by Penny Reid
Glad the shower went well and can’t wait to see the photos and videos. Baby, I feel so—
She paused here, rubbed her forehead and nibbled on her lip before continuing,
—I do not want to leave you or the lodge or Green Valley. I am so proud of you, who you are and who you’ve become. I don’t want to miss out on a single minute of your life. Yet I don’t know what else to do. I didn’t kill your father, but that doesn’t seem to matter to anyone. I WON’T let anyone use me against Jason. I won’t let your father take over this part of my life, this precious, wonderful, surprising adventure I’ve just started, like he took so much else from me while he was alive.
She underlined the words I WON’T three times. When she’d finished writing, she sent me a searching look. By “Jason” I knew she meant Mr. Repo. Apparently, Jason was Mr. Repo’s real name, but no one used their real name with the Wraiths. Cletus’s father, Darrell, was known as “Romeo,” and Isaac went by the moniker “Twilight.”
Torn, I frowned at her words. I understood where she was coming from with respect to my father. I didn’t resent her relationship with Mr. Repo, aside from not knowing or liking the man much. Likewise, I’d be lying if I claimed to 100 percent support her relationship with the guy. He—Mr. Repo, Jason, whatever his name—was a criminal. He’d been arrested, charged, and served prison time more than once.
Plus, my momma had kept their relationship a secret from me and from everyone, and now she wanted to run off with him? Go on the run from the police? What would their life be like? And what happened if she didn’t love him next year but we still hadn’t cleared her name? What if he mistreated her? What would she do then? As someone who’d spent their first two decades of life feeling trapped by circumstances, I didn’t want the same thing to happen to my mother.
Seeing my expression, she quickly added,
I love him. I love Jason. I won’t let him go to jail because of me. I won’t. At least out there with Jason, I might be on the run, but the truth is I’ll be freer than I have been in over twenty years. I feel imprisoned already, here, with those people watching all the time.
When she lifted her eyes this time, they were glassy, looked sad instead of undecided, but the determination remained.
Twisting my lips, I nodded even though I still hadn’t resigned myself to the plan Cletus, Mr. Repo, and my brother had concocted. Writing notes back and forth on paper wasn’t an effective method for arguing someone out of a crazy plan. There had to be another way for her to be free, for us to clear her name.
In my heart, I held out hope we’d find another way.
A sudden knock on the front door followed by an impatient double ring of the doorbell drove a spike of alarm down my spine. Startled, my mother and I stared at each other. Cletus had said the FBI or the sheriff’s office would definitely come by today or tomorrow to check on my mother, make sure she was still in the house even if she didn’t attend the wedding shower.
Another series of knocks and a triple doorbell ring pushed me from my stunned stillness and into action.
I pointed to her bedroom and then her face and clothes. If the visitor was FBI, verifying we hadn’t smuggled her out somehow, then she couldn’t be seen looking as well and pulled together as she was presently.
If it were anyone else, her assistant for instance, she’d need to look under the weather since we’d told everyone at the wedding shower she’d been ill.
Nodding, she stood and tiptoed to her bedroom while I placed my hand over my heart, waiting until her door had closed before strolling unhurriedly to the foyer. I had no reason to rush. I had no reason to be afraid. I peered out the peep hole, telling myself I would be calm, cool, collected—
What the—? I jumped back, my heart sprinting.
“Ms. Donner, Jennifer, I know y’all are in there.” Mr. Miller stood right up against the peep hole, trying to peep inside.
Fingers shaking, I pulled out my phone and texted Cletus,
Jenn: Mr. Miller is at the front door. He wants to talk to my mother!!!!!!
His knock sounded again. “I see your car out here, Jennifer. I’m not wanting to cause trouble or make a ruckus. It’s just, Ms. Donner, look. I’ve come to talk to you about my cows and my farm.”
I grimaced. He means blackmail, I thought grimly. It seemed Miller had grown desperate. Instead of mailing her threatening letters like he’d been doing since my engagement party, he’d obviously decided to deliver a message in person. Today.
