Gunner nodded, seemingly amused. “Finish the spiel. I like it. I want to know what to expect on the other side.”
“If I knew that I’d be much richer than I am now.” Bart turned his eyes to me. This time the smile he mustered was heartfelt. “Hello, Scout. I hear you’ve been running all over the county with this idiot. I assume that means you’re official.”
I couldn’t swallow my sigh. “The gossip train in this town is unbelievable.”
Gunner chuckled and patted my shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.” He slid into the chair across from Bart, seemingly unbothered by the funeral director’s less-than-hospitable greeting. “What can you tell me about Fred?”
“He died hard.”
I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead and turned away from the two men so they couldn’t see my expression. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear.
“How hard?” Gunner asked.
“He was alive when the message was burned into his back. Somehow – and I’m still not sure how – his eyes were fixed and frozen. I assume a drug was used, but the medical examiner could find no trace of any in his system.”
“It might not have been a drug,” Gunner countered. “It might have been something else.”
“Like … what you do?”
“We don’t do that,” Gunner reassured him quickly, “but someone we hunt might do that, though.”
“Is there a way to check for it?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then I don’t know what to tell you. I’ve taken thorough photos of the body, but Fred is being cremated tomorrow.”
“What will happen to him after?” I asked, finding my voice and turning back. Acting like a coward wasn’t going to get me anywhere. I had to pull it together.
“I’m looking at plots in the cemetery. Eventually I’ll get him a headstone, although it might take a bit before that happens. I don’t have a lot of discretionary funds when it comes to headstones.”
“I’ll pay for the headstone.” The offer was out of my mouth before I’d even considered it. Even after, I realized I was fine with it. It felt right.
“You don’t have to pay for it,” Gunner argued. “You didn’t cause this.”
“My name was on his body. You can say what you want, but we both know he wouldn’t have died if someone wasn’t going after me. I’m paying for it.”
Gunner let loose a long sigh. “Fine. I’ll help you with the cost, though.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. You have a thing about brushing your teeth first thing in the morning. I have a thing about this. It’s best not to start an argument.”
“Fair enough.” I stared at him for a few long seconds, which is how long it took me to realize that conversation in the room had ceased. When I looked to Bart for a clue as to what was going on I found him staring between us, a delighted smile on his face. “What?”
“Nothing.” He chuckled. “You guys are just cute. As for Fred, I appreciate the help. I do what I can, but that’s not always much … especially now that I have to funnel money to Cecily. She’s been making specific requests at the county jail.”
I stilled. I didn’t particularly want to talk about Cecily. It felt somehow rude not to ask, though. “How is she?”
“Asking for you to pay her a visit.”
I was caught off guard. “Oh, well … .”.
“I told her I would relay the message but could guarantee nothing,” Bart offered. “If you wanted to visit, I would be in your debt. Don’t force yourself if you’re not comfortable. I don’t blame you for hating her.”
Hate was a strong word. “I need some time to think about it.” That seemed to be my mantra of late.
“Take all the time in the world.”
Twelve
“Don’t give me grief,” I warned as we returned to our bikes in the lot.
“Did I say anything?”
“No, but you’re thinking it.”
“Oh, so now you’re a mind reader?”
“I’ve been known to read a few minds,” I grumbled, shaking my head.
He stilled, thoughtful. “Can you really read minds?”
I was only half listening, so I didn’t immediately answer. When he cleared his throat to get my attention and repeated the question, I could do nothing but shrug. “Sometimes. It’s not easy. I have to concentrate. And some people — Drake, for example — have the ability to shutter. It’s never something I’ve worked toward perfecting.”
“Why not?” Gunner didn’t bother to hide his distress. “That, honey bunny, would be a great talent to have in our line of work.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Did you just call me honey bunny?”
He chuckled. “Yup. That’s my new nickname for you.”
“Oh no, it isn’t.”
“Oh, but it is.” He didn’t back down. “I think it fits you. And I can’t wait until everyone in the world hears it.”
“You’re trying to tick me off.”
“I live for little else.”
I folded my arms across my chest and pinned him with a dark look. “Don’t you dare call me that.”
“I’m going to give you a cutesy nickname whether you like it or not. It’s either that or baby doll.”
I was officially horrified. “I’ll kill you.”
After holding firm for a bit, his eyes filled with mirth. “You’re so easy.” He poked my side. “I’m going to try nicknames until I find one that fits. You’ve been warned. I knew the second that ‘honey bunny’ came out of my mouth it was the wrong choice.”
Well, at least that was something. I rolled my neck to dislodge my irritation and returned to the problem at hand. “You’re angry that I volunteered to pay for the headstone. Go ahead and get it out of your system.”
“I’m not angry.”
“You are. I saw your face.”
“No.” He shook his head. “You have a big heart. I wasn’t surprised you offered to pay for the headstone. You try to hide the fact that you’re giving and sweet, but I know better.”
I was officially offended. “You take that back.”
