The boss had his balls in a vice grip. He owed him for the heroin and the fentanyl when he expanded out this far in the country. The kids he was supposed to provide the boss’s side business were to pay off what he owed and make him enough to move to a new area. But he’d only delivered the one girl, the bartender keeping his kids out of reach and now cute little Lexie was being watched by the local cops.
If he was smart, he’d just cut his losses and move on. Trouble was, the boss’s interests meant he had connections all over the place—not just Ohio, not just the U.S., but all over the world. He needed to pay up or he was a dead man.
As dusk started to fall, he stared at the woman on the bleachers that stood between him and Lexie. Someone was going to be dead and it wasn’t him.
After picking up his dinner at the Peaches ’N Cream, Wes entered the sheriff’s office through the back door. “I’m back, Cleetus, you can make your last drive round town before you leave for the night.”
Since becoming engaged to the little hairdresser, Sylvie, his friend had taken up working eleven in the morning until seven in the evening, covering lunch and dinner breaks for the other deputies and going home when Sylvie got off work. He had to admit the big guy looked happier than in all the years he’d known him.
“Good to hear. You’ve got a guest,” Cleetus said from the front office.
Guest? Couldn’t be Chloe. She was attending a meeting of the Ohio Court Appointed Special Advocates for children. Since taking on Lexie’s case as her advocate, she’d learned more about the system and the people who volunteered in it. She’d been a high-powered lawyer with a well-known firm in Cincinnati and given that up to come live in Westen with him. He’d been worried she’d be bored or resentful. Seeing her enthusiastic about a new kind of use for her law degree had eased some of the tension inside him.
He entered the main office to find Earl seated in the chair across from his desk and Cleetus turning off heading out the front door to his patrol car.
“You’re a little early tonight, Earl,” he said, glancing at the wall clock to confirm that it was just after five as he set his meal on his desk and shook the older man’s hand. “Have you had some dinner?”
“Yes, yes. I was just finishing up my meal with Pete when I saw you come in the café,” the older man said, rubbing his hands together. “Heard y’all give your to go order and thought I’d just pop around here to have a word with you.”
“You’re always welcome,” Wes said, taking his seat. “Mind if I eat while we talk?”
“No, no. Y’all go right ahead. Pete’s pot roast is pretty good. Had some myself. Course he uses Lorna’s original recipe. He says he tried to change the recipe once and she almost fired him.” Earl chuckled, his voice sounding rusty from the effort and sent him into a coughing fit.
Wes reached into his desk drawer and pulled out an extra coffee mug. He went to the storage cabinet beneath the coffee maker, grabbed a bottle of water and filled the mug, then handed it to Earl, who sipped on it between coughs. Sitting at his desk, he waited until the older man gained control of his breathing before opening the container of food.
“I don’t know what Lorna’s recipe is, but this is the best pot roast and vegetables I’ve ever had,” he said, forking up a piece of beef with gravy on it.
“Asked Pete about it once,” Earl said, setting the mug down on the desk. “He said the secret was all the onions. Loads them in the bottom of the pan and then slathers them all over the top of the roasts before they go in the oven. Cooks them low and slow.”
Wes ate a few more bites, because damn he was starving, then wiped his mouth and reached for the coffee he’d brought back from the café. “So, what is it you want to talk to me about, Earl? Don’t think it’s how to make a great pot roast.”
“No, no. It’s something else.” Earl looked down at his hands, rubbed them together as he thought.
Wes continued eating, letting him have all the time he needed to get his thoughts together. He’d learned not long after coming to Westen that Earl considered Westen his home. Not like other people who had a house in town or family ties to make this home. No, Earl considered every place his home in Westen, every person in it part of his family. He’d also learned that it took time for him to put what he knew or what he’d seen or what he’d heard into words that others would understand. Gage’s father thought it was due to his time in Vietnam during the war.
So, out of respect for the man, he always exercised extreme patience with Earl and it usually paid off.
