by Brenda Novak
He’d be by himself soon. But would she have the nerve to confront him? She preferred to forget what had happened, to sweep it into the dark corners of her mind, as she’d been doing for fourteen years.
But if he had a nude picture of her in his possession, she had to make sure it got destroyed.
Wally Deloit, the only customer left, judging by the lack of cars in the lot, spotted her as he came out the back of the store. “Hey, Chief,” he said with a wave. “What’s going on?”
“Not a lot, Wally. How are you?”
“Hot. I’m about ready to become one of them snow-birds who just live in Arizona for the winter.”
The screen on the door slammed shut. Tony had come out with hay hooks so he could load a bale of hay into the back of Wally’s pickup. He waved, too, but didn’t stop to talk. Gary wouldn’t let him socialize while he was on the clock. Despite her stepfather’s other weaknesses, he was good at business. He’d turned a feed store that was barely getting by into a solid success. The local paper had done a big write-up on him not long ago.
“You won’t like leaving for months at a time,” she told Wally. “This place is in your blood.”
“You’re probably right.” He pulled a handkerchief from one of his pockets and mopped the back of his neck. “Any news on those murders?”
“Not yet. But I’m working on it.”
“You seen all them news trucks around town? Leland Jennings and his mother over at the Mother Lode are loving it. The motel’s filled up. First time they’ve had the No-Vacancy sign on in ages. But I can’t say I like having to wait for a table at the café when I’ve never had to wait before.”
So far, Sophia had managed to duck the news crews. Several had stopped by the station. Joe Fitzer, the officer on duty until her shift started at eight, had called to alert her. But they hadn’t tracked her down yet. They were just figuring out the characters in this drama and, out of uniform, she hardly looked like the chief of police, especially when she was riding her Harley.
“I’m planning to solve it as quickly as possible so they can all go home,” she said as Tony finished loading the hay and went inside.
Wally grinned at her. “I believe you’ll do that, Chief. Yes, I do. You’ll show this town what you’re made of.”
She flashed him a smile of gratitude for his support as he got in his truck and left. Then she was alone near the row of tractors and backhoes her stepfather rented out in conjunction with his feed-store business.
Seeking relief from the heat, she climbed off her bike and went to stand beneath the overhang, where there was a strip of shade.
Fifteen minutes later, Tony came out with a spring in his step that signaled he was off work. Her bike was still in the lot, parked not far from his truck, but he didn’t seem to notice it or her. He was preoccupied with placing a call on his cell phone. She was preoccupied herself, too stressed to take on the burden of being polite, so she said nothing.
After he drove off, she fidgeted for another few minutes, trying to gather her nerve. Then she went into the store.
Her stepfather was busy counting out the till. He turned when he heard footsteps behind him and smiled, but wariness entered his eyes, and his posture revealed surprise. She never came by after hours. If she visited at all it was by order of her mother—to pick up some hay for Anne’s horse or drop off a sack lunch. Even those visits were rare.
“Afternoon.” His voice was casual but his smile seemed a little forced.
Stopping a few feet away, she jumped into her purpose in coming. “I have a question to ask you.”
He looked down at the money in his hands, then put it back in the till. Her tone indicated this would not be an easy question to answer; she could see him mentally preparing.
“No problem. I can take care of this later.” He closed the drawer. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’d like to see your wallet.”
He blinked. “My what?”
“Your wallet. Will you hand it over?”
“Is this a holdup?” he joked, but she didn’t crack a smile. The butterflies in her stomach made her feel nauseated. She was so afraid she’d see a picture of herself in his possession—a picture of her at sixteen or seventeen without any clothes—that she was having a difficult time keeping her voice from shaking. “I’m serious.”
His eyebrows came together. His reaction seemed genuine, but he was such a good liar. She couldn’t trust his protestations of innocence. He’d lied to her face before—told Anne he’d never been in her bedroom, let alone tried to touch her.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Yes. And I think you know what it is.”
He hesitated, obviously searching for answers he couldn’t find. Finally he shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Gus told Leonard you have a picture of me in your wallet.”
The confusion didn’t clear entirely, but he seemed somewhat relieved. “I do. It’s getting a bit tattered after so many years, but it’s of all three of us.” He pulled out his wallet and showed her. “It’s from Christmas that last year you were living at home, remember?”
Even though he was holding it out to her, she barely glanced at it. “That’s not the one I’m talking about.”
He dropped his hand. “I don’t have any others, Sophia. I don’t know how Gus could say what I carry in my wallet, anyway. It’s not something I leave lying around.”
She wasn’t sure how Gus knew, but she had to see if Leonard was right. “I—I need to look through it myself. Please.”
Surprisingly, he passed it to her.
She went through every compartment, even searched for secret nooks and crannies but found nothing. Her stepfather had some cash, a few receipts, several credit cards—what most men carried in their billfolds. But the only picture she could find was the one he’d already shown her.
Sophia would’ve been relieved, except there had to be some reason Leonard had said what he did. Had there been a picture that had since been removed? Or was Leonard trying to stir up trouble between her and her mother, between her and her stepfather, and between her and the people who’d been in her corner since the scandal involving Rosita broke?
