The Wanderer (23 page)

“Lovely,” she said, sipping. She tilted her head to look up at him. “But I don’t want you to worry—if your plans change and you have to be with family, it’s not going to be a problem.”

Ah, she was holding him at arm’s length. Even though he didn’t have the details, it was enough to know she’d had a real bad experience. It was hard for her to trust. A year ago, five years ago, even ten years ago—this was him. He was always afraid to get too close. “Barring some family emergency, I’ll be here,” he said. “Tell me about the rescues.”

So while she cuddled up to him and sipped her wine, she told him about one possible coronary, a boat taking on water forty miles offshore, a hiker who’d spent Thanksgiving day in the woods at about five thousand feet, lost and with hypothermia. And then her glass was nearly empty. “Will you put this on the coffee table, please?”

He laughed at her. “Is it good having your very own valet?”

“It is good,” she said, resting her head against his chest. “And you double as a pillow very nicely, too.”

He pulled a throw off the end of the sofa and covered her and some of himself, as well. “Wanna make out?” he asked her.

“Hmm. Can’t. Landon could be coming in anytime now. Plus I don’t know how to make out with you without taking my clothes off and making crazy, insane, insatiable love to you.”

He laughed and it ended in a low growl and a kiss on her forehead. “Don’t seek help for that, all right?”

“All right,” she said. “If I walk Ham tomorrow, maybe you can get a nooner.”

“I’ll take it,” he whispered. And then he let his eyes close while he held her before he thought about it much longer—that she was the best thing he’d ever come across. And she was afraid to let him in.

Her soft snore put him to sleep. He had no idea what time it was when he heard the back door and Ham’s excitement. His feet were propped on the coffee table, and she was curled in a small ball against him with one leg thrown over his. He had both arms around her. He opened one eye to see Landon standing in front of them, his hands on his hips, a smile on his face.

“Oh, you kids,” Landon said with a smile. “I’m going to bed.”

Cooper gave a small nod and just pulled Sarah closer. His contentment was too rich for him to get up and leave.

* * *

The diner had been closed on Thanksgiving Day. It opened bright and early the next morning, though the crowd was sparse. Quite a few people took a long weekend and many left town to be with family in other towns or states. Gina had the diner’s laptop open on the counter, paying a few bills for Stu, when Scott Grant came in. This time, no small children—he was alone.

“Good morning,” she said, closing her laptop.

He sat up at the counter right in front of her in Mac’s seat. “Do you live here, Gina?” he asked with a smile.

“You’d think so, right? I work a lot when I’m not in school. When I have classes, Stu adjusts my schedule as much as possible. I work the day shift, from early morning to midafternoon. I have three busy periods in here—early-early morning, early-late morning and lunch. I only work nights if someone’s sick or needs time off. I hate nights. I’m a morning person.”

He smiled. “I must be, too. I’ve never seen anyone but you behind the counter.”

“It’s a small diner. Usually only one person at a time is needed, except on Friday and Saturday nights. Then Stu’s wife, Belinda, and one of our teenagers work together, and it’s like open warfare. I stay as far away as possible. How was your Thanksgiving?”

“Surprisingly bearable. My mother and mother-in-law are in town. Which is why I’m here.”

“Oh, really?” she asked, lifting a brow.

“Gabriella is in Vancouver with her family for a few days, and the grandmothers are here with me. The house is small and getting a little close. If you get my drift.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you live closer to your family?” she asked, while automatically pouring him a cup of coffee.

“I could lie and say it was all about work, but that wouldn’t be entirely true. I did medical school and residency in California—Serena and I were happy there. Our mothers are widows, overbearing, controlling and in competition with each other. I’ve been fantasizing a way back to California ever since. When the Vancouver hospital where I’d been working since before I lost Serena started downsizing, I started looking. I really need a fresh start. And space from the grandmothers. It’s hard to get on with your life with your mother and mother-in-law breathing down your neck.”

“I see,” she said. “So, that’s your only family?”

“Oh, no,” he said with a laugh. “I have a sister, two years older, who said, ‘Thanks a whole hell of a lot,’ when I told her we were moving. I guess I left her with our mother, who needs a lot of attention. Unfortunately for me, my mother is pretty focused on her poor widowed son and motherless grandchildren. But when she’s not focused on me, she’s very busy trying to get my sister married.” He sipped his coffee. “They’re leaving Monday. Can I stay with you until then?”

She laughed at him.

