Page 10 of Resonable Doubt

  Breanna groaned and sat up to flip off the radio. She wasn't in the mood for news, not right now. She got up and let Coaly out for a run, watching the fire while she waited for him. About five minutes passed. Then she heard the dog barking. She hurried down the entry hall, opening the door. It sounded as if he was out near the barn.

  "Coaly!" Breanna stepped onto the porch, listening. "Coaly, come here, boy!"

  She had just turned to fetch the flashlight when she heard a sharp yelp. A few moments later, Coaly scurried onto the porch, favoring one hind leg. "Oh, Coaly!" She closed the door after he'd hobbled inside, kneeling to check him. He whined when her fingers grazed his right haunch. "What happened, boy?"

  The dog lifted one ear and stared at the door. The hack­les rose on his back. Breanna stood and slid the dead bolt home. Walking back up the hall, she studied the paned glass windows. Inky blackness coated the squares. The cloak of night beyond the room was impenetrable. Did the light from the lantern seem bright from out there? Could she be seen?

  She shrank back into the shadows. The log walls closed in on her. Her heart thudded like the suspenseful drumbeats in a horror movie. Coaly dragged himself to his feet, still snarling. He limped to the living room, glaring at the end windows. There was someone out there. She knew her dog. He didn't react like this to other animals.

  After several minutes, Coaly finally relaxed. His limp seemed less pronounced, too. Breanna ran her hands over him again, anger welling inside her when he flinched. Kicked, surely, or hit with something blunt. She couldn't feel any punctures on his skin. Smoothing his soot-black fur, she rested her cheek atop his head for a moment.

  "Sleep won't come easy tonight," she whispered, giving him a pat. "But I suppose we should turn in."

  She turned off the lantern, waiting for it to sputter out so she could see the yard. Nothing moved. Going to the bed­room, she undressed in the darkness, groping for her night­gown. Tugging it on, she folded back her bedding and slid between the cool sheets. Lying on her side, she watched the windowpanes above her, uncomfortably aware of the fra­gility of the glass partition. What if she slept too soundly? What if Coaly didn't hear the soft fall of footsteps if some­one approached the house? What if, before she could react to the noise, a hand shattered the glass and reached in?

  Tyler reached for a sandwich. He took a large bite and chewed slowly, watching Jack examine the twenty-dollar bill from Breanna's purse.

  "There's no question," Jack finally agreed.

  "So what's our next move? Can I get her the hell out of there?"

  "Nope."

  "Why? You said get proof, and I got it, dammit. What more do you want? Blood? Hers, to be specific?"

  Jack strode to the kitchen, pouring himself a mug of cof­fee. "Tyler, I've got new information on her."

  "What?"

  "She passed some bad stuff in town yesterday."

  Tyler tossed the remainder of his sandwich on his saucer. "Come again?"

  "You heard me. She passed a bad twenty when you two were in town yesterday." Jack turned, leaning his hips against the counter, "it's a positive ID. The clerk described her and the Honda.''

  "It's a mistake!" Tyler leaped up from his chair. "It has to be."

  "No mistake. I'm sorry, old friend." Jack gazed into his cup for a moment, then shook his head. "You know, Ty­ler, it's possible she's been coerced. If it could happen to Van Patten, it could happen to her. I'm not saying she's not a nice gal, just that she's in one helluva situation. If she turns federal witness, we can get her off with a light sen­tence."

  Tyler walked to the window, staring out at nothing. "I tell you, Jack, she's not involved. I don't know how she got hold of another counterfeit bill, but she's not involved."

  Silence settled in the room. Jack scuffed the floor with the heel of his boot. "I wish I could be sure of that." After a moment, he looked up. "You fallin' for her?"

  "No." The denial came fast, the truth more slowly. Ty­ler sighed. "Oh, hell, I don't know. What's love?" He laughed and shook his head. "I like her. We're friends, we have a lot in common. And I sure don't want her hurt."

  "Friends," Jack said with a snort. "Sounds like a ter­minal case to me."

  "Yeah, well, you're a century behind. Nowadays, men and women can be friends."

