Jilted (20 page)

Clyde couldn't believe Ansel was dead. He had seen the body yesterday, stood by as paramedics covered it with a sheet. He had felt the stark emptiness in the house, and still he couldn't believe it.
He couldn't believe the timing.
The Pickett family, Lynda and Ruthie in particular, were already devastated by troubles, and they didn't need a death to deal with. They needed Ansel. Everyone had always said Velma held the family together, but now Clyde could see that Ansel himself had been the Krazy Glue. He had been Velma's strength, and together they had formed an unbreakable unit of family love.

A scorpion crawled past Clyde's boot as he leaned against the hood of his sedan. In the fading sunlight, he sat in the parking lot of the Tahoka High School football stadium among a sea of cars painted with festive shoe polish and window paint. But Clyde felt no excitement for the game. Even as he listened to the announcer blare details of the Panther-Bulldog showdown, he found his mind wandering.

He nudged the scorpion with his toe, causing it to curl its tail until it resembled a ballerina holding a pistol above her head. The scorpion froze, held a threatening pose, and waited for him.

Clyde didn't want to be at a football game a day after watching Ansel's body being taken away from his home and his family. He wanted to be with Lynda, holding her, sheltering her, keeping anyone else from hurting her ever again. When Velma's kids had started arriving in town, Lynda had gone back to her own house, and Clyde wanted to go there now, but JohnScott had asked him to go to the game. Even though the assistant coaches were sure to text JohnScott the stats, the coach still wanted a closer connection to his team.

He wants you to go because he can't
, Lynda had said softly.

Yep.

Clyde had mentioned that she could come, too, but she had been understandably distant. She could barely muster the strength to eat her dinner, much less get out and go to an athletic event. She wasn't hiding this time, though. She was just tired.

He pulled his boot away from the scorpion, giving it the same distance Lynda needed, and gradually the ballerina lowered her pistol. But she didn't fully relax. Instead, her eight legs picked across the gravel until she lay positioned toward Clyde with her pincers lifted. If scorpions could sniff the air, then that one was doing it.

A movement at the gate of the stadium caught Clyde's attention, and he noticed Susan making her way toward him. She inched past the cars next to him, moving sideways, then took two long steps and stopped at his side.

“Susan.”

When she didn't speak right away, Clyde felt the urge to get in his car and leave. No telling what she was up to, but whatever it was, he didn't need it.

“I'm sorry about Ansel,” she muttered.

“Yeah, it's no good.”

“And I'm sorry about the way Neil's been acting.”

Clyde felt foolish. As if they were some sort of secret-service spy team meeting in a darkened alley and speaking in code. He didn't answer.

“He's obsessed with keeping you away from Fawn, to the extent he's not even thinking straight.”

“Okay.”

“He's never been able to share. I'm not sure it even has anything to do with Nathan. He just doesn't want you to have anything to do with his daughter.”

Clyde frowned at Susan's strappy high-heeled sandals, then ground the heel of his boot into the scorpion. “Whose daughter?”

One of her sandals crunch-crunch-crunched the gravel. “You're right. She's not his daughter, but you've got to admit, he has a bond with her, even if it's weak. He figures if he keeps you away from the baby, you won't have any reason to be near Fawn.” She hesitated. “But he's always underestimated you.”

Clyde shifted his jaw. “He didn't want a relationship with her until I came home.”

“Neil never does anything without being provoked. If he doesn't feel threatened in some way, he can't make a decision to save his life.”

He glanced at Susan with her too-big hair and suddenly felt a mixture of disgust and pity. How had he ever thought he loved her? It seemed so long ago, and his memories were as dark and foggy as a reflection in an antique mirror, but it was high time he made things right. “Susan, I'm sorry for the trouble I caused you back then.”

Her hand fluttered to her throat like one of those helpless Civil War ladies in a big hoopskirt, but she shook her head as forcefully as a modern teenager. “I'm the one who should apologize. I was too weak to stand up for myself, and I did just what my father told me to do. My actions were deplorable, as were my family's.”

“We were both at fault, I reckon.”

A lone trumpet from the stadium blared a few notes, and Clyde's thoughts were momentarily overpowered by the brassy tune. Maybe his memories were overpowered, too. Twenty-two years ago, Susan hadn't been what he thought—she was weak—but life had dealt her a hard hand, and she had grown stronger because of it.

“Since my wedding day,” she said, “I've learned a lot about my husband.” Her unblinking eyes became two black olives floating in cups of milk. “He was raised in a stiff environment, and I'm not sure he knows how to be civil.” She flinched. “I mean … most people don't know him, really. Underneath all the pain.”

“Pain?”

“I think he feels enormous guilt.”

“You think or you know?”