A multitude of questions remained regarding Miller and his involvement in my father’s death. If he and Elena were in cahoots, why? Why would she want to be in cahoots with him? What were they cahooting about? And why was she afraid of him now? Had Miller tried to blackmail her too? Cletus and I suspected—strongly suspected—Elena had been the one to strangle my father with the fishing rope. Had he seen it? Seen her? Did he really have the gun in his possession or was that a bluff? And if he had the gun, did that make him the shooter?
Staring at the trailing three dots on my phone screen—an indication of Cletus’s imminent response—I willed him to type faster. Finally, his message came through,
Cletus: Keep him outside on the front porch. DO NOT open the door. Someone will be there in less than three minutes. I’m ten away.
“Jennifer, Ms. Donner, be reasonable. Open the door so we can talk.”
Still holding my phone, I stepped right up to the door. “Mr. Miller, it’s Jennifer. I—we—you know, my momma has been real sick, and I don’t think she can see visitors today. Maybe next week?”
“Jennifer, I can barely hear you. Open the door so we can talk face-to-face.”
“I—I can’t—”
“Now, don’t turn me away until you see my offer.”
“Farmer Miller. Please understand—” I glanced at my phone screen, less than a minute had passed “—I just had my wedding shower this afternoon, did you know that? I think your niece was there, such a lovely—"
“Jenn, I always liked you. You’re a nice girl. And I’m sorry it’s come to this, but I need those cows back, and I need my land, and so—I suppose—this offer is for both of you. Both. Of. You. And I don’t think it’s something you’d appreciate if’n I made the offer out loud. I know it’s something you’re going to want to see.”
Oh goodness. Well.
I glanced at the phone again. Two minutes left.
“Be smart. Open the door. Let me show you what I mean.” He lowered his voice from a shout, deepened it to a threatening baritone.
Gulping in air, I placed my hand on the doorknob. “Mr. Miller, I will open the door. But you have to give me a solemn oath that you will stay on the front porch.”
“If you want me to stay on the front porch—out in the open—after seeing my offer, then I will do so. But if you invite me in to discuss terms, then I will. Now open the door because I am ten seconds away from making my offer out loud.”
Cletus had told me not to open the door, but I didn’t have a choice, I didn’t have ten seconds.
Miller had to know the house was being watched—of course he knows, everybody knows! It’s not like the FBI van is making an effort to be clandestine seeing as how they wave at me every time I drive past—which meant he’d deduced they were also listening. I placed my hand on the lock, ready to flip it.
Working to hide my fear, I slowly unlocked the door, counted to three, and slowly opened it just wide enough to slip outside and close it behind me. Miller had to back up as I did so, but he still stood close, hovering, maybe giving me just two feet of room.
Other than the hovering, the first thing I noticed was the crazy quality in his eyes. “Glad to see you’re open to being reasonable. That’s good,” he said.
I set sweaty hands on my hips and poked out my chin, working real hard to keep my voice firm. “Now, sir. If you would—”
The words died on my lips. Instead of a check or a contract or whatever I thought maybe he wanted me to see, he held up a white pie
ce of paper with words written in black marker that read, “I know what you did, both of you. I know what you’re covering up. And if you don’t want the police to find out your secrets, you’ll do as I say. Right now.”
I read the note three or four times, my heart slowing to a sluggish pace by the time I lifted my attention to his scornful features. My ears rang. My throat felt full and dry. Anger, thick and hot, pumped through my veins.
I was tempted—so very tempted—to call his bluff out loud, to read the paper he showed me and ask him what the hell it was about. I had nothing to hide. He didn’t know poo about me. And if he thought I’d give him his farm back now, well, he was mistaken. That field? Mine. That pond? Mine. That prairie and mountain view? Mine and mine.
“I am not interested in this offer,” I said deliberately, much calmer than I’d expected the words to arrive.
The sneer fell from his face, and he blinked, visibly shocked.