  "We can't tip her off. You do understand that?" "Yes, I understand, Jack. I don't like it, I think you're wrong, but I understand."

  "If she isn't tied in with them..." Jack sighed, the sound heavy, tired. "My advice to you is to convince her to leave, without compromising our position."

  "I've tried that."

  "Give it another shot. Morrow's an odd one, unpredict­able. I believe he could be violent. If she's innocent and steps on his toes, she could be in trouble.

  Chapter Eight

  When Breanna opened the door the next morning to let Coaly out for a run, she saw a piece of meat lying on the ground next to the porch. She gaped at it for a long while, holding Coaly back so he wouldn't try to eat it. Gingerly she lifted the meat between two fingers. A fine white powder coated the blood-red grain.

  Afraid to let her pet wander the yard alone in case there were other pieces, she followed him closely, growing an­grier with every step. Unless she missed her guess, this meat was poisoned. And it had been left by the porch for her dog.

  Calling Coaly back to the cabin, Breanna shut him inside with her, then stepped to the nearest window to examine the meat in a stream of sunlight. White granules. She took a sniff. The trace of sweetness seemed vaguely familiar. A loud knock on her front door startled her.

  "Who is it?"

  "Your favorite fence builder. Who else?"

  She let out her breath in a shaky sigh. Of course, it was Tyler. Who else would it be? "Come on in. It's not locked."

  She heard the door being dragged inward, then the thunk of his boots as he stomped them clean on the entry rug.

  He walked into the living room, holding up her lavender bikini underwear, his face alight with laughter. "For some reason I thought of you the moment I got dressed this morning, and I haven't been able to get you off my mind since." His smile faded. "My God, what's wrong? You're white as a sheet."

  She held up the meat. "I just found this on the porch. There's a white film on it, Tyler, and I think it might be poison."

  He strode toward her, tossing her lacy underwear toward the sofa. Snatching the piece of steak from her, he stepped to the window to examine it. "Wash your hands. Do you have any plastic wrap?"

  Breanna indicated a drawer and ran to the sink, pumping on the rusty handle. Water spewed into the washbasin she held under the spout. "What is it? Will it go through the skin?"

  Tyler took a smell. "White arsenic."

  "Arsenic? Are you sure?"

  "Not positive. It's mixed in with something else. I'm not sure what, but it smells like powdered milk."

  "Powdered milk, of course! I knew I recognized it. Ty­ler, arsenic would kill Coaly. Someone tried to poison him."

  Tyler scrutinized the dog. "As little as six one-hundredths of a gram can be fatal for a person, so, yes, if he ate all this, it would probably kill him. Are you sure he didn't get any?"

  Breanna couldn't help wondering how he knew so much about arsenic. "Yes, I'm sure." Drying her hands, she tried to smother the fear rising in her. "Tyler, why would any­one want to kill my dog?"

  He opened her drawer and pulled out a sandwich bag, depositing the meat in it and running his fingers along the zip-lock seal. "God, I don't know." Stepping past her to the sink, he pumped more water to scrub his hands, then took the towel she held out to him. "I'm going out to check the property, just to make sure there's nothing else out there."

  She swept her hair back from her face. "I'll put some coffee on and get dressed."

  Tyler spun on his heel and left the cabin without a back­ward glance. Once outside, he let loose a string of low curses. If he could have gotten his hands on the people re­sponsible at that moment, he would have str
angled them. As he walked around the yard, his anger turned to fear. They were growing desperate to get Breanna out of the way. What they might do next was anybody's guess. He had to con­vince her to leave. Fast. And he was forced to do it without telling her why.

  By the time Breanna had finished dressing, Tyler was sitting on the lawn, basking in the morning sunlight. She poured them each a mug of coffee and went to join him. For a long while he said nothing, just stared at the road with a scowl on his face. She studied each separate angle of his features. The blade of nose jutting from his thick brows al­ready seemed familiar to her. When he smiled, she knew exactly how his lips would quirk up at one corner in that lopsided grin of his. But for all that, she had no more idea what he was thinking than when she'd first met him.