She flicked her wrist. “After years of counseling to deal with my own guilt, I think I recognize the symptoms.”

Clyde lowered his gaze to the gravel.

“Think about it,” she said. “You and I made one mistake when we were young, and it changed our lives forever.” She glared at him. “How is Neil any different? He made one decision when he was young, and every other bad decision he's made since then was connected to the first one. All because guilt can influence a person's choices and corrode his mind.”

Clyde wasn't sure he liked where her train of thought was leading, but he didn't say as much.

“And of course his mistakes have affected you and me,” she said.

“And Fawn and Nathan.”

“And JohnScott and Lynda and Ruthie, and the list goes on, but back when he was twenty-one?” Susan shook her head. “He had no way of knowing the chain of events he was setting in place—the domino effect. When he took my father's money and let them send you to prison, he felt more guilt than one person can bear. Trust me.”

“Are you saying he has no choice now?”

“No,” she said swiftly. “I'm just saying I understand, and … I'm scared for him, Clyde.”

He squinted at her, wondering.

“He's not been himself lately.” She looked over her shoulder. “I think he may be in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” Clyde wouldn't doubt it if she told him Neil was guilty of tax evasion or embezzlement or some other white-collar crime his lawyers could cover up for him.

“It's probably nothing, really. He just seems nervous and sort of paranoid.” Her thin shoulders lifted and fell helplessly. “Sometimes I think he's having a breakdown.”

Clyde peered down at the dead curls of the scorpion, so small and helpless now, but he could think of nothing to say to Susan. She had ignored him for two years, and he had avoided her right back. Now her openness and determination caught him off guard. “You understand him.” Clyde nodded. “And you stay.”

“I stay?”

She sounded surprised, but she shouldn't have been. She stayed. She cared. She understood Neil.

“I love him.” Her confession whooshed from her lips like a quickly deflating balloon, but as she continued, the airflow got slower and slower until it petered down to a near whisper. “I couldn't tell you why or how or even when, but I love him.” She bowed her head. “Sure, there have been times I almost left. Times when I should have for Fawn's sake. Back then I stayed out of fear or obligation or piety. But now? Now I simply stay.”

“I'm glad for you.”
Maybe.
“Is that why you came over here?”

“No.” She peered at the top row of bleachers, to the flags of the Bulldog band. She studied them as though they might blow away in a windstorm, and then she shivered. “Clyde”—her voice was scratchy and faltering—“I heard something up in the stands.”

“Yeah?”

“There's a troop of Boy Scouts up there. They've been working with the Rangers out at the lake.” She lowered her voice. “They found the rest of those bones at Picnic Hollow.”

Clyde shifted, gripping the edge of the hood. “Picnic Hollow? We were just out there.” His eyes were trained on Susan, but his mind was racing with thoughts of Lynda. He had to get back to Trapp before she heard this from someone else, but something occurred to him. “So it's not Hoby. That's way too far from the truck site.” Relief eased his mind. Relief that Lynda wouldn't have to deal with another visit from Hector, wouldn't have to wait for the results of DNA tests, wouldn't have to be the center of any more of the craziness. But then he faltered. This meant she was still married. He pushed away from the car, shoving the thought from his mind. That didn't matter right now. He dug in his pocket for his keys.

“No, Clyde.” Susan's hair-sprayed fuzz quivered as she shook her head. “The Rangers are still running tests to see if it's him.”

He blinked, trying to make sense of what she was saying. “So these bones don't go with the others? These are out of the truck?”

“They go together,” she snapped. “They found everything except the thigh and pelvic bone.”

He shook his head. “There's no way an animal could have dragged the bones that far. It's miles away from the truck.”

“Clyde.” She dragged his name out, grating on his nerves. “They said the body was wedged in a deep crevice and covered with rocks.”

He frowned. “Well, it ain't Hoby, then. He drove his truck off a cliff.”

“You don't understand.” Susan's entire body shook from shoulders to knees, and her voice took on an annoying whine. “They're saying Hoby may have been murdered.”

A dull ringing in Clyde's ears overpowered the sounds of the game. “Murdered?”

“I think I should go to the sheriff. I think I should talk to him.”

“What would you have to say to Hector?”

She paced the length of the front bumper, her ankles wobbling in her high heels. “Hoby came back once,” she blurted. “Years ago. He showed up on our doorstep asking for Neil.” She stopped in front of Clyde again but kept her gaze on the windshield of the sedan. “They left the house together.”

A knot formed in Clyde's stomach, and he felt even more desperate to get back to Lynda. “Where did they go?”

“Neil said he followed him into town, and they got a cup of coffee and talked.” Her hands fluttered again. “But Neil was gone for hours.”

