Epilogue
Teague didn’t tell us, but it came out that Damon had multiple burner phones he’d used to communicate with women.
The sheriff’s department found the one he’d been using for Blanche, but not the one for Zoley. Best guess was Pammy secured it after shooting Damon and disposed of it.
But, since Zoley had called Damon from her regular phone that night and all the other times, the authorities had that history.
Bryon Georger had suspected his wife was having an affair.
He swore he hadn’t known it was with Damon.
Sure, that’s what someone trying to shake off any vestiges of being suspected of murdering Damon might say.
The difference was, he hadn’t stopped there. He’d suspected the affair was with a woman because of scraps of overheard conversation. And was sure of it that night outside Zepke’s because — according to him — Zoley said so.
In this rare instance, I believed Berrie’s account.
She said Zoley had been acknowledging having an affair with Damon. No doubt as part of Pammy’s plan to establish a motive for Bryon to murder Damon.
If Pammy had known Bryon misinterpreted her plot, she might have killed him, too.
* * * *
On the drive to the dog park the next day, Clara announced, “I watched that movie.”
“What mov— Strangers on a Train?”
“Uh-huh. It’s pretty creepy.”
“It is.”
“And I wanted to shout at the guy — the tennis player — to tell Bruno absolutely not and then go to the police.”
“That would be a very short movie.”
“True. And then it might not have been around to help you figure out how it was different from what Pammy was up to.”
“So we need to thank Farley Granger’s performance as Guy Haines for helping figure this out?”
“Mmm.” She considered, then said, “Also need to thank Donna and Leo and Urban and Alsup . . . and Berrie.”
That last one was going too far.
* * * *
The dog park was like a training class reunion.
We’d previously exchanged pleasantries with two of the dog-owner pairings, but still didn’t know the humans’ names. Oscar was there with Quasar — an honorary big dog for the moment. Donna and her granddaughter had Bernie, Lucifer, and Izzy.
No sign of the Swindells or Zoley. Damon was dead, of course, and the two women were in custody.
Bryon was free and the dog park rumor mill said he was doing remarkably well. Almost as if he didn’t mourn Zoley’s absence. Go figure.
In fact, he arrived not long after we did.
Izzy bounced up to him, along with several other dogs, including Lucifer.
It turned out Lucifer’s attitude toward Bryon Georger was not because he was a psychopath, but because he was an ordinary guy the dog didn’t know well.
“Thank you for taking care of Izzy,” he said to Donna. More generally, he explained, “Won’t see you all at Zepke’s. With all that’s happened, I’m moving. I’m looking into adopting Lucifer. He and Izzy get along and they can keep each other occupied.”
That caused a number of skeptical looks to shoot around. Not because of the dogs’ relationship.
Donna didn’t participate in the looks-shootings. She said, “No.”
“You mean Lucifer? But—”
“I mean both. They need attention and company. You were supposed to pick up Izzy yesterday.”
“I called you. Work—”
“You did call. You put work first. Not blaming you, but it’s not the atmosphere for those dogs. There’s a family with three kids and a mature golden interested in Izzy. Will have them meet her tonight.
“As for Lucifer, I have an adopter set. Former military canine handler who adopted his working dog when they both retired. The dog died recently. The guy’s looking for a dog who’s both a project and good with his children.”
Bryon pouted, but didn’t argue.
Experienced owners, kids to play with — Izzy and Lucifer had found their heavens.
* * * *
I hoped Teague would open the conversation as we drove toward Lafayette the following Sunday. At least to ask questions.
We were past Indianapolis when I gave up that hope.
But not the hope that we could shake these secrets’ tyranny.
“Teague, I’m going to talk to you. I want you to talk to me.”
He didn’t look at me, but jerked his head toward a sign for an exit.
He drove past a parking area where our view would have been of a truck wash to where we faced fields with corn plants popping up.
He turned off his truck. We lowered the windows, feeling a warming breeze.
Silence.
I was going to have to talk.
“You must know what this is about, Teague.” Not waiting for him to react, I added, “I do know some. I know Adam, your cousin’s son, was involved with urban exploration.”
His grunt passed for affirmative.
I stepped carefully. “You were . . . concerned?”
“Concerned? Yes.” He looked straight ahead. “They’d go into dangerous buildings. Boarded up, posted for trespassing. They acted like the owners were mean-spirited instead of trying to keep them safe.”
“You tried to talk to him. Including that night.”
