by Meg Muldoon
Still waiting on an answer from her.
And he hadn’t moved from that spot for a long, long time.
She continued to pace the floor of her apartment, resisting the urge to go back over to the blinds and steal another glance down at him.
She’d been the fool for too long.
Now, he was gonna get a chance to feel what it was like. If anyone deserved to have their heart broken, it was Clay Westwood.
She felt a sharp twinge in her heart at that thought.
Of him hurting.
Of him feeling the pain of being rejected and unloved.
The thought didn’t make her feel better. Not like she thought it would. It made her feel worse.
It hurt her to think he was in pain. Of any sort.
She bit her lip hard until she tasted blood.
Then she went over to the window, giving into the urge, peeking through the blinds again.
The rain was coming down even harder now. Big fat drops pelted the pane.
And he was still down there, looking up at her.
She let out a sharp sigh.
She loved him.
She loved him, even when it hurt. Even when he gave her no reason to love him.
And she knew nothing was gonna change that.
Nothing.
She grabbed her raincoat.
Chapter 72
We stood at the overgrown and forgotten grave of Jake Warner as the snow melted into slush around us.
The tombstone looked weathered beyond its 25 years. Dead weeds clung at its base.
I couldn’t be sure, but I had a feeling that this grave had never known any flowers.
Until today.
Clay leaned down, taking his time, placing a white tulip on the grave of Jake Warner.
He stood back up, steadying himself on Fletcher’s shoulder.
Clay was still recovering, and he’d be recovering for a long while yet. The walk from the car to the grave hadn’t been more than the length of a football field, but it had been a struggle for the kid to get here. He was still catching his breath.
But despite being hurt, there was a lightness in Clay’s energy that hadn’t been there before. A sense of peace, maybe. The darkness, which had been with him when he first arrived in Broken Hearts Junction, seemed to have faded away.
He stared down at the grave for a long, long while in silence. A breeze rustled through the pine trees around us, and we all just listened to the wind for a spell. Lost in our own thoughts.
I was thinking about Jake.
I didn’t talk to ghosts. Or at least, I didn’t used to believe that I had that capability.
But this had been the second time that my matchmaking visions had helped catch a murderer. And part of me wondered if these visions weren’t the dead speaking to me somehow, in their own way.
Looking for justice from beyond the grave.
I couldn’t be sure. But standing there over Jake Warner’s grave, I felt as if maybe Jake had been talking to me all this time.
Wanting Clay to know what happened to him. And why he never came home.
Clay pulled something from his pocket then. An old, worn, envelope.
“My aunt left this when she died this fall,” he said, unfolding the letter. “She didn’t want to give it to me, because she knew what I’d do when I read it. She knew I’d end up here, looking for his murderer.”
He rubbed the letter between his finger and thumb.
“I must have read it a thousand times,” he said. “He wrote it the day he was killed. You know what it says?”
He sighed.
“It said he was coming home. That he loved my aunt and me, and that he was coming home without my mother. That she had chosen Eddie over us. But that he would find a way to make it work. That we didn’t need her anymore. And that doing the right thing meant raising me up to be a good man.”
He smiled sadly.
“All he left me was this letter and an old Eagles record,” he said. “That’s all I knew of him before. Until now.”
He walked over to the grave, placing a hand on it.
“I might not have been your real son by blood,” he whispered into the wind, his words thick with emotion. “But you were my real father, Jake. Don’t matter what anybody says.”
I held back the tears as best I could.
Clay looked up into the dark, angry sky above us, taking in a deep breath. Then he let it out, and I could see all that pain and anger and hurt leave him.
He let his hand drop from the tombstone and stepped back to where we were, staring at the grave a few moments longer.
Then he looked over at me.
“Thank you, Loretta,” he whispered.
I smiled through the sadness.
He turned to leave, having said the things he needed to say. We helped him walk down the concrete path, through the trees shaking in the sharp gusts of wind.
“Well, I’ll be,” Fletcher said after a moment, nodding in the distance.
I followed his gaze.
At first, it was just a faint band streaming down from the sky, hardly noticeable against the dark bank of clouds. But then, like a mirage appearing in the desert, the band became stronger, its colors overwhelming the darkness behind it.
We paused for a moment, admiring the vibrant colors of the rainbow as it pushed farther upward, until its perfect arch expanded across the length of the sky.
I suddenly had a feeling that Jake had heard his son.
“Fletch?” Clay said, after a minute.
“Yeah, kid.”
“Can you take me to the airport?”
“Sure thing, Clay.”
He glanced over at me.
“I need a one-way ticket to Knoxville.”
I smiled, my heart brimming with a quiet joy.
Alissa might not take Clay back right away.
But I had a feeling that she would one day soon.
I’d put money down on that.
Chapter 73
“You old devil,” I said, shaking my head and staring down at the chess board. “You stole one of my pieces when I wasn’t lookin’.”
