'Til Death (A Rebel Ridge Novel) (6 page)

Once he got the men booked and back in his office, he began
making notes regarding the phone call from Fox. Of course he would follow up on
the accusation, but he had to be careful how he did it. If Fox was right, then
Meg Lewis could be in serious trouble. He didn’t know two more worthless men on
Rebel Ridge than Prince and Fagan White.

The thing was, Marlow knew he’d handled that call from Lincoln
Fox all wrong. He could have kept his doubts to himself without confronting the
man like that, at least until he’d talked to Prince White, but he hadn’t, and it
was too late to take it back.

What he
could
do was call Meg and
feel her out about the White family, see if there was any bad blood between
them, or if she’d had a run-in with Prince that could have been the start to all
of this. But not tonight.

Tonight
was,
however, the optimal
time to interview a suspect. As soon as the sun rose, he was going up Rebel
Ridge to talk to Prince. Maybe Lincoln Fox was on the up-and-up. If he was, it
would be interesting to hear what Prince had to say once Marlow told him he had
a witness.

* * *

Prince White was in a panic. He didn’t know who’d caught
him trespassing on the old Fox place, but the man now knew too damn much about
him. He needed to get the hell off the mountain or he would wind up in jail. It
took nearly half an hour to get back home, and by the time he arrived, he’d
already made himself a plan.

Fagan’s truck was parked behind the house, and he was obviously
still up, because all the lights were on. Prince rode the bike into the barn,
parked it beside his own truck and jumped off on the run. When he went in the
back door and found his brother asleep in the living room in front of the TV, a
half-eaten bowl of popcorn in his lap, he yelled, “Fagan!”

Fagan jumped, sending the popcorn flying.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he mumbled as he set the bowl
aside and looked down at the mess on the floor.

“I’m going to Mount Sterling for a while. How much cash you got
on you?”

Fagan frowned. “What have you done?”

“Nothing.”

“Let me ask that another way. What are you going to be charged
with?”

“For starters, probably breaking and entering, and stalking Meg
Lewis.”

Fagan’s eyes bugged. “What the fuck? You’re the one who broke
into her house and got her hurt?”

“I didn’t touch her. She’s the one who ran through broken
glass.”

Fagan groaned. “Why? Why would you do such a dumbass thing?
There’s plenty of women around here who’ll spread their legs for a twenty-dollar
bill. You didn’t have to go messin’ with a decent woman, especially one who’s
got three mean-ass brothers.”

Prince’s chin jutted, and his eyes narrowed angrily. He wasn’t
about to share his info with Fagan and wind up giving him half the money he was
looking for.

“It’s none of your damned business,” he said.

Fagan stared at his brother as if he’d just lost his mind. “You
are truly as crazy as Wendell was.”

Prince glared. “You don’t talk about the dead like that.
Besides, you’re not my boss, and you’re not my conscience. So answer my damn
question. How much cash you got on you?”

Fagan sighed. “Less than two hundred dollars.”

“I need it,” Prince said, and held out his hand.

Fagan dug his wallet out of his pocket and gave him the cash.
“What do you expect me to do when the law comes callin’?”

“Tell them I left without a word and you don’t know where I
went.”

“Great. Just great,” Fagan muttered. “We haven’t been in
trouble like this in years. I’m too old for all this crap. So go find yourself a
hole to crawl into, because I don’t want her brothers pissed off at me. There’s
three of them and only one of me.”

Prince sneered. “They don’t scare me,” he said.

“Yeah, right. You’re not scared, you’re just running away from
Rebel Ridge with your tail tucked between your legs because you like how it rubs
against your balls.”

“Shut the hell up,” Prince said, and stuffed the money into his
pocket and headed down the hall to pack.

* * *

Linc was too pissed to sleep and wished for the
distraction of a TV. Now that he had electricity, he didn’t have to run the
camper on generator power, but he needed a satellite dish to hook up his
flat-screen or he wouldn’t have any reception. Instead, he dug in the
refrigerator for a cold beer, then grabbed a handful of cookies and a notepad
and began making a list of things he needed to do to begin his investigation. He
wanted a copy of the police report from the night of the fire, a copy of the
transcript of the trial and copies of the affidavits from the people who’d
pointed fingers at him and gotten him arrested. They were the first ones he was
going to find and talk to once he moved into the shelter.

