by Kaylea Cross
Kyle gave Fredo a look, and Coop knew that was going to be the end of the disrespectful banter. His leader was going to make sure Coop was right in the head. He’d start probing now. It didn’t take long for the series of questions to begin.
“So, while you’re able to talk, you never told us how it was back there. You have to go back anytime soon?” Kyle asked.
Coop filled his lungs and let the air out with a rush. He ordered more beers for all of them. “Buried them last Wednesday. Paid for coffins, but we never could find anything.”
No one said a word. Kyle’s eyes bored into him.
“You going to sell the land? Timmons told me nothing was left of the ranch and all.”
“Nope. Keeping the dirt. They got disaster aid coming. I could have the farmhouse rebuilt, if I wanted to. It’s gonna take four or five months to get it settled, but my folks actually left me some serious money.” Coop felt guilty coming in to so much money when he didn’t need it, especially since it had been obtained through the death of his family. He had a sheaf of paperwork an inch thick at his trailer. He’d get to it when he good and felt like it.
“Where’d you find the dog…what’s…?” Fredo asked.
“Bay.”
Bay perked his ears but didn’t raise his head.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to dis your dog, man. You musta known he’d spend the last of his days at the ocean, Coop.”
Kyle looked at Fredo with a question.
“He named him Bay. As in San Diego Bay?” Fredo said to Kyle, who was sporting a puzzled look.
Recognition crossed Kyle’s face.
“Funny,” Coop mumbled and took another swig.
“So, where did you find him?” Kyle asked.
“Near the farm, like he used to wait for me when I was a kid. He injured his right front paw, a cut of some kind. But he musta run like the wind and outrun the tornado.” The group fell silent. Coop was more comfortable talking about Bay than talking about himself to his Team leader.
“I found him after the funeral. Thought I was hearing things when I went back to see the farm and heard him bark.”
It was a grim reminder of odd things he’d seen—they’d all seen—overseas. A litter of puppies they saved when their mother got blown to bits. Babies crawling in the dust, being rescued by a soldier. Sharing water with a child only to find him murdered the next day. Things he didn’t want to remember much. Things no one should have to try to forget.
The steady wheel turning, the circle of life and death came with them on every deployment. That and the randomness of the sorting process: who was going to live and who would die today.
Kyle squinted at Coop’s comment and nodded, staring down the bubbles in his own barely touched beer. “Grief does funny things to a man.”
“I’m right as rain.” Coop defended his state of mind.
“Yeah, Timmons told me you’d say that,” Kyle said without looking up. “And I agree with him. You’re full of shit.”
The comment smarted, but Cooper wouldn’t let them see it. He had too much respect for his Team leader, who had saved his life on more than one occasion.
“I feel like ice cream. You want one? I’ll buy,” Fredo barked. Coop knew one of Kyle’s favorite haunts was the Dunkin’ Dandy frozen yogurt shop. Kyle couldn’t resist the chocolate dipped soft swirls with sprinkles on top.
“What the hell. I promised Christy I was going to lay off the sugar, but if you promise not to tell her, I’m game.”
The trio sauntered outside and down the sidewalk, Bay on his leash. The dog stopped at every parked car, sniffing and peeing more than Coop thought his bladder would hold. In between, he stopped for a pat from each passer-by.
“Dude, at this rate, we’ll get there by tomorrow at noon, Coop. Can you tell him to stop being so social? Starting to act like a politician,” Fredo was smiling, but Coop knew he was in a hurry for his ice cream.
“He’s just getting used to things. He barks when I leave him behind.”
“That dog’s gonna be hoarse and then dead when you deploy. You gotta find someone to take care of him. I hear Daisy—”
Cooper cut him off. “No. I’ll find someone else. She doesn’t want a dog to take care of. She has a hard enough time taking care of all of us,” Cooper said.
Fredo turned, shaking his head, pushing through the glass door of the yogurt shop.