He rubbed his forehead. “Was off-duty, but heard a radio call about people in a building near a scheduled implosion and I figured . . . Got there first. Shouted at them that the building next door was going to go any minute and the one they were in wasn’t sound.
“Some came out, scattered. Not Adam. I went in and he was standing there, looking deeper into the building. I could see he was going to take the leap to the next position, over . . . nothing.
“I was almost to him. Reached for him, but I was shouting at the same time and he jerked away. It was . . . it was like moving triggered the world to explode.”
I extended my hand toward him. Stopped. Let it drop to the console between us.
He regripped the steering wheel.
“I reached . . . He wasn’t there — No. I wasn’t there. I . . . dropped. Learned later the explosion ripped the floor out where we were standing, which was also the roof of a tunnel, I fell into the belly of the tunnel. A beam fell across where I was and that kept the worst off me.”
He looked out the driver’s window.
“Lucky. That’s what they said.” Bitterness corroded his words. “The explosion didn’t kill Adam, but the debris did. Blow to his head? Metal in his chest? Didn’t matter which got him first. He was gone.”
Anger surged through me at anyone — even Teague — blaming him.
Teague had tried to help Adam all along, had tried to get him out of that place. Out of danger.
Still, he blamed himself. I heard it in every inflection, saw it in the tic of muscle below his eye.
“That’s when your eye was injured? And your department . . .”
“Chief made noises about me being off-duty when I was hurt. But eventually insurance covered most.”
Eventually. At his lowest point, he’d had to fight for what healed him.
A new surge of anger hit, this one safer. All the things he did now — drive and teach and carpentry and the sheriff’s department. Knowing his determination, all they had to do was wait for him to recover and—
And he’d never have come to Haines Tavern.
“But another chief came in . . .”
He paused. “Yeah. Didn’t want the job then.”
“But you’re so good—”
“Now. Teaching — training then the classroom — got my head on straighter. Teaching is moving forward, not back.”
For the first time, his eyes came toward me.
“Murph helped. You.” He swallowed, then a flicker of a smile appeared. “And Clara. Trying to get some detecting in before you two solve cases.”
I kept my face solemn as I said, “Needing to set things up for the legal system handicaps you. And you have all those other cases to pay attention to that we ignore.”
“Thanks for safeguarding my ego.” His expression changed. “We better get back on the road.”
* * * *
We’d exited his truck when Teague spotted Quincy’s vehicle entering the parking lot.
He turned and looked at me over the hood.
He wasn’t surprised.
“Teague . . .”
“Too late for regrets now, Sheila.”
He said it evenly. I wasn’t fooled.
“No regrets.” Not entirely true, but they were outweighed by . . . what? Necessity? Hope?
Quincy and Riana had spotted us and walked toward us.
Then Riana angled toward a large tree at the edge of the lot, while Quincy’s path continued toward the entry to the restaurant.
Teague paused.
I touched his arm. “What I was going to say before — I love you.”
I was aware of him looking toward me, but I had turned to intercept Quincy’s path.
Even turned away, though, I was aware when Teague resumed walking.
Toward Riana.
Quincy stopped well short of the entry. He gave me a nod when I reached him, but didn’t look toward me. I turned to face the same way he did.
We watched Teague’s last few steps to reach his cousin.
“Hello, Teague.”
I realized Quincy’s position left us close enough to hear them, without impinging on their conversation.
I could feel their longing — their need — to hug, but they held back.
Or Teague did.
“Riana—”
“You don’t need to say it, Teague.”
“I do.” The rawness of those two short words scraped at my heart. “I let him down.”
“Oh, Teague—”
He shook his head. He wasn’t done. “I failed him.”
She sobbed. “So did I, O’Teague. So did I.”
“No—”
“Yes.”
She stepped in, put her arms around him. After a moment, his arms came up to complete the hug.
He rested his cheek on the top of her head.
When her voice came, it was muffled by tears. “The thing is, he let us down, too.”
His head came up.
“He did,” she said. “We have to forgive him for that. And we have to forgive ourselves.”
“I have. I think I have.” He said the words too fast.
She looked up, not needing to say anything.
One side of his mouth lifted slightly. “I’m working on it.”
“Me, too, O’Teague. Me, too.”
* * * *
Sheila’s writing of Alex in Search, her work in progress during Death on Gallows Path after a challenge from Kit, brings her a spell of blissful flow .