Deadly Aim (37 page)

Pleasing her father was much more difficult. He could rarely get the boys to go hunting with him. They had other interests. Angel would volunteer to go, but he always put her off. She was too small, too weak, too fragile. But he finally gave in and taught her how to shoot. They started with a .30/.30. After firing the weapon, she hurt her shoulder from the kick and started to cry. Dad had no use for her tears, telling her that if she was going to make it in the world, she had to be tough. Her shoulder had turned bluish purple by the time she got home that day. Anna was furious. She wanted to put ice on it, but Angel, not wanting to be a sissy, shrugged it away. She wanted her dad to be proud of her, and he was—or seemed to be—telling people how she had hit her target after only a few practice shots.

One weekend in the fall Frank announced that he was taking her hunting in the mountains. They would camp out in the wilderness and bring home a buck; the trip was all Angel could think or talk about for days. The first day was more fun than she could have imagined—they drove into the mountains, then hiked into the woods and set up camp. They’d laughed and talked and roasted hot dogs and marshmallows over an open fire.

The next day everything changed. Toward afternoon her father became grumpy—so far he hadn’t even seen a buck. They’d seen several does though—beautiful deer that looked at them in surprise then scampered away. Twice her father had raised his gun then lowered it, saying he couldn’t shoot a doe. Angel was relieved; she didn’t want to shoot the beautiful animals. She began to worry about finding the kind with antlers. Then on Sunday they stumbled upon a magnificent buck with a full rack.

Knots formed in Angel’s stomach. “Don’t shoot him, Daddy, please,” she begged. The buck heard her and disappeared into the thicket.

Frank shoved her aside and lowered his gun. “Don’t you ever do that again or you can forget about ever going anywhere with me.”

Angel didn’t know what horrified her more, the thought of never going anywhere with her father or shooting the deer. She prayed that the bucks would stay away so Frank wouldn’t shoot them, but her pleas went unanswered. Later on that day, he stopped and pointed to a buck standing in a clearing. The wind was blowing toward them. “You wanted to go hunting. Here’s your chance.” His voice was hard and angry as he told Angel to take aim and shoot.

Angel’s heart raced, and her breathing came in quick gasps. She started shaking. But she forced herself to do as her father said. She ignored the warm liquid flowing down her legs and soaking her thermal underwear. She ignored the tears welling up in her eyes.

“Come on, Angel,” Frank urged. “He won’t stay there forever.”

Angel settled the rifle butt to her shoulder and looked through the scope.
I have to do this. He won’t love me anymore if I mess up
.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered. “Aim for body mass.”

No, Daddy, no. Please don’t make me shoot. Please
! But she couldn’t say the words out loud. She couldn’t take the chance for fear her father would hate her.

She got the buck in her sights and moved the gun slightly, aiming at a spot of sky above his head. She closed her eyes and fired. Lowering her gun, she felt movement behind her. She turned
around and watched in horror as her father took aim and fired. The buck reared and took several wobbly steps and stumbled. The animal she’d been so careful to miss now lay wounded, his back leg twitching as his lifeblood poured onto the ground.

“That was a good try, Angel.” Her father patted her on the back. “We’ll have plenty of venison for the winter.”

Angel opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling of Janet’s office. She sat there for a moment, quiet, then told Janet what she’d remembered. “I was just a kid. He didn’t even know.” She frowned. “I should’ve been furious with him for what he did. But I never stopped trying to please him. In some ways I’m still trying.”

“I may be wrong,” Janet ventured, “but I think that little girl who adored her father and would do anything for him was outraged. The anger you had toward your father had to go somewhere. You couldn’t let those feelings turn toward him. So you put them into the guns.”

Angel nodded. “Odd as it seems, you might be right. I couldn’t be mad at Dad. I guess I’ve been holding all that anger inside all this time. I loved him too much.”

Angel thought again about the way her father had shot the buck. No wonder she’d been imagining him in the background shooting at Billy.

Her father had been on duty that morning, and he could have been in the building when she shot Billy. Last night at dinner he’d said something about watching out for her. He’d asked Eric to see that she got home safely. How many times had he felt the need to back her up and make sure she didn’t get hurt? She’d never thought much about it before, but officers seldom had partners anymore. Had her father insisted Joe put Eric and Angel together to protect her?

Had he been the second shooter?

A
s Angel drove away from Janet’s office, she wondered how she would go about asking her father if he’d been at the cannery the morning she shot Billy. He’d been in the area; she was certain of that, since she’d seen his patrol car.

She could clearly imagine him standing behind her, firing the second two shots. But if he’d done that, why not tell the truth about it?

Because he knew how I’d react
.

Angel mulled over what she would say to her father. Should she work up to it or come right out and ask?

When she got to her parents’ house, she walked in without knocking. As usual, she could smell something yummy cooking in the kitchen.

Frank was sitting in the recliner, his feet up, his eyes closed, the television on. A sports announcer sounded excited. “Mariners get the Yankees to hit into a rare triple play. Mariners win three to two over the Yankees!”

“Dad?” she said softly. He didn’t stir. His mouth hung open as he snuffled on an exhale. She decided not to disturb him and wondered if it would be wise to confront him at all.

She wandered into the kitchen and lifted the lid on a simmering pot of what looked like a cauliflower and tomato stew. She inhaled
deeply, reminding her stomach it hadn’t eaten anything substantial all morning. Off to the left of the stove sat a basket of freshly baked scones. Angel snatched one and headed out to the backyard, where her mother was pulling weeds from her neatly manicured garden.

