Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

Dudley’s apartment

The sun slanted through curtain-less windows, waking Dudley from the ever-present nightmare where he heard Charlie’s bones screaming, and he was running through deep fog to find him.

He sat up, blinking against the glare, and it hit him, suddenly. This was his life now. One room, a camping cot, a tin coffee pot and a few tin dishes, a duffle bag with his clothes, and the photo of his wife and children sitting on the floor.

He didn’t have time to feel sorry for himself.

He went into the small bathroom, a big man trying to fit himself into a tiny shower. It wasn’t what he was used to, but it would do. For now, all he needed was a roof over his head, food in his belly, and time to catch a killer.

His stomach rumbled while he dressed, a reminder that he didn’t have coffee for the pot, a stovetop to cook it on, or a single bite to put in his tin plate. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he called Charlie’s wife. It was hard to think of her as his widow. Even harder to think of his brother as gone. Dead. Murdered.

“Dudley?” Laura sounded tired, her voice hoarse, as if she’d been crying. “I’ve been following the news. Those poor little orphaned children.” She paused to blow her nose. “Charlie bought the house from Brad Williams.”

“That’s why I’m calling. Well…to see how about you, too. How are you?”

“I’ll be okay. Eventually.”

“Laura, we believe the man who killed Charlie was after Brad Williams. That’s why he came back and called you Edna Sue. That was Mrs. Williams.”

A sharp intake of breath was her only answer. He could picture her gripping the phone, probably standing in her kitchen with Charlie’s gun securely back in the drawer, grieving her husband and scared for her life. He felt a twinge of guilt for having suspected her, but that was his job. Solving a murder case was messy and complicated. The innocent could be thought guilty while the guilty spun alibis to make them appear lily white.

Being a detective was not for wimps and cowards. Dudley had to step on toes, heat up tempers, risk relationships.

Sometimes even lose them.

Finally, Laura said, “Do you know who did it?”

“We’re closing in. And we believe you are now perfectly safe. Once the killer realized his mistake, he corrected it. He has no reason to come back looking for you.”

“I guess I can take some comfort in that.”

“I hope you will. And accept my apology for being so hard on you.”

“You were just doing your job, Dudley. Charlie always said you were the best.”

He cleared a lump out of his throat. “Laura? You need to know Gloria Jean took the girls and left, and I’m living in an apartment in Jack’s building.”

She made no comment about his wife, which was a relief. Rehashing his life with her would have been made it seem fake, like some tear-jerking TV drama.

“If you ever need a place to stay, you are welcome here. I have a guest bedroom with ensuite bathroom you can use.”

“Thanks, but I’m all set. You might want to sell the place and move on.” He didn’t say with somebody else. He didn’t have to. He read her long silence.

“This house holds all my memories of my life with Charlie. I’ll never sell. And Dudley… any time you get lonely or need a home-cooked meal, come to see me. I don’t have Charlie anymore, but at least I have his brother.”

“Same here, Laura. You need me for anything, chopping wood, digging out the rest those hydrangeas, patching up the fence, stuff like that, you just let me know.”

“Charlie always said you are kind.”

Kind. Her compliment washed over him like a cool breeze. A warm hug. A memory of his brother.

When he thought about all he had lost, he could hang onto that one small thing.

Maybe it was hope.