Monday - Chapter 11
Vick Hafferty’s romantic past catches up with him as he gets a potential break in the murder investigation.
New to The Road Cain Walks? See the Table of Contents to start the first chapter.
Vick Hafferty sat alone in the small office he shared with Pete Finch, bouncing a rubber ball off the wall and catching it. According to his watch, it was already eight thirty.
Voices in the lobby lured him to the door, where he leaned on the frame and watched his dad and Sheriff Arkin hold a hushed conversation. The sheriff’s drawn face aged him twenty years as he nodded gravely and marched outside. Mitch spotted Vick and offered an unconvincing smile as he returned to his office.
Slumping back to his chair, Vick slung the ball one last time. It pinged chaos around the room before settling in the corner.
If his dad really needed him, he’d have given him something to do—calling the prison or searching out the owner of the deer stand. He’d at least have included him in his update with Arkin. The longer he kept Vick in the dark, the clearer it became this wasn’t about training. It was punishment.
At quarter to nine, Mitch Hafferty came in and sat in Pete’s chair, lolling his head back on the seat cushion. “How do they do it in the big cities, all this, every day?”
“I bet they have more than one person working a case,” Vick said.
“We’ve got two. Don’t think you’re done yet. I need you back here first thing in the morning so we can follow up on leads.”
Vick sat forward. “You hear something?”
Mitch shook his head. “Not a word from the prison or the hunters.”
“Who’d you call?”
“Lonnie Carlson and Hank Barbour. If the prison doesn’t call back, one of them might answer both of my questions in one shot.”
Lonnie and Hank were both correctional officers at Starks and also two of Pine Haven’s most avid hunters. Jackson’s Hardware had a wall filled with photos of the “Big Game of the Week” prize winners, at least half belonging to either Lonnie or Hank. Between them, they’d won enough $50 gift certificates to start their own hardware store.
“You think they’ll call back tonight?”
With a sigh, Mitch stood and pushed Pete’s chair under the desk. “They might, but I guess you can go on home.”
“What about you?”
On his way out, Mitch stopped in the doorway. “I’ll stick around in case someone does call.”
When his dad was gone, Vick opened the bottom drawer of his desk for the jeans and t-shirt he kept ready and took them to the bathroom to change. He tried to fix his hair, but the rain had washed it into a mess down the center of his forehead. Giving up, he snatched the Starks County Jaguars baseball cap off Pete’s desk.
Out the front door and down the sidewalk, Vick crossed the highway at the roundabout and headed into the All Rise Tavern. In the corner of the room, Pete shot a lonely game of pool and offered one of his patented goofy waves when he noticed Vick. With an obligated nod, Vick went to the bar and propped on a stool.
He followed the room-spanning mirror behind the counter to three girls at the other end. Anna Grace, Candace Worthy, and Melissa Jordan all stared back as if he’d crawled out of the town sewer. If she was with them, Maribeth Vanger would have at least smiled—the only bridge he hadn’t burned.
Summoned by the thought, the bar’s front door swung open again to the familiar bump and slide of Eric Vanger’s limp.
Spinning on his stool, Vick gave Eric’s uniform a once over and whistled low. “Maribeth let you take her handcuffs to work?”
“Shut up. There’s people around.”
Eric waved at the girls down the bar, their demeanor brightening by several shades.
Vick nodded in their direction. “I know for a fact one of them has a well-used pair.”
Climbing onto the stool beside him, Eric said, “You’re an asshole.”
“So I’ve heard. Then again, most people have trouble understanding genius.”
Eric nodded toward the mirror. “Look sharp, genius. Your best buddy’s coming fast.”
Vick huffed as Pete pushed between them, standing close enough to smell the hot wings on his breath. “Hey Vick. Glad you made it out. First round’s on me.”
“I’m gonna pass, but you can buy Eric his first two.”
“How’s the big case going?” Pete asked.
Eric leaned over the bar to see around Pete. “Big case?”
“You didn’t hear?” Vick asked. “Pine Haven has a bona fide murder mystery.”
“No kidding,” Eric said.
Tom Campbell, the All Rise’s owner, worked the bar. Eric ordered a whiskey and a bottle of Budweiser and raised both to Pete. The deputy’s mouth drew thin, but he was too nice to say anything. Instead, he told Tom to put the drinks on his tab and slumped back to the pool table.
Eric’s eyes followed Pete. “He worships you.”
Vick scowled. “Don’t say shit like that.”
It made Pete sound like a stalker, which he kind of was, but not in the “shrine in the closet, cut off your face to wear it” kind of way. As much uncertainty existed in the world, Pete being harmless was a given.
But Eric refused to let it go. “You remember when he used to hang out under the stadium and wait for us to come out of the locker room? How he somehow found every party, though no one ever told him where they were? Anywhere you showed your face, he was right next to you. Sometimes I wanted to kick his ass for it.”
Vick smiled. “Jealous?”
“Naw, but he’s stepped on my feet way too many times. To Barney Fife.”
As Eric raised his glass to Pete’s reflection, the deputy shot the orange thirteen off the felt and missed the pocket by a foot. Eric sucked down his whiskey and coughed, blowing into his fist with watery eyes aimed at Vick. “You going to tell me about this murder?”
“There’s not much to tell. Somebody put a bullet in Curtis Markham’s head out at Founder’s Field last night. Dad found him this morning in a deer stand.”
