Back Where She Belongs(16)

CHAPTER SIX



UNEASY ABOUT HOW Bill Fallon might respond to Tara’s questions, Dylan had headed over to the police chief’s office just to take the temperature of the room. He’d arrived in time for the mercury to spike.

“Can you believe that?” Fallon seethed. “She rolls into town and starts throwing her weight around. Typical Wharton.”

“I’m sure she’s trying to make sense of what happened.”

“You don’t think I know that, boss? You forget I was doing this job when your mom was still cutting your meat for you.”

Fallon resented having to answer to a man young enough to be his son. It hadn’t helped that Dylan had questioned the padding in Fallon’s recent budget request. “I tried to reason with her, but she had a tantrum.” He gave Dylan a wily smile. “But then I guess you know all about her tantrums.”

Tara was right about one downside to small towns—people knew your history. Normally that didn’t faze him, but he’d always been sensitive about Tara, and Bill Fallon could be an ass. Dylan thought the lead officer in the department, Russell Gibbs, would make a great police chief. Bill was close to retirement and talked a lot about moving to Sun City when he did.

“Why not give her the report, Bill?”

“She doesn’t want my report. She wants someone to blame. She’s asking me what I saw, did I take pictures, was there a hit-and-run.”

“A hit-and-run?” Where had that come from?

“What she needs is someone to hand her tissues and say there, there, you poor, poor thing. That’s not my job. I’m the peacekeeper. I smooth the waters, keep the ship afloat. That’s what you pay me for.” He tapped his skull. “If people knew half the stuff I keep in here for their own good...”

Dylan fought the urge to roll his eyes. Fallon bent the rules when he saw fit. He’d likely traded a screaming deal on his own pool for tipping off the contractor to the other bids for the town swimming pool. By the same token, he had patrols drive Mrs. Johnson’s neighborhood whenever her husband was out of town, ran a Scared Straight program for the high school and coached Little League, all on his own time.

The I’ll-scratch-yours-if-you’ll-scratch-mine stuff bothered Dylan at times, but it was human nature to want favors. It happened everywhere—big city or small town. That didn’t mean he had to engage in it. Once he was working for the town full-time he’d do some housecleaning and make sure everything was aboveboard. People expected no less from him.

“She won’t let this go, Bill. I promise you that, and this town can’t afford a lawsuit. Figure out what you can give her—your notes, photos, the report, something. In the meantime I’ll talk to her.”

“You do that. Go hold her hand, or whatever else you want to do with her.” He smirked.

It took everything in Dylan to keep from cold-cocking the guy, but he knew that would only fuel the man’s speculation about Dylan’s involvement with Tara. Besides that, no one—least of all Tara—would benefit from a fistfight in town hall.

Still fuming, Dylan left and drove toward the Wharton place. As he rounded the highway curve, he noticed a white sedan parked at a sharp angle on the shoulder, as if the driver had stopped abruptly. He recognized it as Tara’s rental car, but she wasn’t inside. Where the hell was she?

Then he noticed the orange cones and dangling caution tape. This was the accident site. She must have gone down the embankment. That would be like her. If she couldn’t get Fallon to tell her what she wanted to know, she’d find it out herself, by God.

With a sigh, he parked and jogged across the highway to the caved-in guardrail. Looking down the slope, he caught a flash of Tara’s red shirt, so he stepped over the barrier and headed after her, passing crushed bushes, broken branches of mesquite and palo verde, and gouged trunks—damage the tow truck had likely contributed to.

“Tara? It’s Dylan,” he called so he wouldn’t startle her. She got up from the boulder she’d been sitting on, and turned to him. She was breathing hard and chewing on her lip, trying not to cry. She looked small, beaten down and sad. Beyond her, a tree had been nearly snapped in half. Had to be where the car ended its fall.

What a terrible thing for her to see.

He started closer, but she stepped back, as if afraid he might hold her and she might lose control. He saw she gripped a cell phone in both hands.

She swallowed hard. “Look at all this.” She motioned at the ground, covered with glittering pieces of safety glass, chunks of plastic, twisted strips of metal, broken bulbs, torn padding and wires. “This is all evidence. It should have been collected.”

“This is a lot to take in, Tara,” he started, wanting to get her away from this horror.

She held up one of the phones. “This has to be my father’s. It’s the old flip style. He held on to things forever. Faye had an iPhone, I think, but I can’t find it. This one’s mine,” she said, lifting the phone in her other hand. “I’ve been taking pictures with it.” She swallowed hard.

“So where is Faye’s?”

“I’ve been looking.” She walked forward, staring at the ground.

“Maybe you’ve seen enough for now,” he said, joining her.

She stopped dead and sucked in a breath, staring at the ground, where there was a large rust-colored spot—blood—and a woman’s pump on its side. “Faye’s other shoe,” she said. “And all that blood.” She shot him a look of pure horror, then lurched away to throw up in the weeds.

He went to steady her, an arm at her waist, then offered his shirttail to wipe her mouth.

Gasping, she shook her head. “Not another of your shirts.”

It gave him a pang that she’d joked as a way to get herself back in control. She went to sit on the boulder. Setting the two phones on the ground, she used the hem of her silk top on her face. He sat beside her, resting his hand lightly on her back.

An old habit. It made him a little sad to remember all the tender touches they’d shared, their bodies in tune, their moods in sync. She leaned into his hand, and he was glad.

“Fallon said they were found together on the ground,” she said shakily. “He couldn’t tell who was driving. He said he smelled alcohol. I’d bet anything he was the one who started the rumor that Faye was drunk.”

“Faye was drunk?” This was the first he’d heard of that.

“Faye’s assistant, Carol, said there was a rumor, but it could have been Dad, for all I know. And that was why Faye was driving. I tried to get the nurse to find out from Faye’s chart, but no luck.” She shook her head. “Fallon’s lying, but I don’t know how much. He’s just a patronizing ass.”

“Why would he lie?”

Tara jerked her gaze to him. “Excuse me? Are you siding with him?”

“Hang on,” he said softly. “I’m asking a question. That doesn’t make me your enemy.” She’d always been that way. If you disagreed with her, she assumed you were against her. She had to reject you first. The defense mechanism reminded him of his father and he was pretty tired of handling his father’s defensiveness.

She blew out a breath. “Okay. Sorry. Fallon made it sound like he was going to falsify his report to protect my family’s name. Would he do that?”

“He considers himself the town’s guardian, that’s for sure.”

“I don’t want his protection. I want the truth.” She grabbed one of the phones from the ground. “Look at this picture.” Clicking a button, she extended the display to him. “It’s blurry, but see the swerve marks? They’re way back from the crash spot. The brakes must have failed or someone plowed into the car from behind.”

That seemed an extreme conclusion to him.

“He won’t even say where the car is now so we can check the brakes. He was the first on the scene. What a coincidence. He missed poker that night...supposedly he was going for flu medicine for his sick wife when his cop instincts kicked in and he saw the bent rail. Do you believe that?”

Her eyes were frantic, her words spilling out. “Plus, he’s been hitting on my mom, sending her gift baskets. She’s grateful to him, like he’s her hero. It’s so creepy. I can’t believe she would cheat on my dad. But Fallon’s hanging around, whispering in her ear.”

She stiffened suddenly, shifted to look at him full-on. “Maybe Fallon hit the car! No wonder he’s covering up.”

“Hang on, Tara. Let’s back up some.”

“Back up? You don’t believe me?”

“You just accused the chief of police of a hit-and-run or, hell, murder. You don’t think that’s extreme?”

She opened her mouth to argue, but then she seemed to pull herself together. “You think this sounds crazy, huh? Maybe it does.”