Dark Waters (7 page)

A fancy Lexus pulled up in the driveway and Dalton got out to meet the realtor. She was an older lady, probably in her fifties, wearing glasses with great big fancy frames, and slacks, a top, a jacket, a bunch of scarves and jewelry.

‘Mr Pettigrew?' she called as he approached. ‘Or should I say Officer Pettigrew?'

‘That would be Deputy, ma'am,' Dalton said, taking her outstretched hand. ‘But please call me Dalton.'

‘Well, fine, Dalton, I'm June O'Hara, and you can just call me June! Isn't this a lovely home? Like I told you on the phone, it's a two bedroom, one bath with an extra room, a one-car garage, or,' and here she patted his arm, ‘a workroom! You look like a man who likes to work with his hands.'

‘Yes'm, sometimes,' Dalton said.

‘Is your wife joining us?' June asked.

Dalton blushed. ‘No, ma'am. Not today.'

‘Well,' she said, and looked at the gun in Dalton's holster.

‘Oh,' Dalton said. ‘Would you be more comfortable if I left my service revolver in the car?'

June smiled. ‘That would be lovely,' she said.

Dalton headed back to his squad car and put the gun in the glove box, locked the box then relocked the car. He joined June on the porch and they headed inside. The front door opened into the living room, which was a good size, a fireplace on the right with bookcases on either side, with a small window at the top of each bookcase, and on the left what the lady had called ‘an extra room.' It had glass French doors separating it from the living room, and big windows on two sides. It wasn't a big room, but it would be perfect as an office, Dalton thought. Although he had no idea what he would do with an office.

Beyond the living room was a large dining room, and Dalton couldn't help thinking about the Thanksgiving dinners he and Holly could host in that room with his mama, his best friend Milt and his family, and anybody else they wanted to invite. He smiled big just imagining it.

‘And here's the kitchen,' June the realtor said, opening a swinging door.

It was just like his mama's kitchen. Real big with lots of cabinets and drawers. Some of these cabinets, however, had glass doors and he thought that would be a good place to put their wedding china and stuff like that. There was a closet by the back door that, when opened, revealed a space for a washer and dryer.

‘Where are the bedrooms?' Dalton asked.

June the realtor led him back to the dining room where there was a doorway into a hall. There was a small bedroom straight across, with one window – perfect for a nursery, he thought – a bathroom in the middle, then the master bedroom at the back. Huge windows on two walls looked out on the backyard.

‘This house sits on a half-acre, most of which you're looking at,' she said, indicating the backyard, which seemed to go on forever. The houses on either side were fairly close, but the back yard was at least half a football field long. ‘It backs up to Mason Creek,' June said. ‘But they fixed it up two summers ago so there's not supposed to be any more flooding.'

Flooding? Dalton's face fell.

Again, June put her manicured hand on his arm. ‘Now, honey, they fixed it!' she said. ‘It's not going to flood anymore. Stop with that hangdog expression!' And she laughed and squeezed his arm.

‘This place is a real steal,' she said, and named a figure that made Dalton's head swim.

He nodded his head for a while, then said, ‘I'm gonna have to think on it.'

‘Well, of course, but don't take too long! At this price, this little beauty's gonna be snapped up in a New York minute!'

They heard the sound of breaking glass, and Dalton ran for the front door. Having been in the back bedroom, it took him more than a minute to get to the front porch. He couldn't see anyone, but he did see what was broken: the side window on his patrol car. Inside, the glove box had been prized open and his service revolver was gone.

‘Oh no,' he said.

‘What was it?' June the realtor asked as she came out of the house and down the porch steps.

‘Somebody broke my window and stole my service revolver,' he said.

‘Oh my God!' June the realtor said, looking around her in fear of being shot.

Dalton looked around with her. ‘Wonder who did it?' he said to the world in general.

‘Well, I had nothing to do with this, Deputy!' June the realtor said in huff. ‘If you're accusing me—'

Dalton's face showed his complete and utter bewilderment and surprise. ‘Oh, no, ma'am, I'm not doing that! I just wonder who did it, that's all.'

‘Well, I didn't!' she said, emphasizing the point.

‘Yes, ma'am, I know,' he said and moved around the car to the driver's side, as June the realtor headed quickly to her Lexus.

