“You ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, and, mounting, they rode out into the late-afternoon light that was the color of hammered gold. The wind, an unseen hand, ruffled the long grass. The air smelled of dust and verdant spring.
Her dad said they’d ride up to the old deer stand at the far end of the north pasture. “You remember how those boys used to hide out there when they were trying to duck chores?”
Lily smiled.
Her dad broke the silence that had fallen between them. “What you told me was done to that girl—that’s the work of a maniac. Only somebody whacked-out would do a thing like that. That’s not AJ.”
“He’s not himself sometimes, Dad.” Lily bent forward and stroked Butternut’s neck, and she tossed her pretty head, as if in appreciation.
“Who would be, after the shit he went through over in Afghanistan?”
“If you could have seen him that night at the restaurant—”
“He told me about that. It shook him up. But it only happened once.”
“There have been fights.”
“A couple. So what?”
“He went to jail. It looks bad now.”
“Yeah. Okay. But from what AJ said, those assholes asked for it both times. Some people can’t learn any other way not to mess with a guy’s honor, his reputation.”
“Does he talk to you?”
“About Afghanistan? What went down there? Some.”
“Paul is horrible about it.” Lily was a little shocked, hearing herself. She was almost never critical of her husband, especially in her father’s presence, but what she’d said was the truth, and as she got older, she was finding it harder not to speak up for it. “If AJ talks about the difficulty, the—the horrors he encountered, Paul shuts him down. He tells AJ to be a man and quit his whining. It makes me so angry.”
“He wants his son to be strong, that’s all. If a guy isn’t strong, life will take him down. It will put him on his knees. Paul doesn’t want that for AJ. No father wants his kid to be weak.”
“Since when is it weak to be sickened by the atrocities of war? It’s madness.” Butternut’s ears twitched as if at Lily’s vehemence.
Her dad said, “It’s how the world is—how society is,” and after that, they were quiet.
The farther they rode, the more Lily’s sense of dread wove itself into the sound of the wind, the creaking of their saddles. The sun began its descent, falling behind a low-hanging crenellation of clouds, infusing them with lilac-tinged light. In ordinary time, Lily might have let herself revel in it, riding with her dad, the beauty of her surroundings. But even in ordinary time, she had worried about AJ. She had felt, especially since his return from Afghanistan, that he was at risk, that anything might happen. This—as unreasoning as it was, she’d been expecting something like this, a disaster of major proportions.
“Did he tell you he stopped going to counseling?” Lily asked her dad. “All of it, the group therapy, the one-on-one sessions—”
“He said it wasn’t helping.” Her dad was unperturbed. “Too much dwelling on the past, and he wants to move on. He’s talked to me about getting involved with the Wounded Warrior Project, which would be a good thing for him, I think. But he’s got to find his own way, Lily.”
“I wish—”
Her dad turned to her, brows raised.
She shook her head. The list of what she wished was too long, too hard to name. But to have AJ’s love and his trust, to have him feel he could talk to her, seek her help in times of trouble—those things were at the top of it. If only she knew how to reach him, how to close the distance between them. But she didn’t, and it made her heart ache.
“I never talked to my mom, either,” her dad said. “I didn’t want to upset her.”
Lily had never known her father’s parents. His mother had died when Lily was two, and his dad had died before she was born. She said, “I’ve done some research, and men who have been in combat can have flashbacks; they’re hypervigilant, paranoid. They can think they’re in danger, that they have to defend themselves. They do things—”
“Not AJ.” Her dad cut her off. “Not like what was done to that girl.”
There was no sign of AJ at the deer blind, nor any sign that anyone had been there recently. But they did find fresh tire tracks near one of the service gates.
“Are they from your truck?” Lily looked up at her dad from the tire-treaded ground.
“Nah.” He pushed his hat back on his head. “But they could belong to Wylie’s truck, I guess.”
