Dog Tags

by Heidi Glick

  Confident his pills had kicked in, the Knight turned on the prepaid cell phone and dialed Beth’s number. Poor helpless girl. Didn’t even know to make her number unlisted. He’d have to instruct her on the finer points of safety once they were together. His heart raced with each ring of the phone.

  “Hello?” Beth answered.

  The Knight gripped the arm of his couch. Words were not coming as he’d hoped. But he’d planned ahead. On the coffee table sat a CD player. The Knight played the song he’d chosen for Beth. As a ballad of friendship and love played in the background, the Knight closed his eyes and sat in meditation.

  “Hello? Who is this?” Beth asked then hung up the phone.

  “Noooo.” The Knight snorted and knocked his palm to his forehead. “Oh sure, I can talk to her now.” He tossed his pills across the room. “Worthless medication. Never helps me do what I want to do.”

  Pills did nothing but turn him into a quiet, repressed man. Nice for those concerned with following society’s norms but clearly not for him.

  35

  Again, Mark glanced out his living room window. Even Sparky, who sat atop a chair and was able to look out the window, appeared to be anticipating Beth’s arrival. He’d heard Beth’s parents moving around in the guest room earlier, but they hadn’t joined him yet. While waiting for Beth, Mark retrieved his cell from his pocket and glanced at the screen—a text message from Lupe from earlier:

  Sparky ran away today, but Mr. Nayeet found him.

  Mr. Nayeet? Never heard of him. Maybe Nayeet was the new neighbor around the corner. He should stop by the man’s place sometime. He could thank him for returning the dog and invite the man over for dinner or coffee. Perhaps Beth could join them.

  As Beth pulled into the driveway, Mark’s shoulders relaxed.

  Beth walked inside, mascara smudged around her red, swollen eyes.

  Mark hugged her, and her body shook. “Are you all right?”

  “Not really. I received a prank call this morning. I picked up the phone, but no one answered. Only breathing on the other end followed by some music.”

  He gripped her shoulders. “What kind of music?”

  “Some cheesy folk song. I figured it was a student and wasn’t going to worry about it because the Knight was behind bars. Then, as I’m about to leave my house, I got a call from the Riversdale Police Department. They’re not so sure Will sent me those notes. A handwriting expert took samples of his writing and doesn’t believe that it matches the notes from the Knight. So I told the police about the phone call. Unfortunately, they can’t trace it now.”

  “But the police have the flowers from Antonio.”

  “We can’t know that he sent them. They said they couldn’t trace the flowers back to any florists in the area, and they didn’t find any fingerprints or DNA on them or the note that came with them. So even if Antonio did send them, we can’t prove it.”

  Mark wrapped his arms around her, and Beth nestled her head onto his shoulder. “It’s going to be OK. If you want, Bill and Tim could pick you up from work each day. I’m sure your principal will have a security guard escorting you again. Maybe try to avoid Antonio, just in case. Your friend Marisa might let you stay with her if you’d like.” His grip tightened. “And you know I’m not going to let you far from my side.” He stared at the ceiling. He’d failed to save Chris. What made him think he could protect Beth? He kept a firearm at work only as a safety precaution. Perhaps he should keep it with him at all times from now on. Since he’d left the military, he’d feared keeping one. Could he trust himself and his emotions? He wasn’t sure.

  “First thing tomorrow, I’ll call the principal and tell him that the police think they haven’t caught the Knight. But for now, there’s not much more we can do. It’s Thanksgiving.” She grabbed a tissue from the box on the coffee table and wiped her eyes. “I don’t want my parents to see me like this.” She sniffed and laughed. “And I really don’t want you to see me like this. I’ll be right back.” Beth hurried off to the bathroom.

  When she returned, her eyes appeared less puffy, and she’d removed the mascara smudges.

  Beth joined Mrs. Martindale on the couch and hugged her. “Hi, Mom.”

  For Mark, it was as if watching from a distance. This wasn’t his family. Maybe he shouldn’t be there. For a moment, he considered what it would have been like if his mom were still alive.

