A Shadow on the Ground (7 page)

Morgan left quietly and joined Ethan in the living room. “You’re right,” she said. “He’s hammered. Where'd you find him? Bad Moon?”

“In the back booth with the Wheeler twins, toasting Dad with Jaeger shots. Peach got Ralph to close for her. She insisted on coming with us. From the looks of things, Sean is her latest target. God help him.”

“What were you doing at Bad Moon? I didn’t think you liked bars.”

Ethan sat on the wide ottoman. He blinked his pale white-blue eyes. “I...I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. I sublet my apartment above the feed store to stay with Dad, and I was going crazy in his house. I kept walking from room to room.”

“You should have called me.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “No, I should have called you. I was going to, but I—”

“I keep seeing him lying in all that blood.” Ethan shook his head. “I can't stop thinking about it.”

She sat next to him. “I know. It doesn't seem real, does it? What happened to him, Ethan? He was walking toward the barn this morning after breakfast, and he looked fine.”

Ethan raked a lock of brown hair back from his face. “I don’t know. You know he's been taking a blood thinner since he had the clot in his leg last summer. The coroner said if the dosage had been too high, he could have died of hemorrhagic shock due to excessive bleeding. Maybe he screwed up and took too many pills. You know how distracted he's been. They're gonna—” He stopped and sucked in air. “They're gonna do an autopsy. Christ, Morgan, they're slicing him up like a slab of meat.”

She couldn’t help thinking what an ironic turn of events that was, since Harlan had spent most of his life doing the same thing to cows and pigs.

“I don’t think I can stand it,” he said.

Morgan put her arms around him. “They have to find out what happened. You want to know what happened, don't you?”

“Yes, but—”

He pulled back and looked at her. In the soft amber glow of the Tiffany lamp, he looked almost handsome. Especially when he smiled. He had his father’s smile, so wide and appealing, it lit up his whole face. His lips were a little puffy, and slightly out of proportion with his thin, narrow jaw. But nice. She had kissed those lips. More than once. But over the years, the memory had faded until it seemed as if it had happened to someone else. Even now, gazing into his eyes, she could barely believe the two fumbling teenagers in the cab of his father’s Ford Ranger pickup had been them.

“Hey, girl,” he murmured. “How come you're always around when I need you?”

“Because we're friends. Good friends.”

“Best friends.”

They hugged again, and this time he held her longer. His hands radiated a soothing warmth through her thin cotton shirt. Wouldn't life be simpler if she could fall in love with Ethan Spannagel, the sweet, mild-mannered owner of the local feed store? She could live out her days in the mountains, happy and content, the wife of a man who sold goat chow and fertilizer for a living. If he kept her picture in a drawer beside his bed, he might still feel something for her.

Sometimes she caught him looking at her shyly, longingly, as if he thought they could pick up where they'd left off the summer before her junior year at UT. They'd dated most of June and July, hanging out together, even parking on the south side of Chestnut Ridge for a few clumsy make out sessions. But the attraction had cooled quickly. At least for Morgan. Any budding romantic notions she might have felt for Ethan Spannagel evaporated the night they ran over a rabbit on Barkerstown Road, and he cleaned and served it for lunch the next day.

Peach tiptoed out of the sunroom and dropped onto the sofa. “I’m worn out.”

“How is he?” Morgan asked.

“Fine.” Peach leaned back and sighed. “God, I love that man. I'd do anything for him. Even if he is snoring like a buzz saw.”

“Family trait,” Morgan said. “I sound like the spin cycle on a washing machine.”

“You do not,” Ethan said softly.

“I’ve never seen Sean so sad,” Peach said. “I wish I could comfort him. Sean’s going to miss your dad, Ethan. We all are.”

Ethan glanced at her from beneath his thick lashes. “Oh, I’m sure you’re going to miss him, Peach. You and Dad were such good friends.” He turned back to Morgan. “I hoped Dad could help get this place going again. What rotten luck for you and Sean.”

“Oh, Sean won’t give up,” Morgan said. “No matter what happens.”

“I don't believe in luck,” Peach said. “I think people make their own luck. At least I do. I’m not gonna let Sean give up. I’m gonna help him through this.” Her thick red lips pursed defiantly. “It looks like my job at the nursing home won’t last much longer, so I’m gonna quit and help Sean with the orchard.” She shot an accusing look at Morgan. “S
omeone
has to.”

