by Meg Muldoon
She looked at him as if the child was somehow foreign to her.
Jake resolved to talk to Dr. Bennett on Monday.
The child wailed and shrieked. Jake pat his back and softly sang an old Eagles’ song about gunfighters and the old west.
But none of it helped.
The baby wanted his mother.
Jake looked around the room for something. Something to calm him down. Distract him until that sense of calm carried him off into dream land. Something that would…
And that’s when Jake saw it.
The note.Taped to the crib.
The note he’d been afraid of finding for months now.
Before even reading the words she had written, Jake Warner knew he’d never be the same again.
Chapter 52
I gasped awake to the sound of something slamming and splintering against the front of the house.
My heart pounded like a runaway freight train in my chest.
Hank jumped to his feet on the bed, barking and howling with an intensity that the big dog hardly ever showed.
I lay there in bed looking at the ceiling, petrified with fear. My body stiffer than a corpse’s as my heart beat like the hooves of a runaway horse.
Hank’s barking became more frantic and high pitched.
My mind raced.
What had that been?
Was it… could it have been…?
Christina.
I gasped again.
There was another noise.
At my bedroom window this time.
A knock.A clear rap of knuckles hitting glass.
I couldn’t move.
It came again. Louder this time.
Utter fear propelled me to break free from my glass case of fear.
I made a lunging motion for my phone on the nightstand. With trembling hands, I began dialing.
“Loretta!? Loretta!?”
My breath caught in my throat.
It took me a minute to recognize the muffled voice.
Chapter 53
I stared at my front door in silent terror as the sirens wailed in the distance.
Fletcher had his arms around my shoulders, and I pulled the Pendleton blanket tight around my shaking body. But none of that kept the chill out.
Because this chill wasn’t coming from standing out in this 15-degree February night.
This chill was coming from my heart.
I stared at the door, swallowing the bile that had shot up the back of my throat.
A cold wind blew, moving the feathers on the end of the wooden stick ever so slightly.
I shuddered.
There was an arrow sticking out of my front door.
Chapter 54
I watched as the small-town anchors of the local morning news shuffled papers and fumbled over their words, clearly unused to breaking national stories in a town where a black bear stuck up in a tree was about as newsy as it got.
“We just received word from the Broken Hearts Police Department that an arrest has been made in the Clay Westwood shooting.”
A large, red, breaking news band appeared on the bottom of the screen.
A moment later, the screen changed, showing a photo of a familiar face.
“Chief Alan Longwell told KTVZ that at 9:34 this morning, a 26-year-old Broken Hearts Junction man named Floyd Gallagher was arrested on suspicion of the attempted murder of Clay Westwood. Gallagher was arrested at his home this morning. Police say they found a hunting bow and arrows in Gallagher’s car matching the description of the arrow that injured country star Clay Westwood Sunday evening. This comes on the heels of an incident early this morning that took place at a home on Juniper Lane, which police have yet to elaborate on. Gallagher was taken to the Broken Hearts County Jail where he is facing charges of…”
I felt my nails digging hard into the plastic of the remote control.
“This is such…”
“B.S.” Fletcher said, finishing the thought for me.
I looked over at him, biting my lip.
It was the first word he’d said to me since pounding on my window earlier that morning, asking me in a worried and desperate tone if I was okay.
Unknown to me, Fletcher had been sitting in his car a few blocks down, keeping an eye out on my house during the night. I presumed, he was making sure Christina wasn’t coming back to finish whatever business she had started. Instead though, he’d seen an old beat-up, truck with no plates roll down the street and sidle up outside my house. A moment later, an arrow was sticking out of my front door.
Because it was dark, Fletcher hadn’t gotten a good look at whoever had shot that arrow at my house.
But we were both in agreement that it hadn’t been Floyd Gallagher behind it. No matter what the cops might have found in the trunk of his car.
There was another aspect to all of this, too. The reason why Fletcher was treating me so cold this morning.
Him being camped out there all night meant that he’d seen Raymond come into my house. Which meant that he might have had some wrong ideas about me and the cop.
Fletcher hadn’t spoken a word the rest of the morning. Not on the whole drive over here to The Cupid.
I didn’t know where Fletcher and I stood anymore.
But I couldn’t think too much about any of that right now.
Because all I wanted to do was find out who had shot that arrow into my door.
The same person who had shot Clay, and killed his father.
I knew, without a doubt, that I wouldn’t get a single wink of sleep until the right person was behind bars.
Because all of this had suddenly taken on a terribly personal, intrusive tone now.
The killer knew who I was and was after me.
Fletcher’s phone suddenly buzzed.
He pulled it from his pocket, his eyes scanning the screen.
“Clay’s manager says the kid wants to see us.”
I nodded, and without a moment’s thought, went for my jacket.
