A Simple Plan by Scott Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

days before the Depression. Things had gone downhill since then. Sonny’s father had sold nearly all the land over the years, except for two thin strips along the road. One of these supported the farmhouse; the other, a smaller plot about three quarters of a mile to the south, had a tiny, rusted-out house trailer on it. Sonny lived in the trailer, alone, within sight of the house he’d grown up in. He called himself a carpenter but survived chiefly off the money he made from Lou and Nancy’s rent.
    Jacob parked in the driveway, leaving the engine on. Lou opened the door and climbed outside, hesitating for a second before shutting it.
    “I was thinking we might each take a packet now,” he said. “Just to celebrate with.” He smiled at me.
    I slid over toward the door, keeping the duffel bag between my legs. Mary Beth climbed in through the window, his fur smelling fresh and cold. He shook himself and then sat down on the seat, leaning up against Jacob. Jacob put his arm around the dog.
    “Forget about the money, Lou,” I said.
    He wiped at his nose with his hand. “What do you mean?”
    “Nothing’s going to change in your life for the next six months,” I said.
    Jacob patted Mary Beth’s side, a hollow sound. There were trees clustered around Lou’s house, huge ones with thick, gray trunks rising up tall against the blackness of the night sky. They were swaying a little in the wind, their branches clicking together. Down the road Sonny’s trailer was completely dark. He wasn’t home.
    “All I’m asking for—” Lou started, but I shook my head, cutting him off.
    “You aren’t hearing me, Lou. What I’m saying is, don’t ask.”
    I leaned over and pulled shut the door. He stared at me for a moment, through the window, then exchanged a quick glance with Jacob before turning and walking slowly up his driveway.

    I T TOOK forty minutes to drive from Lou’s house to mine. Jacob and I covered much of this distance in silence, sunk in our own private thoughts. I replayed my encounter with Carl. I’d lied to him; it’d come easily, naturally, and I was surprised by this. I’d never been successful at deceit before. Even as a child I couldn’t lie; I hadn’t had the self-confidence for it—the essential calmness—and had always ended up either giving myself away or breaking down and confessing. As I reviewed my talk with Carl, though, I could find no weak points, no holes in my story. Jacob had overstepped, it was true, asking about the plane, but I realized now that what he’d said wasn’t as compromising as it had originally seemed. Perhaps, as he claimed, it might even help us.
    I hardly thought of the money. I hadn’t yet allowed myself to begin considering it as my own. It was too vast a sum for me to personalize; it seemed abstract, a mere number, nothing more. I felt an edge of lawlessness, it’s true—a cool, cocky feeling rippling with a terrible fear of getting caught—but it stemmed more from my mendacity with Carl than from any understanding of the magnitude of our theft.
    Jacob had pulled a candy bar from the glove compartment and was chewing at it while he drove. The dog sat on the seat beside him, his ears erect, watching him eat. We were on Highway 17 now, making our way into the outskirts of Delphia. Trees were springing up alongside the road, houses beginning to cluster into subdivisions. The traffic slowly thickened. I was almost home.
    The thought came to me suddenly, in a little jolt of panic, that if we were to be caught, it would be because of Lou.
    “Lou’ll tell Nancy, won’t he?” I said to Jacob.
    “Will you tell Sarah?” he asked.
    “I agreed not to.”
    Jacob shrugged, took a bite from his candy bar. “Lou agreed not to tell Nancy.”
    I frowned, dismayed. I knew that I was going to tell Sarah about the money as soon as I got home—I couldn’t imagine not telling her—and this knowledge seemed to confirm my reservations about Lou. He’d tell Nancy, and one