Coop declined Kyle’s invitation to enter, saying he was keeping an eye on Bay. After both his buddies were out of sight, he realized these two had saved him from a lonely night of drinking at the Scupper, getting into trouble on two fronts: alcohol and female. Neither of these two troubles would be a comfort to him in the long run.
Tonight, he’d chosen well. He was grateful. For the first time in the past week, he started to feel like he would make it, after all. Maybe there could be a normal life ahead of him. Although it had been something he appreciated before, he realized he had taken it a bit for granted.
You always miss stuff after it’s gone.
And then he began to think about Libby. She’d called him. Maybe he could trust himself to call her back.
He’d sleep on it tonight. Wake up with a hangover tomorrow and then call her. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day.
Chapter Thirteen
Carla padded out to the mailbox in her flip-flops. It was nearly nine o’clock Monday morning, and the mailman had just made his rounds.
Mrs. Brownlee was wearing the expensive silk robe her husband had brought back from Japan years ago. The smooth fabric caressed her bare skin underneath. She loved the feel of the sash as it cinched her waistline.
She and Austin had been experiencing an on-again-off-again married couple affair, between bouts of Austin’s foul moods. On a warm sunny morning, as most days in San Diego were, she was grateful for the rise and fall of their shared emotions. Passion was strong in their family—all sorts of passions.
He’d taken off for an early appointment at the office. But not before he said he was sorry for several things yesterday, stopping short of apologizing for his tone with the SEAL. He finally admitted that perhaps he was overreacting about the cat incident. She was relieved he agreed that they’d stay at their house. Today, Clark Riverton’s friend was coming by to check out the security and make some recommendations for their additional safety.
She opened the mailbox flap and immediately smelled something foul and metallic, like rusty iron. A thick, burgundy, pudding-like substance coated the floor of the aluminum box. She was shocked to realize the dark liquid was blood. Envelopes had been tossed on top. She slammed the mailbox shut.
Gasping for air, she put her palm to her mouth to stop her choked scream from alarming the neighborhood. She heard Libby’s bedroom window slide open from the second story behind her.
* * *
Libby scrambled off the bed, letting her paperback fall to the floor, and threw open her bedroom window. It had sounded like her mother had been attacked. But then she saw her mom hunched over in her bathrobe, hands on her knees, like she had just thrown up. Her mom let out a low, gravelly groan.
Dashing out of her room and taking the stairs two and three at a time, Libby raced to the front of the house and down the brick pathway that bisected the flower gardens. She grabbed her mother in her arms, pulling the older woman back into the house. Then she locked the substantial front door safely behind them.
Carla proceeded to the kitchen, dragging Libby along with her. She looked so determined Libby knew there wasn’t any way she could shake her mother’s focus. In a raspy and strained voice, her mom leaned over the countertop, and pointed to the faucet, mumbling, “water.”
Libby produced a glass from over the prep counter, filling it with cool water from the refrigerator dispenser. After several gulps, Carla stood up and took in a sudden gasp of air, then sighed.
“You okay? Mom, what happened?” Libby’s voice sounded small and wavering, like when she was a child.
“I am now.�
� Libby watched her mom raise the water to her lips. Her hands were shaking so hard Libby thought perhaps she’d drop and shatter the glass.
“Here,” Libby said, her arm around her mother, leading her over to a kitchen stool. “Sit down and just catch your breath a bit.” She gave her mom a hug, and swallowed hard. “Tell me what happened out there.”
“No,” Carla waived her off. “We’ve got to call your father first. He needs to get the police over here.” Carla’s voice was almost a whisper.
“Why?” Libby asked.
“The cat…it has something to do with the cat.”
Panic spread through Libby’s chest. Her eyes filled with tears. “What? Did you see the man…?”
“No. I didn’t see anyone. Call your father. Get the police.”
“If you promise to stay put, I’ll go call him. But tell me first.”
“Blood. Covered…in…blood…blood…everywhere…”
Libby was haunted by images of Noodles and the violence that was done to him.
