by D. F. Hart
He barely managed to keep hold of the box as they fell, and they both began to laugh.
“Sorry,” Lizzie said once she’d stopped giggling, looking down at him, her left hand on his chest, her right hand caressing his cheek. “I suddenly had this overwhelming urge to be in your arms.”
“I’m totally okay with that.”
“Thanks for breaking my fall.”
He gazed into her eyes and spoke from his heart.
“I’ll always catch you, Lizzie. Always,” he told her softly as he slipped the solitaire onto her finger.
***
Grant smiled to himself, enjoying the sunshine as he headed south on Highway 377. After he’d booked his hotel for the evening, he’d looked up the various routes to Mason, Texas, and had decided to take the most scenic one. By two o’clock he’d be walking the historic grounds with Sally Rutherford.
***
In Abilene, the detective working the Benji Patterson shooting booted up his computer, entered his usual search parameters like he did every week, then pressed ‘send’. And did a double take when his system chirped and showed a possible match.
“Huh,” Paul Ricard said out loud.
“What?” a co-worker said from the next desk.
“There’s another case with matching ballistics evidence,” Ricard revealed as he skimmed the main points of the case he’d come across in the statewide database. “Down in San Angelo. Guy shot with a .44/40 round.”
“When?”
“Back in December.”
“I wonder why it didn’t show up until now?” his co-worker mused.
“No idea.”
“Sounds like maybe you’re taking a trip.”
“Sure does,” Ricard said as he reached for his desk phone to call ahead.
***
“It’s coming together nicely,” Bella said as they took a break from unpacking and organizing the kitchen. “And I love the color scheme you chose! So warm and inviting.”
Jandy’s brand new kitchen had every feature she’d ever dreamed of – among them, a double oven configuration and beautiful granite-topped island equipped with its own little sink. The long edge of the half-wall left the space open and airy, with visibility into the immense living room, and had six bar-height chairs with comfortable cushions placed strategically down the line.
“It will probably be the most used room in the house, so I wanted it to be warm and inviting,” Jandy said. “You know as well as I do that our clan bonds over food.”
“That we do,” Bella agreed with a snort. “Really, really good food.”
“Speaking of really, really good food,” Jandy prompted, “let’s talk housewarming party next weekend. Got any thoughts on what we should have?”
“I’ve had a few ideas,” Bella smiled. “This is gonna be fun.”
***
“Come on down,” Stevens told the detective from Abilene. “Happy to compare notes.”
He hung up and looked at Perez. “That was Paul Ricard with Abilene PD. Seems we have some similarities in our cases. He’ll be here by around one-thirty. I’ll go tell Marty we need the conference room.”
***
“I was thinking stop for the night somewhere around Nacogdoches,” Donny mentioned as they passed the city limit sign for New Orleans. “It’s a little under halfway from here to Pantego. My family used to go camping down there in the summertime. Some really pretty places in that area that I’d like to share with you.”
“I’d like that,” Lizzie said, reaching over to take his hand in hers.
They rode in silence for a few miles, Donny focusing on the road and Lizzie gazing at the brand-new ring on her hand.
“I have a question, Donny,” she began. “How exactly are we going to do this? We’re engaged now, but still – you live in Vail. I’m based in north Texas.”
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it before he answered.
“Well, about that,” he replied. “Now that you’ve said yes, I can tell you the rest of it.”
“The rest of what?”
“My plans,” he said simply. “While you were at Quantico, I did some studying of my own, and long story short, I’m now a licensed insurance agent in Texas.”
“Honey! That’s great,” she enthused. “But how does that help us living so far apart?”
He glanced over at her. “Simple. I move down to Texas.”
Lizzie’s jaw dropped open with surprise.
“Wait... you... you’re willing to just up and move and lose all your clients? For me?”
Donny chuckled. “First of all, don’t sell yourself short. You’re freaking amazing, and I’d do absolutely anything for you. And don’t worry, I won’t lose a single client, Lizzie. I can still be their agent remotely; it’s not like I’m going to let any of my current licenses expire or anything. I’m just moving my base of operations out of the mountains and closer to my fiancée, that’s all.”
“What about your place up there?”
“Well, I thought we’d keep it. Give us a nice cool place to go on vacation when summertime in Texas gets to be too much. There’s really only one thing left that I haven’t decided on yet.”
“And that is?”
“Where I would live once I relocate,” Donny told her. “I didn’t want to assume anything.”
“Like it’s even a choice,” Lizzie retorted as she swatted his shoulder. “You’re totally moving in with me.”
He grinned. “Glad to hear it. Like I said, I didn’t want to assume.”
“I’m marrying you, Donny Atherton. It would be weird if you didn’t move in with me,” she teased.
“Are you sure? I mean, I just might drive you nuts. I tend to squeeze the toothpaste tube from the bottom, and I’ve noticed you go right for the middle, so....”
Lizzie laughed out loud.
“Honey,” she squeezed his hand. “If that’s the biggest challenge you can think of that we might face, we’ll be just fine.”
“In all seriousness, though,” he confided. “I really didn’t want to assume. I don’t want to crowd you or make you feel pressured, at all.”
