Liars table, p.23
Liars' Table, page 23
Bobby studied me for a minute and then nodded. “I’ll take her if something happens.”
“Thanks. You’re a good friend.” We shook hands, and I walked toward the nursing home entrance.
Teresa offered her condolences about C.J. the moment I entered the dementia unit. In small towns, news travels fast. Bad news travels faster.
The nurse then gave me something positive. “Shelby is having one of her better days. She’s been engaging with others, good spirits, and lots of memories.”
Finally, some good news, though I kept my excitement in check as I crossed the large room. We had noticed early on her dementia path the curse of sundowners, the declining of a person as the day turned to evening. She was more likely to forget things or to be easily upset late in the day. Our years-long habit of sitting on the porch, watching the sunset, had been increasingly curtailed in her last years at home as she had often forgotten who I was during that time. I’d lost count of the number of times she was my wife while the sun was in the sky but a complete stranger by the time it was dark.
Fearing the moment of clarity had already faded for the day, I approached the couch with some trepidation. She looked up from her seat in front of the TV, confusion clouding her face. I swallowed my disappointment and said, “Good evening, darling.”
She cocked her head to the side and opened her mouth, but then she hesitated. She studied me as her mouth drew closed again. Her face brightened as the fog lifted and her smile spread. She patted the couch beside her and said, “Purvis, it’s good to see you, hon.”
Her recognition of me drove warmth through my body. It was hard to describe to someone who hadn’t dealt with this disease how much it meant that she knew who I was. Moments like this were a rebirth of sorts, a resurrection of a loved one you thought had been lost. I settled beside her and tucked her hair behind her ear. “You’re looking good today.”
She blushed, her eyes twinkling. “You’re so sweet. I know better, but thank you. Not exactly a beauty parlor here in the nursing home.”
“I think you’re gorgeous.”
“And I think you have a silver tongue.” She playfully pushed against my arm. “You remember talking your way past my father to ask me to the movies that first time.”
I squeezed her hand. “You asked me what movie was showing, and I had no idea.”
Her melodic laugh floated to my ears. “That’s how I knew you liked me. And the way you always treated me like a queen, holding the door for me in that old car of yours.”
“You are my queen. And that old car was your limo.”
“Some limo.” She laughed again, the sound healthy and strong. “But it’s all I ever needed. That, and you, of course.”
I knew that was a lie. Maybe she didn’t remember her affair with Horace. Maybe she didn’t remember keeping his letters long after the affair was over—or, at least, long after I thought it was over.
But sometimes a lie is okay. We may have started out more as friends than lovers. We’d certainly had our rough patches. We’d made mistakes. We certainly could have done better for Jessica. But I couldn’t change any of that.
I threaded my fingers through hers and held her hand as she rested her head on my shoulder. I kissed the top of her head and said, “I love you.”
She looked up at me and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. “I love you too, Purvis Webb.”
40
The parking lot of Coogan’s Cove looked much the same as it had the night before—a scattering of cars and an absence of people. I knew Rudy the Roach was there, somewhere, watching me, but I couldn’t find him. His gorilla was probably beside him. I didn’t see the dark SUV, but maybe he changed cars regularly. No shadows moved in the forest. Not even any young lovers sat at a picnic table, fondling each other. As far as I could tell, I was alone.
I pulled Gene’s pistol out from underneath the seat and checked it for the dozenth time since putting my plan into play. I didn’t think I would get a chance to use it. Even if I did, I had never been a good shot, but I chambered a round to be ready. It was as good a plan as I had.
I got out of the car and stretched in the fading light. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a storm working its way over the mountains. I would miss the smell of approaching rain in the mountain air and the feel of a cool breeze rolling down the hill.
I expected to hear my name, but only the sounds of nature reached me. If he was waiting, he would be at the top of the hill, watching me.
Showtime.
I walked to the rear of the car and opened the trunk. I wanted him to see me clearly. I hoped he was watching. I pulled out a shovel with fresh mud crusted around its blade.
