Dangerous Reunion

by Marilyn Pappano

  Shoving his hands into his pockets, Daniel came to stand in front of him. “Why did you doubt this guy?”

  Ben stared a long time at the spot on the blacktop where the victim’s body had lain. The knife that had pierced his gut, along with the contents of his pockets, had never been found, though a receipt showing Lloyd had owned a similar knife was. The car held nothing of value but part of a fingerprint that partially matched Lloyd’s index finger—ten points, not quite up to the average for positive identification of twelve to twenty points. The car itself had been stolen from one state, the license plate from another. The victim’s own fingerprints had come back with five names attached. No one had known which, if any of them, was his real name, but all of his identities had tied to criminal histories, and none of them had tied directly to Lloyd.

  Details that could justify guilt or innocence.

  “Gut instinct,” he said at last. Something hadn’t seemed right.

  Daniel nodded. He understood gut instinct.

  They were in Ben’s truck, heading for Chicken Farm Road, when JJ called. Ben put the call on Speaker.

  “I called Debbie Dillard. She said I’d confused her with someone else and hung up. But I ran her info, and she’s definitely the right Dillard. She moved into the house with a six-month lease two days after her husband died and bought it a week later. The only thing she brought with her was a suitcase. The sales manager said the delivery trucks practically wore out the street to her house for the first month. She said Debbie got a major makeover, upscaled her clothes about a thousand percent and told her neighbors she was an oil widow from Texas who was never blessed with kids. She made herself right at home.”

  “What about the money?” Ben asked, making a left turn onto a dirt road.

  “We’re working on it. We’re also starting on Debbie’s and her husband’s work histories. I thought you said Gerry didn’t work. In the last ten years, he officially had thirty-one jobs.”

  “I didn’t say he couldn’t get hired. He just didn’t like the actual work.”

  “Luckily, Debbie had only two jobs during that time, both with janitorial services. We’re getting a list of their clients. Where are you?”

  “We just turned onto Rooster Run,” Daniel said drily, looking at the GPS. “It runs into Skunk Trail up a ways.”

  “California boy still doesn’t fully appreciate Oklahoma,” Ben teased. “The Wind family farm is out here. That’s where Lloyd’s living now.” It was a big step up from his prison cell, a huge plummet down from his house on the hill. But he’d always claimed to honor his heritage and revere his ancestors. Maybe coming to the farm was like coming home. Back to his roots. Though if he really was guilty of murder, his ancestors would have beaten him with those roots.

  They talked a few minutes more, until Ben slowed to turn into a narrow drive. Pastures on both sides of the driveway were closed in with pipe fences, leaving a shoulder a foot wide on each side. If they met another vehicle, traditionally the one who’d gone the shorter distance backed up. Realistically, the one who could back up better made the retreat.

  The trail led through a stand of trees, not weed thick like on the Mueller place, but deep enough to conceal the farmhouse a half mile off the road. It was grayish brown—everything from the shingles on the roof to the battered shutters and doors to the old board siding and the porch. Any paint that had once been there had long since worn off, except for flakes on the wooden dining chairs lined up along the porch. There were four of them, and Ben remembered, as a kid, him and Lloyd carrying them to the shade of the nearest tree so their mothers and grandmothers could enjoy the breeze while they talked.

  “Nice vehicle,” Daniel said with a nod. It was a Mercedes SUV, shiny and red, so new it still had its dealer tag.

  The front door of the house opened as Ben and Daniel got out of the truck, and Lloyd Wind came onto the porch. Though he was only a few years older than Ben, his hair was streaked with gray that hadn’t been there when he went to prison. His smile was the same, though, practiced and phony—things Ben had noticed before—and oily, which he hadn’t. There was a look in his eyes, sly and calculating and, when the smile faded, a similar set to his mouth.

  Changes in the man? Things always there that Ben had been blind to? Things that weren’t there that he was seeing because he’d let his suspicions take control? He hated not knowing. Hated questioning his own impressions and motives.

