On Her Father's Grave (Rogue River Novella Book 1) (4 page)

“I’ve had four calls already about Hunter’s death and those were on my cell phone! I don’t know how people got that number. I’m headed in to see how many dozens of messages I have on the landline in the office, but I thought I’d first ask what you’ve found out.” James wiped at his forehead. “I can’t fucking believe it. Nothing like this has happened in ages.”

“I don’t know much new information,” said Zane slowly. James, of course, knew that Roy had stepped down. “I’m sure Roy told you there wasn’t any sign of injury. At least from what we could see in the dark. We’ll know more once the ME has completed his examination.”

“What about Peter? What made you bring him in so early?”

Zane paused. “Well, that was his father’s way of torturing him a bit. Kenny told him to bring Peter in at some point today because he’d been right there when Hunter collapsed.”

“Oh. He know anything helpful?” James’s questioning brown gaze held Zane’s.

Zane felt his defenses shoot up. Why all the direct questions? James had to know it was too early for answers. “Nothing yet. He’s a sad and scared kid at the moment. Nauseated too.”

“I bet.”

Zane watched in fascination as James tilted his head in the exact same manner as Stevie. Did all the siblings do that? Come to think of it, he’d seen the youngest Taylor brother, Bruce, do the same thing.

A stilted silence filled the hall.
Does James feel odd about the new professional relationship between us?
Before today most of his interactions with Zane had been as mayor to cop. Now it was mayor to police chief. Zane was suddenly equal in the city’s view.

James seemed to realize he wasn’t going to learn anything more from Zane. “Okay. I just needed to know what to say to people when they call.”

“Just tell them we’re saddened and investigating,” Zane said simply. The public didn’t need to know any more than that. Rumors were probably growing and flying about. There was no need to add to them.

“I’ll do that.” James turned away, then abruptly spun back around. “Say, why don’t you come to the house for dinner tonight? Mom does a big dinner on Memorial Day, and she always says the more the merrier. I know she’d love to have you. It’s going to be the whole family and whoever else we can convince to join us.”

Zane started to decline but James cut him off. “I won’t take no for an answer. You were a good friend to my dad and Mom needs to see those friends are still around right now.”

James was right, damn it. Zane hadn’t been to the big house since Bill died. He’d offered his condolences to Patsy at the funeral but had kept his distance since, not wanting to intrude on the family’s sorrow. The last thing he wanted to do was make Patsy believe he was avoiding her. And he’d get a chance to observe how Stevie interacted with her family.

“I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it.”

James grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. “Great! You’re gonna make her day. Can’t wait.”

It pained Stevie to see that the marker they’d chosen for her father’s grave wasn’t finished, even though she knew it wasn’t scheduled to be ready for several weeks. The flat metal plate marking his grave seemed disrespectful. It didn’t show the great man her father had been. She wanted people who walked by to see his marker and think, “Wow. That must have been someone special.” She and her family had pooled their money to purchase a huge double marker. Someday her mother would lie beside him again. Stevie had argued against the double marker but Patsy had overruled her. As usual.

“What if you marry again, Mom? You’re not old.”

Her mother had given her a look that could have killed a weaker person. “There will only be your father for me. In this life and the next.”

Stevie had said no more. When her mother made up her mind, it never changed.

She glanced around the quiet graveyard and, seeing no one, settled into the grass on her knees to have a talk with her dad. During college she’d called every week and spoken with both of her parents. After college those calls had gotten further and further apart. She was busy with work and life. What did she have to talk to her parents about? What new animals her mom had rescued? DUIs her father had issued?

Now it was too late. She hadn’t spoken with her father for a month when her sister Carly had called her, sobbing and barely able to speak to tell her that Dad had died from a heart attack.

Stevie blew out a breath and wiped at her eyes. Shock still rattled her. So many words left unsaid between her and her father. She’d always assumed there would be time to tell him she loved him and missed him. Time to tell him how much she hated Los Angeles, and that he’d been right that the quality of life in Solitude couldn’t be matched. So what if the only place here to buy clothes was a Macy’s over an hour away? That’s why there was UPS. But when she’d left Solitude at the age of eighteen, it’d seemed
very
important.

Life was about family and doing what made you happy. Not about trying to look like everyone else and be seen driving the right car.

How come I was thirty before I learned that my parents were right? About nearly everything?

She yanked at the green slivers of grass and let them fall from her fingers. The graveyard was in a lovely spot with tall firs and the rushing sounds of the Rogue River running by at the bottom of the hill. Coolness seeped from the ground and through her uniform. A welcome relief in the unusual May heat wave. It was just before noon but already pushing ninety degrees. Her dad had hated the heat. He’d said that if he wanted to be a baked human he’d live in Palm Springs. He’d stayed in Solitude, where the air was comfortably warm during the summer and not too cool during the winter. He’d been the third generation of his family to live in the area.

Now his children were the fourth.

Her younger sister Carly had wanted to stay in her hometown, get married, work, and raise her family. Even when her marriage with Seth had started to crumble, Carly hadn’t wanted to leave. “Why would I leave my home and take Brianna away from everything she’s ever known?” she’d said to Stevie’s suggestion she bring her seven-year-old daughter to LA to possibly put down new roots.

Stevie had known it was a poor idea the minute she’d said it. But she was lonely and had just gone through a nasty breakup and simply wanted some family close by. She hadn’t been able to think straight since the breakup. She didn’t seriously think about going home until she returned for the funeral and stepped in the door of the house where she’d grown up, and remembered how strong a force her mother wielded. In a good way. In a loving, giving, supportive way. She’d known instantly that everything would be all right. And that she needed to return for good to get her life back on track. It’d been the answer to her weeks of despair.

