Dawn's Light (15 page)

He knew her too well, and he was pushing the right buttons.

“Besides, it's a great résumé enhancer. A fast-track to the career of your dreams. After a job like this, you can write your ticket.”

She looked around at all the activity. She would love to be a fly on the wall in that power company meeting. Her heart rate sped up at the thought of being in the government loop on matters so important to the nation. And the money—how could she turn that down?

“You're the one making hiring decisions?”

“That's right. And babe, I'm offering you the job.”

She sighed. “If you quit calling me babe, I'll think about it.”

He didn't let that get him down. “Think fast. I can't hold the job forever. We need someone yesterday.”

She did want to take it, but first she should talk to Mark and make sure it was okay with him. Guilt surged through her at the thought of telling Harriet, her editor. What would the paper do without her?

“Let me think about it, at least for a few hours.”

Craig shrugged. “Okay, but don't take long. Now for your article. What would you like to cover?”

“I was thinking I could write several articles. One on the hiring, of course. But I think our readers would really like to hear about what's involved in getting the power grid up and running. Are you going to have to rebuild the transformers?”

“Actually, no. Transformers are resilient because they're surrounded by breakers and all kinds of protective circuitry, so they probably weren't destroyed in the Pulses. It's the control circuits that have to be rebuilt.”

He explained to her how things worked. She took careful notes, trying to understand so she could present it correctly in her article.

“Now do you see why I need someone to handle the PR?” he said. “It takes over an hour with each reporter, to explain to them how all this works and what we're doing to fix it. And that's just the electricity. There are a million other facets of our work that people are curious about. I don't have time to do this several times a day. And whoever takes this job is going to have to work really hard to get up to speed. We need to start now.”

She was still writing, trying to get it all down before she forgot.

“Come on, Deni. Help me out. I need you here.”

She stopped writing and looked up. “You know, if it weren't you asking, I'd snap this up. But I think it might be awkward working with you. I'm with Mark now, and I don't want to upset him.”

“Mark.” He said the name as if it were sour in his mouth. “He's a nice guy and all, but I just don't see you with him.”

She breathed a laugh. “That's okay.
I
see me with him, and that's all that matters.”

She saw the tension on his face as he looked beyond her. He swallowed hard. “Besides, if he cares for you, he'll want you to have this opportunity. Anyone would jump at it.”

That was true. Still, she'd rather not commit to anything without consulting him first.

Then again, he hadn't consulted her when he'd taken the job at the sheriff's department. In fact, she had begged him not to do it. He'd ignored her wishes.

It had been the right thing, she saw now. The county needed him. But at the time it had felt like a betrayal. Putting himself in harm's way had frightened her to death.

Craig's eyes were still on her, waiting.

“I'll probably take it, Craig. I know it's a good opportunity, and I think I'd love it. But if I do, I need some assurances from you that it'll be just business. Strictly professional. I wouldn't be coming here for you. I'm coming
in spite
of you.”

He set his hand over his heart. “You really know how to hurt a guy, don't you?”

She felt bad about that look in his eyes. “I'm not trying to hurt you, Craig. Really, I'm not.”

He dropped his hands. “Don't worry about it. Just accept the job. I'll keep the ‘babes’ to myself, and I'll treat you like a colleague instead of the woman I'm desperately in love with.”

If that was any indication of how things would be, they weren't getting off to a very good start. But she couldn't help smiling. “All right,” she said. “When do you want me to start?”

thirty-two

K
AY BALANCED FOUR GALLONS OF COOKING OIL—TWO ON
each side—on her bicycle. The weight in her baskets was almost too much for her thin tires, but she hadn't wanted to buy less for fear that they'd run out.

The oil had become her secret weapon for keeping her family fed.

