11
Dawson dropped the sack to his side without even looking in it and closed his eyes as he heard Sadie’s feet on the stairs behind him. What had possessed him to say such a thing? He hadn’t intended to hurt her. He’d simply been trying to remind himself that he wasn’t attracted to her, to shove that between them in hopes it would help him keep his thoughts where they should be. Lord knew he had to do something to gain control over his libido. He’d just dumped out the rest of his water under the flimsy excuse that it was getting too warm to drink so that he could come inside and see her!
He pictured the expression on her face as she’d whirled around to grab the sack with the pie. She’d looked crestfallen, as if he’d struck her for no reason.
Shit... It was coming upon her in his T-shirt, he decided. After last night, he’d liked the sight of that a little too much.
He considered following her upstairs to apologize. With Sly in her life, she’d probably had about all she could take of unkind men. But he could hardly explain what had caused him to act as he had—that he wanted her and was simply trying to find, or even build up, some flaw he could focus on that’d make him want her a little less.
No apology, he told himself. He needed to stay put. Better to let that little snippet of conversation go and simply be more polite in the future. But it didn’t make him feel any better that the pie was so delicious, some of the best he’d ever tasted. What’d made her think to bring him a piece?
He liked her. She seemed nice, and he hadn’t had enough nice people in his life.
“I don’t remember Lolita serving pie like this when I lived here before,” he called up the stairs. He was hoping to hear a few words from Sadie, achieve some assurance that they could just move on, but she didn’t answer.
When he finished, he put the empty plate in the sink and went up to make sure she wasn’t crying. His bedroom was already spotless. He poked his head in there before he found her wearing her own blouse again while cleaning Angela’s room. “I’m not sure if you heard me, but I said the pie was really good.” He stopped short of entering the room, preferred to stand in the doorway. “Thanks for bringing it.”
“You’re welcome.” She kept her face averted and continued working so he couldn’t get a bead on what she was feeling.
He leaned against the doorjamb. “Tasted homemade.”
“It was.” She still had her back to him, was busy putting clean linens on the bed.
He didn’t have anything else to say, and he needed to get back to work, but he was reluctant to go. “What’s for dinner tonight?”
“I was planning to make beef Stroganoff. Do you like that?”
This achieved a glance, but he couldn’t hold her gaze. “Don’t know that I’ve ever had it.”
“It’s good. Noodles, ground beef and mushrooms in a delicious gravy.”
“Sounds good. Anyway, I trust you. I’ve enjoyed everything you’ve served so far.”
Once the bed was made, she straightened—and finally faced him. “Are you hungry now?”
She hadn’t been crying, but something had changed. She was no longer open to him, had the same guarded look in her eyes she’d had when they first met and she’d been so frightened of who and what he might be.
“Not yet,” he said. “That pie was delicious, though.”
“Do you want me to go get you some more?”
She obviously couldn’t figure out why he was inside talking to her and not out working, like usual—had no idea that he felt terrible for insulting her. “Not today. Maybe another time.”
“Okay.”
“How much do I owe you for this piece?” She’d had to spend some money to get it for him, hadn’t she?
She bent to plug in the vacuum. “Nothing. Wasn’t much.”
When he didn’t leave, she hesitated. “Is there something else?”
“No.” Resigned, he shoved off the lintel so he could go but stopped immediately. “Just so you know, I didn’t mind that you were wearing my shirt. I have a lot of old T-shirts. You can borrow one whenever.”
“That’s okay. I have this. I just...didn’t want to get it dirty.”
“I can see why. It’s pretty.”
“Thanks,” she said, but curtly and in such an off-handed tone that he could tell she’d deemed the compliment insincere. She believed what he’d told her earlier—that she looked like a teenager and was therefore unattractive to him—and had slammed the door on future signals that might contradict that statement.
“What I said about your weight a few minutes ago was...rude,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
She lifted a hand. “I’m not offended. I know I’m too skinny.”
