Author: Richard L. Fricks

After breakfast, Lillian took a shower, and I called Sophia who was elated to hear from me. She vowed she’d turned the heat down last Tuesday after cleaning the house. It took at least five minutes for her to conclude she understood exactly where Rachel’s diaries were located, how many there were, and the exact mailing service I wanted her to use. I could tell she was a little frustrated with her English skills, but mostly her concerns were overdoing exactly what I wanted. She agreed she’d do this just as soon as school was out. Her elation returned when I promised to add an extra hundred dollars (plus shipping cost) to this week’s pay.

In the same two seconds, I said goodbye and received a call from “Unknown.” If it had been an 800 number, I wouldn’t have answered. Sometimes I wasn’t logical. “Hello.”

“Mr. Harding?”

“Yes.”

“This is Avery Proctor. We met yesterday.”

“I remember.” It was DA Garrison’s chief investigator. “What can I do for you?”

“The DA wanted me to call and ask a favor.”

“Okay. I’ll try.”

“Do you think you could take a photo of Ray Archer’s tag? The stills you brought don’t fully disclose the tag number. He parked the Vet at a weird angle.”

“You’re referring to the red corvette?” I could hear others talking in the background.

“That’s right. Pam is an absolute stickler for details. But she wanted to stress you shouldn’t take any risk.” My first thought was to decline. I assumed Ray parked his Corvette at the Lodge, inside the garage. I quickly concluded, based on all that Ray now knew, it could be dangerous going to his home. “If she wasn’t so crunched for time, she wouldn’t ask, but our entire team has a conflict: me, Mark at the Sheriff’s office, your investigator, even Joe and his assistant.”

“Well, I can try. Maybe I’ll get lucky. By the way, what’s my deadline?”

“I’m sure Pam prefers you not to look at it that way, like it’s imperative. However, her plan is for ADA Vincent to be at the Magistrate’s office ready to apply for warrants no later than 3:00 PM today. Again, don’t put yourself in a confrontation position.”

Investigator Proctor said it would be okay to send him a digital copy and not to worry about having the photos developed. He gave me his email address and again strongly advised me to, “think before you shoot.” Neither the joke nor laughter created an apple pie and football image.

He ended the call just as Lillian descended the stairs dressed in tight jeans and a baggy, crimson-colored sweatshirt. I shared DA Garrison’s requested favor and received a puzzled look, scrunched forehead, and squinted eyes.

Lillian’s response surprised me. “Good news. We can go to the Lodge after we leave Ray’s office.” She removed a scrunchie from her jeans and returned to the kitchen table. There was something mesmerizing about watching her pull back her silky brown hair.

“Maybe the corvette will be at his office.”

“No way. It’ll be at the Lodge. He always drives the Suburban to work.” Lillian scanned her iPhone for a long minute. “He’s at the office or will be shortly.”

“How do you know?”

“Facebook. Anna. Ray’s secretary. She’s like a fountain, always spewing subtle clues. Today’s post, ‘Workday,’ along with a GIF of a man operating a jackhammer, means she’ll be busy and not play Solitaire or surf the web like she loves to do.”

“Whatever. Grab your camera while I take a quick shower. Let’s get this done.” Maybe I was taking this too seriously. Lillian had half-a-century with the son-of-a-bitch.

“I see you’re worried, so I’ll verify.” Lillian shushed me toward my bedroom and finger-tapped her iPhone. Halfway down the hall, I heard her tell somebody she was coming by and to make sure her check was ready. I showered and changed without finding an answer to my nagging question: how would Ray respond to me spending so much time with his wife? I couldn’t wait until his arrest.

***

Lillian insisted we take the Aviator. There were several boxes of books she’d left in Ray’s garage. She insisted I drive. “You drop me off in front of Ray’s office and circle the block. I’ll be outside before you complete one loop.” I’d seen his building when Kent and I tried to visit Jackie Fraiser on Thanksgiving.