“And I appreciate that. I really do,” she answered. “But what you don’t understand is, you’ve never made me feel that way. Ever. Just the opposite, in fact.”
“So, it’s settled. I’m moving into your place.”
“Yep,” Lizzie said firmly. “There’s just one more question.”
“And that is?”
“How quickly can you pack up and bring your handsome self back home to me in Pantego?”
Donny cocked his head to the side and thought a moment.
“I bet I could be all moved in by next weekend.”
Lizzie beamed. “That works for me.”
***
“Welcome, Grant. It’s so nice to meet you,” Sally Rutherford said as they shook hands. “You made pretty good time.”
“I almost didn’t make it down here at all,” he replied sheepishly. “There are some very, very active deer populations in this area. More than once I had to slow down to keep from running into one as it crossed the road in front of me without even looking.”
“That does tend to happen around here,” Sally confessed. “And they’re even more active at night. Best advice I can give you while you’re here is, don’t plan on driving outside town limits after dark.”
They walked toward the single structure remaining.
“How big was the fort originally?” Grant asked.
“Fort Mason was established in 1851, and originally it encompassed 1,200 acres,” came the reply. “And it was referred to as ‘the training ground of generals’. For example, this was General Robert E. Lee’s last command post. All told, twenty generals trained here at one time or another. During the Civil War, twelve fought for the Confederacy, the other eight for the Union.”
“Interesting,” Grant said as he took notes. “And that is a massive amount of land. What happened to the other structures?”
Sally smiled. “This building is a reproduction of the officers’ quarters and is on the same spot the original building stood. As you can see, the town has filled in around this building, but you can spot remnants here and there; when the fort closed for good in 1871, townspeople dismantled most of the twenty-five buildings onsite to repurpose the rocks. It wasn’t until 1975 that reconstruction of the officers’ quarters got underway.”
After another fifteen minutes, they parted company, but not before Sally advised, “If you’ve got time, you should go see the Spanish fort that’s not far from here. It predates Fort Mason and Fort McKavett by about a hundred years. It’s pretty interesting.”
She gave him directions to Presidio de San Saba, then waved goodbye as she left.
Grant climbed into his car and checked his watch. Two-thirty, he noted. Plenty of time to get out to the Presidio site and back before nightfall.
He started his car and navigated back to the main road, turning north on 377 to head toward Tx-29.
***
He watched as Sally left, then as Grant drove away, and wondered when he’d have his chance. Data on Sally Rutherford’s schedule and habits had been hard to come by.
He didn’t have to wait long. As soon as he caught up with Sally, he realized she was headed out of town, back toward her home on a lonely, isolated back road.
He smiled to himself.
Perfect.
He followed her at a discreet distance, and when she turned off of 377 onto the narrow gravel road that wound around to her property he drove past intentionally so as not to arouse suspicion.
He turned around a half-mile later, took the gravel road, and meandered leisurely down the two and a half miles it would take to reach his destination.
A quarter mile from her driveway, he pulled over, shut off the engine, and settled in to wait.
***
Three hundred nineteen miles to the east of where a killer lurked, Donny asked, “Do you like it?”
They’d just turned on to the long winding gravel road leading back to the little cabin that they’d secured for the night southeast of Nacogdoches.
“This is beautiful,” Lizzie agreed, taking in the tall, lush trees lining each side of their path. “And peaceful.”
***
Grant sighed with satisfaction as he parked on the square in Mason and headed to the local café for an early dinner. The trip out to Presidio de San Saba had been well worth it. He’d been able to do a self-guided tour and the pamphlet about the Presidio that he’d grabbed on the way in was worth gold as far as he was concerned.
That thing saved me a ton of notetaking today, for sure, he thought to himself as he ordered chicken fried steak and iced tea. The waitress brought him his drink and a freshly baked roll, and he spread butter liberally over the bread as he read the data on the fort, occasionally using a highlighter to enhance the base facts.
“Built in 1757, used until 1772”, Grant said aloud to himself as he moved the highlighter across the page, then set down the marker and took a bite of his roll.
But the really cool thing about it was that it had some of the characteristics that I’ve always associated with the word ‘fort’, he conceded as he chewed thoughtfully. Like the turret and that thick stone perimeter wall. Grant had been pleased to see that much of that exterior wall had survived the ravages of time.
“And that turret,” he mumbled. “That looked like something you’d see on castles over in Europe. That was cool.”
He wasn’t sure exactly how the rest of the trip would go. But one thing he’d already decided on. That turret would be one of the featured pictures when it was time to publish this set of articles.
Before too long the waitress returned, bringing his dinner, more rolls, and a pitcher of iced tea to top off his glass.
***
Fifty-nine-year-old Sally Rutherford stretched, yawned, and turned off her television at eight-thirty.
She took her plate and glass to the sink, washed them and set them in the drainboard to dry. She was just about to turn off the lights and head to her bedroom to read a bit when she heard what sounded like a knock on her front door.
Her eight-year-old bulldog, Cyrus, lifted his head, sniffed the air and began to growl.
“Oh, shush,” she scolded. “It’s probably nothing.”
