by Unknown
Bryce took his time getting comfortable in the seat next to Brody, pushing himself back and forth across the seat. “I’ve never understood how you can sit here for a whole day without getting an ass rash or having a butt cheek fall asleep. These seats are horrible.”
“You get used to it. My ass has a decade and more seniority on yours. Trust me, you adapt,” Brody answered, and instantly thought of the large scar running down the back of his behind, sometimes driving him crazier than a dog rolling in an ant pile. The tall dark pines lined the road, deserted of vehicles and daylight. Bryce opened yet another package of nuts, spilling flecks of salt and shells on his seat, and Brody fought what felt like a lethal internal battle not to mention it. No need letting Bryce know he vacuumed this car every. single. day before polishing all the plastic details with high-performance finish. Instead he cleared his throat. “So, I did something I probably shouldn’t.”
Bryce pulled the lever on the seat, swinging him back up like a jack-in-the-box. “What did you do?”
“Well, you know, before Wayne moved in—”
“Oh, yeah,” Bryce cut in. “I heard about that. The whole town is talking about how you kicked out the woman on the curb in favor of your bromance.”
Brody looked over, wishing he had the superpowers of Cyclops. Anything to make Bryce silent.
“Anyway,” he continued. “It probably isn’t a big thing to mention. So, let’s forget I said anything.”
“Oh, no. You have to tell me now. Especially when saying it’s not important, which it is, and the fact that you, chief of police, admit you did something wrong. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that, not since you hit that baseball straight through Mrs. Wilson’s kitchen window in fifth grade.”
“I read her diary,” Brody confessed, louder than he had intended and grabbed the steering wheel with iron fists.
“Whose? Sunshine’s? When? And, of course, why?”
“Any more W’s you want to throw in there, only two short of setting up a perfect fictional plot.”
Bryce stared at him, obviously waiting him out.
“The day before Wayne moved in and Sunshine left.”
“Were you looking for it?”
“No!” Brody snorted. “Yes, maybe.” He prolonged the answer.
Bryce rolled his eyes and popped a handful of opened cashews into his mouth, chewing loudly.
“I’d already run a background check on her, you know, to be on the safe side.”
“You mean, like you do with everyone in your vicinity?”
“Shut up.”
“Or, because your best friend Jefferson’s word and her employer’s, Farmer Gert, weren’t enough?”
“Hey,” Brody barked like a cornered dog. “Everyone thought Christine was phenomenal and look what she did to Wayne.” He practically panted knowing Bryce had enough history on him to push the right buttons.
For a while the car stayed silent, Bryce’s chewing the only thing interfering with the furious energy billowing in plumes from Brody’s ears.
“The diary, Brody. Why?”
“The background check turned out fine. She’d filed a claim against an old boyfriend once but never taken it any further. I was only looking for something that could tell me more about who she is really is. Living under my roof and all. I promise.”
“And?”
“I went into the room when I was home from lunch, knowing she wouldn’t be around. Her bed wasn’t made,” he shrugged in disgust, “and after looking through her bookcase and desk, I glanced over at the bed and noticed the corner of a pink book hiding under her pillow, so I took it out.”
Bryce shook his head. “Girl’s don’t approve of that, you know. What if someone found yours?”
Brody chuckled. “I don’t have a diary. No hearts, unicorns, or dictations of love in print.”
“I beg to differ.”
“What?” Brody spit out.
“During the last town hall meeting over Mr. Rudie having his bowling alley opened to midnight, I may have looked over your shoulder while you were typing. Remember writing this . . . ‘long hair, hippie, nicely built, need to check out’?”
“That is not a diary, that’s taking notes of my phone. About possible suspicious characters.”
“Who looks very much like Sunshine.”
“Enough.”
Bryce smiled and pulled a knee up to his chest, rested his foot on the seat, and reclined the seat for comfort. “Was her writing any good? Possible unicorns?”
“No, but while looking through the pages I found a slight reason why not to involve other officers in her leaving.”