What was he thinking as he spied from the shadows? He expected a garbage bag of cash. When he saw the shovel, would he be curious or mad? He might shoot Wyatt and run right now. Then I would have to wait until he showed up at the house one night to slit my throat. I was counting on his curiosity, though.
I rested the shovel on my shoulder, the blade pointed skyward to catch the maximum light. He needed to see the mud. I tried to appear calm but doubted it worked because my guts were a tangled mess of nerves. I fought the urge to vomit and did the only thing I could—traipsed to the top of the picnic grounds.
Once there, I leaned the shovel against a tree. I wanted it to draw his attention.
And then I waited. Was he already here? Or would a car pull into the parking lot?
Five minutes. The place was eerily quiet. No one moved.
Ten minutes. I heard a twig snap. Wyatt stumbled into view, pushed from behind. His hands were tied together, and a gag was stuffed in his mouth. Rudy emerged with a pistol raised and pointed at Wyatt’s head. “What do you think you’re doing, old man?”
“What I promised. Giving you your money.”
His face was squinted in confusion. His eyes showed doubt. I wanted to keep him talking but knew I needed to draw him out. I forced myself to wait on his question. Wyatt looked back and forth, concern in his eyes.
After two minutes ticked by, Rudy finally asked, “Where is it?”
“Buried.”
He cocked his head and circled the barrel of the pistol, an indication he wanted me to continue. Instead, I waited in silence until he asked, “Now why would you do a fool thing like that?”
“Bargaining chip.”
He looked incredulous and waved his arm wide to indicate the empty picnic area. “What do you want? A last meal or something?”
“Let Wyatt go.”
Wyatt’s eyes grew wide, and he shook his head, but I avoided looking at him. I needed to concentrate.
Rudy laughed, a hearty but evil sound. It tapered off into a chuckle as he shook his head. “Why would I do that?”
“Because then I’ll give you your money.”
“I’m not sure what you’re thinking, old man, but Wyatt here is my bargaining chip. You don’t give me my money, and I kill him. And then I’ll kill you.”
“I figured that much out.” I smiled. I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t even sure why I did because I didn’t find anything funny. And yet I smiled. And that smile might have unnerved Rudy. “The problem is you’re going to kill me anyway. Right after I give you the money, I’m dead.”
“The second you give me my money, you go home.”
I wanted to believe that. I really did. But only a fool would. “I don’t think so.”
“Why would I kill you? What reason do I have?”
“A couple. First, revenge. I stole your money. I didn’t mean to. I tried to explain that, but I did steal it. You killed Gene because you suspected the same thing without an iota of proof.”
Rudy looked around the picnic area. Maybe he thought I was wired and was looking for a confession. I wasn’t. That would have been a good idea.
“Like you said, it was an accident. That’s different.”
“That’s the other reason. I watched you kill a man. And that is, as you would probably say, a loose end.”
Rudy squinted and stared me hard in the face. I could see he was thinking. He knew what I was saying was true. “If that were true, wouldn’t I kill your grandson too? He saw the same thing you did.”
“Yep. That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”
“Then I might as well get it over with.”
He didn’t pull back the slide or thumb the hammer down like the bad guy would in a movie to make his point and ratchet up the drama. He just jammed the pistol against the back of Wyatt’s head. I had the time it takes to pull the trigger to stop him.
“Just one problem.”
He kept the gun hard against Wyatt’s skull, pushing his head forward. Wyatt had his eyes squeezed shut. I could see his lips moving. I figured he was praying.
The tide turned. Rudy cocked an eyebrow at me. “What problem would that be?”
“You kill him, you’re out a hundred grand.”
He shook his head. “You’ll dig it up for me.”
“Once you kill Wyatt, I have nothing left in this world. All I have is my own life, and we’ve already established you’re going to kill me whether I give you the money or not.”
“I can make it fast or slow.”
