Chapter 11 #3
“He’s been talking to some people who say though the prosecution’s case is built on circumstantial evidence, it’s still very strong.” Rhett’s eyes burned into mine. “He has Marty’s witness statement. Says he’s in town.” He paused. “Did you know that?”
“Why would I know that?” I answered a little too defensively.
We stared at each other while my sister looked between us in confusion, clearly sensing the tension. “Well, I’m sure Dad made sure you have a decent lawyer. He’ll get you off.” Her voice was a little too perky for the situation. “Not off, but prove it wasn’t you. Right, Lucy?”
Rhett and I were still looking at each other. Neither wanting to concede an inch. When had we become this combative?
Oh, that’s right … when we were nineteen years old.
“We’ll see,” Rhett said. “It’s all down to what the judge and jury believe. And it sounds like Judge Balfour has an ax to grind with your father, which doesn’t bode well for me.” He shrugged, finally breaking eye contact. “Maybe it’s all as it should be.”
Bailey took his hand, her eyes full of tears. “Don’t be so defeatist, Rhett. This is all a big mistake. Everything will be okay. You didn’t do this. Everyone who knows you knows that.” She seemed more cut up about Rhett’s predicament than I was.
But then, she didn’t know what I knew.
He gave my sister a weak smile. “I appreciate your confidence, Bai. You always make me feel better.” Then his entire body drooped. “On my way home, I got a call from Sherry.”
“Your principal? Why?” I asked.
“Apparently, they’re not comfortable having a man about to stand trial for murder showing up and teaching sixteen-year-olds math. They’ve put me on administrative leave for the foreseeable future.” He sounded like a man ready to roll over and show his belly.
“I guess that makes sense. I mean, what did you expect them to do?” I replied.
“I don’t know, but a little support would be nice, Lucinda.
” He didn’t try to hide his bitterness. I opened my mouth, but my husband turned away from me before I could speak.
“It was nice seeing you, Bailey. Come back and see me soon. I could use some positivity in my life,” he said, the cutting remark aimed squarely at me.
Then he went inside and slammed the door behind him.
Bailey looked uncomfortable. “He doesn’t seem good, Lucy. And honestly, neither do you. Are you guys okay?”
“I think we just need some time alone,” I told her pointedly, and thankfully she got the hint.
“Okay. I’ll head out then.” She stood up and went back toward the gate.
I followed her. “Aren’t you going inside before you leave? Dad probably came back with Rhett. He’ll be in his office—”
“God, no. I’m going to sneak out the same way I came in.” She blanched. “Otherwise, I’ll be forced to sit through a lecture about whatever I’ve done wrong this week.” This time we shared a genuine laugh at our father’s expense.
“Fair point,” I conceded. I walked Bailey out, and she gave me a quick hug.
“You’ll fix this, Lucy. You always do. And if you can’t, Dad definitely will. Dad can fix anything.”
I held out my hand and Bailey looked at me in confusion. “The box.”
My sister opened her purse, pulled out the wooden box and handed it to me with a grin.
“Is there anything else you’ve hung onto that I should know about?”
Bailey rolled her eyes. “It’s not like you even knew it was gone, so obviously it wasn’t that important.”
She slipped out the gate without really answering me.
I watched as she walked to her car and gave her a wave as she climbed in and drove off a few seconds later.
My sister was right. I was going to fix it. And it was going to start with retracing our steps very carefully.
It was time to plug all those holes.
The Past
July 14, 2:10 AM—Fifteen Years Ago
I was shaking uncontrollably. I couldn’t stop.
I couldn’t believe everything that had happened.
Rhett wouldn’t look at me.
He wouldn’t say a word.
I tried to touch him, but he pushed me away. It was becoming much too easy for him to treat me like this.
His face was battered. I tried to clean his cuts, but he kept pulling away. I could tell he was in pain. But I knew it wasn’t the injuries that had him groaning in agony.
I hadn’t seen him in over twenty-four hours. Part of me was shocked to see him at all. After how things were left between us, I figured he had left town. But then news spread about the body found up at Jagged Point and I suspected—and hoped—he’d come around eventually.
