Marriage and Murder

by Penny Reid

  “Are you serious? We just got lucky? When did you get the keys?”

  Cletus shrugged, shutting my door, and I recognized the shrug for what it was: a nonanswer. I followed his progress around the hood, then I leaned over the driver’s side seat, planning to unlock the door for him. But I found it was already unlocked. Furthermore, a set of car keys rested in the seat.

  “What the heck?” I picked them up, lifting them toward the scant light provided by the parking lot streetlamps, and scowled. “Cletus, here are the car keys.”

  He shrugged again, nodding. “You can put them in the glove box, I already have a set.”

  “How did you get a set of keys to this truck?”

  Cletus turned the engine, put on his seatbelt, and faced me. “If you want me to answer the question truthfully, I will. If you don’t, I won’t.”

  Inhaling deeply, staring at him and his patient expression, I shook my head while reaching for my seatbelt. “You have a copy. That’s why. You have a copy of Fire Chief McClure’s truck keys. And, no, I will not ask why, so please don’t tell me.”

  I had too much on my mind. I couldn’t currently ponder the shade of Cletus’s gray morals at present, especially since I was relying on them to help my mother.

  He took off, heading toward the Foothills Parkway. We passed it and kept going. I bit my lip, chewed on it. Then I chewed on my thumbnail, watching the silhouettes of dark trees speed by against a starry sky. I wasn’t in the mood to talk, and it seemed like he wasn’t either.

  I don’t know how long we drove, it felt like hours, but I knew it couldn’t have been longer than thirty minutes. At one point, Cletus pulled into a convenience store attached to a gas station, said he’d be right back, and walked into the shop.

  Five minutes later he returned, holding a piece of paper. “These are the directions. You read them and tell me where to go.”

  The directions looked like chicken scratch on receipt paper but, miraculously, they worked. Off one of the switchbacks, we pulled up to a fence with a keypad requiring a code. I read Cletus the five numbers at the bottom of the receipt paper and a motorized gate swung open, revealing a ranch house built into the slope side of a mountain. No porch to speak of off the front, but a nice circular driveway for plenty of cars. Or motorcycles.

  “Do we . . . wait here? Or go inside?” I asked once Cletus had cut the truck’s engine, positioning it at the end of the circle.

  He made a small sound, it sounded frustrated. “I don’t like this. I don’t like the gate, and I don’t like that if someone decides to park in front of me, I’d have to drive over them in order to leave. I don’t like it.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “We have a little while. Let’s drive up the road and see if we can park somewhere else. Then we can walk back, check out the fence, the perimeter, assess points of exit and entry besides the gate.”

  “You don’t trust Mr. Repo?” I studied him. Even in profile, I could see he’d twisted his lips as though in deep thought.

  “I don’t trust anyone. Except you.” He started up the engine again and we did as he’d described, parked a little ways up the road, able to mostly hide the car at a scenic pull-off.

  But as we walked back, something about his last statement nagged at me. Walking along the road in our tactical gear, I asked, “If you don’t trust Mr. Repo, should we allow my momma to go with him? I mean, if it comes to that?”

  Cletus hemmed and hawed—as much as Cletus Winston was capable of hemming and hawing—and kept his eyes forward as he answered, “It’s not up to me whether your momma goes with Repo or not. It’s up to your momma.”

  “Yes, but if you know something about him, about his past that might change the way my mother feels about him, you should tell her. She shouldn’t be running off with someone she doesn’t really know.”

  “I am not aware of the extent to which Repo has shared his past with Diane. On that, I haven’t been briefed.”

  “Maybe you could make a list of what you do know about him?”

  He slid me a side-eye. “Jenn.”

  We’d made it to the corner of the fence and instead of continuing on the road side of it, Cletus walked into the woods and along the perpendicular side. “Cletus, this is my mother. I don’t want her going on the run with someone who will mistreat her. If you know something about him that might impact her willingness to leave with him, you have to say so.”

