Homecoming

by Lacey Baker

  “Right. I’ll drop you off,” she said, holding in the disappointment that gripped her chest with his words. Even though he hadn’t said he wouldn’t come back to her place after the walk, Nikki had a feeling he wouldn’t. But she refused to dwell on it.

  “Today was a good day,” she started saying. “I’ll bet my mom’s house is still bubbling with chatter as the ladies from the chamber of commerce were discussing plans for Bay Day.”

  “That still Fourth of July weekend?” he asked, his gaze focused on the many new shops along Main. Even Bud Nesby had finally gotten his permits and put a tentative sign in the window of a newly renovated shop space with the name HOT DIGGITY DOGS! in bright red letters.

  “Yep, kicking off on Saturday with the parade and a huge bull roast down at Charlie’s. They line tables all along the pier now so everyone can just walk on down and take a seat. Jonah plays the guitar and has a little band he put together. They do songs by request and even let you get up and sing along if that’s your preference. It’s a grand party and an excellent kickoff to the weekend-long events.”

  He nodded. “I remember them a little differently.”

  “You, Parker, and Preston never stuck around for all the festivities. One minute Savannah and I would see you and the next you’d be gone. We wouldn’t hear from Parker and Preston again until either the cops were called or my dad was called to get Mrs. Oberlin’s cat out of the tree.”

  Quinn laughed and Nikki settled back in her seat. She loved to hear him laugh, loved his deep voice and that ridge that appeared in his forehead when he was upset—usually with Dixi. He smelled heavenly, even after they’d been on the water all morning and they’d stood over the huge steamers in the Rileys’ backyard, he still smelled like man, totally hot man. She wanted him constantly, which she knew was brazen and probably way out of line for a female. But it was a fact. And Nikki wanted more than the physical. She wanted more Saturdays like this, more nights like the ones they’d had before. She wanted to wake up beside him every morning, to sit at dinner with him sharing the details of their day every evening.

  And as she pulled up in front of The Silver Spoon she almost told him exactly that. But Parker was standing on the porch when they arrived. She knew it was Parker and not Preston because for one thing, she parked right behind his motorcycle, and for another, his puppy, Rufus, a rowdy male who spent every one of his waking moments running and playing or eating was in the yard doing his thing with what looked like a paper bag he’d found no doubt in the kitchen.

  As they stepped out of the car he called to them.

  “Got some news from Easton.”

  Nikki’s good mood plummeted. Quinn waited for her to round the car and took her by the hand before walking up the path.

  “What’s up?” Quinn asked as they stepped onto the porch.

  Parker thrust his hands into his pockets. “Davis was apparently embezzling funds from his employer. Had some woman in the accounting department helping him. The money he sent you was his getaway stash since he knew they were on to him.”

  Nikki had already begun shaking her head. “So his boss had him killed? I don’t believe that. I met Mr. Witherspoon and he seemed like a nice enough guy to me.”

  “Nobody’s nice when you steal their money,” Parker told her. “But no, they got another new lead. When they searched deeper into Davis’s phone records they found a bunch of calls to a Johnny Tuscaverdi. He’s apparently a high-level loan shark who works for a reputable crime family up in New York. Preliminary theory is that Davis was helping Tuscaverdi with some money laundering and stole from him as well. Word on the street is that there’s been a bounty on his head for a couple of months now.”

  “That’s why he came down here. He wanted to hide out in Easton,” she said disbelievingly. This was definitely the kind of stuff that happened on television. It did not happen to her in real life, and it certainly didn’t happen in Sweetland.

  “For the record there was two hundred and fifty thousand in that box. Easton was most likely just a stop for him. My bet is he was going to leave the country. Maybe he got scared when he heard Tuscaverdi’s men were looking for him and that’s why he sent you the money. He probably figured he could give it to you to hold then have you send it to him later. I don’t know.” Parker shrugged. “But I wanted to tell you that you’re no longer a suspect.”

  “Where’s Preston?” she asked. Quinn had been holding her hand but she’d pulled away to fold her arms over her chest. Suddenly she felt vulnerable and exposed. And for whatever reason she wanted her own space.

  “He had to go back to Baltimore. He has a big case starting on Monday,” Parker said.