After the funeral she’d accepted the offer of a job from Roy, pissed off her sergeant with a five-day notice, and packed up a U-Haul with her belongings. She’d driven the winding Pacific Coast Highway the entire way to Oregon from LA, wanting to take in the blue water and enjoy her time exploring the coast. It was a healing time, and she drove slowly, stopping to eat and shop whenever the fancy struck. She spent two nights in tiny seaside hotels with skimpy rough towels and “Color TV.” By the time she made it to Solitude, her mind was open and ready to embrace a new life. She ached to be a daily part of her mother’s and siblings’ routines. Her father’s abrupt death had opened her eyes and prioritized her life.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

Stevie looked up at the sound of Carly’s voice.

“Hey, Dad. How’s it going?” Carly spoke to the metal marker, a sad smile on her face.

Her eyes were red and Stevie suspected she’d taken a private moment to get some tears out of her system before approaching her sister. Carly wasn’t the type to let anyone see her cry.

“Were you okay to get away from work?” Carly asked. “It’s got to be a madhouse there today.”

Carly needed to experience the LAPD.

“Yes, it’s pretty busy. I told them I was grabbing lunch and would be back soon,” said Stevie. “The whole town wants to know what happened to Hunter. The ME should have something for us soon.”

“Horrible,” said Carly, shaking her head. “That young boy.”

“Did you know him? Or work with his family?” As a social worker, Carly interacted with a lot of the families in town.

“I know who Hunter is. I haven’t dealt with the family in any official way.”

Stevie thought of the obnoxious drunk father from that morning. “What about Ted Warner? He seems like the type to have a kid with a file on your desk.”

“Ted Warner? Loretta Warner’s husband? Why do you ask about him? You remember Loretta, right?” Carly asked.

Stevie shook her head.

“She was a year behind you,” added Carly. “She had a baby her freshman year.”

“Oh,
her
!” Stevie remembered clearly. The teenage pregnancy had been the town gossip for a full year. And obviously the story had stuck to Loretta like glue, since that was all it had taken to prod Stevie’s memory.

Small Town Rule #2: Reputations are made in five seconds and stick for twenty years. Or more.

“I know who Ted and Loretta’s son is. Young teen, right? Good kid. Rotten parents.” Carly changed the subject. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked.

“Did you bring the stuff?” Stevie eyed the huge duffle bag Carly had dropped next to the grave, not answering Carly’s question because it seemed wrong to admit she wanted to do something illegal.

“Yes, but it’s not going to be much to see because of the time of day.”

“We’ll do more when it’s dark. I wanted to do some with just the two of us like he used to do when we were little. He was more into the sounds than the sight anyway.”

“I hate the noise,” Carly said succinctly.

Stevie laughed. “Me too. I never understood why that was his favorite part.”

“I never understood why he didn’t bring the boys.”

“I think he was afraid they’d turn into fire starters. James had an issue with matches, remember? Mom said Dad had to share it with some of us kids, I guess he thought us girls would be more responsible about it. He insisted on setting them off whether it was New Year’s, Memorial Day, or the Fourth of July.” Stevie’s eyes watered. “It was one of my favorite traditions with him. And it was more special because he’d always take just the two of us.”

“I miss him so much,” Carly said softly. “It still hasn’t sunk in.”

“I know. There’re pictures of him up at the office. He still feels so real . . . like he should come walking in at any minute. Seeing Zane or Roy in his chair just doesn’t seem right.”

“Do they want to keep the photos or can we have them?” Carly asked.

Stevie paused. “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone would mind if I took them, but I sort of want them to stay in the office. I don’t want people to forget.”

“He should have his journals somewhere there too. Not police notebooks, but his personal journals.”

“Really?” Stevie wrinkled up her nose. “Are you sure? I would think they’d have given them to Mom by now.” Her dad had always kept a daily record. There were boxes full of journals in the attic of the house. Some entries were about his kids and some were about his work. He always wrote in them while at work and brought them home at the end of each year. He would spend part of New Year’s Day reflecting on his professional and personal life. Evaluating and looking ahead.

“No, because I asked Mom about them a few days ago. She was going to ask you to bring them home once you started at the department.”

“I’ll ask Zane if he knows where they might be. Maybe Roy simply shoved them aside while he was in charge.”

Carly nodded as she pulled out a contraption consisting of a metal chute attached to a wide, flat board. She set it gently down next to her father’s grave. “I never understood how he justified fireworks with him being a cop and all.” She set a half dozen Roman candles several feet away from the launcher.

“He couldn’t. That’s why he always took us way out of town to deserted areas to shoot them off. They might be illegal in our state, but he loved them as much as a little kid.” Excitement shot up Stevie’s spine, and she felt like she was ten. “I’m so glad we’re doing this. Thank you for agreeing to it.”

Carly smiled. “I know what you mean.” She handed the long-handled lighter to Stevie. “But you light them. I’m not getting arrested for this.”

Zane waved at the car as it cruised past him on Main Street. He couldn’t tell who the driver was, but he’d seen the hand waving at him, so he waved back. That’s how it operated around here. Everyone waved whether you knew who it was or not.

As he walked back to the station he crunched on the fried chicken meal he’d picked up at the small grocery store. It was hot and tasty and Nell’s best recipe. Everyone told her she should open a restaurant instead of running the grocery.

“But where would you buy your milk and bread?” she’d ask. “I’m doing a public service. And I’ll keep making chicken as long as people will buy it.”

She still had the old political sign above the deli.

“I Like My Spotted Owl Deep-Fried.”