Brother's Keeper

by Richard Ryker

  No. As much as it killed him to do so, he had to let her do this on her own.

  “When do you start?”

  “I’m training first thing tomorrow, after school.”

  “Let’s celebrate,” Brandon said. “We’ll go out tonight.”

  “You’re not inviting Lisa along, are you?”

  “I wasn’t going to. But why?”

  As far as he could tell, Lisa and Emma had gotten along fine. The three of them had been out just once. And Lisa hardly came over. It wasn’t like she’d tried to edge her way into Emma’s life.

  “It’s not that I don’t like her. I mean, she’s not as cool as Misty.”

  Misty, Brandon’s high school sweetheart, had lived across the street Brandon’s first month back in Forks. Emma and Misty had bonded almost immediately. But Misty had been dating one of Brandon’s officers—Neal Nolan. An officer he eventually had to fire. That, and Misty’s penchant for causing drama in Brandon’s life were two reasons he was glad she’d moved away.

  “You just have to get to know her, that’s all,” Brandon said. Then he quickly added, “You don’t have to…”

  “She’s your girlfriend, I get it.” Emma said. “I’m sure you’ll be just as understanding when I bring a boy home—”

  She had a boyfriend?

  “Don’t worry, dad. There’s not anyone.”

  “Good.”

  “Yet.”

  “Funny,” he said.

  “Can we check out cars tonight too?” Emma asked.

  Everything was happening way too fast.

  They browsed a few used car lots up in Port Angeles after stopping for dinner at Giuseppe’s, one of Brandon’s favorite restaurants. They found a few she liked. One was an older Corolla. Good on gas and reliable. The other, a ‘99 Mustang.

  No way, Brandon told her.

  “My friend has a mustang,” she said. “And this one’s cheap.”

  “Cheap for a reason,” Brandon said. “And they’re cop magnets. You’ll get a ticket.”

  “My dad’s the chief of police,” she said.

  “Don’t even go there,” he replied.

  Would his officers cut her a break? Probably. But she didn’t need to know that.

  In the end, they agreed to keep searching. He’d let her drive his truck to school and work—and nowhere else—until she found her own car.

  A few more days without his daughter roaming the world on her own was just fine with Brandon. Unfortunately for Emma, he knew what monsters populated that world, even in a town like Forks.

  Chapter 9

  Brandon’s admin assistant Sue stopped by his office first thing the next morning.

  “The mayor wants to see you.”

  He sighed. “It’s been a whole 24 hours since we talked.”

  Sue raised an eyebrow. “I know how it is. Overbearing bosses and all that.”

  “You’re not talking about me, are you?”

  “Of course not, Chief.”

  Sue was a member of the Hoh, a tribe with reservation land about half an hour south of Forks. She’d been with the department almost as long as Will. Brandon had learned to stay out of her way and let her do her job—which included everything from receptionist to dealing with complaints, requests for help that didn’t come through dispatch, and worst of all, according to Sue, putting up with Brandon’s officers.

  Brandon grabbed his coat for the trek across the parking lot.

  “What are you going to be for Halloween?” Sue asked.

  “Sherlock Holmes,” Brandon said, the sarcasm evident by his tone.

  She eyed him. “Not sure you’re thin enough to pull that off.”

  Sue considered her own frame. “Not that I have much to say in that department.”

  Brandon tapped her on the shoulder as he passed by.

  “Sue, I like you just the way you are.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m an old woman. You have a few good years left in you. Don’t waste them eating out at the Forks Diner every day. You’ll give yourself a heart attack.”

  “Ok,” Brandon said, heading out the door. He didn’t need Sue to tell him to watch his cholesterol. His doctor had already told him that.

  Mayor Kim sat behind her desk, typing furiously on her laptop.

  “I don’t have much time,” Brandon said. “We’re working a couple of cases. You’ve probably heard about the Dunn—”

  She glanced up from her laptop.

