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Sunday morning, I was still feeling guilty over what I’d done. Sometimes I talk when I should remain silent.

Rosa, Leah, Lyndell, and the four grands had arrived from Roanoke late Friday afternoon. The normal seven-hour drive had taken nearly ten hours, given Rosa’s urinary incontinence and young Jackson’s inner ear/motion sickness issues.

Yesterday, Leah and Lyndell had driven to the Birmingham airport to pick up their spouses, Dale and Olivia, and allow the females to indulge themselves at the Riverchase Galleria, one of the country’s largest malls.

Fortunately, this had provided a long overdue opportunity to spend time with my four grandchildren: Lyndell’s two boys, Jackson and Jasper, 7 and 6, and Leah’s two daughters, Ava and Amelia, 5 and 3. The five of us spent most of the day walking, talking, fishing, playing with the goats, and wrestling in the hay-filled barn loft. The weather had been warm but sunless, the fast-moving clouds foreboding the incoming rain.

The minute my children and their spouses arrived, I’d excused myself to my bedroom to call Rosa. I had been eager to talk with her ever since Lillian and I discovered Jane’s mystery wall. Proper respect probably required me to wait until after Rob’s funeral before confronting Rosa. But my attorney mind kept asking what respect she’d shown me all these years.

After arriving Friday night, Rosa had insisted on staying at her and Rob’s apartment at Bridgewood Gardens, the assisted living facility the couple had made their home for the past eight years. Unfortunately, Rosa had visitors and could not talk. Thankfully, she had insisted I come this morning.

I exited Woodham Drive into the Gardens’ parking lot at 6:50 AM. I’m not sure why Rosa insisted we meet so early. It probably had something to do with Rob’s 2:00 PM funeral at First Baptist Church of Christ.

There was no one manning the reception counter, but there was a sign on a glass wall requiring all visitors to sign in. The three-ring binder was open to the current page, revealing only one line available. I signed and scanned the other twenty-four names. The third one from the top was Ray Archer. He had been here Friday morning to see Ronald Archer. I assumed it was Ray’s father, but I did not know.

Per Leah’s directions, I walked to the end of a wide hallway and turned right into one much narrower. The cafeteria was on my left. After passing through two intersecting corridors, I turned right. According to a wall map, room 188 was straight ahead, at the dead end of Hallway G.

The door was cracked open three or four inches. I knocked, and Rosa immediately responded. “It’s open, come in.” I complied.

She was sitting in a small den on the far side of a rectangular room. I passed through a quasi-kitchen (a few cabinets, a sink, and a microwave) and ignored her non-verbal instruction to sit on a leather couch opposite her Lazy Boy chair. I eased to her, laid my hand on her shoulder and kissed her forehead. “How are you, Mom?” I had called her this since mine and Rachel’s wedding. Rosa had insisted. I retreated to the couch.

“Seen better days. How are you?” My mother-in-law had always been an elegant woman. She still is. Her graying hair looked like she’d just returned from the beauty shop. She wore a multi-colored silk housecoat. The deep rich red of her house shoes exuded refinement.

“Dreading this conversation.” I might as well be direct.

“Lee, before we jump into the abyss, please consider my love for Rachel, a mother’s love for her only daughter.” I kept listening, anticipating she knew why I was here. “And, just as important, I loved you. Still do.”

“Do you know why I’m here, what I want to talk about?”

“I think so. It’s long overdue and now that you’ve stumbled onto the truth, part of it, we need to air my dirty laundry.” I wanted to probe Rosa’s statement. How did she know I’d discovered the truth, or, as she said, ‘part of it?’

“Mom, I need you to be fully open with me. I need to know the truth.” As an afterthought, I added, “and no matter what it is, I will always love you, just like I will always love Rachel.”

“And I’ll always regret my decision to return to Alabama the summer of 1968. Rob had wanted to stay in China. Rachel and Randy were doing well in school, no indications or forewarning of trouble.” I was glad Rosa was starting at the beginning, even though I’d assumed the eighteen-month sabbatical was mutual with her husband.

My mother-in-law paused and closed the Bible that had been open on her lap. “What changed? I mean, what happened in Alabama?” I felt I knew but needed to hear it from Rosa.

“It was like a switch flipped. One inside Rachel’s head. I could blame it on her maturing puberty or approaching adolescence, but it also had to do with an evolving inquisitiveness about the world, including a rustling rebellion against Christianity, maybe authority.”

“The latter surprises me. Rachel never shared this phase with me.”

Rosa glanced at a digital clock on the table beside her chair. “Randy and Celia will be here between 8:30 and 9:00, but I want to answer all your questions. Since you’re the attorney, why don’t you guide our conversation.”

I smiled and nodded, thankful for Rosa’s apparent willingness to let the floodgates open. I figuratively stood erect and leaned forward into the deep darkness. “Why have the Archer’s, Ronald and Ray, been paying you and Rob all these years?” I’m not sure why I started here instead of with Rachel’s baby.

“Wow, you’ve looked behind the curtains.” Rosa paused again, lowered her footrest, stood, and walked to the back wall. She opened the blinds and stared into an overcast sky. Without turning, she said, “we would have done it without the money.”

“You and Rob?”

“Yes.”

“Done what?” I hoped she’d volunteer more details and transform her responses into an informative narrative.