He laughed as if I’d delivered the funniest line at a comedy festival. “Oh, that was cute, sweetie pie.”
“I will kill you.”
He didn’t stop laughing despite my vitriol. “You really are fascinating. This nickname thing is going to be the source of a lot of amusement. As for paying for Fred’s headstone, I’m not annoyed because you’re giving money. I’m annoyed because you blame yourself for what happened.”
“Who else should I blame?”
“You didn’t cause this.”
“Would he have been killed — and in such a particularly vile manner — if I wasn’t part of the picture?”
“I ... .” He stumbled over his response, which was all the answer I needed.
“I didn’t think so.” I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead and forced myself to remain calm. “He’s dead because of me. I didn’t kill him, but he would still be alive if I wasn’t here. You can’t argue with that.”
“You’re going to find out that I can argue with anything. This is no exception.”
“Perhaps it’s not best for you to argue with it right now.”
He sighed, the sound long and drawn out. “Fine. I’m not in the mood to fight.” He held up his hands in capitulation. “I don’t like that you’re blaming yourself for this. It bothers me like you wouldn’t believe. But I understand why you’re blaming yourself. I think a lot of people would do the same thing in your position.”
“I just can’t shake the idea that he was tortured.”
“I know.” He put his hand to my shoulder and tugged me closer so he could offer a hug.
I fought the effort. “What are you doing?”
He arched an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”
“I’m ... not used to hugging people in the middle of a parking lot where anybody can see.”
“I
guarantee the only one watching is Bart and he’s fine with it.” He tried bringing me back again, but I fought the effort.
“I don’t need to be coddled like a child.”
“Trust me, I don’t think of you as a child.” He brought me back for a third try, and this time I didn’t slap him away. Instead, I leaned into him, something I would’ve declared impossible two weeks ago. “See? It’s okay.” He stroked the back of my head and sighed.
“This feels weird,” I grumbled, even as I buried my face in his shoulder. I needed the moment of quiet so I could clear my mind. Thoughts of what happened to Fred haunted me.
“You’ll get used to it,” Gunner murmured as he swayed, the movement somehow comforting. “See? This is nice.”
“I still feel like an idiot.”
“You won’t feel that way once you get used to this.”
“And what is this?” I was genuinely curious.
“I believe it’s called leaning on someone. You may be the strongest person in town, but even you need the occasional shoulder. I’m going to be that shoulder. You’re going to do the same for me.”
“And who made up these rules?”
His lips quirked. “I don’t know. We’ll do some research, figure it out.”
“Fine.” I briefly pressed my eyes shut and let loose a heavy sigh. “Five more minutes of this and then I’m putting my foot down.”
“I can live with that.”
WE WERE BOTH HUNGRY and needed time to think, so we headed to Mable’s Table for lunch. Even though I thought it was impossible to have an appetite given everything going on, my stomach gave a small gurgle of appreciation when we walked through the door and I smelled the grease.
“Now this is what I’m talking about.”
Gunner slid me a small smile. “I love that you’re not one of those women who is afraid to eat.”
“That’ll never be me. It’s far more likely you’re going to have to pry doughnuts out of my cold, dead hands.”
“Ooh. I love doughnuts. I think we’re perfect for each other.”
I ignored the words because I recognized them for what they were. He was pushing my buttons in an effort to get me to drop my barriers. Sure, in essence I was already comfortable with him, but he wanted all of his bad behavior on display so I would have no cause to complain down the road. I knew his game ... and I applauded it. I was considering doing the same because it was smart to see if either of us hit a wall early, before we were really attached to one another, and it was also fun.
“Breakfast or lunch?” Mable called out as she stood by the menu bins.
“Breakfast,” I replied.
“Lunch,” Gunner answered.
We slid our eyes to each other.
“You should know that I’m always going to choose breakfast foods,” I offered. “It’s my favorite meal of the day and we skipped it.”
“I gave you a protein bar.”
I made a face. “That is not breakfast. That’s breakfast.” I inclined my head toward the huge stack of pancakes Mindy carried to a corner booth. “There are times I want breakfast for dinner. You’ll have to get used to it.”
“I’m fine with that.” Gunner pointed toward a booth along the far wall and we both slid in across from each other. “I have my own food quirks.”
Oh, well, now we were getting somewhere. “And what would those be?”
“For starters, when I’m eating a Reese’s Cup I nibble along the outside before attacking the middle.”
I snorted. “Everybody does that.”
“I don’t think everybody does it.”
“Everybody with taste buds does.” I shook my head. “I like to pour a glass of tomato juice as a snack and dip pickles in it.”
Gunner’s forehead wrinkled. “That is gross. You’ll have to brush your teeth after you do that if you want to kiss me. I’m not a big fan of tomato juice.”
He was getting into the spirit of the game. “I can live with that. What else have you got?”
“I like my peanut butter sandwiches toasted.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“I’m not finished.” His eyes narrowed. “I like the bread toasted and I don’t like jelly. I like green olives instead.”
My stomach shifted at the thought. “That is disgusting.”
