by Blake Pierce
Whoever killed her mother must be alive—otherwise why had Hatcher given her the clue at all?
But was it one of the men on this list?
It might be any of the 243 names that Carter had started with—or none of them.
It was only a wild guess that the murderer even lived in Virginia.
It wasn’t even a hunch.
Her gut wasn’t telling her anything at all.
She closed her eyes tight and tried to think it through.
A man who served with her father in the Marines had possibly—just possibly—murdered her mother.
She was still struggling to grasp that likelihood.
After all, she had spent her life thinking that the killer was just a random armed robber.
She thought the killing had been pointless, meaningless, stupid.
But now she realized …
It was personal.
At least that’s what Hatcher’s message implied. The killer must have been someone who held a bitter grudge against her family—probably against her father.
She groaned a little.
Someone who hated Daddy, she thought. That hardly narrows it down!
After all, her father had probably inspired some degree of dislike or even hatred among almost all the men who ever served under his command. He’d made enemies faster than any other human being she’d ever known.
He’d even made enemies out of both his own daughters.
She looked at the piece of paper in her hand.
That was all it was—a piece of paper. With names printed in neat lines, names followed by data that could well be completely useless.
Faces, she thought. I need to look into people’s faces.
And they had to be people who hated her father.
Little by little, an idea occurred to her of where people like that could be found.
She was beginning to remember something that Daddy had said about being shut out.
She took out her tablet and started searching for the place she had in mind. As she did so, the knot of anxiety that had been growing inside her got larger.
People who hate my father, she thought with a shudder.
All her life, she’d known a man who hated him more than anyone else on earth.
And that was her father himself.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
By the early hours of that afternoon, Riley was driving west into the Appalachian Mountains. Her apprehension mounted with every passing mile. As the landscape climbed around her, she felt as if she were driving deep into the darkness of the past.
She remembered that her father used to hang out at a VFW post in Milladore, a little town not far from his cabin. During one of her rare visits to his cabin some years ago, he’d complained that he’d gotten kicked out and banned from the post.
“Why?” Riley had asked him.
“Why do you think?” he’d growled.
She could think of a thousand good reasons why he’d gotten himself kicked out. Still, she’d felt sorry for him. She knew that his membership in the Veterans of Foreign Wars had meant a lot to him.
He’d earned it, after all.
To join the VFW, one must have been decorated for foreign service in actual combat. She knew that her father had earned more than his share of medals, including a Combat Action Ribbon and an Expeditionary Medal. He’d proudly hung those medals on the wall of his cabin. They were still there—and they would probably stay there now that Riley wasn’t going to sell the place. She wasn’t likely to take them down, and she doubted that Shane Hatcher would either.
She didn’t know exactly why her father had gotten kicked out of that post. But she might still find some of his enemies there—perhaps a whole nest of them.
She drove into Milladore and saw that it looked much like Denison—a rundown little town that had seen better days. Businesses were boarded up, and many houses looked as though they were no longer inhabited.
As she parked in front of the VFW post, the building reminded her of the Waveland Pub—so dilapidated that for a moment she wondered if it was still open. But there were a few old cars and bikes in the weedy parking lot, and she saw some grizzled old men coming and going through the front door.
When she got out of the car, she heard an old country western song playing inside the post.
She suddenly wondered …
Are they even going to let me in?
She realized she should have thought of that before.
She wasn’t a veteran herself, of course.
A large man with chewing tobacco stuffed in his cheek stood just inside the doorway. Judging from his considerable brawn, Riley took him to be a bouncer.
“Ain’t seen you here before, little lady,” he said. “What kind of action you seen?”
Riley was about to pull out her badge when another man called out from inside.
“Let her in, Chester. I like the looks of her.”
Well, I guess that’s one way to get in here, she thought.
Perhaps this was even a lucky break. Things might go better if she didn’t have to identify herself as an FBI agent. For the time being, she’d just let the men wonder what the hell she was doing here.
As she continued on inside, she saw that the place was every bit as rundown inside as it was outside. There were a number of men there—some playing pool, others sitting at restaurant tables, and a handful sitting at the bar.
At a glance, Riley didn’t see a single young man in the lot, much less any women of any age. There were surely no veterans here of Afghanistan or Iraq. This wasn’t a town where young people were likely to settle down and spend their lives. Probably a good many of these guys had served Vietnam, some in the Korean War, and maybe even a few in World War II.
A man sitting at the bar was waving her in, his lecherous smile revealing a couple of missing teeth. Riley guessed that he was the guy who’d called out to vouch for her a moment before.
“Sit down here, honey,” he said, patting the stool next to him.
Riley fought down the urge to say she wasn’t his “honey” and to fuck the hell off.
Now isn’t the time, she thought.
She sat down on the bar stool next to him.
