By GWHARGIS
| Author Notes | Miranda with all her sass and attitude is back. |
By GWHARGIS
Miranda Jessup Buckley is back and trying to rebuild her life after a tumultuous couple of years.
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Waylon has been living with me for almost two years. We've had our moments, both good and bad. But despite the hormonal mood swings and stand-offs, I really care about the kid. We can have fun together just watching a movie or when Aaron comes over and we play cards. He isn't high maintenance like some other kids.
Towards the end of last school year, I started making it a habit to take him to school one or two days a week. I still made him ride the bus the majority of the time. This gave us time a couple of mornings a week to eat a drive thru breakfast together before we went off to do our own things.
I look over at him as he leans his head on the window, mouth slack as he dozes off. He's polished off the two biscuits and Pepsi he ordered. He's coming into his own. The chubby face and bowl haircut are a distant memory. He's starting to look more like his daddy now. Good old Dougie, where oh where are you?
"Hey, wake up, Waylon. Getting ready to turn into your school."
He sits up quick, his eyes darting around to get his bearings. "Oh, yeah, thanks for the ride."
Every morning the same five faculty members are stationed along the drive thru line. Today, there is a new face. "New teacher?" I ask, as I slow up behind the car in front of me.
Waylon grimaces. "Pull past him."
"Who is he?" I ask. I can tell from the look on Waylon's face, he is not a fan of this guy.
"Just pull past him. He's just a teacher."
The man glances into our car, his expression changes. I swear it looks like he just sucked on a lemon.
"He looks friendly," I say dryly. "He not like you or something?"
"I gotta get out. Thanks for the ride." His hand is on the door handle and I'm trying to brake before he jumps out.
Waylon swings the door open and the car behind me slams on brakes. Mr. Lemonface comes stalking over. "You can't stop here. You have to go past the line. See where Mrs. Baldwin is. That's where you have to go. You almost caused an accident."
"Whoa, buddy, I thought he was getting out. Maybe if you had a sign posted or something."
Lemonface points to a three foot tall sandwich board that has in bold letters "Stop Here".
"Sorry," I mutter. I try to smile at him, diffuse the situation, if you will, but this guy has a bug in his underpants and he's hell bent on proving his point.
"If you're going to use the drop off line, learn the rules. Rules are there for a reason."
"Jesus, buddy, it was an accident and I said I was sorry. Switch to decaf, you-," I'm about to lay into him when I happen to see Waylon, standing frozen behind him. The look on his face is warning me to put the car in drive and leave. I bite the inside of my cheek and smile politely. "I'm sorry. I'll do it the right way next time."
Lemonface gloats. He has this smug smile on his face.
Part of me feels a tad sorry for him. Only because he thinks he's won. Oh no, Lemonface, you might have won the battle but you have not won the war. I roll up the window and drive away.
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Rita is kind of like my cheerleader. Every time I show up for work, she acts like she hasn't seen me in so long. Never fails, she's always upbeat and cute. Today she greets me at the door, shivering like she's cold, but I know better. She's excited about something.
"Please, Rita, let me put my stuff down and get clocked in before you start loading me up with gossip." I say, easing around her and dropping my purse in the office and coming back to the counter to clock in.
"What makes you think I have gossip?"
"You always do. You know more about what goes on in this county than anyone."
Rita blushes and smiles. "I do, don't I? But this isn't gossip. That reporter lady came looking for you. The little one that interviewed you about Missy Toblerone."
"Colleen Weaver? What did she want?"
"She left her card, said to make sure you call her as soon as you get in. She said it was of the utmost importance." Rita pulls the small white card out of her vest pocket and hands it over.
"I'll call her later. Did Matt call about the beer order. He said he wanted to bulk up for the season."
"I haven't talked to him. How come you're not curious about what the reporter wants?"
"Because she is only about the story. I'm a little tired of being in the news, Rita. Give someone else a turn."
She nods like she understands but unless you've had your privacy stepped on for the sake of a story, you can't understand. But she's smart enough not to push it. As I'm heading to the cooler, I stop and look over at her. "Rita, my little fountain of information, do you know many of the teachers at the high school?"
