After Sam ordered, Louisa carried the pitcher of iced tea to the table behind theirs, and Sam frowned. “She still doesn’t write down any of her orders. I’m astonished she gets them right.”
“Like she says, she’s a terrific waitress. She has a great memory.” But she hadn’t been the one to wait on the foursome last Friday night. “I’d hoped to talk to Joyce Winston, but I don’t see her.”
“She has the night off,” Weezie yelled from the next table.
Wil chuckled. “Weezie also has excellent hearing.”
Sam lowered his voice. “Does Joyce have something to do with your case?”
“I don’t know yet, but she waited on the victim Friday night. It may have been her last meal.” Wil shrugged, already weary of working the homicide. “Anyway, you know about my day. How was the first day of classes at the college, Dean Drake?”
“Slow.” Sam took a long sip of his iced tea. “It’s a small college, not the University of Florida. I’m sure you’d be bored with what goes on there.”
The hint of contempt in Sam’s tone didn’t escape Wil’s notice. He’d been talking down to Wil for so long, it was probably too difficult to break the habit if he wanted to. Sam, the scholarly one in the Drake family, had always put down Wil’s choice of career. So had their father, not that it mattered anymore. Since the stroke, Dad seemed glad to have Wil around. “No, I don’t think what you do is boring.”
Sam took another drink of iced tea before saying more. “We had a few scheduling problems, but not nearly as many as we did before updating our computer systems. The new IT administrator I hired last year is a genius.”
“What’s his name?”
“Ian Davis.”
“Right. His wife is Sunny Davis.”
“Yes, she took over the bookstore, for which I’m grateful. The downside of a small college is the pay is low and the turnover high.”
“How’s she working out?”
“Great, not that I was in a position to be selective. Victoria left me in a bind by taking that job in Tampa.”
“Maybe it was revenge. After all, you did dump her.”
Sam made a face. “Please! Let’s not revisit my love life. So why the questions about Ian and Sunny Davis?”
Wil trusted his brother but not eavesdropping patrons of the Hurricane Lantern. “No reason. I just like to know the folks in my county.”
“How strange to hear you refer to Foster County as yours.”
“Yeah, I left it for awhile. But it’s home, Sam.”
Sam nodded. “Yes, it is. If only our little sister would figure that out…”
“Taylor has the wanderlust.” Wanderlust hadn’t been Wil’s problem, but he was tired of trying to explain his life’s choices. “Have you heard from her lately?”
“I get e-mails from her, but nothing personal. Usually insipid jokes I’ve seen a dozen times, or some sentimental slop. She sends them en masse, so you probably get them, too.”
“I get forwards, but as you say, nothing with any news about her or where she is.” Although Wil had her cell phone number, he couldn’t remember using it since their father’s stroke. “Maybe I’ll see if she’ll come home for Thanksgiving. It’d be good for Dad to have all of us at the house.”
Sam guffawed. “Why? Are you cooking?”
The crazy idea of inviting Elizabeth Stevens, the woman who’d lost all her family in a tragic fire, popped into his mind. Holidays must be lonely for her. “Maybe I will.”
Elizabeth shoved the carton of Italian ice into Sunny’s cramped freezer. “Miller’s IGA didn’t have spumoni, but this is Italian.”
Ian turned from the steaming pot on the range. “It was nice of you to bring dessert.”
She backed out of the apartment’s cramped kitchen. “It’s the least I could do if you’re cooking me dinner.”
“It seems wrong, doesn’t it?” Ian said.
“Your cooking dinner?”
“The three of us having a fun night of spaghetti when Cathleen Hodges has died. I feel guilty—”
“I know what you mean, Ian. She’s been on my mind all day.”
Sunny reached past Elizabeth to grab the bottle of Chianti on the counter. “Mine, too, but going without dinner won’t bring her back.”
“We’ll toast Cathleen’s memory at dinner.” Elizabeth followed Sunny to the dining table.
Like most apartments of its vintage, Sunny and Ian’s had a narrow galley kitchen with an L-shaped living and dining area. Sliding glass doors off the dining area led to a claustrophobic nightmare of a balcony. One of the two bedrooms was crowded with computer equipment and various electronics—Sunny referred to it as Ian’s inner sanctum. Elizabeth couldn’t deal with such chaos, but Sunny didn’t seem to mind. She managed to keep the rest of the apartment tidy and clean, evidently banishing Ian to the one room.
