Box

50

Dr. Gideon Box.

I can’t believe Renee’s still awake. I stretched my dinner into an eighty-minute marathon, and kept her talking long enough that she’s consumed an entire bottle of wine. With the cobbler finally gone, there’s nothing left to do but paint her nails.

She positions herself on the bed, with four pillows propping her upper torso. She’s still naked from the waist down. Her legs are spread apart to give me the full view of her orange, heart-shaped bush. But just above it, I’ve got another view. She’s resting the butt of the gun on her stomach, aiming it point blank at my chest.

I open the nail polish, and paint her toe nails as slowly as humanly possible, hoping she’ll fall asleep before I finish.

“You’re being very meticulous,” she says. “I like that.”

“You know what else you might like?” I say.

“What’s that, honey?”

“A foot massage.”

That should put her to sleep and prevent me from having to receive detailed instructions in the art of giving oral to a crazy person.

“A foot massage,” she says, dreamily. “How thoughtful. Yes, I’d like that, Darrell. Maybe we could do that after you kiss me. Down there.”

Did she just call me Darrell?

She did.

And things start coming together for me.

I say, “It must have been quite a shock when Trudy and Darrell found out they were brother and sister.”

She gives me a long look and says, “That sounds like a lot of information for a waitress to give during a dinner service. And since we’re on the subject, I never believed for a minute my Daddy strung you up for pecking Trudy’s cheek after bringing your meal.”

“I have to admire your father. Scooter.”

“Why?”

“If I found out my wife had a baby with another man, I’d probably resent her and the kid.”

“That speaks to a character flaw in you, Gideon. A flaw you’ll be able to correct, with my help.”

“Scooter and Darrell have become very close, considering they’re not related.”

“My father’s a loving, giving man.”

“You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think your father and Darrell helped you kill your husband and best friend. And then I think you returned the favor by killing Aunt Lori when she won the lottery.”

“She died from cancer.”

“From what I understand, Lori’s cancer was in remission. I think you found a quicker way to get the money in Darrell’s hands.”

“Good luck proving that. Aunt Lori was cremated.”

“You know what else I think?”

“What?”

“I think you hung Trudy’s mother and made it look like an accident. And I don’t think Scooter and Darrell know anything about that.”

“Is that Trudy’s theory?” she says.

I notice her eyelids are getting heavy. She’s got to be drunk enough to pass out. If I can just keep her talking long enough, she’ll drift off on her own, peacefully.

“Is that what Trudy thinks?” she says.

“No. It’s what I think.”

She closes her eyes for several seconds. Then opens them and says, “Anything else?”

“Yeah.”

“Go ahead, then. Spill it all.”

“I think somewhere along the line Darrell’s done some toenail painting and bud blooming of his own.”

She smiles. “I said it before. You’ve got a fine mind, Gideon. If true, there’d be no shame in it. Darrell and I aren’t related.”

“Except through marriage.”

“You’re quibbling.”

“Am I right?” I say. “About everything I said?”

“If I did all those things, would it help you admire me?”

“Possibly.”

“I wonder. Still, I doubt you’d admire someone foolish enough to admit to a crime.”

“There are no police here. Just us.”

“I think I’ll let your theories about me remain unanswered. But I would like to know one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“How can you possibly believe I hung Lucy?”

“It’s your father’s execution method of choice.”

“Maybe he hung her.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You think I did it hoping to please him? If so, why wouldn’t I tell him?”

“You couldn’t. You had no way of knowing how he’d react to his daughter hanging his wife. I think you hung her for a different reason.”

“I’d love to hear it.”

“I think you grew up hating her, and blamed her for taking Scooter out of your life.”

“I won’t deny that. But why would I hang her?”

“To experience what your father feels when he hangs someone. You thought it would help you feel connected to him.”

“I wonder if you’ll try to run these theories past the police.”

“You think I give a shit about any of those people? Your husband, your best friend, your Aunt Lori, your step-mother, Lucy?”

“I think you care about Trudy. And might want to share your feelings about how her mother died.”

“I’ll tell you the truth. I never had sex with Trudy. But we did kiss, and I felt her up over her clothes. That’s it, and that’s the truth. Yes, I was hoping for more. But Scooter came along and bashed me in the head, dragged me to a barn, and tried to hang me. The beam broke and brought half the roof down on top of us. I was uninjured, Scooter sustained a broken leg. End of story.”

“My Daddy’s leg is broken?”

“You didn’t know?”

The look on her face says she didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“For what?”

“He’s in the hospital in Starbucks. And hasn’t contacted you.”

“He’s probably still sedated.”

“Renee, if there’s one positive thing I can say for you, apart from your ability to kill, and your willingness to fuck total strangers, it’s that you’ve got a wonderful, nurturing spirit.”

“Thank you, Gideon.”

“It must be hard on you to realize your father doesn’t trust you to take care of him.”

“He’ll contact me when he gets out of the hospital,” she says. “He always does, and always will.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“We’ll nurse him back to health in no time! You’ll see.”

“We?”

“You and me.”

“The man tried to hang me. Why would I take care of him?”

“For one thing, you’re a doctor. For another, you took an oath. For another, it would help you clear up this silly misunderstanding.”

“What misunderstanding?”

“My father never tried to hang you.”

“I’ve got a rope burn says you’re wrong.”

“What you’ve got is an active imagination. And imagination’s a wonderful thing. It helps provide a context for our knowledge and experiences, and helps us make sense of the world around us.”

“Do you ever get tired of hearing your voice?”

She sighs. “I’ve tried, Gideon. I really have. But while I’ve tried to bring you joy, you’ve treated me with contempt, and scorn.”

“Does this mean you’re ready to end our partnership?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Good. Because I’d rather bathe with pacus than be in a relationship with you.”

“What are pacus?”

“Testicle-eating fish.”

“You’re just plain rude, aren’t you?”

“I am for a fact. And you know why I’m comfortable saying all this?”

“No.”

“Because you don’t have the guts to shoot me.”

“You honestly believe that?”

“Sort of,” I say. “I mean, I know you’re a cold-blooded murderer, and I’m certain you’d shoot me without batting an eye. But not here. Not now. There’s no way you could explain it to the police. And it would open the door to closer scrutiny of your other crimes.”

“So where does that put us?”

“I believe it allows me to walk out of here unscathed. Which is exactly what I plan to do.”

I stand.

She raises the gun, aims it at my chest, and says, “Tell me again why I can’t shoot you?”

“Because if you wound me, I’ll give eye-witness testimony against you. And if you kill me, my corpse will put you away for the rest of your life. Face it, Renee, you’re screwed.”

She pulls the trigger.