He was on the verge of saying something caustic or profane about her turning into Mother Teresa, but she had a look in her eye that warned him not to press his luck.
He secured her car and the maroon sedan. He closed the driver’s door of Hank’s minivan, which had been left standing open when Hank launched his assault. He caught up with Hank and Kerra inside the café. Other than a couple of old-timers sitting at the counter and arguing the merits of Fords and Chevys, they had the place to themselves.
They claimed a booth. Hank practically fell into one side of it. Kerra slid in across from him and Trapper moved in beside her.
In an undertone, she said, “Your cheek is still bleeding.”
He blotted it again with his shirt cuff. “Hurts like a son of a bitch.”
He and Hank remained locked in a mutually antagonistic stare until the waitress came with menus. “We’re only ordering drinks,” Kerra said to her.
“Not me,” Trapper said. “I’m starving. Cheeseburger, fries, coffee, please.” Looking at Kerra, he said, “Long as we’re here, eat. You haven’t had anything.”
She ordered a grilled cheese sandwich.
Hank told the waitress he would have only a Coke.
“Come on, let me buy your lunch,” Trapper said. “Peace offering.”
“Thanks all the same, but I can’t stay. I’m needed out at the site.”
“Want anything for that face, honey?”
Trapper, who’d been about to ask Hank what site he was talking about, realized that the waitress was still there and addressing the question to him. He smiled up at her. “No thanks. I’m fine. My new kitten scratched me.”
She gave him an arch look. “He must be a bobcat.”
Kerra leaned across Trapper. “A paper towel soaked in cold water would help.”
“Sure, honey. I’ll be right back with that.”
She left. Trapper asked Hank, “Site of what?”
“The new tabernacle. Foundation has been poured. They’re putting up the I-beams today, and there’s a problem with placement. The plans have one right in the middle of the choir loft.”
“I didn’t know you were building a new tabernacle.”
“No, I’m sure you didn’t,” Hank said with testiness. “Furthermore, you didn’t care. You don’t care about anything except—”
Hank broke off when the waitress returned with the makeshift compress. Trapper thanked her
and gingerly laid it against his throbbing cheekbone. “You were saying?”
Hank propped his elbows on the table and covered his face with both hands. Trapper wondered if he was praying. Eventually Hank lowered his hands and noticed the smear of Trapper’s blood across his right knuckles. He pulled a napkin from the dispenser on the table and wiped at it. “Never mind.”
“No,” Trapper said. “You’d built up a full head of steam. Don’t stop there. Let’s hear it.”
“Why? Anything said wouldn’t make a dent, Trapper. You don’t care about anything except yourself and whatever it is that’s eating you. I just wish you’d have left Dad out of it.”
“Glenn is in it because his best friend was nearly killed. Oh, and, by the way, he’s also sheriff of this county.”
“Yes, but you haven’t made his job any easier. You’ve pulled one shenanigan after another. He’s been more focused on keeping you in line than he has been on capturing the men who attacked The Major. Whatever the stunt was that you pulled this morning—”
“I retained a lawyer to represent the suspect.”
Hank gave Kerra a knowing look before returning his accusing gaze to Trapper.
He removed the compress from his face and wadded it into a ball. “All right. It was a little bit of a stunt.”