The Suspect List--Chapter Fifteen

Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

Tom, Zane’s dad, gives off a sort of friendly nerd vibe while asking me a lot of questions. Where did I grow up? Do I have siblings? That sort of thing.

Wanting the focus on someone else I ask Tom about his background and he pretty much tells me his whole life story. The condensed version is that he grew up in Montezuma county, went to some west coast college I’ve never heard of, majored in some kind of science, worked at a few high paying, boring-sounding jobs, and then returned to this area when his father was dying of cancer. That’s when he met and married ‘the love of his life’, became interested in environmental issues, started a solar power company and then started a family.

All this comes out while I’m putting away their delicious dinner like a chipmunk stocking up for winter–or a low paid worker too far from payday.

Tom then goes on to claim that he personally knows, or at least knows of, nearly every person living in Clover, Mannon, or nearby Doreen, and can find a connection with anyone in this area. He’s certain that either our paths have crossed in some way or we have mutual friends.

“Kalico works at Mesa. That’s our connection.” Sherry sounds a bit terse, though it could be that she’s still annoyed with Zane from earlier, and not with Tom.

“I mean something besides the obvious one,” Tom says, while waving a bit of chicken around on the end of his fork. “You say your stepfather’s name Is Hal Overton?”

“Yep.”

“What does he do?”

“Mostly he sits on the sofa playing video games.”

“I meant for work.”

“He cooks dinner and does the laundry so my mother doesn’t kick him out of the house. Does that count?”

“Didn’t you say Hal is disabled?” Zane asks.

“Yep. Injured on the job years ago. He’s not a bad guy, but he doesn’t leave the house too often. ”

“So it’s highly unlikely that you’ve met him,” Sherry says.

Tom ignores her. “What about your mother? What does she do? Does she work?”

“She works her ass off. I mean someone has to pay the bills.”

Judging by Sherry’s disapproving frown, I probably should have said ‘butt’ not ‘ass,’ but it’s too late to take it back. If this evening doesn’t end soon she’ll be changing her mind about me being someone Zane should get to know better. If she hasn’t already.

Zane’s giving me a little grin. I assume it means he’s not bothered by my bluntness, though I could be wrong about that too.

“You said her name is Bonnie Overton?”

I swallow a bit of potato salad while nodding.

“What’s her occupation?”

“Server.”

A big bright smile spreads across Tom’s face. Hell, he’s so lit up you’d think he’d just discovered the light bulb.

“We know your mom.”

“We do?” Sherry asks.

“We do.” He sends a triumphant look my way. “She works at the Desert Dessert Cafe, doesn’t she?”

“Bingo! You deserve cheesecake for that!”

Zane laughs. So, thankfully, does Tom. Sherry looks confused.

“You know who I mean.” Tom is waving his fork again, a bit of pineapple from the fruit salad precariously balanced on the tines. “Bonnie is our favorite waitress.” 

“Oh yes, of course. We’re there for lunch a couple times a month. She’s so personable. And she always remembers that I like black tea with lemon.”

“Bonnie’s memory is impressive,” Tom says.

“I don’t know how waitresses do it,” Sherry says.

“Servers,” Zane corrects. “No one calls them waitresses anymore.”

“Of course, servers.” Sherry’s smile is a bit tight, which is understandable—no one likes to be corrected.

I feel for her. Or maybe I really do want her to like me because I say, “My mom still calls it waitressing, but then she’s not into the whole politically correct thing.”

This gets more reaction than I expected. A simultaneous “Oh?” from Sherry and an “Is she conservative?” from Tom.

“Can we not get political?” Zane asks.

I turn to Zane, “That’s the kind of thing my mom would say. She thinks all politicians are phony frauds. She isn’t even registered to vote.” 

Tom looks absolutely scandalized by this admission. He starts to say something, but Zane cuts him off with a look and a word. “Dad.”

Tom switches gears. “Well, we do enjoy Bonnie’s excellent service. We believe in generous tipping and your mother always earns hers.” 

It’s meant as a compliment, but it feels condescending to me. Like he’s emphasizing the fact that my mother is in the business of serving Zane’s parents. This time it’s my smile that’s tight. I’m guessing Zane can see my discomfort because he gives my knee a little squeeze.

I’m swallowing my last bite of potato salad when Sherry says, “I don’t know if my cheesecake can compare to the ones at Desert Desserts but it’s not bad.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Tom says. “Your dessert is every bit as delicious as a Desert Dessert dessert. I dare any of you to repeat that sentence three times fast.”

This gets a laugh from Zane and me.

“Are you ready to eat dessert now, or would you rather wait awhile?”

Sherry sends the question in my direction as if I’m the deciding factor. Now that my belly is full–too full for another bite–I’m realizing just how tired I am. My bed and eight hours of sleep is what I need most. 

