 
### In a Daze

By

Bliss Addison

Published by Bliss Addison

©2013. All Rights Reserved Bliss Addison

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, excepting brief quotes to be used in reviews.

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Other Books by Bliss Addison:

A Battle of Wills

With Malicious Intent

Restless Souls

Wolfe, She Cried

One Millhaven Lane

Murder at the Villa Maria-Sedona Retirement Home

A Waning Moon

Prophesy

Sleight of Hand

An Equal Measure (Tit-for-Tat)

Deadly Serum

A Silver Lining (Part I – The Monahans)

A Little Rain Must Fall (Part II – The Monahans)

Watching Over Her

Summary:

Elijah Whipple received noticed of his mandatory retirement from the armed forces on his forty-fifth birthday. Since that down-turn, it's been one setback after another for him. He spends his days brooding and looking for employment. His wife, worried he might become a couch potato, offers his help to the parish priest to make adjustments to a confessional. During the repairs, a parishioner confuses Elijah with the parish priest and confesses to him. Elijah is blissfully unaware of the happening, that is, until the parishioner calls and threatens his life.

Table of Contents:

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One

It was the middle of July in Callum and hot, even for Oklahoma.

I looked at the sun through the tinted windshield of my truck and wondered what was with this heat. I did a lot of that lately – wonder - but mostly, I passed the days worrying what I'd do for the rest of my life. Honestly, what good was a man who could parachute from a plane with nothing but a two-bit pen and a roll of antacids and survive in subzero temperatures for as long as it took?

I cranked up the AC, felt some relief from the scorching temperature, and ten minutes later I was walking up the church steps.

I wasn't the caretaker of Corpus Christi nor was I a handyman, but when Father Ezra mentioned the sliding privacy door and bench in the confessional gave him trouble, my wife Gracie – God love her generous soul – offered my assistance. Truthfully, I appreciated the opportunity to feel useful again. My mandatory retirement from my position at Fort Sill army base on my forty-fifth birthday eight weeks ago affected me more greatly than I would have thought. Perhaps if I'd been given some notice, I would have been able to prepare.

After all this time, I should be accustomed to not rising with the roosters each morning. Instead of making the most of a bad situation, which I tend to do in circumstances like these, I pitied myself, each day wallowing a little more than I had yesterday. I didn't feel good about that either. I gave myself the advice I'd give a friend in my situation: "Elijah Whipple, my man, so you're retired. Deal." Yeah. "You could be worse off." Yeah. "Relax. Give yourself time." Yeah. My butt cheeks blistered from the relaxation I forced on them.

I learned one thing, though. My advice sucked. I vowed never to dispense such crap ever again.

My situation had to change soon or else. Or else what? That was the big one, the elephant of a question taking up space in my mind.

I entered the church through the main entrance and dipped my fingers in holy water. I signed the cross and walked to the back of the church. Inside the confessional, I flipped on my flashlight and tugged on the sliding door. It didn't budge from its closed position, just as Father Ezra had told Gracie. A simple fix, I realized. Only a matter of securing the rail and oiling the runner. I moved on then to the bigger problem – the bench. Sitting as Ezra would, I learned firsthand the priest's complaint after almost toppling over. A broken support, I suspected.

I knelt, lifted the seat and shone the flashlight beam along the inner ridge. The piece of wood that supported the seat had withered away on one side. I was thinking another simple fix when something nudged my feet. I turned and saw the door had closed, brushing against the soles of my sandals. I made a mental note to adjust the hinge on my return. With the unbearable heat we experienced lately and now that the sacrament of penance was making a comeback, Ezra would no doubt appreciate cool air between confessions.

## Chapter Two

Today, he called himself Francis Betton. Tomorrow was another day and another name. He hadn't decided yet on a moniker, but he'd like something aristocratic this time, something beguiling, something that rolled off the tongue. The whim was for him. He told only the dead his name, and they weren't telling anyone.

Francis peered around the church. Several parishioners lined the pews at the back. He never understood why worshipers did that. They came to praise God, to pay their respects to the Heavenly Father responsible for giving them life and thank Him for all they had, yet they rushed to grab seats as far from the altar as they could.

The heavy outer doors opened, and a group of men and women entered, chatting and carrying on like teenagers on prom night.

Francis wondered what they were thinking, showing such disrespect. The church wasn't a recreation hall. They needed to be taught a lesson. He could teach them. He shouldn't, though. It would draw attention, and the last thing he wanted was for anyone to take notice of him.

Remember your mission. The Lord is relying on you. Without you, evil will take over the earth. You don't want that, do you?

No, of course not.

He would not let down the Lord, his Savior.

Feeling revitalized, Francis sighed and turned, noticing the light coming on in the priest's booth. He stood, bowed toward the altar and entered the cubicle. The confessional was dark, too murky even for him to see his hand.

As he knelt, he signed the cross and closed his eyes. "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen." He paused, allowing the priest time to interject. Some clerics had something to say at this point. When, after thirty seconds passed, no sound came from the priest, Francis opened his eyes and said, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession." He swallowed and built up courage. The admission that he committed a sin didn't come easily to Francis. But confession was necessary, for without a priest's absolution he couldn't continue the Lord's work.

"I killed a man today," he said. "A vile, evil man who abused his children and forced himself on his wife. For this life I took and all the sins of my life, I am truly sorry."

He bowed his head and waited for the priest's counsel. From experience, this could take a few minutes. He could never understand their shock and speechlessness. They must hear appalling sins, but none more terrible than the ones who committed grave sins against humanity. Men like Aubrey Savoy didn't deserve to live.

After several moments, longer than he'd ever waited for any priest's advice, Francis wondered if the priest had fallen asleep.

Francis prompted him. "Father?" In response, he heard the squeak of a door opening and closing. His first thought was that the priest fled the church to report him to the authorities. He quickly nixed the notion when he remembered priests were bound by the seal of the sacrament, which forbade them not to reveal what they heard in confession.

What had just happened? Francis was confused. Someone had been in the priest's booth but, apparently, it hadn't been the priest. So, who had heard his confession? He jumped to his feet and peeked out. A tall man dressed in a T-shirt and chinos walked past. He peered farther, still expecting to see the billowing black robe of a priest fleeing around a corner. When he didn't, he looked around the church. No one was on their feet, and no one appeared to have moved. It took Francis only a moment to understand. However it happened, he'd said his confession to a layman. His heart pounded. He couldn't be found out. He had unfinished business.

He watched him walk through the church. The man didn't seem in a rush to leave. If he'd heard his confession, he should be running to the police. Most anyone would. But maybe he only wanted Francis to think he hadn't heard him confess to murder.

Francis realized he couldn't take the chance the man hadn't heard anything and had one option— he must silence the lanky man wearing sandals.

# Chapter Three

I left the confessional and walked toward the altar, expecting to meet up with Father Ezra. I didn't and peered around the church. He was nowhere I could see, which puzzled me. A moment ago, I heard him talking outside the priest's booth. I took another look around and still didn't see him. Perhaps it hadn't been his voice after all, or maybe I was hearing things. That could be too.

From the cathedral, I drove straight home, or I should say our home in the interim. Once I found a job, Gracie and I would resume our lives wherever it took us.

I brought my truck to a stop at the rear of Gracie's childhood home. Ma Babin was spending the summer again this year with her sister in San Francisco. Gracie would inherit the house when the regrettable time came and had suggested we keep the old farmhouse. It would make a great retirement home, she'd said, and we'd already decided to spend our senior years where we'd spent our youth. At the time, I didn't see any problem with the plan. I did now. When I'd agreed to her proposition, I'd envisioned my parents in urns on my brother's mantel and someone unrelated to me living in my childhood home next door. Not to mention, I'd seen my retirement as something far into the future, like twenty years from now when I'd qualify for the ole boy pension.

I entered the house through the kitchen door. Gracie, her curly dark hair held off her forehead by a red kerchief, was rolling out dough on the counter.

"Hi, honey," I said, dropping a kiss on her flour-dusted cheek. Gracie was my center in life. Always had been. Always would be.

"How'd you make out at church?" she asked, smiling.

"One doesn't make out in church, darlin'," I said. "It would be sacrilegious."

She bumped her hip against mine. "You know what I mean."

"Easy fixes," I said, picturing the perfect piece of cedar in the barn to use for the repair of Ezra's bench seat. "Can you call and tell him I'll be at the church at six?"

I sat at the kitchen table, pondering the fact if I didn't find a job soon, I might end up accepting an early retirement, which would mean we'd take up permanent residence next to my parents. My Dad had caused Gracie immeasurable difficulties throughout our twenty-six years of marriage. The thought crossed my mind he might have forgotten his penchant for making trouble, because we'd been here a month and so far, so good. But that could change in a heartbeat. I knocked on the wood table. The last thing I wanted was to tempt fate. Life had already caught me napping. I didn't want to risk more unpleasantness.

A speck of dough landed on my hand. I looked at Gracie.

"What was that for?" she asked, training her sky blue eyes on me.

"That I don't screw up and cost the church money instead of saving it a few dollars."

"Not possible." She wiped her hands on an apron and brought me a cup of tea. "Lukewarm, the way you like it."

"Thanks, hon." I opened yesterday's newspaper and read the story below the fold about a murder in nearby Wolver. The details were a little sketchy, but the Chronicle promised to keep the public informed once the police issued a statement to the press. Apparently, there had been four murders in as many weeks. This was the first I'd heard of the killings, which showed the depth of my focus on my jobless situation.

"I went to see your parents while you were gone," Gracie said. "Dad was cleaning his pistol and Mom was helping him. They smiled at me and acted like they polished silverware rather than a nine-millimeter. Maybe it's time you and your brother think about placing them in a nursing home." She cut out six biscuits and positioned them on a cookie sheet.

I looked up from the newspaper and agreed something was going on with them. "Maybe it's a phase. Why don't we give it some time?" I took a sip of now cold tea and watched her put a pan of biscuits in the oven.

"Okay, but not too long." She looked at me.

I nodded. "I hear you."

"Supper'll be ready in twenty minutes."

"Baked beans and biscuits." I couldn't remember the last time she'd made beans. The old farmhouse always brought back memories of her childhood. I'd experienced a few nostalgic moments myself since moving in. Mine were all sexual in nature. The two of us in the hayloft, the two of us in the bed of Dad's old pick-up. The images made me smile. Gracie was as sexy today as she was as a teenager.

"Don't forget to phone Father Ezra," I said.

"Why can't you?"

"I could, but if you do, it'll save me time. Didn't you say he was antsy to get the confessional door working again?" I used some diplomacy. Truth was, talking to clergy made me uncomfortable. I don't know why. It just did. Not that I had a whole hell of a lot of sins to confess, or sins I hadn't confessed. Priests seemed to look into your eyes and know your deepest, darkest secrets. Looking glass to the soul, eyes were.

"I'll phone him, but if you're playing me, you'll pay, mister." She cocked a brow and looked at me. "In a really big way."

I grinned, remembering the gold chain my manipulation, albeit innocent, had bought her a few months back.

On the way to the wall phone, she stopped and peered at the door.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Did you hear that?"

## Chapter Four

I looked out the kitchen window. A brisk breeze had picked up. Bits of withered grass and debris blew past and trees wobbled in the wind. The sky was darkening, preparing for a storm, but the day was still light.

"It's probably nothing." I could see from her expression she didn't share my belief and knew why. Gracie taught high school biology and toward the end of first semester, she received a threatening letter. We presumed the threat came from a disgruntled student. While we didn't involve the police, we reported the incident to school officials. I took the threat seriously, exercising due caution and taking preemptive measures to secure her safety. Between our daughters and myself, Gracie never ventured anywhere alone, and while in our home in Fort Sill, she was behind dead-bolted doors. After weeks of diligence and no further threats, we and the authorities involved believed our concern had been for naught. Obviously, Gracie hadn't forgotten the harrowing experience. And rightly so.

"But I'll check," I said.

"It sounded like a thud, like something landed heavily on the porch."

I nodded. "Stay inside and lock the door behind me." I didn't expect her to stay put – Gracie always had my back.

I took hold of the doorknob at the same time as Gracie swiped the rolling pin from the counter. Sometimes my wife forgot what I did for a living, or at least, what I used to do for a living. But instead of a scowl, I gave her a thumbs-up. She smiled and practiced using the rolling pin as a club. Watching her, I pitied the skull the chunk of wood would come in contact with. I imagined she probably heard a wild animal. Raccoons (evidently forgetting they're nocturnal) ravished trash cans, day or night. So did bears. In which case, Gracie's weapon would prove ineffective, which got me thinking I should have armed myself with Ma Babin's shotgun or taken the time to run upstairs to get a sidearm.

I yanked open the door and inched through the porch and onto the stoop, taking careful stock of the many places someone or something might hide. The mammoth blue spruce at my right could shield a gorilla-size man. Beneath the porch would serve as a good hidey-hole, as would the elderberry bushes bordering the property.

A few feet behind me, I sensed Gracie coming to a stop as I did.

I looked upward and found the porch roof empty. I did a slow turn and didn't see anything or anyone. I suggested we go back inside, but Gracie was having none of it.

"Something...or someone made the noise."

"You're right," I said, figuring the wind was responsible. I looked over the side of the porch and saw the hanging flower basket broken in two. "There's the culprit," I said, pointing at the ground. "I seem to recall saying the hook wouldn't hold the weight of that clay pot."

I loved being right.

Gracie punched me in the ribs. I caught her hands and pulled her against me, holding her tight. Before I could act on my impulse to kiss her, a breeze flew past, bringing with it a familiar scent, one I had difficulty identifying.

"What's that smell?" I asked, searching the backyard for intruders.

She looked at me. "I don't smell anything but manure. Your father fertilized his garden again today. When he wasn't polishing his guns, that is."

Her remark about my father's guns didn't go unheard, but there was a time and place for every discussion. I tucked her remark away for later and blocked out the smells common to the country – hay, greasy wool, diesel, red gums, silage – "Are you sure?" I asked. "The odor's strong. I'm surprised you can't smell it." I watched her raise her freckled nose into the air.

She shook her head. "I can't smell anything."

The scent bothered me. I didn't know why exactly. Perhaps it was because I couldn't put a name to it.

***

Father Ezra awaited me at the front doors when I arrived at Corpus Christi. He followed me through the church to the confessionals and, while I set about readying the piece of cedar for the seat, Ezra had loped off somewhere. I don't know where; truthfully, I didn't notice him missing until he was gone. I found it strange he hadn't kept me company. If I knew anything about the priest, it was that he liked to socialize. In fact, he never missed an opportunity to do so, and it wouldn't have mattered that he might have prior obligations. He would have been at my side the entire time, telling stories of days long past.

Where was he?

I made the repairs, packed up my gear and looked around the church for Ezra. I couldn't see him anywhere and experienced a moment of apprehension. Then I remembered Gracie mentioning the old priest was getting a little dotty, forgetting things he shouldn't, like locking the church doors. These days, even in the country, churches were bolted tight when not in service and Corpus Christi was no exception.

I thought about calling for him, but chucked the idea. If he was doing something like counting the Eucharist, he shouldn't be distracted. I went in search of him. The soles of my shoes squeaked on the marble floor and echoed against the stone walls, the sound ringing in the vast empty cavern. I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see Ezra chasing after me, his posture leaning to one side to accommodate his arthritic right hip. From what I could see, I was alone.

The jittery feeling I'd experienced earlier returned. The hair on my forearms bristled. I sensed someone watching me and turned, but again it appeared I was alone. I didn't feel alone. Slowly, I made my way toward the middle aisle and genuflected before the altar. I did a quick check of the area but didn't see Father Ezra. If he were anywhere, he'd be out back in the vestry.

Yes, that made sense.

You're acting like a school girl, Eli. What's the matter with you?

My self-confidence took a hit with my retirement papers.

What would you tell a recruit?

Buckle up soldier or you're dead.

Time to take your own advice, wouldn't you say?

On the altar, I walked toward the door that led to the vestry.

Repent or suffer the wrath of God.

I had no idea why that popped in my mind, then I imagined those ten to fifteen parish priests buried in crypts in the church basement rising from their resting place, their skeletal hands shoving aside the granite slab that entombed them. Lord Almighty. I watched too many horror movies.

I entered a dimly lit corridor and called out to the priest, but he didn't respond. With each passing second, my uneasiness increased. I was sure something had happened to Ezra.