"Which one?"
"Patterson High."
"I have a neighbor who works there, why?"
"Because, I met someone today when I dropped Waylon off, a real prince. Just want to get a little information on him."
She shrugs. "What's his name?"
This time I shrug. "We didn't get to that part. But when I find it out, you'll be the first to know."
The phone rings and I'm about a step into the cooler when Rita calls me back. "Miranda," she says, her eyes wide like she's in shock. "It's for you."
"Matt?"
"No. It sound's like, well, it sounds like Dougie."
I feel like someone has just pushed me in front of a speeding train. It can't be him. He's been gone for months. Gone as in no trace, no one has seen him or heard from him. Dougie vanished. "Right," I say, snatching the phone from her. "Hello?"
"Hey, babe, how are you?"
All these months I have prepared speeches for this very moment. I've been angry, concerned, dismissive, and abusive in these scenarios. But right now, I'm in shock.
"What the hell? Is this a joke?"
He laughs, like he used to. "Same old Randa. How's Waylon?"
The shock is starting to wear off. The anger is starting to pulse through my veins. How dare he ask about Waylon? The kid who has faced every day wondering where his father is, if he's dead or alive. "He's fine, thanks for asking. How the hell do you think he is? He's been worried about you since you disappeared. No word from you, nothing. What is wrong with you?"
"I had to disappear for a while. I was raising that money, remember, and things got a little out of hand. It was just supposed to be for a couple of months."
"I don't care."
"Don't be mad, babe."
"Don't call me that," I snap. "As a matter of fact, don't call me at all." I slam the phone down and look up to see Rita still staring at me.
"It was him. He's not dead. Missy didn't kill him."
Dougie isn't dead. I should be happy, but I'm not. I'm afraid he's going to take Waylon. I can't lose that boy.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie Wilcox. Dougie disappeared and while everyone suspected Missy Toblerone of having something to do with it, he has recently reappeared. Now, Miranda fears that Dougie is here to take his son back.
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My mind is spinning. Dougie is alive, and I don't know what to do. Of course, for Waylon's sake, I'm happy he is alive. But, Dougie doesn't do things for others. He does things for himself, and I have a feeling nothing has changed in that aspect. Why show up now? Why run in the first place should probably be my first question, but the timing is odd for his return.
"You should probably call Mitch," Rita says. She comes over closer to reach out and rub my arm. She's at a loss here. She has a million questions just like me, and thankfully, she has enough restraint not to ask them.
"Yeah, yeah, you're right. Do you mind watching the front while I go back to the office?"
Rita shakes her head. "Go ahead," she says. "Oh, what do I do if he calls again while you're talking to Mitch?"
I think about it for a minute. "He won't. Dougie's an ass, but he isn't stupid. He knows what I'm like when I'm pissed off."
I close the office door and with shaky fingers I dial the phone. "Sheriff Mitch Danner, please," I say when the receptionist answers.
"Who may I ask is calling?"
"Miranda Buckley."
There is a pause and the receptionist relaxes. "Oh, geez, Miranda, I didn't recognize your voice. He's on a call right now. Can I give him a message or tell him to swing by when he's done?"
I take a deep breath, trying not to lose it. "Tell him it's official business. I have some information that he needs to know about."
She clears her throat. "Okay. Hold on for a minute." She puts me on hold and some terrible music comes pulsing through the line. It's B-side seventies soft rock. I keep repeating the words "hurry up, Mitch", over and over until the music stops.
"Miranda, hey, what's up?" Mitch says.
His voice does two things. It calms me and yet, I can feel the panic bubbling to the surface. I open my mouth to tell him, but the words catch in my throat. "He's, uh, he's back."
"Miranda, what? I'm not following you. Who's back?"
I roughly swipe a tear from my cheek. "Dougie."
Mitch says nothing. I hear him exhale before he finally starts talking, "You saw him? You saw Dougie Wilcox?"
"No. He called. Here, at work."
"Maybe it wasn't him."
"Mitch, I know his voice. He was asking about Waylon. He called me Randa. He's the only one who has ever called me that."
