Day of the Dead - J. A. Jance [95]
“Good,” he said. “That would be a big help.”
Diana sighed and lapsed into silence. “What’s wrong?” he asked several miles later. “I can smell the smoke.”
“You’re sure that’s all it is?”
“All what is?”
“Your sudden interest in Larry Stryker. It’s not because—well, you know.”
“Because he and Gayle backed Bill Forsythe’s election campaign?”
“Yes.”
“Believe me,” Brandon said, “if I thought Bill Forsythe himself could help me find Roseanne Orozco’s killer, I’d be on my way to talk to him right this minute.”
“Oh,” Diana said. She sounded relieved.
When they got home, Lani was there. So were Davy and Candace and Tyler. It ended up being a hectic homecoming. The family gathering they had planned but canceled after Fat Crack’s death ended up taking place after all. Davy and Brandon went off together to the Albertsons on Silverbell and Speedway Boulevard to pick up steaks and salad makings.
“I called to see if Kath and Brian could make it after all,” Diana told Brandon a while later as he seasoned steaks at the kitchen counter. “Brian’s still at work, so Kath took a pass.”
“Too bad,” Brandon said. “I always enjoy having everybody around.”
Just then Tyler came streaking into the kitchen, hot on Damsel’s trail. “Maybe you should take her outside while you grill the steaks,” Diana suggested. “I wouldn’t want her to hurt him.”
“It looks like it’s the other way around,” Brandon muttered under his breath. “Come on, girl,” he said to the dog. “Let’s go outside and find you a little peace and quiet.”
Taking the platter of uncooked steaks, Brandon retreated to the backyard with Damsel, where he turned on the grill. While waiting for it to heat up, Brandon sat down on one of the patio chairs. Damsel flopped down beside him.
“Tyler’s a noisy little brat, isn’t he?” Brandon asked.
Damsel replied by thumping her tail on the flagstone pavers.
“And you’re a good dog. All you were trying to do was get out of his way.”
A door opened on the far end of the patio. “Dad?” Lani said.
“Yup.”
“Who are you talking to?”
“Damsel,” Brandon replied sheepishly. Being caught talking to a dog seemed to him to be right up there next to senile. “We’re out here commiserating.”
“How come Tyler’s so hyper?” Lani exclaimed.
“Tyler?” Brandon asked innocently. “ ‘Hyper’? That may be your opinion, Damsel’s opinion, and my opinion, but don’t mention a word of it to your mother. She thinks the little rascal walks on water.”
Gracefully, Lani folded her long slender legs. She sat down cross-legged next to Damsel and cradled the dog’s head in her lap. This first quiet moment with his daughter found Brandon at a loss for words. It was a cool, clear night—downright chilly, in fact. Brandon had been sitting there thinking about going back inside for a sweater. Lani, on the other hand, wore a T-shirt and shorts. Her attire gave him a chance to exercise his fatherly prerogatives.
“It’s cold out here,” he said to her. “Shouldn’t you wear something warmer than that?”
Lani rolled her eyes. “Compared to North Dakota, this feels like summer.”
“Sorry,” he said. “My blood must be thinner than yours.”
They both fell silent while he stood up to put the steaks on the grill. “We should have called you about Fat Crack,” Brandon said when he finished. “I had no idea things were as bad as they were. I don’t think anyone else knew, either.”
“I should have known,” Lani said reproaching herself.
“But Fat Crack knew,” Brandon told her. “If he had wanted you to be here with him, he could have had Wanda call you.”
“What do you mean, he knew?” Lani demanded.
“Just a minute,” Brandon said. He hurried into the house and returned a few moments later carrying Fat Crack’s fringed leather pouch. Gently he placed it in Lani’s hands.
“Looks at Nothing’s huashomi,” Lani whispered reverentially, clutching the frayed buckskin to her breast. “Why do you have it?”
“I saw Fat Crack early yesterday afternoon,” Brandon said. “When it was time for me to leave, we smoked the Peace Smoke. Then he gave me this and asked that