I look at my watch. “You know what I just realized?” I say.
“What’s that?”
“I haven’t had dinner yet. Are you hungry?”
“Well, I did eat from the dollar menu a little while ago.”
“Oh.”
“You know what we could do? Order you some room service. And while we’re waiting for your dinner to arrive, maybe we could…you know.”
I order us two bottles of wine and pray they arrive before she gets naked.
42.
AFTER ORDERING THE wine I turn to see Renee lying on the bed, naked from the waist down. She says, “Come and get it, Cowboy!”
Using the excuse of needing a shower before getting intimate, I lock myself in the bathroom, turn on the shower, and text the following message to my hospital administrator, Bruce Luce:
I need a big favor! Flood my cell phone with text messages, telling me I have to fly to NYC immediately to perform a life-saving surgery.
I press send. When it goes through, I type another:
Text me you’ve got a jet waiting at the private landing strip in Paducah, and tell me it’s a matter of life and death!
When that one goes through I send him another:
The messages need to sound extremely urgent! Start sending them immediately! And don’t stop sending them till I tell you.
When that one goes through, I erase all the sent messages from my phone, and open the bathroom door.
“You’re awfully dry for having just taken a shower!” Renee says. “Plus, the water’s still running.”
“I was brushing my teeth,” I say, “then realized I had my phone with me. I get emergency calls all the time. A kid nearly died once when I was in the shower and couldn’t hear the phone.”
“That’s terrible!” she says.
“Can you keep an eye on my phone while I shower, just in case?”
“I’d love to!” she says. “And by the way, don’t worry about going hungry. I called room service back and ordered you a Porterhouse steak and a baked potato with butter, sour cream, and bacon bits.”
“You did?”
“And some blackberry cobbler.”
“That’s a significant caloric commitment.”
She laughs. “I hope you don’t plan to talk like that when we order food in Logan.”
“What would happen?”
“They’d probably take you out back and shoot you.”
“That’s a tough restaurant.”
“By the way, the room service guy said your order will take forty minutes. That sounds about right, don’t you think?”
She winks, pats her heart-shaped muff.
“Sounds great!” I say, feigning enthusiasm.
I put my phone on the night stand beside her.
“Let me know if anyone calls, okay?”
“I promise.”
“Texts are particularly serious.”
“Texts are? How come?”
“It means the people in charge are knee-deep in a critical situation, and there’s no time to talk.”
“Wow!”
“I can’t express how important this is, Renee. I’m counting on you.”
“I won’t let you down,” she says, solemnly. “I’ll let you know if anyone calls or texts. I promise.”
“Good girl. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. I love the fact you save children’s lives.”
“Really?”
“Of course. I’m a kindergarten teacher, remember?”
“Right.”
“You work on their bodies, I work on their minds.”
“I like that,” I say, truthfully.
It strikes me Renee’s a good person. While that’s a plus, it’s not enough to make me want to dive face first into Red River Gorge.
I strip, enter the shower, but leave the door unlocked.
A minute later, I hear her call out my name in an urgent manner.
I smile, pretending not to hear.
The door opens.
“Gideon!” she says.
I poke my head out of the shower. “Everything okay?”
She’s holding my cell phone, pointing to it. There’s a look of panic in her eyes.
“I got a text?”
She nods.
“Read it to me.”
“There are two messages.”
“Don’t tell me it’s Bruce Luce.”
“Would that be bad?”
“Terribly bad! Don’t tell me Bruce sent me two texts!”
“One’s from Bruce.”
“Just one?”
“Uh huh.”
“Still, that’s got to be really bad.”
“It is. I’m so sorry!”
I suppress a smile. “Read it to me.”
“The one from Bruce?”
“Yes, of course!”
“It says, ‘Fuck you, Gideon!’”
“What?”
“I’m sorry,” she says.
I hate Bruce Luce. Now what am I going to do?
“Who sent the other text?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
“Read it.”
She reads it, but not out loud. As she does, her face undergoes a major transformation. Like a cartoon character, her cheeks turn red, her eyes become slits, and steam seems to escape from her ears.
“I don’t fucking believe it!” she says.
“What?”
She frowns deeply and glares at me.
“Who’s it from?” I ask.
“Trudy Lake.”
I turn off the water. “Trudy Lake?”
Her face is smoldering. This is not a happy teacher.
“You actually know someone named Trudy Lake?” I say.
“It appears we both do,” she says between clenched teeth.
“I wonder how many Trudy Lakes there must be in the world?” I say.
