Cheri on Top (23 page)

She braced her leg to hold him up, and Granddaddy fell against the side of her body, which must have hit the speaker button on her BlackBerry, because suddenly, a man’s voice rose from Cheri’s pants pocket.

“… and because your account is more than eight months overdue, we will now begin legal proceedings to—”

Cheri fumbled around inside her pocket and hit the off button.

The partygoers had gone silent. They stared up at the porch.

“Who in heaven’s name was that talking?” Aunt Viv asked.

“Oh, shit,” was Candy’s pronouncement.

Cheri looked nervously toward J.J., who had started to frown.

None of it slowed down Granddaddy, however.

“Yep,” he continued waving wildly again, beer flying everywhere. “J.J. came to me one day and told me Cheri was flat busted—lost damn near everything down there in that housing … the housing … what the hell was it? A crash? And then he told me she was sellin’ her underwear over the computer and staying in some flophouse and…”

“Oh-fuckin’-hell, no!” Candy called this out at exactly the right instant during the pause in Granddaddy’s incoherent rant.

Cheri’s face went up in flames. Slowly, ever so slowly, her swimming vision began to find its focus again, and it zeroed right in on J.J.

*   *   *

“So you like guns, do you?”

Tanyalee lifted her chin and stared straight ahead, estimating she had only another five minutes until they’d get to the lake. She didn’t have the energy to deal with these idiots. And she was way too pissed off to be scared.

“Rifles? Pistols?” The driver wouldn’t drop the subject. “You know, a lot of people assume women should carry around a little twenty-two, or a twenty-eight, or even a thirty-two. But I know better, see, ’cause that small shit ain’t gonna stop two hundred fifty pounds of criminal element, if you get my drift.”

“Right on!” his buddy said.

Tanyalee took a deep breath. She counted to three.

“Nope,” the driver said, putting his hand on her knee. “I think the ladies would do best to keep a nice little thirty-eight snubnose in their panties. Heh, heh, heh.”

“All right, that’s it!” Tanyalee straightened up in the seat and looked from one Bubba to the other. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with here, do you? I’m Tanyalee Marie Newberry, of the
Bugle
Newberrys, and my dipshit of a fiancé just took away my diamond engagement ring, my cell phone, and my credit cards, and I am about to spit nails I’m so angry, so if either of you fuck with me, you’re going to live to regret it. Now, hand me another Budweiser and step on it. I’m late for a party.”

There was no response. The only sound in the truck was the metallic
crack!
of a beer can opening.

“Why, thank you very much,” Tanyalee said.

“Damn,” the driver said, stepping on the gas.

“Yee-haw!” Bubba Number 2 yelled out the open window.

*   *   *

Wim stood up to his shins in the mud, Purnell’s old revolver cradled in the palm of his hand. It was loaded. He’d checked. But he wasn’t sure the thing would still fire.

Only one way to know for sure. He raised the gun to his head, removed the safety, and reviewed all the reaons why doing away with himself seemed like a good idea.

The Wimbley name was shit. That story on the front page this morning had ruined any hope he had of making this retirement project fly—or anything fly, ever again. Purnell had been right. Once the whole story came out they were going to take everything from him because of the blackmail. He might even be sent to jail, which hardly seemed fair. Wim had worked his ass off to keep Wimbley Real Estate going in this economy. He hadn’t even started this mess! His father had, that black-hearted bastard.

Wim cocked the trigger, knowing that what bothered him the most was his father. The old prick had died without giving him a heads-up on the little problem he’d be leaving him. How hard would it have been to speak the words?
By the way, son, you might want to avoid digging in Paw Paw Lake. There’s a dead girl in a car down there. My department-issued nightstick happens to be holding down the gas pedal and there’s a nice baton-shaped hole in her skull, too, details that may cause you a bit of undue embarrassment in the future,
should anyone ever discover that car.

Prick.

Not to mention that Wim had been too embarrassed to go to the bank, so he had only six-thousand and change to his name at the moment, all of it from Tanyalee’s secret stash. Once a thief, always a thief, he supposed.

Fucking Newberrys.

Wim took what would be his last breath. He pulled the trigger and waited for the great black empty nothing to swallow him whole.

Click.

But he still stood there in the mud, seething at his father, Tanyalee—all the fucking Newberrys!—and still breathing.

