Dead Even - Mariah Stewart [74]
“But he does love me,” her mother had responded quietly, “and that’s why he keeps coming back. That’s why I let him.”
Miranda had been so shocked that she hadn’t known how to reply. So she’d simply left the room, and she never brought up the subject again. It had been years before she’d even repeated the conversation to Portia, who had her own ideas about the relationship between their mother and Jack.
“I do believe he loves her,” Portia had told her. “I think she’s probably the only bit of sanity in his entire life. She’s his rock, and he keeps coming back to her to get the rest of it out of his system.”
“Then he’s just plain selfish,” Miranda had snapped. “If he’s just using her to make himself feel good, he doesn’t care about her, and he certainly doesn’t care about us.”
“I don’t know.” Portia had been surprisingly kind in her judgment. “I don’t know what he thinks or what he feels or what motivates him. But I do know that he must care about Mum, or he’d just forget about us.”
“Don’t say ‘mum,’ “ Miranda had exploded. “It’s too . . . English.”
Portia had flounced off in a huff, and it had been a while before they’d talked about the relationship between Jack and their mother again.
She’s seen him, Miranda told herself. Portia has been to see Jack.
“Damn her.” She spoke aloud without realizing it.
“Damn who?” Will asked.
“No one,” she grumbled.
“Hey, Cahill, you want to talk about anything, you know—”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. You’re there if I need you.”
He laughed.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was rude. I know you’re trying to be a friend, and I appreciate it.”
“Sure,” he said. “Buckle up. We’re getting ready to land. Or did you miss the announcement while you were busy cursing out whoever it was who incurred your wrath?”
“I missed the announcement.” She searched for her seat belt. “I must have dozed off.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Shut up and strap yourself in like a good boy.”
Twenty-five minutes later they were picking up their rental car and heading toward Wynnefield on the Ohio-Kentucky border. Will drove while Miranda called the Wynnefield police and spoke with the sergeant, who gave her the good news. They’d located Ronald Johnson; he was working in a restaurant in Gilbert just ten miles away.
“We have a live one,” Miranda told Will when she ended the call. “The sergeant said to take a left onto Essington Road just before we get into Wynnefield. It should be coming up in about a mile or so.”
“What’s the name of the restaurant?”
“Buckeye Bob’s.”
“Cute.”
“I’m sure someone thought so.”
“Did the sergeant say if Johnson remembered Channing?”
“I didn’t get the impression that they questioned him. I think they just located him and confirmed that he’s the same Ronald Johnson.”
“Well, then, I guess he’s all ours.”
“Guess he is.” Miranda stared out the window. Autumn had come and gone here, leaving the trees mostly bare.
“It’s almost Halloween,” she said. “Few more days . . .”
“What?”
“I said, it will be Halloween in a few days.”
“I wondered why I keep having this sudden urge to rip the sheet off the bed and cut holes in it.”
“I would have expected something more creative from you. Please don’t disillusion me by telling me that the white sheet was your costume of choice.”
“Actually, I didn’t have a favorite costume. I mean, I didn’t have costumes.”
“They didn’t trick-or-treat where you grew up?”
“Well, yeah, they did. At least, everyone else did.”
“Are you saying you never trick-or-treated?” She frowned. “Every kid trick-or-treats on Halloween, Fletcher.”
“Not quite everyone.”
“So what was the deal? Chocolate allergy? Fear of rubber masks and fake teeth?”
“My parents wouldn’t let us go.” He glanced over with an odd