'Til Death (A Rebel Ridge Novel) (9 page)

He pulled down the canvas, which let more light into the room,
and quickly spotted the problem. The facing on which the door had been hanging
had rotted away. Having wood on hand had just saved him a trip into Mount
Sterling. He grabbed his tools and began prying off the strips of rotten wood,
then set up his sawhorses and began measuring and cutting new pieces.

The sound of his power tools startled the gray cat. It hissed,
ran up a porch post onto the sloping roof and disappeared. He grinned, thinking
to himself that if he’d been that agile, he would have made a better roofer.

After he finished framing up the new opening, he cut and planed
wood for the missing threshold and then went to inspect the door itself.

The wood was good enough, but the hinges weren’t. They were
both rusted, and one was broken. He got out the new hinges and set to working,
ever conscious of the cold wind blowing down his neck. He worked fast, sighting
and attaching the hinges. Then he quickly hung the door, tapping the long bolts
through the hinges before testing it out. It swung freely back and forth, and
when he shut it to make sure it latched, the bolt slid right into place and the
lock easily turned. Success.

The kitchen was freezing, though just being able to shut out
the wind made a world of difference. But now that the door was closed, he could
hear other evidence of the wind and began checking out the windows.

The glass panes were loose, and he could feel cold air coming
in around the bottoms. He went back to the truck, returning with the caulking
gun and the rolls of weather stripping, caulked up the window panes, then tacked
up some weather stripping around both windows.

As soon as he finished in the kitchen, he headed to the living
room and again was struck by the effort Beulah made to keep up her house. Except
for a fine layer of dust, which was easily attributed to the lack of a back
door, everything was old but neat. Her sofa was worn and threadbare, but the
throw pillows at either end were little round puffs of blue. There was a
crocheted doily beneath a table lamp, and another one on a little coffee table
beneath a Bible. The pictures on the wall were old, like Beulah herself.

He eyed his aunt sitting close to Beulah by the fireplace and
realized that the two women were very much alike—the last of their line, except
for two men who were absent in their lives. He was grateful all over again for
the accident that had made him come back.

“Mrs. Justice, if you don’t mind, I have some extra caulk and
weather stripping. I’d be happy to seal up the drafts around the rest of your
windows.”

Beulah Justice beamed. “That would be wonderful,” she said, and
then patted Tildy’s hand. “You sure are lucky to have such a handy nephew.”

Linc began going through the tiny house, sealing up cracks and
gaps as best he could. As soon as he was finished, he went back to the living
room and found Tildy adding a stick of wood to the fireplace, and he made a
mental note to bring up a load of wood. Then he noticed there was a gas heating
stove at the other end of the room that wasn’t lit.

“All done,” he said. “It’ll take time to heat your house back
up, but once it does, it should hold the heat way better than it did before.”
Then he pointed to the stove. “Do you want me to light the fire in your
stove?”

“Won’t do no good, son. Propane tank is empty. I’ll do fine
with my fireplace, but I thank you just the same.”

He was stunned. That explained the teakettle and the cast iron
stew kettle sitting near the fireplace. Her cook stove ran on propane. She
hadn’t been able to shut out the cold
or
cook a
decent meal.
God in heaven, how long has she been living
like this?

Beulah got up to thank him, struggling not to cry as she
clasped her hands against her little belly. “I am more grateful than you will
ever know.”

Linc had been building houses from the ground up for years, but
he couldn’t remember ever being as satisfied with a finished job as he was right
now.

“It’s been my pleasure,” he said, then glanced at his aunt. “If
you’re ready to go, I’m finished, Aunt Tildy.”

Tildy stood. “Then we’ll be off,” she said, and took a small
jar from her jacket pocket and handed it to Beulah. “Use this during the day and
the other salve at night. It’ll fix your aches right up.”

“I sure thank you, Tildy.”

“You’re welcome, Beulah, and when you write to your grandson
again, give him my best. Tell him we’re all praying for him to come home.”

“I will do that,” Beulah said, and led the way through the
little house to the kitchen, where she inspected the door and windows with
delight. “My, my, this is fine work. I’ll be snug as a bug this winter now, for
sure.”

