Charley shrugged. "Maybe they still had something going. Maybe she threatened to tell his wife."
Amanda shook her head in disgust. "Of course you'd come up with something sordid and stereotypical, something you could relate to."
"Hey! That kind of thing happens all the time. That's what makes it a stereotype."
"Fine. Whatever." Amanda stood. "I'm going to bed. You need to leave."
"What if I don't leave?"
"Then I sleep in my clothes."
"I've seen you without your clothes." Charley smiled smugly.
"
Seen
being the operative word. Past tense. Not present, not future."
"You gotta admit, we made a good team tonight. We've got Kimball on the run." He looked pleased with himself.
"Excuse me?" She threw her arms into the air, hands outspread. "
On the run?
We stirred up a hornet's nest! Yeah, we're a great team. Between the two of us, we're going to get me killed!"
"Relax, Amanda. I know how to read people. You've got him on the defensive. He'll mess up, and we'll catch him."
"Stuff it, Charley! This is all totally, completely, one hundred percent your fault!
Even dead, you continue to cause problems!
"
"Amanda, you're letting yourself get all worked up. That's not good for you."
She flopped across the bed and pulled a pillow over her head.
Charley gave a deep sigh. "Fine. I'm leaving. I'll go outside and stand guard for you. Let you know if I see anything threatening. I'll take care of you, Amanda."
She rolled over, tossing aside the pillow so she could glare at him. "Great. At the rate you're taking care of me, I'll be joining you soon."
***
The next morning, after a night of tossing and turning
,
dreaming of Kimball shooting her, choking her, dismembering her and in other ways disposing of her, Amanda dreaded the thought of breakfast, of being polite and shoving food into her knotted stomach.
But then she came downstairs to the smells and the people.
Breakfast in the Randolph home was a rushed, frantic, completely wonderful affair. This morning Irene made biscuits, sausage, fried eggs and hash browns. Yesterday they'd had scrambled eggs and bacon. Cholesterol heaven. Amanda's mother would have had a heart attack just looking at the food.
"How do you want your eggs?" Irene, standing at the stove, tending a skillet, asked when Amanda entered the kitchen. "Over easy? Over medium? Please tell me you don't like them just dipped in hot grease and still all slimy on top like some people." She arched an eyebrow in Herbert's direction.
"Eggs sushi.
" He
sat
at the table, dressed in a faded denim work shirt and blue jeans, already eating some of the maligned eggs, dipping pieces of biscuit in the yolk
and grinning
.
Penny—or maybe it was Paula—stood at the counter making ham sandwiches for the girls' lunches. The other twin cut two pieces of apple pie and put them in plastic containers.
"Over medium," Amanda replied. "Can I do something to help?" She stood behind a chair at the place setting with a can of cold Coke instead of the coffee or orange juice at the other places.
"Not a thing. You just sit down and relax. Penny, Paula, here's your eggs. Come to the table and eat." She slid eggs onto two of the plates, then returned the skillet to the stove.
"Mom, we gotta hurry today. We have
debate
practice
before school
."
"All the more reason to eat a good breakfast." Irene cracked four more eggs into the hot grease. Apparently everyone got two eggs, no need to specify. None of this,
I'll have one poached egg, a croissant and fruit.
Amanda sat and helped herself to a hot biscuit, breaking it open and spreading with butter. Real butter. She smiled as she imagined the shock on her mother's face if she were at the table. Would her oft-touted manners require her to eat of the commoners' fare, or would she politely request a poached egg and fruit? If she did, Amanda had no doubt Irene would
prepare
it for her.
The twins moved to the table and sat down. The one sitting closest to Amanda—Paula, she thought—added hash browns, a biscuit and sausage to her plate, then leaned over close to Amanda to whisper. "I heard you talking to Charley last night."
Amanda almost choked on a bite of light, fluffy biscuit. "You—you heard?" Could Charley's sister hear him, too? Could she see him? How could she be so calm about it?
"I wasn't eavesdropping," Paula continued. "Our room's right next to yours, and we were up late reading." The teenager squeezed her hand. "It's okay. I sometimes talk to my cat that died last year. At first I was really mad at my cat for dying, too. It's a stage. It'll get better." She patted Amanda's hand then returned to her breakfast.
Amanda suddenly felt very small and guilty, taking this girl's sympathy under false pretenses. In fact, she was involved with the whole family under false pretenses. They had loved Charley. They missed him.