Is there a polite way to ask if I can take some cheesecake home with me so I can have it for breakfast? Probably not.

“I can’t say no to cheesecake, but I really don’t think I can eat any more or stay awake long enough to…” 

The doorbell rings causing my adrenaline to spike. I have a strong feeling that it’s not going to be a neighbor asking to borrow a cup of sugar.

“Are we expecting anyone?” Tom asks.

“No.” Sherry’s answer doesn’t match the worry in her eyes.

Three out of four of us are on high alert. Tom clearly isn’t. He whistles on his way to answer the door.

“You did tell Dad what’s going on didn’t you?” Zane asks.

“I told him the barn burned.” Without looking at either of us, Sherry swiftly gathers the dishes and carries them to the sink, showing us her back.

I recognize the sheriff’s voice seconds before he enters the kitchen/dining room carrying a large heavy black box that reeks of smoke.  

Sherry swivels around. “What the heck is that?”

“That’s what I’m here to ask you.” He starts to set it down on the table.

“Do not even think about putting that on my dining table.” Sherry nods toward the sliding glass doors.

Zane is seated closest to the door so he gets up and opens it. We all file out to the deck. Ward sets the box, which I now realize is a safe, onto the deck.

“I’ve never seen that before.” Sherry crosses her arms over her chest, probably in an effort to keep warm, as the temperature has dropped dramatically since I got here. 

“David thinks it’s what Mom sent you into the storage barn to find last summer.”

Sherry shakes her head. “Mom sent me to find a cardboard box marked Xmas lights. She never said anything about a safe.”

“I’m betting the safe was inside the box. And well hidden, since you couldn’t find it.” Ward shoots a look at Zane and me. “Is this what you two were looking for in the middle of the night?”

“No.” Zane stands up straighter. He’s eye to eye with his uncle, but only half as wide. “Actually, we were looking for the bicycle that belonged to Abigail Olsen. And we found it.”

“Is that so?”

Zane grabs his phone. I can see his fingers trembling as he brings up the photos, shows them to Ward.

Ward barely glances at the photos. “It’s an old bicycle. There’s tons of crap like that stored in various places all over the ranch. What makes you think this one belonged to that girl?”

His emphasis on the word that seems important to me.

Zane shows Ward the photo he found in JB’s room for comparison. “It’s the same bike.”

“Could be,” Ward says.

“It definitely is.”

“What do you think it means Zane?”

“I know what it means.” Zane pauses, and I’m pretty sure Sherry and I are both holding our breath, afraid of what he’s about to say, while Tom looks  merely curious, and a bit confused. “Someone in the family knows what happened to Abigail.”

Ward appears unfazed by this. “What makes you so sure it was a family member and not someone who worked on the ranch?”

Zane hesitates. I suspect he doesn’t want to play his entire hand, and tell his uncle what Abigail said about the Carlaw men all those years ago. “I have reasons.”

“You have reasons.” Ward’s thin lips form a sneer. “Your reason doesn’t by any chance include a corpse does it?”

Sherry gasps.

“That’s what it would take to get anyone interested in reopening the twenty- year- old case of a runaway teenage girl.”

Zane’s face has turned red. “You can’t prove that she ran away.”

“And you can’t prove that she didn’t. No one else could either, not even then. And don’t go thinking that the bicycle would have been enough evidence to make a difference even if it hadn’t been destroyed in the fire. It wouldn’t have. That’s just the way it is.”

The uncomfortable silence that follows doesn’t last long. Tom ends it with a question. “Did they figure out what caused the fire?”

“Lightning most likely.”

“Isn’t it the fire chief’s job to find the actual cause and not just guess at it?” Zane asks.

“It’s an old barn,” Ward speaks slowly, as if he’s talking to an idiot. “No one was injured and nothing of value was destroyed. The family isn’t going to be making any insurance claims so it doesn’t really matter. Though, if we were going to investigate this as arson, we’d be asking you two all kinds of questions, and things could get ugly. No one wants that.”

When Ward turns his focus on me I remember the gas can I knocked over, and feel sweat break out on my forehead.

“Where have I seen you before?”

Now I’m trembling and sweating. “I don’t know.”

“Kalico works at Mesa Assisted Living,” Sherry says. “You’d know that if you ever bothered to visit Dad.”

This is an argument I do not want to be in the middle of. 

“Kalico,” Ward says, ignoring his sister completely. “What’s your real name?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I can’t lie about this. “Katrina Crane.”

Ward nods. “That name sounds familiar. It’ll come to me, eventually.”

God I hope not.

Sweat is dripping down my back. I can feel Zane and Sherry staring at me, no doubt wondering why I never mentioned that Kalico is a nickname, or worse, wanting to know where Ward remembers me from.

After another brief silence Tom asks, “What’s in this safe? And why on earth did you bring it here?”

(Happy September everyone! I plan to have chapter sixteen out in two weeks.)