LET ME CALL YOU SWEETHEART

by Nancy Gideon

  Dammit all, anyway! He took advantage of her bewilderment to stand and brush off her pain the way he did the grass clippings from his jeans.

  "Zach—"

  "I'll see ya. Okay?" And he began to walk away from where she huddled on the shadowed lawn, without waiting for her response. Because it would kill him to see it.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

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  "Asking questions, that's what he's doing. Can you imagine?"

  "As if he didn't know the answers."

  Bess rubbed her temples, trying to soothe the persistent ache behind her eyes. And having about as much success as she was with closing out the sound of the two sisters' hushed gossiping at her elbow. The last thing she wanted to hear about over breakfast was the early bird report on Zach Crandall. For the past few days, he was the town's only topic, making Bess wish for a crop-threatening storm or some other natural disaster to turn the talk to something less distressing.

  "As if anyone remembers after all this time," Myrt grumbled, casting a covert look to see if Bess was still listening.

  "As if anyone believes someone else actually killed the man," Lorraine agreed. "He can't think we're so stupid we can't figure it out. What do you think, Elizabeth?"

  "What?" She glanced toward the two expectant hens with a disappointing blankness.

  "Can you believe that Crandall boy thinks to fool anyone by stirring up talk about his daddy's killing? It isn't like we don't already know who the murderer is."

  "I believe the court said it was Mary Crandall." Both ladies tsked at her naive response, but she didn't plan to give them time to educate her. "I've got a shipment of damaged books to return this morning, so if you'll excuse me—"

  Myrt caught her wrist, halting her rise from the counter stool. Bess stared at her, surprised by the firmness of the old woman's grasp. And by the solemnity of her voice.

  "He did it, Bess. You know that, don't you? Sheep's clothing doesn't change the wolf underneath."

  Frustration and lack of sleep left her vulnerable to a sudden sidestep of reason. She jerked her arm back, startling the ladies with her abruptness and the gruff tone of her voice.

  "I know nothing of the kind and neither does anyone else in this town. Don't you have something better to do than spread malicious rumors that ruin other people's lives?"

  The round-eyed shock, greeting her outburst, rattled Bess back to a tentative sanity. But she didn't apologize, wouldn't apologize, thus giving her permission for more of the same to continue. She'd heard enough speculation. Each question rounded back on her, chipping at her conscience, prodding her to do something, say something. Pushing her toward a risk she would not take. Toward a stand she could not make.

  Instead, she snatched up her purse, leaving the nearly untouched breakfast she'd ordered without real appetite as she turned toward the door. And stopped, the breath slammed from her lungs as Zach and Melody Crandall entered the diner.

  Their eyes met as Zach held the door open for his sister. The lack of any tangible emotion in his laser-blue stare had Bess scrambling to conceal any response within her own. She would not stand there with whipped-puppy-dog eyes welling up in a confusion of hurt, begging to know what she'd done to be treated so badly. She did have some pride left, even though he'd managed to mangle most of it with humiliating ease.

  "Good morning, Melody. Zach." The syllable crystallized as Melody's curious gaze jumped between them.

  "‘Morning, Bess." Melody touched her brother's shirtfront, the gesture not as much to display affection as it was to gauge the runaway tempo of his heartbeats as Bess slipped past them. Melody stretched up to kiss the granite line of his cheek, startling him into a slight thaw. "Thanks for walking with me. Be here at seven?"

  "Sharp."

  "I'm probably just being silly…"

  "No problem, Mel." His firm tone dismissed hers. She had more to worry about than she knew. He waited until she'd gone behind the counter to secure her apron strings before nodding to the gawking sisters and startling them with his warmest smile. "Good morning, ladies."

  For a moment they blinked and moved their mouths like fish out of water, not sure how to react to his polite attention. Then came the expected snub as they turned back to their coffee and oatmeal. He let it roll off. He'd wear them down eventually. For the moment he had other, more pressing matters to attend to.

