Tough Customer

to reach me.'

'I want to be kept up to speed, Ski. Don't go through the office lines. Call my cell.'

'Yes, sir.' He nodded in the attorney's direction. 'Mr. Carlisle.' To Berry and her mother, he doffed an imaginary hat. 'Ladies.'

Then he walked out. As soon as the door closed behind him, Sheriff Drummond said, 'Ski's manner could use some polish, but you couldn't ask for a better man to be conducting this manhunt. His background is--'

He was interrupted by a soft beep. 'Excuse me, Tom.' Caroline took her cell phone from her handbag. As soon as she looked at the small screen, she shot to her feet. 'I was expecting this call. I really should answer.'

Without another word, she left the office. Berry stared after her, puzzled by her mother's uncharacteristic rudeness.

'Must be important,' the sheriff observed out loud.

Berry echoed, 'Must be.'

CHAPTER 3

DODGE CURSED THE TOUCH-SCREEN KEYBOARD ON HIS CELL phone, wondering who in the hell had fingers small enough to actually type something on it. 'Damn computer geeks,' he muttered.

Of course it would help if, at the same time he was trying to peck out his message, he wasn't also driving an unfamiliar car and lighting a cigarette.

Finally he gave up on getting the text typo-free and sent it with only a few misspellings. The important thing was, Caroline would receive the message that he was on his way to Merritt.

He still couldn't quite believe that, after thirty years and counting, Caroline had contacted him. She'd called with a desperate plea for help. For Berry, not for herself.

I'm not asking you to help me,

Dodge, she had said.

Well, good, he'd said back. Because if she'd asked him for a personal favor, he would have hung up on her. He was certain he would have. Probably. Maybe.

But Caroline was too clever to take that approach. Instead, she'd called him for their kid's sake. He would look like a real bastard if he didn't at least show up and check things out, wouldn't he?

Derek and Julie had thought so, and they'd told him as much. Insisting on driving him to the airport, they'd packed him into their car without further ado. They'd even ushered him through the ticket-purchasing process and seen him as far as the security checkpoint, mistrusting that he would follow through on his reluctant decision to go.

Throughout the flight, he'd told himself that he could always hook a U-turn at the Houston airport and fly right back to Georgia. Or he could go someplace else for a few days. Mexico sounded good. Tequila and brown-eyed ladies. Or a Caribbean island. Many to choose from. All had girls in string bikinis that matched the potent pastel drinks. Yeah, sand, surf, and getting tanked sounded good.

Instead, he had called Caroline as soon as he landed at Intercontinental, before the plane had even taxied to the gate.

When she answered, she'd sounded breathless--relieved?--and told him it wasn't convenient for her to talk just then but she would text him directions to their meeting place. With the text message, she'd added a postscript, asking that he text her when he was in his rental car and on his way.

Which he'd done, and now, he was ninety minutes away from seeing her.

The thought of it filled him with a sick anxiety that made him mad at himself. He would make it clear to her from the get-go that he wasn't about to get sucked into any mess not of his making. He had come only to listen, provide some advice if he could, and then leave. If at any point he determined that she was crying wolf, he would tell her to go to hell, that she was on her own, which was the way she had wanted it. Well, wasn't it?

He should have told her that last night the instant she identified herself. He should have hung up, finished his cigarette, then rolled over and gone back to sleep.

Instead he'd got up, showered, and dressed. He'd even packed a suitcase, on the outside chance he lost his senses and heeded her summons.

While waiting for daylight to come so he could go see Derek with the hope of being refused time off, he'd sat there in his shabby room, on his sad double bed, staring into the lonely darkness, wondering again if the call had been a dream.

Because before that, he hadn't dreamed about Caroline in ... hmm ... at least three, four nights.

He had never been to Merritt, wasn't even sure he'd ever heard of it before. He took the interstate north out of Houston, then exited onto a four-lane divided highway that angled slightly east for about seventy miles until he left it for a two-lane highway that cut due east, cleaving a pine forest like the straight and narrow shaft of an arrow.

It was beautiful country, the kind of forested terrain that most people didn't associate with Texas, which typically called to mind barren plains, tumbleweeds, and oil derricks silhouetted against an endless sky. There were plenty of oil and gas wells in East Texas, too, but the dense forests concealed them. In this part of the state, the sky looked smaller, closer.

Twenty miles outside of Merritt, he began seeing billboards advertising bait shops and taxidermy services, public piers, lake resort communities, cabins for rent, and RV campgrounds. A mile out, he spotted a pink and white sign for Mabel's Tearoom, and his stomach did a somersault.

Mabel's Tearoom. On your left as you approach town, just inside the city limit sign. 2:30. That had been Caroline's reply to his text.

He glanced at the dashboard clock and saw that he was just going to make it by the appointed time. Actually, he'd hoped to arrive early, so that he could already be there when she came in, and he would see her before she saw him.

Thirty years could do a lot of damage. He wondered how Caroline had withstood time. Her hair might have gone gray. She could be wrinkled, flabby, fat. If so, by comparison, he would look reasonably good.

But what he feared was that his manner of living for the past three decades was going to be glaringly apparent. She would see lines in his face that had been etched by vices, hard living, and a total disregard for his health.

Too late to worry about it, though. The damage had been done, and he was here.

Mabel's Tearoom had lacy curtains in the windows and pink geraniums in white wood planters on either side of the entrance. He wondered which of the three cars parked in front was Caroline's.

He was glad he'd taken time at the airport to get his shoes shined. Maybe he should have got a haircut, too, and a professional shave, but then he wouldn't have made it here by two-thirty.

He'd love another cigarette. Just one puff might sustain him through the next few seconds. But...