  She nodded, having remembered that Preston had mentioned that to her the other day.

  “Thanks,” she finally managed to say. “I’m going to head home now.”

  She turned to go down the steps, but Quinn’s hand on her arm stopped her. “I can come by after I walk Dixi,” he told her.

  Nikki looked up at him and almost smiled. A few minutes ago she’d wanted him to say just that, but he hadn’t. Now, because he thought she needed his shoulder to cry on, he put the offer out there. Well, she’d cried her share when Quinn Cantrell wasn’t in town, she figured she could probably get away with doing it again. No way was she going to take his company out of some form of misguided obligation.

  “That’s okay. I’ll be fine. Call me tomorrow if you still want to go to Easton,” she said and walked away before he could answer or respond either way.

  * * *

  “I seem to remember you making a comment about Casey O’Hurley being barely legal enough for Preston to mess with. Nikki’s a little on the young side, don’t you think?” Parker asked when he and Quinn were alone.

  “She’s almost thirty,” Quinn replied through tight lips.

  Parker nodded. “And you’re almost forty.”

  “You a math genius all of a sudden?”

  Parker laughed. “Nah, just observing. I heard the girls talking about you and Nikki getting closer but I brushed it off, figured you were just hanging around trying to help her out just like me and Preston. I mean, we were thinking of her as one of our sisters, protecting her the same way we’d protect them. I get the impression you’re thinking of her in a totally different way.”

  “I do want to protect her,” he said. “But I do not think of her as a sister.”

  “Because you’re sleeping with her?”

  Quinn gave his younger brother a look, one that he hoped said mind-your-damned-business. But Parker didn’t back down. It was a weird trait found in all the Cantrell men.

  “I’m just saying be careful with her. She’s not only young, she’s also sort of our employee. Think about how things will be around here if you break her heart.”

  “I’m not going to break her heart. It’s not even that serious,” Quinn told him.

  “Are you blind, man? You really can’t see how she’s looking at you. Hell, you don’t see how you two are always hugged up together with and without the dog, so don’t give me that she’s-helping-you-with-Dixi crap I heard you tell Raine the other day.”

  “You know the will says we have to find a good home for the puppies.”

  Parker rubbed a hand over the stubble of beard growing at his chin. “And you’re testing out how good Nikki’s home might be for him? That’s bull, Quinn, and you know it.”

  “It’s my life, Parker. I’ve been running it for quite some time now. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Right. I guess you do. I’m just bringing it to your attention since we all know you have a habit of putting things you don’t like to deal with out of your mind.”

  “Don’t go there, man. Just don’t,” Quinn warned his brother.

  “I won’t as long as you acknowledge that there is someone you have to deal with before moving forward. Look, I told Michelle I’d talk to you because there’s more at stake here now. If you like Nikki, cool, be with her. She’s very attractive and
she’s a good person. All I’m saying is that if you’re not on the same page with her about where this relationship is going, then you should do her a favor and walk away now.”

  With that Parker was the one to walk away, whistling so that Rufus followed right behind him. Quinn was left on the porch alone, thinking two dismal thoughts: Parker had a good point about Nikki, and Dixi wasn’t nearly as obedient as Rufus.

  Chapter 20

  Grayson W. Stallings, MD, ran the only medical facility in Sweetland. Only that facility wasn’t what Quinn was used to seeing. It was an old Victorian-style home, which was the preferred design of most of the original homes in Sweetland. Quinn remembered his grandmother telling him all about the architecture of the homes and the decorations inside them. That was when he was very young and Quinn figured the moment he’d been introduced to antiques and their sentimental and historical value.

  With that in mind Quinn could certainly appreciate the folk-style Victorian off-white structure sitting quietly on the corner of Elm Road. Like The Silver Spoon it looked as if it were a corner of this town that progress had forgotten—and that appealed to him. Tulips bordered the wide walkway, ushering him up to original wood steps painted an eerie shade of green. His soft leather-bottomed loafers were mostly quiet as he crossed the threateningly old wood-planked porch to the double wood doors with stained-glass windows on each side. An older woman who’d looked at him like she might recognize him had answered and led him through a short foyer into a parlor that had been converted into a waiting room.

