Chapter 5

Bryant took his leave from O'Bannon's Pub at seven thirty. He had switched to water for the last hour, even though he'd only consumed two beers in the time he'd been there. A DUI would not bode well for him in his job search.

He plopped down on his bed at the inn and stretched his legs out. He thought about what he knew about Emerald Cove. Sure, the job would have its downsides. Every job would be like that. But those problems wouldn't necessarily be his to correct. His job would be to take a handful of police officers and show them the right way to conduct an investigation.

He would need to make sure he had the ability to discipline them. That was certain. He couldn't count on the Chief of Police to step up. He would also need to make sure his contract had an out clause. Maybe he should insist upon a six-month contract to start. That would be enough time to decide if he wanted to stay in South Carolina.

He liked Linda Roberts and Steve Curtis. He liked Chuck O'Bannon. He liked Mary Stuart, the woman who owned the inn. If he was honest, he liked almost everyone he'd met in Emerald Cove — except for Allyson.

Even she had been pleasant, he had to admit. Maybe they could set aside their personal differences and work together. If she was as good a prosecutor as Chuck O'Bannon said she was, it might be worth a shot.

"Shit," Bryant said when he realized he had already made his decision. He reached into a bedside dresser and pulled out a phone book. There were twenty-three Grangers there; none named Allyson and none with the first initial of A. Maybe she had remarried and just used Granger as her professional name.

He ran his finger down the listings and saw two names he recognized: Lou and Charmaine Granger, Allyson's parents. He shook his head but dialed the number.

A woman, not Allyson, answered. It took him a moment to recognize his former mother-in-law's voice.

"Uh, hello, Mrs. Granger," he said. He hated that he was nervous. It felt like the first time he'd gone to visit the Granger household. "This is Bryant Hawkins. I'm not sure you remember me."

He heard soft laughter.

"Of course I remember you, Bryant," Charmaine said. "You were my son-in-law for four years."

"Uh, yeah, I wondered if maybe you'd blocked those from your memory," Bryant said. "Um, I was trying to reach Allyson. Do you have a number for her?"

He paused for a moment.

"Maybe I should just give you my number," he said. "That way you can pass it on to her and she can call if she wants to. Will that be okay?"

"That would be fine," Charmaine said. "But it might be easier if I just hand her the phone. She heard me mention your name and she is standing beside me with her hand out like she's an Irish Setter or something."

Bryant heard the phone change hands and then Allyson greeted him.

"Hi, Allyson," he replied. "I was thinking, do you suppose we might be able to fix things so we can work together?"

"Yes," Allyson replied. "I definitely do believe we can. In fact, my boss was going to track down your number tomorrow. He said if you and I can't resolve things to your satisfaction, he'll deal with you personally."

"No reason to make this a pain for everyone," Bryant replied. For a reason unknown to him, he laughed. "I think we can behave professionally when we need to."

There was a slight pause before Allyson replied.

"And personally?" she asked. "Can we behave personally when we want to?"

Bryant rejected an invitation to have dinner with the Grangers. He had always liked his in-laws. They were his sort of people. Both had a zest for life and laughed often. He wasn't surprised that they had retired to the beach.

He wondered how they had managed to retire. Both were only in their late 50s. He figured Allyson had settled a billion dollar lawsuit and hid the money by passing it on to her parents.

With a shrug to clear his head, he headed out to grab a bite to eat. His travels led him away from the beach, out a stretch of four-lane highway littered with budget hotels and fast-food restaurants. He wondered where Mary Beth Brockleman had met her demise two-and-a-half months earlier.

None of the hotels showed signs of vacancy. There was no shrine nor was there a neon sign declaring "Mary Beth Brockleman died here."

As he collected his carryout hamburgers his mind stayed on the murdered girl. He questioned how hard the Emerald Cove Police Department had worked on the case. He also doubted they had the expertise to handle a murder investigation but he figured they had too much arrogance to turn it over to the State Police.

