“Damn, Clarence.” Owen, Clarence’s double in size and brawn, slapped him hard on the back. “That was…that was…well, damn.”
Clarence swayed under the weight of that beefy palm then muttered a quick, “‘Scuse me.”
As he raced for the bathroom, hands clamped to his face, I prayed he’d make it. I knew how it felt to throw up after doing something stupid. He’d feel dumb enough without an audience.
“Alright,” Owen said, “while Big C’s out of commission who wants to go next? How ‘bout you Veronica? Truth or dare?”
Veronica was the girl I’d seen making out with Wilder in the music store. I’d recognized her straight away. She didn’t seem to remember me, most likely because when she saw Wilder, her eyes got this greedy gleam. With Alexis, Selena, and Janet, we were the only girls in the circle.
Veronica’s smile was coy. “After what you guys just dared Clarence to do, I guess I’ll take...truth,” she said.
Owen didn’t hesitate. “What’s your cup size?”
Veronica giggled, and I wondered not for the first time what Wilder had seen in her. “I’m a thirty-four double D, without padding.”
“What about before the surgery?” Selena asked the question with a smile. “Just curious.”
Veronica’s laughter this time held a hint of strain. “Oh, aren’t you precious? This”— she pointed to her chest—”is all natural, sweetheart. No surgery required.”
“Well, of course it is,” Selena said condescendingly as Alexis snickered.
“Girls, let’s not fight over a silly little thing like this.” Kevin, the blond with his arm thrown across Veronica’s shoulders, spoke up. “Truth or Dare’s supposed to be a friendly game after all. Veronica, honey, why don’t you choose who goes next?”
Pouting, she raised her eyes to Selena. “I choose you.”
“Dare,” Selena said. “I can guarantee you won’t be able to think up anything I won’t do.”
Veronica thought it over then suddenly grinned.
“I dare you to let Owen press you for a good twenty reps,” she said, sounding pleased with herself. “That is, if he can lift you that many times. He’s never tried it with a heavy girl.”
“Whatever,” Selena, in her size twos, muttered.
“You want curls or a true press?” Owen asked as he walked over, rolling his shoulders.
“Curls’ll be just fine,” Veronica replied.
Turning to Selena, he looked at her a moment then asked, “How much you weigh, one-thirty?”
“How dare you?” Selena gasped. “I’ve never been that big in my life.”
“Call it one-twenty-five,” Owen said and scooped her up bridle style despite her complaints.
By the end of the dare Clarence was back, Owen’s brow was damp with perspiration, and Selena was glaring mutinously at Veronica.
“What now?” Owen said. With nothing but outraged silence coming out of Selena, he asked, “Hey, is it alright if I have her turn?”
“No way,” Bruce said. “You just had a turn. Let someone new go. Doherty, you want to take this one?”
“Doherty,” Kevin said with a laugh. The smirk on his face spelled trouble. “This should be fun. I hear you and your mama are a real good time, up for anything. Is that true?”
“Kev,” Bruce said warningly.
“Well, is it, Doherty? Are you a good time?”
Wonderful, I sighed inwardly, Southside’s version of Grant McCreary. Lovely.
Soft laughter came from beside me. Every head turned toward Wilder, waiting to be let in on the joke. A joke I wasn’t so sure I wanted to hear.
“What’s so funny?” Kevin asked.
Wilder slowly looked up, locked eyes with him. “You’re pathetic.”
“What?”
“You heard me,” Wilder said. “Either you’re into her, and this is some lame attempt to get her attention.”
“I’m not—”
Wilder cut him off. “Or you don’t swing that way, and you’re trying to cover it up by making fun of her. Not sure which is worse.”
Kevin got this panicked look, but a split-second later he was back to being a jerk. “Yeah, whatever, Wilder.” He ran his hand up Veronica’s thigh, and she gasped. “I’m full-on hetero. I’ve always been down with the ladies.”
Veronica walked his hand higher even as she blew a kiss at Wilder. If that girl was a lady, I thought, then I was the freaking tooth fairy.
