Wink of an Eye (3 page)

The old man was probably early sixties with weathered skin from too many days in the Texas sun. His gray hair was thinning but he wore it long, falling just below his collar. His lightweight plaid shirt complete with pearl snaps reminded me of a different era. I'd seen my own grandfather and his buddies wear the same shirt when I was a kid.

“Tatum tells me you pulled in from Vegas this morning.” His voice was deep with authority. At one time, this man demanded respect.

I nodded. “Drove straight through.”

“That's a long ride.”

I nodded again.

“He tells me you're going to look into my son's death.”

I threw a glance at Tatum, who quickly turned his attention to his chocolate milkshake. “Well, like I told your grandson, I'm really just passing through. I'm going to be here a week, maybe two. I don't know what I could do in that short amount of time. Besides, I'm not licensed in Texas. I wouldn't have access to records or—”

“I have the records. Well, Dad's files anyway,” Tatum said, taking a breath from sucking down his milkshake.

“Ryce didn't kill himself, Mr. Moran,” Burke said. “We just don't have any way of digging into it.”

The waitress brought my order in a white paper bag and Styrofoam cup. Grease seeped through the bag, staining it in spots.

“Tatum told me you're a retired deputy. You've probably got better connections here than I'd ever have.”

“Humph…” He stared out the dusty picture window, looking deep into a memory. “My connections ended the day I took one in the back.”

Now I was curious. Law enforcement took care of their own, especially the wounded. But I didn't know these people. For all I knew Burke McCallen and his son, Ryce, could have been rogue deputies who got caught at whatever it was they were doing. Could explain Ryce's decision to hang himself.

“There's some bad things going on in the department, Mr. Moran. My son was on to something when he died.”

“Yeah, Dad was getting ready to bust the whole thing wide open.” Tatum took a hard pull on the straw, slurping up the last bit of his milkshake.

I couldn't stop the grin that spread across my face. The world is so simple to a twelve-year-old.

“Why don't you drop by the house tonight for dinner? Rhonda knows the address,” Burke said.

The waitress brought their ticket and slid it across the table to Burke. He pulled a ten from a money clip tucked in his pocket and handed it and the ticket to Tatum. While Tatum headed to the register to pay, I opened the wheelchair that had been propped against the wall behind us. I rolled it to the edge of the booth.

“He's a good kid,” Burke said, bobbing his head toward his grandson at the register. “Ryce raised him right.” He struggled out of the booth, then pulled himself into the chair. “Whatever your fee is, Mr. Moran, we'll pay it. We're not oil barons but we're not dirt poor, either.”

I reached for the chair handles to help him but before I could get a grasp, he was ten feet ahead of me. I followed along behind, carrying my bagged lunch and soda. He maneuvered around the tables as if it was something he did everyday, obviously more secure with his limitations than I was. He did allow me to hold the door for him. Outside, he rolled himself along the concrete to a blue Ford pickup. Tatum hurried to his side and opened the passenger door. Burke hoisted himself up and into the seat, grimacing at the dead weight of his useless legs. Tatum rolled the chair around to the back, then heaved it up into the bed of the truck.

“Dinner'll be ready around six,” he said, grinning. “Tell Ms. Walker and Grandma they can come too, if they want. There'll be plenty.”

I followed the kid around to the driver's side and watched as he climbed in behind the wheel. I could remember times my dad would pull over and let me take the wheel, but it was always on some dirt road out in the middle of nowhere, not on a main road in the middle of town.

“You old enough to drive?” I asked, knowing the answer.

He shrugged, shifting his weight in the booster seat. “Somebody has to.”

I watched them drive away, wondering if Ryce McCallen's death was something I wanted to get involved with. I hadn't actually committed to anything yet. I didn't even commit to dinner. I
was
interested in why Ryce had a case file in his possession. There were only two reasons I could think of and both involved a dirty cop.

I wasn't sure what to make of Burke's story, either. I'd have to do some checking into both father and son before I agreed to anything. I wasn't real keen on going up against an entire department, nor was I too keen on getting suckered by an ex-deputy with a score to settle.

