Kill Jill (6 page)

“Yes, of course.”

Darryl says, “
What
? You
what
?”

“She’s young. She made a mistake. I forgive her.”

“You don’t
give
a shit?”

“Not much reason to be upset at this point. Whatever brought them together was obviously beyond my control. If it’s not going to happen again, Abbie and I can still be friends.”

“
Friends
?” Darryl yells. “You want to be
Friends
?”

Abbie gives her a hopeful look.

Emma says, “I mean that, Abbie. But I’ll hold you to your promise about Jack.”

Abbie nods.

Emma notices a tiny red dot dancing on the wooden column by the porch steps. Some sort of miniature Arkansas firefly. Then, just as suddenly as before, it’s gone.

“Well, if this don’t just beat the fuckin’ band!” Darryl says. “What the hell kind of liberal bullshit
is
this? Do you know what him and her
did
?”

“No. And I don’t care. It’s in the past.”

“She
fornicated
with your
fiancé
. She had oral sex. That means she put her mouth—”

“I’m quite aware what it means. I also know what it’s like to be beaten by a man who gets all his confidence from a bottle. Whatever she did, it’s clear she’s paid for it a hundred times over by having to deal with you.”

“He pulled her
panties
down. He saw…
everything
! Every damn thing she’s got. He
touched
her. Kissed her
privates
! And was that enough for him? Hell
no
! He bent her over and—”

Emma holds up her hand. “That’s enough, Darryl.”

“
Your fiancé
fucked my wife
!”

“Let me see if I’ve got this straight. My fiancé, Jack Russell, fucked your wife. Saw her private parts. Touched them. They had oral sex.”

“And anal!”

Emma looks at Abbie. “You did?”

Abbie hangs her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

Emma says, “Ouch.”

“That all you got to say?” Darryl yells.

“It’s what comes to mind.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what comes to
my
mind. I got a free pass comin’. You know what that means?”

“You want to fuck Jack Russell, too?”

“
What
?
Hell
no!”

“Then I shudder to think what’s rattling around in your head.”

“You’ll be shudderin’, all right. It means fair is fair. I get a free pass to ride the ride. Your man soiled my woman, and turn about’s fair play. I’m gonna have my way with you, Emma, and Abbie’s gonna watch. She’s gonna sit there and watch every damn thing we do.”

Emma says, “Abbie, you’re forgiven. Please feel free to visit me any time. You can spend the night tonight if you like. In fact, I recommend it.” She turns her gaze to Darryl and says, “I hope I don’t have to explain that legal sex requires consent, even in Arkansas. Anything outside that is rape.”

“I got a free pass. I’m gonna ride my ride.”

“Your free pass doesn’t work at this carnival, Darryl. Go home and sleep it off.”

“You think you can talk to me like that?”

“I must be crazy, right?”

As Darryl tenses, Emma glances behind her to make sure there’s nothing to trip over if she needs to turn and sprint. She hears a click, turns back to see Darryl holding a gun on her.

Shit
!

She didn’t see that coming.

What are the chances he could shoot and miss?

On the one hand, he’s pretty wasted. On the other, he’s got the porch light behind him, which makes her a highly visible target. He’s also a redneck, and in Emma’s experience, most rednecks are pretty adept at drunken night-shooting.

Darryl staggers down the steps. They’re twelve feet apart. Emma’s moment of opportunity—if there
was
one—has passed.

She’s a sitting duck.

“Take off your clothes,” he says. “Every stitch. Then we’ll go inside and party.”

“Fuck you, Darryl,” Emma says.

She takes a step back.

He closes the distance to eight feet. Props his left hand under the butt of his handgun and eases into a shooter’s stance.

“I
will
fucking blow you away,” he says. “And kill Abbie right where she sits. You know why? ’Cause I don’t really give a shit. I got nothin’ to live for. Jack Russell seen to that. Now peel them clothes off or I’ll pistol whip the shit out of you and rip ’em off myself.”

Emma pauses a moment, then lifts her jog bra, exposing herself. As it clears her shoulders, it momentarily blocks her vision. She can’t see Darryl’s reaction, but hears him make a strange sound, like all the wind suddenly escaped his body. By the time her jog bra’s above her head, Darryl’s on the ground.

“
Omigod
!” Abbie screams.

Emma rushes toward him, delivers a hard kick to his face. And instantly realizes the reaction his body makes is all wrong.

She kneels beside him, checks his pulse.

“Holy shit!” she says. “I think he’s dead!”

Abbie screams and runs down the road. Emma considers chasing after her, but decides the neighbors will find Abbie soon enough.

Sheriff Cox frowns, puts his TV on mute, sets his bourbon on the coffee table, checks his caller ID, and sighs.

“What’s up, Nelda?” he says. “Bobcats again?”

“No, Sheriff. This time I’m callin’ about Abbie Rhodes.”

“What about her?”

“She was runnin’ down the road just now, screamin’ bloody murder.”

“In
your
neighborhood?”

“Yup.”

“Darryl been drinking again?”

“Can’t say for sure. She ain’t makin’ a whole lot of sense right now.”

