Read Online FLOWERS and CAGES by Mary J. Williams - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary J. Williams
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friendship—unbreakable—kept them going strong.
Rounding a corner, Dalton's view changed considerably. Money. It made the world cleaner and greener. For the select families living in the gated community, life was beyond better. To the right, near the base of what passed for a hillside in Midas sat a mansion. It looked down on the town and the surrounding houses. Bigger, brighter, and more ornately ridiculous than the rest.
Dalton had never been inside. This was the first time he had seen it in the light of day. But he knew who lived there. Judge Manfred T. Langley.
"It's like living in the shadow of God. With all the wrath and none of the benevolence."
Surprised, Dalton shifted his gaze. A tall, slender man stood near the gate. His sun-darkened skin was shaded from the morning heat by an old, slouched hat that had seen better days. His hands were covered by well-worn work gloves and on his shoulder rested a long, metal-tined rake.
"God?" Dalton asked. He knew from experience that Judge Langley wielded a shit-load of power, but comparing him to a deity was going a bit far.
"In this town?" Dalton could hear the derision in the man's voice. "Not much difference to some folks. Those of us who think different, pray to the man above on Sunday and bow down to the judge the rest of the week."
If he lived in Midas, Dalton cringed at the thought; this was a man he would want to know. With a friendly smile, he held out his hand.
"Dalton Shaw."
"Tolliver Cline. Everyone calls me Tol." Removing his glove, Tol gave Dalton's hand a firm shake. "And I know who you are. Word spread the second you hit town, son. For various reasons."
"I can imagine."
"I'll bet," Tol chuckled. Bending, he opened a cooler that had been stashed behind a row of neatly trimmed hedges. "You look like you've been out awhile. Want some water?"
"Thanks." Dalton caught Tol's easy lob. He emptied half of the bottle in two long gulps.
"No point in rehashing the past." Tol replaced the lid after drinking from his bottle. "And no point in tiptoeing around the mammoth-sized elephant in the room. Why the hell are you back in Midas?"
At the last second, Dalton turned, spitting his mouthful of water onto the grass instead of in Tol's face. He appreciated the straightforward approach, but the question took him off guard.
"I'm visiting my sister." That was close enough to the truth and all that Tol needed to know.
"Maggie Mayhue?" Seeing Dalton's surprised expression, Tol shrugged. "Small town, son."
In Dalton's book, that excuse only cut it for so long. At some point, everybody knowing everything about everyone crossed over the line from matter of fact to disturbingly creepy. Tol had inched close but wasn't there yet.
"I don't plan on hanging around for long. A few days at the most."
"Smart. You're on the judge's radar."
"Me? What the hell did I do this time?"
"I need to get to work." Tol pulled on his glove. When Dalton started to protest, he held up his hand. "I'm not going to leave you hanging. What are you doing for dinner?"
Dalton thought of Colleen. He had hoped for a meal at her place. Some wine. A long talk, and a night in her bed. Skipping the first part was doable—if Colleen was amenable.
"I live about five miles east of town. My wife makes a mean roasted chicken and mashed potatoes. Seven o'clock work for you?" Tolliver rattled off the address.
"Sounds good."
"Bring Colleen. She'll know the way."
"How did you—"
"Small town, son. Small town."
With a shake of his head, Dalton started back toward the motel. He wasn't worried about Judge Manfred T. Langley. Seven years had placed them on an even footing. Some might say that—seven years later—the scales had tipped in Dalton's favor. His money wasn't old, but his fortune was large. And these days, a celebrity—especially one who earned his position through talent and hard work—carried more heft with more people than any political figure short of the president. As crazy as it sounded,
Rounding a corner, Dalton's view changed considerably. Money. It made the world cleaner and greener. For the select families living in the gated community, life was beyond better. To the right, near the base of what passed for a hillside in Midas sat a mansion. It looked down on the town and the surrounding houses. Bigger, brighter, and more ornately ridiculous than the rest.
Dalton had never been inside. This was the first time he had seen it in the light of day. But he knew who lived there. Judge Manfred T. Langley.
"It's like living in the shadow of God. With all the wrath and none of the benevolence."
Surprised, Dalton shifted his gaze. A tall, slender man stood near the gate. His sun-darkened skin was shaded from the morning heat by an old, slouched hat that had seen better days. His hands were covered by well-worn work gloves and on his shoulder rested a long, metal-tined rake.
"God?" Dalton asked. He knew from experience that Judge Langley wielded a shit-load of power, but comparing him to a deity was going a bit far.
"In this town?" Dalton could hear the derision in the man's voice. "Not much difference to some folks. Those of us who think different, pray to the man above on Sunday and bow down to the judge the rest of the week."
If he lived in Midas, Dalton cringed at the thought; this was a man he would want to know. With a friendly smile, he held out his hand.
"Dalton Shaw."
"Tolliver Cline. Everyone calls me Tol." Removing his glove, Tol gave Dalton's hand a firm shake. "And I know who you are. Word spread the second you hit town, son. For various reasons."
"I can imagine."
"I'll bet," Tol chuckled. Bending, he opened a cooler that had been stashed behind a row of neatly trimmed hedges. "You look like you've been out awhile. Want some water?"
"Thanks." Dalton caught Tol's easy lob. He emptied half of the bottle in two long gulps.
"No point in rehashing the past." Tol replaced the lid after drinking from his bottle. "And no point in tiptoeing around the mammoth-sized elephant in the room. Why the hell are you back in Midas?"
At the last second, Dalton turned, spitting his mouthful of water onto the grass instead of in Tol's face. He appreciated the straightforward approach, but the question took him off guard.
"I'm visiting my sister." That was close enough to the truth and all that Tol needed to know.
"Maggie Mayhue?" Seeing Dalton's surprised expression, Tol shrugged. "Small town, son."
In Dalton's book, that excuse only cut it for so long. At some point, everybody knowing everything about everyone crossed over the line from matter of fact to disturbingly creepy. Tol had inched close but wasn't there yet.
"I don't plan on hanging around for long. A few days at the most."
"Smart. You're on the judge's radar."
"Me? What the hell did I do this time?"
"I need to get to work." Tol pulled on his glove. When Dalton started to protest, he held up his hand. "I'm not going to leave you hanging. What are you doing for dinner?"
Dalton thought of Colleen. He had hoped for a meal at her place. Some wine. A long talk, and a night in her bed. Skipping the first part was doable—if Colleen was amenable.
"I live about five miles east of town. My wife makes a mean roasted chicken and mashed potatoes. Seven o'clock work for you?" Tolliver rattled off the address.
"Sounds good."
"Bring Colleen. She'll know the way."
"How did you—"
"Small town, son. Small town."
With a shake of his head, Dalton started back toward the motel. He wasn't worried about Judge Manfred T. Langley. Seven years had placed them on an even footing. Some might say that—seven years later—the scales had tipped in Dalton's favor. His money wasn't old, but his fortune was large. And these days, a celebrity—especially one who earned his position through talent and hard work—carried more heft with more people than any political figure short of the president. As crazy as it sounded,
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