My finger quit moving and fisted into my hand. Breath trapped in my lungs.
“Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
I flattened my hand on the cool stone of granite countertops. Not relaxed, but better. “I’m sorry if I’ve made it difficult for you. It’s true. But families face tragedies.”
Mom didn’t bang anything now. “Everything I did, I’d do again. You’re my first priority. But it wouldn’t do me any good if this investigator figures out how you retired with full bennies.”
The fog of guilt smelled foul around me. I waded through Frank’s burning assessment of Mom’s words. “I’m sorry.”
“What’s done is done.” She sounded brisk. “Tell me about your day.”
“It was good. I took an assignment patrolling a high school baseball tourney. My partner, Patricia talked about hiking next week.”
She hesitated. “Huh.” I waited and she began again. “If you aren’t ready for a dog, have you given any more thought to volunteering at the animal shelter?”
“The Rangers keeps me busy enough.”
“Well, yes. But maybe try something less challenging. Being a Ranger is too close to being a cop. It might trigger bad memories.”
“A new family is moving in across the street. They seem nice. Have some small kids.”
The lilac odor lingered in my nose and a wave of nausea roiled through me.
Sigh. “Just be careful, Honey.”
I lost my appetite for the salad. “What do you mean?”
Her voice now was nothing like her Erie County Sheriff one. More like a kindergarten teacher explaining why we need to share the red crayon. “You’ve always gravitated to the misfits and those who have issues. But now, you need to protect yourself. I want you to be cautious in making new friends.”
A knife of Frank’s indignation surfaced. “I’m not a bad judge of character.”
“You tend to only see the good in people and haven’t learned that not everyone is trustworthy.”
I ground my teeth hoping she wouldn’t bring up Larry and Sue. She blamed them for betraying me. Or had I betrayed them?
Her fatigue weighted her voice. “I’m sorry, Honey. I don’t want to hurt you. I just worry about you. And this time of year….” She sighed again. “I hate that I’m not there to be with you.”
“You could be. Forget about the election. Retire and move to Tucson. Sunshine. No snow to shovel. You’d love it.”
“It sounds heavenly. But I’m not ready to quit, yet.”
I’d quit already. But some sliver of survival instinct was forcing a feeble comeback.
We said good night, with our usual promise to talk tomorrow. With my phone turned to silent I scraped my plate into the trash and carefully washed, dried, and put away my dishes.
I filled a tall glass with ice water and dropped in a thick slice of lemon, turned off all the lights. I pulled a faded red hoodie off of the armrest of the couch and pulled it close to my cheek, the worn fabric soft. The scent had long since evaporated but that didn’t prevent me from knowing the smell in the tissues of my body. I settled into a comfortable wicker chair and called Frank.
He was angry, as usual. I’d learned it’s always best to let him go first and burn off most of it. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it until you grow a brain. Being a Ranger is bullshit.”
“Mom doesn’t like it either.”
That lit him up. He called Mom obscene names that made me cringe and want to block my ears. I let him go on. This was his time. If I censored him, he’d escalate until I lost all control.
When he’d expelled the worst, I said, “And I’ve got the experience.”
“Experience!” Frank shouted and I winced. “Experience in failing, maybe.”
I redirected him to the ball park incident. “Those girls were in trouble. I had to do something.”
Frank exploded. “As if you can help anyone.”
The red sweatshirt weighed a million pounds. “I understand you feel I let you down.” My voice sounded calm. “But I need to do what I can to make sure no one else suffers.”
“Hey, cupcake, you didn’t stop anything, only you’re too stupid to know it.”
Frank and I went back and forth for another hour, him accusing me of monstrous evils, including colluding with the smarmy guy from the ball park to harm those girls. I met him with calm disclaimers until he finally quit talking.
Eventually, my world quieted. Seconds before I drifted to sleep curled into the wicker saucer chair, clutching the red sweatshirt, my eyes popped open.
What had Frank said?
“If you weren’t such a moron you wouldn’t have missed the real danger.”
I’d chalked it up to his constant paranoia on my behalf.