I inched along until I came to the end of the hallway and a closed door. There wasn't any sign of light in the vestry beyond, which alarmed me. I knew the room was windowless and if Ezra was inside, he needed light to see.

"Father Ezra," I said, turning the knob, anticipating a locked door and surprising myself when the door moved inward. I called his name again, concentrating on the surroundings. I could smell incense and something else. It took me only a second to realize the other scent was identical to the one in the air at the farmhouse. I still couldn't put a name to the odor.

The room was at rest, harmless, yet my gut told me something was off. I flicked on the light and realized my instinct was dead right.

## Chapter Five

I ran to Ezra and knelt beside him on the floor. While I checked for a pulse, I scanned the small area, looking for places where an intruder might hide. The doors of a wardrobe stood open. There wasn't anything inside that shouldn't be there. A short length of cabinets against the far wall was too small for an adult to crawl into. There wasn't any indication of a struggle, but the old priest wouldn't have put up much of a fight.

His heartbeat throbbed against my fingers. I sent up a thank-you.

"Father Ezra," I said.

He came to life, flailing his arms in the air like a mad man. "Heavens above, Eli, what are you doing?" His white-as-salt brows rose high on his forehead.

From his wild-eyed expression, I determined I'd frightened him. I looked at my splayed hands on his chest then quickly drew them to my sides and stood. "You're all right," I said.

"Of course, I'm all right."

"You were on the floor. I thought you were unconscious."

"Unconscious?" Ezra laughed. "Catnapping is more like it. The hard floor does wonders for these old back muscles. Now if you could give me a hand, young man, I'd like to get to my feet and pretend this never happened."

Ezra appeared more embarrassed than I and that was saying something. I grabbed his extended hand and helped him from the floor. I apologized profusely for any misunderstanding and slinked away.

***

It was nine o'clock in the evening, and for the last hour and a half I'd been scouring the classifieds on-line and in the newspaper for employment opportunities. Nothing had changed for me in that department. I wasn't qualified to do anything but what I'd been doing for the last twenty-five years – making soldiers of recruits. Maybe Gracie was right. Maybe I should go back to college.

I rubbed my eyes, thought I'd take a break and went in search of Gracie. I didn't find my wife, but I found a note propped against the toaster.

My love,

Your Mom called and needs help to move their deck furniture into the shed. I didn't want to disturb you, so I went in your place. I'll probably be back before you notice me gone, but just in case, I'll leave this note.

C.

Dad was probably worrying his nails to the quick that the rain and wind would damage his outdoor furniture. I wished I could say he wasn't always this way. The sad truth was that he placed more importance on material things than family. Nothing should come between or take the place of our loved ones. Nothing. My father never saw that, or if he had, he failed to understand.

Nightfall had settled upon us, and it troubled me that Gracie wasn't home yet. Of course, I didn't know when she'd left, but I presumed it would still have been daylight, which was well over an hour ago.

I was out the door in a flash and sprinting across the yard toward my folks' home. The least thing got me edgy these days, probably because I felt I'd lost control of my life. If my unemployment became permanent, I'd become an emotional wreck. Topping that off, Gracie's baked bean supper retaliated in my intestines. I was thankful for the frequent gusts of winds that carried away the sound and odor.

I found my wife sitting between my parents on the three-seater swing. Out of breath from my frantic one hundred-yard dash, I took my time climbing the steps. I'd stopped my ritual four-mile run after a farmer bumped my behind with his tractor on the Fox Farm Road. Despite the twang of the engine, I misjudged the distance of the noise. Nothing had been damaged except my pride. I realized, though, how different the outcome could have been and decided to contain my exercise regimen to the back yard, barn and bed.

"Hi, honey," Gracie said, smiling. "We thought we'd take a break before we hauled this monster away." She slapped a cushion on the swing.

I returned her smile and nodded at Mom and Dad. They looked at me, neither of them saying anything. I wondered what ran through their minds. That I needed to get a job, perhaps. That my hair needed trimming, maybe.

My father's left eardrum was blown out from heavy artillery fire in the Vietnam War. His right eardrum had been damaged, too, but not as severely. Forty per cent hearing, he repeatedly told us, like we could ever forget something that important. I'd often wondered how deaf the old man really was. Either he had surveillance cameras in the house we didn't know about, or his hearing wasn't as bad as he complained because he'd always managed to catch my brother and me roughhousing at bedtime. He'd come up those stairs and we'd hear the belt being drawn through the loops on the waistband of his trousers and I'd hightail it from Ralph's room to mine, dive under the covers and hold my breath until I heard his footsteps as he descended the stairs.

I looked at the barren deck, then at the open doors of the baby barn where chairs and chaises were piled high. I'd wager my Mom and Gracie had carted off the deck furniture while my father supervised, demanding they take it easy and not damage anything. On his retirement at the age of fifty-seven, thirteen years now, my father had forsaken work of any kind. If Mom had thought he'd take part in any household chores, she'd been mistaken. There was no love lost between my father and me. No matter what I did, I could never measure up to Ralph. But I'd come to terms with that long ago.

"Only this thing left. Everything else is tucked away," Gracie said, following my train of thought.

I nodded again.

"I'll give you a hand when you're ready," I said, resting my back against the railing across from them. I asked my parents how everything was going. They nodded their response. "How about those Tigers?" I asked, referring to Callum's midget baseball team and directing the question to my father. "I caught a couple of innings yesterday morning." One little kid, a red-haired, freckle-faced ten year old reminded me of myself at that age. "You should take in a game, Dad."

I watched him let on like he hadn't heard me. There was something else going on in his mind too, though. No one could anticipate his thoughts or reaction, but I expected that any minute now he would advise me to get off my butt and get a job. I waited. And waited. Then just as I thought he was about to say something, he jutted his chin instead. My father was not a likeable man, but he was an interesting character.

He cleared his throat.

I braced myself for an insult or more advice.

"Your mother and I have two extra plots in Fernhill Cemetery. If you and Gracie want them, they're yours."

This was not the first time he'd offered us those plots, and like the many other instances when he had, the same questions ran in my mind – Why four? The only reason I could come up with was that he acquired four for the price of two. At times, he seemed determined we take them. I could only assume my brother had refused his generous offer and Gracie and I were his last chance to pawn them off.

I opened my mouth, to say what I didn't know. Before I could decide, my wife spoke for me.

"That's kind of you, Dad, but Eli will be buried next to me in the Babin family cemetery," Gracie said.

My mother stood with a flourish, the skirt of her yellow flowered housedress latching onto a gust of wind. "Let's go in the house, Percy. We aren't wanted here." She grabbed my father's hand and yanked him to his feet.

My mother's strength never failed to amaze me. Within that five foot two frame lay a one hundred pound powerhouse.

After my folks slammed the door closed and threw the dead bolt, Gracie looked at me wide-eyed and asked what she'd said wrong.

"Nothing," I said distracted by the dark cumulus clouds overhead. "We better get this swing in the shed. It won't be long before rain hits."

Gracie and I loaded the swing in the shed, secured the latch on the door and headed for home, walking hand in hand across the yards. She didn't say a word the entire trek home. I expected her to. Quoting my Mom, Gracie always had lots to say. Something was bothering my wife and whatever it was involved my parents, but not only that, it was important, something I should know. She'd tell me when she thought I was ready to listen.

Inside our kitchen, sheltered from the rain that now pelted the house, I asked her if she'd like a glass of wine. She nodded. I took a bottle of Chardonnay from the rack and on my way through the dining room, swiped two glasses from the china cabinet. Gracie followed on my heels into the den.

I found the air chilly. The plaster walls made these old homes damp in the summer. "Would you like a fire?"

"I'd love one."

Judging from her grin and the glint in her eyes, I determined she not only liked the idea but intended to take this party upstairs later.

While Gracie opened the wine, I built the fire. In seconds, the flaming cedar kindling set the birch logs ablaze. I plopped onto the floor, leaned back against the sofa and took the glass of wine Gracie offered. I lifted my arm and she cuddled into my side. We didn't speak, simply sat there, sipping our wine and staring into the flames of the blazing fire while wind rattled the window panes and rain pattered on the roof. After a few minutes, I couldn't stand the peace any longer.

"Why don't you tell me what's got you anxious?" I said, running my thumb over her forearm.

She looked up at me and smiled. "It can wait."

I rested my chin atop her head. Gracie wasn't good at holding back. She said her piece and got on with life. It was one of the many things I loved about her.

"Okay, but you know you can tell me anything, don't you?"

She smiled, grabbed my hand and stood. "Come upstairs."

Unable to deny my wife anything, I clasped her hand and let her lead me up the stairs.

## Chapter Six

The following morning I woke at sunrise, but instead of jumping from bed and into the shower, I rolled over and fell back to sleep. The chimes from Ma Babin's grandfather clock nudged me awake at seven o'clock, surprising me no end. That I was alone in bed surprised me too. I didn't normally sleep heavy, but somehow Gracie had managed to get out of bed without disturbing me.

As I showered, my mind drifted to the Reaper murders mentioned in Saturday's paper. I had no investigative skills or experience and didn't fancy myself an amateur detective, but I enjoyed trying to solve mysteries, so it was only natural for me to want to learn more about the killings. I figured the press would have additional details to report. I toweled off and dressed in shorts and a muscle top — my usual attire these days. Downstairs, I found Gracie at the kitchen sink filling a wash bucket with water.

She looked at me over her shoulder, checked me out, then asked, "Where are you off to?"

"Into town for the paper. Will you miss me while I'm gone?"

She winked. "What do you think?"

"After last night, honey, I know you will." I grabbed a quick kiss from her and a ginger snap from the counter and left.

The rain had stopped sometime overnight, but the temperature hadn't cooled like I thought it would.

I bought the newspaper at Dunbar's Drugs and, since Gracie didn't like me under foot while she cleaned, I decided to grab a coffee and read the paper at Poppa's. I didn't normally frequent coffeehouses, but the whim seemed to fit. Inside the Starbucks-like café, I looked around, paying no particular attention to the elderly gentleman seated at one of the dozen Formica tables. From his aloof demeanor, I deduced he was here for the coffee and the morning news, like me.

I marched up to the counter. "Medium coffee, black," I said to the fifteen-ish clerk. Mary-Beth, her nametag read.

"Coming right up." Mary-Beth popped her wad of gum and looked at me slyly. "I haven't seen you around before. I'd ask if you're vacationing, but then I'd wonder who'd come to Callum on their holidays. No one in their right mind, I suspect." She handed me a cup filled to the brim with steaming coffee.

Yep, crazy dude here. "Just passing through." I smiled, paid for my coffee and left a generous tip.

At a corner table with my back to the wall, I took a sip of coffee and opened the newspaper. As I'd expected, there had been more to report on the murder. They'd also posted a picture of the victim, Aubrey Savoy of 1222 Ice House Lane. I'd recognize that mug anytime, anywhere. I remembered the creep from the beatings he inflicted on his wife Fanny. In my younger years, I chummed with their son. Jeremy was a good kid, more like his mother than father. Savoy had beaten Fanny mercilessly for the thirty some years they'd been married. She was at peace now, but I failed to see the fairness in it. Justice would be him being destroyed by a lingering and painful illness and Fanny surviving him. I wondered if the police had any suspects or leads in his murder. I wondered too about the motive.

"Well, if it isn't Whip-Whip-Whipple," a booming voice rang out in the café.

My thoughts jumped from murder to my stuttering seventh grade math teacher and how I'd come about the misnomer. Doherty caught me passing a note in class. In a huff, he tripped over his tongue and stammered my name. Whip-Whip-Whipple. The name stuck to me like an adhesive through junior high and high school and never forgotten by a few. This fellow walking toward me was one.

"If it isn't Wiley Coyote." Wiley and I went way back and seeing him always brought up memories of our high school years and our band. We'd called ourselves The Coffin Bangers. All of us smoked at the time, hence the name. The older we grow, the wiser we grew. What a crock.

Wiley was as flamboyantly dressed as ever. I couldn't stop staring at his attire – blue plaid Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. He'd topped off the ensemble with black mid-calf socks and running shoes. He owned a used car business in Oklahoma City. I'd ask him for a job, but I'd suck at selling used cars.

I stood and we hugged. I offered Wiley the vacant seat at my table and sat. "When did you get into town?" We usually hooked up at Kibbey's jamboree, along with other classmates visiting relatives in the area. It was becoming a yearly ritual (both the jamboree and our hooking up).

"Late last night," Wiley said. "Mary wanted a little extra time with her folks this year. You out at the Babin homestead?"

"For the time being." Wiley sung bass, a deep, dark, thundering voice that never failed to raise an eyebrow or two. At present, the ole timer, who had been engrossed in the daily news, turned in our direction. I smiled, feeling every bit my forty-five years.

"Mary told me you were pensioned off. Sorry, bro. Must be tough."

Wiley couldn't say a word that didn't come out as a bellow. He had the loudest voice I'd ever heard.

"Retired not deaf," I said, knowing from experience he couldn't keep his voice down if he had laryngitis.

Wiley brought his brows together, the corners of his mouth crinkling into a grin. "So you're saying it wouldn't help your situation if I hollered?"

"Not unless you happened to reach the ears of the government official who could take a look at my file and see the mistake they'd made when they targeted me for retirement." I ballooned my cheeks and let out the air.

"Damn. You're too young to retire, bro."

After a moment, I answered what I was sure was Wiley's heartfelt response. "Damn straight."

I sat quietly as Wiley examined my face, like the pores in my skin would produce a solution to my unemployment. I could feel the first tingles of self-pity seeping into me, but before I fell under its intoxicating spell, I shifted my mind's thought and pointed to Savoy's picture, watching as Wiley examined the photo and read the article. I knew the minute he placed the creep. Wiley's scowl won him an honorable mention in the Callum High Crier.

"Someone finally punched the bastard's ticket, huh? The world's less one asshole." Wiley took the paper in his hands and read the short article. "The torture he inflicted on his wife...." He shook his head, letting the paper fall to the table. "Who do you think offed him? One of his sons?"

"Maybe. Your mother was a good friend of Savoy's wife, wasn't she?"

"Uh-huh. Mom could never convince her to leave the bastard. She might be still alive today if she had. How'd he die?"

I shrugged. The article didn't say.

The door to the shop opened and a uniformed cop strode in. I hit the toe of my sandals against Wiley's foot. When he looked up from the newspaper, I jerked my head toward the young police officer. Wiley turned and looked over his shoulder.

"Know him?" If Wiley did, I figured we could pump the young cop for info on the murder. Wolver was a community policed by the Callum PD, which meant our local enforcement responded to the 9-l-l call.

Wiley glanced at him and turned back, smiling. "I do and so do you."

"Really?" I peeked around Wiley and studied the cop. Wiley was partly correct. I didn't know him, but his father. The resemblance was uncanny. "Tad Granger's son." Tad senior, a cop as well, had a few years on Wiley and me. I didn't know of anyone in my graduating class who followed the path of our fathers. Always the disappointment, I wasn't expected to. It took me years to learn it was ourselves we shouldn't disappoint. I never had. What I set my mind to do, I did.

Wiley touched the end of his nose with the tip of his finger.

"Call him over," I said excitedly. I couldn't remember the last time something raised my interest. Okay, such an occurrence happened last night when Gracie modeled her new hot pink baby dolls. God, she was sexy. I felt some movement in the nether region of my body and blocked my mind to my wife's fantastic body before I embarrassed myself. Wiley would surely want to take the credit for my arousal he was just that perverted.

"Why can't you?"

I called out to Tad Junior. When I got his attention, I flagged him over then turned around the newspaper so he'd glance down and notice the headline.

Wiley handled the introductions and, without sensitivity to my plight, pronounced me unemployed.

"I'm sorry," Tad said, sitting in the chair Wiley hauled over from a vacant table.

I shrugged like it was no big deal. "How's your Dad?" I figured I'd warm him up before hitting him with the tough questions.

"Good, now."

"Now?" The question slipped out before I could reel in the thought. Once, long ago, in an attempt to make pleasant talk in a doctor's office, I'd asked the woman sitting across from me when she was due when in fact she wasn't pregnant at all but overweight. I'd always remember the mortifying incident.

"He had a quadruple by-pass a couple of months ago. Touch and go for a while. I'd forgotten the old man wasn't invincible. Really opens your eyes, you know. "

"It would." Not that it mattered, but I wondered whether Tad Jr. saw Wiley and me as old men.

