No Offense

by Francesca D'Armata

  No Offense

  Francesca D'Armata

  Published in the United States of America.

  Eccellenza Communications International, Inc.

  5773 Woodway Dr. #295

  Houston, TX. 77057

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to names, characters, places or persons, living or deceased, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. If you would like permission to use material from the book for anything other than review purposes, please contact sales@fdarmata.com.

  For information regarding bulk purchases, please contact sales@fdarmata.com or visit our website at www.fdarmata.com.

  Copyright © 2016 Francesca D'Armata

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 0692783547

  ISBN 13: 9780692783542

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter ONE

  The job that no one else in the family wanted was hers. Bookkeeper, or as Jack Hunter, her father-in-law, put it—chief financial officer. She could calculate numbers faster than you could input them in a machine. Decked out in faded jeans and a cotton top, her brown locks, which highlighted her amber eyes, would have to be ironed if she wanted them straight. Snappy casual, Steely was appropriate for any event in Grey County. She sorted through mail at the kitchen table, glancing back and forth between the utility bills and her view of the den.

  The new bride hadn’t expected to spend her days alone with her mother-in-law in the backwoods of central Texas. It was the first time she had ever lived outside of the Houston city limits. If Beatrice Hunter had screamed there the way she did here, the neighbors would be calling the cops. Early in her sixties, aging hadn’t mellowed Bea or her cantankerous hair. She was jagged.

  Beatrice was doing what she did most of her waking hours, sitting upright in her recliner and facing a TV loud enough to scare the coyotes out back. She wadded the newspaper in her lap and threw it at the wall, startling Steely, who still wasn’t accustomed to her outbursts.

  “Mr. Keaton again?” she asked.

  “That backstabbing crook started his own foundation with ten million dollars from our company!”

  “At least he’s giving it to charity,” Steely said, sorting through invoices.

  “Charity? He’s probably his own charity! That money will disappear just like everything else he stole from us!” Bea swung her hands in the air. “I’m here sitting here in the backwoods with the squirrels while he’s spending my money! And one of state’s most admired CEOs is mowing grass in a field—who knows where.” Bea began shaking. Her heart had become accustomed to spikes in pressure in between long periods of almost no activity at all.

  “I never liked that no-good dirty dog, but blaming Jack for almost collapsing the company is something I’ll never forget.” Bea exhaled and settled back down.

  Losing a $600 million company she and Jack started with nickels and dimes would throw anyone into a tizzy. But not Jack Hunter; he didn’t appear to be anxious at all. He almost seemed to be enjoying the country life.

  Allowing Bea to sporadically vent seemed to help her cool down faster. Steely knew to nod at the appropriate time. The venting backfired if she didn’t. Still Bea managed to stun Steely when she suddenly flung up out of the chair.

  “Was that thunder?” Bea yelled.

  “Could have been. It’s raining hard.”

  Bea’s brow crinkled. “It sounds like somebody’s throwing rocks on the roof.”

  “It’s getting rough outside. The guys should be here soon.”

  Steely’s phone chimed.

  “Are you going to answer it?” asked Bea.

  “It’s a blocked number again.” Steely tapped a button. “Hello?” She set the phone back on the table. “Hung up again.”

  “That’s a bunch of nonsense, disturbing people and then hanging up like that. Let me have it next time. I’ll tell them something that’ll make their head swim.”

  “Probably make my head swim too.”

  Steely packed the invoices into a kitchen drawer. She pushed a chair over to the kitchen counter, climbed up to open a cabinet, and reached for a cup.

  A loud explosion rattled the house. Two cups shot out of her hands, soaring into the air. One of them clunked down on her head, sending her toppling to the floor, seeing stars.

  Bea flung the remote control across the room and vaulted up. “What was that?”

  Steely squeaked, “Sounded like an earthquake.” She got to her feet, holding onto the chair, with two walnut-sized lumps rising on her skull.

  “We don’t have earthquakes around here. We have dust storms and droughts.”

  “Then something blew up.”

  “There’s nothing around here for miles.”

  “It sure wasn’t thunder,” Steely said, shaking her head. “Definitely wasn’t thunder.”

  “Well, then what was it?”

  Steely pushed back the curtains. “The sky is red…like the sun tumbled down.”

  Bea was concerned enough to retrieve the remote, cut off the TV, and hike over next to Steely. “There’s not a thing out that way.”

  Steely kept her apprehension in check. The last thing she wanted was to get Bea even more upset before Jack and David got home, but what she saw looked like the aftermath of some kind of explosion powerful enough to blow a hole straight through to China. She opened an entry closet
and retrieved the binoculars. She placed them in position and focused on the sight. “It’s a massive fire. Flames are blazing up in the sky.”

