by Hebby Roman
“No, they’re not real,” he answered in his matter-of-fact tone. “It was a man.”
“Well, I hardly think it was a man either, silly goose. It’s probably a tree limb or something that got thrown into the tank that you saw.”
Ben came toward them, the rod and reel in his hand.
“Whew!” She swiped her hand across her forehead. “You got it and . . . you’re all wet.”
“Just the bottom half. I waded out a ways to get it unhooked.”
“What was it snagged on?”
“I think it was a bleached-out branch of a tree. Why?”
“Oh, no reason, I was just curious.” She began gathering their things to leave, stuffing Andy’s pants, shirt, and shoes into the plastic bag, Maggie always had packed for accidents and wet clothes. She’d almost asked Ben if he’d seen a face under the water, but she sometimes wondered, if Ben understood her vivid imagination, or if he thought, she was a little off kilter. Better not to give him confirmation. Zipping the diaper bag closed, she said, “I’ll get Bridget, if you’ll buckle up Andy?”
“Yeah.” He picked Andy up, tossing him over his shoulder. “Come on, fishing partner, let’s head to the house.”
When they reached the house, Maggie’s mother, Nancy, greeted them.
“What’s this?” she said, grinning as she observed Andy’s wet hair and lack of clothes.
“He took a short swim,” Dinah explained. “I have his wet clothes in a plastic bag. Are Maggie and Graeme back home?”
“Yes, she’s inside resting.”
“I thought you and Ed were still on your trip?” Since Maggie’s mom and step-father had married, they’d spent a lot of time traveling.
“We both had a had a sense we were needed here, and as it turns out, we were right.” She took Bridget from Dinah and said, “Andy go on inside and get ready to take a bath. I’m right behind you.”
Dinah gave Nancy a brief hug. “I’ll be there in a minute.” She and Ben emptied the SUV of everything else. When she reached into grab her shoulder bag, she saw something sitting in the cup holder that hadn’t been there before.
She knew it wasn’t any of her business, but she asked, anyway, “What’s in the cup holder?”
“Something to make you ask questions, I’m thinking.”
“Fine, don’t tell me. I don’t really care.”
He chuckled. “You’re so predictable,” he told her. “I can always get a rise out of you.”
She shut the door on the SUV and trounced onto the porch.
“Di, simmer down, I pulled them out of the tank with the lure. It looks like an old set of military dog tags, but they’re pretty encrusted with crud. I’ll get them home and clean them up to see who they belonged to.”
“Are you still going to dinner on Saturday?”
“Yes. Shall I swing by and pick you up?” he offered.
“Sure, that’d be great.” She waved goodbye as he started the car and drove down the road. Maybe by Saturday, he’d have a name from the dog tags and maybe she’d tell him what Andy saw beneath the water.
* * *
Saturday morning, Ben took an old toothbrush from a drawer in the workbench in his garage and began to scrub the dog tags. He’d dropped them into a soapy solution and left them to soak, thinking he’d get to them sooner, but he hadn’t. Charlie had taken some well-deserved time off, so he’d spent most of the last couple of days at the jail.
Yesterday, he’d released his arrestee from the bar incident last weekend. The guy had decided to sit out his fine instead of paying out the cash, which meant someone needed to be there. He’d spent the last two nights sleeping in his chair.
He rubbed his thumb across the lettered surface. He walked over to the mop-sink and rinsed until he could make out the name clearly . . . Harper, Bailey.
Chapter Seven
Ben was still trying to wrap his head around the discovery of Moon Harper’s dog tags, when he entered Andrew and Bridey Benning’s home for dinner later that afternoon, with Dinah on his arm. He had picked her up a little early because he wanted to share his find with Elliott, who met him in the foyer.
“Gene’s here. He’s waiting for us in the office.”
Dinah nodded and said, “Hi, Elliott. Here, Ben, give me the brownies and I’ll take them to the kitchen.”
