Chapter 16
Grace
I wake to the smell of bacon and coffee, and the soft sounds of Caleb working in the kitchen.
My love. How did he find me? How did I get so lucky?
He tries to act so tough. I don’t doubt he can be ruthless. Yet he feels so much of what others are suffering. He has not lost his compassion. Yet still doubts that he deserves the same.
Throwing off the covers, I vow to teach him his true worth. Dressing quickly, I open the partially closed door to the bedroom and almost trip over Woody.
I’d forgotten he was here and yelp in surprise.
Caleb glances over and chuckles. “Spade said that Woody found his person. I didn’t know what he meant but I do now.
When I left the bedroom, he was laying in front of the bedroom door and immediately raced in to check on you.
I practically had to drag him outside then he came back in and planted himself in front of the door waiting for you to get up.
You may have to tell him it’s okay to eat. ”
I sit on the floor and Woody promptly tries to climb into my lap. Too large to fit, he’s half in, half out. He looks up at me with soulful eyes. Scratching behind his ears, I smile down at him. “What a sweet boy you are. I love you, too.”
Caleb brings me a cup of coffee, then ruffles the top of the dog’s head. “Like I told you buddy, you got to share with me.”
He looks at me and winks. “Spade texted you a training sheet with all the commands that Woody knows. If the two of you are getting along, he’ll stop by tomorrow and do a training session with both of you.
“Clay called and wants us to come to his office as soon as we can. He’s got the photos and the sketch pad. He feels you should be able to go through both before he does in case there’s anything too personal.
“Breakfast is almost done. I thought we’d eat then leave.”
“Can we take Woody with us? I don’t want him to be left home alone. He might not understand and feel abandoned since it’s all new.”
Caleb just shakes his head and smiles. “You do know that guard dogs are supposed to guard.”
“Of course. That’s why he’s going with. If you take him out, I’ll clean up the dishes.
At the sheriff’s department we’re led to Clay’s office. He asks me to start with the sketch book. Seeing the sketch of Guy’s and my clasped hands is less painful this time. More a sweet memory.
The next few are of animals in great detail. Then the woods behind our house. One I recognize as a finished painting I recently took to the shop. What looks like a white spec catches my eye.
“He finished the painting just before... I recently took it to the shop to sell. I’d swear it’s the woods behind our house. But look. Is that white speck a paper airplane?”
Both men lean closer looking over my shoulder. “Damn, could be,” Clay says. “Has the painting sold?”
“It was still there the last day I worked. It should still be there since the shop has been closed.”
“You have a key, right? You could get us in.”
“Yes.”
He nods toward the sketchbook. “Keep going. Let’s see if there’s anything else.”
The last page is an older model pickup with someone sitting behind the wheel. The driver is barely started with only the rough outline of a sharply angled jaw.
“I can tell you this isn’t something Guy would typically sketch. It feels out of place.”
“Let’s look at the photos.” Clay hands me the envelope.
Guy liked to paint old houses or cabins, many in disrepair, as well as animals in their natural habitat. He was all about nature. He also liked to photograph me. Apparently, when I was unaware. There were several of me at my pottery wheel, doing dishes, and picking wildflowers.
Toward the end, were photos of the same area as the sketch in the book. Three of them were the actual paper airplanes we found in the box. He even took photos of his sticky notes.
Clay glances up. “He was duplicating the evidence in case the originals were taken or lost.”
My breath catches at the last two. An old man in a black suit, a white shirt with a clerical collar, and a broad brimmed black hat.
“That’s the old man who came asking to buy Guy’s truck.
Said he heard in town the truck was for sale.
He wore dungarees the day he visited, but the hat, beard and the eyes are the same. ”
Clay looks at Caleb. “Looks a lot like the guy in the sketch.”
“Babe, do you remember what the guy was driving the day he visited you about the truck?”
“Really?” She rolls her eyes. “It was a truck.”
“Babe...”
“Old. All white. Dull. Definitely seen a lot of work with bumps and bruises. Had GMC on the front grill. It...”
Her face goes pale and she clutches my forearm.
“I—I think it’s the same one that almost rear ended me.
I was driving down the mountain, and it came up fast behind me just before I entered a curve.
Another car was coming from the opposite direction and started honking.
He and I pulled over at the same time and the idiot in the GMC sped past us.
I didn’t get a look at the driver but... but he had a flat brimmed hat.”
I turn to Clay. “The vehicle they saw drive away from the fire where Guy died. What was it?”
“A late model white pickup,” Caleb answers.
Clay and I both turn to him.
He shrugs. “A buddy on the Hotshots has connections. He got me a copy of the report. For all the speculation that kids started the fire, there was no proof. A high accelerant was suspected but claims of old paint and chemicals at the site could have explained the rapid escalation. What the report lacked, was the name of the person who reported that the site was used as a dumping ground and that kids had been run off for hanging out at the schoolhouse.”
Clutching my hands in my lap I swallow back the fury. “What you’re saying is, my husband’s death may not have been an accident.”