All Roads Lead to Texas Page 10

  Wade cut in, not wanting to hear the whole Stromiski story. “Was anyone around here when you left?”

  “No. Bubba Joe and me finished replacing those boards and left.” June Bug pointed to the right.

  “You didn’t see anybody on the street?”

  “No, oh, wait a minute. Buddy came by with Rascal. He was driving that old Model T of his.”

  “What did he want?”

  “Said he brought Rascal over to visit with the kids.”

  “Who left first?”

  “Buddy, and we followed him to Main Street.”

  “Okay.” Wade put his pen and pad back in his pocket. “If you think of anything, give me a call.”

  “Yes, sir. Can I start work on the house?”

  “No. I’m not through.”

  June Bug took his seat in the rocker, with the shotgun across his lap.

  “If you fire that gun, I’m going to arrest you.”

  “That’s okay. Sometimes a man has to do what he has to do.”

  And when the man is June Bug’s size sometimes he needs a little help. Wade walked off, letting him keep his gun. Dignity came to men in different ways. For June Bug, protecting Callie was making him six feet tall. He guessed that was a hell of a lot better than eating bugs.

  Wade took a couple of steps and saw Senator Gallagher and Ryan coming up the walk.

  “What’s going on here, Wade?” the senator demanded. Wade knew Clint had been diagnosed with macular degeneration and it seemed to make his attitude as bad as Jock’s.

  “Vandalism.” Wade didn’t see any reason to sugarcoat it.

  “That’s what happens when you get riffraff in town. I tried to tell the city council that, but no one was listening to me. Everyone was gung ho on this home-free nonsense and look how it’s turning out.”

  “That’s your personal opinion, sir, and you’re welcome to it. Now I’ve got a crime to solve.” He tipped his hat. “Senator. Ryan.”

  Ryan caught up with him. “I’m sorry, Wade. He clings to the old ways and he’s never going to be a fan of the Home Free Program.”

  “I know. I’ve got one at home just like him.”

  Ryan nodded. “Yep, you do.” He glanced at the house. “How’s Callie and the kids?”

  “They’re fine.” Wade’s eyes narrowed. “How did you find out about this so fast?”

  “We stopped in at Bertha’s Kolache Shop this morning and it’s the talk over coffee. Dad insisted on checking it out. I think he’s gathering stones to throw at the city council.”

  Edith Mae worked at the shop, so June Bug had to have told her. Now it would be all over town in a matter of minutes.

  “Good to see you, Ryan. I’ve got to run.”

  Before he could get into his vehicle, Miranda and Arlen Enfield, a member of the Home Free Committee, drove up right behind him. The grapevine was faster than he thought.

  Miranda reached him first. “It’s true,” she said, staring at the house. “Where’s Callie and the kids?”

  “They’re safe.”

  Arlen walked up, looking like something out of a magazine in his tailored jeans and jacket and groomed silver hair and dapper mustache. As a local real-estate agent, he dressed the part. He’d been mayor before Miranda had beaten him. She’d run on the platform of restoring Homestead and won, to Arlen’s shock. After Arlen had gotten over his defeat, he’d backed the Home Free Program and had been appointed to the committee.

  “This doesn’t look good. What are you doing about it, Wade?”

  “Standing around talking when I’ve got work to do.” He looked at Miranda. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  CALLIE GOT UP AND WOKE the kids. They dressed as quietly as possible, then made their way to the kitchen for breakfast. The light was on and the smell of coffee lingered in the air so that meant Jock was up, but the house was silent.

  “What are we having?” Brit asked, her long hair hanging partially in her face and down her back. Callie dashed back to the bedroom and found the brush and hair bands and fixed Brit and Mary Beth’s hair in ponytails. She didn’t like it in their faces.

  Opening the refrigerator, she saw milk and orange juice. She was hesitant about eating the food, but she would reimburse Mr. Montgomery for everything they used. It was nice to be in a kitchen again and the stove was gas, like she preferred.

