Or, maybe I’m truly just a sucker and an idiot.
As I leave the mechanic’s, my phone buzzes from my back pocket. I pull it out to see Love is calling me.
“Hey—”
“Get your hands off Rocky’s ass and meet me outside the diner in five.”
I sigh in exasperation. “Lo, I do not have my hands on Rocky’s ass.”
“Why not?”
I have to laugh, since she actually sounds put out about this not being the case.
“I’m not even with him right now!”
“But you admit that, if you were with him, you’d have your hands on his ass?” She says this through an obvious smug grin that I can sense through the damn phone.
“Lo, you need to forget about your weird obsession of Rocky and me falling in love and living happily ever after. He’s not interested, and I’m certainly not interested in chasing a man like that. So, drop it.”
“Okay, okay.” She gives in way too easily for my liking. “But I still need you to meet me in the front of the diner in five. We’ve got a fieldtrip coming up.”
“A field trip?”
“It’s a surprise. See you soon!”
She hangs up, and I shake my head at the conversation. Love seems to be equal parts frustrating and loveable.
I check both phone batteries before I take my walk toward the diner. I notice the streets are much quieter than they were over the weekend, and a lot of the shops I pass are empty.
This is a sweet town, incredibly beautiful, and definitely in need of some tourism. I’m not sure if my videos will bring more traffic here, but I hope it does.
I take some shameless selfies of me with the shops in the background, sharing the pictures to my Twitter and Instagram feeds.
I plan on posting the second part of my video today, or at least after whatever Love has planned for us. My first video has close to a million views already.
I scratch my chin as I ponder over whether I should shave the stubble there or not. The comments still pit everyone as being half and half. I wonder what Rocky thinks of my attempt at a beard.
I shake my head. Who cares what Rocky thinks?
“You took forever! Come on!” Love shouts as I round the corner for the diner.
I get in her car and belt up. “I was just speaking to Gertie. My car won’t be ready for a few more days.”
“Good. Then there is definitely no reason for you to not stay here.”
I sigh. “I already told your aunt I would.” I called her earlier to mention that I was now a suspect in this murder investigation. She was obviously not pleased to know this, but she seemed more upset that my view of her town might be colored by this than suspecting I could be a murderer. She then assured me that she still wants me to stay in Midsummer and seemed ecstatic to see the viewing numbers on my first video is still growing.
“But after what happened yesterday, I bet you want to get out of here and never look back.” She sounds sad, and after telling me how everyone seems to leave Midsummer, I can see why.
“That’s not true,” I assure her, resting my hand on her arm while she drives up through the mostly empty streets. “How are you doing? Did you sleep okay?”
“Well, I never sleep okay,” she reminds me. “Insomnia can be a curse or a blessing. Mostly, it’s a curse. Last night, I was able to get a lot of work done for the newspaper.”
“I sometimes forget you’re a reporter. So, you have, like, deadlines and stuff? What exactly do you write about in a town like this?”
“We have an online version of the Midsummer Chronicle, which we update daily. Usually, we just add two to three local articles a day, and then whatever else they line up from around the world news. It’s free to read, though we have ads on the website. There is one other guy who writes locally for the paper, and then we have our editor. It’s pretty basic. We don’t even have a photographer. I do all the photos we publish myself, or we take donated photos that people send us. We print bi-monthly for the oldies that refuse to look online. We might add a few extra pieces for the printed, but mostly it’s just a collection of whatever we have submitted for the past couple weeks. There is a guy in Paxton who does puzzles and a local comic for the kids.”
“Wow, sounds pretty low key. Did you always want to be a reporter?”
“Not really. I enjoy writing, and I sort of just fell into this job. Since I don’t sleep much, I always have time to write.
“When I was eighteen, there was talk of closing the Midsummer Chronicle down. Not enough interest or money to keep it running. I felt really sad about that, so I interviewed a reporter who had recently retired; asked her about her favorite times at the paper, about the saddest—you get where I’m going. Anyway, it got a lot of interest. Mostly because we’re all sort of one, big, extended family here. The people she talked about, we all knew. It got a lot of people talking. So, the editor asked if I would do more interest pieces like that. I really like talking to people and hearing their stories, so I agreed, and it sort of brought about this nationalism, but in terms of the Midsummer Chronicle. This was our paper, and no one was going to take that away from us.”
“This is so cool. So, you helped save the paper?”
“We all saved it. It doesn’t mean that one day it won’t disappear but, for now, it’s clear. It helps that we have some celebrities around. Sometimes we’re able to get the scoop first on celebrity gossip.”
“And so now you’re a full-time reporter?”
“Yep, and also night manager for my parents, and lastly a tourist guide for internet celebrities.”
I laugh at this. “Well, I can tell you that you’ve helped me fall in love with Midsummer. It’s truly beautiful here.”
“We’re lucky here, for sure.”
We drive in comfortable silence for a moment before I realize I have no idea where Love is taking me.
“So, where are we off to today?”
“We’re going to a rice farm.”
