A Bullet to the Heart, Kathy Wheeler [inspirational books txt] 📗

at the half full tables. The usually timid Theodore Vance stood in the arch, his face flushed with fury. “That damned Montgomery. Someone should just put a bullet in him and have done with it.” Theo was a small, bald man, who couldn’t see a yard in front of him without his trusty spectacles.

“Uh, Theo, the sheriff’s sittin’ right there. Can hear ever’ word you’re sayin’.” Sigmund, who owned the only service station on the island, stretched his arms across the back of the vinyl bench of his booth and tilted his head in Wyn’s direction.

“That’s true,” Wyn said. He forked a pile of syrup-soaked pancakes. “What did Victor do now?”

“Accused me of poisoning his wife.”

Wyn picked up his coffee and drank the bitter brew. Wincing, he set it back down. “Now, why would you want to poison his wife?”

“I wouldn’t. What good would that do me? The woman was a hypochondriac. Why, I’d a been losing me a good paying customer by killing off Mary Montgomery.” Theo plopped down in the nearest chair and stirred up a cloud of gloom over the air. “I did lose a good paying customer. I swear this island is haunted.”

Uneasy chuckles erupted around the diner. Wyn stood up and tossed some bills on the table and headed to the door. He clapped Theo on the back, nearly knocking him off his feet. “Don’t worry about it, Theo. It’s not likely Victor will end up meeting his maker for years.” Although people on the island did seem to have a way of inexplicably ending up dead. He hurried out of the diner, hurried away from impending thoughts of a girl he hadn’t thought of in fifteen years. Penelope Knox. There wasn’t anything anyone could do for her now.

Outside the diner, Wyn breathed in the damp mild air. Wouldn’t be long before things turned cold. The town was quiet. One of the primary reasons he’d returned. He hiked up the hill and a block over to the Dry Goods Emporium. He pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold then suddenly wished he hadn’t.

“Grow up, Belle. I’ve had just about enough of the Montgomerys. I don’t give a rat’s ass if Victor’s wife is dead or not. It’s never happening again with you and that man. He ain’t never cared one whit for you.”

Wyn grabbed the handle of the door, ready to duck out, but his mother walked in from the backroom to the storefront, her cheeks tinged a dark red. She caught sight of him and jerked straight up. “Wyn, what are you doing here?”

“I, uh, came to—”

His father followed in behind his mother and stopped, his expression annoyed. He was a beefy, able-bodied man. His was a threatening presence that took up half the space in any room. “Don’t you have work to do, Wyn, ’stead of hanging around listening to shit that ain’t your business?”

“Not my business?” His father had always treated him as a third-rate citizen as if he didn’t belong in the same house.

And Wyn may just have stumbled upon the reason.

“Wyn, please. You should leave. Come to dinner on Sunday. I-I’ll fix your favorite.” Her words, a soft beg, killed him inside.

His mother was a petite woman of forty-seven. Her dark hair showed streaks of gray, and deep grooves bracketed her mouth. She’d worked hard her whole life having had him at seventeen, way too young to be a mother. He was thirty and couldn’t imagine being a father. Life was flashing by him in a rush. Not to mention the one woman on earth he desired he hadn’t seen in six months.

His father’s clenched fists hung at his sides, his stance set for a round in the boxing ring. In a sharp twist, his father brushed first by Belle, then past Wyn and out the door towards Wyn’s childhood home behind the store.

Wyn leaned against a table that held bolts of fabric stacked nine high. “Is there something I should know about, Mother?”

She picked at her blunt-cut fingernails. “Your father believes Victor Montgomery is your father.”

The air whooshed from his lungs. It was common speculation, but hearing the words aloud blindsided him. And no one ever said as much to his face. Wyn plunked down in the nearest chair. “Is that a…a possibility?” Wyn studied her, but she refused to meet his glance.

“No. The fact of the matter is, Victor and I did have a short-term romance, if you could call it that, long before your father and I married. But, no,” she said bitterly. “Mary Montgomery accused me of the same thing.”

Victor Montgomery’s accusation to Theo regarding his wife’s death stirred the hair at Wyn’s neck with a whispered chill. He had to ask. “When was this?”

She strolled over to Wyn and rubbed his arm. “Not long before she died. She wanted me to come talk to her, but I made every excuse I could think of. Stupid woman wouldn’t take no for an answer, then claimed she needed a new rug for her bedroom. Said the old one ‘just would not do.’ That it was an emergency.” She released her touch on Wyn’s arm and looked down at her work-worn hands. “I decided to hell with it. I’d bring her my most expensive one.”

“And did you?”

“Certainly.” Her gaze snapped to his, flashing fire. “I deserved something out of her idiotic demand.”

Dread coiled his gut. “Did anyone see you, Ma?”

“Esther. You know you can’t avoid anyone on this godforsaken island for any length of time.” Her shoulders slumped. “What’s with all the questions anyway?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Victor Montgomery accused Theo Vance of poisoning Mary.”

His mother let out a snort. “That man couldn’t kill a mouse if his house was overrun with them.”

Wyn rubbed his hand over his forehead, smiling slightly. “I had the same thought.”

She let out a sigh and sank down beside him. “I’m sorry you had to hear your father and me.”

“I can’t believe I had no idea of his animosity. Has it