Chapter Four

The book club was in full swing when Paul Sullivan got the all-clear from the parish sheriff about Turner property and went to give Calvin the news.

“Hey, Cal. We just got the okay to get photos at the Turner place. I need you over there now before the looters show up looking for scrap to sell. Better take a disposable mask, too.”

He started to walk away, and as he did, glanced at the back of Cal’s neck and grinned. “Dang, Cal. That’s an epic hickey you’re supporting. Did she suck your brains out with it?”

Cal froze. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Paul poked the back of Cal’s neck. “That hickey right there. That’s what I’m talking about. I haven’t seen one that perfect since high school.”

Then he laughed and walked away.

Cal’s heart was pounding as he reached for the back of his neck. He couldn’t feel it, but he remembered how it had happened. Tansy was like a damn spider monkey in bed. Climbing all over him, grabbing and licking and biting. Dang it, Tansy .

Bitsy surely hadn’t seen it yet, or she would have beheaded him where he stood, but he was going to have to conceal it or come up with a different, but plausible, explanation for what had caused it until it faded. But first things first.

He went to get the camera from the supply room, checked to make sure the SIM card was in it and the battery charged, then he grabbed a mask from a box on the shelf and headed out the door.

**

On the other side of town, Fisher Means had been going down the list of motels Bitsy had given him, calling them all and identifying himself as Calvin Yarbrough. He fed them all the same story about losing a watch and wondering if they’d found it.

He was on the phone with the desk clerk at the Sleep-Inn Motel when he saw the tracker on Cal’s truck begin to move. He kept an eye on it as he continued his conversation.

“I don’t often wear a watch, which is why I didn’t realize it was missing,”

Fisher said. “It might help me narrow down the window if you could remind me of the last date I was there.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Yarbrough,”

the clerk said. “I’m just pulling up your name on the registry. Let me see. Oh, here you are. Every other Thursday, for the past year, and regular as clockwork. The last date was a week ago Thursday. I remember after you left, your friend, Miss Ritter, came back to get the key, because her phone was missing. I walked her to the room, and she found it on the floor near the desk. Maybe she found your watch then, too, and forgot to mention it. You could check with her.”

“Oh, I didn’t know!”

Fisher said. “I’ll have to check it out with her.”

The clerk laughed. “That’s a good one, check it out with your librarian, like checking out a book.”

Fisher grinned. “Yeah, like that. Thanks for your help,”

he said, and hung up.

That was the last motel on the list, and he’d just discovered the name of a second woman. Sue Ritter. The librarian in Lone Bridge.

He got up on the run, grabbed his camera and his gear, and headed for his car. While he tracked Cal, he couldn’t stop thinking about having to break the news to Bitsy. Not only was there more than one woman, but the affairs had been ongoing for years, and he suspected they purposefully used different motels from time to time for a reason—thus the existence of the number of pens Bitsy had found. Now he needed pictures of Cal and Sue Ritter to add to Bitsy’s evidence.

**

Cal went straight to the Turner property, parked a short distance away from the site, masked up, then began getting shots from all angles. Once he’d finished with those, he sent up the drone to get aerial shots of the blast site, then stowed it and the camera in the truck, before walking a couple of yards away to take a pee in the bushes. He was on his way back to the truck when he tripped on a piece of wire hidden in the grass and went belly down in barb wire.

It was like being shot pointblank by a double-barrel load of buckshot. Pain followed the shock, but when he moved, the wire began coiling and catching on every article of clothing he was wearing, and the shriek that came out of his mouth sent a flock of herons in the nearby water into the air. Not only was he caught in the wire, but the dust all over the ground and the grass were actually meth ash from the explosion.

He cursed the wire. Cursed his luck. Cursed the meth heads who’d been cooking it and wished them all to hell as he kept trying to get up. When he finally managed to stand and move toward the truck, the barbs dug in, and the loose wire began coiling around his neck and back, and then down the back of his left leg like mutant ivy.

He cursed a blue streak as he shuffled to his truck, dug through the toolbox to get the wire cutters, and with many curse words and tears, began cutting himself out of the mess, one small section of wire at a time.

By the time he got free, he looked like he’d gone ten rounds with a bobcat and was wearing enough meth ash to be dangerous. He dusted himself off as best he could, then crawled into the truck and headed home. If he was lucky, Bitsy would still be at her book club meeting. He could clean up, bag his clothes for disposal, and then take himself to the ER.

He’d need a tetanus booster for sure, and God only knew what else regarding the cuts and scratches. He’d worried about his visible hickeys, which had now been defaced by the other injuries. He couldn’t decide if God was helping him or punishing him. Either way, he was going to be miserable as hell, and no more sex with anyone until he healed.

It never occurred to him to wonder how Bitsy would view his temporary disfigurement when it came to sex. She was his wife. It was her duty, and she had always succumbed.

Until the car thing.