Baring his teeth, Kevin said, “Truth or dare, Wilder?”
He might as well have said “Screw you.”
“Truth,” Wilder said.
Kevin looked like the cat that caught the canary. “Did you really kill your sister?”
Wilder stared at him a moment. “Everyone already knows the answer to that.”
“Still,” Kevin shrugged, “just for fun, I’d like to hear you say it. Admit it just once.”
“I changed my mind,” Wilder said smoothly. “Dare. I choose dare.”
“Not ready to man up, huh? That’s too bad.” But Kevin didn’t look at all disappointed. “In that case…I dare you to kiss Doherty over there. And I don’t mean some lame peck on the cheek, Wilder. It has to be on the mouth. In front of all of us. And you got to make her feel it.”
Wilder sat motionless to my left. He was so still; it didn’t look like he was breathing. I was glad he couldn’t see my reaction. Kevin was a bastard, an absolute bastard for asking Wilder that question about his sister, especially in front of people. I’d wanted to jump across the circle and introduce my fist to his face.
But with that dare, he’d made me think.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about kissing Wilder. Images flashed in my mind, different ways it could happen, countless scenarios. And in every single one, he was just what I’d always wanted, fulfilled every childhood fantasy I’d ever had. Before that moment, I wasn’t aware how much I wanted Wilder to kiss me, to be my first kiss.
My entire body on red alert, I waited, desperately trying not to look as restless as I felt.
Just then my attention was so acute, so attuned to Wilder’s every move that I knew he was going to speak seconds before he opened his mouth.
“No,” he said, crushing me with a word.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Damn, Wilder.” Owen shook his head. “That’s harsh. Even I wouldn’t leave a girl hanging like that.”
“Just kiss her already,” Kevin said, sounding bored.
“She doesn’t want to,” Wilder said. “And I’m not going to force her just to give you a show.”
Risking my last shred of dignity, I said, “It’s okay, Wilder. Really, I don’t mind.”
He turned his head, fastened his gaze to mine. After a second, he looked away.
“No,” he said again. “That’s not happening. Not like this.”
The quiet that met this declaration was like an ice pick to the heart.
I tried to smile, failed. But really, how do you smile when your heart is breaking? With a shrug, I said, “Okay, I’m just…George needed those towels. A while ago actually. I’m just going to....”
I took the stairs at a quick jog and didn’t realize I was running until I reached the top and heard Bruce’s voice say, “What the hell, man?” But I couldn’t stop. Passing through the kitchen, I distantly noticed that someone had cleaned up the mess, but didn’t pause, didn’t even slow as I pulled open the back door and ran outside.
The blast of cold wind that stung my cheeks was a welcome hurt. It distracted me from the soul-deep ache I was feeling on the inside. Now and then even Georgia got into the low thirties, and I was thankful. The wind would keep people inside. It looked like a storm was coming.
I was trembling all over but not from the cold. My heart was raw, exposed. Forget the ice pick, it felt like someone had gone in there with a battering ram and left all the pieces shivering on the floor of my ribs. Looking out to the woods behind George’s house, I thought, maybe I’ll ge
t lost for a while…and hope for a bear or some other wild animal to come maul me to death.
“It’s cold. You should go inside.”
I didn’t jump, was so numb his voice barely registered. “Go away, Wilder.”
“You want to use my jacket?”
I snapped. The question was too decent for someone like him. It gave a false impression, one I’d bought hook, line and sinker. The infamous Doherty temper welled up, and I did nothing to hold it back. “Keep your damn jacket, and leave me alone,” I said, walking away.
“No.” I could hear the sound of his footsteps as he followed. “What’s wrong, Doherty?”
I didn’t answer, just walked faster.
He cursed. “Doherty, stop. I asked you a question: What’s wrong with you?”
“Me?” I whirled around at the forest’s edge. “Me?” I said incredulous. “What’s wrong with you, Wilder? I mean, besides the fact that you’re a womanizing car thief who may or may not have killed someone.”
His face was a mask, completely unreadable. His indifference made me even angrier.