  “Ben Little Bear.” Lloyd came down the steps, hand extended. “Long time, no see. I’ve been wondering when you’d find your way out here to question me. I’d suggest we bring the chairs down into the shade, but there’s no breeze, so it doesn’t matter.”

  Ben shook his hand, intently studying the man’s face. It was naive, but he thought an act such as murder must be so destructive to a man’s spirit that it should leave a mark on a person. It would make Ben’s life easier if it did: See, Judge, he has killer branded on his forehead. Of course, a person who cared so little about another person’s life wouldn’t be overly affected by the taking of it.

  “Question you?”

  The sound of Daniel’s voice jolted Ben from his stare. He released Lloyd’s hand, stepped back and gestured. “This is Detective Harper.”

  “Detective. About that family disappearing. The prosecutor’s family. The one who sent me to prison. If you talk to her—” he addressed the words to Ben “—tell her I’m not holding a grudge. She was just doing her job, like the jury and the judge were doing their jobs. Bad luck I got caught up in it.” He smiled again, hands up in a gesture of innocence.

  “But your luck did an incredible turnaround,” Daniel pointed out, “with that guy coming forward. You should start buying lottery tickets.”

  “I already won my version of the lottery. Bet you never thought Great-Aunt Weezer and I would be the luckiest people you ever knew, did you?” Lloyd chuckled as he seated himself in the nearest chair.

  If it had been luck, good for him. Ben didn’t like him calling Weezer great-aunt, even though all his friends did it. And if Lloyd smiled that smile one more time, Ben was going to be seriously tempted to punch him in the face. Then the headline could read, Former Detective Assaults Man Wrongfully Convicted of Murder. Sam would be disappointed in him, and Ben would be disappointed in himself, but Yashi would be happy. Making Yashi happy was worth a little risk, wasn’t it?

  Ben pulled a chair to an angle to face Lloyd. He didn’t waste time on small talk. “Where were you last Friday night?”

  “Where I am most Friday nights. Right here. By myself. No one who can confirm it, unless the deer family that visits in the evenings learns to talk.”

  “Do you know Will and Lolly Mueller?”

  “Never met her. Him...both businessmen in a small town. We ran into each other from time to time. I heard their little boy was missing, too. That’s scary.”

  “Did you know he was related to Yashi Baker?”

  When Lloyd smiled again, it took a conscious effort for Ben to keep a fist from forming. “What I don’t know about Yashi Baker would fill a book. I always thought it was a shame, her being so pretty and blonde and such a ballbuster. I felt sorry for the poor man—or girl—that got involved with her. No doubt who’d be the alpha in that setup.”

  “You said you’d get back at her.”

  Lloyd’s features went still. “I’d just been wrongly convicted of murder. I was so overwhelmed I might have said anything.”

  “So if we ping your cell phone, we’ll find it was right here all Friday night,” Daniel said, his tone even and easy. “We won’t find the GPS in your car gave directions to the Mueller house.”

  Still holding Ben’s gaze, Lloyd shook his head. “I heard there was a lot of blood. I wouldn’t haul people who were bleeding in my brand-new Mercedes.”

  There weren’t nearly as many Winds in Cedar County as there were Little Bears. I
t would be worth checking to see if any of them owned or had access to a dark van. Lloyd knew from his own experience that leaving a phone elsewhere kept it from revealing its owner’s location, and no one who’d lived in Cedar Creek his whole life needed directions to Old 66. It was as much a part of the area as First and Main Streets. It was the first half of the quickest route to Wind’s place.

  “Did you know Gerry Dillard before his confession?” Ben asked.

  Lloyd’s gaze flickered away, then came back, blander than before. “I’d seen him around, of course. Gave him a few dollars now and then for a bottle when he was broke.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes or linger. “Guy was always broke.”

  “So you weren’t friends.”

  “No.” Lloyd gave him an assessing look. “I have higher standards for friends.”

  “And a lowly detective who once arrested him doesn’t qualify,” Daniel said when they were back in the truck a few minutes later. He watched in the outside mirror as they drove away, then scratched his jaw. “Is it weird to think this guy is more of a threat than the one who picked me up and threw me twelve feet?”

