Page 58 of Trailer Trash

I shook my head, and she turned to Jed. “What about you, hot stuff?”

“No, thank you.” His voice sounded cold and impassive.

She stubbed out the last of her cigarette and then headed into the kitchen. I watched as she made her drink—filling the glass half full of coke, topping it off with a more than generous pour of Jack Daniel’s, and finishing it with a few ice cubes.

As she headed back into the living room, she lifted the glass with a partially toothless smile. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

Neither of us said anything.

She sat back down. “Why are you really here, Neely Kate?”

“Jed told you.”

“Jed’s a damn fool if he believes you, but then again, you always did have a way of wrapping men around your little finger.”

“You used to think that about Branson, didn’t you?” I asked before I could stop myself. “I hated him in the end. He treated me worse than shit.”

“Which is why I found it so hard to believe you actually left him,” she said. “You never found the gumption before.”

“I did the last time,” I said. “That was the last straw.”

She didn’t look convinced. “You did a lot of other kinky shit for the guy.”

“I wasn’t about to let a man beat the crap out of me while he screwed me, Stella. Why would I put myself through that to save Branson’s sorry ass?”

Her eyes narrowed. “But it probably cost Branson his life, don’t you think? That’s why you’re asking about him. You feel guilty because you didn’t go through with it, and Branson got snuffed out.”

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. If she only knew the truth . . .

She grabbed another cigarette and stuck it between her lips, mumbling, “I bet he’s buried out by an oil well somewhere.”

“If he is, then it’s his own damn fault.”

She lifted her shoulders into a shrug as she flicked her lighter and lit her cigarette. “Maybe it is, but canyoulive with it?”

I didn’t answer. I’d lived with it all just fine until Kate’s letters started sending me down nightmare lane. Until I realized the walls of the new life I’d built for myself were made of paper.

“Have you seen Beasley since he got out?” I asked, my voice shaking a little.

A knowing smile lifted her lips. “Haveyou?”

“No.”

She laughed. “That boy loved you . . .”

I didn’t answer.

“I know you had something to do with it. He was so tight-lipped. The only time he got like that was when it came to you.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to incriminate himself.”

She took a drag. “Not likely.”

“Do you know if he came home when he got out?”

“Rumor has it he went to his aunt’s house, but I can’t be sure. Last week I heard he had a job at a hardware store.” She grinned. “I always heard he was good with his hands. Was he?”

My face burned. “It wasn’t like that, Stella.”

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