Carmina set down the tray, then lingered by the window. She exhaled, as if she had something on her mind and was debating the wisdom of letting it out. "Chet stopped by this morning," she finally admitted somewhat stubbornly, and with that ever-present touch of disapproval.
"What did you tell him?"
"That you were sleeping and he should come back later."
"Does he know what happened?"
"Yes."
I sat up taller. "You told him everything--all of it?"
"When you didn't come home from work, I called Chet to see if he knew where you were. He didn't, and it worried him that I didn't either. He offered to help look for you," she said with an aggravated sigh. "He came over, and that's when Dixie Jo called to say you'd been attacked and were at the hospital. I told Chet to go home, but I suspect he tried to see you. He would have been turned away because visiting hours were over." She gave a fussy shake of her head. "He brought flowers this morning. Daisies and sunflowers from his mother's garden. She planted the daisies in the backyard years ago, and they've spread like weeds. Hannah Falconer always had the prettiest flowers. . . ." She trailed off, her eyes gazing vacantly out the window.
"I'd like to go see him after breakfast. I'll walk over, so it won't inconvenience you."
Carmina's eyes snapped back to me. "Walk? In your condition?"
"Dr. Simpson said I should walk if I felt up to it. And I do."
"I know you're anxious to see Chet, but don't overdo it. He said he'd swing by later."
"I really want to talk to him now. I need someone to talk to. I have to get this off my chest so I can stop reliving it."
When she turned back to the window, her chin turning up with a hint of pride, I knew I'd hurt her feelings. Something had happened at the hospital last night. Some of the animosity I'd built between us had eroded when Carmina strode into the exam room, determined to take care of me. My opinion of her had risen a notch, and I think she realized it. And while she might think we were in good standing now, I wasn't ready to confide in her yet. She'd have to accept that.
I ate the pancakes and two strips of bacon. I showered and dressed. I was too sore to flat-iron my hair, so I pulled it back in a simple ponytail, but even that was slow going and painful. I skipped makeup, opting only for a light swath of lip balm.
The doorbell rang. Thinking Chet had saved me from walking to his house, I slipped on my sandals and walked stiff-legged from the room.
I was coming down the stairs gingerly when Carmina opened the front door. She left the screen intact, keeping a barrier between her and the uniformed officer standing on the porch.
"Morning, Roger. To what do we owe this pleasure?" Her voice was pleasant, but not quite genuine. It held an underlying sharpness, a touch of suspicion.
The officer tipped his hat at Carmina. "I'm here on business."
"Business? What business?"
He cleared his throat. "The matter of Stella's statement."
"Where's Grace Oshiro? She took Stella's statement. This is her case."
"Chief assigned me to the case. I'll be handling things from now on. Thought we could have a nice conversation here, instead of a formal interview at the station."
"Interview? What on earth for?"
"Just double-checking a few facts."
"Last I checked, a fact is a known truth. What's to double-check?"
Roger cleared his throat again. "Mind if I step in?"
"Not at all. But first, I'd like to know the exact nature of your visit. Seems to me this conversation"--she put just enough emphasis on the word to make it sound like a euphemism--"might be better suited for the station. With our lawyer present."
Chuckling uneasily, Roger said, "There, there, Carmina. No need to bring out the attack dogs. We're friends, you and I. This is a courtesy visit. I thought the three of us--you, me, and Stella--could sit down and review Stella's statement from last night. Keep it friendly, of course."
"Of course," she said coolly.
Roger scratched his cheek, clearly uncomfortable. "Still got a jug of that sweet basil lemonade you make lying around?"
"Matter of fact, I do. But I'm saving it for company."
"Aw, come on, Carmina. Don't be like that."
"How should I be? Naive? I know what you're doing here. You forget I spent five years on the force with you, and another fifteen with your father. You want Stella to retract her statement. You don't want us to press charges. Go on, admit it. It's a sticky mess for the department, arresting a promising young baseball star for assaulting a girl. Now tell me, does Chief Hearst still fish with Trigger McClure's daddy Saturday mornings? Come to think of it, don't they hunt pheasant in the fall, and watch Sunday night football at the chief's house?"