"Can you get in touch with him? Did he give you his number?"
"No. I hung up on him. Told him not to call me again."
"Geez, I kinda of wish you hadn't done that, but I understand."
I listen while he asks more questions, like did I hear any background noises, or do I remember seeing anyone out of the ordinary hanging around the trailer park or the Little Eagle. I try to draw my strength from his voice. "He's coming for Waylon, Mitch. I know he is. What the hell am I going to do?"
"He abandoned the kid. He doesn't deserve him, but legally, you only have temporary custody. He's the biological parent. Push comes to shove, the court is going to grant custody to him. I'm sorry, Miranda, I know that's not what you want to hear, but I don't want to lie to you and fill you full of false hope."
I sniff back my running nose and swipe at my eyes again. "I know. I've got to figure something out. I'm not gonna just lay down and roll over. If Dougie does push for Waylon, he's gonna have a fight on his hands. That's for sure."
"Atta girl. Now, what are you gonna tell Waylon?"
My heart sinks. I know I've got to tell him. But, he's gonna have a million questions, and I don't have any answers.
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When I come out, Rita looks at me. She can tell I've been crying. "What did Mitch say?"
"Things that I didn't want to hear. The truth. That Dougie has every right to take Waylon. And there isn't a damn thing I can do to stop it."
"Oh, Miranda, I'm sorry. Maybe he didn't come here for that. Maybe he came back for you. He called you babe, and well, maybe he isn't over you."
"He was never in love with me, Rita. You don't treat people you love like they are inconveniences. You treat them with respect. Dougie is a user. I just need to figure out why he's shown up again. If I thought it was about missing his son, I could deal with it. But, I don't trust him. Dougie Wilcox is back for something. I just need to figure out what that is."
Rita answers the phone, never taking her eyes off of me. "Little Eagle, this is Rita, how can I help you?" She starts nodding her head and a smile breaks her intense look. "Hold on, she's right here."
"Dougie?"
She shakes her head. "Ms. Weaver from the Patterson Gazette," she whispers.
I roll my eyes. Knowing Colleen and her nose for news, she already knows Dougie is back. Probably calling for an exclusive on the impending custody battle. "Colleen, long time no hear. Slow news day?"
"Miranda. There is always news. I was just wondering what your schedule is for this week."
"My schedule? If I give it to you, can you promise me I'll make the front page?" I say sarcastically.
"I might drop by one day."
I wince. She is like a robot. There is nothing above the surface and nothing below. "Stop by?"
"Yes. Visit you at the Little Eagle. So, what days are you there?"
"Uh, I have Saturday and Thursday off. Can I ask why, for shits and giggles, you want to come see me here?"
She makes this odd little noise with her throat and then in her professional way, brushes my question aside. "So, Friday, I'll see you. Is that agreeable with you?"
"I guess. But can you give me a heads up as to the purpose of this visit?"
"I'm not at liberty to say," she says crisply.
I stand there holding the dead receiver in my hand.
Rita frowns. "What was that all about?"
"I have no idea."
I look at the clock behind the counter. I have the rest of the day to let this whirlwind roll around in my head. I could use a drink, but it'll be a long time before I can satisfy that urge.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley, is raising the child of her ex-lover. Now, the boy's father is back, and Miranda fears he returned for the boy.
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I make it through my shift without losing it on any customers or crying like a baby as my imagination works overtime. By the time I drive home, I have practiced what I'm going to say to Waylon about Dougie. My headlights flash over Waylon and Aaron who are sitting on the porch as I pull into my yard.
I can do this, I think as I exit my car and start walking towards the porch. "Hey, guys," I say. "Y'all been sitting out here all night?"
"For a while now," Aaron says, smiling like guy who has no problems and is perpetually high most of the time. "You want a beer?"
I do, boy do I ever want one, but I shake my head no. I have to have a clear head when I talk to Waylon. I look over at Waylon. "Homework all done?"
"Most of it. I still have some stuff for my marine biology class. Mr. Tomlin was pissed off after," he says, then suddenly stops and looks at his feet.
I feel like I'm missing something. "Pissed off after what?"
"Nothing."