  “One of these cases you’re working on. It doesn’t involve your brother, does it?”

  He opened his mouth to reply, but she stopped him. “We promised to be honest with each other, right?”

  “Right,” he said.

  “That doesn’t mean you need to tell me every detail of every case, but—”

  “I’m looking into a few things. Off the record,” he replied.

  She removed her reading glasses. “It’s not so unofficial as you may believe.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked.

  “I received a call,” she said.

  “From?”

  She held up a hand.

  “About your department stepping outside of bounds. Something about a man by the name of Nygard.”

  “He’s a well-known timber thief,” Brandon said. “A criminal.”

  “The complaint involves an accusation of harassment,” she said.

  “That’s bullshit. Will and I were following up on a tip.”

  “Related to timber stealing or Eli’s case?”

  How did Mayor Kim know about his work on Eli’s investigation?

  “I’d rather not say,” he said.

  “You’re using city resources on an investigation that is being handled by the sheriff’s department, Brandon.”

  “Not being handled, you mean,” he said. “They haven’t worked it in months.”

  “That’s between you and Sheriff Hart. All I’m saying, at this point, is you’re bringing attention to this department. And as a result, this city. I’d like that to end. Now.”

  “Understood,” he said. “And in order to help end this attention, might I know who shared this information with you?”

  “No.”

  “Sheriff Hart?”

  “Not him. Brandon—”

  “One of my officers?”

  “No, and I’m not answering any more questions.”

  She began typing again.

  “No secrets, huh?” he said.

  “I didn’t say no secrets. I said no lies. There’s a difference,” she said without looking at him.

  Brandon considered slamming the door behind him as he left, but thought better of it. If it wasn’t the sheriff or one of his own officers, who else knew about his investigation into Jack Nygard? Had Nygard complained to the mayor? He doubted Mayor Kim would take a lowlife like Nygard seriously. It had to be someone in power, because power was what the mayor respected.

  He wasn’t about to curtail his investigation into Eli’s homicide. He’d just have to be more careful about keeping it quiet. What he heard Mayor Kim saying was to keep her and the city out of the newspaper. As long as he did that, he’d be free to work on Eli’s case until he found his brother’s murderers.

  ***

  Brandon phoned Lisa on the way back to town. Emma was starting her new job that evening, meaning Brandon would be free for dinner. It had been a couple of weeks since they’d spent time alone together. As much as they tried to work around the distance and their schedules, that wasn’t going to change. He was chief of the Forks Police Department. She was the County Coroner, and her offices were in Port Angeles.

  But he wasn’t ready to give up on the budding relationship, and neither was she.

  They met at a Lisa’s favorite French restaurant, just east of Port Angeles. Brandon had never cared for French cuisine—what he’d experienced as a mix of earthy and floral spices didn’t agree with him.

  He’d never told Lisa, though.

  Brandon took Lisa’s advice
and ordered something called Duck à l'Orange. It was a safe pick, she said, even for picky eaters like Brandon.

  Brandon ordered a locally brewed IPA.

  “You sure you want to pair that with a beer?” Lisa asked. She turned to the waiter. “Maybe a Pinot Noir or Côtes-du-Rhône…”

  “I’ll take the beer,” Brandon said to the waiter.

  The orange duck, as he called it, wasn’t horrible. He was about to say it was almost as tasty as the orange chicken at Panda Express but thought the better of it.

  He focused on the potatoes—they weren’t half bad—and requested another beer.

  Lisa had ordered mussels and a glass of Chardonnay.

  Ten minutes into their meal, Lisa glanced at his plate. “You don’t like it, do you?”

  He’d moved the duck around but had only taken a few bites. He had a vision of his eight-year-old self, trapped at the dinner table, unable to leave until he’d cleaned his plate. Back then, he’d used catsup to cover the flavor of his least favorite meals—the usual suspects being porkchops and leftover meatloaf.

  “It’s fine,” he said, taking a long drink of beer.