“Are you calling me a cheat, Bitters?”
“That’s exactly what I’m calling you,” I said.
He moved his bishop, taking my only remaining knight with unbounded glee.
“Well, I can’t pretend that that doesn’t hurt me,” he said, placing a hand over his heart. “My most trusted friend losing faith in me like that. Kind of stings something terrible inside.”
I rolled my eyes.
Old Law Dog and his exaggerating ways.
I pushed one of the few pieces I had left on the board forward, keeping my hand on it a long, long while, trying to anticipate every move Law Dog could make in response.
I finally let go, relatively sure that the old man was gonna sweep that piece up just as easy as he’d swept up the rest of my plastic army.
I went back to chopping up lemons and limes while the old man pretended to think about his next move.
It was late morning, and The Stupid Cupid Saloon was empty save for Law Dog and me. But it wouldn’t be that way for long.
After almost two weeks of being shut down on account of Clay getting shot and the drama that had unfolded in the crime’s wake, The Stupid Cupid was going to reopen tonight.
Broken Hearts Junction was finally getting back to some sense of normalcy after the shake-up that had gone down.
Pastor Cash Phillips, aka Eddie Ricker, had been shot in the chest by Fletcher. But just as Clay had said, the big man was going to make it. He was looking at an attempted murder charge, along with a murder charge for a homicide that took place 25 years earlier. Additionally, Chief Alan Longwell, the man who had initially “investigated” Jake Warner’s death, had been put on leave pending an in-depth internal investigation. Raymond had gone to the Oregon State Police about the chief’s mishandling of both cases. Raymond had told us he’d found evidence that the chief had willingly
participated in a cover-up regarding the recent crime, and that authorities were now looking into Longwell’s finances. It was suspected they’d find evidence that the chief had been bought off to botch not only the recent incident, but other incidents in the past.
Things had worked themselves out, and justice had been served. And for the most part, everything had been going along just great lately.
Well, just about everything.
The two owners of The Stupid Cupid Saloon hadn’t really spoken to each other in several days.
In fact, things had been downright icy between them.
I thought that almost getting killed might have made Fletcher and me forget our problems, but it hadn’t. They were still there, strong as ever. And they would be, so long as Christina was still in town, leaching off of Fletcher. So long as he let her do that to him. So long as he wouldn’t listen to me.
Law Dog reached for a donut from the pink box that I had stopped and picked up this morning just for his benefit. He stuffed the tail end of a maple bar into his mouth, a few sprinkles missing the mark and finding their home on his flannel shirt just as Brooks & Dunn started praising Maria from the jukebox.
Lawrence moved one of his knights, sweeping up the same piece I’d just moved.
I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth, leaning forward and resting my chin on my elbow.
“I missed that angle completely.”
“Don’t let it get you down,” he said, winking. “Most folks don’t see my moves coming.”
I smiled.
He was right about that.
Pastor Phillips certainly hadn’t banked on Law Dog shooting at him that night behind Maggie’s cabin. And there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that the only reason Fletcher and I were still alive today was because of the 87-year-old and his rifle.
I shook my head silently, made a blind move forward with one of my pawns, and went back to doing prep work for the night ahead.
Law Dog finished the rest of the donut silently. I waited for him to make another crack of some sort, but he didn’t.
He stared for a long while at the chess board, and then looked up at me.
“So, when are you and Fletch getting married?”
I almost dropped the pairing knife I was holding, catching it just in time before it took a jump over the bar edge.
I looked up, trying to catch my breath.
That question sure had come out of left field.
“Well, I…” I stammered, putting the knife down. “You see, things are—”
“Now Bitters, I didn’t mean to be eavesdropping, but I couldn’t help but overhear that you and Fletch are going through a rough patch.”
I looked down and swallowed.
“I heard that it was over that she-devil woman who came back into town, looking for his help,” he continued. “And that you’re angry with Fletch because you don’t want him to help her. Sound about right?”
I bit my lip and nodded.
“I don’t blame you, Bitters,” he said. “That woman’s a femme fatale if there ever was one. I don’t like to see Fletcher help her in any way. But you know, Fletch is a good man. He won’t turn his back on someone, no matter how badly they might have hurt him in the past. That’s a rare bird, hon. Somebody who can find forgiveness in his heart like that? That’s a rare bird indeed. Someone worth keeping, I should think.”
I didn’t say anything. I could feel my face growing hot.
“And you know something else?” he said.
“What?”
“He’s crazy about one girl in this world, and one girl only,” he said. “And you know who that is?”
I bit my lip.
“That gal is you, honey,” he said. “Never has been anybody else. You oughta hear the way he talks about you when you’re not there. He loves you, Loretta. And I mean, really loves you.”
“Law Dog, I appreciate what you’re—”
He placed a hand on mine.