Turning onto Mcville Road, I remembered the corner building had been a church when I was growing up. The post office was next door. The Sand Mountain Bank was beside it. “I’m such a lucky woman.” Lillian said, as I crawled through the stop sign at Beulah Road.

“Uh?”

“Few wives get paid when their husband screws another woman.” I didn’t know how to respond to the shocking statement. I glanced toward the Jane Seymour look-alike but didn’t tarry. “Micaden Tanner’s idea.”

I stared at the road and sped up, barely secreting an “uh-mm.” Lillian would fill in the blanks if she wanted to.

“He’s brilliant. We’re fortunate to have him on our team.” I couldn’t disagree with that assessment.

“I agree, Micaden is impressive.”

“If you didn’t know, Ray’s always been a philanderer. My opportunity came when he was on the verge of selling the pharmacy chain. He was in the spotlight, and I was ready to get out, at least to cause him some pain. Micaden suggested I demand a redo of our prenup. Long story short, Ray loved his reputation more than his money. He promised, in writing mind you, to pay me $50,000 every time he had an affair. That’s when I hired Connor Ford to keep tabs on my pussy-loving husband.”

“You paint a vivid picture.” And I thought I’d met some interesting characters in the thousands of cases I’d read over the years. Lillian was head of the line.

“Today’s check is $150,000. It should be 200K, but I gave him a twenty-five percent discount.” I cut my eyes her way and nodded. We rode the remaining few miles in welcomed silence.

Ray’s dark blue Suburban was on the street in front of his office. I stopped without pulling into a parking spot. “I’ll drive at normal speed. Be careful.” I still didn’t like the idea of Lillian confronting Ray, especially over money. Hopefully, it won’t be that big of a deal.

In less than three minutes, I returned. Lillian was waiting behind the Suburban. She hopped in, holding a number ten envelope in her hand. It was already open. “When Ray’s arrested, I’ll treat you to a steak, but we best go out of town.”

 I smiled. Sort of. “Any trouble?”

“No Ray in sight. Anna handed me the envelope and volunteered her boss was with Mayor King at City Hall.”

“Good. Ray may be near seventy but he’s still a powerful man.” I crossed Highway 168, remembering how he’d stabbed my forehead at the Hunt House with his long-pointed finger. I imagined he would have beaten me to a pulp if it hadn’t been for Ted King.

***

I’d never been to Skyhaven Drive. The mountainside subdivision was three miles south of Boaz. Charles Cooley, a high school classmate’s father, developed it in the early seventies. The Lodge set at the peak and provided an enviable view of Pleasant Valley below.

I took the right fork of the concrete driveway that led to a three-car attached garage along the north side of the rock and cypress house. All three doors were closed. There was another garage, this one detached, a hundred feet to the west and down a gently sloping yard.

“The corvette will be there.” Lillian said, cocking her thumb to her right toward the detached garage, with its two doors similarly closed. “Come on.”

I exited the Aviator and followed her across the yard. “Are they locked?” I said as she walked around the side of the building and disappeared.

I heard her say, “Wait.”

In less than a minute, I heard metal clanking and saw the right-side door opening. The corvette’s rear tag appeared. Lillian started snapping photos with her iPhone, including several random ones around the inside of the garage. She must have noticed my puzzled look. “No need for my fancy Nikon.”

“That’ll make it easier to email the photos to the DA.”

She lowered the door and disappeared again. When she walked around the corner, she motioned me to follow her up the hill to a sidewalk that led to the rear deck of the house. “I want my books.”

“I thought you said they were in the garage.” Lillian ignored me and started punching buttons on the security pad next to the back door.

“They are, but those three doors are locked. Plus, we need to grab my recorders.”

“Whoa, whoa. This isn’t a good idea. What if Ray shows up and we’re inside the house?” It was a dumb question. One I already knew the answer.

“It won’t take but a minute, now come on.” For some stupid reason, I ignored my best judgment, any judgment, and followed Lillian. She opened a set of bottom cabinet doors in the middle of the kitchen island before I could walk fully inside. She first knelt and felt around the underside of a stainless-steel sink, then transitioned into lying flat on her back and inching her head inside the cabinet. “Here it is. Whew, I thought he’d found it.”

