The Homeplace: A Mystery (20 page)

His eyes flashed with recognition that he’d crossed one of the lines she warned him about. No matter, she could edit it out of the tape going to the networks.

Kendall touched the shiny scar at the corner of one of his eyes. “The county has had two deaths in the last twenty-four hours. Both under suspicious circumstances. My department and the Colorado Bureau of Investigation are knee-deep in this. We’ll have coroner findings sometime tomorrow. That’s all I can say for right now.”

“And the search for Mr. Weber and the girl?”

“Fightin’ the fire took all our resources, but I’ve asked the volunteer fire department to help us out. Those boys’ll be in the field shortly.”

Jody moved the microphone from Kendall and held it to her mouth. “Thank you, Sheriff. We’ll have more at six. Jody Rose, reporting live from Comanche County.”

The camera man gave a thumbs up.

Jody touched Kendall’s arm before he could walk away. “Thank you, Lincoln. I can call you Lincoln, can’t I?” She used the head tilt that always seemed to work.

“Sure, if I can call you Jody.”

She had him now. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

*   *   *

Near the Masons’ house, the clothes that Connie had pinned to the line began to dance in the cold wind. Dark clouds boiled on the north horizon, and color faded from the blue sky like old Levi’s.

Chase stepped up to Marty as the last fireman slapped a “goodbye and good job” on the deputy’s shoulder. Chase tipped his head toward Kendall. “I overheard him tell that reporter that you’re a hero. She’ll probably be over here next wantin’ to put you on TV.”

“I’d better find my hat and get away before Kendall changes his mind and wants my job.”

“Birdie went to look for your hat.” Chase shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Somethin’s botherin’ her. You got any idea what it is?”

Marty shook his head. “You’re one dumb son of a bitch, Chase Ford.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t see it?”

“See what?”

“Birdie has—whatcha call it?” Marty mopped the dirty sweat from his forehead. “Uh—feelings for you. And she has since high school. Seein’ you again, after you’d been away for sixteen years, brought it all back.”

“What makes you think that?”

“My wife told me.” Marty bit down on his lip. “Deb says she’s always thought so and that she could see it for sure by the way Birdie was actin’ when you were with Mercy at the pancake supper over at the church.”

Marty’s words hit Chase like an elbow to the ribs.

Birdie? Feelings for him?

He’d never thought of her like that. Birdie was just—Chase’s mind stuttered. Birdie was just Birdie. Shooting baskets in the gym with the guys. Riding in the back of his pickup when Mercy was on the front seat between him and Marty. Birdie out in the parking lot after every ball game. With a cigarette in her mouth. She’d know how many points everyone had scored. Especially him.

But Birdie?

Chase always had an easy time with the girls. After Mercy, there’d been a series of pretty cheerleader types in college. Girls who liked a guy who was six feet seven with long blond hair, who had his name in the paper after every ball game. Girls who giggled at his polite country manners. Out in Los Angeles, after he signed with the Lakers, more girls. Models. Movie star wannabes, and even some for-real movie stars. Then he found Billee.

They were all good-looking, too. Every one of them. Not at all like—

Not like Birdie.

Besides, Birdie was just a friend. And she was a good friend. Didn’t she know that?

Chase dug the tip of his tongue into the side out his cheek.

Oh, God, did I hurt Birdie?

Now all his doubts banged in his chest. And touched his heart.

Out near the torn fence, Birdie plucked Marty’s Stetson from the sagebrush near where they’d hitched the plow. She dusted the dirt off the hat and started back to where he stood with Marty. Marching across the field all stiff kneed, just the way Birdie always walked.

Chase needed to say something to her. Maybe apologize. Maybe just tell Birdie that he’d missed her while he was away.

He looked at Marty.

Marty just shook his head.

Just then, another woman started toward them.

“Mr. Ford?” the TV reporter called out. “Chase Ford? I’m not sure, but you might remember me? I’m Jody Rose. We met seven years ago. In Los Angeles. You were doing the color for the Lakers broadcasts. I was an intern. It was my last year of college. We worked together for a couple of months.”

Chase looked down at the woman. “Jody?”

“Actually, it was Janet Rosemont back then. I use Jody Rose as my TV name. Now most people call me Jody.”