Bryant pulled off the road and dialed the number he had for Steve Curtis. He was shocked when the phone was answered. He heard a radio or television and the sounds of people talking in the background.

"Uh, sorry to disturb you at home," Bryant stammered. "I thought this was your office number."

"It is but I forwarded it to my cell in case you called," Steve answered. "I know you're alone down here and I didn't want you to get lost with no one to call. Don't worry. If I hadn't recognized your number I would have let it ring to voice mail."

"Oh, that's very kind of you," Bryant said. He was amazed at the courtesy and consideration the people of Emerald Cove had shown. Even the youth at the fast-food joint was smiling and friendly. "Uh, the reason I called is, well, Allyson Granger and I have agreed to try to work out our professional differences. I would very much like to accept the job if it's still on the table."

Bryant could hear the happiness in Steve's voice.

"I am glad to hear that," Steve declared. "I can't tell you how relieved I am. Linda told me about her visits with you. I hope you understand that she feels terrible about involving Ms. Elliot and I do, too. I hope you'll accept our apologies."

"Of course," Bryant said. "I over-reacted. Seeing Allyson put me off balance and I'm afraid I spoke before my brain caught up to my emotions. Uh, the reason I called is that, well, I wondered where the Brockleman girl died. I'm out on the highway now and it was bothering me."

"She died at the Roadside Inn," Steve said. As with before, Steve's emotions carried through the telephone. There was genuine sadness there, Bryant decided.

"I see it from where I'm parked," Bryant replied. "Do you think we might be able to take care of the paperwork early Monday? I think I want to get started on clearing this case. I'm not sure if I'll be able to clear the other cold cases. They're too far in the past, I think. But this one is only a couple of months old. I think if I re-interview the witnesses, I can at least put this one behind us."

"Really?" Steve asked. "We, well, the council, that is ... we sort of suspected this would wind up unsolved. Do you really think you can find who killed that poor girl?"

Bryant considered his answer before he spoke.

"I've had success before in cases like this," he replied. "If the locals managed to bag any evidence at the crime scene it's still a possibility. Of course, it's possible that they didn't get anything and we won't be able to narrow our suspect pool farther than the kids here on Spring Break."

Steve sighed audibly.

"The state police handled the crime scene," he said. "I don't know if the report is back yet. The crime lab is backlogged because they deal with almost the whole state."

Bryant found himself nodding. Even in a city the size of Chicago there was a wait for all forensic analysis.

"Okay," Bryant said. "That will be first thing Monday. Where was the girl from?"

Steve thought for only a second before answering. The girl's information was burned into his brain.

"Ohio," he said. "Coal Run, Ohio. I looked it up on the map. It's just outside of Gallipolis. She went to Ohio Southern, a small, private college east of Cincinnati. She was eighteen years old. A freshman studying early childhood education."

Steve paused to calm himself.

"Bryant, if you catch the bastard who did this I will personally make sure we name a street in your honor," Steve said.

"I'll settle for a life-long prison sentence for the guy," Bryant replied.

Bryant waited as another voice in the background spoke to Steve.

"You know what, Mother, that is a wonderful idea," he heard Steve reply. Bryant wondered idly if Curtis lived with his parents. The guy had to be in his late 40s or early 50s. He was pondering that when Steve came back on the line.

"Bryant, we're having a little cookout here tomorrow," Steve said. "It's only fitting that you attend — since we'll be celebrating finding you and convincing you to come here. Your call tonight is a load off my mind. My wife would love to meet you. It's a small gathering, just the neighbors. How does free food and a chance to get to know a little about the area sound? That is, if you don't already have plans."

Bryant chuckled to himself. He had wondered how he was going to spend his vacation time. The prospect of ogling young women on the beach sounded interesting but only for small amounts of time.

"I would like that," Bryant replied. "What should I bring?"

"Not a thing," Steve asserted. "I know you're mixing a vacation in with interview so just show up and have some fun. I'll let Mother give you directions. I've lived here all my life and I'm likely to tell you to just turn at the Anderson house or where the movie theater used to be."