“And frankly, I’m insulted,” I continued, not needing to dig very deep for fury. “How. Dare. You.”
Farmer Miller—nay, Mr. Miller!—stumbled back a step, his blinking now on overdrive.
But I was not yet finished. “You conspired to cheat my mother out of a good deal of money last year, but she paid full price for those cows. You’ve been more than fairly compensated for them. You may have signed over your land while under false assumptions, believing the string of lies my father told you, but you are an adult. You are responsible for your bad business decisions, no one else.”
He gulped, staring at me, and stumbled on the porch step, needing to grip the banister to keep from falling. He was still a foot taller than me; but clearly, he was the smaller person in every way that mattered.
“I can’t believe I ever looked up to you. I can’t believe I made excuses for you, to my mother, to Cletus. I stood up for you last year. Even after what my father put me through and all your scheming with him, I asked my mother to consider selling you back those cows over the summer. Did you know that? And when I found out my father had left me your farm, I was planning to sign it back over because I believed it was the right and good thing to do. But not anymore.”
Mr. Miller lowered his gaze to the porch, but his features were still within my view. He also lowered his hand holding the paper. The man swallowed thickly, his brain obviously working, a hint of remorse taming some of the crazy in his eyes.
“I thought the best of you. And what did you do? You betrayed me. You betrayed everyone who ever thought of you as a good and decent person. You betrayed yourself. Shame, Mr. Miller. Shame on you.”
As I finished, the sound of car tires on gravel pulled my attention to the driveway just as Shelly’s brown car barreled into view. She and Beau jumped out of the car, not even cutting the engine, and ran over to the porch.
Mr. Miller didn’t look up as they ran past him, Beau stepping in front of me while Shelly flanked my side and rushed to ask, “Are you okay?”
I nodded, but said nothing, so darn angry I couldn’t see straight.
“Mr. Miller.” Beau leaned a hand against the porch rail, forcing Miller down the three remaining steps until he stood at ground level with the three of us above. “It’s time to go,” the redhead said, sounding sterner than I’d ever heard him.
Miller glanced between us—first Beau, then Shelly, then me—and heaved a weary sigh. “Fine. I’m going. I’ll leave. But, Jennifer, I can’t let this go. I am real sorry, but I won’t. Those Guernseys, that land, they’re my life.” His tone held more desperation than threat, an appeal for understanding. He seemed close to tears, his words roughened with emotion. “You have to understand, it’s nothing personal, but I’ll do what I have to do to get back what’s mine. Tell your momma, time is running out. She has a week, no more. I’m sorry.”
With that, he turned, shoulders slumped, and walked back to his car.
Chapter Eighteen
*Jenn*
“The more one judges, the less one loves.”
Honoré de Balzac, Physiologie Du Mariage
Thankfully, deputies Boone and Jackson came by that night after Cletus had arrived and Beau and Shelly had departed. The two men interrupted our dinner of soup and salad, looking relieved when my mother came to the door. They both sent me and Cletus—where we stood behind her in the foyer—unmistakable silent apologies with their eyes.
The purpose of their visit was supposedly to ask follow-up questions about my mother’s version of events on the night of the engagement party. Neither of them seemed at all surprised when she told them to speak to her lawyer. They nodded, told us to have a good night, and my mother closed the door.
I couldn’t decide if I felt relieved or panicked. On the one hand, after Miller’s threatening ultimatum this afternoon, giving us just one more week, I was grateful Boone and Jackson had checked in so that we could move forward with the plan. On the other hand, moving forward with the plan meant my mother might be leaving for good.
Before I could sort out my feelings, we returned to the dinner table and ate silently for fifteen more minutes. Cletus then said, “Looks like we should be going,” and pulled out a cell phone I didn’t recognize, one of those old flip type phones. He tapped out a message and showed us both the screen before sending,
Cletus: We’re heading out.
I knew the seemingly innocuous message was for Isaac because that was the first part of the plan. Cletus would text, We’re heading out to Isaac. Isaac would then let Mr. Repo know.