“What’s going on?” Gary asked as she returned his wallet.
She bent over so the blood would reach her head.
“Sophia?”
“Like I told you,” she mumbled, staring at the floor, “Gus claims he’s seen a picture of me in your wallet.”
“It was probably this one—”
She didn’t look up. She didn’t want to see his expression when she told him why she was so upset. “No, in this photo I’m naked.”
“What? That doesn’t make sense.”
It would to anyone who understood his true nature. But his wife had protected him from exposure, had stood by him at the expense of her relationship with her daughter. How—and why—was Leonard coming up with this all of a sudden?
Gary shoved his billfold back in his pocket. “When did Gus tell you this?”
“He didn’t tell me. He told Leonard Taylor at the Firelight last night.”
“Wait—that can’t be true. Maybe Gus hangs out at the bar, but he wasn’t there last night. He’s in Flagstaff, attending a real-estate seminar. He thinks he’s going to open his own office someday. I’ve been shorthanded for the past three days because of it.”
She straightened. “What did you say?”
“I said Gus is out of town. He couldn’t have been at the Firelight yesterday.”
She felt her fingernails curve into her palms. “So where the hell is Leonard getting his information?”
“No idea. I’ve never had a picture like that. Where would I even get one?”
Cursing under her breath, she pivoted and started out, but he stopped her.
“Sophia?”
She paused, one hand on the screen door.
“I’m sorry that we remember what happened when you were living at home so diffe
rently.”
She knew better than to take the conversation any further, knew better than to ask. But she couldn’t help herself. “How do you remember it, Gary?” she asked, whirling around to face him.
“As being what it should be,” he said. “Maybe not idyllic. But I was a good provider and—”
“What happened between us has nothing to do with providing, and you know it.”
“But I never meant you any harm! I was just trying to love you, to be demonstrative. It wasn’t as if you were getting any hugs or…or affection from your father.” He spread out his hands. “And this is what I get for it?”
His feigned innocence conjured up instant rage. Had he admitted to what he’d done and taken responsibility for it, even privately, she might’ve been able to forgive him. But he was attempting to rewrite history, to erase his actions altogether. And he was doing it by making her the liar, which invalidated all the pain, the fear and the insecurity he’d caused her.
“You didn’t do anything because I wouldn’t let you get away with it,” she said. “But don’t think I’ll ever forget how hard you tried.” She slammed the screen door as she went out.
“Sophia, come on.” He stood by the door and held it open. “This grudge of yours—it’s killing your mother.”
She faced him again. “So now what happened is my fault?”
“I’m not saying that.” He switched to a conciliatory tone. “I’m just saying…let it go, okay? I’m tired of you trying to make me look bad. It wasn’t that big a deal.”
How dare he try to minimize what he’d done or make himself out to be the victim! “I believed you were carrying around a picture of me naked. That’s how big a deal it was,” she said, and got on her bike.
Needing some time alone, some time to deal with the emotions pouring through her and the memories the confrontation had called up, she started her motorcycle and tore out of the lot, hoping for a few minutes of quiet solitude at home.
But as soon as she hit Center Street, a news van began to tail her.
Driving downtown, Rod tried to put Sophia out of his mind. He was officially on the case, under the vague title of “consultant.” And Special Agent Van Dormer had, for the most part, taken charge, so Rod didn’t need Sophia’s acceptance and cooperation as much as he’d needed it before.
Yet he was still thinking about her.
When he saw her in the parking lot of Denny’s surrounded by reporters, he nearly stopped his car. With the dust and the heat, that ring of vans reminded him of a rodeo. She was the calf in the center, being hog-tied. Sophia had been expecting the pressure; they’d discussed it at the meeting—what to say and what not to say should one of them be cornered by a reporter—but she didn’t seem comfortable despite being prepped. She kept edging away from them, trying to return to her bike.
Tempted to rescue her, he let his Hummer idle at the next light so long the vehicle behind him honked.
She’s fine. He drove on. Considering the dynamics of their relationship, he should keep out of it. She’d been hell on his ego once before. Why ask for a second helping? Besides, she was part and parcel of this town, a town he was as determined to leave behind now as he’d been fourteen years ago.
Because Van Dormer had asked them to tape their interviews, he pulled into the drugstore lot, parked and went in to see if they had any voice recorders—and nearly bumped into Edna, who was just coming out.
“Excuse me.” He held the door open, as he would for any woman, but averted his gaze so he wouldn’t have to look at his father’s wife, a woman who wore vast amounts of makeup and owned an extensive wardrobe.
Much to his chagrin, she didn’t simply accept his polite gesture and go on her way. “That’s all you’ve got to say to me?”
He clenched his jaw. Apparently, the Dunlaps weren’t as willing to ignore him as he was them. “What else do you want?”
“Bruce says you’ll be staying with us next week. I would think you could at least greet me.”
What was his father doing? He had no plans to stay at the ranch, and he’d made that very clear. He figured this had more to do with a power play between the two of them than whether or not he was ever going to become a houseguest.