  He started across the shady square, sticking to the diagonal paths instead of tromping through the grass and flowerbeds the way a defiant boy once had. He was only now beginning to realize what a pain in the butt that kid had been. They'd been grand gestures at the time. Looking back, they were signs of delinquency. No wonder he ran up against so many suspicious faces when he was decked out in his official khakis. It was quite the leap from surly rebellion to honorable intentions, and the people of Sweetheart couldn't be pushed into making it. They would have to be coaxed. He'd have to prove the chasm wasn't too deep or too wide. And that had everything to do with his determination to fulfill his plans.

  "Just what do you think you're doing?"

  The sound of Bess's scold, spoken so close that his system recoiled in a shock of tingling awareness, made him slow but not stop.

  "Going to work. And I'm running late."

  She grabbed his wrist. The heat of her touch brought all his sensibilities to a crashing halt. He looked at her with a wary impatience, careful not to betray how the sight of her all flushed and determined, galvanized his blood into liquid fire. God, she was beautiful in her haughty disapproval—her sweet mouth pursed, her delicate brows furrowed over the bridge of her nose in what she thought an intimidating look. He wanted to applaud her spunk in confronting him, to kiss the stiffness from her lips, but because of the dangerous factors now in play, he merely regarded her as if she was a nuisance.

  "What are you trying to do, Zach? Why are you digging up the past? What good is it going to do now?"

  "Probably none."

  "Then why? Why all the questions? Why stir everyone up all over again? It's not going to change anything."

  "It won't change what's already happened, no. It won't give my mother back those seventeen years."

  "Seventeen years, Zach. That's a long, long time. What do you think you're going to accomplish?"

  His expression closed down tight. "It's so easy to believe the worst about me and my family, but when it comes to one of your own, you just don't want to consider that one of those fine, upstanding citizens is a cold-blooded murderer who would let an innocent woman go to prison to save their own sorry ass. You and the rest of them want to turn your backs and pretend justice was done. Well, it wasn't, Bess, and it won't be until I find out who killed my father." He started to pull away, his features taut, his eyes angry.

  "Zach." She let her hand slide down from his wrist until she could lock his fingers in the curl of her own. For an instant he held on just as tightly. "Zach, no one in Sweetheart wants to know."

  "Especially not the one who bashed his head in." His grip squeezed convulsively about hers. "Do you think I care that he's dead? I'm just as happy about it as anyone else in this town. Probably more so. If it had been a car crash or a lightning bolt from Heaven, I'd have spit on his grave and said good riddance. But someone killed him, Bess. And that someone is still here, walking around a free man—or woman. And my mother, my family, paid the price. That does bother me. A helluva lot."

  She clutched his hand when he tried to wrest it free. "Zach, if you really want to be a part of this town … let it go."

  "I can't, Bess." For a brief instant all his pain and fury etched harsh angles into his handsome face.

  "You won't," she corrected, releasing him. Realizing she could no longer hang on to something she'd never truly had.

  He hesitated, not immediately acting upon his freedom. "I won't win this town over by begging on my knees for forgiveness when I didn't do anything wrong. I'll work damn hard to earn it but I never kowtowed to unfairness, and I won'
t go crawling now."

  "Then you won't win."

  "Then I guess I don't care."

  He started to stride away, then paused, thinking, finally turning. His expression was quieter but no less revealing.

  "I wanted to thank you for letting Faith stay with my mom today. Melody needed to work, and I couldn't get the time off." At Bess's perplexed frown, he reassessed the situation. "You didn't know?"

  "I—ah, no, I didn't."

  "If there's a problem, I can—"

  "No. No, Zach, I have no problem with Faith staying with your mother. In fact, I'm proud of her for offering."

  "It's just that she's still weak, and we worry that she'll try to do too much and—"

  "I understand. And I agree. Faith is old enough to handle the responsibility. She's a good girl."

  "Like her Aunt Bess." He let his devastating smile out a notch, just enough to gel Bess's knees and send her into a flustered retreat.