He offered her an apologetic smile. “I wouldn’t go that far. You’re on the thin side, but you have gorgeous legs.”
“Thanks.”
He’d meant what he said, but this compliment met with the same disbelief that’d caused the demise of the first.
“Have you heard from Sly?” he asked.
She gathered a handful of the electrical cord in anticipation of starting to vacuum. “Not yet. But I’m sure he’ll call or text me soon. He never stays away for long. Why?”
“I don’t want him to cause you any trouble.”
“He’s my problem. I’ll take care of...whatever happens.”
He was afraid she wouldn’t be able to take care of it. How could a 105-pound woman ever fend off a man Sly’s size? Dawson hadn’t weighed 105 pounds since elementary school... “Hopefully, he’s not as bad as he seems.”
“Like most people, he’s got his good points.” She would’ve been hard-pressed to come up with what those were, given how she’d been feeling about him lately. Fortunately, Dawson didn’t ask.
“I suppose so,” he said. “Well, I’d better get back to work.”
“Don’t forget to take out some more water,” she said, and he heard the vacuum go on as he descended the stairs.
Once he reached the main floor, Dawson stood there for several minutes. He still felt bad about being so rude earlier, wished he could go back up and fix what he’d broken. Sadie had thrown up a wall to shield the soft, vulnerable part of her she’d started to show him before.
But maybe that was for the best. They both had enough going on in their lives. They didn’t need to complicate anything by getting too close to one another.
* * *
Sadie said very little when she served dinner, and this time she didn’t eat.
“Aren’t you going to join me?” Dawson asked as he watched her pack up for the day.
“No, that’s okay. I need to get over to my babysitter’s so I can pick up my son.”
“You should take some dinner with you—enough for you and Jayden.”
“Why? They’re your groceries.”
“Doesn’t matter. There’s plenty.”
“You don’t have to eat it all tonight. It’ll make good leftovers, help you get through the weekend, since I won’t be back until Monday.”
Dawson had lost track of the days. Since all he did was work, one tended to blend into the next. “It’s already Friday?”
“You didn’t realize?”
“No.” Not until he thought about it. He knew Robin Strauss from the state was coming on Wednesday, which meant there had to be a weekend between now and then. He just didn’t want his first few days as Sadie’s employer to end on such a negative note.
She slung her purse over her shoulder. “Don’t forget you have meatballs and other food in the fridge, too. The meatballs would make a good sandwich.”
“Gotcha.”
“Call me if you need anything. Maybe I can come over for a few hours here or there. I’m scheduled at the diner on Sunday morning, but I’m off tomorrow. I won’t have a babysitter, but if it’s just for a short time, I might be able to bring Jayden if...well, it depends.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” Dawson said, but he planned to leave her alone. Maybe if he didn’t see her for a couple of days, his hormones would settle down, and she’d forget what he said to her earlier.
“What do you do for fun?” he asked impulsively, before she could get out the door.
“I’m a single mother.”
“And that means?”
“I take a nap,” she said with a laugh.
He chuckled. “Right. I’ll see you on Monday.”
She gave him a beleaguered smile. “Have a good weekend.”
As soon as he finished dinner, Dawson went out and worked until the sun went down and he could no longer determine a dirt clod from a rock. He was exhausted when he came in, figured he’d take a shower and fall into bed. But he made the mistake of letting his mind drift while he was standing under the hot spray, and it went exactly where he didn’t want it to go—to Sadie. After that, he couldn’t sleep. He kept wondering what she was doing, if she was already in bed and whether Sly had contacted her. He almost texted her to check—that was his natural inclination—but he refused to succumb to the temptation.
After prowling around the house for two hours, until it was almost eleven, he gave up. He’d been reluctant to go into town, hated being the subject of such doubt and suspicion. He’d never been much of a “people” person to begin with. But if he was ever going to blend into the community, he had to circulate, had to get his official “return” over with so that seeing him wouldn’t be such a remarkable thing.
