Buried Memories. Carol J. Post

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       TWO

      Nicki picked up the porcelain bowl in the corner and crossed the kitchen. The painted paw prints lining the bottom shone clean and clear, licked to a glossy shine. As she placed the empty dish in the sink, Callie watched her every move, tail wagging, eyes filled with doggy eagerness. She never gave up hope that maybe, just this once, there would be seconds.

      Nicki strolled toward the side door and cast a glance back at the golden retriever staying right on her heels. “You behave yourself.”

      She would be out all evening for the midweek church service. But she hoped the admonition wouldn’t be necessary. A year ago, yeah. When she’d first brought Callie home from the Humane Society, she’d been well past the energetic puppy stage, but past abuse had made her terrified of everything that moved and a whirlwind of destruction when left alone.

      Now she didn’t even need crating. Finding a forever home where she was showered with love had made a world of difference. Nicki bent to scratch the dog’s neck. She could relate.

      After stepping into the carport and closing the door, she fished for the key. Two nights ago Tyler had installed a new lock, complete with a deadbolt, and made repairs to the jamb. And he’d done a great job. So much so she might see if she could hire him to do some other projects. She would love to have the pedestal sink in the hall bath replaced with a vanity, and some shelves added to the two closets in her hobby room.

      She hadn’t seen him since he’d made the repairs. Their times for taking the dogs out hadn’t coincided, and they’d both been busy. She was almost disappointed. It had been fun having someone to talk to on her morning walk.

      She inserted the key into the deadbolt and turned it. The lock slid home with a satisfying click. She’d regained a little of her sense of control, thanks to Tyler. He’d even checked the locks on all her windows to make sure they were secure.

      Fifteen years ago, they’d been the best of friends, spending hours hanging out at the park or high on a branch of the huge oak overshadowing most of her backyard. As he’d opened up about his anger with his father, she’d let down some of her own walls. Back then, he’d just been Tyler, her friend and confidante, the one person in the world she’d been able to connect with, because he was as lost as she was.

      He was still Tyler. But now he was Tyler all grown up. It was hard not to notice how well he filled out those T-shirts he wore, or how his golden-brown eyes filled with warmth every time he smiled. But with her track record, she didn’t have any business contemplating anything that smacked of romance. She was still trying to ward off the repercussions of the last disaster.

      She pressed a button on her key fob, and the Ram’s locks popped up. Tonight she would be occupied, with or without Tyler. She was going to church, something her friend Darci had talked her into. She’d been surprised to find she enjoyed attending. It was almost like belonging to a family again—a loving heavenly Father and lots of brothers and sisters.

      That wasn’t all she’d been talked into. After the crash that killed Nicki’s parents, Darci was the one who’d suggested she sell out and come to Cedar Key. When her ex had dropped the second bombshell on her, she’d finally agreed. One month had passed since the move. She still missed her parents terribly, but she hoped the call from Peter a week ago was the final one. He claimed that everything he’d done was for her. So what? It was over.

      She swung open the driver’s door of her truck, but before she could get in, a dark sedan pulled into her driveway. As she watched a man and woman exit, tension crept across her shoulders. Both visitors were strangers.

      “Can I help you?”

      The man showed her his badge. “I’m Detective Granger, and this is Detective Mulling. We’re with the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office.”

      As he spoke, her mind whirled. Maybe they’d learned something about her break-in. But Jacksonville? That was where she’d spent her early years. In a run-down shack with peeling plaster, grime-encrusted windows and puke-green shag carpet.

      “Can we have a few minutes of your time? We need to talk to you about your mother’s murder.”

      She nodded, a weight pressing in on her chest. She’d worked hard to leave those memories behind. The steady stream of creepy men who’d paraded in and out of the house. The way some of them had leered at her, making her hair stand on end. The nights she’d spent curled into a ball with her pillow over her head, trying to shut out the thud of angry fists and her mother’s muffled pleas.

      She swallowed hard and led them toward the house. СКАЧАТЬ