Frank was crude, often violent, and needed a lot of careful attention, but I’d learned his main goal was to keep me safe.
Not thinking it amounted to much, I said, “What is the danger?”
He growled at me. “Ask Peanut.”
But he knew. They all knew. I would never ask Peanut anything.
Never.
11
The sun infiltrated the slats of the blinds and sneaked into the house, waking me. I unwound from the round wicker chair where I’d slept in a knot and padded to the kitchen. It was nearly ten, and that left me only enough time for a cup of coffee and toast before I needed to leave.
The office was a forty-minute drive, closer to an hour in the frequently heavy traffic. It annoyed Tara if I arrived late so I made a point of punctuality. Giving Tara a reason to think anything but good about me was the last thing I wanted.
I took care with my appearance. Fresh T-shirt, crisp jeans, hair in a neat ponytail. Clean teeth, straight shoulders, clear eyes. The smile I practiced in the mirror looked convincing. Cup rinsed, nothing out of place in the living room except the red hoodie, back on the arm rest of the sofa. Yesterday had taken care of itself. Today would be better.
I stepped out my front door. An unexpected sight smacked me in the face when I spun around. Frank couldn’t beat me to the curses fighting to escape my lips. Hands on hips, I stared at the mess, waiting for my rage to cool.
Strung from the top of my mesquite tree, wound around the Texas sage, strangling the fragrant purple blossoms, stuck in the tines of the prickly pear, roll after roll of toilet paper flickered in the scant desert breeze.
The heat from the morning sun sizzled my skin while I talked my way out of the murderous temper. A teenaged prank didn’t require a blood feud.
Next door, Mr. and Mrs. Dempsey would be at their Friday morning Silver Sneakers class. I hadn’t asked, but Mrs. Dempsey caught me outside fixing my rain gutter one day and filled me in on details of their lives, from their retirement fifteen years ago in Omaha to how Mr. Dempsey’s stomach didn’t tolerate raspberry preserves. All her words had made it easy to not talk about myself.
The U-Haul in front of Sherilyn’s clunked and spewed a tall man with corn-tassel hair and beard out its back. He balanced a washing machine on a dolly and maneuvered it down the ramps. Cheyenne popped out of the truck behind him, carrying a table lamp nearly as big as her little brother. I didn’t catch her words, but from her tone, it was clear she directed the operation.
Sherilyn scurried from the front door, propping it open for the washer. She glanced over and spotted me. “Morning!” Her shout bounded up my front walk and I wanted to duck before it hit me.
I raised my hand in a half-hearted wave, then diverted my attention back to my front yard. The noise swirling in my head urged me to punch the side of my house. At least I recognized that wouldn’t help and would only injure my hand. Nothing to do but grab some gloves and a trash bag and take my frustration out on the toilet paper.
“Hey, good morning.”
I blinked away the internal confusion. Sherilyn stood in front of me, Kaycee by her side. Kaycee’s little hand wrapped protectively in Sherilyn’s, her upper lip stained with red juice. �
�Looks like you’re either super popular or you pissed off some high schoolers.”
Relax your jaw. “The second one.”
She clicked in a what are you gonna do? way. “Can I ask your advice?”
My mouth was too dry to answer.
Sherilyn squinted at me. “Are you okay? You look peaked. Maybe sit down?” She motioned me to a decorative wrought iron bench Mom bought at one of those Mexican pottery places. Mom said it brightened the plain stucco house. I’d had a fantasy of sitting with neighbors on a cool evening, laughing and telling stories. It might happen. Someday.
Sherilyn advanced to back me onto the bench. “I swear, it’s only May and not even noon, but that sun will melt you.”
I worked up what I hoped passed for a friendly face.
Kaycee smiled at me. Her wispy white hair stirred in the slight puff of air. Bright blue eyes sliced with a surgeon’s precision, releasing a surge of longing so strong it took my breath. I might have crumpled on the patio if Kaycee hadn’t shyly raised her hand and wiggled her fingers in a wave.