By the time he was through with the beer and cookies, his mood
had shifted. He kicked off his shoes, but when he lay down on the bed he didn’t
take off his clothes. The way shit was going down around here, he would probably
need them again before morning.

But he was wrong. The sun was already up before the next knock
came on his door. He groaned as he rolled out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his
eyes. He headed for the door, glad that he’d slept in his clothes.

As he passed a window he noticed that whoever was here had come
on foot, which brought Prince White to mind. Unwilling to go to the door
unarmed, he returned to the bedroom and picked up his rifle.

Before he could get back, his visitor knocked again and yelled,
“Hey! You in this here trailer! Open the door!”

It sounded like a woman, which meant it wasn’t Prince White. He
leaned the rifle against the wall and decided to take his chances.

He opened the door to find an old woman standing just beyond
his doorstep with a rifle cradled across her arms. Her brown wool coat was
patched in half a dozen places, and the knees were out in her overalls. A long
gray braid hung down her shoulder, while most of her features were hidden under
a well-worn felt hat she wore low on her forehead.

“Mister, you’re trespassing, and I reckon you need to pack up
your stuff and get on off here before I call the sheriff.”

“Hi, Aunt Tildy...it’s me. Lincoln. I’m not trespassing, I just
finally came home.”

Her frown shifted to shock as Linc stepped out of the trailer.
He wasn’t sure what kind of a reception she would give him, but he opened his
arms, just the same.

“Do you think I might get a hug?”

Tildy Bennett stared at him as if he was a ghost. “Lincoln, is
that really you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The rifle she was holding slid out of her arms as she walked
into his embrace.

“Oh Lord, Lord, I thought I was gonna die without ever seeing
you again.”

“I’m sorry I waited so long,” he said, and hugged her close.
“Come inside. You’re half-frozen. What are you doing this far away from home on
foot?”

“It’s not so far as the crow flies, and anyway, I was checking
my sang patches. Have to keep an eye on them or people will help
themselves.”

Linc hadn’t heard the mountain term for
ginseng
in years, but he knew immediately what she meant. It was a
good money crop, especially if it was growing wild.

Lincoln was helping her up the step when she stopped. “I gotta
get my rifle.”

“I’ll get it,” he said as he suited the action to the words,
then followed her into the trailer.

As soon as he got her settled on the sofa he started the coffee
and then sat down beside her.

“I don’t know how you do it, Aunt Tildy, but you haven’t
changed a bit.”

Tildy Bennett couldn’t quit staring at him. “Well,
you
have. I wouldn’t have known you if I’d passed you
on the street. Lordy be, but you made a big man.”

His shirt was unbuttoned, revealing just enough of his scars to
make her ask, “What happened to you there?”

“It’s a long story, Aunt Tildy, but it’s what brought me
home.”

“Are you gonna stay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What have you been doing all this time?”

“I’ve worked construction for most of my life. I own a
construction company now in Dallas.”

“There’s no work like that around here,” she said.

“It doesn’t matter. I didn’t come home to build houses. I came
home to find out who killed Dad.”

She gasped. “But it’s been so long. I don’t see how you can do
that.”

“I don’t know how it’s going to turn out, but it’s why I’m
here, and I don’t intend to quit until I’ve cleared my name.”

The aroma of freshly brewing coffee filled the trailer as she
took off her hat.

“I’ll help you in any way I can, boy. I know pretty near
ever’thing there is to know about the people living on Rebel Ridge. You just ask
me, and if I don’t know, I know how to find out.”

Linc grinned. “Want some coffee?”

Her eyes crinkled up at the sides as she smiled. “I don’t mind
if I do, and I take mine black.”

“So do I,” Linc said. He filled two cups and carried them back
to the sofa.

She took her cup carefully, warming her hands on the thick
crockery. “Smells good.”

