Expecting to Die

Just try it, she thought, aware several people had turned to stare at them. “Go
home, Otis.”
And then he rounded on her, twisted faster than she expected, his fist coiled.
He swung. “No way, you bitch, I want to—”

---

She feinted and he stumbled, dropping to a knee.
“To what?” Blackwater demanded, his black eyes flashing. He grabbed
Kruger by his free arm and hauled him to his feet. “To talk to her superior? Well,
you got him. Now, let’s go. Move it!” To Alvarez, he said, “I’ve got him,” and
she gave up her grip on the drunk. People nearby who had witnessed the scuffle
stepped back, the crowd parting as the sheriff marched Otis out of the room and
down the stairs. Alvarez, Hicks, and Nesmith followed after.
“This is police brutality!” Otis screamed as they reached street level and he
was forced toward the exterior doors. “I’ll sue. Swear to God I’ll sue you and the
whole damned sheriff’s department. Don’t think I won’t!” He was blisteringly
angry now, spitting nails.
“You can have the papers drawn up from the drunk tank.” Blackwater, jaw
tight, gave the older man a little tweak to his arm, and Otis grimaced but quit
resisting.
“Okay, okay!” he said, “I’m goin’. Home. But I want my damned gun.”
“Tomorrow. At the station. Talk to Detective Alvarez. She’ll deal with you.”
“You can’t keep my weapon! Son of a bitch! Son of a fuckin’ bitch!” Kruger
spat out as Alvarez followed them through the front doors, Nesmith and Hicks in
tow.
Outside, the evening was still warm, but far cooler than the stuffy interior of
the meeting room, and Alvarez felt as if she could finally breathe again.
Streetlights began to glow as dusk settled, and a few cars and trucks rumbled
slowly by.
“Go home,” the sheriff told Kruger. “Sleep it off. Come to the office in the
morning.”
To the others, Blackwater asked, “Who’s driving him?”
Nesmith said, “Rode with me. We heard there might be a parking problem. All
came together. I’m stone-cold sober.”
“Good. Take him home and then take his keys. We don’t want him to get any
ideas about driving back.”
“You can’t do that!” Kruger was outraged.
“Sure I can. And you can get them back tomorrow.”
“I can’t drop ’em by,” Nesmith protested. “I got work!”
“Then have Ivor do it. I don’t care. Figure it out,” the sheriff said as he
released Kruger. “I don’t want to hear about any trouble, or somebody gets
arrested.” He swept his gaze over the three men.
Ivor was shaking his head, then, as if realizing his response was negative,
quickly started nodding while some of the combative fire disappeared from
Nesmith’s eyes.

---

Alvarez did notice that the corners of Nesmith’s lips were still tight, but he
didn’t argue as he herded Otis down the block toward the king cab of a huge
black pickup. Once Kruger was in the backseat, Nesmith climbed behind the
wheel and Ivor Hicks took his place riding shotgun.
“Troublemakers,” Blackwater muttered to Alvarez as he watched the pickup
pull away from the curb, and drive down a nearly empty street.
“I could have handled them. You didn’t need to step in and take over.”
“I noticed he had a gun. Saw you take it from him, but thought a little
assistance wouldn’t hurt. The place was crowded, and I was afraid someone else
might think it was a good idea to get involved. Start something. The smell of a
fight was in the air. You could feel it.”
“Yeah.” He was right. Tensions had been running hot. Another punch could
have been thrown, this one landing, and all hell may have broken out as others
joined in the fight.
“Didn’t want to have a riot on our hands.” They walked toward the building
together. She noticed some people had followed the altercation outside,
including a couple of kids who’d been at Reservoir Point. Preston Tufts and
Donny Justison stood on the steps, smoking cigarettes and blatantly watching
her. She sensed they had been hoping for more of a fight. As they eyed her, she
saw the bloodlust in their eyes, the desire for more action and violence.
“Besides,” Blackwater continued as the boys each took a final drag, then
tossed their cigarettes onto the steps and ground them out, the smell of smoke
still lingering as they disappeared inside, “we’re not out of the woods.”
“What do you mean?”
“I came here from the office,” he said quietly. “Wanted to tell you, the
paternity test came in on Donny Justison. The lab compared his DNA sample
with that of the fetus.”
She waited, feeling a cool breath of a breeze roll off the river two blocks
north, but she knew from his expression what he was going to say and he
confirmed it a second later:
“Donald Justison Junior is not the father of Destiny Rose Montclaire’s unborn
child.”
* * *
Lindsay Cronin left the Big Foot meeting more worried than ever.
She’d seen the cops looking over at her, all of them. No matter what he said,
they were all suspects, every last person who knew Destiny, and sooner or later,
the truth would come out. It always did.

---

The cops wouldn’t let it go.
The Montclaire family wouldn’t let it go.
She drove home, parked her Ford Focus on the street and, with the excuse that
she was tired, went directly to her room.
Her mom checked on her, of course. Darlie Cronin was nothing if not a
perfect, doting mother, and she expected great things from Lindsay. “You’ll be
the first woman in the family to graduate from college,” she’d said often enough.
Her eyes had always shined at the thought, and though she didn’t think her father
really gave a crap if she went off to Montana State, or Oregon or even UCLA, he
always went along. Lindsay knew he was worried about money; he always was.
He was pushing for a junior college and Lindsay living at home, but she really
didn’t think she could stand another year or two in Grizzly Falls.
But that all seemed so far away now. Her life was a cluster-fuck. Make that a
major cluster-fuck.
She waited until she heard her mother go into her bedroom, where she’d
probably read for an hour. A while later, she caught the sound of her father
coming in the back door, his footsteps pausing in the kitchen, then trailing past
her room to theirs.
She gave them another half an hour to settle in, until she could hear the
rumble of her father’s snoring. She couldn’t imagine how her mother could stand
it, sleeping in a queen-sized bed, right next to the old buzz saw, but at least Roy’s
snores made it easy for Lindsay to leave without detection.
She created some bumps in her bed with some pillows to make it look like
someone was actually sleeping in the bed. It kinda looked like a person. Then
she made certain the window was unlatched and raised a little, in case, on her
return, she didn’t want to risk using the door, like if one of her parents couldn’t
sleep and went into the living room to watch TV or whatever.
Gathering her courage, her nerves stretched thin, she sneaked out of her room,
tiptoeing down the hallway, through the living room and small entry hall, then
outside and into the night. She closed the door softly behind her and dashed to
her car, letting out a pent-up breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding.
She drove down her street and the next without her lights. Once she was out of
the neighborhood, she flipped on the beams and headed out of town to
Horsebrier Ridge, where they’d met before. Already, she was feeling a little
better. He would take care of everything; he always did.
She was still panicked, of course, but less so as she drove out of town, then
sped up the long road to the ridge. On this side of the hills, the road was straight,
like an arrow, the climb slow and easy, but once she reached the ridge and started
down the steep side, the narrow lanes twisted and looped, like a sidewinder. No

---

one was following her on the straightaway. In fact, it was eerily lonely.
“That’s good,” she told herself and yet was spooked, her fingers circling the
wheel in a death grip.
Something jumped out of the shadows and she hit the brakes, skidding a little
as a coyote darted across the road. Her heart slammed into her throat. And she
swore as she saw the shaggy beast stop and watch her from the ditch on the far
side of the road.
“It’s nothing,” she told herself, but her pulse had skyrocketed, her case of
nerves taking her anxiety to the stratosphere.