Watch Me (Last Stand #3)(53)
Author: Brenda Novak

Cain told himself it shouldn’t bother him to be blamed for the breach. It was just more of the same—another reminder that he was different from the rest of the family, separate.

“Fine,” he said. “I won’t say a word to Dad or anyone else about it. Not yet, anyway.”

Owen couldn’t quite hide his surprise. “You won’t?”

“Not if you tell me why.”

He shifted, obviously ill at ease. “Why what?”

“You’re scared. There’s more going on here than the photograph.”

Now that the light was off, dark shadows fell across Owen’s face, but Cain saw a hint of fear in his stiff posture. “There’s nothing else.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing. Robert was too young!”

“For the shooting, not the beating. How does the shooting figure into this? That’s what’s really worrying you, isn’t it? You’ve found some connection. And you’re terrified it’ll tear your family apart.”

No answer.

“How does the shooting figure into this?” And then it occurred to him. “Where did Bailey’s rifle come from?” he asked, lowering his voice.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

Removing his glasses, Owen rubbed his eyes. It was a defensive movement, something designed to buy time, but Cain wouldn’t allow him to stall.

“Tell me, damn it!” he shouted. “I want the truth!”

Letting go of a long sigh, Owen slipped his glasses back on his face. “I found it in Robert’s trunk.”

“What were you doing in Robert’s trunk?”

“Looking for some jumper cables. Lucy’s car wouldn’t start and I couldn’t remember where I put mine.”

“But that was before the ballistics tests confirmed it was the weapon used in Jason’s murder.”

“There had to be some reason it was stolen. And when I found it in Robert’s trunk I was afraid of what that reason might be.”

18

The meeting between Cain and Owen seemed to be taking forever.

Trying to ignore the curious stares of the other patrons in the café, some of whom Sheridan recognized but didn’t know well enough to greet, she watched the clock—twenty minutes ticked by, thirty minutes, forty. The waitress came around to see if she’d like more tea, but she covered her cup with one hand and shook her head. She didn’t want anything except for Cain to come back and tell her what was going on.

Although it was getting late, and the stores closed early on Sundays, she decided to walk down Main Street and do some window-shopping to pass the time. But then Cain’s stepfather walked in with Ms. Stevens, the high school English teacher she’d had for American Literature, creating an interesting diversion. She knew they’d dated briefly after Cain’s mother died but thought they’d broken up. Apparently, they were back together because John was holding her hand.

They didn’t see her at first. They were too busy talking. But when they began to look for a booth, they spotted her almost immediately.

Karen Stevens had been her favorite teacher. Sheridan smiled expectantly, but when their eyes met, Ms. Stevens glanced away. It even seemed as if she tried to distract Cain’s stepdad by pointing to an open booth on the other side of the restaurant. But John Wyatt said something to her, then led her over.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked Sheridan, his eyes somber, concerned.

She remembered him coming to see her while she was recovering from that gunshot wound twelve years ago, remembered how haggard he’d looked. With red-rimmed eyes, he’d asked her point-blank what’d happened. He’d needed to hear the sequence of events from her own lips in order to believe the unbelievable, needed to at least try and achieve the resolution he craved. And yet he’d been sensitive to her suffering, too. Rather fatalistic and subdued, he’d accepted what she said without blaming her for not being able to tell him more—or for coaxing Jason up to Rocky Point in the first place. She considered that a gift because it was hard not to blame herself for those things.

She would’ve liked John Wyatt, except that she felt so defensive of Cain. There’d always been a difference in the way John treated him as opposed to his own boys, and that bothered her. It’d bothered her even back in high school.

“I’m doing better,” she said.

“Glad to hear it. I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. It’s not fair.”

“Unfortunately, people are victimized more often than any of us would like to believe.”

“I’m sure that’s true.”

“Hey, John!”

Cain’s father turned away to speak to a gentleman Sheridan didn’t recognize. She heard the man ask if he’d be willing to say a few words at Amy’s funeral in place of her own father, who’d died five years ago, and John readily agreed. At that point, Sheridan expected Ms. Stevens to focus on that other conversation and continue to ignore her. John had obviously forgotten about her. But her former English teacher seemed to rethink her earlier attitude.

“You still staying with Cain?” she asked.

“For the time being,” Sheridan said.

Ms. Stevens looked over her shoulder, seemed reassured to see John engrossed in conversation, and lowered her voice. “He must be taking good care of you.”

Sheridan sensed something strange behind that statement but she didn’t know why. Ms. Stevens had always liked Cain. She’d taken a special interest in him when he was in high school, probably hoping to make up for what he’d been lacking at home.

“He is,” Sheridan said. “He’s a very kind person.”

“I know.” Ms. Stevens’s smile grew sad. “Where is he?”

“He dropped me off a while ago. He had some business to attend to.”

“I see.”

After that, the silence stretched so long it grew awkward. Sheridan made an effort to come up with more small talk. “Are you still teaching?” she asked.

“I am. I’m actually chairman of the English department these days.” She laughed. “Which isn’t really saying a lot, since there’s only me and Mr. Burns.”

“I’m sure it keeps you busy.”

“It’s a good life. I know that now. I’m glad I decided to come back to Whiterock.”

Sheridan hadn’t realized she’d ever left. “Where’d you go?”