“Hurry. Where’s the other one?” I knew Lillian said she’d hidden two devices. She held up her right hand for my help in standing. With her left, she tossed me the cell-phone sized device.

“It’s in the master.” The teenager acting woman was around the island, across a giant great room, and circling a spiral staircase when I heard a deep baritone horn.

“Shit.” I again followed Lillian and the direction of the outside blare. I peeped through the blinds next to the front door.

“It’s just the UPS guy.” I kept following my ears down an L-shaped hallway into an over-sized bedroom. Lillian was atop the bed on her knees, reaching behind a row of leather-wrapped biographies.

“Risky place to leave a bug.”

“Not really. Ray’s not a reader. These are all for show, whose I’m not sure.” I could see inside two connecting rooms. One was the master bathroom. The other looked like an office or study, given the large wooden desk and chair.

Lillian clutched the recorder and rolled to the other side of the king-size bed. “We need to do one more thing. Come on.” Oh my god, wonder woman trolling for trouble.

This time, I eased to a window and its opened wood blinds. All I could see was a circular drive and a forest of trees beyond. When I found Lillian, she was sitting at Ray’s desk prowling through the bottom right-hand drawer. “What are you doing? Let’s get your books and go.”

I scanned the room while Lillian ignored me. There were no windows, but two mounted deer heads cast a dark light from the wood-paneled walls. Although the photons weren’t real, my thoughts were. It takes a dark individual to kill other sentient beings and showcase them, even inside a private room.

“Okay, got it.” She slammed the drawer and grabbed my hand as she jogged past. “Come on. I thought you were in a hurry.” I obeyed.

We exited the master, made a U-turn around the spiraling staircase and jogged down another hallway lined with photographs, paintings, and plaques of the only person I hated. “Ego walls,” I noted.

The moment we entered the laundry room, we both froze at the sound of an automatic garage door. “Oh shit, it’s Ray.”

Lillian’s transformation was instant. She turned to me with a gapping mouth and hollow eyes, her face ghostlike. Shocked was the best description. “Okay, here’s the plan.” My quick decision reminded me of long-gone days in court: objections or follow-up questions rooted in seconds, not minutes. “I’ll go out the back door while you distract Ray.” I eased backwards and scanned the ego wall for the framed newspaper article, including a photograph of Ray and Lillian. “Here, tell him you’re sorry for not asking, but you wanted this picture.” I nodded affirmatively while retreating to the kitchen. “You can do this. Go now, I’ll be hiding in the Aviator.”

Lillian finally gave me a weak thumbs up and opened the door to the garage. I turned and hustled to the kitchen and outside to the rear deck, descending the steps two at a time. My ears were on alert as I raced the sidewalk to the north end of the house. Maybe I expected screaming or gunshots, but there were neither. Exhausted, I eased into a row of shrubbery at the corner. In this position, I could hear Ray’s loudmouth from inside the open garage but couldn’t understand his words. I turned the corner and hugged the wall towards Ray’s Suburban parked halfway inside the garage’s nearest stall.

“And what the fuck were you and that dumb ass Lee Harding doing at Ted’s cabin Friday night?” I peeked around the wall and saw Lillian standing at the bottom of the utility room stairs, holding the framed picture. There weren’t two feet separating her and Ray. He loved to intimidate. No doubt he was angry. Both hands were by his side, rapidly opening and closing like he was preparing to fight.

Wonder woman lost her cool. “I’ll answer if you tell me why the fuck you burned down the Hunt House.” Oh my gosh Lillian. What are you doing? I thought about sprinting around Ray’s Suburban and on to the Aviator. I leaned back against the outside wall, shook my head sideways, and stared into the beaming sun.