What better place was there to start than the bar?
* * *
The Blue Suede Shoe hadn’t changed over the past year, but Dawson had. Before the murders, he’d managed to let go of most of the anger that’d driven him to misbehave in his youth. But the dark emotions that’d skulked beneath his skin in the old days were back.
After a year spent sitting in a jail cell, he supposed that was normal. Even if it wasn’t, he couldn’t change anything, not until he found the man who’d murdered his parents. He’d never been much of an innocent, anyway. His reputation was partly what’d made it so easy for folks around here to blame him for the murders. As the son of a crack whore, he’d seen more by the time he turned eight than most teenagers had seen by eighteen. Had his grandmother not found him and his mother living in a bug-infested apartment with several people they barely knew, drug paraphernalia strewn about and little food, who could say where he’d be? Not long after Grandma Pat took him in, his mother died of an accidental overdose, so he would’ve been stranded in that situation without a single caring adult—at least one he knew about or could figure out how to reach at such a young age. He had no idea who his father was. His mother had never been able to tell him. She’d made up stories at first, but those stories always changed—in one his father would be a policeman, in another he’d be a rich businessman. That was what finally convinced Dawson that she didn’t know; she was just trying to tell him what he wanted to hear.
As nice as it sounded for his grandmother to swoop in and save the day, however, she was no picnic, either, or his mother wouldn’t have run away in the first place. Dawson didn’t get along with Grandma Pat much better than his mother had, which was why, after five years of struggling, she sent him to the boys ranch and allowed him to be adopted by the Reeds. Aiyana, the teachers and his new parents were supposed to train him to be a decent man. He’d expected to hate Silver Springs, had considered New Horizons a punishment one step short of juvenile hall, which was where he would’ve ended up—mostly for fighting—had he not been accepted into the school. But he wouldn’t have met the Reeds if he hadn’t come to New Horizons, and it was then that his life had finally changed for the better.
For years, he’d credited the Reeds and what he’d learned at the school with saving him from falling into the kind of life his mother had lived. But, eventually, he learned to appreciate the fact that Grandma Pat had done what she could, given her own emotional and financial limitations. At the end of her life, during the years she was suffering from cancer, they actually became quite close. He lost her right after college. That was partly what had motivated him to move back to Silver Springs when he lost his job instead of staying in Santa Barbara. Her death had served as a stark reminder that life didn’t last forever. He’d wanted to look after the Reeds while he could. Other than Angela, they were all the family he had left.
Now he wished he hadn’t made that decision. If he hadn’t been living in Silver Springs, he wouldn’t have picked up that hitchhiker. And if he hadn’t picked up that hitchhiker, he believed his parents would still be alive.
But he’d been with them in their final years. He tried to console himself with that. He felt like he’d done his part to return the love they’d given him.
Now he just had to find their killer.
Ignoring the curious stares he received as he walked in, he found a seat at the far end of the bar.
“Look, it’s the dude who killed his parents! He’s out of jail.”
Dawson heard a man at a nearby table whisper that loudly to his companion. The pair gaped at him, as did everyone else, but no one got up to confront him. Dawson considered that a good thing. He was afraid of what he might do to anyone who tried to throw him out.
Half expecting the bartender to be the one to walk over and ask him to leave, he felt like a tightly coiled spring until the man wiping down the bar merely looked up and nodded. “Be with you in a minute,” he said and, true to his word, came down as soon as he’d tossed his rag into the sink. “What can I get for you?”
Dawson felt the tension in his body ease. “I’ll take a Guinness.”
“You got it.”
The bartender looked to be in his midtwenties. Dawson decided he hadn’t paid much attention to the murders, or he didn’t care about a crime that didn’t directly affect him. But when he returned with the beer, he said, “You been out to see Aiyana yet?”
Dawson lifted his eyebrows in surprise. The guy spoke like they knew each other, like they were friends. “No, but Eli and Gavin stopped by the farm. Why? How do you know the Turners?”