I didn’t know where Fletcher and I were gonna be when all of this ended.
But like I said.
I couldn’t afford to think about any of that now.
It just hurt too much.
Chapter 55
The kid’s eyes were puffy and swollen, and his face was a shade of grey that reminded me of faded linen curtains at a dingy motel.
His mouth struggled to form words, like a fish out of water, as his eyes drilled into Fletcher.
Clay was doing better than he had been, according to the doctors. But looking at him struggle for words like that didn’t exactly make me feel much better about his condition.
I half-wondered what would have happened if Amy had actually gotten that note to him before he was shot. Would he have listened? Would he have gotten out of Broken Hearts before anyone could have hurt him?
Something told me that he wouldn’t have.
“Pen,” Clay choked out in a weak voice, reaching for the nightstand next to the bed.
Fletcher pulled a pad of paper and a pen from the drawer and handed it to him. He nodded, then scribbled something with his large, pale hands. He pushed it back toward Fletcher.
Fletcher peered down at it, then furrowed his brow, looking back at Clay before handing the notepad over to me.
Eddie Ricker killed my dad.
I nearly dropped the pad of paper.
Eddie.
Jake Warner’s business partner. The skinny guy who had been with him the night he first saw Marie.
Eddie Ricker.
I’d seen him.
Chapter 56
“So you’re saying Marie and Jake’s buddy ran off together?” Fletcher said. “And that the two lovers ended up here in Broken Hearts Junction.”
I nodded, pulling on my jacket while Fletcher hit the button for the elevator.
“And Jake came looking for them,” I said. “Only I think Eddie caught wind that he was here looking, and killed him first.”
The e
levator doors opened and we stepped inside.
“And then shot Clay when he came looking for revenge 25 years later,” Fletcher said, finishing the thought.
I nodded.
He glanced over at me, meeting my eyes.
“So you’re thinking that Maggie is really Marie,” Fletcher said. “And that she was trying to warn her son to get out of here before Eddie shot him too.”
I nodded.
“But if that’s the case, than who’s Eddie, Loretta? Maggie lives alone, as far as we know.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But we have to find Maggie and get her to tell us.”
Fletcher shook his head.
“We should go back to the police,” he said. “Tell them about all this. I’m not gonna let you put yourself in any more danger. Especially after last night. It’s too risky.”
He rubbed his face.
“You know, last night, for a second, Loretta, I thought…”
He trailed off, swallowing hard.
The sentence too terrible to finish.
I shook my head.
“We can’t go to the police,” I said. “They’re not gonna believe my visions. And Raymond said that—”
I stopped talking.
A look of hurt had suddenly taken hold of Fletcher’s eyes. A fleeting look that disappeared as soon as he noticed that I had noticed.
He looked away, staring ahead at the elevator doors.
I swallowed hard.
“Fletch, nothing happened between me and—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said sharply.
I felt my face grow hot.
The doors slid apart, and he stepped out first, as if he couldn’t wait to get off that elevator.
I thought for a moment about not following him. About letting him go on alone. About calling a cab and going back to The Cupid to sit in its cool, calming darkness and cry alone.
About letting him walk away, right then and there.
But then I saw her making a bee line for him from the direction of the hospital café.
And I found myself jumping off of that elevator and following after him.
Chapter 57
“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping away another stream of tears from her cheeks. “Y’all didn’t sign up for any of this. And here you are, caught right in the middle.”
I grabbed a Kleenex from my purse and handed it to her. She smiled sadly and nodded gratefully.
Her name was Alissa, and she couldn’t have been much older than 25, I reckoned. She had long chestnut brown hair and large, deep set eyes that were bloodshot and full of water at the moment. She was a girl next door type if I ever saw one. She had an honest, pretty, down-to-earth face.
The kind of honest, pretty, down-to-earth face that Clay Westwood had left behind in the dust when he reached country superstardom, trading it in for the looks of some supermodel bimbo of the week, the way Alissa told it.
Alissa folded the Kleenex and then looked over at Fletcher from across the hospital cafeteria table.
“You know, Clay was always talking about you when we were together,” she said. “He really idolized you. I don’t know if you knew how much. The fact that you, of all people, believed in him when he was a nobody really meant something to him. Even when his head got too big for his own good, he always respected you for the chance you gave him.”
Fletcher looked down sadly.
“Anyone with a decent ear could see that he was headed for something,” he said, sheepishly.
She bit her lower lip, nodding.
“He doesn’t want to see me,” she said. “Can you believe that? I came all this way. And the bastard won’t even let me come into the hospital room.”
She looked up at the ceiling, a few more fat tears spilling over the rims of her eyes.
“I’m such a damned fool.”
She suddenly reminded me of me, back in the days when I thought that Jacob and I were meant to be together. When I’d held onto hope for years, only to find out that the man hadn’t been worth the wait in the least.
