between standing up for yourself and pushing people around. Gail protected herself physically, abused herself emotionally and never hurt anyone else if she could help it.”
“Then how did she end up in this mess?” I asked.
“Gail’s always done the wrong thing since she could walk. She was born under an unlucky star. When she was five, she accidentally strangled my kitten when she hugged it too hard. When she was nine, she drove my father’s car into a river and hit an old fisherman in his boat. When she was thirteen, she accidentally burned down the barn trying to smoke cigarettes. And when she was eighteen, she got herself knocked up and wouldn’t tell anyone who the father was. Never has. That’s the story of Gail’s life. She was born to lose.”
“That’s some story,” I pointed out. “A lot of people would say it’s the classic portrait of a serial killer, for chris- sakes. Torturing animals, setting fires, inappropriate sexual behavior, running down old men in rowboats.” I wasn’t being serious. I’d been too much of a fuckup myself. But she took me at my word.
“Oh come on, since when is getting knocked up at eighteen unusual behavior?” Gail’s sister demanded. “And if it sounds bad, it’s just like I told you. She was born under an unlucky star. It’s only been worse for her because I was such a goody two-shoes. I got straight A’s and a scholarship to UNC. I married a rich farm boy from Virginia, then talked him into living down here. I went to law school. I got a job as a special prosecutor with the state. Blah, blah, blah. Sometimes I make myself sick, so I imagine Gail feels the same way. My father holds it against her for not measuring up. I
hate it—and believe me, I’d love to let my father down— but I can’t sabotage my own life just to make Gail feel better.”
I sided with Gail. Overachievers like Brenda could be a right royal pain in the ass for the rest of us mere mortals. “What makes you think Gail is innocent?” I asked. “Can you give me anything besides the lousy-shot theory?”
“No motive,” Brenda said promptly. “That’s the one thing that really bothers me about this whole mess. I can’t figure out why Gail needed to shoot Roy. They were already getting a divorce and it was amicable.”
I looked at her skeptically. There is no such thing as an amicable divorce and I see living proof of it almost every day. I make a lotry?I make of money following future exes around. Show me an amicable divorce and I’ll show you a spouse who’s being blackmailed into cooperating.
“It’s tru”.” Brenda insisted. “Look, Gail liked Roy. He married her with a bastard kid and all. And stuck by her when she got accused of stealing from the hospital.”
“That would have been at age twenty-two, right before the killing,” I guessed. “She seems to hit a snag every four years or so.”
“She didn’t steal anything,” Brenda said. “And I’m the suspicious sort. She was set up. Believe me, Gail is a natural patsy. I know. I’ve watched my cousins take advantage of Gail’s bad luck her entire life. She’s taken the rap for everything from stealing pies to snitching car keys to dynamiting our Uncle Billy’s pond and killing all the fish. She never did a tenth of what she was accused of. My cousins just smelled a sucker when they saw one.”
“And so did someone else the night Roy Taylor was killed?” I suggested.
“I think it’s possible,” Brenda said hesitantly. “But I can’t be sure.” Leftover tendrils of cigarette smoke curled from her mouth and vanished in wisps. “I think there’s also a chance she killed him,” she finally said. “Gail had been drinking more and more, and there was all this talk about pills. Who knows how they change a person.”
“But Gail denies popping pills, and Nanny Honeycutt says she hated guns,” I said. “How could she drill him right through the heart?”
“That would be Gail’s luck for you,”
“Then how did she end up in this mess?” I asked.
“Gail’s always done the wrong thing since she could walk. She was born under an unlucky star. When she was five, she accidentally strangled my kitten when she hugged it too hard. When she was nine, she drove my father’s car into a river and hit an old fisherman in his boat. When she was thirteen, she accidentally burned down the barn trying to smoke cigarettes. And when she was eighteen, she got herself knocked up and wouldn’t tell anyone who the father was. Never has. That’s the story of Gail’s life. She was born to lose.”
“That’s some story,” I pointed out. “A lot of people would say it’s the classic portrait of a serial killer, for chris- sakes. Torturing animals, setting fires, inappropriate sexual behavior, running down old men in rowboats.” I wasn’t being serious. I’d been too much of a fuckup myself. But she took me at my word.
“Oh come on, since when is getting knocked up at eighteen unusual behavior?” Gail’s sister demanded. “And if it sounds bad, it’s just like I told you. She was born under an unlucky star. It’s only been worse for her because I was such a goody two-shoes. I got straight A’s and a scholarship to UNC. I married a rich farm boy from Virginia, then talked him into living down here. I went to law school. I got a job as a special prosecutor with the state. Blah, blah, blah. Sometimes I make myself sick, so I imagine Gail feels the same way. My father holds it against her for not measuring up. I
hate it—and believe me, I’d love to let my father down— but I can’t sabotage my own life just to make Gail feel better.”
I sided with Gail. Overachievers like Brenda could be a right royal pain in the ass for the rest of us mere mortals. “What makes you think Gail is innocent?” I asked. “Can you give me anything besides the lousy-shot theory?”
“No motive,” Brenda said promptly. “That’s the one thing that really bothers me about this whole mess. I can’t figure out why Gail needed to shoot Roy. They were already getting a divorce and it was amicable.”
I looked at her skeptically. There is no such thing as an amicable divorce and I see living proof of it almost every day. I make a lotry?I make of money following future exes around. Show me an amicable divorce and I’ll show you a spouse who’s being blackmailed into cooperating.
“It’s tru”.” Brenda insisted. “Look, Gail liked Roy. He married her with a bastard kid and all. And stuck by her when she got accused of stealing from the hospital.”
“That would have been at age twenty-two, right before the killing,” I guessed. “She seems to hit a snag every four years or so.”
“She didn’t steal anything,” Brenda said. “And I’m the suspicious sort. She was set up. Believe me, Gail is a natural patsy. I know. I’ve watched my cousins take advantage of Gail’s bad luck her entire life. She’s taken the rap for everything from stealing pies to snitching car keys to dynamiting our Uncle Billy’s pond and killing all the fish. She never did a tenth of what she was accused of. My cousins just smelled a sucker when they saw one.”
“And so did someone else the night Roy Taylor was killed?” I suggested.
“I think it’s possible,” Brenda said hesitantly. “But I can’t be sure.” Leftover tendrils of cigarette smoke curled from her mouth and vanished in wisps. “I think there’s also a chance she killed him,” she finally said. “Gail had been drinking more and more, and there was all this talk about pills. Who knows how they change a person.”
“But Gail denies popping pills, and Nanny Honeycutt says she hated guns,” I said. “How could she drill him right through the heart?”
“That would be Gail’s luck for you,”
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