A Shadow on the Ground (12 page)

“I know you do.” She hugged him again, then fought back tears as the sheriff escorted him out the back door to a waiting van. “I just wish I believed it, too.”

****

Opal stood beside the water fountain in full flirt mode talking to Gage Kirkland. In spite of everything, Morgan’s heart lurched at the sight of him. He'd swapped his formfitting jeans for a pair of pleated khakis and a blue long-sleeved shirt. The soft stubble on his chin had disappeared, replaced by smoother skin and two red shaving nicks. Damp tendrils of hair fringed over the back of his shirt collar. The crisp clean scent of his aftershave drifted toward her, a little pungent, as if he had spritzed himself only two minutes earlier in the car.

“How's your brother holding up?” he asked.

Morgan sighed. “Sean is such an irritating optimist. If the world went up in flames tomorrow, he’d admire the pretty colors, then list five reasons why it could be a good thing.”

“Looking on the bright side is a gift,” Opal said reprovingly. “It wouldn’t hurt you to try and stay positive, Miss Doom and Gloom.” She batted her wrinkled eyes at Gage. “I’ve told her that for years, but it hasn’t done a lick of good.”

“How are you
doing?” Gage asked Morgan.

“Me?” Morgan shook her head and laughed. “I’m a freakin’ basket case.”

Opal took out an embroidered handkerchief and dabbed at her temples. “Is it hot in here? My heart’s going a mile a minute.”

Gage slid his hand beneath Opal’s elbow. “Let's get you ladies some coffee. The Wildflower Café next door looks good.”

“No, I’m fine now.” Opal fluttered her handkerchief in the air. “You two go on. I'm stopping by church to say a prayer for Sean. Something tells me my boy’s gonna need all the help he can get.”

“Her boy,” Morgan said after Opal left. “What a joke. Do you know how many times she tried to ship us off to boarding school? Believe me, this is all for show. Don’t let her fool you. She doesn’t give a happy damn about either of us.”

They walked to the Wildflower Café and sat at one of the round metal tables in the front courtyard.

“Your grandmother said her heart was racing. Will she be all right?”

“Step-grandmother. And yes, she’ll be fine. Opal’s always fine. She loves a good crisis as long as she isn’t expected to do anything. Oh, she’ll go to church, shed a few tears if anybody’s watching, visit the Main Street shops to tell her troubles to whoever will listen, then go home, fix herself a gin and tonic, and watch
The Price is Right
.”

“You sound bitter.”

“And it doesn’t become me, right?”

“Oh, you still look pretty good. But bitterness will give you frown lines and corrode your soul. Trust me on this.”

She glanced up. A few of the leaves on the birch trees surrounding the town square had turned pale yellow-gold. The September sun shone through their branches, throwing mottled shadows on the sidewalk, caressing the center of town with its warmth. But Morgan couldn’t feel it. Something cold and thick had seeped into her bones. Her troubles loomed in front of her like a wild horse bent on destruction, pawing the air with its hooves.

Gage signaled to the waitress for two coffees. He turned and gazed at Morgan with his dark, brown-green apologetic eyes, until she had to look away.

“I know you told me not to come,” he said. “But you need someone in your corner. And frankly, after last night, I was worried about your safety.”

“Don’t call me Frankly,” she murmured. She glanced his way but avoided eye contact. She wished he’d leave. The emotions he kept dredging up were keeping her in a constant state of exhaustion. She was running on fumes and two hours sleep, and she was scared. More scared than she’d ever been in her life. She needed some space to think. She couldn’t think around Gage, and it was getting too damned hard to keep pushing him away.

“I’ve been instructed to be nice to you,” she said. “But this thing with my brother and the farm is none of your business.”

“Maybe not. But when somebody pumps six bullets into the windshield of my car, in your driveway, that makes it my business. Do you know who might not want me visiting you?”

“Besides me?”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Besides you.”

“No.”

The waitress set two steaming mugs of coffee in front of them. Gage stirred three packets of sugar into his and said, “I asked Stallard’s secretary about the autopsy results.”

“So did I, but she wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“That’s because you didn’t tell her she smelled like sunshine.”

“No, I didn’t.” She looked at him. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Not sure, but it worked. They should have the results back in four or five days.”

