Chapter 3 - Bullets Through Oak Haven
Darwin hit Betsy before the second shot came.
They crashed behind the booth.
Glass rained over them.
“Stay down.”
“You have an astonishing talent for destroying my windows.”
Darwin drew a pistol.
“Put it on my bill.”
Another shot struck the wall.
Then silence.
Darwin crawled toward the kitchen.
Betsy grabbed his ankle.
He looked back.
“Absolutely not.”
“Betsy—”
“Last time you ran toward bullets, I lost a diner.”
“Technically—”
“Don’t.”
His phone vibrated.
He answered.
“Cole.”
A pause.
“Black sedan. Eastbound.”
Another pause.
“Alive.”
Darwin ended the call.
Betsy stared.
“You had men nearby.”
“Yes.”
“You said you came alone.”
“I walked through the door alone.”
“That is lawyer language.”
“I employ several.”
Police arrived twenty minutes later.
Darwin was gone before they entered.
Betsy told them about the sedan.
She did not mention the ring.
She did not know why.
Perhaps because it sounded insane.
Perhaps because part of her understood Darwin’s logic.
By midnight, plywood covered the broken window.
Betsy stood alone behind the counter.
Or believed she was alone.
“You should lock the door.”
She spun.
Darwin emerged from the kitchen.
“How did you get in?”
“Back door.”
“That was locked.”
“Not particularly well.”
Betsy threw a dish towel at him.
He caught it.
“You’re impossible.”
“I’ve heard.”
“Why are you here?”
“To finish the conversation.”
“There is no conversation.”
“The man in that car disagrees.”
“Then marry him.”
Darwin laughed.
A real laugh this time.
Betsy hated how much she liked the sound.
He sat.
She poured coffee.
Neither spoke for a minute.
Finally Betsy said, “Who is he?”
“Silas Vale.”
“What does he want?”
“Me dead.”
“Very original.”
“He also wants what I control.”
“And what exactly do you control?”
Darwin studied his coffee.
“Businesses. Routes. People.”
“Legal businesses?”
“Some.”
“Illegal?”
He did not answer.
Betsy nodded.
“Wonderful.”
“I never claimed to be a good man.”
“No. You just rebuilt my life without asking.”
“That was easier.”
“Than what?”
“Seeing you again.”
That silenced her.
Darwin looked embarrassed by his own honesty.
Betsy sat opposite him.
“Why?”
He took time answering.
“Because you fed eighteen armed strangers before asking who we were.”
“That makes me foolish.”
“You made my men put away their weapons.”
“That makes me bossy.”
“You slapped me.”
“That was deserved.”
“Yes.”
His smile faded.
“You treated me like a man when everyone else treats me like a position.”
Betsy looked away.
Arthur had once said something similar.
Not about danger.
About loneliness.
People often mistook being needed for being loved.
Darwin reached into his pocket.
He placed the ring box down again.
“I’m not asking for romance.”
“Good.”
“I’m asking for appearances.”
“Also terrible.”
“Six months.”
“No.”
“Three.”
“No.”
“One.”
Betsy stared.
“You bargain over marriage like used furniture.”
“I’m nervous.”
That surprised her.
“About what?”
“You.”
For one ridiculous second, Betsy nearly laughed.
Instead she looked at the ring.
Simple.
Elegant.
Not enormous.
That surprised her too.
“You chose this?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know my size?”
“Cole.”
“Cole knows my ring size?”
“He has methods.”
“That is deeply disturbing.”
Darwin nodded.
“Agreed.”
Betsy pushed the box back.
“I need time.”
“You have until morning.”
“That is not time.”
“It’s what Vale gave us.”
“How do you know?”
Darwin’s phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen.
His face hardened.
“What?”
He turned the phone toward her.
A photograph showed Betsy leaving the grocery store that afternoon.
Another showed her at Arthur’s grave.
Another showed her sleeping through her bedroom window.
Betsy went cold.
Under the final image was a message.
MIDNIGHT TOMORROW.
SEND MYERS THE WIDOW’S ANSWER.
Betsy whispered, “He’s been at my house.”
Darwin stood.
“You’re not going home.”
“Where am I going?”
“With me.”
“No.”
“Betsy.”
She looked at the photograph again.
Her bedroom.
Her bed.
Her private life.
Something inside her changed.
Fear became anger.
She picked up the ring box.
Darwin watched.
“This does not mean yes.”
“I know.”
“It means I’m considering a temporary strategic arrangement.”
“Of course.”
“With rules.”
“Naturally.”
“No guns at breakfast.”
“Difficult.”
“No men following me into grocery stores.”
“Negotiable.”
“No lying.”
Darwin became quiet.
Betsy noticed.
“That one bothered you.”
“There are things I can’t tell you.”
“Then there’s no marriage.”
Darwin looked at Arthur’s framed brass key behind the register.
His face changed again.
Betsy followed his gaze.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You keep looking at that key.”
Darwin stood.
“We should leave.”
“No.”
“Betsy—”
She removed the frame.
Turned it over.
Opened the backing.
Arthur’s brass key fell into her palm.
She examined the scratches.
D.M.M.
Her breath stopped.
“What do those letters mean?”
Darwin said nothing.
Betsy looked up.
“You knew Arthur.”
“No.”
“Then why did you react to this?”
Darwin’s jaw tightened.
“Because those aren’t initials.”
“What are they?”
Before he could answer, someone knocked three times on the locked diner door.
Darwin drew his gun.
Betsy looked toward the entrance.
A man stood outside holding an old photograph against the glass.
May you like
Arthur was in the photograph.
And beside him stood a much younger Darwin Myers...
