'Til Death (A Rebel Ridge Novel) (4 page)

Back then, someone had used his grief and youth against him to
cover up their crime. It was a different story now. Lincoln Fox was thirty-five
years old, and just shy of six feet eight inches tall. There would be no
railroading an innocent again, and this time if anyone cried,
he
would be the one putting on the hurt.

Since staying in the house was now out of the question, he
started to look for a good place to set up his trailer and then remembered the
old bomb shelter his great-grandpa Fox had built in the side of the mountain
during the fifties. He’d played in there as a child, and they’d used it for a
storm shelter and extra storage. It was something to consider. The least he
could do was check it out. Without knowing what kind of debris could be hidden
in the high weeds, he backed up carefully, then circled the old house site and
drove toward the shelter a short distance away.

At first he couldn’t see the entrance for the brush that had
grown up in front of it; then the headlights swept across a rusting iron door,
and he braked. He remembered it as one large long room, but if it was still dry
and sound, it would beat the trailer once winter set in. He was a skilled
carpenter. He would make it work well enough to live in until he could rebuild.
Still, the hair rose on the back of his neck as he reached for his flashlight
and got out.

The air was bone cold but, within moments, the familiar scent
of pine drifted up his nose. He swung the flashlight back into the brush and
caught sight of a possum scurrying out of sight, then aimed the light into the
underbrush, checking to make sure there were no more surprises. At that moment
the silence was broken by a single gunshot, then the rapid and familiar screech
of a security alarm somewhere nearby. In Dallas he wouldn’t have thought a thing
about it, but up here on the mountain, it was the last thing he would have
expected to hear. He spun toward the sound, only to be further startled by a
series of gunshots.

“What the hell?”

He caught movement from the corner of his eye and saw a falling
star streaking across the sky. He watched as it burned out behind the treetops,
just as he’d fallen from grace so many years ago. It was weird, hearing that
alarm and the gunshots, then seeing that shooting star. If it was an omen, was
it good luck or bad? Then he frowned at the absurdity of the thought. He didn’t
believe in luck. He turned on his heel, swung the beam of light toward the door
and went to see what the years had done to the place.

He kicked aside scrub brush to gain access, only to find out
that the door wouldn’t open. He finally managed to get the knob to turn, so at
least he knew the door wasn’t locked, but it was obviously rusted shut. Using
nothing but brute strength, he drew back and kicked, planting his size-fourteen
boots squarely below the knob. The door rattled on its hinges. This time when he
tried to open it, it gave way with a loud metallic screech, but when he aimed
the flashlight inside he was beyond discouraged by what he saw. The room was
full of debris, like the things a hoarder would have kept.

His first thought was, no way in hell could he ever make the
place habitable, but the longer he stood there, the more he began to see the
possibilities. One good bonfire, followed by a power spray to disinfect the
walls and floor, might change his opinion. But it wasn’t happening tonight.

He shut the door and headed back to the truck, then decided to
pull the trailer a little farther into the trees. It wouldn’t be entirely
hidden, but, after hearing those shots, he felt the need to err on the side of
safety. After he parked, he got his phone and wallet out of the truck and went
into the trailer, then opted not to start up the generator and call attention to
himself.

Without power to hook up to, he lit a couple of candles, and
then made a sandwich and dug out some chips. He was about to sit down to eat
when he heard sounds outside. Remembering the earlier gunshots, he quickly blew
out the candles and grabbed a hunting rifle out of the closet before moving to a
window. Once his eyes adjusted to the dark, there was enough moonlight to show
him a small herd of deer a short distance away. They were milling around as if
settling in for the night. That must have been what he’d heard.

Just as he was about to turn away the deer suddenly bolted. He
tightened his grip on the rifle and began checking the perimeter, expecting to
see a cougar, or maybe a bear hunting for a little more food before winter
hibernation, but not the man who came running out of the trees.

The man was of average height, wearing what looked like a
leather biker jacket. His head was bare, because Linc could see the bounce and
sway of his hair in the moonlight, but he was too far away for Linc to see his
face. He watched as the man ran all the way across the clearing before
disappearing into the forest.

At that point Linc moved to the door. Just as he stepped out,
he heard what sounded like a dirt bike start up and then speed off.