  "Breanna, I think you should leave here," he said at last, glancing over at her. "I know you hate to go, but it really would be best. Surely you see that."

  "But—" She shook her head. "I can't leave."

  "That's poison on that meat in there." He leveled steely eyes on her. "Somebody just tried to kill your dog. It's not safe for you to stay here."

  She set her mug on the grass and hugged her knees, gaz­ing at the undergrowth on Hungry Hill. "Tyler... I can't leave. Try to understand. Maybe from your viewpoint it looks foolish, but from mine there's no choice. When my grandmother was dying I promised her I'd come here, and I promised her I'd stay."

  "What kind of a grandmother would ask that?"

  Sudden, white-hot anger surged through Breanna. "What does that crack mean?"

  "Exactly what it sounded like. Deathbed promises! They're the worst kind of blackmail, manipulating a per­son from the edge of the grave. She would never have wanted you to stay here at the risk of your safety, not if she was any kind of grandmother."

  "My safety isn't in question here. The threat was to Coaly."

  "Oh, and he's expendable?"

  "No, he's not expendable. What's your problem? You've no right to talk to me this way."

  "Oh, I don't? Maybe I care what happens to you. Maybe I'm making it my right."

  "Is that so?"

  "Yes, that's so."

  She dug her nails into her knees and refused to look at him. "I'll take care of Coaly. I'll watch him."

  "End of problem? That doesn't take care of the who. Somebody's getting nasty, real nasty. What will they do next? You think you're pretty tough right now, but what happens when the next threat's to you?"

  Before she thought, she said, "There's already been a threat to me. You don't see me running, do you?"

  The ensuing silence was so frigid that she felt certain a loud noise would shatter it.

  "What kind of threat?"

  "Nothing. It wasn't important."

  "Breanna, what kind of threat?"

  "Nothing! You don't have to know every little thing."

  "Maybe I want to." "And that's your problem, Mr. Ross, not mine."

  He bounded to his feet, slopping hot coffee down his leg. She saw him flinch. The denim of his jeans was soaked and steaming.

  "Are you burned?" she asked anxiously.

  "I'm burned, all right," he replied in a clipped tone. "I want to know what happened. Are you going to tell me? There's no crime in caring what happens to you."

  "Oh, Tyler, it's not that. It's just—well, if I tell you, it'll make you all the more upset."

  "So, upset me."

  "It was nothing, really "

  "Bree-aann-aa?"

  "Well, it really wasn't. I went down to take a bath and somebody stole my clothes."

  "And? Don't stop. I can see in your eyes there's more."

  "Well, when I made it back to the—"

  "Made it back?"

  "Well, yes, I was naked. It wasn't easy, especially with­out shoes."

  He knelt again, being more careful of his coffee this time. "The stickers, ah yes, I remember. So you ran up to the house in your altogether?" A glint entered his eyes. "What else?"

  "Well—um—when I got up here, my clothes were on the porch." In a much lower voice she added, "Slashed."

  "What?"

  "Slashed," she repeated, a bit more loudly.

  "Slashed? With a knife, you mean?" He was talking a little more loudly, too, she noticed. Almost yelling. "Let me get this straight. You were in the creek naked. Someone stole your clothes, slashed them with a knife and left them on your porch?"

  "Of course I was naked. You don't take baths with your clothes on."

  "You are being deliberately obtuse. I can't believe some­thing like that happened and you never told me about it! My God, don't you realize—? Breanna, it could have been you someone took a knife to! Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

  "I didn't tell you about it because I knew you'd act just like you're acting." She stood and glared down at him. "It gives you more ammunition to convince me I should leave. Well, I'm not. This is my land, and nobody, not you or anybody else, is going to run me off it."

  With that, she stormed off to the house. Tyler stared af­ter her for a moment, then sat down on the lawn, so angry with himself that he could have screamed. While he sat there, he did his best to calm down. From her viewpoint, things weren't nearly as serious as they were from his. She knew nothing of the counterfeiting. Given that fact, he could understand her thinking. He could also see why she was angry. Just who did he think he was? He had no busi­ness pushing her around, no business preaching to her, no business caring the way he cared "

  He clenched his teeth. As Jack would say, he had a job to do. And he was dangerously close to losing all objectivity. He was spouting off, losing control, forgetting who he was and what she might be.