“So, I don’t know your schedule, but is there a good time to, you know, go out? Because I’ve been on one date since my wife died. That was in Vancouver and she saw two little kids—Jenny wasn’t potty trained yet—and she ran for her life.”

Gina was stunned. Her mouth fell open. “Me?” she asked.

“Something wrong with you? You in a relationship or something?”

“Um...no. Did you know I am the single, never-married mother of a sixteen-year-old and I live with my mother?”

“I didn’t know that, as a matter of fact. Level with me, Gina—is she like my mother? Demanding, oversensitive and generally controlling? Because really...been there, done that.”

“No,” she said with a laugh. “My mother is awesome. She’s Carrie of Carrie’s Deli and Catering. She’s an angel come to earth, with an edge. She’s real good people, but she doesn’t suffer fools gladly.”

“Oh, that’s a relief. So...that means what? I have to get you home early?”

“Oh, my gosh, do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve been on a date?”

“Well, don’t panic—I met my wife in high school. I know, ridiculous, right? So I’ve had one date, and I think I wasn’t very good at it. And before you start to worry, I’m not looking for a mother for my poor motherless children or anything like that. I’d just like to go out with someone instead of with a bunch of hospital staff or two little kids or alone. I think I’m about due for some fun. And I want to learn more about your town and the people around here. I bet you can tell me a lot.”

“Oh, yes, that I can do. I’m not working Sunday morning.”

“Great. I have grandmothers to keep busy with babysitting and going crazy wondering who I might be going out with! It’s childish, but it serves them right. Pick you up at six?”

“Fantastic. Now, you want some eggs or something?”

“Sounds good. Eggs, over easy—”

“No, don’t go there,” she said. “Omelet or scrambled or over hard. Stu is a sweet man, but not a gentle hand in the kitchen.”

“Okay, omelet. Is bacon okay?”

“It’s his specialty. Crispy. And wheat toast and some home fries?”

“Excellent. Then I’m going over to the shop to work a little bit. Want to write down your address for me? Is your house hard to find?”

“It’s two blocks from here, Scott.” She slapped his order ticket on the cook’s counter. “You can see it from the front of the store. I’ll write down the address.”

When he was finishing up his breakfast, he asked, “So, what kind of classes?”

“Social work. I think, after I do an internship, I’d like to be a counselor. That’s way down the road for me, though. Right now Ashley is my priority—getting her through college and on her own.”

“Really? And could the citizens of Thunder Point use a counselor?”

“Every last person here,” she said, grinning.

* * *

Mac went to the diner at around ten in the morning and caught Gina reading. “Hey, slow morning?”

She closed the book. “Day after Thanksgiving is always a little quiet. People have tons of leftovers to plow through.”

He sat at the counter and she poured him coffee. “I had a nice time yesterday, Gina.”

“It was a good day, wasn’t it? I think everyone enjoyed it.”

“And you’re not mad at me anymore,” he said.

She took a steadying breath. “I apologize. You were in the line of fire. I’m not angry with you, Mac. I was angry with myself and took it out on you.”

“And would you mind sharing? What are you angry with yourself about?”

“It’s kind of hard to explain, but here goes. When I saw Sarah and Cooper holding hands and gazing at each other, I became so envious. I haven’t been on a date in years! I haven’t had anyone hold my hand or gaze into my eyes like I’m special in so long...maybe ever! I’m only thirty-two. I have nearly raised a daughter, almost have a degree, and I don’t have a life. And I am bloody sick of not having a life. That’s all it was—just a woman mourning her abandoned womanhood.”

Mac thought,
My timing is perfect!
Outside of police work, his timing was seldom on, but for once... “Then I’m in the right place at the right time. Let’s go out Saturday night. No kids, no aunt, no mother. Just you and me.”

“Oh,” she said uncomfortably. “Listen, it’s not like I don’t appreciate the gesture, but I’m not looking for another friendly little buddy hookup. I’ll hang out with you anytime, Mac. Your friendship is very important to me. But I actually want a real date with the potential for a little hand-holding. Maybe even a kiss good-night.”

“Well, I—”

“I have a date with Scott Grant for Saturday night. We’re going out to dinner. Without kids.”

“Scott Grant?” he asked, though he knew exactly who that was.

“Dr. Grant?” she returned.

“I know,” he said, irritably. “You like him?”

“Of course I like him or I wouldn’t go out with him,” she said. “He’s very nice. I don’t have any expectations, but he wants to take me out and—”

“You might’ve warned me,” Mac said.

