Did he know that I was me? That I was his daughter come back from the dead, all wrapped up in a redhead?
“Can I come in?” His gruff voice pulled me back to the present.
Still, I just stood there like an idiot. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t talk. It took all I could do not to rush him, to throw my arms around his shoulders, burying my face into his chest, and cry like some stupid little girl.
“Perhaps this was a bad time. I’ll try again tomorrow,” he said, turning away from me.
“Wait!” I said suddenly, though honestly, I wasn’t sure that I should have.
I didn’t want to see my dad. Well, that wasn’t true. I wanted to see him more than anything.
But if he looked at me and saw someone else, then all of this would be real. There would be no going back. I would never be Rita Clarke again. I would truly be dead.
Still, something pulled at me. I couldn’t turn him away. If there was even the slightest chance of having a relationship with him again, of easing his pain just a little, then I had to take it.
“I’m sorry. You just took me by surprise. That’s all. Won’t you come in?”
He turned back, looked at me, and walked through the door.
“I shouldn’t have barged in on you like this, especially in the middle of the night. You’re a single woman, and this is a small town. I just didn’t want to take the chance of someone seeing me here. Ms. Redoux, is it?”
Just like that, my heart shattered into a thousand little pieces.
He didn’t recognize me. Of course, he didn’t. What was I thinking; that the same magic that pulled me from the grave was going to allow him to see past my exterior and into the soul of his lost daughter?
It was ludicrous. Of course, what wasn’t these days?
“Yes,” I answered, trying to keep my voice from cracking. “And you’re Sheriff Clarke.”
“I used to be,” he answered, settling in front of me and running his hands through what was left of his thinning hair. “That seems like a lifetime ago, if I’m being honest.”
“Well, if I’m being honest, I don’t think the new sheriff can hold a candle to you,” I answered, motioning for him to take a seat. The only chair I had was the black swivel chair that came with the computer desk, but it was better than nothing.
He obliged me and then, with a smile, answered. “That’s very kind of you, though I’m not sure the town would agree. Darrin’s done a lot of good since coming into office.”
I blanched. There was no way that was right. I knew my father, and he wouldn’t cotton well to that cocky smooth talker.
So why was he?
“I doubt that,” I answered.
“It’s true, Rita,” he answered, and just hearing him say my name again sent my heart jumping. “After my daughter died, I was a mess. I let what happened to her get the better of me and, though I hate to admit it, I wasn’t the sheriff this town needed me to be.” He slapped his knees with the palms of his hands, a familiar action in our house. “I fell apart and let things slide that I never would have before. That’s how lost in the investigation I became. It all ended when I ordered the release of a prisoner who turned out to be a pretty wanted fugitive. He was brought in for driving without a license. I barely looked at him, before I decided not to bother with sending him to court. Turned out, he had wanted posters up in three counties.” Dad shook his head and looked at me. “That’s when I knew I needed to step down.”
I swallowed hard, feeling more than a little guilty. I might not have meant to leave him, and I certainly didn’t want to. Still, I had. “I’m sorry you went through that. I- I can’t imagine how much pain you must have been in.”
“Oh, I think you can,” he answered.
Now, what did that mean exactly?
“I guess you’re wondering why I’m telling you this story.” He stood. “Or why I showed up in the first place. My former deputy told me who you really are.”
“Harvey…” I muttered.
“Don’t be upset with him. We rarely keep secrets, he and I. Especially in regards to that series of homicides.” He shook his head. “As you know, that’s where I lost my Rita.”
“And where I lost my mother,” I answered, keeping up the lie. “It’s all connected. The wrench, Patrick’s murder, Angela being attacked; all of it has to do with what happened two years ago! I don’t know why I can’t get Sheriff Dash to see that.”
“Sheriff Dash is a smart man. I reckon he sees more than you think. If he’s being quiet about it or freezing you out, it’s nothing more than what I’d do in his position.” He pursed his lips at me. “It’s the reason I came here tonight.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I know why you came to town, Rita, and, I think it’s a bad idea.” His hands slid into his pockets. “People are getting killed again, and there’s nothing to say you won’t be among them. I get the urge to make sense of the loss you suffered. I get it more than you know, but putting yourself in danger won’t help anything. Do you have any family, sweetheart?”
“I…I have a dad,” I answered, trying to keep tears out of my eyes.
“And how do you think your father would feel if he woke up to the news that something happened to you? That he wouldn’t get to see you ever again? That he wouldn’t even get to say goodbye?”
My eyes trailed the ground. I couldn’t look at him for this. “He’d be devastated.”
“I guarantee it,” Dad answered. “So please don’t do that to him. Now, like I said, I’m not the sheriff anymore, and I don’t have a lick of authority around here. So, I can’t tell you what to do. But, I do ask that you consider what I’m saying.” He smiled a pained smile. “My Rita was a lot like you, or a lot like Harvey described you. She always got herself involved in things that she probably shouldn’t have. She couldn’t look at a problem and not try to fix it. She couldn’t look at a question and not try to answer it. In a way, I think that’s why she was taken from me.”
