Lit.Org - a community for readers and writers Advanced Search

Average Rating

(5 votes)

RatingRated by

You must login to vote

Something’s wrong in Texas
by Sandra Yuen MacKay

It happened in a small town in Texas that you could miss in an instant, when driving along the freeway. But small towns carry big secrets.

“Clarence, my darlin’.” I felt the delicate touch of fingernails on my bare arm. “I’ve been waitin’ for you to show.” The cute yet inebriated blonde slid onto the barstool beside me. “I’ll have what he’s havin’,” she said to the bartender.

I polished off my Scotch and water. Her perfume was Chanel No. 5 with no mistake. I didn’t know if I was intoxicated from the Scotch or the perfume but it made no difference. So she’d mistaken me for someone else, but I wasn’t complaining. She was a doll.

“Come here often?” The words slid out easily. I put my hand on my pocket to reassure I had a condom on me. I rarely missed an opportunity.

“I feel I need to explain what happened. I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Start from the beginning. I’ve got all night.” I turned off my cell phone.

“November first I’ll never forget. It was the day the world changed for me. I can never go back.” She closed her eyes, leaned back and sighed.

I smiled inwardly at her melodrama. I had no idea of what was in store.

“Clarence, where were you when I needed you the most?”

“You know I’m staying not far from here,” I said, gazing into her eyes. Our knees touched.

She leaned close with whiskey on her breath and whispered, “I had to kill him on my very own.”

“Excuse me?” Startled, I just about fell off the stool.

Her fingers caressed the back of my hand. “I did it for you, darlin’. Meet me outside in five minutes.” She went to powder her nose. I paid for the drinks and considered my options. I didn’t even know her name. Was there someone who looked so much like me, the blonde couldn’t tell us apart?

“Clarence! Son of a gun,” a tall man with a moustache, threw down his cowboy hat on the counter and sat next to me at the bar. “Haven’t seen you in donkey’s years.”

“W-what’s your name?”

He slapped me so hard on the back that I coughed. “I’m Henry,” he replied. “Too much whiskey, buddy?"

“Oh, how do I know you?”

“Don’t deny it. You’re here with Sherry. We all know what happened but your secret’s safe with us. Isn’t that right, boys?”

I turned my head and saw a couple of guys in cowboy boots nod their heads. This was really getting weird. I headed for the door. I desperately had to get out of this town.

Sherry nabbed me outside. “Look, lady. I don’t know who you are. My name is Matthew Dunner and I’m not Clarence,” I protested.

She shoved a gun into my ribs, twisted my arm and forced me into a Ford pickup. Her stylish appearance gave no indication of her physical prowess. “Here’s the keys, darlin’. Drive to the farm.”

I put the car in gear and followed her instructions to get to the farm. A curving gravel driveway led to a large, white house. She pushed me out of the vehicle and onto the front porch. My hands were shaking. I tried to grab the gun from her as she unlocked the door. She smacked the gun across my jaw. Blood oozed from my chin.

“If you try that again, I’m goin’ to shoot you where it counts. Get inside.”

By now I was dizzy and disoriented. She sat me down in the living room. “I killed my bastard husband for you. Ever since our affair so long ago, I wanted you to come back. In your love letters, you promised we’d be together once Andrew was out of the way. I buried the body behind the chicken coop. I’m scared. You gotta help me out of this jam.”

“Does Henry know?” Perspiration stung my eyes.

“People talk. He thinks you did it.”

I just about peed my pants. “I won’t turn you in. Just let me go.”

There was a loud rap on the door. “Police! Let us in!”

Quickly, she stood up and propelled me toward the french doors leading to the garden, but I was too slow. The cops busted down the door. Immediately, Sherry threw her gun down. It spun on the hardwood floor behind the couch. She put her hands up in the air. I stood trembling beside her and did the same.

“He’s the murderer. I found him.” Sherry pointed at me.

My heart pounded so hard it hurt. “I’m not Clarence. I’m not from this town. I swear I’m an insurance salesman here on business.”

“Let’s see your identification,” said one cop. I passed him my wallet.

The police exchanged a few words. “Let him go. We’ll take the woman in for questioning. Sherry Pratt’s our main suspect.”

She protested but was led out in handcuffs.

I picked up my car and headed for the motel. I looked up Andrew Pratt on my laptop under active company files. Apparently in March, he had taken out a $500,000 life insurance policy on himself. The beneficiary was listed as Sherry Pratt. I considered the course of events. She hadn’t made a claim, meaning she probably didn’t know it existed. The insurance company had not been notified of his death as yet. I considered my next move. If Sherry were convicted, she wouldn’t need the money. I held my itchy fingers over the keyboard. Without further deliberation, I altered the encrypted electronic form and erased her name as beneficiary. I filled in the blank with my name.

No one questioned the reasons I came into money. In fact, my co-workers congratulated me on my good fortune. My overworked boss didn’t ask about my relationship with the deceased or the investigation of the case, after I passed him a check for five thousand dollars. It also didn’t hurt that I was one of his best salesmen.

I visited Sherry in jail after she was convicted of first-degree murder. I empathized that death row was no place for her. I told her I would take care of her house and possessions temporarily. It was the least I could do. Her lawyer planned to appeal the verdict. She looked beautiful even in prison garb.

I went back to that bar, out of curiosity. It was uncanny how my life had changed in one evening. Henry greeted me with another slap on the back. He winked. I shared a beer with him and his friends.

After they departed, I slung my jacket over my shoulder. As I walked to the door, a man brushed by me with his head down. I knew instantly, he was Clarence. I ducked out and never looked back.


The following comments are for "November Writing Challenge"
by sandra

Thanks, Cowboy
Hi Eric. Thanks for the comments! You can take the boy out of the Wild West but you can't take the Wild West out of the boy.

That's a real compliment that I could write that angle, because I'm a Vancouver, BC West Coast chick.

I'll think about the rain and the train next time around.


( Posted by: sandra [Member] On: December 8, 2008 )

Spmethig's wrong in Texas
That was enjoyable. I like the speed and the build up in tension. I've been mistaken for somebod else many times. Consequences can be dangerous. So I was keen to see the payoff. Mind you I reckon things got might hot in that bar when guys got around to do some talking. Guns can blaze in them bars, as true as I know my Texas.
Well done.

( Posted by: Cleveland W. Gibson [Member] On: December 8, 2008 )

guns blazing
Thanks Cleveland!

( Posted by: sandra [Member] On: December 8, 2008 )

Our first entry!
And this is a wonderful piece!

Now, who else is giving the writing challenge a try?

Ochani Lele

( Posted by: OchaniLele [Member] On: December 8, 2008 )

Don't forget to vote.

Ochani Lele

( Posted by: OchaniLele [Member] On: December 8, 2008 )

Writing Challenge
This was awesome writing...loved it.


( Posted by: TheRealKarmaTseringLhamo [Member] On: December 8, 2008 )

man, I love this website
Thanks for the comments all of you! Happy writing!

( Posted by: sandra [Member] On: December 8, 2008 )

Add Your Comment

You Must be a member to post comments and ratings. If you are NOT already a member, signup now it only takes a few seconds!

All Fields are required

Commenting Guidelines:
  • All comments must be about the writing. Non-related comments will be deleted.
  • Flaming, derogatory or messages attacking other members well be deleted.
  • Adult/Sexual comments or messages will be deleted.
  • All subjects MUST be PG. No cursing in subjects.
  • All comments must follow the sites posting guidelines.
The purpose of commenting on Lit.Org is to help writers improve their writing. Please post constructive feedback to help the author improve their work.