A big, fat raindrop hit him on the forehead. Well, shee-it. If he was still breathing, he might as well kill someone else instead of himself. Someone who really deserved to die. He ran to the car, pulling his suit jacket over his head to keep his hair dry. He wanted it to look nice for his entrance at the barbecue.

Chapter 27

“Now, hold up,” J.J. said, throwing his beer cup to the grass and jogging toward the steps. “Dammit, Garland, why did you have to go and do that?”

Granddaddy’s face had fallen. “Oh, hell, son, I’m sorry. It just slipped. I’ve had a rough morning.”

Tater Wayne and Turner, bless their hearts, got to the porch in time to scoop Granddaddy from the stairs and get him to his banquet chair.

Cheri blinked in the rain, trying her best to let the impossible sink in.

J.J. twisted Granddaddy’s arm?

J.J. was the one who wanted me here?

J.J. already knew about what had happened in Florida?

Cheri looked around until her gaze locked with Candy’s.

“Oh, shee-it,” her best friend said.

Suddenly, Cheri felt like she was choking, like invisible fingers had grabbed her by the throat. It was the stranglehold of this small town, these people and their good intentions gone bad. Without a doubt, she’d made a horrible mistake coming back to Bigler. She’d made a horrible mistake trusting any of them. Coming back had just made things a million times worse.

She looked out at the silent crowd. She heard her own small voice say, “I’m in hell.”

“Listen, sweetheart, it wasn’t really like that,” J.J. said, arriving at her side. Cheri knew she should grab J.J. and drag him inside, down the hall, and into the bedroom so they could deal with this in private. But she was too stunned to move, and besides, she didn’t want him in her bedroom. Ever again.

“Really?” she asked him. “Then by all means, set the record straight.”

“He … I … I only told Garland that it would be good to give you an opportunity to come home and take your rightful place at the
Bugle.
”

“You told him I was selling my underwear on eBay?”

“Hell, no! I told him you were selling your purses and garden gnomes and shit and that you and Candy had gone under in the real esate collapse.”

Aunt Viv gasped. Turner mumbled something unintelligible. Tater Wayne’s mouth hung ajar and his eyeball had gone on the fritz.

“So, you set a trap for me, then. You admit it. This whole little episode has been some kind of game for you.”

“No! Cheri, I wanted to give you an out that would save your dignity, give you a way to get back on your feet. Listen to me, I—”

“You used me like I was some kind of plaything. You manipulated me! Oh my God! And to think, I was really starting to love my job at the
Bugle.
I mean, for the first time in my life, I felt like I was doing something real, something that made a difference, something other than just shuffling cash around from one account to the next!”

“Cheri—”

She cut J.J. off as tears burned in her eyes. “I got suckered in, didn’t I? Y’all wanted me to feel like I was an important part of this family, but it was all a setup, a joke. And to think, I was stupid enough to believe you instead of my sister, stupid enough to fall completely in—”

Just then, Cheri realized the crowd had gone silent. All eyes were on her. Candy was jumping up and down and waving her arms over her head, mouthing the words “stop” and “now.”

“I did it because I love you,” J.J. said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And really, if you think about it, what I did only makes us even, because you weren’t exactly forthcoming with me, either.”

Cheri flinched. “Excuse me?”

“You never fessed up about your troubles. I waited for you to tell me, sweetheart. I kept hoping you’d feel comfortable enough to—”

“I have an announcement to make.” Cheri turned to face everyone. “I am bankrupt. My business failed in Florida.”

“This ought to be fun,” Candy mumbled.

“Here’s the real story—I am being hounded by bill collectors as we speak. My phone’s been going off all damn morning. Candy and I lost about fourteen million dollars when the market tanked. We’ve got nothing.”

A collective gasp went up through the group. The rain started to come down. People began gathering their things. The musicians hauled tarps over their equipment and started loading up the van.

Suddenly, a trashed old pickup came barreling down the drive, Lynyrd Skynyrd blasting, smoke coming from the tailpipe. Guests scattered when the truck careened dangerously close to a group of tables and chairs.

The passenger door flew open and out fell Tanyalee.

“She’s a damn liar!” she shouted. There wasn’t a closed set of lips for miles. Tanyalee was a mess. She was missing a shoe. Two very rough-looking men tumbled out behind her.

“Let’s party!” the driver yelled.

“Somebody shoot me.”

That comment happened to come from J.J., but it was Cheri’s thought exactly.