Sherilyn studied me. “Think you’ll be okay?”
‘Okay’ was a level I aspired to on my best days. “Sure. Like you said, it’s hot. And I’m surprised by this.”
That seemed to satisfy her. “Donnie, that’s my hubs, is about to starve. Is that taco truck about a half mile back any good?”
Taco truck? “I haven’t tried it.”
She pursed her lips, probably disappointed with my lack of knowledge. “Got any other good ideas for lunch? This neighborhood is so far out of town I’m afraid we made a mistake settling out here. You know, Donnie is gone a lot on the railroad.”
I clenched and unclenched my hands to stop the tingling. Why was I feeling so freaked out by this? It was only a good old-fashioned TPing. I’d done it as a teen.
Someone whispered to me with sinister intent. “There’s more.”
Kaycee puckered up and blew me a kiss, her fat little fingers flinging it.
I stood up, making Sherilyn step back. “It’s a quiet neighborhood. Safe. I don’t eat out much. Sorry.”
Couldn’t seem to insult Sherilyn. “Guess we’ll try to the taco truck and let you know.” She started home, then turned abruptly. “Cheyenne bolted out of the house first thing and was across the street before I got on enough clothes to chase her down.”
I tried to sound normal, but there was an edge to my tone. “Is she okay?”
Sherilyn laughed. “She complained about the rocks in your yard being hard on her feet but she’s fine. And the little birds made it through the night.”
The birds. I’d forgotten.
“Cheyenne says Kaycee named them Frank and Maggie.” Sherilyn laughed. “Don’t know where she comes up with these things.”
While I struggled to breathe again, Sherilyn tugged Kaycee gently away. When they made it across the street, she dropped the little hand and picked up a box. With a casual glance over her shoulder, she said, “Let’s go inside.” She didn’t watch to make sure Kaycee followed. But I did.
A dot of red drew my attention to the rocks by the side of my driveway. My ears rang and my fingers fizzled with a thousand pricks. Once I spotted the one, more and more splashes of red dotted my yard leading up to the bird enclosure.
A Hot Tamales candy box lay crushed by the fence.
My head rang and pounded like a half dozen hammers beat inside my brain. What pulled me back was the sight of the gray sedan cruising by. I watched it round the curve twenty yards away.
Inside my house, I punched Patricia’s number. It rang several times. Maybe she debated answering. I couldn’t remember calling her before. Our few exchanges outside of working together were done via text.
“Jamie!” She sounded happy. “What’s up?”
No time for small talk. “Did anyone vandalize your house last night?”
She stammered, “Vandal? What? No.”
The French doors to my backyard locked with a bolt and I struggled one handed, finally flinging them open. “My front yard was TPed. I’m thinking it was those girls from the ball park.”
“How would they even know where you live?”
My ankles crossed and I flopped cross-legged on the deck, sinking my hand into the blue ripples. “Don’t know. Maybe they followed me. But it has to be them. No one else would do this.” The candy had looked like red bullets. I flicked my fingers in the cool water, letting it soothe me.
She still didn’t sound convinced. “Maybe. Girls can be mean like that and we did get them suspended from the squad.”
“As soon as I get this cleaned up, I’m going to go to the high school to talk to them.”
“Whoa. It’s a harmless prank. You shouldn’t make a big deal out of it.”
With effort, I softened my tone and slowed my words. “I know this is going to sound crazy…” Ironic for me to use that word. “But I have a feeling there’s more to this than a prank. I would feel a lot better if I could check on those girls and make sure they’re okay.”
She laughed. “I’d say if they’re fine enough to trash your house, they’re probably all okay.”
“Maybe it wasn’t all of them. I don’t know. I’m worried they might be into trouble.”
She hesitated. “Like you think they met up with that guy from the ball park?”
Was I really trusting my intuition again? “Yeah. Maybe.”
“But there was nothing to that yesterday. Are you sure you’re not just upset about Zoey Clark and seeing danger everywhere?”