"Waylon, was Tomlin the guy in the drive thru line this morning?"
"Yes. He hates me. Has since the first day of class. He just used it as an excuse to be a dick."
I try to swallow the irritation I feel when I think about the sour look on that guys face. "Maybe Mr. Tomlin and I should have a little talk soon."
Waylon holds up his hands. "No! Please don't. That will just make things worse."
"Teachers can be bullies. It's best to address it now."
He winces slightly and then turns to Aaron. The look on Aaron's face tells Waylon he's on his own. "It's not that I don't appreciate the offer, but you sometimes come across like you're going to beat someone up if they don't do what you want them to do. Right, Aaron?" he says, trying to draw Aaron in again.
"That's cause she's bad ass," Aaron says, laughing at his misplaced compliment. "She's the queen of bad ass."
Any other night I could handle Aaron, but tonight is a big no. I stomp my foot and point across to his trailer. "Good night, Aaron. See you later."
'Night, Waylon," he giggles. "Good night, Queen."
I roll my eyes and tap Waylon to go inside. "Aw, we were having a deep conversation, Miranda." Waylon stands there pouting like a little boy as I send his best friend home.
"A well is deep, the ocean is deep. A conversation with a guy who is high as a kite is a waste of time."
He tugs open the door and holds it long enough for me to sneak through. "You're in a bad mood. Did you and the lawman break up?"
I ignore his barbed comment and set my bag down on the table. "Sit down, Waylon, we need to talk."
"I only have Tomlin for one semester. It's no big deal."
I nod, trying to push the lemon faced jerk out of my mind. I just need to come out and tell him about Dougie. I remember when I had to break it to him that his father had chosen to leave him with me. We had no relationship at all. Thinking back, I didn't care if he liked staying with me or not. I do care now. Waylon might not be mine biologically, but he's become mine.
"I'll let it go with Tomlin, but you have to swear that you'll tell me if he keeps on bullying you. Then, and only then will I threaten to beat him up," I throw in that little joke to lighten things up. "Okay?"
Finally, a smile creeps to his face. "Okay."
He reaches for the remote, and I take it out of his hands.
"We need to talk." I set the remote on the coffee table and watch as he frowns.
"We've been talking."
"It's about your dad, Waylon."
His face darkens. His shoulders tighten up and he looks at the floor. "They found his body, didn't they? Was it in the swamp? You and I both told them to look there."
"Waylon, no, no. Nothing like that. Your dad is alive. He called me."
He pulls his phone out of his pocket, and I see him looking for missed calls. There won't be any. Dougie wouldn't call his own son. No, he's going to leave it to me to break the news. "Is he okay?"
"Sounded fine. I don't know any more than that. He asked about you. That was the main purpose of the call. Checking on you."
"Where has he been? It's been almost two years. Where was he all this time?"
I shake my head. "I don't know. He didn't tell me that."
Waylon doesn't know whether to cry or laugh. He keeps looking at his phone, probably willing it to ring and be his father on the other end. "Is he going to come see me?"
"I don't know." I hate saying that to him. The boy has been living a nightmare for so long and now I have to watch the agony rekindled by the fact that I don't know if Dougie will even reach out to him. "But, at least, we know he's alive."
"But, where was he? Where has he been all this time, Miranda?" He looks over at me, and I hate what I see in his eyes. He knows that Dougie left by choice. He left us behind because it was convenient.
And, I wonder if that hurts worse than thinking he's dead.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda has been raising the son of her ex-lover. Ever since Dougie disappeared, she's treated Waylon as her own. Now, Dougie has called. Is he coming back for Waylon?
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I tossed and turned all night, and when I can see the pale pink of the sunrise peeking through the blinds in my bedroom I climb out of bed. I let the cool water of the shower wash off the crust of fatigue then pad into the kitchen for some strong coffee.
Waylon is still sleeping, curled up in a tight ball, the thin blanket I gave him for Christmas last year gripped tightly in his hands. I tiptoe over to where his phone is plugged in. No, I'm not going to go snooping through his phone, but I am going to check to see if his father has texted. I tap the screen the way I've seen him do to bring it to life. There are no symbols or notifications showing. Of course, Dougie wouldn't call or text. Why would he? He probably knows that Waylon would demand an explanation, or at the very least, an apology. I step away from the phone and start to brew my coffee. It's going to be a long day. Not just for me, but for Waylon too.