  “No,” Ben said quietly, his muscles taut, his gut churning. “Not weird at all.”

  * * *

  The only thing worse than a long day in the hospital was spending a long day at the hospital. At least as a patient, a person had a chance at getting drugs. Yashi was exhausted by five. She’d talked endlessly with Brit and Quint and, later, Lois. She’d even talked to Theo at Dr. Armstrong’s suggestion, but he’d pretended not to hear her. She’d eaten too much sugar and sodium and drunk way too much caffeine and discovered there wasn’t a comfortable chair in the entire place.

  Lois Gideon stood behind her, giving her a deep-tissue massage that almost made her weep, first with the pain, then the relief. “It’s not always such an ordeal,” Lois remarked. “Last time I was here was when my youngest grandson was born. Both his daddy and his granddaddy wanted a boy, so it was happy times for the Gideons.”

  “Last time I was here was when Theo was born. He was amazingly kicked back and easygoing, as if he hadn’t just been expelled from his super-dark baby cave into a harsh, cold, loud world. He just looked around and grinned.”

  “Mom said he must have gotten some of the happy juice they gave her in the delivery room,” Brit said from the sofa. “He looks really cool and unconcerned in his birth pictures.”

  Yashi wished he was still that way. Hell, she wished he had only the usual doubts from a week ago, when the biggest deal was how he would do in the next soccer game. Not whether he would ever see his mother and father again.

  “The last time before that for me was when Ben got stabbed. He’s such a big, strong guy that you never think anything could bring him down, but Lord, it was a scary thing.”

  Mouth gaping, Yashi turned to stare at Lois. Her chest tight, she breathlessly repeated, “Ben got stabbed?” She was dimly aware of Brit’s voice echoing her dismay.

  “Oh, sweetie, he wanted it kept out of the paper, and the woman who did it killed herself, so everyone kept it kind of hush-hush. But I figured you surely would have heard about it through the gossip. It happened at Mila Douglas’s grandmother’s apartment. He lost so much blood—”

  “It wasn’t so much when you’ve got as much as I do.” Ben stepped into the room, detouring to hand Bernie the buffalo to Theo, who clutched the well-worn snuggly to his chest with both arms. Then Ben scowled at Lois. “It’s not worth even gossiping about.”

  Few women were unintimidated by his scowls, and Lois was one of them. She reached up to cup his face in her palms. “We could have lost you, and we would never have gotten over it.”

  “I’m never going anywhere.”

  “A fine promise that you can’t keep.” Lois gave Ben’s cheek a squeeze before letting go. “You two go on, get out of here. Miss Brit is going to do my nails for me. I’ve decided on blue, to go with my do.” She patted her sapphire hair. “Don’t worry about the kiddos. We’ll be just fine.”

  Yashi hugged Brit, then paused at the foot of the bed. Theo hadn’t hit or screamed at her, but he also hadn’t shown any desire to talk to her. “Sleep well, Leo-Theo,” she said softly. Being a late-July baby, he’d earned the nickname when Lolly was in her stars-and-moons-and-lullabies phase.

  He didn’t respond, but Bernie’s left front hoof made the tiniest of waves.

  The desire to weep swept over Yashi in waves—and for the first time in days, it was with joy. She blinked hard to keep the tears at bay as they walked through the corridors.

  She and Ben didn’t speak until they were on the nearest main thoroughfare heading toward her house. “I think we should probably stay at your house tonight,” she remarked, grateful her voice wasn’t shaky. She felt him look at her curiously, but all he did was grunt.

  It was the logical choice. They would each have a full-size bed. There was a full-size bathroom. Despite her ambivalent feelings toward Will’s place now, she’d always felt safe at Ben’s house. She’d always thought one day it would be her home, too.

  Maybe...

  Before the thought could form, she choked it off. Wonderful possibilities and heartbreaking prospects. She didn’t seem able to deal with either one right now.