Clyde paused with his hand on the door handle. “Are you accusing Neil?”

“I don't know what to think. They don't even know if that's Hoby out there, so maybe I shouldn't go to Hector. Neil's already stressed, and I don't know how much more he can take.” She nibbled a painted fingernail. “I'm afraid for him, Clyde.”

He stared at her, disgusted and itching to get away where he wouldn't have to listen to her self-centeredness, her ever-present tendency to look out for herself, her inability to see past the end of her nose. Susan may have grown stronger through the course of her marriage, but she would always have a selfish streak. Even while she accused her husband of murder, she couldn't fathom that he might be a danger to someone else.

“Susan?” Clyde opened the car door. “You should be afraid for all of us.”

“Lyn? You here?”

“In the kitchen.” And I didn't have the strength to open the door for Clyde. He let himself in and followed my voice to where I sat at the kitchen table with my head resting on my arms. My life was spinning out of control, and I couldn't catch my breath.

He touched the middle of my spine.

“Pam called.” I held up my cell phone, then let my hand fall back to the table. I sat up slowly. “What did you hear?”

Clyde sat hesitantly in the chair catty-corner from me, and I remembered the last time he had sat there. The night I told him he was moving too fast. He glanced at the oven, and I wondered if he was thinking the same thing. Frozen pizza, ranch dressing, and our first kiss.

“They found the rest of the skeleton,” he said, “and they're testing it to see if it's Hoby. From the sound of it, they're assuming it's him.” Clyde studied me. “Are you okay talking about this?”

Of course not.
I hated hearing Hoby's name attached to such a gruesome conversation, but in the past week, I'd had so many gruesome conversations, it almost seemed routine. “I'm fine.”

He leaned back in his chair. “I don't understand why they can run DNA tests now, but they couldn't on those other two bones. Do you think this is all just gossip?”

“I heard they use the teeth.” My shoulders trembled as I thought of the small gap between Hoby's front teeth, as well as the chip in his incisor from when he took a hard fall during a basketball game.

Clyde stood and paced to the window above the sink, then back. “I can't believe we're even talking about this. It's crazy.”

“Maybe it's not him.” I lifted my chin. “Everybody's assuming it's Hoby, but maybe it's not. Maybe his body is still in the lake.” My imagination took me deep into the dirty lake water, where a pale body bumped and banged its way through the open windows of a wrecker. When the body swirled and turned in the wake of a fishing boat, the face smiled at me, with a gap between the front teeth. I shoved away from the table and lunged down the hall, barely making it to the bathroom before I vomited.

Clyde was right. Things were crazy. For so many years, I was the only one thinking about Hoby, but now the entire town revolved around those missing years. I felt as though my life had derailed, but maybe finding the answers would help me make peace. After splashing cool water on my face and brushing my teeth, I opened the bathroom door and only paused in front of my bedroom for a few seconds. Lord, it would feel good to go in there, shut the door, and hide myself beneath the blankets, but if those bones belonged to Hoby, then this was the answer I had to face. For my sake, and Ruthie's, and now Clyde's. Hiding was no longer an option.

I didn't want to be that woman—the one who badgered herself with regrets and bitterness and shoved away the people who cared about her. No, I wanted to be the girl who climbed ten feet up the ladder inside a wind turbine, who started reading again for the first time since high school, who challenged an ex-convict to better himself and swore she would do the same. I wanted to be a healthy person who could live life, and I wanted to live it with Clyde Felton.

In the meantime I needed to deal with these disgusting rumors. I returned to my seat in the kitchen, more hopeful and determined than I'd been when I left it.

“I hope you don't mind.” Clyde was standing next to the stove. “I'm making tea.”

“Sure. Tea bags are in the cabinet to the left of the sink.”

He cleared his throat. “I'm sorry this thing is happening.”

I didn't answer.

The water on the stove boiled, and Clyde dug out two tea bags, then held them by the paper tabs and dunked them up and down in the water. “I left the football game during the first quarter. We were down by six.”

“Who told you about the bones?”

He let the strings slip through his fingers. “Susan. She heard it up in the stands, and I reckon she figured I could use a heads-up.” He measured sugar into the pan and stirred it several times before he continued. “She thinks Neil might be involved in it.”

“Involved how?” Neil hadn't seen Hoby since before he left, and I didn't see the connection.

“She's just speculating is all. Said he's acting quirky. Feeling a lot of guilt.”

“He deserves to feel guilty, but what is Susan speculating about?”

He poured the tea into a pitcher, then looked at me. “Well, if they found the skeleton all the way up at Picnic Hollow, on the opposite end of the lake from the truck …”

“I don't understand what you're saying.” And I was getting frustrated with him.