“I went to school at New Horizons, too.”
“When?”
“Graduated seven years ago. That’s a bit after your time, but I heard about you, of course. Everyone’s heard about you. My father’s a criminal defense attorney in LA. A good one,” he added. “Aiyana had me set up a meeting with him.”
“She did?” She’d never mentioned that to Dawson. “Why?”
“She was hoping he could help.”
“And? Did that meeting ever take place?”
“It did, although nothing really came of it. He took a look at the evidence to see if there might be something more he could suggest to your attorneys. But my dad told Aiyana that your team was doing a good job, that you should get off, and you did.”
Dawson sipped the foam off his beer. “Nice of her to go to the trouble. Nice of your father, too.”
“He has his moments,” he responded. “I wouldn’t have been sent away to a boys school if we’d been able to get along. But...things are better between us now.”
“What was the problem?”
“I wish I could say it was him, but I was a spoiled brat, needed to grow up.”
Dawson liked this guy already. “And now?”
“I’m damn near perfect. Can’t you tell?” He grinned as he walked off to refill someone else’s glass.
As Dawson drank his beer, he eyed some of the women in the bar. He’d come here for a much-needed diversion. Considering the amount of flesh on display, he felt he’d come to the right place. If anything could distract him, it should be this. It’d been so long since he’d had a woman, and he was beginning to feel every one of those days.
And yet...he wasn’t as interested as he’d thought he would be.
He told himself it was because ogling the cleavage he saw felt a little desperate and shallow and he’d outgrown that type of thing. But he was afraid it was more than that. He was afraid someone else had already captured his imagination, someone he’d at first thought was too skinny to be attractive to him. It wasn’t her breasts so much as her big eyes and that full mouth that turned him on—not to mention her legs—
“Would you like another?”
The bartender was back.
“No, thanks. I’ve got to work in the morning.”
“I hear you’re getting the farm up and going.”
This guy was pretty friendly. “What’s your name?”
“Gage. Gage Pond.”
“Who told you I’m getting the farm up and going, Gage?”
“You’re kidding, right? You’re all anyone can talk about these days.”
“I’m all anyone has been able to talk about for a long time.”
“True, but with the verdict and your release...well, that has them all stirred up again.”
Them. This guy didn’t consider himself one of “them.” That was apparent. “People will always talk. Nothing I can do about that.”
“True enough.” He hesitated as if he had more to say. Then he smiled and walked off as if that was it, only to come right back. “Look, I realize you might want to put the whole thing behind you...”
“But...” With that kind of a lead-in, Dawson expected several uncomfortable questions, including Did you do it? He didn’t want to deal with that, but he liked this Gage enough to indulge him, to a point.
“But that hitchhiker you told the police about?”
Dawson sat up straighter. He hadn’t expected Gage to bring up the hitchhiker. No one wanted to talk about the hitchhiker because most people didn’t believe he existed, and if he did exist, they couldn’t be so sure of his guilt. “Yes?”
“Guy came in here a few weeks after the murder. I’d just served him a drink when some news piece about the crime came on TV, a clip where you described the man you thought killed your parents. He looked a little startled. Then he said he’d seen a homeless-looking dude who matched that description at the same service station the night before your parents were murdered.”
Dawson’s heart began to pound against his chest. “Did he have any interaction with the guy? Could he provide a name or...or where the guy was from?”
“Doubt they even talked. Didn’t sound like it.”
But he could corroborate that the hitchhiker existed. So far, no one had even been able to do that much, not that the police had tried very hard to find the person Dawson felt certain was responsible for killing his folks. Detective Garbo had been too determined to get a conviction, to be able to say he solved this gruesome case, and he had a much greater chance of doing that with Dawson than some stranger who might not have had any believable motive. “Do you know the guy’s name who came in here?”
“Don’t think he ever mentioned it. But I know he lives in Santa Barbara. I remember talking about it because I’d like to move there myself one day.”
“What was he doing here?”