“Wylie Evers? What would he be doing on our land?” Wylie owned the neighboring ranch, the Triple Oak, and the last Lily knew, he and her dad were still feuding over Wylie’s refusal to pay for the repairs when his lightning-spooked cattle damaged a section of the xL’s fencing a few years back. “I thought you two weren’t speaking.”
“I may lease the land to him,” her dad said, “or I may sell it to him. Haven’t decided.”
“You’re joking, right?” But Lily could see he wasn’t. There was weariness in his eyes, the pained shadow of resignation.
“I’m tired of the responsibility. If I go through with the sale, I’ll keep the house and barn and maybe a dozen or so acres, enough for AJ to run a few head if he and Shea want it.”
“What about Winona’s house? You wouldn’t let that go?”
“I built that place for Win after your mom died. It’s hers until she doesn’t want it anymore.”
“Okay, but I thought when you sold the herd last year, that was to relieve the stress, give you free time.”
“Turns out I’m not too good at free time. I’m an old man now, seventy-four, and I don’t know what to do with myself. Ain’t that a kick in the pants.”
“But there’s Erik. If he comes on as ranch foreman—”
“He turned me down. Third time. I’m not asking him again.”
“Oh.” Lily was hurt on her dad’s behalf. She didn’t understand any better than he did why Erik chose to work a string of menial jobs over being the xL’s foreman, in charge of the entire cattle operation. The first time he’d declined the offer, though, her dad had sold the herd. Now it was the land that was in jeopardy. She wondered if Erik knew what her dad was planning, if it would cause him to reconsider.
“He’s never liked hard work,” her dad said. “Basic training kicked his ass, too. Remember?”
“That’s not really fair, Dad. His asthma flared up. He was in the ER half the time, trying to breathe. I don’t know why you always harp on that.” She was lying; she did know it was out of humiliation at being turned down, which was equal to, if not greater than, Erik’s humiliation at having washed out of basic. “I hope Winona never hears you.”
“She knows,” he said, in a way that made Lily think there had been some discussion, possibly heated, between Win and her dad. “She’d change his mind if she could, but she’s got no influence over him. He’s his own man. He’ll suffer the consequences of his dumb-ass mistakes like everyone else.”
“That’s what Paul says about AJ becoming a chef.”
“AJ’s got a focus; he’s not afraid to work and work hard for what he wants. I might wish he would take over here, but I’m happy enough he’s got a dream, the will to pursue it.”
“He’s talked to you about farming the land here?”
“Yeah, but he damn sure doesn’t need six hundred and thirty-seven acres to raise a few hundred pounds of organic livestock. He talked about running a few head of that fancy brand cattle—Akaushi, it’s called—and maybe some free-range chickens, a few rows of vegetables. Whatever he needs to support the restaurant. I’m happy if I can help him.”
“Me, too,” Lily said.
“Hell, maybe I can go to work for him. Give me something to do.”
“From rancher to farmer.” Somehow Lily couldn’t quite picture it—her dad in overalls with a pitchfork in his hand.
He lifted his hat and resettled it. “C’mon,”
he said, giving Sharkey’s flanks a nudge. “We’re burning daylight.”
It was long after dark by the time they got back to the house, and they were tired and hungry. Lily called Paul, but there was nothing new. Only fear and waiting.
She got the old cast-iron frying pan out of the sink and washed it, then made scrambled eggs. Her dad made toast, but when they sat down at the table, neither of them could eat much, and afterward, without much discussion, they tackled the pile of dirty dishes, Lily washing, her dad drying. She glanced at him as she mopped the kitchen countertops one final time. “Go to bed, Dad. You look whipped.”
“Yeah,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I am. Don’t know that I’ll sleep, though.”
“Try, okay?”
“You good? You know where your old room is, right?” His eyes were soft and held a teasing light.
She smiled. “I think I can find my way.”
She got her purse and tote from her dad’s office and followed in his wake up the stairs.
