by Gen Griffin
“He's not a cop. He's the game warden.” Jo Beth was leaning against the doorway of the trailer with a look of total disgust on her face. Addison wasn't sure if her expression was for him, Amelia, the food coated, soggy rotting floor of the trailer, or the raccoon.
“Don't get smart with me, little missy. I'm just trying to protect my virtue. If he's a cop, why doesn't he have a uniform on?” Amelia sneered at Jo with apparent distaste. It was fifteen minutes after midnight and Jo still didn't have a hair out of place. Her make-up was flawless, her skin blemish free and the pink hoodie and capris she was wearing made her look warm, invitingly round and friendly, which Addy knew was just an illusion created by Victoria's Secret. Her perfume was the only thing keeping the stench of the trailer in check. He suspected she had sprayed it on extra thick before walking through the door. Jo Beth wasn't normally the kind of girl you could smell coming.
“I have no idea. Maybe he's moonlighting as a midnight mechanic.” Jo raised an eyebrow at Addy and gestured at the Breedlove Automotive t-shirt he was wearing. “Why don't you have your uniform on?”
“Do you want this animal out of the house or not?” Addison glared at her. He was well aware of how he looked in a lime green t-shirt advertising David's shop, a pair of grease stained work jeans that fit him like too tight capris and old, cracked Justin roping boots that were two sizes too big.
Jo abruptly shut her mouth, clearly deciding to refrain from any further comments until he had removed the potentially rabid coon. Addison turned and walked back outside while muttering obscenities. Jo Beth followed him all the way to his truck.
“Tell me you aren't drunk.” Her arms crossed over her ample breasts as she leaned against the side of Addison's state-issue Ford.
“Stone cold sober, unfortunately. A double shot of whiskey might make that smell a little more bearable.” Addison turned to glare at her as he pulled on a set of thick metal lined gloves he kept for handling dangerous animals.
“Remind me again why the Game Warden is in charge of residential animal control?” Jo glared at him.
“Because Uncle Frank only has $700 a year in his budget for animal control, and I drew the short straw.” Addison scowled and grumbled something about it not being nearly enough extra money in his check to make it worth dealing with nights like this one. He turned to face Jo Beth. “Why are you here, anyway?”
To his surprise, Jo sighed and slumped back against the side of the truck. She held her hands up in the air. “This is one of my step-father’s rental properties. You know Matt. That horrible woman is a tenant. One I'm about to do my darnedest to have evicted as soon as possible.”
“Nice.” Addison pulled a long metal pole with a noose on the end of it out of one of the toolboxes that lined the bed of the truck. “That coon's been in that vent for weeks. If I had to guess, I'd say she's been feeding it. Want to explain to me why it became an emergency at 11:45 tonight?”
“She called the house at around ten. She said there was a raccoon in the trailer and that it had bit her when she was trying to feed it a fried baloney sandwich. Up until the coon bit her, she apparently considered it some sort of demented pet. She demanded Matt come do something about it. Of course, he just finished chemo and isn't in any shape to be driving. I said I would come see what the problem was. Amelia's a complainer. She's always breaking something and then calling and demanding it be fixed. She's destroyed that trailer. The only reason we haven't evicted her yet is because Matt has been so sick it just kind of fell on the back burner. Anyway, I came out here and saw what was going on. She told me she was going to sue us if I didn't do something about it tonight. Matt doesn't need that kind of garbage to worry about right now. I tried to call your cell but you didn't answer it, so I called dispatch.”
“Ah crap. I think I left my damned phone at David's. Either that or I dropped it in the mud while I was chasing poachers from one end of Lou Kramer's pasture to the other.” Addison checked the mechanism on the pole. It had been awhile since he'd used it. “Why didn't Cal come out here with you? I could have used the help. Hell, he could have done this shit himself. He was the one who used to catch varmints all the time when we were kids.”
“Cal,” Jo put extra emphasis on the name, “ditched me immediately after dinner.”