A new voice came on the line.

"I swear to God, I'm going to brain that man the next time he calls me 'Mother' to a stranger," a female voice said. There was humor there, though. "I'm Lorna Curtis. I am not Steve's mother. I am his children's mother."

Bryant found himself laughing along with Lorna.

"Well, I did wonder if Steve perhaps still lived in his parents' basement," Bryant replied. Lorna laughed harder.

"Oh, that is simply perfect," she said. "I have tried for the last ten years to get him to stop calling me that. It was funny for a while but now that I'm getting older it has lost its humor. I'll bet when he learns the impression he is giving, it will slow him down some. So, here's how you get here. Do you have a pen and paper?"

Bryant sorted through his glove box and found the necessary articles and jotted down what Lorna had told him.

"What time is good, Mrs. Curtis?" Bryant asked.

"I like that less than Mother!" Lorna joked. "Please, call me Lorna. I truly hope that my family and yours will get to be good friends. I can already tell that Steve likes you. Linda said you're a little quirky but a good person. I think we will all get along fabulously."

"Emerald Cove is a lot different from Chicago," Bryant told her. "For instance, I would never think of inviting a stranger to my home. I realized a few weeks ago that my neighbors of four years had never been inside my house. It will take me some time to get used to having people I don't know smile and speak to me when I see them on the street."

He paused, then added as much to himself as to Lorna Curtis, "Actually, it will take some time to get used to seeing people I do know smile and speak to me on the street."

Bryant walked down to the beach Saturday morning and watched the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean.

The vibrant reds, oranges and yellows reflecting off the water almost took his breath away. There were perhaps five or six other people – all of them about his age – sitting or standing nearby, but there was no noise.

Bryant could smell the salt air as he listened to the tide breaking onto the sand and a few early morning birds. For perhaps the first time in his life, Bryant knew tranquility.

His mind didn't flash to the cases on his desk. It didn't rest on his troubled childhood or his failed marriage or his inability to make friends. The faces of the men he'd killed receded to the distant reaches of his brain.

He closed his eyes momentarily, and registered the majesty of what he'd just witnessed. He sat silently on the sand until the sun was fully up before standing to make his way back to the inn. He saw Chuck O'Bannon sitting on the back deck of his bar behind a gate that opened to the beach.

"I never get tired of watching that," the man said after he acknowledged Bryant's wave.

"I can see why," Bryant said, turning again to peer out at the ocean. It was different than the afternoon before. The hum of humanity was gone. The beach was almost pristine. The high tide had erased the footprints from the day before and now only a few tracks marred the smooth sand.

"Care for a cup of coffee?" Chuck asked.

"I don't want to interrupt your solitude," Bryant replied earnestly. "If I were you, I'd treasure these quiet moments."

Chuck laughed but pushed out a chair with his foot.

"A couple of things I learned in the bar business, boyo," Chuck said. "One: there is a fine line between being alone and being lonely; Two: never pass up the chance for real conversation. So if you'd like a cup, I'd like for you to join me."

Bryant sat down as Chuck poured coffee from a carafe on the table. The bar wouldn't be open until ten or eleven o'clock and Bryant saw that the metal grate was still pulled over the entrance.

"Do you start this early every morning?" Bryant asked.

Chuck gestured to the area above the bar.

"I live up there," he said. "I don't need much space. I got divorced, hell, I guess it was close to thirty years ago, now. You married?"

Bryant shook his head.

"Tried it once, didn't take," Bryant answered, frowning slightly.

"Cops have it tough that way," Chuck agreed.

"I think it was more that we had a different outlook on life at the time," Bryant responded, the frown deepening. "The divorce caught me by surprise; but, looking back, I can see that it shouldn't have."

"Yeah," Chuck said. "So, it's up to you to decide what you want to do with the rest of your life. That makes it easier. You don't have to worry about dragging kids away from their school or your wife finding a job nearby. So, you get your issues resolved with the Granger woman then?"

