Daddy Soda (A New Hampshire Mystery Book 1)

by Mira Gibson

  “I know she is.”

  “It’ll come back to her.”

  “Come back? It’s already there she’s choosing not to tell it.” It angered him, but he kept a stiff upper lip. “Does she understand that the man who shot her is most definitely the same man who has her mother? Does she get that he came for her or Dale or you and he’ll come again?”

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Please,” he said exasperated. Then Cody forced himself to breathe a little, shake it off, as he concentrated on sliding his folder into his satchel. “I’m going to go down to the ICU,” he informed her. “I can stop by before I leave.”

  “What’s in the ICU?”

  “Mr. Hand in a Box.” At her scowl, he added, “Sorry.”

  Her face was screwed up good but she smoothed it out. That’s what they were calling him? Christ.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “Hannah,” he sighed. “Maybe you should stay with Mary.”

  “I’m not asking.”

  “He’s...” Cody trailed off, wincing, “hard to look at.”

  “Someone he’s working with shot my sister. He’s still out there. Maybe he needs to put a face on the family he’s helped destroy.”

  Gradually, his head took to nodding and they made their way down the hall just as Dale and Candice were returning. Candice beamed a toothy grin at how many sandwiches she was managing, while Dale held a cardboard tray of coffee. If he wasn’t pleased to see Cody, he didn’t show it, though Cody postured, holding his head up as if to declare his right to be here.

  “I’ll be right back,” Hannah told him as they slowed up, but Dale didn’t pay her any mind except to thrust her coffee at her.

  Then he pointed his finger into Cody’s chest, pressed hard, angling in on him. “You find the son of a bitch who did this.”

  “Yes, Sir,” he said, like he was seventeen all over again.

  It wasn’t until Dale and Candice had ventured past them that Hannah was struck by Dale’s conviction, his passion for Mary’s safety. He’d shown no sign of it when it came to Kendra. It worried her.

  The Intensive Care Unit on the ground floor was dismal and that was putting it mildly. The tiles, once white in their day, were badly scuffed, chipped and cracked, and stained shades of piss-yellow and brown that conjured harrowing images of what could’ve caused them to be so. The walls were no better, but it was the long row of tarnished windows that allowed anyone passing through to see the dire straights of the patients within that truly set Hannah’s teeth on edge.

  She kept close to Cody and tried not to look at a man who was mummified in casts and gauze, leg braced and hanging from what appeared to be a small crane. As they passed, one of his machines beeped like a distress call announcing he was either dying or dead. A nurse rushed through, slamming the door open, and hustled to stabilize him.

  “He’s in here.” Cody called out from where he stood up the hall with two police officers that appeared to be guarding a door.

  As Hannah made her way over, he had a few words for the cops, who seemed cheerful enough realizing their impromptu break. Five minutes out of the ICU and they’d get the second wind they’d been craving. One of them laughed heartily at something Cody said and he smiled back.

  It jarred her to see him in his element, being a cop, sharing cop humor or commiserating when the dynamic called for it.

  He gave the other officer a friendly jab to his shoulder and the two of them set off, leaving Cody to get the door.

  There was no mistaking that the fact he was the first in rather than waiting with the door open for her was in the spirit of protecting her.

  The man inside was nothing more than a kid. He didn’t have to be in his street clothes throwing around an attitude for her to see clearly that the guy hadn’t a crease on his face and probably couldn’t grow facial hair. Despite his swollen left eye, the lacerations and contusions on his chin, and a plague bruises across his cheek, she gained enough of a sense of his age to peg him as twenty-three at best, though part of her doubted he was old enough to buy liquor.

  For a kid who belonged sweating with team spirit on a basketball court and not handcuffed to a hospital bed in New Hampshire’s least respected ICU, Hannah had to wonder how the fuck he’d gotten wrapped up in this?

  He pinched his mouth, consolidating his lips into a taut line as though doing so would center him, then assessed the detective with an air of familiarity. It was only after this that he glanced briefly at Hannah.

  Perhaps because he'd formed ideas about why they were here, the kid was suddenly on the brink of tears, but seemed to focus by squinting at Cody, manning up if such a thing were possible.

