Flamingo Diner (3 page)

Matt radioed for help, then, still clutching the waterproof flashlight, he waded into the water, preparing himself for the sudden drop-off that would then level out at about six-feet deep. The lake wasn’t as dangerously deep as many of the nearby canals, where cars could disappear completely, but it was deep enough to kill, especially if the driver didn’t have the presence of mind or the tools to free himself.

Keeping one hand on the car as a guide, he sucked in a deep breath and went beneath the surface, praying as he’d never prayed before that he’d find a broken-out windshield and no one inside.

Shining his flashlight he caught a glimpse of the car’s color, the same dark blue as Don Killian’s five-year-old sedan. Matt’s pulse kicked up a notch. He told himself it couldn’t be Don’s car. Don would never be out at this hour, not when he had to be up before dawn to do the baking at Flamingo Diner. Nor would Jeff or Andy have taken Don’s car. They both had their own, bought and insured with their own
money at their father’s insistence. Matt had gone with Andy to look at pickups just a few weeks ago, right after he’d gotten his license.

Sucking in another deep breath, Matt dove back below the surface and made his way toward the front of the car. The beam of the flashlight cast an eerie glow through the water-filled interior. There didn’t seem to be anyone in the back seat, or even on the driver’s side, and for an instant a wave of relief washed through him. Maybe the car had been stolen and then ditched, he thought as he broke through the surface of the lake and gasped for air.

Even though his theory was a good one, Matt knew he couldn’t take chances that the driver of that car was still trapped inside, especially if there was even the remotest chance it was Don Killian. Even as he heard the wail of sirens in the distance, he dove back beneath the surface and shone his light slowly from back seat to front. Logic told him that if the driver had been able to free himself, he would be in the back, seeking the last little pocket of air as the car filled with water. Unfortunately the damn lake water was murkier than it should have been and all he could make out were shadows and the faint shape of something large and solid on the passenger side of the front seat.

Matt was a strong swimmer but his lungs were near to bursting when he made the discovery. As desperately as he wanted to take a closer look, he forced himself to the surface again.

By then the shoreline was swarming with policemen and rescue workers, including a team of divers.

“There’s someone in there,” he said, coughing up water. “Front passenger side.”

Not ten minutes later, the divers were back, hauling the victim out of the water, their expressions grim. At Matt’s questioning look, they shook their heads.

“Too late,” diver Dave Griffin told him. “We’ll have to wait for the medical examiner’s report, but I’d say he’s been down there awhile.” His expression turned sympathetic. “Sorry, boss. I know you two were close.”

Matt felt his heart clench. “Then it’s…?” He couldn’t bring himself to complete the thought.

“Don Killian,” Dave said. “Damnedest thing, too. He was all strapped in. It was like he never even tried to get out.”

Matt’s head shot up and he stared at the dive team leader. “He was strapped in?”

“Snug as could be,” Dave confirmed.

“I could have sworn he was on the passenger side,” Matt said.

“No. Driver’s side. It just looked like he was on the other side because of the way his body was leaning toward the console.”

Why the hell wouldn’t Don have made some attempt to free himself? “Could Don have been dead when the car went into the water?” Matt asked, knowing that Dave wouldn’t have the answer. It was something the ME would have to decide.

“No visible wounds,” Dave told him. “He was strapped in too tight to have hit his head on the windshield. Can’t rule out a heart attack or a stroke, though.”

What the hell did he have on his hands? Matt wondered. An accident? That seemed like the obvious answer, but given Don’s behavior lately and that secured seat belt, he couldn’t rule out suicide.
Whichever the case was, he dreaded having to be the one to tell Rosa, Jeff and Andy that Don was gone.

One thing was for certain, until he had conclusive proof otherwise, he intended to give the family the small comfort of thinking that Don had died in a tragic accident.

S
uicide
was such an ugly word. Maybe that was the reason it was seldom spoken above a whisper, Emma thought as she arrived in Florida, still dazed by the call that had come in the predawn hours. The officer who’d called her in the middle of the night had been very careful to describe her father’s death as an accident. Emma wished she believed him.

