"You're welcome." I waited for him to get a clue, but he didn't, so I said, "No, really, Leroy, glad you're up and around and doing better."
"I'm still officially in charge," he said, puffing his chest. "I'm supposed to take it easy until next week, but it's still my job and I'll get to the bottom of this." He sounded serious. A bullet nearly killing your own personal self can do that. "Nobody's gonna get away with what they done to me."
I walked back to my table and sat down with my really good iced tea.
Leroy followed, stopping beside the uniformed babysitter across the booth from us. "Deputy," he said, "you were under orders not to let these two leave the old lady's house until the shooter's under arrest."
"Old lady, my hind foot, why, you...you…" Lucille started to sputter, grabbing for her purse.
I nudged Mother gently lest she sputter out something to really annoy Leroy, or worse, whack him with her purse. "We're not staying in that house every single minute, Leroy, particularly when I don't see anybody with even a guess at who the killer is. We're not under arrest, you know.
"No, we surely are not," Lucille said, scowling, her hand on her purse.
Leroy narrowed one eye, the patch keeping me from seeing if he narrowed the other one at the same time.
"Quite frankly," I said, lifting my big Styrofoam cup and taking a long swig of iced tea, crunching on some of the soft little slivers of ice. "The sheriff's department seems to need more protective custody than we do."
"I'm in charge here and what I say goes," Leroy grumbled then spun on his heel and stomped away.
Mother shook her head at the deputy across from us. "How on earth can you work for that fool?"
The deputy got a pained look on his face and shrugged. He was wise enough to see that any answer he gave would get him into trouble one way or another. "I'll go check on our order," he said, zipping from the booth and scuttling toward the safety of the front counter.
He was in no hurry to come back and join us, so Mother and I sat sipping our drinks, waiting for the chicken to fry.
And waiting.
A good twenty minutes later, we were still waiting. Finally, I just had to say it, "Wonder why it's taking so long?"
"They're probably too busy speculating and gossiping about us to remember they have work to do." Lucille turned and eyeballed the counter. "There's not a soul up there anywhere that I can see. You'd think they'd closed up and gone home."
"Maybe they have," I said, contemplating how long it would take me to figure out how to fix the food myself. "I think I'll mosey on up there and see when they think they'll be back to mixing gravy, grilling toast and running the deep fryers."
"Wait a minute." Lucille snapped her head around, scanning the room. "Where's our deputy? Where'd he run off to?"
I glance around the room didn't answer the question. A look outside did. "He's in his car on the phone or the radio."
"Well, if he's supposed to be guarding us, he ought to be in here doing it, and if he's not, we need to get ourselves out of here and get on with our lives."
I scooted to the edge of the booth. "First things first, I want food." As I started to stand, another sheriff's car flew into the parking lot. It skidded to a stop beside the first, covering both in a cloud of dust. Leroy hopped out and scurried over to the deputy. "Something's up," I said to Mother. "Leroy's back."
We watched as Leroy talked and pointed, and the deputy took notes, shook his head, nodded and made more notes.
"He's looking right in here at us and pointing," Mother said. "I don't like it."
I didn't like it either. But I liked the idea of going outside with a bulls eye on my forehead to get the scoop a whole lot less. "Let's just stay put and see what happens."
"You think there's been another shooting?" Mother asked, echoing my own thoughts.
Before I could give a vague non-answer, Leroy marched back inside the DQ, his big arms waving and his face flushed. "Relax, people. Looks like this thing is all but over. We got us a suspect in custody."
"That was fast," I muttered, glancing at Lucille.
The DQ turned into a buzzing beehive of chatter. Sighs of relief mixed with various versions of "I wonder who it is" and "It must be so and so."
I wondered too, of course, but I also wondered why the big-shot acting sheriff wasn't still on the scene, making a nuisance of himself. Since he was headed our way, I'd be asking. "So, how did all this go down? Psychic revelation, random house-to-house search, what? And why aren't you still on the scene running the show?"
Leroy frowned then puffed out his chest. "Don't you be worrying about how I knew what or where I went. I told you I give the orders around here."
