by Rivi Jacks
I finish programming in my butterscotch latte on Lucas’ fancy built-in coffee machine before turning to face him. “I am very well thank you, Taylor. And how are you on this exceptionally fine morning that the Ozarks is providing for our utmost gratification?” I ask primly with a side of smart-ass.
Taylor laughs. “How is it your accent and dialect is just like the other hillbillies around here, but then you will suddenly speak with such elocution?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Taylor, I didn’t know you used such fancy words.”
He gives me a look that is so Lucas—I can’t help but smile. “I guess we both have diverse character traits.”
Huh? “Well, I know that you are certainly” —I search for a word to tease him with— “contrary.”
“Funny.” He smiles broadly at me. “Is that another word for pigheaded?”
I choke on my coffee. “Uh… ” His laugh is so contagious that he soon has me gripping my sides from laughing so hard. “We’ll just let that one speak for itself,” I finally say once I get the laughter under control.
“That is my downfall,” he says, grinning at me. He stands to clear his dirty dishes.
“Well, my parents were afraid that I’d sound like a hick.” I smile when he turns to look at me. “So—when I visited them my… father would have me read from a dictionary.” I hadn’t thought about that in a while.
Taylor sits back down across from me, his expression bemused. “A dictionary?”
I take a sip of my coffee. “Yeah, so I’d know how to properly pronounce words.” The memory brings back the feelings of how anxious I would be hoping to gain some form of praise from my father.
Okay, enough of that. I glance up at the wall clock, conscious of the fact Taylor is staring at me. It’s been an hour since I spoke to Diane and right on cue, I hear her knocking at the front door. “That’s Diane, we’re going to breakfast at Murphy’s,” I tell him as I finish my coffee and set the cup in the sink.
“Uh, Sofie—Lucas doesn’t want you out without someone with you.”
“I know. Diane will be with me, and it’s broad daylight, Taylor.” I head for the door. “See ya.”
Taylor follows. “I don’t think that’s exactly what he had in mind,” he says, clearly amused.
I know it’s not, but it’s what I need to do. I need the normalcy of my old life back. I understand that my life has probably changed forever because of the Kihn, and Lucas, and whatever else is coming my way in the time ahead. But I made the decision after my self-reflection of the night before—I need some sense of a normal life. And control. I still need control.
I shrug into my jacket before opening the front door. “You can come too if you want.”
Diane peeks around me. “Hi, Taylor.” She starts to give him a little wave but as she sees his sudden frown, her hand drops. I think he’s just realized that I am serious and I am leaving.
“Okay then.” I give him a smile as I close the door, leaving him standing in the entranceway with his hands on his hips.
“Everything okay?” Diane asks as we head down the steps.
“Just peachy.”
Chapter Seven
Thursdays at Murphy’s are usually one of the busier days of the week with people buying gas and supplies the day before payday. And today is no exception with the parking lot, so full, Diane and I have to park out by the kerosene pump.
Reenie Adams is behind the counter, working the register, and greets us as we enter. Bobbi Shay Lynn is at the back, frying up breakfast orders on the grill. Her best friend Teresa Ryder is standing nearby in the kitchen doorway, talking to her. They both look our way, with Teresa giving me the stink eye as we stop to chat with Reenie.
Oh, for Pete’s sake! Would their pettiness never end?
“Those two!” Diane glares back at Teresa. “You’d think they’d be a little appreciative after their tunnel experience.”
I notice that Bobbi quickly turns her attention back to her cooking as Teresa continues with her bitchiness, glaring daggers at me.
I wave at Polly Walker, working the register on the grocery side, and Diane and I find a seat in the dining area. The regular breakfast crowd is still in attendance this morning, drinking coffee and seeing who can tell the best story. Emma Rae calls the group, The Liars Club. I wave a greeting to Jerome and Terry Joe Wooten.
