Look Before You Jump (9 page)

Plus it was cute, the perfect size to fit my
tiny hands and the rainbow purple slide to fit my personality.

Since I didn’t want to lose my hearing by the
time I was thirty, I usually opted for one of the outdoor ranges.
What I suffered in the heat more than made up for the constant
ringing from the indoor ranges – even with protection.

Of my ears, silly.

A quick run home to change into something
more appropriate and gather some gear, then I whipped the Vette
toward the outskirts of the Dallas metropolis. When I arrived, the
shooting was already heavy and the temps already hot. The hefty
bucket of bullets thudded at my feet as I took position in the
assigned lane, checked all four magazines to make sure they had six
bullets each, then snapped one in and chambered a round before
sighting my target. Let the games begin.

Most instructors will tell you to aim for
center mass when seeking to take out an assailant. That’s why the
paper targets have the bullseye marked in the torso area. But I
always did have a thing for painting outside the lines, and figured
if they didn’t want me practicing headshots they wouldn’t have
included a head as part of the target outline.

The first shot went high somewhere off the
paper. Anticipating the shot always got me in trouble, and I heard
Zeke’s voice in my head telling me to relax. A roll to loosen my
neck and a deep breath then I sighted again.

The bullet pierced the paper near the right
shoulder. Damn! At one time I could blackout whole sections with my
tight groupings. Now I couldn’t even get it within the freakin’
outline anymore. I really needed to get out here more often. By the
time I flicked the switch to slide the target back to my position,
it was apparent I needed to get out here a hell of a lot more
often.

Snickers peppered the nearby lanes before I
ripped down the papier-mâché cutout that had become my target and
popped in a new one. By the time the bullet bucket was barely a
fourth of the way empty, my hands and wrists were aching, and sweat
ran like Niagara Falls down my back. Shoulders I’d feel tomorrow.
Only an hour in and I was already done for. However, I was also a
little more focused as I grabbed my gear and headed for the
car.

A quick text exchange with Bobby and I was on
track with the necessary interrogation scheduled for noon. Gee, I
was beginning to sound like an investigator already. Must be
something to do with shooting off weapons instead of my
disease-ridden mouth this time.

“Vic?”

The familiar voice pulled me out of the
phone, but it only took a few seconds to focus in on the mustache.
“Grady? What are you doing here?”

My boss set a black duffle on the ground
tucked up close to his boots and pushed back his hat. “Getting a
haircut?”

I smirked. “Yeah, okay. This is Texas. You’re
at a shooting range. Dumb question.”

The mustache tilted as he glanced between my
face, down my sweaty t-shirt and shorts-clad bare legs to the gun
and magazines I’d laid atop the bullets in the bucket. “Apparently
ya know what you’re doing, but why haven’t I ever seen ya out here
before?”

“I haven’t been very regular in awhile.”

“You might try a stool softener instead.”

“Grady!” I laughed. “I mean shooting.”

“Oh,” he chuckled right along with me.

“I don’t usually come out to this range
anyway. Too many off-duty cops like to come out here.”

“Like that boyfriend of yours?”

“Ex,” I clarified.

The scent of manly-man followed as Grady
leaned in closer, his chocolate brown eyes twinkling almost golden
in the sunlight. “Good to know.”

All my spit dried up in an instant and headed
toward more southerly regions. My legs went all noodley again. Away
from my place of employment, the subject of this man being my boss
whisked away like a tumbleweed on the leading edge of a hurricane.
Expecting a kiss, I leaned closer.

Then nearly fell forward in the dust when
Grady stepped backward, cradled his duffle and took off toward the
range building.

“See ya Wednesday night,” he called over his
shoulder.

That’s it. I really was done with men. For
sure this time.

Damn men.

The Vernet clan goes through maids almost as
fast as they spend Sunday morning’s offering. I’m not sure if it’s
an agreement they have with the placement service, but nine times
out of ten they end up with those named Maria. Maybe it’s part of
their contract. Perhaps they feel closer to God by employing
someone who shares a close relation to His earthly mother’s name,
though I doubt if the entire crop could claim virgin status. Either
way they save the congregation some money because they don’t have
to buy a bunch of new nametags every few weeks.