  Cletus halted at the end of the fencing. It didn’t terminate at the slope, but instead at several tens of feet before it, allowing us to walk directly onto the property without using the gate. “I don’t know anything about Repo that will lessen your mother’s opinion of him, unless she doesn’t already know he’s an Iron Wraith.”

  He thought he was so clever in his choice of words, but I could read between the lines he drew. “Does that mean you know something about Mr. Repo that will improve my mother’s opinion of him? You know something good?”

  “I know a few things. It’s up to each person to decide if they’re good or not.”

  “But you think they’re good?”

  “I think they make him an unusual person.”

  “In a good way?”

  He turned to me as soon as we reached the boundary of the circular driveway, bringing us to a stop. “I know he’s the money man for the Iron Wraiths and has been for over twenty years. I know he keeps the organization out of human trafficking, and he’s the only reason why they haven’t dabbled in it as of yet. I know he doesn’t allow underage persons in the Dragon, and if a member is caught with a girl under eighteen, they’re branded. If they’re caught with a girl under the age of sixteen, they’re—uh—hurt badly and kicked out.”

  I clutched my throat. “Branded?”

  “Yes. Branded. But between you and me, I still think they get off easy.”

  “Branded with what?”

  “With a branding iron he picked up in Texas during his time there.”

  “W-what is the brand?”

  “It’s a huge ‘I,’ or a Roman numeral ‘1,’ about six inches in length and one inch wide. Each time they’re caught, they get a brand on their lower back. After three times, he brands their—” Cletus made a face, gesturing to his front pants area “—equipment.”

  “Oh my goodness.”

  “Yep. I’ve been told equipment doesn’t work right after being branded.” If I wasn’t mistaken, Cletus grimaced as he said this.

  “That’s . . .” I didn’t know what that was.

  “Point is, no one breaks the rules. Repo is a man who keeps his word. In the last twenty years, he’s made the Wraiths rich and powerful. He’s not afraid to fight and he’s tough as a badger, he’s smart and wily, he’s loyal. But he’s also a bad man who encourages other men to do bad things for profit.”

  “And we’re trusting him with my mother.”

  Cletus took my hand again, guiding me behind an overgrown Lynwood Gold Forsythia, hiding us from view should anyone enter through the gate. “We are not trusting Repo. We are trusting your mother to have good judgment about her own future.”

  “How is that different than trusting him? Maybe he’s misleading her.”

  Cletus inspected me, long and hard, before saying quietly, “For what it’s worth, I do not think he is.”

  “Why? What makes you say so?”

  “Repo is leaving the Wraiths for her.”

  “So?”

  “So, for a man with no family, no home, a man who has spent twenty years with the same club, gone to jail for his brothers, fought for them, devoted his life to them, that’s a lot.”

  I chewed on that, staring at Cletus and the sobriety of his features. I then searched within myself. Obviously, I would never join a motorcycle club. For one thing, they didn’t accept females as members typically. For another, the life itself—as described by others—disgusted me on many levels. I then thought about my brother and the choices he’d made. He’d chosen them to be his family, over
me, over my mother. He’d chosen them.

  “Mr. Repo has no family?” I brought Cletus back into focus. I could see him well enough under the full moon and bright stars.

  “He has . . .” Cletus sighed, then looked away. “He has no family that he can claim.”

  More messages between the lines. “So he’s like Isaac? He has parents and siblings, but choses to ignore them?”

  “No. Repo was an orphan. He came out of the system in Texas. He has no parents or siblings.”

  That made me narrow my eyes. “Then what did you mean? He has no family that he can claim?”

  Cletus avoided my gaze.

  “I can spot your double-talk a mile away. What does that mean? He has family, but he can’t claim them?”

  The side of his mouth tugged upward, like he reluctantly enjoyed my ability to see through his truthful deceptions. “Fine, smarty-britches. Repo has kin, but it’s a secret. None of his MC brothers know or suspect.”