  “You talk today, now,” Cody informed him, showing no sympathy, though Hannah caught a faint shadow in his expression that indicated he felt for this kid something awful. Lifting a note pad out of his satchel and finding a pen, he locked eyes with Hannah to communicate the promise he’d get it out of him then set the pad and pen on the guy's lap. “What’s your partner’s name?”

  The kid stared at him, clear and present terror in his eyes.

  “There won’t be anything to be afraid of if you tell me his name and the names of everyone involved. I’ll have them arrested within the hour.”

  He shuttered out a rocky exhale, shaking his head in refusal.

  “You have to give me something,” Cody pressed, tone softening into the territory of pleading.

  Maybe it was the late hour or the fact she’d been exhausted for days or maybe it was that she was so near the frayed end of her rope every shred of her was screaming on a cellular level, but Hannah lost it. Before she realized what she was doing, her hands wrapped around the kid's hospital gown and she started violently shaking him, fists pounding into his chest, his head slamming against the wall of the bed, over and over, spit flying on the consonants, voice shrill on the vowels, throat turning raw, as she shouted, “Where are they? Tell me where they are! I’ll fucking kill you myself, you little shit then you won’t have a damn thing to be scared of ‘cause you’ll be fucking dead!”

  She didn’t care what she was doing or what line she’d crossed or that he bared his teeth taking it and she had to peer into the black, bloody hole of his tongue-less mouth. The only thing standing between her and finding her mother was a feeble little snot nosed kid who was too stupid to come out with it. And she’d be damned if she didn’t try to beat him into spilling every last thing he knew.

  On impulse she grabbed his nose and twisted, but Cody couldn’t let her go there. He pulled her off him and stood in front of the kid like a barricade, telling her, “Enough.”

  He might’ve said more, but she was breathing too heavily to catch it.

  She paced away so she wouldn’t have to look at him, either of them, while Cody resumed his inquiry, satin-gloves and all.

  But the kid was writing something down.

  Cody paused, stunned, which garnished Hannah’s attention. She looked over and stopped breathing as she watched, made no sudden movements or sound, didn’t want to ruin whatever progress she’d forced.

  When the kid handed him the pad, Hannah rushed to Cody so she could look at it over her shoulder.

  It read, My name is Dalton Gerrity. REMEMBER TO FORGET OR ELSE BE KILLED.

  He indicated for the pad and Cody passed it back fast. Dalton scrawled another sentence.

  This one read, Keep that psycho bitch away from me.

  The name Dalton Gerrity was as good a place to start as any.

  ***

  As much as Dale had off-handedly mentioned he’d been keeping up with his church, going now more than ever, Hannah, honest to God, thought he’d been downright full of shit until he dragged the whole family there the day Mary was released from Sanbornton Mercy.

  “Got to get right with God, girls. We're going to need a damned miracle when that hospital bill comes,” he’d said, piling Candice into his pickup after Mary had slid into the bitch seat. Hannah had me
ntioned her Taurus had airbags among other critical automotive precautions like seatbelts and brake pads that weren’t worn thin, but Dale wasn’t having it, said he needed his girls close. Going to watch them like a hawk, he’d proclaimed, climbing up behind the wheel and turning the key to get a jump on the three to five tries it’d take to get her started.

  Hannah had kept her boot pressed hard on the gas, struggling to keep behind him, as his pickup flew down dizzying banks and curves in the direction of the Church of God, a place she’d promised herself she’d never return.

  She didn’t have a damned clue what Dale was trying to prove when he’d sat them in the very first pew, but that’s where they were, looking up at the Pastor, who was so close Hannah could count the hairs sprouting out of his flared nostrils. She managed to tune him out well enough, spied glances at Dale, Mary, and Candice whenever the congregation was expected to crack open their hymn books or say Amen, praise Jesus, or one of the other cultish chants that made her stomach clench.