Still leering, the man asked her, “What’ll you have to drink, cutie? I’m buying.”
Riley almost refused the offer. But she figured it was best to keep everyone here more or less happy to see her.
Besides, she thought wryly, it’s not like I’m on duty.
She said, “I’ll have a double bourbon, straight up.”
The bartender chuckled, and the buyer’s smile faded a little. Riley guessed that he’d expected her to order something more “ladylike.” Now he seemed to be a little bit intimidated.
The bartender poured her the bourbon and she took a sip.
She planned to drink slowly, probably not even finish it. Right now the drink was something of a prop, just her way of fitting in.
The bartender asked, “Where’re you from?”
“Fredericksburg,” Riley said.
The bartender snorted with surprise.
“What brings you all the way out here to these boondocks?”
“Curiosity,” Riley said. “Do any of you fellows happen to remember a retired officer who used to come in here? His name was Oliver Sweeney.”
The bartender chuckled darkly.
“Yeah, I reckon pretty much everybody here remembers ol’ Psycho Sweeney. We kicked him out of here years ago. How’s he doing these days?”
“He’s dead,” Riley said.
The bartender chuckled again and shook his head.
“Is he now? Well, I’m all broken up to hear tell of it. What’s he to you and you to him?”
Riley was about to say something vague before the man sitting next to her let out a peal of sharp laughter.
“Holy shit!” he said. “You’re Psycho Sweeney’s little girl, ain’t you?”
Riley wasn’t pleased at being identified.
But there was no point in denying it.
“How do you know?” she asked.
With another laugh, the man said, “Hell, do you ever look in the mirror? It’s written all over your face, girl. You look just like him.”
Riley felt her face redden—whether from embarrassment or anger, she wasn’t sure. But the man was right. Sometimes when she looked in a mirror, she could see her father looking back at her.
And she hated that.
“Why was he banned from this place?” she asked.
The bartender shook his head.
“It got to the point where there was no putting up with him,” he said. “After he’d had just a couple of drinks, you couldn’t even look at him without him punching you out.”
The man on the barstool added, “How do you think I lost these teeth? I reckon half the guys in this joint were on the receiving end of that fist of his at one time or another. And they couldn’t even tell you why.”
The bartender squinted at Riley with interest.
“But why are you here?” he asked. “What do you want?”
Riley struggled with an answer for a moment.
But then she realized …
I might as well tell the truth.
“I’m looking for the man who killed my mother.”
She noticed a change in the expression of the man sitting next to her. He wasn’t leering anymore. He looked genuinely sympathetic.
“Girl, that’s some ancient history you’re talking about there,” he said. “How long has it been since poor Karen got shot down in that candy store?”
“Thirty-four years,” Riley said.
“Oliver never got over it,” the man said. “It’s part of what made him so mean, I guess. But do you really think you’ll find the man who killed her in this joint?”
The bartender said, “Guess I can see your logic. This place is full of men who had reason to hate him. But there ain’t nobody here who hurt her in any way, that’s certain.”
Riley had a sinking feeling that the bartender was right.
Was she here on a fool’s errand?
Before she could think it through, she heard a rough voice behind her.
“Oliver Sweeney’s daughter, are you?”
Riley turned and saw an enormous hulk of a man looming over her. He was obviously drunk and he had a sneer on his face.
He pointed to his crooked nose and said, “See this nose? Oliver broke it for me. And I’ve been waiting years to get my own back.”
He drew back his fist, and Riley knew that a sucker punch was on his way. Fortunately, the man’s reflexes were slow from however much alcohol he had consumed. Riley easily ducked the blow, and the swing of his arm threw him off balance. She hurled herself out of her chair headfirst into his stomach, and they both fell to the ground.
Riley wound up straddling the man. Before he could move, she raised her fist, ready to slam it into his face if necessary. She could tell by the man’s stunned expression that he wasn’t going to put up any resistance.
But then she looked up and saw four other men standing in a menacing semicircle around her.
This isn’t going to be easy, she thought.
For a fleeting instant, she thought of drawing her weapon.
But then she heard the bartender’s voice from behind the bar.
“Back off, boys,” he said.
She turned around and saw that the bartender had picked up a shotgun and was pointing it at the group.
The man sitting on the barstool let out a whoop of laughter.
“Hell, the apple don’t fall too far from the tree, does it? You’re a lot like your daddy in more ways than one.”
With his shotgun still raised, the bartender gazed at Riley with an admiring smile.
“Lady, I like your style. But I hope you’ll understand that I’ve just got to ask you to leave. Nothing personal.”
Riley wavered for a moment.
Should she take out her badge and show them that she was an FBI agent? She couldn’t imagine that it would do any good.
Besides, the bartender was right. If any one of the men here was her mother’s killer, Daddy would have killed him years ago.
