CHAPTER 18

I wanted to kill Rhonda as soon as Rodney pulled into the driveway. I had the sinking feeling my sister was throwing a coming-home party and I was the guest of honor. Rodney parked behind Tatum and Burke’s truck. My mother’s two-seater sports car was parked in the yard and a shiny red Mercedes convertible was parked behind my van.

“Rodney … what is she doing?” I asked, staring at the bright yellow balloons and yellow ribbon tied to the porch rail.

“Don’t be mad at her, Gypsy. She means well.”

He closed the passenger-side door after I got out. I maneuvered the crutches along the walkway, still unable to put any weight on my left foot. I stopped and stared at the Mercedes, praying Dr. Merrick hadn’t taken my mother up on her offer.

Inside, a “Welcome Home” banner stretched across the top of the archway between the living room and the kitchen. Clusters of yellow balloons were taped to each end of the banner; a few strays had escaped and were floating around the ceiling.

I was more than pleasantly surprised, and a bit embarrassed, to discover the Mercedes didn’t belong to Dr. Merrick. It was Sophia’s. She was sitting beside Tatum on the sofa and smiled coyly at me.

“He’s here!” Tatum squeaked as he leapt up. He ran over and awkwardly wrapped his arms around my waist.

“We can see that, Tatum,” Burke said, and shook his head, grinning. He was parked in his chair near the television. “Don’t knock him down or he might need this ol’ chair before the night’s over.”

Rhonda, Mom, and Gram all gathered at the doorway. Rhonda was wearing an apron, Mom had an oven mitt on one hand, and Gram was holding a wooden spoon. With this collection of women in the same kitchen—the house hadn’t burned to the ground yet—I was impressed.

Rhonda squealed like she was meeting a rock star. “Welcome home!” She hugged me, then kissed me on the cheek.

“How’s the foot?” Mom asked.

“Good,” I lied. I wasn’t going to say it hurt like hell in front of Sophia.

“Damn lucky they didn’t cut it off,” Gram huffed, then went back to the kitchen mumbling something about Grandpa and a nest of rattlers.

“Gram—keep that spoon out of the spaghetti,” Rhonda said, and hurried to follow her back into the kitchen. “You’re goin’ to make it gummy.”

Mom looked at me and shrugged. What did she know about spaghetti? She turned and headed back into the kitchen to referee.

I smiled apologetically at Sophia. At least, to my knowledge, Rhonda’s spaghetti dinner was a family-and-friends affair and not a community-wide fund-raiser.

“Tatum, help him over to the sofa while I put his bag away,” Rodney said.

I didn’t need the help but humored Tatum anyway and let him think he was my rock of stability.

“I sure am glad they didn’t have to cut your foot off,” he said, his arm still wrapped around my waist.

I grinned. “So am I.”

I eased myself down beside Sophia onto the sofa and laid the crutches across the coffee table. She still hadn’t said a word but her presence was undeniable. She was generating enough electricity to power a small city.

“Well … this is kind of embarrassing,” I mumbled.

Her perfect nose twitched as she controlled a small smile. “I think it’s kind of sweet,” she whispered, leaning toward me as if sharing a secret.

Tatum sat down in an old recliner Gram had brought with her when she moved in years ago. It had once smelled like cigar smoke. In recent years, it had taken on an old-person, menthol smell. “So, what do we do now?” Tatum asked. “We have the proof we need, right?”

“Will you let the man enjoy his first night at home?” Burke said. “The evidence isn’t going anywhere. Is it?” He looked at Sophia, then at me.

“Rodney has everything secured, and properly tagged. And I do plan on getting back to work tomorrow.” I grinned at Tatum.

“Great. What are we doing?”

“Tatum,” Burke scolded.

I laughed and Sophia giggled softly. “It’s okay, Burke. He has other motives. He wants to put this thing behind him so I can take him up to the sinkholes to take some pictures.”

“You didn’t forget,” he said, beaming.

Whatever his reasons, I couldn’t blame him for wanting it to be over. But I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him it would never, ever really be over. Whether dead or absent, the first birthday that comes and goes without an acknowledgment is the hardest. After that, you just become numb to it. But it’s always there.

