Page 29 of Nowhere Good

A beat passed before Ron let out a friendly laugh. “Look, son, I think you and I have gotten off on the wrong foot. I like to think of myself as good friends with the police force here.”

“I’m not part of the Fairview police force.”

“Neither was Haylock, but he still let me buy ’im a drink every now an’ then. He knew gettin’ along with the locals would make his job a hell of a lot easier. People talk to ya more when they don’t think you’re out to get ’em like some sorta armed boogeyman. You might think you’re one of the good ones, but don’t forget that license to kill on your hip.”

Ron gestured to the handgun holstered to Seth’s belt. It wasn’t like he ever forgot he had it, but he rarely needed to use it.

“Point is, Dillon’s got a bit of a problem with authority types,” Ron said. “It’s a struggle, but he’s a good boy, I can work with ’im. Before he could talk to you, I wanted to remind ’im how to conduct himself with dignity. Sometimes the lessons stick, sometimes they don’t.”

“So you lied to what, make sure he wouldn’t lose it on me like he did on the officers last night?”

Ron raised his hands in innocence. “I admit to no lying. And I’m doin’ my part. I personally asked Roslyn to keep ’im in a cell one more night as punishment. My future son-in-law has gotta learn to respect the hand that feeds.”

That was the other thing that rubbed Seth the wrong way. “You still want him with your daughter, even after he admitted to cheating on her multiple times?”

Ron stared at him like he’d revealed something. Then, in his usual fashion, he burst out laughing. “C’mon, man, you’ve never made a dumb choice with your dick before? Dill’s an idiot, but he’s family. Claire’ll get over it.”

Will she? Seth wanted to ask, but stopped himself, because maybe he had revealed something. Maybe he was more concerned about Claire Dyer than he should’ve been.

But surely she didn’t intend on staying with Dillon after this.

“Anyway,” Ron said, “this ain’t daylight talk, son. You wanna chat more, come by the bar tonight an’ have a drink with me. You like drinkin’, right?”

“Every now and then.”

“Then swing by an’ let me fix you somethin’. We’ll have a chat, man-to-man. You don’t gotta do this whole interrogation bit with me.” Ron deepened his gaze, opening his eyes wider. They were bluer than ice, verging on freakish, starkly different from Claire’s pond-water green irises. “I’m on your side, if you can believe it.”

Seth considered it. Based on the information he’d been given about Ron Dyer, he was a good man. Charitable. Family-oriented. But Seth couldn’t help but think of him as a white lion—fierce, protective, but ruthless too. A guy like him might kill to protect his own.

Or protect his own interests.

With that in mind, Seth turned toward the police station. “Sure, Ron. I’ll think about it.”

Oftentimes when Claire was anxious and Dillon was out of the house, she’d turn her living room into a studio. Whether it was designing decals out of scrap metal to hang outside, or trying to paint pictures to cover up the marks on the walls inside, some sort of craft was usually enough to keep her mind elsewhere. Today, the smell of hot wax and essential oils filled her living room. With shaky, rubber glove-clad hands, she poured candles into mason jars on her coffee table. Mint green—the exact opposite color of blood.

A pungent cloud of pot smoke broke her concentration. Right—Clementine was here, still dressed up in her lilac yoga attire from her Pilates class earlier.

“I just hope there’s not a freakin’ bomb exploded all over the changeroom when I get back,” she was saying. “Marty’s tryin’ to help with Sully, but sometimes I swear that man does not know how to wipe his own ass, let alone a baby’s.”

Claire set aside the bucket of wax and peeled off her rubber gloves, then sprinkled some dried mint leaves on top of the mason jars. Early evening light poured in through the blinds, a reminder of her ticking clock.

She hadn’t heard from her dad yet. But she’d have to go to work and face him soon.

“Have you talked to Daddy today?” Claire asked.

“No, haven’t you?”

“No.” Claire bit into her lip till it hurt. “It kinda scares me, you know. His silence.”

“What’re you worried about? You should be relieved, hon. Dillon’s been cleared, he didn’t kill those girls. Daddy’s probably dealing with the, I dunno, logistics.”

“Right.”

Taking another drag off her joint, Clem leaned forward, eyeing the candles. “What’re you gonna do with these ones, anyway? Opening a booth at the fair again? You did well last year.”

“That’s the plan.” Having her own candle booth at the fair was the only time Claire ever felt like she had her own thing going for her. It wasn’t much, but enough to add to the money pool she’d been accumulating for years. Some days, she daydreamed about opening her own shop; the type of décor she’d have, big open windows to let all the sunlight in. She’d spend her days surrounded by the smell of essential oils, not booze.

But when she pictured that dream, it usually took place in some nondescript city, a place with lots of foot traffic.