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“You know what’s fu
“What?”
“You’re going to be richer than the old man.”
“Shit fire. That’s great. Maybe I’ll dig the old bastard up and prop his skeleton at the di
“He always did love you best.”
“Naw. That was Momma.”
“You would have killed her if I hadn’t gotten to it first.”
“Well, you beat me at one thing, I reckon.”
The Joh
He opened his door and the dome light blinked on. Renee could hear the river churning below. She recalled her drive over the bridge and pictured the water thirty feet below. It wasn’t a far enough fall to kill her unless her head hit a rock. But bad luck followed the Wells family.
And, sometimes, you had to make your luck.
Joshua left the door open after he exited, and the dome light cast a dirty yellow glow. Jacob grabbed Renee’s wrist, his face a mask of wicked joy. She didn’t struggle. These two men had already torn her to shreds. There was nothing left worth fighting over.
Joshua opened the back door. “Bring her on.”
Jacob’s Southern accent returned, a bizarre replica of his brother’s. “Reckon we ought to bash her head in first, or just chuck her over the side?”
“You want to make sure. It ain’t the kind of thing you leave up to chance. What if she turns up alive six miles downstream?”
“That would be sand in the craw, all right.”
“You do it. You’ll enjoy it more than I will.”
“Why, thanks, Josh. I appreciate it.”
“I’m Jacob, remember? Don’t go getting all confused on me, or we’ll never get the story straight.”
“Right, Jake. You’re the Wells now. I’m just pig shit, rolling around with a Mexican whore in a Te
“And you’re going to love every minute of it. I know I did, but now it’s time for the big switcheroo.”
Jacob’s hand tightened around Renee’s wrist, sending sparks of pain up her arm. Joshua handed his brother something, and Renee saw its rusty bulk in the dome light.
A pipe wrench.
She could almost see the police report: Blunt head trauma, followed by asphyxiation due to drowning.
Jacob’s latest accidental victim.
And who would be next? Joshua? Carlita? Or would he plant more seed, each sprout insured for a million dollars?
“Hold her for a sec.” Joshua got out of the driver’s side and went to the back door. He yanked it open and leaned in, his breath sour with beer and cigarettes and the lingering tang of salsa. “Come here, sweetie.”
Renee backed away, kicking, until she was across the seat. Joshua climbed in, and now she recognized that perverse grin, one glimpsed in the dim light of a night nearly a decade ago. The night of Mattie’s conception.
She shoved her foot toward his face. He caught it and his eyes twinkled in the greasy dome light, the cut on his forehead oozing blood again. “Hmm. She still got a little fight in her. Tempting me to go one more round. What say, brother, wa
Jacob yanked her wrist. “I can fantasize about it later. Right now, we better get her in the river.”
Joshua’s face sagged, his smoker’s wrinkles deepening. “Reckon so. Give the water more time to wash away evidence.”
“Besides, we’ll still have Carlita.”
Renee wondered if they would play this sick game the rest of their lives. Swapping partners, playing with money and murder, tricking each other. But that was the future. She had none.
Joshua dragged her by the ankle. She grabbed for the armrest but it came off in her hand. Her fingernails broke as she clawed at the nylon seat covering. No saving grip there.
Jacob released her and got out of the car to join his brother. She knew this was her final chance. The passenger door was open, though it seemed miles away.
She twisted upward, reaching for the front seat, but Jacob had her other leg now and she was being worried between them like a butcher-shop bone in the mouths of two dogs.
“Treat her like a wishbone, brother,” Jacob said.
“I’m wishing for two million goddamned dollars. On three. One . . . ”
She wriggled, nothing.
“Two . . . ”
“Jacob,” she said. “Honey?”
But the word was a lie. Even his name was a lie. He had always been Joshua.
“Three.”
She was jerked into the moist night.
“Do her,” Joshua said.
He had Renee pi
No, not “if.” When.
Think it out, Jakie, just like always. Momma’s cane . . . an accident. Could have happened to anybody. Anybody with a murderous son, that is.
Christine. That one had been the saddest. But she was barely formed, not even talking. All I did was save her from the life of a Wells. So that was a mercy killing.
Mattie. Too bad about her. But she was Joshua’s fault all the way, from sperm to burn victim.
The moon was out, the clouds like violet sheep counting down to a restless sleep. He wondered if blood would spatter onto the bridge railing. He’d have to strike her at an angle, so the pattern would fly out and into the water.
“Smash her up,” Joshua urged. “Just like you did the chickens.”
The wrench grew heavy in Jacob’s hand. “I didn’t do the chickens.”
Joshua, holding Renee’s arms behind her back, his crotch pressed against her rear, gave a thrust of his hips, causing the wooden railing to squeak with their combined weight. “Hell, yeah. You went donkeyshit, brother. Chopping their heads off, licking blood from the hatchet—”
“Stop it.”
Red. The night had gone from purple to red.
“You’re one sick fuck, all right.”
“Shut up. That wasn’t me. It was never me.”
“Tell it to the judge. I got a date with two million bucks.”
“I was only doing what you’d do, if you had the brains.” Jacob gripped the wrench so tight his hand hurt. The metal was slick with his sweat. He thought of the fingerprints he would leave behind. And the DNA, which he shared with Joshua. The DNA one of them had passed to Mattie.
And maybe Christine. He didn’t know how often Joshua had slipped into his bed over the years.
The blood in the Chevy would be Joshua’s. The cops would figure it out. Even though Jacob had the same blood.
“Do it, Jakie,” Renee wheezed from constricted lungs. “Just like we talked about.”
Joshua turned toward him, his face as twisted as the rubberized troll heads hanging from the rearview mirror. Confusion. The dumb bastard had been late out of the womb, and had always been two steps behind his entire life.
Jacob swung the wrench.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“Blood everywhere,” Jacob said, mopping at the stains on the railing.
“No murder is perfect,” Renee said. She wanted to vomit, but her gut was like a clenched fist. “You taught me that, if nothing else.”
“I can’t help it if you’re lousy at choosing.”
“I guess you should go get Carlita. Think you guys will be happy together?”
“What do you care? You’re getting what you want.”
“You don’t know what I want.”
Jacob leaned over the railing. “He’ll be downriver soon. As drunk as he was, nobody will question a fall.”
Renee glanced at her husband’s exposed neck, alabaster in the moon’s warm glow. The wrench lay on the seat of the Chevy. She could have it out and bring it down in a matter of seconds.
She loved him.
When you loved somebody, you owed him.
“Mattie,” she said, her voice breaking a little. The rush of the kill had faded, leaving her feeling washed out and limp. Her heart was a husk rattling against her dry ribs.