Addison stopped what he was doing and blinked at Jo in surprise. “What?”
“He was pissed off when he got back in the truck, and then I said something stupid without thinking. He got mad at me and told me he would see me tomorrow.”
Addison opened his mouth to tell her he honestly didn't know what Cal was so angry about when a loud scream echoed from inside the trailer combined with a loud crash and the sound of splintering wood.
“Oh lord. What now?” Jo turned back towards the trailer and glared at it with a look of pure loathing as she started to head toward the door. “Could this night get any worse?”
“I don't think so.” Addison was two steps behind her with the metal pole in one hand as another scream echoed out through the night air.
Chapter 11
The first time Gracie called her brother's phone it rang six times before it went to voicemail. She hit the send button again immediately and got the same exact result. The third time she dialed his number it rang four times and a familiar but grouchy voice came on the other line.
“What do you want? It’s after midnight.”
Gracie nearly choked on the breath she had been holding. For a moment she was overwhelmed by panic. She needed her brother right now and Addison was definitely not who had answered the phone.
“Hello? Gracie, are you there?”
She struggled to catch her breath. She had who answered the phone when he'd said her name, but the words she needed to say seemed to be stuck to the roof of her mouth. Nothing but air would come out of her throat.
“Gracie?”
“David.” Gracie's voice was thick with panic. “David, I need to talk to Addy. Now.”
“Are you okay?” He sounded as if she'd woken him up.
“No.” It never occurred to her to lie to him. “I need to talk to Addy. Right now.”
“Are you hurt?” His voice was calm in contrast to the thick, panicked noises her own throat kept making.
“No, but please. Just let me talk to my brother.”
For a moment there was only silence. David sighed. “He's not here right now, kiddo. He's on call this weekend. He forgot his phone when he got called back out again.”
Gracie felt her entire world zoom out of focus. She had been counting on Addison knowing how to fix everything and now he was out of reach. There was no telling where he was or when she would be able to get a hold of him.
“Gracie?”
Three cars had already driven by. Thankfully none of them had stopped to see why the expensive BMW was on the side of the road, but eventually someone would get curious. She couldn't stay here forever waiting on Addison. She had to take action. Soon.
“Gracie!” David's harsh tone snapped her back into focus. “What the hell is going on?”
“Oh God. David. I'm in trouble. Really bad trouble. I screwed up.” Gracie felt the words rush out of her mouth before she could stop them. “I'm going to jail for the rest of my life. I'm never going to see you or Addy or Cal ever again. My life is ruined.”
The tears that had not come when she had watched Brett die had begun to rapidly spill down her cheeks. She struggled to stop them. She was afraid that if she started crying now, she might never stop.
“Whoa. Gracie. Baby. Calm down and start at the beginning.” David sounded deceptively calm.
“I can't,” she whispered. “I don't have time. Someone is going to find me and call the cops and then I'm going to wind up in jail forever.”
“What the hell did you do?”
“I couldn't help it. I mean, I guess I could have. But he wanted to rape me. I'm so sorry. I just-.” She trailed off, unable to make herself say the words.
“Gracie,
tell me what the fuck is going on.” David's voice had a warning tone to it.
“I killed Brett.” She whispered the words so softly she could barely hear herself.
“You did what?”
“I killed Brett,” she repeated it louder this time. “I shot him the face with Addison's .22.”
“Did you just say you killed somebody?”
Gracie nodded and then realized he couldn't see her. “Yes.”
“Are the cops there?” he demanded.
“No,” Gracie said. “Just me. No one knows yet. It was an accident. I didn't mean to kill him. Really.”
“Who else knows about this besides you and me?”
“No one.”
“I'm the only one you've called?”
She could hear the disbelief in his voice. She struggled to pull herself together enough to try to explain what had happened to David. “I wasn't calling you. I was calling Addy.”
“That's not what I was trying to say. I'm asking you- wait, why are you calling Addy?”
“I thought he would know what to do,” she said softly. “I thought he could help me.”
