“Eddie Rockdale?”
“Yeah,” Roselita said, and leaned forward on the table. “And the sheriff got all bug-eyed about it, kind of like you just did a few minutes ago when I mentioned the Farm. Why all the trepidation about Dane going out to see this guy Eddie?”
“Why all the what?”
Roselita rolled her eyes and clarified. “What’s the story with those two?”
Keith blew at his coffee, though it was already cold, and thought about the best way to put it. “That’s his story to tell, Agent Velasquez. And if he hasn’t told you, then I guess he doesn’t want you to know. You’re his partner; maybe you should ask him.”
“Well, at least tell me why the Fourth of July is so hard for him to talk about. He was telling me about the malfunction and how Ned carried it like it was his fault, but what about Kirby? What happened to him?”
Keith took a long, slow breath before he answered. “Agent Velasquez, that was the day his whole family died.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Dane, we need to talk.”
“Hey babe, now’s not the best time. I’m about to leave Keith’s. We’re heading out to the Farm.”
“The Farm? As in Rockdale’s Farm in Hard Cash?”
“Yeah.”
“Why the hell are you going out there?”
“It’s a longer story than I have time for right now, but don’t worry. It’s going to be fine. We can talk later when I get home.”
“I’m not going to be home tonight.”
That was good. Dane didn’t think he would be, either, but now he didn’t need to feel bad. He redirected the blame. “What? Why not?”
“Because I’m going to my sister’s.”
“That’s great. I may be late getting in.” Dane felt equal parts disappointment and relief. He didn’t understand that feeling, but it always accompanied this situation. That wasn’t true. He knew why. Misty was his woman now, but the idea of seeing her later left him unsettled. He knew he needed to tell her. He hated himself for not telling her already. He needed to tell her before she found out from—the thought froze in his brain and dread poured over him. His head began to spin. She said they needed to talk. What did she want to talk about?
The lab report.
He slapped at the empty pocket on his leg. Of course it was empty. He had left the paperwork from Dr. McKenzie in his other pants, lying on the floor in the bedroom. She could’ve found them this morning while she was cleaning up.
Stupid, Dane. Stupid. You’ve been laser focused on keeping that information close to your chest for over a week now, just so you could just leave it on the floor? Damnit.
The only thing he could do worse than waiting to tell her was letting her find out about it on her own. He looked through the window at Keith and Roselita staring back at him through the blinds. Roselita looked different. She looked—softer somehow. Dane knew that look well. It was sympathy. It was that sad look of sympathy he’d grown accustomed to. There was no doubt about it. He’d been enduring that look his whole adult life. That “poor bastard” look that he got from people when they first found out what happened—when they found out what he did. Now Roselita had been infected by that look. Keith must’ve told her. They were talking about the Fourth. Of course Keith told her. It wasn’t a secret. It was public record that Dane was a murderer. He just enjoyed being around people who didn’t feel like they had to walk on glass when he was around—people who didn’t have to choose their words wisely before they spoke. “Shit,” he said.
“Are you talking to me?”
“What? No, babe. I’m just—never mind—listen—” He was almost scared to ask. “So we can talk at Jenn’s house, then—later?”
“I guess we’ll have to.”
“Misty—I’m sorry. It’s just this case, and this kid, it’s got me all tied up.”
“It’s fine, Dane. I’ll see you at Jenn’s when you’re done. Be careful out there at Rockdale’s. I hate that man.”
“I know and I will.”
Misty ended the call. Dane stared at the phone and looked out over the railing into the alley that ran between Lucky’s and the post office. It was one of the spots where he and Gwen would sneak off to smoke cigarettes on nights out at the bar, or just to catch some shade from the heat while Dane was at work. There were so many places like that in this town. He was born and raised here, but when all was said and done, it was Gwen’s town. In a way, she took it from him, and he felt selfish for thinking it since he’d taken everything from her. That’s why he left and moved to Fannin. Coming back here was like coming back to her. Maybe subconsciously, that’s why he picked Bear Creek to go escape to when he first got the news. He wanted to share it with her first. He wanted to tell her he was coming home to her whether he wanted to or not.
He looked at the navy blue canopy across the street—above the bookstore Keith’s great-grandparents built this town around—and could see the far corner of Noble Park. He could smell the cigarette smoke and hard candy on Gwen’s breath mingling in the air. He could hear her laughing at the people coming in from out of town—the tourists and church groups with matching T-shirts. She didn’t laugh like that often, but when she did, she laughed with a rumble from her belly and she smiled with her whole face. Jesus, he missed that laugh. He missed that smile—that face. He closed his eyes and asked her for a cigarette.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“I remember the day I met you, Dane Kirby.” Gwen’s slim fingers interlaced between Dane’s on the wrought-iron handrail of the terrace outside Keith’s loft. “You used to hate it that I smoked,” she said.
“I never hated anything about you, Gwen.” Dane looked back through the window at his friends. He wondered how crazy he looked talking to himself.
“Whatever you say, cowboy.” Gwen shook a smoke out of a blue and white box and handed it to Dane.
Dane took the imaginary cigarette and let Gwen light it for him. He tried to remember how it felt to have that rush of hot smoke fill his broken lungs. Even now, knowing what he knew, he still missed it.
“You look handsome standing out here, Mr. Kirby.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Kirby.” Dane pointed down at the building across the street. “You remember that?” he asked.
“Of course I do.”
“I miss stealing kisses from you under that awning.”
“You never had to steal them, Dane. I was a willing participant.” Gwen lit up a smoke of her own and blew the smoke out sideways, away from him, like she always did. Sliding his hand out from underneath hers, Dane turned and faced her. She was wearing a red skirt with a blue sleeveless sequined top that fit her like a second skin. A pattern of white stars danced across her chest. It was the outfit she was wearing that day. The day she died. The day Dane killed her. He could feel the tears swelling behind his eyes as he drank her in.
“You’re thinking about that day again, aren’t you?” Gwen asked, and brushed at his hair. “You always picture me wearing this when you think about that day.” She pulled at the hem of her skirt. Dane said nothing. He looked down at her hips but he didn’t close his eyes. He didn’t want her to disappear, not yet. Gwen tilted his head up until he was looking directly into her black-coffee eyes. “It wasn’t your fault, Dane.”