Don't Curse the Rain (Rain Mystery Trilogy Book 1), page 1
Contents
Mobi Title
Copyright
Quote
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
What's Next?
From the Author
Other Books
Don’t Curse the Rain
Rain Mystery Trilogy Book 1
David Homick
Don’t Curse the Rain
Copyright © 2016 David Homick
All rights reserved
Published by Blue Knight Media
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher or author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.
The characters, incidents, and dialogs in this book are fictional and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
“Many a man curses the rain that falls upon his head,
and knows not that it brings abundance.”
~ St. Basil of Caesarea
Chapter 1
I couldn’t possibly have imagined the shit storm I set into motion when I opened that letter. My past had somehow caught up with me. I wanted to feel something—after all, the man was family. Family. That F-word had been the source of all the pain I’d suffered for as long as I could remember. I folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope.
Jenny Lee Myles watched me toss it onto the counter. “What’s the matter, Dillon?”
“Pop died,” I said in a flat voice.
I hadn’t seen or spoken to Pop since I left for basic training ten years ago—seven years in Afghanistan and two more in and around the VA Medical Center in Dallas, less than fifty miles from home. My exile had been self-imposed—too many bad memories.
“How did it happen?”
I shook my head to clear it. “What?”
“How did he die?” She studied me from her seat at the small kitchen table.
“It doesn’t say.” Probably drank himself to death.
“Did he know you were back in the States?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Y’all want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
The kitchen shrank, as if the flowers on the wallpaper had grown and pushed their way into the room. Jenny Lee liked to talk about things, something I hadn’t been able to do since my little brother, Luke, disappeared.
At first, I’d said plenty about the local police and their half-assed investigation. When people stopped listening to me, I left Bradley, Texas, and never looked back. I went to war, where I saw things that no one should see and did things that no one should do. A piece of shrapnel had sent me stateside during my second tour. Everyone wanted to know what I felt. Everyone except me.
“What else did the letter say?”
I squeezed the back of my neck. “Pop’s attorney needs me to go home and settle his affairs.”
“Like his funeral?”
The letter, postmarked two weeks ago and sent to a ten-year-old address, had finally found me. “It’s probably too late for that.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea? Going home, I mean.”
I stared at the floor. “I don’t think I have a choice.”
Not true. We always have a choice. Everything we do is a choice. I didn’t exactly have the best track record when it came to making decisions, so I tried not to overthink this one.
Jenny Lee approached and rested her arms on my shoulders. “Do you want me to go with you?”
Her soft blue eyes felt more like home than Bradley.
“Thanks,” I said, “but I reckon I’d better do this myself.”
“Why do you think you have to do everything alone?”
The wallpaper pushed a little farther into the room. Jenny Lee had been hinting at moving in together, but each time I’d steered the conversation in another direction.
She sighed. “How long do you think you’ll be there?”
I shrugged.
Her eyes searched mine. “What is it you want, Dillon?”
Another shrug. “I don’t know.”
“No. Not this time.” She placed her hands on her hips. “I want an answer.”
“What we’ve got here is pretty great, right?”
“Maybe so, but where is it going?”
I shifted my weight to the other foot. “What’s your hurry?”
“I plan to move to Colorado at the end of the month,” she said and returned to her seat at the table.
I tilted my head and studied her as she waited for a response. “What?”
Jenny Lee leaned forward and folded her hands. “I wanted to say something sooner, but—”
“What’s in Colorado?”
“My dream.”
I waited for her to continue.
“When my Uncle Roy passed, he left his six-hundred-and-forty-acre horse ranch near Colorado Springs to me and my cousin Seth. We spent our summers there when we were young. I’ve always thought of it as my little piece of heaven.”
“You want to run a horse ranch?”
“I need to do this, Dillon.”
I took a deep breath. “What about me?”
Jenn smiled and shook her head. “Don’t be silly, y’all are comin’ with me.” Her expression fell. “I mean, if you want to.”
Relief sank in for just a moment before the air left the room. Our eyes met, and I forced a smile. I didn’t handle pressure well, or commitment, for that matter. I didn’t want to move. But Jenny Lee had saved me, and I didn’t know what I’d do without her.
“Well?”
“Of course that’s what I want. It’s just that…”
She folded her arms across her chest and waited for me to finish.
“I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into,” I said.
“I’m a big girl. I reckon I can make my own choices.”
“Sure. If you have all the facts, but you don’t know everything about me. You can’t imagine what I’ve been through. All I’ve ever wanted was a normal life.”
“Normal lives are overrated.”
