The Homecoming (12 page)

When his brother didn’t immediately answer, Sax went in for the close.

“Giving your bride-to-be her dream reception would be one hell of a wedding present. A big enough one that you’d probably get really, really lucky on your honeymoon night.”

“I’m already lucky,” Cole said mildly. He shook his head, as if questioning his sanity to even be considering Sax’s offer, as his gaze scanned the wreck of a building that had once been a second home to all three brothers.

Being an empathetic kind of guy, Sax understood why, despite the incentive of making the woman he loved happy, Cole wasn’t exactly doing cartwheels to jump on board the Bon Temps bandwagon.

“What the hell,” Cole said with a shrug. “Two guys who survived all those years in the Kush and the Iraq sandbox oughta be able to whip a few spiders.”

“Hooyah,” Sax said.

John O’Roarke’s small shingled house was located just out of town. While no one would be doing surgery on his floors or countertops, neither was it as messy as her dad’s study had been.

Though it was missing the woman’s touches she remembered from when his wife had been alive. The flowered curtains looked as if they could use a good vacuuming, and a layer of dust had settled on top of the furniture and picture frames.

“A cold-case file?” He frowned as he scratched his crew cut. “You sure he was working on cold cases?”

“That’s what Maude said.”

“Guess she’d know. Funny he never told me.”

“Maybe he was just looking through them. See if any case looked worth digging into again.”

“That could be it. Ben had settled real well into Shelter Bay, but I always got the feeling that part of him missed being in the middle of the action.”

She followed him into a room that boasted a pool table, a large-screen TV, and an old recliner even rattier than her father’s had been. Duct tape covered the holes worn into the leather arms. The pool table was currently piled high with boxes.

“You could’ve brought those to the office,” she said.

“Figured if Ben had wanted them there, he’d have kept them there,” John said, digging into the first one. “Besides, not like there’s a lot of room there, either.”

That was true enough. “Mom just could’ve stored them in the attic.”

“She wanted them out of the house.” John shrugged. “I was glad to help.”

“Protect and serve,” Kara said, remembering what he’d said about Edna’s mailbox.

“Absolutely. Speaking of which, I found the kids who bashed in the box. They’ve agreed to apologize in person, then spend four hours over the next month weeding Miz Lawton’s garden patch and driving her back and forth to the market every Saturday.”

“Is that legal? Being a cop and, essentially, the judge
and
jury?”

“Don’t know. Don’t really care, since it works. Yeah, in some places you’d probably get parents all riled up and calling their lawyers. But here justice doesn’t always have to go through so many layers.

“Your dad’s the one who thought it up first, years ago, when Steve Granger, who always used to drive like a bat out of hell, was speeding, took the curve too fast, and drove his Caddy across the lawn and into the Mitchells’ house. Ben wrote him a ticket for reckless driving and sentenced him to repairing the damage.

“As Steve worked on fixin’ the place up, he got to know the Mitchells personally and came to realize the seriousness of what he’d done. That if he’d smashed through one room over, he would’ve hit the baby’s crib and killed her. That sank in, and neither your father nor I ever caught him speeding again.”

“That’s a nice story.” And so like her father.

“I always thought so. Learned a lot from your old man. All of it good.”

“Yet you didn’t want to take over his office.” She’d worried about that in the beginning. Still did, from time to time.

“Oh, hell, no.” He took a cigarette from a hard pack in his shirt pocket, broke it in half, which was his alleged method of cutting back, and lit the end. “Too much responsibility for my taste. I’m a good cop. Good with people, and smart enough to close a bashed-mailbox case.”

With the cigarette stuck in his mouth, he went back to digging in the box. “But I’d also rather be fishing than politicking for more funds with the town council, not to mention running for election every four years.

“Plus, I don’t have the big-city training you and your dad had, so if, God forbid, a serious crime ever happened here—like maybe that skull belongs to a murder victim—I know I’m not the guy to be in charge.”

“I think you underestimate yourself.”

“And I think you’re too generous.” He shook his head. “This is a lot of stuff to go through. Why don’t I just work on it tonight and see what I can dig up?”