Dalton swept the broken glass off the driver's-side seat, got in his squad car and sighed heavily. He didn't dwell on it, but things like this seemed to happen a lot to Dalton Pettigrew. But he did worry about how he'd tell Milt. Well, not Milt. He was on vacation. Emmett, then. He'd have to tell Emmett. Dalton sighed again. He and Emmett weren't real good friends like him and Milt. Or even him and Anthony. Maybe it was because of Jasmine, Dalton thought. Jasmine never had liked him, since her first day on the job. Dalton didn't know why, but he knew it was true.

But still and all, he was going to have to tell Emmett. Dalton sighed yet again and started the car.

That night was the dress-up event in the dining room. Dressing up is not my idea of a vacation, but Jean was very happy about it. She'd bought a new dress just for this occasion and had insisted that the boys and I bring suits. The boys were adamant about not going to the dining room.

‘Mom! I don't like the food there! And besides, I don't want to dress up! And I forgot my jacket anyway!' Johnny Mac whined.

‘I packed your jacket for you. Along with your dress pants, your belt, black socks and your good shoes. And Early's mother did the same. You have no excuse.'

‘How about I don't want to?' he yelled.

Well, now, you just don't yell at Jean. That got him sent to the top bunk for the half hour before dinner. And, although Early had not participated in the yelling, he was punished nonetheless by having to stay out in the main part of the suite with me and Jean. He brought a book.

We had the early feeding that night – they have two, one at six and one at eight – so we got the boys dressed, against their wills, got ourselves dressed, and headed out. I decided dressing up was worth it when I saw Jean all dolled up. She had on a red one-shoulder dress that hit above the knee at the front and went down a little more in the back. My wife has truly beautiful shoulders and I was gonna have to try like crazy to keep my lips off that exposed one. Even Johnny Mac managed to say, ‘Mama, you look really nice.'

And Early, looking up at Jean, managed a ‘yeah,' before the blood infused his face and he turned around and headed out the door. Poor guy; I hoped he'd outgrow that before high school.

Everybody was dolled up when we got to the dining room. Women in full-length gowns and what they call cocktail dresses, men in suits, and one guy who wasn't a waiter in a tux. And the boys saw their friends only a couple of tables over, having to endure the same torture as them. The little blonde waved at Johnny Mac and he waved back, and I was pretty damn sure the little guy had his first serious crush. He beat me: I was in the sixth grade and her name was Bobbie Jean Murdock. She was beautiful. Her family moved to Dallas after that year and I never saw her again. Truth be known, I do believe that that night, watching my son crush on the little blonde, was the first time I'd thought about Bobbie Jean Murdock since she moved away. I couldn't help wondering what she was up to now. Being my age, probably a grandmother.

Jean and I greeted Mike and Lucy Tulia and the bigger boy's dad Vern Weaver. He was sitting next to a much younger and very sexy-looking redhead in a strapless gown showing a lot of cleavage, and across from her was the boy Ryan and next to him an older boy we hadn't met. He looked like a youngish teenager.

‘Milt!' Vern Weaver called. ‘Come on over and meet my wife!' He was all smiles, as well he might be, as ugly as he was sitting next to someone like her. Vern was a big ol' guy, most of it running to fat, with a bad comb-over, wiry eyebrows and fat earlobes. Not a pretty guy.

‘Hey, Vern,' I said and ambled over, Jean keeping up with me on her crutches. The boys headed straight for the little girl, kneeling down and talking in whispers with her. I shook hands with Vern and Mike, nodded at Lucy and the kids, and was introduced to Crystal.

‘We're on our honeymoon, and Crystal wouldn't have us leaving my boys behind! So they came along with us! Ain't that the damnedest thing?' Vern said in his booming voice. I could see by the almost-empty bottle of wine by his plate that he'd had a little bit to drink.

‘Vern, honey,' said the lovely Mrs Crystal Weaver in a sultry Jessica Rabbit voice, ‘you're embarrassing me, and the boys! Right, boys?' she said, looking at mostly the teenaged one.

And he was a sight. Dusty-looking brown hair that needed cutting, a forehead covered in zits, and so skinny you could actually see his bones. He looked down at his plate. The other plates were near empty, like at the end of a meal. The boy's plate hadn't been touched.

‘I don't believe we've met your older son,' I said to Vern.