Sunny’s blond hair was pulled into a short ponytail, with wayward strands feathering her face. She placed wineglasses beside each plate. The dishes resembled Elizabeth’s own, plain white Corelle, nothing fancy but very serviceable. She’d immediately been drawn to Sunny’s no-nonsense efficiency.
I like efficiency in a woman.
Wilson Drake’s words from this morning tumbled into her mind. Thoughts of the guy intruded entirely too often to suit her. The last thing she needed was involvement with a man, especially a lawman. Intimacy carried too high a price. How could she build a relationship on a lie? Her body seemed to ignore her warnings, however, and warmed at fantasies involving the handsome sheriff.
Except for toasting Cathleen, Elizabeth intended to drop the subject of their friend’s murder. Not only was it distressing dinner conversation, but it especially disturbed Elizabeth. She couldn’t shake the irrational notion that she had brought death to Drake Springs.
Sunny handed her the Chianti and a corkscrew. “Are you any good with these things? I’m pitiful.”
“Sure.” She couldn’t admit as much, but she’d opened more bottles of wine than she could remember for parties when she’d been in vet school. Elizabeth Stevens attended Georgia, not Auburn, though. It wouldn’t do to dwell on secret memories, so she pushed aside the thoughts as forcefully as she punctured the cork in the Chianti bottle.
“Ian’s no better at opening wine than I am. If it’s not computer coded, forget it.”
She handed Sunny the opened bottle. “Except for cooking.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Sunny whispered. “I found two empty Prego jars in the trash.”
She laid the cork and corkscrew on the table. “You know, as long as I don’t have to cook it, it’ll be fabulous.”
“Maybe you don’t like to cook, but you can. You served us a great meatloaf last Sunday.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I can, on rare occasions, make a decent meal.”
“By the way, are we still on for Saturday?” Sunny poured the wine into goblets that matched the ones Elizabeth had purchased at the Family Dollar Store, the closest thing to a department store in Drake Springs.
“The shopping trip to Valdosta?”
“Yes, just the two of us. I’ll pick you up at the diner. We can do breakfast before we leave.”
“I’m willing to drive—”
“That pickup truck? No offense, but I’d rather we take my car.” She placed the bottle of wine on the pass-through beside the doorway to the kitchen. “Now, let me get the garlic bread.”
“Coming through!” Ian sidled past Sunny in the doorway, hoisting a large platter of spaghetti topped with sauce and shredded Parmesan. He placed it in the center of the dining table. “Ladies, dinner is served.”
Elizabeth forgave him the jarred sauce when she saw the fresh grated Parmesan. “Looks amazing, Ian. I can’t wait to dig in.”
“Yeah, I apologize for being late. I’m a slow cook.”
Sunny wrapped one arm around his neck and pulled him to her for a noisy kiss. “But a sexy one.”
Elizabeth smiled at the newlyweds. If ever ther
e was a mismatched couple, it was the Davises. Sunny was petite and full of energy, with breathtaking beauty that needed no makeup. The quintessential blue-eyed blonde, she wore a lot of makeup, but it wasn’t necessary.
Ian, on the other hand, was stout with the beginnings of a pot belly, probably from too many hours sitting behind a computer. His thick glasses hid large brown eyes and rested on a too-wide nose. His receding hairline threatened to take over his entire head. Words like nerd, geek, and dweeb had come to mind when she’d first met him.
According to Sunny, they’d married after a brief, wild courtship and were approaching their first anniversary. Although they were opposites in appearance, Ian was good-natured, fun, and friendly, and openly worshipped his wife. Sunny seemed to adore him. What else mattered? It was more than Elizabeth could expect to have, at least anytime soon.
When they were seated, Elizabeth raised her goblet of wine. “To Cathleen. We’ll miss you, friend.”
“To Cathleen.” Ian clinked his glass against hers.
Sunny touched glasses with hers. “Rest in peace, Cat.”
After a stretch of silence in which the three slurped spaghetti and sipped Chianti, Ian turned to his wife. “You’re going shopping Saturday? I thought you said you were visiting your mom this weekend.”