A wave of brand new guilt rolled through me. Had I brought this onto myself? Had I done this to my dad? I couldn’t keep the tears out of my eyes now. “If she could, I’m sure she’d apologize,” I said.
“Oh, you’re misunderstanding me, sweetheart.” Dad looked at me. “I don’t blame my Rita, and I wouldn’t have changed who she was for the world and all that’s in it. I just wish I could have changed what happened to her. That’s what I’m trying to do for you, before it’s too late.” He headed toward the door. “I won’t take up any more of your time. If you’ll just consider what I said, I’d be mighty grateful. Might even feel like I accomplished something.”
I wanted to reach out to him, to wrap him up in a hug and tell him that he had already accomplished a lot, that he was the most important person in the world to me and that, even if I never got to see him again, I’d remember every line on his face for the rest of my life.
But that wouldn’t make any sense. Rita Redoux couldn’t say the things Rita Clarke could say. So instead, I settled for something more benign.
“Can I bring you over a banana cream pie sometime to say thank you?”
He turned and smiled at me. “That’d be just fine. How’d you know that was my favorite?”
“Just a guess,” I answered.
Just at that moment, Mayor McConnell sprang into action, jumping up at Dad and pawing his knees.
“Nice dog,” Dad said, petting his head.
He was right because I knew what Mayor McConnell was doing. He was giving me just another moment with my father, just another few seconds in my old world before I’d have to withdraw back into my brand new one. Maybe that dog wasn’t all bad after all.
“That’s enough, Mayor McConnell,” I said, making my peace with things.
The dog heeded my wishes, returning to his spot on the floor and his sweet potatoes.
“That’s an interesting name for a dog,” Dad said.
“I’m beginning to realize he’s an interesting dog,”
I answered.
Dad opened the door and turned back to me. Narrowing his eyes, he said. “You know, I can’t really explain it, but there’s something really familiar about you. It’s almost like we’ve met before.”
“In another life, maybe,” I answered, blinking hard.
“Maybe,” he answered. “Goodbye, Rita,” he said and closed the door.
When I was sure he was gone, I answered. “Goodbye, Dad.”
12
“You seem distant. Is everything okay?” Peggy asked me the next morning, her hands knuckle deep in flour and egg.
We had always gotten up early, that was the way of a bakery. But it seemed that, since my unplanned exit two years ago, Peggy had taken “early” to a whole new level.
No sooner had I laid my spinning head against the pillow last night than Peggy came knocking on the door, much chippier than anyone had a right to be at four thirty in the morning.
It was a quarter of six now and, for the life of me, I still hadn’t been able to get my bearings. I was tired.
“I’m fine,” I answered, and put a little more effort into my kneading as to make it look less like a lie. “I just have a couple of things on my mind. I can’t believe we’re doing all this for one day,” I said, looking at the near mountain of fresh ingredients that sat on the counter before us.
Usually, we made one of each pie to start with. That way, once we saw a particular flavor was getting low, we’d prepare another and stick it in the oven. The crowds were always manageable enough to make this reasonable. Besides, the method preserved freshness, taste, and our sanity.
But, in addition to Peggy’s exuberant new schedule, the last two years saw the implementation of something called the Peach Festival.
Local growers from the farming communities around Second Springs would bring their prized peaches and show them off for a chance to win the top award. This year, it was a five hundred dollar gift certificate to Betty’s Bargain Beauty Barn.
My suggestion of changing it to a gift certificate for “not being murdered” was met with more laughter from Peggy than she’d ever admit.
Though it was new, Peggy told me the festival was a big deal.
“Balloons get strung up everywhere,” she said. “There’s a clown for the kids, and everyone wears peach. You know, the color, not the fruit.”
“I don’t know if I have anything peach,” I answered, looking down at yet another in what seemed to be a never-ending supply of floral print dresses.
“It’s okay,” she answered. “I’ll find you something. What we really need to worry about are these pies.”
The pageant needed catering which, among other things, meant we needed to get fifty peach pies out by noon Friday; three days from now.
“I can’t believe they didn’t give you more notice than this,” I answered, shaking my head.
“It’s not their fault,” she said, slicing one of the bazillion peaches on the table into chunks. “It was supposed to be two weeks from now but, given everything that’s been going on, it was decided that the pageant should be moved up to help with town spirit and all.”
“It would take Second Springs to treat the problem of a murderer by feeding it,” I grinned.
“There’s something to be said for giving the people here something to think about that isn’t so depressing, especially the kids,” Peggy said. “I know that, if Aiden and I had kids, I’d definitely want to keep them away from all this craziness.”
There was a light in her eyes that almost did me in.
Kids? I had just gotten my head wrapped around the fact that Aiden and Peggy were together, much less engaged. Now, she was talking about them having kids.
“I’m sure,” I answered, pounding a little bit too hard at the dough. “I never thought Aiden was the type of person who wanted kids.”
“What do you mean?” She turned to me, her chopping immediately ceasing. “Did he say something to you?”
I winced, quirking my mouth to the side. How could I be stupid enough to say something like that? Of course, he had said something to me. He said it when we were seventeen. He said it after we got engaged. He wanted to focus on his career, and the rest could fall where it may.
