Her place was a beat-up doublewide at the back of the community. Her neighbors had gardens and grass, but not Monica. Her place was a shithole. Why she didn’t put effort into it or take pride in her home, he didn’t understand. Suspected even if she lived in a mansion, she still wouldn’t appreciate what she had. Some people were always looking for more.
He pulled up and saw the motorcycle. He radioed the station. “I’m at Monica’s. Run this plate,” he said to Johnny and read off the license plate number. If something went down, Johnny would know where to focus the search. Killian climbed from his truck and looked around her yard, before he walked up to the front door. The smell coming from the place was disgusting, and he thought it looked bad on the outside.
He knocked, took in what he could see of the inside while he waited for her to answer. And when she did, she was sporting a shiner and a fat lip. It didn’t take a detective to know whoever had given her that gun was the same person who owned that hog, and he wasn’t happy she lost it.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Like you care. You here to do a house search?”
“Just checking in on you.” He gestured to her face. “You want to press charges.”
“She walked into a wall,” a man said from behind her. He knew the type, more muscles than brains. “Go get me a beer,” he told Monica, before he stepped in front of the screen, making it clear Killian wasn’t going to be invited in. “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”
“Just following up.”
“Really? Taking an interest in Monica. Why? When you’ve got that sweet piece.” He leaned closer and added, “Bet she tastes sweeter than she looks.”
It was tempting to the punch the fucker right through the screen, but not while wearing his badge. He had nothing on the man, but he’d be looking into him. No point in alerting the dick.
“You change your mind, Monica,” Killian said, walking back to his truck.
“She won’t.”
He climbed into his truck, but he didn’t drive off. Sat there for a few minutes to make the fucker more nervous than he already had been. But why, because he’d hit Monica? Killian didn’t think so. He didn’t recognize him, so he was new to town and played on Monica’s need for attention to shack up with her. How long had he been there? And what was he up to that made a surprise visit from the local authority worrisome? He didn’t know, but he’d find out.
Chapter Seventeen
Cedar
My lawyer called; he’d spoken to Killian’s lawyer. Settlement on the tavern was scheduled in two months. I had been out looking for planter boxes because I wanted to hang some from the railing of the new porch when it was done, but I stumbled upon a craft store. Over the years, I’d continued to doodle designs; I just never did anything with them, but with all of my free time, I was going to make myself a few pieces. I’d designed a halter-top sundress with a layered skirt. Originally, the plan was to do the whole dress in white, but instead, I found coordinating floral prints, each layer would be different, the halter-top a solid peony pink.
I dug out Mom’s sewing machine and worked in the living room. Graham’s crew was hard at work. Killian had some business at the station, something to do with that woman Monica. It’d been a week since he told me about the person who’d been watching my house. I didn’t tell anyone, but I bought some of those cameras and hid them in the trees. Another few that looked out on Sassafras Road, a few more on the other side of my property. At first, I thought maybe it was Brock, but he had walked out of my life. He wasn’t going to just reappear in it, not unless there was trouble. From what Detective Donnelly had told me, there was trouble, but not any that would land on me. Or rather, that Brock would pull me into by contacting me.
The property had sat for a long time. It was likely people had been conducting business on it and now were annoyed to have their routine disturbed. Whoever it was, I’d get them on film. I was reminded of my youth and Mrs. Astor and how Brock and I, for a time, thought we were detectives. Sometimes, I let myself think about what my life would have been like if I hadn’t lost my parents, if I hadn’t lost Brock. Would he and I be married, have children? Would I have had my own label and would he have found wrecks to salvage? We would have been happy. I knew that. From the beginning, we just fit. Wherever we ended up, we would have been happy. But that life was gone. He was gone.
Footsteps pulled me from my thoughts to see Killian. I wondered if there would come a time when I saw him, and my heart didn’t trip. I kind of hoped not. But it wasn’t even his looks that drew me in. It was his quiet presence. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to. I was curious about him, a bar owner, a carpenter and a sheriff. What other hats did he wear? Somehow, each one fit him.
“Hey. I didn’t think you were coming today,” I said, by way of greeting.
“Heard settlement is scheduled for the tavern,” he said.
“Yeah.” I stopped working and asked, “You’re still cool with all of this, right?”
“Yeah. I never wanted the bar, but I didn’t want
