Autumn Blue (32 page)

He continued to stare straight ahead as he drove along the back side of town.

“We have no intimacy.”

He rolled his eyes. “Dang, I hate words like that.”

“Foreign language?”

He nodded. “Pretty much.” He halted at a stop sign, turned on his blinker, and turned right. “But I’ve heard it before. That
lady I mentioned to you once—the schoolteacher in Dunbar. As I recall, that was one of the words that came up in her good-bye
speech.”

“Oh. You never actually told me you two were dating.”

His brows rose innocently. “Oh?”

“Case in point.”

“I can’t be what you want. I don’t even get it, to tell the truth. I’m like an ape trying to land a plane. Can’t read the
controls, can’t see the runway.”

She smiled softly, feeling a weight lift from her. She reached out to touch his arm. “I made a big mistake when I lured you
from the jungle, where you were happy.”

He put his hand over hers, giving it a squeeze. The corners of his lips rose into a sad smile. “Me go back to jungle now.
Jane go home.”

I
DON’T NEED
the confounded Internet,” Millard stated emphatically. “I’ve survived all these years with good old-fashioned books and I’m
doing just fine.” He gestured toward the neat row of burgundy bound volumes on the lower shelf of his living room bookcase.
“Anything I need to know I can find in the
Encyclopaedia Britannica
.”

Tyson shook his head. “Those things are ancient. I looked up U.S. presidents and the last one in there was Richard Nixon.
What if you want to know about something that happened last week? I promise, once you see how it works, you’ll be hooked.
You’ll probably be online all day.”

“I’m too old and it’s too complicated. Now, quit changing the subject. I believe we were discussing your science project.”

Tyson frowned, sighing dramatically. “I don’t want to do this. I’m not even interested in science.”

“Yes, you are.” Millard gestured out the window. “Everything out there in those woods that fascinates you is science. What
do you wonder about when you’re out there on your belly observing the animals? Surely you must have questions. Don’t you get
curious when you look at the stars and galaxies? What holds our universe together? How is it that the human body needs the
very things that nature provides?” The boy was slouched and practically oozing from a dining room chair, tapping his fingernails
on Molly’s mahogany table. Was anything Millard said getting through? “All you have to do is come up with a question. Your
project is simply the process of finding your answer.”

“I can’t think of a question.”

Millard huffed a sigh of frustration as he pushed out his chair. He walked to the window. Why did this kid have to make everything
so hard? It was a drizzly November Tuesday. The trees in his yard were almost bare except for a sparse crowd of stubborn leaves
still clinging to their branches. They might as well let go, Millard thought. They were destined to rot along with the others
that carpeted his yard. He had given up on raking them, partly because it was a hopeless cause and partly because they hid
the unsightly molehills that dotted his once immaculate lawn. “I don’t know if I’ve got one tenacious mole or an army of them,”
he commented. “Wish I could see what’s going on underground.”

Ty joined him at the window. “Are there any new mounds?”

Millard pointed. “There and there. I’m going to have to break down and order one of those traps, I guess. Trouble is, I don’t
know where to put it. How am I supposed to know where the little rat is headed next?”

Ty glanced over at him smugly. “You get on the Internet and find out about a mole’s network system. I’ll bet it’ll even tell
you if moles are territorial, in which case you’d know whether he’s working alone or not.”

Millard rubbed his chin. “Maybe how to trap ’em, too.”

“I could hook up my computer over here. All we’d need is an outlet and a phone jack.” The kid’s motives were not pure. He
had complained since day one of not being able to play his computer games while imprisoned at Millard’s house. “Did I mention
that you can play
Wheel of Fortune
online—and you don’t have to wait until seven o’clock?”

Millard pretended that didn’t interest him in the least. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said after some thought. “I’ll get the
Internet. You get me that mole.”

Tyson’s brows rose. “Huh?”

“Do your science project on moles. Their habits, motivation, active seasons—everything we’ve ever wondered about them. And
then you create a way to destroy him—or them. Maybe even build a trap. We could certainly put something together out in that
garage. I’ve got a soldering iron, you know.”

Tyson seemed to ponder as he strolled from window to window. When the phone rang, the boy answered, responding to the court’s
computerized voice recognition system automatically. The daily phone calls were just an accepted part of their day. He hung
up and turned back to Millard. “Okay. I’ll get that little sucker.” He glanced around the room. “Where do you want to set
up the computer?”

