Don't Turn Around

by Hunter Morgan

  Pain shot through Ed’s shoulder. His chin burned.

  Behind him, he heard the car speed away, Ronald shouting obscenities.

  Ed lay there beside the road in the dark for a minute, trying to catch his breath. His heart was pounding and he was scared so bad that he had to urinate. But a part of him felt good. He’d gotten away from the presidential kidnapper. Just like the Duke, he would live to fight another day.

  Ed sat up, rubbing his chin. He was wet and cold and he didn’t know where he was. Slowly he got to his feet. His shoe had come off. He found it in the ditch beside a Kentucky Fried Chicken box. He didn’t like Kentucky Fried Chicken. He liked Casey’s crunchy baked chicken. A lot less saturated fat.

  By the light coming from a house across the street, Ed studied his brown loafer. It was really scraped up on the toe. He wasn’t sure he could polish that out. He put the shoe on the edge of the road and slipped his foot into it. He looked up at the house. He could go over and knock, but he was still a little shook up. What would he say?

  No, it would be better if he just walked home.

  He looked up the road, then down the road. The question was, which way?

  He thought for a minute and then decided that he should go the opposite way of Ronald Reagan. He didn’t want to run into him again tonight. Maybe if he walked back into town, he would recognize something. If he could just find the pizza place.

  A car approached from the direction of Georgetown and Ed got well off the road. It was slippery. He’d already taken one tumble tonight. He didn’t need a car careening off the road taking him out. The car passed and he moved onto the loose gravel next to the road again, where it was easier to walk.

  He had money in his pocket. Twenty dollars. He always kept it there with his picture of Frazier and the grandbabies. Jayne had put the grandbaby pictures in. She said he didn’t need money, but Ed liked having it. It would come in handy if he found the pizza place. He was hungry. If he found the restaurant, he would have a piece of pizza and a cola. Maybe even a beer. Light. Then he would walk home.

  Ed shuffled along the side of the road. He’d walk home tonight, but tomorrow when he went to the old farts’ place, he was definitely driving himself.

  Chapter 23

  Lincoln arrived shortly after Casey called the police. She wanted to drive around looking for her father, but Lincoln insisted she stay at the house and wait for the police to call. What if Ed tried to call, or showed up, Lincoln reasoned with her.

  Casey told Lincoln she was afraid that if Lincoln did find her father, he wouldn’t get in the car with him. Lincoln countered by offering to take Frazier with him, and Casey ended up standing on the front porch, fighting tears, waving as Lincoln backed out of the driveway with the boxer in the tiny passenger seat of his Mini Coop. Good boyfriend, she thought. A good guy. Jayne called twice. She was at Annabelle’s Christmas dance recital, but she swore she would be at Casey’s within the hour. An hour and a half and two calls from Lincoln but no word from the police, Ed, or Jayne and Casey was beside herself. She had known her father shouldn’t go to the senior center.

  When the phone rang again, she pounced on it.

  “Casey McDaniel?” the official-sounding voice on the other end of the line said.

  “Yes, yes, this is she.”

  “This is Officer Boden with the Georgetown police. We spoke earlier.”

  Casey took a deep breath. She was sick to her stomach. “Yes, sir.”

  “I have your father here, at Bob’s Pizza Palace on one-thirteen.”

  Casey heaved another breath, this one of relief. “You found him. Oh, thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

  “He was just sitting here having a beer and a piece of pizza. Another officer came in to pick up dinner and thought he recognized him from the description that went out. I can bring him home—”

  Casey heard another voice in the background. It was her father interrupting Officer Boden.

  “But it seems Mr. McDaniel is unwilling to accept our hospitality,” the officer said. “Would you like to come pick him up or should I try to persuade him—”

  “No, no. I’ll be there. Five minutes. Thank you so much!”

  Casey flew out of the house, taking her coat with her, but not taking the time to put it on. Her father had to be so scared; she just wanted to reach him. Later, she’d get the details of what had happened. In the car, on the way to the pizza place, she spoke with Lincoln on the phone, who agreed to meet her back at her house. Casey got Jayne and Joaquin’s answering service on their cells, so she left a message.

