The Last Thing She Ever Did(84)
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
MISSING: TWENTY-TWO DAYS
From his DoubleTree hotel room, David could see the medical center. The sight of the sprawling building with the illuminated white cross made him ill. He’d been booked and released on bail that tapped the last bit of his cash reserves. Such as they were. All without a word from Carole.
She’d ignored his calls and texts.
He caught the sight of his bruised knuckles as he pulled the heavy curtain and took a tiny bottle of scotch from the minibar. He’d beaten a man nearly to death. For his son? For himself? To prove he was the equal of his wife, a former Google executive? He stared at the bottle, trying to decide if he should twist the little red wax cap and sink down even lower. He’d heard that Brad Collins would likely recover. If he did, it was a kind of gift that David didn’t deserve. And though he didn’t live and die on the patronage of local diners to keep the restaurant afloat, he knew that word would get around and people with a justified sense of righteousness would abandon Sweetwater. Whatever had been so important was ebbing away. His lawyer said the prosecutors would probably give him probation for a guilty plea.
“A jury will hate what you did, but they can be made to see that your anguish over losing your son was a mitigating factor,” the lawyer said. “At least I think so.”
He dialed Carole’s number again, but she didn’t answer.
I can’t explain why I did what I did, he texted. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.
A moment later, a text came back.
Sorry isn’t enough. Bye, David.
Carole had been ignoring the calls from Washington Federal. They had been persistent and completely annoying. Whoever had been trying to reach her obviously didn’t know that there were more pressing matters than whatever it was the bank was trying to tell her.
Finally, she could take it no more.
“Look,” she said, before letting the caller say a word, “I don’t mean to be rude, but now is not a good time. Please stop calling.”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Franklin,” a young man said. “I’ve been trying to reach your husband.”
She wondered if the caller had seen the news. Her husband was unreachable because he’d been arrested for aggravated assault.
“He’s indisposed,” she said. It was the only polite way of putting his unavailability to a stranger, especially someone who didn’t have a clue about what had been going on.
“Oh,” he said. “But I have good news. I need to let him know that we’ve approved the loan we met about.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh. The line of credit for Sweetwater.”
“What line of credit?”
“Mrs. Franklin,” he said, “you’re on the paperwork. I see your signature right here.”
“You do?”
“Right,” he said. “The line of credit should keep the restaurant going until Mr. Franklin’s TV appearance kicks off his platform. Exciting times.”
All of this was news, of course. She knew cash was tight at Sweetwater, but David had insisted she didn’t need to pull out any more funds to keep it afloat.
“I can do this on my own,” he told her.
“It’s our money,” she’d responded.
“Not really, Carole. It’s yours. And that’s okay. I need to make a go of it on my own.”
“Mrs. Franklin?” the loan officer asked.
Carole snapped back into the moment. “Yes. Sorry.”
“Good. I thought something might have happened to you. The phone felt like it had gone dead.”
Carole slumped into a chair. “No, I’m here,” she said. “When did my husband meet with you?”
“Let’s see. This has been ongoing. We’ve had several meetings. This is tricky stuff. No one wants to bankroll a restaurant. Not even in a cool place like Bend.”
“Right,” she said. “When was the last meeting?”
When he told her, the blood drained from Carole’s face. It had been the morning of Charlie’s disappearance.
David hadn’t been out screwing another barmaid.
He’d been out fighting for his dream.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
MISSING: TWENTY-TWO DAYS
Carole and Liz faced the Deschutes. It was dusk. They’d already emptied a couple of bottles of wine and a bag of tortilla chips. No salsa. Just dry chips from Safeway. The air had cooled. Liz got up and retrieved a couple of old coverlets that her grandmother had made during her knitting phase.
“Fall is just around the corner,” she said.
“My favorite time of year, Liz.”
“Me too.”
“Charlie’s going to be a pirate for Halloween,” Carole said.
Liz took a breath. “Right. That will be great.”
Carole sipped her wine. She didn’t have to pretend not to drink to support her husband any longer. “I know,” she said. “I think I’ll make his costume. Last year was store-bought.”
“That will be great, Carole.”
A pair of mallards landed in the river, and the two women watched the ducks in the dim light.
“What’s Owen up to tonight?” Carole asked, filling her glass. “Another meeting?”