“Said he had a job building a bunker out on Alex Hardy’s property.”
“A bunker.”
“Yeah. Alex is a bit of a survivalist.”
“Maybe Alex has his name.”
“He could’ve kept it, or he should have some paperwork on that bunker somewhere. I told the guy he should go to the police and tell them what he told me. When he left here, he acted as if he was on his way.”
But Dawson had already been arrested at that point. With the police convinced they had the right man, why would they pay some stranger from Santa Barbara any attention? If Dawson had his guess, they hadn’t even bothered to take a report.
Dawson wanted to head out to Alex’s place right now. He finally had something—small thread though it was—to pursue on the strange man he’d fought with on the night that changed everything. But it was after eleven. He, of all people, had no business approaching someone’s house that late. The police had already made him out to be some sort of psychopath. Tomorrow would have to be soon enough.
But it wasn’t going to be easy to wait.
* * *
Sadie hadn’t heard from Sly all day. After she got Jayden to bed, she poured herself a glass of the wine she’d opened for Dawson and turned on the TV. But she wasn’t paying much attention to the program she was watching. She didn’t have cable or satellite, so her choices were limited to begin with. She kept glancing at her phone, wondering why Sly hadn’t asked what she was doing tonight. On a Friday. He always seemed particularly interested in what she might be up to on a weekend, was so afraid she might start seeing another man.
She replayed their argument in her head again. He didn’t like to lose. He found it embarrassing, demeaning—a statement that he wasn’t everything he pretended to be. So...he’d never let her have the last word.
If you think I’ll ever let you divorce me, you have another think coming. That statement—the way he’d said it—gave her chills because she believed that far more than this uncharacteristic silence.
If it weren’t so late, she would’ve called her mother-in-law to ask if Marliss would like to see Jayden this weekend. Sadie tried to take him by once a week, just to show good faith—that she wasn’t trying to deny Sly or his family contact with their own flesh and blood. Marliss always treated her coolly, which made their encounters awkward, but Sly’s mother had heard only his side of what had gone wrong in their marriage—and he blamed her. Sadie didn’t think she could expect any more, so she tried not to get upset by how their relationship had suffered. Most mothers were blind to their children’s faults. Sadie knew she’d never convince Marliss that Sly was so controlling and abusive; she just thought if she could talk to Marliss, Marliss might mention that Sly was sick or something to explain his sudden and complete silence.
Would you like to see Jayden this weekend? I could drop him off for a few hours if you’re not working.
Sadie typed that message to Sly instead of his mother but couldn’t bring herself to send it. Jayden wouldn’t welcome that idea, and she couldn’t throw him under the bus just because she was going out of her mind trying to figure out what Sly was up to. Besides, as worried as she was on the one hand, the silence was kind of nice on the other. She hated to break it.
She watched a couple of programs, which helped occupy her mind. Hoping that she’d finally be able to sleep, she got up to shut off the TV and set her glass in the sink. That was when her mind returned to Dawson, but she immediately steered her thoughts away. What she’d been dreaming about last night had been crazy. She wasn’t interested in her boss. She was just lonely—so lonely that she wasn’t making good decisions.
She’d left the light on in the bedroom so she wouldn’t have to get ready for bed in the dark. Light didn’t seem to bother Jayden. He could sleep with it on, and sometimes did until she joined him.
After she changed into a tank top and sweatpants, she read for twenty minutes or so before turning out the light. She was just drifting off, was almost asleep, when she heard three distinct thumps on the side of the house. She was so tired, she tried to ignore the noise, but then she heard it again—louder and more insistent.
Someone or something was outside, trying to rouse her. A raccoon or a squirrel didn’t make that deliberate bang, bang, bang...