  Dale’s arm was around Mary’s shoulder, which made the girl lean at an awkward angle into him. It was as though he needed her more than she did him. He clung to her, glancing down the length of her at times, which didn’t come across as paternal concern for her comfort. Mary had her left leg crossing over the right, as a means to get away from him, Hannah thought. Or perhaps it was only to boast her injury. As completely unnecessary as it was, Mary had wrapped an ace bandage over her jeans around her thigh, drawing attention to her hardship. Hannah couldn’t help but get the feeling her sister liked how the bandage resembled a bridal garter, morbidly sexy in a way Hannah found unsettling, but not more so than being in the church itself.

  The last time she’d been here was prom night. After Cody had twisted their friendship into something more, they stole away to the desolate church and did what everyone was supposed to do on their prom night.

  He should never have left her.

  She forced the memory down, knowing it’d be a hell of a lot easier to swallow if she had any hope of nipping at her flask. Maybe in the ladies room after the blowhard behind the podium wrapped it up.

  For some reason her real dad came to mind. Rather than go down that rabbit hole, Hannah explored what might have caused her to think of him. It wasn’t an easy leap to make, but she decided the theme between the two notions, being attacked in a dark church and wondering about a man she’d never met, was rescue. She’d needed to be rescued and wasn’t that a father’s job, to protect and rescue and keep you safe?

  She wasn’t sure she’d ever met a man like that.

  Dale snorted a laugh as though he appreciated a corny joke the Pastor had made about sheep and lonely shepherds that he’d tied up in a suggestive bow. Females fell silent, alarmed, the males chuckled good-naturedly. The timing of it all seemed like the cosmic case to Hannah’s point. There were no men who rescued. That’s why Hannah had taken care of herself. And why she’d continue to.

  Bearing that in mind, it would’ve been a nice touch had she remembered the revolver Cody had given her. Truth be told, she couldn’t stand the smell of it, cold steel, pungent oil, couldn’t tolerate carrying it on her person. She hadn’t touched it since she’d tossed her bag to the corner of Mary’s room the other night. But Hannah knew she was going to have to get over herself, keep it on her. Who knew what the fuck could happen next?

  Dalton Gerrity had been terrified and for some incomprehensible reason he actually felt like he was safer not putting the others behind bars. Which begged the question, how big was this thing? Dalton’s reluctance to talk, or write, as it were, gave Hannah the impression perhaps there was a hierarchy in place, one so big Dalton couldn't fathom who might be at the top of it. His stance meant he’d be carted off to jail, await trial should this case ever come to a head, and would undoubtedly get convicted. And yet, in his eyes, that scenario was preferable over ratting, like he’d be safer in prison.

  It blew Hannah’s mind every time she touched upon it, the most mind-boggling of which was that they’d targeted her mother. The hand must mean something. It had to be symbolic. And his cryptic message, remember to forget or else be killed was practically a riddle. Even more puzzling was the fact that the attack on Mary was starting to make a shred of perverted sense with respect to the message that’d been dug into the dirt at the abduction scene. Ask Mary. What if Mary didn’t even know that what she knew could be detrimental to them? Maybe they couldn’t wager that she’d “remember to forget” because she didn’t even know she was playing their game? And maybe they went after her to kill her before she could.

  As the Pastor's hands floated up to the heavens, indicating this charade would be over soon, Hannah prayed Cody had gotten somewhere with the Dalton Gerrity piece.

  Suddenly, Dale exclaimed, “Praise Jesus Christ!” making something of a swear in his excitement while the rest of the congregation stuck to the prescribed, praise the Lord as the Pastor had instructed.

  Hannah stood and realized she couldn’t feel her ass.

  After giving Mary an upbeat shake of the shoulder that caused her breasts to jiggle and jiggle, Dale helped her to her feet and hoisted Candice up by her arm. On a laugh, he said to Hannah, “Surprised you didn’t go up in flames.”

  “Thanks,” she said dryly, as they made their way up the aisle.

  “How’s about you rustle us up some good lunch and we eat out by the lake,” he suggested. “Got the picnic table off in the woods somewhere. I’ll yank it out. Get her on the shore. Sound nice?”

  “Ah, sure.” Hannah wracked her brain to recall the scraps they had in the refrigerator. “You go on ahead then. I’ll have to swing by the A&P.”

