by Beverly Long
Which was a bit at odds with some of the other clues that he was getting. Muddled, for sure.
“I’m going to wash my hands,” Raney said, pushing her chair back.
Chase almost said that he’d check the bathroom first but decided that really was going too far. “Okay.”
While she was gone, his cell phone buzzed. He looked at the text message from Dawson. He’d done his homework. Lloyd lived on the other side of Ravesville, about three miles from their house. About six years ago, he’d been arrested several times for shoplifting and public intoxication. He’d spent some time in jail because he’d failed to show up for his court dates and a warrant had been put out for his arrest. He’d never married and there was no record of children. His work record was spotty up until a few years ago when he started working for Fitzler Roofing.
Well, that answered one question. Mr. Fitzler’s company was still going strong. He’d either sold it to someone and they’d kept the name or maybe one of the daughters was running it.
When Raney got back, they ordered. And when the food was delivered, the steaks were cooked just perfect. They ate, both skipped dessert and by the time they were out of the restaurant, it was already dark.
“Tired?” he asked as they settled in for the half-hour drive home.
“A little,” she admitted. “I haven’t been sleeping all that well lately.”
“It will all be over soon,” he said, thinking of Harry Malone’s upcoming trial.
“I suppose,” she said.
He glanced over at her. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m conflicted.”
“Conflicted,” he repeated. “Testifying against Harry Malone is the right thing to do,” he said, his tone adamant.
She waved a hand. “I know that. I’m conflicted because I can’t help feeling that there was a reason that I got away. I mean, three other women died at his hand. Those are the ones we know about. But I didn’t. I lived to tell about it.” She turned to him. “Why me?”
Her tone gripped him, making his chest feel heavy. He didn’t know what to tell her. “I don’t know,” he said.
“Maybe I have unfinished business,” she said. “Maybe I’m supposed to accomplish something significant. Something that will make a difference.”
“Maybe,” he said.
“Well, that doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “I’m not going to discover the cure for cancer or anything remotely close. I’m a career counselor. That’s it.”
“You probably help people all the time. With their career, right?” he added, a little lamely. “You have an important job.”
“‘Had,’ you mean? I suspect they’re going to have to fill my spot.”
She didn’t sound angry, more resigned if anything. “Are there other jobs for career counselors?” he asked.
“I suppose. It’s just that I really loved my work at Next Steps. I worked almost exclusively with young people—many of whom dropped out of school only to discover that there are very few opportunities for someone with no credentials. They can’t even qualify for entry-level positions.”
“Pretty shortsighted, right?”
“Sure. But there are always lots of contributing factors. I’ve seen everything from learning disabilities to teen pregnancy to homelessness to jail.”
“You work with ex-cons?”
“Sure. Sometimes I work with the currently incarcerated, depending on when they are going to be released.”
“And you visit them in jail? Prison?”
She chuckled, her head leaning back. “Well, they can’t exactly come to me.”
“That could be pretty dangerous. There are bad people in jail and prison. That’s what got them there.”
“I know.” She turned her head to look at him. “But in my case, it’s the classic example of the person you least expect being the person who is going to cause you the trouble. Harry Malone has never been incarcerated. He has a fine reputation.”
“That’s going to change,” he said. He didn’t want her focused on Malone. “Tell me more about your job. What is it that you do exactly?”
“It depends on the client. For those that are new to the program, it might be getting them enrolled in a GED program and helping them develop the confidence and the study skills to be successful. For those further along, who are looking for a job, I work on their soft skills and teach them what most of us intuitively knew when we entered the workforce.”
“Like?” Did she realize how her voice lit up when she talked about her work?
“Like how to have a conversation, a real conversation. Many of the clients I work with have been talked at, not talked with, and they’ve developed a response pattern that doesn’t help them much in a job interview. They need help on what to wear and help on answering questions about why there are gaps in their employment because they were in jail. That kind of thing.”
“I’ll bet you’re good at it,” he said.
“I am. I was,” she added, after a few seconds.
“You will be again,” he said.
She didn’t answer. It made him crazy that some dirtbag had caused this. She’d been tormented for days and now the nightmare was continuing. It wasn’t fair.
But life rarely was.
He’d learned that the hard way the first time Brick had taken a belt to him. And when he’d gotten strong enough that he could challenge Brick, the man had been smart enough to change tactics.
And then Chase had had the very real worry that either his mother or Cal wouldn’t survive Brick’s next episode. So he’d done the only thing he could.
When they pulled into the drive, nothing looked disturbed. He realized that Raney had fallen asleep. He gave her shoulder a gentle shake. “We’re home,” he said.
She gave him a couple slow blinks. “I’ll just sleep out here,” she said. “In the car.” She closed her eyes again.
“I don’t think so.” He got out, walked around the car and opened her door. He held out his hand.
She took it. Her skin was warm and soft and so absolutely feminine. He gave her arm a gentle tug and she stood up, a little unsteady. He put his hands on her waist.