I was a little afraid to ask about his mother, but did anyway. "How's your Mom?" I lowered my voice, hoping he might not hear.

"Fine. She makes ceramics and sells them at the market." He shrugged. "She earns a few bucks."

"Good, good." I stared at a drop of coffee on the table, wondering how much time I should let pass before throwing questions at him about the murder.

Wiley was obviously impatient with the warm-up. No one who knew him would promote his patience. He dabbed Savoy's photo with his forefinger and came right to the point. "What's the word at the station on this guy?"

Tad looked around the café — I assumed for eavesdroppers — then leaned in close to us. "Gruesome murder," he said, his voice above a whisper. "He was bludgeoned to death."

"Really?" I found that interesting, considering the guy beat up on his wife at least once a week the entire time they'd been married.

"Who was the first on the scene?" Wiley asked in his normal voice.

"I was," Tad said.

Even more interesting, I thought. Could we pick 'em or what? "Who's the lead on the case?"

"Brian Jefferson."

The name didn't strike any chords. Apparently, my ignorance showed because Tad answered my unasked question.

"He's a transplant," he said.

"A newcomer," I said. Some of us returned to Callum to retire. In the odd case, some came to Callum to live, mostly because one of the parties originated from here. Callum was a great place to raise children. Not that I'd choose a different career path, but I wished I'd had the wisdom not to knock my home town. Gracie and I, like most of our graduating class, couldn't wait to pull tail. Now here we were. Back home. And before our time.

"Did he marry a girl from here?" I asked.

"Nope." Tad chewed on his stir stick and looked slyly from me to Wiley.

I stared at Tad, wondering who in their right mind would move to Callum if it weren't for love. I visualized the attractions of Callum – bowling; bingo; flea markets; – and shook my head. I took another look at Tad and decided from his puffed out cheeks he wanted to add something. "What is it?"

"He married George Davis."

"George is gay?" Wiley slapped the table, catching the attention of everyone in the café.

I looked around, raised my brows a little and grinned lopsidedly. After a moment, everyone resumed what he or she was doing before Wiley's outburst.

"I remember the little runt," Wiley continued. "But didn't he marry Lana what's-her-name from the housing district?"

Tad nodded. "Apparently, he didn't know he was gay until after he was married. The marriage lasted about ten days. They got an annulment."

I didn't keep up with the comings and goings of Callumnites and was as surprised as Wiley. While this was interesting, we were off topic. My intention had been to loosen up the young man, not gossip. I cleared my throat. "Does Jefferson have any suspects?"

The young cop looked around the café again.

To reassure him I said, "This is between the three of us."

He nodded. "From what I hear, the killer cleaned up after himself pretty good. Apparently, Jefferson found a correlation with a suicide a couple of weeks ago and the Savoy murder."

I stated the obvious. "The suicide may not be a suicide after all."

"Yep."

This continued to get more and more interesting.

"And – "

"There's more?" Wiley, who had been leaning back on the legs of his chair came forward, landing with a clunk. "Another murder?"

"Not exactly."

"Then what?" Wiley's impatience was wearing off on me. I experienced difficulty sitting still.

"Edith McKinney over on York reported her husband missing three weeks ago. No one seems to know where he disappeared to, but it appears Mrs. McKinney is enjoying her newfound freedom immensely, enough to merit Jefferson's interest."

I remembered Edith. A sweet woman. She made us toffee apples on Halloween until her husband broke her arm in so many places she lost all strength in her wrist. "Is she a suspect?"

"Yes."

"How serious?"

"Extremely, and Jefferson thinks they're onto something because he took over the case."

"Technically," I said, "it would be a missing person's case, so Jefferson, as a homicide detective, must have found something to indicate foul play for him to want to investigate."

Tad nodded. "It would be my guess."

I stared into space. Something nagged at me. What was it? I thought on it a minute. What – then it struck me. "Did any of these victims have anything in common? Did they know each other?"

"I don't know about that, but all three men were abusers of some sort."

_There_ was the connection. "Who was the suicide?"

Tad looked upward to his right, obviously attempting to recall the name. He said after several seconds, "Richard Hattie."

I peered at Wiley. "Ring any bells?"

He shook his head.

Tad looked at his watch. "Break's over." He stood. "You boys stay out of trouble," he said and winked.

I watched him walk from the café, wondering if I looked as much like my father as Tad did his. Personality wise, my dad and I weren't anything alike, but I supposed in some ways we looked similar.

"How far do you think he's going on the force?" Wiley asked.

Not far, if he didn't learn to keep his mouth shut. I smiled my response while my mind replayed our conversation with Tad, then went over it with Wiley.

"We know Savoy was murdered. If Hattie's death turns out to be murder and not suicide, and if Edith McKinney's husband is dead at someone's hand rather than AWOL, we have three murders and all the victims were wife abusers."

"A series of murders which may translate to serial killings," Wiley said. "If that's the case, Callum's going to hit the map in a big way."

"I agree."

Wiley looked at his watch and groaned. "I have to go. I lost a filling this morning on my mother-in-law's apple crisp. Dr. Cyr said he'd fix me up if I came by his office around noon. Coffee again tomorrow? Maybe we can do some amateur sleuthing."

I was about to ask why he'd eaten a dessert for breakfast until I remembered I'd breakfasted on a ginger snap this morning. "Same time, same place."

"Huddle and cuddle," he said.

I liked Wiley and all, but drew the line at cuddling.

## Chapter Seven

On my way home, I compared what I knew about Savoy against what I'd learned about the other two victims and entertained the notion there was a serial killer on the loose. He would have no reason to come after me or anyone in my family. Still, though, any killer anywhere posed as much threat as a munitions bunker — flick the wrong switch and there was an explosion, no matter what the precautions taken.

Thank goodness the girls decided not to spend the summer break here. They were safer in the city. I would never have thought I'd be thinking that. If anywhere, we should be safe in Callum. Less crime happened in small towns, everyone knew it, which brought the notion the killer was probably from Callum. It made a certain amount of sense. Since he apparently targeted wife abusers, the killer would have to know his targets. He could be someone I knew, and probably a victim of abuse himself.

I barely got to a stop in the driveway when Gracie rounded the corner at the rear of the house, running pell-mell toward the truck. She resembled the teenager I'd fallen in love with almost thirty years ago. Long, tanned legs that ended in jean short shorts, red tank top, her hair pulled back in a pony tail, the hair closest to her scalp curling from the humidity. Gracie lit up my heart and nothing could extinguish the flame.

I jumped from the truck, and she ran into my arms. It was then I became alarmed. "What's the matter?" I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs. My recent discussion with Callum's finest spurred frightening thoughts of axe murderers and serial rapists. "Is there someone in the house?"

She broke free of my arms and slapped my shoulder.

"Ow. What was that for?" It took me no time to determine she was upset with me. I was intuitive like that.

"I was worried," she said, pointing to her watch. "You've been gone two and half hours. Why didn't you text me?" She slapped me again.

She was talking so fast I had difficulty keeping up, but I didn't need to hear every word to know I'd been inconsiderate. Gracie was a worrier. I knew that and had always been thoughtful of her feelings. Until now. Until my retirement papers. I reminded myself our current situation affected her too, and was probably as tough on her as it was on me.

Dumb me looked at my watch and apologized. "I'm sorry, honey. Time got away on me. Forgive me?" I bent and nuzzled her neck, then brushed my lips against hers. "Last night was magnificent. If I got on my knees and begged, could I convince you to put on those baby dolls for me now?" Optimistic, I wrapped my arm around her and walked her toward the house.

"Your Dad's in the kitchen."

"What's he doing here?" I hoped he wasn't starting in on Gracie again. I'd grown beyond his influence and wouldn't tolerate any of his shenanigans. Shenanigans. The word seemed strange coming from me, the son.

"Shh. He's your father."

I didn't feel he was. Fathers didn't drive wedges between their sons, or pit one child against the other or fabricate stories then sit back and laugh as he watched the fireworks as his sons thrashed out the truth. Age hadn't mellowed him, not in the least. Some fathers just plainly didn't like their sons. It shouldn't be a stretch then for sons not to like their fathers.

"Hey," I said, coming into the kitchen. My greeting went unacknowledged.

Gracie sat at the table between us, talking like a wind-up toy. She was this way with my parents, jabbering incessantly. I put my arm around her waist and pulled her tight against me.

My father stood, looped his thumbs around the straps of his bib coveralls and nodded.

"Nice of you to visit, Dad," I said, watching him walk out the door.

I looked at Gracie. "What was that about?"

She exaggerated a shrug. My parents were an enigma to her. They were to me too.

I'd come up with an idea on the way home and couldn't wait to get started. "Are our high school yearbooks still here?" I asked.

She eyed me, like I was up to no good. "What do you want with them?"

I put the newspaper I'd carried from the coffee shop in front of her. "Recognize him?" I asked, pointing at Savoy's photo and watching her reaction.

"Vaguely," she said. "Why?"

I brought her up to speed, which included my chance encounter with Wiley. "We may have a serial killer in town. It seems he's taken it upon himself to rid the world of perverts, wife-abusers and child molesters."

"He's come to the right place."

I had to agree. "Callum has more than its share of miscreants."

"We do, don't we?"

Something Gracie said nudged a thought: _'come' to the right place._ Strange she'd think he moved here. A born and bred Callum resident made more sense, or someone returning home after a stint away.

"You seriously think there's a madman on the loose and killing?" When I didn't answer, she asked, "What are you basing your theory on?" Gracie's eyes grew large, like she experienced a revelation. "Why are you interested? Are we in danger?"

I was right. She had. I was feeling inadequate, like only a part of me was here and the rest of me wandered somewhere, without purpose. "We don't fit his criteria," I said, getting back in the moment.

She released a long breath. Gracie couldn't take another obstacle in the path to our happy retirement.

"To answer your first question, I thought it would be neat to investigate. I need something to keep my mind occupied."

That's just one of the many reasons I loved Gracie. She was easy to talk with and didn't ply me with platitudes. She opened her mouth as though to speak, then closed it, motioning instead for me to follow. Gracie led me into the den and I waited while she dug our yearbooks from a wall cabinet.

"I'll leave you to your sleuthing," she said.

My wife could have told me many things just then. That I was getting senile, for one. That I should find more productive ways to spend my days, for another.

"Thanks, hon," I said, beaming.

I plunked down on the sofa, stretched out and opened my yearbook. It took me no time to become involved with the process of gathering information.

Three hours later, Gracie came into the den holding a cold beer in her hand. She could have checked on me during then and now and I wouldn't have noticed.

"Hi, honey," I said, taking the beer from her hand. "You read my mind."

"I thought you could use a cold one. Uncover any suspects?"

I sighed. "Not one."

***

My cell whistled in my pocket.

Gracie was always surprising me with new sounds and screens. I never heard a cell whistle before and didn't know whether I liked it or not.

By the time I pulled over the truck, unbuckled my seat belt and dug the phone from my pocket, the caller had hung up. I wondered how other drivers managed to do all the law-abiding things and still not miss a call.

I redid everything I'd undone and merged with the uneven flow of Callumnites, thinking how little I used my cell. I'd argued against getting one – walkie-talkies suited me fine.

"Get with the century, Eli," Gracie had joked.

Of course, I agreed – wouldn't like to appear behind the times. Now, if only I could master answering the damn thing without causing a major mishap, sparing lives and metal.

The cell whistled again.

I jammed on the brakes, then let off the pedal, steered right – almost off the shoulder of the road – and stopped in a cloud of dust. Horns blared alongside me, then formed a long line of red taillights and sped past. I honked back, letting them know their impatience didn't bother me. If motorists didn't want to rear end someone, they shouldn't tailgate.

"Yeah, hello," I said as I flipped the phone open. Gracie was supposed to have programmed the phone that it would answer when the cover opened. I hoped I'd understood correctly.

"Good day, my man," a male voice said in my ear. "How're you enjoying your retirement? Adjusting okay? A surplus of time on your hands, I hear."

I didn't recognize the tinny sounding voice and said, "Sorry fella, you called the wrong number."

"You're Elijah Whipple, aren't you? Or did I misdial? I have to tell you, though, I don't make careless mistakes."

Who was this guy? "Okay, you got me."

"I haven't, but I will."

What the hell did that mean? "Look, I have no idea who you are, but I'm not into games, so if there's a point to this call, get to it."

"Do not tell me what to do!" The caller inhaled loudly, exhaled, then cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. That was rude, but you're right. Time is valuable. We shouldn't squander it."

I waited him out.

"You said you're not into games, but you lie. In fact, my call is intriguing you, isn't it?"

I didn't answer.

"Oh, don't play coy. Admit it. You're interested."

I still didn't answer.

"Since the cat seems to have gotten your tongue, I'll answer for you. Because you are into games, Eli...I may call you Eli, mightn't I?"

A nut. This guy was certifiable.

"Cat still has your tongue, huh? Okay. I'll answer for you again. Of course, I may call you Eli. All your friends do."

"But you're not my friend."

"Ah, there, you see? You can talk. With the proper motivation, we can do anything, can't we, Eli?"

I wouldn't respond.

"Back to that, huh?"

I had enough of the guy. Whatever gripe he had with me, he needed to let it go. I took the cell from my ear and flipped over the cover. The phone whistled again. I figured he had me on speed-dial. Why would he? The only reason I could think of was that he intended to make a habit of calling me. I shouldn't answer, but something – the little voice in my head, the smart brain – had decided for me.

"Hello," I said. I checked caller ID this time. Blocked Caller the display read. That would have been too easy.

"Don't you ever hang up on me again!"

"Take a couple chill pills, why don't you. You need some serious relaxants."

"I wouldn't antagonize me, if I were you."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm coming to kill you and I can make your death easy or hard."

"You're crazy. Why would you want to kill me? I don't know you from a hole in the ground, and I sure as hell didn't do anything to you. You need help, fella. And some serious medication." This seemed too bizarre to be happening to me, which me wonder whether the guy was legit. I had a thought. "Did Wiley put you up to this?"

"Who's Wiley?"

I didn't answer. If this wasn't Wiley's joke, then I didn't want the crackpot calling him.

"Oh, he's your chum; the one you had coffee with this morning."

"How'd you – " I stopped, coming to two conclusions. The guy was surveilling me. Two, this was no prank. A chill crept over my skin. Someone had targeted me, which put Gracie in jeopardy. My heart beat like crazy at the thought she might get hurt.

"Ah, now you believe me. Tell me, Eli, the precise moment you determined I was for real and this wasn't some stupid hoax. Was it when I told you about your movements this morning, or was it an accumulation of details? One, two, three facts put together –the noise your wife Gracie heard last night outside your kitchen; the broken flower pot; and the feeling you were being watched; – that made you a believer?"

I decided not to answer.

"The darn cat. He's up to his old tricks, huh? I suppose I'll have to answer for you again. I'd say you turned the corner toward truth when I mentioned your friend. Until then you thought the wind knocked down the flower pot and a breeze whisked the debris in the air past your kitchen window. Honestly, how noisy is something falling on grass? If you'd examined the hook when you came out to investigate, you would have seen it hadn't broken, not like you told your wife. She's a looker, by the way. Yum. Yum. If I didn't have such a heavy schedule, I'd take a taste of her myself."

"Don't you ever come near her, or I'll – "

"What will you do, Eli? Kill me?" The caller laughed. "You're not smart enough."

Anger burned through my veins, but I wouldn't let myself lose control. "I wouldn't put it to the test," I said with more calmness than I felt.

"I know what you do for a living, or should I say, did for a living, soldier boy, and you don't scare me. Since I'm decent and a strong supporter of equal opportunity, I'll give you a choice. Surrender to me at a time and place of my choosing and I won't hurt your pretty wife and daughters. How are Lexi and Brynn, by the way? It's a pity they decided to stay in the city and not spend the summer with you and Gracie at Grandma's like they usually do. The girls will regret the lost time with you."

"Look, you sick son of a bitch. I don't know who you are or what you think I've done to you – "

"I take it you're refusing my generous offer. Too bad. Things are going to get messy, Eli. Don't say I didn't warn you. The bean supper brought out the worst in you. Wow. I never heard anyone breaking wind like you. _Pow-pow-kapow._ It's a wonder you didn't blow a hole in your underwear." He chuckled. "Oh, by the by, you may want to replace the bulb in your right brake light. It's burned out."

I yanked my foot from the brake pedal and swung around in my seat, looking out in every direction.

"Where are you? Show yourself, you pervert."