“I was out at the park near your place,” Earl finally said, still looking at his hands.
Resisting the urge to prod him with questions, Wes continued to eat his dinner. Once Earl warmed up to speaking, the words would flow like lava oozing from a volcano, slow moving, meandering over anything in its path, but not stopping until it finished.
“Since the weather is warming up, folks like to find their spots out there for the night. Sleep under the stars, hear the river running. Folks passing through for places like Cleveland to work at the ballpark and stuff, they like to stay out at the park, too.” He paused to take another drink of water. “I like to check on Reg and Mable. He’s been doing some gopher jobs out at the new home construction site. Leaves her at their camp spot to protect their stuff. Not like a lady like Mable could fight off them young guns looking to steal something to score their hit of H.”
Earl shook his head and paused again. “That’s some nasty stuff, that smack. Gets its claws into you and you can’t get loose. Saw army buddies get hooked on it over in Nam. Some never made it out of the jungle. Some came home but couldn’t quit shooting up and ended up dead in the alley somewhere. Used to be it was only in the cities and you were safer from it out here in the country.”
Annnnd Earl meandered off on a tangent. Not that Wes disagreed with him. This new plague infecting the rural towns was deadly. They were practically defenseless against it. He just wished Earl would get to the point of why he’d stopped by to talk, but knew he’d eventually circle back to it. Patience. That’s all it took.
“Some of those kids aren’t too bad. Cathy is a sweet one. She helps look after Mable during the day. Sharing any food she gets from the diner out on the highway with her.” Earl leaned in close. “You know old Walt makes up some small food boxes of three-day old sandwiches and fruit that’s not gone bad and gives them out to anyone at the backdoor of the diner every morning. Says it’s a sin to throw out food when people need feeding. Him and Mary Lou are good people.”
Wes nodded. Walt and Mary Lou ran the motel and all-night diner out on the main highway that passed by the outskirts of Westen—a favorite place for travelers, truckers and homeless wanderers. Thirteen out of every fourteen days they kept the place open for business. Their only day off was every other Sunday so Mary Lou could sing in the Baptist choir and Walt could lead the men’s Sunday school class.
“Cathy was still there when I got there last night. She was real fidgety, you know. Like when a junkie’s been too long without a hit. When I asked her how it was going, she said she’d be moving on soon. She needed to find a new place to score.”
That caught Wes’ attention. That was his cue to start asking questions. Finished eating for now, he wiped his mouth and closed the food container. “Did she say why?”
Earl nodded. “Said her source had dried up. I asked her what she meant. She sorta laughed, said it was dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yeah, she didn’t spill anything more, just gathered up her satchel, hugged Mable and headed on out toward the highway.”
“Wonder what she meant by that?” Wes said, leaning back in his office chair, waiting to see if Earl had anything else to say.
“Got me to thinking there might be more to it,” Earl continued. “So I stayed until old Reg showed up from work. He’s brought a new bottle of whiskey, so I helped him sample some and we got to talking. Y’all know those bodies y’all found in the trailer?”
“What about them?”
“According to Reg, the guy was one of the main dealers the local addicts bought from. He had a partner, younger and a might twitchy. Always thinking a new buyer might be a narc. Reg said no one’s seen him since the other guy was found dead.”
“What’s Twitchy look like?”
“Reg said, he has long stringy blond hair, a tat on his neck of a spiderweb. Missing a front tooth. Real skinny, like he hadn’t had a good meal in months.”
“Maybe he left town?”
Earl nodded. “Said as much to old Reg. But he said the guy was like a pup, always hanging around, asking the dead guy what to do. Reg didn’t think the twitchy one had enough brains to move on. Then there’s Snubnose.”
“Snubnose?”
“Yep. He’s the main man. Drives this old beat-up caddy, kept a leash on the others—like the captains had lieutenants in the army, gave them some responsibility, but didn’t quite trust them, if y’all know what I mean. Reg says he saw Snubnose pick up his guys the day before the bodies were found.” Earl drank some more water and leaned back in his seat, apparently finished telling his story.
