A Stillness of Chimes (19 page)

He laughed. “Land baron? That’s a stretch.”

“I don’t think so.”

She moved away from the window and leaned against the wall, her hands behind her back, and pictured herself living there with Drew. Enjoying the fireplace, the compact kitchen, and the gorgeous views. Her dad would give them a bargain rate. She knew he would. And it would be good
to be near both sets of parents again—especially if she and Drew started a family.

Her mom was having problems too. That was a separate issue, but it also pointed toward the wisdom of moving home.

“Have you made any progress with Mom?” she asked.

“About counseling? Nope. She won’t even discuss it.”

“Same here. I don’t want to make her mad, so I keep backing off. But that doesn’t accomplish anything.”

“I don’t see that she’s getting worse, though. I’ve had some good talks with her about other things.”

“I have too, a few times.” Cassie frowned, remembering a conversation that had puzzled her. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” He came closer, cracking his knuckles the way her mom always begged him not to.

“Mom said something about a call you made to sic the authorities on Dale, but then she said ‘Never mind’ and clammed up. What was that all about?”

“Oh boy. She knows I don’t want her talking about that. If I tell you, promise you’ll keep your lips zipped?”

“Of course. What happened?”

“Remember the day Elliott stepped in to stop Dale from beating Sean? Elliott did the hard part. The brave part. I only made a phone call. Your mom insisted on it. She dialed the number and put the phone in my hand and stood there listening until I’d said everything there was to say. There’s no such thing as a truly anonymous tip in a small town, but the authorities certainly understood it was especially important in this case. Dale already felt a bit unfriendly toward us.”

She met her father’s eyes. “Is that how you wound up owning this building? By turning Dale in?”

He shook his head emphatically. “No, it was just a windfall. You know the meaning of the word? It’s like when the wind blows an apple out of the tree. Right into your hand.”

“And you didn’t give the branch a good shake?”

“Not intentionally.”

Cassie studied her dad. “Making the call had nothing to do with wanting to buy Dale’s building?”

He put his hand over his heart. “On my honor as a Boy Scout, I only wanted Dale behind bars for beating Sean. So did your mom. We didn’t know Dale had borrowed money against the property, and it wasn’t my fault that he ended up in prison and couldn’t make the payments.” He lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “When the building came up at auction later, I put in the winning bid, but it was strictly business. Understand?”

Cassie nodded.

“Risky business too,” he said. “I had to sink a ton of money into the old dump. It paid off, though. It paid off.”

She nodded again. Most of his investments had paid off. A map on his office wall was studded with colored pins marking his properties. Rental homes, vacant land, commercial buildings. The Bright empire, ever expanding.

“It must stick in Dale’s craw every time he drives by,” he said with a chuckle. “Right downtown, for everybody to see. His name is on the building, but my name’s on the rent checks.”

“I hope you never gloat about it in front of him,” Cassie said.

“I avoid him at all costs. I’ve got no use for him, and he’s got no use for
me. And that’s that.” He looked out the window again and smiled. “This view—and the view from the house—they almost make me forget the years I struggled to put food on the table.”

“Did you really? I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“By the time you were old enough to notice, we were fine. We’d never been in danger of starving, but there were plenty of times when I couldn’t quite cover the bills. I had to juggle them. I’d pay the light bill one month, the gas bill the next month.”

“That gives me hope that Drew and I will survive too. Look at you now, the sole owner of the high-rent, first-class Halloran Building. Sweet revenge.”

“Revenge? For what? What did Dale Halloran ever do to us?”

“Not to us. To Sean. Dale treated him like a punching bag. I’d love to return the favor someday.”

“Ah, that ferocious loyalty. It’s been there since y’all were in kindergarten. You three were an unlikely crew, you know. I guess you still are. There’s Laura, the daughter of the whacked-out Vietnam vet—”

“Dad, that’s not nice.”

“But it’s true. Then there’s Sean, a nice guy whose father is the meanest, drunkest drunk in town. And there’s Cassie Bright Cutler, the beautiful daughter of the real estate agent who was too dumb to give up.”

“I’m the daughter of the best dad in the world. I’m proud of you. You’re pretty darned smart for a small-town guy.”

“Nah. I’m a slow learner. Thank God, your mom puts up with me.”

Cassie didn’t like turning into a big blob of sentimental mush, but sometimes she couldn’t help it. “She doesn’t just put up with you, Dad. She adores you.”

“You think so?” he asked with a wistful smile. “It’s mutual.”

He crossed the room to the other window, the one that looked out on Fourth Street. Hands in his pockets, he started whistling. The fourth note in, Cassie knew the tune. “Michelle” by Lennon and McCartney.

After whistling a line or two, he switched to humming, then started singing it from the beginning. The same way he always had, slightly off-key and substituting
Ardelle
for
Michelle
.

“Ardelle, ma belle …”

In the good ol’ days, he’d always made the family laugh by deliberately mangling the French lyrics. Now he sounded so sad that Cassie almost thought he was crying.

Nah. Her dad never cried.

Laura had always liked Sean’s street, a neighborhood of small homes built in the thirties. The windows of his house were dark, but maybe he was out back in the workshop.

She parked directly across the street, then lugged the heavy tote bag across the pavement and entered the yard. She climbed the steps to the porch and rang the doorbell. As she’d expected, there was no answer.

