Read Online Time to Run by Marliss Melton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marliss Melton
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With growing consternation, she abandoned the kitchen, which she'd been tidying, to peek into Chase's old bedroom, but Kendal was gone, and so was the dog.
Don't panic, she told herself, hurrying to the front door. She found it unlocked. Kendal had come this way before her. "Kendal!" she shouted from the front porch. Her voice sounded small in the open space. The sweet smell of prairie grass was a welcome contrast to the stuffy odor of the house.
"I'm here," came the answering call from the vicinity of the pecan tree. "Come and see, Mom!"
The urgency in his voice had her running down the steps and down the driveway. She finally made him out, hunkered in the shade of the tree's heavy boughs.
"What are you doing?" she asked him. At the same time, she saw what had captured his attention. There were three—no, wait—four headstones jutting out of the tall grass. "Oh, my goodness," she exclaimed, drawing up short.
"I figured out one of 'em," said Kendal, parting the grass on the one nearest him. The inscription read, Jeremiah Blackbird, 1923-1983. "This is Chase's grandpa," he revealed excitedly. "He was a Creek Indian, and he taught Chase how to tame bobcats."
"Really," said Sara, wondering when Chase had imparted that tall tale.
"But I don't know who this is," said Kendal, stepping toward a headstone that was yellowed with lichen.
Aaron McCaffrey, 1947-1976, Sara read. "I think that's Chase's father," she guessed, noting the common last name. She pictured the golden-haired man in the family portrait.
"And then there's a small one," Kendal added, pointing out a tiny, marble headstone buried in the grass.
Sara bent down to read it. The cherub sitting at the base of the marker and the single name, Blessing, confirmed that this was the burial spot for a child. Feb-April, 1984. Heavens, had Chase had a baby sister?
With a sense of premonition, Sara turned toward the last headstone. Parting the grass that grew up around it, she read, Marileigh Sawyer, 1947-1985. The last name was different than Chase's, but she knew this was his mother.
"Who is Mary—" Kendal stumbled over the name.
"Marileigh," Sara guessed, pronouncing it merrily. "It's got to be Chase's mother."
Kendal looked up at her sharply. "Why did they all die?" he asked, sounding scared.
"I don't know, honey," Sara answered, putting a hand on his narrow shoulders. "Sometimes it just happens." Looking at the four headstones, she was reminded of the tattoo on Chase's left arm. He carried them with him wherever he went, she realized, with a chill.
Kendal looked up at her, his eyes luminescent in the shadows. "I don't want you to die," he whispered.
Goose bumps sprouted all over her body. "I'm not going to die, sweetheart," she reassured him. "Not for a long time. Why would you say that?" she added, prompted by something in his expression.
He shook his head, unable to answer, her.
"Are you thinking of Mr. Whiskers?" she guessed.
Kendal swallowed hard. "His eyes bulged out when Daddy strangled him."
"Oh, honey," she murmured. She put a protective arm around him, furious with Garret for branding that terrible memory into Kendal's consciousness. "That's all behind us now," she whispered, rubbing her cheek against his shorn hair. At least she hoped it was. They regarded the headstones at their feet. "Come on. Let's go inside where Chase told us to stay."
Kendal broke away, calling for the dog as he ran for the door.
Petty Officer Marcelino Hewitt looked up to see Captain Garret leaving work for the day. It was his first day back since the disappearance of his wife and son. The man had lasted just three hours.
Hewitt had never liked Captain Garret much, mostly because he'd caught Miss Sara looking sad when she thought no one could see her. But he'd have to be heartless not to feel for the JAG today. The captain's black tie was askew. He stood more stoop-shouldered than ever, a frown on his narrow face. Obviously, he was overwrought by the tragedy.
"Have a
Don't panic, she told herself, hurrying to the front door. She found it unlocked. Kendal had come this way before her. "Kendal!" she shouted from the front porch. Her voice sounded small in the open space. The sweet smell of prairie grass was a welcome contrast to the stuffy odor of the house.
"I'm here," came the answering call from the vicinity of the pecan tree. "Come and see, Mom!"
The urgency in his voice had her running down the steps and down the driveway. She finally made him out, hunkered in the shade of the tree's heavy boughs.
"What are you doing?" she asked him. At the same time, she saw what had captured his attention. There were three—no, wait—four headstones jutting out of the tall grass. "Oh, my goodness," she exclaimed, drawing up short.
"I figured out one of 'em," said Kendal, parting the grass on the one nearest him. The inscription read, Jeremiah Blackbird, 1923-1983. "This is Chase's grandpa," he revealed excitedly. "He was a Creek Indian, and he taught Chase how to tame bobcats."
"Really," said Sara, wondering when Chase had imparted that tall tale.
"But I don't know who this is," said Kendal, stepping toward a headstone that was yellowed with lichen.
Aaron McCaffrey, 1947-1976, Sara read. "I think that's Chase's father," she guessed, noting the common last name. She pictured the golden-haired man in the family portrait.
"And then there's a small one," Kendal added, pointing out a tiny, marble headstone buried in the grass.
Sara bent down to read it. The cherub sitting at the base of the marker and the single name, Blessing, confirmed that this was the burial spot for a child. Feb-April, 1984. Heavens, had Chase had a baby sister?
With a sense of premonition, Sara turned toward the last headstone. Parting the grass that grew up around it, she read, Marileigh Sawyer, 1947-1985. The last name was different than Chase's, but she knew this was his mother.
"Who is Mary—" Kendal stumbled over the name.
"Marileigh," Sara guessed, pronouncing it merrily. "It's got to be Chase's mother."
Kendal looked up at her sharply. "Why did they all die?" he asked, sounding scared.
"I don't know, honey," Sara answered, putting a hand on his narrow shoulders. "Sometimes it just happens." Looking at the four headstones, she was reminded of the tattoo on Chase's left arm. He carried them with him wherever he went, she realized, with a chill.
Kendal looked up at her, his eyes luminescent in the shadows. "I don't want you to die," he whispered.
Goose bumps sprouted all over her body. "I'm not going to die, sweetheart," she reassured him. "Not for a long time. Why would you say that?" she added, prompted by something in his expression.
He shook his head, unable to answer, her.
"Are you thinking of Mr. Whiskers?" she guessed.
Kendal swallowed hard. "His eyes bulged out when Daddy strangled him."
"Oh, honey," she murmured. She put a protective arm around him, furious with Garret for branding that terrible memory into Kendal's consciousness. "That's all behind us now," she whispered, rubbing her cheek against his shorn hair. At least she hoped it was. They regarded the headstones at their feet. "Come on. Let's go inside where Chase told us to stay."
Kendal broke away, calling for the dog as he ran for the door.
Petty Officer Marcelino Hewitt looked up to see Captain Garret leaving work for the day. It was his first day back since the disappearance of his wife and son. The man had lasted just three hours.
Hewitt had never liked Captain Garret much, mostly because he'd caught Miss Sara looking sad when she thought no one could see her. But he'd have to be heartless not to feel for the JAG today. The captain's black tie was askew. He stood more stoop-shouldered than ever, a frown on his narrow face. Obviously, he was overwrought by the tragedy.
"Have a
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