Dark Signal Page 8

  The kids’ basketball game brought a few young families in for a sandwich, along with the usual postwork bunch, a couple of the guys who worked at Hodgekiss Farm and Ranch Supply, a cowboy or two. No one had fired up the jukebox, which played only country music. I could at least be thankful for that.

  I plopped on what everyone knew was my stool, next to Michael. I waved at our Aunt Twyla, from down the bar. Dad’s sister, she and her husband, Bud, owned the Long Branch.

  She stood no taller than five foot five, and her dark hair was pulled into a messy ponytail that hung between her shoulders. The ravages of cigarettes and booze showed in her bony face, lined with deep wrinkles.

  Michael gulped from a Coors Light can. “Everyone’s talking about Chad Mills. What’s the deal?”

  I shrugged as Aunt Twyla caught up to us. “What can I get you?”

  I looked at Michael’s can. “Not that horse piss, that’s for sure.”

  “Hey!” It was an old argument, going way back to high school.

  I punched his arm. “Bring me that IPA you had last week, if there’s any left.”

  Twyla cocked an eyebrow. “There’s plenty left. Cowboys around here don’t go for the microbrews. But are you sure you should be drinking?”

  I shot her a questioning glance.

  “In uniform.” She indicated my dapper duds.

  Oh. I didn’t hide my disappointment. “Coffee, then.” I was so tired the caffeine wouldn’t keep me awake more than ten minutes.

  Michael laughed. “The price of power.”

  “What’s up?”

  He tipped his beer. “What? I can’t buy my older sister a birthday drink?”

  Twyla set the coffee in front of me, and I wrapped my hand around the heavy mug. “You haven’t bought me anything since that Batman comic book when you were in second grade.”

  He pointed at me. “I didn’t buy that for you. You stole my allowance.”

  “See?”

  “And now look at you all Sheriff and everything. The world is full of irony.”

  I surveyed the bar while I waited for him to get to whatever point drove him to meet me here. I was surprised to see Josh Stevens sitting at a two-top shoved under a window. He hunched over a half-eaten burger, a bottle of that IPA I’d had a taste for beading in front of him. He stared out the window with that sad Abe Lincoln face.

  Michael set his can on the bar. “Okay. Here’s the deal. Diane and Louise and Douglas, they all—”

  I held up my hand. “You drew the short straw?” If I wasn’t so chapped, I’d laugh. Michael, the Fox with the lowest compassion quotient, the guy usually swimming so deep in his schemes and plans he barely took a breath, got tagged to straighten me out.

  He let out a long breath and tapped the side of his can. “I had to be in town anyway, and those biddies cornered Lauren.”

  “Does the term ‘biddies’ include Douglas?”

  “Douglas especially. He’s like a supercharged mother hen with sideburns.”

  I laughed, sipped my coffee, and wished it was that hoppy IPA.

  “They gave Lauren a sob story about how you need to ‘engage’ in life.” He did air quotes and scrunched up his face to show what he thought of that psychobabble. “They all got together and decided it would be better coming from me, God only knows why.”

  “It’s the element of surprise. I’d never expect you to give me a heartfelt talk.” I hadn’t expected it of Sarah, either. My brothers and sisters had known better than to wrangle her into their scheme. Wouldn’t it tickle them to know she’d hitched to their wagon anyway?

  He held up a finger to Twyla to order another beer. “Right. I told them, ‘Kate can manage her own life, and if she wants to be a sad old maid living with Mom and Dad, then that’s her business.’”

  “Yeah, thanks for that.”

  “I told them I don’t have time to chase after you and make sure your life is all hunky-dory, but Lauren threatened to cut me off if I don’t talk to you. So here it is.”

  Twyla set a cold can of Coors Light in front of Michael, and he tipped it back as if he’d just run a marathon.

  Josh hadn’t taken a bite of his hamburger or touched his beer since last I looked his way. I don’t think he’d even twitched a muscle.

  I considered my coffee cup with dissatisfaction. “Duty done, Michael. And might I say, accomplished with your signature warmth and caring.”

  He gulped his beer. “Right. As if you’d want someone all soft and mushy.”

  He had me there.