  She felt like a kid in a candy store and she couldn’t stop herself. She had to cook. When she’d been in her teens, her friends had called her weird because she’d enjoyed cooking and trying new recipes. In college it had been the same, but her room had always been full of kids eager to taste her treats. Glynis had teased her about being from another era. But her mother and John had supported her in everything she’d wanted to do. They’d given her a summer in Paris as a graduation gift and being at the Cordon Bleu had instilled an even deeper desire to be a chef.

  Pouring juice for Adam and milk for the girls, she realized she’d had a very good life. Now she had to make sure the kids had the life they deserved. Although she wondered how Wade was faring in his investigation, she threw herself into preparing breakfast. There were plenty of eggs and even buttermilk, so she decided to make omelets and homemade biscuits.

  She cut fresh butter into flour until it was crumbly and added buttermilk, baking powder, baking soda and salt. As she was kneading the dough, Adam asked. “Why don’t we just leave, Callie? No one wants us here.”

  Finding a baking sheet for the biscuits, she replied, “That’s not true. We’ve met some nice people and I’ve signed a contract. I’m not breaking my word. That’s what Dad taught us, right?” She couldn’t tell him that Wade already knew who they were. It would worry him too much.

  “Yeah,” Brit said. “Daddy said you’re as good as your word and I’m real good and so is Callie. Besides Sheriff Wade said he wouldn’t arrest us and I believe him.”

  “And you’re an id—”

  Callie held up a finger covered with flour to stop him. Before she could reprimand Adam, the back door opened and Jock walked into the kitchen.

  The air became thick with tension. Callie could see that Wade looked a lot like his father; it was definitely where he got those dark eyes, but Jock’s face was hard and his eyes cold. No warmth in sight.

  “Why don’t you make yourself at home in my kitchen,” Jock snapped.

  “I just wanted to fix the kids some breakfast and I’ll repay you for all the food I use.”

  “I’ll get my coffee and be outta here.” Jock reached for a mug.

  “We’re having omelets and biscuits and you’re welcome to join us.” Callie put the biscuits in the oven, trying to be as civil as she could.

  “Out of a can?”

  “No. I made them from scratch.”

  “Callie makes everything that way and it’s good.” Brit took a swallow of milk.

  “And I’m having a banana on my omelet,” Mary Beth piped up.

  “Those are my bananas, kid, so stay out of them.”

  Callie waited for the pouting lip, but to her surprise Mary Beth retorted, “You have to share. Callie says we have to share.”

  Jock filled his cup. “Callie can go to hell. Stay out of my bananas.”

  “You’re a mean old man and you use bad words.”

  “Remember that, kid.”

  Jock stormed out the door, but Callie could see him standing on the long porch that ran across the back of the house, sipping on his coffee.

  The aroma of baking biscuits permeated the room and Callie opened the door a crack so the smell could waft outside. A little trickery might work. They said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. She just wasn’t sure Jock Montgomery still had a heart.

  She continued with the breakfast, breaking eggs and cutting up ham and cheese while keeping an eye on the porch. Taking the biscuits out of the oven, she placed them on the stove.

  Turning, she saw Jock standing inside the door. “If you’re gonna eat my bananas, I’m gonna eat your biscu
its.”

  “’Kay,” Mary Beth said. “That’s sharing, Mr. Sheriff’s Daddy.”

  Jock eyed her strangely. “My name is Jock.” He removed his worn hat and took a seat.

  Callie hurriedly put the biscuits in a bowl and placed them on the table with a dish towel over them. Then she slid the omelets onto plates, cutting one in half for Brit and Mary Beth, and carried them to the table with butter and honey, and took her seat.

  Mary Beth looked at her omelet. “I want a banana on it.”

  Callie was hoping she’d forget about that. She looked at Jock.

  “A deal’s a deal.” He spread a big dollop of butter onto a biscuit.

  “Thank you.”

  Mary Beth frowned at Jock eating a biscuit. “We didn’t say grace.”

  Jock paused with his mouth full.

  “Go ahead, sweetie.”

  Mary Beth folded her hands. “Thank you God for keeping us safe. Thank you for this food and for Callie.”

