by Lori Wilde
“And your father died drunk.”
He nodded. I saw pain in his face. Anguish over the past, the choices he’d made. He was trying to spare me some of that pain.
“Let go of your family, Ally,” he said. “Let go and they’ll fly and then you’ll be free.”
“I can’t,” I whimpered. “Not yet. Sissy still needs me. She’s in too deep. If you find her you’ll arrest her for murder.” I met his gaze. “Won’t you?”
“I have to.”
“And yet you expect me to sit by and let that happen?”
“You don’t have any choice in the matter.”
“Yes I do. I can find the real killer.”
“Ally…” His voice held a note of warning.
“You’re ready to send her to prison for the rest of her life. What else can I do?”
“Let me handle this. It’s the only way you’ll learn to let go. The only way Sissy will learn to accept responsibility for her own actions.”
“I can’t,” I whispered. “She’s my baby sister.”
“Do you think I want her to be guilty? Do you think I want to hurt either one of you?” He leaned over, hooked a finger under my chin and forced me to look at him. His eyes held nothing but concern.
“No, but if you cared about me you’d be out looking for the real killer.”
“That’s not fair, and you know it. I’m doing the best job I know how. The evidence points to your sister. If I don’t arrest her when we find her then I’m not doing my job and you wouldn’t respect me.”
He was right. But I was right, too. My sister had not murdered Rocky. I knew it with every cell in my body. He had his job to do and I had mine. When Sissy’s innocence had been proven maybe then I could take a stand, and confront my family. But until then I had to depend on what had served me well for thirty-one years—my ability to take care of those who needed me.
“When you can allow your sister to stand on her own two feet, when you can move your family out of your home, then you’ll be ready for a relationship, but until then this isn’t going to work out between us.”
“I know,” I said, appalled to hear tears in my voice. He was indeed correct. I wasn’t ready to let go.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here. But I only want you to come to me when you’re prepared for an equal partnership. When you’re willing to put yourself and your needs ahead of your family. We both deserve that.”
I nodded, too afraid that I would burst into tears if I spoke. I felt angry and sad and confused. He’d painted a verbal picture of me from his eyes and it wasn’t pretty.
“Come on,” he said gently. “Get dressed and I’ll take you to your car.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BACK HOME, I COULDN’T SLEEP. I stared at the ceiling. I counted sheep. At 4:00 a.m. I even broke down and listened to one of Aunt Tessa’s meditation tapes but the trickling background music made me visit the bathroom.
The bed was too soft, my pillow too lumpy, the house too darn lonely without Conahegg in it. I’d arrived home to find Aunt Tessa and Mama snoring soundly. I’d forgotten Denny was spending the night with Braxton. I felt a little hurt that no one missed me. Perhaps Conahegg’s theory wasn’t so farfetched. Maybe I was dependent on my family’s dependency.
I had a sudden urge to cry again and blamed it on PMS. But my melancholia went deeper than hormones and I knew it.
On the one hand Mama and Aunt Tessa and Denny were counting on me to exonerate Sissy, to perform magic like some kind of female David Copperfield. On the other hand Conahegg had warned me away, suggesting that if I didn’t keep out of things and let him do his job that I would be jeopardizing any chance of a future with him.
Part of me wanted to rail against his authority and tell him to go butt a stump. Another part of me feared I’d already fallen in love with the big lug.
In truth? I had no idea what I was doing. Neither in the romance department or the crime-solving arena. I had no notion of where to look for Sissy, no clue how to follow leads. I was a nurse for crying out loud, not a cop. Everything I’d tried had backfired and in the process I’d insulted the only man who could really tell me what I needed to know.
Except he was on the opposite side, determined to prove my sister a murderer.
I had to do something. I couldn’t stay in bed five minutes longer. I got up, dressed in shorts, a T-shirt and sneakers, made myself a Dr. Pepper, then went outside.
The rain had stopped but the ground was still moist. In the light from the vapor security lamp, I sat on the dock and stared out at the water listening to the crickets chirp and watching the alligator gar patrol just beneath the river’s surface searching for bugs attracted by the light. A light breeze blew and it felt good against my heated skin.
