“Would it be possible for someone to slip the ’Merica Pennsylvania into something you consumed?” the doc asked. I didn’t correct his pronunciation since I couldn’t tell if he was trying to be funny or not.
I was too tired to think straight. “I can’t imagine how, especially if no one else I was with today got sick.”
The doctor nodded. “Then I’m going to go with a suspected stomach virus. But if you don’t feel better in the next couple of days, follow up with your regular doctor to see if something else could be going on.”
I nodded and glanced over at the IV bag hanging from a nearby pole. Almost empty, thank goodness.
The doctor left and sent Summer in to start the process of getting us out of there. “By the time we get the paperwork finished up, you should be good to go with the drip.”
Sure enough, after saying good night to Chaya, who’d told me very sternly that we’d be having a talk about my life choices very soon, we were loading back up in my vehicle within thirty minutes and on our way to the farm. Sam must have known, without me needing to say anything, that I wanted to sleep in my own bed that night.
When we got to the house, I was relieved to see nothing amiss. Sam forced me to take a shower and brush my teeth before sliding into bed, but when I finally did, I groaned in relief.
“I’ll be right next door in the guest room,” he murmured, pulling the sheets up past my shoulders and reaching to turn off the lamp.
I didn’t want him in the guest bed. I wanted him plastered to my body as tightly as humanly possible.
“Stay,” I said in a rough voice that sounded way too desperate. “Please.”
He didn’t say a word. He simply stripped down to his underwear and slid in beside me. I shifted over and lay against the warm, solid length of him before finally exhaling and letting myself go.
Several hours later, I awoke from a tangle of twisted dreams. “Smoke!” I cried out, sitting up fast enough to make me almost tumble off the bed with dizziness.
21
Sam
At first, I assumed he’d been having a nightmare about the fire, but once I woke up enough to really listen to what Truman was saying, I realized that’s not at all what he was talking about.
“They went outside to smoke! The baby was born after eleven, and the men went outside for cigars.”
It took me a minute to wake up enough to process what he was implying.
Gene Stanner, or any of the Stanners, really, could have left from there, set the fire, and then come back in for the rest of the celebrations. The nurses who’d claimed to see them there wouldn’t have necessarily kept track of which Stanners were there during which of those several hours.
“Jesus, babe,” I said in a sleep-roughened voice. “You’re right. But I’m not sure we can call the fire inspectors at…” I glanced at my phone. “Three in the morning.”
“No, no, of course not. No. But, god. I was starting to think all kinds of things about who could have set the fire. I even thought after last night that maybe Barney had,” he said with a soft laugh.
I had to admit to having had the same thoughts, although I wasn’t sure what his motive would be exactly, and it was hard to think of the older man as a felon after a quiet life spent as the town’s librarian. I had to admit that at least part of my bias against the man was caused by my possessiveness over Truman.
I lay back and rubbed my face. “Maybe he wanted to marry you for the insurance money,” I teased. “Convince you to become a househusband and see to his every literary and sexual need.”
Truman shuddered and snuggled close to me. “I can’t imagine closing the shop. Besides, he’s independently wealthy. His parents own some important company somewhere, and he grew up rich. So maybe he would want a househusband, but that’s definitely not me.”
I didn’t particularly want to talk about Barney Balderson in the middle of the night while in bed with Truman, so I was about to change the subject. But his stomach rumbled loudly before I had a chance to say anything.
“You must be starving,” I said instead. “How do you feel?”
He took a minute to think about it before nodding. “So much better, but yeah. I’m hungry.”
We got up and made our way out to the kitchen to forage, pulling out eggs and bread for toast and pouring large glasses of ice water. I wanted to make sure Truman was staying hydrated, and I returned to his bedroom to retrieve a sweatshirt once I realized how chilly it was in the kitchen.
I urged him to sit down while I scrambled some eggs for us. “It makes sense it was Gene all along,” I said. “You recognized his truck last year when Mikey and Pim were hit. You recognized it again this week with me on the mountain. And thanks to the nurse, we know his alibi wasn’t as tight as it could have been the night of the fire. Now all we need to do is find someone willing to arrest him.”
“Mikey’s going to never want to speak to me again,” Truman said miserably before laying his head down on the kitchen table. “I’ve ruined everything.” He pulled his head up again and met my eye. “You’re his best friend. Tell me how to make this right.”
I knew he was referring to keeping the identity of the vehicle secret from Pim, Bill, and Mikey last December, and honestly, I wasn’t sure how to counsel him on it.
“I think you need to sit down with Tiller and Mikey and tell them what you saw and explain why you didn’t speak up. You need to describe the fear you felt and the years of harassment. It’s probably not necessary to remind them that reporting the identity to the sheriff would have resulted in your witness statement being deliberately downplayed or ignored, and it certainly would have meant the sheriff finding a way to protect his own brother from legal trouble.” I shrugged and stirred the eggs in the pan. “Mikey and Tiller really care about you, Truman. I think they’ll understand even if they’re disappointed.”
“So you do think they’ll be disappointed in me.”
“I think they’ll be disappointed you didn’t feel you could trust them to help you fight the Stanners sooner. But it’s understandable considering you didn’t know them very well at the time. They also were simply tourists back then. They were going to be in and out of town whereas you’re the one who had to live here under the Stanners’ thumb.”
Truman took a minute to think it through before nodding decisively. “I want to tell them. I want to go over in the morning and tell them before I chicken out.”
“Good man,” I said, turning the stove off and plating our meal. “Voilà. First breakfast is served. It’s not nearly as good as second breakfast will be, but it’ll at least get you started with something easy on your stomach.”
As we ate, I decided to lighten the mood a little in an effort to distract him.
“Little-known fact about Samson Rigby,” I said. “I was once a bartender at a place called Bum Shakers.”
Truman’s eyes widened, quickly followed by his lips. “No kidding?”
I shook my head. “A dancing bartender, actually. It’s a huge club in Houston with scantily clad servers. It’s actually called Rum Shakers, but no one calls it that. I wore cutoff jean shorts with enough holes in them to necessitate waxing. Never again, Truman Sweet. Never again will I have a perfectly friendly stranger rip the hair off my junk to make a quick buck.”