When he wakes up, I offer to give him a ride to school but he says the bus ride will give him think time. I wonder if he's afraid I'll lock horns with that teacher, Mr. Tomlin. I don't know what it is, but I become Mama Bear where that kid is involved.
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Rita finishes her lunch and goes out to check the trash cans in the parking lot. I usually do the outside stuff, but she noticed the bags under my eyes and told me to sit behind the counter and relax.
"How bad was it?" I ask as she comes in and heads for the ladies' room to wash her hands.
"Not terrible. I thought about taking a bucket of water out there and cleaning the pumps off. There are bug guts and dirt all over them."
"Don't. If Matt catches wind of this, he might make us do it all the time," I say, half joking.
"Okay. You don't have to twist my arm."
It's pretty dead in the store and after we sweep, clean the glass on the doors and restock the drink machine, Rita tells me to go to lunch. I walk back to the office, pull out my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and pop the lid on my diet cola. I sink into Matt's over sized office chair. I watch the screens out of boredom.
I turn to toss my lunch trash into the trash when I see two women walking towards the store. Now, it's not odd that people are walking to the store, we have a few neighborhood kids who walk here all the time. What makes this weird is that they look suspicious. Two geriatric women with gray hair and cardigans on look to be up to something. They walk into the store and one heads to the back to the drink coolers and the other heads to where Rita is behind the counter. Rita starts talking to the woman. The woman points to something either at the front of the store or just outside of the store and Rita jumps up, follows the one lady out. I check the screens that show the parking lot. Nothing.
I'm just about to leave the office and go see what has their attention, but I see some movement on the screen. Lady number two, standing in the aisle where the wine is. She looks left, then right. She doesn't look at the camera, just around. She picks up a bottle of wine and slips it down her shirt. Then she picks another one and slips it in the other side.
Oh, no, no, no, not on my watch, grandma. I quietly open the office door and make my way over to where she is adjusting her bra straps. I hear the soft slosh of the liquid in her bottled boobs.
"Lactating?" I ask, slipping up behind her.
She jumps and I hear the glass clink in her shirt. "Where did you come from?" she asks.
"You looked like you needed some help. I just came to see if you needed some advice on your selection."
She smiles, a little more relaxed. She smiles like she's gotten away with her caper. "No, I don't see what I usually drink. But thank you." Her arms fold protectively across her. She lets out a little gasp as the glass hits her skin. The store is pretty cold so I'm sure the glass is chilled.
"I love your shirt," I say. "Where did you get it?"
"Don't remember. Look, I need to go." Impatiently, she inches towards the door. "I'll just be going now," she says.
"Oh, okay. You have a nice day." I say, but stay planted squarely in her path.
The door chimes and Rita calls my name. "Miranda, a lady said there was a suspicious character out by the dumpster."
I smile at the woman. "What a coincidence? I seem to have a suspicious character here as well."
Smuggles the wine thief's eyes go wide. She looks past me to the door, like she thinks she can make it out of the store.
I put my hands on my hips and smile knowingly at her. "You can try."
"Call 911! My heart, I think I'm having a heart attack."
If I thought she was serious, I would have called, but this was a desperate person grasping at straws. She looks at Rita.
"Should I call?" Rita asks, picking up the phone. When I shake my head, she replaces the receiver. "Uh, Miranda, what's going on?"
"Just a misunderstanding, Rita. I'm going to escort this nice lady to the office where we are going to straighten this out. Oh, Rita, will you ask that other nice lady to join us?"
The confused look on Rita's face is matched only by the shoplifter's incredulous look. "I know my rights."
"Well, we can always call the police, if that will make you more comfortable. Rita call the sheriff's office and ask him to send someone over." I wait, watching the incredulous look turn to one of panic.
"No, I'll go to the office with you."