"Make the most of the time you have left."

The line went dead.

I settled back behind the wheel, my heart hammering. I wiped my palms on my shirt and told myself to stay calm.

What just happened?

Some lunatic called you and said he'd kill you and not only you if you didn't give yourself up to him.

What was his gripe with me?

I waited for my smart brain to answer. It didn't.

Maybe the guy had something against retirees, or maybe he thought I didn't serve my country long or well enough. Wasn't three tours and twenty-five years long or good enough?

Whatever the reason, the guy was a crackpot. I'd take his threats seriously.

Call the police!

And what would I tell them? I thought about it for a minute, then decided I couldn't do that right yet.

Right now, I needed to make sure Gracie was all right.

## Chapter Eight

She answered on the first ring. "Hello."

"Hi," I said, relaxing a little at the sound of her tranquil voice.

"Left your wallet at home again, huh?"

I'd been doing that a lot lately. Not all of my shorts had pockets. I forced a chuckle, hoping to sound normal. "Nope, got it on me." I patted my front pocket and fabricated an excuse for calling. I'd tell her about the threatening phone call, but in person. "Just calling to see if you wanted an extra order of rice. We could have leftovers for lunch tomorrow." We both loved cold Chinese food.

"Sounds great. Get a couple more egg rolls, then."

"You got it." I was going to ask if the doors and windows were locked, but Gracie was vigilant about security. What habits she adapted in the city, she took with her to the country. "See you in a few."

I cut into traffic, which had increased exponentially in the minutes I was stationary, and sped into the passing lane, zeroing in on the China Coast, our favorite Chinese take-out place.

I made record-breaking time getting home. I checked on Gracie and found her doing laundry. While she sorted out clothes, I went outside on the pretense of putting the garbage cans in the shed. Dusk was fast approaching as I walked the perimeter of the property and house, taking stock of the yard and checking windows and door locks. Satisfied we were burglar proof, or in my case, lunatic proof, I finished my rounds and climbed the steps to the back stoop. I shone the flashlight on the eave where the clay pot had hung and noticed the unbroken hook solidly in place, just as the caller said. If I'd harbored any doubts about his legitimacy, I didn't now.

After barricading us inside, I went into the den where Gracie had spread a blanket and pillows on the floor before a fire. I plunked down across from her.

She handed me a plate heaped with rice, chow mein, sweet and sour pork, pineapple chicken and garlic ribs.

"Are you going to tell me what's got you spooked, or am I going to have to guess?" she said, giving me an out-with-the-truth-mister look.

I remembered Gracie's reaction to the threatening letter. For weeks she walked looking over her shoulder. A noise, however innocuous, made her jump in fear. Her classroom became a dungeon, the students her jailor. As much as I wanted to shield my wife from more emotional trauma, I would be wrong to keep the call from her. She needed to know and I needed to tell her.

I wasted no time bringing her up to speed.

"And that's the whole of it," I said. "Probably a nutzoid who gets off on terrorizing people."

"He went to a lot of trouble for a few laughs." She stared into space, probably reliving what she suffered through a short while ago. "We should phone the police," she said.

"It may be a one-of. People get crank calls all the time."

"If he calls again, you'll go to the police?"

"I promise." I crossed my heart.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with the threat I received?" she asked.

"I don't think so. He seems to have a grudge against me for something I did to him."

"What?"

"I don't know." I'd given it some serious thought on the drive home and couldn't come up with a reason for the guy's animosity.

Why? I asked myself again, but my smart brain had no answer.

We were both stymied.

***

A noise woke me at midnight.

I sat straight up, disturbing Gracie.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Someone's in the house."

She jumped from bed. "Do you think it's him? It's him, isn't it? Phone the police. You said you would if you heard from him again."

I wanted to catch the bastard and put an end to his threats. Sirens would surely scare him off. After I hammered his skull and beat the crap from him, I'd make the call and let the police take it from there.

"First, I'd like to confirm there's actually an intruder." There was no doubt in my mind.

Seconds later, I was hiding her behind the floor-to-ceiling brocade drapes that not only covered the window but part of the wall. Ma Babin was big on 'what keeps out the cold keeps out the heat'. Her thinking provided me a perfect hiding place for my wife.

"No matter what you hear do not move unless I give you the all-clear."

"Oh God, Eli, be careful. I've seen kids out of their minds on drugs. They have the strength of animals. Don't let anything happen to you. I'll be pretty ticked, if something does."

"Don't worry. I'll keep safe. I promise." I kissed her forehead and reassured her again.

I pulled on sweat shorts and a T-shirt, grabbed one of Gracie's dumbbells and cautiously made my way down the stairs, sidestepping the creaky spots on the third, seventh and ninth steps. I switched the dumbbell with the baseball bat in the umbrella stand at the front door and listened. I could hear shuffling in the kitchen. I tiptoed through the dining room and peeked around the doorway. If the trespasser was armed with a weapon, I wanted to know what I was up against.

From the moonlight shining through the window over the sink, I could make out the intruder's considerable height and weight. He had his back to me.

Turn, you miserable scoundrel, I mentally prompted. Wait a minute. There was something familiar about him. It took me only a moment to realize I lived in that man's shadow all my life.

I flipped the light switch. "My God, what are you doing here?"

My dad turned toward me, seemingly unfazed by my sudden appearance. "Oh, hi, son. I was just checking out the house, making sure there're no water leaks."

For a moment, I'd forgotten he had a key to the place. He talked me into it after Gracie's mom left for San Fran this summer and before we arrived from Fort Sill, saying a vacant house was an open invitation to vandals and squatters. He could have gotten himself killed popping in like that. _I_ could have killed him.

"Did you find any?" I asked.

"Find what?" he asked, drawing his white bushy brows together.

"Water leaks."

"Why would I be looking for broken water pipes?" he asked, like I'd lost my mind.

Something wasn't right with my father. I didn't know what his problem was, but I'd find out. "No reason, Dad."

I could hear Gracie's bare feet hitting the floor above my head. Judging from the fast pace, she would be at my side any second now. I wasn't wrong. I was happy to see she'd thrown on a robe. Dad's heart would arrest if he saw her in baby dolls. Flannel, son. That's the way to keep 'em at home, he'd once advised, disbursing marital advice.

"I'll walk him home," I said to Gracie. "Will you be okay here alone or do you want to come with me?"

"I'll be fine. Go."

"Lock up after me."

"Uh-huh."

"I found my own way here, Elijah, I'll find my own way back. I'm not a child."

"I know you're not, Dad." I slipped on my sandals, took his elbow and ushered him out the door. He didn't resist.

When I returned, Gracie was tidying up, probably feeling mortified my Dad had seen the messy kitchen.

"Leave it till morning," I said. "Let's go back to bed."

She was throwing empty food cartons in a garbage bag and stopped mid-motion. "Are you sure your father won't return tonight?"

I doubted anyone could be certain of it, even Dad himself. "What if he does?" I said. "I'm tired and I know you are too."

"How'd he get in? The doors were bolted."

I raised my eyebrows and pursed my lips, waiting for her to remember we gave him a key to the place. After a few seconds, her expression changed from inquiring to knowing.

She nodded. "Right. We could change the locks." She waved a hand in the air as though erasing the suggestion. "Mom doesn't like change, of any kind. We have to find a way to get the key from him without insulting him." She let the bag drop to the floor.

"We do," I said, thinking how embarrassed she would have been had my dad walked in on us earlier while I was having my way with her on Pa Babin's bearskin rug. "But let's think on it tomorrow. This old feller's plain tuckered out."

In bed, Gracie cozied against my side. I wrapped her in my arms.

"The caller has you wigged out, doesn't he?" she said in a voice so low I had to strain to hear. "You're worried. Much, much more than you're letting on."

I let her say her piece.

"You're doing all the right things and saying what you know I need to hear, but your posture tells me a different story entirely. You're stiff and rigid and ready to strike."

"I'll keep you and the girls safe," I said.

"I know you will, honey, but I don't want you doing anything reckless. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you."

"It won't."

Earlier, while Gracie showered before bed, I'd phoned our daughters. They were safe on base, but I wanted to keep them abreast of what was going on. Brynn answered and put me on speakerphone. I explained my urgent call so late at night. They understood and promised to do what I'd asked. Lexi could be flighty at times, but Brynn would keep their doors and windows locked and look out for her little sister. Extra-diligent, I stressed.

# Chapter Nine

I spent the night holding Gracie and recounting my life for the past six months and couldn't come up with a reason for anyone wanting to kill me. I didn't know what a good enough reason could be or where the line was drawn, but I was positive I hadn't crossed it. I was left thinking that my 'blocked' caller must only think I did something to him or confused me with someone else. One or the other had to be it. Okay, so where was I, or what was I doing to lead someone to believe I'd wronged him enough to warrant my death?

The one thing I came away with positively was that Gracie and I led an extremely ordinary life, bordering on dull, even. Strange, but I'd never seen my life in that light. We both must like it, because neither of us complained.

***

It was a beautiful morning and Gracie and I sat on the glider swing sipping our morning coffee and listening to the sharp and raspy _pup peroo_ of a scissor-tailed flycatcher. I knew my wife's mind was running wild with questions as she relived our lives the past several months, just as I'd done last night while she slept.

The cordless phone, which it seemed we carted everywhere now, rang, startling us both.

Without a glance at call display, Gracie handed me the phone.

If it was my guy, she obviously wanted nothing to do with him. I understood. I looked at call display: Unknown Number. Great.

"Yeah, hello," I said into the speaker. My voice came across as cautious but firm — what I was shooting for.

"Hi, Daddy," Brynn, my eldest daughter, said cheerfully.

"Hi, sweetheart. How's everything?"

"Fine. Keeping everything locked up like you asked. How're you and Mom?"

"We're doing all right." I looked across at Gracie whose eyes had lost their usual exuberance. "We'd do a whole lot better if you and your sister would change your minds and spend the summer in Callum with us ol' folk."

"Daddy, you and Mom are hardly old."

Funny, I didn't feel young, not like I used to. I probably aged ten years overnight. "Thanks for saying, but I'm sure you didn't call to give your old man compliments." I could hear her giggle across the telephone line.

"Lexi and I are coming to the jamboree on Saturday."

I smiled, feeling lighter, like a huge weight had lifted off me. "That's swell, honey. Your Mom will be overjoyed. Where's your sister?" I tried not to sound like a father who pried into the lives of his legally adult daughters, but failed.

"Sleeping."

"Late night, huh?" I asked, praying Brynn would give me the skinny. She did.

"Midnight madness at the Exchequer. I've been up for a while."

Brynn, like me, rose with the sun, despite the hours of sleep we'd had. "Enjoy yourself?"

She laughed. "We had a great time. Can you put Mom on, if she's handy?"

"Sure. She's right across from me on the swing."

"You and Mom are swinging? Oh oh. Next come the dungarees and bloomers, you know." She giggled again.

"That's something I don't even want to picture. Here's your Mom, Smarty Pants." I handed the phone to Gracie.

"Hi, sweetie," Gracie said into the receiver.

I watched my wife's face brighten like the sun. In that moment everything was forgotten, nothing mattered but our little family. There was no madman wanting to kill me. I was not unemployed. My Dad was not breaking and entering — Before my mind could go on a tirade about his bizarre behavior lately, I brought myself back to the present and tuned in to Gracie's conversation with Brynn.

"There's plenty of room here if you want to stay. In fact, I'd rather you did. I don't like to see you driving so late at night." Gracie looked at me and winked. "I know it's only a half hour, but you may be tired and if you have something to drink..." She smiled.

I knew right then she'd won over our daughter.

Since Lexi would travel with Brynn, that meant both my girls would be staying over. With a little luck, maybe I could convince them to stay the week.

"Super," Gracie said. "I'll get your rooms ready. See you tomorrow."

"Tell her to drive carefully," I said.

"Dad says to drive carefully." Gracie winked at me. "I know you will, honey."

A brief pause followed.

"I love you too. Bye." Gracie ended the call and looked at me. "I suppose you gathered they're both coming."

"When did she say they'd arrive?"

"After supper. Brynn's bringing a friend."

"Oh?"

"A special friend, I'd say."

Gracie was seldom wrong when it came to sensing the emotions of her daughters. "I didn't know she was dating anyone. Sound serious?"

"I'd say so." She studied me a moment. "This is the first time she's brought someone home for us to meet. You aren't going to second-degree him, are you?"

I crossed my heart and grinned. "I promise I'll be on my best behavior."

My thoughts turned then to Saturday night. I'd forgotten about the annual jamboree at Kibbey's farm. We'd attended every year come any weather disaster. There would be something special to celebrate this year though. Stearns and his wife Alma recently became grandparents. Their oldest son and his partner gave birth to twin boys earlier in the week.

_Grandparents_.

Stearns was my age — forty-five. I could become a granddad anytime too. I didn't know how I felt about being a grandfather. No, I did know. I was too young. I decided to have a chat with my daughters on the subject, not that my opinion mattered. They had their own minds, but they would listen.

Gracie had handled the sex talk with the girls and I agreed with her on the topic of contraceptives — they should be forearmed. Mistakes happen. Better to take precaution than be sorry.

I stared at the phone, remembering my date with Wiley and thought about calling him and canceling, but that would mean running into the house for the directory. Gracie would be alone. I couldn't tow her around like a trailer, but it wasn't as though we spent every minute of every day at each other's side. Of course, that was before a madman entered our lives. I planned to keep Gracie in my line of sight at all times. The jamboree presented a problem, but I doubted the asshole had the rocks to make a move on me or Gracie or the girls in a yard filled with farmers, law enforcement officers, and most dangerous of all, retirees.

The cordless rang its shrill sound again.

I reached across and grabbed the phone from the seat. Call display read: Holy Man calling.

"It's for you," I said, having more than an inkling of the caller's identity.

Gracie took the phone from my hand and answered. "Hello."

Pause.

Her face broke into an impish grin.

"Yes, he is. He's right here. Just a sec," she said and handed me the phone. "It's for you, after all."

I shook my head.

She gave me a stern look.

I wasted no time taking the phone from her hand.

"Hello," I said.

"Elijah, it's Father Ezra. I hoped to leave a message on your cell, but it seems you have it turned off. Anyway, I'm calling to thank you for the superb job you did on the confessional. I'm on a first name basis with my Boss and have asked him for a special reward for your kindness."

"That's very thoughtful, Father, but unnecessary," I said.

"Honestly, it was no trouble. Did your friend from boot camp get in touch with you?"

I immediately became wary. "No. Did he give you his name?" I waited while Ezra thought on my question. A second went by, then another before he spoke.

"If he did, I didn't hear him. My hearing's not the best these days."

"What did he look like?" I had a feeling this 'friend from boot camp' was my anonymous caller and suspected Ezra had given him the straight dope on me, being the friendly sort he was.

"What do you mean?"

"Height, build, distinguishing characteristics."

"Nothing stands out in my mind. Just your average Joe. Short, medium build, clean shaven, glasses."

Great. "How was he dressed?"

"Now, that I found odd."

"Oh?" I crossed my fingers that what Ezra would say next would hit on something to give me an idea of what to look for when I went looking.

"He wore a wool suit with a sweater vest, white shirt and bow tie."

"Wool. In this heat?"

"Odd, huh?"

"I guess. Anything else?" I looked at my cotton shorts and sleeveless T and couldn't imagine even wearing socks in this scorching heat.

"There is one other thing."

I held my breath.

"A peculiar odor emanated from him."

I exhaled. And there I had it. Confirmation. The last fact tying Boot Camp to my anonymous caller.

"Did you determine what the odor was?"

"I smelled it before but I can't recall where."

It was the same for me. Familiar, yet unnamable. "Thanks for letting me know, Ezra. I'll keep on eye out for him." Boot Camp could count on it.

I was about to hang up when Ezra called my name. "Yes," I said, putting the phone back to my ear.

"Did your parents get home all right last night?"

"From?" My first thought was Dad's excursion to Ma Babin's last night, but how would Father Ezra know about it?

"The rez."

Ezra referred to the reservoir, Callum's water supply and local swimming area for a lot of folks, but I couldn't fathom why my parents would be there. "Did we miss a social event?"

Ezra breathed heavily on the other end of the line, and I knew I wouldn't like what he would say next.

"No one told you?"

"Told me what?" I looked at Gracie, who mouthed, 'What?'. I shrugged.

"Ducane caught your Mom and Dad skinny dipping last night."

