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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

Bo turned his head in time to see the door slamming shut.

fleuron

For a long time, Bo sat in the kitchen of the farmhouse and gazed out the bay window at the rain. Lee Roy had walked over to him and lay at his feet, and every so often, Bo leaned over and rubbed his hand over the bulldog’s fur. “I’ve made a mess of things, boy,” he said, thinking about what a strange day it had been. Bo let out a ragged breath.

He needed to talk with someone, and in his lifetime, there had been only one person he’d ever turned to for advice.

Bo rose to his feet and walked to the liquor cabinet, squinting at the various options before choosing a bottle of Jim Beam. Then he trudged toward the front door.

“Come on, boy,” he said, and Lee Roy followed him outside and into the rain.

Bo walked past the empty carport, barely taking notice of the fact that the Sequoia was gone.

He wouldn’t need a car for the journey he was about to take.

18

18

By the time Helen reached the Giles County line, the rain was pouring sideways, making visibility scarce. Turning her wipers on full blast, she hit her hazard lights and pulled over on the shoulder of Highway 64.

Helen waited for several minutes. A part of her hoped that the rain would subside so that she could finish this trip and face whatever awaited her; the other part prayed that the precipitation would drone on forever. That eventually, her car would be engulfed by water and carried away on a tide to some far-off place where she could start life anew. A utopia where she had never made the mistakes that had brought her to this point.

Helen grabbed her cell phone from the passenger seat, which she’d turned off during the entire time she had been at the farm. She looked at the blank screen and hesitated, noticing that the rain was only falling harder. Finally, knowing she couldn’t delay the inevitable forever, she clicked it on. A few seconds later, she was greeted with the ding that indicated she had received several new text messages. Holding her breath, Helen quickly filtered through them.

The first, received at 5:07 p.m., was from Gloria. Give me a call. Need to talk. The second, also from Gloria, came in at 5:38 p.m. Where are you? Call me as soon as you get this message.

Though a bit unsettling—Gloria rarely called or texted Helen after hours—those texts didn’t upset her nearly as much as the third. It was from Sheriff Springfield, received at 6:00 p.m. General, we need to talk as soon as possible. I came by your office and you weren’t there, and I also drove by your house and couldn’t find you. Where are you? Call me, please. It’s an emergency.