I lay back against the dock’s damp wooden planks and stared up at the endless sky awash in a sea of stars. The world was so vast, my problems nothing more than a speck in the whole scheme of things. Yet in my microcosm those problems loomed gigantic.
Mentally pushing all thoughts of Conahegg aside, I rehashed the events that had led me to this point. From Sissy shooting Rocky to my finding first Tim and then Rocky’s body, to Sissy’s disappearance. Every potential suspect had an alibi. All evidence pointed to my sister. She had the means, the motive, the availability. But I knew in my heart, despite her faults and flaws and erratic behavior that my little sister was not a killer.
I had to be missing something. Some key piece of the puzzle remained hidden. But what?
Determined to unknot my tangled brain, I left my Dr. Pepper sweating on the dock, untied the canoe from its place in the boat slip and got in.
I pushed off into the inky darkness with nothing but stars to light my way. I had no conscious destination in mind. I was simply allowing the river to soothe and guide me as it had throughout most of my life. I dipped my oar into the water and forged ahead.
Night sounds were magnified out here. Nutria splashed along the banks, bullfrogs thrummed a deep-throated chorus, coyotes howled in the distance. I paddled on, past the housing developments, the rock quarry and signs of people living there. I felt like an early settler awed by the majesty of nature.
Not much more than a hundred years ago Commanche and Kiowa Indians had roamed the territory, made their home on this river. I could feel the spirit of their legacy singing through me as I skimmed over the water, enveloped in the warm, summer night.
I rowed until my arms ached. Past Campbell Island and Sanchez Creek and the pool where the hidden caves were located. On past the spot where Conahegg had saved Denny’s life. I recalled that moment, my gratitude for Conahegg, my paralyzing fear. The instant when my feelings toward him had begun to shift and I saw him not only as a determined sheriff but as a kind, caring human being.
A lump formed in my throat. Ah Conahegg, what was I supposed to do about these fresh new feelings I had for you? I continued upriver and when I spotted the lights of Andover Bend I realized where I’d been headed all along.
The river narrowed, grew shallow. I guided the canoe through a tree stump graveyard, turning down one slender slough and then another. I inched past river shacks. Dogs ran along the banks barking at me, more from curiosity and boredom than any real attempt to thwart me from coming ashore. In the darkness, in the unfamiliar terrain, it took me a while to find the pathway that led to Rocky’s trailer.
I beached the canoe and got out. My arms trembled from the effort of my early-morning journey. Walking toward his trailer, I saw crime scene tape still blocked the door. I tore it away.
The door was locked but it didn’t take much to jimmy it. I used a crowbar from the back of Rocky’s truck which still sat in the front yard.
Once inside, I discovered the electricity had been turned off. I went back outside and searched Rocky’s truck for a cigarette lighter but instead found a flashlight. The beam was weak, but it would do.
Urged on by an instinct I could not explain, I entered the house. The rank smell
remained but the place was tidier. I figured in the process of gathering evidence, the deputies had been forced to clean up.
It was harder than I thought it would be to walk toward that bedroom door again. And spookier with only the flagging flashlight to guide me. Goose bumps spread up my arms and I began to feel like the starring attraction in a slasher film. I wanted to drop the flashlight and run.
But I couldn’t. Not only was Sissy’s freedom hanging by a thread but my whole family was counting on me to make things right. Finding out the truth behind Rocky’s death was to be my last contribution. I would save my sister but after this, they were on their own. I kept hearing Conahegg’s words in my head, “You’ll never be free until you let them go.” I’d denied the truth for too long.
Rocky’s bedroom had been stripped clean. The sheets were gone from the bed. The floor had been vacuumed. The miniblinds dusted.
I checked the closet, the drawers, the windowsill. It was slow going with a dim flashlight.