  Michael slammed the rest of his beer down and stood. He grabbed my head in the crook of his arm and rubbed his knuckles across my scalp. “I may be a lousy messenger, but listen to what they’re saying. Get a life.”

  I swatted at him, but he jumped back and strode toward the exit. He yanked open the glass door and backed up a pace or two, his head jerking in my direction, a look of alarm in his eyes.

  Dahlia, my ex-mother-in-law, sashayed into the Long Branch. She held the door open, something I’d never seen, and Roxy appeared on the arm of my ex-father-in-law, Sid. He escorted Roxy to a four-top in the middle of the bar. Ted limped in, leaning on his cane, and Dahlia let the door close behind them. She acted like ringmaster for Barnum & Bailey.

  Circuses always creeped me out.

  Roxy was all boobs and fur, shiny lips, and absolutely everything I wasn’t and never would be. Her wide mouth stretched into a greeting and she paused as if stepping onto the red carpet.

  I did not roll my eyes.

  Well, of course I did, but no one saw me.

  Michael glanced at his watch, then back at me, clearly fighting his need to show up to see Kaylen play basketball against giving me moral support. In truth, he was probably trying to weigh which move would score him more points with Lauren.

  I waved him off, wishing I’d had the prescience to leave five minutes ago. If I left now, it would look like I was running away. We were much too civilized for that. I managed a smile of hello before I turned back to my lukewarm coffee, now really coveting Josh Stevens’s untouched IPA.

  Twyla shoved a draft beer toward a cowboy halfway down the bar from me. She huffed, pulled an order pad from her back pocket, and started around the bar toward the Conners’ table. Twyla hated waitressing and was constantly on the lookout to hire someone, anyone. But three-quarters of the time, she suffered the hardship herself.

  I faced forward, annoyed there happened to be a mirror above the bar and my attention couldn’t help but wander to it. Twyla didn’t say a word of greeting. She stopped next to Dahlia and raised her pad and pencil. Customer service wasn’t Twyla’s strong suit, but then, folks didn’t come to the Long Branch for its friendly staff, good food, or fancy ambience. They came because everyone else came here and had for four generations. Aside from the gas station pizza, it was the only eatery in town. But even I had a hard time calling it a restaurant.

  Dahlia raised her head toward Twyla, as if surprised to see her there. She sat back and with a voice inappropriately loud, she said, “We need a bottle of your finest champagne.”

  A garbage barge sank in my gut.

  All I could see of Ted was the back of his head, and it looked as though he pointed his gaze to the table. Dahlia’s public drama could embarrass him from time to time. Roxy sat next to Dahlia, as sparkly as the ordered champagne.

  Dahlia’s perfectly made-up face glowed with excitement. “Bring four glasses but also bring us a bottle of sparkling water. One of us won’t be drinking alcohol.” Dahlia clapped her hands, then leaned over and placed them on either side of Roxy’s head and planted a loud kiss on Roxy’s forehead.

  Oh dear dread. This could not be happening. Not here. Not now.

  Twyla stomped around the bar, slammed the order pad down in front of me, and started her grumbling tirade. “Finest champagne. Like I have that shit sitting around all the time.”

  Steady breath. I couldn’t stop the heat creeping onto my face or the clench in my belly, b
ut I could keep from making a spectacle of myself. One hand gripped the beige, thick warmth of the old-time café mug. The other clung to the edge of the bar.

  Twyla rummaged in a beer cooler under the bar and, after a clanking of bottles and muttered curses, emerged with a bottle of Asti Spumante. “Left over from New Year’s. S’pose that will do for Her Highness?”

  From the mirror over the bar, I watched as Dahlia patted Roxy’s hand, then pushed her chair back and stood up. “Everyone, everyone!” Her royal voice commanded the bar to silence. The smattering of families finishing up their suppers before heading to the game, the cowboys at the bar, the odds and ends having a drink before heading home, all gave Dahlia their half-hearted attention.

  She didn’t seem to care and acted as though she stood at a White House press conference announcing world peace.

  My hands cramped where they clutched the mug and bar to keep me from plugging my ears. I clamped my teeth and for all that’s holy, forced the edges of my mouth into the best imitation of a smile I could muster.

