True Colors

Dallas came slowly out of his chair. It was impossible not to notice how pale he’d gone. “What happened?”

“Well,” Al said, looking down the table, “that’s what I’ve come to find out. Where were you last night, Dallas?”

Chapter Fourteen

LOCAL WOMAN FOUND SHOT TO DEATH

IN OYSTER SHORES HOME

In the early morning hours of December 25, local woman Catherine Morgan was found shot to death in her home on Shore Drive. The forty-two-year-old woman was discovered by a neighbor, who immediately contacted police.

Investigators are continuing to gather evidence at the scene. Sheriff Albert Bailor has reported only that the death “appears suspicious,” and that they are “following all leads.” Sources outside law enforcement confirm that Ms. Morgan was shot in the chest at close range and that there was no sign of forced entry at her residence. Reports of sexual assault remain unconfirmed at this time. Anyone with information is asked to contact Sheriff Bailor.

—William Truman

Oyster Shores Tribune

Vivi Ann got out of bed slowly. In the last forty-eight hours she’d learned how to move quietly, to be both there and gone at the same time. Wrapping her terrycloth robe around her, she walked out into their living room and found Dallas exactly where she’d expected him to be: slouched over the kitchen table, rereading the newspaper accounts of the murder.

She put a hand on Dallas’s shoulder, felt him flinch. He cocked his head and looked up at her. There was a wildness in his eyes that made her want to draw back, but she knew how close to the edge he was and how much he needed her to keep him steady. She knew, too, that he was waiting for her to ask him if he’d done it. The whole town was talking about his connection to Cat. Rumors were running rampant about his late-night visits, his trips to the store for beer with her at his side. They knew this, both of them, although they hadn’t spoken of it.

“Today’s the funeral,” she said quietly. “We need to get Noah to the babysitter at eleven.”

“I don’t think I should go.”

“You have to go. People are talking—”

“You think I give a shit what these small-minded bastards say?”

“I think we have to care.”

“I should leave. Just leave. I never should have stayed.”

She grabbed his arm then, pulled him up to face her. “Don’t you dare say that.”

“They’ll come after me for this, don’t you know that?”

“No, they won’t. It’s just gossip. They need facts to make an arrest. It’ll go away.”

“Ah, Vivi,” he said tightly. “You’re so naïve . . . This will destroy us.”

He turned away from her and went into the bathroom and closed the door. She stood there a long time, staring after him. Her hands were trembling and she felt close to following him, but she didn’t.

They’ll come after me for this. He sounded so sure, as if he knew something she didn’t.

She wanted to brush it off, tell herself it meant nothing, but she couldn’t do it. Taking a deep breath, she walked through the shadowy cabin and went outside.

His gray truck was parked deep in the trees. Through the morning mist it looked like an old elephant, fallen to its knees in the shade. She slipped into the rubber boots by the door and clomped through the muddy grass. Opening the passenger door, she stared at the glove box, feeling panic rise like the fog around her. Reaching forward, she clicked it open.

The gun wasn’t there.

She didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved, but fear remained, settled into a hard knot in her lungs. Moving stiffly, she closed the truck back up and went inside.

She found Dallas in the bathroom, dripping wet, wearing a towel slung low on his hips.

“Where’s your gun?” she asked, watching him closely.

He sighed. “I gave it to Cat.”