A Field of Red (34 page)

 “And he just drove away?”

They were in his hospital room. Bright sunlight shone in the windows. Outside, the ground was littered with fallen leaves in a dozen different colors of red and yellow and orange. It looked like the rain was finally gone for good.

 “Just stepped right over me,” Frank said, nodding. “Kept on walking. Searched the police car and found the missing money—”

“Sergeant Graves had it?” Laura asked, leaning forward. “So he’s the one that attacked you and took the money?”

Frank nodded and set down the Jell-O. It was the only part of his meager lunch that he couldn’t stomach. Why did they always serve Jell-O in hospitals? He’d thought it was a myth from watching too many movies, but there it was on his tray. Green and slimy and not the kind of food he was looking forward to—Frank wanted a steak. He leaned over gingerly and handed it to Jackson, who smiled and sat back down on the floor next to the hospital bed to enjoy it.

Frank turned to Laura.

“Yes, it was Sergeant Graves,” Frank said. “Of course, I figured it all out too late, but he was in on it from the start. Helped Lassiter set up the whole thing and then ‘managed’ the investigation all the way through. ‘Managed’ Lassiter, too, right up to the end.”

Laura shook her head.

“Geez, the guy sounds like a real piece of work,” she said. “What about the young man—he got away?”

“Yup—George, the young man, was the one taking care of the girls,” Frank said. “Little Charlie was in yesterday to visit. She said that he was the only one who was nice to them. Evidently, the young woman, Chastity, helped out as little as possible. But the two of them took care of the girls.”

Laura nodded and looked out the windows. A sturdy breeze shook the trees outside, which were painted with the fiery colors of fall, but most of the leaves had already dropped. Winter was right around the corner.

“I still can’t believe it was a cop,” she said. “And I can’t believe he fooled everyone like that.”

Frank nodded. “Yeah, Peters and I were working from that assumption, late in the investigation, like I told you. But we never figured out who it was, until it was too late,” Frank said. “He was clever, I’ll say that much. Apparently, he’d been running a marijuana grow operation up at that farmhouse for years, growing the pot right there in the backyard. Between him being a cop and the high fences, no one ever found out.”

 “Why did he do it?” Laura asked.

“The Chief said Tyler Graves and Nick Martin had had a falling out a long time ago, back in high school,” Frank said. “Nick was a football star back then. King wasn’t sure what happened, but it had something to do with Glenda, Nick’s wife. The Chief is looking into it, but apparently there was a history of bad blood between them for a long time, even though it wasn’t common knowledge.”

Laura nodded.

“Chief King is taking it worse than anyone,” Frank said, looking down at Jackson, who was working on the Jell-O. “He thought of Tyler Graves as his right-hand man, really. The man had King completely fooled for years.”

She looked out the window—it was a sunny day, warmer than usual for late October. The trees were moving in a breeze that dropped more leaves to the ground.

“Have you decided what you’re doing with the reward?” she asked.

Frank nodded. “Splitting it with Deputy Peters, for one,” he said. “He deserves it as much as I do. He got shot twice as much as I did.”

Laura smiled. “You must feel better—you’re making jokes.”

“I am feeling better,” Frank said, nodding. “I can’t wait for the bruising to go down—it hurts every time I breathe. I just wish the food was better in here.”

“I meant, what are you going to spend your money on?” she asked.

He leaned back into the hospital bed. “I’m not sure—probably a new car. Settle some debts.” Frank looked up at her. “Maybe help you out with Jackson’s school tuition—you said it was expensive.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she said, looking down at Jackson.

He nodded.

“I’d like to help.”

Laura looked up at him. “I’m glad you’re thinking about getting a better car,” she said, smiling at him. “Then maybe you can come visit more often.”

Just the idea made Frank smile.

“How is Deputy Peters?” Laura asked. “Is he getting better?”

“Yup,” Frank said, sitting up a little. His back was numbed up and itchy, but at least he could lean back and put pressure on it now.

“It was a good thing he had us both put on those vests,” Frank said. “His vest blocked the shot to his chest, but the shoulder will take a little while to heal. It will be a few weeks before he’s back on duty, and even then, he’ll be stuck at a desk for a while,” Frank said. “If I hadn’t had my vest on…”

Laura looked at Jackson, playing on the floor. The dinosaurs were attacking the leg of one of the hospital chairs, ganging up and working together to defeat the piece of furniture. A T-rex and a Brontosaurus and a whole gang of smaller dinosaurs circled the chair leg and began fighting over the empty Jell-O container.