Linc loaded up his tools as Tildy got back in the truck. As
they circled the house to get back to the road, Beulah was visible through the
windows, admiring his work.

“I am grateful,” Tildy said.

“You know what, Aunt Tildy? So am I,” he said.

She smiled. “It feels good to help out, doesn’t it?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am, it does.”

When they got back to her place, he parked, and before she got
out, he took her hand.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

She smiled. “Not today, Linc, but I thank you for the
offer.”

He nodded but didn’t turn her loose.

Tildy saw the look on his face and calmly waited for whatever
else was on his mind.

“Aunt Tildy, I’ve been wondering something.”

“Like what?”

“Like, when was the last time someone took you out for Sunday
dinner?”

Her eyes widened; she was clearly surprised by the
question.

“Why, I reckon it’s been so long that I don’t think I can
actually remember.”

“Would you let me take you to dinner? Frankie’s Eats isn’t very
fancy, but I noticed on their sign that they have chicken and dumplings on
Sundays.”

“People will see you. Some might recognize you.”

“I know.”

She squeezed his hand. “Then I’d be honored. I haven’t eaten
any cooking but my own in so long, I just might make a pig of myself.”

“Do you go to church?”

“Not anymore. The Good Lord and me understand each other just
fine without being in a church. I do my best communicating with Him when I’m on
the mountain gathering up my herbs.”

“Then I’ll pick you up about eleven, if that’s all right?”

She grinned. “Now I’ve got to go see if my dresses still fit. I
don’t reckon I’ve worn one since the day I buried my man, and that was some
years back.”

“There’s a lot gone on around here that we’ve both missed out
on,” he said, and then he leaned across the seat and kissed her cheek. “Thanks,
Aunt Tildy. You’re the best.”

She fussed to keep from crying as she got out, but there was a
bounce to her step as she headed for the house.

Linc waited until she was inside before he drove away. In a
way, he was relieved that he’d finally made the decision to step out of his
exile, and, after helping Beulah, the anger in his heart had miraculously
disappeared.

He could almost hear his grandpa’s voice.
Do unto others.

“I will remember that better, Grandpa, but thanks for the
reminder.”

As soon as he got home, he called his propane company and gave
them an order to fill Beulah Justice’s tank, make sure her heating and cooking
stoves lit before they left, and send him the bill. Then he went back outside,
loaded up a cord of firewood he’d planned to use for himself and started back up
the mountain.

When he pulled into Beulah’s place and began unloading the
wood, she came out crying with her apron over her face.

“I’m not too proud to take this,” she said, wiping tears with
the hem of her apron. “But I’m gonna say big prayers for you, son, when I lay my
head down tonight.”

Linc paused. “And I’ll thank you,” he said, then carried in an
armful of wood, added some to her fire and put the rest by her fireplace. “This
should hold you for a week or so. Just don’t worry about staying warm or try to
save it to make it last. You use what you need and I’ll keep you in wood.”

“God bless you,” she said, still crying as he drove away.

Even after he’d gone to bed that night, sleeping snug and warm
in his trailer, he couldn’t stop thinking about little Beulah and wondering how
many other lone women on Rebel Ridge were in the same leaky boat.

* * *

Fagan had been trying to call Prince ever since the
sheriff drove away from the house, but his calls weren’t being answered. He
didn’t know whether Prince was drunk off his ass and whoring around, or if he’d
gone and broken his phone. But he knew that two hundred dollars he’d given
Prince had to be gone. If Prince had tried to pull a heist he could even be in
jail, although Fagan was pretty sure he would have found out if Marlow had his
brother in custody. So when Prince finally called him, he was shocked.

Fagan glanced at the caller ID as his cell phone rang and then
rolled his eyes.

“It’s about damn time you finally return a call,” he said as he
answered.

“And a hello to you, too, brother dear,” Prince said. “What’s
going on?”

“The sheriff was here the morning you left. There’s a warrant
out for your arrest.”

