Toss Up (The Toss Trilogy) (24 page)

“Is it that obvious?”

Isaiah’s eyes twinkled. “Of course not. I’m just extraordinarily perceptive.”

LeAnn and
Catie interrupted their own conversation to look over and laugh. “Right,” snorted LeAnn.

“Ignore them,” Isaiah ordered with a smile. “So you’re the vet for the animal shelter Sally manages. What kind of work do you find yourself doing mostly?”

“Well, there’s actually a lot of diversity. I do more large animal work than you’d expect in a community like York. There are—”

“Look who I found outside,” said Sally returning with the four-pack of wine in one hand and a baby on the opposite shoulder. She set the wine on the counter and began to unzip the baby’s snowsuit.

Jim stared, watching her slim hands wrapped around the baby’s sturdy body as she lifted the child out of the snowsuit and back onto her shoulder. She rubbed her face against the side of the baby’s head, twisting her body in an automatic rocking motion and turned her face to sniff the downy hair and plant a kiss on the temple. Jim did a fast double blink to cool his eyes, and tried to regain perspective, but something had clicked in his heart. Plans blossomed, fully formed, and put down roots in his soul.

Before He’d had a chance to recover from the sudden sweep of em
otion, another woman came in, slim with long, straight brunette hair, carrying a casserole dish. She was followed by a wiry man, slightly shorter than she was, with steel gray hair and a diaper bag slung over his shoulder. Close on their heels came another couple, both with young-looking, rounded faces. She was obviously pregnant and he was obviously well-fed, with a neatly trimmed reddish beard and dishwater blond hair.

Greetings and hugs ensued and, forgotten for the moment, Jim sat back and watched Sally interact with her family. This was where the stubbornness and strength that he treasured had been born and nu
rtured. These were the people who had taught her to love, to care, and to get up again every time she was knocked down. Gratitude filled his heart, and he felt a sense of connection. They all loved her, too.

Introduction of the new arrivals drew Jim into
conversation which was interrupted when Sally’s father clanged a knife against a wine glass. “Let’s pray.”

The sound of mingled
conversations stilled.

Sally’s father spoke. “Heavenly Father, Thank you for friends and family, those here with us, and those apart. Let your blessing rest upon them all, and especially upon those who serve our country overseas. Keep us all in your loving care. Thank you for blessings of health and prosperity, for times of refreshment and times of strengthening. Give us wisdom as we seek to follow you. Thank you for this bounteous meal, and bless the hands that prepared it. Amen.”

“Amen,” responded the guests.

A moment later, the volume of talk rose once again, as each person took a plate and went through the kitchen, buffet-style, choosing from the abundance of food crowding the countertops
, then found a seat at the festive table.

It was actually
a line of tables, Jim noted, covered with a number of overlapping red tablecloths and surrounded by an assortment of chairs. A trail of autumn leaves interspersed with short fat candles and figurines of pilgrims, turkeys, and pumpkins next to cornstalks, wound down the center of the table. Name cards sat in front of each place setting, courtesy of the Wilson twins and Sally’s niece, Shelby.

Jim followed Sally to their places at the table and sat.

This was not the formal meal he had anticipated with some unease. Nor was it merely nourishment, but rather a prolonged conversation, punctuated with food and drink. Sally sat at his side, laughing as family stories were retold and explaining the inside jokes and good-natured, but obscure, insults, that flew back and forth across the table. Jim found it enjoyable but a bit overwhelming. He felt more relaxed after being shooed into the family room to watch football with the men. There was no need to make conversation here—the occasional grunt sufficed.

Then, as Jim watched
late afternoon shadows stretch across the limp brown grass, Sally’s dad sat down next to him. His voice was pitched low, for Jim’s ears alone. “My daughter’s spoken of you many times. I’m pleased to finally get to meet you.”

Jim glanced toward the other men in the room. They appeared a
bsorbed in the game on the television set. “This is the first time Sally’s invited me out, Will.”
It’s not me dragging my feet.

Will nodded his head slightly. “She took it real hard, for a long time, when Trent was killed. She closed up quite a bit, pulled away some from us all.”

What was he supposed to say to that? He lifted his chin slightly and dropped it gently to indicate understanding and acceptance of what Will said.

Will’s eyebrows shifted fractionally upward. “Today is different. T
oday she’s here and happy, despite the things she told us have been going on. I suppose that’s due to you?”

Shit. Why doesn’t he just ask me if I’m sleeping with her?
“I don’t know that I can take credit for that. Sally’s a strong woman… a fighter.”

Will fixed him with a mild gaze and waited for more.

May as well spit it out.
“I’m in love with her, sir. That’s nothing new. But the change you see… it might be that she’s finally decided to let herself love me back.”

Sally’s dad grinned. “If you’re going to call me ‘sir’, I feel I should ask what your intentions are, but… she’s her own woman, and strong, as you said. Just keep her safe for me, will you? Her and Tyler?”

“Always.”
If by life or death I can save her, I will.
Then he smiled ruefully—at his brain for pulling up Aragorn’s dramatic phrase from Tolkien, and at the older man. “It’s not an easy job you’re asking me to take on there. She is one headstrong woman.”

“Don’t I know it? She comes by it honestly—you’ve seen her mother in action.” Will gave Jim a considering glance. “But, I get the feeling that you’ll be able to handle her. I wish you the best. Excuse me.” Will stood and moved toward the door. “I want another beer. Would you like an
ything?”

“No, I’m good, thanks.” A sense of relief washed over him. Passed i
nspection and approved. Funny, the things that made a man nervous.

