“Hello,” Stella answered the call.
Gianna didn’t bother with niceties. “I was getting ready to go to my NA meeting tonight, and I remembered something I should have told you this morning. I saw this guy hanging around outside when I went into the last meeting.”
Stella grabbed for her notebook and pen. “Can you describe him?”
“About six feet tall,” Gianna said. “Thin, short hair.”
“Where did you see him?” Stella asked, excitement humming in her blood.
“Thursday night at the Catholic church.”
“Was he at any of the other meetings?”
“Not that I noticed.”
“Do you have a meeting schedule?” Stella asked.
“It’s posted on the local NA group website.” Gianna rattled off a web address.
Stella put the call on speaker and accessed the site on her smart phone. There were multiple meetings listed every day in the region, which covered the tri-county area. A recovering addict with a car could find a meeting every single day if that’s what he needed.
Scrolling down the list, Stella spotted the meeting at Our Lady of Sorrows at nine o’clock that night.
“Was Missy at the meeting last Thursday night?” Excitement buzzed in Stella’s veins. Missy hadn’t shown up for work on Friday. The NA meeting could be the last place she was seen alive.
“Yeah. Missy was there.”
“Was the guy outside when the meeting was over?” Stella asked.
Gianna’s face scrunched in concentration. “Yes. I remember because he creeped me out, and I had to walk home alone.”
“Missy didn’t offer you a ride?”
“She wanted to stay for the coffee hour. Sometimes, you feel so much support during the meeting, you’re not ready to let it go when the hour’s over. But I was too tired.”
“Thanks, Gianna. I really appreciate this information.” Stella ended the call energized by the new lead. Her paperwork could wait.
Tonight, Stella was going to stake out that meeting.
Chapter Seventeen
Mac steered his Harley onto the main road. A few minutes later, the space between his shoulder blades itched. He glanced in his mirror. The mammoth SUV far behind him set off an internal alarm and Mac made a sudden left. The SUV lumbered through the turn and settled into place the exact same distance behind him. Mac’s gut twitched. At the next intersection he turned left and rode away from his brother’s place.
The SUV followed.
Mac eased off the throttle, but the truck stayed a stubborn distance behind him, just far enough that he couldn’t see the driver clearly or read the license plate.
Like a professional.
He drove to the grocery store in town, parked, and went inside. He watched through the plate glass window as the SUV continued past the store. He went out and fired up the bike again, leaving the lot through a different exit and heading in the opposite direction. Ten minutes later, when there was no sign of the truck, Mac headed for Grant’s house.
Had that been coincidence or had the old gang spotted him? If he stayed in town long enough, they’d catch up with him. But for now, Mac hoped he was being paranoid.
Knowing he’d be on his bike, Grant had left the detached garage open. Afternoon storms had been hitting the region daily. Mac parked and walked to the front door.
Grant answered the first knock. “Mac?”
He stepped into his brother’s house.
Grant was staring at his face. “I hardly recognize you.”
“I shaved. No big deal.”
“You don’t have to knock. You’re always welcome here.”
“Thanks.”
“Down!” A toddler’s scream sounded from the back of the house.
“Come on back.” Grant led the way down the hall to the kitchen. The house had been a project when they’d bought it, but Grant and Ellie had transformed it into a home. The kitchen was Mac’s favorite room. Done in earth tones, with hardwood floors and bronze granite, it boasted a huge picture window that framed a view of the woods out back.
“Faith, hold still.” Grant’s fiancée, Ellie, struggled to unclip the high chair straps while his nineteen-month-old niece squirmed.
“Down!” Faith wailed, flinging her body sideways in an Oscar-worthy dramatic gesture. She grabbed Ellie’s dark ponytail, and Grant hurried across the kitchen to pry her fingers free.
Ellie straightened her ponytail, lifted the child out of the chair, and set her on the floor. “Let me wipe your hands.”
But Faith bolted toward Mac like a mini missile. He swooped her up and carried her to the aproned sink at arms’ length while she babbled. Kicking a stool into place, he set her down on top and turned on the water. “Can you wash your hands like a big girl?”