“How many would you guess, Gideon?”
“Thousands.”
“With a 270 area code?”
“How do you know Trudy?” I say.
She stares me down and says, “You first.”
“What did she write?”
“‘Call me.’ Then she gave you her number.”
“Trudy Lake?”
“Yeah, that’s right, Slick.”
Based on nothing more than her steely-eyed glare, I’m guessing Renee’s not a Trudy Lake fan. That makes sense. I picture the map of Western Kentucky in my mind and realize the two women live less than an hour apart. This area’s filled with small towns. Everyone knows everyone. Trudy was the homecoming queen, the prettiest, most popular girl in the county. She’s bound to have female enemies, girls who lost out to her in beauty pageants, cheerleader tryouts, homecoming courts. But Renee’s not pretty enough to have been involved in those activities. Plus, she’s twelve years older than Trudy. So I wonder about the connection.
There’s no denying she’s royally pissed.
I decide to keep it casual, saying, “I met Trudy last night at a restaurant in Clayton. She was my waitress. I’m sure I gave her a bigger tip than she usually gets.”
Noting the fireworks in Renee’s eyes, I add, “As I would for any waitress who doesn’t screw up my order.”
“Why was she texting you?”
“I have no idea. Maybe she wanted to thank me for the tip.”
“How’d she get your phone number?”
“Um…”
“Yeah?”
I’m standing in the shower, naked. She’s got me cornered. There’s no place to run, no place to hide, no way to escape.
I ask, “How is it you know Trudy?”
“She’s my sister.”
43.
IF YOU EVER want to see a woman at her angriest, fuck her sister.
Renee’s punching and slapping at me and trying to bite me. I’m doing my best to keep the shower curtain between us, while wondering if the state’s motto should be Welcome to Kentucky: three million people, twelve last names!
/>
I remember Trudy said Scooter was a lot older than her mom, and had started another family before they met. I had no way of knowing Renee was related to Trudy, but I’m willing to fuck my way through the entire family to get to Trudy, if that’s what it takes.
Renee pulls the shower rod down and starts flailing away at me while explaining she’s always had to play second fiddle to Trudy. Precious Trudy, the young, pretty half-sister. The one her father chose to live with. The homecoming queen with the four-point-oh grade point average and sparkling personality.
“I can’t believe you fucked my sister!” she yells as she pounds me into a fetal position.
Somewhere between the slaps, punches, and tears—hers, not mine—I manage to calm her down enough to say I never had sex with her sister.
“Swear it!” she yells.
“I swear.”
“You did exactly what to her?”
“I might have kissed her.”
“Kissed her?”
“I might have. You know, like a peck on the cheek?”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“She didn’t handcuff you to the fence and suck your dick?”
“What?”
“She’s been known to do that.”
“What?”
Now I’m pissed.
44.
Trudy Lake.
DR. BOX BEAT me up pretty good last night. My eyes are so swollen I can barely see out of them. If I shift in my hospital bed the slightest bit it hurts. And a while ago I peed blood. The good news is everyone bought it. Our story, I mean. Not my pee.
Even Darrell thinks he’s the one that did this to me, which is a fair indicator of how fucked up on drugs he was last night. He sent word to me through one of the nurses.
He’s sorry.
“How badly hurt is he?” I ask.
“Well, he lost his spleen.”
“Is that important?”
“It helps with the immune system, but you don’t need it to live.”
“Well, that’s good news.”
The nurse shakes her head and chuckles.
“What?”
“That Darrell. He’s a funny one.”
“Funny?”
“He asked if we could save his spleen and give it back to him when he checks out.”
“Why?”
“The doctor said it was the biggest one he’s ever seen.”
“Knowin’ Darrell, he’s proud to have the biggest anythin’.”
“He says he’s got a taxidermist friend who can mount it, and he’d like to hang it in the bedroom, right above the bed. He said, ‘Trudy might like that.’”
She laughs at the thought and says, “Can you just imagine?”
I say, “Well of course I can! I’ve known him four years! And in Darrell’s brain, why wouldn’t that be comfortin’? Bein’ able to look up at my husband’s spleen every mornin’ when I open my eyes, knowing it was watchin’ over us the night before?”
They both laugh.
“Is it true he’s your husband and your brother?”
“Half brother. And I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Reason I asked, after my mom passed, my fifteen-year-old sister married our stepfather.”
“Oh, my God!” I say. “That had to be weird.”