  “Let me look.” Bea grabbed the field glasses and scanned the area.

  “Could it be a bomb?” Steely shivered, rubbing the goose bumps that had popped out on her arms.

  “A bomb in the middle of the hill country?” Bea passed the binoculars back to Steely, went for her cell, and rapidly tapped in a number. “I’m calling Jack.”

  “I’ll call David.”

  Neither answered.

  For the next few days, Bea slept. She couldn’t eat. She just stayed in bed. She didn’t want to see anyone. Steely hadn’t been away from the house since the accident, except to make the burial arrangements.

  There was no reason to delay the service. It might even make things worse for Bea. The service was scheduled the day after the bodies were retrieved. Autopsies were not needed. No one could survive driving off a cliff and the fireball from the impact of the vehicle.

  On funeral day, Bea hadn’t come out of the bedroom all morning.

  Steely heard very little stirring behind the closed door. Only when Bea came to lock the door could Steely confirm she was up.

  Steely walked back to her bedroom, down a short hall from Bea’s, and slipped into a black knit dress. She pressed her back against the bedroom wall, holding the zipper in place. The first time she learned how to pull a zipper up on her own was in her senior year of high school. The stretchy thing sagged from the five pounds that had suddenly melted off her body.

  She placed the hanger back on her side of the closet, gazing at David’s clothes, pressed together, as if he were coming back to wear them. There were two rows of shirts making a path to the long items hung at the end. Shoes were coupled along the floor. She reached under a sweater, folded on a shelf, and dug around until she found a small square box with beat-up corners. Inside was a silk drawstring pouch containing a silver chain and cross. She hooked it around her neck. Then she stepped into practically new, eight-year-old black patent-leather pumps. She’d worn this outfit to only one type of function: funerals.

  The space between Steely’s bedroom and Beatrice Hunter’s was only a few short steps. She tried the door again. Still locked. Bea never locked her bedroom. She’d chastise Steely for locking her own bedroom. If Steely fell, they’d have to break the door down to get inside, Bea argued. Fortunately Steely hadn’t the need for a busted down door yet.

  Steely tapped lightly on the wooden frame. She knew better than to knock. Bea didn’t tolerate loud noises well, unless they came from her. She placed her head near the crack between the door and the frame. “Miss Bea, I don’t want to push you, but we need to leave now.”

  Bea didn’t answer. It’s hard for anyone to talk when they’re crying their eyes out. She’d made it clear she didn’t want comfort from anyone, especially from someone barely kin, like a daughter-in-law.

  Steely hurried to the living room. She checked out the front window. Pepe Martinez was waiting, his car idling now for over thirty minutes. He’d grown up with Beatrice and Jack, known them most of his life. He was the only one Bea would allow to drive them. He knew how to keep his mouth shut.

  She tapped on the bedroom door again. “Miss Bea, I’m sorry but—”

  “Quit beating on the door!” Bea’s voice was hoarse, dulled by a tissue. “You’re making me nervous!”

  “Miss Bea, I don’t want to do this.” Steely swiped her swollen eyes, took a deep breath, and pressed her forehead against door. “Last week, I’m sure you would’ve never thought you’d be going to a funeral today for your husband and son. I sure wouldn’t have. I want so badly for someone to shake me and say, ‘Wake up! Wake up! It was only a nightmare.’”

  Steely paused for a few seconds, not for dramatic effect but contemplating what to say next. “But the nightmare is real. I wish it wasn’t, but it is real.” She shut her eyes tightly, squeezing out tears. “You had thirty-seven years of marriage to a loving husband. Very few people get that kind of love and dedication. You could act crazy or say kooky things, and your husband stuck with you. Not many would.”

  The sobbing stopped.

  Steely scrunched her face, realizing what she’d admitted, and quickly said, “And you raised a son, who grew up to be a fine man. A mighty fine man, who loved his mother. He looks just like you, Miss Bea. He was kind to me from the first day we met. Generous too. You’ve been greatly loved, Miss Bea. Now, it’s time to go honor your husband and son, who cared so much about you.”

  Bea was breathing loudly, which meant Steely had either helped her or made things significantly worse. But she was stirring.

  Steely rushed to the kitchen and turned on the faucet to camouflage the noise she’d make going out the back door. She crept around the back of the house to Bea’s bedroom. She cupped her eyes to take a look in the window between the frame and drapes. Bea was lying across the bed but fully dressed.

  Steely jogged back inside, turned off the water, and attempted one last try at nudging her mother-in-law. She gingerly tapped her knuckles on the door and whispered, “Miss Bea, may I please come in?”

  Five miles. An eight-minute drive. I’ll be eight minutes late if I leave now.

