Chapter Eight #2
in the city. Developers want to capitalize by building condos and
housing tracts, but most of the residents don’t want Sisters to
become another Sacramento suburb.” She shrugged. “We want the
community to keep the rural feel with the apple farms and ranches.
Many of us have invested in building up our businesses to appeal to
visitors who want a wholesome family experience. Some are offering
field trip programs for schoolkids to teach them about growing
apples and how everything from cider to jams and jellies are
made.”
“I saw you’d put in
berries.”
She nodded. “Apple season starts on
Labor Day, so we put in berries to bring visitors earlier in the
summer. It’s worked out well.” The breeze gusted and she gathered
Walker’s jacket more closely around her. “Recently, local city
council meetings have gotten ugly. There are passionate people on
both sides.” She studied the man in front of her. “You have natural
leadership skills, Walker. When things get stirred up like they
are, people will look to you to give them direction. I think that’s
why Mateo said what he did.” She dug her keys from her purse and
slipped off his jacket. “Thanks. I’ll be fine with the heater in my
truck.”
He took the jacket. “My truck is in
the back row. I’ll follow you home.”
“Wow. I wonder how I’ve
survived without you.”
“I’m back, Laney. Get used
to it.”
***
While Walker followed Laney until the
taillights of her truck turned into the driveway in front of the
big house, his mind kept replaying her kiss. He couldn’t get it out
of his head. It felt like she’d knocked him on his ass much like
she’d done to the fucker Norris. She’d been making a statement and
didn’t intend for him to read more into it. He got that. He’d been
doing pretty good about walling off his emotions. His survival
depended on it. But when she laid that kiss on him, he felt like
she’d swung a wrecking ball through that wall.
He kept to the right at the fork and
pulled to a stop in front of the cabin he’d lived in from age ten
until he’d been sent to prison. His grandfather had always been
adding something to the place. At sixteen, Walker’d spent a hot,
sweaty summer swinging a hammer and running the saw after James had
gotten it in his head to change the pitch of the roof and extend it
out to cover a deep front porch, which also had to be
constructed.
Sawyer had gotten himself a summer job
before heading off to college so he’d been spared the carpentry
work. At the time, Walker’d bitched about it, but something about
hitting his thirties made him think about it differently. Now he
realized how much he’d learned, and how much he’d needed the
discipline of work. Pop had known, and he wondered if the old man
had decided on the construction work more as a project for Walker
to learn from than anything else.
With the porchlight on and the gleam
of the waning moon overhead, he studied the work he and his
grandfather had done. The change had been a good one. An avalanche
of memories were tied to this place and made him miss his
grandfather even more.
Over the years, they’d called, had
video chats, and Pop and Sawyer had come to visit him a few times.
But that didn’t make up for him not being in his grandfather’s life
when he should’ve been.
Regret had put a vise grip around his
heart that wouldn’t ease up, even more so when he learned Pop had
left the cabin to him. The north orchard went to him and Sawyer,
but the cabin and workshop were his. Sawyer had been more than okay
with the arrangement, saying Pop had helped him buy his place in
town.
Walker navigated the flagstone
walkway, checking his stride when he saw the outline of a man
sitting in one of the chairs in the deepest shadows of the porch.
Not his grandfather waiting up for him. He breathed carefully to
ease the tightness in his throat. “Good way to get yourself shot,
brother, sitting on a man’s porch in the dark.”
“You packing?” Sawyer
asked.
“Not today.”
“Guess I’m safe
then.”
Walker gave a grunt. “Didn’t see your
truck.”
“It’s parked by the
workshop. I had a couple of Pop’s tools to return.”
“Take any tools you
want.”
Sawyer nodded. “There are a few I
wouldn’t mind having.” He paused and Walker knew they were both
thinking about the upcoming funeral neither of them wanted to
attend.
Walker opened the door for a whining
Bud and flipped on the porch light. He took the chair next to his
brother as the little dog went out in the yard to lift his leg on a
tree. They sat in the still night, a coyote giving a yipping howl
from the hill beyond the north orchard. With any luck it would stay
there.
He’d keep an eye out. Bud would be an
attractive snack for a coyote.