“Thanks.” He then followed Elliott into the oak paneled room, where the investigator sat on one end of a large leather couch. Ben approached him and shook hands.
“Gene, it’s good to see you again.” Joining the man on the couch, he said, “Elliott tells me you have some information for me.”
“I have.” He produced a brown envelope, handed it to Ben, and said, “It appears young Master Harper was a challenge from the get-go. By the time he got to high school, he’d had several run-ins with the local law enforcement, and that pattern seemed to follow him for the better part of his life.”
Ben opened the silver clasp and removed the stack of documents. “I didn’t come across this in the files at the jail.”
“Probably because some of it, I found at the county and state levels,” Gene answered. “Maybe he was a ‘go big or go home’ kind of guy.”
Ben sifted through the pages. “Says here, after his discharge, he served time in prison.”
“I didn’t know he was in the service,” Elliott said. “But it makes sense, due to the timeline. What was he incarcerated for?”
“Seems there was a fight in a bar in West Texas, and the other guy died, as a result of his injuries. Harper got fifteen years for involuntary manslaughter.” Ben looked up from the document he’d been reading, reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the dog tags. He let them dangle from his fingers and said, “I found these a couple of days ago.”
Elliott took them and looked them over. “You come across these at the house?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Ben leaned forward. “I took Andy fishing at the stock tank. His line got tangled up, and when I finally got it unsnagged, they came out with the lure.”
“Seems to me,” Andrew said, standing just inside the office door, “Moon went into the service around the same time I did, shortly after the TET Offensive. A lot of us went at that time.”
“Afternoon, sir,” Ben said, acknowledging the patriarch of Ben McTiernan Ranch. “Did you serve together?”
“Yeah, we were in basic training at the same time. He remained in the Infantry, when I moved into Special Forces.”
“What do you remember about him?”
The older man slipped his hands into his front pants pockets. “He was a hothead who never learned to hold his tongue.” He glanced across the foyer toward the dining room. “Well, I was sent in here to fetch you boys for dinner. We’d better not keep the ladies waiting.”
* * *
Everyone migrated to the patio after a dinner that was nothing short of magnificent. Ben’s only complaint was the plates should have had sideboards on them to hold the chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, corn, and gravy offered on the buffet. Bridey always had Vidalia cook enough food to feed a small country.
Ben followed everyone out, bringing up the rear, right behind Dinah. His eyes glued to the sway of her hips and the flirtiness of her hemline, that danced just above her knees. She’d driven him to distraction, all evening, with that dress, as he suspected she intended. Her cologne wafted past his nose, as he sat beside her, kicking his senses up another notch.
What he wanted to know, and intended to ask her at some point, was why she kept playing this game with him? And the larger question -- why couldn’t he just walk away? He must surely be a fool and a glutton for punishment.
Vidalia brought out the coffee and brownies on a metal, rolling serving cart, which she parked beside Bridey.
Before she disappeared into the house, Andrew said, “Ladies, thank you for the spread tonight. You’ve outdone yourselves.”
“Thank you, Drew,” Bridey answered. “We’re glad you enjoyed everything
.”
Bridey began to pour the coffee, and said, “Dinah will you help serve?”
“Yes, of course.” She served Irene first and continued around the circle. When all had their dessert, she resumed her seat.
Irene finished hers quickly, popping the last bite into her mouth and licking her fingers. “May I have another?”
Dinah took Irene’s plate, put another brownie on it, and sat back down, after handing it to her. “I’m glad you like them.”
“They taste like my mother’s.” She glanced over at the ex-sheriff. “You remember my mother don’t you, Neville?”
“I do, Ms. Irene. She was a good woman.”
“She was a good cook, too, but I never could quite get the hang of it,” she lamented. Her eyes turned wistful. “Bailey liked her cooking. He said that wasn’t why he hung around the house, but I wondered if he was telling the truth.”
