Last Light (21 page)
He waited, knowing Jeff didn’t want to admit that, with his inhibitions lowered from intoxication, he had forgotten his intentions. “Time got away from me. It’s hard when you don’t have a watch.”
“I see. And what about the bikini-clad girl in your lap? Was that part of your plan? How much farther might
that
have gone if I hadn’t shown up when I did?”
“No farther.”
“Oh, really? Jeff, I raised you to be a gentleman, with moral values. I taught you Christian principles about how to conduct yourself with girls. Would you have had that girl sitting in your lap if you’d been sober?”
Jeff didn’t answer.
“So what makes you think drinking didn’t change your behavior, lower your inhibitions, and cause you to do things you would never have done before?”
“I have my values,” he said. “I told you, I’m not gonna have sex before marriage. None of that has changed.”
“Can you be sure of that? With a few more beers, and a willing girl? Privacy didn’t even seem to be an issue for you. You were making out right in front of everyone.”
“It was dark, Dad. Nobody was paying attention.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
Jeff set his cheek on his palm. “I won’t do it again, okay? You don’t have to worry.”
Doug looked into his eyes. He’d grown up so fast. It seemed like only yesterday he’d been learning to play T-ball. Man, he’d been cute running those bases, his little cap flopping on his head.
Doug’s voice softened. “Jeff, every day of your life you’ll have to make decisions about what kind of man you want to be. It’s not going to start when you’re older. It starts right now. And every time you make a decision to be less than what God wants for you, you’re denying yourself some of God’s blessings. It’s up to you. You can live a life with God’s blessings, or just exist with all the consequences of choosing wrong.”
Jeff held Doug’s gaze, and he knew he was listening.
“When you put it that way, it sounds easy.”
“It’s
not
easy. I’m not saying it is. But once you make up your mind whose side you’re on—God’s or your drinking buddies’ or a pretty girl’s—it’s up to you to make sure you don’t compromise those decisions through drinking or anything else. One wrong choice can change your whole life, Jeff. Just one. And one right one can turn you away from a world of trouble. So next time someone offers you a beer, I hope you’ll make the right decision.”
Jeff only nodded.
Doug rubbed his sweating face, raked his fingers through his hair. “Jeff, why do you think this outage is bringing out the worst in people?”
“I really don’t know.”
“Because without transportation and communication, there’s not all that much accountability. People think they can get away with things. And they all have some overblown sense of entitlement. If things are hard, then they think they have a right to act like animals—to loot and rob and attack.”
“I’m not like that, Dad.”
“No, you’re not. But it’s not that big a step to cross the line into immorality. We have to agree that we’re not going to cross it.”
“Okay, Dad. I’ll do my best.”
Doug believed he meant it.
“So what’s my punishment?”
Doug sighed. Jeff had had a really bad day. He’d been punished enough. Maybe it was time to move on. “Let’s call it even,” he said. He slid his chair back and got up. “Well, I have work to do. I need to go to the lake and get water.”
“I’ll help.”
“You sure you’re up to it? You have a good excuse—”
“I don’t need an excuse, Dad. I can pull my weight.”
Doug rubbed his son’s neck. Jeff was going to be all right. Doug had no doubt about it.
Together, they’d be ready for whatever came next.
The morning’s events weighed on Doug like a lead blanket, as mounting fatigue slowed him down. Each muscle group in his body had convened to register its protest. If only the Jacuzzi were working. A good hot soak would relax the lactic acid right out of his thighs, his calves, his feet, his toes, his shoulders, his arms.
Dream on.
He’d gone through the motions of the day regardless, bringing water from the lake and trying to think hours ahead to what they would need to have done before dark. When Sam Ellington approached him about coming to a meeting for some of the men in the neighborhood, he’d hesitated. But Sam convinced him it was for the safety of Oak Hollow.
He wondered why Brad hadn’t told him about the meeting. When Doug saw Brad earlier that day, he’d complained that there had been no takers on his idea. Well, maybe they had surprised him in the last few hours.
Doug reached Sam’s house on River Oak Drive, and saw the man’s mud-covered pickup sitting in the driveway. The front door was open, so he knocked and stepped inside. Six men, sitting in the living room, looked up at him. Brad was not among them.
Sam welcomed him in. “Come on in, Doug. You know these guys? Alan Newman, John Henderson, Mike Hinton, Lou Grantham, and Paul Burlin.” Each man stood to shake Doug’s hand. “We’re all members of the same hunting group, but we wanted to bring you in since you’re kind of taking the lead in the neighborhood.”
Doug recognized some of them from the meeting the other night. The men sat back down, and Doug took the empty place on the couch.
“Doug, we’re glad you came,” Sam said. “Me and the guys were just doing a little strategizing about how we’re gonna protect these streets since the sheriff is failing to do his job.”
“Good,” Doug said. “That’s what I was hoping we’d do when Brad brought it up at the meeting last night.”
He noticed the looks pass among the men. Sam went on. “We decided the way to go about this is to set up nightly patrols for a while until we catch the killer. If we see somebody suspicious, we’ll search their property.”
“Search their property?” Doug sat straighter. “We don’t have the right to do that, do we? I mean, that’s the sheriff’s job.”