  “But you do?”

  “I deduced, based on anomalies observed over time.”

  “Meaning, you were paying attention when others weren’t.”

  “Indeed.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, peeking around the overgrown shrubbery toward the gate.

  I considered this new information, then asked, “Is it a bad secret? Or a good one? What I mean is, is it—his kin, the circumstances—something that damages his character? Should my mother know?”

  “I suppose, whether or not this secret improves Repo’s character, given that he’s a man who has dedicated his life to criminal activities and pursuits, depends on a person’s perspective.”

  I crossed my arms. “That is not an answer.”

  Unexpectedly, Cletus bent forward and placed a light kiss on my nose, saying, “I know, but it is the truth.”

  The whirring of the gate, finally opening, almost had me jumping out of my skin. Cletus and I watched from behind the bush, tracking the two leather-clad forms as they pulled into the circular driveway, the gate swinging shut behind them. The smaller of the two figures looked left and right, as though searching.

  I tried to feel relieved that the plan had worked thus far, but I didn’t. Yes, she was out of the house. But so what? This wasn’t the end, this was just the start. The start of her life on the run.

  “Where’s Jenn?” My mother asked, pulling off her helmet as soon as the larger figure had cut the engine. “They were supposed to be here already, right?”

  The man also pulled off his helmet, revealing Mr. Repo as he drawled, “They’re here. If I know Cletus Winston, he parked elsewhere.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Trust issues.” Mr. Repo paired this with what looked like an unconcerned shrug as he reached for my mother to help her off the bike. “Hey, come here.”

  Cletus, crouching next to me, chuckled quietly, and glanced down at the dirt.

  I tilted my head toward them. “Should we . . .?” I wasn’t yet convinced she’d be leaving tonight. But on the small chance she was, I was anxious to spend as much time with her—the real her, not the shadow she’d been since my father’s death, stuck at home, unable to speak freely—as possible.

  Cletus placed his hand on my forearm, keeping me in place. “Wait a minute.”

  Scrutinizing him, I could tell he wasn’t anxious or worried. Yet he also didn’t seem to be in a hurry to greet them or let them know we were close by, watching. Biting the inside of my lip, I settled on my haunches and turned my attention back to my mother and . . . him.

  Mr. Repo took her helmet, hanging it on the handlebar. He hung his on the other. He then gathered her in his arms, and I braced myself for a sloppy and demanding kiss, or roaming hands, or something similarly off-putting and aggressive.

  Instead, and to my surprise, he held her. He just held her.

  Entranced, I stared. Her arms didn’t encircle him; she had her hands tucked under her chin, her ear pressed to his chest and her eyes closed. She looked relaxed, like she’d given him much of her weight and didn’t doubt he’d support it.

  But it was his face that caught my attention and held me captivated. The big man looked . . . gosh, there’s no word for it except comparing his expression to something else. I guess he looked like how I felt sometimes at the end of a long day, the moment I lay down in bed and snuggled under the covers, when my burdens were behind me and only peace lay ahead.

  Relieved was part of it. Content. Happy. And gratitude. A fair share of gratitude.

  “Huh.” I tilted my head to the side, studying them as Mr. Repo’s head also tilted. Now he rested his cheek on top of her hair as he swayed gently, as though to sooth her. His arms were wrapped tight, like she was precious, and his hands didn’t move, didn’t roam. Nothing about how he held her looked at all aggressive.

  “What’s going through your mind, Jenn?” Cletus whispered.

  “I guess—I don’t know.” I felt myself frown, likely because my chest quite suddenly ached.

  “Try. What are you thinking?” He leaned closer to me as we both continued to watch my mother and Mr. Repo.

  Cletus had held me like that, and sometimes I did the same to him. His brothers and their significant others, Ashley and Drew, I’d seen them all do the same. Often.

  “It’s just, I don’t think my mother and my father ever—” I couldn’t continue, my throat felt too tight. Forcing a swallow, I tried again, “Did your father ever hold your mother like that?”

