My Sister's Grave (Tracy Crosswhite, #1)(31)

[page]CHAPTER 22





After dinner, Tracy walked into the den and picked up a golf club leaning against the wall. At the other end of a narrow strip of Astroturf was what looked like a tin ashtray.

“Do you play?” Dan stood in the kitchen drying the last of the dishes and stacking them into the cupboards.

She lined up a golf ball, tapped it, and watched it roll down the Astroturf. It hit the ashtray, rolled over the top, and kept going, rattling along the hardwood to the baseboard, drawing Rex and Sherlock’s attention from where they’d been lounging on the rug. “Like I said, not a lot of time for hobbies.”

“You’d pick it up quick; you were always a good athlete.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Nonsense. You just need the right instructor.”

“Yeah? Can you recommend anyone?”

He set down the bowl he’d been drying, walked into the room, and set another golf ball at her feet. “Stand over the ball.”

“You’re going to give me a lesson?”

“I paid a lot of money to be a member of a country club. I was determined to get something out of it. Come on, stand over the ball.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Feet shoulder-width apart.”

“You’re serious?”

“I’m a serious guy.”

“Not the guy I remember.”

“Yes, but I told you I’ve changed. I’m a hardened lawyer.”

“And I’ve had hand-to-hand combat training.”

“I’ll remember that if I ever need a bodyguard. Now turn around. Feet shoulder-width apart.”

She smiled and did as he said. Dan stepped close behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He touched her hands, trying to adjust her grip. “Loosen up. Relax. You’re strangling it.”

“I thought you were supposed to keep your arms stiff,” she said, feeling suddenly warm.

“Your arms, not your hands. Soft hands. Light touch.”

He placed his hands over hers on the shaft of the club, his breath warm against her neck, his voice soft in her ear. “Bend your knees.” He touched the back of her knees with his own to make hers flex.

She laughed. “Okay. Okay.”

“Now, it’s a nice easy stroke back and forth, like a pendulum.”

“That I can relate to,” she said.

“I thought you might.”

He guided her arms back and gently forward. The putter struck the ball and sent it rolling slowly down the green carpet. This time when it hit the tin cup the sides folded and the ball rolled up and came to rest in the center.

“Hey,” she said. “I made it.”

“You see,” Dan said, his arms still around her, “I may not be any good in chemistry but I could teach you a thing or two.”

She’d closed her eyes, imagining what she might do if Dan were to suddenly kiss her neck. Her knees felt weak at the thought.

“Tracy?”

“Huh?”

He let go of her arms. “Maybe we should talk about your file?”

She let out the breath she had been holding. “Yeah, I think that would be good. But first, bathroom?”

“Beneath the stairs.”

Tracy found the bathroom, shut the door, and held on to the edge of the sink. In the mirror, her reflection stared back with flushed cheeks. She took a moment to regroup, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on her face. After drying her hands on a Boston Red Sox hand towel, she returned to the kitchen.

Dan stood near the table flipping through the pages of a yellow legal pad, each one filled with notes. He’d placed Tracy’s file in the center of the table and he’d also refilled their wine glasses. “Do you mind if I stand? I think better on my feet.”

“Be my guest.” She sat at the table and took a much-needed sip of wine.

Dan said, “I have to tell you, I was skeptical when you came in this morning. I really thought I was just humoring you.”

“I know.”

“Am I that transparent?”

“I’m a detective, Dan.” She set down her glass. “I’d be skeptical too. Ask me what you want.”

“Let’s start with the traveling salesman, Ryan Hagen.”



Vance Clark stood at the counsel’s table. “The State calls Ryan P. Hagen.”

Edmund House, seated beside his court-appointed defense attorney, long-time Cedar Grove resident DeAngelo Finn, turned for the first time since he’d entered the courtroom in handcuffs. Clean-shaven with his hair cut short, House looked like an East Coast prep student. He was dressed in gray slacks, the collar of a white button-down shirt protruding above a black V-neck sweater. His gaze locked on Hagen as he entered the courtroom, looking like he attended the same imaginary prep school in khakis, a blue sport coat, and a paisley tie, but then House’s eyes shifted across the packed gallery and came to rest on Tracy. It made her skin crawl and she reached for Ben’s hand, squeezing it tight.

“Are you all right?” Ben whispered.

Hagen pushed through the gate in the railing and took the witness stand. With thinning hair parted down the middle, Tracy thought Hagen had elfin features. Vance Clark walked the traveling auto-parts salesman through his job and how it required him to be on the road as many as twenty-five days each month, traveling throughout Washington, Oregon, Idaho, and Montana.