“Keep our mouths shut.” I stayed silent, hoping Rosa would continue without prompting. Knocking and intrusion of a nurse’s aide delivering a half-dozen pills prolonged the wordless intermission. After we were again alone, Rosa continued. “Kyle’s accident and death came as a shock.”

At first, I thought I’d misheard. Accident? It didn’t take anything but a few seconds to realize Rosa believed a lie, probably a bag of lies. “Accident?” I almost said, ‘Ray murdered Kyle,’ but didn’t.

“Roland convinced me it was just as much Rachel’s fault as Ray’s, so Rob and I went along with the plan.”

“The plan? What plan?” I literally shook my head. Rosa turned in time to see my expression.

“Kyle had fallen and hit his head. He died almost instantly. The problem was that it had taken place during an altercation.”

“You mean a fight?” I didn’t stop for Rosa’s response. “Why not just tell the truth? Maybe it was simply Rachel at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Wouldn’t have worked. They, Ray and Rachel, had just learned what Kyle knew.”

“What was that?” Here comes the story of Rachel’s pregnancy.

“Somehow, Kyle discovered Ray had gotten an Albertville cheerleader pregnant. And, about that girl’s disappearance.” Rosa returned to her Lazy Boy but didn’t raise the footrest.

I might as well be proactive. “Did Kyle also know about Rachel’s pregnancy?”

Rosa didn’t verbally respond, but she did nod affirmatively.

“Tell me about the fight. Where Kyle fell.”

“He was trying to extort money from Ray and threatened to go public if he didn’t pay up. It happened at the creek, besides Kyle’s house.” From what I thought I knew, Rosa’s story was surreal.

“I’m sorry to say this, but there’s something obviously missing. Based on the fight, altercation as you call it, I don’t see a good reason for you and Rob to have stayed silent.” This time, I paused, considering my next thought. “Unless you needed the money, or, sorry to put it this way, were greedy and saw an easy way to line your pockets.”

“Lee, you know Rob and me better than to make that accusation. Please realize how difficult this is for me. I can’t stand speaking ill of my dearest Rachel.”

“Mom, remember, I need the truth.”

“Ronald made us believe it somehow involved Rachel. The disappearance of Sharon Teague.” The enunciation of the girl’s name triggered, at first, the sensation of ingesting a mouthful of spoiled milk, then a feeling of approaching nausea. Rosa knew some truthful facts.

“Did Rachel admit the same?” Rosa’s story seemed fanciful. “How had Ronald Archer been so persuasive?”

“She did but would never provide details. All she would say is, ‘Mom, Dad, I am responsible for Sharon’s death.’”

“Assuming all this was true, it seems more likely that Ronald would ask you and Rob to pay him. Did you not imagine that Ray was criminally at fault in Kyle’s death?” Rosa (and Rob) had either been naïve, or she was still concealing a mountain of relevant facts.

“To be blunt, and reveal our ignorance, we ignored everything but Rachel’s exposure. It wasn’t until later that we learned what Ray had done to Kyle.”

“And what was that?” I felt like a hamster on a treadmill.

“Ray had shot and killed Kyle. Intentionally.” I almost interrupted, but Rosa held out her hand. “To make matters worse, Rachel told us she had hidden the murder weapon.”

Another knock at the door provided an opportunity to frame my response. A tall and skinny young red-headed boy, maybe twenty, entered bearing Rosa’s breakfast: a bowl of oatmeal, a slice of unbuttered toast, an orange, a banana, a pint of milk, and a glass of what I assume was cranberry juice. Tad, per his name tag, set the tray on a TV stand and positioned it in front of Rosa. He left after wishing us both a nice day.

While Rosa ate, I talked, choosing my words carefully. I shared how Rachel had told me the reason she attempted suicide the first time was because of her abortion.

“She never had an abortion.” Rosa said without looking at me.

“I know that now, but before we talk about Elita Ann Kern…” This time, Rosa looked straight at me, her eyes distant. “Rachel wrote in her diary what happened the night of December 11, 1969.” I shared how she led me to believe she had hidden the murder weapon, a Smith & Wesson 38 caliber pistol, in an upstairs wall at the Hunt House. Rosa continued to eat as I summarized how I’d found a similar pistol, but it could not have been the murder weapon.

This is when everything changed. “Rachel moved it to the cabin. In Roanoke.” I thought of the ‘38 to friend’ note scribbled inside Rosa’s favorite book, The Cost of Discipleship.

My words failed. My mouth was like cotton. I stood and walked to the sink and ran a glass of water and drank half of it. On my way back to the couch, I finally spoke. “When did Rachel do that?”

“Before she killed herself.” At first, I thought Rosa was attempting some dark humor. “I mean during the six months before she hung herself.”

I had a dozen questions, including how Rachel could have pulled off this two-thousand-mile trip, and where she would have gotten the newer S&W she stuffed inside the Hunt House wall replacing the actual murder weapon. I silently laughed to myself, realizing I was citing facts I didn’t know were true. There was at least one thing I needed Rosa to answer. “How do you know the pistol in Roanoke is the murder weapon, the gun that Ray used to kill Kyle?” I was still making a couple of assumptions, but my awkward sentence generated a quick response.

“Rob. I always thought he would have made a better lawyer or detective than a missionary.”