I frown at this. “A rice farm?”
“Yep!”
“And this is … fun?”
“It’s going to be interesting; that’s for sure.”
“Well, you’ve never led me wrong before.” Although, I guess you could argue that she led me to a dead body just yesterday.
“We’re going to meet with the farmer who runs the largest rice farm in this state. I think you’ll find the man interesting.”
“This isn’t some different grab at having me fall in love with some guy who lives in Midsummer, is it?”
Love snorts. “No. This one is widowed, but most definitely straight.”
I humph, not quite willing to believe she doesn’t have something up her sleeve.
When we turn down a dirt road and head toward what looks to be a charming farmhouse, I begin to realize that this is rather beautiful, too. And I’ve never been to a farm that grows rice. Maybe it will be interesting, and with any luck, I’ll get something interesting to film.
The whole point of me picking up and leaving was to experience something new. To learn more about myself. What better way to do that than to experience new things and meet new people?
We park out front just as a man exits the front door, looking like what I imagine most typical farmers look like, regardless of what they grow—dark blue jeans, well-worn and dirty in places, and a plaid, long-sleeved shirt, showing just enough of the dirty white wife beater underneath, with his sleeves rolled up. His look is finished off with a rancher’s hat and sunglasses that hide his face, and dark, tanned, leathery skin from being outside probably all his life.
“Ms. Fuller, lovely to see you.” The man holds his hand out for Love to shake.
“Thank you, Mr. Alder. This is my friend, Conner. He’s going to be doing some filming, if that’s okay?” She smiles my way while I’m still stuck on what she called him.
Why does it sound so familiar?
“Yes, that’s fine. Good to meet you,” he says to me, shaking my hand. “Pl
ease, come in.” He heads back toward the house, holding the door open for us.
“Honestly, Mr. Alder, I really appreciate it, especially after what happened yesterday. We can reschedule if you need to.”
“No, that’s fine.” He gives her an easy shrug.
“Okay, well, please know you have my deepest condolences for the loss of your son. I didn’t know King Jr. well, but I know he was well-liked and will be missed.”
My mouth drops open in shock just as I drop my ass onto the couch that King’s freaking father indicates for us to get seated in.
We’re inside King Alder’s father’s house!
Is Love completely insane?
“Now, I know I’m here to interview you about your farm and your time here in Midsummer, but I would be remiss if I didn’t bring up your son. What can you tell us about him?”
Suddenly, Love’s reason for being here, and for bringing me, becomes all too apparent.
She wants us to investigate King Alder’s murder!
Rocky is going to kill me!
Chapter Ten
“What would you like to know?” Alder asks, hunching forward on his chair and sounding understandably somber.
“I heard he had gotten in trouble recently.”
Alder looks uncomfortable as he glances down at his clasped hands resting between his open legs. “He wasn’t always the best boy, but he was my boy.” He stares back over at us then, and while his words sound like ones you might expect from a grieving family member, they don’t match the tone of voice, which is lacking any grief. Even his eyes look deadened.
They say grief has five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Why is it that Alder sounds more like the last stage when it hasn’t even been a full day since he was notified that his son was murdered? Then again, who am I to judge how someone grieves? Maybe he just hides his inner thoughts well? Maybe he’s in denial, even though he’s not disputing Love’s words?
“Do you know what his plans were for Saturday night?”
My eyes widen at Love’s bald question. I want to elbow her, tell his how inappropriate this question is, and that it’s none of our business. But, since Alder is looking right at us, I just give him a small smile and try to look like I’m not freaking out on the inside.
“No. I hadn’t seen him lately.”
“Except for when you bailed him out Saturday morning,” Love points out.
“Right.” He eyes Love for a moment, unease and suspicion tinting his eyes. “Listen, do you mind if we don’t talk about this?”
“Of course,” I butt in before Love can interrogate the poor man any further.
Love has no qualms about elbowing me, but she thankfully begins asking what I assume are standard questions, ones about his farm, about his family, and his life growing up in Midsummer. Alder seems to settle into the questions, gushing about his farm’s success and how much of a happy childhood he had growing up.
I begin to tune out about half an hour into this, my eyes drifting over the few photos in the family room. Love promised me interesting, but hearing a man speak fondly and at length about his favorite horse growing up is, unfortunately, not my thing.
There are a few photos on the walls that are clearly old, perhaps depicting Mr. Alder and his own parents? I only see one photo of King Jr., and he looks no older than ten. I would have thought there would be more. Then again, my own father doesn’t have any photos of me in our house. Not since I came out. Before then, though, he had already taken down everything that had my mother in them.
His grief over her death was enough that he couldn’t stand to look at her. He smashed several of them in a rage before my brother and I quickly grabbed the remaining ones. After that, the only photos on the wall were of me, Wayne, and Dad … until I officially came out to him before I left for college, which is also the last time I spoke with him.
Mom’s death was enough to get her removed from our house. For him, my being gay was the same as having another death in the family.