The first thing that crossed his mind was that the man had
something to do with the shots and the security alarm he’d heard. The timing was
just about right. Frowning, he made a mental note to clear up the grass and
brush as quickly as possible and let people know someone had taken residence
here. Whatever was going on, he wanted no part of it. Rebel Ridge had always
been a place for keeping secrets. It appeared that was still true.

He went back inside, locked the door and felt his way through
the trailer, undressing in the dark. He put the rifle on the floor beside the
bed, then crawled between the covers. It had been a long day and a grueling
drive. It didn’t take long to fall asleep, but sleep brought memories that
turned into a horror from his past.

* * *

He’d been seventeen, and he and his
grandpa Fox had been fishing at his grandpa’s pond all afternoon. It was
almost dark before Grandpa began gathering up his pole and the stringer with
the fish that they’d caught.

“I think we’re done for the day, boy. It’s
gonna get dark before we get all these fish cleaned.”

Linc grinned. “You mean before
I
get all those fish cleaned. You haven’t
cleaned a fish in years. For sure not since you taught me how.”

Wayne Fox smiled. “Why do you think I
taught you to do it?”

They laughed and headed for the
house.

Linc cleaned all the fish and packed them
up, saving back a few to leave with his grandpa, and headed home. He was
about a quarter of a mile from home and thinking that since his stepmother,
Lucy, was away, he would fry up the fish for himself and his dad. Lucy
didn’t like the smell of fish in the house, but what she didn’t know
wouldn’t hurt her.

Meg Walker popped into his head then, as
she often did when he was quiet. She was the love of his life, and he let
his thoughts wander to where they might be this time next year after they
were both out of school. He was dreaming about their future when he looked
up and saw an orange glow over the treetops. It wasn’t until he’d turned up
the driveway leading to his house that he realized it was a fire. He stomped
the accelerator and tried not to panic. But the closer he got, the more
frightened he became. By the time he arrived he had already figured out the
house was on fire. Flames were coming out of the windows and burning through
a hole in the roof. He expected to see his dad somewhere outside trying to
fight the fire on his own, but he was nowhere in sight. The horror of what
that might mean shot through him as he skidded to a sliding stop and jumped
out of the old pickup, screaming for his father as he ran.

He was only yards from the house when it
suddenly exploded, throwing him back beyond his truck and knocking him
unconscious. He woke up to someone saying his name and pouring water on his
face. When he sat up, he could see people everywhere, silhouetted against
the blaze. They’d formed a bucket brigade but had been too late to save the
house, and now they were making a valiant effort to keep the fire from
spreading into the nearby forest.

* * *

Linc struggled in his sleep, kicking the covers, and
despite the cold air, he was bathed in sweat as the dream sucked him further
into the past.

* * *

The ambulance ride to the hospital
in Mount Sterling was a blur. Still suffering from shock and concussion, and
so stricken with grief that he couldn’t do anything but cry, he barely
noticed his grandpa and Aunt Tildy in his room. Grandpa was leaning over
him, and Aunt Tildy was standing at the foot of the bed with a sad
expression on her face.

Later, getting the news that there wasn’t
much left of his father’s body to bury was one thing, but learning Marcus
Fox had been dead before the fire ever started left the family in
shock.

Linc was at his grandpa’s house, still
recuperating, when the sheriff drove up and began an interrogation that left
him reeling. The panic he was feeling came out in his speech—the short,
jerky sentences between deep, painful breaths.

“We didn’t fight. Dad and me...we didn’t
have problems...Grandpa’s house...fishing all afternoon.”

The fact that his grandfather corroborated
the claim hadn’t seemed to matter later, when everything went to
hell.

Linc’s stepmother, Lucy, who had been on
the other side of the state at a family funeral, was the next member of the
Fox family to be interrogated, although she had an alibi nobody
questioned.

But it was Wesley Duggan, Marcus’s best
friend and a man Linc considered a member of the family, who sealed his
fate. When Wesley was interviewed, all of a sudden Linc’s status went from
grieving son to prime suspect, despite his insistence that he would never
hurt his father—that he loved him. His words fell on deaf ears. When they
went to trial, the M.E.’s autopsy report finished Linc’s plea of innocence.
The back of Marcus Fox’s skull had been crushed inward in a distinct
pattern, not unlike being hit in the back of the head with a baseball
bat.