She looked up at Frank, her eyes a little shiny.

“I was just so scared, when I heard you’d been shot,” she said. “A policeman came to the house, and I was worried because of what you said. But then he said you had been shot, and I didn’t know what to do. For a second, I thought he might be lying. But we were just starting to reconnect, and, for a minute, I thought it was all going to be taken away again.” She looked out at the trees again. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” Laura said.

Frank smiled at her and took her hand, squeezing it. He looked down at Jackson, playing happily with the dinosaurs Frank had bought for his grandson and then back up at his daughter.

“I’m better than okay,” Frank said, smiling. “Just about perfect.”

The setting sun was just touching the top of the ocean waves, painting the edges of the water with reds and yellows. Beyond the beach, tall stands of pine guarded the rocky shore, long shadows stretching out behind the rocks and trees, blending together in a gathering darkness.

Sunset was coming to this quiet cove of salt and sand.

In the distance, a small boat plied the water, bouncing up and down on the gentle swells far out to sea. Probably racing to bring in the catch before the sun set.

Closer to shore, sea birds dipped and soared above the water, screeching in the twilight. Other birds scampered along the beach, stopping to dig at the sand with long bills, searching for food.

The beach was empty. The wooden lifeguard stand stood unmanned. It was far too late in the season, and far too chilly, for beachgoers to come out. Even if they braved the cold water, the setting sun would have chased them from the beach. The parking lot, often full in the summer, stood empty as the sun began to dip behind the watery horizon. Waves marched relentlessly toward the sandy beach, unwatched and forgotten.

A car approached.

The vehicle appeared from between the tall pines, winding in and out of the green, tracing a path down the curvy road that paralleled the rocky coastline.

It was a newer car, not more than five years old. As it approached, it looked somewhat worse-for-wear, but the engine sounded strong and true. Whoever maintained the engine did so with care.

The car slowed and turned into the empty parking lot, purring to a stop next to the sand. Birds skittered away and took flight, leaving the car alone.

The door opened.

A figure climbed from the car, a young man. He stood and stretched, his arms high above him. He stood and watched the water and the waves for a long time. The sun dropped closer to the waves, and the long shadowed stretched out even further.

The waves marched toward the shore, oblivious to the visitor who watched them.

After a while, the young man leaned back into the car, rummaging through a green duffel bag, trying to find something. The young man finally found what he was looking for and stood from the car, closing the door behind him with a solid “thunk.”

George started his way across the darkening beach, taking his time, enjoying the rough sand and the hiss of the ocean. It was exactly as he had imagined it would be, and nothing like he imagined it would be.

He’d imagined someone by his side.

When he reached the water, George dipped his fingers in it. The water lapped at his shoes, but he didn’t care. Instead, the young man simply stood in the surf and stared out at the ocean. It was unclear if he was looking at the crests of water marching toward him, or the setting sun, or the distant boat. Perhaps he watched the birds diving into the tops of the waves.

After a long while, the figure reached into his pocket and took something out. He held it up, looked at it for a long moment. It was the size and shape of an apple but ornate and golden. George rolled the ornate, compact sewing kit in his hand, smiling. He looked at it for a long moment, then lifted it to his lips and kissed it.

“Chas, you made it.”

He drew back and prepared to throw it as far as he could into the water.

But he hesitated.

George looked at the golden orb in his hand for a long moment. He looked at the waves around him, then back at the object in his hand, and then slowly put it back into his pocket.

 The young man stood unmoving, the water and waves crashing around him. The water hissed like snakes on the sand as it ran back to the sea.

He patted his pocket and stared at the ocean, smiling.

Thank you for reading this book - I hope you enjoyed it. Now that you've finished my book, won't you please consider writing a review? If you could, take a few minutes out to
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-- Greg Enslen

Author and columnist Greg Enslen lives in Ohio with his wife Samantha and three children. He’s enjoying the small-town life after two decades in Washington, D.C., and Los Angeles. A Field of Red is Greg’s sixth book. He has published four works of fiction, and he’s working on several more.

All of his books are available on
Amazon.com
and Kindle, and several have been published by Gypsy Publications in Ohio. For reviews, news updates, and more information, please visit his website at
http://www.gregenslen.com
.

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