Color splotched the officer's cheeks. "It's her word against his. We talked to Trigger, got his side of the story. He said he accidentally spilled his pop on Stella at the Sundown Diner last week and she's had it out for him ever since. She follows him around, trying to trip him up. She followed him to the Red Barn last week and made up a story about him trying to steal beer."
Up until now, I'd let Carmina take the reins, but I wasn't about to keep quiet a moment longer.
"He said that?" I exclaimed, furious. "And you believe it? For the record, he dumped his soda on me--intentionally--after I insisted that he pay for his food. And every word I told the officer at the Red Barn was true!"
Carmina's eyes took a definite edge. "Stella saw Trigger threaten that boy at the Red Barn. And the boy corroborated her story. You have two solid witnesses. What's really the problem?"
"In her statement last night, she told Officer Oshiro she's positive it was Trigger who assaulted her. It's a hefty allegation." Roger rocked back on his heels, standing taller. His sloping belly made the buttons on his shirt strain; he looked to me like a peacock strutting with importance. "It's ruffling a lot of feathers, and before I go forward with this, I just want to make absolutely certain--"
"Any other kid, and you wouldn't be circling back." Carmina cut him off. "We both know Trigger did this. It isn't the first time he's been accused of hitting a woman. Remember the teacher? You shipped her off to a new school at midyear and told Trigger to play nice next time. I'll tell you what the problem is. This is the first time that boy has faced the risk of being accountable for his actions, and nobody wants to deal with him throwing a tantrum. We should have taken him into custody the first time the teacher called 911. We're no different from the parents in the grocery aisle who give their toddler whatever he wants to avoid a scene."
The officer looked more irritable by the moment. "I spoke with Trigger about the assault. He says he was at home when it happened. His parents concur. We've got nothing that puts him anywhere near the Sundown last night. Like I said, this is coming down to 'he said, she said.'"
Carmina chuckled softly, but the effect was menacing. "Arresting him is going to cause a scene, Roger, I can assure you that. His parents will be up in arms. They'll hire lawyers. Mr. McClure will lean on every friend he's got in the department. But it's the right thing to do, and it's your job. Now. If you ever come round here again and ask Stella to lie for you, or pretend that boy didn't hurt her, or even suggest she look the other way, I'll be forced to forever equate you with one of those castrated bulls at the back of Dell Chivalry's fields that's so passive and shameful, even the kids can't help take a poke at it as they walk by."
With that, Carmina closed the door. Leaning back against it, she exhaled. It took me a moment to realize she was shaking. When she caught me staring, she widened her eyes as if to say, Some people sure have a lot of nerve, now, don't they?
I didn't know what to say. "Thank you" seemed like a good start, but I was too much in shock to open my mouth. Part of me wanted to laugh appreciatively at the ballsy way she'd stood up to the officer. Another part wanted to hug her. Maybe even shed tears of gratitude. She had my back. I wasn't alone.
At last I raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Once a
cop, always a cop?"
"Damn that Roger Perkins," she said. "Sure has a lot of gall."
"I know it was Trigger who beat me up. I wasn't lying to get him in trouble."
"Oh, I know it. Just as surely as I know this is going to direct a heap of ill will our way."
I wondered if that's what was really bothering her--the shadow the community would cast over me, and her by association. I reminded myself that Thunder Basin was a small, tight-knit community, and one burned bridge was sure to create a lot of smoke. But then she waved herself off and said, "I'm too old to care what the gossips say; let them take a swing at us. They'll see I don't fall down easily. Something tells me you don't either."
I smiled at her, and she smiled back. It softened her face, and for one moment, the cop went out of her, and I saw something in her I hadn't noticed before. She looked kind, tender. Almost . . .
Likable.
16
DESPITE CARMINA'S CONCERNS, I INSISTED ON walking to Chet's. I needed the quiet time alone to gather my thoughts. I also had something to prove. I'd spent the past twelve hours playing a reactive role, letting nurses and doctors poke and prod me, allowing Carmina to tuck me in bed and administer my medication, letting him treat me like his personal punching bag. The next twelve hours were going to be very different. I was done sitting back on my heels, letting everyone around me handle the ropes. It was time I took back control. Starting with using my own two feet to get me where I wanted.