“Gracie, you need to tell me what the fuck is going on.” He was deadly serious. Gracie shuddered but tried to get her thoughts together. David was a logical person to turn to. She trusted him just as much as she trusted Addison and Cal. He could probably help her figure out how to get out of this mess. According to the rumors in Possum Creek, David was a murderer too.
Gracie took a deep breath and forced her sobs back down into her throat. “It was an accident. I went on a date with a guy from school and he wanted to have sex. I refused and he said he was going to rape me. He tried to force himself on me.”
“So you shot him.” David sounded almost amused.
“He came at me and I shot him. He's not breathing, David. His nose is just gone and he's got blood coming out of his mouth.” She struggled to make her thoughts into coherent sentences.
“Where are you?”
“What?” She had expected him to ask for more details about what had happened.
“Where are you?” He repeated the question.
“At school. Off campus on some godforsaken back road. I'm not sure exactly where.”
David let out a long, hissing breath. “Are you alone?”
“Yes.” She choked on a sob. “Well, except for Brett. He's still in the driver’s seat. His pants are all bloody now.”
“Does anyone else know about this?”
“No.”
“So you're completely alone? No witnesses?”
“Right.”
“Why haven't you called the cops?”
“I don't know,” she admitted with a frightened whimper. “I don't want to go to jail, David.”
David was silent for so long Gracie had to look at the phone to make sure it was still connected.
When he spoke again the tension in his voice was thick enough to cut with a knife. “Are you absolutely, positively certain you killed this guy, Gracie? You're completely sure he's dead?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck.” David cursed loudly. “You said you're in a car, right?”
“Yes,” she repeated.
“Come home.”
“What?”
“Start driving. I'll be waiting for you when you get here.”
“David, are you sure?” Gracie's voice was trembling. She wasn't sure if it was with fear or relief.
“Are you sure you’re going to be arrested for murder?”
“Yes.” Panic was filling her chest and threatening to squeeze the life out of her.
“Come home,” he repeated. “I'll figure something out when you get here. Drive safe and don't get pulled over.”
Chapter 12
“What's it take to get some damned service around here?”
Cal twisted on his bar stool to see a burned out middle-aged woman leaning heavily on the ancient wooden bar beside him. She plunked two thick glass draft beer mugs on the counter in front of Leon.
“Money, for starters.” Leon barely bothered to cast his glance in her direction. The older man had owned and run the county's nastiest biker bar for as long as Cal could remember.
The woman scowled at him. She had badly bleached blonde hair with large chunks of greasy gray showing through the dye job. Her eyes were severely bloodshot, and she had the broken blood vessels of a lifelong alcoholic to redden her nose and cheeks. She dug deeply into the pockets of her too tight shorts and extracted, with some difficulty, a pair of very crumpled dollar bills. She waved them at Leon's face.
“I got money,” she said defiantly.
“Not near enough to pay the tab y'all have already racked up.”
“Leon, I been drinking here for how many years now? All of a sudden you want to get high and mighty asking if I can pay? Tell me you ain't.”
Leon yawned. “You've been drinking here for years, but I can't remember the last time you drank on your own tab. I ain't seen that feller you’re with pull out as much as a quarter for the jukebox yet.”
“You think we ain't got no money?” Anger flashed in her eyes.
“Be honest, I know you don't have any money, and I'm pretty damned sure your boy over there ain't nothing but a drifter. Judging by the smell of him and the layers of clothing he's got on. This ain't a homeless shelter, Sharyn. I don't hand out freebies.”
“How dare you?” Sharyn's eyes narrowed in fury.
Cal watched the man she was drinking with approach the bar. He had light brown skin spotted with an assortment of liver spots, freckles, and dirt. His hair was a tangled mass that appeared to have several sticks and twigs stuck in it, hinting that it had been awhile since he had stayed a night indoors. His body odor cloaked the bar like a humid fog of sweat and cheap, stale wine. His torn coat gaped open to reveal a thin body with a massive potbelly. He looked as if he was trying to determine what the holdup was on their next round of bottom of the barrel draft.