  “Miss Bea, I don’t want to do this. But I’m going on. I’ll drive myself. I’m sure Mr. Martinez will come in and stay with you, so you won’t be alone. If you can’t do it, you just can’t do it. You can only—”

  Bea flew out of the room and shouted, “Why were you peeping in my window?”

  “I was making sure you were OK.”

  “Don’t you know mature women need their privacy?”

  Steely spoke fast. “You can have all the privacy you want, Miss Bea, when we get back.”

  Bea stuck a wadded tissue in her purse and snapped it shut. She was ready to go. Hair sprayed in place, gray dyed out. Black dress and black leather pumps, which she’d only worn on the same occasions as Steely. Bea looked sternly at Steely. “Don’t be rushing me.”

  Steely nodded.

  Bea made it down the short hall and through the den before halting at the front door. “I’m nailing a sheet over that window. I don’t want you seeing my business. When you get older, everything drops.”

  “Miss Bea, believe me, I don’t want to see anything dropping. But we need to pick up and go.”

  “Hold on a minute,” she whimpered. “I need my rings.”

  “Let me get them.” Steely ran to the kitchen. She opened the fridge, reached to the very back, and scooped up a plastic butter tub. Then she darted back.

  Bea popped the lid off the tub, slipped on her wedding rings, and gazed at them. “We didn’t have a lot of money when Jack bought me these. He offered to buy me some bigger ones. I didn’t want them.” The side of her face glistened.

  Steely gave her mother-in-law a few seconds to compose herself. If they missed the entire service, they’d just have to miss it. She was giving Bea the moment she needed.

  It wasn’t long before Bea lifted her head and motioned that she was ready to proceed.

  Pepe popped open the car doors. Steely helped Bea along the sidewalk before she pulled away. “You don’t have to walk me around like I’m ninety.”

  Bea’s knees buckled halfway between the house and the car. Steely firmly held her up. She had to get through the day, keep her mind off herself, and then go home and crash. This wasn’t the first time Steely had lost family. Mother, father—now husband and father-in-law. But she had never lost a child. She recalled seeing Mrs. Yost right after she lost her oldest daughter to cocaine. Her eyes were as red from rubbing as if they’d been cut.

  Martinez met them a short distance from the car. He took Bea the few remaining steps, helping her into the front passenger seat. Steely slid in behind her. Bea leaned over her shoulder and murmured to Steely, “He got it from me.”

  “What?” Steely asked.

  “Generosity.”

  “That’s right, Mi
ss Bea. Not a stingy bone in him.”

  Bea left the window down, rested an arm on the door, and breathed in new life.

  Steely cradled her head against the back seat.

  They had briefly come up for air.

  Chapter TWO

  About a mile after he passed the county line, Nick spotted the sheriff’s office. Hail pellets slid off his hood like marbles when he stopped and cut the engine. The former all-American defensive back hobbled up three short steps to the front door, turned a beat-up knob, and pushed his way inside. “Hello? Anybody here?”

  A man yelled from a back room, “Have a seat; be right with ya.”

  “Yes, sir.” Nick scanned the room. There was no finding a seat. The office looked like it had been ransacked. He eyed the two jail cells. Shouldn’t really be called “cells.” Neither had a door. They were more like waiting rooms than cells.

  Boots shuffled along the floor until a man appeared from a dark hallway. He strode toward Nick. “May I help you, sir?” the man asked, with a twang. His slick silver hair, pressed jeans, and plaid shirt were made Nick think of a ranch hand. He held a manila folder with an air of authority in one hand.

  “Sir, I’m Nick Dichiara.”

  “You’re Vince’s son?”

  Nick nodded.

  “You were a toddler the last time I saw you.”

  “Then you can help me. I’m trying to find the sheriff.”

  “I’m Sheriff Tucker.”

  Nick winced.

  “Excuse our mess. We’re in the middle of a remodel. Not much to do around here except keep people from meddlin’ in other people’s business, so we’re takin’ our time and doin’ it right. This place will last another hundred years once we finish.”

  “Umm…” Nick glanced around the room, hoping the sheriff was one of those genius types—a disorderly mess but an expert in his field.

  “Mr. Dichiara, I doubt you came to check out our remodel. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m trying to get some information about the accident involving Jack Hunter and his son.”

  The sheriff strangled the folder. “One of the worse I’ve ever seen.”

  “What happened?”

  Tucker’s voice cracked. “Missed a curve and landed in a canyon. Son, I’ve known Jack and Bea all my life. The worst thing I ever had to do as sheriff was tell Bea and that young widow what happened. It was horrible, just horrible. Made me sick, lookin’ at the wreckage at the bottom of that canyon. Still can’t retrieve it. Almost lost a deputy recovering the remains, the way the vehicle jammed up in the rocks. Gonna take special equipment—maybe a hydraulic crane—to haul it out.”