I rang Chet's doorbell, and even though I wore dark sunglasses to hide my shiner, I felt self-conscious. Nervous. He knew I'd been assaulted, but I wasn't sure Carmina had given him more than the necessary details. I doubted he knew just how bad a shape I was in, and I worried how he'd react when he saw me in the flesh--bruised and battered as it was.
Dusty answered the door. I hadn't seen him since that night at the Sundown Diner when the Mustang broke down, but now that I knew he was Chet's brother, it was impossible not to draw comparisons. Dusty was almost as tall as Chet, but lankier, like he hadn't quite filled out yet. He had the same wavy hair, but his fell messily in his eyes and was in need of a good cut. Despite their similarities, Dusty's features were harder and hollower, his eyes closed-off and brooding. He slouched his shoulders, as if the weight of the world rested on them.
"Yeah?" he said. He didn't seem to recognize me from the Sundown, and that was okay with me. I didn't know if Chet had told him about me, or disclosed my reasons for being in the Sundown that night--namely, to spy on him--but either way, I wasn't going to help Dusty put two and two together.
"Is Chet home?"
"Who wants to know?"
"Tell him Stella's here."
He scratched the back of his head, eyeing me head to toe. It wasn't a leering examination, or meant to intimidate; he seemed to simply be collecting information. For a moment I thought he might recognize me after all, even with the cuts and bruises, but he finally said, "What's the other guy look like?"
Limping, I thought. Definitely limping.
"Since he took me by surprise, and in the dark, I can't really say."
"If you're here to settle the score with him, you've got the wrong guy. My brother can't throw a decent punch to save his life. And he'd never smack a girl."
"Chet didn't beat me up. I just want to talk."
"Talking, on the other hand," Dusty said, shaking his head disgustedly, "now that's something he does very well. You know the nagging teacher in the Charlie Brown movies? Blah, blah, blah. That's my brother. 'Do this. Don't do that. Pick up after yourself. Get your butt outta bed. Don't leave the milk out.' Hang on, I'll go get him." And by "go get" he meant turn his head and holler his brother's name loud enough to make my ears ring. With his job completed, Dusty wandered deeper into the house.
A moment later, I heard Chet's feet descending the stairs. He came striding down the hall, his hair dripping wet, a dab of shampoo still clinging above his eyebrow. The top snap on his jeans wasn't buttoned, and he wrestled a T-shirt down his torso. He stopped at the sight of me.
His eyes drank me in, and they were raw with worry. His gaze flicked over the bruises on my face, and I didn't miss the tightening of his jaw. Lightning quick, his expression darkened with hatred for the person who'd done this to me.
"Stella." Before I could step back or hold my hands up to prevent it, he drew me against him, holding me tightly.
I made a soft squeal of protest, and he released me as though he'd been shocked on contact. "Did I hurt you? I didn't even think. I'm sorry--"
"Not hurt." I smiled to reassure him. "They've got me good and drugged. I just wasn't expecting a--hug."
He plowed a hand through his hair, his eyes assessing me, the line of his mouth grim. "Is that a--?" With care, he removed my sunglasses, his mouth compressing tighter at the sight of my blackened eye. And then he swore. Softly and with menacing effect. It took me by surprise, because I'd never heard Chet curse. I'd never seen him truly angry. "Who did this?"
"They're investigating."
"Did you see him?"
"Not his face. It was pitch black in the storeroom."
"Carmina told me he jumped you at work. Inside the diner, where someone should have stopped it from happening. You weren't alone. There were people around. Cooks, dishwashers, your own boss. You weren't in a deserted alley--you were at work." His blue eyes sizzled with fire. "This never should have happened."
"They're going to find him. And when they do, he'll pay."
"Who was with you? I want names. I want to talk to every last person who was in the diner last night. Someone knows something."