The offer was tempting. Especially since, between dreams about Sax, and the possibility of a felony having been committed in her town, she’d gotten only about an hour of decent sleep last night.

But, as he’d said, he hadn’t had the training she’d had. Including spending four weeks at the FBI Academy. Being a control freak, while she really just wanted to go home and soak in the tub with a novel, she also was afraid that he might overlook something. Something that could prove important.

Besides, if Maude could be believed—and there was no reason not to believe her—her father, who admittedly lacked a toss-away gene, might have found something in one of those files in one of those boxes that had piqued his attention.

“Maybe,” John suggested, “your dad was just bored and thought he’d like the challenge of solving an old case. Maybe even one from before he came and took over the office.”

“That could be.”

Although she’d been here only a few months herself, Kara could understand how her father might have been ambivalent from time to time about his decision to leave Portland.

“That’s okay,” she said. “It’s not like I have anything better to do tonight.”

“Pretty woman like you should have a hot date on Friday night.” He rubbed his chin. Eyed her thoughtfully. “I’ve got me a nephew. Maybe you remember him. Danny Sullivan?”

“Played soccer. Then moved to baseball. Third base,” she recalled. “Made State, scored the championship run, then was drafted by Baltimore, right?”

“That’s him. He made it to Triple- A and his name was being bandied around as being next on a short list to be called up to the big leagues when he got hit in the head by a wild pitch.”

“I’m sorry. Is he all right?”

“Oh, he’s good enough. Gave him a hell of a concussion.” He tapped a long ash into an empty coffee mug on the pool table. “Which might not have been any big deal, except it wasn’t his first. Got a couple back when he was playing soccer. So, when his double vision took a long time to go away and he still had some memory loss, the club sent him to a specialist, who said that he couldn’t play anymore.”

“That must have been a terrible disappointment.” Kara remembered him now. Cute, with shaggy brown hair, brown eyes, and dimples. In fact, he’d always reminded her of Donny Osmond.

“It sure wasn’t what he’d been hoping for. It also didn’t help that his mom—my sister—and dad died in a plane crash over the Cascades about the same time. When he came back home, sorta at loose ends, I had your mom check him out. Just in case the first doctor was wrong.”

“And?”

“She said he’s suffering from somethin’ called postconcussive syndrome, which keeps him from being able to play. He was willing to keep training on his own and hoped to get back, but she said that if he plays and gets hit again, he could die. Which got his attention.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, knowing that sounded insufficient. But she also knew that disappointment was a lot better than death.

John shrugged. “So was he. Especially when his wife dumped him for the team’s catcher.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, though I don’t like to bad-mouth anyone, I can’t say I didn’t see it coming. I could tell from the get-go that she was a baseball Annie. Once he couldn’t play, it was just her nature to go looking for a new guy who could give her the lifestyle playing in the majors could provide.

“Truth be told, I think losing his dream hit Danny harder than losing his wife. Although he was always an easygoin’ boy, he sure didn’t take that well. Then your mom, who’s never been one to beat around the bush—”

“Tell me about it,” Kara said.

“Well, she had a come-to-Jesus talk with him and laid it out on the table. He’s always been a smart boy, so, although he didn’t like it, he saw the light. Now he’s teaching history, coaching ball at the high school, and seems to have gotten over the hurt and moved on.”

“That’s nice.”

“Yeah. He’s real good with kids.”

“Having watched his uncle in action, I’m not at all surprised he’d have excellent people skills.”

“He’s also got himself a house. It’s one of them Craftsman bungalow models that Corvallis developer is building up on Hill Road. Three bedrooms, two baths, a nice front porch with a view of the bay, and a good-size backyard. Room enough for a swing set, when he’s ready to start a family.”

“Definitely sounds as if he’s getting his ducks in a row.”

“He sure enough is. Which is why I suggested he might want to ask you out. Maybe start with a crab dinner at The Fish House, then maybe a movie at the Bridge Bijou. See how things go from there.”

Kara looked up at her deputy. “John O’Roarke. Are you trying to fix me up?”