Sunny grimaced. “Oh, crap, that’s right. Can we go tomorrow after your last class? We can do dinner in Valdosta.”
Ian nodded. “I need to spend time in the data center, so you two go on.”
“Doesn’t your mother live in Boston?”
Sunny nodded, waiting until she swallowed to answer. “Yes. I’ll be back Sunday night.”
Elizabeth helped herself to a slice of buttery garlic bread. She couldn’t help but wonder how Ian and Sunny could afford the expensive airfare, but perhaps Sunny’s mother paid for the tickets. Anyway, it was none of Elizabeth’s concern. “Do you want me to drive you to the airport?” she asked.
“No, I’ll drive. I can leave my car at the long-term lot.”
No surprise there. Sunny wouldn’t want to ride in Elizabeth’s small pickup all the way to Jacksonville when she could drive her luxury car. “Well, I know you’ll enjoy visiting your mother.”
“I’ll miss you, honey,” Ian said.
“I know, but it’s just for a couple days.” Sunny leaned back and grabbed the bottle of Chianti from the pass-through. “Refills, anyone?”
Ian held up his empty glass. “What time is the sheriff supposed to get here?”
Sheriff? Elizabeth groaned. “Not another setup!”
Sunny glared. “After the way you treated the last man we introduced you to? Not in this lifetime, babe. We learned our lesson.”
“Introduced me to?” That wasn’t what had happened, but why try to debate the issue? To be fair, there had been just the one time, when they had invited Ian’s manager as Elizabeth’s dinner date. “You were matchmaking, and he didn’t appreciate it any more than I did.”
Sunny pouted. “You both made that clear, which is why I’ve given up my quest for finding you Mr. Right.”
“We care about you, Elizabeth. We just want to see you as happy with someone as Sunny and I are. We didn’t mean to meddle.”
Chagrined, she apologized. “I overreacted when you said the sheriff was coming. I just figured—”
Sunny snorted. “In any event, I wouldn’t try to set you up with Wilson Drake. He’s hardly your type, Liz.”
Elizabeth bit back a “why not?” and stayed quiet. She didn’t have to ask. Wilson Drake wouldn’t be interested in chubby, dowdy Elizabeth Stevens, no matter how much he flirted with her. He flirted with any woman, even those double his age. So why did Sunny’s remark rankle?
“He wants to talk to me about Cat Hodges, not that I’m much help. Kris knew her best, I think.”
“He interviewed me this afternoon. I get the impression he’s desperate for any clues.”
“Yeah, and I doubt they’ll catch whoever did it.”
Ian frowned at Sunny. “Why do you say that?”
“Because crimes against women are never given the focus and attention of crimes against men. It’s just sexism at work.”
“You’re always singing that song, and it’s not true.” Ian grabbed another slice of the garlic bread. “This sheriff may surprise you.”
“Maybe. Frankly, I hope he does catch the guy. Who’s to say he won’t strike again?”
Sunny’s words burned into Elizabeth’s mind. She feared that he would strike again, and next time she could be the victim.
While Ian and Sunny chatted about what movies to order from Netflix, Elizabeth rushed to finish her pasta. She pushed aside her wine to keep a clear head. Her nerves atwitter at the mere thought of Wilson Drake, she so didn’t want a third encounter with the sheriff today. Nor did she relish driving home alone after dark.
Wil had to turn on his headlights by the time he turned off County Road 471 and idled through the entrance to Drake Oaks, the family homestead. His grandparents had bequeathed the estate to his dad, who now lived in the main house alone except for the visiting nurses. Wil had chosen to live at Drake Oaks but in a bungalow on the river. Once his parents’ starter home, it was the type of house a realtor would advertise as a handyman’s special. Wil aptly referred to it as either Work Haven or Money Pit.
His interview with Sunny Davis hadn’t taken long since she corroborated what he’d heard from Kris Knight and Elizabeth Stevens. Of the three friends, Sunny claimed to be closest to Elizabeth. He wondered a bit about their friendship, since they didn’t seem to have a lot in common. Maybe it was her Northern accent or her heavy-handed makeup, but Sunny seemed too pretentious.
