Twilight

by Kristen Heitzmann

  Don’t go there. He wouldn’t have to invent his torment this time. Danson would provide it. Deservedly so. Cal felt the fight leak out. Pete Rawlings was doing his job; he looked defensive when they went back in.

  “Pete, I didn’t kill Laurie’s husband. Find the two punks who came out here with him. They’ve got a trunk full of cornstarch and probably the murder weapon.”

  “We’re working on that.”

  Relief coursed through him. “Danson established a search?”

  “What would we charge them with, possession of cornstarch?”

  “Murder. Kidnapping. Attempted murder. Come on, Pete. Tell me you’re doing something substantial.”

  “That’s not your concern.”

  Cal’s body tensed. “Not my concern? Have you seen Laurie’s house? Did you notice her condition? They tried to burn her alive! What do you think they’ll do if they stop and find it’s cornstarch they’re hauling, not cocaine?”

  Pete looked honestly confused.

  “They thought I had Brian Prelane’s cocaine. So I brought them Baggies of cornstarch in trade for Laurie. They decided to kill us both instead, torched the barn and …”

  Pete put his pad back into his coat pocket. “Let me do you a favor, Morrison. Tell Danson the truth. He’ll get it one way or another.”

  Cal shook his head. “Yeah.”

  The pain was just bad enough to keep exhaustion at bay. If Rawlings was through asking questions, Cal would just as soon stop talking. Every word was painful. He had to figure Danson would hold Laurie for questioning. She’d be safe until they let her loose. But the children … Those punks couldn’t have held Laurie and followed him, could they?

  “Pete …”

  “Save it, Morrison. Danson will love getting a crack at you.”

  And Danson’s face when he came in showed exactly that. “All right, wise guy—”

  “How’s Laurie?”

  “Mrs. Prelane is stitched up and fine.”

  Cal raised an arm for the nurse to take his blood pressure. “She’s still in shock—”

  “We’ve got it under control.”

  Danson obviously wasn’t giving an inch. Cal stopped talking. He’d have to trust others to look after Laurie now. His own goose was cooked.

  Danson looked at Rawlings and Pete shrugged; the old “did you get the statement”—“not exactly” routine. But Cal had told the truth, the best he could recall it. Danson must have gotten the same from Laurie. And he must believe it, or …

  “Are you letting Laurie go?”

  “We’ve driven her to the station and sent an officer to fetch her children.”

  Cal hoped Mildred didn’t put a bullet through his breadbasket.

  His throat tightened. “And you’re looking for the dealers? In the Mustang?”

  Danson pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes.

  “At least keep Laurie and the kids under protection until …”

  “Are you telling me how to do my job?” Danson’s neck reddened. “You’re in no position—”

  Cal raised his hands, wincing. “I know. I just have to know they’re safe.”

  Danson studied him a long moment. “The bacon you better worry about is your own, Morrison.” He rubbed his jaw.

  Cal didn’t see much evidence of the blows he’d landed, lucky blows that brought Danson down. But he knew they would not be forgotten. The reality of a cell seeped in. No twilight walks, no woods, no Annie at his side. Not even Mildred’s hi-fi, and Ray’s oddjobs. No trips to the nursing home, no sea of children’s faces. He swallowed harder this time. He’d made his choice. But he dropped his chin to his chest.

  The doctor came in. “X rays show three hairline fractures to the ribs. We’ll wrap them up. A slight swelling on the brain. You’ll probably be fuzzy. Here’s something for the pain.” He turned to Danson. “That’ll make him fuzzier. You might wait to finish questioning.”

  Danson hooked his thumbs into his belt, drawing himself up. “Is he released?”

  The doctor nodded. “The burns are superficial. I think the concussion’s mild enough. Let me just wrap the ribs.”

  Wincing, Cal raised his arms and held them while the doctor rendered his rib cage somewhat immobile, waiting for the pain-killers to take off the edge. When there was nothing left to delay his extradition, Danson slapped the cuffs back onto Cal’s wrists and drove him to the Montrose police station. He didn’t try to question him, probably due to the doctor’s remarks, though Cal figured Danson hadn’t appreciated that young man’s input into his business either.

