Lisa Jackson - The Mccaffertys - Matt

“Isn’t there always?” Kelly asked.

“With that group there is.” Eva’s eyebrows pulled together, causing little lines to deepen between them.

“Yeah, they’re an untrustworthy lot, there’s no doubt of that.”

“Amen,” Karla said as she cut tiny pieces of meat for her youngest son.

Kelly didn’t comment. For years the name McCafferty had been tantamount to Beelzebub or Lucifer in the Dillinger home. She saw her mother give off a soft little sigh as Eva poured gravy onto her potatoes. “I suppose it’s all water under the bridge,” she said softly, but the pain of the old betrayal was still evident in the lines of her face.

Ron scowled into his plate. “Maybe so, but it doesn’t mean I have to like ’em.”

“John Randall is dead.”

“And I hope he rots in his grave.”

“Dad!” Karla said sharply, then glanced pointedly at her sons.

“Well, I do. No reason to sugarcoat it. That son of a bitch didn’t care a whit about anyone but his own kin. It didn’t matter how many years your mother put in working for him, passing up other good jobs, he still cut her loose when times got a little rocky. And what happened to her pension, huh? There wasn’t any, that’s what happened. Bad investments, or some such crock of—”

“Dad!” Karla said again.

“Karla’s right. There’s no use discussing it in front of the boys,” Eva agreed, but the sparkle in her eyes had faded. “Now, if you’ll pass me the pepper…”

And so the subject was gratefully closed for the duration of the meal. Their father even found his smile again over a piece of his wife’s lemon meringue pie.

After the plates had been cleared and the dishwasher was humming with a full load, Ron challenged the boys to a game of checkers on a small table near the fire. Aaron climbed onto his grandfather’s lap and they played as a team against Spencer, who thought he could beat them both as he’d practiced how to outmaneuver an opponent on a computer.

“The boys could really use a father figure,” Karla observed, watching her sons relate to their grandfather as she fished in the closet for her sons’ coats and hats. Sadly, she ran a hand through her spiky strawberry-blond hair. “All they’ve got is Dad.”

“They do have fathers,” Kelly reminded her.

Karla rolled her expressive green eyes. “Oh, give me a break. They have sperm donors, nothing else. Boy, can I pick ’em. Some people are athletically challenged, I’m love challenged.”

“You and the rest of the women on the planet.”

“I’m not kidding. I can see when anyone else is making a mistake, but I seem to have blinders on when it comes to my choice in men.”

“Or rose-colored glasses.”

“Yeah, those, too.” She was pensive, running long fingers along the stitching in Aaron’s stocking cap. “But then you never take a chance, Kelly. I mean, not on love. You take lots of chances in your career.”

“Maybe I’ve been too busy.”

“Or maybe you’re just smarter than I am,” Karla said with a sigh. “I don’t see you making the same mistakes I did.”

“You forget I’m a career woman,” Kelly said, reaching for her coat. “A cop.”

“So am I—a career woman, that is—and don’t tell me that being a beautician and owning your own shop doesn’t count.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Kelly said, laughing.

“So…when are you going to tuck your badge away long enough to fall in love?”

“As soon as you put down the perm rollers, shampoo and clippers.”

“Very funny.”

“I thought so.” She slipped her arms through the sleeves of her coat, hiked it up over her shoulders and began working on the buttons.

“I think we both could take some advice from Randi McCafferty. You know she wrote a column for single people?” Karla asked, then added, “Of course you do—what was I thinking? You’ve been working on the case for weeks.” She held up Spencer’s coat, then called toward the living room. “Come on, boys. Time to go.” Both kids protested and Karla said to Kelly, “I was only kidding about Randi McCafferty’s column. The last person I would take any advice from is a McCafferty.”

“Maybe they’re not all as bad as we think,” Kelly said as she reached into her pocket for her keys.

“Oh, yeah? So now they’re sprouting wings and halos?” Karla shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

There was a whoop from the living room as Spencer actually beat Aaron and his grandfather. Aaron burst into tears, and from the twinkle in Ron Dillinger’s eyes, Kelly was certain he’d let his eldest grandson win.

“Come on, boys, time to go,” Karla called again. In an aside to Kelly, she added, “Getting them out of here is like pulling teeth.”

“No!” Aaron cried, refusing to budge from his grandfather’s lap while Spencer just ignored his mother, no matter what tack she took. Eventually she wrestled her youngest into his ski coat, hat and mittens while Spencer, lower lip protruding in an exaggerated pout, shrugged into a quilted pullover with a hood.

“You boys be good, now,” Eva said as she emerged from the kitchen without her apron. She planted a kiss on each boy’s cheek and slipped them each a tiny candy bar left over from Halloween into their hands.

“I be good!” Aaron said, trying to tear off his mittens to get at the bit of chocolate.

“Mom!” Karla admonished.

“I just can’t help myself.”

“Here, let me get it.” Kelly unwrapped the chocolate morsel, then plopped it into Aaron’s open mouth.

“He’s like one of those nestlings you see on the nature shows,” Karla grumbled good-naturedly. “Aren’t ya, little eaglet?”

Aaron grinned and chocolate drooled down his chin.

“I’ve got to get out of here. Come on, Spence.” With that she bustled out the door, leaving Kelly to say goodbye to her parents.

“Everything good with you?” her father asked, worry in his dark eyes as he rolled his wheelchair into the foyer.

“Couldn’t be better.”

“But the boys on the force, they’re not giving you any trouble?”

“None that I don’t deserve, Dad. This isn’t the 1940s, you know. There are thousands of female cops these days.”

“I know, I know, but it just doesn’t seem like a job for a woman.” He held up his hands as if warding off the verbal blow he was certain was heading his way. “No offense.”

“Oh, none taken, Dad, none at all. You’ve just denigrated every woman police officer I know, but am I offended? Oh, no-o-o. Not me.”

“Fine, fine, you’ve made your point,” he said with a chuckle. “Just don’t let anyone give you a bad time. None of the boys you work with and especially none of the McCaffertys.”

“Can’t we just forget about them?” Eva asked.

“Impossible.” He cranked the wheelchair into the living room and returned with a copy of the Grand Hope Gazette, folded to display an article on the third page of the main section, an article about Thorne McCafferty’s small plane crash. “And this is after a couple of weeks have passed.” He skimmed the article. “Seems as if there’s some question as to whether or not there was foul play involved, and this here reporter thinks maybe the plane crash and the sister’s wreck might be related. Bah. Sounds like coincidence to me.” He glanced up at Kelly, his bristly white eyebrows elevated, inviting her opinion.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the case.”

“Oh, cut the crap, Kelly. We’re family.”

“And I’ll confide in you when I need to, okay? Now…I’ve got to run. Duty calls.”

She bussed each of her parents on the cheeks, then hurried outside to her car. The snow had stopped falling, but because of the dark clouds, she couldn’t see a solitary star in the dark heavens. Her breath fogged in the air, her windshield was frozen, and she shivered as she cranked on the ignition.