Ben set his cup and plate on the small table and leaned forward. “Do you remember when he used to come over, Mrs. Baker? Will you tell us about it?”
“I remember it like it was yesterday,” she stated. Taking a sip of her coffee, she smiled, and said, “Bailey and I got to know each other slowly over the next couple of years, after we met that day at the cemetery. In the beginning, we saw each other mostly at school. He had a terrible time making friends and was usually alone. He seemed particularly lonely at lunchtime. One day, we were in junior high school at the time, I ditched my friends and carried my tray over to the table where he sat by himself . . .
“Bailey, can I sit with you?”
“Gee, I don’t know. We’re pretty full up here.” he said, sarcastically, as he gazed around the table. “Do you have a reservation?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” She set her tray on the table and sat in the chair across from him. She picked up her fork to eat, and continued to talk. “I don’t know about you, but the roast beef, mashed potatoes and green beans are my favorite . . . except maybe for the fish sticks and macaroni and cheese . . . how about you?”
“How about me, what?”
“What’s your favorite lunch, here at school, or anywhere?”
He stared at her for a long time, finally saying, “I don’t like much of nothin’. My grandpa says we should be thankful for everything, no matter how pitiful it is.”
“I don’t believe that’s true with food,” she said, as she continued to eat her lunch. “Maybe you just haven’t had the right cook.”
“The next day I brought enough food for two and shared Mother’s fried chicken leftovers with him. From then on, he was hooked, although he acted like he was doing me a favor. We ate together every day through the end of ninth grade.” She smiled. “That summer, Mother’s brownies kept him coming around every few days, and by mid-summer, he was coming near every day. It was then I decided to work on other areas of concern to try and help him get accepted by the other kids . . .”
“Bailey, we need to work on your image before school starts.”
“Why?” He didn’t look up at her, but continued working on removing the wheels from a pair of skates. “What’s wrong with the way I look?”
“Well, for one thing, it’s nearly a hundred degrees outside. How can you wear that leather jacket all the time? Aren’t you burning up?”
“No, I happen to like the way I look.”
He didn’t say it in so many words, but she could read between the lines. The jacket, the duck-tail haircut, and the pack of Camel cigarettes were how people recognized him.
“The way you dress, all but says you’re a thug, Bailey Harper.” Hands on her hips, she pushed her point further, “Do you want folks to be afraid of you?”
“If it’s good enough for James Dean and Elvis, it’s good enough for me.”
He finished tightening a screw, successfully anchoring one of the wheel sets onto a board. He looked at her. “Yeah, come to think of it, I do want people to be afraid of me . . . maybe. I want them to think I’m cool, but fear works.” He laughed at his statement, attached the second wheel set, and then put a cigarette between his lips and lit it. He blew the smoke out and asked, “What do you think?”
She didn’t like cigarettes, but thought it neat the way he let it dangle from his lips while he talked. She looked at the two-by-four with wheels, and asked, “What is it, and what does it do?”
“It’s a skateboard. You can use it to get around town. It’s like surfing on dry land.” He got up and went out of the garage to the driveway. “Come on, Renie, let’s try it out. We’ll ride down the street to those two guys.”
“You go ahead,” she said. “I don’t much like those boys and I, for sure, don’t want to break my neck.”
“Okay,” he said, his face alive with excitement. “Here I go!” He flicked the cigarette butt toward the street, rested his left foot on the board, kicked off with his right, and off he went, directly into a friendship with Dickie and Lester Hobbs.
Irene sat there quietly for a few minutes. Ben couldn’t tell if she was still remembering or just spaced out, so he said, “I’m guessing this wasn’t a good thing?”
“Meeting Dickie and Lester? Most definitely not,” she answered emphatically. “Those two boys were in trouble all the time.”
“What did they do?”
“What didn’t they do? You knew them, Andrew, they were into all kinds of petty theft and such.”