  Cal was escorted directly to the one holding cell, and he lay kissing the bunk where Danson shoved him before uncuffing his hands and walking out. Any position was as bad as the next, but it was a bed, and if he didn’t move one muscle he just might be able to ignore the pain. The only problem was breathing.

  Like a wrung out rag, Laurie repeated the answers to questions asked one way and then another. She was still reeling. It was too much to take in. Too much to explain. And it was obvious Sergeant Danson didn’t believe her, though her account of Dieter and Luìs matched Ray’s. He admitted that much. He didn’t go so far as to charge her with Brian’s murder, but he obviously suspected her involvement. He would tell her nothing about Cal except that they held him in a cell somewhere in the building.

  At her insistence he also told her Cal’s injuries were minor, fractured ribs and a slight concussion, his burns as superficial as her own, though painful, she was sure. Her cut knee had been stitched and bandaged. It was the emotional strain that exhausted her now, and Cal’s wouldn’t be much better. She hoped he cooperated, but he was just rebellious enough to make it worse. And Danson certainly had an ax to grind.

  “If you just catch Dieter and Luìs, you’ll see that it’s all true.” She had told the story all the way from her finding the cocaine in Brian’s pool house to Cal’s rescue in the barn. She wasn’t sure about the parts Cal had handled on his own, only going by what he’d told her.

  “Every department in the state has been alerted. If they’re out there, we’ll pick them up.”

  “It’s Alex Dieter. But I don’t know the other man’s last name. I never saw him before the other night.”

  “Tell us again about the other night.” Raggedly she described the scene in her kitchen once more.

  “They took your father’s gun.”

  “Yes.”

  “Which would have your fingerprints.”

  “Yes.”

  Danson tapped his pen. “And that’s the last time you saw your husband alive?”

  Tears surprised her. “Yes.” She swallowed the sudden swelling in her throat. “He looked frightened, but I didn’t think … Why would they kill him? He was in it with them. He always thought he could get away with anything.”

  Danson slid the lid onto the ball-point pen and laid it on the table. “I’ll need you to make a positive ID on the body we believe to be your husband’s.”

  Laurie shook. “Now?”

  Danson nodded.

  She drew a jagged breath. “All right.” She followed him to the temporary morgue at the back of the building, quaking inside. But when the body was revealed, it was like a blow. Brian’s face—her insides seized. It was his hair, his jaw, his neck with the gold chain she’d given him for one of their Christmases together. She staggered back, a hand to her face, and nodded.

  A call came to Danson’s cell phone, and he said, “Yes? Okay. Keep outside surveillance.” He hung up and looked at her. “Are you all right?”

  She couldn’t answer. She’d never been all right, and never would be.

  “My officer has delivered Mildred and your children to Mildred’s house. She insisted it would be too traumatic for them to be taken here to the station.”

  Laurie nodded, blessing Mildred’s insight. And now one thought burned away all others, one thought she hadn’t allowed herself, hadn’t dared hope for. Luke and Maddie. Cal had kept them safe … and saved her. As sh
e’d known somewhere inside that he could. Without ever formulating the thought, she’d flown to him like a homing pigeon seeking a safe haven. And he’d done all he could and more.

  “Your car is in the lot. We found and impounded it yesterday. I’ll sign the release forms.”

  Laurie nodded mutely and followed him up from the cold room that was Brian’s temporary tomb. She couldn’t think about that now. She had to get out, had to see her children, touch them, hold them.

  Danson handed her the tag for her car and her purse, which they’d found inside it with her keys. “You’re free to go for now, but you’re not to leave town.”

  She nodded again. Words had been purged by the sight of Brian’s face.

  “Can you drive?”

  She forced an answer. “Yes.” She had washed up at the hospital but still felt bedraggled as she climbed into the car. She drove to Mildred’s, anticipation choking her. Heart racing, she climbed out and rushed for the house. An officer stood off to the side, but she ignored him and hurried for the front door. Cissy pulled it open, and the children ran down to her. She bent and grabbed them against her, tears streaming. “Oh, Luke. Maddie.” She’d never let go. Even if she wanted to, her arms would never release them, never.

