Chapter Thirty-Four

Joan Beck

Joan had to strain to hear over the noise of all these damn people. She stood in the scrub trees behind the library where she had a filtered view of the office window. She’d wandered around, acting like a fundraiser early bird to keep an eye on Vicky. Nosy scumbag. She never should have talked to that prying little snoop. Even showed her the bag. Damn. And she never did find out what all Vicky knew about her and Rick.

Joan could barely understand what was said on the damn burner phone. Damn Sara. At least the idiot had enough sense to tell her that nosy bitch Vicky was asking about her dear brother Bill. But Sara’s brain was so meth-scrambled, she couldn’t even put the phone somewhere good enough to hear clearly. Still, she was able to hear when one of those bitches said “cave.” She heard that plain as day.

Time to put an end to this. She had just opened her bag, her winter gloved-hand fumbling with the flap, when something rustled behind her. Don ran—shuffled speedily, actually—toward her.

“Don, you idiot.” Joan had pivoted to one side, stuck her foot out, then caught him by his jacket when he tripped. She was strong, but he was heavy. Best to keep him off-balance.

This could be good luck. She glanced around. They were several feet into the woods behind the library’s back garden. No one was nearby.

“What’re you doing, Joan?” His voice rasped. “I seen you lurking around. What the hell are you doing?”

“Oh, this about what you’re doing.” Joan chuckled a venomous chuckle.

“What? I’m not doing anything.” Don inhaled wheezily as he bent and rubbed his knees.

“This is what you’re gonna do. Now.” Joan held up the handgun.

Don stepped back. “What the hell? Where’d you get that? Is that my—"

“Yeah, it’s yours. You remember the last time you saw it. And who used it.” Joan’s voice was cutting and cruel. Don used to be part of that dirty bunch with the old sheriff and The Fucking Bastard Bill. This was perfect. He deserved it. Two birds, one stone.

The flush of exertion drained from Don’s face, leaving behind pale gray skin. Fear widened his eyes and his mouth hung open in an almost cartoonish expression of shock.

“Yeah, you better be scared.” Joan enjoyed it when her little collection of other people’s secrets proved useful. She held decades of buried dirt. “The gun’s not all I kept. You shoot that damn busybody. That’s her on the right. Dead. I want her dead.”

She thrust the pistol at him. He took it, stunned. Joan’s voice was low and threatening. “Got that? You miss, and your dear wife spends the rest of her life in prison. Do it.”

Someone was coming. Joan tugged her cap firmly over her bright white hair and hissed, “Now,” as she melted into the trees.

She sidled around to the front of the library. There had to be several hundred people on the street, the most she’d ever seen in this little town. No one spoke or waved to her. She was good at avoiding people, not that many ever noticed her, anyway.

She stood near the back of the crowd and waited to hear a gunshot.

Joan almost gasped out loud when that bitch Vicky came out the library door with Sam, followed by a deputy. Goddammit. Don didn’t do it. Well, he was going to pay, big time. If he thought his fake-sweet little wife was going to get away with killing her ex all those years ago— Huh. But what if he actually wanted her sent off to prison?

Joan scoffed silently when Rick took to the stage and started talking about the poor little missing girl. What a fake. Up there acting like a big shot, pretending he cares, when everyone knows he only thinks about himself. Always acting all innocent when he knew damn well what his sheriff daddy was up to. But he’d been paying for his daddy’s deeds for quite a while now. She made sure of that. His payments added up nicely.

Dammit, Don. She should have taken care of things herself. And damn that goddam nosy little snake. She’s gonna screw everything up. Everything. Goddammit. She should’ve taken out that prying little bitch on the highway, but she was quicker than she looked. Dammit. And it was pure bad luck that Mike showed up before she could rig the pipe bomb. She’d barely had time to leave it under the RV before she had to slip away.

Shit, now Vicky was looking Joan’s way. Joan stepped behind two women who were talking about how hot Rick was. Hot little weasel, more like.

Goddamn Rick. If it weren’t for him and his goddamn fancy bag, that bitch Vicky would never have even heard of Joan. She should’ve dropped that Alisa woman off at Rick’s all those years ago. She must have escaped from his sheriff daddy’s bunch. Rick should’ve had to clean up that mess.

But that damn reporter had been right there on his porch, sitting like she was just waiting for Joan to drive by and drop off a beat-up woman. Like she knew she was coming. And back now all this time later? Of all times. There must be more to her being here.

The sheriff arrived and talked with Vicky. Where the hell was Don? It was awful being around all these people. All this for one kid. Nobody had ever cared about her anywhere near that much, ’cept for Mama. She still missed Mama, the only person in her whole life who made her feel wanted. She was lonely without Mama.

“What are you up to?” 

Joan glanced sideways. Mike. She didn’t answer or pretend to be friendly. When they were young, Joan often felt a little fluttery around him. Not now. Life was simpler not liking anyone.

Mike spoke in a low, forceful growl. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here to support the community.” 

“Since when?” Mike’s sarcasm was as clear as hers. “What’d you do? Did you put Don up to something?” 

Joan didn’t bother to answer. Mike continued, “And why were you at my place a few weeks ago? George saw you sneaking around when he returned some tools. What were you doing there?” 

“Guess you should ask George.”

“What’re you gonna do tomorrow?”

“I’m going to a meeting, same as you.”

Mike leaned in close and whispered, “We have a deal. You better not screw it up.” 

When his breath touched her, an unwelcome rush of heat swept through her body. Christ. Even now. “Leave me alone.”

When she was in high school, half the girls were forever chasing after him, the sexy, smoldering loner. He’d been more man than boy, well-built, with whiskers and a distinctive widow’s peak above his clear green eyes. He moved like a panther, sleek muscles rippling. Sure of himself, though a little rough around the edges. When her classmates talked about what they’d done or wanted to do with him, she couldn’t help but imagine doing those things with him, and to him.

Not that she’d ever had the opportunity. She’d only touched him once. She would never forget it. She was sixteen and rushing to chemistry class when she tripped and fell down the last three steps. Classmates snickered. God, she despised them. Then Mike’s hands were on her waist and elbow as he helped her to her feet. Off-balance, she tipped back against him, then jerked away when she realized who had helped her.

He asked if she was okay, and she muttered, “thanks” and rushed away, face burning. For years she’d relived the feeling of his body against hers.

“See you tomorrow.” His low rumbling voice still stirred something deep in her.

She jerked her head in a nod. Now idiot Don was there with the troublemaking snoop and sheriff. That can’t be good. Dammit. Dammit.

She eased away from the crowd. One more day, less than twenty-four hours to go. She’d been counting down to tomorrow ever since she read Old Man Miller’s will while doing mindless paperwork for the town law firm. The estate would be split equally among all descendants of Beck and Miller, the original owners. Her grandpa and Mike’s. To collect, they were required to attend a meeting exactly one year after the last partner died. And they had to be present in order to collect.

She just had to show up for Monday’s meeting, vote to sell the damn place, then close the deal with the frack sand company. Then she’d be rich and could finally get away from this hellhole.