  "Just send her home when you get there."

  "Bess?" His soft question stayed her turn. "Don't think the worst."

  * * *

  Bess didn't know what to think.

  She tried to concentrate on the books whose hardcover corners had been crushed in shipping, but Zach's comment wouldn't leave her alone.

  Think the worst about what? Him? Their situation? His face-off against the town? Her mind went crazy with possibilities. Why had he chosen to be purposefully vague for the first time since she'd known him? Was he hinting that there might be a future for them? It would take more than maddening clues dropped at unexpected intervals to get her hopes up again.

  She set aside the packing order and sighed to herself. Who was she fooling? Her hopes where Zach Crandall was concerned would never dim. All it took from him was a glance, a smile, and her anticipation roared ahead like a bullet train. The feel of him was imprinted upon her every receptive curve, the memory of his touch branded upon each nerve ending. She would never as long as she lived stop wanting him. And as long as she wanted him, there would never be room in her life for another.

  Disgusted to find she'd accomplished nothing all morning, Bess figured a break from the store was in order. Checking on Faith was just the prod needed for her to visit Mary Crandall without the need for awkward reasoning. She'd swing by the diner and pick up lunch for the three of them. There could be no harm in that; nothing Zach could construe the wrong way. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was trying to encroach upon his family out of feelings of guilt. He'd be right, but not for the reasons he thought.

  "Hi, Bess," Melody called brightly when she stopped at the diner's counter.

  Bess marveled at her relaxed cheeriness. Whether it was due to her brother or her mother being home, or both, the improvement was obvious to all who knew the timid Melody.

  "Hi, yourself. Could I get three specials to go? One of them's for your mom. I don't know if she has any kind of restrictions, so whatever you think's best."

  "You're going over to visit? Mom will like that. She doesn't get much company."

  Melody turned away, missing the flash of sorrow crossing Bess's features. "How's your mom doing?"

  "Good. We sure appreciate Faith sitting with her. She's so mature for her age."

  Bess relaxed and smiled. "You don't need to tell me. Sometimes, I feel like she's the grown-up and I'm the naive little girl."

  "Julie's done a good job with her."

  "Yes," Bess answered softly. "Yes, she has." She began to fumble through her purse, looking for the right denominations. Melody waved it away.

  "Consider it on me. Faith wouldn't let me pay her, so it's my way of saying thank you."

  As Bess watched her efficiently wrap and bag the food, she remembered something Zach had said to her. The town of Sweetheart had bent over backward in her time of sorrow, but what, if anything had ever been done for Melody? True. Mel had had that rotten excuse for a husband to keep her from being technically alone, but had she had any friends to rely on, any confidantes to talk to?

  She looked at the other woman long and hard and saw a surprising similarity between them. The only difference was she was surrounded by the goodwill of the town, and Melody drifted on the tide of its indifference. She told Zach they'd become friends but was that really true? Or were her overtures as shallow as everyone else's who said good morning and left it at that?

  "Melody, did you get a chance to read that book I lent you?"

  "Oh, yeah. I meant to tell you how much I enjoyed it. For a man, he sure has an insight into his female characters."

  Bess began to smile. "There's a small group of us who meet at the library once a month to talk books and drink coffee and kick our shoes off. I'd like you to come with me next Thursday night. Faith can stay with your mom, and I know that's your night off. What do you say?"

  "I—I don't know." She looked flustered, pleased, anxious.

  "Say yes. It's real informal and I could use someone with my same taste in literature to back me up when Mona Fitch gets on her classical high horse."

  Melody smiled, just a small glimmer at first as if she wasn't quite certain, then a full wide show of teeth, reminding Bess painfully of her brother. "I think I'd like that. If you're sure no one would mind."

  Bess waved off her worry. "We never turn away a new opinion. We'll talk particulars later."

  "Okay." Melody passed the meals across the counter. "I'll have Zach bring Faith home right after he picks me up."