“Easy for you to say. Your mama didn’t run off. And your brother didn’t disappear. And your daddy didn’t spend all his time racing to the bottom of a whiskey bottle. I thought going off to war would have helped with the anger. It didn’t. Now I can’t even get through the day without medication.”
“You’re not the only one who’s had it rough. You think I had it easy growing up with three brothers? I became an outsider, outnumbered even before Mama died. I tried desperately to join their boys’ club, but nothing I did was ever good enough.”
I walked to the sink and filled a glass with water, then leaned back against the counter. Jenny Lee’s eyes burned with the intensity of blue lasers. I stared over the rim as I drank.
“Things change, Dillon. I can see that. Why can’t you?”
The muscles in my neck and shoulders relaxed. I set the glass down. Perhaps I’d been a bit selfish.
Her expression softened. “It’s time for us to write a new story.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Shouldn’t it be?” She met me at the sink and held my gaze as we stood toe-to-toe. “Come with me, Dillon. My dream is big enough for both of us.”
I couldn’t imagine what I’d done to deserve this woman. I held her chin as I kissed her.
After a few moments, she pulled back and raised an eyebrow. “You do like horses, don’t you?”
I smiled. “Do rocking horses count?”
“You mean to tell me y’all grew up in Texas and you’ve never ridden a real horse?”
“I wasn’t that coordinated,” I said ruefully, then grinned. “But I could fall off a bike with the best of ‘em.”
Jenn laughed. “I’m not sure what’ll be more work, runnin’ the ranch or teachin’ y’all how to ride.”
I felt a little better about what the future might hold for us. Maybe, just maybe, the light at the end of this long tunnel wasn’t another oncoming train.
“Okay, Dillon, I understand. Go home and do what you gotta do. You need closure. That life is over.” She sighed. “How long did you say it might take to settle things?”
“I didn’t.”
She waited.
“A week or two, I reckon. Believe me, I don’t want to spend any more time there than I have to.”
“Good answer.” The lasers sparkled like blue diamonds.
Unfortunately, the road to Colorado would have to pass through Bradley, Texas.
Chapter 2
The Greyhound carried me down Route 67 toward what had once been the center of my universe—Bradley, Texas, population 5,128. I stared out the window at the sprawling desolation, punctuated occasionally by a stand of oil wells that bobbed up and down like giant mechanical cattle grazing on the scrubby vegetation. Until a few days ago, I had no intention of ever returning home.
The air conditioner on the bus struggled to keep up with the Texas heat. I set my hat on my lap, ran a finger along the brim, and thought about Jenny Lee. She liked it when I wore that old cowboy hat.
I’d found the hat in a thrift store in Dallas. After seven years in the Army and two months in the hospital, I had no clothes. That hat caught my eye as soon as I walked in, and I tried it on. A real Stetson, not the cheap knockoffs I’d worn as a kid.
I remembered how the girl behind the register smiled when I dropped a pile of jeans and t-shirts on the counter. She wore her dirty-blonde hair short and layered. A softness in her eyes undermined the strength and confidence in the way she carried herself. I figured she might be ex-military or maybe grew up with a bunch of brothers.
She eyed me with a curious expression after she rang everything up.
“How much do I owe you?” I asked.
“Y’all gonna pay for that hat?”
I raised my hands to my head, grinned, and nodded. “Forgot I had it on.”
“It looks so good on you, it’s almost a shame to charge you for it.” She smiled, and a bit of mischief sparkled in her blue eyes. “I’ll tell you what. You buy me coffee next door, and the hat’s yours.”
I glanced around the empty store. “Deal.”
I paid for everything else and studied her as she set the bag on the counter. When I reached for it, she pulled it back.
“I didn’t catch your name, cowboy.”
“Dillon Bishop. And you?”
“Jennifer Myles. My friends call me Jenny Lee.”
“Are we friends?”
“Let’s have that coffee, and I’ll let you know.”
I turned the hat over in my lap and pulled a photo of Jenny Lee from inside the headband. She smiled up at me and I had to smile back. I returned the photo and hung the hat on my knee. My eyes closed when I leaned my head back against the seat.
After a few minutes, I turned toward the bus window and caught my reflection in the glass. My hazel eyes looked muddy as they stared back at me, and I wondered if anyone in Bradley would even recognize me. I’d grown a beard in the hospital, and my ash-brown hair hung six inches longer than when I left home.