But, in her defense, she'd loved him once. And she might miss him if he'd ever go away.
Nevertheless, she was enjoying being a member of this family way too much. She wasn't entitled to their caring, their concern, the total acceptance they gave her. She should cut this visit short, leave today. Go back to her apartment, her work at the motorcycle shop, her life with her own family.
Irene slid two perfect fried eggs onto Amanda's plate, the other two onto her own, then sat down beside her husband.
"Your eggs okay?" Irene asked, and Amanda realized she was sitting with a cooling biscuit in one hand, staring into space.
"They're delicious." She returned her attention to the food cooked by her newly-discovered family.
Maybe she'd leave tomorrow. What difference would one more day make?
***
That afternoon
Irene
gave
Amanda
a lesson on preparing
homemade bread.
"Just pretend the dough is somebody you're really mad at, and whack the living daylights out of it." She demonstrated by
slamming
a fist into the mound of dough.
Amanda laughed. "That's a pretty good punch you've got there. Remind me never to make you mad!"
Irene smiled, then her face became serious. "Never you, sweetheart. Right now, I'm punching the face of the monster that killed my son and your husband."
That pretty much ruined Amanda's plan to pretend the dough was Charley's face.
As if summoned from her thoughts, the person of discussion appeared at her elbow. "Dawson's calling on your cell phone. He must have information.
H
urry!"
"Excuse me," Amanda said, "I've got to answer my phone. I'll be right back."
"You sure do have good ears," Irene said. "I don't hear a thing."
Amanda dashed upstairs where she'd left her phone to charge. "Hello? Dawson?"
"Hi. You okay? You sound out of breath."
"Ran up the stairs. I'm fine."
For the moment
.
Until Kimball decided how to do away with her.
"Did you find out anything about Roland Kimball?"
"Lots, but most of it's public information, probably stuff you already know."
"Let's hear it anyway." She sank onto the bed. Charley joined her, leaning close to hear what Dawson had to say.
"Mayor of Silver Creek. Comes from money. His grandfather started out with a sawmill. Family owns most of the county now.
Dad's a bigwig in Silver Creek
and has a lot of friends in high places in Dallas and Fort Worth. Mayor's making noises about being the next governor of Texas."
"That's a scary thought," Amanda said. "He's not a very nice person."
"No," Dawson agree
d, "he's not. And Dad knows it
. All is not well in Camelot."
"That's what I want to hear. Tell me more."
"Dad's a megalomaniac, but he
's hard line
when it comes to morals and ethics
. Son got
a little wild when he went to college and out of Daddy's
sphere
of control."
"Wild, like how?"
"The usual. Drinking, drugs, women. When he was in high school, he dated that woman you asked me to check on, Dianne
Carter
. Her name was Dianne Ferguson at that time. Sounds like she was a nice person. Dad approved of her even though she didn't come from wealth. Her family went to his church, and she had a good influence on Roland. He was running with a pretty rough crowd in high school until he started dating Dianne. All was well for a
while
. Looked like Roland and Dianne would get married and live happily ever after. But during their
junior
year
in college
, they broke up, and Roland got in so much trouble, he almost
failed to
graduate."
"I knew it!" Charley exclaimed.
"Did not," Amanda said.
"Yes," Dawson said, his tone puzzled, "he did."
"Sorry. Just clearing my throat. Tell me about the trouble he got into."
"Received a couple of DUIs that Dad
dy
got him out of, missed a lot of classes, got in a few fights, that sort of thing. Nothing Daddy couldn't buy him out of, but a couple were pretty expensive like the time his senior year when a girl almost died from some kinky sex activities."
Amanda gulped. "Kinky sex activities?"
Was she in danger of more than just a straight murder?
"They take a rope—"
Amanda shuddered. "Never mind. I don't
want
details.
Kinky
tells me all I need to know."
"Anyway, that near-miss with the justice system seemed to get Roland's attention. He straightened up, graduated, went to law school, returned to Silver Creek and married Catherine Montgomery, the daughter of a buddy of his dad. Combined the family fortunes."
"What's she like, Mrs. Roland?" The woman she'd glimpsed last night didn't seem the type to play kinky sex games, but Amanda wasn't sure she knew what type would.
"
S
he seems to be the perfect politician's wife…quiet, submissive, always gracious, content to live in her husband's shadow."