"What?" I screeched and jumped to my feet.

"Like Adam and Eve, sans fig leaves."

"No-no-no." Images of their seventy-year-old bodies focused in my mind. I closed my eyes and forced them into oblivion.

"What is it?" Gracie asked, clearly alarmed.

I held a finger in the air. "Well, thank you for telling me, Ezra."

"Actually, I thought I was telling you something you already knew. I'm sorry."

"No problem." I disconnected the call and took a gander at the Whipple homestead across the field. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. My parents weren't running naked through a sprinkler, nor were they sunbathing in the nude or frolicking on the grass; at least, not anywhere I could see.

"What happened?" Gracie asked, taking the phone from my hand.

I told her.

"Oh my God," she said, holding her fingers against her lips. "Good Lord."

Her expression changed. I knew she was thinking something sassy when she bit the inside of her cheek. "What is it?"

"I wonder if they went skinny dipping before or after Dad broke into our house."

"Yeah, I wonder." I wouldn't ruin Gracie's moment by explaining my old man hadn't broken into our home; not technically, anyway.

"Maybe we should pay a visit on them," she said.

We should, but I didn't feel up to it, not at the moment. Luckily, I didn't need to tell my wife 'no'. Wiley's arrival provided the perfect excuse not to rush to my parents.

Chapter Ten

I looked over Gracie's head and jutted my chin in the direction of the driveway. "Look who's here."

"To tell you the truth, I'm a little afraid to turn," Gracie said.

"It's Wiley." I re-remembered our 'date' for this morning and jumped off the swing to meet him halfway.

We man hugged, and I apologized.

"S'okay," he said, walking toward the swing and Gracie. He wore the same outrageous get-up as yesterday, only in neon orange and lime green and a smile for my wife that reached his ears.

Gracie half-stood, looking like she didn't know whether to run or brace herself. Wiley always had this effect on her; on most everyone, really. If he noticed, he never let on. I always said he was an acquired taste, but the kind of friend everyone should have.

Before she could make a move, Wiley whisked in, grabbed hold of her, hauled her off the swing into his arms and twirled her in the air.

"I haven't seen you in a year, girl. Hot damn, it's good to see you." Wiley planted a humongous kiss on her cheek and set her safely on her feet. "This old man treatin' you all right?" he asked.

Gracie said, patting her hair and pulling at the hem of her shorts, "Oh yes. He is."

"If he's not, you let ol' Wiley know. I'll straighten him out."

I could see Gracie was uncomfortable.

She looked at me, wordlessly saying, 'Help me out here'.

I wasted no time saying, "Hon, isn't Mom expecting you?"

Gracie was a quick study. "Yes!" She looked at her watch. "I'm already late."

"You'd better get a move on then," I said, motioning her toward my folks' house.

She turned to Wiley and excused herself. Me, she mouthed a 'thank you' for getting her out of an embarrassing-to-her situation.

Remembering the threat of Boot Camp, I said, "Take your cell with you."

She patted her pocket. "Got it."

"If you see anything unusual —"

"More unusual than your naked parents, you mean?"

Wiley jumped on the remark like a bull on a heifer. "Yo ho. Mommy and Daddy gone native, have they?"

I let out a long breath and crossed my eyes. "You have no idea."

Wiley and I watched Gracie scamper across the field.

At the back door of my parents' place, she turned and waved, then walked into the house.

"You're a lucky man, Whip." Wiley looked at me and frowned. "Everything okay?"

I nodded. "Yep."

"I believe it."

"Let's get out of this sun," I said.

"Good idea. I'm roasting."

While reasonably comforted knowing my father would hog-tie any trespasser that posed a threat, I didn't want to move inside and be out of eyesight of the old homestead. I suggested the covered veranda.

Wiley raced me up the steps.

I got a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge, snagged two glasses and returned to Wiley on the veranda. I poured two glasses, handed one to Wiley and kept the other. I took the seat that gave me an unobstructed view of the house next door.

Wiley raised his Ray Bans on the top of his head and said, "What's got you all temperamental?"

Anyone who didn't know Wiley would think he couldn't be trusted with a word said in confidence, but the truth was the direct opposite.

I took no time purging myself. "And a few minutes ago, I learned from Father Ezra that someone who identified himself to Ezra as a friend of mine from boot camp was inquiring about me."

"Hmm," Wiley said, staring at the floor.

"Is that all you have to say?" I couldn't believe it.

He peered at me out of the corner of his eyes. "You're on the level, right? This isn't a belated April Fool's joke?"

"Look at me." When he did, I said, pointing both hands at my face, "Does it look like I'm joking?" I could feel my jaw muscles tightening. I wanted this nightmare to end, but more than that, I wanted to wrap my hands around Boot Camp's neck and squeeze the life from him.

"What do you want me to do? Say the word and you got it."

I didn't have a plan — I'd been too busy making sense of the situation – but I was open to suggestions. "Any ideas?"

Wiley scrunched his face and shifted his weight on the wicker chair. "Nothing's jumping out at me."

He took a sip of iced tea, made no comment, set the glass back in place on the table. There was a quiet about him that unnerved me. I'd never seen anything like it on him. He reached forward, grabbed his glass and took another sip. "I've been thinking," he said.

I thought he might have been, but I wasn't sure. "Yes?"

"This guy..."

"Boot Camp?"

"Yeah. Sounds familiar to me. Like I should know him."

When Father Ezra described him, an image flashed in my head of a five-year-old dressed in tweed pants, leather lace-ups, white shirt, hand knit sweater vest and a bow tie. Not of any particular boy, but the one every class seemed to have through the grades. "Know him or know his type? Nerdy, timid, chicken-shit."

Wiley sat back. To do more thinking, I suspected.

After several seconds, he said, "You're right. Boot Camp reminded me of Terrence Tripp. Remember him?"

I shook my head.

Wiley slapped his thigh. "You gotta remember him. Geeky, no bigger than a matchstick, thick glasses - always way down on his nose - cowlicks every inch of his head, buck teeth, lazy left eye."

My memory was touching on an image. A second later, Terrence came into view. I pictured him grown up. He could fit the profile. I couldn't remember his voice and asked Wiley.

"He spoke through his nose."

Nasal. That wasn't like tinny, which I thought Boot Camp's voice was.

"He also had a lisp. Stuttered, too."

Poor kid. I was reminded again how fortunate we were to have two healthy and beautiful children. "Definitely not Boot Camp."

"Can lisps be corrected?" Wiley asked. "I know stutters can."

"I don't know about lisps, but stutters can be controlled to an extent. I think tension, nervous situations would bring out a stutter." I reminded Wiley how I came about my misnomer Whip-Whip-Whipple.

Wiley nodded. "Yeah, and Boot Camp would definitely have been under pressure when he called you. We can rule out Terrence."

"I would say." I puckered my lips, sat back, my mind wandering over the years, touching on pivotal moments in my life but not latching onto anything.

"We're going too far back," Wiley said. "Saying the kid had something against you back then, would he hang onto the resentment for thirty-five years?"

"Some people don't let things go."

Between the two of us, Wiley would be more likely to have a grudge after him. He tended not to think before he spoke and could insult, unintentionally, of course, but he was a bully. I rooted for the underdog always, which either made me mean or compassionate. Gracie would argue the latter while my recruits would say the former.

"Are you sure Boot Camp didn't say why he wanted you dead?"

I shook my head.

"Not even a clue why he's pissed at you?"

"No."

"That's odd. Maybe he gets his rocks off badgering people."

The reflection struck me then. "That's it. He said something about me liking games, or rather I said, I didn't like games. He assured me this was no game, then he said I was lying, and I was into games. I hung up seconds after. He called back, and the topic didn't get back on the subject. He said his telephone call intrigued me."

"Did it?"

"What?"

"Intrigue you?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Until you realized he hadn't misdialed. You don't like games, Eli. You never did. That hasn't changed, has it?"

I shook my head and gulped my iced tea.

"He must think you do."

"It would be my guess."

"In order for him to arrive at that conclusion, the two of you must have come into contact. Close contact. He must have misconstrued something you did and took it you were playing with him."

"Whatever it is, happened recently."

"But you have no recollection of an incident," Wiley said more as a statement than a question.

"None." I thought it over. "I could have inadvertently hurt or insulted someone."

"Who?"

"That's the mystery. I would remember coming into contact with a geeky-nerdy-lisp-stuttering-tinny-voiced midget."

Wiley agreed. "Hard not to remember and harder not to notice."

"I retraced my steps for the last several weeks; the usual places – grocery store, take-out, beer store, service station ...."

"Barber shop?"

I brushed my hand over my head feeling hair, which felt strange. Usually, my hand would brush stubble.

"Going for a grunge?" Wiley asked, eyebrows high on his forehead.

"Why not? I'm retired."

There was something I needed Wiley to do for me and now was as good a time as any to ask. "Can I ask a favor?"

"Name it."

"If something happens to me – "

"Nothing's going to happen to you, bro."

"But if it does, I want you to call this fellow." I took a card from my wallet and handed it to him.

He looked at it. "Strange number," he said.

"Strange fellow." I inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly. "Tell him Whipple's calling in his favor and asked him to hunt down someone and punch his ticket."

"We don't know Boot Camp's identity."

"It won't be a problem for this guy."

Wiley looked at me sideways. "Why don't you enlist his help now?"

"I gave him my word I'd only collect in a worst-case scenario."

"And your death at Boot Camp's hand would be worst-case."

I touched the end of my nose with my finger. "Are you on board?"

"Of course. This fella, will he need an incentive?"

"No."

"He'll pop this guy just like that?"

"Just like that."

"He must owe you big time."

"He does."

"If I ask the question, will you give me an answer?"

"No." I'd take that secret with me to the grave.

"Good enough."

I took another gulp of iced tea as a chickadee flew across the yard, my thoughts a jumbled mess of details. Absently, I could hear the rusty hinge of the screen door of my parent's house squeaking open.

Wiley and I turned and watched Gracie saunter toward us. Seconds before my wife reached us, I looked at Wiley and said, "I'd like to continue this later."

Wiley stood as though taking his cue to leave. "In an hour at Poppa's?"

I shook my head. "Gracie has a hair appointment."

"When then?"

"I don't know." I needed to make sure Gracie was safe.

"Mary's got this baby shower thing tonight. Why –"

"Gracie does too."

"At Shoemaker's?"

"I was hoping to talk her out of going."

"It's probably the safest place for her."

I stared at him, wordlessly prompting him to develop the thought further. Wiley caught on right away. He was quick like that.

"Who'd want to crash twenty-some hen peckers?"

Wiley had a point.

"We could meet back here – say seven-ish?"

"Sounds like a plan."

"What does?" Gracie asked, climbing the steps onto the veranda.

"Wiley's going to keep me company tonight while you're at the baby shower," I said, knowing Gracie would relax in Wiley's presence now that the initial meet-and-greet was behind her.

"Ah," Gracie said, looking from me to Wiley. "I assume Eli's filled you in on his threatening phone call."

"He did."

"What's your take on this guy and his threats?"

"We can't discount it."

Gracie nodded. "No doubts it's not some crackpot cokehead?"

"No way. He went to too much trouble to get the dope on Eli, which wasn't easy, considering his prior employment. Those records are locked up like the Federal Reserve." Wiley looked at me. "Right?"

"Right," I said. Those facts bothered me too. Getting a cell number was a major feat today, if he didn't get the number as most did – information passed on innocently, usually from a friend of a friend. Our cells were pay as you go, so the number would be even more difficult to obtain. Only a chosen few had mine – Gracie; the girls; Mom and Dad; my dentist; doctor; and I recently learned Father Ezra. I wondered where he obtained it and if he was the one who gave the number to Boot Camp.

"Later, bro," Wiley said. He clasped my shoulder. "We'll get this mess straightened out."

I nodded.

Gracie and I watched Wiley until he was out of sight.

I turned to her. "Did you give Ezra my cell number?"

She shook her head. "We said we wanted to keep them private as much as we could. Didn't we?"

"Yes. It bothers me that Boot Camp got his hands on it."

"Information has a way of leaking out, despite the measures we take to prevent it."

I agreed. I didn't want to talk about Boot Camp anymore, his threats or any subject even remotely touching on him. "How're my folks?"

"Fine."

"Gracie." I spoke her name softly, a subtle plea for her to open up.

"You should really think about getting them in a supervised environment."

"I know they've been having some senior moments, but – "

"It's more than that, Elijah."

"Oh?"

"Why are you determined not to hear what I'm saying?"

"I didn't know I was."

"I'm serious."

I guess I came off sounding insincere. Gracie's use of my full name didn't go unnoticed, either. She must be really ticked. This was just what I needed right now – a squabble over my parents.

"I have been listening, Gracie. I heard you when you told me about Dad cleaning his pistol and Mom helping him."

"What about last night? Dad checking our house for water leaks and the two of them skinny-dipping in the rez? This is a serious matter, Elijah, and it didn't start yesterday. Their situation, whatever it is, Alzheimer's or plain senility, escalated to this point and it's only going to worsen. Your Dad shouldn't be driving. Myra at the bank told me yesterday he passed her on the highway last week. Her car rocked when he went by, he was driving that fast."

"Dad's always been an Indy 500 driver."

She nodded. "True, but did he always put a strawberry shortcake on the roof of the car?"

"Strawberry shortcake?"

"I can only assume it represented a police siren light thingy. Whatever you call them."

"Portable police siren." I rolled my eyes and shook my head. The apprehension sitting in my stomach since Boot Camp's call roiled, making me feel nauseous. My wife was right. My parents needed a controlled environment. I wasn't sure I should be the one suggesting it.

Gracie looked at me with hope in her eyes. I had to give her something.

"I'll call Ralph and clue him in."

"When?"

"Tonight soon enough?"

She nodded. "Thank you."

I took her in my arms and held her.

"It's too much," she said.

"What do you mean?" I asked into her hair.

"Our lives are on the fast track to a train wreck. Haven't you noticed? First, your retirement, which we didn't have any idea about; then the threat on my life, which was another punch to the gut, then the girls not joining us this summer. They're breaking free of us, Elijah, and there's nothing we can do. Brynn's special friend – it's serious. I can tell in her voice how much she cares for him. She's probably in love. She must be, otherwise she wouldn't be bringing him home to meet us. What if we don't like him, or he isn't good for her? And now this crackpot threatening you. You're worried constantly and don't tell me differently because I won't believe you." She quieted a moment, then took up her spiel again. "And that close call we had with my mom this spring ... it could have just as easily been cancer. Who's to say the next time she won't be so lucky. And now your Mom and Dad acting all bugaboo." She paused to take a breath. "We're hardly enjoying our time off. Some vacation this turned out to be, huh? It's been one thing after another. Honestly, Eli, I don't know how much more I can take."

"Shh." I tightened my hold around her. "Everything's going to be okay." Gracie had a point, though. The last twenty-five years had been relatively easy. There was the occasional hiccup, of course, but nothing major, nothing that debilitated us or made us question ourselves. Maybe this was payback. Maybe the time had come for us to experience pain and heartache, our turn on the misery treadmill.

"And my father," she said.

"What about him?"

"I miss him."

I didn't understand why she would. "Honey, he skipped out on you and your mother when you were five." I couldn't comprehend how or why she longed for a man who had deserted his wife and daughter and who didn't have the decency to at least contact them once in the forty years he'd been gone.

"I'm alone."

"You're not. You have me and the girls and your Mom." I rested my chin on the top of her head when she relaxed in my arms.

"There's this scream at the back of my throat. I force it down. I don't want to, but I do."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why don't you let it go?"

She laughed. "Your mother would have me committed." She sighed and took a deep breath. "Here with your arms around me is where I feel safest, Elijah. I wasn't always this way. What changed in me? I'm not as spunky as I once was."

I knew what this was about. Gracie lost her best friend four weeks ago in a car accident. They'd been best friends their entire lives. They attended the same college; studied the same courses; graduated together and taught at the same high school. They'd been inseparable, until a SUV jumped the highway median and collided with Nancy's car.

"Gracie, our lives are changing, whether we like it or not. You're still grieving over Nancy. She was an important and vital part of your life, of all our lives. We never want to believe that one day our friends and loved ones will die, and if the thought of their deaths cross our minds, we push the truth away, preferring instead to deal with the reality when it happens."

"Is that how it is for you with your parents?"

I ah-ed and um-ed and said, "Men look at these matters differently."

She giggled.

