Page 22 of Bitter Falls

My knee-jerk reaction is to correct the honorific toMs., but I don’t. I don’t know what’s going on here. They seem so incredibly down-home genuine, but that’s not who the Belldenes are, and I know that. They’re hardened criminals.

And they broughtmeatloaf.

“Thank you,” I say, and accept the heavy Pyrex dish from her. Close up, the illusion of the kindly older lady fades; her eyes are too sharp, too emotionless.

The meatloaf smells of sage and tangy sauce. I’ll bet it’s delicious.

“I’ll let my partner, Sam, know you stopped by,” I tell them, and I don’t miss the little flicker of anger that disrupts Jasper Belldene’s cozy smile, like a flash of static in a signal. “He’ll be sorry he missed you.”

“We’re real sorry we missedhim,” Lilah says, and I hear the not-so-sly double meaning. I want to be my usual bitchy, confrontational self, but this isn’t the right moment. They’re putting on a show. And I need to find out why.

Besides, they’ve very effectively tied my hands in holding the damn casserole dish.

I realize that whatever they intend, this isn’t just a covered-dish exchange. They want to talk. The meatloaf is the food equivalent of a white flag, and I admit it: I’m curious what they really want. So I wave to the kids to let them know everything’s okay, and then I walk to the door and open it, turn off the alarm while I balance the dish, and aim what I hope is a radiant smile on the two Belldenes. “Can I ask you in for coffee?”

“Well,” Jasper says. “Can’t turn down good coffee. Don’t mind if we do, do we, Mother?”

Mother.I shudder a little. Icouldhave accepted the gift and sent them on their way, but that isn’t southern polite protocol, and from the smooth, instant way Belldene accepts, it’s what he wanted.

Lanny drives our SUV up and parks it beside the big, muddy truck. She and Connor get out and head inside, and as I set the dish down on the kitchen counter, I see the look that the Belldenes exchange as my children enter the doorway. It’s like two robots exchanging information, and it feels eerily dispassionate. Then the smiles are back, and Jasper gives a hearty chuckle and says, “Well, well, and who are these fine kids now?”

They don’t introduce themselves. They look to me. “My daughter, Lanny, and my son, Connor,” I say. “Say hi, kids.”

“Hi,” they say in unison. Unenthusiastically. Lanny looks at me with an obvious question in her eyes:Are you okay?I don’t honestly know right now, but one thing I’m absolutely sure about: I don’t want them in the middle. Connor’s doing a good job of keeping a blank expression, but I’m very mindful of how he reacted to his last crisis.

“Kids, you’d better get to your rooms and do those lessons,” I tell them. “You’ve got four hours of school time to log today.”

“Yes, Mom,” Lanny says, which is the easiest agreement I think I’ve ever heard from her. Connor follows her into her room, and the door closes behind them. I can’t hear it, but I imagine they’re furiously whispering to each other, trying to figure out what to do. I hope Lanny’s conclusion is to do nothing, at least until she hears some sign of trouble. And then if something pops off, I hope her decision will be to grab her brother, get out the window, and run for the SUV. She’s kept the keys, I notice. Smart girl.

Once the door’s shut, I turn on the coffeepot. Hot liquid can be a weapon. I get down cups that could break into jagged pieces for cutting instruments. When you’re in fear of your life, everything around you can be useful. Everything.

And it all looks so outwardly normal. I’m aware of the Belldenes sitting in my living room like land mines, and I make enough coffee to fill two mugs and bring it out on a small tray with cream and sugar.

I settle in the chair nearest the door and watch as they adjust their coffee—she takes cream and sugar, he only takes sugar—and smack their lips appreciatively. “Sorry I don’t have any snacks,” I tell them. “I didn’t expect you. Well, not to show up so politely, I mean. I was looking for something more direct. Shooting up the house, maybe. Or a brisk round of firebombing.”

The good manners stay, but the smiles disappear on both of them. “Now, now, Mrs. Proctor,” the Belldene patriarch says reproachfully, and stirs his coffee some more. “If I’d wanted any of you dead, you’d damn well be dead.”

I let the hatefulMrs.go this time. “You left a rattlesnake in my mailbox last year!” I’m angry now that the gloves are off, and I’m not shy about it. “One of my kids could have been bitten!”

“Awww, just a timber rattler, and it was milked first. I been bit by the damn things a dozen times, ain’t no big deal. Hospital’s got plenty of antivenin.”

“And it wasn’t our idea anyway,” his wife chimes in. “That was our boy Jesse’s bright notion. He ain’t got no damn sense. We just told him to send y’all a warning.”

“Warning for what?”

They exchange a long look. “I knew city people were dumb, but this fills up the whole bucket,” Jasper says, and articulates the next two words very precisely. “To leave.We’d like you to get the hell out of our county, pretty please. Our state, if you can manage. We want y’all gone.”

“Not personal,” Lilah puts in crisply. “But you stir things up like mud in a pond, and worse, you brought all those reporter people poking around. People just love to see themselves on TV and in the papers, so they say things they shouldn’t. Your family moves on somewhere else, things will settle.”

“Bad press,” I say, and they nod. “You think I’m bringing youbad press?” I have to hold in a wild laugh. “Thedrug dealersdon’t approve of me?”

“Now, that’s never been proved in a court of law,” Jasper says indignantly, “and ain’t right for you to go spreading falsehoods. But even if we did have a little supply for folks as need it, we’re just performing a service; we didn’t get all these folks addicted to fancy painkillers and then cut them off and leave them desperate. That was your rich doctors and pill companies. Besides, none of that holds a candle to whatyoudid.”

“I didn’t do—”

“Child.” Lilah leans forward. “You were that man’s wife. Now, I’ve been married to this old man for pretty near my whole life, and there ain’t a thing he does I don’t know about. Whatever you made that jury believe, I know you knew. Maybe you didn’t help him kill any of those women, maybe you did, I’m not judging. But don’t try to sell me that load of pinfeathers.”

The absurdity grabs me by the throat, and it’s all I can do to hold back a bark of a laugh. These people—leaders of a criminal gang, the worst in this county, at the very least—thinkI’mtoo terrible to remain their neighbor. There’s absolutely no point in telling them I didn’t know about Melvin’s crimes. Lilah Belldene won’t have any sympathy or understanding for who I was: a sheltered young woman hemmed in by my own fear. Melvin had done a great job of keeping his secrets. And whatever I might have guessed, my own fear had taught me to ignore.

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