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Back Legacy of Lies Save as PDF
Chapters (88)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  3. DEDICATION
  4. CONTENTS
  5. PART ONE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. PART TWO
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. PART THREE
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. 50
  58. 51
  59. 52
  60. 53
  61. 54
  62. 55
  63. 56
  64. 57
  65. 58
  66. 59
  67. PART FOUR
  68. 60
  69. 61
  70. 62
  71. 63
  72. 64
  73. 65
  74. 66
  75. 67
  76. 68
  77. 69
  78. 70
  79. 71
  80. 72
  81. 73
  82. 74
  83. 75
  84. 76
  85. 77
  86. EPILOGUE
  87. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  88. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

“You’re bluffing,” she said, her voice a low growl. “You don’t have the balls to blackmail me.”

“I wish this was a bluff.” He paused. “You have until opening statements begin.”

“I’m going to kill you!” she screamed. “I swear to God, Butch, as Jesus Christ is my witness, I will kill you dead.”

He smiled, and his eyes shot to a spot behind Helen before meeting her eye. “I love you too.”

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Once Butch had fled through the double doors, Helen clenched her fists and let out a scream. She wheeled toward the chair she had been sitting in toward the back of the jury, and that was when she saw the figure standing at the door to the judge’s chambers.

Gloria Sanchez’s face had gone pale, and her back was against the door.

“What are you doing?” Helen asked.

“I dropped off our requested jury charges and thought I’d see how things were going in here. Since the judge has taken the afternoon off, Clarice let me cut through his chambers.” She paused. “Are you OK? Your hands are shaking.”

Helen clasped her right hand in her left and then rubbed them both against her skirt. “I’m fine.” She started to walk toward the double doors but then stopped and squinted back at Gloria. “How much of . . .” She waved a hand at the gallery. “. . . that did you see?”

Gloria shrugged. “A few seconds maybe. I had just walked in. Long enough to hear him tell you he loved you.” She gave a nervous smile. “Who was that?”

Helen smirked. “An asshole of biblical proportions.”

“Oh . . . I thought he might be your ex-husband.”

“One and the same,” Helen said, her stomach twisting into a knot as her mind drifted back to Butch’s threat. One and the same . . .

7

7

Butch Renfroe’s mother liked to say that her only son was “sorry.”

Now, Gladys Renfroe didn’t mean “sorry” in the sense that a person was apologetic or regretful but rather the lesser-known and undeniably southern definition of the word.

Useless. Wretched. Pitiful. If a person needed a picture to illustrate this meaning, Butch figured that a snapshot of himself would do the trick.

I’m a sorry son of a bitch, he thought, gazing at his reflection through the display window of Reeves Drugs on the Giles County Courthouse square.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket, and he grabbed it without glancing at the screen. He knew who was calling just as sure as he knew that his ex-wife wouldn’t be backed into a corner.

“Yeah,” he answered.

“Did you deliver the message?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“She said she was going to kill me.” Butch winced at himself through the glass.

For a good fifteen seconds, there was silence on the other end of the line. Then the voice, low and deliberate, responded. “Sounds like you’re a dead man, then.”

8

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