  Casey rushed into the restaurant to find her father sitting at a booth in front of a grease-stained paper plate. He was rubbing his mouth with a napkin. She glanced down at the empty beer mug. He didn’t appear to be all that frightened.

  A police officer stood nearby, talking to a busboy.

  “Daddy.” She tried not to sound too upset, but when she saw his bloody chin and his damp clothes, she had to choke back her emotions. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  He glanced at her. “I told the police you would come for me. I was going to walk home, but it’s cold out. Did you see the snow?”

  She slid into the booth to sit beside him. “Yes. It snowed at home.”

  “Nothing stuck, though.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin again. “Freezing rain tonight. There’ll be no snow for Christmas.”

  Casey tried to get a better look at his face. “Dad, what happened?”

  “This?” He stroked his chin. “You probably don’t want to know.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “It was stupid. My fault. Ruined my shoe.” He pointed under the table. “Don’t know if it will polish up.”

  “It’s okay, Dad.” She covered his hand with hers, noticing that it was also scraped up.

  “Miss McDaniel.” The officer approached the table.

  Casey rose. “Officer Boden, thank you so much.” She glanced at her father. “He seems okay, just beat up a little. I have no idea how he got here.”

  The officer crooked his finger, and Casey stepped closer he could speak without Ed hearing him. “Ronald Reagan,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  The young officer cut his eyes in Ed’s direction, then back at Casey. “He said that Ronald Reagan picked him up at the Modern Maturity Center.”

  Casey didn’t know what to say.

  He smiled kindly. “I’m assuming he has some dementia. He does pretty well for himself, though. Very polite. He tried to buy me a beer.”

  Casey put her hand to her forehead. So now it was Ronald Reagan coming to the senior center? Okay, so he made that up. Had he made up Nixon looking in the windows, too? But her father had obviously gotten here somehow, and she doubted he walked all this way in this weather.

  She looked up at the officer. “I apologize for bothering you like this. Thank you so much for finding him. There was some confusion at the senior center and they thought he caught a ride with someone.”

  “Then maybe forgot where he lived.” Boden nodded. “My Aunt Tillie’s got dementia. Forgets where the refrigerator is all the time. Puts her milk in the linen closet. No apology necessary.” He walked away, headed toward the door. His car was parked in the no-parking zone out front, engine running. “It’s just nice to see a story with a happy ending. See you around, Ed.” He waved.

  Ed tipped his mug and finished his beer.

  Casey slid in beside him on the bench again. “Dad…how did you get here? Did you walk?”

  “I don’t want to talk about this.” He reached for his coat. “Road’s getting slippery. We have to go home.”

  “We’ll go,” she said firmly, “but I have to know what happened. You really scared me, Dad. No one knew where you were. You can’t do that.”

  He stared at the napkin crumpled in his hand. “I made a mistake. I should never have gotten in the car with him.”

  “With Ronald Reagan?” She waited.

&nbs
p; “He said he knew you. Said you sent him to pick me up, but I knew better.” There was a break in his voice.

  Casey’s eyes suddenly burned. She hated to see her father like this, so…vulnerable. But there was something else in his voice that tapped her attention. “You really did get into a car with someone, Dad? Who? And for the love of God, please don’t tell me Ronald Reagan or Richard Nixon.”

  Ed twisted the napkin and a little piece of paper broke off and fell on the table. “He looked a little bit like Ronald Reagan and he said he was your friend from the hospital. He said you sent him.”

  Casey grabbed her father’s hand. “He knew you?” She looked away. She had assumed that if he hadn’t walked, he’d simply accepted a ride with some other senior citizen, then got turned around. Too embarrassed to admit he couldn’t find the house. She had assumed he’d ended up here because he recognized the place. “Dad, listen to me. Did this man know your name?”

  Ed nodded.

  “And mine?”

  He nodded again. “Chin hurts.” He rubbed it. “High-pressure zone in the Rockies.”