He lifted his mug. “To us...and to justice.”

“I’ll drink to that,” she said, and took the first sip, then
set it aside to cool. “So you’re here, now what’s your plan?”

“Rebuild on the homesite, but it’ll take time, so I’m
remodeling the old bomb shelter to live in during the winter. It’ll be warmer
than this travel trailer.”

“You could come stay with me,” she said.

“Thank you for the offer, but no. I’m not going to be a popular
guy once word gets out what I’m doing. I’ve already made my first enemy.”

She frowned. “How so?”

“The night I got here I became an accidental witness in a
stalking case. A guy’s been bothering a lady down the road. The sheriff says her
name is Mrs. Lewis. The only Lewis family I remember lived a good distance
farther up. Anyway, I happened to see the man who’s bothering her.”

Tildy shook her head. “Oh, you know her, honey. It’s Meg
Walker. She married Bobby Lewis right out of high school and then divorced him a
couple years later, after he went to prison. She lives in her granddaddy
Walker’s old house, which is about a mile from here, as the crow flies. He gave
it to her right before he died, and up until a year ago her mother, Dolly, was
living with her. Then she remarried and moved out.”

The hair stood up on the back of Linc’s neck. He’d blanked out
on everything his aunt was saying after he heard her say Meg’s name.

“Meg Walker is the woman who’s being stalked?”

“Yes, it’s the talk of Rebel Ridge. Got every single woman on
the mountain antsy and sleeping with a gun beside her bed. You say you saw who
it was? Reckon I’d like to know that. I wouldn’t be spreading it around or
anything.”

“Prince White,” Linc said.

Tildy gasped. “Well, if that don’t beat all.”

“What?”

“He was at my house a few weeks back with a suspicious wound I
went and doctored. I thought it looked like a bullet wound, but he swore
different.”

“What’s the deal with him? Why would he be chasing after Meg?
Did they date or something?”

Tildy rolled her eyes. “Lord, no. No one wants Prince or his
brother Fagan. They’re worthless as tits on a boar hog. Besides, Meg don’t have
a thing to do with men of any sort. Years back her ex went to prison for killing
Prince’s older brother, Wendell. That was a very long time ago, though. I can’t
imagine him trying some kind of payback at this late date, especially since Meg
and Bobby have been divorced for so long.”

There was a knot in Linc’s belly, just thinking of his pretty
Meg going through so much heartache. First him, then the man she married. No
wonder she was done with men. The only ones she’d given her heart to had let her
down.

Linc listened absently as Tildy rattled on, but he was
picturing Meg Walker as he’d seen her last, at the courthouse after the trial,
crying as they took him into custody. She’d been his first love—the first girl
he’d kissed, the first girl he’d made love to—and Prince White was causing her
grief. If Sheriff Marlow didn’t do something about things, he might have to pay
a visit to White himself.

They visited a little longer, and when she was ready to leave
he loaded her up in his truck and drove her home. He came back with a dried
apricot pie and half a fried chicken, stored both in the trailer for later and
got to work. All he needed now was to figure out a way to get both a bathroom
and a washer/dryer hookup into that old shelter and he would be ready for
winter.

By the end of the day he’d come to the conclusion that building
a small room in front of the existing doorway was the only possible answer. The
shelter was small enough as it was, without taking up space with a bathroom or a
washer and dryer. It would be simple to build and plumb the small structure and
install ventilation. Once the propane was hooked up, he would have to vent that,
too, and it would be easy to do through the new structure.

He set to work on the new plans at a steady pace, but his
thoughts were never far from Meg. Knowing she was so close was maddening. But he
had too much to do to set himself up for what was bound to be heartbreak or
rejection—or both.

Either way, living this close to her meant nothing, because
they were still a thousand miles away in his heart.

Five

R
oger Eddy had been Marlow’s deputy for
more than ten years, and from day one Marlow couldn’t take a simple ride
anywhere with the man without Eddy keeping up a running commentary, which was
making the ride to Prince and Fagan White’s home seem endless. Marlow was
relieved when they finally reached the property.