  Jock swallowed. “Why do you call your mother Callie?”

  Mary Beth squirmed in her chair. No one had asked that question, not even Wade. She’d noticed a few sharp glances, but no one had enough nerve to ask. Until Mr. Montgomery.

  “They just do,” Callie answered, not feeling a need to explain or lie. They ate in silence and Callie thought that was best.

  Finally, Jock laid down his fork, looking at Adam. “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Adam.”

  “Do you ride?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Why not?”

  Adam glanced at Callie.

  “Don’t look at your mother,” Jock shouted. “Answer me.”

  “Because we lived in the city and we didn’t have a horse and I don’t want to ride your old horses anyway.”

  “Don’t talk back, boy.” Jock shoved back in his chair and reached for his hat. There was a cane on the hat rack but he didn’t take it.

  He turned to face Callie. “How long you stayin’?”

  Not more one second than I have to. “I’ll be gone as soon as I can get back into my house.”

  Jock slapped his hat onto his head. “People always want somethin’ for free, but gal, there ain’t nothin’ free on this earth—not even freedom. It all comes with a price.”

  Having had his say, he stomped away and slammed the door.

  Callie felt like doing the same to his ornery head.

  WADE DROVE OVER to Buddy’s. He was underneath a car and Wade tapped on the hood. “Hey, Buddy. I need to talk to you.”

  Buddy pushed out and got to his feet. He was the best mechanic in town and working on old cars was his hobby. The Model T, a 1958 Corvette and a 1966 Mustang were his pride and joy and he kept them running like new. He didn’t have any family left. In his younger days, he’d been a rabble-rouser and spent a lot of time in Jock’s jail. He’d finally left town for a better life and had come back about twelve years ago when his mom had been dying. He’d stayed and opened up the old gas station. Today, he was a model citizen and Wade considered him a friend.

  “What’s up, Wade?” Buddy wiped his hands on a rag. “Squad car need servicing?”

  “No. Had a bit of a problem over at Callie’s house. Did you see anyone over there yesterday afternoon?”

  “Problem?” He stuffed the rag in his back pocket, his eyes worried. “What happened?

  “Someone trashed the house. Did you see anything?”

  “No. Everything was quiet, even Mrs. Smythe, her neighbor, wasn’t home. She said her car was running funny and I was going to take it for a spin. Are Callie and the youngins okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m just trying to find out who did it.”

  Buddy’s eyes narrowed in thought. “I waved to Mrs. Miller across the street. She was leaving, then I stopped at the Smythe house. When she wasn’t home, I drove on to Callie’s and met June Bug and Bubba Joe. They said Callie had gone to your ranch and I followed ’em to the square. I stopped at the hardware store to get a bolt and I talked to Myron for a bit. When I came out, the Harvey boys almost run over me with their bicycles. They sure were in a hurry headed down Bluebonnet Street. I was steamed because I thought one of them scratched my Model T as he tried to miss me. But he just kissed it with his wheel.”

  “Did you talk to them?”

  “No. But I yelled a few words at ’em.”

  “Did you notice anything else?”

  “No. I came home and checked over my car.”

  “If you remember anything, give me a call.”

  “Sure thing. You sure they’re okay?”

  “Yeah. They’re at the ranch if you want to call them.”

  On a hunch, Wade headed over to Tanner’s to speak with Ed. The Harvey boys were constantly in trouble and a step away from juvenile hall. Their father, Howard, didn’t help matters. He was one of those people who’d been fervently against the land giveaway. But after it had been implemented, he’d applied for a parcel of land and had been rejected. That had made him angry. When the program had been launched, the Home Free Committee had set up guidelines and among them were no criminal history and no debt. Howard failed on those counts. He had two DUIs against him and he’d been locked up for hitting Melba Sue, his wife. Creditors were continually hounding him and he lived paycheck to paycheck. He worked for Rudy Satterwhite, a local fence builder and a member of the city council. Rudy had been peeved when Howard’s application had been denied. Now Wade was wondering if Howard had influenced his boys with his hatred. It was a long shot, but still he’d check it out.