  She put her hand on his. He tensed, waiting for criticism.

  Instead, she said, “You must really like me.”

  “Huh?”

  “We’ve been here three times, and you always do your best to pretend you’re enjoying yourself,” she said.

  “I am.”

  “Really?”

  “Because I’m with you,” he said, smiling back.

  “You know how to make a woman feel good about herself,” she said.

  Lisa waved the waiter over. “We need a to-go box. And we’re ready for the check.”

  “We don’t have to leave,” Brandon said.

  She downed the rest of the Chardonnay. “Let’s go to Frugals and pick up a burger,” she said. “I’m sure you’re starving.”

  “Lisa—”

  She put a finger on his lips. “Shush. Besides, you’re going to share your fries with me.”

  They stopped by Frugals, a popular burger joint in Port Angeles. He ordered a Frugal Burger and two sides of fries. It was a classic 50s diner burger, simple but elegant: ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, lettuce, tomato, crinkle-cut pickles.

  It wasn’t until they’d pulled up to the window that he remembered why he hadn’t been to the restaurant in over a year. Eli’s killers had stopped here on their way back to Forks, just an hour before his murder.

  Brandon took the bag from the cashier. She handed him the receipt.

  He stared at the slip of paper. Just like the one crime scene techs had found in Nygard’s car.

  “What’s wrong?” Lisa asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Is there something wrong with the receipt?”

  “No. I’m fine,” he said, handing her the food as he drove away from the burger stand.

  He headed for Lisa’s place and tried his best to shake Eli’s case from his mind, even if for just a couple of hours. He was supposed to be enjoying time with Lisa, not obsessing over evidence.

  Lisa had recently purchased a craftsman on the cliffs overlooking downtown Port Angeles. The house wasn’t much larger than Brandon’s, but the porch boasted one of the best views on the north Olympic Peninsula. During the day, you could spot the hills and peaks that formed the interior of Vancouver Island.

  Despite the cool October evening air, they nestled on the back-porch swing and finished the fries, bundled up in a blanket. Out in the strait, cargo ships headed for Seattle and Tacoma trudged by. The lights of Victoria, Canada twinkled in the distance.

  “We should go sometime,” she said. “To Victoria.”

  “Definitely,” he said.

  She rested her head on his shoulder. A moment later, she asked, “Have you been?”

  The last time he’d been there Emma was a toddler. He and Tori had spent their honeymoon in Victoria, and thought it would be fun to go back, not realizing that it wouldn’t be quite so romantic with a two-year-old to entertain.

  Victoria was a tourist town that owed its success to the fact that it was as close to England as many west-coasters would come, even drawing a steady stream of tourists from Asia and Australia. Visitors lined up to buy trinkets that embodied the town’s English spirit or Canadian clichés like maple syrup-themed foods of every kind and kitschy trinkets like refrigerator magnets featuring moose dressed in the classic red Mountie uniform.

  He slid his hand in hers.

  “A couple of times,” he said. Then, because he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable talking about Tori, he asked, “Any updates on the Dunn case?”

  “Pathology should be back soon.” She yawned. “Let’s not talk about work.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  Out in the distance, a fast-moving single-engine aircraft sped across the strait, passing over one especially sluggish cargo ship stacked high with shipping containers.

  “So, where do you see us in six months?” she asked. “Our relationship, I mean.”

  Brandon knew his answer might determine the direction of their relationship. Not just tonight, but for weeks to come. He knew better than to overpromise, but to do the opposite could be just as damaging.

  “Together. We’ll be together. I hope.”

  “Well, isn’t that up to us?” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What we put into our relationship now determines whether it lasts,” she said.

  “You’re saying we’re not putting enough into it?” he asked.

  “No. I mean, I’m not sure.”

  She obviously needed to say something but couldn’t get there. “What is it? Not enough time? Emma’s working now and once Eli’s case is solved—”

  “Like that,” she said, sitting up. “I mean, there are detectives assigned to his case. If they aren’t doing their job, go to the sheriff.”