She climbed off the prostrate man and walked silently away.
As she reached the door, she heard a man’s voice.
“Lady …”
She turned and saw that it was the bouncer she had met when she first arrived. His expression was kindly now.
He said, “Your daddy warn’t always a bad man, not deep down. And he sure enough served his country. It was just life and ’Nam and Karen’s death that messed him all up inside. That’s how he got all mean.”
Riley was too touched to know what to say.
The bouncer smiled.
“You’re not exactly a civilian yourself, are you?”
Riley smiled back at him and produced her badge.
“I’m Special Agent Riley Paige with the FBI,” she said.
“I’m not surprised,” the bouncer said. “You really are a regular chip off the old block. So are you here in an official capacity?”
“No,” Riley said. “This is personal. All I want is to find my mother’s killer.”
The man looked away for a moment, as if thinking about something.
“Lady, I don’t want to tell you how to do your business. But I wonder if maybe you’re going about this the wrong way.”
“How so?” Riley asked.
“Well, if you’re looking for a man who hated your daddy, you’re casting a pretty wide net. Maybe you should be looking for somebody he hated. Mean as he was, he didn’t actually hate all that many folks in particular. It was more like he had it in for human beings in general. But …”
The bouncer paused.
“I can think of one man he really hated,” he said.
“Who?” Riley asked.
“That would be Byron Chaney. Served with Oliver in ’Nam. Byron was wounded, and he got an honorable discharge. They were close friends for years until something went wrong between them. I never did know what it was. But your daddy hated him something fierce. Byron stopped coming in here ages ago.”
Riley caught her breath.
“Where can I find this man?” she asked.
“Don’t rightly know. Byron fell on bad times, they say. His life fell apart, and so did he. Got really messed up. Last anybody here heard about him, he was working up north of here at the Forsyth Ski Resort. I reckon he’s still there.”
Riley was almost too excited to speak.
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you.”
The man nodded and smiled.
Riley walked out to her car with a feeling of renewed hope.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Reeling with excitement about this new information, Riley sat in her car in the weedy parking lot of the VFW post. Her hands fumbled nervously as she unfolded the long list of living men who had served with her father.
Sure enough, there the name was:
Chaney, Byron SGT
After all these years, was she closing in on her mother’s killer?
She also kept thinking about what the bouncer had said.
“Your daddy warn’t always a bad man, not deep down.”
It had seemed like a startling insight to Riley. She herself had long since given up thinking of her father as ever having been a good man.
Had she misjudged him?
She certainly hadn’t ever spent much time thinking about what kind of man he must have been before the war, and before his wife’s death.
Should she have shown him more understanding in life?
Maybe, she thought.
But all she had to go on was the way he’d behaved while she was growing up. He had been consistently cruel to her, to her sister, to anyone she saw him with.
How could she have understood whatever was driving him?
The bouncer had also said …
“Mean as he was, he didn’t actually hate all that many fol
ks in particular.”
Now that Riley thought about it, she realized that this was true.
Her father had railed against the world and human nature.
But how often could she remember him singling out an individual for his ire?
Seldom—if ever.
So if he’d really hated this man named Byron Chaney, it must truly mean something.
Riley had heard of the Forsyth Ski resort, and knew that it was somewhere farther north. She checked her car’s GPS service for directions. Then, just as she was about to start driving, her cell phone buzzed.
She felt a wave of guilt as she saw that it was a text from April.
In her mind, Riley saw again the sharp, silent look Gabriela had given her this morning when she’d told her that she was leaving without spending time with the girls.
The message from April read …
Where are U?
Riley typed back …
I’m in Milladore.
April’s reply came quickly …
Working on a case?
Riley sighed, her guilt rising.
She typed evasively …
I have 2 c some people 2day.
After a few seconds, April replied.
Will u b home for dinner?
Riley felt her throat tighten.
It was up to her to decide, right now.
She could drive straight home and spend the rest of the day with Jilly and April.
She could forget about Byron Chaney, at least for today.
After all, what was her hurry? Everything he might be involved with had happened a long time ago.
Surely she could pay her visit to him some other time.
She wanted to type Yes, I’ll b home in time.
But her fingers simply wouldn’t do it.
If Byron Chaney was truly her mother’s killer, she couldn’t let another day pass without bringing him to justice.
She didn’t know what kind of justice that might be, but it couldn’t wait.
She typed …
I don’t think so. See U later tonite.
She sat staring at the phone for most of a minute.
April didn’t reply at all.
Riley’s eyes filled with tears and she stifled a sob.
She tried to rationalize her decision, telling herself that there would be other Saturdays, and besides, someday April would be grateful that Riley had found justice for her grandmother’s death. But of course that was nonsense. April had never known her grandmother. Why should she be grateful?