by Kathy Altman
Oh, dear Lord. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
* * *
Charity would rather give up waffles for life than do what she was about to do. She stood on the porch, eyes gritty, muscles longing for the uncomplicated comfort of her bed. The night that pressed against her back tempted her, tugged at her, while the mumbling rush of the river beyond the house mocked her hesitation. Why hadn’t she arranged for someone else to handle this?
Easy. There was no one else.
With clumsy fingers she adjusted her hat and stabbed at the doorbell. Seconds passed. She winced. Yes, it was past midnight, but she’d hoped someone would still be up. A handful of moments after she pressed the bell again, the foyer light went on, and the door swung open.
Roberta West pushed her over-permed hair out of her eyes and squinted at Charity. She smelled like alcohol and coconut. “You,” she said. She wrapped her gray knit cardigan tighter around coral silk pajamas and gave a harsh, throaty laugh. “Who’re you after this time? Me? My husband? How about the housekeeper? Hell, why don’t you drag us all down to the station? Or better yet, instead of harassing the law-abiding citizens of Becker County, why don’t you track down your other brother and lock him up? Your mother, too, while you’re at it. Lock ’em up and throw away the key. Save us all a lot of—”
“That’s enough.” Grady appeared behind his mother, in sweatpants and a T-shirt, hair disheveled, eyes alert. “Jesus, Mother. Did you bother to ask her in?”
His mother ignored him, her spite-filled gaze never leaving Charity. “This is payback, isn’t it? You’ve been waiting for your chance to settle the score ever since we called the cops on you that night. It won’t work, you hear me? I’ll call the sheriff. I’ll tell him all about you. This is harassment.”
Charity sighed. Roberta sounded remarkably like Eve. She focused on Grady. “My business is with you.”
His jaw went tight. Gently he pushed his mother out of the doorway. “Go back to bed.” He ignored her sputtering, stepped out onto the porch, and closed the door behind him. Wisely he didn’t try for a smile that neither would buy. “Just like old times.”
“There weren’t that many times you met me at the front door.” When a shadow crossed his face, she held up a hand. “That wasn’t me being passive-aggressive. We both got a kick out of sneaking in and out of this house.”
Dammit. How had they gotten so far off track?
“Come inside,” Grady said.
“I’d rather not.”
His chest rose, then fell. “You’re here to arrest Drew.”
“No. I’m here because—”
“I’m sorry. About today, at the cemetery. I was an ass. I have no right to—”
“Grady. Here’s the thing.” The metallic taste of regret coated her tongue. “Matt’s in trouble.”
Chapter Eleven
The harsh line of Grady’s shoulders eased. “Is this about those so-called delinquents again? Or is this about wanting to see what I wear to bed these days?”
“I’m serious. I’m here to take you to your son.”
“Take me—what are you talking about? He’s upstairs. Asleep. Which is where I should be.”
“Grady. He’s in the hospital.”
His face went white and he grabbed at her. “What happened? How is he?”
“He’ll be all right. Come with me. I’ll take you to him.”
He let her go and backed away. “He was upstairs. Last I knew, he was upstairs in bed. He turned in right after dinner because he...” Grady closed his eyes, swore, and ran a hand over his face. When he opened his eyes, they held nothing but weary resignation. “He was with those boys, wasn’t he?”
She nodded. “He sustained minor injuries when he ran from Deputy Morrissey.”
Grady flinched. “I’ll get my jacket.”
In less than a minute, he was back. The scent of leather chased Charity down the stone steps, which had been swept free of snow and treated with salt. The crystals crunched under her boots.
Grady jogged to catch up. “What kind of minor injuries?”
“His nose is broken. When I left, they were getting ready to take X-rays.” She paused at the passenger side of the SUV. “You need to know. Once he’s been treated, we’ll be taking him to the station.”
“He’ll be under arrest?”
“Yes. Destruction of public property, trespassing, fleeing the scene. I’ll fill you in on the way.”