“We ain’t got time to worry about the law right now,” Lou Grantham said. Doug regarded the man, taking in his western-style shirt and the big belt buckle that sported a mustang. Grantham looked like he belonged on a Texas ranch rather than in an Alabama suburb. “We got to root out the problem before anybody else winds up dead.”
“And we don’t plan to wait for the justice system to act when we catch the guy.”
Doug looked at John Henderson, who spoke in a low, modulated voice. “What do you mean?”
“When we catch the guy, he won’t make it ’til trial.”
“Nope,” Sam agreed. “We won’t bother the sheriff with it. We’ll take care of it ourselves.”
Doug shot to his feet and looked down at the men. “We can’t do that! We’re three days into a power outage, and you guys are acting like the only solution is anarchy. Yes, there’s a killer somewhere, but we can’t prowl around the neighborhood with our guns drawn, kicking in doors and searching homes.”
Sam’s friendly look turned hard. “Who’s gonna stop us?”
Doug recognized the threat in his tone. “Look, before we start taking the law into our own hands, let’s get Brad Caldwell involved. He’s an attorney. He can advise us on what rights we have and which ones will get us locked up. Besides, I thought he was heading up the neighborhood watch. Does he know about this meeting?”
Again, looks passed among the men.
“We don’t need some black ambulance chaser telling us how to protect our families,” Sam muttered.
Now Doug understood. They were forging ahead with Brad’s idea, but leaving him out. “Are you seriously telling me that you’d deny the help of a very capable and willing man because he’s
black
?”
“He don’t even belong in this neighborhood in the first place.” Lou crossed his cowboy boots as if that settled the matter.
“Why not? He’s a good man with a great family. Why shouldn’t they live here?”
Sam stood up, looking eye to eye with Doug. “We don’t trust Brad Caldwell. Now, either you’re with us or you’re against us.”
Doug wasn’t going to back down. “I just want an explanation. Why don’t you trust him? And you’ve got to have a reason better than the color of his skin.”
“You want a reason?” John Henderson’s low, calm voice belied the hatred in his eyes. “His kind thrive on criminal activity. It’s natural to make him the first suspect when things start happening.”
“No, it’s not!” Doug stared at the men for a moment. Didn’t they realize this was the twenty-first century, and not 1960? “You’re out of your mind. Brad Caldwell is
not
the killer.”
“How do you know?”
“Because, he wouldn’t do that. I’d suspect any one of
you
before I’d suspect him.” The second the words were out of his mouth, he knew they were a mistake.
Two more of the men got to their feet, staring him down. What would they do? Jump him right here in Sam’s living room? Clearly, it was time to leave.
“Look, I don’t want any part of what you’re doing here.” He started to the door, then turned back at the threshold. “And I’m giving you a warning. If I see any of you breaking the law, I’m going to the sheriff. The last thing this neighborhood needs is six more gun-wielding yahoos with bad intentions.”
He almost expected them to come after him as he marched down the sidewalk toward home, but none of them did. They were probably already marking his address as the first door they would kick in. Either that, or they’d burn a cross in his yard. Let them try. He’d be ready for them.
Jeff’s headache got worse as the numbness around his stitches wore off, and his mouth felt full of cotton as the temperature and humidity rose. His dad had put him to work in the garage, fastening wheels on the containers they’d bought. Thanks to duct tape and a dolly, he managed to convert the new garbage can into something that rolled.
Deni sat on the floor, duct taping skateboards to the bottom of some of the larger Rubbermaid tubs.
“Hey, Jeff.”
Jeff looked up and saw Mandy standing just outside the garage. “Hey, Mandy.” He got to his feet, grinning like an idiot. After his embarrassing exit last night, he figured she’d never again give him the time of day.
“Whatcha doing?”
“Working.” He glanced at Deni, wishing she weren’t here. “Mandy, this is my sister Deni.”
The girls exchanged greetings, then Mandy turned back to Jeff and lowered her voice. “Is everything okay after last night? Your dad looked really mad.”
“He was. I was supposed to take second watch and I forgot and let the time get away from me.”
“It was my fault, wasn’t it?” she asked.
Deni looked up at them, a smirk on her face.
Jeff shot her a look. “Don’t you have a zit to pop or something?”
“Hey, I’m just sitting here minding my own business.”
Jeff left his garbage can and walked out of the garage to where Mandy stood on the driveway. Lowering his voice, he said, “I admit, you distracted me a little.”
Her grin said she was flattered by that.
“Hey, check this out.” He turned his head and showed her his wound.
She caught her breath. “What happened to you? Did your dad do that?”
Deni laughed. “Our dad? He might have
wanted
to beat him, but that’s not his style. He’s more into psychological torture.”
Jeff’s look warned her to shut up. “No, it wasn’t my dad. I kind of got mugged at Wal-Mart this morning.”
“Really? I heard it was a madhouse there.”
“Yeah, I got whacked in the back of my head. Doctor had to give me stitches.”
She winced. “Ouch. What were they trying to get?”
“Our bikes.”
“Did they get them?”
“No way. I fought them off.”
Admiration sparkled in her eyes. “Good for you.”
“Is it?” He set his hands on his hips. “I don’t know. I was ready to shoot their heads off, but for what? A few stupid bikes.”
“They’re not stupid bikes,” Deni said. “They’re our family’s only transportation. What else would you do? Let them have them?”