  The bell jingled as Wade went inside the colorful establishment, which had been here as long as Wade could remember and run by the same family. Ed was in his early thirties and had taken over from LeRoy, his dad.

  “Hey, Wade. What can I do for you?” Ed asked, counting change for a customer.

  “Could I talk to you for a minute, please?”

  “Sure.” Ed called to another clerk to take care of the cash register and met Wade some distance away so they could talk in private.

  “Were the Harvey boys in here yesterday?”

  “Yep.”

  “Can you remember what they bought?”

  “Sure. Bubble gum.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yep. I watch those boys closely when they’re in here. Caught ’em shoplifting a couple of times and I’m just real glad to see the backs of ’em.”

  “Did you hear them talking about anything?”

  “The younger one, Cliff, kept saying they had to hurry.”

  “Where were they going?”

  “Don’t know, and didn’t really care.”

  “Thanks, Ed.” Wade walked out, thinking about that piece of information. They were in a hurry—same thing Buddy had said. Why? Were they in a hurry to get to Callie’s house while she was out? The hardware store caught his eye. On another hunch, he headed there.

  Wade walked in and an old, musty smell greeted him. The store was cluttered with all the paraphernalia a person could use from nuts and bolts to small kitchen appliances. And most of the items had probably been there for a long time, gathering dust.

  “Hey, Sheriff,” Myron said, getting to his feet from a chair behind the counter. Myron Guthrie owned the store and was also a lifetime resident of Homestead. There was only one word to describe him—round. He was a short, portly man who actually waddled when he walked. He’d been that way ever since Wade had known him. Myron had a full white beard and sideburns, but his head was as smooth as a bowling ball and just as big.

  He looked at Wade over his skinny half-rimmed glasses. “What can I do for you?”

  “Were the Harvey boys in here yesterday afternoon?”

  “Sure were.”

  “Did they buy anything?”

  “Is this police business?” Myron’s eyes widened at the possible hint of gossip.

  “Yes, and I’d appreciate an answer. Did they buy anything?”

  “Yeah. A can of red spray paint.”


  God, this was too easy. Could those boys be that stupid?

  “I asked what they were going to do with it,” Myron was saying.

  “Did they tell you?”

  “They said they were going to paint their bicycles.”

  Wade didn’t think so. They’d vandalized Callie’s house and now he had to prove it.

  “Thanks, Myron.”

  “Anytime, Sheriff.”

  WADE HURRIED TO HIS OFFICE to release Cora Lou and Norris. Norris had his chest stuck out, ready to vent his feelings but Wade wasn’t in the mood to listen.

  “I’m letting you go today hoping a night in jail will teach you a lesson. But if I get one more call about a disturbance at your house, I’m locking you both up and you’ll do some serious jail time. You might want to think about those four kids you have at home.”

  “I’m sorry, Sheriff,” Cora Lou apologized. “I didn’t mean to hit Virgil. He just got in the way.”

  “Just make sure there’s not a next time.”

  “Yes, Sheriff. Right now I just want to go home and see my babies.”

  “Sorry, Sheriff,” Norris muttered as they went out the door.

  Through the open door, Wade caught a glimpse of Millie coming up the sidewalk. He turned to Barbara Jean. “Take care of Millie. There’s no news on who trashed Mrs. Austin’s house.”

  “Sure, Wade.”

  “Any calls from Simon Marchant?”

  “No. I’ll let you know as soon as he does.”

  “Thanks, Barbara Jean.” He slipped down the hall and out the back way before Millicent saw him.

  Wade wondered how Callie was faring with his dad. Suddenly he had to know.

  Callie answered the phone. “Montgomery residence.” At her soft voice, the tension in him eased.

  “Hi. It’s Wade. How’s it going?”

  She told him about the morning and he laughed. “He actually ate?”

  “Yes. He’s outside now and I’m not sure what he’ll do next, but I’m positive we’ll all be entertained.”

  “I’m glad you have a sense of humor.”

  “I have to laugh to keep from crying.” She paused. “Have you found out anything?”