“Don’t you fucking accuse me of anything.” Fuck was a popular word. Then, I heard glass breaking. I peeked again. Ray had grabbed the framed article and slammed it against the stairs. He hurled the twisted remains against the rear wall and rammed his right index finger into Lillian’s forehead. Much harder than he had me outside the Hunt House. She fell backwards and awkwardly slid down the steps onto the garage floor.

I didn’t hesitate half a second. I ran as fast as I could toward Ray. He heard me coming and turned just as I did my own ramming. It was like hitting a stone wall, but my momentum caught him off guard just before he could brace. The two of us tumbled ten feet and crumbled to the floor before impacting the wall. My shoulder cried out in pain, reminding me it was nowhere near healed. Ray was fast to be so big. He was on his feet in no time. His right foot centered on my upper stomach while I used all fours to stand. If it hadn’t been for Lillian, the beast would have killed me.

Later, she told me the moment she saw me running towards Ray, she’d seen a set of golf clubs leaning against the wall beside the steps. She’d grabbed a six iron and shellacked Ray’s neck before he could kick me twice. She’d used her best baseball style swing.

We waited ten minutes to determine whether Ray would live or die. He lived but moaned and groaned a lot as he labored to reach a sitting position against the wall. “Don’t you ever lay a hand on Lillian, or I’ll blow your fucking head off.” My anger, boldness, and growing stupidity prompted Lillian to demand our withdrawal and exit.

During the drive to Kyla’s, I kept verbally kicking myself for allowing this to happen. I knew there could be multiple consequences, one being mine and Lillian’s arrest, another being Ray’s next murder.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue. I’ll never forget.” Lillian said as we turned right at Walgreen’s.

Goats drink a lot of water, even in colder weather, I thought as I waited for their trough to fill. Hopefully, this will be my third and last day to care for the five Nubians.

Kyla had left Friday afternoon and traveled to Atlanta to pick up a former co-worker before they headed to the Smoky Mountains. She promised to return by late afternoon.

The goats hadn’t been the only ones I’d babysat. Lillian had dropped by at sunset Saturday and insisted she stay. I could hardly decline after hearing her latest recording. She was correct in concluding our lives were in danger, but I disagreed that she was the only one responsible for getting us into this mess. In fact, the initial idea of staking out Ted King’s cabin had been my own. I felt both guilt and an impending sense of foreboding.

I turned off the faucet and heard my new roommate yell something from the front porch. I looked her way. She was standing with a cup of coffee and her back to the open storm door. She wore a thin pink housecoat and the same toboggan from Friday night. Our short co-habitation felt odd, maybe even wrong, for several reasons. I almost regretted the respect she’d shown for my Friday night hesitancy. But respect and thoughtful restraint are two different things. Although there had been no actual kissing, holding, or lovemaking, an intersecting theme flooded my mind that pointed in the same direction.

“What?” She’d said something about a phone call. I was halfway to the front porch when she repeated her earlier statement. “The DA lady wants to talk to you.” Dang, she’s early. It was barely daylight.

I walked to the carport, kicked off Dad’s muddy work boots, slipped on my house shoes, and headed inside.

Governor Williams had recently appointed Marshall County District Attorney Pam Garrison to fill the spot vacated by the death of former DA Charles Abbott. A good thing, according to Micaden, was Pam had only recently returned to her hometown of Albertville after a forty-year career in Atlanta, the last half spent as a Fulton County prosecutor. It was unlikely local politics had entangled her. I grabbed my iPhone from the kitchen table and realized if it weren’t for Micaden, I wouldn’t be receiving this call.

“Good morning, sorry to keep you waiting.” Pam and Micaden had worked for the same Atlanta law firm after they graduated from Emory University’s School of Law in 1977. Of course, this didn’t mean she would convey favors, but hopefully it meant she’d follow the law.

“No problem.” It sounded like classical music playing in the background. “Lee, if you will, get me all of Rachel’s diaries.” DA Pam’s request didn’t surprise me. I’d contemplated the same yesterday afternoon when I handed her the diary I’d discovered inside a Hunt House wall.

