Jeannie Watt (9 page)

Tara kept her expression pleasant as she nodded at the woman beside her. She needed to make an effort to be part of the community, she reminded herself, and she
had
taken Dottie’s seat. This wasn’t the time to make a scathing comment about the “honor” of being both queen and the butt of the joke.

“Do you still have your dress?”

Tara forced a smile and nodded again.

If they wanted her dress, they could have it. Aunt Laura had preserved it. Practically embalmed it, in fact, but Tara didn’t blame her. Her aunt had made the dress herself, sewing zillions of pearls into intricate designs over the pale gray satin. It was a masterpiece. Tara never told her aunt about the embarrassment she’d suffered that night, and she truly hoped Laura never knew. Of course in Night Sky, that was highly unlikely.

“All right,” Stacia said, interrupting Tara’s thoughts, “the last item is the donation jars for the new gym floor. The boosters are really hoping that donations from the reunion will send them over the top and construction can begin in August. If you haven’t already volunteered to have a jar at your business, please raise your hand so Ernest can get your name.”

Several hands went up, including Tara’s.

“Uh, okay…” Ernest Stewart, the booster club president, looked a little overwhelmed at the number of hands. “Uh, keep your hands up until I say your name.”

He wrote names, saying them aloud, and the hands went down one by one. When Tara lowered hers she heard Dottie whisper, “We’d better watch
that
jar, if you know what I mean….”

Dottie’s voice was low and she may not have meant for everybody to hear, but they did. Tara clenched her teeth, and she was more than aware of quick glances her way, but she kept her eyes straight ahead, pretending she hadn’t heard. Several sharp retorts came to mind, but she was going to take the high road, ignoring the fact that Dottie had not once but twice publicly accused her of shoplifting in her convenience store when Tara was a teen. Both times Tara had been thoroughly searched and both times she’d had nothing on her person. After the second time, she’d never gone into the Gibson store again. But the memory of the humiliation lived on. It was one of the reasons she’d taken Nicky with her when she left for college. She wasn’t going to subject her little brother to the same blind prejudices she’d had to live with.

The meeting was adjourned shortly after Dottie’s rude comment. Tara had just started toward the rear exit when she heard her name. She turned to see perky Sandra Hernandez hugging a clipboard to her chest.

“Tara, you’re not on a committee yet and you need to be on one if you’re going to participate in the reunion,” Sandra chirped like a happy parakeet.

“Fine,” Tara said. “Put me on a committee.”

“I already have. You’re on the prom-dress parade staging committee. Flowers, decorations, dress rehearsal. Things like that.”

“Oh?” Tara replied. “Can I be in charge of the slide show?”

Sandra had the grace to blush, before pursing her lips defiantly. “That was none of my doing.”

“It was a long time ago, Sandra. Maybe you can’t remember that far back. Anyway, I didn’t care then and I don’t care now. What do I need to do on this committee?”

“Dottie will call you.”

Tara refrained from rolling her eyes.
Great. Dottie.
“Thanks, Sandra,” she said dryly. “See you.”

In the few short minutes she’d spend talking to Sandra, the room had nearly emptied. Tara started down the long L-shaped hall that led to the rear exit. She rounded the corner and immediately regretted her decision to take the shortcut. Ryan was standing next to the isolated door, a self-satisfied smile on his handsome lips.

Tara fixed a stony expression on her face and tried to brush by him, but he stepped into the center of the hall. Short of knocking him over, which she seriously considered, she couldn’t leave this way, so she did an immediate about-face and started back down the hall, only to be pulled up short by a heavy hand on her shoulder. Tara immediately twisted out of his grip and turned, ready to do whatever she had to to protect herself, but her tormentor casually stepped away and leaned against the wall.

“I want to talk to you, Tara. Privately. And since your bodyguard
never
seems to leave your house…”

Tara’s spine stiffened at the implication of his words…and that he knew Matt was there most of the time.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Tara replied through her teeth, holding the man’s gaze so that he couldn’t surprise her again. Her shoulder was already starting to ache where he’d grabbed her too hard.

“Not even to work a deal out on your house? Save you the embarrassment of foreclosure? You’ve had time to think since I last spoke to you.”

