Chapter Three
Levi
T he groomsmen and I stood on either side of a magnolia tree while white petals drifted down upon us on the light breeze like flittering fairy wings. Flower petals dusted the ground while Father Hosea and Jackson Miller positioned themselves front and center.
The gathering crowd, bedecked in pastel dresses and ties, rose from their wooden folding chairs as the music changed. My heart might dry up in my chest if Lillian went through with marrying Jackson. I couldn’t imagine life without the possibility of being with her again.
How could I possibly be watching this? I’d been a fool to accept her invitation to stand at the wedding.
The crowd faced the rear, waiting for her to appear. I stared at my feet, watching as an ant scurried across my decorative boot.
I couldn’t bear to witness Lillian walk up the aisle, her gaze on Jackson alone. If brides had jitters on their wedding day, then ex-finances had internal seizures. How could she ask me to stand here? Technically, it was Jackson who had asked. We were friends—I guess—but I got the impression that she was behind it.
Curiosity lifted my attention off my boots. I peered at Jackson first. He looked the way that I imagined I did—terrified yet hopeful. Perhaps Lillian would see my face in the lineup and choose to walk toward me instead.
A man could hope.
Unintentionally, I followed Jackson’s gaze to where she’d soon appear.
My breath caught as I first glimpsed the crown of her head emerging, followed by the rest of her form gradually materializing. She cradled a bouquet of sunflowers, ferns, and Queen Anne’s lace in the crook of her arm.
Emotion clogged my throat as her eyes passed over me and landed on Jackson.
Her dress appeared to be an extension of nature itself; the fabric resembled petals unfurling from the earth rather than mere human craftsmanship. Lace covered her shoulders, while white satin sheathed her body. Her hair, the color of rich mountain soil, was elegantly pinned up with wildflowers woven through the strands, creating an illusion of a natural crown gracing her head.
I wanted to brush my hands from her neck to her hips, to her head, and then kiss her until she breathed my name into my mouth.
But she wouldn’t meet my gaze. I might as well be invisible to her.
Her lips resembled the soft pinkish red hue of a ripened peach at dusk, while her eyes shimmered like emerald pine needles. A sun-kissed, golden glow caressed her skin, giving her an ethereal radiance. Her bare nails and lightly blushed face showcased her natural beauty, akin to a creature of the hills. A woman birthed straight from God’s creation.
And I was the snake who had deceived her. I whispered lies into her ear. Told her I’d take her with me. Said I’d call her every night. Tried to convince her that my music would never come between us.
I didn’t intend to lie, but that didn’t change the fact that I had left her behind, forgot to call after late-night shows, and allowed the music create a rift in our relationship. I didn’t believe that high school sweethearts—especially those born from Tennessee small towns—could break up.
I was wrong.
She and Ezra stopped at the front of the aisle as Jackson approached. He shook Ezra’s hand and then took Lillian’s. I clenched my fists to smother my emotions, fighting both love for Lillian and hatred for Ezra.
For the next twenty minutes, I focused on remembering every detail of the body I’d seen at the bottom of Skeleton Cliff. Lillian and Jackson tied their lives together in front of the town of Sutton and God Almighty while I contemplated the unnamed woman.
Most people avoided the precipice. Too many ghosts roamed around Skeleton Cliff. While it made sense that the woman might have committed suicide, I couldn’t shake the idea that her death was related to Dad’s.
Besides the legend of soldiers, the cliff was once a hub for rock climbers. That is, until tragedy struck, claiming the lives of two seasoned mountaineers. With no reason for the calamities, folks whispered about ghosts.
A decade ago, a high school girl ended her life there. Seven years ago, a man used the cliff as a gateway into the afterlife. Soon after, my dad died in (presumably) the same way. When a third accident nearly took a climber’s life, local authorities hung signs, and thrill-seekers left Skeleton Cliff in search of less haunted adventures.
The sound of applause and whistles jerked me back to the present. Lillian and Jackson were locked in an embrace, their bodies intertwined as they shared a passionate kiss. I believed in the sanctity of marriage. Lillian was Jackson’s wife now, and I could do nothing about it.
I was simply too late.
A banjo solo reverberated through the barn, its notes intertwining with the twinkling lights casting a warm glow. The potluck organized by Lillian was top-notch. There were five variations of mac ’n cheese, alongside vibrant kale salads dotted with cranberries and almonds, golden cornbread, crispy sweet potato fries, and an array of farm meat samples grilled or smothered in barbecue sauce.
I sat at the wedding table and downed unattended glasses of champagne to quench the thirst that seemed to parch my throat.
The music transitioned to a slow acoustic guitar number, and the crowd watched as Lillian and Jackson shared their first dance on the hay-strewn floor. I drained another champagne—the matron of honors’ glass, maybe? Most of the wedding party circled the dance floor.