  He remembered Chris saying he helped his dad carve the turkey. Perhaps Mr. Martindale would ask him to help.

  Mark reclined in his chair, unsure of how much they knew but confident he could find out by gauging their reaction as they interacted with him.

  Mr. Martindale rubbed his eyes. His hands were wrinkled and appeared frail. Time had flown. He should have reconnected with them sooner. The Martindales appeared friendly, but then again, these were the kind of people who could forgive anything.

  Mr. Martindale smiled. “How fortunate you live so close to Beth. She told me you fixed her flat tire. And then when that man attacked her…”

  Mark’s shoulders tensed. The attack remained a little too fresh in his mind.

  Mrs. Martindale smiled at Mark. The ceiling light accentuated the sheen of her silvery hair. “Divine intervention, I tell you. I asked God to watch over her.”

  “She’s so far away,” Mr. Martindale said. “It’s nice to know she has a friend nearby.”

  “Beth has her own place, two jobs.” Mark made brief eye contact with Beth. “She’s doing all right without me, sir.”

  Mr. Martindale adjusted his glasses. “Still, it’s nice to have a friend around.”

  “That’s true.” He shifted his gaze to the dining room. Four settings were arranged around the table. Today, Chris should have been at one of them. Instead, he lay six feet under. Was it too late to duck out the back of the house and run away?

  Mr. Martindale tilted his head. “How long has it been since you’ve been to Beaumont?”

  Mark glanced at Beth. Would she bring up the time they’d met outside the Hometown Café—the time when he didn’t have enough courage to face the Martindales? He pursed his lips. “Too long. Far too long.”

  Mr. Martindale looked serious for a moment and nodded. “I agree. So what are you up to these days?”

  Mark ran his hand through his hair. “I teach History of Civilization at the local community college, and a couple of my buddies and I own a bait and tackle store.”

  “Oh, Beth told me that. Great.”

  Beth went to her dad and grabbed him by the arm. “Dad, I don’t mean to interrupt you, but we have some news we need to share. Yesterday, we ran into Kent Davis. He served with Mark and Chris.”

  Mark looked at Mr. Martindale. “Kent later became a pastor—”

  Mr. Martindale nodded. “Right, I remember.”

  Beth stared at the ground. “He said that…” She bit her lip. “He said he talked to Chris the night…”

  Mark leaned closer to Mr. Martindale. “What Beth is trying to say is Kent was able to discuss the Gospel with Chris before he died. Chris had become a Christian. Both of us, and I’m sure, both of you, shared God with Chris. And I don’t think any of us knew he had accepted Christ before he died.”

  Mrs. Martindale smiled but her lip trembled. She clasped her hand over her mouth for a moment. “That’s very comforting. Thank you so much for telling us.”

  Mr. Martindale teared up.

  Was the man going to cry? Mark couldn’t stand the sight of it. At least they hadn’t gone into detail about that night—probably the only thing holding him back from having another episode right now.

  Mr. Martindale rubbed his eye. “So when did you become a Christian?”

  Mark scratched his head. “In the Marine Corp, about six months before Chris’s death.”

  Beth put her hand on her mother’s shoulder. “There’s more.”

  “More?” Mrs. Martindale asked.

  Beth locked eyes with her mom. “Mark would never bring this up on h
is own, but I will.” She made eye contact with her dad. “Mark was injured trying to save Chris.”

  Mark closed his eyes. He didn’t ask for recognition. If it weren’t for Kent’s good news, he’d rather avoid discussing Chris’s death altogether.

  The Martindales wrapped their arms around him.

  He hadn’t saved their son. Why were they hugging him?

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Martindale said.

  Mark shrugged. “By trying to save him…I didn’t do anything special, just what anyone would have done, what Chris would have done.” Moistness on his face—he quickly brushed it aside. Marines didn’t cry. Hopefully, no one noticed. Uh oh. He caught Beth staring at him.

  Beth looked away. “Mom, would you like to help me with some of the side dishes?” She grabbed her mom by the arm and walked toward the kitchen.

  Mrs. Martindale sighed. “This has been quite a Thanksgiving.”