Rod hated to weaken his father’s position; Edna didn’t deserve the relief the truth would bring her. But he wasn’t about to get drawn into their games. “Fortunately, your husband’s wrong. I won’t be staying with you. Ever. Why would I want to?”
The relief he’d expected didn’t appear. “How long will you be in town?”
Physically, Patrick took after Bruce, but Stuart resembled his mother. They had the same broad, determined forehead and fathomless gray eyes. Edna had been pretty enough once. She still tanned herself and spent plenty of time doing all the things women liked to do—having her hair and nails done and whatever else. But she was already becoming a mere shadow—or maybe a caricature—of what she’d been in her glory days. Her cheeks drooped like jowls, and her chin seemed to disappear into her neck.
“If I keep my distance, what does it matter?” he asked.
“Can you really be that uncaring? You must understand how difficult it is for me and my children to have my…my husband’s…well, you know what you are, showing up all over town, inviting speculation and gossip. Ever since you arrived, I’ve had to hear about it from just about everyone I know.”
“Forgive me for not being more sensitive to your discomfort, but I’m here until I leave.” Since she didn’t have the sense to pass through the door he held open for her, he let it swing shut and walked inside. But instead of going out, she marched after him.
“He already has two sons,” she cried. “He doesn’t need you!”
Turning, Rod forced her, with a steely look, to back up. “You’re right. And I don’t need him. Or you.”
Quickly recovering her nerve, she poked a finger into his chest. “How I wish you’d never been born.”
She’d lowered her voice, no doubt to avoid being overheard, but Rod caught every venomous word. “You’ve made that clear from the beginning.”
“He was married,” she said, scrambling to justify herself.
“So? It’s not my fault you couldn’t keep your husband satisfied.”
At this, she nearly choked. She hadn’t expected him to go on the offensive. As a child, he’d been cautious whenever he encountered her. He hadn’t wanted to incite her anger for fear she’d have his mother kicked off the farm. Or that she might do something even worse to Carolina. She’d been the only Dunlap who truly frightened him, the only one who was more mean than stupid. But she didn’t frighten him anymore. His mother was gone. There was no way Edna could hurt Carolina now.
“You think you’ve climbed so far above the lettuce patch that you’re too good for us?”
“Anyone with a heart or a conscience would fit that description.”
Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head. “I don’t care what you’ve become. You’ll always be a dirty Mexican to me and anyone else who matters!”
“It’s not my Mexican blood I’m ashamed of.” Leaving her standing where she was, he strode off in search of the recorder he’d come to buy. He wished the fact that he’d let loose and said what he wanted made him feel better, but it didn’t. He’d long since learned that he could find no peace where the Dunlaps were concerned. He could cover the wound, hide it from the curious, but it would always fester….
By the time he left the store, Edna was gone and so was Sophia. He spent the rest of the late afternoon and evening visiting the farmers, ranchers and homeowners who lived in the area he’d been assigned. All the while, he tried to put his encounter with Edna out of his mind. It required some effort, but he was determined not to let the Dunlaps get under his skin the way they had when he was growing up.
His last interview ended at close to ten, but he’d finished what he’d hoped to do and headed back to the motel, eager to check his e-mail and get some sleep, since he couldn’t visit that safe
house for a number of hours yet. But there was no longer a parking space available. After circling the lot twice, he eventually wedged the Hummer into a corner spot next to a van with ABC News on the side and walked to his room from clear over by the ice machines.
Since he was still analyzing his interviews, he didn’t notice anything amiss until he drew close. Then he could see that his door, the one the manager had fixed after Sophia had taken a battering ram to it, was standing open.
Problem was, he’d closed and locked it when he left.
16
It was Leland Jennings, the motel manager, who called Sophia shortly after she reported for work. She wasn’t sure Rod would’ve bothered. When she arrived, Leland stood in the doorway while Rod sat on one of the beds, arms and legs spread wide as he leaned back on his hands, frowning at the destruction around him. Someone had emptied his clothes out of his duffel bag and cut them up, presumably with the knife sticking out of his pillow. Even the bag had been slashed. Writing covered the walls and the place smelled like gasoline. But if the person who’d broken in had meant to torch the room, something had stopped him.
“Wild night?” she said as Leland moved to admit her.
Rod glanced up. “Someone had fun. But it wasn’t me.”
“He’s a trouble magnet,” Leland complained with a shake of his head. “I just replaced the lock on this door last night. You remember. I took it from the laundry room. And look, it’s broken again.”
“Good thing the city’s going to replace it for you, right?”
He gestured for her to follow him into the bathroom. “And that’s not all the damage.”
A giant penis had been spray-painted on the mirror. Below that, Sophia read the words, Go home, Mexican cocksucker.
“Anyone see who did this?” She withdrew a notepad from the breast pocket of her uniform as they returned to the room.
Rod nudged his laptop with his foot. It had been thrown to the floor and lay there broken. “No. I roused the ABC camera crew, a few of whom are staying on either side of me, but they said they didn’t notice anyone coming or going.”