  "He doesn't have to walk her. It's only a few blocks." Bess hoped her alarm didn't show too prominently at the thought of Zach coming to her door.

  "I insist." And the tone of the meek woman's voice sharpened in unusual emphasis.

  "Is something wrong, Melody?"

  Scared eyes darted about the room before she leaned close to confide, "Our house was vandalized. Zach thinks it's the same jerks he put in jail, but I'm not sure. It makes me nervous just thinking about it. I'd feel better if she didn't go by herself."

  "Oh, Melody, I had no idea. What happened?"

  "Just some of my hanging flowers knocked down and smashed." She gave an anxious little laugh. "Maybe it was kids." But her haunted gaze said otherwise, and so did Bess's sense of logic.

  It was a warning for Zach. And knowing that made her wonder if the incident on the road was an accident at all. If Zach knew, why hadn't he told her?

  Bess snatched up the sack, murmuring a quick goodbye before hurrying toward to door.

  "Bess?" Mel called after her. When she turned, she was met with a shy smile. "Thanks."

  Bess smiled back and gave a wave. Then she was out the door at a jog.

  If there was danger at the Crandall house, Faith was right in the middle of it.

  * * *

  The summons to the mayor's office came as no surprise to Zach. What surprised him was that it had taken so long. He stopped just inside the door to study those waiting to shake and bake him. As his steely stare fixed upon each one in turn, some glared back, some glanced nervously away. A split decision in whatever was coming.

  "You wanted to see me, Howard?"

  The familiar use of the mayor's name brought a twinge of response from those who still thought of him as a young tough instead of as a peer.

  "Yes, ah, er, come in, Mr. Crandall."

  He smiled, a thin slash of amusement. "It's Zach, Mr. Mayor. No need for formality. I'm on duty, so I'd appreciate you cutting right to it."

  Lloyd Baines did just that. "What the hell are you doing, boy?"

  Zach met his cold glare with one of piercing frost. "Excuse me?"

  "Didn't they teach you nothing in the state academy? Case closed means case closed."

  "I know that."

  Baines clenched his teeth. "Then why are you poking your nose around in something that's been over and done for almost twenty years?"

  Zach let a tense silence build within the room before he replied. "I don't think there's anyone in this room who believes the right person went to jai
l for killing my father. I agree. And I intend to find out who murdered him. There's no statute of limitations on that."

  "We all know Mary didn't kill her husband," Ted Doolin snarled. "And we all know the someone who did is in this room."

  Zach pinned him with a cold, unblinking stare. "I'd say you're probably right. But that someone isn't me."

  "Oh, come on, Crandall—"

  "Gentlemen, please," the mayor interrupted anxiously. "We're not here to point fingers."

  Though he never moved a muscle, an enormous sense of threat suddenly radiated from Zach Crandall. He retained Baines's glare for a long minute before deliberately turning his attention to the mayor, as if the other lawman held no power to intimidate him. "What exactly is the problem, Howard?"

  "Folks in Sweetheart are uncomfortable with your questions."

  "If they've got nothing to hide, why should they be nervous? I wasn't here for the trial. I'm just trying to tie up a few loose ends for my own peace of mind. Like why there was no murder weapon found."

  "We had a confession," Howard reminded him. "It wasn't necessary."

  "Unless my mother wasn't guilty. She couldn't produce something she didn't have."

  "What did you use, Crandall?" Baines snarled. "And where did you put it?"

  Zach didn't favor him with a glance. He was focused on the mayor. "Is there some official reprimand coming? If not, I've got to get back to the station."

  "Nothing official," Howard muttered.

  "Not yet," Baines added.

  "Then we've got nothing else to talk about." Zach restored his dark glasses to mask the intensity of his stare, but somehow the black void was even more ominous.

  Elmer Grant came up with one last question. "If you know the case is closed, where did you get the evidence to reopen it?"

  Zach paused then slowly drew down his shades. "This isn't an official matter. I'm looking into it after-hours." His features congealed like cement setting up. "It's strictly personal."