Her brows knit. “Of what?”

“That you needed to have a date. After all, we’ve been—”

“Buddies,” she said. “Pals. No offense, Mac, but I don’t need another pal. I wouldn’t trade you for anything, but I really think I’m now mature enough for a boyfriend. It doesn’t have to be happily ever after, I just want a shot at it. I’m not saying that will be Scott Grant, but what the hell. I’m going on a date!”

“I’ve taken you out!” he boomed.

“Not exactly,” she corrected. “We’ve gone out together, but you made yourself very clear—you can’t have a relationship. You have children to raise. And I am ready for a relationship.”

“Aw, fuck,” he said, which he almost never said in front of a woman.

“Yeah, and that,” she said.

“Gina!” he barked, appalled.

“Well, forgive me for living!”

“I just swore because I was late in asking you out, behind Medical Man. Not because it was a game plan! Look, I’ll take you out, hold your hand, look at you like you’re special—”

“Whoa, thanks so much. But I have plans,” she said, lifting her chin. “And I think three years was enough time to give you to get ready. I’m going to move on. But gee, really, thanks so much for the offer.”

“Come on, Gina,” he said with a bit of a whine. “You know what I mean.”

“Breakfast, Mac? Or just coffee today?” she asked.

“You’re still mad at me. Jesus, I had no idea this was happening in your head. You should have
told
me!”

She leaned on the counter and looked into his eyes. “Mac, my dear friend, here is something you should probably know about women without being told. We don’t want to have to tell a man we need to be wanted. We’d really like that to come naturally. We’d like a man to pursue us because he wants us, not because he’s out of options.”

“Okay.”

“So—omelet or scrambled?”

“Are we done talking about this?”

“All done.”

Seventeen

A
s a matter of tradition, the chamber of commerce pulled out the Christmas decorations on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. In between serving and cooking, this was the day Stu and Gina worked on decorating the diner, with the help of Stu’s wife, Belinda, and Ashley. Carrie put up a wreath on her door and garland on the deli showcase. Everyone managed to pass through town at a point, whether to help or watch. Cooper was hanging around and, since he was handy, he was up on a ladder adding streamers and garland to the old-fashioned light posts on the main street. Even Wayland Carmichael was decorating his bar, Wayland’s. The good doctor showed up for a while and hung a decorated sign on his door that said Clinic Coming Soon.

Sarah showed up for a while with Ham, on her way to the beach, and Cooper climbed down his ladder to talk to her. He slipped an arm around her waist, kissed her cheek, laughed with her for a minute. When she went on her way to walk the dog, he gave her a pat on the rump.

Mac made his way to Cooper. “You barely hit town and you already found yourself a woman.”

Cooper just smiled. He gave a nod, but his gaze was following Sarah. When she turned the corner, he looked at Mac. “Which begs the question, what’s taking you so long? Didn’t you say you’ve been divorced for years?”

“Sore subject,” Mac said.

Cooper looked across the street and Mac followed with his eyes. Gina was holding a wreath for the front door, talking to Scott Grant, laughing. “What about Gina? You two seem to get along.”

Mac frowned. “She’s going out with the new doctor.”

“Well, that sucks. Maybe it won’t work out.”

As they watched, Gina and Scott laughed at something. Then Scott tweaked her cheek, whispered something that made her smile and turned to leave. Before getting in his car, he lifted his hand to wave to Mac and Cooper.

“Right,” Mac said glumly.

“I have to go,” Cooper said. “I’m going to meet Sarah at my place.”

“I don’t need to know that.”

“Sometimes she’s tired from her jog and needs to lie down awhile.”

“Really, you can keep it to yourself, asshole.”

“Hamlet likes to watch.”

“You’re a sick fucker, you know that?”

“I’m kidding, all right? I have Gatorade.”

Mac spent the rest of the afternoon either putting up decorations or giving his opinion about what looked right. He did a lot of observing at the same time, watching everyone who had come to help. Like Ray Anne, in jeans so tight it was a miracle she could stoop or squat, heels with the jeans, leather vest over red silk blouse, cleavage and mistletoe in her hair. Talk about obvious. His aunt was giving Ray Anne a wide berth. Everyone knew they didn’t get along.

Puck Morrison was in town for a while, his family notably absent. Mac observed that Puck seemed to be stooping, having a little trouble moving around. Everyone aged differently, but he thought Puck was about seventy, maybe a hair over. He looked worn-out. Maybe it was arthritis, slowing him down. One thing for sure, he’d look a lot better without that damn hairpiece he wore.