“We’d been talking a little these past few weeks,” she said. “I thought maybe we were on the right track, you know? That he’d finally get his head out of his…”
She bit her lip to keep from swearing.
“Out of his behind and see that I’m the girl he belongs with.”
Her story sounded so familiar.
Too familiar.
“You must think I’m such an idiot.”
“We don’t think that at all,” I said.
I half wondered if I shouldn’t say something more to her. Tell her that he wasn’t worth it, no matter how much she loved him and thought they should be together. That having any hope of getting back with him was foolhardy and would only cause her pain and suffering.
But then I thought better of it.
It wasn’t exactly my business. And the girl already had enough pain and suffering at the moment as it was.
Fletcher leaned forward in his chair.
“Alissa, when you were talking to Clay these past few weeks, did he ever mention anybody named Eddie Ricker to you?”
She furrowed her brow, the tears stopping momentarily. She focused on the plastic table in front of her, deep in thought.
Then she shook her head.
“No,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve heard that name before.”
She sighed.
“Clay told me what he was doing out here in Broken Hearts. And I told him not to come. To let sleeping dogs lie. But he wouldn’t listen to me.
“Last I talked to him was the morning he got shot. He was saying that he was going to go talk to a woman who he thought might know something. Her name started with an M. Margaret or Mary, maybe.”
“Or Maggie?” Fletcher said.
“Yeah,” she said. “Maggie. That was it.”
I felt my breath catch in my throat as Fletcher shot a knowing glance in my direction.
“Alissa, do you have a place to stay?” he said, turning his attention back to her. “Because if not, then you’re more than welcome to—”
She shook her head.
“No. Thank you for the offer, but I’m not staying a minute longer in this town than I have to. Clay doesn’t want me here, so I’m gonna respect his wishes. I’m flying back home to Knoxville this afternoon.”
The pain in her voice was almost unbearable.
“But thank you Fletcher and Loretta for looking after him,” she said. “It, uh…”
She paused, swallowing hard.
“It makes me feel better knowing that he has some good folks looking after him here.”
“He’ll be okay, Alissa,” Fletcher said, tenderly.
She nodded.
“Yeah,” she said. “I know he will.”
Then she stood up.
“I better get going if I’m going to make that flight,” she said.
“Is there anything you want us to tell him?” I asked.
She paused for a moment.
Then she shook her head.
“We’ve said all we need to say.”
She grabbed her long trench coat off the back of the seat, and pulled it on.
She nodded again, then walked swiftly across the hospital’s receiving area. Disappearing out the front door and into the parking lot.
That poor girl, was all I could think. Coming all this way.
Just so Clay could tell her he didn’t want to see her.
Wasn’t that just like love.
Chapter 58
Lawrence sat on the porch of Fletcher’s house, staring out at the snow-covered buttes in the distance, looking pale and sickly and like he hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in a long, long time.
I knew that Clay getting shot had brought up a lot of memories for the old timer. Memories of things that he probably wished had stayed buried.
And just like his grandson, the old man felt in some way responsible for what happened to Clay.
I kneeled down next to him, pulling the checkered wool blanket tighter around his frail body, tucking it under the wood chair he was sitting in.
“Lawrence, I don’t think you ought to be out here,” I said.
“The fresh air’s doing me good, hon,” he said, placing an old wrinkled hand on mine.
I smiled at him.
I didn’t like seeing Lawrence so worried. Though we weren’t related by blood, me and the old man were practically two peas in a pod. I could say without any hesitation that Law Dog had been my best friend for the past five years.
He took in a deep, languorous breath.
“Damn these winters,” he said. “Over 80 years of weather in this country, and the cold don’t get any easier.”
I put my hands on my hips.
Stubborn old Lawrence. He was going to freeze sitting out here.
“We oughta talk indoors—”
“No, darling.’ I told you. Here’s just fine,” Lawrence said.
Hard-headed as a mule was Law Dog Halliday.
Fletcher leaned against the porch railing, looking at the old man.
“Lawrence, you know everything about everyone in this town,” he said. “Hell, you’re a walking encyclopedia of Broken Hearts Junction. We were hoping you could help us with something. Something that has to do with Clay getting shot.”
The old man nodded stoically.
“The memory’s not what it once was,” he said. “But if I can help you catch the bastard who shot at Bitters’ house this morning, then I’ll do everything I can to remember.”
The old man looked at me, a loving expression on his face.
I squeezed his wrinkled hand.
Sometimes it felt as if Lawrence was my own grandfather, the way he cared and worried about me.
“How much do you know about Maggie Morton?” I said. “Our bartender at The Cupid.”
The old man rubbed his chin, staring hard into the cold and lonely expanse of frozen trees and desert scrub.