Emma Rae is working the dining room, and she comes over as soon as she spots us. “Geez, it’s crazy this morning,” she says, turning as Chip Davis asks her for a bottle of ketchup, which she pulls off an empty table for him. “Know what you want?” She asks us.
I give a significant look at Chip who has it bad for Emma Rae.
Emma Rae curls her lip. “Don’t start.”
“Mmmm, I want biscuits and gravy,” Diane tells her.
“Me too. Can you take a break and sit?” I ask.
“Yep, when your food’s ready.”
She heads toward the kitchen, and I stand to get a cup of coffee. Most of the regulars in Murphy’s just help themselves to coffee. “You want a cup?” I ask Diane. When she declines, I walk back past Reenie waiting on a customer at the register and look to see if Murphy’s door is open. I need to speak with him, but his office is dark. I continue to the drink counter at the back of the store, located near the doorway where Teresa stands.
“Of course, we have to play it cool.” I hear her say in a cautious tone of voice to Bobbi—like she doesn’t want me to hear—but I know she does.
“He has to be careful she doesn’t find out because she’ll go all postal on his ass. He says as soon as he gets her out of his house, it will be easier for us to be together.”
I know she’s talking about Lucas. Right from the start, she’s tried to cause trouble, doing her best to make me think something is going on between the two of them. The thing is, I wonder who it is she gets her information from because she always seems to know when Lucas is home or gone. She’s even overly familiar with his house.
About the time I walk past the door and look in, Bobbi turns to look at Teresa and sees me. She makes eye contact and actually flushes. Teresa turns and smirks.
“Eavesdroppers never hear anything they want to hear,” Teresa gives me a saccharine smile.
“You don’t have anything I want to hear,” I say under my breath as I continue to the coffee counter. I mentally kick myself. I know better than to comment and let myself be pulled into her bitch drama.
“You know,” she says as she follows me. “It would be so much easier on your—delicate disposition—if you would stop playing games with Lucas.”
What the hell? I ignore her, reaching for a cup, hitting the cream dispenser.
“It’s so pathetic, Reece, for you to play on Lucas’ good manners. You and your family whining and playing the ‘Oh-poor-Sofie’ card.” She slithers closer. “Is your family helping you in your quest to trap Lucas? My cousin says that’s how your aunt caught Billy Evans—with lies.”
Oh hell no—she did not just say that.
“You know Teresa,” I turn toward her, “it’s a good thing that people around here know you, and know what a lying, lowlife bitch you really are, spewing venom wherever you go.”
I see Emma Rae walk up behind Teresa.
“Why you—” Teresa sputters.
I step right up to her, and she takes a step back. Hey, I guess she’s not forgotten everything from our night in the tunnel. “Say what you will about me, Teresa, give it your best shot. But never, ever speak ill of my family. You got that?”
“You’re a crazy bitch!” She spits out as she takes another step back.
“That’s right and I’ll crazy all over your ass if you mess with me!” Oh, I am so in the mood for this.
“Teresa, your food’s ready,” Bobbi says from the k
itchen doorway.
Teresa throws me a glare and turns, bumping against Emma Rae as she leaves.
Emma Rae stands there with her mouth open as I turn back to pick up my coffee.
“Wow. I—” Emma Rae is speechless. This day is just full of surprises.
“Let’s go sit. You think our food is about ready?”
“I’ll check.” She steps closer. “What happened in that tunnel?” she whispers.
I shake my head as Cookie Jones and Mary Alice Burke walk past.
“Hey, Sofie, Emma Rae,” Mary Alice greets.
After visiting a bit, I head back to the dining room as Emma Rae goes to get our food. Sawyer is sitting at the table with Diane.
“Hey,” I say as I sit beside him.
“I thought maybe you got lost,” Diane teases.
“She was busy thinking about kicking Teresa’s ass,” Emma Rae says as she sets a couple of plates on the table before sitting beside Diane.
“What happened?” Diane asks as she peppers her gravy.
