The Wanderer

“Dinner?” Cooper asked. He gave a long, dubious look at that road leading up to 101. It was bad enough in daylight.

“I’ll give you a ride across the beach. And bring you back tonight.”

“I thought you had rules,” Cooper said.

“We do. If anyone stops me or asks questions, you’ll have to act arrested.”

“Well, hell, you just stumbled on one of my special talents.”

* * *

Dinner at the McCain house was served in a large, warm kitchen. Three kids, three adults sat at a big round table, two Labrador retrievers standing watch near the back door. Cooper shoveled the last of his spaghetti into his mouth and then wiped his plate with a piece of garlic bread. As it was on its way to his mouth, he noticed that five sets of eyes were on him. He realized he’d eaten like a starving man, chuckled and tossed the bread onto his plate.

“There’s more,” Lou said.

“Sorry. But that was seriously delicious.”

Lou laced her fingers together and, elbows braced on the table, said, “I guess you don’t get out much.”

“I eat real well. It’s Mac’s fault. He tried to lower my expectations by saying you were burning some dinner.”

“Isn’t he cute? That he thinks he has a sense of humor?” Lou said, lifting one shapely eyebrow.

“May I be excused?” Eve asked. “Ashley is coming over.”

“Sure,” Lou said. “Ryan and Dee Dee, your night for cleanup. I’ll give your dad and Mr. Cooper coffee in the living room.”

“Aw,” Ryan whined. “Prison Break is on! Come on, Aunt Lou...”

“Sorry, I have Designing Women reruns to watch in my room.” Then she looked at Mac. “When did he outgrow cartoons?”

Instead of answering, Mac leaned toward Ryan. “You boning up for a prison break or working yourself into a corrections officer’s slot?”

“It’s awesome, Dad, they’re just so stupid.”

“I know. It’s my job security,” Mac said.

“Dishes,” Lou said, standing with a plate in each hand.

“I’d be glad to help,” Cooper said quietly. “I’m much better at dishes than cooking.”

“Shh, we’re getting out of here.” Mac stood up and poured two cups of coffee, throwing a look over his shoulder at Cooper. He lifted his eyebrows in question.

“Black,” Cooper said.

Carrying two mugs, Mac left the kitchen and Cooper followed. The Labs, one black and one yellow, followed Cooper. In the living room, where there was no TV, Mac flipped a light switch with the brim of a coffee cup and the fireplace came to life. Then he waited for Cooper to choose his spot.

It was obvious where the deputy liked to roost from the shape of the cushions on the recliner. Cooper took a corner of the couch and watched as the dogs lay down, one on each side of the deputy’s chair. “I guess you spend a lot of time in here,” he said.

Mac handed him a cup. “There’s no TV or computer in here, ergo—not a place the kids like to be. I sometimes have to compete with cheerleaders or dance practice, but they don’t want my audience. I had the piano delivered straight to the basement. A man’s gotta have a room, and hiding out in your bedroom? That’s weird.”

Cooper laughed. “Is it now?” he asked, sipping.

“Not for a woman. They do it all the time. Lou can’t wait to get away from us and close that door. But every time I go out on some strange call—disturbance or domestic or hinky sexual assault—the suspect is hiding out in his bedroom. Don’t ask me why. It’s just weird.”

“That’s kind of perverted,” Cooper said with a laugh.

“Tell me about it. Few years ago, some lunatic got in a big brawl with his mother and sister, then shot at a deputy. He was totally unbalanced, just over eighteen years old and living with his parents, hiding in his bedroom where he had fifteen assault rifles.”

“Living with his parents? And assault rifles?”

“I know. Tell me how they thought it was okay that this kid with a screw loose had a bunch of really powerful guns. Did they ever think that was, I don’t know, odd? Because I’m not the best father on record, I’m sure, but I know who forgot to flush around here.”

Right then, Cooper thought if there was anything suspicious to know about Ben’s death, Mac was a good guy to have on the case. “I bet you’re a good father,” Cooper said, but he was still half laughing. “And this is a nice house, Mac.”

“Eh, I’m getting used to it.”

“How long have you been here?”

“A few years. Dee Dee was six—she’s ten now. I bought it because it could hold this crew, was solidly built and on the school bus route, not that anyone around here would even consider the bus. They all want to be driven. They consider the bus a punishment.”

“That can cut into your schedule.”

“I have Lou. She’s a teacher—she doesn’t mind dropping them off. But we have major scheduling issues for picking up because they have all kinds of after-school activities, from football practice to piano lessons. We manage, though.”

“Your aunt Lou is a kick. And the spaghetti really was good. Very good.”

“It is, you’re right. I’m lucky there’s someone who will make spaghetti for me. It’s just that we’ve been eating the same ten things since I was ten years old.”

Aunt Lou had been cooking his meals since he was ten and was now cooking for his family? Mac must have seen his surprise, because he continued.

“My parents were killed in a car accident when I was a kid and Lou raised me the rest of the way. My wife left me with three kids when Dee Dee was nine months old. Lou has saved my life more than once.”

Cooper was speechless. His biggest worry had been the fact that he’d never been able to settle down, make a relationship with a woman go the distance. He was so far from fatherhood he couldn’t even fathom being dumped with three kids to raise.

“The house is big enough, with a generous yard, near a town small enough to know everyone. If I were a rich man, I’d have a house with a view of the ocean, but up high. Not something ridiculous, just a roomy, airy house with a lot of windows. You probably haven’t been around long enough to wonder why this place is called Thunder Point but the way the storm clouds come into the bay, the way the lightning flashes over the water...” He shook his head. “This is a really beautiful place. Sometimes I take the squad car out to the spot where the Cheap Drinks sign is and sit on the hill and watch the weather over the bay. Or watch the sunset. Or the fog lift and the sunbeams streak through.”

Coop thought about everything Mac had told him for a minute. This man had had mega challenges that Cooper had never faced. Being orphaned? Being left a single father with not one but three children? And looking so regular? Acting so normal, like it was just one foot in front of the other.

But all Cooper said was, “This seems to be a good house.”

Mac replied, “It’s good enough for us.”

* * *

While a couple of representatives from a cleanup company wandered through the bait shop, Cooper went to the dock and called the lawyer whose name appeared on the letterhead of Ben’s will. He explained what he’d found on Ben’s property. “Before I write a check for the cleanup, I should know whether this will that I’ve been in possession of for less than twenty-four hours is legitimate.”

“Absolutely ironclad. If you read it carefully, you’ll find that everything is held in the Bailey Oceanfront Trust. There is a thirty-thousand-dollar lien you’ll have to assume, however. He borrowed against the land to pay for the tow truck. Borrowed, rather than selling off any land. It’s a considerable parcel, Mr. Cooper. Mr. Bailey didn’t have any investments and very little in the way of savings, but he didn’t like having bills. There’s some cash set aside for property tax.”