Chocolate Dipped Death (14 page)

Dana scowled up at me. “He doethn’t know yet. That’th why I’m here. Mom thays I have to tell him mythelf.”

An internal warning bell went off, but I ignored it. “When are you going to do it?”

Dana turned a set of dark brown puppy dog eyes on me full force. It was an unfair advantage, and I’m pretty sure she knew it. “Would you help me, Aunt Abby?”

“Help you?”

“Come with me to tell my dad,” she said, her voice still thick and unnatural sounding. “Please? I don’t know what to say to him.”

And she thought
I
did? Every rational instinct I had screamed at me to stay out of this. But what kind of aunt would I be to say no?

“When are you going to tell him?”

“Mom says I have to tell him tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“She says I have to before I come home,” Dana mumbled unhappily, “or I can’t go to the dance on Friday.”

Once she told Wyatt, the dance would be out of the question, but I decided not to say so and dash all hope. “So what do you want me to do?”

Dana scratched Max behind one ear, and he sank onto the floor beside her. “Come with me to see my dad. Help me explain.”

Explain?
This?
To my brother? Apparently shoving a metal rod through your tongue also scrambles the brain. Who knew?

No. Not a chance. Never in a million years. Absolutely not.
The words were all right there, but I couldn’t get a single one of them past my own tongue. Apparently, guilt does a bit of scrambling, too, because I actually felt my head bobbing up and down as if I agreed to help her. Dana launched herself from the floor and threw her arms around my neck, and for a few minutes I actually believed that things were looking up.

Sid Lancaster has been serving greasy burgers
and toxic coffee to the good old boys of Paradise for as long as I can remember. In all that time I don’t remember the diner changing—not one little bit. From the chrome-and-Naugahyde stools, to the stained booths, to the curtains at the windows, everything’s so old it’s almost retro chic.

At any time of the day or night, you can step inside the glass doors at Sid’s and be guaranteed to find three things: the scent of coffee left too long on the burner, Sid standing behind the stove wearing a greasy apron and a white paper cap, and at least one pair of Wrangler jeans planted firmly on a stool in front of the counter.

I found a parking spot near the front door and tried to convince Dana to wait while I made sure Wyatt was inside. I had about as much success with that as Elizabeth had trying to convince Wyatt to give up red meat.

Together, Dana and I trudged through the snow through the glass-enclosed foyer and into the overly heated diner. When I saw Wyatt’s Wranglers hitched onto a stool next to Toby Yager’s, I let out a silent sigh of relief.

I’d heard rumors that he’d been sighted having dinner with a couple of single female coworkers over the past few months. No doubt, Elizabeth had heard the same rumors, which is probably why she was keeping Wyatt at arm’s length. I was afraid that she’d end up creating what she feared most if something didn’t change soon. The longer Elizabeth kept him cooling his heels about coming home, the more determined he seemed to be to screw up his entire life.

Now that we were inside and surrounded by chipped yellow Formica and peeling red Naugahyde, Dana’s bravado faded. She walked two steps behind me all the way to the far end of the counter where Wyatt sat with his back to us. We were almost upon them before Toby recognized me, and Wyatt spun around on his stool to see who Toby was looking at.

My brother is five years older than I am, and half the time he looks like someone who just stepped off the cover of a
Tombstone
video. Since leaving home, his dark hair has grown shaggy, and the mustache he’s been cultivating since the summer he turned eighteen droops well past his chin.

He gave me a once-over that lacked warmth, but when he noticed Dana cowering behind me, his entire demeanor changed. “Hey, kiddo,” he said, holding his arms wide and inviting his daughter close for a hug. “What are you doing here?”

I willed Dana not to speak, and for once someone listened to me. She turned those helpless eyes in my direction. I smiled encouragement, then took a deep breath and nodded toward an empty booth. “Mind if we talk to you for a minute?”

Wyatt grew immediately suspicious. “Why? What’s up?”