  “Doc’ll be with you in a few minutes. He’s just finishing his lunch,” she said, moving around with a shuffle and swishing sound, her round body seemingly agile. Before she left the room she turned again to look at him, peering gray eyes over the rims of tortoiseshell glasses. “You’re Mary Janet’s grandson, right?”

  Quinn nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Hmph,” was her reply before she left him alone.

  He couldn’t help feeling engulfed by the homey building. The moldings and windows were most likely original; he suspected the house was built sometime in the 1900s. Unlike his clinic and many other medical facilities he’d been in, this place didn’t have that sterile feel. It didn’t speak of bad news or dour expressions, distasteful medications or horrifying needles. Instead, cushioned, high-backed chairs lined two of the dark-paneled walls. In the center was a very worn Oriental rug in a faded blue color that vaguely matched the material of the chairs. Around the room were several end tables overflowing with magazines and dim lighting provided by lamps that looked like they’d too seen better days.

  He’d spoken to the doctor last week and to his surprise had been given this appointment almost five days later. Even though Quinn doubted how busy the good doctor could possibly be in a town this size, he’d respected the man’s schedule and not dropped in the second he felt like finding answers. At any rate, finding out the status of his grandmother’s health before she passed had been momentarily forgotten with Nikki being accused of murder. With a sigh Quinn felt relief at replaying Parker’s good news in his head once more. He’d told them on Saturday evening and Nikki had taken the news like a champion. The next day they’d driven to Easton and had lunch while Quinn rented a car. When they’d come back, Nikki had gone her way and Quinn had gone his. He wanted to believe she was still dealing with the resolution of her legal problems, but wondered if Parker hadn’t been right about what Nikki expected of him and their relationship. As a countermeasure and because he readily admitted to acting cowardly, Quinn had limited their time together to seeing her at The Silver Spoon and walking her home with Dixi in the evenings. He’d spent one night with her since Saturday and while that night had been terrific, his conscience hadn’t allowed him to return.

  “Quinton Cantrell,” a rough, gravelly voice called.

  Quinn stood, swallowing hard and wiping thoughts of Nikki out of his mind. He extended a hand to the man who was shorter than him by at least a foot and wider than him by most likely another foot.

  “Dr. Stallings,” he greeted and acknowledged his strong handshake.

  He looked every bit of his seventy-nine years, as Michelle had told Quinn he would. His brown pants were a little above the ankle so that the old black Velcro shoes he wore with bright white socks were clearly visible. Yellow-and-brown suspenders held the pants up and vaguely complemented the beige dress shirt he wore with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows so that the dark hair on his arms attracted more attention. The hair on his head was absent but for a few stubborn strands that were now silvery white. A matching beard was thick and thriving. Dark but alert eyes stared back at Quinn, not smiling, but somber, like this wasn’t expected to be a pleasant visit.

  Quinn knew that expression all too well.

  “Come on back to my office,” he told Quinn after their handshake and quiet assessment of each other was complete.

  Quinn followed him, noting the old wallpaper that had begun peeling in certain areas and the dining room that was occupied with bookshelves, a desk, and five chairs scattered about. This was his office, Quinn surmised, and took a seat across from the desk. The doctor moved with a slightly slower gait until he was behind the desk, plopping down into his chair.

  “You want to know about your grandmother,” he said immediately.

  “My family and I just have a few questions,” Quinn replied.

  “And because you’re the oldest you had to come and ask me yourself. Or is it because you’re a doctor, too?”

  Quinn tried to smile. “Probably a little of both.”

  The doctor surprised him by chuckling himself. “Well, I’m the oldest in my family, too, so I know the responsibility that comes with it.” He reached over to a double-shelved tray and pulled a file in front of him. “Mary Janet Cantrell was my patient for years,” he started.

  “I understand that,” Quinn stated with a nod. “We’re just wondering if her death was of natural causes or if there were any underlying ailments that we should know about.”

  “Well,” Dr. Stallings said, opening the file with one hand, ruffling his beard with the other. “What you did know and what you should know are two different things.”

  “And that means?” It meant, it wasn’t good. His grandmother had been sick, Quinn knew that now without any doubt. The new question was what had been wrong with her and why she hadn’t told anybody.