Rhonda popped her head into the living room. She looked overwhelmed. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Poor Sophia. Subjected to all three Moran women and their nonexistent cooking skills at one time. I hope she didn’t consider this a date.

*   *   *

After dinner, Sophia, me, Rodney, and Burke went out to the deck. Tatum remained in the kitchen, giving the Moran women cooking advice. Rodney quickly brushed off a chair for Sophia, then pulled his chair beside her, leaving me to fend for myself. I leaned a crutch against the rail, then struggled with one arm and one good foot to position the other chair within hearing distance.

“So, how long have you been a reporter?” Rodney asked.

“Since junior high,” she said, offering nothing more.

“A whole three years, huh?” He cackled at his own joke.

I groaned, expecting him to say something about heaven calling because they were missing an angel. If he was going to flirt, he at least needed to come up with some decent lines.

I cleared my throat to remind him I was there. “Sophia, why don’t you tell Burke about your meeting with Sheriff Denny?”

“Gypsy told me you thought he had dementia,” Burke said.

She told him what she had told me. “He just seemed to be a doddering old man who didn’t even know what day it was, let alone being the ringleader of a human trafficking ring.”

Burke leaned forward in his wheelchair, resting his elbows on his knees. “Maybe you just got him flustered. He always did have an eye for a pretty woman.” He winked at her and I closed my eyes.

Jesus. Not him, too. Sophia took the compliment in stride, smiled softly, then shook her head. “No, this was much different. He went from talking coherently to me one minute to not even remembering I was in the room the next.”

“Now that’s impossible,” Rodney said, and laughed himself silly.

I felt sorry for her. And I wanted to whack my brother-in-law in the head with a crutch.

“Sophia and I are going to put a tail on him tomorrow,” I said, and casually threw a smile in Rodney’s direction.

“Oh. What time? Maybe I’ll tag along as backup.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Sometime tomorrow afternoon. You’ll probably still be on duty.”

The look of disappointment on his face made me feel a slight twinge of guilt. It faded quickly.

“Besides, it’ll be pretty close quarters in the van,” I added just for spite.

“What are you hoping to find by running surveillance on Denny?” Burke asked.

“Who’s pulling the strings and why Denny’s letting them.”

“You know who’s pulling the strings,” Rodney said. “The guy who shoved his knee in your crotch.” He turned to Sophia and slowly shook his head. “Thought Gypsy was going to be out of commission for months.”

Sophia looked at me with raised brows. Much more and I was going to remind Rodney that his wife, my sister, was a few feet away in the kitchen. I didn’t want this to turn into an all-out war.

“Mark Peterson,” I said.

She nodded. “The same guy who gave you the busted lip?”

I smiled sarcastically and slowly nodded.

“No wonder you want to take him down.”

Rodney and Burke laughed like they were front row at a comedy show with the poor schmuck sitting next to them the target of some smart-ass comedian. I let them have their moment, then turned the conversation back to business.

“I know Peterson is pulling the strings, but I want to know why Denny’s letting him. Peterson’s got to have something on the old man. You worked with him, Burke. Is there something in his past Peterson might be using?”

“You said he had an eye for pretty women,” Sophia said. “Maybe an affair?”

I liked that … teamwork. And she was on my team. The ten-year-old in me wanted to stick my tongue out at Rodney.

Burke leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin, thoughtfully considering her question. “If there was an affair, or affairs, he was discreet. Sure, there were rumors, but he was the sheriff. Everyone just looked the other way.”

“What if Peterson decided he wasn’t going to look the other way any longer?” I asked.

Burke scrunched his face and rubbed his chin again. “I don’t know, Gypsy. I don’t think men play by the same rules as women do when it comes to things like that.”

“Meaning men don’t usually rat out one another when it comes to affairs,” Sophia said.

“But Mark Peterson’s not most men. He doesn’t seem to play by anyone’s rules but his own,” I added.

“That’s true,” Rodney added. “Most men would never shove his knee into another man’s crotch hard enough to take him down to the ground.”

I smiled at him, silently thanking him for the reminder. Silently plotting how I was going to dispose of his body after I killed him.

“Well, I guess Sophia and I’ll just have to spend some time in the van until we find out what Denny’s hiding.”

I was pleased with myself. Torture was always preferable to killing.