Berry was just finishing the dinner cleanup when her mother came into the kitchen. "Have you already put the leftover spaghetti away?"
"Just now."
Caroline opened the refrigerator and took out the sealed container, handing it to Berry. "Would you please warm a plate of it for Deputy Nyland?"
"Sorry?"
Caroline took utensils from the flatware drawer. "He and Dodge just came in together."
Berry glanced through the kitchen window toward the back of the property, where the investigator had disappeared almost an hour ago, saying for her to be ready to discuss her relationship with Ben when he returned after having one cigarette. "How'd that happen?"
"I have no idea. But they're here, and Deputy Nyland admitted that he hasn't eaten all day. The least we can do is offer him some supper."
"The least we can do? Mother, he hates me."
"Don't be silly. And when you come, bring the tea pitcher, please."
Her mother left the kitchen, taking the flatware, a place mat, and a napkin with her.
Berry stared at the food container that had been thrust into her hand, and it felt as alien as all the other disruptive elements that had been thrust at her over the past twenty-four hours.
A violent act, something totally beyond her realm of experience.
A criminal investigation, which was foreign to her.
A
deputy sheriff, who was blatantly skeptical of every word out of her mouth.
A private investigator, whose presence in her life was inexplicable.
She placed the food container in the microwave and set the timer. As she watched it count down, she puzzled over her mother's decision to retain the services of Dodge Hanley, a man who was rough around the edges, to say the least. He was the antithesis of Caroline's other acquaintances, who were generally prosperous businessmen, bankers, lawyers, doctors, cultured and refined men like Berry's dad had been.
Moreover, Caroline, who was ever a lady, seemed to take no exception to Dodge's off-color comments. That, to Berry, signaled a worry. There was only one explanation for Caroline's tolerance of his coarseness: she felt he was necessary to them. He was the kind of man you wanted at your back during a fight, which meant that her mother expected one.
Berry feared one, too. Oren wouldn't give up. That she knew. His obsession with her had caused her world to tilt. She had used the last two months to try to get it back on solid footing. But last night, it had been overturned and was now completely out of control. Her control. She seemed incapable of reclaiming command.
But she must. And in order for that to happen, she recognized that things would get worse before they got better.
The microwave dinged. She dumped the spaghetti onto a plate, added two slices of garlic bread, then put the plate and the iced tea pitcher on a tray and carried it into the dining area, where the other three were gathered around the table. Her mother had laid a place setting in front of the deputy, who stood up when Berry approached the table.
"I hope I didn't put you to any trouble."
"No trouble." She served him the plate of food and set the tea pitcher on the table. He didn't sit down until she'd taken a chair.
Then he didn't touch anything until her mother said, "Don't let it get cold." He put the napkin in his lap, picked up the fork, and dug in.
He was such a presence. In the semicircular dining area, he seemed exceptionally large, and not only because of his physical size. He was overbearing in intrinsic ways, too. Berry was aware of every blink, every motion. He robbed her of air. But she seemed the only one to be affected.
While he ate, Dodge, with Ski's permission, told them about Oren's coming to the house on foot from a hidden parking space nearer the main road, and his apparent stop at the bait shop restroom.
"That makes me feel a little better about failing to get his license plate number," Berry said.
"You couldn't have if you'd wanted to," her mother said.
Dodge asked her if Oren had ever driven a Toyota.
"I don't know. I never paid attention to his car."