Wes considered everything Earl told him. This “Snubnose” was the main drug supplier and he drove a Cadillac. He picked up the memo that Bobby had handed him when he came on shift. It was the description they had of Gary’s car according to Lexie—an old brown Cadillac, similar to the one Cleetus drove.
“Earl, any chance Snubnose’s caddy was brown?”
The old vet yawned and scratched his several days-old scraggly grey beard. “Can’t say as old Reg really said it was brown. Called it an old rusty bucket. Rust is a sorta brown color, isn’t it?”
“Works for me.” Lexie had called the car sepia. From what Wes remembered about crayon colors, sepia was a rusty brown. He rose from his chair and retrieved a blanket from the clean ones stored in the closet near the back cells. Handing it to Earl, he led him to the furthest cell, opened the door and left it open. “You get some rest, and I’ll be sure Jason knows you’re here when he comes on shift.”
“Deputy?”
“What you need?” Wes stopped halfway to the front of the office.
“Just wondering if that information will help y’all get the heroin out of Westen?”
Worry deepened the wrinkles around Earl’s eyes and mouth. The man truly cared about Westen and all its residents. Wes wished finding Snubnose Gary would stem the epidemic. Unfortunately, the problem was one the whole town was going to have to find a way to fight it and it would take time, lots of time.
21
An hour before dawn on Sunday morning, Daniel heard the familiar sound of Melissa’s door opening followed by Lexie’s across the hall as she checked on the little girl. Reaching into the cupboard, he pulled out a mug and set it next to the coffee maker. Then he took his own and moved to sit on one of the bar stools on the other side of the kitchen island, giving her plenty of room to move around her kitchen.
In the five nights he’d been at the Westen House he’d learned a few things about Melissa. She checked on Lexie several times each night and first thing every morning. He suspected she’d do this even if they didn’t believe the little girl was in danger. Once she was up for the day, it was best not to talk to her for at least fifteen minutes. Melissa was not a morning person.
He chuckled inwardly remembering the first morning when he’d greeted her with a cheerful hello from the couch. She practically snarled at him and went directly to make coffee. When he tried to talk to her, she’d shot him a look that questioned his right to be alive much less speaking to her. From that morning on he’d decided it was in everyone’s best interest if the coffee was brewing when she got up. After she had half a cup of caffeine in her system, she started making breakfast. Usually with the bacon in the oven baking and either pancakes or eggs ready to go once the kids were awake, she’d start the conversation.
Quietly, as not to irritate her as she made a sleepy beeline for the coffee maker, he sat and sipped his own black coffee. He watched her doctor hers with flavored creamer from the fridge, take a few drinks, then begin pulling out pans from the cupboard. Her silent efficiency in the kitchen always amazed him. No wasted movements. Bacon layered on the rack inside the much-used baking pan went into the oven. Next came flour, sugar, baking powder, eggs, milk, vanilla—all whisked into a thick batter in an over-sized mixing bowl. Today she got out the waffle maker and set it up with a spray can of cooking oil all set to go. Finally, she poured a little more coffee and creamer into her mug and joined him at the island, wiggling her bottom onto one of the high stools.
“What are you smiling at this early in the morning?” she asked after another long drink of her coffee.
“You,” he said, not the least bit put off by her grumpy stare.
“If you say I’m beautiful, I’m going to stab you,” she muttered and went back to drinking coffee.
Once again, he chuckled inwardly, not giving her an excuse to carry through with her threat. Carefully, he set his cup on the counter, leaned his bent elbow beside it and rested his chin on his hand, studying her. They hadn’t slept together—he wanted to, very much wanted to, but how the hell did you do that with a houseful of teens and one very precocious six-year old? Seriously, how did married couples find time for intimacy and sex? Still, they hadn’t slept together, and he already knew what she’d look like in the morning, how she acted, and he loved it.
