Read Online Dead Red Cadillac, A by R. P. Dahlke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: R. P. Dahlke
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don't need the problems that will go with it, so do us all a favor and fire him, or I will."
"I see your point, but I can't do without him just yet, and in any case, until you can give me some proof I don't see firing him. And don't tell me again that I can get back in the seat. I can't get into it, not with this cast, I've tried. Let me think about this, okay?" I turned to go, then said, "As you can see," I pointed at the front page of the morning paper, "I've been a bit preoccupied."
"Yes." Something wistful passed behind the faded blue eyes, but I let myself think it was simple regret at having his daughter's name in the newspaper again.
"I gave her a ride to the fair and home, and this is how she pays me back," I said, my voice doing flip-flops. "I think my reputation in the 'Good Samaritan' department is going to be shot after this."
"Yes," he said, nodding thoughtfully at the picture of Patience on the front page.
We're not the sort to be caught crying, being a tough lot of third-generation Germans by way of Brownsville, Texas, but when my dad stood and held out his arms, I swallowed my pride and threw myself onto his chest.
"Don't cry, Lalla. I know you didn't kill her," he said, handing me a clean hanky from his pocket.
"Thanks a lot," I blubbered. "I know your opinion will carry oodles of weight with an unbiased jury. That is, if there's one left in the state."
"What's Caleb doing about it?"
"Doing about it? Absolutely nothing to help me, that's for sure."
"There, there, don't cry," he said, awkwardly patting my shoulder.
I told him the rest of it, about the burglar, and how he seemed to know who I was and where I lived. "That burglar is obviously the one who killed Patience."
"You're not in this on your own, you know. Don't worry," he said. "I'll see what I can find out."
Then he left me to my misery.
I sat on the porch waiting for Caleb. What was he up to that he couldn't tell me on the phone? Was he coming out here to read me my rights? Bring us another psychotic dog? I sniffed and punched down my fears, willing myself to let go of this crazed foreboding. I put my feet up on the rail and tried to let go of the tension. In spite of my commitment to relax, I felt my fingers digging into my palms.
Within another five minutes I had him in my sights between the V I'd made of one boot and a cast. I watched the dot grow from a spot with a dusty tail to a white Ford Crown Victoria as it bumped down our long driveway, his Stetson bobbing with each hit of the potholes.
Caleb took a wicker chair next to me, worked himself into a comfortable position and said, "Do you know how much I enjoy sitting here? I love this place. It's like an oasis."
"Yeah, and just like an oasis, its edges are being eaten up every time another real estate agent comes out with an offer that Noah can't seem to refuse. At this rate we'll have nothing to fly out of and my inheritance will be that row of tacky tract houses you see over there. Barbecues in every backyard stinking up my country air."
It was an old tape I replayed out of frustration— every year my dad sold off another chunk to developers and there was nothing I could do about it.
Caleb ignored my harangue. "Do you remember the summer we picked grapes? How old were we then? Fourteen?"
"I'd rather talk about why you chose to bring Spike out here to us."
"They don't have a no-kill policy at the pound, and your dad likes him. Besides, Patience didn't have any relatives other than Garth, and no friends except you and the bunch at Roxanne's."
I threw up my hands. "So we're stuck with him?"
"Maybe Garth wants to take him back to Oklahoma."
"About Garth…"
"Let's leave him out of this for the time being, okay?"
Since I had no intention of apologizing for slapping him, it worked for me. "So why else did you come out here?"
Caleb reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out two small baggies, the kind I used to hold Juanita's leftovers, which were generally better
"I see your point, but I can't do without him just yet, and in any case, until you can give me some proof I don't see firing him. And don't tell me again that I can get back in the seat. I can't get into it, not with this cast, I've tried. Let me think about this, okay?" I turned to go, then said, "As you can see," I pointed at the front page of the morning paper, "I've been a bit preoccupied."
"Yes." Something wistful passed behind the faded blue eyes, but I let myself think it was simple regret at having his daughter's name in the newspaper again.
"I gave her a ride to the fair and home, and this is how she pays me back," I said, my voice doing flip-flops. "I think my reputation in the 'Good Samaritan' department is going to be shot after this."
"Yes," he said, nodding thoughtfully at the picture of Patience on the front page.
We're not the sort to be caught crying, being a tough lot of third-generation Germans by way of Brownsville, Texas, but when my dad stood and held out his arms, I swallowed my pride and threw myself onto his chest.
"Don't cry, Lalla. I know you didn't kill her," he said, handing me a clean hanky from his pocket.
"Thanks a lot," I blubbered. "I know your opinion will carry oodles of weight with an unbiased jury. That is, if there's one left in the state."
"What's Caleb doing about it?"
"Doing about it? Absolutely nothing to help me, that's for sure."
"There, there, don't cry," he said, awkwardly patting my shoulder.
I told him the rest of it, about the burglar, and how he seemed to know who I was and where I lived. "That burglar is obviously the one who killed Patience."
"You're not in this on your own, you know. Don't worry," he said. "I'll see what I can find out."
Then he left me to my misery.
I sat on the porch waiting for Caleb. What was he up to that he couldn't tell me on the phone? Was he coming out here to read me my rights? Bring us another psychotic dog? I sniffed and punched down my fears, willing myself to let go of this crazed foreboding. I put my feet up on the rail and tried to let go of the tension. In spite of my commitment to relax, I felt my fingers digging into my palms.
Within another five minutes I had him in my sights between the V I'd made of one boot and a cast. I watched the dot grow from a spot with a dusty tail to a white Ford Crown Victoria as it bumped down our long driveway, his Stetson bobbing with each hit of the potholes.
Caleb took a wicker chair next to me, worked himself into a comfortable position and said, "Do you know how much I enjoy sitting here? I love this place. It's like an oasis."
"Yeah, and just like an oasis, its edges are being eaten up every time another real estate agent comes out with an offer that Noah can't seem to refuse. At this rate we'll have nothing to fly out of and my inheritance will be that row of tacky tract houses you see over there. Barbecues in every backyard stinking up my country air."
It was an old tape I replayed out of frustration— every year my dad sold off another chunk to developers and there was nothing I could do about it.
Caleb ignored my harangue. "Do you remember the summer we picked grapes? How old were we then? Fourteen?"
"I'd rather talk about why you chose to bring Spike out here to us."
"They don't have a no-kill policy at the pound, and your dad likes him. Besides, Patience didn't have any relatives other than Garth, and no friends except you and the bunch at Roxanne's."
I threw up my hands. "So we're stuck with him?"
"Maybe Garth wants to take him back to Oklahoma."
"About Garth…"
"Let's leave him out of this for the time being, okay?"
Since I had no intention of apologizing for slapping him, it worked for me. "So why else did you come out here?"
Caleb reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out two small baggies, the kind I used to hold Juanita's leftovers, which were generally better
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