  “He wouldn’t understand,” Brandon said. He withdrew his hand from hers.

  “Maybe, but you haven’t asked him—”

  “I have, Lisa. And the point is, no one is going to put the work into it that I will. I’m his brother.”

  “Exactly.” She paused, as if she had more to say, then changed direction. “All I’m saying is we could spend more time together if you wanted to.”

  Brandon leaned forward. The wooden loveseat creaked.

  “How long have you felt this way?” he asked.

  “I don’t feel any way, Brandon. I’m just making a point,” she said.

  “I’m sorry if you’re not happy…”

  “Not what I said,” she insisted.

  Brandon stood. “Well, I’d better head out.”

  Five minutes later he pulled onto Highway 101, wondering where the evening had gone wrong.

  Lisa needed something he couldn’t give her. Was it just a matter of time? They both knew there’d be challenges, with their schedules and the distance between them. She’d joked, and it was true, the best chance they had at seeing each other was when someone died under suspicious circumstances.

  But it wasn’t just a matter of how much time they’d spent together. They’d had that tonight. She longed for an emotional closeness Brandon couldn’t offer right now. Not yet. He wasn’t the kind to fake those sorts of emotions, so either she’d have to wait until he was ready, or they’d end up being professional acquaintances.

  Back at home, Brandon tried reading to get his mind off the situation with Lisa. Emma hadn’t returned home from work yet. He fell asleep in the recliner after failing to finish the same paragraph three times.

  He started awake when Emma barged through the front door.

  “How’d it go?” he asked.

  The dark brown polo displaying the Carl’s Pizza logo had a healthy dusting of flour and sauce stains.

  “Fine,” she said, tossing her purse on the couch and kicking her shoes off. One landed near Brandon’s recliner. He was about to remind her to pick up her stuff before she headed
to bed when she said, “Goodnight.”

  Eyes half closed, she drifted to her room and shut the door. He heard the light click off.

  Even if she wasn’t interested in sharing more than two words with her dad, she was safe at home. That’s what mattered.

  Brandon drifted off again, too tired to make the trek from the recliner to his bed.

  Chapter 10

  Halloween morning, Brandon briefed his team on the plans for the day. It was Saturday, October 31st in Forks, vampire capital of the northwest (thanks to Mayor Kim’s tourism savvy). In other words, all hell was about to break loose.

  He’d called in all the reserve officers that could make it and those that couldn’t. The ones that had younger children opted for day shift, so they could spend the evening trick-or-treating. The only one who wasn’t happy was Will, who’d spent the last thirty years handing out candy at his home. Despite his gruffness, the old cop did have a softer side.

  Brandon assigned Will to social duties—he’d wander around offering stickers and candy to the kiddos. A chance for families to meet their (sort of) friendly local cop.

  By eleven in the morning, they’d blocked off Forks Ave, the main street through town. Vendors from as far away as Portland were setting up booths. The grocery store parking lot had been transformed into a carnival and already they were testing the rides. They’d erected a mini food court at the entrance to town, with piroschkis, corn dogs, elephant ears, and other fat and sugar-packed goodies.

  Around noon, Brandon drove out to his father’s home to check on him. He glanced in the front window before knocking. His dad’s rifle rested against the couch. No sign of his dad. His truck was in the driveway.

  He opened the front door.

  “You here?” he called out.

  No answer.

  The bedroom and bathroom were empty. He probably hadn’t gone upstairs, not with his bum knee, but Brandon checked anyway.

  The stairs led to a small room used for storage and, in the winter, a place for their mom to hang their clothes in the winter months. Brandon was a teenager by the time his parents finally broke down and purchased a dryer. When he’d asked his mom why they were the only ones in the neighborhood who still hung their clothes out to dry, his mother had responded, “Why waste money on electricity when the Lord gave us the sun?”