I couldn't do this. I'd thought I could, but I was wrong. I couldn't relive last night. Not now, when breaking down and losing it were still very real threats. I'd given my statement to Officer Oshiro, and I didn't want to rehash the details with Chet. Not because I didn't care about what he wanted or needed, but for my own sanity. I felt shattered, and I needed to collect the pieces and pull myself together. I wanted to feel strong again. I didn't want to go back to last night, to feeling helpless and victimized. Not only that, but the violent gleam in Chet's eyes unsettled me. Payback, it said. He wanted to handle this his way. If I let him--and even if I didn't--he would take this into his own hands.
As much as I appreciated, and felt flattered by, Chet's desire to protect me, this wasn't his fight. Carmina was going to use her weight to try to get Officer Oshiro put back on the case, and the three of us were going to prove Trigger's guilt. There would be no mistakes, no thoughtless screwups on our part. And no loopholes for Trigger to escape through. He wouldn't get away with what he'd done.
"Thank you for the daisies and sunflowers," I told Chet, hoping to defuse his anger. "They're beautiful. I can't look at them and not feel cheered up."
Chet exhaled, clasped his hands behind his neck, and bowed his head. He rolled his shoulders. He was trying to let go of the rage for my sake, I could tell. "You don't want to talk about it," he said. His expression was still stony, but the black heat had left his eyes.
"I don't. Honestly? I want to go for a long drive and not have to think about it."
He perked up slightly at the idea of having something to do, at having an outlet for his anger. "Anything. Name it. I'll drive you anywhere."
"Take me somewhere without a mirror." I gave a feeble laugh. "I'm sick of having to see myself this way. I already asked Carmina to cover my bathroom mirror. If I don't have to look at myself, I can almost forget it happened. There's also that whole vanity issue. I hate feeling ugly. Can you believe I'm worried about that?"
Chet's cool eyes stared past me, out the window. "You'll tell me when they find who did this?"
Something in his expression hinted that the fire hadn't completely gone out--it still smoldered under the surface--and despite Dusty's insistence otherwise, I had a feeling Chet was very good at using his hands in a fight. And that's when I saw a glimpse of who he was under that charming-boy-next-door exterior. Chet wasn't enti
rely harmless, and he wouldn't tolerate anyone hurting me. I wasn't going to tell him--I was hardly going to acknowledge it myself--but the fact that he seemed determined to protect me, and to right any wrong done to me, caused a heat that was equally uninvited and unavoidable to tingle through my body. I didn't know how to respond to his protectiveness. It felt so foreign, this notion of being cared for, that I instinctively rejected it.
I swallowed. "Thanks," I said softly, reaching for his hand and squeezing it.
He studied our laced fingers with a seriousness that made me realize my mistake. I dropped his hand.
I started for the front door, and not missing a beat, Chet was at my side. "Here, lean on me," he said, sliding an arm around my waist.
"Really, I'm fine," I said, but it felt good to have him close. I'd sworn off any hint at affection between us, but the aftershocks of last night were finally starting to tremble through me, all the fear and helplessness and terror, and I just wanted to let down my guard for one moment. With Chet's arm around me, I felt safe.
"How about we drive around the lake?" Chet suggested. "Or the park. I can grab bread to feed the ducks. Can't think of anything more relaxing than feeding ducks. No mirrors either. Even the pond's too murky to see your reflection."
"Can we stop by the library first? If I'm going to be sitting around for the next week or so, I could use a good book." I'd come to Chet's house because I wanted his company, and because I wanted to get out of bed and stop feeling sorry for myself, but I'd be lying if I didn't acknowledge that I had an ulterior motive. I didn't want to deceive Chet, but I needed his help with a task, one Carmina couldn't know about. Any guilt I felt over using Chet was overridden by the simple fact that I needed to contact Reed. I'd been in Thunder Basin two weeks and hadn't heard from him. Despite my best intentions, I'd only gone back once to check for an e-mail. I didn't like what that said about my priorities. Time to refocus. I had to know he was okay. And we needed to plan how we were going to get back together at the end of summer.
Outside, Chet helped me into the Scout.
"Want the AC on? I think it still works," he said, fiddling with the dials.
"No." I surprised myself when I turned down the offer. But the hospital last night had been temperature controlled, artificially chilly, and I didn't want to give my imagination any excuse to revisit that place. I associated it with pain, panic, and weakness. I was done with feeling that way.