Linc had been a member of the high school
baseball team, one of the star players. Strike one.

Wesley claimed that Linc and his father
had been fighting like crazy. Strike two.

Lucy wept on the stand, claiming she would
never have left them alone if she’d known their fussing would lead to
something like this.

Strike three.

Linc was tried as a juvenile, and when the
jury found him guilty of manslaughter, he couldn’t believe it was happening.
The last thing he remembered were the looks of shock and disgust on the
faces of the people he’d grown up with, and the tears on Meg Walker’s face.
Whatever future they might have had was over.

Three strikes and he was out—and on his
way to prison.

* * *

Then, as dreams had a way of doing, this one segued from
Linc in prison to Linc making love to Meg in the back of his old pickup truck
while a country music station drifted out from the rolled-down windows of the
cab. Despite the beauty and passion of the interlude, he slept fitfully, locked
within the memories of his past.

Four

M
eg was watching the driveway for the
sheriff’s car, but Honey heard it coming first and growled as she walked to the
door.

“No, Honey. This time it’s the good guys.”

The security light came on as he pulled up to the house. She
opened the door as he came up the steps.

“Are you all right?” Marlow asked.

“Yes, thanks to Quinn’s security system and my dog.”

She shut the door behind him and then followed him to the
sofa.

“Now, tell me again exactly what happened,” the sheriff said as
he took out his pad and pen.

“Honey and I were out in the porch swing when the phone rang.
We came inside, but whoever it was had already hung up. I had just set the alarm
and was headed to the kitchen when I heard a gunshot. Of course Honey started
barking, and that’s when I realized the outside security light was on. When I
looked out the window, I saw a man on his belly in the yard. It looked like he’d
fallen...I guess startled by the light. I think his pistol went off when he hit
the ground.”

“Did you get a look at his face?”

“Not really. He was bareheaded, and his hair...it was kind of
long and brown...and it had fallen forward, hiding most of his features. He
wasn’t very tall...maybe five feet ten inches or so. He was wearing jeans and a
black leather jacket, like the kind a biker would wear. Oh, wait! I just
remembered...it had a patch on the sleeve. I saw it when I saw the pistol he was
holding.”

“Do you remember what the patch looked like?” Marlow asked.

She closed her eyes, trying to picture it in her mind. “The
Confederate flag. It was the Confederate flag.”

He added that to the info he already had down. “Unfortunately,
that’s not as unique in this part of the country as I would like. Do you think
you’d know him again if you saw him?”

“I doubt it...maybe...I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. So...back to what you were saying. You saw him
through the window, then what?”

“The rifle was by the door, because I’d had it outside with me,
so I opened the door and sicced Honey after him. She flew out, barking like
crazy. The alarm was shrieking, and I shot at him...twice, maybe three times,
before he disappeared in the trees. Honey was still running after him when I
heard him fire off another shot. I panicked and called her back. She has a
crippled paw and can’t run as fast as another dog might.”

Marlow frowned as he continued to make notes. “So he came armed
this time.”

Her shoulders slumped as she nodded. “Why is this happening to
me?”

“Meg, I need you to think. Off the top of your head, who do you
know who would be capable of doing something like this?”

“I’ve done nothing
but
think ever
since this started happening, but no one comes to mind.”

“Excuse me for being personal, but have you been dating
anyone?”

“Ryal was thinking along the same lines, but absolutely no.
Like I told him, I can’t remember the last time someone asked me out.”

“Have you had harsh words with anyone recently?”

“No.”

“Okay, let’s think of this from another angle. Is there someone
you can think of who has a grudge against any member of your family?”

Her eyes widened. “I have no idea. I’ll have to talk to them
and find out.”

He nodded. “You get back to me on this, okay, because right
now, I’ve got nothing to go on and this is getting serious. You know that,
right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not going to like this, but I think you should consider
moving in with your family until we figure out who’s doing this.”

Anger swept through her so fast it made her voice shake. “Not
only no, but hell, no. I’m not taking this danger to them. Ryal and James have
wives and children, and the last damn thing Quinn and Mariah need is for me to
bring a war to their door. They’re still struggling to forget the last one they
were in.”

Marlow frowned. He hadn’t thought about it like that. “So what
about staying with Jake and Dolly?”

