Dark River Road (76 page)

They stood in Cinda’s kitchen, a wide airy room painted a gleaming white. Green plants spilled out of baskets and pots, and copper pans bounced light off the walls. It was quiet except for music playing in another room somewhere, something soft and jazzy with saxophones and piano. Ceilings were at least twelve feet high, and despite the house having been built in the 1830s, it felt modern and comfortable.

Chris walked to a huge refrigerator set into the wall and opened one of the doors made to look like a white shutter. “Co-cola?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

After getting out two cans of Coke, Chris motioned to the table in front of a wide window looking out over green lawns that sloped down toward the carriage house. They sat down, and Chris looked him in the eye.

“So just what are you really after, Chantry?”

“I told you—”

“I know what you told me. That’s not what I asked.” He took a couple swallows of Coke, then said, “My mother isn’t well. She’s not always lucid. She gets—strange ideas sometimes.”

“Uh huh. And she can still tell me about Mama. There’s things I don’t know, that I’ve always wanted to know. Maybe she can help me out.”

“Maybe. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to talk to her, though. Granddad
 . . .
he wouldn’t take it well.”

“I don’t give a damn what he thinks.”

Chris’s mouth twisted. “Yeah. I know. But I do. He can wreck lives if he gets pissed off enough.”

“Is that the reason you haven’t told him about Tansy yet?”

“Look, Chantry, there’s something you still don’t get, even after all these years. My grandfather has some powerful friends outside Quinton County as well as outside the entire damn state. Don’t you get it? He can do a lot more than just sic the cops on you and annoy the shit out of you. He does what he damn well pleases. He’s got the money and the connections to get away with anything.”

“Even murder?”

It was a lethal shot. Chris went dead white. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You tell me.”

Chris stood up. “You’re going to pull the tiger’s tail once too often, Chantry. If I were you, I’d watch my back.”

“Seems like I’ve heard that before.”

“Heard what before?” Cinda asked, breezing into the kitchen and looking like an ad for how to be a success by dressing well. She wore a crisp white linen suit, heels, and had her hair pulled back from her face in a style that’d look too stark on any other woman but Cinda. Not her. Somehow it only emphasized her high cheekbones, green eyes, and a mouth that made him think of hot nights all wrapped up in damp sheets and each other.

“Nothing,” Chris said at the same time Chantry said, “Watching my back.”

She stopped at the sink and gave them both a quizzical look. “Are you two boys not playing well together? Isn’t it time you got over all that?”

Chantry had stood up too, and he shrugged. “I’m over it. Chris is just worried about me.”

“Right.” She looked from one to the other, brows arched. “Worried. What are you two up to?”

Chris stalked to the back door and flung it open. “Not a damned thing,” he said as he stomped outside and let the screened door slam shut behind him.

It got quiet. In the other room, Kenny G blew a long note and ended the song. Cinda walked over to shut the wood door and keep the heat outside. Then she leaned against it and looked at him.

“Okay. What’s really going on?”

“I’m asking questions he doesn’t want to answer.”

“That’s not an answer. What kind of questions?”

“The kind that makes him mad. Look, Cinda, I’d just as soon not talk to you about it.”

“That’s nothing new. You don’t talk to me much at all.”

That surprised him. “I do talk to you.”

“Not about anything that matters.”

“Sure, I do. Just
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damn, Cinda, do we have to do this again?”

“No. Of course not. We don’t have to do anything again.”

He didn’t reply. She looked upset. It really got annoying that women retreated into hurt feelings anytime there was an argument. They ran on emotions instead of logic. He’d just never thought Cinda was susceptible.

“I know what you’re after, Chantry,” she said, and didn’t sound as much upset as she did annoyed. One more surprise. “What do you hope to accomplish?”

“I’m not sure you really know what it is I’m after.”

“I think I do. You want Aunt Laura to tell you about your mother and why she stayed in Cane Creek when it was so obvious she was miserable here, and you want something to pin on Granddad that will either get him off your back or land him in big trouble or jail or both. So? Am I close?”

Damn. “Yeah. Pretty close.”

“You’re not likely to succeed, and even if you do—what then? My aunt Laura is schizophrenic and I doubt her memories can be trusted, and you aren’t the first person to want to bring down Bert Quinton, and you won’t be the last. He’s made a lot of enemies over the years. I don’t always agree with him either, and I don’t always like him, but he is my grandfather.”

He didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything he could say that’d make her feel better, or that would resolve the disagreement. Maybe she knew that, too, because after a minute she pushed away from the door and walked over to him. She curled her fingers in the front of his cotton shirt and lifted to her toes to kiss him lightly on the mouth.

“I have to go,” she said then. “We’ll talk later. Or maybe I’ll talk while you pretend to listen.”

“I always listen.”

“Um hm.”

He walked with her outside. At the edge of the yard, Herky stood with a hose wetting down the flowers. Tiny arcs of Technicolor light hovered over the spray. When he saw them, Herky looked up with a broad grin and waved.

