Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [100]
She wasn’t getting off the hook that easily. “If either of them made a negative comment, you’d reprimand them, and make them both say a positive thing about Melvin.” I inhaled and exhaled. “Is that really how you want it to be? Your kids telling you what they think you want to hear? Instead of them thinking for themselves?”
“No wonder Doug was so livid. I totally screwed this up.”
Zero disagreement from me. “Let me ask you
this: what would Doug do if he found out Melvin was a molester?”
“Kill him.” When she realized what she’d said, she amended, “I meant—”
“You can’t take that back, Trish. But I will remind you that you swore to me Doug didn’t do this.” She 354
opened her mouth to protest and I held up my hand.
“No qualifications.”
I wasn’t asking her to submit to a philosophy I, myself, hadn’t embraced. Tony was a man who did bad things. I accepted that was as much a part of his nature as the part of him I saw that no one else did. There was no qualification for me either when it came to how I felt about him.
Heavy silence.
“What do I do now?”
“Dad needs to tell you how he found out about Melvin. You need to demand to know why he didn’t share the information with you.”
She thrust a hand through her unruly hair. “Does it matter? Will you share your findings about Melvin Canter with the sheriff? It’s apparent he doesn’t know.”
I doubted it. Sheriff Richards was probably biding his time waiting for me or someone else to make the connection.
“What if your suspicions land Doug in jail?”
“Whoa whoa whoa. How would I be responsible for Dad being in jail if he killed a man?”
Trish ignored my logic. “Because you’re supposed to be finding information to exonerate Doug, not incriminate him!”
I was tired. Tired of the drama. Tired of the games. Tired of the shitty things family members did to each other, especially in my family. I could feel 355
myself sliding toward the babbling phase from sleep deprivation. I managed, “Go home.”
After she left, I gazed out the screen door in the kitchen, swigging Don Julio and eating Ritz crackers, staring across that mantle of endless snow, my warm breath fogging up the cold glass, letting the alcohol lull me into thinking everything might turn out all right. 356
The next morning the remnants of my self-appointed sacramental communion lingered; I was hung over as hell.
“Really. Would anyone miss me if I didn’t go into the office today?”
Surprisingly enough, the coffeepot didn’t answer. I sighed. At least if I had a dog it’d bark a response. Right. Human companionship on a regular basis was a must if I actually considered a canine an alternative. Cold Hard Bitch by Jet serenaded me from the home theater speakers as I readied for another workday. The music wasn’t too loud; I still heard the thumps on the screen door. I turned the stereo off and checked the peephole. Don Anderson.
I ushered him inside. “Surprised to see you, Don.”
357
He saw my coat and gloves on the back of the couch. “This a bad time?”
“I’m headed into work, but I can talk to you first. What’s up?”
“I’ll make it quick. You went to see BD yesterday afternoon?”
“How’d you know?”
“BD called me last night. Said some woman barged in and was askin’ questions ’bout Melvin Canter and he spilled his guts to her on that nasty business from years ago. Said he never caught the woman’s name. So it was you?”
“Yeah.”
Don’s shoulders slumped. “Good.”
“Why the relief?”
“Look, I doan want you to think we was lyin’ to you when we said we’d help with your investigation, but we, me an’ Dale, but me mostly, got what you might call a vested innerest.”
I pointed to the easy chair. “Park it and start explaining.”
He wiped his boots before he sat down. “Lemme say that I wasn’t involved in runnin’ Canter outta town them years ago, but I knew the guys who’d done it. BD’s dad, JR, Maurice Ashcroft, Buck Bevel, Red Granger, Clint Jenson, and”—Don looked at me—
“Dale Pendergrast.”
Don had come to me months ago during a case because he was worried his best buddy, Dale, had killed 358
a man. Ultimately Don had been wrong,