Sharyn gestured at Leon as she turned to her companion. “He don't wanna get us no more beer. He says he don't think we kin pay for 'em.”
The man tried to glare at Leon. The effect was diminished by the fact that he had a lazy eye and was so drunk he couldn't stay upright without leaning heavily on the woman. She nearly toppled over under the force of his weight combining with her own intoxication.
“It don't matter,” the man finally slurred. “This jerk ain't wanting our money if he's asking if we kin pay. Let's get the hell out of here.”
She blinked for a moment and then nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Let's go have some fun then.” She pressed herself into the man and rubbed against his body.
“I'll bet you another bottle of whiskey he doesn't have a quarter to his name,” Leon said as he and Cal watched the drunken couple stumble out the door of the bar. He pulled out an already open bottle of Jack Daniels and filled a 12-ounce glass nearly to the brim. Cal watched with amusement as he tossed a splash of Coke into the glass for appearances sake before he pushed it across the counter.
Cal shrugged and stared down at the glass in front of him for a moment before closing his eyes and downing it in three long swallows. His eyes watered as the whiskey seared its way down his throat and boiled in his stomach.
Leon raised an eyebrow at him and held up the rest of the bottle of Jack. There was slightly less than half of the amber liquid left. “You just want the rest straight from the bottle?”
Cal took it by the neck with a small smile. “Make your life easier if you don't have to bother pouring it?”
“I figure if you're going to empty the glass that damned fast there ain't no sense in wasting my time putting ice and Coke in it.”
“I'm just curious where the hell that guy came from?” Cal shrugged and took another swig straight from the bottle. “Last time Pappy found a bum sleeping under the store awning, he told Frank Chasson that he was gonna cut his re-election campaign funding in half next election if he didn't run 'em all o
ut of town.”
Leon laughed. “What, somebody piss on the sidewalk in front of Walker Hardware?”
“Something like that,” Cal admitted with a shrug.
“Old Joshua Walker don't play around when it comes to his personal comfort.” Leon shook his head and poured himself a draft beer. “I'd guess that feller ain't nothing more than a drifter passing through. If Frank's campaign funding is on the line then he'd better pass through in a hurry or Frank will personally make sure he passes. He ain't gonna risk ticking off your granddaddy.”
“Not too many people will.” Cal wasn't just talking about Frank, and they both knew it.
He watched through the window as the pair made their way out of the bar and climbed into a battered Toyota he had seen parked outside. The truck was red, rusted out, and looked like David's truck would if it got stuck in the crusher down at the scrap metal yard.
“I just wonder what her husband's gonna say when he finds that feller in his bed?” Leon gave Cal a wicked grin. “If that happens, that feller ain't going to live long enough for Frank to have to worry about getting rid of him.”
Chapter 13
Panic kept threatening to overwhelm Gracie as the sleek BMW cut through the crisp night air. She had rolled all of the windows down despite the cold. Maybe the coppery scent of Brett's blood would start to fade if enough damp, chilly air blew through her nostrils.
She was freezing. She'd used her thin shirt to wipe Brett's blood off the steering wheel and the vomit off her mouth once she was done upchucking every greasy dining hall meal she'd eaten in the last week. She'd tossed the shirt into the back seat with Brett's still warm body. The lacy black bra she was wearing was trimmed prettily with red ribbon and offered absolutely zero protection from the damp wind. The fabric barely covered her nipples. She'd bought the matching set because she'd known Cal would like it. She was pretty sure she'd been wearing it on that miserable Saturday night eight months ago when they had gotten in to an argument they hadn't been able to get back out of. He'd dumped her that night but she'd kept the matching bra and panty set because it was the only sexy lingerie she owned that wasn't contaminated by memories of his hands on her bare, hot skin. She'd worn it tonight because she'd needed a bra that was cut low enough that the tops of the cups wouldn't stick up over the deep-v neckline of the shirt Kelsey had dressed her in.