Clearly, her recent displeasure with him had been because she’d figured out that he’d been in on it. It was her silence about it that was eerie. Like waiting for a hurricane. You know it’s coming. But you don’t know the power of the blast or if you’ll survive it, until it’s come and gone.

He rolled all the windows down as he drove home, hoping even more of the dust would blow off before his arrival, and when he went past JoJo’s house and saw the little red sports car in the driveway, he breathed a sigh of relief and just kept going.

**

The book club meeting had ended. The new book for next month had been chosen, and Bitsy was getting ready to leave when she happened to glance out the front window of JoJo’s house and saw Cal driving past. She frowned. It was way too early for quitting time, so something was up. She turned to thank her hostess.

“Everything was lovely, JoJo. I hate to be the first one to leave, but I have a dozen things yet to do this afternoon. See y’all around town.”

JoJo walked her to the door. “I’m so glad you could come. We missed you at the last meeting.”

“Because my car was in the shop, but that problem was solved, and won’t happen again,” she said.

Moments later, she was out the door and walking to her car. She started it up, then drove out of the driveway and headed home.

Cal’s truck was parked in its usual place as she pulled in beside it, then got out on the run. The last thing she expected was Cal walking in the back door buck naked, with bloody scratches all over him. He looked like a bait dog.

She gasped.

Cal looked up. “Fell in barbed wire out at the Turner property.”

She started toward him, but he took a step back and held up his hand.

“Don’t touch me. I’m covered in meth dust. My clothes are in a garbage bag in the middle of the yard. I need to shower.”

“Oh. My. God. I’m so sorry. Get yourself cleaned up, and I’ll take you to the ER. At the least, you’ll need a tetanus shot.”

He nodded, and then pointed at the camera and box on the floor.

“That’s my work camera and the drone. They were already in the truck before I fell, so they didn’t really get contaminated. Would you put them in your car, please? I need to drop them off at the office before we go to ER.”

She nodded, got the keys from her purse, and went one way as Cal went the other. She felt sorry for his misery, but his pain was physical and an accident. He’d heal. What he’d done to her was selfish, intentional, and mean.

“Shit happens,”

she muttered, and headed for her car with his things.

**

Bitsy had thrown an old quilt over the passenger seat so he wouldn’t bleed on her new upholstery, and when he got in her car, she had to scoot his seat back for leg room. He was used to his truck, but right now it was a biohazard.

Betsy adjusted the air conditioning vents to keep him cool and then headed into town, with Cal trying to make small talk.

“Did you have a good book club meeting?” he asked.

“It was fine.”

“Did you have good stuff to eat?” he asked.

“It was okay. JoJo doesn’t bake. It was all bought stuff from the deli. I don’t know how she supports herself, or what she does with her time. She isn’t married. She doesn’t have a job. Maybe she has a sugar daddy somewhere. But on the other hand, I don’t suppose it’s any of my business.”

And suddenly, Cal’s need for conversation ceased as he shifted in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position to sit.

Bitsy guessed he was uncomfortable and sped up. Once they got to Lone Bridge, their first stop was the office.

“Just stay in the car where it’s cool,”

Bitsy said, got the camera and the box, and carried them inside to his boss.

Paul saw her entering and stood up from his desk. “What’s wrong? Where’s Cal?” he asked.

“In the car. He said to tell you he got the shots you need as well as aerial footage. But when he turned around to go back to the truck, he tripped on some loose barbed wire and fell in it. The clothes he was wearing are in a bag in the yard, covered in meth ash. He had to cut himself out of the wire. We’re on our way to the ER. He’s scratched and cut all over. Looks like he tried to pill a cat. He may or may not be at work tomorrow. He’ll call and let you know.”

“Oh dear! I’m so sorry,”

Paul said. “What a horrible thing to have happen! Remind him this will fall under workers’ comp. I’ll take care of the paperwork.”

“Yes, I’ll let him know. As for the horrible stuff . . . there’s a lot of that going around,”

Bitsy said, and strode out with purpose in every step.

When she got back in the car, Cal was looking at himself in the visor mirror.

“Good thing it didn’t get my face,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, good thing,”

she said, and carefully backed away from the curb.

By the time they entered the ER, his sweatpants and t-shirt were dotted with bloody spots that had seeped through the fabric.

“Sit,”

she said, pointing to one of the faux leather chairs. “Paul is doing the paperwork for a workman’s comp claim for you.”

He nodded, watching as she went to the desk to check him in, thinking as he did, how cute she looked in those pink overall shorts, and how tanned and toned her legs were. For a brief moment, he wondered what the hell was wrong with him to be chasing tail all over Lone Bridge when this cute little thing was waiting for him at home. Then he shrugged off the thought. He liked variety, and nothing was new and exciting between them anymore. But the sex game he’d invented kept everything buzzing.