Her hair smelled like raspberries and without thought, he raised one hand and touched the very tips. “This surprised me,” he admitted. “But I like it. It’s cute. Sexy,” he added.
She tilted her chin up. Her lips were close. So close. And he desperately wanted to kiss her.
He bent his head.
She closed her eyes.
And then he saw the reflection of lights on the road and heard a car engine. He watched. It turned into the Fitzlers’ lane.
This time.
What the hell was he thinking? He’d said he would protect her, had promised that he could keep her safe.
“Chase?” she whispered, her eyes now wide-open.
“I’m tired, Raney. Let’s get inside now.”
* * *
RANEY WAS EXHAUSTED but still her body felt hot and needy. She’d torn open the packaging on her sheets and quickly put them on the mattress. Then she shucked her clothes and climbed in.
Chase had almost kissed her. And she had definitely wanted him to. How the hell she was going to pretend tomorrow that nothing had changed was beyond her.
She needed sleep.
Which was easier than admitting she needed sex.
As tired as she was, she tossed and turned and once when she woke up, she heard noises downstairs. Her heart started beating fast and she looked at the window. Then she heard the sounds of old pipes. Water running. As quietly as she could, she crossed the room and eased the door open.
The lights were on downstairs and Chase, wearing just blue jeans, low on his hips, was using a sponge mop to clean the living room floor. It was one of those fake wooden floors that people wanted to believe looked like wood but it never did. She watched for several minutes, enjoying the show. His biceps flexed with the effort, the strong muscles in his back rippling.
> He was working hard. When he shifted, she got a glimpse of the sweat on his chest.
She could feel her own body get warm.
She supposed it was possible that he simply couldn’t abide a dirty floor. But somehow she didn’t think so. It was much more likely that Chase was having a little troubling sleeping, too, and he was taking it out on the unsuspecting laminate.
She stepped back, closing the door. She returned to her bed and stared into the darkness. What the hell was happening between her and Chase Hollister?
The old Raney would have been intrigued but likely too shy to do much about it. Blonde Raney? She wasn’t sure.
The only thing she was confident of was that it was strangely comforting to know that Chase was losing a little sleep over her.
* * *
CHASE WAS SITTING at the kitchen table when Raney got downstairs the next morning. Like last night, still in his blue jeans. But this morning, he’d put on a shirt. He was drinking a cup of coffee and there was a bowl and a cereal box next to it.
“Morning,” he said.
“Good morning.”
“Sleep well?”
“Pretty good,” she said. “How about you?”
He shrugged. “Good enough.”
Uh-huh. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat across from him. “The living room floor looks great,” she said. “Did you mop it?”
He stared at the back of the cereal box, as if it was the most interesting thing he’d ever read. “Yeah, I got an early start.”
She thought about calling him out but decided there was little to be gained. If he wanted to pretend that their little moment outside the prior evening had meant nothing, so be it. “I thought I might work upstairs some more today,” she said.
“I really hate that you’re getting sucked into cleaning this place,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it. It fills the time. At the last place, all I did was watch television. If I see another Friends rerun, it won’t be pretty. What are your plans?”
“More outside work. I’ll probably mow the grass first, then take a look at the roof.”
“Do you know how to fix that?” He was a cop, not a carpenter.
“I’m pretty good with my hands,” he said.
She let his words hang in the air. “Really?” she said. She stared at his blunt male fingers that were wrapped around his coffee cup. His nails were clipped short.
Capable hands.
Capable of what? Her imagination was running wild. She could see him cupping her breast, judging the weight, running his index finger over her nipple.
She felt hot.
She should retreat.
That would have been BHM.
Now she gathered her courage, channeled blonde Raney and looked him in the eye. “That’s good to know,” she said, her tone perfectly level. Then she turned on her heel and escaped upstairs.
* * *
TEN MINUTES LATER, when Chase sharply turned the wheel of the old riding lawn mower, he was still thinking about the look she’d given him. He made another pass across the ratty yard, his mind reliving every moment in the kitchen.
He was tired. Had given up all pretense of sleep around two and had started mopping the floor. He’d been quiet and Raney had slept through it. Safe in her bed. Alone.
He’d been this close to kissing her the night before. Standing beside the car, with the moonlight washing over them, the urge had been overwhelming. If the other vehicle hadn’t come along, he’d have made a big mistake.
He was going to keep his distance.
They had a month. How hard could it be? It wasn’t as if there wasn’t anything for him to do. After he’d finished mopping the floor, he’d made a list, trying to prioritize the work. If he had to be in Ravesville, he intended to get the house ready to sell.
While the weather was good, he should work outside. There was absolutely no curb appeal. He needed to trim bushes and trees and mow the grass. The front steps needed to be fixed and the roof was a must. In fact, the roof was probably the priority. He shouldn’t do anything inside until he was sure that when it rained, the water wasn’t going to come flowing down upon newly painted walls.
