A Deep and Dark December (24 page)

Awkwardness hung in the air between them, an end of the first date kind of nervousness. “I’ll call you.”

“Okay,” she said, doubt leaden in her tone.

“Erin...” he started, caught by the look in her eyes. He found he couldn’t finish. Everything he thought to say sounded trite and overused. Instead he dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around her, and kissed her. He put the words he couldn’t say, the feelings he couldn’t express into this one kiss. How much he craved her, how much he needed from her, how much he wanted to give her, and how much he wanted to take away from her. How much he wanted to be in her body, her thoughts, her life.

He broke the kiss and stumbled to his feet, gripping the bedpost for balance. “I’ll call you,” he said again, his voice raspy and raw sounding.

She put the back of her hand to her mouth and nodded. “Yes. Call me. Come over later if you can.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He turned and left, concentrating hard on putting one foot in front of the other when all he really wanted to do was dive back into bed with her.

~*~

Erin watched him go, her heart hammering, her stomach a tangled knot of excitement and need. Damn, that man could kiss. At the sound of the front door closing, she flopped back in the bed, snuggling down deep in the covers. She’d think about that kiss all day with the same goofy grin she wore now.

Her senses stuttered, flashing like a warning light. And then she was sucked out of her bedroom and into another room with bare, hard-worn furniture. A woman lay on the floor, her dark hair obscuring her face. Erin could hear voices down the hall, arguing. Another woman… no a man, his voice high and tight, yelled something about what he was owed. A deeper voice answered, his tone low and cajoling, promising the other man that he’d get what he was after.

The woman on the floor stirred as one of the men came into the room. He leaned over her, his bulbous belly making the task seem herculean, and kicked her. She jerked and curled into herself. The man bent to kick her again, but the other man—Graham—came into the room, stopping him with one word—“Don’t.”

Graham argued with the fat man over the woman as if she were a commodity he was trying to unload at a good price. Erin stood invisible at the edge of the room, trying to make sense of what she was viewing. This was a Graham she’d never seen before, hard-edged and clean-shaven, his beard gone, his hair shorn close to the scalp. He was keyed up, eager to get the fat man to agree to the deal. The woman tried to get his attention, but Graham ignored her, focusing on the other man. The man took the deal with the caveat that the woman would leave with him. Graham didn’t hesitate, quickly agreeing. The woman glared hard at Graham and tugged on his pant leg. Graham shook her off, stepping away.

The fat man smiled down at the woman, saying something in a language the woman understood but Erin didn’t. Rising to her feet as though she were in a lot of pain, she answered back. Whatever she said earned her a backhand from the man that sent her sprawling to the ground again. Graham shoved the man’s shoulder, getting in his face. Behind the men, the woman slipped a gun out of her boot. She aimed it at Graham’s back.

The explosion hit Erin as though she’d been the target. The room flashed white. Erin sucked air…once again back in her bed. The morning sun filtering into her window a mockery of the horror she’d just seen. She pulled the pillow Graham had used to her chest and hugged it hard. It still held his scent. She’d allowed the vision to go on further than it should have. She’d wanted to know more about Graham. Was that how he’d gotten the scar on his side? The one he’d tried to hide from her.

The Graham in her vision was not the Graham she’d had in her bed last night. She tried to reconcile the two in her mind, comparing them side-by-side. If he could slip so easily from one persona to the other, which was the real one? Or was the real Graham caught somewhere in between? And who was the woman in the vision? There’d been moments Graham had looked at her with real emotion when the fat man hadn’t been paying attention. Who was she to Graham? Did she have a claim on him still?

Graham had gone home to shower and change. He’d grabbed a cup of coffee and a donut at the Do or Dine and now he stood on Keith’s doorstep, wondering if he’d missed the man. He didn’t want to have to question Keith at the store with half the town straining to listen, didn’t want any more of this to touch Erin in any way.

It was just a matter of time before the whole town knew he’d spent the night with Erin. He should have left earlier. When he’d turned around to start down Erin’s front steps, old Mrs. Pfeiffer had been standing on the sidewalk holding her bug-eyed mutt’s leash, gaping at him as though he’d just climbed out Erin’s bedroom window with her panties clamped between his teeth.

He’d given her a wave and a cheerful
mornin’
. She’d given him a glare that let him know his father would be hearing about this. His father had strict beliefs where premarital relations were concerned, not to mention the six generations deep worth of reputation to protect.

Goddamned small town.

He banged his fist on the door harder than necessary. “Keith! Open up. Sheriff.”

No answer. He looked up at the two-story house that gleamed with a new paint job under the morning sun. This might’ve been Erin’s house one day. It was perfect for her, in the kind of neighborhood where you’d raise a family. She might’ve had the life here with Keith that she’d wanted, if things had gone differently. He gave the shiny silver plate at the bottom of the front door a solid kick and was about to turn away when he heard a crashing noise from inside.

He hit the door with his fist, annoyed with himself as much as Keith. “Open the door, Keith!”

Silence. He tried the doorknob. Locked. He shook his head and muttered a curse as he stepped off the porch. All the peeping in windows he’d done lately was going to earn him pervert of the year status. The house was dark and still feeling. He had no idea what room he was looking into. He knocked on the window and shouted for Keith again, then skulked around to the side yard. Another window, drapes shut tight.

