Box. Part 25

"*Call me.' Then she gave you her number."

"Trudy Lake?"

"Yeah, that's right, Slick."

Based on nothing more than her steely-eyed glare, I'm guessing Renee's not a Trudy Lake fan. That makes sense. I picture the map of Western Kentucky in my mind and realize the two women live less than an hour apart. This area's filled with small towns. Everyone knows everyone. Trudy was the homecoming queen, the prettiest, most popular girl in the county. She's bound to have female enemies, girls who lost out to her in beauty pageants, cheerleader tryouts, homecoming courts. But Renee's not pretty enough to have been involved in those activities. Plus, she's twelve years older than Trudy. So I wonder about the connection.

There's no denying she's royally p.i.s.sed.

I decide to keep it casual, saying, "I met Trudy last night at a restaurant in Clayton. She was my waitress. I'm sure I gave her a bigger tip than she usually gets."

Noting the fireworks in Renee's eyes, I add, "As I would for any waitress who doesn't screw up my order."

"Why was she texting you?"

"I have no idea. Maybe she wanted to thank me for the tip."

"How'd she get your phone number?"

"Uma"

"Yeah?"

I'm standing in the shower, naked. She's got me cornered. There's no place to run, no place to hide, no way to escape.

I ask, "How is it you know Trudy?"

"She's my sister."

IF YOU EVER want to see a woman at her angriest, f.u.c.k her sister.

Renee's punching and slapping at me and trying to bite me. I'm doing my best to keep the shower curtain between us, while wondering if the state's motto should be Welcome to Kentucky: three million people, twelve last names!

I remember Trudy said Scooter was a lot older than her mom, and had started another family before they met. I had no way of knowing Renee was related to Trudy, but I'm willing to f.u.c.k my way through the entire family to get to Trudy, if that's what it takes.

Renee pulls the shower rod down and starts flailing away at me while explaining she's always had to play second fiddle to Trudy. Precious Trudy, the young, pretty half-sister. The one her father chose to live with. The homecoming queen with the four-point-oh grade point average and sparkling personality.

"I can't believe you f.u.c.ked my sister!" she yells as she pounds me into a fetal position.

Somewhere between the slaps, punches, and tearsa"hers, not minea"I manage to calm her down enough to say I never had s.e.x with her sister.

"Swear it!" she yells.

"I swear."

"You did exactly what to her?"

"I might have kissed her."

"Kissed her?"

"I might have. You know, like a peck on the cheek?"

"That's it?"

"Yes."

"She didn't handcuff you to the fence and suck your d.i.c.k?"

"What?"

"She's been known to do that."

"What?"

Now I'm p.i.s.sed.

Trudy Lake.

DR. BOX BEAT me up pretty good last night. My eyes are so swollen I can barely see out of them. If I shift in my hospital bed the slightest bit it hurts. And a while ago I peed blood. The good news is everyone bought it. Our story, I mean. Not my pee.

Even Darrell thinks he's the one that did this to me, which is a fair indicator of how f.u.c.ked up on drugs he was last night. He sent word to me through one of the nurses.

He's sorry.

"How badly hurt is he?" I ask.

"Well, he lost his spleen."

"Is that important?"

"It helps with the immune system, but you don't need it to live."

"Well, that's good news."

The nurse shakes her head and chuckles.

"What?"

"That Darrell. He's a funny one."

"Funny?"

"He asked if we could save his spleen and give it back to him when he checks out."

"Why?"

"The doctor said it was the biggest one he's ever seen."

"Knowin' Darrell, he's proud to have the biggest anythin'."

"He says he's got a taxidermist friend who can mount it, and he'd like to hang it in the bedroom, right above the bed. He said, *Trudy might like that.'"

She laughs at the thought and says, "Can you just imagine?"

I say, "Well of course I can! I've known him four years! And in Darrell's brain, why wouldn't that be comfortin'? Bein' able to look up at my husband's spleen every mornin' when I open my eyes, knowing it was watchin' over us the night before?"

They both laugh.