Alarmed, she crept out of bed and crossed to the window, where she parted the blinds to peer out. There was only one window in the room, and it looked out on a very small yard and a gate leading to the narrow alley behind the house, not the side yard. She didn’t expect to see anything, was merely doing what she could—which was why she covered her mouth to stop herself from screaming and stumbled back when she spotted a man. She couldn’t tell who it was. His face was hidden beneath the hood of a black sweatshirt, but she could see his basic shape, even his shadow in the moonlight. He looked up at her, then jumped the fence and ran down the alley.
Who was that? Sly? She’d barely caught a glimpse, couldn’t even say with any certainty that the person she saw had his build. He was dressed in a way she’d never seen him dressed, and it’d happened too fast. But who else would come by in the middle of the night?
He’d probably been watching and waiting to see if Dawson would join her again—and, even though that hadn’t happened, he was angry enough about before to give her a little scare.
After unplugging her phone from its charger, she carried it with her into the living room so she could peek out the other windows, but none looked out on the side yard. She couldn’t determine what her visitor had been doing, and she wasn’t about to venture beyond the safety of her locked doors—not when that man could so easily come back. For all she knew, she’d just seen the hitchhiker who’d hacked the Reeds to death.
She considered calling Sly. He was, after all, a police officer. He’d know how to handle something like this—if it wasn’t him. But it could be him, which meant she couldn’t call 9-1-1 or anyone else on the police force, either. Whoever came to see what was wrong would contact Sly immediately, or tell him what happened afterward, and he’d want to know why she didn’t reach out to him like he’d probably been setting her up to do.
Without letting herself think any more about it, she texted Dawson. She still felt a little awkward about assuming he was interested in her when he wasn’t, but, for the most part, he had been nice so far, and she needed a friend, especially one who wouldn’t take Sly’s side in any given situation or share anything she said.
You awake? she wrote.
She hesitated to disturb him, which was why she didn’t call. She figured, if he was sleeping, he probably wouldn’t notice that he’d received a message. A ring was more intrusive. So she was surprised when he texted her right back.
Yeah. What are you doing up so late?
To be honest, I’m a little nervous. There was someone at my house a minute ago. A man.
What do you mean—at your house?
Outside, doing something. Someone knocked on the side of the house, then came around back where I could see him from the window. I think it was Sly, but I can’t be sure.
And you have no idea what he was doing?
None. Do you think he was just trying to scare me? The less secure I feel, the more likely I’d be to move back—or at least go there tonight.
Whatever you do, don’t go there.
So do you think it was nothing? Should I just go back to bed? Whoever it was had been on the side, not where he could’ve been watching her.
But there was nothing to say he’d been on the side for long. Had he been outside her window before that, staring through the gap between the blinds and the wall while she undressed? Peeping?
Do you have your blinds down? Dawson texted.
I do. I know he comes here a lot to check up on me, so I always keep them down. But they don’t fit the window very well. There’s a two-inch gap that someone could easily peer through if...if they wanted to be that intrusive. She felt violated just imagining that, even if it was Sly. So what if he’d seen her before? They weren’t together any longer. She deserved some privacy.
I’m coming over.
This time she was surprised by his response, not that she’d received one. No! You don’t have to come all the way to town. I just... I needed to tell someone, I guess. Needed to hear someone say I’m being silly and there’s nothing to be afraid of.
She knew where his mind would go, because hers had already gone there. His response confirmed it. You’re not going to hear that from me, not after what happened to my parents.
I admit—I keep thinking of that hitchhiker. That’s why I texted you, I guess. You don’t think he’s back...
I can’t say it isn’t possible.
The idea that it might be him gives me the creeps...
It’s okay. I’m almost there.
How? It took longer than two or three minutes to get to her house, but that was the length of time they’d been communicating with each other.
I’m not at the farm. I’m coming from the bar only a few blocks away. I’ll swing by and take a look around, make sure everything’s okay.
That he was so close made her feel much better. Everyone was wrong about him. He didn’t frighten her; he made her feel safe. After all, he could’ve done anything he wanted last night, but he hadn’t even gotten off the couch.
She breathed a sigh of relief as they disconnected—but that was when she began to smell smoke.