“What did he do?” I was hoping Rosa would say Rob had someway engaged an expert who tied it via ballistics or fingerprints to Ray Archer. I was dreaming.

“He convinced Ronald Archer to verify it was his. The serial number matched.” It was a letdown. This was circumstantial.

Rosa took a bite of her banana and stared at me. “I see that look. Remember, Rob was sharp. He audio-taped a phone conversation with Ronald and Ray. The two finally admitted the pistol Rob was referring to had been used to shoot Kyle.”

“That doesn’t sound smart. Sorry, no disrespect to Rob. Why would he let Ray and his father know he had possession of the murder weapon?”

“Who said he did?” Obviously, I was confused. Rosa nodded and raised her eyebrows. “Rob lied. He made Ray and Ronald think he had a photograph of the pistol.”

I looked at my watch. It was after seven-thirty, and I had a ton more questions. “Where is the pistol now, the murder weapon?”

“Hand me that notebook.” Rosa pointed to a small desk beside her end table. “And a pencil.” I complied.

As instructed, I moved her breakfast tray to the kitchen while she sketched. When I returned, Rosa motioned me to stand beside and behind her while she drew and explained. “You know for sure it’s still there?” I had to ask.

“Unless it has been discovered and moved since late Thursday night when I checked.” Rosa circled an asterisk she had made along the basement’s rear wall. “There’s a crawl-through door here, but you can use a chair to reach inside behind the concrete wall. It’s protected by a zip-lock bag.”

After printing the cabin’s address in the lower right corner, Rosa removed the sheet and handed it to me. I returned to my spot on the couch. “I need to go to Roanoke. Is that okay with you?”

Rosa nodded affirmatively and reached to her left toward the floor. She fumbled in a large leather bag and tossed a set of keys my way. “Keep them. It will soon be yours and the kids.” I wondered if she was relaying the contents of Rob’s will, her intent to make a gift, or whether she was expecting her near-term death.

The land line phone on her end table rang as I slid the keys inside my jacket pocket. She let it ring several times. “Shouldn’t you answer that?”

“I’m sure it’s Stella Reed from 144. She calls about this time every Sunday morning. She can wait.” I offered encouragement through head and hand signals to answer, thinking another voice might give my mother-in-law a respite from our abyss-like discussion. After eight rings, she finally answered. “Hello.” A five second pause was followed by, “okay dear, love you.”

“I’m betting that was Randy.” I said, standing, acknowledging my desire to avoid my brother-in-law and his girlfriend in this setting. At the funeral home, small talk won’t be an issue.

“He’ll be here in fifteen or twenty minutes, just coming into Guntersville.”

That should be enough time to ask one more question. I stepped towards Rosa and knelt on one knee. “Mom, I need to be going, but I have one last question. Okay?” I took hold of her hands. Tears came to her eyes, and mine.

She again nodded up and down. “Rachel’s baby?”

I reciprocated the head movement.

“There was never a question. Rachel, or me and Rob only considered full term and adoption.”

“Did she promise Ray she would have an abortion?”

“Yes. No. Before we left for China, she told him she had the abortion.” Rosa looked to her right toward the open blinds. I imagined her thoughts transported her to another world, one half-a-century ago, probably to China and to the day baby Elita was born. Then she smiled. “Just to think Rob and I considered raising the precious little girl.”

That seemed reasonable, given the circumstances. “What stopped you?”

“Two things. The Mission Board and Rachel herself. Rob and I speculated about the Board’s reaction. Rob confided in a missionary friend, then retired, who had spent his last ten working years in Nashville as a compliance officer of some sort. His advice was to stay quiet and put the baby up for adoption. That, and Rachel’s plea on Elita’s behalf for her to have a normal life.”

“I guess I’ll never know why Rachel swore that her reason to attempt suicide was her abortion, one that she never had.” My last statement was confusing.

“My sweet daughter was beautiful inside and out, but she was also mysterious. You probably never realized she was a woman with many masks.”

I could have pursued that point several ways, but it was time to go. We released hands as I stood half erect and gave Rosa an awkward hug. “I’ll see you at the funeral.” She smiled and returned her gaze to the blinds, the gray sky, and likely, to a time and world long ended.

At 7:00 PM, Ray backed the Suburban down the hill to the detached garage. Once the automatic door opened, he eased the overgrown vehicle halfway inside the bay opposite his Corvette. Everything he needed was stashed among the cluttered shelves: two camouflaged tarps, a six-box case of baking soda, four gallons of white vinegar, a four-pack of 3% Hydrogen Peroxide, a box of vinyl gloves, and a 9mm SIG Sauer P226 with titanium suppressor. Ray unlocked an adjoining storage room and slid an over-sized box of Christmas decorations out of the way. He removed a duffel bag stuffed with $110,000 of fake money and marveled at the Internet and the near infinite number of items that could be purchased with the click of an electronic mouse.

Ray exited and relocked the storage room and tossed the duffel into the Suburban. He closed the hatch and walked to the still open driver’s side door. Before sitting, he felt his iPhone vibrate in his jacket pocket. It was Ted King. “I’m here waiting.”

In ten minutes, Ray joined his best friend at their usual back wall table and ordered matching rib-eyes. Ted chose a glass of red wine. Ray opted for water. He needed to keep a clear head for the night’s mission.

