CHAPTER TWO
2056 Words
CHAPTER TWO
Rylie pulled into the old apartment complex in Cody, Wyoming, next to her father’s red Ford Ranger. It hadn’t moved since the last time she’d been there, and was parked perfectly in the spot, with almost military precision. Her father was neat, that way.
The apartment complex was a two-story building with brown paneled walls and mustard-colored doors. Modern, probably, about thirty years ago. But now, it looked as if it’d definitely seen better days. The paint was peeling on most of the doors and there were grills, bicycles, sporting equipment, and unsightly lawn chairs on the balconies. The last time she’d come here, she knew her father’s place at once, because his balcony was the only one that was absolutely spotless. That was her dad.
They had never seen eye-to-eye. Not even before her mother was murdered. Her father had always been close-lipped, quiet. He’d completely withdrawn, after her mother’s murder, leaving Rylie to be raised essentially by Hal, the old rancher next door.
But gradually, she hoped that they could bridge the distance.
She climbed the stairs and went to the door, thinking her visit would have to be better than last time. Last time, the conversation was stilted and painful, even with her partner, Michael there to help lighten the mood.
Rick Wolf was just as handsome as ever, tall, with his dark hair and piercing blue eyes. There was more salt than pepper in his beard, now, and his belly filled out his trademark flannel shirt more fully. There were more trademark scars of his heavy drinking there, too—his eyes were bleary and his face, bloated, with broken blood vessels dotting his nose. Again, he looked utterly mystified at her appearance.
“Rylie,” he said stiffly. “Back again? You really are not staying away.”
She forced a smile. “That’s right. Trying to be here for you.” She lifted a bag of fried chicken. “Brought lunch!”
He swallowed and looked at the bag. “I already ate.” But he pushed open the door anyway, and let her through.
“All right,” she said, going into the kitchen and setting the bag down. “Then we can talk while I eat. You have plates?”
He motioned to the cabinet right behind her head. “I don’t eat out of a trough.”
She pulled two down, just in case he changed his mind, and dug into the bag for the bucket of chicken.
“You want something to drink?” he asked her as he joined her there. “I’ve got a few Cokes, and –”
“Coke is great,” she said, watching as he opened the fridge. It was stocked with soda. No beer. So he was staying on the wagon. That was good.
She opened the can and took a sip as she sat down with her plate of chicken and potatoes. “So, what’s going on around here?”
He shrugged. “It’s Cody. Nothing goes on around here, Rylie. That’s why I like it.”
She smiled. She couldn’t blame him. After what had happened to their family, he only wanted to be left alone. That’s why she was left to be cared for by Hal Buxton, and escaped to Seattle for college as fast as she could. He wanted to tune absolutely everything and everyone out.
“I guess that’s good.”
But the same thing couldn’t be said for Rylie. Where her father had run away from the action. Rylie had run toward it, applying for the FBI almost the second she graduated from college. He watched her take a bite of chicken, the greasy fried skin hanging from her mouth, and said, “I’m sure the same can’t be said for you. You working on that case still?”
She shook her head. “That one got put to bed. I have another case I’m working on in Rapid City, but it’s boring. Interviews and stuff.”
He frowned. “Boring . . . you mean, not dangerous?”
“Everything can be dangerous, Dad. You can be struck by lightning, sitting in your recliner.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know why you do it. What you get out of it. Most women your age are settled down and married now.”
She knew that. She was in her mid-thirties and though she didn’t keep in touch with any of the girls from college, she assumed most of them were married with kids, now. It wasn’t that she didn’t want a family. She’d dated, thinking it would happen eventually. At first, she’d told herself she had time. Now, that time was dwindling. She nodded.
“What about that fella you brought over?”
He meant Michael Brisbane. “He’s my partner,” she reminded him. She’d told him that many times during their short visit, but apparently, he’d forgotten. “That’s all.”
“Doesn’t have to be all,” he mumbled, peering into the bucket of chicken.
This would probably be where an ordinary father would recount how he met his wife. But Rick Wolf never spoke about Rylie’s mother. Ever. It was clearly too sore for him.
“Well, it is all,” she said, chewing. “What, are you telling me you want grandkids? You clearly didn’t even want kids.”
“I’m not telling you nothin’,” he said, shoving the bucket toward her. “Because since when have you ever listened to me anyway?”
True. He’d been so absent, mostly drunk, while she was growing up. And so Rylie had acted out. She’d gotten so used to being alone that when he was home and tried to tell her what to do, she fought back. They’d even had their share of fist fights, right in the living room of their house.
