Caroline turned her aside, and the two began to speak in undertones. Having been shut out of the confidential conversation between mother and daughter, Dodge and the quasi cowboy sized each other up. Finally the cowboy said, "Ski Nyland."
Dodge shook the large hand extended to him. "The deputy sheriff."
"That's right."
He had cool gray eyes and the no-nonsense demeanor that Caroline had described. Dodge said, "I heard about you."
"Okay." Then after a beat, "Who're you?"
Under the strained circumstances, Dodge took no offense at his directness and answered in kind. "Friend of the family." He glanced over his shoulder in the direction the blonde had taken, but she had disappeared. Coming back around to Nyland, he asked, "Ben Lofland's wife?"
The deputy nodded. "And she's not a happy lady." His cell phone chirped. "Excuse me." He turned his back on Dodge to take the call.
Berry and Caroline were still conferring in whispers, leaving Dodge to his own devices. He decided to go and look for Ben Lofland's unhappy wife, who appeared to be in desperate need of someone to talk to.
And just like that, he realized he was in. Committed. This was his kid, his problem, his fight.
A half hour later, Dodge's cell phone rang. He saw the caller was Caroline. As soon as he answered, she asked, "Where'd you go?"
"Outside to smoke."
"We're on our way out."
"Have you told Berry--"
"No."
He digested that, then said, "I'll be in my car."
They disconnected. Dodge made his way along the landscaped pathways of the hospital campus to the parking lot where he and Caroline had left their cars in side-by-side slots. He finished his cigarette, got into his car, and started the motor so he could turn on the air conditioner.
Atlanta could have its humid days, but, shit, this air felt like a wet blanket. It clung to hair, clothes, skin. Its density congested nasal passages and bronchial tubes. The unrelenting humidity was one reason he hadn't been sad to abandon the coastal plains of Texas thirty years ago. The only reason.
He was watching the exit doors as the two women emerged. Berry was a full head taller than Caroline, but her limbs were as slender, and she moved as gracefully. When they reached the cars, Caroline bent down and spoke through his lowered passenger window. "Follow me."
He nodded and looked past her toward Berry. She opened the passenger-side door of Caroline's car, then tipped her sunglasses down and regarded him curiously across the roof of the car. After a long moment, during which Dodge's heart acted like a jackhammer, she replaced her glasses and got in.
It was several minutes before his cardiac system settled down, but he continued to wonder how Caroline had identified him to Berry. What explanation had she given for his sudden presence in their lives?
Well, whatever, it wouldn't be long before he found out.
From the hospital parking lot, the drive to the lake house took seventeen minutes. Three of those minutes were spent at traffic lights on Bowie Street, which was the main drag through the center of Merritt.
Just past the high school football stadium on the outskirts of town, Caroline turned onto Lake Road, which was aptly named because, five miles beyond the turnoff, it ended at a three-way stop with the lake lying directly ahead, separated from the road by a bait shop/convenience store, a fishing pier, and a public boat ramp. The left and right extensions of the T were narrow roads lined on each side by forest, mostly pines.
Caroline turned left. The road followed the curves of the lakeshore. The occasional houses they passed were upscale and exclusive judging from what Dodge could see of them behind extravagant landscaping and estate walls. A few of the houses and several waterfront lots were advertised for sale. Caroline King Realty, the signs read. Her name was written in cursive white letters on a deep green background. A little gold crown was perched on top of the capital K.
Her house sat about a hundred yards off the road in a clearing that had been carved out of the surrounding woods. Pines and oaks gave way to cypresses nearer the lakeshore. The calm water reflected the sun like a mirror. A short pier jutted out over the water, but Dodge didn't see a boat.
The house itself was surprisingly modest, not nearly as grandiose as some they'd passed. The clapboard exterior was painted dove gray, accented by white window shutters and columns along the porch. There was a patch of yard in both front and back, the St. Augustine grass surrendering gracefully to the forest floor at the perimeter of the clearing. Well-tended flower beds
provided patches of brilliant color, the plants neatly tucked under blankets of pine straw.
He pulled his rental car alongside Caroline's, cut the engine, and got out. Again, his knees felt unreliable.
Caroline said brightly, "Let's go inside to make introductions. Get out of this sun. Berry and I tend to freckle."
He was about to say, I know. He'd spent one whole night trying to get around to kissing each one of her freckles. But still clueless as to what Caroline had told Berry about him--certainly not that--he said nothing as he followed the two women up a set of back steps and through a door that opened directly into the kitchen.