The Suspect List--Chapter Sixteen

Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

“Good question.” Sheriff Ward taps the safe, as he turns from Tom to Sherry, “What’s in here? And don’t tell me you don’t know.”

“Mom’s old journals.”

“And what secrets could Mom have been keeping that required a fireproof safe?”

Sherry shrugs, but her posture–arms firmly crossed over her chest–is anything but casual. “Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe better.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means. Mom told me everything last summer.”

“Right before she died you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Did she mention her chest pains, too?“

“Of course not. If she had, I'd have taken her to the emergency room.”

“Are you sure about that? I mean mom dying gets you one step closer to inheriting doesn’t it?”

“Hey now,” Tom says, clearly trying to defuse the situation.

“Don’t try to pretend everything is fine here,” Ward says. “I know your little shop is failing. I know you two are in debt.”

Sherry and Tom look at each other, and even I can see that Ward has spoken the truth.

“Once JB is gone and the ranch is sold, you’ll get your share and your money troubles will be over.” 

Every bit of color drains from Sherry’s face. “How dare you?”

“You dare, I dare.”

“At least I’m not making things up. Mom told me she had proof that you hurt that girl.”

“Is that what you think is in here?” He taps the safe. “Proof that I did something bad twenty years ago?” 

“Yes.” Sherry says.

“Then prove it. Get the key and we’ll open the safe right here and now.”

“What makes you think I have the key?”

“David told me you took several boxes of Mom’s things out of the house last summer. I figure it was in there.”

“That was all art and craft supplies, stuff Mom wanted me to have.”

“So you say.”

“It’s true. Mom couldn’t find the key or the safe. Her big fear was that you took both. She wanted me to keep them, wanted someone she trusted to have proof that you hurt that girl, just in case–”

“Wow.” Ward rolls his eyes skyward. “Do you know how paranoid and ridiculous you sound?”

“I’m not para–”

“You sound like Dad did when he first started losing his mind. Mom had some dementia going on too.” Ward turns to Tom, “Maybe you should take your wife to a doctor–”

“You’re crossing the line,” Tom says, a bit too calmly, if you ask me.

Zane takes a step toward his uncle. “Did you do it? Did you kill Abigail?”

“Kill Abigail? Jesus. You’re as delusional as your mother. No one killed the little whore.”

“Don’t call her that,” Zane’s hands are fists at his sides.

“Do you prefer the term prostitute? Because that’s what she was.”

“She was a child,” Sherry says.

“The world is, and always has been, full of teenage whores,” Ward says. “They’re old enough to know what they’re doing. Old enough to take the money.”

“So you’re not denying it?” Zane is right up in Ward’s face.

Ward shrugs, says nothing.

“Abigail told me things. I know you’re the one who hurt her.”

“If you’re so sure of this, why are you only bringing it up now?”

“I was just a kid then. I was afraid of you.”

“And you’re not now?”

“No.” 

Ward seems to mull this over for a second. Finally he says, “What are you going to do Zane, call the cops on me?”

“We both know that wouldn’t do any good. You’re the one with all the power. But there are other things I could do.”

“What? Write about me in your little newspaper?”

“That’s one thing, yes.”

“Do you have any idea how easily I could have that pointless newspaper shut down and put you out of a job? Not that you’d be losing much. You really should learn a trade, you know. Do something useful with your time, something you can earn a decent living from. And while you’re making life changes,” Ward glances at me, “you might want to find yourself a nice girl, one who isn’t a thief.”

A sick feeling whooshes through me. They’re all looking at me and I want to slink away, or disappear, or even better, go back in time and take a different hiking trail, and not have anything to do with Zane or his crazy family.

Zane and Sherry both talk at once, defending me, shooting angry words at Ward, words that bounce right off his smug, arrogant skull.

“I remember it clearly now. Katrina likes to steal small items. Makeup, nail polish, perfume– crap like that. I suspect she wants to feel like she’s better than her Mama, but she can’t hide the look and smell of trailer trash.”

“Fuck you.” The words explode out of me.

Ward laughs. “That’s it? That’s all you got for me? Talk about low class. It doesn’t get much lower than that does it?”

I want to scratch the bastard’s eyes out, but instead I stand here trembling with fury and–I admit it–fear. 

Ward picks up the safe, casual as can be.

“What are you doing?” Sherry asks.

“Taking out the garbage.” He grins like this has all been a fun game. “See  you later, Sis.”

Ward walks around the side of the house to the front. I hear his truck start up, hear him head down the driveway.  

“No way should that man be in a position of power,” Tom says.

It’s such an understatement and so politely said that I laugh. It’s a crazy-sounding laugh even to me. My face is hot, Sherry’s dinner is churning in my gut and I can’t stand the way they’re all looking at me–like they know Ward was telling the truth about me–so I do the only logical thing.

I leave.

Fast.

Sitting in my car, with the key in the ignition, I hesitate thinking Zane might come after me, try to comfort me, assure me that he knows Ward was lying.

It doesn’t happen. It’s just as well.

Better actually, that it ends this way.

Ward Carlaw may be an asshole, but as far as I can tell he isn’t a liar. 

****

I missed a call from Fawn while I was at Zane’s parent’s house and another when I was driving home and didn’t feel like answering.

Now there’s a text asking me what I found out about Abigail and the Carlaw family.

The last thing I want to do is get an innocent person involved in this so I text her back that it was nothing, just a weird misunderstanding, so she won’t ask any more questions. Then I turn off my ringer and all notifications, change into pajamas and climb into bed, my thoughts spinning.

What a mess.

I’ve managed to get on the bad side of the county sheriff, and had my criminal past exposed. If Sherry tells management that I was once convicted of theft Patricia will remember the various items that have gone missing from residents rooms over the years, assume it was me, and fire me. I’ll have to find a new line of work, and while I might bitch about my job, I actually do like caring for people. Without a college degree, it’s going to be a struggle to find a decent job. I’ll probably end up back in retail which I hate.

Unless of course, Sheriff Ward decides to keep tabs on me. Sure my record was expunged when I turned eighteen but that doesn’t mean he can’t whisper in a store owner’s ear, let them know that hiring me would be a bad idea.

With the way word spreads in this small county, I might not be able to find a job. My first month without a paycheck and I’ll get evicted. And then what? I can’t move in with Fawn. She lives in a studio above her parent’s garage and it’s barely big enough for one person. Of course, if Fawn finds out about my past, she’ll ditch me as a friend anyway. She’s one of those honest to a fault types and won’t understand. That leaves me with the option of crashing on my mom’s sofa, which smells like Hal’s ass because of how much time he spends sitting on it, playing his stupid video games. Hal won’t like me invading his space and Mom likes to keep Hal happy. It won’t be long until they feel forced to ask me to leave and then what? Haul my sleeping bag to the park where all the other unhoused people curl up on benches and under trees?

How can it be that just two nights ago I was on a date with a cute guy thinking it might actually lead to something good? I felt like I really connected with Zane, and I don’t just mean the pleasant way our body parts connected. I thought I may have found an actual potential boyfriend, and now my life has gone to hell and I’m only a step or two away from living under a tree in a park.

My life sucks so bad right now that I’m under the covers ugly crying like I haven’t since… well I don’t know how long it’s been since I bawled like this but it’s been a long time. I’m not normally a crier.

And now, wouldn’t you know, someone is knocking on my door. Probably it’s a neighbor coming to tell me to pull myself together because the noise is keeping them awake.

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