Andrew shook his head. “They were trouble, all right. I decided, early on, I didn’t like looking over my shoulder or having to be on the lookout for the police. Besides,” he added, “My daddy would’ve taken a strap to my ass.”
Bridey stood and started stacking the cups, saucers, and dessert plates. “It’s almost ten o’clock, everyone. It’s been a long day.”
“I didn’t realize it was getting so late,” Dinah said. “I was enjoying listening to Irene’s story. Here, I’ll wheel the cart into the kitchen for you.”
Ben observed Neville as he walked with Irene to the bottom of the stairs in the foyer. For some reason, the gesture seemed a little more than just friendship.
“Ms. Irene,” Ben said, “Thank you for sharing your story with us tonight.”
“Of course,” she answered. “You and Mr. McAlister study hard and we’ll set up a date for you to re-take that English test, all right?” She looked around Neville to Elliott, adding, “You, too, Mr. Benning!”
“Yes, ma’am, we sure will,” Ben answered, and then said to Elliott, “I don’t know whether to be pleased she’s including me in your merry little group or terrified.”
“I understand. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“In any event, she’s reeled me in. I hope she keeps talking to us.” He looked up as Dinah joined them. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.”
* * *
“Thank you for letting me ride with you tonight,” Dinah said, when Ben pulled to a stop in the drive in front of Maggie and Graeme’s house. Even though it was late, she made no move to get out of the car. They needed to talk and she was determined it would be tonight. He must have thought the same thing, for he put down the windows and turned off the engine.
“Yeah, it made sense for me to get you, since I was driving right by here.” He turned toward her and rested his hand on the back of her seat. “Sorry I didn’t ask earlier, but how’s Maggie doing?”
“The doctor thinks the babies are trying to turn and there just isn’t enough room. She’s to rest, as much as possible, and see him next week. Now that her mom and stepdad are back from traveling, I think it’ll be easier for her.”
“I’m sure it will.”
Silence hung heavily between them. After a few seconds, she said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to over-step in talking to Bridey about Irene and Bailey or Moon.”
“You didn’t, not really, I was just surprised is all.”
“Oh, okay, I’m glad.” Silence stretched out again. Why was she having such a hard time talking to him? “Did you get a chance to
look through more of those documents and pictures we found?”
“Some,” he said. “Elliott’s investigator is helping, too.”
“Gene? The one from last year?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s good. Did you know that Irene and her husband, Otis Baker, were among the previous owners?”
“Yes, and I’m sure that’s why she was at the ranch house.”
“Probably. What do you suppose she was looking for?”
“It hasn’t come out yet, but hopefully, we’ll find out.”
“Ben?”
“Yeah?”
“What are we going to do about us? And don’t tell me there isn’t an us, because I think there is.” She waited a breath for him to stop her but, when he didn’t, she continued, “And so do you, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what I think anymore.” He fiddled with some coins in the cup holder, and after a couple of minutes, he said, “I thought we had something . . . until you high-tailed it out of here.”
“I know I shouldn’t have left the way I did, but I needed—no, had to leave to see if I could truly make it on my own.”
“I understand, Di.”
“No, you don’t, not really.” She continued, “You’ve always been successful in what you do. You have your degree, you’re a good sheriff . . . well, except for not passing English in Irene Baker’s class.”
“You heard that, huh?” He grinned at the reference to his parting conversation with Irene. “I hope you don’t keep me out too late, because I really need to hit the books, when I get home.”
“You’re a goofball.” She punched him lightly on the shoulder with her fist.
“You started it,” he retaliated, and threw his hand up to block another volley.
“Oh, shut up, would you? I’m trying to explain.”
“Okay, I’m sorry.”
“Never in my life have I stayed with anything for very long, I tend to flit from job to job, as you well know. I only finished college because of Maggie.
“It seems I can’t concentrate on anything for longer than five minutes. Crap, even the catering I did last year never developed into anything solid.”
