Trapper shrugged with feigned indifference. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not making babies.”
“You didn’t come to town bearing an olive branch, then.”
“No. I bore something a little more…troublesome.”
Glenn’s gray eyebrows wrinkled. “To who?”
“To you, Sheriff Addison.”
Glenn picked up the whiskey bottle and held it tilted above his cup. “Am I gonna need another hit of this?”
“’Fraid so.”
The sheriff poured a generous portion into his coffee cup and took a swig. “What’s going on?”
“You ever heard of Kerra Bailey?”
“The girl on TV?”
“How is it everybody has heard of her but me?” Trapper muttered. But he knew why. Except for ESPN, he avoided most television programming. He avoided news in particular, half afraid of what might be on it one of these nights.
“So what about her?” Glenn asked.
“She wants to interview The Major.”
Glenn listened with mounting interest as Trapper described to him Kerra’s unheralded visit to his office. “I was hung over as hell. She sobered me up real quick by asking would I help her get through to The Major. I had a good laugh, then told her no. Hell, no.”
“But here you are.”
He skipped telling Glenn about their dinner date but told him they’d met again that morning. “She told me she wasn’t going to stop until she had a face-to-face with him. I wished her a good life and washed my hands of it.”
Glenn burped whiskey fumes. “I say again, but here you are.”
“I was afraid she’d do something stupid, in which case, the blame would probably come back to me. Hoping to head that off, I got here before she did and walked her to his door. Far as I’m concerned, I’ve done my part. I’m clear. The lady is now on her own.”
“Well, good luck to her,” Glenn said. “Since he retired, he’s turned down every request. Big names, even.”
“Kerra Bailey might break him. He greeted her as a fan.”
“He was a fan of Oprah, too. He turned her down.”
Trapper wasn’t going to tell Glenn what made Kerra exceptional. That was her secret to reveal. But he’d seen the immediate effect that learning her identity had had on The Major. He’d looked at her in wonder. She’d extended him the long overdue thank-you for saving her life. They’d clasped hands and had been absorbed in cozy conversation when Trapper left unnoticed.
“When would this hoped-for interview take place?” Glenn asked.
“This Sunday evening.”
“This this Sunday?” Glenn counted up the days, then flopped back against the slats of his chair. “The anniversary of the bombing.”
Trapper gave him a somber nod. “She went gaga over the house and setting, so I predict she may be planning to broadcast from there, not from a studio in Dallas. That’s why I stopped by tonight. If The Major consents to do it, your town, the whole damn county, will be overrun. This is a heads-up. Brace for the worst.”
Glenn groaned.
No doubt he realized the tactical implications of such an event taking place. And he still didn’t know the half of it. If Kerra had her way and she got to drop her bombshell on Sunday night, there would be an eruption of renewed interest in Lodal’s favorite son. Keeping the chaos under control would fall to Glenn Addison and his department.
That wasn’t at the heart of Trapper’s worry, though. His concerns were much more ominous than potential traffic jams.
Glenn looked at him glumly. “It may not happen. The Major may send her packing.”
“We can hope.” Trapper stood up. “I need to start back.”
“Before saying hello?” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the living area where a sonorous voice could be heard praying.
“Pass along my apologies to the family.”
Glenn leaned heavily on the edge of the table as he came unsteadily to his feet. “I appreciate the warning, Trapper.” He hesitated, then said, “Mind me asking what his reaction was to seeing you on his doorstep?”
“Civil but stilted.”
“If the girl hadn’t been there, it might have been colder.”
“If the girl hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have been on his doorstep.”
“When did you and The Major last speak?”
“The week I left the bureau.”
“Tore him up, John, that you were kicked out.”
“I quit.”
“Before they could kick you out. He never said, but I think that’s why he went hermit on us.”
“Yeah. I tarnished his hero’s image. Dulled his halo something awful.”
“Don’t say things like that. The Major—”
“Go easy on that whiskey.”
“Trapper, he—”
“Great seeing you, Glenn.” He left.
It had become full dark while he was inside, but as he skirted the yard, he managed to get Tracy’s attention and signaled her to meet him at the SUV. When she reached him, she danced a little jig. “I just scored a goal.”
Trapper fist-bumped her. “Can I ask a favor?”
“Sure. I owe you for the toilet thing.”
“Go inside and whisper to Hank that he needs to check on his dad.”
“How come?”
“He’s getting shit-faced.”
She shot him a grin. “I can do that.”
“Be discreet. I don’t want anybody embarrassed.”
“Got it. You can count on me.”
“You know what, Tracy?”
“What?”
“I think I want to marry you.”
The metal on her teeth flashed when she smiled. “You’re as wicked as they say.” Then she fist-bumped him again before dashing off.
As Trapper drove away, he thought how badly he hated tattling on Glenn, the man he’d known since birth, who’d always treated him like a second son.
Because of their shared vocations in law enforcement, Glenn had more in common with Trapper than with Hank, who was idealistic and optimistic, always finding the good in people and situations, never probing gray areas because to people like Hank gray areas didn’t exist.
Trapper had no faith in goodness and light. People and institutions were fallible and undependable. Fate was a cruel bastard. If a situation turned out all right, Trapper figured he’d simply gotten lucky, but his tendency was to expect calamity. As he did now.
Chapter 5
You’re going to love it!” Kerra said. “It’s perfect.”
“I’m envisioning Southfork.”
“No, more low-slung. Ranchy. Not as formal. His living room has a cathedral ceiling, exposed beams, and a natural stone fireplace that I could stand up in. I want to shoot the interview in that room with him seated in his leather recliner.”
Too excited to sit still as she described The Major’s house to her producer, Gracie Lambert, Kerra paced the narrow space between the motel room bed and the bureau.
“Keep talking,” Gracie said. “I’m taking notes. What’s he like?”
“Exactly the way you’d expect. Strong but humble. Kind eyes. He’s been on camera so much, he won’t need any coaching for that, but he and I are having a couple of getting-acquainted sessions. Come Sunday night, we’ll be at ease with each other. The first chitchat is tomorrow morning. I offered to bring doughnuts.”
“Doughnuts, chitchat, when no one else has been able to get near him for years.”