Bryant snorted involuntarily.

"I think so," he said. "We're going to set aside our personal differences and see if we can behave as professionals."

"Ah," Chuck said. He had been under the impression that Bryant and Allyson's problems were of the professional nature. Now he understood better but he still didn't have the whole picture. "Since your interactions will be on the job it shouldn't be much of a problem."

Bryant looked at the man across from him for a moment.

"Let me ask you something," he said, his voice a little harder than he meant for it to be. "What would you do if you found out your ex-wife was the contact person for your beer distributor and that you would have to see her and talk to her almost every day?"

Chuck heard the change in the tone of Bryant's voice. He was focusing on that and almost missed the question.

"Well, shit," Chuck said. Then he burst out laughing. "Damn, boyo, that is a hell of a lot more than I was expecting. At first, I thought she screwed up one of your busts. A minute ago I thought you and she had hooked up at Christmas party or something. Now you tell me you were married to her. How in the hell did you both get from Chicago to Emerald Cove?"

"I have no idea," Bryant answered truthfully. "Perhaps it's God's cruel sense of humor. Look, Chuck, between us, it was bad for me. I paid her way through law school. As soon as she took me for all I was worth, I was out. I mean, I didn't see this side of her until a year or so before we were divorced. We met when I first got out of the Army. She was a senior at Northwestern, you know. We got along great. Her parents were, are, really nice. I finally thought I'd found someone who could accept me for me. Then I found out it was an act. Or maybe she changed. I don't know."

"People don't change," Chuck said firmly. "I been around them as a cop, a PI and as a bartender. A mean drunk is always a mean drunk. A man who hits his wife will hit his kids. A liar is incapable of telling the truth. Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're not wrong," Bryant admitted.

"So she got lost for a while or she is an actor," Chuck declared. "Maybe the woman you first met is who she really is and she got her head turned and lost herself. Or she was someone playing a part then and she's playing it again now. But she hasn't changed. She hasn't had an epiphany. Bryant, boy, you know this to be a fact. There is no redemption."

Bryant was able to follow Lorna's directions fairly easily. The Curtis family lived in an affluent section of Emerald Cove. It made Bryant wonder how difficult it was going to be to secure lodgings in the city. He figured he would be expected to live in the city limits and, so far, he hadn't seen a single neighborhood that would be in his price range.

He supposed there might be low-end housing and trailer courts on the city's fringes but he hadn't had time to explore those options.

Bryant turned into the aptly named Palmetto Lane. During his research, he had found South Carolina's nickname was the Palmetto State. He had never heard of a palmetto, so he looked it up. Trees lined the street, fronting well-maintained lawns and nice, but not opulent, houses.

There was no place to park when he drove past the Curtis house — and he discovered a small get-together had a far different meaning in South Carolina than it did in Illinois. He was expecting Steve, Lorna and a couple of neighbors. He wasn't expecting the twenty or thirty people he saw milling around the house.

He pondered if, perhaps, he should call and beg off. Bryant was no politician. He wasn't interested in shaking hands with every citizen of Emerald Cove, or even every person in Steve Curtis' neighborhood.

Deciding it would be rude to cancel; Bryant sighed and pulled into the first available parking space. As he exited his vehicle, he met the first overtly rude person he'd found in South Carolina.

"You can't park there," a red-faced man yelled from his porch. Bryant glanced around for a street sign and then down at the curb to make sure it wasn't painted yellow. He saw no indication it was a no-parking zone — something that would be clearly marked in Chicago.

Seeing nothing, he glanced toward the man who had spoken, a man who was now stalking toward Bryant.

"Why?" Bryant asked.

"That's my wife's spot," the man declared, his face getting even redder.

Bryant looked down the line of cars parked along the street. He doubted they all belonged to the residents. He also saw no other parking spaces within two blocks.

Bryant appeared to have pondered his options too long.