I wave my hand, hoping to dismiss the subject of Teresa Ryder. “What are we going to do today, Sawyer?” I’m hoping he still wants to hang together.
He grins, picking up my fork to help himself to my food. “Let’s just see what kind of trouble we can get into.” He looks over at Mary Alice and Cookie as they walk into the dining room. “Ladies.” He gives Mary Alice a panty-dropping smile.
When he looks back at me, I give him a smirk with a shake of my head before taking my fork back.
After breakfast, Diane declines our offer to hang with us and heads home. Emma Rae walks with Sawyer and me out to his Jeep. When his phone rings, it gives us a chance to talk.
“Who’s Clea?” Emma Rae immediately asks.
“You caught that too?”
“Yeah.”
I shrug. “She’s not a problem.”
“O-kay,” she says, a little skeptical. “I asked Andy about her after we left.”
“What did he say?”
She snorts softly. “He said Cal should keep his mouth shut.”
I shake my head. Poor Cal, I hope he doesn’t get into trouble with Lucas. “It’s okay, Emma Rae. Like I said, she’s not a problem.”
Sawyer ends his call and opens the door on his side of the Jeep. “Ready?” he asks.
“Yep.” I turn back to Emma Rae. “When Murphy gets here, tell him I’ll call him about working Monday.”
“Will do. You two behave yourselves today.” She grins and heads back to work.
“That was Taylor on the phone,” Sawyer says. “Said you forgot your phone.”
“I didn’t forget,” I murmur as I close the car door.
As Sawyer pulls out onto the main road, he says, “I got a call from Purl Davies, and he wants to meet up later this afternoon, says he’s got some news about the McNish.”
Purl Davies is an odd duck—as folks around here would say. He lives way out somewhere, past Grovespring. Sawyer hunts with him occasionally, and although he’s never been rude to me, I’ve never felt real comfortable around him. He’s a large guy, not ugly but not good looking either. He has dull brown hair and dull brown eyes. Nondescript is an accurate description.
“So, what’s going on?” I ask.
“Purl’s been keeping an eye on the McNish place,” Sawyer reveals.
“What for?” Just thinking about that farm gives me the willies.
“He’s been friends with Wallace for years, and like me, he’s interested in what went down out there.” I know that Sawyer still has a hard time with his friend Race’s disappearance, and he still thinks the Kihn had something to do with the whole McNish family being gone. Wallace McNish is one of Race’s older brothers.
“So, did he find out something?”
“I’ll have to go meet him later to find out. Do you want to go?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve got a couple of errands to run first.”
“Let’s do it,” I tell him.
“Well, first I need to find Sam.” I look over at him. “He didn’t come home last night, and I need to talk to him.”
“Is something wrong?” It isn’t like Sam to stay out all night; he never has been one to carouse about like Sawyer.
“He’s okay, he called and left a message on my phone early this morning. He spent the night out at Eli’s, but neither one of them were there when I called.”
“I haven’t seen Eli and Dawn since the wedding.” My cousin Eli married my friend Dawn the previous month in a ceremony that just about everyone in Sweetwater attended. They’d only returned from their honeymoon the week before.
We drive a few miles out of town to Angel Walker’s farm. Angel is so distantly related, we’ve never figured out the connection. But it’s there. He looks just like most of the Walkers. Brown hair and hazel eyes. Sawyer and I are a couple of Walker freaks, having dark blonde hair and green eyes.
Angel tells us that Sam and Eli stopped in earlier, and were headed to Terry Joe Wooten’s place when they left. We sit and have a cup of coffee with Angel. He asks a lot of questions about my mom. They’d been close growing up. With promises to visit again, we head on down the road.
Terry Joe has a real nice log cabin. The real thing, over a hundred years old and he keeps it neat as a pin. Since it’s noontime, he insists we share a lunch of fried bologna sandwiches, fried potatoes, and a glass of corn liquor. It’s pretty good.