In fact, she desperately wanted to be convinced that her father
had
somehow missed a curve that he’d driven every day of his life for thirty years or more. Ever since she’d hung up, she’d prayed that the medical examiner would find evidence of some sudden condition that had sent him careening off the road or that the police would find dents in the car to indicate he’d swerved after being hit by another driver. At the very least, she wanted the ME to find absolutely nothing to disprove the idea that her father’s death had been an accident.

But remembering Andy’s call only two days earlier made her think otherwise. She didn’t want to believe that the weird behavior her brother had described had anything at all to do with her father’s death, but she couldn’t dismiss the possibility, not as easily as she would have liked to.

So far, she hadn’t mentioned anything to the police
about her concerns. She excused her silence by telling herself it wasn’t as if she actually knew anything. Besides, it would be better if they formed an unbiased opinion based on the evidence.

If only she’d been able to talk to her mother, but Rosa had been too distraught to take her calls. It was hours later and Emma still hadn’t spoken to her. Rosa had been sedated and Jeff and Andy were nowhere to be found when Emma had called to let her family know when she would be arriving. She’d been assured by Helen Lindsay, her mother’s best friend, that someone would be at the Orlando airport to pick her up and drive her to Winter Cove, but she had no idea who it might be.

The flight had been endless, giving her far too much time to sort through the scant information she had, too much time to twist the facts inside out and come up with theories about how and why her father had died.

An accident, she repeated firmly. It had to be. She was still telling herself that when she walked into the luggage claim area. With her gaze intent on the luggage carousel, she almost missed the tall, lanky man in faded jeans and a snug-fitting, white T-shirt who pushed away from a railing, but something about the lazy, sexy way he moved caught her eye. In fact, on any other occasion, she would have given his muscular body an appreciative once-over, noting the details to share with Kim the next time they talked. Now they barely registered and she tried to make sense of the fact that he was moving directly toward her.

“Emma?”

She took off the sunglasses she’d been wearing to hide her red-rimmed eyes to get a better look. Finally
recognition dawned and with it came a vague sense of relief at finding a familiar face amid the crowd of strangers. “Matt Atkins? What on earth are you doing here? I thought you were working in Tampa.”

“I’m back in Winter Cove now, as the police chief, no less. I’m surprised your family hadn’t told you.”

“Who would have thought…” she began. A grin almost formed then faded as it dawned on her that he knew, had to know, about her father, that in fact that was what had brought him here. This wasn’t an accidental meeting, after all. Tears, never far away over the last few hours, welled up again. “You’re here because…” She couldn’t finish the thought.

“I came to take you home,” he confirmed quietly, clearly as uncomfortable with mentioning her father’s death as she was.

Before she knew it, Emma was in his arms, gathered close against all that solid, reassuring strength. After feeling cold and empty since the call had come, it felt good to feel so much heat and energy, to feel alive.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he held her tight. “You can’t imagine how sorry.”

Emma couldn’t answer. The words wouldn’t come. Instead, the tears just continued to fall, soaking his shirt, ruining what little was probably left of her makeup, and not doing a damn thing to wash away the hurt.

Matt didn’t seem to mind. He let her cry herself out, until she finally gave him a watery half smile and apologized.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he said, his own voice thick with emotion. “Your dad is…
was
like a
father to me. I owed him more than you’ll ever know. I’m sick about this.”

Emma pulled a wad of tissues from her pocket and blotted ineffectively at her face. “What happened? Do you know? Has the medical examiner made any sort of ruling?” she asked. “Did Dad have a heart attack?”

Matt’s mouth formed a grim line. “Let’s get your bags and get out of here. We can talk on the drive home.”

Emma wanted to argue, but what was the point? The answers wouldn’t be one bit different ten minutes from now, an hour from now…a lifetime from now. And in the end, what difference would they make, really? Her father—the man who had made up stories to chase the monsters from a little girl’s bedroom—would still be dead.