“You mean the newlyweds? I’m thirty-five years old and nearly
six feet tall. I’m younger and stronger than both of them, but don’t tell them I
said so, and I’m a damn good shot. Between me, the security system and my dog,
I’m here to stay.”

“Are you going to tell them that this happened again?”

“Eventually.”

He sighed. “You are one hardheaded woman.”

“I’d rather consider myself self-sufficient.”

He chuckled. “Yes, ma’am, I’d say that’s about right. So, if
you’ll show me the general direction that your intruder took when he hightailed
it out of here, I’ll leave you to try and get some rest.”

Meg followed him out and into the yard to show him where the
intruder had fallen and which direction he’d run. The security light had flooded
the yard and the frosty grass, but Marlow got a flashlight from his cruiser for
a more thorough look.

“You say this is about where he fell?” he asked as he swept the
beam along the ground.

Her house shoes were getting damp as she paced off the distance
from the porch to where she’d seen the man lying.

“Right about here,” she said, pointing a few feet off to the
right.

Something glinted in the grass as Marlow swung the light in
that direction.

“Wait. What’s that?” she said.

Marlow bent over and picked it up. “It’s a toy car, a little
black race car with a number on it. No...wait...I don’t think it’s a toy. I
think it’s something you’d see on the end of a key ring. Oh, hey, I know what
this is. It’s a replica of Dale Earnhardt’s crash car. Is it yours, or something
one of your brothers had?”

The skin crawled on the back of her neck. “I’ve never seen it
before.”

Marlow pulled a little baggie out of his pocket, dropped the
charm inside and zipped it up.

“The weird thing is, I
have
seen it
before, but I can’t remember where. However, I’m thinking we just found our
first lead.”

“This is good, right?”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am, this is good. You say he went uphill
and to the right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. It’s cold out here. You go on back inside. I don’t
expect to see much of anything, but I’m going to drive up the road and take a
look around.”

“Thank you so much for coming out so quickly.”

“It’s what I do, Meg, and don’t hesitate to call again if the
need arises.”

“Yes, and I’ll let you know what my brothers have to say after
I talk to them, too.”

He waved goodbye, waited until she and the dog were back inside
the house, then got in his car and headed back to the road. He drove slowly with
his floodlight on, scanning the roadside and into the trees. He flushed a deer
and a raccoon, and sent an owl into flight, but there were no humans around that
he could see. He’d started to turn and head back to town when he noticed the
gate at the old Fox place was down. He hit the brakes, then radioed headquarters
to tell them where he was going. After fingering the pistol in his holster, he
aimed the floodlight straight ahead and took the turn up the overgrown
drive.

* * *

Something hit the top of Linc’s travel trailer with a
thud. He’d been back in high school, dancing on the creek bank with Meg, when
the sound woke him. He was still trying to figure out what it was when he heard
something running on the roof. A squirrel. It must have jumped out of the trees
and used his trailer for a shortcut to somewhere else.

He rolled over, then sat up on the side of the bunk with a
groan. Now that he was awake, he got up to go to the bathroom, then, from there,
went into the kitchen to get a drink.

He was just about to put the empty glass in the sink when a
bright light came through the window and swept across the opposite wall.
Headlights! He made a run for the bedroom and grabbed the rifle before moving to
a window to look out. When the vehicle suddenly stopped and an array of
red-and-blue lights started flashing on top of the car, followed by a couple of
bursts from the siren, he couldn’t believe it. Either rural law enforcement had
improved greatly since last time he was here or that shooting star he’d seen had
been an omen of bad luck after all. He dropped his head in frustration.

“Son of a bitch! So much for quiet arrivals,” he said, then
leaned the rifle against the wall and opened the door.

* * *

Marlow was more than surprised to see the pickup truck
and travel trailer parked behind the wreckage of the old house. He didn’t
recognize the vehicle or the trailer, and wondered if he could be this lucky and
find the stalker in residence.

He flashed the spotlight on the door of the trailer, and then
hit the lights and gave the siren a couple of short bursts to get the occupant’s
attention. Lights came on inside the trailer, but the moment the door opened and
the man’s body filled the space, he knew this was not his stalker. The man he
was looking for was less than six feet tall, with small feet and shaggy brown
hair.