I put my hand on her shoulder and she shrugs it off, sending one of the bottles out of the bottom of her shirt. It crashes on the floor, sending wine and glass as far as the eye can see.
"Damn, boobs aren't what they used to be. Pity."
As I lead her into the office, I hear Rita gasp, "What the hell is going on?"
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda is raising the son of her ex-lover. Now that Dougie has returned, will he try to take Waylon back, or is he here for something else? Miranda catches two older women shoplifting from the Little Eagle.
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The lady, who had lured Rita out to the parking lot, reminds me of my mother. Of course she was a lot older, but she has the same eyes and keeps looking towards the office door like she is expecting someone to pop out and tell her she's on Candid Camera.
"Look, we'll pay for the busted wine bottle," the lady says. She casts a look at the Cabernet soaked legs of her friend. "What made you think putting that bottle down our shirt was a good idea? You aren't even wearing a bra, Brenda. Christ's sake, this was supposed to be easy."
Brenda, aka Smuggles the Wine Thief, cocks her eyebrow. "Of course, you'd think it was easy. All you had to do was get the attention of the employee. I'm the one who had to sully their hands and do the actual crime. Now, this one," she says, hooking her thumb in my direction, "she's gonna call the cops and I'm gonna be looking at hard time. I don't look good in orange, Alice. Not at all."
Alice, pulls out her wallet, makes a slow and deliberate practice of counting out her ones and fives. "How much?"
"That bottle was twenty-three."
"I'll give you twenty-five, and then we'll be on our way," Alice says, dropping the singles on the office desk. "Sorry about the misunderstanding." She stands and motions for Brenda to rise as well.
I stick out my foot and kick the door shut. "Not so fast, Alice. Sit."
She makes a sour face as she glances at the diamond watch on her liver spotted wrist. "We need to be going."
"Why? Robbing the bank at two?"
Brenda looks down, her fleshy face turning pink and her plump bottom lip quivering. "I don't want to go to jail," she cries, not yells, no, she's actually crying. If it had been Alice I would have suspected crocodile tears, but Brenda is sobbing.
I roll my eyes. I feel bad now. I wanted to make Alice cry, not Brenda. Brenda is a novice. She was acting all big and tough but at the first mention of the cops, she caved. Alice, she's a shark. I understand Alice. She would rather die than act afraid. I don't like her, but I respect her.
"See what you did, Alice," I say, waving my hand at Brenda, who's so worked up now, she sounds like a donkey.
"What I did!?!"
I nod. "Yes. You sent this innocent woman in here to steal a bottle of wine, when you clearly had the money to pay for it."
Alice smiles, like a woman who has a nice juicy secret. "The money was for a surprise I had planned for Brenda's birthday."
At the mention of this, Brenda looks up, red eyed and still sniffing. "You planned a surprise for my birthday?"
"Yes. We needed the wine to loosen you up. I know how nervous you get in certain situations."
Brenda dabs her eyes with a tissue I offer her. "It's true. I'm quite shy."
I lean against the door frame. Now, I've got to know what the surprise is, or if this a cunning attempt to get away with the crime. "So, Alice, what was the surprise?" I ask.
"Strippers. I hired two guys from the university to strip for us. Twenty bucks each."
I think about the kind of guys you could hire for twenty dollars and Farley's face comes floating to the front of my mind. No thank you. "You gave them twenty dollars, and you trust them to show up?" I said.
Alice casts a look my way that shows how dumb she thinks I am. "No. Only an idiot would give them the money up front. Do I look like an idiot to you?" she says. "I showed them the money, told them the address and said they could earn it."
I'm gonna be honest, Alice suddenly has best friend potential. I'm gonna hand it to her, she isn't stupid, reckless maybe, but not stupid. But, I can't let her think she's gotten away with this. "Alice, if I call the sheriff, your friend, Brenda, will be carted off to face charges. You will be an accessory to the crime. Now, I don't want to do that, but I have yet to hear you say you're sorry. If anything, you are acting like I'm keeping you from going about your day, so I'm going to give you a choice."
Alice presses her palms together and heaves a deep sigh before answering, "Whenever someone tells you they are giving you a choice, they really aren't. But for shits and giggles, what is my choice?"