Personally, I think it’s so they have more
left over for Mary Jo’s designer shoe collection. And for the
weekly new handbag, though these days it more likely goes toward
Botox injections.

After a shower and third change of clothes
for the day, this week’s Maria escorted me to the formal living
room before trudging up the winding staircase to locate Bobby. The
living room – or Blue Room as Mary Jo preferred, as if her home was
the White House and she the First Lady – reflected the heights of
gaudy extravagance.

Silver-gray paper adorned the walls while the
windows were swallowed by heavy brocade gray-blue drapes. Metallic
threads were woven in so that, as Mary Jo once stated, they
captured and scattered the light as God intended
. Matching
tufted chintz sofas and chairs dotted gray carpet with far too many
mirrored coffee and end tables scattered about. These were then
cluttered with crystal and silver bowls, vases, and trinkets that
reflected what sunlight penetrated the drapes. The glare and
inception effect threatened to give me a headache.

After the wait extended past five minutes and
the Maria-of-the-week didn’t return, I decided to make myself at
home and headed up the staircase. Halfway up, a door somewhere on
the second floor slammed. I stopped. Another door slammed. I almost
rode the banister down the staircase when Mary Jo’s shrill voice
echoed up the corridor.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me when I’m
talking to you, Robert!”

Bobby’s lowered but firm voice followed.
“I’ve left Vicki waiting long enough, Mother.”

“That girl has already caused this family
enough scandal. Why did you invite her over here? Don’t you care
how it reflects on you?”

“Don’t you mean how it reflects on you and
Dad?”

“Robert!”

“If you’ve forgotten,” Bobby continued, “I’m
just as much at fault for what happened. More so actually.”

“If more people find out you’re spending time
together again, they’ll assume the worst.”

“That was
eleven years
ago, Mother.
You’re so quick to forgive me, and yet you continue to hold this
over her head.”

“This is my house, and I don’t want her in
it,” Mary Jo commanded.

“She was in it Saturday.”

“She works in a
bar
, for goodness
sake, promoting drunkenness and God knows what else.”

Mary Jo’s sentiments didn’t surprise me one
bit. Matter of fact, I too was surprised she’d allowed me in her
home for the funeral dinner. After my parents left, I’d half
expected to be approached by some servant and escorted from the
premises – in secret, of course. Any public spectacle would’ve
reflected poorly on Vernet and Company, and we all knew by now how
they wished to avoid any spectacle where I was concerned – public
or otherwise.

“You know,” Bobby said, “I’m beginning to
understand why she left the church. Seems she wasn’t wanted in
that
house either.”

“Robert.” Mary Jo’s voice ratcheted up about
ten octaves. “Robert, come back here.”

A heavy gait clomped overhead. Bobby’s blue
eyes blazed when he saw me standing in the foyer.

“You ready?”

“Bobby, I…”

“Come on then,” he said, reaching into his
pants pocket and jingling his keys. “I’m driving.”

“But my car’s parked out front.”

“Good. Maybe some of Mother’s friends will
stop by and see it and assume the worst.” A wicked grin adorned
Bobby’s face.

There’s the guy I knew and loved. Liked. Was
friends with. Oh, forget it.

***

Bobby drove his BMW X-5 like a man on a
third-world mission field. He plowed through the suburbs of Dallas
with a death grip on the steering wheel like a python with its last
meal.

“So,” I asked, clinging to the door arm,
“how’s your mom?”

Didn’t even get me a glance. “You heard
her.”

“All of Texas heard her.”

A Texas-sized grunt.

I continued. “Do you think she’ll have my car
towed?”

“And draw more attention to the fact it’s in
front of their house? I doubt it.”

“Gee, that makes me feel so much better.”

Bobby made a lane change and slowed as the
exit drew near. “I’m sorry about all that. I’ll never understand
her unforgiving attitude toward you.”

I patted his knee. “You’re her little lamb
chop. ‘Course she’ll forgive you.”

“I’m almost thirty,” he grumbled.

“Age doesn’t stop the parental patrol.”