By the time she was done, water was spattered over both of them, but her hands were free of whatever orange substance she’d been coated in.
“Sorry. We’re working on spoon use, but you know Faith. She’s very tactile.” Ellie used a towel to wipe her ponytail.
Mac grinned as the toddler turned to face him. She smacked his face between her pudgy hands and rubbed. Her tiny forehead wrinkled with a frown. “No wike.”
Ellie laughed. “I don’t think she approves of the shave, but I think you’re handsome.”
He leaned over and kissed Ellie on the cheek.
Grant crossed his arms over his wide chest. “The last time you were clean-shaven was for Lee’s funeral. What’s up?”
“Thought it was time for a change,” Mac said.
Grant nodded in approval. He still wore his blond hair in an army-buzz. “Hannah’s on her way.”
The back door flew open, and seven-year-old Carson ran into the house at full speed, directly into Mac’s legs. His golden retriever barked behind him as he flung both arms around Mac’s thighs. Mac shifted Faith to one hip to hug his nephew. The toddler kicked his gunshot wound, and he sucked wind. That local anesthetic could only do so much.
“Let me take her.” Grant held out his arms, and Faith tried to leap to him. “That’s my girl.” Mac was still amazed by Grant. Not that his tough, career-soldier brother had given up his military future with no regrets to raise his niece and nephew, but that he was so good at parenting and clearly happier than Mac had ever seen him.
Grant put Faith on his hip. “You all right?” he asked Mac. “She didn’t do any damage?”
“I’m fine, just thankful she hates shoes.” Mac put a hand on his side. He set the other on Carson’s shoulder. “What have you been doing?”
“Me and AnnaBelle are catching frogs in the creek.” Carson’s blond hair was too long, sun-streaked, and speckled with mud. More mud coated his bare feet and legs, and he’d left a grimy trail on the hardwood.
“Sounds like fun.” Mac meant it.
“It is.” The little boy pushed away, grabbed Mac’s hand, and tugged. “Wanna come?”
Mac would much rather play in the mud than talk about their father’s funeral. He glanced at Grant.
A smile spread across his brother’s face. “Go ahead. I’ll let you know when Hannah gets here.”
Carson sprinted for the back door, leaving more smears across the hardwood and a few flecks on the walls.
“Me.” Faith pushed away from Grant’s chest and reached for Mac.
“I don’t know.” Grant frowned. “She’s liable to eat the frogs.”
She turned sad baby blues on Mac, betrayal and hurt quivering her upper lip and misting her eyes. “Wanna go.”
“She’s going to win an Oscar someday.” Mac hesitated. The enthusiasm from the kids was overwhelming, and the ache in his gut was nowhere near his injury.
Grant rubbed her back. “The kids miss you.”
And Mac couldn’t say no. He took the toddler. “A little extra protein won’t hurt her.”
Ellie stopped them on the way out the back door, offering Mac a pair of tiny white sandals.
He laughed. “We both
know she won’t keep them on, so why ruin them?”
“Watch her feet, then. Rocks and sticks can be sharp. And she will put anything—and I mean anything—into her mouth,” Ellie said. “Maybe I should come with you. A toddler can drown in two inches of water.”
Faith blinked innocent, pleading, blue eyes at Mac.
“We won’t be out too long, and I promise not to take my eyes off her for a second.”
How hard could this be?
Twenty minutes later, all three of them were soaked, creek slime coated Faith from her wispy blonde hair to the soles of her tiny feet, and Mac was in awe of his brother and Ellie. How did they manage these kids all day, every day? Twenty minutes of keeping rocks and bugs out of Faith’s mouth had been exhausting. He grabbed his boots from the bank and herded the kids out of the shallow water. They trooped back to the house, content and filthy.
“Sorry.” Mac turned on the hose. “We really don’t have any other options. We are disgusting.”
“Yay.” Faith raced through the spray.
“You have mud on your eyebrow, Uncle Mac.” Carson broad jumped into a puddle on the grass.