She lacked Elizabeth’s down-to-earth naturalness.
Pulling to a stop outside his father’s house, he hesitated, fatigue settling in bone-deep. Usually, he looked forward to checking on his dad before heading home. How strange to think of his sixty-five-year-old father as an old man when he was almost twenty years younger than Gabe Reesor. But Gabe hadn’t suffered a crippling stroke. Maybe Wil was exhausted, but he wasn’t too tired to give his dad a few minutes of his time.
He climbed out of the Jeep, then headed up the steps to the front porch. A matching second-story porch had been screened in above it, enabling folks to enjoy the view of the river without gnats and those annoying love bugs. Because of Dad’s confinement to a wheelchair, he no longer enjoyed that porch or anything else on the upper floors of the house. Wil had installed a ramp so his father could leave the house, but as far as Wil knew he rarely used it.
Wil stepped inside the foyer and called out, “Dad?”
Sophie trotted into the hall to greet him, tail wagging and nails tapping against the hardwood floor. Wil bent down and hugged the golden retriever’s head, playfully scratching her behind both ears.
“In the den.” Dad’s voice was softer since the stroke that had paralyzed the left side of his body. Fortunately, speech therapy had restored his speaking skills, if not his volume.
The den, located at the back of the first floor behind the dining room, had been converted to a multipurpose room for his father. Once an outspoken Foster County commissioner, successful businessman, and community leader, Harold Drake had deteriorated into a pale recluse. His hair, once as red and thick as Sam’s and Taylor’s, had thinned and grayed. His waist had thickened, his legs shriveled.
A hospital bed in the far corner of the paneled room hid a portable potty chair for those times when he couldn’t make it to the bathroom near the kitchen. Stripped of carpets, the cedar plank floor bore scars from the wheels of his wheelchair. A small round table with two chairs borrowed from the dining room suite provided the only other seating area. An entertainment center took up most of the wall opposite the bed. The forty-two inch plasma television occupied most of his waking hours but was muted on The Weather Channel.
“How’s it going, Dad?” Wil perched on the edge of one of the chairs. Sophie went to the throw rug in front of th
e television, made a circle, then plopped down.
“That tropical depression off the coast of Africa is headed this way.” Dad gestured with his one working arm toward the television. “They say it’s well-organized.”
“It’s that time of year.” But Wil didn’t want to talk about the weather. “How do you feel today?”
“Hungry.” Dad wore a clean pair of pajamas. In the past few months, he’d made progress in dressing himself, although it still was a slow struggle. He’d given up zippered flies and gone with elasticized waistbands. “Glad you’re here,” he said. “Let’s eat something.”
Wil chuckled. “Sure, what do you want me to fix?”
“See if Hazel has any of that frozen shrimp in the freezer. She knows I like that.”
Dad’s love affair with deep-fried shrimp most likely had contributed to the stroke. For at least twenty-five years, the doctors in Lake City had cautioned him about his cholesterol numbers at every checkup. But Wil saw no point in lecturing him now. His father had too few pleasures in life. Besides, he needed Wil to be a son, not a nursemaid. Too bad Sam hadn’t learned that lesson.
“Come on into the kitchen, and we can talk while I cook.” Wil left the den before Dad could protest, forcing him to wheel his chair out of the room and across the back hall. Sophie followed, collapsing on the mat in front of the back door.
“I heard about that girl’s murder. You got any leads?”
Wil pulled out the box of breaded frozen shrimp and gave a weary sigh. “I don’t want to talk about the case, Dad.”
“Hey, who am I going to tell?”
He closed the freezer door and faced his father. “It’s not that—”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Yes, of course, I trust you.” Wil returned his attention to his cooking and searched the lower cabinets until he found the electric Fry Baby. He filled it with two cups of peanut oil and plugged it in to heat while he tried to figure out whether his father was angry or hurt—the last thing Wil intended, in either case. “I’ll tell you what I’ve learned so far.”
While he set the table, Wil related everything, from the condition of Cathleen Hodges’s body to his interviews with her friends. He explained what his deputies were doing, and what precious little FDLE had collected for testing. With a lot of luck, the medical examiner would find forensic evidence on the body.
Reclaim My Life Page 4