Still Life in Shadows (19 page)

Tomlin’s demeanor was not as grave. With a wry grin, he said, “And we salute when you bring order to the masses.” When neither the sheriff nor Gideon smiled, he excused himself from the office.

As the door shut, Henry offered Gideon a seat across from his desk. Both men sat. “He has some warrants, Gideon.”

“For what?”

Henry clicked a few buttons on his keyboard and from his findings read, “Revoked driver’s license due to a DWI. Let’s see, that was in Orlando. On May sixteenth, he had a fender bender in Tampa where he was cited for reckless driving on the way home from a bar. He was without a license, of course, because it had been revoked the month before. Then there are also nine unpaid parking tickets.”

Gideon sighed. He was beginning to wonder if these were the real reasons his brother had left Florida. “What about now? What are you charging him with?” As soon as he asked, Gideon braced himself, certain it wouldn’t be pretty.

“He was yelling and acting like a bully inside the pub. I reckon I’d call it disturbing the peace. Tomlin brought him in. He threatened to hit the bartender when he was told he couldn’t have another beer.”

“Disorderly conduct?”

“At a very high level.”

“What else?” Gideon figured he might as well hear it all.

Henry shuffled through his desktop. A few papers fell to the floor like crinkled autumn leaves. “Says here that he was yelling something about his father being a tyrant.”

Gideon’s ears perked, intent to exactly what his brother had shouted. “What did he say? Do you have what he said?”

Reading from a page, Henry said, “‘I’ll never be good enough for him. I’ll never be worth anything.’” Pausing, Henry looked for Gideon’s
reaction. “I know you told me that your father is a hard man. Shame.”

Gideon felt the description of
hard man
was an understatement.

“He should be okay once he sobers up. The bartender is not pressing charges, but has asked that Moriah stay clear of the Rusty Saddle Bar and Grille from now on.”

Henry summoned Tomlin into the office and instructed him to bring Moriah around. Tomlin left the room.

Gideon sat slouched over, his elbows rested against his knees, hands folded. The clock on the wall hummed like a fluorescent light bulb with a short in it. After a few minutes, he wished he could unplug the annoying thing.
Calm down,
he told himself.
There’s no point in me acting disorderly, too.
One Miller brother in trouble was enough for one night. Pretty soon he heard the door open and both Tomlin and Moriah appeared. Moriah’s wrists were secured by handcuffs.

“What’s going on?” Gideon felt anguish at seeing his brother in handcuffs. A memory from the past leapt into his mind, one he often fought to remove. The officer then had been short and agitated. His father had been equally annoyed.

Henry was calm and reassuring. “Had to cuff him to keep him safe.”

“No big deal,” Moriah said. His hair was free, the ponytail gone, and strands of greasy blond hair hung in his face.

“It is a big deal.” Gideon’s voice echoed throughout the office. “I had to come get you.” He wanted to avoid his brother’s bloodshot eyes, his sallow skin and the alcoholic stench that permeated his breath and clothing.

They stood face-to-face for a moment until Henry broke the silence. “Well,” said the sheriff, his eyes on Gideon. “We can let him go into your custody. If that is okay with you.”

Gideon knew that meant Henry expected him to keep Moriah out of trouble. At least for the rest of the night and into the day. He guessed no bail money was needed and counted that the one small blessing in the midst of the chaos. His mother had always told him to search for the blessings in everything. Nothing was ever all bad.

“Moriah,” said Henry, as he hoisted his pants at the waist. “I want no more wild conduct out of you.”

It was then that Gideon thought, what if he said he wanted Moriah to stay the rest of the night here? What if he left him here to sober up? It wouldn’t cost anything like a hotel room would, and it’d give him a break from having to deal with his brother’s behavior.

Gideon nodded at Henry, and with an, “Okay, then,” Tomlin unlocked the cuffs. Rubbing his wrists, Moriah laughed.

“Like father, like son, huh?” His words came from the back of his throat. “Next thing you know I’ll be shouting like him, ‘Someone will pay!’”

Gideon’s skin turned sticky. Now was not the time to bring up the incident that occurred in Carlisle years ago with their father who was jailed for failing to comply with the town rules of owning an outhouse.

“I guess it’s in my blood to be a rebel.” Moriah snickered, took a step, tripped over his shoelaces, steadied himself, and belched.

Before he could say another word, Gideon ushered him out of the office, not sure whether it was appropriate to thank Henry for letting him go or not.

In the car, Moriah muttered that it wasn’t his fault. With his arms folded against his chest, he slumped into the passenger seat. His hair fell over his face, strands of it across his lips.

Gideon started the car. “Put on your seat belt.”

Moriah closed his eyes.

“I said put your seat belt on. Now.” Gideon waited; the car was in reverse, but his foot sat firmly on the brake.

Moriah groaned.

“What’s the matter with you?” Under the streetlight, Moriah looked the color of mozzarella cheese. His stench was a mixture of sweat and fried onions.

Moriah shrugged, yawned.

“Seat belt.” Gideon wished he’d listen. They needed to get home; his brother needed a shower badly.

With a grunt, Moriah roused himself, flung open the door, and scurried from the car.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Gideon shifted to park.

Moriah stumbled and then started to jog down the narrow sidewalk, lined with dispersed autumn leaves, pine needles, and a few stray pinecones.

Was he crazy?
“What are you doing? Get back in here!” He saw his brother trailing away, gaining speed as he went, running from something Gideon couldn’t see. Even as he drove, looking to his left and right, there was no sign of Moriah. Not even a shadow. It was as though the darkness of the November night had swallowed him.