After their food arrived, Ted couldn’t wait to ask. “Did she get everything moved?” Like Ray, Ted hated the nosy and manipulative Jane, but neither man, for now, could do without her skills and inner-circle connections.

“Everything is safe and sound, locked in a closet six feet behind my desk.”

“Downtown?” Ray had called Ted early this morning and relayed Jane’s suspicion that Lee and Lillian had burglarized her house last Thursday night while she and Kyla were at the movies in Gadsden.

“Yeah.” It was still shocking that nothing was missing. The only evidence anyone had been inside Jane’s house was a stack of newspapers lying on her desk. “We dodged a bullet, well, at least I did.”

“Rachel’s diaries?” Ted knew Ray had been right in his first statement. If not for Ted, Jane wouldn’t be reviewing Rachel’s basement diaries. A friend who owed the mayor a favor had driven to New Haven, Connecticut, and broken into Lee’s home. But the actual hero was Jane and her former relationship with Rachel. The two shared everything, including their daily diary writing ritual.

“I’ve got bigger problems, at least potentially.” Ray said, devouring a fresh roll.

“What?” Ted braced himself for the news, yet not expecting a surprise.

“It seems Rachel lied once again. This time, about the 38.”

“The murder weapon?”

“Yeah, she didn’t hide it at the Hunt House.” Ray took a big bite of rib-eye and marveled at the taste. Best steak imaginable and available every day at The Shack.

“So, where is it? Where did Rachel hide it?” Ted knew he had nothing to do with Kyle Bennett’s death, other than his half-century silence. However, he feared Rachel’s diaries as much as Ray. Ted’s appetite waned as he thought about how he had helped Rachel to cover up a totally different crime.

“Roanoke. Rosa’s had it all these years. I just don’t know if she knows it.”

By 9:30, Ray had fielded all the questions he could take. He had more pressing things to do. Although it was over two hours before Billy and Buddy arrived, Ray pulled the Suburban inside the barn’s hallway a few minutes before 10:00.

He grabbed a flashlight, stuck the SIG at his back inside his waistband, and explored a long-abandoned cattle stall. This would be a perfect place to hide the supplies, better than overhead in the loft. Ray didn’t trust the rickety ladder hanging from the hallway’s wall.

After removing and concealing the supplies (other than the duffel of fake money), Ray walked outside, disgruntled over the rain. It had drizzled as he pulled into The Shack’s parking lot. Now, it was approaching a downpour. Ray returned to the Suburban and pulled it forward another six feet. He wanted plenty of room for him and the James twins to conduct business in the dry, at least in the first phase.

At 11:30, a set of flashing lights behind him aroused Ray from a semi-slumber. He had sat the last hour on a too-heated front seat and broken his number one rule: to stay alert.

Ray turned off the Suburban and slid out the driver’s side door. By the time he turned, Billy and Buddy had exited their vehicle and raced inside the barn. “Shitty weather.” Billy said, taking in a panorama view of the barn’s hallway.

Buddy’s face was mixed. Ray couldn’t figure if his squinting eyes were from his truck’s headlights glaring off the rear bumper of the Suburban, or from his skepticism about meeting this late and at this god-forsaken spot. “I almost called to reschedule, but I was already here before the bottom fell out.” Ray thought his statement would cause Billy to relax a little.

“What’s the new job?” Buddy asked, easing closer to the unhinged gate Ray had leaned against the opening to the converted cattle stall. Ray wished he’d opted for the loft despite the questionable ladder.

“Abduct Lillian and bring her to me. She and I need to have a little talk.” Ray opened the Suburban’s rear hatch, tired and eager to get on with things.

“That’ll cost extra, given the risk.” Billy and Buddy saw the duffel and edged forward, revealing their curiosity.

“That’s a hundred and ten thousand. Half.” Ray chose not to delineate the specifics.

Billy took another step forward and leaned into the Suburban, pulling the duffel towards him. “You promised two hundred.”

“I did, half up front, the other half upon job completion.” By now, Buddy and Billy were both reaching in and removing bundles of cash.

Buddy fanned through one bundle, then another, laying each on the carpet beside the duffel. “Add an extra hundred up front and an extra fifty on the back end.”

Billy was about to say something when the first bullet entered his left ear. He started falling to his right, into Buddy. Ray’s second shot hit Buddy in the heart a micro-second after turning toward his falling twin. Two seconds later, both men sprawled in the hallway’s dirt, Billy’s head lying across Buddy’s stomach. Ray shot each man once again, this time between the eyes. Just to make sure.

He had to hurry. The decision not to use the suppressor might be Ray’s undoing. After arrival and storage of the supplies, he’d decided the extra length on the P226 could cause handling problems if stuck inside his pants. Now he needed to hurry. The deafening noise could carry at least as far as the nearest house.

Ray tossed the SIG inside the duffel along with ten bundles of fake cash. He moved the gate, walked to the far back corner, and grabbed the two tarps. He lowered the third-row bench seat and made a camouflaged bed for Billy and Buddy. After removing his coat and donning a pair of coveralls stuffed behind the driver’s seat, Ray removed a pair of vinyl gloves and stretched them over his hands. He then returned to the dead and rolled Billy over. Though the twins were not half Ray’s size, their lifeless bodies were heavy. It took three times to position himself. First, he sat Billy upright on his butt and leaned behind him, inserting his arms underneath the dead man’s armpits. Clutching his own hands around Billy’s chest, he stood him straight up and leaned him inside the Suburban. After two tries, Ray shifted Billy’s center of gravity forward enough to twist the legs and push him forward to the rear of the second row’s bucket seats. Ray repeated the exercise with Buddy.