“Shit,” Prince muttered. “I was hoping she didn’t get a good
look at me,” he said.

“Oh, it wasn’t her. There was a witness who named you.”

Prince’s heart suddenly started pounding. “That bastard on the
old Fox place. The one who called me out.”

“I didn’t know about anyone moving onto that place or I might
have made it my business to find out who it was,” Fagan said.

“Well, if he saw me and knew me, it can’t be a stranger,”
Prince muttered. “But who could... Oh, shit.”

“What?” Fagan asked.

“Who would be living on the Fox place now who knew who I
was?”

Fagan snorted. “Anyone on Rebel Ridge, that’s who.”

“Not on the Fox place. As long as Tildy Bennett still lives, it
won’t ever be for sale.”

“But there’s no one else who—”

All of a sudden, Fagan’s mind went right where Prince’s had
gone. “Do you think...?”

“I don’t know, but who else could it be?”

“But why come back now, after all these years?”

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t give me any peace of mind to
consider the reasons why,” Prince said.

“I’ll find out for sure, and when I call you back again, answer
the damn phone,” Fagan said.

“Yeah, yeah. Meanwhile, I’m broke.”

“Well, so am I. The cops are breathing down my neck because of
you, and I can’t take a chance on selling any weed until this situation is
resolved.”

“So what am I gonna do for money?” Prince asked.

“You figure it out,” Fagan said. “You’re the one who pulled the
dumb stunt. And by the way...what the hell made you do it to begin with?”

Prince sighed. He needed money, and if Fagan could pull off
what he had messed up, then they would be set for a good long while.

“One day a few weeks past Claude Lewis came to see me. He said
his brother, Bobby, wanted to talk to me. I told him to tell Bobby Lewis to go
to hell, but then he said Bobby was dying of lung cancer and there was something
important he needed to tell me before he died. Something that would set us up
fine. So I went down to the state prison to see him.”

Fagan frowned. “Why am I just now hearing about this?”

“Well, I thought I’d—”

“Don’t lie,” Fagan snapped. “I know exactly why you didn’t tell
me. If you could get away with it, you were gonna keep whatever it was all to
yourself.”

“Now, brother, that’s not so,” Prince said.

“Whatever. So what does Meg Lewis have to do with it?”

“Bobby said when he killed Wendell, that Wendell had over
twenty thousand dollars on him. Bobby said he buried it where he buried his
hunting dog, Ike, and that the only person who would know that particular
location was his ex-wife, Meg.”

“But why didn’t he just tell you outright? And why didn’t you
just go ask her—in a roundabout way, of course—for that very information?”

Prince picked at a sore on the back of his hand, knowing this
was going to piss his brother off, but such was life.

“I don’t know what Bobby’s reasoning was, but I know mine. I
wanted to fuck with her first, that’s why. She thinks she’s so high-and-mighty,
and she’s no better than the rest of us.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Well, she’s been a single woman for all these years, but she
has nothing to do with men, like she’s too good for them to mess with her.”

Fagan sighed. “I’d say that’s because the first two she picked
were losers and she was too damned fed up with men in general to try again, but
that’s just me.”

Prince frowned. “It don’t matter. I’m gonna fuck her, and then
I’m gonna slit her damn throat...but that’s after you find out where the money
is hid.”

“Me? After what you did, do you think her or any of her family
is gonna let me close to her? No. You messed this up. You figure it out.”

“Damn it! You go find out where that money’s buried!” Prince
screamed. “I’m near to broke. I would already be there, but I rolled a drunk I
found passed out the other night.”

“No,” Fagan said. “You figure something else out.” He wasn’t
good at telling his brother no, so he hung up before Prince could push any
more.

* * *

The days passed quickly as Linc worked from daylight to
dark, and the closer it got to Sunday, the more anxious he became. In one single
meal he was going to set wheels in motion, but he had no way of knowing where
they would take him. He wanted his life back, and with Meg in it. Knowing she
was so damn close made him antsy—made the need to clear his name more vital than
ever.

By the time Friday rolled around he was putting the finishing
touches on his new living quarters.