  Sure he had tried to save Chris, but Mark was no hero. Far from it.

  Considering he was the king of trivia, what did he know about sinkholes, and what was the probability one might suck him in right now? Maybe he could pray for one.

  ****

  Mark sat with Mr. Martindale on the couch and watched a Thanksgiving Day parade: first a marching band, then some clowns, and later a drill team twirling their batons. For years he’d joined the man in the same living room with Chris to watch TV, but with the tables turned—the Martindales in his house—Mark didn’t experience the same level of comfort. Shame and guilt racked him. There was the Mark they once knew, and the one he’d kept from them. Living a dual life was almost more than he could bear.

  During a commercial, Mr. Martindale turned toward Mark and smiled. “We’re so happy to spend Thanksgiving with you. I overheard Debbie say she gave Beth your mom’s recipe for apple pie, and they plan on making you one.”

  “They didn’t have to do that. It’s only me, same old kid from the other end of town.” Same kid—who was he kidding? Then again, he did miss Mom’s pie.

  The parade resumed, and Mr. Martindale turned down the volume. “We appreciate you looking after our daughter.”

  “Not a problem. In some ways, Beth’s a little like Chris.” Mark bit back a grin. “A little impulsive. Although she’d probably argue she only has his good qualities.”

  “That sounds about right. I want you to know we don’t feel Chris’s death was your fault. You did what you could to try to save him.” Mr. Martindale ran his hand over his chin. “For a while, Deb and I blamed ourselves because we didn’t become Christians until he was in the Marines, and we felt badly that we hadn’t taken Chris to church more when he was younger. But once we got saved, we prayed for him, and for Beth, and for you.”

  “Prayed for me, really?”

  Mr. Martindale grinned. “You’ll always have a special place within our family.”

  “About that, sir…” Good thing he’d worn extra deodorant. His only hope in the battle against perspiration. Because anticipation of his next words with Mr. Martindale caused his sweat glands to go into overdrive.

  Mr. Martindale steepled his fingers. “Please, call me Jim.”

  “Sir, I’m not sure I can do that, but I appreciate that you consider me a part of your family. I’m grateful for the kindness you’ve shown over the years, and I would never want to do anything to hurt your family.” What should he say next? He still wasn’t sure what they knew.

  “We understand.”

  Mark stared at the floor. “Good, sir. Because while we’re on the topic of family, I’d like to ask for permission to date your daughter. But I also don’t want to cause any problems.”

  Mr. Martindale chuckled. “She’s twenty-six. You’re what, in your early thirties now? You don’t need my permission.”

  “No, sir. But I’d still like to make sure it’s OK with you.”

  “I appreciate your respect for our family. And if anything, I’d feel better knowing she has you around. California seems so far away. But you have to let your kids go, and so we did.” Mr. Martindale wiped his eyes and composed himself. “Goodness, you’d be watching over my daughter. What do I owe you?” Mr. Martindale managed a smile.

  “Funny, sir.” And yet with the Knight on the loose, the man’s words didn’t seem quite so humorous.

  Mr. Martindale appeared to have taken it well. After all, he hadn’t given Mark his famous, menacing stare.

  Mark leaned toward Mr. Martindale. “You know, I’m sure Beth has some time off around Christmas. Maybe we can try to visit Beaumont then.”

  Mr. Martindale wiped his eyes again. “That would be great.”

  “You should be proud, sir. She’s saving her money. You taught her well.”

  Could he meet a nicer family than this? His insides churned. God, please help me. I have to talk to someone. I can’t live like this. Show me what to do.

  36

  The Knight remembered his encounter with Mark Graham’s housekeeper and snickered at the hint of an invitation to meet his rival.

  He was sitting at his dining room table drinking coffee when the morning edition of the Riversdale Herald arrived. Taking a bite of scrambled eggs, he read the first two stories—one about beach erosion control and the other on the Riversdale Thanksgiving parade. So far, nothing exciting. The next article caught his attention. He dropped his fork, clanging it against his plate.