Mac sprayed his calves and feet and rolled down the cuffs of his cargo pants. Hosing down the kids was like trying to hit metal ducks in a carnival game. He shut off the faucet. “I guess that’s as clean as you’re going to get.”
Laughter erupted from the back porch. Carrying two beach towels, Grant met them at the bottom of the steps. He tossed one to Carson and spread the other wide between his arms. Faith raced into it, giggling. Grant’s face lit up.
“How much mud did she eat?” Grant cocooned Faith in a towel and scooped her into his arms. Tossing her over his shoulder, he turned toward the house. High-pitched, happy baby squeals pierced the evening.
Mac rubbed Carson down to make sure he didn’t drip in the house. “Not enough to ruin her dinner.”
Carson gave his legs an ineffectual swipe with the towel. “Uncle Mac says there are poisonous frogs in South America. They’re only this big.” He held his forefinger and thumb close together. “And they have enough poison in them to kill ten men.” His eyes widened.
Grant whistled. “Those are deadly frogs.”
“I know.” Carson nodded. “Hunters put the poison on darts and shoot them through a blowgun.” He mimicked the act by blowing through his closed fist. “But we don’t have that kind of frog here.” He gave the wet grass a disappointed kick.
“What a shame.” Grant jostled Faith until she exploded into another fit of giggles.
Carson raised three fingers. “But we do have three kinds of venomous snakes,” he said with enthusiasm, as if that made up for the lack of toxic frogs. “We found a snake skin. Do you think it might be from a venomous one, Uncle Mac?”
“Sorry, buddy. Looked like the skin from a milk snake to me.” Mac was impressed. The boy had memorized Mac’s answers to his rapid-fire questions. “I’ll show you a picture of one inside so you can keep an eye out for it.”
Grant chuckled. “They really do miss you, Mac. You’re the only adult who actually enjoys playing in the mud.”
“I miss them, too. More than I realized.” Longing filled Mac. He was sick of solitude, something he never thought would happen to him.
“Do you have to leave again?” Grant asked.
“I don’t know. I have some decisions to make.”
“You know I’m around if you need to talk. I’ve been where you are.” Grant opened the door and ushered them into the kitchen.
Ellie plucked a limp weed from Faith’s head. “I’m impressed. You got her filthier than she’s ever been, and that’s saying a lot.”
“It was my pleasure.” Mac grinned, carrying his boots into the house.
“Dinner’s in a half hour. Hannah called. She’ll be here in a few minutes,” Ellie said. She and her teenage daughter took charge of bath time, while her grandmother set the table.
Ellie walk away, smiling at Grant over the baby’s shoulder. Though in her midthirties, she looked younger, with her freckles and makeup-free face.
Grant’s eyes brightened. “I never thought I’d have this kind of life.”
“You are one lucky SOB,” Mac said. His brother had found a beautiful woman, inside and out. She’d taken on a soldier with post-traumatic stress and two grieving children, and she still had time to worry about Mac’s sorry ass.
Grant led the way to his office. Mac stepped over the threshold and froze. The Colonel’s dress uniform hung on the back of the closet door. Pressed and stiff, it looked as if it could stand up on its own.
Mac shuffled closer, stopping a few feet away. He wanted to reach out and touch the shiny medals and ribbons pinned to the chest. But just like when he was a boy, he didn’t want to mar it with his touch. “I’d forgotten how big the Colonel was when he was younger. I don’t remember ever seeing him stand up.”
“You were pretty young when he was injured, and he shrunk over the years.” Grant stopped next to him. “I have something for you.” He opened the closet and took a box from the top shelf. Opening it, he handed a black bundle of neoprene to Mac.
“The Colonel’s KA-BAR.” Grief constricted Mac’s throat. He slid the knife from the sheath. The Colonel had carried it when he’d been a Ranger.
“You gave it to me after Lee died. I noticed you had a knife at your place. I thought you should have this one back. I don’t have a need for it, and you still do.”
“Thanks.” He rolled up his pant leg and strapped the sheath to his calf.