“Oh, what?” Bryce interested rose.
“The only thing on her background check was that old filed complaint, not a lawsuit, against a boyfriend. Not domestic violence but for harassment. I looked him up. That name and background matches a guy who is a cop now, one state away.”
“Her hair was short and auburn then, a lot different from now.” Bryce stared at the photo Brody had scrolled down to on his phone. Sunshine, a few years younger, shorter dark strands of hair caressing an innocent face.
“You like her, I take it. It’s okay to say, you know. You’ve got the right to be happy too.”
“Don’t read too much into it.”
“Stop being a stubborn ass. Be happy, Brody.”
“I will.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Melanie Orchard rearranged the ever so neatly stacked papers on the desk in Brody’s dark corner of an office, chuckled at the detail he put into the unnecessary effort.
“Wendy,” she called and searched below the desk and inside the drawers for anything that could give her a clue to where Brody could be.
“Yes,” Wendy’s voice echoed from outside the office, another British TV show playing its melody on the TV on the wall next to the coffeemaker. Yet another Buddy Holly tune about heartbeats and missing one another.
“Where did he say he went?”
Wendy rolled her office chair over to the door and finished drinking another cup of coffee, keeping away from the cold air breezing around the corners of the building. “He sent us both the same message you know, a group one.” She pulled out her cell phone and scrolled down on the screen to read, trying hard not to let her eyes roll all the way back into her head. “Ladies, don’t fret. I will be back in town asap. Currently away, will be back soon. Melanie—keep charge of town until I return. Wendy—stay out of my office.”
Melanie chuckled and stood to walk around the office, thinking of where the man could have gone.
“It sounds suspicious. Do you think he is sick, dying maybe?” she asked Wendy while pulling out more drawers in her quest for Brody’s secrets.
“Nah, he’s probably getting laid somewhere in a galaxy far, far away.”
Melanie looked up and watched as Wendy rolled back across the floor and began her morning work of filing the stacks of paper on her desk, not concerned for her friend’s whereabouts. Instead she took out her cell phone and found Brody’s number. After a few calls, all going to voice mail, she sent him a text message. “Where are you? Why are you gone? What the hell am I supposed to do?”
Surprisingly a response came instantly and she sat herself down on the chair. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. Be back soon. Just give tickets, we need the income.”
She sighed and leaned back in the chair, but after a few minutes of nothing to do, she grabbed the keys to the motorcycle and drove to the only place she knew to find out more. Brody’s home.
The sides of Brody’s house were as withered as the brown leaves of the season. She’d expected more from him, from his living. Brown bricks shared space with wooden panels at the aged home and the faded brass numerals in double digits. Rows of emerald rhododendron lined the walkway from the curb, up the cemented path to the brown door wide enough for two people to enter simultaneously. A rectangular window coated in a golden sheer was the sole light in the dark entryway. With no need to press the bel
l, Melanie fished out the keychain from inside the pocket of her thick jacket. There were two keys and, at the end of the chain, a heavy figurine resembling the tattoo she’d once noticed as Brody had stripped down to his underwear after rescuing a pig from going through the ice on the lake outside of town. Brody hadn’t been as talented in his hiding capability as he might have thought. Without too much searching, she’d found the spare key on the back of the dull, white clock that was strictly functional—it certainly didn’t enhance the décor.
The key turned easily in the well-grimed door and she closed it behind her as she took a quick glance around the dark foyer still living in the Vietnam War era. She hung her jacket on one of the many empty coatracks at the side of the door and walked down the hallway, seeing the contour of a single lamp cast a light from what must be the kitchen.
Her shoes felt soft against the rows of Moroccan rugs making their ways across wooden floors. As her foot marked the opening of the kitchen, her body slammed into something warm and solid, and with the help of her hands felt her way down a taut abdomen and the fabric of a towel before she tumbled to the floor.