He grinned. “I aim to please. What about you?”
“When it comes to breakfast, I have to eat my food in a specific order ... and I always get the same thing … unless I’m feeling sick or rundown and then I get pancakes. Otherwise it’s always the same dish.”
His eyebrows drew together. “I’ve eaten breakfast with you several times. Are you saying you’ve gotten the same thing each time?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“But ... .” He trailed off. “Eggs, hash browns, link sausage and whole grain toast. Tomato juice on the side, but only if it’s legitimate tomato juice. You hate V-8.”
“It has a horrible aftertaste. Everyone hates V-8.”
He shook his head. “I can’t believe I’ve never noticed that. Why don’t you branch out? Pancakes are good and you already like them when you’re feeling down. French toast is amazing. Omelets are great when they’re prepared right and Mable knows exactly what she’s doing on that front.”
“I’m a creature of habit. Once I find something I like, there’s no taking it away from me. I can’t help it.”
His lips curved into a sly smile. “I guess that bodes well for me, huh? You’re not going to let anyone take me away.”
I walked right into that one. “Anything else for you?”
He tilted his head, considering. “Just that when I eat a cupcake I pull off the bottom and press it on top of the frosting and make a delicious sandwich.”
“Why do you do that?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, I think we’re really starting to get to know one another.” I turned to the menu, which was a waste of time because I already knew what I was getting. “This is working out well.”
He placed his feet on either side of mine under the table. “I agree. You’re not weird or a lot of work at all.”
“That’s a compliment.”
“Well, maybe I’ll pay you another compliment later. In fact ... .” He trailed off.
I didn’t initially worry that something was going on. I figured he got distracted. When the silence dragged, however, I looked to the front of the restaurant, where he was staring.
Graham didn’t look happy. In fact, if I had to guess, he would’ve preferred being anywhere but here ... and staring directly at me.
My heart gave a little jolt and worry burned through the lining of my stomach like acid fog. “You don’t think he’s here to arrest me, do you?”
“He’d better not be. He won’t like what happens if he tries to take you.”
There was an edge to his voice that made me nervous. I couldn’t help worrying about what he had planned. I had bigger worries than Gunner attacking his father, though. I could actually see my freedom flashing in front of my eyes ... and it wasn’t a pretty picture.
“Maybe I should run now,” I muttered. “I might be able to beat him to my bike.”
“And then what?” Gunner’s eyes filled with annoyance. “You won’t be able to return to the cabin to get your things ... or Merlin. You’ll have to run forever if you leave now.”
He had a point, but ... . “I don’t think I’ll be able to survive prison for the long haul. I’m a bit claustrophobic at times.”
He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “I won’t let you go to prison.”
That seemed like a promise he couldn’t keep, but I let it slide. For now, at least. It was too late to run anyway. “Chief Stratton,” I offered with a head bob as he approached. “To what do we owe this lovely surprise this fine morning?”
“It’s almost noon,” he said dryly, his gaze bouncing between us. “I was just out at your place looking for you. That perverted ghost
that hangs around said you guys spent the night together.”
I shifted on my seat, decidedly uncomfortable. “Oh, well ... .”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but we just slept,” Gunner shot back. “You should really mind your own business on stuff like that.”
“Tim told me about the sleeping. Apparently there was a crack in the curtains and he thought he would see some action. He was bitterly disappointed.”
I pressed my lips together, amused. Gunner looked the exact opposite.
“I’ll rip his ghostly head off,” he muttered.
Graham chuckled, but the sound was hollow. Rather than drag things out, he turned serious. “I have some news.”
“If you’re thinking of taking her, you can forget it,” Gunner growled.
The look Graham shot his son was withering. “Calm down,” he admonished. “Every time I think you’re growing up, you prove me wrong. You can’t threaten a law enforcement officer because you don’t like what he has to say. That’s a surefire way to get yourself locked up. Show some maturity.”
Gunner’s eyes gleamed with irate fire, but he managed to swallow whatever retort was on the tip of his tongue. It looked like a silent battle of wills was going down on the other side of the table. I was too agitated to put up with it.
“What do you want to talk to me about?” I asked, drawing Graham’s attention back to me. “Does this have something to do with my blood sample?”
This time when Graham focused on me I didn’t miss the sorrow lining his eyes. Whatever he had to tell me was bad. I braced myself for it.
“It does,” he confirmed, shifting closer to the table so he could lower his voice and we could still hear. “I have good news and bad news. I have to tell you the good first because otherwise you’ll be confused.”
“Stop dragging it out,” Gunner snapped. “You’re making things worse.”
“Yeah. I reckon that’s true.” Graham exhaled heavily. “We found blood and tissue under Fred’s fingernails. He put up a fight against whoever killed him ... and your blood doesn’t match that tissue.”
It took me a moment to absorb what he was saying. Then, it was as if a giant fist relaxed its grip on my heart. I wasn’t going to prison. This was good news. “Well ... great. I’m in the clear.”
No Crones About It Page 12