Will came back with a fresh beer and sat down, followed by Sally, who stopped in the doorway and spoke to the room at large. “Guys, I’m going to have to steal Jim away. We need to get going. We have a long drive back.” She moved to her father and gave him a hug. “I love you, Dad. Have fun with Tyler.”

“Come back soon, Sally. You too, Jim.”

“Yes, sir,” Jim said, understanding what the older man meant. “
We will.”

Sally took him by the hand as he rose. “Come say goodbye to my mom, Jim.”

Florence gave him a hug, then looked into his eyes while her hands held his forearms. “You keep taking care of our Sally, Jim. And thank you for all you’ve done. Come back soon.”

“Yes, ma’am, we will,” he promised. He saw the quick shine of tears in her eyes for a moment,
then she looked away and stepped back to give them both a bright smile. “Tyler’s in the basement.” She walked to the staircase and called down. “Tyler, come up and say goodbye to your mom and Dr. Donovan.

Feet pounded up the stairs, and Tyler barreled into the room, giving his mom a quick hug and allowing her a kiss. He looked at Jim and a
bruptly gave him a hug as well. Then he was gone, pounding back down the stairs as quickly as he’d come.

Jim and Sally left to a chorus of goodbyes from the women. The night air crackled with cold beneath a sky full of white-hot stars and a bright three-quarter moon.

As they drove down the lane to the highway, Jim turned to look at Sally. “How much did you tell your folks about the stalker?”

“All of it,” she answered.

“And about us?”

She winked at him. “Most of that. And I gave them your number, in case they needed to call about Tyler and couldn’t reach me—I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it is.”

Sally stretched as best she could in the confines of the truck. She r
elaxed back onto the seat with a sigh.

“Tired?”

“No, I just hate to leave. It was like taking a vacation from my life. Now I have to go back.”

“Don’t misrepresent yourself, Sal. You don’t have to go back. You could choose to run. Simply pull up stakes and go. Some people would.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “And look over my shoulder the rest of my life? No thank you.”

Jim chuckled. “Hey, I’m not saying it would be a good idea. Only that you
decided
to be strong, to stay and deal with it. It’s not because you have to, but because, being who you are, you choose to stand your ground and fight. It’s admirable, and you should give yourself credit, not pretend you have no other choices.”

Sally took a moment to digest what he said. “Well, thanks. It does feel like I’m trapped, but you’re right. I’m not trapped, I choose to stay. He’s not in control, I am.”

Jim’s dimple creased his face as he gave her a wide smile. “Exactly. Now what’s next?”

All right. Back to real life.
“Do you think the police are getting any closer to figuring out who he is?”

“Didn’t sound like it the last time I talked to Demarco.”

“Well, we’ve got to at least try to figure it out ourselves. I can’t wait forever for this to end, Jim. I need Tyler back home, and I want to be able to be with you without this creep complicating things.”
I wish it was as simple as that just sounded.

Jim nodded in acceptance, but he gave her a wry grin as if the two of them had shared her last thought. “I’ve been thinking about the official shortlist Billings let me see on his clipboard Tuesday. Maybe it would give us a place to start.”

Sally straightened in her seat. “What list?”

“A dozen or so names the police were looking into: people who had some connection with the area where you and Trent lived, who had moved here
to York after you did, and who went to school at Penn State. Billings said they shortlisted everyone who had two of the three.”

“Did you get a copy of it?”

Jim smiled smugly. “In the notebook in the glove box.”

Sally grabbed the notebook, paging past Jim’s maintenance records for the truck until she came to the scribbled list of names. “I know more than half of these guys.”

“Really? I didn’t know that many—who do you know?”

“Phil
Cavalo, Eric Estell, Michael Fernandez, Mike Hendrix, Mark Hunter, Kurt McCardle, Daniel Smith, and Harry Zurn.”

“Well, we could start, as a practical matter, by ignoring the ones you don’t know. We don’t have any information on them anyway.”

“All right. How about the shelter? Some of these guys have never been there, so far as I know. And that’s where things began.”

Jim nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. “Who does that leave?”

“Well, some of them volunteer—Phil, Michael, Mike, Mark and Harry. Kurt got his kid’s beagle from us, but I think that’s the only time he’s come out. I don’t think Eric has ever been to the shelter—he works in the pharmacy at the discount store.”

“Is there any way to find out who was working when the notes were left?”

“Well, I only know exact dates for the notes that came since my computer was sabotaged. But I can cross-check those with the volunteer schedule and see. Hang on.” Sally unbuckled her seatbelt, and turned around on her knees to fish the laptop out of the back. “Got it.” She resumed her seat, buckled up, and flipped open the machine.

“Well?”

“Give me a minute. It’s slow… I’m checking for the day of the note and the day before—the notes at the shelter always turned up by noon. Some of them could have been planted the night before… Phil, Mike, Harry… and Jamal.”

“Jamal
Woolcott? He wasn’t on the list.”

“No, but he was scheduled at the shelter each time a note showed up.”

“He’s only a kid,” said Jim.

“Yeah, I know. He’s actually pretty good friends with Tyler.”

“What about Phil? He could have easily done the computer thing. Heck, he could probably have done the computer thing through the internet without even being there”.

“I don’t think it could be Phil.”

“Why not?”

“Have you ever seen his handwriting
? I have. It’s illegible. I doubt he could print a note neat enough that anyone could read it. What about Mike? He was there.”

“He works at Lennox, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well…” Jim slowed the truck to negotiate a turn. ”I don’t think it’s likely that all the notes were left the night before, and the computer thing had to be done during the day, unless it was Phil. Mike works days, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, he only volunteers at the shelter from about 4:30 till closing, usually about twice a month”.

“The computer was sabotaged on a Saturday.”