“The way she’s acting, you’d think I hadn’t
lived a day on my own. That I’d never been married.”

The mention of marriage shut him up real
fast. Red rimmed his eyes and the bob of his Adam’s apple reflected
the dogged fight against tears. I left him in peace until we pulled
up to the restaurant in the heart of the Historic West End – my
usual haunts.

“This is a different area for you,” I
observed.

Bobby sighed. “I just want to have a chance
to talk without interruption. Without judgment.”

“Amen to that, brother.”

That earned me a quirk of a smile as we
strolled across the parking lot. I was recognized the instant we
entered the murky grill and bar.

“A little early in the day for ya, ain’t it?”
the old proprietor called.

“Having lunch with a friend,” I
responded.

Thick eyebrows lifted before a toothy grin
spread across the buzzard’s face. “What’ll it be then?”

“Whatever’s on tap for me and a coke for
him,” I said with a thumb in Bobby’s direction.

After settling in a dim corner booth away
from windows and the accompanying prying eyes, we ordered a couple
of burgers and nursed our drinks. Bobby stirred the ice around and
stared into his pop as if in a trance. After all the years apart, I
hated seeing him in such a funk. It was time to call this meeting
to order.

“I went to see Zeke this morning.”

Blue eyes rose from the swirling syrup in
surprise. “Zeke Taylor?”

“That’s the one,” I acknowledged.

“I thought he’d moved to Austin,” Bobby said.
“Wanted to become a Ranger, didn’t he?”

“He did, and he did. Transferred to Company
‘B’ a few years ago to help his dad with the ranch after the
accident. We went out a couple of times a few months ago, so I
thought he might be a good place to start.”

I know what you’re thinking.
Couple
of
dates?
Few
months ago? Who cares about semantics at a time
like this. No need to stir up any bad blood between these two where
I was concerned.

Long story.

“And?” Bobby urged.

“He asked me to go on a fishing expedition
with you.”

“Let me guess. He thinks Amy and I were
putting on a good show for the public.”

“Nailed it.”

The moment the plates slid across the table,
Bobby laid into the burger as if he’d forgotten to eat for days.
Very possible, considering the turmoil over Amy’s death. After a
couple of enormous bites and replenishment of our drinks, he slowed
enough to voice his internal pondering.

“Can’t blame Zeke for thinking that. I got
pretty good at pretending for public consumption in my younger
years.”

“We learned from some of the best,” I said,
clinking my beer against his glass and nearly sloshing both into
his lap.

Graceful I’m not – in far too many ways these
days. When Bobby took another drink and grimaced, I suspected a
little beer had clashed with his coke.

“The thing is,” Bobby continued, “Amy and I
were happier than I’d ever imagined possible after what I’d
witnessed with my parents. We cleared the air early on in our
relationship and that offered openness and trust in our marriage.
We talked about everything. Shared everything. I was free to be
completely myself. Accepted for who I was.”

The awe and rawness in his admission choked
me up almost as much as it did him. Talk about crying in your beer.
But like the consummate professional I’d become when it came to
emotions, I held those pesky tears at bay and offered up what I
hoped was a sympathetic look. Knowing my luck, it probably looked
more like someone had farted.

Then another unexpected emotion almost
bitch-slapped me before I was even aware of it. The little green
monster of envy jumped on my spine and held on like a cowboy riding
a bronco. Could I ever be so open with someone like that? Could I
ever let someone know me so completely? How could I when I didn’t
even know myself? For a moment, I longed for what Bobby had
discovered with Amy.

Danger! Danger! Approaching enemy territory.
I wasn’t ready to delve too deep into my own psyche – at least not
yet.

I tackled Bobby’s claim instead. “I posed a
couple of questions to Zeke that intrigued him enough to look into
the case.”

“Really?” Bobby’s tear-filled eyes held so
much hope and faith in me, I almost stopped myself right then from
pursuing things any further. “What were they?”

But if I was gonna continue to ride this
wagon train, I had to broach the questions I’d posed to Zeke. The
first was obviously off the table after Bobby’s description of
marital bliss, so I started in with question two. “Why was none of
Amy’s family at the funeral?”