Dark River Road (75 page)

“If you want to report a possible crime, you gotta fill out the report.”

“I want to talk to someone about it first.”

“I’m listenin’.”

“Never mind.”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the report would hit the round file before he got out the front door. Well, he’d done his duty. Now he’d try something else.

Two days and a couple dozen calls later, he realized there wasn’t anyone willing to help. City councilmen, state police, animal control, even the media—no one seemed to care. It was unbelievable.

“There’s a pit bull rescue group in DeSoto County,” Cinda suggested. She handed him a glass of crisp white wine. “I know the woman who heads the group. Want me to call her and see if she has suggestions?”

Chantry looked at her for a moment, appreciating the sight of her standing in his kitchen looking so cool and composed in white linen with her pale hair piled atop her head and held with pretty combs. She was searing salmon on the Jenn-air, and had put an apron on over her sleeveless linen suit.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m willing to try anything about now.”

“Just don’t expect miracles. Here. Have an appetizer.”

He looked at it, some triangular shaped thing that looked all puffy dough. “What is it?”

“Delicious. Try it, then I’ll tell you.”

“I’m not that adventurous when it comes to food.”

“Broaden your horizons. Take culinary risks. Any man willing to brave Billy Mac Stark should be able to handle a spinach puff.”

It was pretty good, he had to admit. He ate three, then said, “Billy Mac’s not the only one involved. And I wouldn’t put it past him to do something bad.”

“Really?” Focused on the salmon, she didn’t look up for a moment. When she did, she paused with the fork in mid-air. “Does this have anything to do with the mysterious noise you heard outside the other night?”

He hadn’t told her what he’d found. It hadn’t seemed necessary. He should have known she’d put two and two together. “Yeah. A little.”

“I don’t want to know the details.”

“No. You don’t.”

She stared at him. “Are you in danger, Chantry?”

“No more than usual.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Hardly.” Cinda moved the salmon from the grill to a plate. “You’ve been in trouble ever since I’ve known you, when you beat up Frankie Patton for shoving me.”

“We were in second grade.”

“And you’re still reckless.”

“That’s part of my charm.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “You know, I think it just may be. You were the bad boy I wasn’t supposed to like.”

“But you did anyway.”

“Oh yes. But not because you were bad.”

“Women always like thinking they can reform misguided men and mold them into something they think they want.”

“Don’t lump me in with your other women, Romeo.”

He pointed to the salmon. “Is that ready to eat yet? And I’d never lump you in with any other woman. It’s always been just you.”

It was true. And he could tell from her smile that she knew it. There was something vaguely comforting about that. Or maybe just comfortable. New territory, this, the feeling that Cinda knew him as well as he knew himself and liked him anyway. He didn’t have to pretend to be someone else. Not that he ever had, but he’d always felt like he fell short of the mark, even with his grandparents. Even with Mama. Maybe especially with Mama.

After they ate, they went into the den. It was still too hot to sit outside, and even if it was cool enough, the mosquitoes were ferocious. Instead of TV, he hit the stereo, one of the local stations that played music from the eighties and nineties as well as current hits. Cinda kicked off her shoes and sat with her head resting on his shoulder, sipping wine.

They didn’t have to talk to feel comfortable together. It was almost like it’d been with Tansy when he was a kid, this level of familiarity and acceptance. Maybe real love wasn’t all about passion and wild emotion, but a feeling like coming home. God. He didn’t want to think too long about that, didn’t want to risk losing what he’d never had anyway. He’d never felt at home anywhere. Why take unnecessary risks?

Still, it was tempting to entertain the fantasy when he sat with Cinda like this, her cuddled up close to him and smelling so good. He could almost think of a future with her, something besides just the moment.

Days were getting shorter, but it was still pretty light at eight-thirty when someone knocked on his door. Roused from a light sleep, Cinda sat up and yawned while he got up to answer the door. Chris Quinton looked at him, then his gaze went to Cinda still on the couch. A wry smile twisted his mouth.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

Chantry didn’t move from the doorway. “What’s up?”

“Trouble.”

“For—?””

Chris tilted his head toward Cinda. Chantry stepped back and let him in. On the stereo, Police was singing a song about
“every breath you take, every step you make, I’ll be watching you”
and he thought about Chris always seeming to be somewhere close by. Like a dark cloud.

“Hey,” Cinda said to her cousin, and he smiled grimly.

“Hear you’re spending a lot of time here in the carriage house lately.”

Cinda’s gaze cooled. “And?”

“And it’s stirring up shit.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Personally, I think you should do what you want. What you always wanted to do since we were kids. But you might want to think about discretion for now.”

“Speaking of,” Chantry said before Cinda could respond, “how’s it going in your corner?”

Chris looked at him. “I haven’t said anything yet. Hell, I know what you’re thinking. Maybe you’re right. But when she left town it didn’t seem urgent.”