Ray returned to the cattle stall and removed the baking soda, the four gallons of white vinegar, and the four-pack of Hydrogen Peroxide. He quickly poured each over the bloody mess that saturated the soil where the two men had fallen. After tossing the empty containers inside with Buddy and Billy, Ray lowered the hatch and walked to the still-running pickup.

It took ten minutes longer than he’d estimated, given the rain. He repositioned Buddy’s vehicle and nearly got stuck connecting the Suburban to the flatbed trailer hidden behind the barn. One loading ramp gave Ray a fit, but he finally managed to lower it, and drive the truck onto the trailer. Thoughts of how close he had come to forgetting two chains and come-a-longs made Ray realize how easily things can go astray when you’re committing crimes.

It was twelve-thirty-five when Ray turned right onto Cox Gap Road. Phase one was complete. Phase two was just beginning. Even though it would take between three and four hours to deliver Buddy’s truck and the dead bodies, Ray was thankful for the rain. Even though wet and sloppy, it made for an excellent cover.

After two days of careful research, Ray had decided on Horse Pens 40 as the drop-off point for Buddy’s pickup. His thinking was that it would add a layer of mystery, including an alternate direction for law enforcement officers to begin their search once they found the truck. Horse Pens 40 is an outdoor nature park and campground nestled atop Chandler Mountain, thirty-two miles southwest of Ronald Archer’s Dogwood Trail farm.

Ray soaked but satisfied, did not see a sole after unloading Buddy’s truck beside the campground’s bathhouse. Again, thankful for the rain, but also for Jane’s hacking skills in accomplishing what most believed impossible. She had removed his ankle bracelet without triggering an alarm. A literal roll in the hay with the least desirable woman was a small price to pay for his eventual freedom.

***

The trip to the chosen dead body disposal site took seventy-five minutes. The location wouldn’t have occurred to Ray if it hadn’t been for pastor T. J. Miller. He often spoke of the Holy Spirit’s powerful movement during two revivals he’d preached in 2012 and 2013 at Valley Head Baptist Church.

Just as Google Maps had revealed, Church Street turned into Hammond Street. Ray made the ninety-degree turn to the left. In five seconds, he saw the Southern Properties Realty sign on the right in front of an unoccupied house that held the key to Ray’s success in disposing of Billy and Buddy’s bodies.

The driveway was narrow. Once again, Ray was thankful. This time for having temporarily parked his twenty-foot flatbed trailer behind the body shop of McLarity Ford in Fort Payne. Otherwise, he’d be stuck and unable to turn his rig around.

The owners nestled the house along the edge of a multi-thousand-acre span of forest that ran north and south along the west side of Highway 117. That thick forest engulfed the home of Alister and Gaynell Fortson. The Southern Properties listing had mentioned hiking as a valuable benefit that accompanied the Fortson’s home. This had led Ray to discover, via Google Maps, a beaten path up the mountain from the home’s detached garage. Ray hoped it was wide enough for his Suburban.

Fortunately, it was. In fact, it was wide enough to turn the vehicle around after reaching the crest of the mountain. At two minutes before 2:00 am, Ray removed the bodies and drug each southward fifty feet over the ridgeline toward Hwy. 117, hoping scavengers would do their thing before the twins were discovered. Of course, even if law enforcement found Billy and Buddy tomorrow, they wouldn’t find a clue that would implicate Ray Archer.

A hot shower couldn’t come too soon. At 3:35 AM Ray pulled his Suburban into the Lodge’s garage. He sat and reviewed his mental checklist to verify he hadn’t forgotten a thing. Buddy’s truck hidden. Check. Billy and Buddy’s bodies secreted miles from the truck. Check. The two camouflaged tarps dropped at five-mile intervals along I-59 north of Fort Payne. Check. The bag of fake money (and a host of empty cleaning containers) tossed in a garbage bin at a Jack’s Restaurant at the Collinsville exit. Check. The SIG Sauer lay at the bottom of Lillian’s pond. Check. The flatbed trailer parked inside the barn behind Lillian’s cabin (with the roll-up door closed). Check.

Phase Two was complete. Ray stayed in the shower for almost an hour.

Ray spent all day Friday and half of Saturday plotting the best way to rid his world of Billy and Buddy James.

Ray had left three messages at The Shack’s kitchen office for Billy to call. He’d also asked Wesley Jones, the restaurant’s owner, an hour ago to have Billy call.

It was five minutes before one when Billy returned his call. Ray recognized the number. “Hold on, let me go outside.” He knew it was safe to discuss only the most innocuous subjects inside his house. Lillian had dropped a recording device when he’d pushed her back against the garage stairs. Unfortunately, she’d taken it when she and Lee had left.

“Okay, but hurry. I’ve got people to feed.”

Ray exited the Lodge through the rear door and walked down the sidewalk toward the detached garage. “Thanks for waiting. I’m out of jail and have your money. When can we meet?”