  “Don’t cry, Mommy.” Maddie patted Laurie’s cheek.

  Laurie smiled and kissed the damp palm of her daughter’s hand. “Oh, my baby.” She hugged them hard again. Just to feel their warmth, their heartbeats, their breath. Just to touch them and hold them and—

  “Where’s Cal?” Luke struggled free, his eyes probing.

  Laurie dropped her chin, taking Luke’s hand between hers. “The police are keeping him tonight. They’re trying to find out what happened to—” She’d almost said what happened to Daddy. But that was more than she could deal with just now. She would tell them, had to tell them. But …

  “Can we go home now?” Maddie caught Laurie’s face and turned it back to hers. “I want to go home now.”

  Laurie nodded.

  “Can we get hamburgers?” Luke kept hold of her hand as Laurie straightened slowly.

  “And French fries?” Maddie tugged the other.

  Laurie’s stomach revolted at the thought, but she rejoiced that the children were so innocent, so unaware. She looked up at Cissy standing in the doorway, thanked her with her eyes when words would be so wasted. Then she looked behind to Mildred and swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. These two women, these unlikely women, had risked themselves for her and her children.

  “Thank you.” It was totally inadequate.

  “I hope you set Chuck Danson straight.” Mildred’s hands went to her hips. “Cal had him hotter than a hornet in my shed.” She glanced at the children. “Well, that’s neither here nor there.”

  Laurie nodded, a fresh wave of guilt assailing her, and she didn’t know what Mildred meant by the shed. She had tried to convince Danson that Cal was not responsible. But the sergeant had implied that there was more to it than she knew. He wouldn’t say what, though he’d rubbed his jaw with a look of pure fury. What had Cal done?

  Seeing Brian had driven all her questions away. She wished she could force the memory from her mind. Would it ever fade? Leading the children to the car, Laurie shuddered. That image of her husband would be with her always. That, and the sight of him in her kitchen, weak with fright. And human. So human. So much more so than he’d ever seemed before. Six years she’d spent with him, six broken, disrupted years of lies and betrayal. But there had been times of tenderness. Or had she imagined those?

  She buckled Maddie, then climbed in and drove like a zombie. She ordered their burgers and fries through the intercom, sounding like a machine herself. The smell of the food in the car gagged her, but she passed it to the children automatically, and they dug in. Danson had allowed her to go home, but not to leave town. She shook her head. What did it matter? What more could she tell him? Without Dieter and Luìs it was her word against all the evidence to the contrary.

  Danson suspected some sordid affair between her and Cal, believed Cal had murdered Brian. Cal, who refused to have anything to do with her once he learned there was no divorce? Yet he’d come. He’d played into their hands, braved the fire. She owed him for more than her life or her children’s lives. She owed him … what?

  “Look, Mommy. I got a ring.” Maddie held up the cheap plastic toy that came in her kid’s meal.

  It reminded Laurie of the one Cal had magically pulled from Maddie’s ear and of her little girl’s giggles as Cal had played with her, down on her level, connected. Cal loved children. Why didn’t he have a houseful by now?

  “See, Mommy?” Maddie persisted.

  Laurie nodded, no words coming. She drove up to the house and parked, startled by the yellow police tape and the gaping doorway. Danson had told her it was a crime scene, but it hadn’t registered. Her head swam.

  Maddie’s dismay matched her own. “Who broke our house?”

  Laurie put the car in reverse, shaking with this new invasion. “Let’s go to Grandma’s.”

  Luke shouted, “Did someone mess up my room? I want my bear.”

  “Luke …” Laurie shot a look over her shoulder at him. “We’re going to Grandma’s now. There are things I’ll tell you, but not here. Not now.” She shivered. Until Dieter and Luìs were apprehended, none of them were safe. They could be watching now. Why had she gone to the house? She jerked her head both ways, but the neighborhood was still and silent as always.

  She had to get out of there. Even if Dieter had driven straight away, how long would it be before they realized Cal had duped them with cornstarch? They weren’t stupid. They’d taste it, or do whatever you do to check its authenticity. They’d know. And they’d come for her. She should have asked for protection. But would Danson give it?