I knew why. "I fell right into that one, didn't I?"

"That you did, Mr. Whipple."

I could feel her inner strength returning.

"Do you trust me, Gracie?"

"With my life. You know I do."

"Then trust me when I say I'll work everything out."

"Growing old sucks."

"It's better than the alternative."

She slapped my chest playfully. "Don't even joke about it."

Gracie looked over at the Whipple homestead. "We might be like your parents one day."

"Honey, we'll never be anything like them."

"I was referring to their senior moments, not their character."

I checked my watch. "Speaking of senior moments, don't you have a hair appointment?"

She jumped from my arms. "I forgot all about it."

"You're not late, but we'll have to hup to."

I watched her scurry into the house and thanked God for everything He'd given us, even the bad stuff for it was that which made us stronger.

Chapter Eleven

Gracie and I arrived home mid-afternoon bundled with shopping bags.

I helped put away the groceries and while she went into the den to wrap the baby shower gift, I looked around. I checked the door first and saw there was no sign of forced entry and no sign of an intruder having entered in the time we'd been gone.

"Those pajamas are adorable," Gracie, said coming into the kitchen. "I can't wait until we become grandparents."

I looked at her. "Lots of time for that. Brynn and Lexi are still kids themselves."

"You're seeing what you want to see. I was Brynn's age when she was born."

"Yes, but a lot maturer."

She hugged herself. "Can't you see it? Sleepovers, taking them shopping, playing with them, tea parties, climbing trees, spoiling them."

"Doing all the things with them we either didn't have time to do or couldn't do with Brynn and Lexi because we'd be shirking our parental duties?"

"Yes!" She wrapped her arms around me. "Don't you look forward to it?"

"I'm warming to the idea."

"I know you Elijah Whipple. Our grandkids are going to be Grampy's little girls or little boys, and I'll be left on the sidelines."

"Never." Over her shoulder, I peered at a glass on the countertop. It wasn't there when we left. I remembered putting the glasses Wiley and I'd used in the dishwasher and the pitcher of iced tea in the refrigerator.

"Did you have something to drink since we got home?" I asked.

She shook her head. "You know I didn't. Why did you ask?"

I came out of her grasp and pulled open the dishwasher. The glasses were where I'd placed them.

"What is it?" Gracie asked, looking at me – determining, calculating, analyzing – and I knew the instant she arrived at a conclusion. Her eyes opened wide and her fingers went to her lips.

"He was here, wasn't he? In the house while we were gone." She looked around, probably wondering what he touched, what he read and where he sat.

I nodded. "He's toying with me."

"You've got to catch him, Eli, and put an end to this."

"I will."

"I'm really worried about the girls."

"They've been taught how to look after themselves." Black belts, both of them.

"But against a gun, Eli?"

"They know how to defend themselves in those types of situations, too."

"But Lexi, she's so tiny. She can easily be overpowered."

"Maybe so, but she can't be out-maneuvered and won't let herself get into a position where her weight and size are liabilities."

"But just supposing?"

"I'm confident she knows what to do. Boot Camp won't know what hit him if he messes with her."

"Are we sure it wasn't your father checking for water leaks again and got thirsty while he did?"

I slipped one of Gracie's rubber gloves on my hand and held up the glass to the light.

"Anything?"

"Not a print or smudge."

Gracie said the obvious. "He either wore gloves or wiped the glass clean." She moved into my arms. I held her tight and glared at the glass, my blood boiling in my veins.

***

On the keypad I punched in Ralph's telephone number and made the dreaded call to my brother. Sheri answered the phone, which didn't surprise me. My sister-in-law was the gatekeeper in that household. She needed to be on top of everything. Her domineering manner sent everyone hunting for cover. I didn't state my purpose for calling and I suspected – even hoped – not knowing what business I had with her husband busted her gut. She would know I didn't call without a specific reason. Ralph and I were more social contacts than brothers.

In the background on the other end of the line, I could hear Sheri identify me. Ralph mumbled something I couldn't make out, then I heard her say, "I don't know. He didn't tell me." A couple seconds later, Ralph came on the line. I put him on speakerphone.

"Hey, what's up?" he asked.

I came right to the point. "It's about Mom and Dad," I said.

"What about them?"

I noticed Ralph's voice had taken on a hard edge, like I was intruding on his territory. He could be that way if he wanted. I couldn't care a fig.

"They've been doing some unusual things."

"Like what?"

"Like Mom helping Dad clean his service revolver."

"Is that it? Is that all you got?"

Ralph was a jerk. Somehow, I managed to refrain from telling him. I blew out a breath to keep my cool. I knew I'd regret making this call.

Despite my brother's combatant behavior, I continued and told him about Dad inspecting for leaks at our house at two o'clock in the morning.

"Take the key from him," Ralph responded.

I mentioned their skinny-dipping foray in the rez.

"It's been unusually hot this summer," he replied.

I told him about the strawberry shortcake episode.

"I forgot a cup of coffee on the roof of my car last week. Are you going to call the fellas with their white jackets for me too?"

I didn't answer. I wanted to tell him I thought our parents' behavior was more than normal forgetfulness. For whatever reason, my brother didn't seem particularly concerned.

Since I was getting nowhere with him, I switched topics. "You and Sheri coming to the jamboree on Saturday?"

"We're planning on it. Are Brynn and Lexi coming?"

Ralph and I hadn't spoken in months, yet he always knew everything going on in our lives. I remembered he hadn't called when he'd learned I'd lost my job or when Gracie lost her best friend, or when.... like I said — social contacts.

"Yes, and Brynn's bringing a friend."

"About time those girls settled down."

"They're in college, Ralph. It's not as though they're partying till dawn seven days a week." Like your sons.

"No, of course not."

I had enough of my brother and brought the conversation to an end. "It's been nice. See you Saturday night." I hung up. Funny, but I'd forgotten how Ralph could get to me.

"I'm sorry, honey," Gracie said, coming up behind me and wrapping her arms around my mid-section. "I won't ever ask you to do something like that again. Next time I see him, I'm going to tell him to suck on a lemon."

"You'll have your chance Saturday night."

Chapter Twelve

I hadn't heard anything from Boot Camp since his call and things hadn't gone misplaced or relocated in the house since the eve of Shoemaker's baby shower. Maybe he lost interest in me. I wouldn't bet the farm on it, though, and figured he would make a move on me at the jamboree. It's what I would do.

As for my parents, there hadn't been any more senior moments over the last couple of days. I wasn't putting too much stock in that either, but for the moment, all was well in the Whipple households.

At eight o'clock I trekked across the field to my childhood home to ask if Mom and Dad wanted to walk to the Kibbeys with Gracie and me. Usually, we drove with my father, but I couldn't risk letting him loose behind the wheel of anything powered. Gracie had made the suggestion. "It's a beautiful night," she'd said. "Why don't we walk?" I'd astutely understood her subtle reminder.

The air was fresh with the scent of wildflowers and hay and the sky, cloudless and blue, promised a starry night. All in all a perfect evening for a jamboree.

The thought of seeing old friends and catching up on everyone's lives bolstered my spirits. I smiled, thinking how not one of us ever kept our promise to stay in touch. I always intended to keep my promise; my friends would probably admit having the same intention.

I hoped everyone kept it cool tonight, referring specifically to my parents. How matters had changed in the last little while. I remembered as a child Dad pointing a finger at me and saying, 'Behave'. Strange, how the table turned. Now I was the adult and hoping my parents behaved _themselves_ , though I would never have the rocks to point my finger at him and issue any sort of warning.

Gracie couldn't wait to meet Brynn's special friend. I was excited myself. I don't know why, really. Maybe all the talk about grandparents had touched my soul.

As I approached the house, a peculiar scent wafted toward me. It took me only an instant to identify the odor of skunk. I sighed and thought how much we didn't need any run-ins with any animal. Perhaps my sense of smell was off. I'd had the sniffles yesterday, so I was hopeful.

Preparing to relocate the pesky rodent, I grabbed the shovel resting against the steps and crept along the back of the house. The odor was stronger here, and I suspected the culprit was on the other side. I peeked around the corner and got the surprise of my life. I was rendered momentarily speechless and motionless. I took a moment to get my wits about me, then made my presence known.

"Mom, Dad," I said, setting my hands atop the shovel handle and watching them giggle who would get the next hit from the joint my Dad expertly held between his thumb and forefinger.

They turned and looked at me and giggled some more. I'd never seen or heard my Dad giggle before, or any grown man, for that matter.

"All set for the jamboree?" I asked. It was only a guess, but I'd say they were.

My father looked over at me.

Mom peeked around him and grimaced.

I suspected I'd spoiled her fun.

Dad cleared his throat and dumped the roach. I pretended not to notice.

My mother pulled up her anklets, wiped her hands on her apron and set off toward the house with my Dad in tow.

"We'll be ready in a flash," my Mom said over her shoulder.

I didn't doubt it for a second.

After they sprinted – there was no other way to describe their movement – into the house, I leaned against the cedar shingles and wondered what was happening to my folks. My father was a retired police officer. On re-thought, I realized my father was that and more. He was a pot-smoking- entering-a-house-without-permission-maniac-driving ex-police officer. I shook my head, unable to make sense of the situation. But if Ralph said our folks were okay, then they were, right? Not necessarily. My brother might, and probably did, have an agenda.

I recognized Gracie's footsteps approaching. "Around here," I said and waited for her to reach me.

"What's the gawdawful stench?" she asked, coming around the corner of the house.

I raised my brows and grinned. "You don't know?" We'd smelled enough of it in our younger years and Gracie still did as a high school teacher. I couldn't imagine she'd forgotten the pong of marijuana over the course of the summer. To give her due, it hadn't occurred to me, either, the odor was marijuana. My first instinct had been a skunk. I left her to thinking and knew the moment the light came on. Her eyes opened wide, and a smirk lit up her face.

"Someone's been naughty," she said, her face taking on another look – the happy face of a kid on Christmas morning eyeing the presents Santa left.

"Yippers," I said.

"Who?" she asked. Then as though she experienced another epiphany, she said, "No."

"'Fraid so."

"Your Mom and Dad smoked pot?" she said with disbelief.

I was only too happy to oblige with the truth. "Yep."

She sniffed the air, looked around her feet and pounced on the joint. She took the butt in her fingers, blew off bits of earth and breathed life into the smoldering joint.

I watched her inhale the smoke, hold it in her lungs a few seconds and exhale. She coughed and sputtered and through watery eyes offered me the roach.

Before I could accept or decline (I hadn't made up my mind yet), the screen door squeaked open and I could hear the muffled voice of my mother saying, "Quick, Percy. He's gone. Let's get moving before he comes back."

Beside me, Gracie giggled.

I peeked around the corner of the house in time to see my mother yanking my father down the steps. They headed toward the back of the property. I let them get several yards into their great escape before making my presence known.

"Hey, Mom," I said.

They stopped, but didn't turn.

I walked to them. "Where you two off to?" I said, coming to a stop in front of my father.

I pretended not to notice when my mother slapped my father's arm and muttered, "Didn't I tell you to hurry? Now we're stuck to go to the Kibbeys."

These two were up to no good, I was sure, and my mother was the mastermind behind whatever nefarious scheme they seemed determined to carry out.

Gracie caught up to us. She smiled at my parents and looked from one to the other, but didn't say anything.

I didn't know whether she didn't trust what she'd say and was just plain speechless. I understood. Dad had dressed in what looked like his newest pair of coveralls and a wrinkled red-checkered shirt and Mom had replaced her yellow flowered housedress with a pink one and had dispensed with the apron. They both had spritzed their white hair off their faces. Neither of them smelled funky, which I didn't understand. I was sure Gracie and I wore the smell of someone either coming into contact with pot smokers or someone who had lit a joint in the last hour or two; either that or we'd recently had a nasty run-in with a skunk. What people thought of me was not my business, but I decided to plead the latter scenario should anyone be audacious enough to comment on our smell.

Gracie tugged on my shirt.

I took my gaze from my parents to look at her. "What?"

"Maybe we should drive to the Kibbey's."

With my parents in their present state, I wasn't sure we should even take them to the jamboree. I could only imagine what mischief they'd get into in the hay. "Maybe we should arrange for someone to stay home with them," I said, already wondering who to ask. Most of Callum turned out for the jamboree and I didn't want to abandon what I'd set in motion for tonight.

Wiley and I figured Boot Camp would make his move on me at the jamboree. We devised a plan and ran it by Stearns Kibbey. He needed some convincing that we could carry out the plan without anyone getting hurt. No one wanted that more than me. After he gave me the go-ahead, I enlisted the help of several of my buds from Fort Sill. Armed with binoculars and talkies, they were to arrive earlier and position themselves at strategic points around the farm. To cancel the arrangements I made would mean setting up another opportunity for him to take me out. I couldn't let the hold Boot Camp had on my family and me go on any further. Tonight, the schmuck would be taken down.

"We're not babies, and we're not staying home." My mother shook her head. "Uh-unh. No way. We've been looking forward to this jamboree for weeks. We're going!"

Strange, but I could have sworn she said a moment ago they were 'stuck to go to the Kibbeys'.

Gracie and I insisted they ride with us. I was certain Mom and Dad could have flown to the jamboree on their power they were that angry their plans had been spoiled.

We bundled into my truck. I looked at them in the back seat. They both sat with their arms across their chests and pouted. I clicked on the child locks on the back doors. I wasn't taking any chances.

***

Kibbeys owned enough land that all the properties on the road would fit inside their lot and with acres to spare. The farm housed generations of Kibbeys and when Stearns retired or passed on, his son would take over. The house was huge and spectacular and the barns – three in total and equally spectacular – could rival any in the state and never failed to impress me.

I parked the truck where no one could block me in. My parents might misbehave, and we might need to make a hasty exit. I'd never heard of anyone getting black-listed from the jamboree but didn't intend to take any chances. Not getting an invite would be a disgrace not to be lived down.

The festivities were well underway, I noticed. Friends and neighbors gathered in dozens of groups of fours and sixes. Couples danced to the music blaring from the speakers situated around the back yard at hundred yard intervals. Later, Jimmy "the fiddle man" Bower, suitably plied with Lorie Hamm's 'special blend of corn liquor', would hop on stage and accompany Jarvis Alden playing the spoons, also suitably plied with either the same homemade brew or something similar.

Mom and Pop were out of the truck before Gracie or I could unhook the seatbelts. Neither of them said a word. The door slammed in our ears and virtually rocked the truck. I cocked a brow, looked at Gracie.

She said, "This should be an interesting night."

I thought so too as I watched my parents scurry across the field, like bandits. They were either making another run for it, or attempting a flash race to the makeshift bar set up near the barn doors. I didn't know which would be worse – Mom and Pop likkered up, or Mom and Pop wandering on their own. I decided not to ponder the choice and helped Gracie from the truck.

Earlier in the afternoon, I, along with several neighbors, helped Stearns set up for the festivities. We strung Chinese lanterns and laid out bales of hay (they made a comfortable seat for anyone needing to get off their feet). At the same time, I'd delivered our contribution to the jamboree: two casseroles (one of which was a concoction of spaghetti noodles, crackers and crabmeat, a new invention of Gracie's, which I would sample only upon coaxing), a pan of date squares, a bottle of wine and a flat of beer. Given my anticipated encounter with Boot Camp and because I'd been designated driver this particular soiree, I intended to imbibe sparingly.

I took Gracie's hand as we made our way into the back yard. I surveyed the crowd, searching for someone who fit Boot Camp's description. I didn't see him. Not that I expected to. He would stay inconspicuous. He'd done a great job of it to date. In my wandering scrutiny of the crowd, I spotted Wiley chatting up ladies twice his age. I hoped he was centered on the task at hand and not pitching a used car. He looked up, caught my gaze and nodded, letting me know he'd done his part and made certain of our classmates of '68 privy to my problem. From Wiley, I gravitated to the next group of party-goers. Willard Soucy tipped the neck of his beer bottle at me. I nodded and moved on to Vernon Lockwood, who gave me a thumbs-up. I was about to look to the next group when Annie Kane issued me a one-fingered salute. I wondered what Wiley was thinking to enlist her help, then I remembered this was Wiley and needn't think any more on the subject. I peered upward at the opening to the hay loft in the barn. It took me a moment to make out Luke Casey almost hidden away amongst straw. If I hadn't known what to look for, he would not have been spotted. I hoped he would fool Boot Camp.