“Weirder than you think. I was seventeen at the time and had to live with them for two years, since I couldn’t afford a place of my own. Want to hear the best part?”
“Of course!”
“Until I turned eighteen, social services classified my younger sister as my custodial mother!”
I laugh, hard, despite the pain. Then say, “I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to laugh.”
“That’s okay. I’m laughing too. I was just letting you know I’ve been there.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. Thanks for chargin’ up my phone this afternoon while I napped.”
“Well, I keep a charger here just for that purpose.”
“It was real nice of you.”
I let her do her job a few minutes, then ask, “Besides his spleen, will Darrell mend?”
“He will, but he’ll walk funny for a long time. I don’t envy his P.T.”
“What’s that?”
“Physical therapy. It’ll be a long, painful process, recovering the use of his legs.”
“But he will?”
“Eventually. He won’t be like he was, but he’ll be able to get around.”
“I don’t take comfort in Darrell’s sufferin’,” I say. “But I don’t feel sorry for him, either. He’s been a bullyin’ force in my life for too long. Dr. Box did the right thing.”
The nurse nods, and says, “Darrell will want to know if you have any messages for him.”
“Tell him I’m sorry he lost his spleen,” I say.
When I’m lucid enough to function normally, I check my messages and see where Gideon tried to call me a couple of times earlier today. I want to talk to him and thank him for the incredibly generous gift, but I’ve been busy with one visitor after another for the past two hours, and of course, policeman Clem’s been in my room most of the time. Whenever we find ourselves alone he tries to talk me into a courtship.
Gawd.
I don’t want to talk to Dr. Box with Clem in the room, nor do I know if he’s available to talk right now. So I text him a simple, two-word message: Call Me! And type in my cell number. If he calls, I’ll ask Clem to give me some privacy, and maybe Dr. Box and I can sort out our true feelin’s.
My guess is Dr. Box wants me back. He was headed to Ralston to visit Faith Hemphill, a woman he met on a datin’ site, but that didn’t work out. Their date got cut short when two burglars broke into Faith’s house and shot each other before Dr. Box turned up.
Don’t ask me how two burglars can shoot each other to death while tryin’ to rob an unarmed widow, but that’s how it went down, accordin’ to Sheriff Boyd, who spoke to the Ralston police. Of course, when I heard the burglars were Cletus and Renfro, it all came together.
Cletus and Renfro were Darrell’s meth cookers. While I don’t like to speak ill of the newly departed, it’s no secret that mentally speakin’, their driveways didn’t quite reach the road.
Darrell, whose own mental antenna can’t pick up the premium channels, obviously told them to drive to Faith’s house and kill Dr. Box. Darrell’s widely known for his jealousy, which makes me partly to blame for the twins’ death and Dr. Box’s busted date. What I mean to say is “broken date,” since I don’t know if Faith is busty or not.
But speakin’ of Faith, you might be wonderin’ how Darrell knew who she was and where she lived. Those are good questions, and here’s another: how did Darrell know Dr. Box was headin’ to her place for a date?
Only one way I can think of.
Daddy.
Sheriff Boyd must’ve questioned Dr. Box, and shared the information with Daddy. And why wouldn’t he? Him and Daddy have been thicker than thieves since before I can remember. If he told Daddy about Faith Hemphill, you know he told Daddy about the hand job. It’s embarrassin’ enough Clem knows about it. Can’t wait to hear Daddy’s take on it.
So Sheriff Boyd told Daddy about Faith, and Daddy told Darrell, hopin’ he’d tell Cletus and Renfro to kill Dr. Box.
Why?
Best I can tell, Daddy benefits from Dr. Box’s death two ways. First, it keeps him out of my pants. Dr. Box, I mean, not Daddy. Second, it prevents Dr. Box from testifyin’ against Daddy in court for attempted murder.
Hang on a sec, I’m getting a text.
This is weird.
It’s from my half-sister, Renee Williams. It says: Keep your ass away from Dr. Gideon Box! I won’t tell you again!
What?
Oh, my!
Poor Gideon.
If he’s hooked up with Renee he’s in for wild ride.
What circumstances could possibly come together to cause the two of them to run into each other? I wonder where they met, and wh
ich story she’s told. She usually poses as a fundraiser for an organization that helps grant memorable experiences for dyin’ children, but sometimes she pretends to be a librarian, kindergarten teacher, undercover cop, or fishing guide.
Fishing guide’s the worst. If Renee takes you out on her bass boat, you’re likely to stay wet a long time, since 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.