I tore my stare from Lillian and found Ezra standing by the open barn doors, sipping from a brown bottle. I shook my head, noticing red stains on his knuckles.
It was clear that he was drawn to conflict like stray cats attracted to a bowl of food, much like how I found solace in two fingers of whiskey when faced with my own demons.
My mouth watered at the thought of whiskey. This champagne wasn’t giving me the buzz I craved.
Fresh air washed over me as I strod out the rear doors, escaping the din of clanging silverware. I sidled up to the artisan-crafted bar that was strung with twinkle lights and ordered a whisky sour.
Lush green grass swished underneath my cowboy boots as I meandered toward a game of horseshoes, a frosty drink leaving damp trails on my fingers. The sun setting over the mountains set the undersides of leafy trees in a golden glow.
I pressed the cool glass against my forehead as a form at the bar caught my attention.
Ezra.
I downed the rest of my drink in two gulps and veered in his direction. “Did you kill her?” I blurted out, my hand instinctively reaching for his arm. The glass slipped from my grasp, clinking as it hit the ground.
He jerked out of my grip. “You’re drunk.”
I was far from drunk. “I found her, you know,” I said. “The girl you left on the mountain.” If I were lucky, he’d incriminate himself.
He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. “Levi, let’s be civil. This is Lilly’s wedding.”
He never reined in his emotions. What was he hiding? “I know you did it. I’ll prove it. You killed my daddy, and now you killed her.”
His arm stiffened as he lifted a fresh glass of wine to his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play dumb. I know you—”
In one languid motion, he slammed the wineglass onto the bar and wrapped his arm around my neck, covering my face.“Shut up. You’re pathetic,” he spat in my face. “You’re using your father’s death as an excuse to drink yourself off the earth. Please drink away. But don’t drag me and my family into this when your father is the one who sent mine to prison. Blood is thicker than water, old friend.”
A slideshow of memories played through my head when he said, “Friend.”
I recalled the days we spent digging holes and then using the dirt to construct bike ramps, building the treehouse with our dads, and playing hide-and-seek in the cornfields. But amidst these warm recollections, a stark image intruded—my father lying lifeless in a casket. And then a figure lurking in the shadows at the back of the church. The only person with enough hatred to kill.
The man I grew up with who used to be my brother. The man holding me in a headlock.
The fleeting vision flashed away within a second, jarring me back to reality. I sucked in a deep breath, recognizing the strain in his voice, the telltale signs of mounting anger, and I silently welcomed it. My heart ached with sorrow, seeking an outlet for my anguish. And here stood Ezra, unwittingly becoming that conduit.
Our bitter exchange gathered onlookers. Two men in dress shirts. One with his hand clamped over the other’s mouth.
I reached up and twisted my fingers into Ezra’s slicked-back brown hair, tugging until he released his grip on my face.
When his fingers loosened, I stumbled away. “I won’t let you get away with killing her,” I said.
His face flushed crimson, chest rising and falling rapidly. With a sudden jerk back, his fist collided with my cheek. Pain exploded through my face as I tumbled onto the grass, blood trickling from my nose.
Fury coursing through me as I wobbled to my feet. Perhaps a whiskey sour before a fight was a bad idea. Too late now. The taste of pennies filled my mouth as warm liquid dripped over my top lip.
I swung at Ezra. He blocked it, using my momentum to hurl me away from the onlookers.
The smell of soil filled my bleeding nose as I flopped onto my back, landing on the damp soil. Grumbling, I slammed my fists into the earth. Ezra stood with his hands at his sides, watching me as I sprang up as fast as my buzzed head would allow. I faked a left swing first, and then I cut him across the jaw with my right knuckles.
As he staggered back, blood trailing from his nose to his lips, he spat contemptuously aside. Doubling over, I charged at him, ramming my shoulder into his middle. We crashed down together in a tangle of limbs and fists.
A high-pitched squeal pierced the air, halting our struggle momentarily. “Stop.”
The familiar voice brought us both to a standstill. Ezra pushed me away and rose to his knees while I rolled onto my back, gazing up at the darkening sky.
“I can’t believe you two,” Lillian scolded. “Y’all couldn’t go one day without pitching a fit? Get inside, Ezra. You promised.”
Feet shuffled, mummers whispered, and boots thudded on the dirt. Her head entered my vision like a rising sun, radiating authority.
“Get up,” she said.
I did.
“It’s my wedding day, Levi. Why would you provoke him?”
“How do you know I—”
“Because I know you. Both of you. You can clean yourself up now and act like a gentleman, or you can go home. Your choice.”
I couldn’t look her in the eyes. “Yes, Ma’am,” I said. At that moment, she reminded me more of my momma than the girl I used to share my dreams with.
“What are you fixing to do? Shape up or get out?”
“I’ll leave.”