Tanyalee ran on her one shoe toward Cheri and began pulling on her sister’s shirtsleeve. “You lying, cheating, selfish…”

Thank God a full contingent of law enforcement professionals was present, because Tanyalee was dragged away almost immediately, and Cheri straightened her shirt, trying with all her might not to break down into deep sobs.

It had all gone to shit. Just like that.

The rain poured. Lightning cracked. The crowd scattered. The ones who could run to their vehicles did so, while the older people scuttled up the steps, shoving Cheri aside to get under the tin roof overhang.

Her eyes locked with J.J.’s. The two of them just stood there, rain beating down on them, staring at each other in shock.

Turner reached J.J. and yanked him away without any warning. J.J.’s head twisted around and he stared at Cheri in alarm, then listened to whatever else Turner was telling him.

“Hey, everybody!” Tanyalee was doing her best to wiggle free from the FBI agents. “Cheri’s not rich! She’s broke! She’s nothing! She’s a loser!”

Cheri hung her head. Just then, she smelled something expensive and felt something warm against her arm. She looked up to see Candy’s clear blue eyes. “Tanyalee,” Candy said protectively, “as usual you are a day late and a dollar short. Now, come on, Cheri, let’s get you inside.”

“Wait.” Turner and J.J. approached them. A quick glance was exchanged between Turner and Candy before the sheriff cleared his throat. “Ah, look, Cheri. I just got a call from the hospital. Purnell’s out of his coma and insisting that he has to talk to us—me, J.J., and Garland, but especially you. He said he has something horrible to confess to you in particular.”

She couldn’t. She couldn’t do it. Her heart was in a shambles already. “It’s about my parents,” Cheri whispered. “He killed my parents. I’m pretty sure that’s what he wants to confess. He killed them so Daddy wouldn’t expose him. Just take good notes.”

“Oh, no. Oh, sweetheart—” J.J. grabbed for her but Cheri shook him off.

“No!” she snapped. “All y’all—I think it’s best that you just leave.”

*   *   *

Purnell Lawson used his last seconds of life to set the record straight, and for that, J.J. respected him. He just as easily could have died and taken his secrets with him, like Wimbley had done—or at least thought he’d done.

When Purnell said Wimbley killed Carleton Johnston, Turner nodded sadly. Next, Purnell claimed he wanted Garland and the girls to know the truth about Loyal and Melanie. He didn’t ask for forgiveness and he couldn’t look Garland in the eye. Garland couldn’t look at him, either—the old man stood several feet from the bed as tears slipped down his face.

Then Purnell told J.J. that in his house, under his bed, he would find a second set of books that accurately recorded every dime he’d ever stolen from the
Bugle
and handed over to the Wimbleys.

The whole encounter lasted but a minute, but it was a minute of pure pain for everyone.

“I didn’t kill that girl. I didn’t kill Barbara Jean,” was the last thing Purnell said before he slipped away.

By now, the FBI was already crawling all over Purnell’s place. Turner and J.J. had just dropped Garland off at the house on Willamette, and J.J. spent a few moments with Vivienne, telling her the essence of Purnell’s confession while she fed them red velvet cake.

“You got to help Cheri through this,” she pleaded with him. “She’s the one with the strength and the heart to keep this family going. Please, J.J., love her and stand beside her through this.”

He’d kissed Viv on the cheek and promised he’d do his best.

Of course, Cheri wasn’t answering her phone. He didn’t blame her, but it still bothered him enough that he’d convinced Turner to swing by the lake house.

Instantly, Turner and J.J. glanced at each other. “Damn,” Turner said. “Wim. Where the fuck is Wim?”

“You don’t think he’d…?”

Turner floored it.

*   *   *

Alcohol was a magic thing, Cheri figured. It could destroy lives and take down businesses yet it could subdue even the most batshit crazy, demon-possessed of sisters.

Tanyalee was sprawled out on the floor of the living room, one hundred twenty pounds of deadweight. Cheri had no idea what she’d do with her when she came to, but she’d worry about that later.

She’d managed to calm Tanyalee enough to explain to her what Purnell had done to their parents. She’d cried like Cheri had never seen a person cry. At one point Cheri had held Tanyalee’s head in her lap as she sobbed. Strangely enough, it was the only time Cheri could remember ever feeling like a real big sister.

It had taken forever to shoo the Bubbas—as Tanyalee had called them—off her property, however. Candy sent them off by telling them they could take the remaining keg of beer and enough leftover barbecued chicken to choke a horse.

