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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

She coughed and let out a ragged breath. “Earlier this morning, my ex-husband, Butch, was found murdered at his home in Pulaski.”

Bo creased his eyebrows. As a lawyer in Giles County for close to twenty-five years, Bo had crossed paths with Butch Renfroe a few times, but not often. Butch’s arena was in the corporate and tax world, and Bo focused on litigation. “I’m . . . sorry,” Bo said.

“I’m here because I need a lawyer.”

Bo narrowed his gaze and took a step closer to her. “You need a lawyer?” Above them, the rain’s constant patter on the roof had slackened, but a jolt of thunder rang out, causing Bo’s chest and arms to tense. When Helen didn’t respond, Bo asked the obvious follow-up question. “Why?”

Helen sighed. “Because I’m going to be arrested for Butch’s murder.”

16

16

At 11:00 p.m., the Giles County Sheriff’s Office was a zoo of people, movement, and noise. It had been thirteen hours since dispatch had been notified of the death of local attorney Butch Renfroe, and all hands were still on deck. Murder was a rarity in Pulaski, and the intentional killing of a prominent professional was almost unheard of. Not since Andy Walton’s brutal killing almost four years earlier had a homicide so captured the pulse of the town.

The phones hadn’t stopped ringing all day, most of the calls being from press outlets across Tennessee, but there were also a few offers of help from the sheriff’s offices and police departments of neighboring counties and towns.

Inside his private office, Sheriff Hank Springfield sipped scalding hot coffee from a Styrofoam cup and gazed out the glass walls to the hallway and the lobby beyond, where he counted at least four deputies fielding phone calls and completing paperwork. Hank sighed and spoke in a tired voice. “Run it down for me again,” he said.

Sitting across the office from Hank in a high-backed worn-leather chair was Chief Deputy Sheriff Frances Storm. Frannie was a light-skinned black woman in her late twenties. At just over six feet tall and 140 pounds, she was thinner than when she had starred at David Lipscomb College as a power forward on the women’s basketball team. After college and a brief stint in the WNBA, Frannie had returned home to Pulaski, where she’d started as a patrol officer in the Pulaski Police Department. When Hank became sheriff, he’d hired Frannie as a deputy, and she’d worked her way up to chief. There was no one in the department whom Hank trusted more.