At about four, Wayland started passing out beer to the people still working on the street. Lou took off with the younger kids. Eve and Landon followed in Landon’s truck—those two appeared to be joined at the hip. Ashley, Gina and Carrie walked home, giving him a wave as they left.

Right. Gotta get dressed for that date.

Mac went home. There was a nice smell in the kitchen, but no one was around. Then Lou walked in, dressed all nice, fixing an earring. “There you are,” she said. “Eve is going out with Landon tonight—I think to a movie or something. The kids are downstairs playing video games. Dee Dee wanted a sleepover but I said not tonight, not after all day in town decorating. I’m going out. I didn’t check plans with you—are you home tonight?”

“I’m home,” he said wearily.

“It wouldn’t really have mattered. Dee Dee and Ryan are fine on their own. There’s meat loaf and mashed potatoes staying warm in the oven on low. Green beans in there, too. It’s ready whenever you are. I’ll be on my way.”

“Bunco?” he asked, lifting one sardonic brow.

“Here’s a thrill for you, Mac. I don’t even know how to play bunco.”

“Figures,” he said.

“I’ll be home later,” she said. “I’m not staying over or anything. We’re going out to dinner in North Bend, going to walk along the pier, you know.”

“How would I know?” he asked churlishly.

“If you want to go out for a beer or something, give the kids dinner and tell them to lock the door. You have your cell phone.”

But he didn’t feel like being friendly. He’d been as friendly as he could manage all day. He was sunk in a deep pit of self-pity at the moment and it was best to indulge that alone. Everyone had someone, it seemed. Everyone except him. He’d made such perfect sense to himself years ago, when he thought it through and decided dating Gina was a bad idea. He’d been attracted to her—at first because she was beautiful, then he quickly learned that her mind and heart were even more beautiful. Plus, she had courage and she never gave up, even when the hardest times hit her. And naturally, especially with what he’d been through in his short marriage and divorce, the fact that her daughter was her priority earned her every ounce of respect he could muster. So in the back of his head, he’d had a plan. When the girls were college-bound or at least
almost
college-bound, he’d court her. He’d tell her then that he’d
always
wanted her, but he worried about the possible conflicts.

Way to go, Deputy Yummy Pants,
he thought. He’d waited too long. He had Cooper to thank for that—Cooper hitting town and hooking up practically overnight, illustrating to Gina that she’d put all her eggs in the wrong damn basket. He thought he was being brave and strong, holding off while they each had such complicated lives. How was he supposed to know that she was needing a little loving as much as he was?

He couldn’t get more stupid if he made an effort.

He cleaned the dishes after dinner, giving the kids a night off. He brewed himself a cup of coffee. He sat in his living room with his Labs and sulked, imagining her holding hands across the tablecloth with the doctor in a candlelit restaurant. He hated that doctor. Really, a doctor? A high school graduate up against a doctor? It was hopeless.

At almost eight o’clock his cell phone chimed and he saw it was Pritkus.

“Yeah, boss, it’s Christmastime in Mayberry. Got a pretty ugly domestic out at the Morrisons’, ambulance en route. I wouldn’t mind a little help from a supervisor.”

He stood before Pritkus stopped talking. “Who are you taking in for it?”

“Looks like the kid for sure and probably the missus, too. Puck is going in the ambulance. He’s going to be fine, but when you see this place, you’re gonna shit.”

“On my way,” he said.

He shouted for the kids as he pulled his shirt off and headed to his bedroom. He took only two minutes to get into his uniform, simultaneously telling Ryan and Dee Dee to lock him out, call his cell if they had any problems, stay in and if he was going to be later than ten he’d give them a call on the house phone. When they asked what it was about he said, “I’m not sure yet. Some kind of fight that Pritkus wants a supervisor to help with. Probably all paperwork now.”

“Then why are you going so fast and hurry?” Dee Dee asked.

“Because when an officer asks for a supervisor, you always go fast and hurry, but there’s nothing to worry about.” He kissed their heads and shot out the door, pausing long enough to listen to the locks slide into place. He waited until he was out of his own neighborhood to hit the lights and siren. It was very rare in Thunder Point to see a Sheriff’s Department SUV racing through town, lights flashing.

There were already two patrol cars at the residence, lights flashing. Two was one more car than they usually had in town and Mac’s made it three. That kind of turnout was usually reserved for major catastrophes. The ornate front doors of the Morrison residence were standing open. With his hand resting comfortably on the handle of his gun, Mac walked inside, glass crunching beneath his boots.

