“Yeah, I know who.” Dylan bit into his corn bread and watched Adam pick a bone from his fish. “Miss Chevas? You mean your teacher from kindergarten?”
“Yep. She liked you.”
“Get out of town.”
“She did, Dad!”
“Well, I don’t think she did.” Dylan pushed his plate aside and looked into his son’s big green eyes. Even if what Adam said was true, Dylan wasn’t looking for a wife. And ultimately, that was what all the single women within a hundred miles wanted. “You’ve got to quit being so ornery to the ladies. You’ve got to be nicer.”
“Why?”
“ ‘Cause it’s a rule, that’s why.”
“Even the ugly ones?”
“Especially the ugly ones. Remember when I told you that you can’t ever hit a girl, not even if she kicks you in the shins? Well, this is like that. Men have to be polite to ladies even if they don’t like them. It’s one of those unwritten laws I’ve told you about.”
Adam rolled his eyes. “What time is it?”
Dylan glanced at his watch. “It’s almost eight. Put your plate in the sink. Then you can go turn on the TV.” Dylan gathered the other dishes on the table and rinsed them in the sink. He washed the heavy oak table, scooted in the four matching chairs, then set Paris’s cake in the middle.
Living in the same town with Paris was like belonging to the dessert-of-the-week club. He really wished she’d quit bringing him food, but he just didn’t know how to tell her. He knew of her marital intentions, of course. Hell, he was the best prospect in Pearl County, but compared to the other contenders, that wasn’t exactly a compliment. Then there was Dixie Howe. He didn’t know if she was interested in marriage or just sex. Either was out of the question. Just the thought of it shriveled him.
Even if there was a woman he wanted to bring home for the night, he couldn’t. He had a young son, and he didn’t believe in exposing children to that sort of thing. He couldn’t park his car outside a lady’s house for very long without the whole town knowing about it, talking about it behind his back, and speculating on a wedding date. Not only did he want to avoid being the object of rumor for Adam’s sake, he was the sheriff, an elected official, and couldn’t afford that kind of gossip. Especially not after Sheriff Donnelly had been caught with his pants down.
Dylan tossed the dishcloth into the sink and moved to the entry to the living room. He leaned a shoulder against the wall as the theme music for Adam’s favorite television show, Heaven on Earth, filled the room. Fluffy clouds, blue sky, and the beautiful face of Adam’s mother filled the screen. Golden springy curls waved about her face as if she really were the angel she played. America’s sweetheart, Juliette Bancroft, rolled her eyes toward heaven and a light appeared above her head.
The Julie he knew was nothing like the angel she portrayed. When she’d lived with him, she hadn’t been so soft-spoken, and as far as he could remember, she’d never spent one hour in church. Heck, her hair was really brown, the color of their son’s.
“Come sit by me, Dad.”
Dylan pushed away from the doorway and sat next to Adam. Just like he always did, Adam scrambled onto Dylan’s lap and laid his head on Dylan’s shoulder. And as always, Dylan wondered if Adam really understood that what happened on television wasn’t real. That his mother wasn’t really an angel who spread goodness and saved souls. They’d talked about it many times, and Adam had always shrugged and said he knew. Dylan wasn’t so sure. “Remember what we talked about last week?” he asked.
“Yep, Mom’s not a real angel. She just acts like one.”
“Your mom’s an actress.”
“I know,” Adam answered, distracted by the opening scene.
Dylan held Adam close and kissed the top of his head. “I love you, buddy.”
“Love you, too, Dad.”
Hope stared out the window of Number Two Timberline, at the crescent moon hanging at the top of the Sawtooth Mountains like an ornament placed atop a Christmas tree. Its pale light spilled across Gospel Lake. Stars crammed the inky-black night, one almost on top of the other, and Hope was sure she’d never seen so many stars in her life. Like the night before, she was once again struck by the utter silence that surrounded her. No cars, no sirens, no helicopters buzzing overhead. Not even the bark of a neighbor’s dog to drive her nutty.
Her focus changed to her own wavy refection in the glass and the light splashing across the porch and into the dirt yard. Gospel, Idaho, had to be the loneliest place on the planet.
She let the heavy green drape fall back into place. She’d accomplished a lot since that first day. The downstairs of Number Two Timberline was clean, and she’d taken the bearskin from the wall and placed it over the bloodstain on the floor. She’d unpacked some of the boxes that had arrived with her things and cleaned the bedroom across from the bat room. She’d added her own personal touches, and hung her clothes in the closet. There was a lot more to do, but it was past time she got to work.
She moved into the dining room and booted up her laptop as well as her other computer, which also had arrived that afternoon. She placed a throw pillow on the hard chair, then sat at the long table. After the previous night’s chicken bone story, she figured her muse was back. With her fingers resting lightly on the keyboard, she closed her eyes and cleared her mind, freeing the clutter.
Half an hour later, she jumped to her feet. “Shit,” she swore as she grabbed a bottle of Windex and a soft cloth. When another hour passed and cleaning the house hadn’t uncovered her muse, she dragged out her fingernail kit. She chose a polish to fit her mood and painted her nails a deep blood red.
Blood red. She glanced over her shoulder to the fireplace in the other room. She didn’t write true-crime stories. She didn’t write about real people or the secrets and demons that drove them.
Hope rose and blew on her nails as she walked into the living room. With her toe, she pushed aside the bearskin and gazed down at the dark brown stain on the hardwood floor. She wondered what had been so horrible that the old sheriff had felt the only way out was a bullet through his head.
Shelly had mentioned something about kinky sex. People didn’t kill themselves because they liked to be spanked, and Hope wondered just how kinky things had gotten in this house and how much the people in town knew about it.