Next, Isaac would take his bike to my mother’s, wearing his helmet until he walked inside, just as he’d done for the last several weeks.
After an hour, as soon as my mother left on Isaac’s motorcycle, dressed like my brother, he would turn on the playback system Cletus had wired weeks ago that made it sound like my mother was moving around, still at home. He would also message Mr. Repo again, letting the man know my mother was inbound for the Dragon Biker Bar.
Isaac would wait a few hours, keeping an eye on the front and ensuring the playback system was working. He’d then leave through the back after midnight.
Meanwhile, my momma would ride to the Dragon Biker Bar, meet Mr. Repo, and leave for the safe house. Cletus and I should, hopefully, be there already by the time they arrived. I would say my goodbye in the short time allotted, and then . . . that’d be it. Theoretically, she’d be gone for who knows how long, until Cletus and I cleared her name by building a case against the real killers, one of which we felt certain was Elena Wilkinson.
I’m not saying I agreed with the plan, but that was the plan.
Presently, as we pushed back from the kitchen table, my mother nodded upon reading Cletus’s outgoing message. She stood straight and stiff, stubborn steel behind her gaze, the strength my father had never fully succeeded in badgering out of her. I’d concluded over the past year he’d wanted her bent, not broken. If she’d been broken, she might’ve been less effective at making the money he used for his big boats, vacation house, and fishing trips in the Florida Keys.
I hugged my mother goodbye, hoping and praying I’d be seeing her again in a few hours at the safe house. One thing at a time.
Cletus and I had gone around and around about the plan, with me always asking if—once we had her alone and speaking freely—she’d finally tell us her version of events from the night of my father’s murder. Then maybe we could clear her name now and she wouldn’t have to leave with Mr. Repo at all.
Cletus had never responded with anything but, “We’ll see,” leaving me frustrated because I could tell he didn’t think this was a possibility.
Nerves twisting my stomach into knots, Cletus and I drove to my house in silence. Alex had confirmed my house was free of cameras and listening devices the day after Cletus’s meeting with Isaac and Mr. Repo and the day before my release from the station. Nevertheless, Cletus had requested Alex fly his magical drone over the structure every so often, just to be sure. Even when all the sweeps and scans came back clean, neither of us
seemed moved to talk much when inside the house.
Alex had my full confidence, but our trust of privacy in the home had been shattered. We would have to move at some point, I knew and accepted that.
As soon as we arrived at my house, Cletus and I changed out of our regular clothes and wordlessly slipped on black tactical gear, another gift from Alex. Then we were off, navigating the woods on foot for three miles until we made it to the Green Valley community center. Neither of us spoke, but he’d grabbed my hand a few times, giving me a searching look and a squeeze. I’d answered the searching looks with a small smile and the hand squeeze with one in return.
Unsurprisingly, the parking lot was full of cars for Saturday bingo, but also equally empty of people. Cletus walked right up to a black truck, pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the passenger side door first. As we’d walked around the back, I saw it had Tennessee plates. An older Chevy, it was one of the smaller models they used to make in the 1970s and 1980s.
“Should I ask whose truck this is?” I whispered the question even though there didn’t seem to be anyone around.
“It’s Carter McClure’s, but he only uses it for hauling, which is why you didn’t recognize it. I believe my brother Jethro arranged to borrow black beauty tonight and tomorrow to load mulch for flower beds,” he responded, helping me up into the seat. “Note the illegal tint to the windows. So you can’t see inside? It’s just like the kind I have on the Buicks and the Geo. We did this for Carter last year, but since the vehicle is over thirty years old, he gets to pretend like it was always that way. That plus the black paint job makes it near invisible at night, a real safety hazard with the lights off.”
Hmm. Invisible. Now I didn’t need to ask why we were using this particular truck.
“How did you arrange for Jethro to borrow the truck so fast? We didn’t know until an hour and a half ago that tonight would be the night for my momma’s escape.”