“What’s she saying, exactly?”

“Somethin’ about the new lady killin’ Darryl.”

“
What
?”

“You know the new lady in town? The one stayin’ at Jack Russell’s place? We ain’t met her yet, though we saw her joggin’ the road a few minutes ago.”

“Emma Wilson?”

“I reckon that’s her name. Anyway, Abbie says she done killed Darryl just now.”

“He probably passed out drunk in Jack’s yard. But just to be on the safe side, stay put till I get there, okay?”

“No problem. You probably already know how much I hate corpses. ’Specially after buryin’ Jimmy last week.”

“Jimmy?”

“Our possum.”

“I’m on my way. Are you home?”

“Yup.”

“Abbie with you?”

“Uh huh.”

“And Emma Wilson?”

“She’s at Jack Russell’s, far as I know. With Darryl’s body, if Abbie’s to be believed. ’Course, she’s been known to take drugs. I sent Harlan over to check it out.”

“I wish you hadn’t done that. It could be dangerous.”

“Harlan’ll be fine. He took his turkey gun.”

You just knew he would,
Sheriff Cox thinks. He switches the call to speaker, rushes to his car, climbs in, fires the engine.

“I’ll check Jack’s place first, then get to you soon as I can. Meanwhile, do me a favor and put Abbie on the phone.”

He covers a mile while waiting for Abbie to pick up. When she finally does, she yells, “Emma Wilson kilt him, Sheriff!”

“She killed Darryl? You’re certain?”

“I ought to be! I was right there, sittin’ on the porch when it happened!”

“You saw Emma kill Darryl?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You witnessed the murder.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’re certain he’s dead?”

“Yes, sir. Emma took his pulse and declared him dead on the spot.”

“Darryl’s a big man.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Was he drinking?”

“Darryl’s
always
drinkin’.”

“Could he have passed out, maybe suffered a heart attack?”

“Nope. This is somethin’ she done to him, all by herself.”

“Did she shoot him?”

“No, sir.”

“
Stab
him?”

“No, sir.”

Sheriff Cox reminds himself that talking to Abbie Rhodes is like talking to a slow-witted eight-year old.

“Abbie, try to concentrate,” he says, making an effort to keep the frustration out of his voice. “You’re claiming that Emma Wilson, who stands five-six, weighs a hundred-twenty pounds, killed your husband, Darryl, who’s six-six, and weighs three hundred pounds.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, if she didn’t shoot or stab Darryl, how the hell did she manage to
kill
him?”

“She flashed her tits at him.”

Emma Wilson’s far and away the prettiest woman Sheriff Cox has ever seen in person, and he’ll freely admit that interviewing her without glancing below her neck was tough duty. But he seriously doubts the woman’s tits are lethal. Nor does he intend to include Abbie’s claim in the police report. Doing so would make him the laughing stock of the Little Rock Law Enforcement Convention next month.

He tries it out in his head: “Sheriff Cox, did you conduct a thorough search before uncovering the murder weapons?”

I can honestly say I did my breast work on this case.

“Were the nipples actively involved?”

I left tit to the boobs at the coroner’s office to make that determination.

“How did you secure the crime scene?”

With a giant bra.

“Did you personally handle the murder weapons?”

Not to my complete satisfaction.

Emma raises her flashlight from Darryl’s body, trains the beam toward the sound she hears in the road. Sees a man with a shotgun, moving toward her at a fast clip.

She jumps to her feet, runs to the porch, but stops when he yells, “Ma’am, I’m Harlan Doody, your neighbor. Are you all right?”

“This man’s been shot,” Emma says.

“By you?”

“No, of course not!”

By the time these words have passed between them, Harlan’s standing over Darryl’s body. He says, “Can you come down here and shine your flashlight on him?”

Emma can see Harlan’s an old man. Then again, he’s holding a shotgun.

She says, “Will you put your gun down?”

Harlan can see Emma’s not armed. Then again,
someone
shot Darryl.

He says, “Anyone else here with you?”

“No.”

“Then who shot this ugly bastard?”

“I have no idea, but I’m glad they did. He tried to rape me.”

“That sounds like Darryl, all right,” Harlan says.

He places his shotgun on the grass. Emma walks down, shines the light on Darryl’s corpse.

“Looks like a high-powered rifle shot to the forehead,” Harlan says. “He was dead ’fore he hit the ground.”

“The shot came from up there,” she says, pointing behind Harlan. “On the hill.”

Harlan turns to look. “That’d be a helluva shot. You sure it came from up there?”

“It had to.” She points her flashlight about ten feet behind them, toward the road. “I was standing there, Abbie was sitting on the porch. If someone was holding a rifle on Darryl from the road, I would have heard him, and Darryl and Abbie would have seen him.”

“Well, this don’t appear to be the work of a local rifle.”

“No one here has a high-powered rifle?”

“Not with a silencer.”

“Silencer?”

“Did you hear the shot?”

She pauses a second. “No.”

“Neither did Abbie. Not to mention Nelda and me were on the porch when all this happened. If a shot was fired, we’d of heard it. Unless..—”