“You can’t—you’re going to keep him? Overnight? Char, he’s eleven.”
The devastation in his voice liquefied her knees. “He’s asking for you.”
“Right.” He shoved trembling hands through his hair, and it was all she could do not to pull him into a hug. Instead she concentrated on opening the passenger door—the rear passenger door. Grady looked from her to the door and back again.
“So this is how it’s going to be.”
“I’ve been trying to tell you. This is how it has to be.”
* * *
Grady watched as Charity made her away around the front of the SUV. Son of a bitch. This kept getting better and better. He shook his head, climbed into the back seat, and swallowed the panic and bile churning up into his throat.
They were a mile down the road before he trusted his voice. The steel partition between the front and back seats served as more than a physical separation between driver and passenger.
He stared at Charity’s profile through the metallic lattice, finally leaned forward, and managed two words. “Tell me.”
She kept her eyes on the road. “Deputy Morrissey was out on patrol when he noticed activity at the school bus depot. He found three juvenile males vandalizing the buses. He called for backup, jumped the fence, and informed the boys they were under arrest. They ran. Will and Turbo managed to get over the fence, but Matt didn’t make it. He fell into the gravel, face first. Not enough snow to cushion his landing.”
Grady winced and pulled in a breath. “All right. Matt fucked up his face. What’d he do to the buses?”
Charity glanced in the rearview mirror. “Slashed tires and upholstery, broken windows, gas tanks filled with dirt and gravel.”
“Jesus.” He let his forehead drop to the screen.
“The depot manager is there now, making repair assessments. They’ll be significant, Grady.”
This was unreal. Dammit, he should have hustled Matt’s ass right back to Seattle. “I can’t believe you’re going to keep him.” His gut twisted as he imagined his young son, alone in a jail cell. It had been hard enough on Drew. “What about bail?”
“There is no bail for juveniles. But we’ll go through the process as quickly as we can.” Charity braked at a stoplight and turned in her seat. “He won’t be alone. I don’t just mean he’ll have Turbo and Will with him. I mean we’ll be with him. The officers on duty. We won’t let anything happen to him. I promise.”
Anger surged. Unfair, unfounded anger that fired up a rolling riot through his veins. “I don’t need your promises,” he gritted. “I need my son.”
“You’ll see him soon,” she said, her voice careful.
Grady couldn’t have cared less if he’d hurt her feelings. Matt was everything. Matt was all he had.
The light changed and the engine revved. Grady fell back against his seat. “Shit,” he muttered. “He’s going to have a record.”
“He’s a first offender.” Charity hesitated. “Isn’t he?”
“For God’s sake!”
“Good. That’s good. If he cooperates with the judge, he may end up having his record expunged.”
“What about the other boys?”
“I can’t discuss their cases.”
“Can you tell me if they were hurt?”
“I don’t know if Mo’s caught up with them yet.” She pulled into the emergency room parking lot. “We’re here.”
Grady hadn’t been in the ER since Matt was seven, when he’d sprained his wrist falling off his skateboard. The
incessant beeping, the muted slap of padded shoes, the whispering huddle of nurses, the jingling whisk of curtains pulled back—all the same. Like the panic pulsing in his chest.
Except this time he could have kept his kid out of the ER. This time the worst wouldn’t be over once Matt was discharged. If only Grady had listened to the deputy beside him.
Jesus, this was surreal.
A nurse in mint-colored scrubs led them to the glass-front cubicle they’d assigned to Matt. A heavy-set deputy stood outside the room, shoulders hunched, expression morose. He was eyeing an empty chair at the nurses’ station across the hall.
Son of a bitch. “You put a guard on my kid?”
“It’s procedure. Plus we thought he’d appreciate having someone within shouting distance until you got here.”
Fair enough. While Charity checked in with her coworker—Flunker, she said his name was—Grady stepped into the cubicle.