The loud clanking of pots and pans and the loud cries of finished orders muffled when Billy entered his office and closed the door. “I get off at 10:00. I could drop by.”

“Not here at the Lodge. It’s too dangerous. Let’s meet at the farm. Dogwood Trail, off Cox Gap Road.” Ray had already calculated it was within the five-mile radius allowed by his ankle monitor.

“I guess I can. Send me the address and I’ll Google it.”

“After you turn right on Dogwood, keep going until you see a Remax Real Estate sign. It’ll be on your left. If you go to the dead end, you’ve missed it.” Ray stuck with his plan to discuss other business face-to-face but decided now might be better.

Billy spoke first. “Let’s be clear. You’re bringing me ten grand. In cash. Right?” The noises amplified and Billy mumbled something about a non-functioning fry machine to someone.

“That’s right. And more if you want it.” Ray paused for Billy’s curiosity to kindle.

“What’s the job this time?” Billy knew there was never a free lunch with Ray Archer.

“You’ll need Buddy. Can you bring him? I’ll explain to both. It’s worth another hundred grand. Each.” The James twins had worked for Ray long enough for him to know they couldn’t resist a financial temptation.

“It’ll be midnight before he can get here. And, just so you know, we both agree they’ll be no more fires.”

“No problem. I’ll see you in seven hours. Be on time.”

“We’ll be there. One other thing. Don’t bring anyone, especially that bastard Ted King.”

“I’ll be alone. Turn left at the Remax sign and keep going straight. I’ll be waiting at the barn.”

After ending the call, Ray returned inside the Lodge. He’d prefer staying put in his rocker underneath the porch of his detached garage. This position provided an unobstructed view of the valley below. Ray always preferred wintertime, especially days when the sun hid. The panorama of leafless trees underneath a gray, foreboding sky reminded him of life. No matter success or happiness, just beneath the surface was heartache and tragedy ready to prick his skin and remind him spring might never come.

The good thing about being inside the Lodge was the warmth. Ray added another log to the great room’s fireplace and sat eight feet away in his leather Lazy-Boy. Thoughts of the claustrophobic jail cell reminded him of important things he needed to accomplish to guarantee his long-term freedom.

Ray knew better than to let his emotions dictate his actions. Without doubt, his unrestrained libido was the direct link to his current predicament. If only he could go back and undo all the sex, surely his life would be as sublime as strawberry jam on wheat toast.

A ding from his cell brought Ray back to the present. He reached to the side table for his iPhone. It was a text from his jail mate. “They released me. Yea, and thanks. I’ll come to see you Monday at your office. Call me if you need me earlier.”

The mind is a strange beast. Orin Russell, still a teenager, was from Albertville. Ray’s sexual history anchored in that very spot. If not for Sharon Teague he might have been a virgin on his wedding night, but the promiscuous fifteen-year-old had been all accelerator, no brakes, from their first date. She’d been an excellent teacher, and Ray had been a fast learner.

But, after a year of sex (and a surprise pregnancy), Ray had grown bored and confident. That’s when Rachel Kern had moved to Boaz. She’d been a challenge, just what Ray needed. A two-month steady bombardment had destroyed the MK’s tall and thick walls of resistance, culminating fifteen months later in another unrevealed pregnancy, followed by Rachel’s return to China.

Ray knew he was wasting time and mental energy but hoped his digression would yield the motivation for what had to be done. After Rachel came Vanessa Elkins, now Clausen. The ninth grader’s willingness had reminded him of Sharon, other than the experience. Ray had become an excellent teacher himself. That intercourse had lasted a month (not counting the reconnection in college) before everything changed forever.

Ray closed his eyes and thought of the many affairs over the years, all briefly exciting, all except one. It was neither brief nor exciting. The half-century screwing of plain and formless Jane Fordham had always been a repetitious nightmare. When sex becomes a duty, it’s no longer pleasurable. Instead, it’s a sickening chore. It’s like downing a large dose of Castor oil to trigger a messy bowel movement. Ray opened his eyes and laughed out loud when he realized the insanity of the thoughts flooding his mind. Prison would be an oasis just to be free from Jane’s slavery.

So, Ray had no choice but to develop an alternative plan to rid his life of the woman who knew too much. But first things first. She wasn’t the only one who needed to begin their eternal rest.

Ray found it difficult to decide his order of service. Lee and Lillian were two bloodhounds on his trail, but he was confident the pair would never discover the deeply buried secrets. No matter the odds, Ray knew they had to go.

Another text from Orin, this one asking what time he should come Monday morning, diverted Ray’s attention to tonight’s meeting. He shouldn’t miss this opportunity. It might prove difficult to replicate the privacy needed for what had to be done. Plus, Billy and Buddy, especially Buddy, were currently the biggest threat to Ray’s freedom. The stocky man could easily trade his knowledge for a sweet deal with the DA, resulting in Ray’s fast march to an eight-by-eight jail cell.

As promised, the back door was open. I wondered if Kyla’s late ‘need to use your bathroom’ trick was the reason.

I walked into a long narrow den overfilled with furniture.

Lillian followed. “Jane’s parents added the deck and this room when we were in high school.” I couldn’t help but think of Mom and Dad here two years ago.