Still, Sally was nervous enough to tremble slightly as she made her way over to the front door. It wasn’t until she had her hand on the doorknob that she decided grabbing Allen’s old pistol might be a good idea.
After all, I’m out here by myself since he passed. Probably ought to have it with me, just in case.
She turned and moved swiftly to her room, yanking open the bottom drawer of her nightstand and retrieving the .38 snub-nosed revolver that her deceased husband had proudly called his ‘Saturday Night Special’. She made sure it was loaded before returning to her living room, where Cyrus had moved toward the front door, still growling low in his throat.
She opened the door and stepped out onto the wooden porch, trying vainly to see into the vast blackness that taunted her just beyond the pitiful radius of her yellow porch light.
“Is someone there?” she called out.
Her question was answered as she heard the distinctive crack of a rifle firing. Mere moments later she was flung backward through the open doorway, pushed by the velocity of the .44/40 round finding its intended mark as it passed through the left side of her upper chest.
Cyrus’s growling exploded into full-on barking as he charged out onto the front porch in a belated effort to protect his master. But he paused, sniffed the air again, whimpered and withdrew.
Good boy, the killer silently praised the animal. Smart move.
As he left Sally Rutherford’s front yard to walk back to his car, he could hear a now heartbroken Cyrus howling at the top of his lungs.
***
After a restful night’s sleep, Grant showered and dressed in preparation for his meeting with Kelly Wolfe. They’d agreed to meet out at Fort McKavett at ten-thirty a.m.
“Today’s gonna be a great day,” Grant told his reflection as he shaved. “Matter of fact, it just might be the best day in a really long time.”
Which is really strange...why did I just say that?
But he couldn’t help it. He’d had the feeling since he woke that there was something very, very special about the day ahead.
He shook his head to regain his focus, finished his morning routine, packed his suitcase and checked out of his room.
He pulled up the fort’s location on his GPS and hit ‘start’, then fastened his seat belt and got underway.
At ten-twenty-two he was crossing over the cattle guard that led into the Fort McKavett State Historical Site. He traveled slowly down the gravel stretch of road leading to a visitor’s parking area, parked, and climbed out of his car.
“Mr. Forrester?” he heard a sweet, melodic voice say. He turned his head and was immediately awestruck. The woman standing before him looked to be in her mid-twenties. She was a few inches shorter than him, a bit curvy, with shoulder-length hair the color of winter wheat and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.
“Are you Mr. Forrester?” she asked, but at first, he could only stand there blinking at her.
Now I know how Benji feels around Beverly, he realized.
Finally, he regained enough self-awareness to extend his hand and say, “Please, call me Grant.”
She smiled, and Grant immediately noticed the deep dimples that appeared.
“I’m Kelly. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, Kelly,” he answered, savoring the feel of her hand in his and the way her name felt on his tongue.
Whatever else happens, I can’t leave this town without asking her out, he promised himself.
“Are you ready to take a walk around?”
“With you? Absolutely,” he told her, and enjoyed the faint tint of pink that graced her cheeks.
Yep. Gonna be
an awesome day today.
***
No one knew anything was amiss at the Rutherford property until the mail carrier swung down Sally’s driveway to deposit her mail in the mailbox at the edge of her yard around noon. From his vantage point he could clearly see someone lying in the open front doorway. He knew Sally had been struggling with some severe medical problems, so he exited his mail truck to take a closer look and, if necessary, render aid.
What he found had him backpedaling quickly across Sally’s yard, grabbing at his belt loop for his cell phone to call 9-1-1. Cyrus, having howled himself hoarse, whimpered and wheezed as he followed the man back out to his vehicle.
Once the body and surrounding scene had been properly recorded, the coroner’s office transported Sally Rutherford’s remains. The crime tech summoned to the scene carefully marked and photographed the spent shell casing’s location by the mailbox before bagging it as evidence.
Sally’s little sister, Marie, arrived a short time later to collect Cyrus and take him to Doc Salter to get checked out. Afterward, she settled him in at her house. The forlorn bulldog climbed into her husband’s lap and refused to budge, so Marie went into town alone to visit the funeral home and begin making service arrangements.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
An hour away, in Junction, Texas, the out-of-towner whose car had been totaled overnight was being moved from Kimble Hospital’s emergency room triage area to an inpatient room upstairs.
He’d left Sally Rutherford’s place and had almost made it into Menard when he’d literally run into trouble. Speeding down the dark road, he’d not seen the animals crossing until it was too late. Although he’d stomped on his brakes, he’d only managed to slow his speed to about forty-five miles an hour before he’d hit a magnificent ten-point buck pretty much square in the middle.
It had been like driving into a cement wall.
He’d come to, groggy and disoriented, and it took him a bit to clear the cobwebs enough to realize he’d been in a wreck. He forced his driver’s side door open even though his entire chest throbbed with pain and pulled his duffel bag and the rifle bag out of the trunk.
He slung them both across his right shoulder since his left side was where the pain seemed to radiate outward from and began to unsteadily walk the last mile toward town. A passerby stopped and gave him a ride to the first motel they came to. He paid cash for a room for a week and stashed his gear before caving to pressure from the desk clerk and agreeing to seek medical treatment.