“Man, what a dump,” Roger said as the sheriff parked beside a
large rock at the edge of the yard, eyeing the single-story dwelling and the
sagging porch. “All it needs are a few scrawny chickens pecking around.”

Before they could get out, the front door opened. Fagan White
came out, followed by a couple of hounds who promptly flopped down at his feet.
He was a younger version of Prince—medium height and skinny, but his hair was
blond and thin. The jeans and shirt he was wearing were stained, and he didn’t
appear bothered by the fact.

Roger eyed the man and the state of his clothing, and he
frowned. “Are we going in?”

“Not if I can help it,” Marlow muttered. He took the little
black car charm out of his pocket and palmed it. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

“Morning, Sheriff! What brings you up this way?” Fagan
asked.

Marlow nodded his hello and got right to the point. “We need to
talk to Prince.”

Fagan shrugged. “He didn’t come home last night. I don’t
rightly know where he is. What do you want to talk to him about?”

Marlow’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re saying he’s not hiding out
somewhere inside?”

Fagan threw up his arms. “Look for yourself, damn it. His
truck’s not here, and neither is he.”

Marlow rolled the little car charm around in his hand, making
sure that Fagan got a good look. And the man bit, just like a hungry fish after
a dragonfly.

“Hey, where’d you get that?” Fagan said, pointing to the charm.
“That was on Prince’s key ring. Did you find it lying out here in the yard?”

Bingo, Marlow thought. “No, it’s evidence from a crime. Do you
have any problem with my deputy checking your house?”

“Do I have a choice?” Fagan muttered, but he stepped aside.

Roger Eddy looked at his boss in dismay. When Marlow gave him a
nod, he gritted his teeth and moved toward the doorway. One of the dogs stood up
and growled as he walked past.

“Dog! Shut the hell up!” Fagan yelled.

The dog tucked his tail between his legs and slunk off the
porch.

“Sorry about that,” Fagan said, then eyed the sheriff. “You
sure you won’t come in?”

“Mind if I look around first?” Marlow asked.

“Feel free,” Fagan said, and closed the door.

Marlow began to circle the house. Except for weeds and the
occasional pile of rusting iron, the yard was vacant. He headed toward the barn,
but it, too, was empty. No hay, no signs that a horse or a milk cow had been in
there in ages, and the upkeep on the building was a joke. They’d been patching
up holes in the roof and walls with odds and ends—pieces of tin, half a sheet of
plywood, even an old Wisconsin license tag. He saw the numbers and knew no one
from this mountain would ever drive a car with 666 on the tag. That was the mark
of the devil.

He could see tire tracks going in and out of the structure, but
no truck. Then he saw the dirt bike leaning against the far wall and
stopped.

“I’ll be damned.”

He went back to the front door and knocked, then poked his head
in the house.

“Hey, Fagan, whose bike is that in the barn?”

“Well, it’s mine, but I don’t ride it anymore. Broke my leg in
two places on that thing about a year ago. Kinda took the fun out of it for me,
if you know what I mean. Prince rides it some. Why?”

“What do you know about the attacks on Meg Lewis?”

Fagan blinked. He hadn’t expected the sheriff to come right out
and ask that.

“Well, I heard about ’em, for sure. I guess everybody has.
Why?”

“Do you own any guns?”

Fagan laughed. “Well hell, Sheriff, don’t everyone?”

“Do you mind showing them to me?”

“Not a bit. Come on in. Shut the door behind you when you do.
It’s hard to keep heat in the house.”

Marlow sighed. There was no getting around it. He was going to
have to go inside, and, as he’d feared, the place was as big a dump inside as
out, and smelled twice as bad. His deputy walked back into the living room as
Fagan went to get the guns, and Eddy glared at his boss for making him search
through the filth.

Marlow grinned. Giving orders was the only perk of his job. “I
take it Prince is not on the premises?”

Roger shook his head. “No one here but Fagan and some more
dogs.”