The house was well back from the ocean. Still, sitting on a hill as it did, it offered a magnificent view of the coastline. She stood there for a while, eating the cranberry scone and watching the water roll in and out. Up near the high tide line she could see the ringed form of a crab pot. A group of seagulls congregated together, looking as if they were having some important meeting.

Her mother had her back to the house and couldn’t see Angel. She stood and lifted her knee pad, placing it a couple feet from where it had been. Anna dropped onto the pad again and started digging around one of her lavender plants.

When Angel finished the scone, she hunkered down beside her mother and pulled up a clump of grass.

“You should be wearing gloves.” Anna shoved her spade into the soil and uprooted a dandelion. “You’ll ruin your nails.”

Angel ignored the comment. She’d never worried much about manicures or nail polish. She kept her nails trimmed short and tidy. “You’ve gotten a lot done. Looks like you’ve been out here a while.”

“Mmm. It was either come out here and yank weeds or murder your father.”

“That bad, huh?”

Anna sat back on her ankles. “He’s at that stage where he’s feeling better but still restricted. It’s frustrating for him.”

“This is the first time he’s ever been really sick.” Angel found herself defending him. “Must be scary.”

“For both of us.” Anna stood, moved her knee pad over to the next section, and began digging again. “I suppose I should get lunch together. How was he when you came through?”

“Sleeping. Snoring. He’s okay.”

Moisture seeped into Angel’s jeans where her knees sank into the deep, lush grass.

“There’s another pad in the shed.” Her mother nodded toward the small building that housed the miscellaneous garden tools and supplies.

“I know.” Angel rose and dutifully made her way up the path to the shed. The pad was hanging on a peg. She grabbed a pair of gloves from the basket on one of the shelves. Looking around the well-organized room, she couldn’t help but smile. Martha Stewart had nothing on Anna Delaney.

When she set the pad down near some weeds, Anna looked up and smiled. Angel half expected her to ask why she’d come, but she didn’t. Angel decided to tell her. “I had a session with Janet this morning.”

“And how did that go?”

“She’s been helping me to remember things.”

“About the shooting?”

“Yes, but other stuff too.” Angel grunted as she pulled out a dandelion with an especially long root. She set it on the pile her mother had started. The dandelion greens would be saved and mixed with other greens for salads. “Do you remember the first time Dad took me hunting? None of the boys wanted to go. I waited for him to ask me, but he didn’t.”

“I remember. You cried yourself to sleep that night.”

“The next day he asked me to go. You told him to ask me, didn’t you?”

Anna wiped her shirtsleeve across her brow to catch the perspiration forming there. “I reminded him he had a daughter who would love to spend time with her father.” She looked out over the ocean. “But you were different when you came back. I wondered if it had been a good idea.”

“Yeah, I guess I wonder that too.” Angel then told her what she remembered of the trip.

When she was done, Anna placed a hand on her arm. “I had no idea. He was so used to the boys and...”

“What would it matter if I was a boy or girl? He was mean and demanding. No wonder the boys didn’t want to go with him.”

“Don’t be too hard on him, Angel.”

“I can forgive him for that. There’s one thing I may not be able to forgive. If he followed me into that warehouse—if he shot Billy.”

“Angel!” Anna sat back on her heels. “What are you saying?”

“He stood behind me that day and shot the deer I missed. Maybe he was the one who shot Billy.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“Is it? He’s never really trusted me to do anything. There have been rumors that I got to where I am in the department because of Dad. I have a partner—none of the other officers do. I never really thought about that before.”

“What are you going to do?” Anna yanked up another weed and tossed it onto the growing pile beside her.

“Talk to him. Ask him straight out.”

She shook her head. “That doesn’t sound like your father, Angel. For one thing, he’d never allow you to suffer for something he did.”

“Maybe he doesn’t believe it’ll go to trial.”

“No. He’s not sneaky. At the first hint of trouble he would have come forward.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Oh, honey, your father would do anything for you. Besides, you told me the evidence disappeared.”

“Dad could’ve taken it to compromise the case.”

“Steal?” She shook her head. “Frank may not have been a perfect father, but he is not a thief. He’s an honorable man. Yes, he looks out for his family, but...” She leveled a pleading gaze on Angel. “I don’t want you to ask him. An accusation like that—who knows what it could do to his heart? And coming from you... no. Please, Angel. Don’t talk to him about it.”

“I have to know what happened.” Angel yanked another dandelion out and tossed it in with the others.

“I know your father, and I know he wouldn’t do such a deceitful thing. Now promise me you won’t talk to him about it.”

“I won’t accuse him.” Angel realized that even if her father had been in that warehouse, even if he had shot Billy, she wouldn’t let him take the blame. She’d recant the story about the second
shooter and take full responsibility.
And you would be protecting a killer
.

No, not a killer, an officer—an old man, a heart attack victim, a father trying to protect his child
.

But the last two shots weren’t necessary
.

He wouldn’t have known that
.

“But I am going to talk to him. He was there that day. I want to know if he saw anything.”

“I suppose there’s no harm in that.” Anna stood and removed her gloves, laying them neatly on her knee pad. “Do you want to stay for lunch?” She picked up the pile of dandelions and set them near the back door.

“Sure.” Angel cleaned up and helped her mother make grilled turkey sandwiches to go along with the cauliflower and tomato soup.

Her father had awakened by the time they’d finished. “Don’t fix me a tray. Doc said I should walk more.”

“Suit yourself.” Ma set the kettle on a trivet and began ladling soup into bowls.

Frank shuffled out to the kitchen and sat down in his usual place at the table.

Angel brought the plates with sandwiches and sat down. She waited while her father asked the blessing, then said, “Can I talk to you about something, Dad?”