When the Pulses had first begun, she'd been worried about their nutrition. But over the winter months, as food had gotten more and more scarce, she'd realized her children were getting frighteningly skinny. Mrs. Keegon, one of her elderly neighbors in Oak Hollow, had suggested that she begin cooking more things in oil to boost their calorie intake. It had kept her family from looking like skeletons and provided the energy they needed to get all their hard work done. The extra oil had little nutritional value, but when you were trying to survive, good nutrition was low on the priority list. Keeping those hunger pangs at bay and giving her family fuel for energy was the number-one food priority.

Now that the winter months had passed, more produce was available at the stands along the roads. But those stands often ran out before she could get there. Since the banks had opened, she'd expected to buy more food. But the food supplies in the stores and stands had run out quickly, so she'd had to keep resorting to her tricks.

She had never worked so hard in her life.

Grocery stores hadn't been open in months, but produce stands were. She'd learned the value of buying bushels of field corn, which was used to feed horses. With the help of her elderly friends, she learned to use the corn to make hot cereal, corn patties, corn tortillas, hominy, dumplings, and corn bread. The queen of the microwave, who had ordered takeout more than she'd cooked in the pre-outage days, had finally learned to feed her family for pennies a day. She'd even made a little money selling the bread she baked.

She could also make tortillas with flour, water, and oil. It was cheap, and once she'd figured out how to fry food over the barbecue pit, it had been quick and easy, too. There had even been days when she'd gotten her boys to drink a tablespoon of cooking oil in warm water. That had boosted their calorie intake even more, enabling them to work without getting weak.

But she kept the calorie thing to herself. Her girls wouldn't like it, even though their clothes were so baggy that they hung off them. Hers were baggy too. Funny how she'd done cardio workouts three times a week before the Pulses, just to stay a size ten. Now she was probably a two, but she didn't like it. Her bony look made her face more wrinkled. She needed a little more padding to smooth the wrinkles out. Kay didn't mind looking forty-six, but she didn't want to look a day over it.

She heard a car behind her and looked over her shoulder. Mark honked his patrol car's horn and slowed beside her. “Hop in,” he said. “I'll take you home.”

Thankful, she got off her bike. Mark got out and loaded it on the bike rack at the back of his car. They'd outfitted all of the patrol cars with them, since the people they arrested often had bikes. They were too valuable to leave sitting somewhere. “Cooking oil, huh?”

“Yep. They were running out fast, so I grabbed all I could carry.”

He secured the bike and opened the passenger door. “Sorry my hunting's been off lately and I haven't been able to bring you food. I haven't had much time.”

She got in. “Oh, Mark. It's not your job to feed us.”

“No, but I like to.”

She watched him walk around the car and get in. “So how are you holding up with Craig here?” she asked.

He laughed. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“You first.”

He shrugged. “I'm fine. Don't like it one little bit, but what can you do?”

“I know. You still have that ring?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled it out. She took it and smiled at the quality of the stone. Deni was going to love it.

“You still going to give it to her?”

“Sometime. But not now.”

“Why not?”

“Because if she's inclined to say yes, I don't want her to have to censor her excitement out of sensitivity for Craig's feelings.”

Kay handed him the ring, watched him slide it back in his pocket. “Admit it, Mark. You'd love to rub his nose in it, wouldn't you?”

He turned into the neighborhood. “Maybe a little. But not enough to do it.”

They saw Deni in the garage. She turned and waved.

Mark pulled into the driveway. The soft smile on his face as he looked at Deni melted Kay's heart. “Thanks for the ride, Mark. And listen—”

He looked at her.

“Don't wait too long. Craig's going to be here for a while. I don't want him to get a foothold.”

“Has he got any plans to move yet?”

“No, but I'm going to go over to Eloise's tonight or tomorrow and start cleaning it up. It's just that his work is so important, and he doesn't have time to think about a place to live. We kind of feel like putting him up is something we can do for the recovery effort.”

Mark drew in a long breath. “It won't hurt the guy to take his suitcase across the street. I'll help him.”

Kay smiled. “I know, and we'll bring up the subject soon.”

“Meanwhile, he's going to park himself here until somebody kicks him out, just so he can be close to Deni.”

“Well, you just do what you can.”