“You want to know what’s wrong, Wilder? Well, let’s see,” I said, “maybe it’s that you just flat out refused to kiss me? As if I had some kind of contagious disease? As if…I wasn’t good enough.” Those were angry tears, I told myself, not real ones. I was spitting mad that’s all. “Who backs out of a dare like that, anyway? It’s not like it was hard.”
“That’s not it,” he said. “I don’t need a dare to kiss you.”
He approached me slowly, and I couldn’t find it in me to move. My bones were too heavy.
“When I kiss you, it won’t be on some stupid dare.”
I scoffed.
He reached me in three strides, lifted his hands to my face. “Listen, I want you, Doherty. I want to kiss you. God, I want to kiss you, but I want more than that, too. I want you… more than I think I’ve ever wanted anything.”
“You want everyone,” I said back, thinking of his endless line of girls.
He shook his head, eyes never leaving mine. “No,” he said. “Just you.”
And then he kissed me. With no hesitation, no sudden movements. He simply leaned down and pressed his lips to mine.
And I melted into him, eyes closed, heart completely open.
It was one of those moments when reality doesn’t match up to expectation. My first kiss wasn’t what I expected. It was…better. Outside in the cold, with tear tracks on my face and Wilder’s arms around me, my first kiss was so much better than anything I could have imagined. His lips were warm, meeting mine again and again, his hands holding me to him, telling me more truths than his words ever could.
After forever and nowhere-near-long-enough, Wilder lifted his head, wiped the tears from my cheeks.
There was a rustle—and then a dark shape moved out of the trees.
“Ethan…”
The man staggered toward us, but it wasn’t until he said “Ethan” and fell at our feet that I recognized him. There was so much blood, on his neck, his chest. It was a miracle he’d made it this far. The good pastor had been shot, and the only question on everyone’s mind the next few days was: Who did it?
Who in their right mind would shoot Reverend Jim Wilder?
CHAPTER 18
“And then, he says, all serious, ‘William Rutherford Stubbs you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Jim Wilder,’“ Mrs. Thimble said, looking pleased at Aunt B’s gasp. “And then he put the cuffs on him.”
“You’re kidding,” Aunt B breathed.
“Nope.” Mrs. Thimble shook her head, the multi-colored feathers on her hat swaying with the movement. “Garrison just snapped those suckers into place and took him away, crying like a baby. He didn’t look too happy about it though. I think he’s had to pick Willie up so many times they’ve become friends.”
“And all that happened,” Mom said, “right there at the grocery store?”
“That’s right. Over in the produce aisle. I tell you, I’ll never look at squash the same way again. Poor Jessica was beside herself.”
“If I was her,” Aunt B said, “and my husband was taken in on that charge, I’d probably be the same. Looks like Willie’s having a rough Veterans Day.”
Mrs. Thimble and Mom nodded solemnly.
The bell over the door chimed, and Ronnie got up. We’d been taking it in turns, just another boring Monday at work. Then five minutes ago, Mrs. Thimble bursts in panting with this incredible story of Willie’s arrest. Since Friday, the reverend’s shooting had been all over the news. Every local station and a few up in Atlanta were covering it. The Bowie Police Department was diligently working the case, trying to solve it quick and get rid of all the bad attention. And now, apparently, they had themselves a suspect. To be honest, I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. Willie Stubbs was a drunk, true enough. Yet out of all the times he’d pointed his gun at me, I’d never truly felt threatened. He and that gun were more of a running joke than a menace.
“So,” I said, “do you think he did it?”
“Well, of course, he did,” George said. “It’s pretty obvious.” We waited for her to explain. “Look at the facts.” She counted down on her fingers. “First, they found two bullets in the preacher, one in his chest cavity, the other lodged in his back behind the right shoulder blade. Second, both bullets came from a Smith and Wesson gambler special combat, a rare revolver. Third, Willie’s known for carrying around that exact gun, the only one registered in Bowie. Fourth, he can’t account for his whereabouts at the time of the shooting.”
“Probably was drunk when it happened,” Aunt B muttered.