  I felt something in Cletus shift, a stillness followed by a sadness, and I looked at my beloved. “No,” he said. “No. He never held her like that. But Bethany held him like that. She held all of us”—he lifted his chin, his voice raw—“just like that.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  *Jenn*

  “This is my last message to you: in sorrow, seek happiness.”

  Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

  “What happened, Diane?” Cletus positioned himself next to me and leaned against the kitchen island, his arms crossed.

  My mother looked to Mr. Repo where he sat next to her at the table, her eyes wide. “Didn’t Jason already tell you everything?” I got the impression she wasn’t looking for Mr. Repo’s approval or permission. More like she sought his support.

  How strange it was to see them together, the easy way they were with each other. It . . . bothered me.

  “Repo gave me a summary, from his perspective, but Jenn and I would like to hear your version of events.”

  Cletus and I had eventually interrupted them outside where they embraced by the motorcycle. My mother had immediately come to me, holding me for a long stretch while I considered Mr. Repo over her shoulder. He’d met my scrutiny with calm indifference, giving away nothing of his thoughts.

  Or maybe he’d met my probing glare with just calm and not indifference. I couldn’t tell.

  Anyway, he and Cletus had watched us, allowing us to have a moment, then we’d all gone inside. Mr. Repo offered to make tea. I didn’t want any. Cletus also passed. The older man proceeded to make my mother a cup, exactly how she liked it, without having to ask.

  Had my father known how Momma took her tea? Did he ever make tea for her?

  I pushed the questions away because they unsettled me. But I continued openly scrutinizing this man, watching his every move as he took the seat next to her at the kitchen table and offered his hand, palm up, an unobtrusive request.

  She’d grinned at him, thanked him for the tea, and fit her palm in his. Their fingers entwined. They smiled at each other. His looked a little shy. My brain kept tripping over how they glowed when their eyes met, how they never seemed to want to look anywhere else but at each other. Considering the danger and uncertainty facing them both, their united front of happiness struck an off chord.

  Had I ever seen my mother happy before?

  I knew the answer before I’d finished asking myself the question. She’d been more carefree this last year, especially once the divorce papers had been signed
. She’d been happy sometimes.

  However, for the period between this past Christmas and the day of my father’s death, she’d been happy all the time. I thought the culprit for her mood shift had been the planning of my wedding. Clearly, I’d been wrong. And maybe this was the real reason why I felt such discord in the face of her—their—contentment.

  She’d kept him a secret.

  Presently, the man paired a gentle, encouraging smile with a small head nod, and I scowled for reasons I didn’t fully understand.

  Cletus and I were standing next to each other, facing Mr. Repo and my mother where they sat at the table a few feet away. Cletus must’ve been looking at me because he caught my expression and nudged me with his elbow. “You got something on your face,” he whispered.

  I blinked, working to clear my features. My mother had been through enough already; despite how she looked at Mr. Repo, beneath the surface she seemed exhausted. Cletus was right, she didn’t need me scowling at her.

  Masking my thoughts just in time, my mother’s gaze swung our way. She gathered a deep breath. “You mean on the night of the engagement party?”

  “Yes,” Cletus answered, his tone academic and conversational. “You haven’t been able to speak freely until now. Specifically, we’re most interested in what you can tell us about the shooter. If it helps, you can start from the beginning. ”

  “Yes, I think I will start from the beginning.” She nodded, her eyes lowering to her teacup. “Y’all were there for the tussle. So I guess I can skip over that. Let’s see—um—after Kip and—uh—Elena Wilkinson left, after the deputies escorted them away, I went back to the party. Then, after a while of trying to make nice and being asked about where y’all went, I sent Cletus a text. Just a few minutes later, I got a text from Jenn telling me to meet her in the bakery parking lot.”

  “That wasn’t me. I didn’t have my phone,” I said, noting that so far her story matched the one she’d told the police.