Candy Apple Dead (9 page)

When I was finally seated at a small table in the corner, I closed my eyes and listened to the chatter from countless conversations underscored by the ceaseless clinking of dishes and cutlery. Weariness tugged at my eyelids and made my muscles ache, and I edged into the corner, hoping that no one would notice me.

I didn’t even bother looking at the menu. I already knew what I wanted. On a night like this, cheese enchiladas in flour tortillas were the only appropriate choice. It might not be low-cal, low-fat, or low-carb, but after one bite, none of those things matter anyway.

After several minutes, a harried waitress shoved a pitcher of ice water, chips, and salsa onto the table, then disappeared into the crowd without a word. Even though I wasn’t thirsty, I filled my glass and turned it in circles so I could watch the patterns it made.

Voices rose and fell all around me as people talked about the kind of day they’d had, what they planned to order, trouble they’d had with children, parents, and bosses. Here and there, mixed up in the normal everyday conversations, I could hear people talking about the fire in low tones.

I thought about the body they’d found in the rubble and felt anger stirring. I wasn’t sure what upset me most, people speculating about who’d been killed and why, or those who didn’t even register the death as important.

It seemed so wrong to spend time living, laughing, loving, hating, crying, struggling with failure, and enjoying the headiness of success, and then to fade off the radar screen of life as if you’d never even been here. And if it
was
Brandon, even the life’s work that might once have testified of his existence was gone. He had no children. No family that I knew of. No one to mourn his passing except a handful of friends.

I pondered the unfairness of it all until the waitress returned to take my order, but before I could tell her what I wanted, a familiar voice rumbled from somewhere behind her, and she left me again. This time, I followed her and found my brother stuffed into a tiny two-person booth next to the kitchen.

Two empty bottles of Dos Equis littered the table in front of him, and a third, half-full, sat in front of his usual large combination plate. He barked a request for more chili verde. The waitress turned and plowed straight into me in her hurry to get away.

I didn’t blame her. Wyatt can be a real pain in the ass when he’s in a mood. When she was gone, I moved closer to the table. “What are you doing here?”

He glanced up, but there was no surprise in his expression. But if he saw me come in, why hadn’t he said hello? His gaze dropped almost the instant it touched my face. “Eating. What about you?”

“I just got here,” I said. “You should have let me know you were coming. I’d have come with you.”

He shrugged away the suggestion. “Too late now,”

“Yeah, I guess. Where are Elizabeth and the kids?”

“Home.”

“So why aren’t you there with them?”

He shot an unreadable look in my general direction and reached for his beer. “Because I’m here.”

Yep, he was in a mood all right, but it had been years since he’d been able to intimidate me. “You have a meeting or something?”

“Something like that.” He cut into a chili verde burrito, paused with the fork halfway to his mouth, and ran a look from my head to toe. “You need something?”

“Yeah.” I knew I wouldn’t get an invitation, so I didn’t wait for one. Sliding into the booth, I mooched a chip from the bowl in front of him. “Why are you acting so weird? What’s up with you?”

He snorted softly. “What makes you think anything’s up?”

“Well, for one thing, you’re not acting like yourself. Unless you drove home and came back, you’ve been in town all day, and now you’re here having dinner alone. What’s the matter, you and Elizabeth fighting or something?”

I meant it as a joke. Their marriage isn’t perfect, but I’ve never seen a better one. When they argue, it’s never serious, and it never lasts. I expected Wyatt to laugh.

He didn’t.

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” he snarled.

My heart dropped like a stone. “Are you and Elizabeth having some kind of trouble?”

Deliberately ignoring my question, Wyatt shoved food into his mouth and chewed slowly.

“You are, aren’t you? What’s going on?”

Wyatt wiped his mouth with his napkin and held back a belch. “Nothing.”

“Why don’t you just tell me?”

“Why should I?”

Obstinate ass. “Because I’m your sister. I care about you.”

He blinked once. Maybe that meant that I was getting through. “Well good. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to talk about it.”

“Come on, Wyatt. You don’t have to be so tough all the time. Everybody needs someone to talk to when things get rough. Trust me, I know.”

He lifted his gaze again. Something had shifted in his expression, but I still couldn’t tell what he was feeling. “Okay,” he said after a lengthy silence, “so things aren’t going so well right now, and I’m staying in town for a few days. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

My mouth fell open before I could stop it. “You’re separated?”

“Temporarily.”

“But why?”

He stabbed his fork into the burrito and ripped off a piece. “That’s between Elizabeth and me.”

I wanted to argue, but since I hadn’t shared the gory details when my marriage was failing, I bit my tongue and nodded. “I’m sorry, Wyatt. Are you doing okay?”

“That depends on how you define ‘okay.’ If it’s having a roof over your head and clean underwear, then sure, I’m fine.”

“Wyatt—”

He cut me off impatiently. “I don’t want to talk about it. You’re welcome to sit here if you want to, but not if you want to drag my life over the coals while you eat.”

I was dying of curiosity, but I’d been in the hot seat plenty of times, and I knew how uncomfortable it could get. Our waitress came toddling back, so I forced a grudging nod and ordered the enchiladas. When she left again, I folded my hands on the tabletop and looked my brother in the eye.

“Just tell me one thing—did you leave her, or did she kick you out?”

“What difference does it make?”

“It makes a big difference.”

He ripped off a piece of tortilla and used it to spoon up a mound of rice and beans. “She kicked me out.”

“Why? What did you do?”

His brows crashed together in a scowl, and he let out a breath heavy with exasperation. “Which part of ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ do you not understand?”