“Who the hell are you?” The man standing at her feet pulled out his ear pieces and turned off the phone sitting in his hand. She noticed how such a small move made every muscle of his bare chest move and she swallowed hard.
“Melanie Orchard. And you are?”
He smiled and reached down a hand pulling her up against him. “Melanie, I remember you.”
“I’m not sure we’ve ever met.”
“We must have. A pretty face like yours is hard to forget.”
“Trying a little too hard,” she sputtered and pulled her arm away from his hand and corrected her clothing, trying hard not to notice how his body flexed as he put his strong hands on his hips.
“Fine, I’ll take it down a notch, but I have heard of you.”
“All good, I hope?”
“Sure, and that you’re gay.”
“Frank, are we?”
“Why hide things that are obvious.”
“I’ll remember that.” She looked him up and down.
“Hard to stay gay seeing all this?” Wayne’s hand caressed down his naked torso, getting nothing but an eye roll in response before she stepped around him to walk down the narrow kitchen, tiles in mocha adding to the touch of vinyl countertops and dark cabinets. She took a seat at the pulled-out chair by the table at the end of the narrow room, the seat warm enough to know Wayne’s bottom had rested there not more than a minute earlier.
“I do enjoy your eyes on me.” Wayne followed her down and seated across from her. “But since you’re gay shouldn’t you be a bit less attracted to me and more so with your own species?”
“Species?”
“Potayto, Potahto. You know what I mean.”
“Do you have a problem with me being gay?” Her irritation level lingered somewhere near a six.
Wayne sat quiet for a moment before he stood back up to finish the open beer waiting on the counter. “No, I think it’s fucking hot,” he purred and licked his bottom lip clean of a drop of beer.
“My life is probably nothing like you’re imagining.”
“How would you know what’s inside this brain.” Wayne tapped the side of his skull, smiling devilishly.
“It’s not so much what’s inside your brain, it’s your boner.” Melanie stood and walked by Wayne as he rearranged his privates with as much success as anyone trying to hide a banana under a silk blanket.
“Sorry about that!” Wayne’s voice echoed from the kitchen and down the hall as she left the maniac behind and set foot in the study—a space as proper as the one at the station. Brody had his organizing skills highly developed.
“I’m not sure you’re supposed to be in here.”
“I’m handling everything regarding this town, crimewise, which means this room.” With her arms held out she helicoptered the space. “This is my Houston control room.”
“Still, Brody gets seriously pissed when I’m just breathing in this space, let alone occupying it. I bet he’ll be back soon. Just looking to find Sunshine that’s all.”
Melanie stopped in her tracks and turned. “Say that again.”
“What? That he is trying to find Sunshine because Hemmerson has her. You mean that?”
“Got it, that’s why he didn’t want to say anything.” She smiled and sat herself down in the computer chair and pressed the button on the desktop next to the large screen taking up most of the space.
“Was I not supposed to say that? He never told me not to mention it.”
“He probably never thought I’d come visit you, my friend.” She typed in the only word she knew was related to Brody as a password: Zanax. She shook her head in disappointment when it failed.
“If you’re not going to say something, please go make yourself useful. I’d like some coffee, black with two sugars. Thanks.” She listened to the sound of Wayne’s bare feet on the wooden floors until the rich length of carpets dulled the sound and the room was silent.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“It’s a turn coming up according to the map.”
Bryce sighed and woke from his lulling slumber. “A map is so ancient, Brody. Use an app or something.”
“No connection. Have you even seen any houses or farms lately?”
“To be honest, you making the map statement woke me up from a wonderful state of sleep. I’ve been doing forty-eight hours at the station, I can’t believe my eyes are still able to stay open.”
Brody brought his car to a halt at a fork in the road. “Toss a coin or be logical?”
“You’re the one whose girl we’re looking for, and who should know these things. I just transfer people in need and those who are dead. I hope this trip doesn’t involve the later.
“Logically I’d try to leave the country, wouldn’t you with that record behind you?”