I walked forward three steps and stopped, resting my hands on the top of a love seat. New Year’s Eve 2018 had been Blaine and Zadie Fordham’s turn. My parents and Jane’s folks had alternated hosting the end-of-year party for countless years. The thought of that happy and lighthearted evening was smothering. “This is like going back in time.”

Lillian stood beside me and rested her hand on mine. “It’s so sad. And to know that Blaine and Zadie would suffer the same fate.” I shook my head sideways and was reminded how unfair life can be. It was nigh unbelievable that the Fordham’s had died in a car accident mid-July 2019 while returning from a week’s vacation in Gulf Shores.

I didn’t need or want to think of death. Plus, Lillian and I had work to do. “Come on, let’s get with it.” I eased through the den, meandering around chairs, tables, and piles of books, magazines and newspapers.

“You’re headed to the kitchen. The bedrooms are this way.” I’d missed the sliding glass door to our right when we’d entered from the deck. Curtains hung from ceiling to floor.

“I want to see the entire house. This way probably ends up in the same spot.”

“Okay.” Lillian said, walking to me and the cased opening leading to the utility room. “Can you imagine living in one spot your entire life?”

“Jane?” I hadn’t thought about it. I knew she had never married, but I’d assumed she had moved back to her home place after her parents died.

“Yes. Jane’s been here for sixty-six years.” Lillian nudged me forward when I looked through a half-glassed door onto a carport.

“That too is sad.” The kitchen was a rectangle about as long as the add-on den but felt wider.

“This room used to be the kitchen and the den.” Lillian pointed to the far end. “During their remodel, they removed this wall.” She pointed as she walked to the other end of the room. “What used to be the living room is now the dining room.” I joined Lillian and saw a large table, a buffet, and a china cabinet. So far, the floors, except for the carpeted den, were cheap linoleum.

“I take it you came here a lot while growing up.” Lillian nodded affirmatively and disappeared into an adjoining hallway.

I almost opened the front door to my left but joined Lillian instead. By now, she was inside a bedroom at the end of the hall. There was a closed door to my left. “This was Blaine and Zadie’s bedroom.”

The room was small, just large enough for a regular size double bed, an upright chest of drawers, and a mismatched dresser with a cracked mirror. I walked inside and to my right, past a small bathroom and a narrow closet with its door wide-open. Nothing but clothes. “I don’t think we’ll find anything here.”

“Two more bedrooms. Come on.” Lillian walked back into the hall and turned right, opening a closed door as she moved forward. I heard the click of a light switch. Before I could exit the master, Lillian semi-yelled: “oh my god.”

I was equally shocked when I arrived. Photographs, large and small, and countless newspapers clippings, filled the back wall. We both eased forward like zombies. The only furniture was a small wooden desk and chair in the middle of the room. Along the walls to the right and left were three-foot-high narrow tables lined with books and supported by heavy angelic-looking bookends. They reminded me of Rachel’s Heavenly figurine collection. “Ray Archer,” I said before I reached the back wall.

It didn’t take Lillian but one visual pass across the huge montage to see something that caught her eye. “Damn, look at this.” I edged her way. “This has to be Ray and Jane at the Valentine’s Dance.” The photo was an eight by ten color photo of a tall, muscular Ray with a solemn face standing beside a skinny girl with a giant smile and heavily make-upped face. I hardly recognized her.

I gazed around the central photo. It was the only one that included Jane. All others were of Ray, including his senior portrait and several feature shots of him playing sports: football, basketball, and baseball. There was one of him standing outside his red Mustang. Newspaper articles encircled the photos. After a cursory glance, I concluded they dealt with Ray’s professional career. Those across the top and down the left side focused on his pharmacy empire, from the first operation on Mill Avenue to the last sale of 232 stores to Walgreen’s in 2015. The articles underneath and to the right concerned Rylan’s. In two of these articles, Jane, someone, highlighted several sentences. I chose not to read.

“God almighty, you got to see this.” Lillian snapped her fingers and head motioned me to her side. During my focus on Ray’s photographs and media coverage, she had slid to the left of the back wall’s central window. I had subconsciously assumed that half-wall contained more of the same. It didn’t.

Like the Valentine’s Dance photo of Ray and Jane, this wall contained a central feature. It was a young girl sitting upright in a metal bed. She was wearing a white tee-shirt or gown and was holding a baby, a very tiny baby. “Who’s that?” I asked, squinting my eyes while moving my head closer to the smaller picture. My conclusion shocked me.

I silently breathed to myself, that’s Rachel, the instant Lillian said, “She never had an abortion.” The words sounded like she spoke to them from a faraway foghorn, distorting enunciation and emphasis. I couldn’t tell if Lillian was making a statement or asking a question.

“Oh my God.” I asked Lillian to read the hand-printed text below the photo since I couldn’t.

“The chosen one. Elita Ann Kern. Born June 1, 1970.” Lillian started counting backwards, “May, April, March, February…” My mind and ears stopped working. It was like someone flipped the switch off. I backed myself to Jane’s desk and sat along the edge. I don’t know how many times Lillian said it, but I finally heard, “Lee, talk to me.”

She walked to me and took my face in her hands. “This is too much.” I’m sure I mumbled.