“Anyway,” he said, leaning back and crossing his arms. “You gonna tell me why you’re here?”
She froze with a drumstick halfway suspended between the plate and her mouth. “I told you. Visit.”
“Right.” He snorted, and for the first time, she almost saw a smile. But it wasn’t a happy one. “You come all the way over here from Rapid City and you don’t have a case? How many hours’ drive is that? Eight?”
“Only six,” she said, averting his eyes. They may have been estranged, but they were still related. And he had her number.
“Yeah. Right. You weren’t anywhere near the neighborhood. So spill it. Why are you here?”
She sighed. “I was getting to that.”
“Not fast enough,” he remarked.
She stared at him, then shook her head, defeated. They would never come to a truce, would they? Finally, she dropped the chicken down on the plate, wiped her hands with a paper napkin, and pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Fine.”
Rylie scrolled to the picture of Griffin Franklin and slid the phone over to him.
As he picked it up, she said, “Does that guy look familiar?”
Rick Wolf gave it a perfunctory glance. “Should he?”
“Look carefully,” she prodded. “You might have seen him, twenty years ago.”
“Nope,” he said after another too-quick glance, shoving it over to her. “Never saw him before in my life.”
She sucked in a breath. Why did he have to be so stubborn? “Dad, if you would just—”
“No,” he barked, cutting her off with a voice as severe as a punch to the gut.
She stared at him.
He blinked slowly, several times, clenching his hands in front of him. It looked as though he was trying to compose himself. Maybe it was something he’d learned at AA, because he never used to be one to hold his tongue. He’d been just as impulsive as she was. When he did speak, his voice was calmer.
He said, “I know what you are thinking. You are telling me this man might have something to do with what happened to us. Our family. And I’m telling you, right now, that I don’t care.”
Her mouth opened in her incredulity. “But Dad, how could you not—”
“Rylie. Let me finish,” he said, his voice getting louder, sharper. “I have spent most of my life trying to get past what happened. They were, without a doubt, the darkest days of my life. And it is because I pulled myself out of that hole that I am still here today. I do not wish to jump back in. Do you understand?”
She nodded. Yes, deep down, she’d known that. She hadn’t really wanted to open those old wounds in him, but she’d felt like there was no choice. Plus, she felt for sure that if there was new evidence, he’d come around.
But now, she realized it was a big mistake. “Yes. I guess.”
They sat in silence for a long time. Rylie had lost her appetite. She gathered the food up and packaged it neatly. “I can save this for you? Leftovers.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want it,” he mumbled, but to her, it was more like, I don’t want anything you can give me, so get out.
She decided to leave it there, anyway. If nothing else, it would be a reminder that she was there. That she’d tried. Even if he thought she was just using him to get info on the case, she really did want to open the lines of communication again. She didn’t know how else to prove it to him.
“All right,” she said, finishing her soda and heading for the door. “Thanks, Dad. Be well.”
He didn’t respond.
She went outside and down the stairs to her car, staring at his red Ford Ranger. She peered inside it, wishing it would give her a glimpse into his life now, since he clearly wasn’t going to. But though old, it was showroom clean. It didn’t even have a dent in it.
She looked up at his apartment, hoping she’d see the blinds tented or moving slightly, any indication that he was watching her. That he cared.
But there was nothing.
Slowly, she slid into her own truck and thought about her drive out here. It was stupid to think he’d want to help. Where the tragedy had fed Rylie’s curiosity and thirst for justice, it had simply stolen Rick’s will to live. And he didn’t want to revisit that. She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to go back to the worst time of his life.
She was about to pull out when her phone rang. It was her partner, Michael. She wondered if he was as bored as she was. Probably not. Michael Brisbane was even keeled, and perfectly happy to have off days, with nothing to do but kick back and relax. He didn’t need his adrenaline pumping all the time, like she did.
“Hey,” she said as she lifted the phone to her ear.
“Wolf. Where are you?”
She imagined him, outside her apartment, knocking in vain. “In Wyoming. Visiting my dad.”
“Ah. Well, get your butt on back here.”
He sounded rushed, borderline excited. She wasn’t silly enough to think it was because he missed her smiling face. So that meant one thing. “There’s a case?”
“Yep,” he said. “Right here in South Dakota. How quick can you get over here so we can check it out?”
She looked at the clock on her dash. It was noon. Though the trip here had been six hours, she knew she could do better than that. “I’ll be there by four.”
“Can you make it three?”
“What?”
“Kit said that if we don’t get out there right away, she’s going to assign it to another team.”
“Fine,” she said, and stomped on the gas as she headed for Interstate 86.
- Writer