  She wasn't leaving. Not that it was any big surprise. His only option now was to try to protect her. To do that, he needed to be with her. And to be with her, he had to make up with her. A humorless grin twisted his mouth.

  When Tyler knocked on the door, Breanna was seated at the table braiding her hair. As she twisted it atop her head, she called "Come in!" through the hairpins she clenched between her teeth. She liked the effect, sort of a hiss.

  He walked to the end of the hall, resting his shoulder against the logs. "I'd like to apologize."

  She pulled one hairpin from her teeth, jammed it in her hair and slurred, "I'm listening."

  "I'm sorry for sounding off. I shouldn't have. It's just that I—well, I'm worried, that's all, about what might happen."

  Taking the last hairpin out of her mouth, she finished fastening her braid. "Just as long as it's clear. I'm not leav­ing."

  "Believe me, you made it perfectly clear."

  "You won't pick at me about it anymore?"

  "I don't promise that. But I won't pick at you anymore over this."

  She said nothing.

  "Look. How about dinner out tonight? A peace offer­ing. Do you accept?" Coaly sat between them, tail wag­ging, eyes darting to each of them as they spoke. Tyler glanced down at him. "You can't disappoint him. Think how he'd miss me if you stay mad forever."

  She smiled. The truth was she would miss Tyler, too. "Dinner sounds nice. One thing, though. Don't say any­thing derogatory about my gran again. You can say a lot of things, but never about my gran."

  "Is that what got you so boiled?"

  She shrugged one shoulder. "It was what started it. And once I get started, I sort of escalate. I'm sorry. I guess I overreacted."

  "I didn't intend to slam your grandmother. I just think if she were here, she'd be telling you to leave, too. I'm sure she never meant to lock you into an impossible situation."

  Breanna shot him a warning glare.

  "And I'm equally sure she was a wonderful person," he added quickly.

  "Yes, she was. The best grandmother ever."

  "Not the best. Mine was the best." His eyes began to twinkle. "Truce? How's eight o'clock sound? We'll go to the Wolf Creek Tavern. Over dinner, maybe we can plan some kind of strategy to put a stop to this nonsense."

  "That sounds a who
le lot more acceptable to me than chucking everything and running."

  "Somehow I kinda figured that." He leaned around the corner and lifted the plastic bag of meat from the counter. "I have a friend who can analyze this. I think I'll get it checked."

  "You have a friend who analyzes poisons?"

  "Yeah, a chemistry teacher at the high school. I grew up with him. See you at eight, then?"

  She nodded. "I'll be ready."

  Just before the door closed, he called, "Keep close tabs on Coaly in case I missed something out here."

  Close tabs, Breanna discovered, meant keeping Coaly locked in the house with her while she worked. His whining nearly drove her mad, but she toughed it out, typing, dab­bing white ink over her mistakes and muttering. By eleven her nerves were jagged. When she heard someone pull into the driveway, she gave such a start that she jumped up and bruised her knee on the edge of the table. Limping to the window, she looked out. A blue Ford pickup sat beside her Honda, and she glimpsed a man climbing the retainer wall steps. A moment later, a knock came on the door.

  Breanna stepped into the entry hall. For a moment, she considered calling out before she opened up, but that seemed so timid that she discarded the idea and turned the knob. She had no sooner done so than she wished she had erred on the side of caution.

  Chuck Morrow stood on her porch. Ten years had turned him to fat around the middle, but otherwise he seemed un­changed. His deadpan brown eyes slid over her. He smiled the same sneering smile. And, as before, he managed to make her feel violated just by looking at her. Breanna's stomach lurched.

  "What do you want?" she asked.

  Her heart leaped when he put a boot on her threshold and braced a shoulder against the jamb. Instinctively she stepped back, wedging herself between the door and the wall to keep Coaly in the house.

  "I just came to chat." He spoke barely above a whisper, his tone low and suggestive.