That was just two days ago!
“Mom, the door’s locked. We’re safe in here, okay? Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
Carla was staring off through the kitchen windows vacantly.
Libby went to her father’s study so her mom wouldn’t hear the scolding she was going to give him.
Isolated incident.
I’m the target, not you.
Just some nut who didn’t like cats.
She was frustrated to get her dad’s answering service.
“This is his daughter. It’s urgent. This is an emergency.”
“Is anyone hurt?” the nasally voice of the dispatcher asked. “If it’s an emergency, you should call 911.”
“I KNOW WHAT THE HELL TO DO! FIND HIM! Send. Him. Home. Immediately.”
When Libby returned to the kitchen to pick up the police detective’s card, her mother wasn’t there. Panic seized her as she searched the large great room, then out to the dining room.
“Mom?” Her voice echoed, and tumbled onto the marble foyer.
Then she heard traffic. The front door was open! Libby dashed to the porch and watched her mother with steely determination walking back out to the mailbox. A truck was driving by the front of the house, slowly. Birds stopped chirping. Libby felt like she was in a time warp, or vacuum. Her lungs sought air as she tried to catch up to her mother. Her running felt like in slow motion.
“Don’t touch a thing, mom. Please. Stop!” Libby shouted, but Carla didn’t flinch or slow her speed. She pulled down the flap of the mailbox again. It made a metallic high-pitched groan. Blood pudding dripped.
Libby stopped her mother’s arm from plunging deep inside the metal container. Dark burgundy ooze was dripping onto the petunias below.
“We need to get back in the house. Let the police deal with this, Mom.”
But her mom wasn’t having any of it. She retracted her arm, holding a fist full of bloody mail. She clutched several envelopes to her chest, getting the red sludge on her beautiful silk robe. With straightened spine, her mother turned and headed back toward the front door. On any other day, she’d have stopped to admire and touch her flowers. Today, her grim expression made her look older. Rigid and cold.
She’s scared out of her gourd.
Inside the house, her mother deposited the bloody envelopes onto the kitchen island and walked up the stairs to her bedroom, completely ignoring her daughter, who stood at the bottom of the stairs watching.
Libby was stunned. She eyed the envelopes covered in crimson goo. One of them did not have a stamp on it. That was the one she wanted to open first.
Getting a set of rubber gloves from under the sink and a sharp knife, she opened the top of the envelope, carefully took out the letter inside, and spread it on the marble countertop.
The letters had been cut from magazines and pasted in a sick collage on pink stationery she recognized, revealing the single message which sent a shiver through Libby’s body:
A-N E-Y-E F-O-R A-N E-Y-E.
The pink stationery was from Libby’s own desk drawer. It had been a gift from her father.
This sicko has been in my bedroom!
* * *
Austen Brownlee arrived the same time Detective Clark Riverton did. Libby directed her dad upstairs. Riverton eyed her, nervously hitched his pants up by the waist and sighed.
“You got any ideas who could have done this? See anyone?” he asked.
Libby shook her head. No.
Riverton poked the letter with the end of his pen. “You use these to open it?” He pointed to her crumpled pile of rubber gloves.
Libby nodded. Yes.
“You see anyone outside last night or this morning?” he asked.
“Nope. But around midnight I thought I heard the mouth of the mailbox open. Thought maybe my Dad put something in there.”
“Your Dad put something in?” Riverton was frowning, alert with concern.
“No. Didn’t see him. Just heard the flap squeak. It was too dark to see who it was.”
“What made you think it was your dad?” Riverton wanted to know.
“Who else would put something in there or take something out late at night?” She looked down at her feet, and took a deep breath.
Riverton studied her for a minute, then asked, “Everything all right at home?”
Libby shot him a glare to show him he’d better watch his line of questioning. Riverton didn’t budge. He stood impassive, continuing to silently observe. He was good at his job.