Seven years ago had been when the pills were the worst. Nights at the games blurred. So did the women from that time.

“I’m not sure I—”

Jody, or Janet, or whatever she called herself, smiled up at him. Thick blond hair framed big blue eyes and a pouty set of lips. She was pretty. Very pretty.

“No matter,” she said. “I was just a lowly college intern. But you were always kind to me. I’m working for the TV station in Colorado Springs. On assignment to cover the murders.” She tilted her head. “I was wondering…”

Birdie walked up and handed Marty his hat. Chase wanted to say something to her, but Jody Rose was there and before he could make his mouth work, Birdie walked away.

Jody was still talking. “… an interview. Maybe you could share a little bit about how things have changed since you’ve been gone. And I hear you stayed friends with Coach Porter.” She paused and her lips turned down. “I’m so sorry about his death. Would you consider it, Mr. Ford?”

Chase watched Birdie’s pickup pull away.

Some part of him knew he should run away from the reporter and stop Birdie’s truck and tell her—

Tell her what?

Chase had no idea what he should say.

When he looked back at the reporter, the woman’s face lit in the same kind of smile he remembered from when camera lights shined and microphones were shoved in his face by girls just like Jody Rose.

Jody tilted her head, and her smile moved from her lips to the corners of her eyes.

“Ma’am, you can call me Chase.”

*   *   *

Jody Rose knew she was good at what she did. Chase Ford could be just the piece she needed to get out of Colorado Springs. A big market or a network gig was next on her plan.

And now the fallen hero was right in front of her.

Chase Ford, the cowboy from Colorado, had been a media darling. Tall, handsome, the white star in a sport dominated by black players. Didn’t hurt that he married that country music sensation. People couldn’t decide who was prettier, him or his wife.

Then one night, in front of the kind of a national TV audience that advertisers drool over, Chase Ford went rock-star famous. After scoring three dozen points and with the game on the line, Chase was knocked to the floor on a slashing drive to the basket. Hurt his knee, she remembered. After a long timeout, with no time on the clock, Chase limped to the line and made the first free throw to tie the game.

A hack sports writer couldn’t come up with a more dramatic ending. If he made the next shot, the Lakers would win. A miss, and the game would go to overtime with Chase too badly injured to play. As the second shot dropped through the bottom of the net, he collapsed on the floor holding the knee. But the Lakers had the championship. The next morning everyone in America—maybe the world—knew Chase’s name.

For the following year, his face was on billboards, magazine spreads, and TV commercials everywhere, selling Band-Aids, soda pop, and Levi’s.

Chase never was the same after the surgery. There were rumors of drugs, domestic violence. The storybook marriage fell apart. When Chase was forced to retire from playing, he tried TV. He was an embarrassment as a sportscaster, and then one day Chase Ford just disappeared. What did they say? Fell off the radar.

Now Jody had found him in Cow Pie, Colorado. Right in the middle of a serial murder story. Just what Jody needed to assure the next step in her plan.

She smiled at him again. “Thank you. Chase.”

Chase Ford was no better than the hick sheriff. He fell for her full tilt. And even the lie about being a college intern.

Jody Rose knew she was good at what she did.

*   *   *

Kendall didn’t like the way Jody Rose cozied up to Chase Ford. She batted her eyes, and he smiled down at her with the same
aw shucks, ma’am
way of his that the TV ate up. It made Kendall want to puke each time he saw one of those commercials, and it made him want to puke right then.

Kendall probed his wad of Skoal with the tip of his tongue. He thought things over and decided to send a deputy to pull Chase away from Jody and tell Chase that he was expected in Brandon for an interview with the state police. Marty Storm would be the right one to send.

Rub a little shit in both their faces.

But Marty was across the fence, helping Connie Mason put a horse into the corral. Kendall spotted Paco and started to motion for him to come over. But Paco was already headed his way.

“Sheriff?” Paco’s breath turned gray in the cold, and Kendall could tell something was bothering the old deputy. “Sheriff, some firemen out puttin’ out hot spots just called in. They found a body.”

“Pop Weber?”