  “Dad, this is really important. You didn’t recognize him?”

  “He was wearing one of those sweatshirt things with the hood.” He motioned with the napkin. “I couldn’t see his face very well.”

  “Was it the same man you saw looking in our windows?”

  “That was Richard Nixon,” he snapped. “You think I’m too stupid to know the difference between Tricky Dick and Dutch?”

  “No, I don’t think you’re stupid. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. Dad…” She hesitated. “I think someone might be stalking me.”

  He began to roll the napkin. “You should call the police.”

  “I have. But I have no proof the man is doing it.”

  “Innocent until proven guilty,” Ed said in a far-off voice.

  “Exactly. Now tell me about the man who picked you up. What kind of car was he driving?”

  “Old. Blue.”

  Casey slammed her hand on the table. “That son of a—” She cut herself off.

  Ed had jumped at the loud sound and now was picking up the little pieces of napkin on the table, pinching them between his wrinkly fingers.

  Casey was so angry that her vision blurred. It was Gaitlin. Had to be. She looked back at her father. “Did he say anything? I mean, like why he wanted to give you a ride?”

  Ed looked down at the crumble of paper between his knobby fingers. “He said you should back off.”

  “How did you get these scrapes? Did he…did he hit you, Dad?”

  Ed continued to hang his head. “I fell.”

  “And he just let you off here?”

  “I knew the pizza place. I like mushrooms.” Ed didn’t say anything else for a moment, then continued, “Chance of a wintry mix tonight. Low around thirty.”

  After a moment of silence, Casey stood up. There was no reason to question her father any longer right now. Maybe he would be able to tell her something else later, but now, he was shutting down. She could see it in his gray eyes. She could see it in the way his hands were beginning to tremble.

  She reached past him for his coat.

  She would kill him. She would kill Charles Gaitlin, and then this would be over. “Dad, let’s go.” She motioned for him to slide out of the booth.

  What made Casey angriest of all was the fact that she couldn’t do anything about this and Gaitlin knew it. Her father had told the police that the fortieth president of the United States had given him a ride to the pizza place. Who was going to listen to her when she said it was actually Charles Gaitlin?

  She helped her father into his coat and linked her arm through his. “Come on, Dad,” she said. “Let’s go home.”

  On the way home, Casey finally reached Jayne on her cell; Jayne had gotten the message that their father had been found and that he was safe. The sisters agreed that there was no reason for Jayne to come over tonight. The children needed to get to bed after their busy day. Jayne and Casey could talk tomorrow afternoon at Casey’s when they met for Christmas Eve dinner before going to church.

  Casey also called Lincoln and told him that Ed had gotten into a car with someone he didn’t know, but she didn’t give him too many details. She didn’t tell him about Ronald Reagan or who she suspected had actually picked up her father.

  Lincoln and Frazier were waiting in the yard when Casey pulled into her driveway. Frazier bounded up to his master as Ed got out of the car in the garage.

  “Hey, Ed.” Lincoln stood casually as if they had not been in family-crisis mode an hour ago. “Looks like your buddy missed you today.”

  Ed gave the dog a big hug and then went into the house. Frazier followed.

  Lincoln remained in the garage, waiting for Casey. She put down the automatic door, walked over to him, and rested her head against his shoulder. He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.

  “He seems okay,” he said.

  “He’s okay,” she repeated. “Scraped up a little. Wet. Apparently he fell at some point, but he didn’t want to tell me what happened. He’s embarrassed, I suppose.”

  “I’m just glad he’s home safe.” He kissed her again. “I hope you’re not going to be too hasty in making a decision on the senior center.”

  “Of course he can’t go back.”

  “But he likes it there,” he said gently. “He told me he had a lady friend.”

  Casey didn’t even want to broach that subject. “He can’t go if he’s wandering away. It’s not safe. Getting into cars with strangers. This could have turned out very badly, Lincoln.”