When he’d told Raney this morning that he thought he could fix the roof, he hadn’t been bragging. That was how he’d gotten to know Gordy Fitzler. His neighbor was a roofer, the only one in Ravesville. It had been a godsend for Chase when Old Man Fitzler, as the boys he hired liked to call him, had offered Chase a spot on his summer crew.
He’d taught Chase how to scramble across a roof without losing his balance, how to use a nail gun and how to keep a packet of shingles, weighing a hundred pounds, from shifting on you as you went up the ladder so that you didn’t end up in the rose bush thirty feet below.
He’d put on roofs in the blazing sun, which had been painfully intensified by Missouri’s high humidity, for two summers. Today, the late-September weather was about perfect for roof work. The sky was a clear blue and the morning temp was a cool sixty with an expected high of seventy-eight.
He walked to the two-car attached garage that sat fifty yards west of the house. When he opened the side door, the smell of mustiness, in sharp contrast to the clear, clean air outside, hit him hard. As expected, there was a lawn mower. Some tools, too. A few shovels and spades stacked in a corner. In addition to that, the building was full of boxes that had not been totally spared from the elements. He glanced upward and wasn’t surprised when he saw spots on the ceiling that indicated the garage roof was likely leaking, the same as the house roof.
There were stacks and stacks of newspapers. He suspected they were condo living quarters for any number of rodents. There were balls of snarled-up twine, as if Brick had saved every piece he’d encountered for the past seventy years. Empty coffee cans filled with rusted, bent nails and screws and nuts and bolts. Nothing besides the lawn mower, which appeared in decent shape, looked as if it had been touched for many years.
What the hell had Brick done all day? Shaking his head, Chase grabbed a ladder that hung on the far wall. He tucked it under his arm and left the building. He’d tackle the garage another day.
Ten minutes later, he was on the roof, surveying the damage. It was no wonder that there was water damage inside the house. The shingles were old and brittle and their edges were lifted, allowing water to seep under. In several small areas, the shingles were missing altogether, probably due to severe wind.
He realized, rather disheartened, that rather than a few quick repairs, the house really needed a new roof. He supposed he had a choice. He could nail down what was there the best he could and then pick up a couple packets of shingles at one of the big box stores for the missing sections. The new ones wouldn’t match the old ones and it would look like hell, but at least the roof wouldn’t leak. It would get him and Raney by for the time being. Then, when he and his brothers listed the house, they could price it lower than market, to make up for the fact that the buyer would need to install the new roof.
Or he could put a new roof on. Which was a hell of a lot of work. Working alone, it would take weeks.
He’d be on the roof; Raney would be inside.
Distance. That was what he’d told himself was the answer.
He was halfway down the ladder when he heard the sound of an approaching car. He twisted to see the road.
Chapter Six
It was an old pickup, maroon with white lettering on the door. He smiled. He remembered that truck from when it was brand-new. Had driven it a couple times with a firm warning not to get it scratched up ringing in his ears.
The truck turned into the lane. Chase waited until it came to a stop and the old man driving it slowly climbed out. Gordy Fitzler’s hair was thin and completely white and he looked thinner than Chase remembered. He approached, extending his hand. “Mr. Fitzler,” Chase said.
The man made a scoffing noise. “It’s been a long time, Chase, but there’s no need for formality. Call me Gordy or Old Man, the way yo
u used to.”
“Didn’t know you knew that we called you that,” Chase admitted.
“Made me laugh every time I heard it. You and your friends were forty years younger than me and I could still work circles around you. I thought I saw lights here the other night and then this morning when I was having coffee in town, I heard you were back.”
“Just to get the house ready to sell,” Chase corrected.
“You’ll have your hands full with that, I suspect.” Gordy looked at the ladder that was leaning up against the house. “Brick should have redone his roof years ago.”
“Just discovered that. You’re not still getting up on roofs, are you?” Chase asked.
Gordy shook his head. “Retired for many years. My old knees couldn’t take it anymore. But my son-in-law took over. Jonah’s doing a good job. He could get you what you need and probably drop it off this afternoon.”
Chase didn’t bother to ask about the price. He knew it would be fair. “How is your wife?”
Gordy shook his head. “Glenda’s been gone now for almost two years.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Figured as much. Suspected that Brick didn’t keep you up-to-date on the news. You know, Lloyd Doogan works for my son-in-law.”
“How’s he do?”
“Okay. Works hard when he’s there. Has a few demons that chase him once in a while.”
Hard to tell what he suffered as a child. And if there was anyone in Ravesville who knew the truth about Brick Doogan, it was Gordy. He’d been witness to the assorted bruises and other injuries that Chase had shown up with. It was probably why he’d offered him a spot on his couch whenever Chase had been desperate enough to knock on the door.
“Tell me about those demons,” Chase said.
Gordy shrugged. “I don’t know all the details. Just know that every once in a while, he’ll get into the sauce and be too hungover to climb on top of a roof. Anyway, I heard you got a wife.”
“Raney,” Chase said, feeling bad that he was lying to Gordy. But Raney’s safety was more important. “She’s inside.”