  She was forbidden to leave town, yet were they safe staying? She had to let the police handle it, if Danson would even try to find them. He had to believe they were the ones who killed Brian— She pressed a hand to her temple. He was dead and she felt nothing. Tears had come before, but they were not connected to any feeling.

  Once again she realized how inadequate she was. Shouldn’t she care? Shouldn’t she hurt? In a way she did. For him. For the waste of his life. He was her children’s father. She could hurt for them. Then she felt a real pang for Luke and Maddie.

  Though Brian had scarcely found time for them, the children would hurt. What would she tell them? What could she say? For years she’d covered up, made some normalcy out of his deficiency. She wasn’t even bitter. Not for herself. Because she’d known, known that if he stayed home, if he did love her, her own lack would show.

  As Laurie pulled up to Mother’s house, Maddie wadded her kid’smeal bag and handed it to her. With a fresh wave of nausea, Laurie brought the children inside and went straight to the bathroom. There was nothing to empty but her own bile, yet she heaved and heaved, then dropped to the floor and sobbed, gripping her head between her palms. Why? Why? Why?

  The pain that came was real. Pain for Brian. Pain for her children. Pain for the emptiness and futility that filled her. Pain for herself and all the mistakes. Pain for Cal, lying in a cell injured and distrusted because of her.

  “Do you believe in God?” Did she? Did she believe in anything? How could she when God wore Daddy’s face? They were inseparable—frowning, disapproving, unsatisfied. But she had once. She’d given her life to Jesus and trusted, then turned away when it got too hard.

  Why did Cal ask? She’d been safe in his apostasy, his irreverence. Had that, too, changed? A lot of good it did him now. But hadn’t her own thoughts turned to heaven when she thought she would die? Had she prayed? Had Jesus heard her heart cry and sent Cal? Was it possible?

  A knock came on the door. Looking up, Laurie sniffed. “It’s open.” She ran a hand under her nose.

  Her mother stood in the doorway, lips pulled tight, face drawn. Her hands trembled at her sides, and Laurie thought for the first t
ime she looked old. Then her mother’s eyes softened, and she stooped, reached out her hands. Laurie took them.

  She could hear the movie Luke and Maddie watched in the spare room as Mother led her to the kitchen and poured her a cup of tea. Surprisingly, Laurie found herself sipping it. It’s warmth and bitterness soothed the shuddering of her stomach. Then Mother sat.

  Laurie looked into her eyes and saw what she’d hungered for for so long. Love. Mother loved her. Now. In this … nightmare. How could she, when Laurie felt so utterly unlovable? “Brian’s dead.” There, she’d said it, summed up her failure.

  Mother’s eyes reflected her pain, but no condemnation followed.

  “He’s dead, and I never loved him.” Laurie spoke the truth, letting Mother know how badly she’d failed.

  Her mother’s hands trembled as she raised the cup and drank her tea. The lids of her eyes had tiny ridges and the lashes overshadowed the eyes as she stared into her cup. “I buried your father thinking the same thing.”

  Laurie’s breath leaked from her lips. Was it true? Mother, who had never said one word of disagreement, never contradicted one action of Daddy’s, never uttered one single defense to all the criticism and scorn?

  Mother’s eyes met hers. “I grew up in a shack in the Ozarks. A hillbilly urchin with nothing but beautiful eyes. Your father offered me escape.”

  Escape. But not love. Laurie saw the pattern, how it had been subtly woven to form and shape her own thoughts and expectations. Brian had offered more than escape. He’d opened the world of privilege … but not love.

  And she’d snapped it up like a greedy child, willing to sacrifice something real for something vain. Love was too dangerous, too uncertain, too painful. She had hoped that wealth would cover the lack. But it hadn’t.

  Laurie pressed her palms to her eyes. She felt so lost. She hadn’t turned to her mother for answers in so many years, not since she was small, too small to see that she didn’t trust the answers. Now she reached out in desperate hope. “What do I do?”

  “I don’t know.”