Marlow nodded, curiously eyeing the mounted hunting trophies
and a pair of women’s bikini panties hanging from the rack of a twelve-point
buck’s head. Then he spotted a picture hanging on the wall and moved closer. It
was a picture of Prince holding up a big tom turkey that he’d killed, but it
wasn’t the grin on Prince’s face that Marlow was interested in. It was the black
leather biker’s jacket he was wearing and the Confederate flag patch on the
sleeve.

First the car charm.

Then the bike.

Now the jacket.

Things were adding up fast against Prince White.

Fagan came back carrying three guns, all rifles.

“You don’t have any handguns?” Marlow asked.

“I don’t care much for ’em,” Fagan said.

“What about your brother? Does he have any weapons?”

Fagan thought about lying, but the way he figured it, the more
honest he was, the less trouble Prince could get him into.

“Yeah, he’s got a couple rifles and a pistol.”

“Can I see them?” Marlow asked.

Fagan shrugged. “The rifles are on that rack behind you. He
usually carries the pistol in his truck.”

“Does he have a license to carry?”

Fagan was getting pissed at this line of questioning, as if the
White brothers were the only gun-toting people on Rebel Ridge.

“Dang it, Sheriff, everybody up here carries weapons in their
vehicles, and I doubt a single one of them has any license to carry. Why do you
keep harpin’ on us?”

Marlow took that as a slur against his leadership as an officer
of the law, but he could hardly contest it. It was pretty much the truth.

“So where do you think Prince went?”

Fagan frowned. “I can’t say. He does his thing, I do mine.
What’s this all about, anyway?”

“We have a witness willing to testify to the identity of the
man stalking Meg Lewis.”

Fagan’s belly rolled. “Oh, yeah? Well, that’s good, right?
She’s a nice lady. Seems a shame she’s been put through all that.”

“Look, Fagan, let’s quit talking around the obvious,” Marlow
snapped. “Your brother has been identified as the stalker. I’m going to file
charges against him, which means there’s going to be a warrant out for his
arrest. So if you talk to him anytime soon, tell him it will go better for him
if he just comes and turns himself in before this all gets real ugly and
something happens that can’t be taken back.”

Fagan wanted to retaliate but was too afraid he’d be drawn into
the arrest, so he opted for surprise.

“I had no idea, and I’m shocked and sorry to hear that. I can’t
imagine why he would do something like that, and I’ll find it hard to believe
until I hear it from his own lips.”

Marlow glared. “Believe this,” he said. “If I find out you’re
hiding him, then I’ll arrest you, too, for harboring a criminal. So if you want
to stay on the outside of a jail cell, then I expect your cooperation in letting
me know if he shows up back here.”

Fagan glared back. “You’re asking me to turn my own brother
in?”

“No. I’m
telling
you—unless you
want your name added to the arrest warrant. At the moment Mrs. Lewis is an
unhappy woman, and she has three very big brothers who are going to be mighty
damn upset when they find out who’s been terrorizing their sister. Even though I
will warn them to let the law handle things, I can’t control what they might be
tempted to do if the danger to their sister is not removed.”

Fagan felt the blood drain from his face. This was exactly what
he didn’t want to happen.

“If I hear from Prince, I will call you, and if he calls, I
will try to talk him into turning himself in. Is that enough to keep you off my
ass?”

“I make no promises other than if I find out you’ve been lying
to me, you’re going down, too. Deputy Eddy, we’re done here,” he said, and went
out the door with Roger right behind him.

“How do you think that went?” Eddy asked as they headed back to
Boone’s Gap.

“I’d bet money he’s on the phone with his brother as we speak,
which is fine, because I’m filing charges and issuing a warrant for Prince’s
arrest as soon as we get back to the office. However, I want to stop at Meg
Lewis’s house on the way down and reassure her that we’re well on the way to
getting her situation under control.”

* * *

Meg had been in her sewing room for the better part of
the morning, bonding the layers of her Storm at Sea quilt together with tiny,
perfect stitches. The task was mindless and calming, with the radio playing
softly in the background. When she had to stop to rethread the needle she
noticed it was almost noon. She had planned on driving up to her mom and Jake’s
this afternoon, so now was as good a time as any to quit. She stuck the needle
into her pincushion and stood up, stretching to get out the kinks from sitting
so long.