Her grumpiness. Her unapologetic inability to be civil before a caffeine infusion. The way her hair was mussed from sleeping, and the scrunched down white socks she wore against the cold of an Ohio spring morning. She detested slippers, said they made her feet sweat, but she loved warm socks. They’d actually discussed it two mornings before when he’d asked her about the socks.
“You know when you were a kid and your mom would make one of your presents a package of socks? I used to think that was such a lame gift. Even told my grandmother that when I went to live with her. You know what she told me?”
“That socks were a sign you were loved?” he replied, pleased that he’d surprised her with his answer.
“Yes! That’s exactly what she said.” Melissa eyed him with suspicion. “Have you been channeling my grandmother from beyond the grave?”
“No, my mom said the same thing when I complained about it.” He laughed at the memory. “Dad told me it was true and one year, when they were first married, she was mad at him and he didn’t get any socks for Christmas. Said he worked extra hard to make her happy and he got two packages of socks the next year.”
She grew quiet and stared off into the morning sun coming over the trees in the backyard. “Frank scoffed and belittled me for getting him some the first two years of our marriage. By the time the third Christmas rolled around he was already using me as a punching bag and never noticed I’d stopped buying him socks.”
He reached for her, pulling her into his arms and hugged her tight.
She didn’t cry. Simply held on for a few moments, then sat back with a little smile of pride. “So, instead of wasting my love on him, I started buying myself new socks every year. I wanted to get funky fancy ones with lots of colors…”
“But you were afraid it would trigger him into beating you.” He fought hard not to show his anger at the son-of-a-bitch, because this wasn’t about her ex. It was about her.
“That’s right. I bought white ones instead. New ones every Christmas. I wrapped them up and opened them when he wasn’t home. I pretended they were from my mom and my grandmother.”
“You’re staring at me.”
“Can’t help it. I like what I see.”
“Beautiful. Stabbing.”
“It would be premeditated.”
“Self-defense.”
“I like you like this.”
“Daniel…” she said, warning in her tone.
He held up a hand in surrender. “I’m serious. I like you relaxed, not afraid to be who you are with me. Confident eno
ugh to threaten me, even if you only half-way mean it.”
“Oh, I’m more than half-way serious about it.” She took another sip of coffee, then gave him a ghost of a smile.
He leaned closer, stopping just centimeters from her lips. “I love that you trust me enough to be half-way serious.”
He kissed her softly.
“Relaxed,” he said and kissed her again.
“Yourself.” He cupped the side of her face with his hand and kissed her again, slower, a little more intense.
A door creaked down the hall.
He pulled back and they smiled at each other as little footfalls sounded on the wood floors and the sing-song chatter of Lexie in the morning headed their way. While Melissa grumped her way to wakefulness each morning, Lexie woke up cheerful as a bird in spring.
“You talk to her,” Melissa said, heading back around the counter to check the bacon and pour batter onto the hot griddle of the waffle maker. “Please. I need a few more minutes before dealing with all the cheeriness.”
“Good morning, Little Miss Sunshine,” he said as Lexie hopped into the kitchen, drawing her attention to him and away from Melissa. Sunday was the only day the teens slept in past Lexie, so this was the first time he’d gotten to see how the two females got on first thing in the morning.
“Morning, Daniel,” Lexie said with a bright smile, scrambling up onto the vacated stool, one arm cradling the black furry bundle in her arms. The kitten had finally been adopted a few days ago and after being introduced to Wöden and his safety assured, spent most of his time in proximity of Lexie. “Blizzard woke up hungry this morning. I think he smelled the bacon.” She eyed the waffle maker on the counter. She held up the kitten to face it. “Oh, look, Blizzard, we’re having waffles this morning. They’re yummy.”
“Too bad he can’t have any,” Daniel said as Melissa poured a glass of milk out for Lexie and set in on the counter.
“Why not?” Lexie asked, her head tilted to one side.
Close To The Heart (Westen Series Book 5) Page 23