“That long?”

“I know, but this is real life, not
CSI
. The county uses a contracted pathologist from Cherokee Bluff, and that takes time. She said it could be sooner, depending on their caseload.”

“I hate sitting here helpless while Sean is in jail. What can I do?”

“Nothing until something happens. He’ll either be charged or they’ll let him go.”

“I lied about Sean to Opal. If she knew how distraught he was, she would spread it all over town. Sean tried to put on a brave face, but I could tell he’s terrified. He’s grief-stricken over Harlan. It broke my heart.”

“I found out something else.”

“Because you told Deputy Nelson he smelled like rain?”

“No, did he?” Gage took a cautious sip of coffee. “Someone should tell the sheriff there’s a sound tunnel running through the hallway from her office to the water fountain. I heard her talking to the lab on the phone. The knife they found had no fingerprints on it, so it had probably been wiped clean. Which is fairly normal. Not many weapons have fingerprints on them. But my point is they can’t use that against him.”

Morgan stared at him. “And you know this because...”

“I worked as a private investigator for nine years. Grunt work mostly—following cheating husbands and wives, investigating insurance fraud, getting the goods on a few corporate crooks. But sometimes, if the moon was full, and I’d been a very good boy, I got to hop in my tricked-out Mustang and tear through the streets of Atlanta chasing the scum of the earth.”

“Define scum.”

“Drug dealers, car thieves, deadbeat dads. I even tracked down a kidnapper once. Two of us worked that case, and we saved a little girl from—well, we got to her in time.”

“I thought you were in pre-med.”

“Turns out I can’t stand to see people in pain.”

“Wow. I never thought you’d end up doing something so dangerous.”

“Me, either.” He grinned. “But it seems I’m one if those guys who’s addicted to adrenaline. The rush didn't come often, but when it did, it made me feel alive.”

“Your wife and son didn't do that for you? “

“I—” He stopped and blinked. As if she’d slapped him.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was out of line. I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” he said quietly. “It’s a fair question. You’re right. It was a crazy line of work for a family man. I took risks. I was fearless. But I had been systematically shut out of Jeremy’s life, and nothing else did anything for me. For a lot of years, I was so angry at the cards I’d been dealt and the choices I’d been forced to make, I didn’t care what happened to me.”

“Are you talking about marrying Suzanne? What kind of shotgun did her father have?”

“It wasn’t like that. My father and Bert encouraged me to marry her, but I could have said no. Suzanne had a difficult, high-risk pregnancy. A new crisis came up every month. She was bedridden for weeks. I couldn't leave her. Or tell her about you because of the stress it would cause. Jeremy was born two months premature, which is why he's always been physically smaller than normal. He’s catching up, though.

“Suzanne and Bert teamed up against me. They didn’t agree with my career choice. They thought it was dangerous and juvenile and selfish. They thought Jeremy would be better off if I wasn’t in the picture. After our divorce, which Bert paid for, he helped her sue me for full custody. But somehow, by the grace of God, I got the only judge in Fulton county Bert couldn’t bribe, and she ruled in my favor.”

“But you’re family. How could your Uncle Bert do this to you?”

“There are layers and layers to that man. And most of them are made out of compost.”

“So you got full custody of Jeremy?”

“Joint. Of course, when Suzanne realized she’d have to legally share our son with me, she did everything she could to sabotage the agreement—last minute changes of plans, trips to Disney World in the summer, skiing trips to Gatlinburg in the winter. All bankrolled by Bert, of course. But how could I say no? Jeremy loved doing those things.”

“Weekend Father Syndrome.”

“I tried to forge a relationship with Jeremy. I promised him I would quit my dangerous, juvenile job. I started In the Black. I pretended I was happy. And for a while, it all worked. Jeremy had gotten older, and I finally had some common ground with him. I’d begun to make real progress, feel like a real father. And then Suzanne died. And he blames me for it. He’s in therapy now, and it seems to be helping. Dr. Arlene Lloyd. Do you know her? She seems very compassionate.”

“Therapy is a good thing.”

“Bert’s right. I should have tried harder. Not being around when my son needed me is something I'll always regret. Something I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make up to him.”