The last thirty-six hours had been a whirlwind. After the shock of listening to Lillian’s last Lodge recording, I’d called Micaden. It hadn’t taken ten minutes, including my recap of everything relevant to Ray and Buddy as arsonists, for my lawyer to slip into his grand master mode. He’d contacted Connor in Gatlinburg, who contacted Mark Hale in the Sheriff’s Department. Then Mark contacted Avery Proctor, the District Attorney’s chief investigator, who’d obviously communicated with DA Pam. Finally, she closed the loop back to her old friend Micaden.

At noon yesterday, all of us had met in the DA’s conference room (Connor via video) for Pam and Avery to listen to all recordings, review the Hunt House lawsuit documents, and inspect the seventy-five still shots from Ted’s cabin Lillian had traveled to the Gadsden Walmart for development and printing. Pam’s assistant district attorney, Greg Vincent, had also joined the meeting.

Three and a half hours later, the DA concluded the evidence justified the issuance of arrest warrants. After a brief break and before our meeting disbanded, Micaden had requested permission to address one of Marshall County’s oldest cold cases: the disappearance and presumed death of Kyle Bennett. Maybe Micaden had read my mind during the three plus hour meeting. I had kept thinking we needed to use full disclosure with the woman who had been so open-minded and gracious.

I’d often heard shocks or surprises come in triplet. DA Pam’s response to Micaden’s request had baffled him and me. It seems ever since she’d arrived, cold cases had become a popular topic, including one that occurred only a few weeks before Kyle disappeared. Eerily, the two had similar characteristics. Sharon Teague, an Albertville High School rising senior and cheerleader, had gone missing during late summer or early fall of 1969, around the time Pam Garrison herself began her freshman year at the same school.

After Micaden provided a summary (including Rachel’s diaries) of why he, Connor, and I believed Ray Archer had committed the crime of kidnapping and murdering Kyle, DA Pam had responded rather cold and disinterested. But she had asked me to read the diary I’d found behind the wall inside the Hunt House.

As Lillian attempted breakfast in a foreign kitchen, I finally responded to Pam’s question. “It’s not that I don’t want you to read them (in part, it was), but I’ve been reluctant to have them shipped, afraid they’d get lost in the mail.”

“I understand your hesitation and cannot grasp what’s it’s like to lose your spouse in such a tragic way. However, from strictly a legal viewpoint, I cannot properly consider the diaries value until I read every page.” What DA Pam was saying without putting it into words was Rachel’s diaries (assuming the court ruled them admissible) could do more harm than good. It wouldn’t be the first time a sharp defense attorney turned a prosecutor’s star witness or smoking gun document into a pile of smoldering ashes.

DA Pam and I ended our conversation with me reluctantly promising to deliver Rachel’s remaining journals. Right now, the prospects of Ray being brought to justice for Kyle’s death seemed remote. Especially since we didn’t have a murder weapon, and it appeared Rachel’s writings might be the key to Ray’s exoneration.

I would call Sophia and ask her to package and mail my late wife’s long hidden scribblings.

***

I poured two glasses of grape juice while Lillian redialed Kyla’s new toaster. The first attempt had produced four slices of charcoal. “I like mine burnt,” I joked. At least the bacon smelled good.

Lillian offered a slight smile and her customary eyeroll as she removed two plates from the oven. “I hope you like southwestern omelets.” I kept quiet and figured the pink-clad cook had her own unique cooking style.

“I do.” I carried the juice to the table and sat. Lillian followed with egg and pepper aromas wafting from the still-opened oven.

We ate in silence, interrupted only by the ding of the toaster. Lillian’s meal impressed me, including the sauteed onions and peppers inside the omelet, and the brown sugar sprinkled on the bacon. But I avoided the bread, not burnt this time but overly brown.

“How well do you know Jane?” I asked as the two of us washed the dirty dishes.

“I’ve known her all my life, but you knew that.”

“Describe her, not her physically, but her character, her personality.” Before I asked my questions, I wanted to learn Lillian’s thoughts.