“But you and Elizabeth?—” I broke off with a shake of my head. “The two of you have always seemed so perfect together.”

“Well, things aren’t always what they seem. You should know that.”

I didn’t need the reminder. Then again, maybe I did. My own marriage had seemed solid to those on the outside looking in. Even I’d missed the first two years’ worth of warning signs, and I’d been there for every minute of the trouble. Well, except for the part where Roger brought his pregnant girlfriend home for a romp in my bedroom. I was only there for the last three minutes of that.

But that was
my
marriage. Wyatt has adored Elizabeth since junior high school. There’s no way I’d believe he cheated on her, and Elizabeth . . . well, she’s choir director at Shepherd of the Hills church, for heaven’s sake. She’s not the type to have an affair. But what else could have been bad enough to split them up?

“Is it money?”

Wyatt ignored me.

“The kids? Did something happen with one of them?”

“The kids are fine.”

“Her parents,” I said around another chip. “They’re interfering again, aren’t they?”

Wyatt downed the rest of his beer and pushed the bottle aside. “Her parents aren’t the problem. Just leave it alone, okay? What’s going on with that fire, anyway? I heard they found a body.”

I nodded and decided to back off for now. I could always drive out and visit Elizabeth. She’d probably tell me what was going on. “Yeah,” I said. “They did, but they haven’t identified it yet.”

“They don’t have any idea who it is?”

I couldn’t bring myself to repeat aloud what Dooley had said about Brandon’s ring, so I shook my head and said, “Not yet.”

“Brandon still missing?”

“As far as I know.”

Wyatt scooped up another mouthful of rice and beans. “You think it’s him?”

“How would I know?”

His gaze shot to mine as the waitress slid a hot plate in front of me. “I’m just making conversation, Abs. Don’t be so touchy.”

But I
was
touchy. And I wasn’t even sure why. My feelings were as fragile as a batch of divinity—all frothy and without substance. Apply heat or pressure for too long, and they might just collapse in on me.

I shook my head and dug into my food with all the grace of a bull moose, but that’s the good thing about eating with your brother. You don’t have to be ladylike. “I’m not the only one who’s touchy tonight, you know. I don’t want to talk about Brandon. You don’t want to talk about Elizabeth. What’s left?”

Wyatt shook his head and slid down a few inches on his tailbone. “Thanksgiving dinner with Mom and Dad?”

After Mom lost the sight in one eye and Dad’s arthritis started bothering him all the time, my parents had moved off the mountain and into Denver. That was three years ago, but Mom’s still going through withdrawal at being so far away, and she lives for the holidays when the whole family is together again.

“Now
there’s
a subject,” I said with a laugh, then sobered slightly and asked, “Do they know?”

“About me and Elizabeth?” Wyatt shook his head. “Not yet. I’m still trying to figure out how to tell them.”

That was a problem I could relate to. Dad’s one of those parents who doesn’t handle failure well, and Mom sails through life clutching to the belief that her children are superior in some way to the rest of the world. Letting either of them down is tough.

I swallowed a mouthful of cheese and smiled encouragement. “You’ll figure it out. Maybe you and Elizabeth will work things out before you see them, and it won’t even be an issue.”

“Yeah.” He slid down another inch. “Maybe.”

I think the dejected look on his face worried me more than anything he’d said or done all day. Wyatt’s perennially up-beat. Almost annoyingly so. If he’s feeling that far down about something, it’s big. We sat in silence while I wolfed down the rest of my enchilada, but he stood before I even swallowed the last bite and tossed a tip onto the table. In a rare burst of generosity, Wyatt picked up the tab for both our meals and led the way outside.

Pleasantly full, I trailed him across the parking lot toward the truck I’d somehow missed when I came in. He unlocked the door and turned to face me. “Now what?”

“Where are you staying?”

“I’ve got a room.”

“A room? Where?”

He watched a shiny new Blazer slow and turn into the parking lot before he answered. “At the High Country Inn.”

The High Country isn’t a bad motel. He’d probably be comfortable there for a few days, but I hated to think of him alone. Wyatt’s the gregarious sort. He’s best when he’s with people. “You can stay with me if you want. The couch folds out into a bed.”

“You and me together in that little apartment of yours?” Wyatt gave an exaggerated shudder and grinned for the first time all night as the Blazer’s lights swept across us. “Thanks, Abs, but I’m okay where I am.”

The apartment isn’t that little, but I couldn’t picture us sharing the space, either. Still, it might be better than leaving Wyatt to rattle around on his own. “Are you sure? It might help to be around someone.”

He swung up into the cab of his truck and smiled down at me. “Don’t worry about me, sis. I’ll work through this and be just fine.”

“I know you will. You’re a Shaw.”

“Damn straight. Now go home. Get some sleep. Take care of things down at the store.” He cranked the engine to life, shut the door, and rolled down the window. “You’ve got enough to deal with. You don’t need to get all bent out of shape over my little problems.”

Except his “little” problems weren’t so little.

He put the truck into gear and backed past me, then shot out of the parking lot with a spray of gravel that made him seem about sixteen again.

I stood staring after him and tried to believe that everything would be all right. But the year I’d just gone through made it hard to believe. My divorce had started the chain of events still in motion. Aunt Grace’s death had left us all reeling. I wondered what was coming next, and how long it would take us to get over it.

Wyatt’s taillights disappeared around the corner
and all at once I realized that I was alone in a dark parking lot. Not a comfortable place to be, considering that someone had been killed less than two miles from here within the past twenty-four hours.