Translation—you’ve had time to get turned down for six different loans.
She jacked her chin up and narrowed her eyes.

“I’ll risk the embarrassment, Ryan. The house is not for sale and I want you to stay away from me.”

“Yeah, Tara? Just what will you do if I don’t?” He hooked his thumb in his pocket. “Seems to me, there’s not much you can do.”

“You might be surprised at what I can do,” she bluffed.

“Oh, yeah?” He stepped forward. “Why don’t you show me?”

The smug challenge was too much for her. Tara took a deep breath…and screamed.

The startled expression on Ryan’s face was well worth the strain on her vocal cords and her pride. She would have much rather popped him in the nose again, but he’d obviously been expecting that. This seemed a better option under the circumstances.

He muttered, “You bitch,” and then he was gone, the door swinging shut after him as several people came charging down the hall.

“T-Tara?” Ernest Stewart stuttered, obviously thinking that if something had frightened Tara Sullivan, it had to be bad. “What happened?”

Tara pressed a hand to her heart. “I saw a rat.”

“A rat!” Sandra looked faint, but Eva Martini’s eyes widened and then narrowed.

“Don’t be silly. We have never had a rat in the convention center.”

“Yes, Mrs. Martini, you have.”

A few minutes later Ernest was arranging traps under the direction of Eva and Sandra. Tara felt bad about her ruse, but she had to prove to Ryan he couldn’t push her around, or he would certainly continue.

Make an offer on her house…
she’d rather torch it than see the Somerses own it.

She shivered as she stepped out into the startlingly bright sunlight and felt the heat wash over her. She wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep for about ten hours, but she still had to drive to Elko to pick up the three antique dressers she’d bought over the phone a few days before.

Aunt Laura had packed the house with antique furniture, most of which was now stored in the barn, but she had favored the unusual over the practical and there weren’t enough usable dressers for all of the bedrooms. Tara’d been lucky enough to hook up with Mrs. Felton, an elderly lady from Elko who pronounced herself an antique broker, even though she was actually more of a yard-sale broker, and through her had managed to pick up enough pieces at a fairly reasonable cost to finish furnishing the bedrooms. These pieces would be her last—if they were indeed in as good a shape as Mrs. Felton insisted they were when she had named her price.

It didn’t matter,
Tara thought as she pulled onto the highway that led to the interstate. With the reunion only weeks away, she’d take whatever she could get.

It was close to ten o’clock and the moon was well above the horizon by the time Tara, exhausted, turned back off the interstate onto the state highway leading to Night Sky. The dressers, which had thankfully turned out to be well worth the asking price, were riding nicely under their protective tarp and the thunderstorm that the weatherman had predicted hadn’t materialized. All in all, a very rotten day had turned into a pretty good evening.

As she rounded a sharp corner, a red safety flare all but blinded her. She yanked the steering wheel to the left to keep from hitting the rear bumper of a sedan parked half-on half-off the side of the highway.

Tara cursed as her dressers hit the side of the truck—hard—then bounced to the other side, and finally to the cab as she braked. Once she was at a stop, completely
off
the road, unlike the other car, Tara looked over her shoulder. Was this an actual driver in distress or a ploy to stop an unsuspecting motorist? They were in the middle of nowhere on a little-traveled road….

The sedan, which looked very familiar in the red glow of the flare, had a white distress hanky fluttering from the antenna. Tara opened her door and got out, no longer leery of possible consequences. She only knew one person who drove a classic Cadillac and carried white hankies. Dottie Gibson. And unless she was mistaken, that was indeed Dottie huddled behind the wheel, looking terrified.

Tara grabbed her flashlight and, thinking
first things first,
stalked to the back of her truck to inspect her dressers. She lifted the tarp and was happy to see that none of the wood had splintered. They were probably scratched, but not destroyed. She dropped the tarp and stood for a moment looking at the frightened figure in the dangerously parked sedan.

Tara used the flashlight to illuminate her face as she walked back to the car, hoping she didn’t look too ghoulish in her attempt to make herself recognizable to the frightened woman. No sense further terrifying the old…she swallowed as she saw the expression on the woman’s face. Fear, chagrin and…relief?