“To be blunt, I’ve never really liked her, even though she probably doesn’t know that. Truth be known, I’d bet Rachel felt the same.” I was listening carefully, but my mind was also straying. It felt weird being here with Lillian. It was almost like we were playing house. I wondered what life would have been like if we’d married or at least gotten engaged before Ray had swooped in, or Rachel and I connected at the University of Virginia. “Plus, she’s a manipulator of sorts. You know she loves chess.”

“The game of chess?”

“Yes.”

“That’s surprising, the manipulator thing.” I found an empty coffee can under the sink and drained the skillet grease, while Lillian wiped the table. “Question, and it may sound silly, but do you think Jane has a thing for Ray?”

Without hesitation, “oh gosh yeah. Now you’ve got me curious. Why do you ask that?”

“Kent seemed to think Jane might protect Ray. Plus, the last recording. I’ve been contemplating the differences between what Jane told me and what Ray said Jane told him.”

“I think I understand. But explain yourself.” I couldn’t help but notice Lillian’s cleavage as she leaned down to return the coffee can under the sink. Again, the never-to-fade, long-ago image of the naked goddess in Kyla’s bedroom flooded my mind. In a weird way, it was refreshing to know I hadn’t lost my libido, but I had to maintain focus. For Kyle and Rachel’s sake.

“You heard Ray’s recap of his and Jane’s conversation on Saturday afternoon’s recording: that Ray had dropped Kyle off first, and that Rachel’s abortion was before she returned to China. Notice, these two things all favor Ray. I mean, if he was being accused of doing something bad, like murder. What Ray’s recap didn’t include were two other things.” I rinsed the skillet and reached for the drying towel. Lillian and I bumped shoulders.

“What two things?”

“Jane made a couple of remarks during our phone conversation. The first one seemed out of place.”

“What was that?” Lillian closed the oven and drained the dishwater.

“She said that when they dropped Kyle off at the end of his driveway, she and Rachel made fun of Jackie Fraiser’s car. They called it the ‘blue moon.’”

“That seems odd, given your question. Why would that be relevant?”

“Here’s my theory. Jane and Ray talked after he had breakfast with Kent. Remember, I told you what Kent said.”

“I do. He thinks he caught Ray in a lie.”

“It’s like Jane wanted to emphasize that Jackie was home much earlier than normal. Therefore, Ray was telling the truth in his conversation with Kent.”

“Let me see if I understand. Ray’s witness statement says he and Rachel dropped Kyle off around 9:00 p.m., but Kent thinks it was much later because he, Ray, admitted Jackie’s car was already home. So, if Jackie had come home from the Spinning Mill much earlier than usual, there wouldn’t be a conflict in Ray’s statements.”

“Right. Again, Jane protected Ray, but she didn’t tell Ray that she mentioned Jackie’s car to me.”

“It’s a little confusing but I see your point.” Lillian edged toward me as I wiped down the sink. The woman always smelled of Lavender and she hadn’t yet taken her morning shower. “So, what was the second thing?”

“To me it’s wholly irrelevant.”

“No way. You remember the rule: you bring up a subject you don’t get to avoid explanation.”

She was correct. This practice among Kyla, Lillian, and me was a tradition even in high school. “When I told Jane about finding the diaries, she blamed Rachel for her own journaling addiction.”

“That sounds like Jane. In Bible study, she often mentions her diaries. She’s a firm believer in confessing her sins in writing.”

I laughed out loud, but then remembered during the last year or so of Rachel’s life, it obsessed her. What she believed wrong, what she called disobedience, was amazing. It could be as innocuous as eating a 150-calorie glazed cookie. Amazing, and sad.

It was 3:00 PM Saturday afternoon before Spectrum’s serviceman arrived. He was thirty minutes late but had called Ted to let him know. “Sorry, last night’s storm has us scrambling.” The fireplug shaped woman surprised Ted as she exited her pickup. Terrie had sounded like a man over the phone.

The temperature was hovering at freezing, so Ted went inside the cabin. Terrie wanted to check the panel first. She walked to the side of the house and quickly noticed the incoming cable had been severed.