They were twenty minutes into the ride when she decided she was ready to know everything Matt knew. “Matt, tell me what happened.”

“I wish I could. The ME doesn’t have anything conclusive yet. Maybe by the end of the day, maybe not for a few days till all the toxicology reports come in.”

“Toxicology reports?”

“To see if there were any drugs or even alcohol in his blood.”

“Don’t be absurd. Dad rarely drank and he certainly never took drugs.”

“Not even medications?” Matt asked.

Emma realized she didn’t know. He could have been on a dozen different prescriptions and no one would have thought to tell her. She sighed. “I don’t
know.” She regarded him evenly. “What do you think happened? Did he miss the curve?”

“That’s what I want to believe,” he said tightly, but he wouldn’t look at her.

She heard the same doubts in his voice that had echoed in her head for hours now. “Matt, there’s something else, something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

“Not now, Em. Let’s wait for the reports.”

“I need to know, dammit!”

He gave her a look filled with sympathy. “I know you do. We all do, but what good is it to have speculation? You need facts, not theories.”

She drew in a deep breath and asked the question that had plagued her all the way home. “Could he have driven into the lake on purpose?”

“Don’t go there, Emma.”

“Is it possible?” she asked again.

“Anything’s possible, but he didn’t leave a note, at least not that we’ve found so far. There wasn’t one in the car, at the diner or at the house.”

“Then you did search for one?” To her that was damning proof that Matt thought there was something odd about the way her father had died.

“Of course.”

“So you believe suicide’s a possibility, don’t you?” she asked, pushing the point because she had to.

“It’s one of them,” he admitted with obvious reluctance. “Why would
you
think that, though?”

“Andy called me a couple of days ago. He was really worried about Dad. He said he’d been acting weird for a while. He wanted me to come home.” She blinked back tears. “I told him no.”

Matt reached for her hand. “And now you’re blaming yourself,” he concluded. “Don’t. What good will that do? We don’t know what happened last night, Emma. Until we do, cut yourself some slack.”

“Have you talked to Mom yet?”

“Not really. She…” He sighed. “She was in no shape to be questioned last night.”

“Andy or Jeff?”

“Andy’s scared. He’s not making much sense right now. He’s blaming himself.”

“And me,” she said, half to herself. “He must be blaming me.”

Matt shook his head. “Not aloud, anyway. He’s too caught up in his own guilt. He thinks if he and your father hadn’t fought at the diner yesterday, everything would have been okay. He’s sure your father was still upset, too upset to be behind the wheel of the car.”

“What do you think?”

“That’s grief talking. I was there when they fought. It was nothing, just the usual father-teen spat, but Andy’s not ready to hear that yet. As for Jeff, all I got from him was attitude.”

Emma regarded him with surprise. The way she remembered it, her younger brother had idolized Matt. “Jeff was giving you attitude?”

“I asked him to stay with your mom while I came to get you. He told me I wasn’t his boss, that somebody else could do it, that he had things to do.”

“Jeff said that?” Emma was genuinely shocked. “What things does he have to do that could possibly be more important right now?”

“He’s angry and confused. It wasn’t personal,” he said, making excuses for Jeff. “He’s just taking it out on the only person available. He can’t very well yell
at your mom. He’ll be okay.” He glanced sideways at her. “You’re going to have to step in and take charge, you know. Your mom’s in denial. She kept telling me I was making it up, that I was lying to her just to hurt her for some reason. I think a part of her is absolutely convinced that your father will walk in the door any second now.”

Emma regarded him ruefully. “I felt the same way when one of your officers called me. I kept telling him he had to be mistaken, that my father couldn’t possibly be dead.”

“I’m sorry I had a stranger call,” he said. “I wanted to do it myself, but I had my hands full with your mother at that point and I thought you needed to know right away so you could make plans to get down here.”

“It’s okay. I doubt the news would have gone down any easier, if you’d been the one delivering it. If Jeff refused to stay with her, who’s there now?”