  “I reckon back where you practice this would be a breach of doctor–patient privilege,” the doctor said, glancing up at Quinn.

  “It would certainly violate HIPAA laws. But from one colleague to another, I’m asking you for a professional courtesy.”

  The doctor shook his head. “Don’t go much by all those fancy rules down here. I just respect my patients’ wishes. Don’t necessarily agree with ’em, but I respect ’em.”

  Quinn folded his hands in his lap and nodded. “I understand.”

  “About two months before she passed Mary Janet came in for a physical, said she’d been feeling more tired than usual and thought she might have lost some weight even though her appetite hadn’t changed much. I ran some tests, blood, urine, all that stuff, and sent everything up to the lab in Easton. Because I could see she didn’t look like her usual self I had the people up their put a rush on the results. Three days later I got a call from a doctor up there.” The doctor paused and looked straight at Quinn. “He was your kind of doctor.”

  Quinn’s heartbeat slowed and then threatened to burst with anxiousness. He sat forward in the chair. “She had cancer,” he said, the last word catching in his throat.

  Dr. Stallings nodded. “Stage three lung cancer. A week later we did another round of tests and found out it had already spread to her brain.”

  Quinn’s teeth clenched, his hands fisting and releasing so that he braced the arms of the chair with a death grip. “She was already dying by the time she came to see you.”

  “Yes, she was. When I told her she just smiled. Mary Janet had one of the p
rettiest smiles this side of the Mississippi.” The doctor himself smiled at that memory. “She told me it was okay, that she’d lived the life the good Lord had for her and if He was ready for her to come home, she’d go without a fuss. I didn’t give her anything but something for the pain and that was at the very end.”

  “And she never told any of us,” he whispered more to himself than to the doctor.

  “Had her friend come and pick up the prescription for the pain medicine that week or so before.”

  “Her friend?” Quinn asked, but he knew instinctively who the doctor was talking about.

  “Yeah, fellow that was staying over at the inn with her for a while, Sylvester I think his name is. Nice enough man determined to do what Mary Janet wanted.”

  “No matter what the rest of us wanted.”

  The doctor shrugged. “Her life. Her call,” he said simply.

  Quinn didn’t even bother asking if there had been something that could have been done for her. He knew there wasn’t. Once the cancer metastasized the outcome was grim. Bill Riley could attest to that.

  Still, he felt like absolute crap as he walked out of the house and down to the curb where his rental car was parked. Once behind the wheel he pounded both palms on the steering wheel before resting his forehead there and struggling to steady his breathing.

  His father had died of lung cancer the year Quinn graduated from college. Now his grandmother had died of the same. Cancer. Cancer. Cancer. He hated hearing the word. Closing his eyes, he hated seeing it in his consciousness. Hated every aspect of the disease until he wanted to scream. Instead he started the car and drove to the only place he knew to go.

  * * *

  Sylvester stared down at the grave, dropped to his knees, and ran his fingers over the engraved letters. Tears burned his eyes and clogged his chest, and the next breath was a struggle. He almost didn’t care if it came or not. Janet was gone and he wondered if it wouldn’t be easier if he were gone, too.

  Some people didn’t find love until late in life; some never found it at all. Sylvester had thought for sure he was one of the latter group, going through his days without ever really knowing true love. Then he’d come to Sweetland and met Janet, and his whole life had changed. She was not like any other woman he’d ever met. All the others he’d only liked marginally; he could only talk to them about common things like jobs or the lack of, weather, food when they wanted him to buy dinner, stuff like that. Nothing too deep. He could sleep with them and move on; most of them didn’t care. The ones who did only cared once they found out they were pregnant. And while he wasn’t proud of the legacy he would leave behind—five children out of wedlock by five different females—Sylvester had made peace with his past. He’d made peace with the man he’d been one Sunday morning as he’d sat on a pew at the Redeemer’s Baptist Church with Janet wearing that peach-colored suit and matching hat he loved to see her in. Pastor Ben Ellersby had preached a mighty sermon that morning, touching on scriptures that seemed to speak directly to Sylvester and to mending his ways. It was a teary and emotional moment—one Michelle would later describe as his come-to-Jesus moment. But afterward he’d felt like a new man, and Janet had looked at him like he was one.