“The bones were found in a shallow grave, Lyn.” He held the pitcher over the sink, then hesitated before saying, “For some reason, Susan thinks Neil may have had something to do with it.”

Whatever normalcy remained in my imagination evaporated. “Seriously?”

Clyde shoved the pitcher under the faucet and turned on the water. He left his back to me until the pitcher was full. “I reckon.”

I picked at a speck of food stuck to the table. The gossip was already flowing, but I didn't want to admit that Pam had mentioned the same possibility when she called. Even though I despised Neil, I couldn't picture him killing someone. Especially Hoby. They had been friends once. We all had.

Clyde dropped ice cubes into a glass, filled it with tea, and brought it to me. “You should drink.”

The cool wetness felt good as it ran across my throat, cleansing my palate and quenching my thirst, but not coming close to washing away the filth that smeared my mood.

A knock sounded at the front door, and when Clyde raised his eyebrows, I answered his unspoken question.

“Probably Ruthie. I'll get it.” I stepped across the living room and flipped on the porch light at the same time I opened the door, but then my stomach tightened.

Neil leaned against the iron porch railing, leering at me through the screen door.

“I figured the two of you would be holed up in that love nest up on the Cap.” He motioned to Clyde's sedan at the curb. “Neither of you have enough sense to get out of town.”

“I don't—” I glanced over my shoulder as Clyde followed me to the door.

“What can we do for you, Neil?” Clyde put his palm in the small of my back.

“Just stopped by to make sure you were all right, what with the ruckus over at the stadium in Tahoka.” He peered down the street, and I expected him to loll his eyes lazily, but instead they skittered back and forth.

“I was there less than an hour ago,” Clyde said. “Things seemed peaceful enough to me.”

“Did you hear what the Rangers found?” His voice broke on the last word. “They think it's the rest of Hoby's body.”

Suddenly I grew cold, but my head felt clearer than it had moments before. “They don't know that for sure,” I said.

“Oh, it's Hoby, all right.” Neil's lips drew back to show his teeth, but it seemed more like a grimace than a smile.

“What makes you think so?” Clyde's fingertips dug gently into my side.

Neil backed away, lowering one foot to the second step. “The Rangers sent those teenage boys away as soon as they found the body. I heard there were details they didn't want the Scouts to spread around.”

I felt as if a housefly were buzzing around my head, and I had the overwhelming urge to slap it with a plastic swatter. Neil always tried to push my buttons, but if he thought he could rattle me this time, he was wrong. With a strength I didn't feel, I snapped, “Why did you come here?”

“To warn you.”

“About what? So far you haven't told us anything we didn't already know.”

“People are talking, Lynda, and they're figuring things out. Before morning they're going to know what you did.”

Clyde's fist gripped the doorframe.

“What are you accusing me of?” I asked.

“I'm not accusing you of a thing. I'm just saying I know Hoby was suicidal before he left—he was always weak like that—but the town never knew everything you did to drive him there.”

His statement sounded like a rehearsed monologue. Empty.

Clyde thrust the screen door open, and it slammed back against the house. “You should leave.” He towered over Neil, who seemed much smaller on the second step.

I remembered Clyde's explanation about his anger, and I put my hand solidly on the inside of his elbow and tugged. If Clyde couldn't handle seeing a puppy get kicked, I had a feeling we were about to have an explosion.

“Now, Lynda.” Neil looked past Clyde and shook his head. “You just lost one pitiful husband. Are you already working to get another one?”

Clyde shook his head as though he thought Neil was the pitiful one, and I felt him yield slightly to my tugging.

But then Neil clucked his tongue. “Well, loose women can't attract anything else.”

In one swift movement, Clyde shoved Neil backward down the steps, and Neil stumbled before falling hard on the front walk.

“Don't, Clyde!” I clung to his arm with both hands, but Clyde was already backing away. He lowered his head and rested a hand on the post, then took a deep breath.

Neil scurried backward on all fours. “No!”—he raised his voice—“I didn't do anything to you.” He stumbled to his feet. “Don't hit me again!”

I stepped onto the porch beside Clyde, wondering if Neil were having a nervous breakdown right here, right now, in my front yard. He had seemed tense before, but his behavior had just spiraled toward erratic.

Neil clambered into his truck, but instead of driving away quickly, he lowered the window and pulled slowly past the neighbor's house while he rubbed his neck.

“Has he lost his mind?” I mumbled.

The two of us stood on the porch, staring after the truck as it drove away, but suddenly Clyde made a guttural sound, almost like a growl. “Good God!” His arm caught me at the waist, and he guided me back in the house. Just as he slammed the door, I saw what he had seen.

A news camera was pointed at us from behind the neighbor's carport.