When he showed up at my house looking the way he did, I took him inside and snuck him to my room before my parents could see him. Neither would be happy he was there.
I wasn’t sure whether I was glad to see him or not. The jury was still out on whether I had forgiven him. Or if I ever would.
There was no talking. He laid down on my bed, as if he still had a right to, and turned his back to me. It enraged me how he acted as if he hadn’t so recently tried to break my heart and stomp all over it.
He had shown his hand. I knew the truth.
It was hard to accept how much he was truly capable of.
I had seen inside his ugly heart, and it devastated me.
But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t do what needed to be done.
Even though we hadn’t said our vows yet, promises had still been made. And, unlike Rhett, I kept my word.
“I’ll be back in a little bit,” I told him, getting up from my bed, where we had been lying like two corpses since he had arrived.
Rhett didn’t say anything. He didn’t ask where I was going.
I didn’t think he really cared.
He was too lost in his own misery.
But it was time for me to start cleaning up the mess we found ourselves in.
So I shoved the piece of discarded clothing Rhett had taken off into my purse and left my room without another word.
I hurriedly got in my car and drove to the other side of town.
I parked surreptitiously around the corner of a run-down two-story house with peeling paint and missing most of its shutters.
I knew he had been renting the place for dirt cheap from Jim Dellinger, a local slum lord.
It had stood abandoned for over a decade because no one else wanted to live in a place with dirt floors and a porta potty in the yard due to no indoor plumbing.
I didn’t have to knock on the door. He was already sitting on the porch.
“I figured you’d turn up here sooner or later, little rabbit.” Marty spit tobacco juice into a Folgers can before pulling the wad from his lip and disposing of it. His face, like Rhett’s, was black and blue. But unlike my fiancé, he seemed to have come out the victor.
Seeing him like this, I put some of the pieces together. If I asked him about what happened, would he, unlike Rhett, answer my questions?
In the end, I decided it didn’t matter. All that mattered was hiding the evidence—and keeping myself out of it.
I pulled the shirt out of my purse and held it out to him. “You need to hang onto this for me.” I was relieved that my hands were steady as I handed him the bloody fabric I’d put in a Ziploc bag.
Marty frowned in confusion. “What is this?” he asked as he examined it through the clear plastic. “Is this Rhett’s shirt?” He looked at me sharply. “What crazy shit are you pulling me into, woman?”
“It doesn’t matter, Marty, just do as I ask. I’ll explain everything later.”
His expression changed from casual nonchalance to dogged focus. “Is this about Jenn?” he demanded. He looked at the shirt again, staring at it with a face full of fury.
I took a step toward him, letting him see, just for a moment, a sliver of vulnerability. It was dangerous to give a man like Marty Richards a glimpse of anything authentic. You couldn’t trust what he’d do with it.
I also knew that for whatever reason, he would do as I asked.
But his anger confused me.
I peered at him closely. “Why do you care?”
Marty glanced at me, his eyes full of fire. “Why are you giving this to me?” he countered, his jaw twitching with barely restrained anger.
I dropped my voice to a whisper and met his intense blue eyes. “Because my dad can’t know about it, and there’s no one else I trust to handle it. Please, Marty. I need your help. You’re the only one I can turn to.”
He hesitated. He seemed to be experiencing some kind of internal battle I didn’t understand.
“Why can’t you handle it yourself?” Marty challenged, his voice clipped and hard, his hands now shaking.
A good question that only had one answer.
“Because I need my hands clean of all this. It could ruin me.”
A man like Marty would understand the desire for self-preservation. It was one of his defining characteristics.
I glanced around, relieved the street was empty. “Marty, please don’t make this difficult—I need you.” I saw the moment he caved. My ticket to his acquiescence.
Marty hesitated for only another moment, but then he shoved the shirt into his back pocket. “Fine. But this isn’t for Rhett.” The way he said my fiancé’s name let me know exactly what he thought of him
“It’s for me,” I reassured him.
Though I wasn’t sure I was the one he was doing it for.