The bus pulled into the station twenty minutes later. My left foot tingled as I stepped onto the pavement. I told myself that it had fallen asleep, but I knew better. My duffel bag hit the dusty platform, and I lit a cigarette. The bus belched a cloud of black smoke into the humid air as it pulled away, headed for Cleburne and points west. The exhaust swirled its way upward and disappeared into the low gray clouds that teased the thirsty ground.
A taxi rolled to a stop a few feet in front of me, and the driver looked my way. I held up my hand and shook my head. There’s no way I’d ride in one of George Tucker’s goddamn taxis. George had been mayor when they built the bus station in ‘98. He owned a fleet of taxis and decided that two miles outside of town would be the perfect place for the station. Good-ol’-boy politics. I slung my bag over my shoulder and set out on foot.
Dark clouds gathered ahead, and I turned my thumb out when I reached the highway. Halfway to town, a green Pontiac GTO skidded to a stop on the shoulder fifty feet in front of me. I ran up to the passenger door and looked inside.
The driver didn’t look up as he lit a cigarette. “I’m only going as far as Bradley.” A steady stream of gray smoke escaped through his nostrils. “But at least you won’t get wet.”
I hesitated. “Coop?”
Cooper Hill’s head jerked in my direction, and he dropped the lighter onto the floor. He looked at me through squinted eyes. “Dillon Bishop? Day-um!” He took a drag on the cigarette. “What are you waitin’ for? Get your sorry-lookin’ ass in the car.”
I threw my bag in the back seat and climbed in. His lighter rolled on the floor when he stepped on the gas. I picked it up and pushed it back into the dash.
“Jeezus, Bish, I figured you were dead.” He took another long drag. “Where the hell you been?”
“Sweet ride,” I said. “Gotta be, what, ‘68?”
He shook his head. “No, no. You ain’t gettin’ off that easy. My best friend in the whole world blows town after graduation, and I don’t hear a goddamn word from him for ten years. You better start talkin’, Kemosabe. I want details.”
I watched the first few drops of rain pelt the windshield.
“I think I deserve at least that,” Coop said. He took a final drag on his cigarette and flicked the butt out the window.
“Is Shady’s still open?” I asked.
“That place will outlast both of us.”
“Tell you what. Drop me off at Pop’s house so I can get a shower and maybe a little shut-eye. Come back around seven, and we can go to Shady’s for a few drinks and some barbecue. We’ll get caught up then.”
“You gonna shave while you’re at it?”
I stroked the tumbleweed that hung from my chin. “What’s the matter? You don’t like it?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, Bish. You look a little like Jesus in a cowboy hat.”
I laughed. “I’ve been called worse.”
We pulled into the driveway of a small, single-story house. I stared at the front porch that Pop built when I was seven, remembering all the time Coop and I spent there playing with our GI Joe action figures instead of doing homework. Mama’s favorite swing still presided over everything from its place of honor in the middle.
I thanked Coop for the ride and dodged the raindrops as I ran toward the house. Water poured from the corner of the porch where the rusted gutter had broken away from its straps.
A faded plaque on the front door welcomed me. My stomach bottomed out. I walked to the porch railing and looked out over the side yard, where a tire swing still hung from the lower branch of an old oak tree. The grass we’d worn down underneath it all those years ago refused to grow back. I closed my eyes and shook away the memories like a child shakes an Etch-a-Sketch, then walked back to the front door.
The wind shifted, and I felt the rain on my back. Paint chips fell like snowflakes as I ran my hand along the top of the door frame. After Pop locked me out a couple of times for missing curfew, I’d had a spare key made and hid it above the door. Nothing.
I tried the knob, surprised to feel it turn in my hand. Inside, I dropped my bag on the living room floor and looked around. Not much had changed. The same RCA TV that I used to watch as a kid sat across from Pop’s favorite chair.
The day we brought that big La-Z-Boy home, Pop smiled for the first time in months. We hadn’t had much money, so we never had nice things. Pop had always sacrificed his comfort for Mama’s. After she left, he said, “To hell with that bitch,” and went out and bought the biggest, most comfortable chair he could find. Now, the stuffing hung out in too many places to count.
The smell of stale whiskey filled the room, forever infused into the thirty-year-old wallpaper. Despite the shabby furnishings, the room looked neat, like someone had just cleaned.
I picked up several pill bottles from the table next to his chair and read the labels. The cold hand of death had snatched Pop from this place. I’m glad I hadn’t been around to see it, but I suddenly felt bad that I hadn’t kept in touch.
A noise from the back of the house startled me. My combat training kicked in and I took up a defensive position against the wall. I backtracked quietly to the hall closet where Pop had kept a loaded shotgun. Parenting skills were never his strong suit.