  According to the article, the Riversdale PD planned to reopen the cold case involving the murder of Juanita Gonzalez. No weapon had been found. But what if that’d changed? The police might have the murder weapon or DNA evidence. The Knight rubbed the back of his neck. Or both—DNA and a weapon.

  In that case, he would need to lie low for a while. But how could he continue to look after Beth? He walked toward the shrine and knelt in front of her picture. Flames from the ring of crimson candles danced. He leaned forward, careful not to set his arm on fire, and touched Beth’s photo. Maybe there were other ways of ensuring her safety, like watching her from a distance. It shouldn’t be too hard to install a webcam in her classroom. Before heading to the bedroom to pack his things, he shot a final look at the photo. I’ve got my eyes on you.

  He retrieved a picture of Juanita from his bedroom and hugged it to his chest. Though the Knight could watch Beth from the webcam, he couldn’t risk visiting Juanita’s grave. Though only six feet above and ten minutes away from Riversdale Cemetery, the photo would have to serve as his only connection to his dead friend for now. He hated the man who stole Juanita’s heart—a man in a wheelchair, like Mark had been. But Mark could walk. The Knight tightened his grip on the picture frame. Mark was a fraud, just like the Knight’s stepdad.

  The Knight placed Juanita’s photo on his dresser and returned to the dining table. He turned the page of the newspaper and read about the attack on Beth. In the face of danger, Mark had failed to protect her. The Knight grunted. Completely unsatisfactory.

  So much to be done, yet now was the time to stay hidden. He didn’t want to rot in jail for Juanita’s murder. Especially since her killing had been justified.

  37

  Returning from an afternoon fishing trip, Mark entered Fishy Business from the back, Beth by his side. He set down a cooler, removed two small striped bass, and placed them in the freezer. Either he needed a larger deep freeze or he needed to release more fish instead of bringing them back to the store.

  Beth leaned her head on his shoulder. They’d fished for several hours. She had to be tired.

  He interlaced his fingers with hers. How tiny they were next to his. Hard to believe they’d been dating for two weeks…two weeks since their first kiss. Perhaps he should have stolen one before they came inside the store.

  Tim grinned and pointed. “Hey, look, it’s Mark and the Mrs.”

  Bill glared at his brother.

  And a good thing, too. If Beth hadn’t been around, Mark would have done the same and then some. So maybe he and Beth finished each other’s sentences. It didn’t bother h
im. Everyone else, well, they could adjust. Truth be told, he had no problem with Beth becoming “Mrs. Graham,” but that didn’t mean Tim had to give him a hard time about it.

  The doorbell chimed, and a man dressed in a gray uniform walked inside and over to the cooler. He appeared to be taking inventory on a clipboard.

  Beth stepped closer to get a better look. “You got a new vendor?”

  “Yeah, we don’t know what happened,” Tim said, “but it doesn’t matter.”

  Bill shook his head. “One day Randy was gone, and then the other guy came.”

  Beth folded her arms. “That seems to happen a lot.”

  “What do you mean?” Mark asked.

  “Remember Antonio?”

  Mark put his arm around her and walked outside the store. “Antonio? Tall, thin, couldn’t keep his eyes off of you? Nope, never heard of him.”

  She held his hand. “Anyway, he broke his teaching contract midyear, just left his job. Very odd. Some sort of personal business.”

  “So he won’t be at school with you every day?” He released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. While Will Marshall had been the man who attacked them that night, he’d been cleared of writing notes to Beth, and the real author was never found. Mark had continued to suspect Antonio, even though she hadn’t received any more notes. Who else had such easy access to Beth’s classroom?

  He leaned in and gave her a short kiss—way too short.

  Beth glanced back at the store. “Tim referred to me as the ‘Mrs.’ What’s that all about? Am I spending too much time with you? Do I need to give you space, more time to hang out with the guys?”

  He liked his friends, but these days, he’d much rather spend time with Beth. And if that didn’t spell love, he didn’t know what did.

  “No, it’s only Tim”—he released a sigh—”being Tim. Don’t worry about it.” The joy of working with friends.