She walked down the narrow driveway that led to the detached garage and the workshop. The windows of the workshop were dark too. The sign over the door swung in a light wind.

S
EAN
M
ICHAEL
H
ALLORAN
, L
UTHIER
.

Her eyes watered. Her dad would have been so proud of him.

Turning toward the house, she heard the knocking and grinding of a
noisy vehicle, so close that it must have been pulling into the driveway. Dale’s rattletrap truck?

Clutching the tote to her chest, she stepped behind prickly evergreen shrubs at the corner of the house and peered through their thin branches. A battered black pickup truck crawled into view.

The engine lagged into silence. A bearded and broad-shouldered man climbed out. Dale. Wearing a threadbare plaid shirt, dirty jeans, and greasy-looking boots, he walked around the front of the truck and headed toward the front door.

He might do exactly what she’d done. He might try the back door too, or the workshop. And there she’d be, trying to hide in the bushes.

Elliott Gantt’s daughter, a coward?

Yes. A lily-livered coward. Dale frightened her on a level she didn’t care to analyze.

She peeked around the bushes. Dale hadn’t pulled far into the driveway. The truck’s nose was even with the front of the house. Until he left the porch, the house would shield her from view. If she could sneak past his truck to the sidewalk while he waited at the front door, it would only be a short dash to her car. That was cowardly too, but she didn’t want to be trapped in the backyard.

Now or never. She stepped out from the bushes. Moving as quietly as possible, she hurried down the driveway.

She was still yards from the truck when Dale walked around the plantings at the front of the house and onto the driveway. He didn’t see her, though. He turned, facing the house, and squinted up at it as if he were inspecting the condition of the roof.

Keeping an eye on him, she kept moving. She hardly dared to breathe.

When she was a seven-year-old tomboy playing army with Sean and the other neighborhood kids, none of them would have marched straight past the enemy like this, out in the open. They would have dropped to the ground and crawled through any cover they could find, regardless of mud or thorns. But there was no cover here, and she was the girl whose father had humiliated Dale by putting an end to the last beating he’d ever given Sean.

Dale turned, his gaze lighting on her before she’d reached the truck. His eyes were bright blue like Sean’s but cold.

A smile spread across his bearded face, and he started across the drive to block her path. “Hello there, Miss Gantt.”

“Hello.” She halted ten or twelve feet from him, leaving some room to maneuver.

“You here to see Sean too?”

“Yes, but he’s not home.” Too late, she wished she hadn’t said it.

He came closer. “Chasin’ my son again, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“I see. You’re too good for my boy now? Too good for everybody?” The smile curled into a sneer.

Her fear turned hot but so did her indignation. “Whatever, Dale. By the way, don’t trespass on Gantt property again.”

He feigned surprise, his eyebrows raised. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Really? On Monday, I saw you pulling into the driveway of my grandparents’ place.”

“You calling me a liar?”

She moved forward, hoping to put the truck between them, but Dale’s
hand snaked out and gripped her elbow with shocking strength. A wave of pain rolled up and down her arm. The heavy tote bag slid from her shoulder. The strap caught on his hand and dangled, its weight adding to the pain.

“Let go!”

He loomed over her, a beer smell suddenly strong. “Answer me when I talk to you, girl. Are you calling me a liar?”

Glaring into his eyes, she tried to shake him off. His fingers cut harder into her flesh. Like they’d cut into Sean’s when he was a scrawny, defenseless boy.

“Does it make you feel big and strong to pick on somebody smaller?” she asked.

“I’m just puttin’ you in your place. Somebody’s gotta do it.”

“Take your hand off me, or I’ll scream like you’ve never heard anybody scream before, and you’ll be on your way to jail for assault and who knows what else.”

“Don’t forget trespassing. Big-shot property owners like you have to protect their precious real estate from the likes of me.” He gave her elbow a sudden twist and let go. Pain scorched toward her shoulder.

Afraid she would drop the tote bag and its precious contents, she held onto it with her other hand and ran without a backward glance. She didn’t care if she looked like a coward.

She reached the sanctuary of her car, dived in, and hit the locks. Her arm ached and her hands shook, but she found her key, started the engine, and drove away.

At the corner stop sign, she looked in the rearview mirror. The truck still stood in the driveway, but she didn’t see Dale or anyone else. Either
the neighbors hadn’t noticed the confrontation, or they hadn’t wanted to get involved—like they didn’t get involved when he’d been beating Sean. They’d left it up to Elliott Gantt.

She reached over and slid her hand into the tote bag, needing to touch something her dad had touched. Something he had loved.

If Sean wanted the songbooks, he would have to come get them. She wouldn’t go back to his house unless she was certain Dale wouldn’t show up, and she couldn’t be certain until he was behind bars again—or dead.

When Sean ran up her back steps hours later, Laura was grateful for the unexpected cold front that gave her an excuse to wear long sleeves. If he saw the bruises at her elbow, he would go ballistic. She’d already decided to offer a censored version of events, though, so he wouldn’t be able to say she was keeping something from him.

It would be a very censored version.

Careful of her sore shoulder, she opened the door on a gust of cold air. “Come on in, Sean.”

He remained in the doorway, hands in his pockets and eyes guarded. “I’m not sure I believe the message you left on my phone.”