Long Range (Joe Pickett Book 20)(76)

“And what can I do to help the local game warden?” Sun asked.





TWENTY-THREE


CANDY CROSWELL SAT UP WITH A START AND PLACED both of her hands to the sides of her face and tried to recall where she was and how she had gotten there. Her brain swam with alcohol and the room spun at first and she tried to determine what had awakened her so suddenly.

She looked around. The table was still set with three place settings, two of which had been used and shunted to the side while the third sat pristine and untouched. Two-and-a-half empty bottles of 2004 Joseph Phelps Insignia Cabernet—the last of Tom’s exclusive stash—sat on the coffee table. Missy was asleep in an overstuffed lounge chair across from her. Even in a wine stupor, the woman looked annoyingly composed, Candy thought.

Then she recalled why Missy was still there: Tom had not yet come home with Missy’s purchase of drugs.

Candy glanced at the clock above the fireplace. It was twelve-thirty in the morning. Tom’s shift was supposed to be over at nine, although he was often late. They’d eaten dinner without him, she now recalled. It had been delicious. Baby carrots in butter sauce and chives, glazed poached salmon over angel hair pasta, greens from a can that didn’t taste like they came from a can. Missy was an outstanding cook who could conjure up wonderful things from a poorly stocked pantry. Perhaps the wine had helped as well.

Then she heard what had awakened her—the automatic garage door was closing. He was back.

*

MISSY DIDN’T STIR when Candy struggled to her feet and padded across the room into the kitchen. As she approached the garage door, she heard jostling from the other side and voices. Men’s voices.

No, she determined, not men. Just Tom. He seemed to be carrying on a conversation with himself.

Candy cracked the door a quarter of an inch so he wouldn’t know she was there but she could hear him. On one hand, she was ready to confront him. Missy had filled her with righteous confidence. The woman had convinced Candy to be bold, to demand what she wanted from him, and to take it without regrets. He’d roll over, Missy assured him. All men did.

On the other hand, Candy wanted to know what it was he’d been up to.

She leaned closer to the doorframe and tried to see him through the crack. He was trying to keep his voice low, but he was emphatic as he spoke. When he passed briefly through her slivered field of vision, she realized he was speaking on a cell phone. It wasn’t his iPhone. It was the burner she’d discovered in his tool bench.

“I know, I know,” he said. “I should have talked with you first. But when you told me what he was doing, which direction he was going, I thought . . .”

She couldn’t hear the voice on the other end clearly except to determine it was male as well. Whoever it was, he wasn’t being as restrained as Tom. The man on the other end was shouting.

“You think I don’t know that?” Tom said in response. “I thought I had a clear shot. I saw him get out; I saw the red uniform shirt. Trying to take that shot without a spotter was insane, I know. But I’m certain it was his truck . . .”

More shouting. The shouter went on for a long time.

Tom came back into her field of vision. This time, his voice rose and his free hand waved in the air.

Tom said, “Look, I’ve had it. I’ve just fucking had it. I told you already this was over as far as I was concerned. I know I acted irrationally tonight, but I couldn’t think of another way of stopping this before it went too far, which would hurt us both, as you know.

“Do whatever you have to do,” Tom said. “I’m clearing out for good. And if they catch me, I’m telling them everything. That’s right, I’ll throw you right under the fucking bus to get a better deal. You can count on that.”

She’d never heard him talk with such conviction. She wondered if he’d start to cry next.

The voice on the other end of the phone was calmer than it had been. And whatever he was saying to Tom went on for a good long time. Tom paced around the garage as he listened, and his only utterances were “Hmmmmm” and “Okay, I get that.”

While he paced, she shifted her hips so she could try to maintain an angle on him. That’s when she saw that the back door of his pickup was open and the rifle case she’d seen earlier lay across the length of the seat.

Tom had, once again, gone shooting. This time at night.

In the dark.

*

AS TOM TALKED, listened, and paced throughout the garage, Candy waited until he got close to the door to see his reaction when she pushed it open.

“Who are you talking to?” she asked, setting her feet and crossing her arms across her breasts.

Tom was in mid-stride when he saw her. He looked both surprised and frightened.

“I asked who you are talking to,” she repeated.

“Look,” he stammered. “Look . . .”

She could hear the man Tom was talking to ask, “Who is there?”

“Nobody,” Tom said into the phone. “Hey, can I call you back?”

“Nobody?” Candy hissed. “Nobody?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Tom said to her, his eyes imploring her to be quiet.

“It’s what you said.”

The tinny voice from the phone asked, “Who in the hell is there? Did they overhear our conversation?”