Everyone else had gone when the lightning started coming too fast to count to one one hundred.

And now, she and Candy sat at opposite ends of the couch, their feet propped up, a half-empty bottle of José Cuervo between them, a fire going in the fireplace.

“I prefer to see it as half full,” Candy said aloud. “I’m an optimist at heart.”

Cheri snorted.

“You should answer your phone. You know J.J. wants to talk to you.”

“Who cares? I don’t want to talk to him.”

“You don’t love him anymore?” Candy tried to refill her plastic beer cup with tequila but was having trouble navigating the individual actions required. Cheri helped her.

“I still love him,” she admitted. “I just can’t trust him.”

“He did it because he wanted to help.”

“But don’t you see?” Cheri was starting to feel a little nauseous. Maybe beer and tequila weren’t supposed to be consumed together under duress. “He had to have been collecting information on me for a long time to know all that shit about eBay and our garden gnomes!”

Candy nodded. “You’re right. But it could have been a good-hearted kind of stalking, Cheri.”

Cheri hiccupped.

“So I can call you Cheri now? For real? You’re not gonna knock me upside my head?”

“Sure. Go ahead. Whatever.”

“Oh, thank God. I hate callin’ you Cherise. I’ve hated it for over five damn years.”

Both of them cocked their heads at the sound of a car coming down the lane. “What now?” Cheri moaned.

“What if it’s the Bubbas?”

“Oh! I’ve got a gun!” Cheri hopped up and headed down the hall.

“Oh, shit—wait!” Candy called out. “I think combining guns with tequila is frowned upon!”

When Cheri returned to the living room not thirty seconds later, she was greeted by the oddest sight: Wim Wimbley stood over the couch, a hand slapped over Candy’s mouth and a gun pointed at her head.

*   *   *

“Look, it’s the Rags to Bitches!” Wim said, laughing. “Back together again for a limited time—and I do mean limited—and they’ve brought along Tanyalee, Bigler’s most infamous gold-digging ho! She’s flat on her back even as we speak!”

He was a little surprised to see Cheri’s arm swing up, a gun pointing at him.
“Rrriiight,”
he drawled. “I’m stone-cold sober, Cheri, and you’re not. My reaction time is quicker than yours, so Candy here will be dead before your finger touches the trigger.”

“Git out!”

“You know, it’s funny, but I’m noticing that your accent has come back.”

“I’m warning y’all.”

“Oh, God, just shut the fuck up, would you?” Wim straightened, leaned in, and acted like he was going to pull the trigger. Cheri dropped the handgun on the floor and shrieked. This was just too damned easy.

“Move.” He grabbed her by her wrist and threw her down on the couch next to Candy. “Now here’s how it’s gonna be…” Wim untucked his shirttail and used it to pick up the tequila bottle. He splashed a little on Candy’s blouse. “It’s a good look for you,” he said, laughing as he turned the bottle on its side on the coffee table.

“This is going to be a murder-suicide thing.” He put Purnell’s useless, piece-of-shit gun in his pocket, retrieved Cheri’s gun from the floor, and wiped his prints from it as he explained. “Cheri, I’m going to put this in your hand and make you shoot Candy, then you’re going to turn the gun on yourself. Just another failed business partnership that ends in tragedy.”

“And who gets to shoot the hairspray off your pinhead?” Candy asked.

“Hilarious. You haven’t changed at all, Candy Carmichael—still more boobs than brains. And from what I can tell, you’ve had about as much luck holding on to businesses as men lately.”

Wim took great pleasure in watching Candy’s pretty bow-shaped lips lose their smirk. “What? No snappy comeback? Come on now. It’ll be your last, so make it a good one!”

Suddenly, Cheri gasped and lowered her gaze to the floor near the open front door. Wim knew it was some kind of trick, so he didn’t bother to look behind him.

“Oh, please, Cheri. You think I’m that stupid? You think you’re going to distract me so you can try something? You Newberrys have always underestimated us Wimbleys.” He grinned. “But not today, right?”

Cheri then quickly glanced toward Tanyalee’s lifeless form.

“Oh, God. This is pathetic.” Wim began to laugh, but stopped when he heard some kind of strange, high-pitched
chit! chit!
sound coming from behind his head. Suddenly, he felt a painful pinprick in his shoulder. He twisted around to see that he’d been attacked by a fucking
squirrel
!