But I couldn’t tell Peggy that because he hadn’t said it to this “me.” Because that “me” didn’t exist anymore -- whether I liked it or not.
What if he did want kids? What if the truth was that he just didn’t want kids with me?
“No,” I shook my head, eyes pinned to the counter. “Of course not, it’s just, you know those doctor types. I just assumed he was the sort to be too concerned about his work to think that far ahead.” I cleared my throat. “Listen, I was wondering if it would be okay if I took a long lunch this afternoon. I’m having some problems with my transmission, and I wanted to take my truck in to get looked at.”
“You don’t need to take a long lunch for that,” she answered, going back to cutting. “The garage is like a quarter of a mile away. You can drop it off. I can even pick you up if you don’t feel like walking back.
“Right,” I answered. All of that would have been fine if my transmission had really been the reason for my visit. In truth though, I needed to follow the lead I found in Patrick’s secret phone last night. He had been calling an auto shop in Mt. Gregor and, though my father wouldn’t like the idea, that’s where I needed to go.
“You see, the thing about that is, I kind of have my own mechanic. I’ve used him for years. His name is Jason. He’s from Mt. Gregor Auto.”
“Mt Gregor Auto sounds like it might be in Mt. Gregor,” Peggy said, without looking up.
“That’s perceptive of you,” I answered.
“Mt. Gregor is forty miles away,” she said.
“Thirty-seven, but I promise I won’t be gone over a couple of hours.”
Peggy looked up from a mountain of yet to be sliced peaches. “Today?” She looked around. “You want to get your transmission looked at all the way in Mt. Gregor today?”
“Ideally,” I said.
“Rita, these pies have to be finished this afternoon. If they’re not done by four--”
“They will be done. I promise,” I assured her. “I’ll be back by two, plenty of time to finish up.”
“Fine,” she shook her head. “So long as you promise to be back by two.”
“Thanks,” I answered as my hands went back to kneading and my head went back to spinning.
The ride to Mt. Gregor was an uneventful half hour. Mayor McConnell still refused to grace me with his presence. So, instead of having a front seat companion, I had sung along with the radio all by myself while the dog wagged around in the back.
Not that I did much of a job with it. It turned out I didn’t know any of the songs that now populated the airwaves. So, I turned it to an oldies station and jammed out to Motown, the way Dad used to do when we went on road trips.
As Mt. Gregor Auto came into view, I took one last look at Patrick’s phone. This was the only number on it, the only clue I had to go on. If I was going to get to the bottom of this, if I was ever going to figure out what the connection was between these crimes and my own murder, it was going to have to come from here.
I slid into a parking spot and hopped out. Mayor McConnell jumped out from the back and followed me, though he seemed less than thrilled to do it.
“It’ll only be a couple of minutes,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I just want to take a look around.”
We reached a “no pets allowed” sign on the door, and I winced at Mayor McConnell. “You’d better stay out here.”
He turned his snout up and trotted back toward the truck.
Bet he never had to deal with that kind of stuff when he was in office.
I pushed through the door to find a small sitting area and a dusty front desk. A man sat facing the TV. He was wearing a baseball cap and jeans. Though, judging by the way he didn’t bother turning to me, I figured he was just a customer.
I tapped the
bell on the desk and waited for someone to help me.
An older man, bald and pudgy, came out. His face was covered in brake dust, and motor oil stained his shirt.
“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you before,” he said, spitting a hunk of chewing tobacco into a white paper cup and wiping his mouth.
“I’m not from here,” I answered, throwing my keys up on the desk.
“Well, isn’t that something,” he answered. “Two tourists in one day.” He motioned to the man in the sitting area, wearing a baseball cap. “What can I do for you?”
“The truck’s acting funny,” I answered.
“Funny how?” The man asked.
“I don’t know, it’s skipping,” I responded.
“You sound like you’re guessing,” the man said, slowly settling into a chair.
“Maybe I am,” I said. “Whatever’s wrong with it needs to be fixed, though.”
“Well, one of my employees up and left a couple of weeks ago, so we’re behind. It might be a couple of hours before my guy can get around to it.”
I looked around. “Doesn’t look too busy.”
The old man looked around too as if he was taking in the room for the first time. “I guess you’re right. I’ll pull it on around.”
I nodded. “Oh, can I watch you?” I asked. “I’ve always been a big fan of figuring out how things work.”
“It’s your dime, sweetcheeks.” he answered, and slowly moved toward the door.
I slid past the desk, glancing over it for possible clues.
The stupid thing looked like it hadn’t been touched in months. I gave the cap guy more of a glance, but he seemed engrossed in whatever baseball game was on TV. So, I moved into the garage.
It had two bays, one of which housed a white car with the hood up, and one of which was empty.
A man in filthy clothes stood hunched over, his face dug into the white car’s engine.
I dug Patrick’s phone out of my pocket. The old man hadn’t come around with my truck yet. Not that it hardly mattered. He moved so slowly, there was no way he could have been the person running away from Patrick’s body that night back at the pie shop.
Twice Baked Murder Page 8
