She stared at him as if there were nothing else in the room. “Frank?”
Frank fled the memory, snapping back into reality.
Angela sat across from him. A smile belied her unblinking eyes.
“Angela, you know that I’ve always loved you. And I always will.”
Her smile spread into a grin. “I know.”
“But I can’t help you with this. I can’t step into this situation. I can’t. I won’t.”
Few things ever seemed to surprise Angela Owens Merret. Or at least she’d always had the ability to play it cool.
Not today. She stood, her chair falling backward and rattling against the floor. She dropped a few expletives on the table before she stomped out, leaving Frank with a plate full of cold food and a room full of people staring at him. Including Gavin.
Frank rose, throwing some money on the table.
Gavin hurried over, carrying his plate. “I’m not quite done here. We just-”
“Don’t wet yourself, kid. I’ll be back to get you.”
“You’re leaving me here? Again?”
“Eat your lunch. I’ll be back.”
There was someone he desperately needed to see. And nobody else would do but her.
15
Damien stood in Edgar’s office, hands clasped behind his back, lips pressed together to hide any disappointment.
Unfortunately Edgar was not being as gracious. His gaze zipped back and forth, up and down, over the entire page. He slapped the paper down on his desk on top of the other piece of paper he’d already slapped down. “What is this?”
“It’s my op-ed and my investigative piece on-”
“I know what it is,” Edgar growled. “I also know what it isn’t. It’s terrific writing. Insightful. Poignant at moments. Humorous.”
Damien smiled. “Thank you.”
“It isn’t the least bit interesting or relevant.” Edgar’s voice, baritone and full, sounded loud without much volume. “Why would you write a piece about church?”
“Well, I-”
“About your memories of your father and mother dressed up, all this nostalgia bull. Do you really think people care about this?”
“I don’t understand. This isn’t any different from what I’ve written in the past.”
“Exactly. Except, if you haven’t noticed, this town is in an uproar.” Edgar looked out of breath. His eyes seemed unusually frantic. Edgar was a loud guy, but it was usually just for show. Something was different.
“The Web site.”
“Yes! Yes, the Web site! It’s all anyone’s talking about! Two nights ago there was a conversation on there that I’d had with an old college buddy of mine. We were at a restaurant. Luckily it was innocuous, but can’t you see what’s on everyone’s mind?”
“Well, sure. I figured a nice piece about the way things used to be-”
“It’s now! It’s in the moment! And this?” He held up the investigative piece. “This is all you’ve got?”
Damien fumbled his words. This investigative thing was harder than it looked. Lots of people wanted to talk, but it didn’t tend to be the people with helpful information.
Edgar leaned across his desk, the wood creaking underneath his heavy arms. “I’m desperate to keep this newspaper going. It’s been in my family for three generations, and it’s not going down on my watch. Do you understand me?”
Damien nodded, holding his breath as he watched the veins in Edgar’s neck pulsate.
Suddenly Edgar said, “Hush,” just as the religion editor walked by the door.
“What?”
“You gotta be careful what you say and around whom you say it. Now, you get out there and get me some real news. And write me a piece that drives a stake through my heart. What is this Web site doing to our town? Is it a good or bad thing? Dig deep.”
Damien’s phone vibrated with a text message: Harmon’s Grocery. He opened the office door. “I’m on it, boss.”
Edgar smiled eagerly.
With flashing lights and wailing sirens, Frank and Gavin raced toward Harmon’s Grocery on the corner of Twelfth and Medlane.
A small crowd had gathered in front of the store, with several baggers and clerks talking with customers. Frank pulled to the front curb, and they got out.
The store manager, the only one in a tie, greeted them with a handshake. “We tried to stop them. They’re still going at it. Things are crashing in there. I removed everyone for safety.”
“Any weapons?”
“Not that I saw.”
Frank glanced around and noticed Pastor Caldwell standing in the crowd. He held a Bible and seemed to be praying.
Frank put his hand on his holster and walked in. Gavin followed close behind. A crash sounded, followed by raining glass.
The manager trailed them. “I think they’re in aisle nine.”
“Police!” Frank shouted. “Break it up!”
More glass shattered. Frank rushed to find the source. It was aisle ten, near the pickles. What he saw stopped him in his tracks. “Stand down!” Frank shouted.
The two men tangled on the floor were soaking wet from the contents of broken containers of vinegar. Bright red blood pooled and snaked through the vinegar and over the laminate floor like small rivers. The smell caused Frank to cough into his sleeve. Both men were hardly recognizable with cuts and bruises and bulging eyelids. Shards of broken glass caught the fluorescent light above, glimmering like diamonds.
Frank walked forward, his hand on his gun. “Move away from one another.”
Both men groaned like that could hurt a lot. The man on the left had a long, dark line of blood from the top of his chest down to his belly. He clutched his shirt and moaned. The other man grabbed his own shoulder. Blood seeped through his fingers, but his attention was still on the other man, a glare frozen on his face.
Frank turned to Gavin. “Get two ambulances here.”
The manager stepped around Gavin, inspecting the floor and then the two men. “There’s a lot of blood,” he whispered.
“I know. Get me some clean towels. A lot of towels. Hurry.” Frank pointed to the man holding his shoulder. “Don’t make a move. Stay right there.” He stooped over the man who bled from the chest. “What’s your name?”
“His name’s Rob Tereau.”
“Your name?” Frank asked.
“Randy Benjamen.”
Rob’s eyes turned glassy. Frank knelt next to him and grabbed his shoulders. He felt Rob’s body go limp. He made certain there wasn’t any glass behind him in case he fell backward. Frank’s pants, right at the knee, began soaking up vinegar mixed with blood.
“Get a mop over here!” Frank yelled.
Gavin rushed up. “They’re on the way.”
“Take care of that guy,” Frank said, nodding toward Randy.
The manager returned with some towels. Frank pulled up Rob’s shirt. Two deep gashes, one over his sternum and the other above his navel, continued to gush. He grabbed a towel and pushed it against the top wound, then grabbed another one and pushed it on the bottom.
Ambulance sirens wailed through the skylight above them.
Gavin helped Randy up, checked him over, then took a towel and gave it to him.
Frank, still stooped over Rob, looked at Randy. “What happened here?”
“This man attacked my sister.”
Rob mumbled. “No, I didn’t.”
“He did.”
“Where is she?” Frank asked. “Is she hurt?”
“He called my sister a… I can’t even say it. I won’t say it.”
Frank glanced down at Rob, whose eyes periodically rolled back into his head. “I said… I didn’t say it to him… or her. I said it at a… it was a party… I was in the back room…”