To keep up the pretense that everything was as usual as previous years, our first stop was to the Kibbeys to thank them for their gracious invitation. The Forresters, who had been, I expect, paying their respect to our hosts, moved on to a nearby group of four as we approached.

"Another great turn-out," I said to Stearns. "I hear congratulations are in order." I slapped his shoulder. "Old man."

Stearns grabbed my outstretched hand and shook it like there was no tomorrow, grinning like a proud papa, only in this case, it was 'grandpa'.

"Look who's calling who 'old man'," he said. "Retiree."

I laughed. He had a point.

Gracie artfully captured Alma in a girl-huddle, giving me time to check in with Stearns. "Any problems?"

"None. Your guys are all in place," Stearns said. "Still have no idea who Boot Camp is?"

"None, but that won't be for much longer." If I needed to, I'd wring the truth from him.

"We've got your back," he said. "If the creep makes a move on you here, he won't know what hit him."

I nodded, not doubting him for a moment. Stearns, an ex-Marine, and my father, an ex-Airman, went way back.

"What if he doesn't show?"

"He will." I watched Stearns peer around and caught myself before doing the same. If Boot Camp sniffed a set-up, he'd just choose another day and another way to get me.

"What did your dad have to say about all this?" Stearns asked.

"I haven't told him."

"Why not?"

I canted my head from side to side, like I was cracking my neck. "I thought it best not to."

Stearns laughed. "Does your decision not to make him privy to Boot Camp's threat have anything to do with his little dip in the reservoir the other night?"

I cocked a brow and smiled. "Maybe."

Gracie laughed and grabbed me around the waist.

Her arm trembled against my back. She'd said she wanted to be here and watch Boot Camp be taken down, but she wasn't prepared for the actual event. Nothing she or I could have done would have prepared her.

We said our goodbyes to Stearns and Alma and moved on.

I pulled Gracie against my hip and steered her toward the bar. "Do you trust me?"

"You know I do."

"Everything'll work out the way I said."

"I couldn't bear it if something happened to you, Elijah."

"It won't." This ended here, tonight.

I looked for Mom and Pop. They seemed to have disappeared.

"Seen my folks?" I asked.

I followed her gaze to the horseshoe pit in time to see Mom jump up and down and clap her hands after throwing a ringer. I wondered how much longer before they tired of the game and made their getaway to do God knew what.

"I've been keeping an eye on them."

I could feel Gracie's eyes bore into me.

"It could all be normal, you know," she said.

"What?"

"Your parents' behavior. Maybe I over-reacted. They could be cutting loose, getting down, doing what they've never done."

"I think it's a little more than experiencing everything life has to offer." Gracie was attempting to lighten my anxiety. I smiled. "I can handle more than one crisis at a time, you know."

"I know." Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.

"We'll keep an eye on them." Since Gracie was seldom wrong, I went with her initial assessment.

We arrived at the bar and asked Benny Atwood, the first of probably three bartenders for the night, for a glass of red wine.

"I don't want wine," Gracie said.

I looked at her. "Would you like something stronger?"

She shook her head. "I'll have a glass of Rose's lemonade."

"One lemonade coming right up," Benny said and disappeared behind a bale of hay.

"I'm fine, Eli," Gracie said.

"You are." I was accustomed to entering into combat and dangerous situations. Gracie was not.

She jutted her chin. "I changed my mind. I'll have wine, after all. Thanks."

I winked at her. "Grab a beer for me, Benny, while you're back there."

Seconds later, Gracie and I strolled the outskirts of the festivities. While she savored her wine, I checked out the crowd. It seemed everyone held back on enjoying themselves. If I didn't know better, I'd say they knew of the potential danger. Maybe it was my imagination hard at work, or perhaps the real party had always taken time to start.

I sought out Wiley and found he'd moved on from the little old ladies to schmooze a group of bankers. He didn't seem the least bit troubled by the upcoming run-in with Boot Camp.

"Something the matter?" Gracie asked, following the direction of my gaze.

"No. Just taking stock."

Wait for something to happen and it took forever.

She checked her watch. "The girls should be here by now."

"It's too early to worry."

"Brynn said they'd be here after supper."

"Lexi's never on time. She was late for her own delivery, remember?" Finally, I got a laugh out of her.

As we approached the mayor and his wife, left standing alone when councilwoman and her husband were whisked away by the Jacksons, Ralph and Sheri made their grand entrance. And grand it was. My brother and his wife swept into the yard, glowing smiles on their positively glowing faces, teeth so white almost blinding, dressed in designer duds, not a hair out of place on either of their heads. Later, when darkness fell on Callum and the jamboree, I'd use their teeth as a beacon should I lose my way.

"I forgot to trim my nose hair," I said.

"What?"

"My nose hair. I forgot—"

"I heard you the first time. What made you bring that up?"

I nudged my chin at Ralph. "I should have prettied up for him."

Gracie punched me in the arm. "How can you joke at a time like this? Remember the creep?"

"Speaking of, come my love, let's pay our respects to his and her highness."

Gracie followed closely at my side; attached at the hip, some might say.

We were seconds away from them when Brynn and Lexi rounded the corner of the house. "Is that a timely arrival or what?"

Gracie obviously spotted our girls at the same time. She walked past Ralph and Sheri with a smile, a wave and a promise to catch up later.

"What kept you?" Gracie asked both the girls. "I was worried sick." She hugged Lexi first, then Brynn.

Lexi moved in to, I suspect, take the heat for being late. "It's my fault, Mom. Savannah's car broke down on the way back from work and I went to pick her up."

Savannah was always in crisis. She was lucky to have a friend like my daughter. Lexi was too generous and too trusting at times. Both traits might land her in trouble one day. I remembered the saying that no good deed goes unpunished and thought how true it was.

I'd missed my girls, and it took this moment for me to realize how much. After Gracie moved on to welcome Brynn back home with a hug, I captured Lexi in my arms. "I missed you."

"Thirty minutes away is all we are, and there's texting and emails..." She grinned lopsidedly.

While both my girls inherited my topaz-colored eyes, Lexi took after Gracie – height, hair and stature and Brynn took after me – tall and slim.

Something blue caught my eye and I looked toward the color. A uniformed female police officer walked toward us, one hand resting on her sidearm. I wondered who'd called the police and why. My second thought was that if Boot Camp had infiltrated the jamboree, he would be soon gone, which meant we'd need to do this bait fest again. Gracie might not last another round.

I took a better look at the cop, unidentifiable to me. Definitely not one of Callum's finest and maybe not here on official business, not if her wide smile were any indication. Maybe she knew the girls. It would be a recently-made friendship, since we knew all of Lexi and Brynn's friends. Then I remembered Brynn was bringing a 'special friend', which meant one we'd never met, so we actually didn't know _all_ of our daughters' friends.

I wondered where Brynn's boyfriend was. Maybe they were supposed to meet up later.

Brynn introduced us. "Dad, Mom, I'd like you to meet Kali Drake."

I reached past Lexi and grabbed Kali's hand. "My pleasure," I said, smiling widely. "I hope you've been taking good care of my girls."

Gracie accidentally kicked me in the ankle in her haste to shake Kali's hand. "I'm sure she has, Eli. It's so nice to meet you, Kali. I'm Gracie."

I read Kali's badge and said the obvious. "You're on the Lawton PD." Lawton was on the outskirts of Fort Sill.

"Yes, sir."

"Eli, please. 'Sir' is my father," who, I noticed, had changed from his coveralls to a jersey tank top and gym short shorts. My eyes popped before I could stop myself.

"Daddy," Lexi said, looking around. "I think Kali's uniform is putting a damper on the festivities."

"We stopped at the house," Brynn said, "for Kali to change but the doors were locked and our keys don't work anymore."

"Your father changed the locks this afternoon," Gracie said.

"Here." I took the house key from my pocket. "I'll get keys cut for you and your sister tomorrow."

"Your rooms are all made up," Gracie said to Brynn and Lexi. To Kali, she said, "Make yourself at home."

After the girls and Kali were out of listening distance, I turned to Gracie. "Now that you've given Brynn boyfriend's room to Kali, where's he going to sleep? I'm not giving up my bed."

I watched my wife purse her lips and cock a brow. "Eli — "

"Un-huh. He can sleep on the sofa bed in the den. Or in the barn."

"Eli — "

"He'll be perfectly comfortable in either."

"Will you shut up for a minute and listen."

I clamped my lips.

"Kali _is_ Brynn's special friend."

I strung a sentence of 'buts'. The first for: but she's a girl. The second: but that would mean Brynn's gay. The third: but Brynn dated boys, had boyfriends, many, in fact. The fourth for... well, just because I needed another.

I was an open-minded guy and didn't consider myself a bigot, but then I'd nothing to be prejudiced about since it hadn't touched on me directly. This did. How did I feel about homosexuality? I'd never thought about it, actually. How did I feel about homosexuality now? To each his own, I would have said yesterday. Today, probably the same. I'd defend my daughter and her convictions to my death. But did that mean I was okay with her being a homosexual? I gave that some thought and had to be truthful. No, I wasn't okay with it. But I loved Brynn and would stand by her whatever her choices and whichever path she chose.

Around me the festivities had lulled, which I hadn't noticed until now. Everyone, it seemed, had caught on to Brynn and her special friend long before I had. Or maybe Callum had already known about my daughter's sexuality and Gracie and I were the last to know. _The last to know_ , like the proverbial wife on her adulterous husband.

Well, I'd give them nothing to snicker about. I swung my arm around Gracie's waist, smiled and ushered her to my brother and his wife.

"How about that?" Ralph asked. "Brynn a lezzie. Who would have thought? Not you, huh?"

This was the asinine mentality I wanted to protect my daughter from. It was a toss-up whether I would introduce my fist to Ralph's jaw or give him a tongue-lashing —both of which were a long time coming and deserved.

Before I could decide, Gracie stepped in Ralph's face.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a jerk, Ralph?"

Sheri came to his defense.

"Now, just wait a — "

"Not now, Sheri," Gracie said. "You'll get your turn." She turned back to Ralph. "For years, I've stood by while you belittled my husband, my girls, my mom and me. That stops right now, right here, you sanctimonious ass. Grow up, for God's sake." She turned to Sheri and said, "And you, little Miss-Prissy-Missy with her fancy clothes and fancy hairdos. Did you think all these years I didn't know the stories you spread behind my back, the lies you told?"

"I didn't — "

Gracie held up a finger. "This is not a debate. Shut up and listen. _So_ nice to my face and the minute...no, the second my back is turned you say bad things about me. But that's what you do best, isn't it, Sheri? — make trouble. That too stops here." Gracie leaned in close to her.

I had to strain my ears to hear.

"There's something you should keep in mind when you're trashing someone's reputation — make sure your house is beyond reproach. We both know that's not the case with you, don't we, Sheri? Ralph pulled a lot of strings to get those assault charges dropped against Dillon, and I can only imagine what favors he called in to get the DUI reduced to a traffic violation last November when Trevor left The Exchequer drunk to his eye balls and got behind the wheel of his car and — "

"Enough!"

"It's enough, Sheri, when I say it is. If you so much as think a bad thought about anyone I love or hold dear to me, I'm coming for you and this," Gracie twirled her finger in a circle, "will seem a cakewalk in comparison." She turned, then turned back and faced her again. "One last thing ... the both of you can suck lemons."

I took a second to raise my eyebrows at my brother and his wife before taking my wife's hand and walking away.

I'd never seen Gracie so ticked. Wiley approved. He pantomimed a hand clap. I looked around. It appeared everyone in the immediate vicinity, applauded Gracie's standing up against bigotry. They either nodded, smiled quirkily, winked or gave thumbs-up. My wife was oblivious.

I kissed her cheek. "Well done, my love."

"I embarrassed myself." She rolled her eyes.

"No, you didn't. Look around, honey. Do you think you told Ralph and Sheri anything these people had wanted to tell either or both of them but never had the courage?"

Gracie did as I suggested, but instead of seeing what I saw, her mouth fell open and she exclaimed, "Look. It's him."

###  Chapter Thirteen

Every nerve in my body became alert. This was it. Showtime! My hand went to the talkie strapped to my belt. I looked to where Gracie was peering, but I didn't see anything or anyone out of the ordinary.

"What is it?"

"Don't you see him?"

"Who?"

She pointed again. "He's right there." She raised herself on her toes and examined the crowd. "He's gone."

"Who did you see?"

"My father," she said and turned to me, smiling. "I saw my father."

"That's impossible."

"Why?"

"You're father's been gone for forty years. He's probably dead."

"We don't know for sure."

_Not all bodies wash to shore._ "You're right." I didn't understand my wife's fascination with her father — a man who obviously didn't give two hoots about deserting her and her mother and leaving them alone to fend for themselves in a world filled with crazies.

I doubted Gracie had seen anyone who wasn't invited to the jamboree, but to make her feel like I was doing something, I took my walkie in my hand. "Describe him," I said.

"He was about my height, maybe a little taller and balding."

"Anything else?"

"I have his nose, Eli," she whispered, her eyes sparkling.

I didn't know how to respond. "What was he wearing?"

She shook her head. "I only saw him briefly — "

"Close your eyes and recapture the moment. Give your mind time to process what you saw."

I watched her do as I suggested. Seconds later, she opened her eyes and said, "He was fully clothed."

"What do you mean?"

"Sport jacket, vest, shirt, tie and dress trousers."

I cocked a brow. "Really?" The temperature had to be ninety degrees.

"You made the suggestion, remember?"

Maybe this was how Gracie had always perceived her father and her mind put together the missing pieces. If there was a stranger to these festivities, I needed to know. Though my men were to report anything or anyone unusual, I got on the talkie and asked if anyone had seen someone dressed as Gracie had described.

"Come again, Staff Sergeant."

I took a quick glance at the hay loft. "You heard me."

All four of my men reported in the negative.

"I don't understand why no one saw him," Gracie said.

Neither did I. My men had been trained for this sort of scenario. I trained them. Either Gracie was seeing what she wanted to see or the man was an expert at becoming invisible.

Something nudged my mind — a detail I should remember. Something ... What was it? What — The fact hit me then. Wearing wool in scorching temperatures. Wiley's description of ... what was his — I blurted the name. "Terrence Tripp."

"Who?" Gracie looked at me, like I might require special care.

I told her about the geeky kid Wiley remembered when we brainstormed about the identity of Boot Camp. Gracie had been a year behind Wiley and me in school and might not have any recollection of him.

"No bells are ringing," she said, shaking her head.

"I'm not surprised. He wouldn't have made an impression. I didn't remember him, either, until Wiley forced the memory from me."

"You've seen pictures of my father. Did he look anything like this Tripp kid?"

I shrugged. "A little, I suppose."

"Maybe that's who I saw."

"Maybe." The fact that no one besides Gracie had seen the fella bothered me. I doubted my guys had been sleeping on the job.

We all come back home at some point in our lives for one reason or another. Most of the residents of Callum turned out for Kibbeys jamboree. What better place to hang out and catch up than here? Tripp would keep to the sidelines, stay inconspicuous and watch his former classmates in the same manner as he had in his school years.

Gracie brought her fingers to her lips. "You don't think ..."

"What?"

"That Tripp is Boot Camp." She put her hand on my arm and squeezed. "Oh my God, you do, don't you? He's here, isn't he?" She looked behind her, then over my shoulder. "Oh my God."

I grabbed her around the waist. "Shh. He's not going to make a move now."

"How do you know? Oh, you mean not with all these witnesses."

I waited for her to come to the conclusion. One a moment passed.

"He's going to come at you when you're alone."

I pursed my lips.

"And, of course, you're going to accommodate him."

"I'm done being his mark, Gracie. You need this to end, too."

"Uh-huh." She moved around a pebble with the toe of her sandal. When she looked up at me, her eyes filled with tears.

I pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. "Have a little faith in me."

"Get a hayloft, for goodness sake," Wiley's booming voice said at our backs.

Gracie turned with me and I asked, "Did you see an odd little guy wandering the outskirts of the crowd a while ago?"

He shook his head. "I've been keeping a close watch."

I thought he might have been. Wiley could always be counted on to get a job done.

"Are you sure, Wiley?" Gracie asked.

"There isn't anyone here I don't know. Besides, I would have let Eli know." He tapped the walkie on his hip.

"Of course," Gracie said.

I couldn't discount that we had all missed him. If indeed Gracie's father had returned to Callum, he was here to get a glimpse of his daughter and granddaughters. Heck, maybe he returned every year and for whatever reason never made his presence known.