The door opened, and Hannah came in. Her eyes widened with shock as she stared at Mac’s face. “You shaved. All. The. Way. To. Skin.” She patted his cheek. “I had no idea my baby brother was so handsome.” She wrapped an arm around him and focused on the hanging uniform. “How can it be that intimidating? He’s not even in it.”
“Because it’s part of him.” Grant said. “It represents what he wanted to be. Where he wanted to be. And what he was in his heart.”
“The last two and a half decades must have been a nightmare for him.” Hannah’s grip tightened around Mac’s bicep.
“Trapped in a body that could no longer serve or obey his commands.” Mac’s voice turned rough. “All he ever wanted was to be a general.”
Grant put a hand on Mac’s free shoulder, the grip heavy and firm. “He had choices. He had four kids who wanted nothing more than to please him, and it wasn’t enough. We weren’t enough for him.”
“We tried.” Hannah sniffed and wiped a hand under her eyes. “God knows we tried.”
Grant would never treat Carson and Faith the way the Colonel had treated his children. Grant would go to his grave cherishing those kids, and they weren’t even his.
“Some people aren’t cut out for family life,” Mac said. “The Colonel was one of them. He didn’t do it to be mean. I think he honestly thought he was doing us a favor by toughening us up.”
“He suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder and depression,” Grant said. “But he was old school. Military men of his era didn’t address mental health issues. They soldiered on.”
Their father’s depression had been so deep and dark that it had sucked up all the light in their home.
“I’m glad he’s finally at peace,” Hannah lowered her arm and crossed to the desk to pluck a tissue from its box. She wiped her eyes, crumpled the tissue, and tossed it into the trashcan. “What do we need to do? I assume he clearly spelled out his burial wishes.”
“You know it.” Grant smiled. He moved behind his desk and picked up a yellow envelope marked “Do not open until death” in their father’s shaky scrawl. “I thought he wanted to be buried in the National Cemetery, but he updated his will after Mom died. He wanted to be with her.”
Mac’s eyes and throat burned. They’d buried Lee near their mom, too.
Grant cleared his throat. “He’ll have a military honor guard ceremony, of course. And the chaplain from the base agreed to drive up. I’ll take car
e of the details. Hannah, I’ll leave the rest of the will in your hands.”
She nodded. “I’ll do whatever you need.”
“If it’s OK with you both, we’ll have a reception here after the service,” Grant said. “Ellie and her grandmother have that under control. Do either of you want to say anything at the service?”
“No,” Mac and Hannah said in unison.
Grant nodded. “Then you want me to give the eulogy?”
“Definitely.” Mac didn’t even know how he felt about his father or his father’s death. There was no way he was ready to speak about the topic to a hundred people.
“Yes.” Hannah agreed. “And thanks. I don’t know if I could sort out my thoughts enough to be coherent.”
“Let me know if either of you change your mind,” Grant said.
“What can I do?” Mac asked.
“Well,” Grant said. “Carson wants to attend the funeral.”
The kid could have Mac’s chair.
“Since I’ll be speaking,” Grant continued. “I’ll need you two to stick close to Carson. The service is bound to remind him of Lee and Kate’s deaths. I don’t know how he’ll handle it. He might want to leave in the middle.”
Mac suspected he might want to leave in the middle. “Whatever he wants.”
A small knock sounded on the door. “Uncle Grant?”
“Come on in, Carson,” Grant called out. “The door’s not locked.”
Carson slipped in. He was clean, his hair damp, and he smelled like soap. His pale blue pajamas were covered in tiny red race cars. He walked up to the closet and stared up at the uniform. “Is that Grandpa’s?”
Grant lifted him into his arms. “It is. See the eagle? That means he was a colonel.”
Carson turned his head to the Colonel’s uniform. “Grandpa had a lot of ribbons.” He reached toward them, then pulled his hand away.
“It’s OK, Carson. You can touch them.” Grant moved the boy closer.
Carson traced the ribbons on the chest of the uniform then dropped his hand. “Can I see yours, too?”
“Sure you can.” Grant lowered him to the floor. “I’ll be getting it out tonight.”
Seconds to Live (Scarlet Falls) Page 12