She sighed. “Levi, I love you. I do. But you need to stop being selfish. I understand that you’re unhappy and wish we were still together, but you chose this. You forgot all about me. Your broken heart is no reason to beat on Ezra.”
Did she say she loved me? The ring Jackson that slipped onto her finger a few hours ago spoke a different story. “He punched me first. And I never forgot you.”
“I don’t care who got physical first. I’m finishing it.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” I rose and brushed off my pants, then I took a different path around the barn instead of through it.
As I turned to leave, she called out after me hesitantly, “And Levi . . . ”
I paused mid-step with my back turned toward her. “Yeah?”
“Don’t call me ‘Ma’am.’”
“Sure thing.” I caught a glimpse of regret in her eyes as I turned to look at her. A thin film of tears misted my own.
She was right. I still wished we could be together. But she was wrong about Ezra. Her love blinded her. Did she not see the blood on his knuckles when he walked her up the aisle?
Father Hosea waved at me and hurried over. “Son?” He’d shed his priestly robes for a black suit. His customary steel-toed cowboy boots poked out from the bottom of his pressed pants.
“Hello, Father Hosea.”
He pointed at his nose. “You’ve got blood.”
I wiped it with my shirt sleeve.
“Dear boy, what happened? Never mind. I heard you found a body at the cliff today?”
News in this town traveled faster than email. “Yes.”
“Was it Shelly Hooper?”
My mind churned like a tractor engine. Shelly was about six years older than me. She worked at the hair salon in town and still lived with her momma. “Shelly Hooper? It could have been. She was too far down to identify.”
He shook his head. “Her momma hasn’t heard from her in a few days. I worry . . . let’s not talk of such things. That cliff is a wretched place.” He shuddered.“We’ll all know when the police release the identity. I hate performing funerals.” He smiled and pointed to the barn. “But weddings are grand.” He clapped my back. “Levi, just remember that hatred is bad for both the body and the soul.”
And then he walked away, leaving room for Momma to swoop in.
She grabbed my arm. “What happened?”
So much for making a clean escape. “I shouldn’t have come.”
She studied my expression intently, probably searching for any hint of my thoughts. “I’d hoped that today might be different,” she said. “When you disappeared for a week, I expected you to return home too drunk to stand at the wedding. But then, when you got out of your truck and walked in a straight line, I thought you’d done some healing.”
“My time away only reminded me of how much I love Lillian. Then, when I found the body, I knew Ezra . . . ”
Her fingers tightened on my arm. “Don’t talk about him that way. He’s like a brother to you.”
“He hates me.”
“You’ve given him ample reason to, always accusing him of murder.”
“But has he ever denied it?” I shook my head. “Not once.”
“Ezra would never—”
“Did you see his knuckles tonight? They were bloody.”
“Probably yours.”
I shook out of her grasp. “There was blood on his hands before he hit me.”
She released a heavy sigh. “Levi, you can’t keep doing this. Courtney and I are weary of you dragging the King and Shaw name through the mud. Folks are tired of it too.”
“But if I can prove that this girl . . . ”
“She must have fallen. Maybe she left a note. I’m sure the police will sort it all out.”
No one believed me. The town revered Ezra King as the savior of Ghost Mountain Farm. They didn’t dare consider that his temper might be deadly. I was certain he harbored lethal intentions toward me.
A sudden memory—probably prompted by alcohol—flooded back to mind: Dad’s cabin. I hadn’t thought of the place in months. If I was serious about discovering who had killed him, I would have gone to that secluded place years ago.
Ghost Mountain held much of what its eerie name implied. Ghosts. But Dad’s cabin carried a distinct shadow . . . the shadow of him . If I went to the place that he loved, then maybe I would discover the truth. Either that or sink into memories.
“I’ll stay at the cabin tonight,” I said.
Momma’s clutched the folds of her dress. “But nobody has been there since he passed.”
“I know.”
“So why now?”
As I glanced back at the barn illuminated by twinkling lights, a glimpse of Lillian’s white dress fluttered through the open doors. “Because I have nothing more to lose.”
Ezra
On my second glass of wine, a napkin plugged into my nose to stanch the blood, I caught sight of a familiar face amidst the twinkling lights.
Squinting, I took another sip and watched him. He relaxed against the rear barn doors, a glass of brown liquid in his hand as he smirked at the festivities.
I would have ignored him except for the niggling knowing that he hadn’t been invited.
Jake Tanner was my friend. Not Lillian’s. And he had spent the last five years in prison. I’d heard a rumor that he had returned to town. This encounter marked my first glimpse of him since his rumored comeback.
As I drew closer, he acknowledged me with a subtle nod but made no effort to change his relaxed posture. His jeans were starched and clean, sticking out like a fox in a henhouse compared to the pressed dress pants that the other men wore. Clinging to his lean torso was a faded purple Polo shirt that seemed well past its prime.