This man was so tall he had to bend over to look out. His hair
was short and black, and considering his feet and chest were bare, Marlow could
safely say he had the biggest hands and feet he’d ever seen. And he had no idea
who the hell this guy was.

He killed the floodlight but left his headlights on as he got
out, then moved toward the trailer with his hand on his pistol, just in
case.

“You’re trespassing, mister. State your name.”

“No, sir, I am not trespassing, but I might ask you why you’re
on
my
property?”

Marlow froze. When Wayne Fox died, except for his sister,
Tildy, he was the last of the family on Rebel Ridge. Then it hit him—there was
another Fox, but the last time he’d been seen, he was on his way to prison.

“Lincoln Fox...is that you?”

“Sorry, Sheriff, but you have me at a disadvantage. I don’t
believe I caught your name.”

“Sheriff Marlow, Mel Marlow. I’m investigating a break-in that
happened earlier at a house down the road.”

Linc’s attitude shifted. “Oh...I heard a security alarm go off
just after I pulled in here for the night. I was out looking at the old bomb
shelter when I heard a gunshot, then the alarm, then more gunshots. Is everyone
all right?”

“Mrs. Lewis is all right, but I was hoping to find me a stalker
lying bleeding somewhere up here.”

Linc remembered a Lewis family, but they’d lived much farther
up the mountain and deeper into the woods. However, he wasn’t going to ask for
details.

“It’s a little cold to be visiting out here. You’re welcome to
come inside.”

Marlow took his hand off his pistol and headed for the trailer.
Even though Linc stepped aside to let him in, Marlow was dwarfed by the man.

“Have a seat,” Linc said as he closed the door.

Marlow moved toward the small sitting area, then took off his
hat and set it on the sofa beside him as Linc lit a candle, pulled a chair from
the dinette set and faced him. That was when he saw the burn scars on Fox’s
chest.

“What happened there?”

Linc ran a hand over the scars. “On-the-job accident.”

Marlow nodded. So Fox wasn’t interested in sharing. Fine. “I
have to say, I’m surprised to see you. What brings you back?’

Linc fingered the scars again. “Let’s just say I had a
life-altering experience and decided to come home.”

“Why now?”

Linc’s eyes narrowed as a muscle jerked along his jawline.
“Cops always want the details. Fine. I work in construction. Earlier this year I
was electrocuted on the job, which is where the scars came from, and when they
brought me back to life, I came with a message from my daddy.”

Marlow frowned. Lincoln Fox had been convicted of killing his
father.

“What kind of message?”

“To go home and find out who killed him. Now you know why I’m
here, and I have something to tell you that might help you.”

“Like what?”

“After I heard that alarm go off down the mountain, I pulled a
little farther into the trees here for the night. A herd of deer had just come
up to bed down, and I was watching them from inside the trailer when something
spooked them and they ran. I thought it would be an animal, but it was a man,
and he was running at a good clip heading west, up the slope.”

Marlow’s heart skipped. Could he actually have another witness?
“What did he look like?”

“He was too far away for me to see his face, but there was
enough moonlight to see that he was about average height, maybe five-ten or so,
and his hair was kind of shaggy. He was wearing a dark leather jacket. The kind
bikers wear. I don’t think he saw my rig, because he kept running through the
clearing and up into the trees. A few moments afterward I heard a bike start up
and then he rode away. It sounded more like a dirt bike than a motorcycle. Then
I went to bed, thinking that was my last visitor for the night. I had no idea
the official Rebel Ridge greeting committee would show up so soon.”

Marlow was taking notes as fast as he could write. “Is there
anything else?” he asked.

Linc stood up. “Yes. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell the
world why I’m here. The fact that I’m back is going to be trouble enough without
everyone taking sides all over again. Although to be honest, I don’t think there
was a damned one of you who was on my side to begin with except Grandpa and Aunt
Tildy. Grandpa’s gone, and I haven’t seen Aunt Tildy in years. Don’t even know
if she’s still alive.”

“I wasn’t working for the law when all that went down, but for
your information, your aunt is still hale and hearty and dispensing her herbs
and salves to all who ask.” After that Marlow stood up, too intimidated by
Linc’s size to stay seated. “I’ll be going now. Thank you for your information.
If you happen to see or hear anything more, give me a call. This is my card. Got
my home and office numbers. Use either. My job is twenty-four/seven. If I have
any more questions...”