  At her house, she packed clothing and toiletries and was in the process of putting out extra food for Bobcat when Ben finally broke the silence. “You want to take Demon Cat with us?”

  Bobcat sat at her feet, his attention firmly locked on the food container she held, every whisker and hair on his body on alert. “I don’t know how he’d react to Oliver.”

  “Oliver’s only seen when he wants to be.” Ben started to stretch, but the kitchen ceiling, lower to allow for the loft above, stopped him. “Besides, I’d put my money on Oliver in a fair fight. In an unfair one, too. Your cat’s ego is much grander than his reality.”

  She would feel more comfortable having Bobcat with her. If her enemy—Lloyd Wind—the kidnapper broke into her house, he might not hurt the cat, but he could let him out, an experience Bobcat had never had. And it wasn’t as if getting him into a carrier was a problem. She’d lucked out there, finding the only stray cat in the state who loved cars.

  “Want to go for a ride, Bobcat?”

  Before she finished the words, the cat raced to the door, where he sat and meowed impatiently. Yashi stuck his things into shopping bags and slung them over her shoulder before retrieving his carrier from storage in the laundry room. His meow took on a hostile tone, but she scooped him into it anyway. “Just until we get in the car. You know the drill.”

  The drive to Ben’s house didn’t take long enough for Bobcat to satisfy his curiosity about the strange vehicle, or for Yashi to settle her nerves. Her stomach was still knotted when she carried the cat inside, making it just past the door before he leaped to the floor, raised his tail high and stalked off to revisit old memories.

  She had old memories here, too, every one of them good.

  While she put out food and water for the cat, along with placing his litter box in the usual spot, Ben left her stuff at the end of the sofa. Was it interesting that he didn’t take it straight to the guest room, or was she reading meaning into the action he didn’t intend?

  Together, keeping the conversation casual, they fixed dinner. He cooked a steak on a cast-iron grill pan; she tore lettuce and diced vegetables for a salad; he whisked together his favorite dressing; she put bread sticks in the oven. It took them a few minutes to develop the rhythm that had come naturally to them so long ago, to avoid bumps and nudges, but by the time she set the table, it was enough like old times to make her chest ache. Not the same. They were older, wiser, more wounded, but Lord, it was sweet.

  They’d made a good start on the meal when Ben finally mentioned the case. “Lloyd said to tell you he’s not holding a grudge.”

  Her smile was tight. “That�
�s okay. I hold enough of one for both of us.” Fingers gripping her knife, she sliced the strip of steak on her salad into bite-size pieces, briefly imagining using the same knife until he told her where her family was. “I suppose he has an alibi.”

  “The most common one. ‘I was home. Alone.’”

  Oh, if they had a dollar for every time a suspect had told them that...

  He updated her on the rest of the case, and she shared the few highlights from her day at the hospital. It wasn’t until they were doing dishes that she picked up the conversation with Lois that Ben had interrupted. “Tell me about getting stabbed.”

  He dried the same plate twice before putting it away, then eased her aside and scrubbed the cast iron with coffee grounds and dried it thoroughly with paper towels before setting it on the stove and finally looking at her. “It was no big deal.”

  Just the idea was enough to make her legs wobbly, to tighten her chest and send a frisson of alarm through her. Thanks to her job, she’d understood his job long before they’d gotten together. She hadn’t overly worried about him. He was well trained, cautious and didn’t take unnecessary risks. Putting on the badge every day was like putting on a target, but she’d had faith in his ability, and the ability of the officers he worked with, to stay as safe as possible.

  And yet he’d still been assaulted. Stabbed. And she’d never known. She’d thought their connection was more powerful, even after their breakup, that she would somehow know if his life was in danger. She’d been wrong. Romantic. Naive.

  “What happened?” she asked, proud that her voice was steadier than her emotions and her legs.

  He looked around as if to find something to excuse his not answering, didn’t see anything and instead leaned against the counter beside the stove. “I was one of the officers protecting Mila Duncan from her mother. You heard about that?”