Millard was clearing the top of the little desk in the dining room where he managed his mail and paid bills when he heard
a string of expletives escape from Tyson’s throat. The boy jumped to his feet, staring out the window. Millard’s eyes darted
to the house across the street. A man was reaching up to Sissy and Rebecca’s window, trying to push it open. He moved to the
next window—Tyson’s—and when it didn’t budge, he slunk around the corner of the house. The boy charged toward the front door.

“Hey!” Millard yelled. “Come back here!” By the time he got to the door, Tyson was already across the street. He snatched
the phone from its cradle and punched in 911.

“There’s an intruder at—well, directly across the street from 727 Boulder Road.”

“Is anyone in the home?”

“Yes—I don’t know. My”—he floundered for the right noun—“my grandson ran over there. I can’t see anyone now.”

He couldn’t wait for the operator’s next question. He tossed the phone to his chair and ran out the door. His breath came
short as he rounded the corner of the Walker house. There was no one in sight. Suddenly he heard loud shouts and a thud. The
back porch railing wiggled in his hand as he climbed the steps. The back door was open.

“Get out of here!” The boy’s high-pitched voice came from the direction of Sidney’s room. “There’s nothing left to steal,
you bastard!”

“Back off, kid. I just came for a visit, that’s all. This is between your mother and me. Just stay out of it.”

Millard heard a loud crash. “Get out of my mom’s room. Get out of my house!” Millard glanced around the kitchen, grabbing
a marble rolling pin, for lack of a better weapon, as he headed toward the hall. Another crash. The strange man backed down
the hall toward Millard, Tyson menacingly pushing him forward with the legs of a spindle-backed chair.

The guy had a gruesome tattoo crawling around his neck. An evil snicker crept from his throat. “You playing lion tamer, boy?
You always liked to pretend. Think you can tame your old man?” He chuckled again. “You’re not the first one to tr—”

Millard brought the rolling pin over the stranger’s head, jerking it tightly against his Adam’s apple. “Maybe you’re not worth
the trouble, you pathetic ground-dwelling mole.” He liked his little analogy, surprised by it as much as the fact that he
had just apprehended the bad guy. Suddenly he felt a painful kick to his shin. An elbow thrust like a battering ram into his
rib cage and he folded.

He saw a flurry of legs. Tyson hurled his weight forward and both bodies crashed to the dining room floor. Millard tried to
stand erect. The pain in his ribs made him catch his breath. Tyson’s fists flailed wildly against the intruder, his lips murmuring
fevered words that no lady should ever hear. A lifetime of grievances, no doubt.

Tyson’s father pushed him off. “Don’t make me maim you, you son of a—”

“Son of a what? A loser?” Ty grabbed at him again. The man swung his arm hard, smacking the boy across the face and sending
him sprawling against the wall. He grabbed one of Sidney’s heavy oak dining chairs and held it over Tyson, poised to bring
it down.

Millard dove. Man and chair came down hard against the table. He heard the sound of breaking wood. Millard started to push
himself up from the floor. Another kick caught him, this time on the side of his head.

Tyson screamed a curse. “You touch him again and I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I mean it!” The boy sobbed between threats.

Millard wanted to get up, but his body wouldn’t move. He heard more scuffling, more taunting, a shattering crash. The window.
They had broken the window. He pushed himself into a kneeling position. There was blood on the carpet where his face had been.
Sirens. Help was coming. One set of footsteps pounded through the kitchen toward the back door, and then there was silence.
“Tyson? Tyson, are you all right?” He felt around for the nearest chair, using it for support as he tried to pull himself
up. A sharp stab of pain made him sink back to the floor amid shattered pieces of Sidney’s lovely hand-painted table.

The boy crawled to him. “Millard!” Ty’s lips were bloody and swollen, his eyes still wild with terror. He reached out, touching
Millard’s arm. “What did he do to you?”

Millard shook his head, wrapping the boy tightly in his long, gangly arms and pulling him close. He was trembling. “The question
is, what has that bastard done to you, son?” Tyson’s body melted into his embrace.