“Flat tire, Mrs. Gibson?” Tara asked as Dottie rolled down the window. Dottie nodded, her eyes round.

“Have you called for help?”

“My cell phone is dead and I forgot my charger.” The woman’s voice cracked on the last word. “My husband told me…he said…”

“It’s okay,” Tara soothed. She knew how cranky Mr. Gibson could be. He rivaled his wife. “Have you been here long?”

“Twenty minutes.” Tears started welling in the woman’s eyes.

Twenty minutes alone, wondering who or what might come by. Tara could understand her anxiety. “You can use my phone if you want to call him while I change this tire.”

“Oh, that would be…” Dottie’s eyebrows went up. “You can change a tire?”

“I’ve learned to do a lot of things for myself.”

Dottie nodded thoughtfully. “I…I suppose you have.” She rolled her window the rest of the way down. “If you could change this tire, well, I could get home and David wouldn’t know I had this flat. He hates it when I go to visit my sister in Elko when it’s late, but I had to go. She’s tailoring a dress for me…it had to be fitted….” Dottie’s words trailed off. “He said something like this would happen and he insists I have the phone. If he knew how careless I’d been—”

“The sooner we get started…” Tara suggested.

“Yes. Yes.”

“The first thing we need to do is get your car into a safer position,” Tara said. “I’ll move my truck and you can park there where it’s level, but be sure and get all the way off the road.”

“Oh. Can I drive on a flat? Won’t it damage something? David said—”

“It won’t hurt if you just pull it forward a few yards and it’ll be a lot safer.”

Dottie looked first dubious and then determined as she cranked the ignition. “Yes. I’ll park right where your truck is.”

Tara had the tire changed in less than fifteen minutes.

“Tara…”

“That should do it, Mrs. Gibson.” Tara wiped her hands on her jeans.

“I have some moist towelettes,” Dottie offered and Tara smiled.

“No thanks. Just take it easy into town. You have no spare and the tire I put on is a little low on air. I’ll follow you until my road.”

“I do need to pay you.”

“Thank you, but no,” Tara said firmly as she started walking to her truck. “Good night.”

“Tara?”

Tara raised her hand in a dismissive wave, got into her truck and waited until Dottie finally glanced at her watch, then got into her own car, started it and pulled onto the road. Tara waved again as the woman drove slowly by, the hankie still fluttering from the antenna.

Pay her, indeed. Tara smiled. She’d been paid in satisfaction and poetic justice and wouldn’t have it any other way.

In spite of Ryan, in spite of everything, she felt great.

I
T WAS OFFICIAL
.

In the back of his mind, Matt had known it was coming. It was the lieutenant’s next logical move in his bid to get rid of him without risking a harassment suit.

Matt opened the certified letter and read the notification that he was required to partake in an FFD—Fitness for Duty—exam before returning to patrol. Failure to comply…

Matt scanned the rest of the letter and then dropped it on the kitchen table.

Rumor had it Lisa had gone out with the lieutenant a couple of times after she’d broken up with Matt.
Gee. What could the lieutenant have wanted?
A little information on Matt’s stress level and stability, perhaps? Any signs of domestic violence? Fits of rage?

Matt knew for a fact that Lisa had seen none of the above, and she would have been honest about it, but she had seen obsessive focus, insomnia, lack of appetite. Warning signs. Things to report to the lieutenant.

Matt picked the letter up and shoved it back in the envelope, disgusted.

This was his legacy from his father, a supposed top cop who, along with two other officers, had been stealing recovered money and drugs for years. Ironically, the scheme had come to light shortly after his father had been killed. So in a sense, the old man had gotten away with it, while the other two officers had been arrested and charged.

The department had naturally suspected Matt of being a co-conspirator, but he’d eventually been cleared. On paper anyway. But suspicion lingered and the lieutenant was the most suspicious of all. He firmly believed Matt had to be involved and he subsequently made Matt’s life a living hell. If he couldn’t indict Matt, then he was at least going to force him to quit his division. But Matt never once considered it, because quitting was the same as admitting guilt. So he’d become “supercop” instead, proving that he was not his old man. Proving the lieutenant was wrong. Proving that he was a good officer.