“Helen hasn’t left, though your mother won’t see her. She won’t see anyone. She’s locked herself in her room.”

Though it was out of character for her normally strong mother to hide out, Emma couldn’t really blame her. If she’d been able to hide and pretend this hadn’t happened, she would have. “I just don’t understand how this could happen. I can’t believe he’s really gone. I’d just spoken to him over the weekend. He sounded great, as upbeat as ever. Andy said he was faking it.”

“I have to admit, I agree with Andy. Your father has been a little short-tempered lately,” Matt explained. “No, I take that back. He’s been
very
short-tempered. People have been commenting on it. That
scene with Andy yesterday morning wasn’t the first. He’s even been snapping at your mother over nothing.”

Hearing Matt echo what Andy had tried so hard to tell her made it that much worse that she hadn’t listened to her brother.

“That’s so unlike him. He’d rather strip naked and run through Winter Cove at high noon than lose it in front of the customers,” she said.

“I know. We all thought it was out of character,” Matt said. “I kept thinking I ought to talk to him, but I wasn’t sure it was my place. If…” His voice trailed off.

“Say it,” Emma demanded. “If he killed himself, what?”

Matt frowned. “If that’s what happened, then I’m as much to blame for letting this happen as anyone in the family. We all knew something wasn’t right, but this was your dad. He always worked things out for the rest of us. I suppose none of us believed he wouldn’t be able to work out whatever was going on with him.”

Emma fell silent, thinking. What could have been weighing on her father’s mind to change his personality so dramatically? There had been no hint of a problem in their conversations; or, as Andy had accused, had she simply been oblivious to it? Had she been so caught up in her own life that she’d ignored some sign? She’d certainly been eager to ignore the warning signals Andy had described. She couldn’t help feeling that she’d let down not only Andy, but also her father.

She was still tormenting herself with what-ifs when Matt pulled the car to a stop in front of the Spanish-
style stucco house with its red-tile roof where Emma had lived practically her whole life. Before she could get out, he tucked a hand under her chin and forced her to face him.

“This is not your fault,” he said emphatically. “Or your mom’s. Or your brothers’. There’s still every chance in the world that this was a tragic accident. Remember that.”

“I’ll try.”

Slowly, he released her. “Just in case, I’ll be around to remind you,” he promised.

Tears welled up in her eyes and she reached for his hand, clinging to it for one last reassuring second before she went inside to face the reality of her family’s unthinkable tragedy.

Rosa refused to get out of bed, refused to eat. She feigned sleep every time anyone came into her bedroom. If she was asleep, no one could say anything about Don. No one could tell her he was dead. She could pretend that it was all a terrible nightmare and that when she woke up, he would be right there beside her. He would hold her, maybe make love to her, and their day would begin as every other day had begun, with a mad rush to get to Flamingo Diner before the first customers began arriving at 6:00 a.m.

But as the sun began to set and shadows filled the room, she could no longer deny the harsh reality that she’d awakened to just after one in the morning when Matt had come knocking on their door. She’d shouted at him to stop his lies, that Don was not dead, that he knew that curve in the road, that he would never drive so recklessly that he’d wind up in the lake, but Matt hadn’t changed expressions even once. He’d just
led her to a chair, then hunkered down beside her and held her hand, pleading with her to tell him who he could call, what he could do.

Rosa hadn’t known how to answer. For nearly thirty years, whenever there had been any kind of trouble in her life, she had turned to her husband. Who else could she possibly call? Who else could offer consolation and support and love? She had the children, of course, but they were young. They would need
her
support, even Emma, who would be devastated that her beloved father was gone. She needed to be strong for all of them, but she wasn’t strong, not without Don beside her.

Finally Matt had awakened the boys and told them the same awful lies about Don. He’d called Helen and asked her to come over. He’d made sure Emma was notified. He’d done all the things Rosa should have been doing, but had been too paralyzed to do. And she’d hated him, because he’d made it real.