“Oh, Peach,” Morgan said. “I don't think—”

“The orchard is his life,” Peach said. “And you’ll never move away as long as Sean keeps asking you to stay. Don’t you see, Morgan? This is your chance. You could go back to Nashville, and I could stay here with Sean.” She bounced up and down, her idea gathering steam. “Oh,
please
, Morgan. He showed me how to run the cider press, and I’m good with numbers. I could keep the books. And I’d take real good care of him. If I helped him hang on to the orchard, he would realize we want the same things. Then he would finally see the real me.”

“Oh, I think he’s seen that already,” Ethan said under his breath. “I think we all have.”

For one selfish moment, Morgan wondered if it could work. Peach and Sean hung out together sometimes when she stopped by to pick up Crystal. Sean had never confided in Morgan about his love life—he was as private as she was—but maybe he had fallen for Peach. Sure, Peach had acquired baggage, with a capital
B
. But how many women in their mid-thirties didn’t have a past? Sean was shy. Maybe an outgoing girl like Peach would be good for him. No one could accuse Peach of gold digging when Maguire Orchard was half a breath away from bankruptcy. If Sean truly loved Peach, Morgan could leave the farm with a clear conscience.

Peach was offering her a way out. Would it be so horrible if she took it?

Ethan stared at Morgan. “You can’t seriously be considering this. What’s the matter with you? Where’s that reassuring cynicism I’ve come to rely on? Would you walk out on Sean and let him fend for himself with...
Peach
? Peach is a—”

“I’m a
what
, Ethan?”

“No offense, Peach,” Ethan said. “I just don’t think you’re the right woman for the job.”

A loud knock on the front door brought Morgan to her feet.

“Morgan?” Sheriff Stallard stood on the front porch, squinting through the dusty screen. Kamikaze moths dive-bombed the globed porch light beside her head.

“I didn't hear you drive up,” Morgan said.

“Deputy Nelson is in skulk mode tonight.” Sheriff Stallard nodded to the six-foot-four man standing behind her.

Deputy Nelson grinned. “Hey, Morgan.”

“Hey, Ron,” Morgan said. “Come on in.” Ron ducked his head under the doorframe. He hadn’t changed much since he and Sean had graduated high school together. He still had the same shock of straight blond hair falling into his brown puppy dog eyes and the same sigh inducing, hard won muscles straining at the sleeves of his deputy uniform.

“Is Sean here?” Ron asked. “The guys at Bad Moon Rising said Ethan drove him home.”

“He’s here,” Morgan said. “But he's passed out. He’s taking Harlan’s death pretty hard.”

“Then we'd better get him sobered up,” Sheriff Stallard said. “I'm going to have to take him down to the station, honey. I have a warrant for his arrest.”

Peach catapulted off the couch.
“
You
what?”

“No!” Morgan cried. “I don’t understand. What are you arresting him for? He didn't drive drunk. Ethan brought him home.”

“Calm down,” Sheriff Stallard said. “And sit down. In fact, you’d all better sit down.”

“We’re not sitting down,” Ethan said. “Not until you tell us what’s going on.” He slid his arm around Morgan protectively.

The sheriff nodded. “As it turns out, your father’s death was a very nasty business.” She and Deputy Nelson exchanged looks. “Ethan, I know this will be a shock. But your father was stabbed on his left side. Repeatedly.”

Ethan stared at her. “What do you mean, stabbed? I didn't see any stab wounds.”

“Neither did the coroner. Not at first. Not with all the blood. Our department isn't used to handling things like this. The crime lab from Cherokee Bluff came over to help, and—”

“And you think Sean did it?” Morgan's mouth went dry. “That’s ridiculous. What evidence do you have?”

“Sean may have been the last person to see Harlan alive. A witness noticed his truck parked in the Spannagel's driveway, then saw Sean and Harlan walk down the path to the slaughterhouse.”

“Mrs. Cowden, right?” Morgan's voice cracked. “It was her, wasn’t it? One word from that nosy old crone, and you're out here arresting my brother for murder? Come
on
, Teresa.”

“Listen, Morgan,” the sheriff said. “You'd better be grateful Mrs. Cowden spends her days looking out her upstairs window because she's your alibi. If she places Sean at the scene of the crime, near the approximate time of death, then I have to question him.”

“Then question him here,” Morgan said.

