Carlene Thompson - Don

Dee hoped he would marry her. She'd never said so, but her desire was obvious. She was attractive in a strong-boned, earthy way. She lived life with a vengeance, though, and when she was forty, she'd probably look hard. That's what his mother kept telling him. Of course at fifty-seven Rhonda Hysell looked twenty years older with her long, shapeless, dark clothes and equally long shapeless hair that had never been touched by a beautician. Then there was her constant church work, her obsessive collection of Hummel figures she couldn't afford, her fervent attacks on dust and mildew, her unending war on grubs and mealy bugs and other garden pests. And for him she wanted a woman just like herself. Instead her son seemed to prefer Dee Fisher, a hard-drinking, raucous atheist. However, in Rhonda Hysell's mind Dee 's worst sin seemed to be the blatant sporting of a tattoo.

Ted snickered at the thought. "What?" Dee demanded.

"Show me your tattoo."

"What? Why?"

"I just want to see it."

"You're in a weird mood," she said good-naturedly and pulled up her sleeve. A red rose in full bloom sprawled three inches up her bicep. "You hate it, don't you?"

"No. I've decided I like it."

"You do?' Dee looked surprised and pleased. "Maybe I'll get another one."

"Let me guess. A big heart with 'Mom' written inside."

"Not in this lifetime. I was thinking of a butterfly." She paused. "On my right cheek."

"Your right cheek!' Ted shook his head violently. "Oh, no, Dee. That would look awful. Why would you want to spoil your face that way?"

She whooped with laughter. "My right buttock. My ass, you big dope!"

Ted stared at her a moment. Then his laughter joined hers. Mrs. Fisher thundered for quiet, displaying astonishing volume and shocking vocabulary, which set off Dee and Ted in a fresh fit of hilarity. They collapsed against each other, tears streaming from their eyes.

"Damn, I have a good time with you," Dee gasped.

"As good a time as you had with Eugene?" Ted asked and immediately regretted the question. The ghostly hand of Eugene Farley seemed to pass over her face, wiping away all happiness. " Eugene was different." Her voice always became eerie and flat when she spoke of her former lover.

At times like these, when Ted felt jealousy rising in him, he was tempted to tell Dee the truth about Farley. But he couldn't hurt her that way. He couldn't tell her about one day during the trial when he'd found himself sitting next to the elegant young Farley during a recess. He'd never spoken a word to Farley and was surprised when he'd suddenly asked, "Have you seen that young brunette who sits in the courtroom every day? The one who always wears the navy blue suit?"

"Yeah," Ted had answered. He'd noticed her great legs the first day.

"I used to date her. She has a good heart."

Ted didn't know what to say. He didn't know about her heart. He only knew about her legs.

"She was the first single woman I met when I came to Port Ariel," Farley went on. "She was in love with me. I enjoyed her company for a while, but she was too rough around the edges. I'm afraid I treated her shamefully, but there she is, every day, with her heart in her eyes when she looks at me."

"If it bothers you, maybe she meant more to you than you thought," Ted speculated uncomfortably.

Eugene Farley's perfect profile had remained calm as he considered this. Then he shook his head. "No. She meant nearly nothing to me. I'm just sorry I wasn't kinder to her." He'd looked at Ted. "There is a balance in the great scheme of things, you know. Maybe I'm in so much trouble because I'm being paid back for my indifference to that young woman."

No, you're being paid back for embezzlement, you dumb shit, Ted had thought in disdain.

He had absolutely no sympathy for Eugene Farley. The guy had everything-looks, polish, an impressive education, a great job-everything Ted wanted desperately but could only imagine having. Farley could have had someone like Tamara Peyton. Maybe even Charlotte Bishop. And he'd thrown it all away to embezzle money from Max Bishop so he could win back Viveca Cosgrove, an older woman and a gold-digger. Ted didn't even think she was pretty-she looked too styled, too stiff, too perfect, like a store mannequin. Max had brought in that high-powered outside accounting firm from Cleveland and they'd nailed Farley immediately. Oliver Peyton had done a piss-poor job of defending Farley-even Ted could see he wasn't half-trying. He'd been convicted. Then, weakling that he was, he had committed suicide. And here was Dee still grieving herself to near distraction over him.

Stealing from Max Bishop. What a fool.

Max Bishop. Oliver Peyton. What was the name of that accounting firm from Cleveland that discovered Farley's embezzlement? Martin, Goldstein, and Hunt. Richard Hunt, father of Warren Hunt.

"What's wrong?" Dee asked suddenly. "You look like someone just zapped you with the heart paddles. I'd say about 350 joules."

"I've got to call Meredith," Ted said. "Now."

"Ruth Meadows certainly seems nice," Natalie said casually. "Are you serious about her?"

Andrew St. John set down his coffee cup with a clatter. "Serious? Where do you get your nerve?"

"I think it's a perfectly appropriate question." Natalie took a small bite of toast and chewed calmly. "After all, if our positions were reversed, you would ask me the same."

"That is different."

"It isn't." Natalie grinned. "Besides, all this evasion answers my question."

"No it doesn't," Andrew said sternly. "I barely know the woman."

"Hear that, Blaine?" The dog looked up from a bowl of Alpo. "He barely knows the woman."

"It's true. Not that it is any of your business, but we have been out to dinner exactly three times and she cooked dinner for me once at her house."

"That's it?'

"Yes, nosy, that's it."

"I'm disappointed."

"Forgive me."

"No need. There's still time."

Andrew gave her a hard stare. "My darling girl, Ruth is a fine woman but I have no desire to change my life style."

"So you say now. Who knows? In three or four months-"

"About you and Kenny," Andrew interrupted. "What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Balderdash."

Natalie giggled. "Dad, only characters in novels say balderdash."

"I'm the exception. Stop changing the subject. You and Kenny."

Natalie spread more jelly on her toast. "We had a fight."

"I guessed that much. About what?"

"I really don't want to go into it."

"Another woman. He was sleeping around." He paused. "Well, don't look so surprised. The first time I met him I knew he was the type."

"The type? Isn't that an unfair generalization?"

"Not when I saw him eyeing every woman who passed by when you weren't looking. I never approved of him. I especially disapproved of you living with him, which is probably why you did it."

"It is not!" Natalie flashed. "I loved him. Love him."

"You were right the first time. You don't love this man, Natalie. Don't go back to him."

"Don't tell me what to do!"

Andrew held up his hands. "Sorry. You're too old to take orders from your father. I'm at least entitled to give a little advice, though." He laid his napkin on the table. "I'm off to the hospital."

Natalie drew a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "Exciting day?"

"Appendectomy and gall bladder."

"Sounds thrilling. Tamara's visitation is from six to eight. You will be free by then, won't you?"

"I can be there by seven." He carried his plate to the sink, unobtrusively dropping a piece of bacon in Blaine's bowl. "I hate visitations."

"So do I, but it's a tradition. Of course it will be a closed coffin."

Andrew shook his head. "My God. That poor girl." He looked at Natalie. "You were at the sheriff's house until late last night."