He opened the gate, letting himself into the backyard. More family home goodness here with a swimming pool, basketball hoop, and a freaking swing set. All that was missing was the dog. As soon as he had the thought, a big shapeless mutt bounded toward him, tongue lolling. The dog bounced around his ankles until Graham found a ball and threw it. The dog followed, disappearing into some bushes, leaving the ball on the grass.

“Not so perfect after all, huh?” he muttered. “Dog can’t even fetch.”

The back of the house was locked up as tight as the front, the curtains and shutters closed. He made his way to the front of the house again and was standing at the bottom of the steps, deciding what to do when Carol Whittaker came up next to him.

“Have you knocked?” she asked.

“No answer.”

“He didn’t come in to work today. Not answering either of his phones. Maybe we should be at Erin December’s house. I hear things have gotten pretty serious between them. Although I don’t know what he sees in her. He could do better.”

Graham tamped down his anger. “They broke up.”

Carol looked at him funny. “That can’t be right.”

He shrugged, looking back at the house, feeling as though it were looking right back.

“But they had a date last night. He was really nervous like something big was going to happen, if you know what I mean.”

“He didn’t call in to work or anything?”

“No, not a peep, which isn’t like him. That’s why I came down here. As assistant manager of the pharmacy.”

“And you haven’t been able to reach him? What about his parents?”

“He’s not there either.”

Graham strode up the front steps and pounded the side of his fist against the door. “Keith!”

“The key’s under the mat.”

“Of course it is.” Graham lifted the corner and retrieved the key.

“Should I stand back? Is this police business? Do you think something’s happened to Keith? Maybe he’s sick. Or fell down and hit his head. He could be lying unconscious, bleeding to death slowly.”

Graham glared at Carol over his shoulder.

“Well, he could. Happens all the time.”

He fit the key in the door and opened it. “Sheriff. Keith, you in there?” He turned back to Carol with a hand up. “Stay here.”

He made his way through a short entry hall into a main room with a wide, sweeping staircase. The second floor overlooked the first with an open floor plan with a vaulted, beamed ceiling. Keith hung limply, suspended in midair from one of the beams. Face ashen. Neck cinched. Head jerked off center.

Dead.

“Goddammit.”

Behind him, Carol shrieked. Graham ducked at the onslaught. She stood there, mouth opening and closing on one scream after another, eyes wide, finger pointing. He clamped a hand over her mouth, but she howled through his fingers as he pulled her back out the door.

“I told you to stay outside!”

Her wailing continued, her arms pumping up and down at her sides.

He gripped her shoulders and shook her. “Stop it! Stop it right now!”

She shut off mid screech. Her chin quivered. Tears filled her eyes. They poured over her bottom lashes, spilling down her cheeks.

“Goddammit,” he muttered, noticing the doors opening up and down the street.

“He’s-s-s de-e-ad.”

“Yeah.”

“D-d-do s-s-something.”

“Come sit down.” He guided her to his car and put her in the front seat. “Will you listen to me this time and stay put?”

She nodded, swiping her hands over her face. “I have to call the store.”

“No. No phone calls. I mean it.” Graham eyed the Looky Lou’s who were gathering, leaving their lawns to come see what the fuss was all about. He pulled out his cell phone and called Pax.

He answered on the first ring. “Riggs.”

“Pax, we’ve got another unattended death.”

“Jesus. Another one? Who?”

“Keith Collins.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“I wish,” Graham answered. “And I’m going to need some crowd control.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Graham ended the call in time to be surrounded by neighbors, clamoring for answers.

“Everyone step back,” he ordered. “Go back to your homes.”

“Why’s Carol in your car?” someone shouted.

“What’d you do to Carol?”

“Carol, what’s going on?”

“What’s happening?”

“Keith’s dead,” Carol announced, collapsing into sobs.

The crowd sucked in a collective breath, then pelted Graham with a thousand questions at once, like a swarm of mosquitoes each trying to take a bite out of him. He did his best to control the crowd and managed to stop one morbid neighbor, the McGuire’s oldest son, from sneaking into the house.

By the time Pax arrived with a couple of other deputies, the crowd had Graham backed up against the front door and wondering for the millionth time why he’d come back to this godforsaken backwoods town where everyone knows everyone and they all knew way too much about each other’s business. Seeing Graham’s predicament, Pax put two fingers in his mouth and let out a whistle. The crowd quieted.

“Now, give the sheriff a chance to do his job,” Pax said. “You all go back to your homes.”

“If he was doing his job we wouldn’t have so many people dyin’,” someone shouted.

That started a tidal wave of
that’s rights
and
yeahs
.

“Give the boy a chance.”

Every head swiveled to see the newcomer who defended Graham. The crowd parted and Ham came into view. Graham bit back a curse. This was just what he needed. A dead man, a mob of angry neighbors, and now his dad. Ham leaned heavily on the cane he’d used when he’d first come home from the hospital. Graham knew the fact that Ham had conceded his need for the cane meant that he probably should’ve been in a wheelchair. Sweat beaded Ham’s forehead and although his hand shook as he raised it to point at Graham, his back was straight. Damn stubborn old man.

“That there is the sixth Sheriff Doran of San Rey,” Ham said, his voice strong but strained. “He’s here to do his job. Go on back to your houses and let him get on with it.”