The sheriff glanced at Ethan and hesitated. “There’s more. We found a knife smeared with blood in the slaughterhouse. A large pocket knife with the initials
SRM
and a four-leaf clover engraved on it. I'm pretty sure it belongs to Sean.”

“Sean Robert Maguire,” Peach whispered. “But you don't think—you
can’t
think—”

“Everybody knows that knife belongs to Sean,” Morgan said. “The 4-H Club presented it to him on Appreciation Day for donating part of the orchard for their mentoring program. The whole town saw them give it to him.”

“Then you see why I have to take him in,” Sheriff Stallard said. “It's classic probable cause. I have no choice.”

“Sean's not an idiot,” Morgan said. “If he stabbed Harlan with his own knife, a knife with his initials on it, he'd have the IQ of a wet sock.”

“You think I killed Harlan?”

Morgan spun around. “
Sean!
”

Sean stood in the doorway, clutching the empty waste can in front of him like a feedbag.

“I heard wha’ you said,” Sean said, slurring his words. “I was at Harlan's house, but I din’ hurt him.” His eyes tried to focus on Morgan's face. “I couldn't hurt him.
I didn't
.” He looked at Peach. “
Wha’aryou
doin’ here? I told you to leave me alone. Why are you here?” He turned to Morgan. “Why is she here?”

“He’s definitely intoxicated,” the sheriff said. “Anything he says while he's under the influence is inadmissible. When he sobers up tomorrow, we'll read him his rights.”

“Screw that.” Sean stumbled into the room. “Aren't any of you
listening
to me?”

“You were in the slaughterhouse with Dad?” Ethan said. “Why?”

“I followed him home because he was sick. He was alive when I left him. I swear.” He fell forward. The waste can rolled across the floor and bounced off the side of the upright piano.

“Let's get him to the car,” Sheriff Stallard said.

“I'll get my purse,” Morgan said.

“There's no reason for you to come down tonight,” the sheriff said. “We're just gonna put him in a room and let him sleep it off. We won't question him until tomorrow.”

“When?” Morgan asked.

“Tomorrow, honey. As soon as he wakes up.”

“Before eight o’clock?”

“More like nine,” the sheriff said.

“I’ll be there at eight.”

Morgan collected Sean’s shoes from the bedroom and handed them to Deputy Nelson. Her eyes filled with tears as he and Sheriff Stallard helped Sean to the car. Sean slid into the backseat and collapsed in the corner. His head lolled to the side.

“They’re
taking
him
away
!” Peach wailed, sounding exactly like her daughter.

“Come on, Peach,” Ethan said wearily. “We can’t do anything about it tonight. I’ll drop you off at Bad Moon to get your car.”

Morgan caught his arm. “Look, I don't know what happened to your father. But I know Sean didn't have anything to do with it.”

Ethan nodded, his eyes full of pity. “I’m sure he didn’t.”

“He didn’t, Ethan.” She stared at him. “He didn’t. He
didn’t!
“

“I believe you.” He put his cool hands on either side of her face. “It’ll be okay, Morgana.”

“Morgana? You haven’t called me that in a long time. Not since we were twelve.”

“Morgana, half-sister to King Arthur. The most powerful enchantress in Avalon.”

She smiled. “Spoken like a true video game geek.”

“Well, you’ve always had me under a spell.” He tilted her head down and kissed her forehead. “Now, go. Get some rest.”

Morgan leaned against the porch railing while the two cars disappeared down the dark road. The cold night air coated her skin like a thin layer of frost. Fear pressed against her chest until it hurt to breathe. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t gather her wits. What mind she had left had turned to sludge. She paced the length of the huge wraparound porch, around and back again, until she wanted to scream.

She’d better hustle to move past the shock and get a grip on reality before her life came crashing down around her. There were decisions to be made, and she was the only one who could make them. Her step-grandmother was useless in a crisis. When disaster struck, Opal Maguire went to pieces, beautifully, and managed to snag the center of attention. She fluttered around like Aunt Pittypat, thumping her chest with a lavender hankie, pulling the blinds closed, knocking back crystal cordials of cream sherry until she fell asleep on the living room sofa. Opal coped by not coping. Then complained loudly how the chips fell.

With each lap around the porch, Morgan tried to shake some sense back into her brain. Sean was innocent. She knew that as well as she knew her own name. People loved Sean, admired him, wanted to be like him. He was sweet and kindhearted and good. And not just on the surface, like so many of the so-called God-fearing people who lived on the mountain. But in the deepest part of his soul where it counted.