G
ideon drove Ormond’s car to work the next morning, scanning both sides of the street as he cruised slowly by. He half expected to find Moriah on the side of the street, wrapped in some dark blanket—like a scene depicted in a horror movie. His back ached, as did his head. He’d only gotten about two hours of sleep after searching most of the night, and he was no good without proper rest. When he had fallen asleep, his dreams haunted him, one with that scene where Moriah was missing. He’d never given much thought to dreams and their meanings, but perhaps, with these recent frustrating dreams, he should start paying attention.

Suddenly, he saw a figure in a striped wool cap walking down a road to his left. Without hesitating, he spun into the turn lane, nearly hit a pickup, and was the recipient of a number of car horns.
Steady
, he told himself.
You can’t afford an accident, especially not in Ormond’s car.
He crept up to the figure, ready this time to jump out of the car and tackle Moriah to the ground if he had to. He rolled down the window and was about to shout his brother’s name when the person turned, met his gaze, and glared at him. Gideon looked into the face of a weathered man, a complete stranger. Embarrassed, Gideon sped up and turned off the street.

He started to make a list in his head of what he did know about his
brother.
Moriah was after a good time. He had no intention of returning to Carlisle. He liked women. He was a flirt. He liked to have his way. He drank too much, and his temper was atrocious.
Even as he acknowledged these things about Moriah, Gideon realized that his problem hadn’t been solved. Moriah was still at large.

At the shop, Ormond had opened the front door, but the garage doors were still shut. He was brewing coffee. The daily paper laid out on his desktop shouted headlines about the current national economic crisis.

Gideon handed him the keys to the Buick. “Thanks.”

“How is she?”

“She?” Who was Ormond talking about?

“Kiki. Is she all right?”

Kiki, but of course. Kiki had been the one in need of help yesterday.
Gideon rubbed a hand over his head. In his tired state, he’d forgotten to put on his John Deere cap. It seemed weeks ago that Kiki had collapsed on the floor of the shop, ages since he’d sat talking with Mari in her house, eons since he’d felt the joy of preparing dinner for them. “Kiki is fine.”

“You aren’t, are you?”

“He can’t live with me.” Gideon let out a sigh of relief upon finally admitting it.

“You mean Moriah?”

Gideon reached for the cabinet over the sink and was grateful for the bottle of Advil. Shaking the container, he dispensed four tablets into the palm of his hand and downed them dry.

“What’s he done?”

Gideon took out a bottle of Aquafina. On a normal day he would have asked why the fridge was lined with this bottled brand instead of Ormond’s usual Deer Park. After two swallows, he could no longer feel the pills in his throat. Turning to Ormond, he confessed, “I don’t know where he is.”

“You don’t know where Moriah is?”

“He’s a lunatic.” As much as he hated to hear the word describing his brother, he knew it was appropriate. Moriah was not the chubby baby boy of yesterday. He was a machine out of control.

“Maybe he got a good job somewhere. One where he actually works,” Ormond said, his attempt to lighten the mood.

Gideon fought to push aside last night’s scene at the sheriff’s office. Gently rocking his head back, to the left and right, he tried to rid himself of a stiff neck. Staring at the coffee brewing, he considered drinking some. It just might be what he needed to help him not feel so queasy and exhausted. When was the last time he’d had a mug of coffee? The coffee was nearly ready, the hot beverage steaming and sputtering into the glass pot. He breathed in the aroma.

Ormond filled his chipped mug and set the pot back on the burner. After a slight slurp, he looked Gideon over. “Did the two of you fight or something?”

“Or something.” Gideon made his way to his office. At his desk, he massaged his temples and then finished the water. He checked his cell, thinking he might have missed a call from Henry. But no one had tried to reach him.

When Luke entered the shop, Gideon asked if he knew where Moriah might be. Although he looked sympathetic, Luke claimed he had no idea.

Ashlyn came by at lunchtime, bringing her culinary specialty of homemade brown bread. Like usual, Ormond acted like he’d never seen a tube of bread before.

“Coffee can? Do you really make this in a can?” Ormond stroked his mustache. “Now how is that possible?”

Happy to explain, and in a true writer’s descriptive fashion, Ashlyn launched into the tale of how she got the recipe from her grandmother who came over to this country in 1892 from Scotland.

“All my grandmother Lora Marie had with her was a tattered suitcase and the recipe for bread in a can. The recipe wasn’t written on paper, for she couldn’t read or write. She had it memorized.” Ashlyn
looked around the room at the group, making sure they were paying attention. “That was a good thing, because her first job in these mountains was as a cook. She wowed them with her bread recipe.”

“So what’s in this recipe of old?” asked Ormond.

Ashlyn paused to wrap her dark wavy hair into an elastic band. “It’s so easy to make. You pour two kinds of flour—rye and whole wheat—into a bowl and add cornmeal, molasses, salt, baking soda, and buttermilk. Then you mix it well, add a cup of raisins, and pour it all into a greased coffee can. Make sure the lid is tight and steam it covered in a pot of water for two hours.”

Luke laughed and draped an arm around his fiancée. “You know, you are the best cook in Twin Branches.”

“I’m the most unusual,” she clarified. “I like making recipes that are not common. Gideon’s the gourmet chef.”

Gideon thanked her for her vote of confidence and graciously accepted a slice of the bread. Ormond said he’d like a piece, too. When she brought Ormond’s serving to him on a paper plate, he said, “This is actually something I think I’m going to like. I like anything that has to do with coffee and cans of coffee.”

She laughed as he studied the slice which was the color of caramel and dotted with raisins. He took a bite. “This is delicious.”

Ashlyn carried another plate into Gideon’s office.

“If you hear anything about my brother, let me know,” Gideon said after thanking her. He figured since she was a reporter at the
Twin Star
, she might receive a heads-up on Moriah long before he did.

Ashlyn looked worried. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s getting into trouble. Did your dad tell you?” Gideon figured that the sheriff shared all the antics that took place at his station with his wife and daughter.