His bedroom was at the front of the house, overlooking the drive and giving a view of a sweep of hills, while her bedroom at the back of the house overlooked the barn and the corral. A small bathroom was across the hall. Neither room had been used in a while, and the air smelled musty, but Lily didn’t mind. She switched on the bedside lamp, a frilly pink-shaded confection she and her mother had bought to match her equally frilly pink-canopied bed. Lily could have had other, more grown-up furnishings. Her dad had offered them, and Winona would have helped her pick them out, but Lily had said no. She’d wanted her room to remain as it had been when her mother was alive. They’d decorated it together when Lily was ten. It had been their last project before her mom’s cancer was diagnosed.
Lily opened a window, and, shucking her boots, she lay down on the bed, thinking she should take a bath, brush her teeth, but after a moment, she reached to turn off the light. Moonlit shadows flickered over the walls. The wind had picked up, and she heard it singing around the house corners, rattling through the live oaks. Crickets hummed in the greening grass. She didn’t think she would sleep, but when she first heard the telephone ring down the hall, she was convinced she was dreaming. The ring was old-fashioned, the one the landline made. Lily couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard it. Everyone used cell phones now.
She waited to wake up, waited for the ringing to stop. It didn’t. Swinging her sock-clad feet over the side of the bed, she went out into the hallway, where the old residential phone still sat on a red lacquered table halfway between her bedroom and her dad’s. Sepia-edged shadows loomed, old ghosts clinging to the walls, and the sense of dreaming persisted even as she reached for the heavy black receiver. Lifting it, she felt its weight in her hand, the coolness against her ear.
“Hello?” she said softly.
“Mom?” rasped a voice.
Lily straightened. “AJ! Where are you? Are you all right?”
“Mom? Can you bring me my passport?” he asked, and his voice was low and hoarse. He sounded hurt.
“Oh, AJ, where are you? You need to go home to Dad, or come here, to the ranch. The police—”
The hall light came on, making Lily blink.
“Let me talk to him,” her dad said. But when he got the phone from her, when he said, “Son, you need to come here and let us help you,” there wasn’t an answer.
AJ was gone. He’d hung up.
4
Neither AJ nor I could kill anyone, Detective,” Shea said, and Dru flinched.
It flat-out pissed her off, the very idea that Shea felt the need to defend herself. Dru wanted to yank Shea’s cell phone out of her hand and speak to the idiot detective herself. Leave my daughter alone. She’s got nothing to do with this nightmare. Dru plunked the lemon bars she’d baked—was that just this morning?—into the handled grocery sack with the foil-wrapped chicken she’d roasted to take to the Westins.
Behind her, Shea paced a short path between the kitchen, where Dru was, and the table in the breakfast nook, where Kate, Leigh, and Vanessa were sitting, their eyes glued to Shea. Scared out of their minds, Dru thought. They were frightened, and so was Dru. That was the stripped-down bottom line. Her blood hammered in her temples. The very idea that her daughter was being questioned—implicated, for God’s sake. What was next? Would they haul her off in handcuffs?
It was ludicrous.
Dru turned to Shea. “Give me the phone,” she said. “I’ll tell him you were here with me last night.”
Shea waved her off. She didn’t need her mother to run interference. She was perfectly capable of standing her ground on her own. She could defend herself, thank you very much. And AJ, too.
She was grown up now, twenty-three. An adult. That’s what she’d say.
But the thing Shea refused to understand, even though she’d lived it, too, was how quickly the person you loved, the soul mate you trusted with your life, could turn on you. The way Rob, Shea’s dad, had turned on Dru.
They’d been married thirteen years when it happened. They’d been lovers and best friends, done everything together. And when Shea came, their family circle was complete until the day a couple of thugs jumped Rob in a parking lot in downtown Houston. They’d beaten him to the ground even after he gave them his wallet, his watch, and his wedding band. And when he was down, they’d kicked him, breaking his ribs and rupturing his spleen. They’d left him there, alone, bleeding internally—dying. A passerby had found him. Until Dru got the call from the police, she’d had no concept of crime other than what she picked up from the news, which was mainly that it was awful, and it happened to someone else.