Matt sat propped up in bed by a mass of pillows, head back and eyes closed. A faded hospital gown exposed one thin shoulder. Grady swallowed, and fought a sympathetic groan when he zeroed in on his kid’s face. Cuts and bruises peppered his cheeks and his upper lip was split in two places, but there was no bandage on an obviously swollen nose.
“Dad.” Matt blinked up at him.
Grady couldn’t refrain from touching him. He squeezed the boy’s foot, patted his leg, ruffled the bristles of his hair, and had to swallow again before he could talk. “Doing okay, buddy?”
Matt didn’t complain about the nickname. He was too busy trying to blink back tears. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
“Are you? What the hell were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t. Okay? I wasn’t thinking.”
Grady made a conscious decision to focus on the words instead of the attitude behind them. “That’s not good enough,” he said.
Matt started to speak, then his lower lip trembled, and Grady experienced an overwhelming need to fold him into a hug. At the same time he wanted to kick the kid’s bony ass. Where had this reckless, secretive boy come from? What had happened to the sunny child who’d once awakened Grady at three in the morning to ask permission to snag an ice cream sandwich out of the freezer?
“You’re lucky you weren’t hurt worse. You get that, don’t you?” He ran a hand over his face. “Do you understand how serious this is?”
A simple nod had Matt flinching.
Grady relented. For the moment. “They give you something for the pain?”
“Yeah.” Matt stared down at his legs, shifting them under the blanket. “I just wanted to do something on my own. Something…you didn’t have control over.”
And how’s that working for you? Grady fought to keep his voice even. “It’s my job as your dad to watch over you, to do my best to keep you out of harm’s way.” And Christ, had he fucked that up. “You know that, right?”
A tiny shrug moved the slight shoulders under the gown. “Am I going to jail?” Matt whispered.
Grady hesitated. “I’ll see what I can find out.” He started to turn away.
Matt shot upright. “Are you coming right back?”
Grady nodded. “Hang in there, hambone.”
Charity waited alone in the hallway, an oversized cup of takeout coffee in hand. “Don’t judge,” she said, but neither of them smiled.
“You can’t release him into my custody?”
“It doesn’t work that way. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but—”
“Dammit, he’s eleven.”
“Grady—”
“You’re going to have to arrest me, too, because there’s no damned way—”
“Shut it,” she barked. When he did, she took a gratified swig of coffee. “I talked to the doctor. He agreed it would be best to keep Matt under observation. So he’ll be staying the night here, and you can keep him company.”
* * *
Charity watched as surprise flashed across Grady’s features. Good. That was good. Things would go a lot smoother if he considered her a hard-ass.
“Thank you,” he said, and eyed her coffee.
She moved it out of reach. Hard-asses didn’t share caramel macchiatos. “Don’t thank me yet. He’s in trouble, Grady. If we prove Will and Turbo are the same vandals who’ve been plaguing Becker County for months now, the judge will land on them like a Buick dropped from a ten-story building. On Matt, too. You need to talk to Quinn.”
“Quinn. Right. I still don’t believe this, I—” He broke off, staring hard at the middle finger on the hand that held the cup. The finger she tended to tap when she had something on her mind. A lot about her had changed, but a lot had stayed the same, too. “What aren’t you telling me?” he demanded.
Charity sighed. What did she have to lose, but her career and her self-respect? “Still interested in helping me solve Sarah’s murder?”
Grady’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“We know what killed her. Someone strangled her with the cord on a set of ear buds.”
“Jesus.” He paled. Then his eyes went narrow. “There’s more.”
“They belong to Allison Young.”
“You don’t think…”
“She doesn’t have an alibi. Supposedly she was home alone while her mom spent the night with…her lover.” If Grady didn’t know about his father’s extramarital affair, he sure as hell wouldn’t find out from Charity. “And she has one hell of a motive.”
“But she’s a smart kid. Why would she plan everything so carefully, only to leave evidence like that behind?” Grady rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Unless she wanted to frame Drew.”
“He would have had access to those ear buds, too,” Charity said carefully.