Terry Joe talked to Sam earlier and said he thought Sam and Eli were on their way to Rader.
The small community of Rader is east of Sweetwater, and a cousin has a farm located there, back in the woods near the river. He’s a bit of a recluse, and I haven’t seen him for a while.
As we pull into his yard, after driving a mile down a rough dirt road still partially snow covered, we’re happy to see Sam’s truck. A cacophony of sound assaults our ears as we exit the Jeep. Dog’s start barking, guinea fowl start their racket (a guinea is as good of a watchdog as any canine—trust me), and a gaggle of gray geese honk and hiss.
A guy in his early twenties comes out onto the porch of a big two-story farmhouse. He hollers something, but I can’t hear what over all the noise, and he finally waves for us to come on.
We step into the house, and when the door is closed, I can hear myself think again.
“Hey, Sawyer.” He squints at me. “Sofie.”
“Hi, Bud. How are ya?” I ask.
“Good enuff. Come on,” he says, not slowing to see if we follow or not, leading us down a long hallway that opens up into a large kitchen area.
Sam and Eli are sitting at the kitchen table along with a man who I know must be in his late fifties. He’s a big guy with a head full of gray hair and a full, chest-length beard. He squints his eyes in the same manner as his son. “Sofie Reece.”
“Deiter Jones.” I spout right back. You have to be ready to hold your own around this bunch.
He laughs and kicks a chair leg, moving the chair back from the table. “Have a seat, sis.”
I’d rather sit farther away, but I guess I don’t have the choice. Sam and Eli both greet me.
Deiter is a cousin on the Jones side of the family, like Eli. My gram was a Jones, sister to Deiter’s father and Eli’s granddad.
“How have you been,” I ask as I sit. I look around. “How’s Bracy?” Bracy is Deiter’s wife, and I always feel more comfortable when she’s around.
“She ran down to her mom’s. Nellie’s not feelin’ too well.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” And I genuinely am. Nellie Wheaten is a gentle old soul. “The kids all okay?” Deiter has five more besides Bud, four of them several years younger. His oldest, Vernon, is in prison, has been for the past four years. He beat the ex-husband of
his wife Darcy near half to death. Of course, the ex-husband had it coming after he raped and beat Darcy. Some folks hereabouts think Vernon should have killed the bastard, but then Vernon wouldn’t be set to get out next year if that were the case.
“They’re good. Growin’. They’re all in school now, which Bracy ain’t so sure if she likes or not.” Deiter has an intense way of looking at you that has always made me uncomfortable. When we were all kids, one of the elders told us that Deiter could read your mind. The idea still spooks me to this day.
Bud hands me a coffee cup half full of a clear liquid. I know it’s not water. When I look up, Sam catches my eye and smiles.
“So where have you been, young lady?” Deiter has a loud, rough voice.
I lick my lip after taking a small sip of the hooch. “California.”
“I heard about that.” His voice softens. “Sorry to hear about your mama. She was a good one growin’ up.” The implication being there that she ‘was,’ which I can’t rightly blame him for. My mom was the one who turned her back on her whole family and way of life.
I set the mug down. “Thanks.”
He studies me for a moment and then turns his gaze toward Sawyer. “I’ve got your shotgun ready, thought maybe you decided to just leave it here for me, boy.”
Sawyer grins. “No, sir. I’ve been busy.”
I tune them out as they start talking guns to check out the room. It’s your typical farmhouse kitchen. It’s large enough to hold all the necessary appliances and still have plenty of room for a long kitchen table and chairs. Bracy has another slim table set against a wall, its top loaded with wine-making paraphernalia. I wonder where Deiter keeps his hooch making equipment. Probably hidden somewhere out deep in his cash crop. The kid’s artwork on the fridge catches my eye. It’s all spring inspired.
My attention comes back to the others when I hear Deiter say something about a disturbance happening the week before.