“True. I’ve thought of that. You could beat me, shoot me, torture me, but I’ll have nothing to live for, so I don’t care.” Sure, I cared. I tried my best to make it sound like I didn’t. “But if you let Wyatt go, then I’ll give you the money.”
Rudy flexed his hand that was gripping the pistol. My heart leapt, thinking he was pulling the trigger, but he didn’t. His eyes went back and forth from the back of Wyatt’s head to my face. I hadn’t sold him yet, but I had him thinking. Time to close the deal.
“Here’s what you’re thinking. Once Wyatt’s gone, what keeps me from just refusing?”
His eyes told me that was exactly what he was thinking, so I kept pushing. “Here’s why. You’ll still kill me, but I don’t think you’ll care as much about killing Wyatt once you have your money.”
Wyatt’s head popped up. Our eyes locked. I knew he wanted to protest, but what I was saying was as much for him as it was for Rudy. I needed to convince them both. “You’ll look for him, of course, but he won’t be in Millerton. There’s nothing here for him once I’m dead. I loaded all his clothes in the car. I even left him a note taped to the steering wheel. Go read it if you want. It tells him to simply disappear. You’ll never find him. After a while, you’ll decide you have other things to deal with. Wyatt will become an afterthought.”
I could see he was almost there. One last push. “Your choice is simple. You kill us both and never see your money. Or Wyatt goes free, you get your money, and then you kill me or you let me go, though we both know what the real answer to that is.”
Ever so slowly, Rudy lowered the pistol to his side. With a wave of his other hand, he dismissed Wyatt. “Get out of here. I’ll find you someday no matter what your grandpa thinks.”
I untied the knot holding Wyatt’s hands together and removed the gag. Wyatt tried to speak, but I hugged him instead. “I love you. Now go.”
41
We watched Wyatt as he headed down the trail to the parking lot. I wanted to see him in the car and gone, but Rudy wasn’t waiting that long. He shoved me to get my attention and said, “Okay, old man. Where’s my money?”
I gripped the shovel and pointed to the trail snaking down to the river. “It’s buried at my favorite fishing hole down there. C.J. and I have fished at it since we were little kids, so that makes it easy for me to remember where to find it even in the dark.”
Without looking to see if he would follow, I marched into the blackness. I figured Rudy debated whether to pursue Wyatt or follow me. The problem for him was simple. Retrieving Wyatt wouldn’t change anything. He didn’t know where our favorite fishing hole was or which spots on the river we used. Even if he could figure it out, he wouldn’t know where at the spot to look. He could dig for years and not find it. I was counting on that money meaning more to Rudy than revenge.
After a minute, I heard Rudy’s footsteps behind me, scrambling to catch up. He had chosen to let Wyatt go. He’d have to pursue him some other day. I hoped Wyatt had read the note, took it to heart, and really took off. He could never return to Millerton.
The fading daylight made it difficult to avoid tripping over rocks and roots on the trail. Rudy stumbled behind me several times, much to my amusement. Each time, I debated trying to draw the pistol hidden in my waistband and shoot him, but he never holstered his own gun. I doubted I’d be fast enough. Besides, the longer I waited, the farther away Wyatt was. If I failed, he needed to be far away.
To entertain myself, I imagined the challenge Rudy would have leaving here later. I doubted I would get the joy of witnessing it, but he’d have to fight his way back up this trail in the dark of night. Maybe he’d get lost. That would be poetic justice.
We made it to the bottom of the gorge and reached the river. I sucked in a lungful of the cool, fresh air. I looked at the gentle rapids and debated making a run for it across the shallow water. He would just shoot me in the back, though, as I slipped on the wet rocks. Wyatt needed more time. I wanted him a hundred miles away before Rudy could start his pursuit.
I pointed upstream and began pushing aside the thick growth of rhododendrons that clogged the banks. On our walk down, we had passed a smooth trail just twenty yards behind us. It made the entrance to our fishing area easy, but my goal wasn’t ease. As exhausting as this path was for me, I wanted it to be worse for Rudy.