Deni came to the car, mirroring Mark's smile. Leaning down to Mark's window, she looked across the seat. “Mom, are you trying to steal my boyfriend?”

It was clear that Mark felt her pleasure. Kay got out of the car, wishing he would give Deni the ring.

thirty-three

B
ETH CHANGED HER DELIVERY ROUTE SO THAT THE NEWS
paper box in Magnolia Park was the last one she delivered each day. It put her there at about three o'clock, after which she sat on the swing and stared at the Tomlin house, hoping for another glimpse of the widow who didn't know her husband was dead. Her need to see Blake Tomlin's wife and son outweighed her fear of the killer seeing her. Yesterday she'd gotten a glimpse of them, along with an older couple who looked like they might be his parents. They'd probably come to town to search for their son.

The park was more crowded today than usual. Beth watched the house, wondering how the Tomlins could stand to be cooped up on a day like this, the curtains closed, and no windows open. It must be hot in there, not to mention dark.

Two women sat on a bench behind her, talking quietly as their children played. On the breeze, their voices carried farther than they knew.

“Blake wouldn't just take off like that.”

Beth caught her breath and glanced behind her. Blake's wife—the same woman she'd been watching from a distance—sat there with a friend. Beth hadn't noticed her before because today the woman's big hair was tied up in a ponytail. Beth's heart kicked through her chest wall. She stopped swinging and listened.

“Maybe you're wrong,” the friend said.

Beth twisted her swing to look at the woman. She was prettier up close than she'd been from a distance. Her gaze drifted to the toddler who sat in the sandbox only a few feet away from her, hammering a mound of sand with a shovel.

“Danny misses him so much,” the woman said. “He keeps watching out the window for him.”

“I'm sure he's all right. The jerk probably just got the money and ran with it.”

Beth felt horrible for Blake's wife. Some friend.

“That's not true,” the wife said. “Why do you say things like that?”

“Because I know him. I'm just saying that he's probably all right. Alive somewhere. Money does funny things to people. I knew a family once where a guy had a double life. A whole different family in another state. He traveled all the time.”

“He does not have another family!” The woman spat out the words, and Beth stole a look at her again. Her face was red hot. “I need your support, Sharon. Not speculation about what a jerk my husband is. I'm telling you, something happened to him, and the police won't do anything.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I was just trying to give you hope that he's all right.”

He's not all right
, Beth wanted to blurt.
He's dead. A man made him kneel and shot him through the back of his head, all for money
.

Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them back. She watched the angry young mother get up and go to the sandbox. Pulling the little boy out, she said, “Come on, sweetie, we're going home.”

For a moment, Beth wanted to cross the grass and tell everything, to undo the damage the other woman had done. But would telling Mrs. Tomlin that her husband had been murdered really make her feel better?

“Beth, is that you?”

Beth's heart jolted, and she swung back around. Jimmy Scarbrough had ridden up and balanced his bike with a foot. “Jimmy!”

He gaped at her. “Did you cut your hair?”

She looked back over her shoulder at Tomlin's wife. She had turned back and was looking at Beth. Great.

Beth went to pick up her bike and got back on it.

“Beth?”

She shot Jimmy an angry look. “
What
?”

“Why did you cut your hair all off? You look like a boy!”

She felt like crying. “I wanted to, okay? I don't have to ask anybody's permission to cut my hair if I want to.”

She saw the hurt shock registering on Jimmy's face. She had never spoken to him that way. “Ex-
cuuse
me,” he said.

She felt bad then. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to jump down your throat.”

He came closer. “I was looking for you. I followed your route.”

There was a time when that would have thrilled her, but now she had other things on her mind.

“Did I make you cry?” Jimmy asked.

Beth shook her head and glanced back at the woman. She was holding her baby now.

“No, I'm not crying. I have to go.” She took off on her bike, past a wagon being pulled by two horses, dodging a pile another horse had left in the road.

Jimmy would probably never speak to her again. Why would he want to, with her hair looking like this?