“Hey, Miss Cinda. Hey, Chantry.” Water bobbled over the driveway and splattered his shoes, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Guess what. Got me a dog of my own. Just a pup, but fine as frog hair. Wanna see him?”

Chantry went over to where Herky stood, and saw the small mixed breed sitting under a bush. The pup looked up and tried to cringe back under the branches of the hedge. Herky spoke to it softly, a kind of croon that made the pup’s tail wag, and Chantry knelt down to look at it. It had a distended belly that was more than just puppy pudge. Probably malnutrition and worms. He lifted the small head in his palm. The eyes looked clear, though, and gums were pink. That was good.

“Is it okay, Chantry?” Herky sounded anxious.

“Yeah, this is a good pup. Where’d you find him?” The pup had made a yellow puddle when he gave it the cursory exam, and he shifted to avoid the stream running downhill.

“Back of the drug store. Someone had stuck him in the dumpster. Why do people hafta go and do that, I wonder. Ain’t right to treat somethin’ made of flesh and blood that way.”

“No. It’s not.” Chantry scratched the pup’s head and was rewarded with a tentative thump of its tail against the dirt. “I’ve got some stuff left over that pups need to have, so why don’t you come by later to see me. No sense in letting it go to waste.”

Herky looked so delighted and grinned so big that Chantry thought his face might split in two as he kept nodding his head and saying that was “mighty fine, mighty fine.”

Chantry stood up, and Cinda smiled faintly. “See you gentlemen later.”

He watched her drive away, her Escalade cruising past the tree-shaded alley out onto the street.

“I named him Spot.”

Chantry looked back at Herky, then down at the dog. It was a solid tan color with no spots anywhere that he could see. “That’s a fine name.”

Herky nodded. “He’s got a little spot on his belly. Can’t see it till he rolls over on his back for you to pet him, though.”

“Don’t forget to come by for that food and the meds.”

“I won’t, Chantry. Spot’s gonna grow up strong, huh.”

“He will with you taking care of him.”

He was late going in to the clinic. People sat in the waiting room with dogs, cats, and a parrot. The parrot looked uneasy. Mindy looked hassled and glad to see him.

“Mrs. Tidwell in number two room with Precious, Mrs. Sheridan in room three with Tinky.”

That stopped him. He turned to look at Mindy. “Who?”

“Mrs. Tidwell in—”

“Mrs. Sheridan? With a pug?”

“Yep.” Mindy inserted an exam sheet into a folder and held it out. “She asked for you specially.”

He just bet she had. He took the folder. Tinky had trouble defecating. Too bad Mrs. Tidwell could never say the same about her cat.

When he opened the door to the small exam room, Mrs. Sheridan sat in a chair in the corner with Tinky clutched in her arms. The pug’s tongue dripped out of one side of her mouth and she started wiggling when she saw him. There was something cute about a pug, despite the fact that Doc had once called them a genetic cross between pigs and gophers. It had to be the personality. Tinky looked delighted to see him, while Mrs. Sheridan had a look on her face that made him think of Mrs. Tidwell’s cat: Aristocratic contempt.

“Is it another bone?” Mrs. Sheridan asked without preamble. No niceties. Just down to business. That suited him fine.

“That’s always a possibility. Bowel obstruction can cause constipation. Any blood in her stools?”

“Not that we noticed. It hasn’t affected her appetite.”

No, Tinky didn’t look as if she’d missed many meals. She was fat. He refrained from pointing that out, mindful of Mindy coming up behind him.

“Get a weight on her, please Mindy,” he said after examining Tinky and noting no sign of pain at pressing her abdomen. Her gums were nice and pink, indicating no sign of internal bleeding.

Mindy hefted Tinky into her arms and carried her down the hall to weigh her. It got quiet. Before he could leave the examining room Mrs. Sheridan said, “It’s come to my father’s attention that you’ve been asking too many questions.”

“So now he’s sending you to tell me to stop?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I brought Tinky in because it’s too far to my regular vet and she needs help now. Quintons always repay debts. You wouldn’t accept a check from me for removing the chicken bone from Tinky’s throat. This is payback. Be careful.”

“You’re the second person today to tell me that.” He slapped the clipboard holding the folder onto the stainless steel examining table. “It’s getting old.”

“You’re as obtuse as you were as a boy. You deserve whatever you get.”

“Then just sit back and enjoy it. Maybe you’d rather Doc Malone take over with Tinky, since—”

“No. You’ll do.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You have no idea what you’re doing. He knows you’ve been asking questions about Ted. If it gets out and people start talking, he’ll have no compunctions about taking you down and everyone else with you. If you won’t think of yourself, think of those close to you.”

He met her gaze, her green eyes a lot like Cinda’s. “I’m assuming you don’t mean your daughter.”

Little lines pinched her mouth into a knot. “I do not.” Silence fell; then she said as footsteps sounded in the hallway outside the door, “Malone has a nice place here. It’d be a shame to lose it.”

Now, what the devil did she mean by that? Chantry stared at her as Mindy came back in with Tinky. It didn’t take long to conclude that Tinky only needed a stool softener and food with more nutritious bulk, and he left Mindy to deal with Mrs. Sheridan.