S
IDNEY’S OFFICE
was only a few minutes away from the Ham Bone branch of the Winger County Sheriff’s Department. She found herself speeding,
though Alex had assured her over the phone that Tyson was all right. She pulled into the parking lot, grabbed her purse, and
headed for the entrance of the century-old building without bothering to lock her car.

A middle-aged woman greeted her at the front desk and led her to a room down the hall. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” she
asked as she opened the door. Ty sat alone at a weary oak table in the middle of the small room. Sidney shook her head absently.
“No, thank you.”

“Tyson.” She went to him, appalled by the damage on her son’s face. He held an ice pack to one cheek. His lips were split
and swollen, and a butterfly bandage had been placed on the brow of one already colorful eye. “Your father did this to you?”

Ty looked away from her.

“Oh, Tyson.” She began to cry. The door opened and Alex walked in. He acknowledged them with a nod as he pulled out a chair
for Sidney and sat opposite them. “Are you sure nothing’s broken?” she said.

“The medics checked him out before releasing him to me. We should know something from the hospital about Mr. Bradbury soon.
Thanks for waiting, Tyson. I couldn’t question you until your mom was here.”

Tyson ignored him, fixing his narrowed eyes on his mother. “Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing him again?”

“I’m not seeing him! What made you think—”

“He said he’s moving back to Ham Bone and you know all about it. He’s been at our house before. He was going through your
drawers. He’s the one who stole your money and your stupid jewelry! I told you it wasn’t me.”

Sidney dropped her head into her hands, vaguely aware of Alex sitting across the table from her. “Ty, I’m sorry.” She raised
her eyes to his. “I had no idea. It never occurred to me that it was your father who stole from me.” She shook her head. “I’m
so sorry.”

Tyson refused to acknowledge her. His eyes, still burning with anger, were fixed on a spot on the old plaster wall.

Alex scribbled a note on a pad of paper, raising his brows toward Sidney. “I don’t believe you reported a theft.”

“I’m missing a gold bracelet, a couple of diamond rings and other jewelry—and some cash. I’ll make a list. Did you catch Dodge?”

Alex nodded, pulling something from his pants pocket and dropping it to the worn wood table. A stone-studded gold ring rolled
toward the center, wobbled, and fell flat. “Look what I found.”

Sidney breathed a sigh of relief. “Amilia’s?”

“Yes.”

“Did Dodge have it?”

Alex shook his head. “Tyson, I owe you an apology, too.”

Ty’s head moved slowly in the deputy’s direction.

“I moved Amilia’s TV console to make room for the chest your mom painted. This was hiding in the dust behind the drape. ’Milia
thinks it must have been knocked off when she watered her plants. She just didn’t notice it missing until the other things
were stolen.”

Again, Ty looked away, feigning disinterest.

Alex cleared his throat and turned to Sidney. “We have your ex-husband in custody. His old beater was parked a half mile down
the road from your place. That’s probably how he snuck into the house unnoticed before.” Alex rubbed his shoulder. “It took
two of us to wrestle him down. He was as high as a kite—probably PCP.” She noticed for the first time a slight abrasion on
Alex’s temple, a bruise on the knuckles of his right hand. “There are two existing warrants out for his arrest—auto theft
and possession of narcotics with intent to sell. You’ve got him for failure to pay child support, breaking and entering, theft.”
He glanced at Ty. “If he’s convicted of all these crimes, he’ll be put away for a long time. Is that what you want, Tyson?”

Ty’s lips quivered. “I hope you send him straight to hell.”

The bottled rage in her son’s words chilled her. She reached for him but he pulled away. She had not believed him. His own
mother. How alone he must have felt. It was no wonder he was bitter. She felt helpless. Sinking. How would he ever heal?

“I want to see Millard.” Ty’s face was void of expression, his eyes hard.

Alex stood, reaching for a phone on a small table against one wall. “I’ll call the hospital.” He punched in a number and waited.
“Sheriff’s Department. Checking on Millard Bradbury. He was brought into emergency about forty minutes ago.” He waited. “Can
he talk on the phone? Well, what do you know? Broken ribs,” he repeated aloud, “possible concussion. Anything else?” He listened
intently, his mouth slowly forming a smirk. “Okay, thanks.” He snapped the phone closed. “Apparently your friend Millard has
a daughter who doesn’t like him playing the hero. Sounds like she’s giving him a worse beating than he already got.”