  Twyla clattered ice into a beer mug and slammed it on the bar. “Bottle of sparkling water? For Christ’s sake, she can get seltzer from the soda machine.” She squirted the fizzy water into the mug and plopped it on a cork-covered bar tray along with three standard wine glasses. Dahlia would balk at the lack of flutes, but I didn’t take much delight in that.

  Dahlia lifted her chin and gazed around the motley collection of Long Branch patrons and said those words I didn’t want to hear. “I’m overjoyed to announce that at long last,” she glanced my way at that, “I’m going to be a grandmother!” She clapped her hands again, a reaction more appropriate to a seven-year-old than a middle-aged harpy.

  Okay, “harpy” might be unfair. I didn’t care. The whole situation reeked of unfair. It basked in cruel irony.

  A murmur of congratulations rounded the bar. If the lukewarm reception bothered Dahlia, she didn’t show it. Nor did she seem to mind the bar-sturdy wine glasses or lack of bottled sparkling water. She … glowed. Authentic happiness.

  My hand crept to my belly, and I was surprised there was no gaping hole where my guts leaked onto the floor. I had to escape their happy party. The pop of the Asti cork felt like a shotgun blast to my heart. Ted’s laughter sledgehammered into my brain.

  I couldn’t take one second more and fought to keep from bolting for the door. A warm hand closed on my cold fingers still gripping the coffee mug and pried them loose. Soothing glass cooled my palm, and I opened eyes I hadn’t realized I’d squeezed closed.

  An IPA bottle, less than half filled with tepid beer, nestled in my grip, and Josh Stevens leaned close.

  “Take a drink, then breathe.” He nudged my hand.

  Listening to his direction, I did what he said. The beer burned as I gulped once, twice, three times. I set the bottle down and opened my mouth as if surfacing from a wild ocean.

  He raised two fingers to Twyla, and she dove into the beer cooler. She had the caps popped off and the beers in front of us before I’d sucked in two more breaths.

  Josh tapped the top of his bottle to mine and raised his. “Now, enjoy a cold one at your own pace.”

  I worried beer would spout out the bullet holes Dahlia’s announcement shot through me, but a smile slipped onto my face. I nodded back to Josh and took a long pull on the fresh IPA. I swallowed it down. “Thanks.”

  Josh hunched over his bottle and caught my gaze in the mirror above the bar. “You just needed a minute. That’s all.”

  Already the shock receded, a few inches at a time. “And a good beer.” I tried to make my tone light.

  Josh turned halfway toward me, maybe testing to see whether I’d welcome his interference. “It can be awkward when someone you thought you loved starts on a new life without you.”

  Awkward. I might come up with a stronger word. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. I think maybe I need to eat or something.”

  He acted like what I said made perfect sense. He sipped his beer and didn’t quite smile. “Yep. Cold weather like this can take a toll, too. I was helping preg check Shorty Cally’s heifers today.”

  I strained to make conversation with Josh and pull my thoughts entirely away from Ted’s doings. “Dad used to hire on for day labor between trips. He gave that up a long time ago when the BNSF lineups got so unreliable.”

  Josh didn’t seem to have any more ease making small talk than I did. “It’s sure a crapshoot when they’ll call you for work.”

  Dad spent much of his time at home checking the lineups on the BNSF employee Web site. By law, after finishing a trip, or “tying up” as they said, the engineer and the conductor had at least ten and sometimes twelve hours of rest before they could be called back to work. After that, they were added to the lineup, a nearly fictitious list of trains and crews that supposedly gave some indication when they’d be summoned to work. In reality, the lineups gave only a vague sense of when the crews were called; sometimes it was off by twelve hours or more. It was a crazy way to live.

  “So you take your chances with working that far away?” The trains were called in Broken Butte, an hour’s drive away from Hodgekiss, and they only got a two-hour call. So being in the country might make that timeline dicey.

  Josh looked uncomfortable. “Yeah.”

  While we’d been talking and I was sweeping myself back in one pile, more people had filled up the bar. In the mirror I saw friends of Roxy’s, including Kasey and Dwayne, pull up chairs and join the Conners.

  “Hi, Kate.”

  The voice on my right elbow cut through my fog. Trey Ridnoir, face wind-raw and hair plastered to his scalp from his cap, plopped on the stool next to me. He eyed my beer and ordered a Coors Light when Twyla stopped in front of him.