"Where did the girls skip off to?" Wiley asked.

"Home to change," I said.

"You want me to check on their whereabouts?"

"I have a man on them."

Wiley nodded.

I looked at my watch. At half-time, when the food was served and everyone gathered in the main barn for the mix-match buffet, I'd maneuver Boot Camp to make his move on me. Hopefully, the skirmish would be over before anyone knew there'd been a madman in their midst.

"Game on?" Wiley asked.

"Almost." I turned to Gracie. Before I could get out a word, she said, "I'll help the ladies set up the tables. Be careful."

"Always." My cell vibrated in the pocket of my cargo shorts. I read the message. "The girls are en route."

"I'll keep a watch for them and make sure they stay put," Gracie said. "Now, go do what you do best and take out the scumbag."

I nodded.

Wiley said to me, "See you in a bit." To Gracie he bowed and extended his arm. "Your escort, milady."

Boot Camp's reign of supremacy was near an end. I couldn't wait to learn the answer to the question burning a trail in my mind — why me? Before I took him down, I'd make certain he told me.

I headed for the western boundary toward a barn off on its own and well away from the festivities. If Boot Camp had me under surveillance, he'd follow. As I came closer to the barn, I noticed one of the red double doors was ajar. Before I could react, a man burst through the narrow opening. He had a shotgun trained on my mid-section.

I realized a couple of things as I stood staring into the gun barrels. One that Boot Camp knew what my plan was (I suspected he'd overheard us talking); and two that there was nothing even vaguely familiar about this balding man with a pockmarked face dressed for Minnesota's climate. I didn't know him and I'd never met him, which brought to the forefront of my mind — what was his gripe with me?

I decided to take a direct approach. "Look, man, you have me confused with someone else," I said. "You've got no beef with me. Why don't we go our separate ways and forget this ever happened?"

"Wouldn't you like that?"

"Yeah, I would. I don't want to hurt you."

"Hurt me?" he asked, frowning. "I'm the one holding the gun, don't forget."

"I haven't." _Crazy in overload._ There was no doubt Boot Camp intended to carry out his plans for me.

"Okay, but before you kill me, answer one question." I inched closer to him.

"What's that?"

"What did I do to you? I'd remember if we'd met." I took another half-step toward him.

"Stop right there! Think you're so smart I wouldn't notice? Don't underestimate me, Eli."

I held my hands in the air and apologized. "I know you're very smart. Look how you come and go from my house without anyone noticing. You're resourceful too. I gotta commend you, pal. Getting my personal information was no easy task." No matter what I said, I couldn't get him to move away from the door he used to shield himself. From this angle, no one could see him or the shotgun he held.

"Shut up! I know what you're trying to do. It won't work."

"Okay, okay. Chill." I moved another half-step. Two more feet and I'd be able to move in and disarm him.

"Don't tell me to chill! Now, move." He motioned the barrel of the gun to the left, indicating the side of the barn.

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

Boot Camp stammered. "What do you mean? I can shoot you right here."

"You can, but you won't."

"Why not?"

"If you do, you won't make it off the property. I have men everywhere. Not to mention the sound of the gunshot will bring a hundred or so jamboree-ers. There's no escape. Give yourself up." In my peripheral vision to my right, I saw my guys moving in among the five foot tall corn stalks. Boot Camp was oblivious; the barn door obstructed his view.

"I'm too smart to fall for that trick," he said, smiling.

"What trick is that?"

"The one where the guy about to be killed looks over the gunman's shoulder. When he turns, you take advantage of the distraction and take away my weapon. I did my homework. I knew who I was up against."

"Of course, you did."

He eyed me. "You're arrogant too."

I raised my eyebrows. "How so?"

"Thinking you can take me on yourself."

"Guilty as charged." I'd praise him, give him kudos, do and say whatever I needed to keep him sidetracked a little longer, time enough for my men to get in place. If something happened to me, I didn't want Boot Camp getting away. "You were about to tell me what your beef against me is."

"As if you don't know!"

"I've been a little addlebrained since my retirement. I did come to a gunfight without a weapon, as you can see. Refresh my memory." Boot Camp didn't look convinced. I gave him a little more reason to spill his gripe against me. "Give the condemned man his last request."

He sighed. "Oh, all right. That day in the church — "

"The day I repaired the confessional?"

"I don't know what you were doing, but you were in the priest's booth."

"And?" I took my hand from my pocket and gave my men a hand signal to hold their positions. Luckily, Boot Camp was too focused on his recollection to notice.

Boot Camp narrowed his eyes. "Don't be coy with me. You know perfectly well what happened next."

It dawned on me then. "You thought I was Father Ezra, and you said your confession to me." What had he confessed to? Whatever he'd done to seek absolution had been serious enough for him to kill for it.

"Look, man, I didn't hear anything. Your secret is safe." No matter what I said, he wouldn't move from his place.

I recognized the look in Boot Camp's eyes. Soldiers had the same look when they were about to engage the enemy. Boot Camp would stop at nothing to complete his mission. The odor filled my nostrils again. This time I knew the source. Boot Camp reeked of the chemical scent.

He scoffed. "And I should just trust you?"

I decided on a different tact to get him relaxed enough to move away from behind the door. "You from around here?"

He grinned.

"Did I say something amusing?"

"You think you're so smart, soldier boy," he said, his beady eyes leveled on me, almost willing me to dispute him.

"Since you got the drop on me, I wouldn't say I'm smart at all."

"You don't look like a man who's about to meet his maker," Boot Camp said, frowning.

"Neither do you." I turned my head, looked at the rows of corn stalks and saw my men were in place and ready to strike. To my left was a wide open space. Even if Boot Camp were to flee in that direction, he wouldn't make it far.

He snickered. "So smug."

I shrugged. "Whatever."

"Impertinent, too."

"Whatever."

"You'll be my first. You should feel honored."

"First what?"

"Unjustified kill."

"Ah." I appeared disinterested. Nothing got an egoist's dander up like non-recognition of their undertakings. Boot Camp would be more inclined to make a mistake or let down his guard if he were distracted.

"There have been many."

"Many what?" I pretended to examine a hang nail on my thumb.

"Killings! Haven't you been listening?"

"You lost my attention a while back. You were saying?"

He huffed a breath. "Why do I waste my time on an imbecile?"

I was losing Boot Camp's interest. "I killed a lot of people too."

He nodded. "I imagine you have, but not as many as me. Mine is a higher calling than my country." He eyed me a moment. "I need to continue my work, but before I can, there's a loose end I need to tie up." He laughed.

"What's that?"

"Not what. Who." He positioned his finger on the trigger.

I was the loose end.

"Elijah, have you seen your mother?" my dad asked at my back. "I seem to have misplaced her. One minute we were doing the hokey-pokey and the next she was gone. Poof! Vanished into thin air."

How had he gotten past my lookouts? Then I remembered who my father was — a sly old coot. After weeks of unexpected and unpleasant surprises, setbacks and shocking revelations, I should have anticipated his interference. I turned and used my body to block Boot Camp from my father's line of vision. If I urged him to leave, he'd dig in his heels and I'd lose control of the situation. Boot Camp wouldn't hesitate to shoot both of us.

"She's chowing down on Essie's ribs in the mess tent," I said, hoping to get the old man on his way. My father had never been cooperative, and I didn't see much chance of that changing in the next few minutes.

The air grew heavy with fear, suspicion and fury, all of it pouring from Boot Camp. I couldn't think of any way to diffuse the situation other than to remove my father from the area. I had no idea how to do that.

"What's that smell?" he asked, raising his nose into the air and sniffing like a bloodhound. "Naphthalene."

"What?"

"Moth balls," my father said as he shoved me aside and rushed toward Boot Camp. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend, Elijah? Honestly, your Mom and I brought you up better than that."

I turned in time to see my father stick out his hand to Boot Camp.

"Dad! Stop!"

The shotgun blast drowned out my warning.

### Chapter Fourteen

The shell smashed into the ground, sending bits of hard-packed dirt into the air. The next five seconds seemed to happen in slow motion. We all appeared dumbfounded in some way. Boot Camp stared at our feet, a surprised look registering on his face. My father looked at Boot Camp, also surprised. I couldn't figure out why. Maybe neither of them expected the shotgun to fire, though my father, a former police officer, should know better. Finger on trigger, pressure applied and _bang_!

I looked in the distance toward the area where the jamboree-ers were gathered. From what I could see, no one looked for the source of the noise, ran to their cars, or ducked for cover. Luckily, the gunshot hadn't been heard by anyone. If it had, then Stearns or Wiley would handle it.

Time sped up then.

Before I had a chance to react, my father lunged at Boot Camp. One moment, he was a seventy year old man doing crazy things and the next he was a thirty-year-old with as much behind his punch as me.

"Shoot at me, will ya!" he said and body-tackled Boot Camp, knocking him backward against the door. Boot Camp groaned. Spittle flew from his mouth and dribbled down his chin. My father grunted as he tightened his hold around Boot Camp's body. "I got him, Eli! I got him."

My father didn't have Boot Camp, not really. The turd still hadn't relinquished the shotgun.

I could hear grass being trampled and the sound of bodies moving swiftly. My men were getting ready to pounce. We still had a hot gun to contend with and too many hands would complicate the situation. I looked their way and shook my head. My point man, Luke Casey, nodded, crouching and holding up his hand. The men behind him followed his lead. They wouldn't move in until I gave the order. I appeared in control but inside my stomach lurched and every nerve in my body prickled.

I turned back in time to see Boot Camp free his arms and raise the shotgun high into the air. I saw he intended to smash the butt against my father's skull.

"Dad! Watch out!" I leapt at Boot Camp, grabbed his hands and slammed them against the barn door. The back of his head hit the wood hard. His eyes closed for a second, but he didn't lose his grip on the gun and I couldn't pry it from his hands. For a small man, his strength was remarkable and there appeared to be no end to his endurance. I could feel my father's gaze on me and could almost hear his thoughts – what are you waiting for? Restrain him, Elijah! "I'm trying, Dad. I'm trying." I kept one hand on the shotgun and wrapped the other around Boot Camp's scrawny neck. "This should do it." I squeezed. He gurgled, and his eyes rolled back in their sockets. He was on the verge of passing out when he pulled himself back from unconsciousness. He came to shrieking and waving the gun wildly in the air. He twisted his body and kicked my shins. My grip slipped on his sweaty skin. He broke free of my grasp, but my father's meaty arm held him in place. Boot Camp's breathing labored, but he didn't pass out. What was it going to take?

"Hold still, you wriggly little bastard," my dad said, obviously sharing my impatience.

My father and I were at a disadvantage. We had at least ten inches in height on Boot Camp, which put the kibosh on an upper cut. At the moment, my dad sheltered Boot Camp. I'd be able to disarm and restrain him, if my father would let him go. I didn't see much chance of that happening, either. I did the only thing I could and released my hold on Boot Camp's hands. In the same motion, I grabbed his bow tie to hold him steady while I slammed my fist downward against the top of his head. His skinny neck sank deep inside the collar of his shirt, then his head snapped forward. He jerked and shuddered. His eyes closed, and he tipped to his left. He would have fallen to the ground had it not been for my father's hold on him.

"Dad, you can let go now," I said, letting out an exasperated sigh.

"Is he dead?"

"No. Just knocked out." I couldn't tell whether he was relieved or disappointed by the news.

My father released his hold on Boot Camp and stepped back. Boot Camp toppled sideways and landed in a heap on the sun-baked earth.

I looked at my father. "Are you all right?"

He used his forearm to wipe sweat from his forehead. "Yeah, great." He puffed. "What a trip! Like the good ol' days."

"What were you thinking?" I couldn't keep the anger from my voice. If something had happened to him, it would have been on me. I would never have forgiven myself.

"I didn't think. I reacted."

My anger left me. I would have done the same had the situation been reversed and couldn't fault him for wanting to protect me.

I noticed a red stain on my father's white muscle shirt. "You're hurt," I said.

He pulled the material away from his chest and stared at the blood spatter. "Not mine. Goofball's. I must've cracked him." He grinned.

I looked at Boot Camp and noticed the smudge of red below his nose. "Must have." I wasn't broken up about it.

"Thanks, Dad," I said, hugging him.

"What was his beef against you?" he asked.

I grimaced. "Apparently, he said his confession to me."

"Must have been some confession." My father chuckled.

Arms yanked me away from my father and warm lips pressed against my neck. I grabbed Gracie in a fierce hold. "It's over, baby. It's over."

Behind her, my men, no longer feeling contained, rushed from the corn stalks. Shortly after, Wiley and Stearns, and all the others whose help I'd enlisted for this show-down, followed. They high-fived me on their way past to congratulate the real hero of the hour — my father.

***

#### Two Weeks Later ...

Five days after Boot Camp's arrest, Police Chief Ollie Ducane came out to Ma Babin's to tell us my father had taken down the notorious Reaper, as dubbed by the media, responsible for a dozen murders, all despicable men and pitiful excuses for human beings, as judged by Boot Camp. With a little digging and a little help from the town residents, the police found his hidey-hole while in Callum.

Lady Harrison ran a boarding house in town and rented him a room. He'd paid two weeks in advance, but said his business would only keep him in town for a day or two. His inadvertent confession to me preempted his plans for whoever his target had been. There was a lot of speculation about whom he'd come to take out. Callum had its share of miscreants. According to him, he'd been carrying out the Lord's work. Boot Camp was presently undergoing a psychiatric assessment. I hoped he would be deemed fit to stand trial.

The police found his ledger wherein he kept a record of those he murdered. They still had no knowledge of his identity and Boot Camp wouldn't give up his name. His mug shot was on every bulletin board across the country. Hopefully, someone would recognize him and come forward with a name. We were all curious to learn his identity. I had a feeling we might never know.

Boot Camp was neither Gracie's dad nor Terrence Tripp, who apparently was an orthodontist practicing in Oklahoma City. Of course, Wiley intended to look him up when he got back home to sell him a used car. If anyone could make someone of wealth believe he needed a used car, my friend Wiley could.

It turned out Mom and Pop were not Alzeheimeric or senile, after all. They simply had been acting in the moment and did what they "damn well felt like doing", to quote my mother. And what about Dad's visit to Ma Babin's at two o'clock in the morning inspecting for water leaks, I asked, to which he replied, "I sleepwalk, son. Didn't you know?"

Their explanations sounded plausible enough, but Gracie and I wouldn't take any chances with their well-being. We'd watch them closely.

As much as I loved my daughters and said I'd stand by them no matter their convictions, politics or beliefs, I was having a little trouble totally accepting Brynn's sexuality. I didn't know what held me back exactly. Maybe it was the fact I might miss out on being a grandpa to her kids. I'd warmed to the idea from the moment I heard she was bringing a special friend home to meet us. Gracie assured me that Brynn and Kali, should their relationship deepen, could still have children of their own. Even knowing that didn't change how I felt. In time, I was sure I'd overcome this feeling and embrace Brynn's sexual orientation.

I refilled my teacup and sat at the kitchen table, letting my mind idle. For so long, family matters and Boot Camp took up all my time and it felt good to do nothing, to have nowhere I needed to be, to have no one that needed bodyguarding.

I still didn't have a plan for the rest of my life. I needed gainful employment, but I wasn't suited for anything but what I'd been doing for the last twenty-five years. I decided to do as Gracie suggested — give myself a little more time. If nothing opened up for me, I'll think hard about going back to college and complete what I started twenty-seven years ago. Gracie thought it would be a kick to have me teaching with her at the same high school.

The telephone rang.

I could hear Gracie answering upstairs where she was cleaning up behind our girls.

"It's for you, Eli," she called down.

I stood and walked to the phone on the counter.

"Hello," I said into the receiver.

"Eli?"

I recognized my Commanding Officer's voice, probably calling to ask when I'd have my office and locker cleaned out. I had until the end of the month and intended to wait until then.

"Yes, Sir," I said, snapping to from years of doing so.

"How would you like your job back?"

My heart raced. "I'd love it!"

"As a civilian, though. You'll still be pensioned off. Same pay and benefits. No base housing, I'm afraid."

"Sounds good, Sir." I'd read somewhere this was the new trend. Apparently, the government would save a bundle in the long term.

"Report to me by the end of the week and we'll wrap up the paperwork."

"I'll be there." I hung up, screamed for Gracie and danced a two-step.

## THE END

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