"I said, 'You can't park there'," the man declared, poking Bryant in the chest with his finger. The man was shorter than Bryant, much shorter. But he looked as though he weighed about the same. He also looked angry and ready to fight.

Bryant took a deep breath and caught the man's finger as it neared his chest again.

"Do you understand that constitutes assault?" Bryant asked, still holding the man's stubby digit between his thumb and forefinger.

"What?" the man wondered. "Don't be an idiot. If I assault you, you'll know it."

Bryant nodded. He figured he would know it because it would take him some time to wipe the man's blood off his clothing.

"Sir," Bryant said, again using his best calming tones, "this is not designated a private parking area. I can see where, since it sits in front of your house, you might consider it to belong to you. But it doesn't. The street is the property of the city. In most cases, the city's property extends about six feet past the curb. As a courtesy, I will visit with my hosts and see if I can secure another parking spot. But if I can't, you'll just have to get over my vehicle being here."

"You looking for an ass-kicking?" the man snarled.

Bryant looked down at the sweaty man and closed his eyes for a moment.

"If I were, I doubt I would look for one from you," he said softly. "This is not going to end up how you think it will. You might be a tough guy in your little world. But I am not from your world. In my world, you would be a greasy stain on someone's shoe. I am younger than you. I am bigger than you. And I can guarantee that I am meaner than you. Now, I have given you the options as I see them. I won't stop you from taking a swing at me. But, rest assured, I will stop you from doing it a second time."

The man glared at Bryant for a moment then turned to leave. He couldn't because Bryant still had hold of the man's finger. Despite the fact that Bryant was using only his thumb and forefinger, the man couldn't break the grip.

"Do we understand one another?" Bryant asked. "If I have to remain parked here, I fully expect to find my vehicle undamaged when I return. If it is damaged, you and I are going to have major problems. Those major problems will include a lot of pain for you. I want you to tell me that you understand that before I go. I wouldn't want it to come as a surprise to you, should you elect to do something stupid — and criminal."

Bryant was waiting for an answer when another car pulled up alongside his SUV. He figured it was the wife returning and was about to suggest that the man move his oversized pickup from the driveway to give the woman somewhere to park.

"Bryant?" Allyson asked from beside him. She walked into his line of sight and frowned. He was surprised to see that she wasn't frowning at him but at the man in front of him. "I see you've met Mr. Standish. He seems to think this entire street belongs to him."

"Go to hell," Standish said. He grimaced when Bryant tightened the grip he still held on the man's finger.

"Believe me, living near you is as close to hell as I want to be," Allyson declared. "Mr. Standish, I have told you at least a dozen times that this is public parking. You have pleaded your case to the City Council and they have told you the same thing."

"I just reiterated that fact to him," Bryant added.

Allyson smiled at him.

"Well, now you have the facts from a fresh source," Allyson said. "Are you finally satisfied?"

"You better watch yourselves!" Standish declared. "I know all the cops in this town."

"Perhaps today you do," Allyson said. "Not that it matters to me. But come Monday, you won't know them all. I'll promise you that. Come next month, there will be more you don't know. By December, I doubt you'll recognize any of them. Bryant, be a dear and release the man's finger."

Bryant glanced at Allyson for a moment.

"I meant what I said," he told Standish. "You should take it to heart."

He let go of Standish's finger and the man moved back to his porch as quickly as his girth would permit.

"Are you here to visit my folks?" Allyson asked, completely putting the incident out of her mind, it seemed.

Bryant looked around.

"Uh, no," he said. "I didn't realize they lived here. Steve and Lorna Curtis invited me over."

Allyson smiled widely.

"Of course," she said. "You know, they live a couple of blocks back that way."

She gestured in the direction that Bryant had just traversed.

"Parking was an issue," he said. "It appears the gathering is a bit bigger than I expected."

"It's taken on a life of its own," a new voice said. Bryant turned and saw his former mother-in-law a few feet away. She came forward and hugged him tightly. "You look really well, Bryant. It is good to see you."