  “I’m sure you could make arrangements to see that someone escorts him to and from his van.” He walked her toward the door to the house. “Surely he’s not the only old man who gets confused as to which white van is his. I’m not sure I could do it,” he jested.

  Casey took a breath. One of the nicest things about being with Lincoln was the different perspective he offered on so many subjects. He saw the world so differently than she did. “You’re right. I know you’re right.” In the laundry room, she locked the door behind them. “He has been happier since he started going. And he’s been…better. But something has to be done differently. Maybe Jayne and I need to take turns driving him back and forth.”

  “I’m sure something can be done,” he assured her. “Maybe I could even help out.”

  They walked down the hall, past the kitchen, into the living room. Ed sat on the couch, but uncharacteristically the TV was off. “Give it to me. Give it.” He held out his hand and the big brown dog reluctantly turned over his stuffed squeaky toy, a big pink hot dog in a bun. Ed tossed the hot dog and it bounced off the fireplace hearth. The dog lunged for it.

  “Want the TV on, Dad? We can check on that high-pressure system in the Rockies.”

  “Tired. Think we’ll go to bed.” As he rose from the couch, he put his hand out to Frazier. The dog danced in front of him just out of reach. “I can’t play fetch if you don’t hand it over,” he chided.

  Frazier trotted around some more, and when he drew closer, Ed grabbed the hot dog. The dog squeaked the stuffed toy noisily between his jaws and then surrendered it.

  Casey followed the two down the hall. “I’ll be right back,” she called to Lincoln over her shoulder. “There’s a bottle of wine on the counter.”

  Frazier nudged Ed’s pant leg as Ed held the toy over his head. “I don’t think so, boy.” He stuffed the toy hot dog into the rear of the waistband of his pants. “You don’t want to give it to me? Two can play that game.”

  Casey halted in the doorway of her father’s bedroom. Two can play that game…. “You need anything?” she asked.

  Two can play that game. The words went through her head again. “I can get your pajamas for you.”

  “Can get my own,” he grumbled, hand on the doorknob.

  “You should clean up that scrape.” She reached out but then pulled her hand back befo
re she touched his chin. She was hovering. He hated it when she hovered. “The one on your hand, too.”

  “I’ll wash it up.” He looked up, seeming to want to say something more.

  She waited.

  “Just wanted to tell you thank you,” he said haltingly. “For, you know, coming to get me.”

  “Of course, Dad.” She looked into his eyes. “I’d do anything for you.”

  “And I’d do anything for you,” he said roughly. “You know that, don’t you, Freckles?” He looked up at her and then down at the dog as if he couldn’t bear to meet her gaze. “I would never let anyone hurt you. Never again.”

  “I know.” Her smile was sad. She rubbed his arm. “Good night, Daddy.”

  The door closed behind her and her father’s previous phrase went through her head again like words on a ticker tape. Two can play that game. Two can play that game…. Talk about an epiphany. That was it. That was the answer to her problem with Gaitlin. If she could prove he was following her, mailing her those drawings, she could have him arrested. All she needed to do was catch him in the act. Get the evidence. Photographs. Whatever.

  Casey walked into the kitchen with a smile on her face.

  “Your dad’s okay?”

  She walked over to Lincoln, at the counter. He was pouring them both a glass of pinot noir. “I think he’ll be fine.”

  “And how about you?” He pushed a glass of dark wine into her hand.

  “Me? I’m fine.” She sipped her wine, then smiled up at him. Even though she didn’t know exactly how she was going to follow Gaitlin, how she was going to catch him, the plan made her feel good. As if she finally had a way to fight back. “In fact, I’m pretty great right now.”

  He leaned over and kissed her.

  He tasted of the savory pinot noir: earthy, smoky—rich.

  “Yeah?” he said.

  “Yeah.” She kissed him back, sliding her hand over his chest and then his shoulder. She parted her lips, darted her tongue out to taste more of him.

  “Thought we were going to put the lights on the tree,” he teased.

  “We are.” She set her glass down, slipping her other arm around his neck. “But first I need a kiss. Maybe two.”