“We just need to talk to you,” I said, and to Toby, “this shouldn’t take long.”

Toby’s probably in his mid-thirties, heavyset with a solid layer of muscle under the flab. He keeps his head shaved, but a fine layer of whiskers covers his cheeks and chin at all times. Guess you never know when you may have a facial hair shortage. “Take your time,” he said, waving us away. “Me and Wyatt was just chewing the fat anyhow.”

Dana flashed me a look filled with gratitude and, feeling auntlike and protective, I slid into the booth beside her before Wyatt could.

“So what’s all this?” he asked as he sat across from us.

I gave him a don’t-worry smile. “Dana just needs to talk to you for a minute.”

In retrospect, maybe the don’t-worry was a mistake. Wyatt’s thick black brows knit together, and his mustache drooped a little lower. “And she needs help to do it?” He speared his poor daughter with a stare that made him look like Grandpa Hanks. “What’s going on, Dana? What’s this all about?”

Dana clamped her lips together and looked at me as if she expected me to make everything all right. Sucker that I am, I actually tried. I smiled at my brother and hoped I didn’t look as nervous as I felt. “The thing is, Wyatt—”

He sent me another Grandpa Hanks glare. Don’t get me wrong. Grandpa was just about the nicest guy who ever lived . . . until somebody crossed him. Then he was a force to be reckoned with. I’m not a chicken. I just didn’t want to reckon with Wyatt tonight.

“Do you mind, Abby? I’d like Dana to tell me whatever it is that’s bothering her.”

Color flooded Dana’s cheeks, but the girl ignored the question and embarked on an extensive study of her fingertips.

“I’m sure you’d like Dana to tell you,” I said, trying my best to sound empathetic, “but Dana asked me to come with her, and she’s obviously uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable? With
me
?”

Yeah. Go figure.
“Maybe uncomfortable is the wrong word,” I said quickly. “But she is a little worried that you’ll be upset with her.”

Grandpa Hanks disappeared. The ogre glaring at me now was pure Wyatt Shaw. “What for?”

I waved away the question and tried to keep my tone light.

“Promise you won’t fly off the handle?”

“I’m not promising a damned thing. I don’t care which one of you does it, but one of you had better start talking.
Now!
”

There didn’t seem to be much point in avoiding the issue, so I nudged Dana gently with my elbow. “Show him.”

Her surprised gaze shot away from her fingertips and up to my face.

“Show him,” I said again. “He’s going to find out sooner or later, and the longer you wait, the worse it’s going to be.”

Defiance followed quickly by resignation flashed through Dana’s big brown eyes. I suppose she wanted to refuse, but even if she pulled that post out of her tongue, her dad would still find out what she’d done. Her mother and at least one or two friends knew, and secrets just don’t last long in Paradise.

With a grudging scowl that made her look way too much like her father, she opened her mouth and stuck her tongue partway out. Wyatt’s expression changed slowly as he realized what he was looking at; then he shot to his feet—or at least he tried.

The booth caught him in the midsection, and he fell back onto the bench bellowing like a bull elk. “What the hell is that?”

A dozen heads shot up, and I could feel every eye in the place turning to watch us. I kept my voice calm and hoped Wyatt would follow my lead. “That,” I said, “is your daughter’s new tongue . . . ring.”

Looking all of about five years old, Dana finally made eye contact with her father. “It-th a barbell.”

Blood rushed into Wyatt’s face. “What in the hell is it doing in your mouth?”

“I put it there.”

“I can see that,” he shouted. “I’m not blind. What I want to know is why?”

“Becauth it-th cool, and becauth I like it.”

I half expected steam to erupt from my brother’s nose and ears. “Who did this to you?” he demanded. “Tell me right now so I can kill him.”

Now, there was a strong incentive to rat out your friend. Dana scowled up at her father. “It was a friend, and I’m not telling you his name.”