What he didn’t know was C.J. and I knew this area like our own backyards. We’d spent many a day since grade school knee-deep in these waters, casting our lines for trout. It was our happy place. I also realized there were far worse places to die.
A few hundred yards upstream, we stumbled into a small clearing centered by a fire ring built from river rock. Many a day, we had grilled our catch over that fire, sat against those boulders, and drunk beer cooled in the river water.
The flat boulder on the far side was our table we used for gutting and filleting fish. It was also my marker that indicated where I wanted to dig. I pointed at the ground. A flash of lightning illuminated the clearing as Rudy stepped up beside me and said, “Start digging, old man. I don’t want to be here all night.”
I jammed the blade of the shovel into the ground, the metal clanking against the rock under the surface. With a slam of my boot, I was able to drive it a few inches below the surface. I lifted the weight and dumped it in the pile. Slow and methodical, I repeated the process, digging and struggling to pull the rocks out of the ground. My muscles burned. Sweat dribbled down my back. My heart pounded in my chest. Mother Earth fought every step of the way as I worked my way deeper. The lightning overhead became more frequent and the thunder louder.
Maybe twenty minutes passed—could’ve been thirty—before Rudy realized what I was doing. He came up behind me and said, “You’ve never dug here before.”
I jabbed the shovel in the ground and leaned against its handle, panting to catch my breath. “What do you mean?”
He gestured at the pile of dirt and rock I had extracted. “If you’d buried the money here earlier today, the ground would be softer. You wouldn’t be digging up all these rocks.”
How far had Wyatt driven? Had I given him enough time? I could only hope he was far away. Doing my best to gain a few more minutes, I looked at the ground with my best puzzled expression. “I think this is the spot.”
Rudy growled and yanked the shovel out of my hands. “You didn’t bury the money. I don’t even think you have it.”
I shrugged. My time on earth was short. No sense delaying it anymore. “Nope,” I said as I reached for the pistol tucked in my pants.
In the movies, drawing a gun looks easy. Two cowboys, one in a white hat and one in black, face each other on a dirt street. A clock ticks. The guns come out smooth as silk. Gun smoke rises. The bad guy falls to the ground.
What they don’t show you is that it takes practice, something I had never done. I’d managed paperwork in the air force. I wasn’t CIA or some other nonsense. I’d barely qualified with a rifle. I certainly didn’t know how to smoothly draw a pistol.
I didn’t lift my shirt fast enough. The gun caught on my pants. I didn’t have my hand in the right position. I gave Rudy the Roach all the time he needed to swing that shovel. He knocked me to the ground. The gun bounced out of my hand, skipped across the rocks, and splashed into the river.
Kerplunk.
I looked up to a pistol in my face. Rudy glared at me with fire in his eyes. “Time to die, old man.”
42
“Last chance. Where’s my money?”
I lay on the ground beside the shovel, staring at the river. The storm was building, and the lighting was frequent. I could see clearly in the flashes of light. The lies were done. All I had left was the truth. “The sheriff still has it.”
Rudy stood near the center of the clearing, the gun in his hand dangling at his side. His calm demeanor scared me. His voice came out cold as ice. “You lied to me.”
I pushed myself up into a sitting position and met his eyes. I didn’t want to die a coward. “Yep.”
“I showed you what I do to liars.”
The water gurgled peacefully past us. I thought of it rolling down to the Pigeon River, over to the Tennessee River in Knoxville, and down the Mississippi to the Gulf and the ocean beyond. My blood would soon join that flow.
With a glance at the wet stones, I wondered if the pistol I’d dropped would still fire if I pulled it out of the water. Not that it mattered. Rudy would shoot me long before I reached it. Even if he missed on his first shot, I wouldn’t be able to find the gun on the bottom of the river. I rested my arms on my knees and stared him in the eyes. “Same thing you were going to do to me anyway.”