The place looked like a bomb had gone off. There was toppled furniture and broken glass everywhere. In the formal living room, Jag and his mother sat on the sofa, cuffed, while Puck held an ice pack to his bleeding head. There was blood splattered here and there, on the floor and furniture, on the suspects and the victim.

“Who called it in?”

“Mrs. Morrison made the nine-one-one call,” Pritkus said. “She said her son was attacking her husband. When we got here, the story changed to her husband was attacking her and she was defending herself.”

“How convenient.” Mac bent at the waist to be eye level with Puck. “Who did this, Mr. Morrison?”

“I’ll tell my attorney.”

“Who broke up all the china and crystal?”

“I did,” Mrs. Morrison said. “Is it against the law? It’s mine, right? If I want to throw around the glassware, that’s my business, right?”

Mac turned and stepped toward her. She looked like bloody hell, her hair a rat’s nest, her eye makeup running in black rivers down her cheeks, the sleeve of her blouse torn. Skinny as she was, with that sneer on her lips, she looked like a war victim.

Puck, on the other hand, though his face was battered and his head bleeding, looked better without the hairpiece. As expected, he was completely bald with some spikes of short white hair all over his shiny dome.

“And whatever possessed you to start throwing things?” he asked.

“I was angry!” she said, stiffening her skinny spine.

“He’s such a loser,” Jag muttered.

Mac merely glanced at him. Apparently he had an opinion here. He lifted his eyebrows and waited. But it was Mrs. Morrison who spoke up.

“He informed us we’re moving. Letting the house go, selling most of our possessions and moving because he can’t make a goddamn living! I’ve wasted most of my life on him and now this? So I threw a plate or two? Isn’t that allowed when someone tells you your life is over?”

“Is that right? Wasted your life?”

“Maybe if you hadn’t spent it all, Effie,” Puck said.

“How could I spend it all? Didn’t you give most of it to your ex?”

“I have sons!”

“And you have a son right here!” she shrieked. “A son who’s getting
nothing!
”

“He gets plenty. You get plenty.”

“My brothers drove Hummers in high school,” Jag grumbled. “You put them up in classy town houses for college. What’ve I got? A used car and a quad.” He laughed meanly.

“First, no more country club, then no more vacations, then no new cars. We have used!” Effie cried out. “Then the credit cards. Then the house? I can’t take it! You promised me! You promised me
everything!
”

“I promised you what I had and you took it. It is now gone!”

“Why the hell didn’t you buy that stupid Bailey land and spin it into a big sale? I told you to go get it, but what did you do? Sent that hussy real estate agent to try to convince him! Loser! Jag’s right, you’re a loser.”

“He didn’t want to sell!” Puck said.

“You should’ve found a way!” she said.

Without quite knowing why, Mac looked at Jag, narrowing his eyes. Jag just glared at his father. Finally Jag said, “There were ways. He just didn’t have the balls.”

Whoa,
Mac thought. He paused, went over procedure in his mind, because he really didn’t want to screw this up. He smelled grand jury investigation becoming an indictment, not just on the battery, but possibly murder. Investigations weren’t fast and they were dicey and complex.

“Did you have the balls, son?” he asked Jag. “Could you have made it work? The sale of that property?”

“Hey!” he shot out angrily. “My job is to go to
high school,
all right? It’s
his
job to run the business, support the family! And he’s an old loser!”

Mac slowly turned toward Puck. “Who hit you in the head? Who injured you?”

“I’ll talk to my lawyer.”

“That’s fine. The missus and young Jag here are going for a ride. We have a domestic with injuries and that’s what happens. Anyone we can call for you?”

“My sons,” he said. “My older sons.”

And that was just about all Mac needed to hear.

* * *

Mac worked on Sunday, much of that time looking at public records on his computer at his office, even though people who were finishing up the Christmas decorating kept coming into his office. What he wanted to know was what had brought Puck Morrison to this point in his life. What he learned was a lot of it was lust.

When Puck was a fresh young kid, he married Miranda Lessing, both of them from Eugene, Oregon. She gave him two sons, helped with his development and brokerage business and they became a successful team. When his sons were seven and nine he bought a nice piece of land on the point and built himself a showy house, surrounding it with an ornate wrought-iron fence. It looked, according to public record, like it was four years from the time he bought the land until the house was finished.