Chapter 5
Everett and Freddie Brandt were back in Amarillo, hiding in their rooms with the shades down and the curtains pulled, and their car only yards away from the exit door.
They couldn’t look at themselves in the mirror, and wouldn’t look at each other.
Freddie was afraid to open his mouth and make Everett mad.
He would never have guessed that his brother had the balls to kill someone, and now he felt afraid for himself.
He was always doing something wrong. What if Everett got fed up and just shot him, too?
Everett was bothered that he’d had to do it, but after Freddie popped off about selling the bar, it became an act of self-preservation.
He had no idea that he’d put the fear of God in Freddie, and would have been horrified to know that Freddie was now afraid of him.
It had yet to occur to Everett that Freddie had left his DNA all over Jacob Kingston when he tackled him.
All he knew was that they bungled what they’d set out to do, and killed a man.
They were sitting in the darkened rooms with the TV on low, waiting for the local news to air. They needed to know if they’d been made, and how far and how fast they should run.
Freddie was hunkered down on one end of the sofa and Everett on the other.
“I wish we’d never gone to see Pop,” Freddie muttered.
Everett frowned. “What do you mean?”
“If we hadn’t gone, then he would have died without telling us what he did, right? And if we didn’t know it, then we wouldn’t be in this trouble,” Freddie said.
“Just because Pop told us what he did, didn’t mean we had to act on it,” Everett said.
Freddie’s eyes widened. “Then if we didn’t have to, why did we do it?”
“It was our inheritance,” Everett muttered.
Freddie frowned. “I don’t know what that means. Pop stole money and gave it to Brenda. So that makes it hers, right?”
Everett’s chin jutted stubbornly. “But she’s dead, Freddie. So, by rights, now it’s ours.”
Freddie sighed. “I don’t want it. I just want all this to go away. Can’t we just forget about it?”
“Well, we can’t just forget about it, can we, Freddie? Because a man is dead, and the cops won’t quit looking for us. We’re either going to jail, or we’re going to die. Depends on who shoots first.”
Freddie dropped his head and started bawling. “I don’t wanna die.”
“I don’t suppose Jacob Kingston was planning on dying, either, but he did, didn’t he? We don’t always get what we want. If we can find that money, we’ll have all we need to get out of the country. Live in style in Mexico,” Everett said, and upped the volume. It was almost time for the evening news.
When it began airing, as always, it led with a teaser about their biggest story, and to their horror, it was about the break-in and shooting at the Tumbleweed Bar, then went to a commercial.
“Well, we made the news,” Everett muttered.
“What do we do?” Freddie asked.
“Nothing yet. They don’t know our names. They don’t have any witnesses, beyond whoever was driving that black truck, and I think it was just making a U-turn. Our car wasn’t parked out front. We parked on the side, remember? I bet they didn’t even know anything was going on.”
And so, they sat waiting for the full report.
But they didn’t get the full report, because Sheriff Reddick kept key details out of the press, and when the journalist reported that Jacob Kingston was still alive, and in a hospital in Amarillo, they both jumped to their feet.
“He didn’t die! He didn’t die!” Freddie kept shouting.
“Right, but that means, eventually he’ll go home. We’ll give it a few days, let everything cool down, and when the time is right, we’ll go back to that bar and search for that money without interference,” Everett said.
“Right!” Freddie said, and hugged Everett before he remembered he was supposed to be afraid of him. But when Everett didn’t shove him away, he took it to mean they were good again.
* * *
The Kingston brothers were back from the cafeteria, waiting to be allowed back in ICU, and when the time arrived, there were only a couple of other people in the waiting area besides the brothers.
“I’m sitting this one out,” Dylan said.
Gunner stood, then looked at Asher. “You’re going in with me, right?”
“Right beside you,” he said.
They filed into the unit in silence. Ash led the way, with Gunner matching him step for step, but the moment they got to Jacob’s bedside, Gunner paused, taking in all the medical equipment before he let himself look, really look, at his dad.
“This can’t be happening. I want this to be a bad dream,” he muttered, then leaned over and softly spoke.
“Dad, it’s me, Gunner. Ash and I are right here with you.
We’re both damn good at our jobs, and we’re going to find the people responsible for this.
That’s our job. Your job is to rest and heal and get well. ”
Then he straightened up, took a deep breath, and for the first time, touched his father’s face.
“It’s tough seeing him like this, but we know what he’s made of. I have to believe he’s going to pull through,” Ash said.