“No, sir.” Paco shook his head. “It’s a girl. They said she’s wearin’ a Brandon High letter jacket.” Paco paused. “Jimmy Riley’s name was embroidered on the inside. It could be—”

Kendall looked back at Chase Ford. “Dolly Benavidez.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Over the top of Jody’s head, Chase watched Marty push his way into the huddle of deputies and state police crowded around Sheriff Kendall. The smiles and laughs from the victory over the fire had disappeared.

Pop. They must have found Pop.

Marty listened for a minute to whatever the men discussed and then looked at Chase.

It wasn’t good.

“Listen, Jody.” Chase had dodged the reporter’s question about how soon they could get together for an interview. “We’ll have to talk about this later.” He left Jody and walked toward Marty and the others.

Marty nodded to the other lawmen, stepped away, and came to meet him.

“What is it?” Chase asked.

Marty hung his shoulders and looked at the ground between his boots. “Too soon to say.”

“You know somethin’, Marty. What is it?” His words were flat and measured.

“Damn it, Chase, I can’t say ’til we know for sure.”

“They found Pop, didn’t they?” His mouth went dry. “He’s dead?”

“No, it ain’t Pop.”

“Marty?”

Kendall’s shadow filled the ground between them. “Go ahead and tell him, Marty.” The sheriff stepped in close, as if he was about to enjoy whatever came next.

Chase’s nerves stood on end.

“Not ’til we know for sure, Sheriff.” Marty shoved his way between his friend and the sheriff. “It ain’t right.”

Kendall fingertips traced the shiny scar beside his eye, but his glare never left Chase. “I’ll tell him then.”

“No, Sheriff.”

He pushed Marty out of the way with his forearm. The smile on Kendall’s face turned cruel. “Chase, some of the volunteer firemen called in a few minutes ago. Seems they found a body not too far from where we think the fire got started.” He paused and shifted the tobacco under his cheek. “A girl’s body. They think it might be your half-sister, Dolly.”

A pain worse than it had ever been stabbed through Chase’s head and ripped its way down to his knee. He wanted to cry and scream, and his fists balled to lash out at Kendall.

Marty pushed him back. “We don’t know that yet. It might not be her.” He turned and looked at Kendall and then back at Chase. “I’m goin’ out there right now. I’ll find out. I’ll call as soon as we know for sure. I promise you. I promise.”

Thoughts tumbled in Chase’s head. His fists tightened harder as he struggled to comprehend it all.
Coach. And now Dolly?
He craved the pills. And the place they made for him to hide and make himself numb to the hurt.

Kendall tapped his finger on Chase’s chest. Chase slapped it away and cocked his arm to swing.

Marty pushed him back two steps. “Not now, Chase.”

Kendall pointed with the same finger. “Get your ass into Brandon, Ford. You’re gonna tell the state police everything you’ve done since you came back and every place you’ve been. And you’re gonna wait until I get there, and then you’re gonna tell me the same thing. There’s three dead bodies in my county on the first weekend you’ve been back in sixteen years.” The smile faded. “I want to know why.”

*   *   *

Birdie told herself she needed space between her and the sheriff. A whole lot of space. She unhitched her gun belt, tossed it on the passenger seat, and aimed her pickup for the far side of the county.

But it was a lie. It was Chase she needed to get away from.

She wanted to tell him how she felt. But Birdie couldn’t put it into words because she had lied to herself since high school.

She left the Masons’ place, made the curve on the road along Sandy Creek, and turned south on County Road Seventeen. A cock pheasant sprang from a tangle of weeds in the ditch. Birdie tapped the brakes. The bird sprinted ahead of her truck for two dozen steps before its gaudy-colored wings flapped and the rooster soared off into the wheat fields.

She emptied her lungs through her teeth in a long whoosh and dabbed her eyes. Something wild and free like that should make her forget Chase. Even if it was just for a few minutes.

She’d spent the days she should have been doing her own work chasing after Ray-Ray and running Kendall’s errands. One side of her head told her to focus on her job and forget how foolish she looked sniveling over Chase. The other side said it was no use.

The dirt road doglegged west at an old homestead. What was left of the plank-sided building sagged, and the wood had weathered as gray as a sky full of coming storm. On that splash of prairie, the old house sat all alone and empty. As empty and lonely as Birdie was inside.