Page 132 of Crosshairs

“Yes. Didn’t I tell you, I have to work this afternoon?”

“No. Why don’t we wait until your day off?”

“It won’t be the anniversary of the day Blake died. And besides, I already have a picnic lunch packed. We’ll pick it up on the way.”

He gave up. It was easier to go along with her than to argue. “Let me wash up and I’ll be ready.”

Linc slipped his phone in his back pocket and hopped to the bathroom. He should just tell Sarah he wasn’t up to a picnic today. After he washed up, he texted Ainsley he would be out of pocket for a few hours with Sarah, and didn’t get a response.

Fifteen minutes later they pulled into the Tolliver drive. Linc had spent so many nights with Blake at this house when they were kids. He missed his old friend. “I’m glad you’re staying here with your dad.”

“He’s really gone downhill since Blake’s death. Want me to tell him to come to the car and save you from getting out?”

Mr. Tolliver had been feeble at Blake’s funeral. “No. I’ll go in while you’re getting the basket.” He climbed from her car and used the crutches to swing up on the two steps leading into the house.

“He’s probably back in the den,” Sarah said as she held the screen door open for him.

Linc hobbled down the hallway, passing Blake’s old room. Maybe he’d peek in for old times’ sake after he spoke to Mr. Tolliver. The older man sat in his cave-like den, focused on the Western playing on the TV.

“Hello, Mr. Tolliver.” He leaned the crutches against a chair and sat down.

The older man switched on a lamp beside his recliner and turned toward Linc. He’d aged since Blake’s death. His salt-and-pepper hair was snow-white, and creases lined his face. He couldn’t be more than sixty-five but looked twenty years older. The weathered face broke into a smile. “Linc, haven’t seen you since ... that’s right, you were at the funeral.”

“How are you doing, sir?” he asked.

“Tolerable. It hasn’t been the same with Blake gone.”

“I agree. Are you going on the picnic with us?” Linc asked.

“Picnic?” His eyes lit with anticipation. “What picnic?”

Sarah entered the room. “You remember, Pop—I told you this morning. We’re going to the cabin.”

Mr. Tolliver sighed. “I imagine you did.”

“Would you like to go with us, sir?”

Before he could answer, one of Linc’s crutches slipped and fell to the floor. He leaned over to retrieve it, looking up just as Sarah gave her father a hard look.

The older man’s shoulders drooped. “You two go on. I’d just be a bother.”

“We’re not going to force you,” Sarah said and turned to Linc. “You ready?”

He nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

Once Sarah left, Linc shook hands with Mr. Tolliver. “I wish you’d reconsider.”

“No, I better stay here.”

“Well, if you ever need anything, give me a call,” Linc said.

“I will.” Mr. Tolliver paused for a moment. “I’m really worried about Sarah, though. She’s taking his death very hard.”

“I know. Anniversaries are always tough. Maybe it’ll get better after today.” Linc swung around on the crutches and hobbled back down the hall. When he came to Blake’s old room, he opened the door and flipped on the light.

He caught his breath.

The room was a shrine to his friend. His photo hung on three walls and all Blake’s trophies from high school and college lined the shelves under the photos. On the fourth wall was a rack with all of his guns. Linc counted them. Twelve. He’d often joked that Blake could start his own war.

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