The house felt chilly as she moved down the hall, and with good
reason. The thermometer registered sixty-eight degrees. She shivered, thinking
it must be getting colder outside, because it had been comfortable in the house
earlier on. She turned up the fire on the propane heater in the living room and
turned on the TV so she could listen to the noon news and weather forecast, and
she lit the stove in the kitchen, as well.

With an eye on the clock she reheated soup, dug a box of
crackers out of the pantry and sat down to eat. As she suspected, the weatherman
was forecasting a drastic change. An early Arctic cold front was coming down
from the north, increasing the possibility of snow at the higher elevations.

She ate without worry, confident her store of cut wood outside
and a nearly full tank of propane would keep her warm. While she was cleaning up
the kitchen she heard Honey barking and made a run for the window to make sure
her stalker wasn’t back. When she saw the sheriff and his deputy getting out,
she opened the door and called Honey down so they could pass. As she did, a
strong gust of cold wind whipped through the door and around her legs.

“Sorry to come unannounced, but I have some news,” Marlow said.
“Is it all right if we come inside?”

“Absolutely. It sure is getting cold,” she said. “Take a seat.
Can I get you some coffee?”

“I’d love one, and I take it black,” Deputy Eddy said.

“If it’s no trouble, and I’ll take black, as well,” Marlow
added.

“I just made it fresh. I’ll be right back.”

She returned a couple of minutes later with the coffee and a
plate of cookies and set everything on the coffee table in front of them.

“Help yourselves,” she said, and then sat and waited for them
to get settled.

“I came with good news,” Marlow said as he chased his first
cookie with a sip of coffee. “We’ve identified your stalker.”

Meg’s stomach knotted; she dreaded the revelation that it would
be someone she’d thought she could trust.

“Who is it?”

“Prince White.”

She was dumbfounded. “Prince White? Why on earth would...” And
then it hit her. She stopped, pressed a finger to her mouth, as if to stifle a
gasp, and then let her hand fall to her lap. “Oh, my God.”

“What?” Marlow asked.

Just saying the words aloud gave them a power she didn’t want
to face. “My ex-husband killed his oldest brother, Wendell.”

Marlow frowned. Could that actually be the last piece to this
puzzle? “That must have been a long time ago. Why wait ’til now to do something
about it? Maybe he’s just got a thing for you,” he said.

“Feuds have started for less reason and lasted for generations
in these hills, and you know it,” she said. “And I can’t see any other reason
for this to happen. I’ve been here for years without him so much as looking my
way. Something must have happened to trigger this. What did he say when you
arrested him?”

Marlow frowned. “He’s not exactly under arrest yet. And he’s
disappeared. But I’m filing charges and issuing an arrest warrant. I wanted you
to know, so in case you ran into him somewhere you’d be forewarned.” He took
another bite of cookie and glanced up at her again. “Do you ever have any
contact with your ex, Bobby Lewis?”

She frowned. “No. The day my divorce was legal, I set that part
of my life aside, and I try not to revisit it any more than I have to.”

“Is he still in the same prison here in Kentucky?”

“As far as I know.”

“Hmm, I wonder...”

“Wonder what?” she asked.

Marlow pointed at his deputy. “Roger, go out to the cruiser.
Bring me the black notebook out of the console.”

The deputy grabbed another cookie from the plate as he ran for
the door.

“What are you thinking?” Meg asked.

“I don’t know...just playing a hunch. What’s Lewis’s full
name?”

“Bobby Ray Lewis,” she said.

Marlow made a mental note as the deputy came back, bringing a
gust of cold air with him. He handed the sheriff the notebook and helped himself
to another cookie.

Marlow scanned a list of names and numbers he had on file, then
took out his cell phone and began making calls.

Meg couldn’t help but be anxious. All these years she’d tried
to live down the shame Bobby Lewis had brought to her life, but if the sheriff
thought there was a tie to the attacks...

After being put on hold twice, Marlow finally located the
prison and was connected with the warden.