The Truth about Family

“Hip dysplasia? Wonderful,” she said with a touch of frustration. She rubbed her arms for warmth despite her thick woolen peacoat. “Old and crippled. What are the chances of finding her a home within a few days?”

Not good, he communicated with a look.

“That’s what I thought,” she said, following him into the house. At the sound of the door opening, the dog raised her head and peered expectantly into the hallway. As if believing it was her job to greet guests, she struggled to her feet and walked over to them. Erin’s forehead furrowed and her gaze softened ever so slightly. She cast a worried glance his way. “She does seem a bit stiff… is there a vet in town who could look at her?”

Ridiculously relieved, he nodded. “Doc Archer can probably take a look at her first thing in the morning.” At her glance, he explained. “Doc closes shop at noon, and he’s the only vet in town.”

She accepted his answer, but from her expression he could tell she wasn’t pleased. It was clear she wanted her stay in Granite Hills to be as brief as possible and a crippled dog only hindered that plan.

“I figure you’ll be staying out at Caroline’s place?” he said, leaning down to gently click the leash into place and handing it to her.

“No,” she answered, the tone of her voice suggesting the thought was too much to bear. She added hastily, “There’s bound to be a hotel that has a room available. It’ll be easier if I stay in town.”

He frowned and she queried sharply, “What?”

“I don’t know how long you’ve been gone but around this time of year the hotels are all full. Winter Festival. It’s one of our biggest tourist attractions,” he said.

She swore under her breath. Obviously, she hadn’t taken that into consideration. Her voice took on an incredulous tone. “All the hotels? Even Buttercreek?”

“No, that one closed about a year ago. Mr. Grogan died from congestive heart failure and his wife went to live with their daughter over in Ironwood,” he answered, surprised by her stricken expression.

“I hadn’t heard,” she murmured, something, regret perhaps, catching in her throat. “The Grogans were nice people. They used to let me swim in their pool during the summer and Mrs. Grogan always had a small something for me at Christmastime. Well, that’s too bad about the hotel closing. It was a special place.”

He didn’t disagree with her. Danni had learned to swim in the Grogans’ pool. When Cappy Grogan died, he’d been one of the pallbearers.

Eyes suddenly clearing, Erin looked down at the dog, who was watching the exchange with a soft intelligence that was almost startling, and reluctantly relented, though he could tell it was the least desirable option. “I guess it’s back to Caroline’s then…for the time being,” she said, focusing for a moment on the leash in her hand before meeting his gaze again. “Thanks…for taking care of her.”

“No problem,” he answered, noting that the brief smile she offered was pained around the edges. “She’s a good dog. I hope you can find her a good home.”

“Me, too,” she said, sincerity evident in her tone, as she headed toward the door. Suddenly, she paused and twisted to face him wearing a drawn and pinched expression, as if whatever she was about to say tasted bitter on her tongue. “When I used to live here, the Barstow family owned the mortuary…is that still the place to go to make…funeral arrangements?”

He answered her with a short nod, his gut reacting to the almost palpable sense of sorrow that surrounded her like a cloud. She drew a deep breath, as if she needed the extra oxygen for strength, and offered her thanks in a husky murmur before turning and leading the old dog carefully down the snow-covered steps to the front walk. Within minutes they were gone.

He stared after the retreating back end of the Tahoe and pressed his lips together in silent commiseration. He didn’t envy her homecoming.

What had gone wrong between her and her father? He only knew Charlie McNulty in a peripheral fashion but the man seemed harmless enough. He’d picked him up a few times when Charlie had had one too many, but it’d been a while since he’d had to do that. Someone had said something about Charlie finally joining AA. He chewed absentmindedly on his lower lip. After years of more than likely driving drunk, Charlie McNulty got in a wreck stone-cold sober. The irony was tragic.

Locking up quickly, he returned to the station, detouring briefly to grab a cup of coffee from the carafe that some blessed, probably underpaid, junior officer kept gurgling at all hours of the night, before making his way back to his desk.

“Sorry to hear about Danni,” he heard Max Stubberd, a patrol officer, call out as he walked by. Colin acknowledged the man with a nod. He was sorry, too.

Sipping his coffee, he winced just a little as his muscles protested his early-morning snow shovel duty. He supposed he could pay someone to do it but it seemed like throwing away good money when he was just as capable. He rotated his shoulder and stretched the muscle. As much as he hated to admit it, paying someone was beginning to have some appeal. Reaching in his bottom drawer for a bottle of aspirin, the voice of Detective Leslie O’Bannon, a native of Granite Hills and one of his good friends, sounded at his shoulder.

“Here’s that supplemental from the state trooper, Col,” Leslie said, handing him the two-page report. Crossing her arms, she leaned against the partition separating their desks, her expression solemn. “So, you were the first on the scene, huh? Pretty bad, I take it?”

He nodded. “One of the worst I’ve seen in a long time. Caroline Walker died on scene, poor gal, and Charlie’s over in the ICU at GH Medical.”

“Think he’s going to make it?”

“Hard to say. He’s pretty banged up.”