“Yeah. That’s not it.” As long as I was digging my hole, I might as well make it deep. “It felt off to me. And this TPing thing.” The Hot Tamales. I couldn’t tell her about that. “I don’t know.”
She sounded skeptical. “Why not call Mitch? As company commander, he can probably talk to the principal at the school. They can call them into the office and talk about vandalism. Leave you out of it.”
She made sense. I thanked her but couldn’t help thinking of my old partner. Kari would have thrown in with me even if she thought I was nuts. That was a long time ago. Before she disappeared from my life like so many others. I dialed again.
Mitch picked up on the second ring. “Company Commander, Tucson Arizona Rangers.” He took his position seriously.
I tensed. Sixty, if a day, Mitch preferred a traditional black cowboy hat with his uniform, making him look a little like John Wayne in his later years. I hated his fringe of gray hair that inched below his hat, usually darkened by sweat. Too much like Dad’s.
I explained our encounter with the girls yesterday and the mischief at my house.
He sounded like warm milk. Mitch had a grandpa quality he’d probably cultivated for forty years. It didn’t fool me. He’d retired as police chief in some east coast jurisdiction and now served as Commander of the Tucson Company of the Arizona Rangers. “Um hm. I understand you’re upset. That toilet paper’s gotta be a bear to get off cactus. But we don’t want to go making a mountain out of this itty-bitty mole hill. We’re here to protect the public and we value our positive image. Let’s not get all boiled up over nothing.”
I had nothing credible to make my case, so I agreed and hung up.
On my way to the garage for my gloves I stabbed another number into my phone. My eyes focused on the crushed candy box.
When her machine picked up, I cleared my throat to be sure I sounded normal. “Tara. Something’s come up and I won’t make it in today. I know that inconveniences you and I’m sorry. But I’ll be there Monday, as usual.”
Tara would not like this one bit. She couldn’t hate it more than I did.
12
The sporty red Nissan didn’t have the kick it should and the drive across town to the high school felt like a funeral procession. I bought the car because Mom liked it and by then, I’d learned the quickest way to relieve her worry was to act cheerful and optimistic about the future. Now that I was left alone with a Nissan Juke, I was free to my indifference.
Friday mid-morning traffic in Tucson trapped me between stop lights. In another couple of months, getting around would get easier as U of A students fled the blaze of summer, and the snow-birds returned to their grandchildren, bragging about their sunny winters. For now, I stuttered my way up Oracle Road to suburbs more established, with property values considerably higher than mine, taller cactus and agave in the gravel-covered yards.
The man at the school and the one on the trail looked the same to me. Were they the same man? Was he following me? What rattled me to my bones was wondering if either of them had been real.
Maybe Mom and Tara were right; I should retreat for a couple of days.
Another problem nudged at me. The faint scent of lilacs lingered in my car on my drive here. Maybe I didn’t feel completely undone, but obviously the smell was some new sort of game my mind wanted to play.
It hadn’t taken long to Google Tucson high schools and find Ventana High, the yellow and black Hornets. I planned to hang around and watch until I saw the girls. Once I knew they were safe, I’d deal with my over-reaction to the guy at the park, the smell of lilacs, the Hot Tamales spilled in my yard, and the toilet paper mess.
The honest truth, might as well admit it to myself, was that I worried about the guy at the park. Everything should be fine, but my icky hairs zinged and Frank fussed. Even if all the alarms rang false, I had to check it out.
While I waited, images of the man with the girls made my gut feel like a washer full of rocks, tumbling and bruising. He might do what bad guys do, like a coyote on the desert, born to scavenge and take advantage. It was our job—parents, cops, decent people—to protect the young and innocent. We couldn’t build the nests on the ground, or kick fledglings out too soon, wings flapping but not knowing how to use them, feeling the exhilaration of flight only to be easy dinner for a passing predator.
The parking lot stretched across acres, filled with the shiny foreign cars affluent parents gift their image-conscious teens. The Mitsubishi Eclipse I parked behind afforded some cover but left me space to view the front walk to the Taj Mahal of high schools.
The Desert Behind Me Page 7