Yes, that much was nauseatingly clear. "So, I'm guessing you found the murder weapon."
"Yes, ma'am, Miss Hotshot Know-it-all, we sure did. We found a shotgun in the closet, and that was just the beginning." Leroy puffed up even more. "They'll be working this for days. Yep, this thing is big, really big."
"Minor detail here, Leroy, but there's probably a shotgun in the closet of every male in this county, maybe even the state. Don't you think you're jumping the gun a little, no pun intended."
He looked down his nose at me. "We're not worried about quail and dove hunters, Jolene," he said, as if talking to an imbecile. "We had good reason to search the house, and it just broke wide open from there. I'd known all along what was going on out there, and this just proves it. It's big, just like I said."
"Really big. Got it." Murder was a big deal--I got that--but his comments really didn't make sense in that context. If I had even a guess at what he was implying, I'd cleverly get more details, but I didn't, so I moved on to the obvious conclusion. "I guess if you've solved the case the we don't need a keeper," I said, nodding to the deputy walking toward us. "We're free to go."
Leroy frowned, indicating he hadn't thought that far in advance. "Well, now, I don't know about that."
"Well, I do," Lucille said, fairly leaping out of her seat. "Get our order to go, Jolene, and let's get out of here. We'll finish it at home while we're getting ready. I haven't been to the mall in nearly a week and I'm going."
Leroy started to object on general principals then thought better of it and begrudgingly released us.
All the fuss in the dining room had apparently lit a fire under the kitchen staff, because not only had they magically reappeared, they'd somehow cooked our food and thoughtfully packed it to go. Escort deputy nabbed it on our way out the door and we all piled into the patrol car and headed home.
He didn't turn the lights on, but he probably should have since he was going a good 20 mph over the speed limit. Since it cut our three-minute drive down to less than two, I couldn't complain. He zipped up to the back door, hustled us inside then fled, taking his chicken basket with him. He was as glad to be done with the fiasco as we were.
Over a not-so-leisurely lunch at the kitchen table, Mother and I made plans for our separate outings--hers to the mall, mine to the hospital. I'd argued with her about driving and going alone, but she'd huffed and told me she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She also made it perfectly clear that she didn't want me going with her because she wanted time alone. Ditto for me, but I wasn't so sure all was safe and sound in Happy Valley. Even if they did have a suspect behind bars, something told me it wasn't the right one--or maybe the only one--and she was still at risk. Still, it was a waste of breath saying so. I like to think I'm in charge every now and then, but clearly I am not.
Mother scurried to her Buick and I hopped in the Tahoe. With the air conditioner on max, my mood perked up for every degree the temperature went down. It was good to be behind the wheel. At least I felt like I had a little control over my life again. I could go wherever I wanted to, and right now, I knew exactly where I wanted to go--to Jerry. If we were free, he would be, too.
* * * *
When I arrived at Redwater General, I was shocked to find that Jerry had been moved to a private room. I was even more shocked to see him propped up in the bed, watching "Hogan's Heroes" on the TV. I hoped his move from ICU was because he was making a miraculous recovery and not because somebody screwed up. Medical care is somewhat iffy in these parts, although I had to give them credit for saving Jerry's life. They'd sure come through with flying colors on that one.
His eyes were closed so I watched the inmates bring a beauty queen up out of the floor then hide her and put the floor back before Sergeant Schultz came marching in. We'd watched the show together after school on many occasions. That and the original "Star Trek." I guess Jerry was always my Colonel Hogan and Captain Kirk: strong, virile, sexy and a different woman chasing him every week. Whoa. Rewind that. I should have stopped while I was ahead. Trying to vanquish an all-too-clear image of my hero with a certain gorgeous blonde, I noticed he'd opened his eyes and was staring at me.
I walked over to his bed. "Hey, you look great," I said, forgetting everything except that he really did look good. Healthy, strong, handsome and, most importantly, alive. I'd spent so much time away from Jerry that I never realized how much I missed being with him until we were together. And this had so much more attached to it. He had very nearly died--in my mother's breakfast nook. The concept was still hard to come to terms with.