“Like Hemmerson’s, hell yeah!”
“Okay, right it is then. Oh, lonesome road to Canadian provinces here we come.”
“You have no jurisdiction out of the country, Brody. What are you going to do if you see him?”
“I’d leave him behind for the Canadian wilderness. If you’re that dumb, thinking you’ll survive the forest in the winter, you deserve what is waiting for you. Honestly—”
“Stop!” Bryce sat up straight in the seat and pointed to something further down the road. Brody’s cruiser rolled to a stop on the road, the moon the only thing not being the shade of black. Brody grabbed a flashlight sitting in the door pocket and pushed the door open. Bryce wrapped his jacket around himself and followed closely.
In less than a minute they both stopped and followed the light dancing across the deserted road and out into the first row of trees. The sole of a shoe faced them and their breathing turned quiet. Bryce grabbed Brody’s flashlight and with a steady hand lit up the tree trunk foot by foot until it rested on the fabric of a T-shirt moving slightly in the breeze.
“That’s not a big shirt,” Brody stated and swallowed hard. “I’m thinking Hemmerson is taking pride in what he’s done. That’s Sunshine’s shirt.” He turned and walked them back to the car slamming the door behind him as he sat down.
“How do you know it’s hers? It could really be anybody’s.”
“It’s hers, okay. Let’s go.” Brody pushed hard on the gas pedal, the tires skidding against the asphalt.
“But—” Bryce began but was cut off.
“Because I took it off her body once, okay! Now leave it.” Watching Bryce at the corner of his eyes, he wasn’t quite sure if he was smiling or not, but at least he was quiet.
* * *
Sunshine awoke to the sound of hammering, a cold breeze touching the side of her face. The sound made her eyes flutter open in rhythm with the pounding noise. In confusion she rolled over on her back and watched white clouds dust a palette of icy blue. The sound that had so recently woken her from a surprisingly restful sleep stopped and i
n its place she heard quick steps fast approaching. In an attempt to roll over on her stomach and stand up, her face tasted the cold, hard ground and her wrists crackled with the burn from handcuffs that still bound them.
“Up,” the male voice above her shouted, and a strong hand grabbed onto her shirt and the sharp gravel beneath her feet disappeared. She was airborne.
She landed with a thud on her tummy on the backseat of her car and she was happy the stained fabric smelled of Brutus, the dirt and grime she’d wanted to clean off the seats not too long before, now a comfort in despair.
“Where is Hemmerson?”
The driver looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Trade-off,” he muttered.
“You mean me?” Sunshine glared at the vicious, green eyes splitting their concentration between the road ahead and the backseat.
“You weren’t easy to find, Sunshine.”
“That was the point.”
“Getting the dog was good too. You’ve always hated dogs.”
“Where are we going?” Sunshine wanted nothing more than to avoid talking about her past. Especially with someone who knew exactly what it had been like.
“Trade-off.”
“You already said that. No need to repeat yourself like you always did.”
“But this time Hemmerson is not involved.”
“How can you be so casual about all this?”
“I’ve played the scenario of finding you in my head a thousand times over. Yet, in reality none of those scenarios are accurate.”
“Oh, no? You expected me to meet you in a cheerful dance and with a warm hug? Not going to happen, Anthony. Not in a million years.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Brody drove on in the rising morning light, the break of day an aura of welcoming hope. He looked over and found Bryce stirring in his seat and pushing his hands across his face, yawning and stretching for the fresh day and its unforeseen adventures.
“Morning,” Bryce croaked and sat up straighter. Lines had formed at the corner of his eyes, and he was running his hands through his strands of brown hair. “What’s on the itinerary for today?” he asked, and reached into the backseat for his bag, pulled it onto his lap, and opened the zipper. A tall gray thermos including two cups, sandwiches wrapped in plastic, and a jar of Aspirins spilled out from the open bag that took up more space than Brody had anticipated between the two. Something that made Brody’s fascination for tidiness difficult to keep track of.