“That was easy to diagnose.” Terrie said, joining Ted in the great room.

“How so?”

“Someone clipped your line; cut it in half.” Terrie pulled her right hand across her throat to dramatize her words.

“Damn. Probably the same person who took my whiskey. And left the front door unlocked.” The service lady gave both affirmative and negative nods, one after the other.

“Well, I can’t help you there, but I can splice your incoming and have you going in fifteen minutes.” Terrie exited the cabin while Ted watched, confused. He wondered if the Spectrum rep was a trans: a male trying to become a female, or the opposite.

Ted shook his head and walked to the rear of the cabin. He opened the blinds and looked through the sliding glass door across the porch and to the over-sized and barren fire pit. He closed his eyes and recalled the many times he and his buddies had drank beer and delivered bullshit stories of their female conquests. But, what he’d truly love is to return to younger days, a simple life with Julie, even if they didn’t have an extra dime.

The suction from the front storm door and a triple ding from his iPhone startled Ted. He turned. “Done already?”

“Yep. You should be good to go, but let’s check.” Terrie walked in front of the giant screen TV and picked up the remote sitting atop the entertainment center. After a few seconds, Ted watched Alabama’s quarterback Mac Jones complete a thirty-yard pass against Auburn. “Just in time to watch the massacre.” Terrie flipped a few channels before activating Netflix. It wouldn’t connect. “Where’s your router?” Ted pointed to the master bedroom and waited for a quick minute. “That should do it.”

Ted walked Terrie outside and watched him, her, drive away, waving an Alabama hat outside the driver’s side window. Back inside, Ted removed his iPhone and sat on the couch, intent on watching at least the first half. What he heard changed everything.

 The break in Wi-Fi service had delayed his cell notifications. When Julie had left him and before she moved into the cabin, Ted had hired a friend from Atlanta to install two devices. One was a video camera hidden inside a smoke alarm. The second was an audio recorder secluded inside a largemouth bass mounted next to an eight-point buck above the front door.

Ted would have to remove the memory card from the video device and insert it into a PC before reviewing its contents. However, the audio was already on his phone, sent via email after Terri restored his Internet service. Ted opened the clip and pressed PLAY. The voices were clear but unfamiliar. One was a female; one was a male. Ted replayed the recording three times:

Female: “I see you like playing in the mud.” Long pause.

Male: “Don’t we need to remove the recorders?” Minimal pause.

Female: “Done. Now, come on. I can’t wait to weigh our catch.”

“Oh shit,” was all Ted could say. He stood and pulled a dining room chair to the doorway leading to the master bedroom. He climbed up, reached for the smoke detector, and opened its outer door. Inside was another door. Ted removed the memory card and stepped off the chair, nearly falling as he questioned and doubted whether the female voice was Julie’s, and whether she had found a new playmate.

During the return drive to his house, he concluded it was unlikely his former lover knew about the recorders. So, what was the man’s voice referring to?

All Ted could say as he parked in front of his sprawling mansion was, “shit, shit, shit, if it’s not Julie, who the hell could it be?”

***

Ted was more confused after watching the video. The woman inside his cabin could be Julie. The two were the same or similar height. But something was off. The woman on the screen was too thick. Ted admitted the camouflaged outfit could be the difference, especially if it was double or triple layered. Of course, identification would have been easier if the woman hadn’t blackened her face. Woman? Ted questioned his gender analysis; maybe the figure was a man.

After an unsuccessful attempt to call Ray, Ted had driven to Julie’s house. Her car was missing. He thought about calling but decided against it. Instead, he checked Julie’s Facebook Page. Last night, contemporaneous with the date/time stamp on both the audio and video recordings, Julie was enjoying a meal at Cotton Row in Huntsville. Somewhat tentatively, Ted concluded his estranged wife wasn’t the intruder. Maybe Ray would know.

It was 5:30 PM when Ted parked outside the Lodge’s triple-car garage. Ray was unloading groceries. “We need to talk. Now.”