“I only ever loved one woman my whole life, Loretta,” he said. “Now I know that might come as a surprise to you. You think I was a philanderer. But Fletcher’s grandma was the only woman I ever really cared for or wanted.”
He sighed sadly.
“I destroyed it all though,” he said. “I drove her away. I was young and thought marriage would be easy. And when it wasn’t, I didn’t put in the effort to meet her halfway. She left me after five years.”
He winced.
“And Loretta, there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think about what life would’ve been like if only I had met her halfway. If only I had tried a little harder to understand her side of things.”
He squeezed my hand.
“Don’t make the same mistake, honey,” he said. “Fletcher’s not perfect. But he’s a good man. And there’s no one in this world that loves you as much as he does.”
He smiled warmly.
“And besides. I’ve been waiting over a decade now for you to become my granddaughter. Fletcher’s my last hope.”
I cracked a sad smile.
Though Jacob and I had been together for a long time, we’d never married. A point that I think always bugged Lawrence.
“Well, I’ll take all that under consideration,” I said.
I stopped what I was doing, looking up, and then squeezed that wrinkled hand of his.
“Thank you, Lawrence,” I said.
“Aw, it’s nothing,” he said. “I just want to see you two kids happy, is all. I ain’t no matchmaker, but it don’t take one to see that you belong together.”
He smiled, those old crow’s feet of his pulling at the edges of his eyes.
The front door to The Cupid suddenly opened. A rush of mild air shot past us.
Fletcher walked in, carrying a box of whiskey bottles.
He didn’t look at me as he placed the box on the bar counter and then went into the back office.
I bit my lip hard.
Lawrence saw my downcast expression, and placed his hand on top of mine.
“It’ll be okay, darlin,’” he said.
I nodded.
But I didn’t quite believe old Law Dog.
Fletcher and I had come up to a huge, treacherous river crossing.
And I didn’t know if both of us were going to make it to the other side alive.
Chapter 74
I found her and her minivan down by The Crooked River.
Leaning against the bottle-nosed hood, staring out at those waters. Doing something that was more befitting of me.
I brought my truck to a stop in one of the park’s lot spaces, and then slowly walked toward her, maneuvering around the few patches of snow that were leftover from the storm.
Warmer weather had arrived, taking the place of frigid temperatures and going a ways toward ridding the landscape of any reminder of the storm. And it was only the beginning. Tomorrow, the weatherman had called for a sunny day with highs nearing 70. An extremely unusual bout of warm weather was on its way, he’d said. They were starting to call the warm front June in February.
I, for one, was glad to see the snow go. I’d seen enough of it for the time being.
I took a spot beside her, leaning on that new, recently-washed minivan of hers. Stealing a sideways glance at the bottle of gin she was drinking out of.
“Don’t you go judging me now, Loretta,” Molly, my sister said, tossing back a swig and making a sour face.
“I wasn’t,” I said. “I was just thinking that straight gin might not have been my first choice.”
She shrugged.
“It’s all there was in the house.”
She took another sip.
I had to do a double-take.
I’d never seen my sister drink much more than a few glasses of wine, let alone any of the hard stuff. She’d always given me a hard time about drinking. Now here she was, tossing it back like there was no tomorrow.
Something must have been terribly wrong with her.
“Listen,
Molly,” I said. “I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you lately. I know we were supposed to talk a while ago, and I never got back to you.”
She shrugged again.
“A lot was going on,” she said. “The pastor…”
She trailed off.
Pastor Phillips had always been a particular favorite of Molly’s, and like most of the community, I imagined she had taken the news pretty hard about who he actually was and the terrible things he’d done.
“Is that why you’re out here?” I asked. “Because of the pastor?”
She shook her head.
She looked down at the river, biting her lip.
“I’m a bad woman, Loretta,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s why I’m out here.”
I furrowed my brow.
I’d never seen this side of Molly.
Molly was always the goody two-shoes of the family. The one who had her life together. The one who did everything right. The one who got married to a nice, well-off man. Who had kids and stayed at home and cooked and cleaned and went to church and did everything on the up and up. And lord knew, she acted like it, too. Making sure that everybody knew just how great her life was and how great her husband was and how great her kids were.
I had thought she was incapable of self-doubt.
Until now.
Something was wrong. Really wrong with her.
And though we weren’t always simpatico, Molly was still my sister. And I cared about her well-being, even if we didn’t get along 98 percent of the time.
“What’s wrong, Mol?” I said, placing a hand on her shoulder.
She looked down, sighing.
“I think you’re gonna hate me,” she said, taking in a deep breath. “But I think… I think you’re the only one I can talk to about it.”
“And I’m here for whatever you have to—”
“I’m thinking about leaving my husband,” she said quickly, looking away.
I felt my eyes grow wide.
“Really?” I said.
She nodded.
Then, she stared dead into my eyes.
“I’m thinking about leaving him for Raymond.”