Charmaine released Bryant and turned toward her daughter.

"The nurse agreed to stay with your father for a couple of more hours," she said. "So we can enjoy the soiree at the Curtis house together."

"Nurse?" Bryant asked before he could stop himself. The divorce was almost a decade in the past — but he still remembered Lou Granger fondly. The group started to traverse the two blocks to the party.

Allyson's eyes clouded.

"Dad has Alzheimer's," she related. "We can't really leave him by himself."

"I am sorry to hear that," Bryant responded sincerely. "If there is anything I can do, please just ask. I always thought your Dad was a real stand-up guy."

"He liked you too, Bryant," Charmaine said, patting his arm.

"Damn, he seems too young for that," Bryant said absently. "I mean, he's what, 55 or 56 now?"

"Fifty-nine," Charmaine answered. "It's early onset. It started about 10 years ago. You know, just forgetting his keys or his wallet. It progressed slowly for a few years. Then a couple of years ago, it got bad in a hurry. Someone has to stay with him all the time now. It's almost like he's a child. We have to lock the cabinets. We have to make sure he hasn't gone through and turned the stove on. I'd go crazy if Allyson wasn't around to help."

"Well, as I said, I'll help whenever you ask," Bryant said. It saddened him that a man with as much vitality as Lou Granger had possessed could falter in such a short amount of time.

"He wouldn't remember you, Bryant," Allyson said sadly. "He rarely remembers us."

Bryant shrugged.

"If he doesn't remember me, he doesn't remember me," he said. "If you two need to take a break for a while, I'm sure he and I can muddle through."

Charmaine patted Bryant on the arm again but smiled sadly.

"It will nice to have you nearby, too," she said. "Have you had a chance to look for a place to live? There are some really nice houses in this neighborhood."

Bryant couldn't contain the snort that escaped.

"I think having me for a neighbor might me more than Bryant wants to deal with right now," Allyson remarked.

"Nothing of the sort," Bryant cut in. "I was thinking I would have to sell a kidney on the internet to make the down payment and probably still wind up with a thirty year mortgage I couldn't afford unless I worked four jobs."

Charmaine chuckled and Allyson joined in quickly.

"I was pleasantly surprised at property values here," Charmaine related. "We figured the money from the house in Illinois would probably get us a box under the freeway here. Instead we were able to buy our house outright and put a little away. Do you own in Chicago?"

Bryant nodded.

"It's a small house, though," he said. "I still have about $4,600 and 11 months left on the mortgage. I doubt it will sell for more than $170,000. Less than that if I need to get rid of it immediately. It's a decent neighborhood but the market is really soft right now."

"Exactly," Charmaine said, nodding furiously. "And it's softer here than it is there. When the highway came through here a decade ago, developers lined up to build condos and subdivisions. The population increased quickly and people snapped up the new dwellings quickly. They were selling for what seems to me like Manhattan prices. That led to a second phase of building. Almost the entire south side of the city is nothing but neighborhoods like this one. Except the people stopped coming to stay. Sure, the tourists are here like clockwork. But once the factories got going and stopped massive hiring programs, the resident population has remained stagnant."

"And?" Bryant wondered.

"That means there are houses in this neighborhood that have been vacant for years," Charmaine continued. "Our house was like that. It was built in 1998 and it never sold. No one lived in it until we moved here in 2004. The developer went belly up and the bank was willing to take pretty much any reasonable offer just to get it off their books. If we had turned the other direction, you would see a couple of others. If you were to stop in at any bank in town you could walk out owning a really nice home for less than market value."

"Mom got her Realtor's license," Allyson said.

"It's a requirement to be a retired, old woman in the South," Charmaine joked. "You either have to take up knitting or go into real estate. Otherwise they make you move to Pennsylvania."

Bryant was laughing along with the Grangers when they walked into Steve Curtis' yard.

A few seconds later, his laughter ended abruptly.

Edited By BlackIrish & TeNderLoin; Proofread by ZoltanTheDuck.