The Best of Me - Nicholas Sparks [56]
And now Dawson was finally going to get crossed off Ted’s list, too. As he waited for Amanda to clear out, he wondered what the two of them had been doing up there. Probably making up for all those years apart, all twisted up in the sheets and screaming each other’s names. If he had to guess, he’d say she was married, and he wondered if her husband suspected what was going on. Probably not. It wasn’t the kind of thing a woman liked to advertise, especially a woman who drove a car like that. She probably married some rich peckerhead and spent her afternoons at the salon getting her nails done, just like her mama did. Her husband was probably some doctor or lawyer, too vain to even consider that his wife might be fooling around behind his back.
She was probably good at keeping secrets, though. Most women were. Hell, he should know. Married or not, made no difference to him; if they offered, he took. Didn’t matter if it was kin, either. He’d been with half the women out on the property, even the ones married to his cousins. Their daughters, too. He and Claire, Calvin’s wife, had been going at it a couple of times a week for the past six years, and Claire hadn’t said a thing to anyone. Ella probably knew what was going on, since she was the one who washed his drawers, but she kept her mouth shut, too, and she’d keep it shut if she knew what was good for her. A man’s business was his own.
The taillights of the car flashed red as Amanda finally rounded the curve, vanishing from sight. She hadn’t spotted his truck—no surprise, since he’d pulled off the road, hiding it as best he could in a thicket. He figured he’d wait a few minutes, just to make sure she wasn’t coming back. Last thing he wanted was witnesses, but he was still wondering how best to handle this. If Abee had seen Dawson this morning, it was sure as hell certain that Dawson had seen Abee, which would have gotten him thinking, so maybe Dawson was just sitting up there waiting, too, shotgun in his lap. Maybe he had plans of his own, just in case his kin did indeed show up.
Like the last time.
Ted tapped the Glock against his thigh, thinking that the key was to surprise Dawson. Get close enough to take the shot, then pitch the body in the trunk and ditch the rental car somewhere out on the property. File off the VIN and set the whole thing on fire, until it was nothing but a husk. Getting rid of the body wouldn’t be hard, either. Just weight it down, toss it in the river, and let water and time do the rest. Or maybe bury it somewhere in the forest, where no one was likely to find it. It was hard to prove murder without a body. Little miss cheerleader or even the sheriff could suspect all they wanted, but suspicion was a long way from proof. Things would get riled up, of course, but they’d eventually pass. After that, he and Abee were going to sort things out. And let’s just say that if Abee wasn’t careful, he might find himself at the bottom of the river, too.
Finally ready, Ted exited the car and began his advance into the woods.
Dawson set the wrench aside and closed the hood, finished with the engine. Ever since Amanda left, he’d been unable to shake the sensation of being watched. The first time it had happened, he’d gripped the wrench hard as he’d peeked out around the hood, but there was no one there.
Now, walking to the entrance of the garage, he scanned the area, taking in the scene. He saw the oaks and pines with kudzu climbing their trunks and noticed that the shadows had begun to lengthen. A hawk passed overhead, its outline flickering across the drive, and starlings called from the branches above. All else was quiet in the early summer heat.
But someone was watching him. Someone was out there, he was sure of it, and he flashed on an image of the shotgun he had buried beneath the oak tree near the corner of the house all those years ago—not deep, maybe a foot down, wrapped in oilcloth and sealed from the elements. Tuck had guns in the house, too, probably under his bed, but Dawson wasn’t sure they were warranted.