Chapter 9 #2
But he hadn't come here for absolution and he certainly hadn't come for tea and cake, no matter how good it was.
He'd come here for answers. "I'm hoping Loralee here can help me get a better understanding of what happened to my father.
According to Arless Hurley, you may have been the last person to see him alive.
" Loralee flinched as if he'd hit her. "Beg pardon, ma'am.
I should've qualified that. I didn't mean to imply that you…
well that you could have…" He hesitated, embarrassed by his blunder.
Ginny reached over and patted Loralee's hand. "Come now, girl, he's not saying you killed the man. Tell him what you know."
Loralee's face brightened. "There's not too much to tell. Duncan had become something of a regular." She ducked her head, her pale cheeks stained with a blush. It was another contradiction in Loralee. At times she seemed so young and innocent, hardly traits one expected in a soiled dove.
Not that he really knew a whole lot about the subject first hand.
Yet another area of his life he was living vicariously through others.
He pulled away from his thoughts, forcing himself to concentrate on the subject at hand.
"I need you to try and remember what my father said that last evening.
" He spoke gently and was rewarded with a nod of approval from Ginny.
She leaned back in her chair, subtly withdrawing from the conversation.
"We talked a lot. In fact, you should know that's all we did. Your father just needed a friend, I think. He was so devastated when your mama run out." She paused for a minute, looking at Patrick.
He smiled with what he hoped was encouragement. "Go on."
"Well, that particular night he was in high spirits —"
"You mean he was drunk," Patrick inserted.
"No." She screwed up her eyes in thought. "It was more than that. I mean he was always a little tippled, but this time there was genuine excitement, too. He wasn't making complete sense." She shrugged. "The whiskey, I guess. He kept talking about finding something big."
Patrick watched as she struggled to remember, her tiny little teeth worrying the bottom of her lip. "He spoke about finally finding the silver and how surprised you boys would be."
"He talked about Michael and me?"
She smiled. "All the time. He was so proud of the both of you."
"Michael." Patrick mumbled his brother's name under his breath. "My father was proud of Michael."
"He always said that Michael was the glue of the family. That he was determined to keep you together no matter what."
It was true. Michael had spent practically his whole life creating a home for them all.
A place they could call their own. In fact, now that he thought on it, Michael had never really shown any interest in things outside the family.
Except for the winter he went a little crazy trying to find some girl named Cara.
Loralee leaned forward, her eyes full of concern. "Your father was proud of you, too, Patrick. He always said you were the heart of the family."
For something so simple, Patrick felt absurdly happy. He forced himself to concentrate on the topic at hand. "Did he say anything about where he found this silver?"
Loralee shook her head. "No. I've tried to remember, but it was really just rambling. I do know he wanted to tell y'all."
Patrick smiled at the trace of sweet southern drawl in her voice. It was almost as lyrical as his mother's Irish lilt had been. "Was he on his way home to do that, then?"
Her face clouded. "No. At least I don't think so."
Patrick leaned forward, his heart beating a staccato rhythm in his chest. "What do you mean?"
"Well, maybe it's nothing. But your father loves Jack as much as he loves…" She dipped her head in embarrassment.
"As much as he loves us." He finished the sentence for her. "It's all right. I think it might be true. Jack and my father were inseparable."
"Well that's it exactly. If your father had truly been heading back to Clune, then he wouldn't have left Jack in front of my cr…house," she amended, color washing across her cheeks again.
"He left Jack with you?" Patrick frowned, trying to find reason where there probably was none.
"Not with me exactly. I think he was planning to come back. He knew Jack would be safe there."
"Well, that certainly supports what I've said all along. Where is he now?"
"I brought him here." She shot a pleading look at Ginny who immediately intervened.
"Now don't go thinking Loralee was trying to make off with that horse. She brought him here because she figured he' be safe from prying eyes."
Patrick ran a hand through his already frazzled hair. "I don't think anyone in their right mind would steal Jack, but you did the right thing. In fact, I think he should probably stay here, for now. At least until I can get hold of Amos Striker."
Loralee and Ginny exchanged a look. "What's he got to do with this?"
Patrick considered Ginny's question. "Well to start with, he's the sheriff."
The woman shrugged slightly as if to say, so what? "I wouldn't go runnin' my mouth off to the sheriff just yet."
"Well, I can't say that I disagree with your opinion of our erstwhile lawman, but I'd like to point out to him that it's highly unlikely that my father left town alive. Jack's presence proves that."
"Ah, but does it really prove anything? Where your father was killed is far less important than why the man died. And until you know the answer to that question, I'd be careful who I trust."
"I don't trust Striker farther than I can throw him. But he's the law around here. That has to mean something."
"Or nothing." The older woman's face closed, as if she had turned her spirit inward.
Patrick looked in askance at Loralee. "Does she know something I don't?"
Ginny opened her eyes, her attention once more focused on Patrick. "Amos Striker is a killer, a cold blooded killer."
Patrick shrugged. "Most lawmen are."
"But this one murdered my daughter."