“Yeah, and he’s as smart as Allison.” Grady swung away, scratched the back of his neck, and swung back. “Isn’t this the worst possible time to join forces?”
“I need this case closed. People won’t talk to me. Keith Tarrant, Scott Langford, others. They will talk to you. The sooner we get this thing figured out, the sooner Drew can go back to being a graduating senior. The sooner I can go back to my campaign. And the sooner you can go back to Seattle.”
He nodded once, and she almost rolled her eyes at the inevitable pang of disappointment. Had she really expected he’d regret leaving?
“So what’s next?” he asked.
“Next I remind you this partnership will be strictly confidential. Not to mention professional.”
One side of his mouth jerked upward. “You sure know how to take all the fun out of a murder investigation.”
Charity grunted. No argument there.
“This mean you can tell me what you and Peyton were talking about at the cemetery?”
She drained her coffee and tossed the cup. “Seems when she and Allison were freshmen, they both liked the same guy. Things got ugly, there was a lot of hurt involved, and it nearly put an end to their friendship. So they made a pact. No more hurting each other. And if a guy did the hurting, they’d shut him out. Hence Peyton’s treatment of Drew.”
“Peyton’s a suspect, too.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m an investigator, Grady. It’s my job to investigate.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face, and when he dropped them again, her heart squeezed at the exhaustion pulling at his features.
He tipped his head at the room behind them. “What’s next?”
“I spoke to Judge Purl. Here’s the deal. Since this isn’t the first juvenile justice case Will and Turbo are involved in, they’ll be required to attend a formal hearing. Matt’s can be informal. He meets with the judge tomorrow at one.”
Grady blew out a breath. “Good. That’s good.”
“This doesn’t mean the judge will be any more lenient when it comes to sentencing.”
“I understand. He screwed up. He will make amends.” He took her hand. “Thank you. I owe you.”
Charity tugged free. “Helping me put Sarah’s killer behind bars will be payment enough.”
>
“I still owe you an apology for how I acted today.” He reached out again, but she was already backing away.
“Apology accepted,” she said briskly. “See you tomorrow at the hearing.”
* * *
They stood in an awkward triangle on the front steps of the courthouse, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched against the chilly prod of the afternoon wind. But the sun was strong, and the snow from the day before had long since melted. Outside the thrift store on the other side of the street, a kid pounded on a toy piano, the tinny notes sounding like they belonged in a low-budget horror. A cluster of hot-pink tulips in a nearby planter quivered accordingly.
Grady nudged Matt with his elbow. “Is there something you want to say to Deputy Bishop?”
Matt kept his eyes on his shoes. “Thank you,” he muttered.
“For?” Grady prompted.
“For talking to the judge about me.”
Charity resisted the urge to glance around for anyone within earshot. “All I did was remind him you’d never been in trouble before. You did the rest by acting respectful and showing true remorse.”
No response. She looked at Grady and couldn’t help a swell of sympathy at the disappointment in his eyes. She was sure to see worse in Pratt’s face when he found out Purl had put her in charge of overseeing Matt’s community service. Once he did, she’d be handling the lunch run for the next six months.
She really needed to solve Sarah’s case and get these West men on a plane back to the coast.
Grady’s phone rang. He held up a finger and stepped aside. Charity met Matt’s malevolent stare and suppressed a shiver. Guess now was not the time to tease him about his black eye. The skin over the kid’s right cheek was a swollen, reddish-purple mess. She doubted he realized how much worse things could have been.
“Ready to start paying your debt to society?” she asked.
“Whatevs,” he mumbled. “You can make me wash windows or mop the floor or junk like that, but you can’t make me like you.”
Later she’d break the news about toilet duty. “I didn’t talk to the judge on your behalf so you’d like me. I did it because from what I’ve heard, this kind of behavior is unusual for you. Yes, you gave in to peer pressure. Yes, you made a poor decision. Several, in fact. You can still turn this around. You can be proud of yourself again.”