At first she’d imagined Rob’s injuries, while severe, were only physical, a matter of surgical repair and eventual healing. She hadn’t been prepared for the mental anguish, his nightmares and anxiety, his constant suspicion. He’d flinched if she or Shea appeared in his peripheral vision, and they’d learned to announce their presence or risk bodily harm. At Dru’s insistence, they’d gone for counseling, but Rob had ultimately quit attending the sessions, arguing there was nothing wrong with him, that he was getting better, getting himself under control. She’d made the mistake of believing him until the night he’d threatened her with a loaded shotgun.
Shea had been terrified, screaming, “Don’t shoot my mama, Daddy. Please don’t shoot her!” Dru could still hear her voice, ragged with hysteria. Even all these years later, the memory of that night, what Shea had witnessed, her fear, and Dru’s over what could have happened, had the power to make her chest pound. It had been the final straw. She’d taken Shea and left Rob before the police, whom neighbors had summoned, arrived to arrest him. Months later, she’d gone alone to a psychologist, who had explained that Rob was likely suffering from post-traumatic stress as a result of the assault. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t do it again even if he got counseling and, if necessary, medication. Dru had filed for divorce then. It had nearly killed her, ending her marriage, but she couldn’t risk taking Shea back into that situation.
Now Shea was grown, and she’d fallen in love with a man who, for different reasons, had received the same diagnosis. A man whose dark side was evident, at least to Dru. And that man might be a murderer. Damn straight, she was scared. She looked through the bank of windows above the kitchen counter. It was late in the afternoon, and the sun had dropped, making the light uncertain. Shadows crept like thieves toward the house.
Behind her, Shea was telling the detective that she’d last spoken to AJ the night before. “At around ten thirty,” she said, “when he was leaving work. He usually doesn’t get off till midnight, but they weren’t busy. We always talk last thing before bed.”
Pause.
“No, he wasn’t lying to me about being at work. We don’t lie to each other.”
Pause.
“Who did you talk to at Café Blue? It can be crazy—” Shea stopped, listening to the sergeant.
“What neighbor saw him? What’s their name?”
“No, Detective, he wasn’t seeing Becca or anyone else. I already told you, he’d never do that to me.”
Dru’s heart contracted. Shea’s certainty—that kind of certainty could be so horribly misplaced.
“Well, of course I know a person using a cell phone can be anywhere.” Shea caught Dru’s glance and rolled her eyes. “Yeah,” she said, “if I hear from him, I’ll let you know,” and her response was shaded with sarcasm. “Jerk,” she muttered, ending the call.
“Will we be questioned?” Vanessa asked.
“I’m wondering, too,” said Leigh. “It’s scary. I mean, we don’t really know what this is about. Why Becca was killed. What if it’s some kind of vendetta? Someone who’s angry about the wedding? We could all be in danger.”
“What are you getting at, Leigh? Who would be angry? AJ?” Shea huffed a disgusted breath. “Not even the cops are suggesting anything like that.”
“You really don’t know where he is?” Vanessa was staring at Shea. She wasn’t buying it, but then Dru knew her to be a natural skeptic.
“Do you think I’d be standing here if I knew?” Shea asked, and her eyes skipped from Vanessa to Leigh to Kate, but none of the girls returned her glance, and in that telling moment, Dru realized that with the possible exception of Kate, Shea didn’t have the support of her friends. But neither did she have Dru’s support in her belief that AJ was innocent, as much as Dru might wish it were otherwise.
“You think he did it.” Shea set her phone down on the table harder than necessary, making Vanessa jump, making Kate and Leigh flinch. Even Dru flinched.
“He dated her!” Vanessa stood up, voice rising, a challenge. “Before you.”
“That was more than a year ago. And it lasted how long? Six weeks? Does that even qualify as serious?”
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