They’d just had their fifteenth wedding anniversary. Not that they’d celebrated it, but it had been a memorable day, nonetheless. Just not in a good way. A few minutes later, Bitsy sat down beside him, and there they were, silently waiting for his name to be called.

**

Fisher Means had followed Cal as far as the turnoff to the Turner place, but since there was nothing and no one at the end of that road, he turned around, went home, and followed Cal’s trips from his laptop.

He didn’t know Bitsy was sitting in the ER with Cal, and it wouldn’t have been any of his business if he had, but word was spreading around town anyway.

Paul Sullivan told his receptionist, who told her friend, that Cal was injured on the job.

And that friend was in the library when she got the text, and mentioned to Sue, the librarian, that Cal Yarbrough was in ER, and he’d fallen into barbed wire and been ripped to shreds.

Sue fainted in her chair.

Rita Dubois got a text about it before she’d left JoJo’s house, and told JoJo about Cal’s terrible accident, and it was all JoJo could do to hide her horror.

Tansy Sullivan was in the supermarket when she heard someone talking about Cal being taken to ER covered in blood. She left her shopping in the cart and ran out crying.

And there they were—three women who had no right to go check on him. To console him. To even be in the same presence as him and his wife.

Wondering if their handsome lover was ever going to be the same.

Wondering if they’d still want him if he wasn’t good-looking anymore.

While Bitsy sat beside her husband, waiting for his name to be called.

Finally, a nurse came out. “Calvin Yarbrough.”

He stood up, then realized Bitsy was still sitting. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

“You’re a big boy, Calvin. They’re pokes and scratches. They’ll clean them up with disinfectant. You’re getting a shot. I’ll be right here when you get back,” she said.

And that’s when Calvin acknowledged the wall between them. He’d put it there. But he didn’t know how to take it down.

“Right,”

he said, and followed the nurse through the open doors.

Bitsy watched those doors swing shut and saw them as the symbol of what their marriage had become. All the secrets. All the lies. All the betrayal behind closed doors.

Fisher Means had become her secret. Her spy. She just needed him to come through for her soon, before she lost her shit on the whole damn mess. And while Cal was with the doctor, she sent Fisher a text.

JoJo Walker is the owner of the blue pop-off nail I found on Cal’s underwear. I am in ER with Cal. He got tangled up in barbed wire taking pictures at the Turner place today. He’s fine, just pokes and scratches. Brought him to get a tetanus shot. He may or may not be at work tomorrow, but if he’s roaming around town, he’ll be up to no good.

Fisher read the text with interest. If Bitsy was right, then that was woman number three for Cal, not counting his wife. He already knew the workplaces and home addresses of Sue Ritter and Tansy Phillips, and now he had one more address to add to his list.

This is where trailing Cal would take more than watching a blip on a screen. He needed photos of the other two with Cal, and that meant physically following him everywhere he went. But that wasn’t going to present a problem, because Fisher was the original invisible man.

A quiet kid who turned into a quiet man who’d gone to war, come home in one piece, and slid back into the daily life of Lone Bridge without anyone paying attention. Being invisible in his business was a valuable trait. And since Cal was otherwise occupied for at least the rest of this day, Fisher loaded up and headed out to two different motels to get hard copy proof of Cal Yarbrough’s repeated visits.

One thing Fisher discovered was that Cal had a special motel for each woman. He already had what he needed from Rogers’ Motel, but there was still the Sleep-Inn and Mimosa Manor, and no guarantee he hadn’t visited the women at their homes, as well.

Fisher hadn’t ever given the man much thought until he’d taken this case, but he’d quickly found out Cal Yarbrough was a lying, cheating ass, whose hunting days were about to come to a swift and painful end.

**

Cal came back into the ER lobby a chastened man. He’d never been naked in front of so many women and at such a disadvantage. He’d shriveled up like a wrung-out dishrag when they’d begun swiping disinfectant on all of the pokes and scratches. He hadn’t been able to get dressed fast enough.

When they’d walked him back to the lobby, and he’d seen Bitsy still sitting in the chair, absently staring at the muted TV monitor on the wall, he could see her thoughts were elsewhere. He just didn’t have the guts to ask where she’d gone, but when she looked up and saw him approaching, she quickly stood.

“They called in a prescription for infection,” Cal said.

“Then we’ll get it before we go home. If you’re too sore to walk, lean on me,” she said.

“Thank you, baby, but I’m good,” Cal said.

“Just wait here by the door where it’s cool, and I’ll bring the car around,”

she said, and then walked off.

No hug. No kisses. No sweet tones of concern in her voice. Cal was scared. He wasn’t sure, but it felt like a really important part of Bitsy was gone. However, the longer he stood, the more his attitude shifted. He was the injured party here, and she was acting like a cold-hearted bitch. When she pulled up to the entryway in that little red sports car, he was mad all over again.

Damn car.

Damn woman.

That’s fine, too.

If she wasn’t putting out, he knew women who would.