  Hannah stepped outside into the warm sun after him. Candice was helping Mary limp demonstratively towards a few teenaged boys who were standing near a picnic table. The girl certainly could milk her moments. As soon as Candice had served her purpose, Mary shoved her off and dove into her wild tale of fighting off a mad gunman. The boys looked impressed, but slightly more interested in her chest, as they nodded with astonishment then took turns giving her long, lingering hugs.

  Dale worked some cash out of his wallet, which Hannah hadn’t noticed until he attempted to get her to take it.

  “Oh, no really,” she objected. “I’m staying at the house. I’m not spending nearly what I thought I would.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, please,” she stammered, heart warm to him all over again. “Thank you, but really, I’ve got this.”

  That was the thing about Dale, any time he showed softness, consideration, or vulnerability, you latched on, desperate to believe you’d finally brought out the real man in him, like his hardness, his cold eyes and soaring fists, were another person he was trapped inside.

  Dale collected the girls and they crossed through the dying grass to the dirt parking lot where he’d parked his clunker, as Hannah hung back, marveling the radiant foliage, the wind rushing through the trees. It caused the sweetest sound.

  The congregation thinned out. Most had found their cars, but some paced slowly, engrossed in Jesus-like conversation which was so deep they couldn’t look each other in the eye, gazes resting lightly on their feet, the grass, their watches when they’d reached maximum capacity for this particular brand of bullshit.

  She wondered how many of these people were rapists.

  From the dirt parking lot, Cody jogged towards her then slowed up when he caught her eye. Wind blew his hair sideways, mussing his brown locks and making him squint. He wore a blue windbreaker, a gray sweater beneath, dark jeans and Timberland boots, giving him a more pulled-together appearance than he usually had.

  “Are you running off?”

  “I have to go to the A&P. Why?”

  “Just thought I’d catch you.”

  “Okay.” She hoped this was urgent. That’d mean he knew something.

  Distracted by the church, he smiled crookedly up at it then met her gaze. “This is our place.”

  H
er stomach clenched at his cluelessness. “I try to forget.”

  Smile fading, he searched her eyes as though he wouldn’t give up closing the gap on their past. “I forget your parents used to drag you to church.”

  “And still do, evidently.”

  Gradually, he turned into Detective Cody, distinct from Diner Cody and Cody of the Back Woods, to which she’d been getting more and more accustomed.

  “We found the slug as well as the shell on your yard. It was a 38 caliber, but forensics needs more time to trace the ammo, narrow the weapon, etcetera.”

  “That’s great,” she said eagerly.

  Someone in the parking lot honked, but she ignored it, training her sights on Cody, the intensity behind his green eyes, his crisp jawline that was undeniably attractive, the way he took care with every word.

  “I got a jump on Dalton Gerrity, talked to his parents this morning, who are down in Concord.”

  Another impatient honk bleated from the parking lot and when Hannah looked over she saw a frustrating monkey-face woman inching her bumper into the back of Hannah’s Taurus.

  “Oh shit.” She started after the woman. “I’m blocking you! I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize.”

  Hannah shot Cody an apologetic look over her shoulder, then jumped into her car and bucked it forward so the woman could drive out. As she did, the woman leaned on the horn, undoing all that the good Lord had done for her during the last hour.

  “God bless!” Hannah shouted after her with more than enough sarcasm to cut through the blaring horn.

  “This might take longer than a minute,” he said when he reached her, which prompted her to check the time on her cell.

  “Come shopping with me. You can tell me there.”

  Quick to his truck, Cody pulled up behind her, as Hannah drove out of the dusty church parking lot and onto the road.

  She knew it was bad, but she fished her flask out of her purse and snuck a nip or five on the drive over. She reasoned it was necessary given the church she’d just suffered, both sermon and memories alike.

  Cody took the space next to her at the A&P and made himself useful snagging a stray shopping cart, which had been left awkwardly in the lane. Its front right wheel shimmied and barely met the asphalt, as he pushed it, and if she had to guess, he was wrangling it to the left to compensate.