“Yeah.”

Cinda got up from the couch. “Who left town? And what does this have to do with me?”

“Nothing. Paolo told Granddad you’re sleeping with Chantry. And you know he’ll tell Aunt Cara if he hasn’t already, and she’ll raise nine kinds of hell.”

Cinda shook her head. “Paolo wouldn’t be that indiscreet.” Chris just looked at her, and Cinda’s eyes narrowed. “Damn him. Maybe he’ll find Motel Six more to his liking tonight.”

That’d suit Chantry well enough, but he didn’t say it out loud.

Cinda set down her wine glass and fiddled with a loose strand of her hair. “So what did Granddad say?”

Chris’s eyes shifted from Cinda to Chantry and he blew out a short breath. “That it’s time he did something permanent about the riffraff littering Cane Creek.”

So it wasn’t so much a warning for Cinda as it was for him. That was okay. He’d faced down old man Quinton before. Chantry shrugged when Cinda turned to look at him.

“That’s nothing new. He’s been trying to get rid of me since I was a kid.”

“But you’re not a kid any longer,” Chris said, “and he won’t use the same tactics. Watch your back.”

“Oh, you mean this time he won’t sic the police on me? This time he won’t try to send me to jail for something I didn’t do?” Chantry grimaced. “Didn’t he try that before?”

“This time it’s different.”

“How different?” Cinda asked, and Chris didn’t say anything for a minute He had this look on his face like he regretted saying anything at all, his mouth all tight and eyes narrowed, but after a couple of beats of silence, he let out a long sigh.

“Dangerous. Swimming with the turtles kind of dangerous. You’ve pissed him off royally this time, and I’m not sure he’s thinking past getting shed of you.”

Swimming
 . . .
the look on Chris’s face and the way he said it suddenly reminded Chantry of Chris’s mama, and how she’d said something about Ted Quinton going off to swim. She hadn’t meant
that
, though, he was pretty sure. Somebody would have noticed that Ted disappeared too suddenly if he was dead. This wasn’t the fifties when folks went missing on a regular basis. People noticed things now. People didn’t just disappear. Did they?

“Whatever happened to your Uncle Ted?” he asked abruptly, and Chris sucked in a sharp breath. His face went pale, and his hands twitched.

Cinda answered, and didn’t seem to notice that Chris looked like he’d just been hit in the balls. “Ted? There was a big argument years ago, and Granddad disinherited him. Sad story, really, and I’ve always rather thought one day he’ll come back to Cane Creek anyway, and all will be forgiven. Why on earth did you think of him?”

“No reason.” That he was willing to say aloud right now. He’d got his answer, and it wasn’t from Cinda. Chris told more with his silence than she did with the explanation she’d probably been told when she was four.

If old man Quinton had no qualms about getting rid of his own son, he’d certainly have no qualms about getting rid of anyone else who crossed him. But had he done that? Or had ole Ted just gotten the hell out of Cane Creek and never looked back? Maybe that was something he needed to find out.

“Anything you can find out about Ted Quinton.”

“Who’s that?”

“The first born son of Bert Quinton. Colin’s brother.”

Silence ticked past in a humming sound. Finally Mikey said, “I didn’t know he had another son. I thought it was just the gruesome twosome. Colin and Cara.”

There were a lot of things Mikey didn’t know. Had never wanted or needed to know. Once Cane Creek was behind them, he’d adapted quickly to his new life. Kids and dogs usually did. Chantry just couldn’t remember ever being a kid himself.

“It’s not one of those things people down here talk much about. Can you find out anything?”

“I can try. Tell me what you know, birth date, mother’s name, that kind of stuff. I have a friend who’s really good at finding out almost anything. I’ll ask her to see what she can find. Probably take a couple of days, though.”

Chantry gave him all the info he had, which wasn’t much. Approximate birth date, and the mother’s name was about it. Laura Quinton hadn’t said quite enough. Maybe he’d see if he could talk to her again, though that was a long shot. Quinton had no doubt set his watchdogs on her by now. She was the weak link. Unpredictable. Erratic. And vengeful. It was the last that made her an important contact.

He hit a brick wall in checking out the rehab centers. No information was given out, and he didn’t luck up like he had the first time. It’d be too obvious to go back out to Six Oaks and hope the housekeeper would say something, so he took the easy way and the next time he saw Chris up at Cinda’s house, he walked up and asked him if his mother was back in rehab.

Chris gave him a wary look. “Why do you want to know?”

He had his answer ready: “She knew my mother, and told me I could ask her some questions whenever I was ready to hear the answers. I’m ready.”

Chris didn’t look convinced. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So she’s in rehab but due to get out in a few days and come back home. Again.”

The way he said it left no doubt he felt a certain amount of bitter anguish about it all, and Chantry could understand that. It had to be hard for him. Not that it excused a lot of what Chris had done. Or hadn’t done.