“It’s too shocking. Now I know for certain Rachel lied to me.” Her competing stories about the pistol seemed unimportant, nothing like the deception I’d just experienced. Lillian pulled me into her bosom and rubbed my head.

“Maybe she was trying to protect you.” Lillian’s words were the dumbest I’d ever heard. They made me mad. The hair on my neck bristled. My eyes shot poison rays towards the immoral woman in front of me. I stood, causing Lillian to stumble backwards.

“You can be so stupid. Rachel had a baby. She didn’t even know I existed.”

“Lee,” Lillian reached for my hand as I returned to the wall. “I’m sorry. My statement made no sense. What I should have said was that not telling you all your married life was her way of protecting you.”

“You’re right. And I’m sorry for my response. Come here.” We returned to Rachel’s picture. For the first time, I scanned the wall encircling the baby photo. Jane had covered the wall to the left of the window with newspaper clippings and hand-scribbled notes whose subject was Rachel Ann Kern, my deceased wife.

“Jane was not only obsessed with Ray, but Rachel also obsessed with her. Look here.” Lillian had removed the push pin holding a 4 by 6 card. “It’s yours and Rachel’s wedding invitation.” I ignored it and kept scanning the wall.

“Here’s the bulletin from mine and Rachel’s college graduation. How the heck did Jane get this? I sure don’t recall her coming to Charlottesville.”

“Jane must be omniscient.” Lillian said, repining the invitation and pointing to another picture. This one to her left and higher on the wall. “How did she get an article from Australia? Uncanny.” I moved next to her and started reading the text.

The Blue Mountains Gazette had chosen “Dream Comes True for Local Couple,” for the article’s title. Frank and Gina Packer had been home less than a week with their newly adopted daughter. The June 8th, 1970, story described the Packer’s long attempt to have children on their own. Two paragraphs on in vitro fertilization led to the end of the page. “Continued on Page 9” was italicized. Lillian flipped the semi-yellowed paper. There, in the lower right corner, was another photograph, no doubt showing the Packer’s, with Gina holding a pink clad little girl with two green ribbons tied to her jet-black hair. The caption underneath the photo said they took it at the couple’s Blue Mountains cabin. A newspaper used color photography over a half-century ago. Amazing.

Lillian and I finished the article, learning the Packer’s were prominent citizens of Sydney, and had made their fortune in iron ore mining. My guess is the couple was in their mid-forties. “What’s your conclusion?” I asked. I knew my own but wanted to hear Lillian’s.

“It’s not dispositive, but the Packers are the couple who adopted Rachel’s baby. Especially since Jane posted this clipping on ‘Rachel’s wall.’” Lillian handed me the article and used both hands to signal quotation marks.

While I kept staring at 16-year-old Rachel in the hospital bed holding her baby daughter, Lillian removed several newspaper clippings and returned to Jane’s desk. “I wonder if Rachel sent these.”

“To Jane? What are they?” I needed to stay near Rachel.

Lillian sat and paused a minute to review the articles. “All are from the New Haven Register. Two concerns. One’s about Rachel being teacher of the year at Amity High School. The other shows her with a student who made straight A’s her senior year.”

“2008. The student was Isabella Lopez, a special needs girl Rachel taught and tutored for three years.” The memory of a teacher and student spending hours on Saturdays in Rachel’s basement flooded my mind. “What about the others?”

“A group of cheerleaders, including Leah. One is dated May 18, 2004. The next one is Leah and three others winning the regional debate tournament.” I could see Lillian had stacked these to her left. She was staring at another photograph in the last article. “Lee, come here.” I guessed it might be Lyndell running track or pitching a baseball.

Lillian stood and clutched the article to her breast. She insisted I sit. I followed her instructions and again was shocked by what she laid on the desk in front of me. “Reward” blazoned across the top of a flier stapled to the newspaper clipping. I continued to read, searching for a date. There wasn’t one, but I soon figured it out. Fifteen-year-old Elita had run away. The Packer’s offered a million dollars for information that lead to her discovery and return.

Lillian leaned over my shoulder to read the smaller text below the teenager’s ninth grade school photo. “Elita was last seen by a driver for Maxi Cabs who dropped her off at Sydney Kingsford Smith Airport.”

My iPhone chirped the second I flipped back to the newspaper article. It was from Kyla. “We’re fifteen minutes from Jane’s. She’s stopped for gas. The movie was horrible, so she insisted we leave.”

“Change of plans. We need to go.” I showed Lillian the text.

“Quick. I’ll snap some photos and you explore Jane’s desk.” Lillian removed her iPhone from her jeans and returned to the back wall.

I rolled the chair backwards and opened the lower right drawer. As expected, stuffed with file folders. I read a few labels, Elita, Leah, Ray, The Packer’s, and decided it was time to leave. “Lillian, let’s go.”

“Just a minute.” I could tell she was video recording everything on both sides of the window. I stood and walked to the bookshelf closest to the bedroom door. After seeing half the books read ‘Diary’ on their spines, I whispered, “shit, shit, shit,” knowing that Lillian and I were likely leaving a ton of relevant information tucked inside this room.

When I backed the Hyundai onto King Street, Lillian ordered me to, “go back, we forgot.” I rejected her demand and drove north towards Summerville Road.

“It’s too risky.” I couldn’t believe we’d been so distracted and left the stack of newspaper articles on top of Jane’s desk.