Shaking myself away from those memories, I look toward the kitchen that looks like a typical single man’s domain—dirty dishes in the sink and several empty frozen meal boxes overflowing in the trash. There are also papers scattered over the kitchen counter but, from this angle on the couch, I can’t see what they are, and it isn’t because my eyesight doesn’t like to work completely on occasion like it should.
“I remember Ms. Brennan. She was my favorite teacher,” Love tells Alder loudly, breaking through my musings and bringing me back to the here and now. She is elbowing my side again, even going as far as to knock my foot.
At first, I think it’s because I have clearly drifted away, but her slight head nod shifts my attention from inside the house to the front window looking outside to the driveway.
A familiar car has pulled up next to Love’s, and the Hulk-like figure moving out of the vehicle is clearly none other than Rocky.
Oh, shit!
“I think my sister was a lot of kids’ favorite. She loved teaching kindergarten. She said it was her favorite age because you could really put a stamp on a kid’s life at that age. They’re not jaded yet.”
Love nods, but she is already closing up her notepad and placing it back in her bag.
“Right, well, I think I might have all I need.” Love quickly gets to her feet, and I follow suit.
“Right, of course.”
“Thank you so much for your time—”
The doorbell rings, and I wonder if it’ll seem strange to rush out the back way.
Looking back over toward the doorway in the kitchen, I again notice the scattered papers on the counter. Though I’m still not close enough to see them properly, I do see the red text stamping them.
Overdue notices.
Alder made it sound like the farm was thriving and successful. Was that a lie?
“Sheriff Green,” Alder says in greeting, opening the front door wider and letting in an annoyed-looking Rocky and a furious-looking Deputy Dickhead. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Yes,” Rocky says distractedly, his gaze still on me before I get the feeling he forces himself to take his eyes off me. “I’m sorry to just come over unannounced. I wanted to offer my condolences in person. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here yesterday to give you the news about King myself.”
“That’s fine. Deputy Smith said you were with a suspect. Listen, I’m glad I have you here. I heard about the car accident on Saturday night. I wondered if you knew about how the woman was doing. She’s a neighbor, you see,” he asks, finally letting some of his concern bleed into his voice, which was missing during his entire conversation with Love.
Rocky nods in understanding. Being a neighbor here must means a hell of a lot more than what it did when I was living in my apartment in Chicago. I’d be lucky to even recognize my neighbors.
“I’m sorry to tell you that she passed away from her injuries just last night.”
The shock and grief that passes over him is so visceral that I almost take a step back from him.
Wow, that was intense.
I wonder if this woman was more than just a neighbor. Much like before, though, Alder’s expression closes off, and we see none of the pain he briefly showed. I guess he’s just incredibly good at not showing how he truly feels.
I feel a bit ashamed that I judged him so much for not openly grieving his son in front of us. I’m a complete stranger, and Love is a reporter—of course he’s going to be on guard with us.
Alder nods slowly, clearing his throat. “She was a good kid. I’m sorry for her family.”
I selfishly consider that, if that accident didn’t happened, then I’d likely have had the best possible alibi in the world. That is, if Rocky didn’t kick me out of bed like he did the first time.
“Is there more to say? Are you here to tell me you’ve made an arrest for King’s murder already?” Alder sounds so hopeful that it’s almost painful to hear.
“We’ll just
be off,” Love says again, trying to cut through Rocky and Deputy Dickhead. They let her get through, but when it comes to me, Deputy Dickhead steps in front of me, blocking my exit.
“What the hell are you doing here, Sherwood?”
“Sherwood? As in the man who is the owner of the car my son tried to take?” Alder asks in surprise.
“Yes, and also our prime suspect in his murder,” Deputy Dickhead announces, causing a sudden thick silence to break out.
I feel Alder staring at me, though all the heat from the obvious hatred isn’t being directed at me from him, but instead from Deputy Dickhead.
“What’s going on here?” Alder asks Love, taking me in with his eyes, looking more assessing.
“Our investigation is still ongoing, and it is far too early to be announcing any prime suspects,” Rocky grits out, his jaw seemingly locked as he glares at his deputy. “However, Conner, if I could have a word for a moment.”
I would rather decline, but I get the feeling it isn’t a request.
I follow Rocky outside, getting a sympathetic smile from Love, who leaves with us but waits at her car.
When we’re just out of range of being overheard, he rounds on me. “What the hell are you two doing here?”
I quickly hold my hands up in surrender. “Love just said she had something interesting to do today that she thought I would like. I had no idea we were coming here. I didn’t even know who he was until we were shaking hands.”
“You shouldn’t be here. This doesn’t look good.” Rocky speaks quieter now.
“I swear I didn’t do a thing. I barely spoke. Love was interviewing him for the paper.”
“The day after his son was murdered?” he snaps incredulously.
“She said she could reschedule, but he was adamant that she still do the interview. I swear I had nothing to do with this. I’m not here for any sinister reason.”
“You might not be, but I doubt Love isn’t.”
“You think Love killed King?” I gasp, almost feeling lightheaded just from the insinuation.
Stranded Page 13