Color flushed his already ruddy Irish cheeks. “Danny’s a good- looking boy. And a good man. A hard worker who doesn’t smoke or drink, and I’ve never heard him lose his temper once in his life. Did I mention he’s also good with kids?”

Left unspoken was the fact that she just happened to have a kid. Who, as she’d just told Sax yesterday, was admittedly in need of a male role model. But still . . .

“A woman could do a lot worse,” John suggested slyly. “And I wouldn’t want to be telling tales out of school, but he’s definitely interested.”

The Danny Sullivan she remembered had been hugely popular. And outgoing. “Does he know you’re talking to me about him?”

“Hell, no. But I know, since Glory died of the cancer, how lonely life can get. . . .

“Like I said, Danny’s a nice man. You’re a nice woman. Neither one of you has anything, from what I can see, of a social life. If you’re not careful, you’re going to end up like me: eating takeout every night in front of the TV, letting life pass you by.”

Well, wasn’t that an appealing scenario?

“You’re a good man.” Kara went up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “But I think you ought to give that good-looking, smart nephew of yours more credit. If he’s got as much going for him as I remember, he won’t have any trouble finding someone on his own.”

“Hmph. Gotta be looking to find someone.”

“I’ve heard it said that sometimes the right person comes along when you stop looking.”

“Yeah, I heard that, too. And you know what?”

“What?”

“I think it’s a damn crock.”

She laughed at that.

Although she was more than capable of carrying a few boxes, possessing an old-fashioned chivalry that seemed to have disappeared over the generations, John insisted on carrying the files out to her cruiser.

Which, for some reason, had her thinking about him showing up at her house this morning. Had it only been this morning? It seemed a lifetime ago.

She wondered if he’d been looking for her mother. The way he said Danny Sullivan needed to go looking for a woman. Wondered if her mother had noticed he’d been looking.

Wondered if, just maybe . . .

No
. If she wasn’t willing to accept matchmaking from the man who’d always been like an uncle to her, she wasn’t going to interfere with anyone else’s life.

Distracted by intriguing thoughts of this salt-of-the-earth man and her perfectionist, New England-cool mother together, Kara failed to notice the shadowy form intently watching them from a nearby stand of Sitka spruce.

Kara was on her way home when she got a call from Ashley.

“Kyle got called out on a family fight,” she revealed, naming one of Kara’s deputies. “Maude told me that I should never let an officer handle one of those alone. So I’m calling you.”

“You did the right thing.” Didn’t Kara know firsthand how deadly such a call could be? “Did the caller sound in immediate danger?”

“No. Mostly she sounded pissed. Uh, angry,” the dispatcher corrected. “I did what you and Maude taught me—listened for shouting or things breaking or something, but it sounded quiet on her end.”

“Did you ask about weapons in the house?”

“Yes, Sheriff. She said no.”

“Okay. Give me the address; I’m headed out there. And tell Kyle not to approach the door until I arrive. Unless it sounds as if someone’s in imminent danger.”

“Yes, Sheriff.”

The address was located in Shelter Bay’s only gated community. As soon as she pulled up in front of it, Kara recognized the home as belonging to the town’s wealthiest family. Which once might have proven a surprise, but unfortunately, domestic violence didn’t limit itself to any specific social class. The rich, she’d discovered, were often just better at keeping the problem under wraps.

Gerald Gardner, car dealer, banker, and local real estate tycoon, opened the front door.

“Kara?” He seemed surprised to see her and Kyle standing there. “What are you doing here?”

“Dispatch received a nine-one-one call,” she said. “From this address.”

“That’s impossible.” He shook his head. “Your system must not be working correctly.”

“The dispatcher spoke with your wife, Mr. Gardner.” As Sax had pointed out, there were very few degrees of separation in Shelter Bay. Having gone to high school with Gerald, and having had him ask her out before he got married last month, Kara thought it seemed a little strange calling him
Mr. Gardner,
yet she wasn’t here as a former classmate, but as sheriff. Kara glanced past him into the foyer. “May we come in and speak with her?”