Casey, Vince, and Miah were in the Churches’ den watching the noon KBCN broadcast later that day, Don’s death still dominating the headlines, no shock. Vince clicked off the TV as yet another uninformative report wrapped, tossing the remote to the next couch cushion and rubbing his face. The gesture said exactly what Casey was feeling. It’s another fucking murder mystery in Fortuity, then, is it? But of course now was a time to keep one’s frustration and anger to oneself. The tone of the room was Miah’s to set, after all.
The man was quiet, sitting in the rocker, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees, staring at the now-dark screen. His expression was stony. He looked ancient, with circles under his eyes and the drawn cheeks of a man who hadn’t eaten or drunk anything in days. But there was life in those eyes again, Casey thought. Determination or strength or at least anger, whereas last night there’d been nothing but blankness.
The floorboards overhead creaked now and then, the sounds of Abilene gathering up her and the baby’s things. She was going to move out. She’d told Casey the previous morning. Rightly, she wanted to give Miah and Christine the space to deal with the brewing investigation, as well as their grief.
She’d talked to Raina and Duncan and would be staying in the guest room of their apartment above the bar until she found her own place.
She was treating Casey kindly. Being friendly, even, though there was sadness weighing down the edges of their conversations. Regret. Maybe a little taste of the mourning now suffusing the farmhouse, though for the death of their romance as well as that of a good man.
Vince broke the heavy silence. “Beer?” he asked the room at large.
Miah shook his head, gaze on the floor.
Casey shook his, too. “I’m helping Abilene move any minute.” At least she’d agreed to let him help. She didn’t hate him—she just couldn’t love him. Last night she’d let him watch Mercy again while she went in for a short shift at Benji’s, and he hoped she’d keep relying on him. He cared about that baby, more than he’d ever have guessed he might, and to hear Abilene say she wasn’t comfortable with that anymore . . .
He sighed and stood.
“Grab me a bottle while you’re up,” Vince said. “Looks like I’m drinking for everybody.” And given that it was noon on a Thursday, he’d told his bosses at the quarry to go fuck themselves. Certainly not the first time.
Casey fetched him the beer, then headed up to check on Abilene’s progress. He knocked softly on the door.
“Come in.”
He found the room nearly stripped. The bed where they’d come together was bare to the mattress, the bedding rolled up in a tangle at its foot. “Wow, that was quick.”
She smiled and shrugged. “I never had much to begin with. Was that the news you guys were watching?” He’d filled her in on the previous morning’s events yesterday afternoon.
“Yeah. Bean died of shock in the back of the ambulance. From the drugs as much as anything, it sounds like. Not from Miah shooting him.” And it seemed the man had spilled enough to implicate himself before he’d gone under for good, if not to name any of his alleged bosses. “If anything, Miah’s going to wind up a folk hero,” Casey said. “People around here loved his dad, and they love justice.”
“I guess that’s something. That he won’t be in trouble, I mean.”
“It’s a lot. Last thing the ranch can handle right now is to lose two of its owners.”