Walker glanced at his brother who wore
dark jeans and a heavy shirt rolled up at the sleeves. A sure
indicator he wasn’t on duty.
“You want to speak at the
funeral?”
Walker gave it some consideration,
catching Bud when the little dog did his springy jump onto his lap.
“No,” he decided. “You’re better at that kind of thing. You should
do it.”
“Okay.”
After a minute, he said, “You want to
tell me what the fuck’s going on in this town?”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning Vance Norris got
grabby with Laney in the parking lot of Easy Money. She told me
there’s conflict between people here. Some folks like the Norrises
want to build condos and shit, and the farmers don’t want things to
change.”
“Tell me what happened
with Delaney and Norris.”
“He followed her out.
Must’ve heard she planted one on me. Said he wanted some of that
and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Sawyer lean forward. “You straighten
him out about that?”
“Would have except Norris
has hired protection who goes by the name Frank Dicarlo. By the
time I got through him, Laney’d already taken Norris down. Kneed
him in the balls.”
“That’s our girl.” In the
dim glow of the porchlight, he saw Sawyer slant him a look. “Laney
planted one on you?”
“Yeah. She was making a
point, and it worked.”
“You looking that way
again?”
He ran a hand over his face, his beard
making a raspy sound, and wished his answer could be different.
“She doesn’t need to get tangled up with a guy who’s been in
prison. Plus, I don’t want anything I do to blow back on
her.”
“Didn’t hear a no. Sounds
like you want her and would make a move if it weren’t for the other
shit.”
“The other shit’s my
reality, so what I want doesn’t matter.”
“Everyone deserves
happiness.”
“Now you sound like a
fucking therapist. Can we change the subject?”
He wasn’t sure his brother would let
it go, but he did. “Sure. You going to tell me what you’re
planning?”
“Eventually. I need to
work on it some first.”
“Fair enough.”
They sat for several minutes,
listening to the night. “There’s more going on than what Delaney
told you.”
“Explain.”
“A series of sexual
assaults on women in mountain towns. First one was about a year and
a half ago in a town up north about eighty miles. Next one was
nearly four months after that and occurred maybe fifty miles from
town. There have been other assaults, maybe not all related. More
recently, we’ve had three attacks in the last six months. Last one
was in Nevada City in May.”
“What you’re saying is the
assaults are happening more frequently and moving closer to
Sisters.”
“That’s the pattern. Law
enforcement is spreading the word for people to be cautious. That
means women shouldn’t be walking out of bars alone, late at
night.”
“I’ll make sure Delaney
and Keeley get the message.”
“Good. The attacks have
gotten increasingly more violent. Last one, the fucker nearly
killed the woman. She would’ve died if someone hadn’t found her and
gotten medical help when they did.”
“DNA?”
“No. Must’ve used a
condom, but same MO. A woman flying solo leaves a bar late, drunk
or close to it. He grabs her from behind. She wakes up, usually in
her own car, with evidence of sexual assault and tests positive for
Rohypnol.”
“Date rape drug. Fucking
bastard.”
“Yeah. It gets worse. He
cuts her. Deep enough to leave a scar, not so deep she’ll bleed
out.” Sawyer paused. “He cut every one of them across her belly,
spells out ‘whore.’ That’s being kept out of the news
reports.”
Walker went on alert. “That’s sick
shit. You thinking there’s a similarity with Melanie?”
“Melanie’s attacker didn’t
carve her up, but he had a knife and threatened to brand her with
it using that particular word. Could be the fucker has developed a
technique. Or it could be we’re spitting into the wind and there’s
no connection.”
“Mel was grabbed in a
park.”
“True. There are
inconsistencies. If it is the same fucker, he took a long break
before starting up again about eighteen months ago.”
“Could be he moved away
and now he’s back. Hell, he could’ve been in prison and gotten out
a year and a half ago. You check the national database for similar
crimes?”
“Nothing pinged, though
I’m still looking. If this has anything to do with what happened to
Melanie, this time the fucker is keeping it out of Sisters. Could
be that’s intentional.”
“Like maybe he doesn’t
want to shit in his own pool.”
“Yeah, either that, or
he’s saving this town for his grand finale.”