‘Yeah, and you may not now. He's acting like a shithead and I'm about to send him to his cabin for the rest of the fuckin' cruise. Excuse my French, ladies.'

‘This is Joshua,' Crystal said. ‘Joshua, say hello to Mr and Mrs Kovak.'

The boy looked up and said, ‘Hey,' in a voice that was halfway through the change.

‘Please eat, Joshua, honey,' Crystal said. ‘I would hate for your dad to send you to your cabin.'

The boy played with his food.

‘It was nice meeting you, Crystal,' Jean said, ‘and you too, Joshua. But we need to get seated before they give our table away!' She laughed. It was that tight little laugh she gives off whenever she's secretly pissed at me but doesn't want anyone else knowing. It works. The only one who knows is me, and what I did this time I'll never know.

We said our goodbyes and headed to our table. ‘Can we sit with Janna and Ryan?' Johnny Mac asked.

‘No, dear,' Jean said. ‘There isn't room at their table, and besides, they're almost through eating.'

‘Josh isn't,' my son said.

‘John,' Jean said and gave him that look.

The boy sighed and picked up the menu.

After we interpreted the menu for them, the boys, being good Oklahoma cattle country young'uns, both ordered steaks and baked potatoes and salads with ranch dressing. When they grow up, they're both gonna regret giving up this opportunity to partake in some righteous chow they're not likely to get at home.

I had an appetizer of marinated beef steak tomatoes with bleu cheese crumbles, a main course of lobster gratin with risotto and baby artichokes, and a dessert of flan with flaming strawberries. And Jean and I shared a bottle of Chardonnay. Not that I know that much about wines, but it tasted OK to me.

When we finished and left, we found the Tulias with their daughter and the Weaver boys talking with an older couple and two younger women. One of the women was holding the hand of the other little girl we'd met – Lyssa, I think her name was.

‘Oh, Milt, Jean, we want you to meet some people,' Mike said, grabbing my arm.

If we'd been in Prophesy County and somebody I didn't know that well grabbed my arm like that, I'd have a gun under his chin and be reading him his rights in a New York minute. Unfortunately my gun was in the cabin, and this was, I suppose, a social exchange. I tried a smile.

‘These two ladies,' he said, indicating the younger ones, ‘are Esther Monte – you've met her daughter Lyssa, right?' I nodded. ‘And Rose Connelly and her sons Trip and Jacob. And these two,' he said, indicating the older couple, ‘are Baker and Linda Connelly, the boys' grandparents.'

I shook hands, as did Jean, as Johnny Mac and Early moved over to where Janna and the Weaver boys stood.

‘You're all traveling together?' Jean said, a sweep of her arm indicating the whole bunch of 'em.

The dark-haired Esther Monte laughed. ‘Oops, no, not us,' she said, her arm around her daughter's shoulder. ‘We just met Rose and her boys at the pool earlier today. And they asked us to tag along this evening.'

‘Where are y'all off to?' Mike asked. ‘Vern and Crystal went to their cabin,' he said, winking at me, ‘so we've got the boys—'

‘Hey, Uncle Mike,' the older Weaver boy said, ‘I can take all the kids to the children's pavilion, if that's OK with everyone?'

Everyone looked at everyone else and then Lucy Tulia said, ‘There's a comedian I saw on Letterman one time in the comedy club tonight. It's supposed to be racy, so this way we can actually see it.' She spoke softly and nodded slightly at the kids. The implication was simple: get rid of the kids and we can go get drunk and talk dirty. Worked for me.

Everybody gave instructions to the older Weaver boy on how to handle their children, and the kids took off. The older couple – the Connellys, I think it was, decided to skip the comedy club.

‘Linda's not big on smut,' Mr Connelly said, ‘so we'll bow out of this.' Looking at his daughter-in-law, he said, ‘Rose, don't stay out late and keep an eye on the boys.'

‘Of course, Dad,' she said and, if I wasn't mistaken, I think she choked a little on the ‘dad.' Rose Connelly was a pretty woman – one of those ethereal-looking ladies, with just a bit of blue vein showing through parchment skin, blonde hair with very little pigment and blue eyes so light in color that on an overcast day the irises might appear to be missing. She was wearing a flowing, hippy kind of dress. It suited her.