"Is it true he's your husband and your brother?"

"Half brother. And I'd rather not talk about it."

"Reason I asked, after my mom pa.s.sed, my fifteen-year-old sister married our stepfather."

"Oh, my G.o.d!" I say. "That had to be weird."

"Weirder than you think. I was seventeen at the time and had to live with them for two years, since I couldn't afford a place of my own. Want to hear the best part?"

"Of course!"

"Until I turned eighteen, social services cla.s.sified my younger sister as my custodial mother!"

I laugh, hard, despite the pain. Then say, "I'm so sorry. I don't mean to laugh."

"That's okay. I'm laughing too. I was just letting you know I've been there."

"Oh, I almost forgot. Thanks for chargin' up my phone this afternoon while I napped."

"Well, I keep a charger here just for that purpose."

"It was real nice of you."

I let her do her job a few minutes, then ask, "Besides his spleen, will Darrell mend?"

"He will, but he'll walk funny for a long time. I don't envy his P.T."

"What's that?"

"Physical therapy. It'll be a long, painful process, recovering the use of his legs."

"But he will?"

"Eventually. He won't be like he was, but he'll be able to get around."

"I don't take comfort in Darrell's sufferin'," I say. "But I don't feel sorry for him, either. He's been a bullyin' force in my life for too long. Dr. Box did the right thing."

The nurse nods, and says, "Darrell will want to know if you have any messages for him."

"Tell him I'm sorry he lost his spleen," I say.

When I'm lucid enough to function normally, I check my messages and see where Gideon tried to call me a couple of times earlier today. I want to talk to him and thank him for the incredibly generous gift, but I've been busy with one visitor after another for the past two hours, and of course, policeman Clem's been in my room most of the time. Whenever we find ourselves alone he tries to talk me into a courtship.

Gawd.

I don't want to talk to Dr. Box with Clem in the room, nor do I know if he's available to talk right now. So I text him a simple, two-word message: Call Me! And type in my cell number. If he calls, I'll ask Clem to give me some privacy, and maybe Dr. Box and I can sort out our true feelin's.

My guess is Dr. Box wants me back. He was headed to Ralston to visit Faith Hemphill, a woman he met on a datin' site, but that didn't work out. Their date got cut short when two burglars broke into Faith's house and shot each other before Dr. Box turned up.

Don't ask me how two burglars can shoot each other to death while tryin' to rob an unarmed widow, but that's how it went down, accordin' to Sheriff Boyd, who spoke to the Ralston police. Of course, when I heard the burglars were Cletus and Renfro, it all came together.

Cletus and Renfro were Darrell's meth cookers. While I don't like to speak ill of the newly departed, it's no secret that mentally speakin', their driveways didn't quite reach the road.

Darrell, whose own mental antenna can't pick up the premium channels, obviously told them to drive to Faith's house and kill Dr. Box. Darrell's widely known for his jealousy, which makes me partly to blame for the twins' death and Dr. Box's busted date. What I mean to say is "broken date," since I don't know if Faith is busty or not.

But speakin' of Faith, you might be wonderin' how Darrell knew who she was and where she lived. Those are good questions, and here's another: how did Darrell know Dr. Box was headin' to her place for a date?

Only one way I can think of.

Daddy.

Sheriff Boyd must've questioned Dr. Box, and shared the information with Daddy. And why wouldn't he? Him and Daddy have been thicker than thieves since before I can remember. If he told Daddy about Faith Hemphill, you know he told Daddy about the hand job. It's embarra.s.sin' enough Clem knows about it. Can't wait to hear Daddy's take on it.

So Sheriff Boyd told Daddy about Faith, and Daddy told Darrell, hopin' he'd tell Cletus and Renfro to kill Dr. Box.

Why?

Best I can tell, Daddy benefits from Dr. Box's death two ways. First, it keeps him out of my pants. Dr. Box, I mean, not Daddy. Second, it prevents Dr. Box from testifyin' against Daddy in court for attempted murder.

Hang on a sec, I'm getting a text.

This is weird.