As I started back to the van, a white Silverado Dually whipped into the parking lot and pulled into the empty space where the McCallens had been parked. A woman in jeans, boots, and a tight T-shirt climbed out. She threw a glance my way as she passed. Then we both stopped, frozen in time. We spun around and faced one another.

“Gypsy? Oh my God!”

Claire Kinley threw herself into my arms, nearly knocking me backward. My bagged lunch and soda hit the pavement. After I regained my footing, I lifted her and whirled her around like we were in some hokey movie.

“Oh my God … I can't believe it's you,” she cried. “It's really
you.
” She pulled away and cupped my face in her hands. Tears were streaming down her gorgeous face, streaking her mascara. “You're as beautiful today as you were the day you…”

Then she hauled off and slapped
the shit
out of me. “You deserved that, you bastard,” she said, laughing, tears still rolling down her face.

She was probably right. No “Dear Claire” letter, no sweet last kiss. Just here one day and gone the next. Whether I deserved it or not, it didn't stop the welt from forming on my cheek. I rubbed my face and grinned. “Yeah, I guess I did deserve it.”

Claire Kinley was as gorgeous today as she was twenty years ago. Her blond hair fell softly on her shoulders, shimmering like spun gold in the sunlight. Her eyes were still the color of cornflowers growing wild in the pastures; the teenage body where I had found heaven had filled out in all the right places.

She wiped away the tears, then gently patted my cheek where she had landed the good one moments earlier. “What are you doing in Wink? Last I heard you were in Vegas.”

Should I tell her the truth? I half shrugged. “Just passing through. Got in last night.”

She nodded. “You staying with Rhonda?”

“Until she throws me out.” I laughed and took a step back to get a long look at the only woman I ever considered marrying. “Damn—you look good.”

She laughed and shook her head. “It's requiring some work these days.”

I teasingly pointed at the gray at my own temple and grinned. “Not using color yet but I've considered it.” We both laughed and it was so easy, like it was so many years ago, before reality and heartbreak set in. “So … what are you doing with yourself these days?”

She pursed her lips and bobbed her head back and forth. “Managing the ranch. Daddy had a stroke four years ago so I took over the day-to-day operation.” Sadness filled her eyes. I couldn't tell if it was from sympathy or regret. Had she wondered nearly every day, like I had, about what could have been? The K-Bar Ranch held her grounded to west Texas as much as the small-town living drove me away.

“Sorry to hear about your dad,” I said softly.

She nodded. “He's still just as cantankerous as ever.” She lightly touched the faded scar on my upper lip, a clear reminder of the deadly sword her father was capable of wielding.

A faint tune played from the cell phone attached to her belt. She glanced at the number, then rolled her eyes. “Daddy's wanting his lunch.”

I glanced at my own lunch splattered on the ground, debating whether or not to get another. I guessed I could wait until dinner. “Yeah … I've got to get, too. Got some errands to run.”

We both stood there for a moment, not wanting it to end, but no idea how to keep it going. “Look,” she finally said. “Maybe we can get together for dinner tomorrow night?”

Before I could stop myself, I agreed. “Yeah. That sounds great.”

She pulled a pen from her pocket, reached for my hand, and wrote her number on my palm. She smiled, then disappeared into the diner. I stared at the number scribbled in ink on the palm of my hand, thinking of a thousand reasons not to call. And a thousand and one why I should.

 

CHAPTER 4

Claire Kinley was as wild as the broncs her daddy used to sell. It was that spirit I fell in love with. The fact she was a knockout didn't hurt, either. She was named Prom Queen, Homecoming Queen, Miss Wildcat, Miss Winkler County 4-H, and adamantly declined every title. No one was going to box her into a perception of how she was supposed to look, act, or conduct herself in public. Not even me.

I programmed the number she'd scrawled on my hand into my phone, immediately considered deleting it, then saved it. The last thing I wanted was to drag her into this mess I was in. But it was just one dinner, right? What could it hurt?