“Man, can you imagine going sober after all those years only to have this happen? Doesn’t seem fair.” She shook her head. “Caroline was about the sweetest person I’d ever known, too. I remember she used to volunteer at the schools when I went to Granite Hills Elementary, always brought homemade cookies for the holidays. Every kid went home with a small bag of goodies.” Leslie frowned at the memory. “Geez, she must’ve been baking for days, but she never complained. In fact, she always seemed to enjoy doing something for everyone.” She was quiet for a moment, her expression full of sorrow. “What a crying shame.…”

Colin nodded in agreement. Caroline would surely be missed in this town. Leslie sighed, the sound echoing the emotion he felt in his chest at the tragedy. “So, is Erin coming back for the funeral and to take care of her dad?”

Leslie’s inquiry summoned the image of Erin’s shuttered expression when it came to the subject of her father and the corners of his lips twisted. “She’s already in town, but I get the impression that as soon as the funeral is over, she’ll be on the first plane out of here. Seems she and her dad don’t get along so well.”

“Yeah, that family’s had it rough. I guess you can’t blame Erin for wanting to get the hell out of here.”

Leslie’s tone suggested that she knew what Colin was referring to but before he could prompt her for more details, she was paged to the front desk and she turned to leave. “Well, let me know if you need any help,” she said, gesturing to the paperwork before hurrying down the hall.

He knew the offer was made in light of Danni’s escapade and, although he appreciated everyone’s concern, it chafed more than a little that everyone knew his business. He couldn’t hold it against anyone, though. Colin had moved to Granite Hills when Danni had still been in diapers. As a single father, sometimes without daycare to fall back on, Danni had been a frequent visitor to the station. This recent turn of events probably had everyone alarmed, he realized.

Returning to the case in his hand, he grabbed the hospital report to attach to the file and his eyes focused on the BAC levels.

Totally sober.

He had to admit, he’d been surprised. The discovery certainly begged a few questions.

If the man hadn’t been impaired and, as evidenced by the supplemental report, the roads had been clear, what had sent the old Ford into that tree? He flipped through the medical evaluation, but there was no indication that Charlie had had a stroke or heart attack, no medical reason for him to lose control. Then he thumbed through the state trooper’s report, looking for the skid-mark pattern, but came up empty. Puzzled, he checked again, thinking he might have missed it, until he realized with a perplexed frown that there weren’t any to find. Charlie McNulty had plowed headlong into that birch…for no apparent reason.

What was he looking at?

Something didn’t sit right with Colin about this accident. His mind was moving in circles, but he couldn’t put a voice to his suspicions.

The unanswered questions prevented him from filing the case as closed.

He needed more information, preferably background, to see if he had cause to dig a little deeper. A pair of vivid blue eyes appeared in his mind and an electric thrill followed that was both unexpected and startling. If he hadn’t been annoyed at his own reaction, he might’ve chuckled at the absurdity. Erin McNulty? She was about as warm as the waters in Lake Superior at this time of year. Anyone willing to walk out on family like she was itching to do could use a little help in the compassion department. He’d do well to nip that attraction in the bud. He had enough problems.

From what he could gather from people who’d known Erin’s family, he found that while the McNulty side had been hard workers, they played equally as hard. Erin’s mother Rose had come from an upper middle class family. Rose Rawlins’s father had been a businessman, and her mother a homemaker, but both had perished in a house fire when Rose had been seventeen. Rose had been sleeping over at a friend’s house when it happened. It seems that family was a magnet for trouble.

Colin sat back in his chair, his thoughts returning to Erin. He supposed he was still caught off guard by how different she was. Though he had to admit his assumptions had been ridiculous. What had he expected? A wild-haired, younger version of Charlie? He snorted—well, she was anything but that. She was sleek and refined, whereas Charlie was coarse and crabby. The differences raised more questions than they answered.

Another officer walked by, offering a quick goodbye before heading out the door. Shaking himself out of the useless direction of his thoughts, he proofread his official report of the accident, reviving the memory of that night.

He’d been heading down Old Copper Road when he saw the vapor spiraling from the ruptured radiator into the frigid air. The front end of the older model Ford was wrapped around the solid trunk of an old yellow birch while a fresh drift of snow had started to fall on the wreckage. As Colin picked up speed toward the accident, he radioed for emergency crews and prayed whoever was in that mess was still alive. He glanced at his report again.

Driver #1, 58-year-old male, head lacerations, multiple injuries.

Passenger #1, 54-year-old female, severe head trauma. Dead on arrival.

The sterile report in his hands did little to communicate the horror of the fatal accident. Colin could smell the tang of copper drifting on the wind and mingling with the scent of wintergreen from the injured tree as emergency crews worked to save Charlie, knowing that Caroline was long gone.

Thank God no one else had been traveling that same stretch of highway that night. Colin shifted in his chair and let the paper slip out of his hands. Tomorrow he’d have to stop by the hospital and check Charlie’s status. He couldn’t help but feel bad for the old guy, seeing as he was broken all to hell without a soul in the world to care if he lived or died. The one person who had cared was dead; and the one who should care would rather walk the other way.

Colin could hear the night shift arriving, their voices rising in playful banter with one another. He recognized the voice of Mark Sporlan and the newest officer to join the small department, Missy Reznick. Then, he heard the voice of Roger Hampton, the chief of Granite Hills P. D.

“Got a minute?”