“This is getting you nowhere.” I sighed out loud. “What the hell do you think you’re playing at, Nancy Drew? Conahegg’s crew has been through the room with a fine-tooth comb. You’re not going to find anything.” My full bladder complained and I went into the bathroom, promising myself I wouldn’t sit on Rocky’s grungy toilet seat. I played the flashlight beam into the little room before me and something ground under my heel. I bent to pick it up.
A crystal earring.
Like the kind Aunt Tessa gave out by the dozens.
She’d given a pair to Darlene, I remembered. Had Darlene lost an earring in her husband’s trailer? What did it mean? Just because it was here didn’t mean she’d dropped it on the night Rocky was strangled. After all, her sponsor had sworn Darlene had been at the AA meeting at the time of Rocky’s death. Unless the sponsor was covering for her. But why would she do that? Knowing it probably had nothing to do with Rocky’s death, but loath to let go of any clue, I pocketed the earring.
The flashlight chose that moment to give up the ghost and I had to find my way out by touch. Dejected and bereft of ideas, I made it back to my canoe and headed for home.
I ARRIVED AT MY PLACE as the sun was pushing against the eastern horizon. I found Aunt Tessa in the kitchen concocting a breakfast smoothie that consisted of bean sprouts, tofu and goat’s milk. She offered to make one for me but I declined.
“Where have you been?” She eyed me suspiciously. My clothes were wet, my hair frizzy, my eyes bleary.
“On a fool’s errand.” I plunked down at the kitchen table.
“Are you going to work today?”
“Yeah.” I sighed, knowing if I didn’t hurry I’d be late. “Listen.” I pulled the crystal earring from my pocket. “How many of these have you given away in the last couple of weeks?”
Maybe Rocky had more women on the string than Darlene and Sissy. The idea was something I hadn’t considered.
“Let me think. I haven’t done too many readings lately. Just my regulars and they’ve already got earrings, and that nosy Darlene who didn’t pay me.” Aunt Tessa took a big swallow of her smoothie. “Oh, and the preacher’s wife. I tell you it sure made my day when she came seeking my help. Sort of a real victory for the New Age movement.”
I settled my elbows on the table, then rested my chin in my palms and fought back a yawn. “Why did she come to see you?” I asked.
Aunt Tessa tittered. “Well, I don’t really know for sure, but I’d guess…” Aunt Tessa glanced around the room as if Miss Gloria was lurking about waiting to catch her spilling her secrets. “She was worried that her husband was fooling around on her.”
“Age-old problem.” I yawned again.
Aunt Tessa’s eyes danced. “Yes, but there might be a bit of a twist.”
“Yeah?” I could barely keep my eyes open. “Make me a cup of coffee while I get ready for work, will you? I’d be forever grateful.”
“You got it.” Aunt Tessa nodded and I slunk off to the shower, feeling more stymied by Rocky’s murder than I had before my wasted canoe trip to Andover Bend.
LATER THAT MORNING Rhonda met me at the home health care offices. “Let’s go to breakfast,” she suggested.
“Can’t.”
“Come on.” She took my elbow and practically threw me out of the office. “I’ll bring her back in fifteen minutes,” she hollered at Joyce over her shoulder.
We went into the pancake house next door. I ordered black coffee with three packets of sugar. Rhonda got Belgian waffles with strawberries.
“Okay,” she said. “Spill it.”
“Spill what.”
“Don’t try and pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“I don’t.”
“Lester saw you at Tits-a-Poppin’ last night.”
Lester was Rhonda’s stepfather. He worked at the brewery in Fort Worth and on the drive home had a tendency to pop into the strip club to see what was popping out.
I never asked what Rhonda’s mother, a petite attractive blonde who kept an immaculate house, thought about Lester’s hobby but I knew she spent a lot of time baking. Cheesecakes and brownies, chocolate chip cookies and hazelnut bars. When her kids were in school she’d been the dream of the PTA. Now the Baptist church on Asher street, where she went to pray for Lester’s soul, was the prime beneficiary of her culinary talents.
“Were you really there?” Rhonda asked. “Or was Lester hallucinating?”
I sighed. Cloverleaf and the gossip mill. “I was there.” Rhonda squealed. “No kidding!”