I took 115 into Kermit and found the volunteer center where Rhonda was doing her daily good deed. Her SUV was parked out front of the one-story brick building. An old school bus from Garden Gate Assisted Living was parked crossways, taking up five parking spots. Not that there was a need. There were only four cars in the entire lot.

Although the air in the volunteer center was nice and cool, I drew in a breath and held it when I entered. The smell of ammonia was so strong I could taste it. A heavyset woman in flowered scrubs was leading a young woman with more challenges than anyone deserved to the restroom. The woman in scrubs eyed me suspiciously.

“I'm looking for Rhonda Walker. I'm her brother,” I said, hoping to put the woman's mind at ease.

“Oh—so
you're
Gypsy!” She smiled broadly. “Rhonda never mentioned how handsome you were.”

I winked at the woman. “You remind her for me.”

She blushed, then pointed down the hall. “She's in the commons area, down the hall and to the left.”

I found the commons area and stood in the doorway a moment watching Rhonda do her thing. I wondered where she got her compassion. Our mother was a great nurse but had no patience, especially with kids; our grandmother, for the most part, was indifferent. I remember our father was kind, funny, and proud, but I don't remember him being particularly compassionate. How could he have been? He walked out on his wife and two kids.

Rhonda was at a table with two women and a young man, all with various disabilities, leading them through some sort of reading exercise. She looked up at me and smiled. “Hey. Come on in. Guys, I want you to meet my brother, Gypsy.” She said it with such pride, I felt guilty. I hoped she didn't think I was there to volunteer my time.

“Hey, Gypsy,” one of the women said, her words terribly slurred. Her eyes were magnified through ultra-thick glasses. “I'm Marion.”

“Nice to meet you, Marion.”

“This is Jared, and this is Patricia,” Rhonda said. Patricia waved with a palsy-stricken hand while Jared stared at me with untrusting eyes. Rhonda opened a children's book and handed it to him. “Jared, will you please read to Marion and Patricia while I talk to my brother for a moment?”

Jared continued to stare at me, not even trying to hide the distrust. He finally turned his attention to the book and slowly began to read, struggling with each simple word. Rhonda praised him, then led me into the hallway.

“There's a couple forms we'll need to get you to fill out and we'll have to do a background check, but—”

“Whoa, Rhonda!” I held up my hands. “I'm not here to volunteer.”

She pursed her lips, then folded her arms, looking at me with that disappointed-teacher look. “Oh. Well, then, what are you doing here?”

“I ran into Tatum and his grandfather at Dunbar's and I have a couple questions.”

Joy replaced her disappointment. “So you're going to take the case?”

“I didn't say that. I said I had a couple of questions. They invited us over for dinner tonight and before I go, I want to know what I'm dealing with.”

“They're good people, Gypsy.”

“I'm sure they are. But something's not adding up.”

Her expression softened. “Not adding up about Burke or Ryce?”

I realized I was treading in shallow water. Rhonda saw the good in everyone, especially when there was a kid involved. “There's some questions I have about both of them.”

“Like what kind of questions? From what I've seen, they were a happy family.”

I winked at her. “That's my point. You've only see what's been shown. What's the story with Burke's accident?”

Her eyes reflected deep concentration, then confusion. “I don't remember that much about it. Just what was in the paper and on the news.”

“What about Rodney? Did he ever say anything about a fellow officer being injured in the line of duty?” In a town the size of Wink, a cop getting shot would have generated a loud buzz.

Now she was really confused. I could see the brain cells working overtime trying to recall everything she could about Burke McCallen's injury. “I honestly don't remember that much about it. What I do remember, was there was hardly any news coverage
about
it. Now that I think about it, that was pretty odd.”

“Exactly. In a county this size, a deputy's ambushed and it barely makes the news? That in itself raises questions.”

Her shoulders dropped with a mounting burden. “Gypsy, the whole idea was for you to help Tatum prove his father didn't hang himself. What's Burke's injury got to do with any of this?”

I shrugged. “I don't know. I hope it was just a run of bad luck and the two aren't connected. But I'm not going to agree to help Tatum until I know what I'm dealing with from all angles. Is the Kermit public library still open?”