We had never really been physically together over a few minutes at a time in the last twenty-five years, but he was still always "there" if I needed him--or if he needed me. For the most part it had always been a mutual give-and-take friendship, and I never wanted to lose that--or him. "I was pretty worried about you," I said, trying to smile away the mist that had gathered in my eyes. "They wouldn't let me in to see you there for a while."
"I know," he said, his soft Texas drawl rumbling across the room like a tornado, sucking me in as it always did. "Sorry."
I took the hand he held out to me and leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I'm glad you're okay."
His smile faded just a little. "I'm glad you're okay, too, Jolene. Leroy told me what happened. Crowed about it, actually. He was quite impressed with your first-aid skills."
Huh? Leroy, bragging about me? I couldn't imagine that--and really didn't want to--so I moved on to his latest pronouncements. "He said they made an arrest, which is why I'm free and here."
He shook his head in disgust. "I know. I think it was a mistake, but the commissioners are pushing for some kind of action, so they rounded up Dewayne Schuman."
"I didn't know who," I said, flashing back to the funeral scene. Dwayne had been laughing and carrying on with the new mayor, at least until he got called on the carpet by his wife or girlfriend or whatever she was. "I guess it makes sense, but making merry with the new mayor at the funeral of the one you just killed takes poor taste to a new level. You'd think he'd at least have waited until later to celebrate."
"Dewayne Schuman's no saint," Jerry said. "His list of illegal dealings gets longer daily, not to mention that Bennett may have been blackmailing him. But, aside from him acting like an idiot at the funeral, there's nothing substantial to base a murder arrest on. Besides, everyone knows Dewayne has more guns than brains. That shotgun in his closet probably hasn't been fired since last dove season. They're going to have to let him go and we'll still have a killer on the loose."
I'd figured the same thing. Jerry just had good reasons for it. "Whose idea was it to home in on Dewayne?"
"An anonymous tip was called in with a laundry list of accusations. When the deputies went to check them out, they found guns at the house and made the arrest."
"Must have been a doozy of a tip, because seriously, what house around here doesn't have guns in it? Sure makes you wonder who called in the tip--and why."
Jerry sighed and shifted around in the bed, looking as peeved about his physical limitations as the official business ones. "I've got to get out of here, Jolene. This is making me crazy. I'm feeling fine, but they won't let me go home. It's just ridiculous. I'm a grown man and I know what I can handle and what I can't."
I smiled at him, amused to see the always-calm Jerry getting a little cranky. And while I empathized with his plight, I was also relieved that he was here where he wouldn't be hurt again. I could surely see how a wife would worry about a husband who did what Jerry did for a living. I've never been very good at compartmentalizing my life, and I'm afraid I'd worry worse than Amy ever did, probably to the point of being psychotic. "I met Amy." The words slipped out before I realized I'd said them.
His eyes darted away, his gaze moving to his arm and the IV line that ran into a thick vein. Obviously, his ex-wife was not something he was eager to talk about, probably because he assumed I'd found out about the reason for the divorce, specifically Amy and her new friend, which I had. "I didn't know how to tell you."
I leaned a hip on the bed and scooted up next to him. "Aw, come on. We've been friends forever, Jerry. I would have been there for you--no matter what. I wish you'd have let me help."
"I couldn't."
I understood--but only to a point. I couldn't possibly fathom what he had gone through or how much he had internalized as his fault. Further complicating matters was the fact that Amy still loved him. How did that fit in? Hell, how did I fit in? I had the feeling that even in absentia I'd factored into the equation somewhere. An unpleasant tangle no matter how you looked at it. So, I said the only thing I could think of. "Your kids are great. Benjamin looks just like you and Rachel is just a little doll."
"She's a carbon copy of Amy. Hard not to notice that."
Impossible, in fact. "Rachel is gorgeous, just like her mother." I noticed his lip curl just a tad, so I moved on quickly. "I don't know what happened--and don't need to unless you want to tell me--but Amy seems nice and I did get the feeling that she still cares for you very much."