“My father’s been a basket case lately. Under a great deal of stress. I’m guessing he knows a lot more about all of this than he’s letting on. And I’m guessing you do, too.”
It was Riverton’s time to nod.
“Well, detective? What’s next?” Libby was drilling for a direct answer this time.
“That’s hard to say. But I’m going to be very straight with you. You guys are all in danger. This whole business is escalating. The guy is picking a fight.”
“So you’re telling me someone’s out to get my family?”
“Don’t know. I think the guy is a crazy.”
“We don’t use that word in his house,” Dr. Brownlee said over Libby’s shoulder.
“Fuck’s sake, Austin.” Riverton leaned toward Libby and whispered, “Pardon me, Libby.” He continued to Dr. Brownlee, “When are you going to join the human race, doctor?”
Dr. Brownlee turned to Libby. “Go upstairs and be with your mother. She’s getting dressed.”
“Dad, I’m not moving until you tell me what’s going on.”
“I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Like hell you don’t. Are there more of these letters?” Libby could see from the guilty look in her father’s eyes the answer was yes.
“When were you going to tell us about this? And you had the nerve to send that SEAL away…”
“SEAL?” Riverton suddenly wanted to know.
“This guy came to the house a couple of days ago…”
“Four days ago, Dad,” Libby corrected.
“Four days ago. Saying he wanted to meet the family of Will Brownlee. My brother. Who…” Brownlee couldn’t finish the sentence and briskly walked to the wet bar pantry and poured himself a drink.
Riverton nodded at Libby, getting a note tablet from his chest pocket and began to write. “You think he’s involved, somehow?” he asked while looking down at his notes.
“No.” Libby answered, annoyance rumbling beneath the surface of her words.
“How’s that?” Riverton probed.
“Because she thinks she’s in love with him,” her father shouted across the kitchen. “She’s fucking him.”
They were words Libby never thought she’d hear coming from her father. Even in anger, he’d always maintained control. She was seeing another side of him, a shadow cast over the shoulders of the man she’d loved her whole life.
“How dare you! Can’t you hold yourself up without
a drink? Can’t you quit the self-absorption and think about the rest of us in this household?” Libby spewed. The venom of her words heightened her anger towards him. She was spinning out of control, ready to launch into another verbal attack.
She also felt her cheeks flush with anger at hearing the words spoken in public ‘she thinks she’s in love with him’ when she hadn’t said the same words to herself.
“Wait, wait a minute, you two,” Riverton interrupted. “Stop all this. I need to ask some questions here.”
Silence. Fire was in the air, but it was mute.
Riverton began again, cautiously. “Who is this SEAL? I need you both to settle down and give me his name.”
“Cooper,” Libby said, glaring at her dad, who was twirling his drink over several ice cubes, frowning, deep in thought. He was avoiding eye contact.
“Cooper what?”
“I don’t remember,” Libby said. “We call him Cooper, Coop for short. He told me, but I’m…too freaked out to remember.” Libby was filled with embarrassment. She’d had sex with this man several times, and didn’t even remember his first name.
What have I done?
Riverton was about to ask another question when Libby’s cell phone went off. She didn’t recognize the number.
Chapter Fourteen
“Coop.” Libby worked not to sound too needy, but her knees were shaking. She bit her lip.
“Libby, I’m sorry about last night. Maybe—”
“Ah, I’m in the middle of—”
“Sure. I can call back later.”
“No.” Was that a plea? She looked to the faces of her father and Detective Riverton, who stopped their conspiratorial whispering to watch her.
“Libby, what’s wrong?” he asked.
“Can you come over? The police are here.”
Riverton put his finger to his lips and her dad frowned.
“What’s happened?” Cooper asked.
“Just—I can’t go into it on the phone. Can you get over here?”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Is someone hurt? Did someone hurt you?”
“No, I’m fine. Everyone’s fine.” It was a lie and a gross misstatement, but it hopefully gave Cooper enough of an excuse to come to the house. Besides, the blood in the mailbox didn’t belong to—