“Hello Jake,” I said, stopping next to him.
The banjo twanged a solo. “Ezra,” he said, keeping his gaze on the drunken dancers.
“I don’t believe you were on the guest list.”
“Nice to see you too.” Raising his glass to his mouth, he shot back the rest of his drink. “You’re correct. I wasn’t invited, but most brides and grooms don’t detect a gent abusing their free bar when they’ve had a few too many themselves.” He winked at me.
Jackson Miller didn’t touch alcohol, and Lilly was far from drunk, but they were too preoccupied with each other to notice the presence of my old friend.
“I gather you crash weddings often,” I responded. “Give or take a few years.”
He grinned. “Correct. It used to be a pastime of mine before my sentence, and it continues to be one after. In fact, this is my second wedding crash since freedom found me.” He ran his fingers through his slicked-back brown hair, and his clean-shaven jaw accentuated his mischievous smile.
“So what are you doing these days?”
“Coming here wasn’t all play. I had hoped to see you.”
I tilted my head in intrigue. “Oh?”
“My probation officer would be thrilled if you offered me honest employment.”
I folded my arms against my chest and asked, “How would he feel about your trespassing on private property and stealing booze?”
He shot me a look. “I can’t tell if you’re serious or not.”
“I’m not. Partake,” I said, giving him a playful slap on the back. “Consider it my apology for not being able to take you on.” I could hardly pay the few farm hands we had, let alone hire another.
“That’s too bad.” Stepping outside, he craned his neck to gaze at the weathered barn, then he shifted his attention to the darkening field.
I’d seen that look on his face before. Right before Jake had suggested that we graffiti the side of the high school building. I didn’t give in, but he did. And then he paid for it with a one-week suspension.
“What are you thinking?” I inquired as he retreated further from the barn.
Following him, I settled beside him on a bale of hay. The dry grass poking through my slacks emitted an earthy aroma of straw that tickled my nose.
“Nothing you’d be interested in.”
Jake had been arrested for weapon and drug trafficking, and I suspected he now pondered new ways to make a buck. He might be the perfect person to help me acquire money off the books. I’d already exhausted all the legal avenues.
“Perhaps I am,” I said.
He studied me. “You’re a hard one to read, King.”
“Are you still working, or did prison reform you?”
“Oh, I’m reformed all right. I won’t be a drug or gun mule for nobody. But . . . ”
“But what?” I prodded.
His grin, which was exposed from the light streaming through the barn, was playful. “You’re messing with me, King. You’ve always been cool, but a little too out of my league. You know what I’m sayin’? I ain’t falling for your tricks, man. No way. I ain’t going back behind bars.”
“Jake,” I said, keeping my voice low and serious. “Allow me to be candid with you. Your particular skill set could be of great use to me right now.”
“I’m great at landscaping. You need a landscaper? Nobody’ll hire me. That’s why I came out here.”
“I’m interested in your landscaping business if it makes me money too. Do you understand?”
He grasped a handful of hay from the bale and shoved a piece into his mouth, causing me to nearly gag. “Are we talking about landscaping or,” he lowered his voice, “ landscaping .”
“Whichever one puts money in my pockets.”
“Bro, you want to go into business with me?”
Would I regret this later? Without a choice, I let the words fall from my lips. “I do.”
His forehead met mine as he leaned closer and whispered, “You better not be messin’ with me. If you want to do the big one, I think this place would be perfect.”
I looked around at the barn. “Here?”
“Yeah. It’s secluded.”
I still wasn’t sure what kind of business we were referring to. But if it made me a profit—and if we didn’t get caught—then I was willing to try.
Still, I needed clarification. “Are we talking about landscaping a green plant?”
“I don’t know, bro. What are you talking about?”
Lilly’s high-pitched scream of joy startled me. She twirled inside the barn in her wedding gown while Jackson watched with a grin. Momma stood beside Mrs. Shaw, sharing whispered conversations and radiant smiles. The barn was otherworldly tonight, glowing with lights, revelry, and enchantment. The magical atmosphere put me at ease.
I had to keep this.
Not a soul lingered behind the barn now. I seized the opportunity and said, “Shoot straight with me. You want to use my barn as an indoor pot farm?”
Jake squinted, still trying to gauge my intentions. “You said it. Not me.”
“If I’m the one taking the risk on my property, I’ll split it eighty-twenty.”
“And I’m bringing the brains. Sixty-forty.”
“I’ll put your name on the farm payroll to appease your parole officer. Seventy-thirty,” I proposed.
Jake leaned in, a sly grin playing on his lips. “I know a guy who can do the trafficking.”
“Deal.”
He nodded. “Deal.”
As I finished the last sip of my wine, preparing to leave, Jake gently guided me back into my seat and asked, “What’s got you willing to associate with someone like me?”
I withdrew from his touch. “Sheer and utter desperation."