“You're there now,” she said. “And he still needs you, whether he realizes it or not.”

He smiled at her. It took his eyes a few extra moments to catch up.

“Bring him over today after school,” Morgan said. “I don't have to be at Bad Moon until five. I can give him a lesson while you look around the farm. Sean believes in you, and I would really like for you to try to help him save the orchard.”

“Okay. Thanks.” He grinned, making her heart beat in slow, rolling thuds. “And I'm going to make some calls about finding Sean representation. If he goes up against a murder charge, he'll need the best lawyer we can find.”

“We?”

“We.”

He held her gaze with his while a current of electricity sliced a path through the center of her abdomen.

“I didn't want to leave you alone last night,” he said.

“I was fine.”

“Well, I wasn't.”

“Oh, come on. A big, tough, adrenaline junkie PI like you?”

“Not so tough when the bullets are flying.”

Memories of the night before slammed into Morgan’s brain—the sound of gunshots cracking the air, Gage pushing her off the flagstone walk, lying stone still beside him in the wet grass with a broken rhododendron stob biting into her neck. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel his breath crashing across her shoulder, the strong, constant pulse at the base of his throat flicking against her cheek. How long had it been since she’d touched a man? Or been wrapped like his most cherished possession in the strong, shielding warmth of his arms? Had she ever felt so safe? Would she ever feel that safe again?

Maybe she should hold on to the memory. Bury it deep. Then, when she needed comfort, she could take it out and replay it over and over in her head to drive the unbearable loneliness away. Until something that felt like contentment trickled through her bloodstream,
like a double shot of apple brandy on a cold, wintry night.

A shadow fell over the table.

She lifted her eyes and gasped softly. The last thing she expected to see were the pale, twisted, angry eyes of Lawrence Finch.

****

“Gage Kirkland?”

Gage followed Morgan’s gaze to the man standing beside their table. He looked like an emaciated wolf. The scars around his eyes were disconcerting, but Gage suspected he used that to his advantage. He bared his teeth, more grimace than smile, and tucked a folded newspaper under his arm.

“I’m Gage Kirkland.” Gage automatically stiffened. Strange men showing up out of the blue calling him by name was never a good sign.

“Morning, Miss Maguire,” the man said.

Morgan nodded. “Mr. Finch.”

“Your friend and I have some business to discuss.”

Morgan glanced at Gage. “You know each other?”

“Only by reputation,” Gage said.

Finch slammed the newspaper against the table. “You got me fired today, boy.” His thin face morphed into a sneer, bunching his scars into a hard, fleshy knot. “I've worked for Bert Kirkland for two years, and today, because you moved your brat out of his house, he let me go. Cut me off. Told me he wouldn't be needing my services anymore.”

“Your services?” Morgan’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What are you talking about?”

“He works for Bert,” Gage said. “As a front man. Bert wants your farm, so he thought he’d pay the Big Bad Wolf here to persuade you to sell.”

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Did you know about this?”

“Not until two hours ago,” Gage said. “That’s why I moved out.”

Morgan jumped to her feet and faced Finch. “Why, you...you
snake
. I should have smashed your toes when I had the chance.”

Finch took a step toward Morgan. Gage grabbed the table, ready to leap.

“It's okay,” Morgan said. “This guy’s not gonna hurt me. This guy’s a sniveling little weasel. He’s not so tough without Bert Kirkland's money in his pocket. Are ya, Larry?”

“You want to see tough?” Finch snarled. “I’ll show you tough. The two of you just wait.”

“Until you have some backup?” Morgan glanced around. “Where is Mr. Mendoza? Hiding in the bushes? I mean, that’s what little weasels do, isn’t it?”

“You’d better watch your mouth,” Finch said.

“Leave her alone,” Gage said. “If you have a beef getting fired, then take it up with me.”

Finch smiled. “You know, I’d like to.” His gaze darted between the two of them. “But I think the most efficient way to get back at you would be through her. It's never a good idea to wear your heart on your sleeve, boy.”

Gage jumped to his feet and seized Finch by the arm. He shuffled him across the sidewalk to the parkway then flattened him against a telephone pole. The elderly couple at the next table huddled in fear. The man sitting behind them threw his cigarette on the ground and ran into the café.