I nodded. “Probably.”
“How do you know all this?” Mom asked.
George shrugged. “I’ve got connections.”
“And a really good police scanner,” I supplied.
“Well, excuse me,” Mrs. Thimble said, “but that there is no smoking gun.”
“Yeah,” Aunt B said. “And where’s the motive? Why would Willie want to shoot Jim?”
“Why would anyone?” Mom said. “That’s the most puzzling thing of all.”
I could think of about a dozen reasons, namely all those bruises running up and down his son’s arms. But since I knew he hadn’t pulled the trigger, I said nothing. The bell rang once again, and a familiar face walked through the door.
“Garrison Henley,” Aunt B announced, “Man of the hour. We’ve got a few questions, need you to clear up a few things.”
I went behind the register to bag Garrison’s usual while he fended off Aunt B.
“I’ve told you, B. It’s Officer,” he said. “And if this has anything to do with an on-going investigation, I’m not at liberty to discuss particulars of the case with civilians.”
“Now Officer Garrison, do you really think Willie Stubbs could’ve done a thing like that?” Ronnie asked at my side.
“As I was saying,” he said calmly, “I can’t discuss—”
“Is it true Jim was shot twice?” George asked. “Once in the back?”
Garrison’s eyes were saucers. He looked so shocked it was almost comical. “Who said—”
“Garrison,” I cut in, “is it true that if the one in his chest had been just two inches to the left it might’ve killed him?”
“That information isn’t—”
George refused to be sidetracked. “Well, is it?”
Garrison sighed, and as I handed him his coffee, I couldn’t help but notice how tired he looked. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d seen Garrison so wary.
“Look,” he said, “I’m sorry, but I can’t talk about it. All I’m allowed to say is we’re currently questioning suspects and working as hard as we can to bring whoever did this to justice.”
“Well,” Aunt B huffed. “If you’re too busy to talk to us concerned citizens, I guess you’d best be going. We wouldn’t want to keep you, Officer.”
“Ah.” Garrison ran a hand across the back of his neck. “It’s n
ot like that, B.”
“It’s okay,” Mom said to him as Aunt B turned away. “B’s just upset about this whole thing. We all are. Knowing there’s somebody out there with a gun who’s shooting people, doesn’t make it easy to sleep at night, you know?”
Garrison nodded. “The Department’s doing everything we can.”
“Wait,” Mrs. Thimble said suddenly, feathers all aquiver, “did you say suspects? As in more than one?”
No answer from the man in blue.
“He did.” I tilted my head, thinking. “And he also said he was currently questioning them. So who’re you here to question, Garrison? Surely you don’t think any of us shot him.”
Again the stony silence.
“But no one around here…” George trailed off, brows raised in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”
“I assure you,” Garrison said, “we’re taking this investigation very seriously.”
“But he couldn’t have,” Ronnie said, and I felt as if I’d missed something. “Where would he have gotten the gun? He’s too young to buy one on his own.”
“Oh Garrison,” Mom said sadly. “You don’t really think he could do something like that, do you?”
“Well,” George muttered, “the guy does have a history.”
Garrison didn’t reply.
“But seriously,” George added, “he was at my party. When would he have found the time?”
And then it clicked. With terrible clarity, it clicked, and I was up on my feet as if someone had pulled the chair right out from under me.
“Wait,” I said, “you think Wilder did this? I mean, Ethan?”
Garrison’s non-responses were starting to get on my nerves.
“But we found him,” I argued. “Wilder and I were the ones who saw Jim come out of the woods, already shot, blood all over him and called 911. Like George said, he was at the party.”
“Delilah, it’s alright,” Aunt B said.
“No, it’s not alright.” Wilder was being blamed for something he didn’t do, and I wasn’t backing down. “Garrison, he was at the party. Everyone saw him there. He couldn’t have possibly done it.”
Something in my expression must’ve gotten to Garrison because his next words were the most revealing of what he’d said so far.
The Unbelievable, Inconceivable, Unforeseeable Truth About Ethan Wilder Page 18