“Why didn’t you call?” Ray said, motioning for Ted to grab some Walmart bags from the back of the Suburban.

“I did. Both your cell and your land line.”

“I don’t enjoy talking when I’m in such a public place. Too many eavesdroppers around.”

After two more trips each, Ted sat at the breakfast bar while Ray put away the groceries. “You hit the nail on the head.”

“Uh?” Ray glanced at Ted before shoving a box of dishwasher detergent underneath the sink.

“Someone was inside the cabin last night, both before and after we arrived.”

“Holy shit. How do you know?”

Over the next hour, Ted and Ray reviewed and discussed the two recordings. According to Ray, there was little doubt the woman on the video was Lillian. The main giveaway was the knitted Deerhunter toboggan he had given her for Christmas two years ago. The second giveaway was the female voice from the audio recording. “I’d know that voice anywhere.”

“Then, who’s the man?” Ted asked, accepting a Budweiser from Ray.

“Now that I’ve spoken to Jane, I think I know. It’s Lee Harding.” Ray removed his iPhone from his shirt pocket, clicked a couple of buttons, and laid it on the counter next to the sink. “Listen to what she said.”

Jane had reported that Lee had called her this morning. He relayed that he had found several of Rachel’s diaries. Lee had asked two questions. One concerned Jane’s knowledge of what happened the night Kyle had gone missing, particularly whether Ray and Rachel had dropped Jane off at her house while Kyle was still in Ray’s truck. The second concerned Rachel’s pregnancy and abortion. Jane had been certain of both her responses. She had sworn that Ray had first dropped Kyle at the end of his driveway before driving to her house further down King Street. She had also sworn that Rachel had her abortion before she and her family returned to China in the middle of tenth grade.

“It’s good to hear Jane is still on your side but what I don’t understand is why Lee and Lillian would come to my cabin.” Ted said, shaking his head.

“We have to assume they heard every word uttered after we arrived, including my argument with Buddy.” Ray paused and took two long draws of his beer. “Thank God there was no mention of the Hunt House.”

Ted stood and pushed the bar stool back under the counter. “Ray, promise you’ll protect me. From the recordings, I’m just along for the ride. I had nothing to do with you and Buddy.”

“You dumb fuck. It was your place. You were there. You’re guilty by association.” Ray’s declaration spurred Ted to stand, walk toward the giant fireplace in the den, and return to the kitchen. Ted was clearly worried.

“I think we better protect each other. We both are at risk of going to prison. You for the fiasco with your Albertville cheerleader and the Hunt House fire, among a long list of other things, and me for financial corruption.”

“And you for arson.” Ray added.

“The hell you say. All I did was manipulate the police.” Ted had placed an anonymous call to the Boaz dispatcher who’d sent three patrol cars to a domestic violence inspired shooting outside Barry’s Barbecue south of town. This had provided safe passage for Buddy and Eric’s visit to Thomas Avenue and the Hunt House.

 “That’s conspiracy to commit a crime you dumb ass.” Ray hated lawyers but had always been fascinated by the law.

“Come on, let’s go to The Shack and eat a steak. While we can.” Ray nodded, flipped off the kitchen lights, and followed Ted outside.

***

Lillian’s iPhone vibrated. For the past two hours, she had napped on her couch under a throw. She reached for the coffee table and read the text notification. Device A triggered an hour ago. She tossed her heavy Afghan aside and sat up.

She pressed PLAY. Lillian didn’t recognize the voice who said, “You hit the nail on the head.” The second voice was clearly Ray.

Lillian stood after the third statement. “Damn, that has to be Ted King.”

She rewound and replayed the words that scared her to death: “Someone was inside the cabin last night, both before and after we arrived.” Lillian listened and re-listened for thirty minutes, alternately rewinding and fast-forwarding at critical spots. Finally, she stood and walked through the kitchen, across the back porch, and toward the pond, dreading and postponing her call to Lee. “What a fucking mess I’ve made. I’ve just given Ray the motivation to kill Lee and me.