“Who?” Katie pressed.
Bowing her head, Doreen Sue worked the tissue between her hands. “Like me.”
“Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.” Katie touched her cheek, drawing her head up. “You have so much to be proud of. You kept us going after Daddy walked out. You run your own business and have kept it solvent all these years. You helped me when Sam was born and made it possible for me to keep my son when I barely had two dimes to rub together. You still help me. Every day. You are the most unselfish person I know.”
Fresh tears flooded Doreen Sue’s eyes. “You never said anything like that before.”
Katie squeezed her shoulder. “I should have. It’s long overdue.”
Doreen Sue smiled a watery smile, her heart wedged in her throat. For all its emotional upheaval, the night had been good to her. First a wonderful evening with Martin, now a heart-to-heart with her daughter. There was only one thing that would make it better. “Sometimes at night, I pray Wendy’s forgiven me. Do you think she hates me?”
“No, Mama.” Katie dropped to her knees and hugged her close. “I think she loves you. Just like I do.”
Chapter 13
Ryan was at home the following morning when he got a call from Pete Weston. He’d just finished polishing off a ham and cheese omelet with a side of bacon when the sheriff phoned.
“Thought I’d save you a trip in…another out.” The line crackled with static. “…called.”
“I missed that.” Ryan stretched the phone cord toward the kitchen sink, setting his empty plate on the bottom. Behind him at the table, his mother listened to the morning news on a local AM radio station. “We’ve got a bad connection.”
“Yeah. Happening…over town.” Another burst of white noise. “Darrell Mason called…go see…”
“Mason?”
Weston said something Ryan couldn’t understand. Just his luck the phone lines would act up when Mason was involved. “Pete, I’m going drive out to Darrell’s place before I head in.”
More static. “Thought you…like a plan.”
Whatever Weston said was lost in a jumble of mechanical interference. Assuming he’d been given the green light, Ryan hung up and swallowed the last of his coffee.
“I’m heading out, Mom.”
“I thought you would.” His mother glanced up from her plate of scrambled eggs with grits. The morning update had ended, the radio spitting out an old Glenn Miller tune. “I heard on the news there’s a problem with the phones.” She slathered butter on a piece of rye toast.
“Yeah. That was Pete.” Ryan rinsed his cup at the sink. “We had a bad connection.”
“The report said lines were down most of the night.” Strawberry jam followed the butter. “People are blaming it on interference from UFOs. Apparently, there were a lot of lights spotted near the TNT last night.”
“Probably low-flying planes.” He was too focused on Darrell Mason to worry about green men in silver saucers. Bending, he kissed her cheek, catching the familiar scent of lavender bath soap and rose water. “Gotta run.”
“Be careful, dear. And tell Caden and Eve we’re due for a family dinner soon.”
“Will do.”
Outside, he dropped behind the wheel of his Camaro and cranked the ignition. The drive to Mason’s trailer off Route 2 took no more than ten minutes. Darrell owned a double-wide with a flat roof, brown siding, and white skirting. An ornamental lamppost surrounded by red mums stood sentry in the yard, and a few brick steps led to a forest green door.
Ryan parked in a pull-off area, then sprinted up the steps and rang the bell. The ding set off a round of exuberant barking from a large dog.
“Quiet, Bailey.” Darrell shushed the animal. Seconds later, he answered the door, his hand hooked through the animal’s collar.
“Morning, Darrell.” Ryan had been to the trailer before and knew Bailey, a boxer/lab mix, was friendly but vocal. He offered his hand for the dog to sniff. “I heard you called the sheriff’s office.”
“Yeah. Come on in.” Darrell held the door with one hand as Ryan stepped inside. “You said to get in touch if I heard from Lyle.”
“That’s right.” He tempered his restlessness as Bailey trotted over to greet him. Bending, he scratched the dog around the collar, then gave it a pat on the side. It snuffled around his feet, tail thumping against his leg in a welcoming back-and-forth wag. “Have you seen him?”
“Last night.” Darrell had the same brown hair as his cousin, but his eyes were blue instead of hazel, his nose prominently hooked. He wasn’t nearly as tall as Lyle or as broad-shouldered. Absently, he clicked his thumbnail against his teeth. It was a habit Ryan remembered well, having gone through twelve years of school with him.
“Want some coffee or something?” Darrell motioned to the kitchen. The front of the trailer was one big room with a living area and kitchen divided by a breakfast bar. Except for a rawhide chew bone on the floor by the TV, and an open newspaper on the couch, the place was whistle-clean. Darrell had always been a neat freak.
“No thanks.” All Ryan cared about were the details concerning Lyle. “Just tell me about your cousin.”
Darrell pulled out a stool from the breakfast bar and sat down. Behind him, a Mr. Coffee dripped dark brown liquid into a clear pot. The place smelled of Columbian beans and Pine-Sol. “He was here last night. Didn’t stay long.”
How many hours had they lost before Darrell got around to reporting the incident? “You should have called.”
“I tried. A bunch of times.” Darrell spread his hands and shrugged. “Phones haven’t worked all night. Just got passable this morning. I heard most of the town was on the fritz.”