Gunner nodded. “God, I wish he would just open his eyes and tell us everything that happened. Give us a starting point, you know?”
“We’ll find something. You know we will. But it’s not going to happen overnight,” Ash said.
They stood with him for the allotted amount of time, bringing up stories from their youth, and reminding Jacob how much he meant to them in the hopes that, wherever he was, he could hear them.
When time was up, they walked out. As they entered the waiting room again, Ash glanced toward the window, then across the street at a sign flashing the temperature.
“It’s getting colder,” he said.
Dylan turned around. “How do you know that?”
He pointed. “From the temperature reading on that digital sign across the street.”
Dylan grinned. “Oh. For a second there I thought you’d grown psychic in your old age.”
“Shut it,” Asher said, and grinned.
Gunner was quiet, still riding out the shock of seeing his dad like that.
“Will we get to talk to his doctor?”
“I’ll check,” Asher said, and went back to the nurse’s desk. “Excuse me, but will Dr. Reading be making evening rounds, or does he only do it in the mornings?”
“He’ll make rounds some time, but it’s hard to say when. Likely between five and seven,” she said.
“Would you mind letting him know that all of Jacob’s family has arrived and we would greatly appreciate an update on his status?”
“Of course, I’ll do that.”
“We’ll be in the waiting room,” Asher said. When he went back to the waiting room, Gunner was sitting at a table in the canteen area with his laptop open, and Dylan was sitting beneath the window, talking on the phone.
Gunner looked up as Asher approached. “Well?”
“They’ll tell him we’re here for an update.”
Gunner nodded and went back to scrolling.
Asher sat down at the table with him. “What are you doing?”
“Finding out everything I can about Pete Brandt. He’s dead, but the dead always leave secrets behind.”
“True that,” Asher said, then found a chair in a corner, pulled out his phone, and googled the number for the Yellow Rose Café. If there was one person in Crossroads who was up on all the gossip, it was Pearl Fallon, and he wanted to thank her for saving their dad’s life.
* * *
It was another cold day in Crossroads, but the dining room in the Yellow Rose was as cozy as being rocked in your grandma’s lap.
It was warm and bright, belying the gray skies and the bite from air so cold it made your face burn. The aromas coming out of the kitchen were a mixture of sweet and savory, and the coffee was abundant.
Normally, Pearl was in her element there, but the events of last night were still with her.
The horror of what had happened to Jacob Kingston had rocked their world.
It was the topic of conversation at every table, and while they all knew Pearl’s part in the drama, no one questioned her about it.
They didn’t have to. They could see she was still wrapped in the shock of it.
When the phone rang at the Rose, one of the waitresses answered.
“Yellow Rose Café. This is Cheryl.”
“Cheryl, I’m Asher Kingston, Jacob’s oldest son. Will you give Pearl a message for me?”
She inhaled softly, then reached for a pen. “Yes, of course.”
“Ask her to call me when she has time. We’re trying to find a reason for what happened to Dad, and thought she might know something we don’t. This is my number,” he said, and repeated it for her as she wrote it down.
“Got it,” Cheryl said. “Jacob is well-loved and respected here. We’re all in shock. Do you have an update we could share?”
“Well, he came through surgery. He’s still in critical condition. They are keeping him sedated for healing purposes, and he’s in ICU. No visitors at this point except family.”
“Got it,” she said. “I’ll tell her to call you first chance she gets.”
“Yes, please do, and thank you,” Asher said, and disconnected.
Cheryl tore the note from the pad and raced into the kitchen.
“Pearl, Asher Kingston just called. When you get a chance, you need to call him. Jacob’s sons are at the hospital and know little to nothing about what happened other than he’d been shot.”
“Well, bless their hearts,” Pearl said. “Did you get his number?”
“Yes, ma’am. Right here,” Cheryl said, and held it up.
“My hands are a mess. Put it in the pocket of my apron,” Pearl said.
Cheryl nodded, folded the paper, and slipped it into the bib pocket of Pearl’s apron.
“Did he say anything about Jacob?” Pearl asked.
“Yes, ma’am. I asked. He’s out of surgery. Listed in critical condition in ICU, and sedated to aid in healing. No visitors except family allowed.”
Pearl absorbed the news as Cheryl went back to the dining room.
* * *
At the same time Pearl was getting Asher’s message, he was headed for the table where Dylan and Gunner were now sitting.