With a shocked gaze at the bar, Eric said, “It wasn’t Coach Barbour’s stand, was it?”
“Coach has a deer stand? I didn’t even know he hunted.”
Fidgeting with the label on his beer bottle, Eric frowned. “You were never star quarterback. Any time his brother backed out, he asked me to go. I was afraid to say no.”
“If he ever benched you, the town would have hunted him with torches and pitchforks.”
As Eric went quiet, Vick regretted the joke. He’d forgotten what happened when the hopes of a state championship shattered with Eric’s knee—how close Pine Haven came to pitchforks. The Jaguars were embarrassed in the next round of the playoffs, making it obvious Eric was the only reason they’d made it there. When the boosters demanded Ty Barbour’s job, they got it.
Vick left his stool and passed the three girls, their judgmental eyes following him down the short hallway to the bathrooms. A cork board on the wall was plastered with flyers for Mammothon, a local band that played every Thursday. The door marked “Assholes” was locked, so Vick took out his phone.
He tried his dad’s cell but hung up at the voicemail message. The office line rang four times.
“Deputy Hafferty.”
With his forehead pressed to the wall, Vick focused on the polished black loafers he’d forgotten to take off. “I’m actually looking for Chief Deputy Hafferty.”
“I didn’t care about the promotion, so I sure don’t care about the title.”
From the fatigue in his dad’s voice, Vick considered waiting until tomorrow, but it would start another fight either way. “Eric said the deer stand might belong to Coach Barbour.”
“You’re not supposed to talk about case details with your friends.”
“It’s Eric.”
“Well make sure Eric keeps his mouth shut. And don’t tell him anything else.”
“What about the deer stand?”
A sigh crackled the line. “Tell him I said thank you.”
“So we’ll go see Coach in the morning?”
After a brief silence, his dad said, “Yeah.”
When the door marked “Ladies” squeaked open, Vick turned and regretted it. Even with his head down, he’d have recognized the perfume—the same lavender and vanilla she’d worn since ninth grade. Suzanne Morgan’s constant smile faltered when she noticed him, her eyes wide and lips parted. Their shared stare mingled with awkward shock before she hurried away, becoming a brief silhouette in the dim hallway.
Vick forgot the phone at his ear until his dad said, “Vick?”
“I’ve got to go.”
Fumbling with his phone, Vick stared after Suzanne. The “Assholes” door swung open beside him, and Mike Grace stepped out. Vick pushed past him into the bathroom and locked the door.
How long had she been in town? How long was she staying? Vick splashed cold water on his face with a sharp breath.
The last time they were together, Suzanne hit him, her eight-hundred-dollar engagement ring gashing his forehead. Most days, Vick barely noticed the scar, but in the grimy bathroom mirror, it glared red as if bleeding fresh. He’d forgotten the name of the girl he cheated with. Somebody’s cousin from out of town. A drunk mistake like all the others, including Candace Worthy and Melissa Jordan, who would pretend to be sympathetic and outraged for her benefit.
When someone knocked, Vick wanted to shout that he’d be out when he damn well wanted, but everyone in the bar would hear. Instead, he opened the door to find Pete in the hallway.
“Eric wanted me to see if you’re okay.”
Vick narrowed his eyes as he skirted around Pete, holding his breath as he passed the girls. Suzanne and Mike now stood with them. He hoped to God they weren’t dating. As he marched to his stool, Eric did a double take.
“Did you know she was back?” Vick asked.
Eric glanced over Vick’s shoulder with a convincing flare of his eyes. “No. I swear, Maribeth never told me. You want to leave?”
Pushing a breath through his nostrils, Vick shook his head. “If we go now, she’ll know why.”
“Maybe you should just go talk to her,” Pete said from behind him. Eric aimed a long stare at Pete before returning his attention to Vick.
Lowering his voice, Vick said, “Get a beer and drink it slow. We’ll leave when you’re done. Pete, we need a ride.”
Pete squeezed in with a bright smile. “No problem. I’m parked right—”
“Thanks.”
The outside door swung open, and a Hispanic couple walked in—a well-curved woman with her short stocky husband close behind. She met Vick’s eyes in the mirror, her maddening smile evaporating any lingering haze about last night.
Eric perked up with an ignorant smile. “Hey, I know that guy. He works at the prison.”
The prison. Vick hadn’t asked about Eric’s first shift but would have to fit it into the ride home. Burying his face in the crook of his arm, he muttered to Pete. “Where did you park?”
Pete lowered his voice to match. “Behind the department. You want me to get my car?”
Straightening, Vick pulled his wallet from his pocket. “I’ll go with you. How much is your tab?”
“Fifteen dollars with Eric’s drinks, but I said I’d get it.”
Vick waved a twenty in the air and set it on the bar. He grabbed Pete’s elbow as Tom saluted, pulling him toward the door with a look back at Eric. “Meet us outside in five minutes.”
With a final glance across the room, Vick found Mike and the girls staring. As Suzanne followed suit, he expected a sharp glare or disappointed frown—some sign she still hated him. Her indifference as she turned back to her friends was somehow worse.
Eric tittered as he put the pieces together. If not for his knee, he’d have made a great deputy. As the laugh became a cackle, Vick pointed with a sharp, seething whisper. “Five minutes or we leave you.”
Vick shoved through the door with Pete close behind, the two running across the highway and up the downtown sidewalk.
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