  I leaned back. “Trey Ridnoir, this is Josh Stevens. Josh was with Meredith Mills last night when I gave her the news. Josh, this is Trooper Trey Ridnoir. He’s investigating the accident.”

  I couldn’t say Josh was warm and easy before, but he looked downright frozen now. It took a might too long for him to raise his hand for Trey’s offered handshake. He released quickly and stood. “I need to be getting home.”

  “Thanks,” I stammered. “For the beer.” He had to know I meant more.

  Josh wove through the gathering crowd. Dahlia’s sisters and their husbands had joined the table, and more friends of Sid and Dahlia’s milled around. No doubt, Ted’s mother had sent out a media blast, and people showed up for a command appearance.

  Trey leaned toward me. “Do you know Josh Stevens very well?”

  I shook my head and drained my beer. Maybe I could slip out unnoticed now. “He was older than me in school and went to Danbury.”

  “He and Meredith Mills were alone at her house last night?” Trey asked, still looking after Josh.

  “He said she’d called him when she saw the emergency lights.”

  Trey let his beer sit. “You don’t think that’s weird?”

  I weighed the kindness I’d seen in Josh’s eyes and the way Dad obviously liked him against Meredith’s strange behavior. “I think they’re friends from way back.”

  Trey considered that. “Josh work for BNSF?”

  I nodded, trying to appear casual as I scanned Ted’s table and the crowd congratulating them. “How’s the investigation progressing?” I didn’t figure he’d offer up details since we sat in a public place.

  He adjusted himself on the barstool. “NTSB and BNSF declared it not a safety issue, and they’ve hightailed it back to heated offices.” While he answered me, he watched Josh slip out the door. “I drove all the way to Broken Butte, but the trainmaster wasn’t there, and none of the employees would talk to me. When I went to Meredith Mills’s, her prick of a father chased me away and said I couldn’t talk to Meredith without her lawyer there.”

  I took a sip and nodded at him. Okay, yes, I did feel a little smug. “Clete was here. I tried to tell you the crew wouldn’t talk to you, not in uniform anyway.” />
  He squeezed his can. “You never said anything.”

  Not that he heard. “And I’d say if you’re planning to talk to Meredith, which I think you should, you ought to do it soon, before she bolts.”

  Trey pulled a palm-sized spiral notebook from his chest pocket and flipped it open. He clicked a pen and jotted in the book. He looked up at me. “What do you mean?”

  I sipped my beer. “Looked like she was packing when I talked to her this afternoon.”

  His jaw dropped. “You talked to her? How did…? I told you not to.”

  I nodded. “I know.”

  Before he spit out the question or lecture or whatever he wanted to say, I caught a fearful sight in the mirror. Oh no. I hadn’t made a getaway when I had the chance. My heart thudded like it wanted to break a couple of ribs. I squirmed on my barstool, thinking to retreat to the bathroom. Too damned late.

  Ted slapped Trey on the back of his heavy jacket. “Good to see you, man.”

  Trey jumped to his feet, a giant grin on his face. “Conner! How the hell are you?”

  Ted’s eyes slid to me, to the gun at my hip, and quickly away. He clasped Trey’s hand. “Not missing having to patrol in the freezing cold, I can tell you that. What do you know about the Chad Mills deal?”

  Trey lost his grin and eyed me uncomfortably. “I, um.” There was a moment of silence.

  I raised an annoyed eyebrow.

  Trey cleared his throat. “I called him. Thought maybe he could give me some pointers about talking to the railroaders.”

  With effort I kept from boxing Trey’s ears, as I might my younger brother Jeremy. “I thought I made the point this morning that I’m Grand County sheriff.”

  Trey’s face flared. “Yeah. You’re right.”

  I nearly crushed my back teeth to powder.

  Finally, Trey swept his arm toward the table, now crowded with extra chairs and people hovering around it. “Looks like you’re celebrating.”

  A smile battled onto Ted’s face, and he glanced at me again, then back to Trey. “Roxy’s been tossing her cookies for a few days, and this morning she really got after it and couldn’t stop. It scared the bejesus out of me. I rushed her into the emergency room, and turns out, she’s got morning sickness.”