” I cried, sounding desperate even to my own ears.
“No you didn’t, dearie,” Hattie-May insisted. “You have to go now.”
I jerked at Ruth, but she held tight. “Milly, stop fighting.”
“He’s not dead.”
Ruth released me, and I fell forward.
I looked around the circle, at the faces hollowed by shadows, the tight set of jaws.
“You didn’t hear anything,” Aunt Ruth said. “Not a damn thing. It’s these woods. Weird shit happens out here at night.” She looked over her shoulders into the dark forest. “Which is why you need to leave.”
“No,” I insisted.
“Milly, that’s enough.” Hattie-May stepped close and looked down at me.
“He’s dead. He was dead the moment he laid a hand on Frances.
You understand?” She struggled to her feet and stepped close to me, bending forward and clasping my chin in her arthritic fingers.
“He’s dead, because if he’s not, we have more trouble than he’s worth.
He dug his own grave the moment he brought your sister here. ”
With those words the fight left me. I rose slowly and took Frances’s hand, and, for the last time, we left that haunted clearing.