Back Where She Belongs(17)

He was impressed that she’d backed off, thought it through. That was new.

“I need to tell you everything, I guess.” She held out a palm. “Mint, please?”

He pulled out the tin and shook three onto her palm.

“Three? I have three-mint breath?” She smiled faintly and sucked on the candies, her lips and tongue moving in a way that distracted him. He looked away.

“So, here’s what I know so far...”

She told him about Joseph Banes, his odd reactions to the accident, the arguments the man had had with Faye and Abbott, the dispute between Faye and her father, possible financial troubles at Wharton, the violent actions of the former factory manager, as well as why it had been strange for Faye to be at Vito’s and driving her father’s car. She finished with a blow-by-blow of her conversation with Fallon, including a quickie lecture on the theory of microexpressions.

“Something’s not right,” she said finally. “Can you see that?”

“There are odd aspects to this, yes. But just because you don’t know the explanation doesn’t mean there isn’t one. What is it doctors say about diagnosis? When you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras. Mostly what you’re telling me is that it feels wrong to you.”

“For your information, I get paid a lot of money for my feelings. My instincts are what my clients value most.”

“I don’t doubt that, Tara. I know you want to make sense of this tragedy, but—”

“You think I’m wrong. You’re placating me. Tell me this. If Bill Fallon is so innocent, why isn’t he asking the questions I am? Why isn’t he doing his job? That’s required, isn’t it, even in this corrupt little town?”

The insult irked him. “Bill Fallon is lazy and he’s got a big ego, but I doubt calling him incompetent, corrupt and a liar did much to advance your cause.”

She winced. “No. That was bad. I lost my temper. But Wharton P.D. is not the only law enforcement agency that can look into this. If he won’t do his job, I’ll contact the state police or the county sheriff’s office.”

“And they’ll likely defer to Fallon. Law enforcement entities are territorial. They have to coexist with each other.”

“So I have to find proof that he bungled the case. That means I need to do some preliminary work myself. Take pictures, gather the broken car parts, find out where the car is, get a mechanic to test the brakes and look over the engine.” Her eyes still gleamed with emotion, but her voice steadied as she outlined her plan.

“Tara, I don’t know if—”

“I’m not done,” she said. “Fallon mentioned accident reconstruction engineers. If I have to, I’ll pay for one of them to look at the crash. I’ll do whatever it takes to get the truth. You know I mean that.”

“I do.” Hearing her talk, feeling her pain and frustration, he knew he couldn’t let her fight this fight alone. “So, how can I help?”

She stared at him, clearly surprised. “You’ll help me?”

“Before you call out the cavalry or spend a fortune on experts, let’s see what you and I can find on our own.”

“Yeah?”

“I told Bill to cooperate with you. I am his boss. He won’t bend over backward, but he’ll give you something—his notes, his report, answers to your questions. When you locate the car, I can ask my mechanic to examine the engine for you if you’d like.”

“Will he know what to look for?”

“He should. Tony Carmichael is the best in town for hybrids and electrics. Auto Angels is his shop. The place just past the skating rink? I think he works on your dad’s vehicles, too.”

“That’d be great, Dylan. Really.” She sighed. “It means a lot to have some help.” Relief softened her features and erased some of her despair, and he realized he’d do all he could to help her. Her pain was his pain. Still.

“So will you do me a favor?” Dylan asked. “Next time, bring me in before you start swinging?”

She winced. “I know. I shouldn’t have blown up at him. Being back in Wharton is not good for me. I slide back into how I was...my old habits.”

“I think I know what you mean,” he said, thinking that she’d had something like that effect on him.

“You’re doing it, too? Sliding back?”

He nodded.

“Yeah. We do go back, don’t we?” She smiled, a flicker of the heat from that moment on the terrace. “We have history.”

Again he had the urge to put his arms around her, pull her close, breathe her in and go from there. But that wouldn’t help either of them. “Ancient history,” he said. The best they could manage would be to be friends. He and Candee had managed that, after all.

“Yeah,” she said, but he thought she looked sad about that.

“You have all you need here?”

“For now. I’ll come back with a camera and a tape measure to record the distance from the swerve and how far the car traveled.”

“How about I do that?” He wanted to save her another visit to this terrible place. “I’ll get Bill to send someone out to collect the broken car parts that seem relevant, as well.”

“That would be great,” Tara said. “Ask to see the photos he took. They’d be better because they’d be before the tow truck tore up the scene.”

“I’ll ask.” Did Dylan think anything would come of this? Probably not, but Tara had a point about small-town shortcuts. Fallon had clearly been lax. He doubted there were photos. One of Fallon’s budget requests had been for a new camera.

He followed her up the slope to the highway and they stood together, catching their breath from the climb.

“Can I buy you lunch?” she said. “We could go to Ruby’s.” They’d spent a lot of time at the bar and grill when they were in high school.

“I can’t today. Town council meets over lunch.”

“Oh. Sure.” She looked so disappointed, he had to offer an alternative.

“How about you come to my place tomorrow night for supper? Say seven? I’ve got a recipe for beer-butt chicken I want to try.”

“Beer...butt? Sounds gross.” She scrunched her nose, but he could tell the invitation had pleased her.

“It’s not. You prop a chicken over an open can of beer on the grill. Comes out savory and moist, I promise.” Candee had served it to him and given him the recipe the last time they’d slipped.

“Sounds fun. I’d love to come,” she said, her smile wide and open. “Thanks again.” She lurched forward, as if to hug him, then thought better of it and gave him an awkward wave before turning to her car.

They seemed to have agreed to leave the past in the past. That was good. Mature. Sensible. Still, watching her walk to her car, he realized he looked forward to having her in his house, just the two of them, at night.

What the hell was he up to?

Maybe he hadn’t grown up much, after all.





CHAPTER SEVEN



TARA DROVE HOME, shaken by what she’d seen at the crash site—the smashed and torn trees, the scattered car parts, the dried pool of blood, her poor sister’s shoe. Her throat still burned from bile, despite the soothing mints Dylan had given her. Her head throbbed and her eyes stung.

Think about Dylan.

Dylan was on her side. Thank God. The idea sent relief pouring through her like massage oil over sore muscles. There would be dinner tomorrow night, too. The thought gave her a little thrill.

What are you doing? Teasing yourself? Teasing him?

There was no point resurrecting the past, and they both knew it. She associated Dylan with suffocating in Wharton. She’d done all she could to escape. She wasn’t about to be dragged back. Dylan was helping her with the investigation. As a friend. Period.

Something he said stuck with her: Asking a question doesn’t make me your enemy. Was he right? Did she expect him to oppose her?

Probably. He was part of the town, after all. He’d chosen to manage it, for God’s sake. He loved the place she hated. Wharton was her enemy. All her training in accepting many viewpoints and interpretations didn’t seem to be able to overcome her feelings about this place and her past here.

At home, she climbed into a scalding bath in the whirlpool tub and thought about the case. Being in Wharton had dampened her instincts, but Dylan was wrong about the zebras. People were lying, hiding things and evading her questions. What she needed was solid evidence. Prickling neck hairs wouldn’t convince Dylan or the authorities.

Her only hope of success would be to treat the investigation like a job. She would gather data, ask questions and listen carefully to the answers, then analyze the results for clusters, divergence, patterns and repetitions. She would be neutral and professional.