“Oh no? You think I can’t find out on my own?”

The color in Dana’s cheeks drained away. “Please, Daddy . . .”

“Does your mother know about this? Did she tell you it was all right? Because if she did—”

Dana shook her head miserably. “No. She’s mad at me, too. She said I had to tell you before I could come home.”

Wyatt slid to the edge of the booth and stood glowering down at his daughter. “Go into the bathroom and take it out.”

As if she’d suddenly grown a backbone, Dana set her jaw and stared back up at him. “No.”

“Do it, Dana. Now.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I don’t care what you want,” Wyatt growled. “You’re not old enough to make that decision.”

“It’s
my
tongue.”

“Not until you’re eighteen.” Wyatt reached for her arm, but she jerked away. Frustration darkened his eyes and formed deep lines around his mouth. “Dana Marie Shaw, take that damn thing out of your mouth this instant.”

“No.”

I might not agree with Wyatt’s method of dealing with this, but Dana wasn’t exactly winning medals for her brilliance either. I hesitated to get between them, but one of these days they’d both regret arguing in public, so I quietly offered a suggestion to my grim-faced brother. “Why don’t you sit back down and talk this over with her?”

I should have known better.

“This has nothing to do with you,” Wyatt snarled at me.

“Well, maybe not technically—”

Eyes glazed over with fury, Wyatt tossed a handful of change onto the table. “You can’t just come back to town and start sticking your nose into everything, Abby. It doesn’t work that way.” He pulled Dana to her feet and clapped one hand to her shoulder to keep her there. “This is between me and my kid, so just stay out of it.”

His words stung, but I was more angry than hurt. I shot to my feet and jabbed him in the chest with my finger as I talked. “Dana asked me to come with her.”
Jab, jab, jab.
“That makes this my business whether you,”
jab,
“like it or not. And if you,”
jab, jab,
“were home with your family where you belong, she wouldn’t have to ask me to get involved.” I was living dangerously, but I didn’t care. I’d had a rough day, and he wasn’t helping.

Wyatt stiff-armed past me. “My family is fine. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your own daughter’s afraid to talk to you,” I shouted after him. “That doesn’t sound fine to me.”

Wyatt whipped around again, his face terrible in his anger. For an old fart, he moved pretty fast. “What would
you
know about it, Abby? You’re not a parent. Don’t use my kids to give yourself some kind of maternal rush.”

I felt myself recoil, and I could swear the blood drained from my face. I don’t think Wyatt had any idea that he’d scored a direct hit with that one. After all, I’d never really talked to him about how much I’d wanted children during my marriage, how much Roger’s lack of interest in a family had hurt, or how devastated I’d been to learn that my husband was having a child with another woman. If Wyatt had tried for a year, he couldn’t have found a more hurtful thing to say, and I hated him fiercely in that moment.

“You’re a bastard,” I said through my teeth. I was dimly aware of Dana hovering behind a nearby table, of her frightened gaze darting back and forth between the two of us.

Tears burned the backs of my eyes, and the impulse to cry was almost as strong as the urge to shove my brother in front of a moving train. But Wyatt’s so thick-headed, I’d probably get sued for damaging the train.

Steaming, I snatched my keys from the table where I’d left them and turned toward the door. “Come on, Dana. Let’s get out of here.”

My little niece hesitated for only a heartbeat before she fell into step behind me, but Wyatt caught her arm and stopped her. “Oh no you don’t. The only place you’re going is home with me. I want to see what your mother has to say about this.”

“Leave her alone, Wyatt. I’ll take her home.”

“No thanks, Abby. You’ve already done enough damage.”

A whole truckload of arguments rose to my lips, but what could I do? She
was
his daughter, poor thing. Besides, he might be angry, but I knew he wouldn’t hurt her, and I was still reeling from the last blow he’d delivered. Wyatt didn’t look anywhere close to backing down, and I wasn’t sure I could survive another round.