“It’s not as cool a place as you might imagine.”
“I imagine a bunch of old guys playing with themselves while women dressed like schoolgirls take their clothes off on stage.”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “It is pretty much like that.”
“Lester’s a descriptive storyteller.” She leaned back in her chair, and flipped her fingers backward with a come-here gesture. “So give it up. What were you doing in a strip club and who was the stranger who fought Dooley Marchand for your honor?”
I rolled my eyes at the gossip mill’s description of the incident. “I went to the club to speak to Dooley about Sissy and Rocky.”
“Lester said you looked really hot. Like you were applying for a job there.”
“Come on, Rhonda, do you think I’m moonlighting as a stripper?”
“You’ve got the body for it and they do make good money.”
“Not good enough for me to wag my fanny in front of a bunch of beer-bellied old farts who’ve got more money than sense, no offense to Lester.”
“None taken.” Rhonda drummed her fingers on the Formica tabletop. She’s a restless thing and I suppose that’s how she managed to stay so thin. She doesn’t have to spend her life at the gym as I do.
“So, tell me about the stranger. Who was he? Lester says the guy grabbed Dooley and flipped him to the ground—pow!” She slapped her palms together.
“That’s true.”
“Was Dooley trying to feel you up or something?”
“No. He threatened to kill me.”
“Really?” Rhonda splayed a hand across her chest. “That’s so exciting.”
At the time, I’d thought it was terrifying. But thinking back on it, the incident had been stimulating.
“The guy. You never told me about the guy. Lester said he was wearing a cowboy hat and at first everyone thought he was a drunk.”
“Did Lester do a play-by-play?”
“Basically.”
“It was Conahegg.”
“What?”
“The stranger. The guy who flipped Dooley Marchand on his butt, it was Conahegg.”
“The sheriff?”
“Yes.”
“The guy who gives you the hots but you claim you can’t stand him?”
“That’s the one.”
“That’s why you’re so sleepy. You spent the night with him!”
“I did not spend the night with him.” I wasn’t lying. I
hadn’t spent the night with him. I’d left his place before one. I wasn’t about to give Rhonda details about my sex life with Conahegg.
“I knew you and the sheriff were going to get together!” Rhonda smacked the table with a fist and her fork went flying. We tracked it as it flipped into the air, somersaulted twice and ended up in the oatmeal of a trucker sitting at the end of the counter.
He turned to glare at us.
Rhonda gave him her best Marilyn Monroe. “Oops, silly me,” she said breathlessly. “I’m so sorry. Let me pay for your oatmeal.”
“It’s perfectly all right, little darlin’.” The trucker returned her grin. “You don’t have to pay for the oatmeal but as consolation, you could give me your phone number.” Giggling, Rhonda trotted over to him and wrote something on a napkin.
“You’re a hazard to mankind, you know that?” I told her upon her return.
“Oh, pish, Ally, don’t be such a stuffed shirt.”
“That guy could be a serial killer, I can’t believe you gave him your phone number.”
“What kind of fool do you think I am?” she asked. “I gave him your phone number.”
“YOU NEED TO GO VISIT Swiggly,” Joyce told me when I arrived back at the office.
“He dumped me, remember. For a physical therapist named Gunther.”
“Turns out he wasn’t a physical therapist,” Joyce explained. “And he walked out of the house with thousands of dollars in religious art.”
“You’re kidding.” This should keep Conahegg busy and out of my hair for a while.
“Nope. Not kidding. And Swiggly insisted he wants you as his nurse.”
“Should I be flattered or horrified?”
“Go make the visit.” Joyce shoved the chart at me. “He said he especially needs a back rub to ease his tension over the thefts.”
“Horrified it is then.”
I motored out to Swiggly’s place with something less than joy in my heart. The man was as phony as a three-dollar bill and I didn’t for one minute think he believed any of that stuff he spouted on television, especially after what Aunt Tessa had hinted to me. But I was a nurse and he was a patient, so I did what I was hired to do.