"Apologize, to me, Rita, and then to Brenda. Pay for the wine that was broken. Then help me clean up the mess. Brenda, you apologize and swear on your children's lives that you will never do something this stupid and asinine ever again. And, Brenda, one more thing, you will never leave the house without a bra again. Those girls need the support."
Both women nod in agreement. When Brenda goes to stand, the other wine bottle shoots out from the bottom of her shirt and I practically dive to catch it.
"Good save," Alice says, dryly.
Thirty minutes later, both women are walking out the front door. Rita shakes her head. "Why didn't you call the police?"
I put my arm around her shoulders and smile. "Because, in about thirty years, that is us."
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda is raising Waylon, the son of her ex-lover. Since Dougie disappeared, Miranda has had temporary custody, but suddenly Dougie is back. She is afraid that he is here to take his son, Waylon back. She catches two shoplifters in the Little Eagle and decides to handle things with out involving the law.
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I mop the floors twice more after Brenda and Alice leave. Brenda kept apologizing and would randomly start tearing up while she cleaned. Alice didn't do much cleaning at all. She wrinkled her nose at the whole process and would utter, "It looks like you've got it all," every time I stuck the mop back in the bucket. Alice didn't know the first thing about housekeeping, and by the look of her watch and gaudy rings on her fingers, I would put money on the fact that she had a maid for most of her life.
I roll the bucket out back and tip it to let the dirty water out. The sheriff's car slowly comes around the corner. Mitch waves and turns on his lights. "You there, drop your weapon," he calls over the speaker.
"Isn't that abuse of power?" I ask as he rolls up beside me.
He has the window down and lowers his mirror sunglasses to look at me. "Sorry, I thought you had a weapon. Honest mistake." He turns off the car and gets out. "How's your day been?"
I think about the morning. Crazy would be the right description but it actually took my mind off of the whole Dougie being back thing. "I caught two shoplifters."
"Did you call it in? I never heard anything come across the radio."
"I didn't. Sorry, but this was one I could handle myself."
"Kids stealing penny candy?"
I smile at his naivety, penny candy. How long has it been since the man bought a pack of gum? "No. It was two women smuggling wine out in their boobs."
His eyebrows shoot up. "Okay," he says hesitantly, "you should have called the police. I'm going to assume the bottles weren't valued at over one hundred dollars, but it's still a class C misdemeanor. They would have had to pay a fine, at the very least."
I lean close to him and kiss the end of his nose. "And, that is exactly why I didn't call you. These were two old ladies who were trying to celebrate one of their birthdays. Besides, Brenda needed a little confidence enhancer to meet the strippers."
Mitch opens his mouth but shuts it without saying anything. "Busy tonight after work?"
As much as I'd love to spend time with Mitch, I need to get home to check on Waylon. "I think Waylon is going to need company. Rain check?"
"Sure. Has Dougie called anymore?"
I shake my head.
"Well, when he does, get a number from him. He and I need to have a little talk." He kisses my cheek and climbs back inside the cruiser as the radio crackles to life. He lifts the mike and starts talking, winking at me as I start to roll the bucket back inside.
***********************************************************************************************
Aaron's truck isn't at his place so I'm surprised when I find Waylon sitting on the steps to the porch. He's watching a video on his phone and when he looks up at me, the bluish light from the screen casts dark shadows under his eyes.
"Did you lock yourself out?" I tease.
"No. Just sitting outside to get some fresh air. Heard next week is supposed to be rainy most of the time." He looks out past me, into the darkness.
I know this kid. He's had his thinking time and with that came the realization that Dougie still hasn't called him or tried to make contact. "Well, we do need the rain. I'm afraid Mrs. Fine might combust next time she lights one of her cigarettes," I tease. "Thinking about your dad, aren't you?"
He doesn't answer, just gives me a knowing side eye. "Do all parents act like this?"
"I just know my own, but no, they never did stuff like this. And, I doubt you'll pull stuff like this when you have kids. I can't make up excuses for him, so I won't. Dougie is Dougie. I'm sure his reasons are valid to him."
He props himself back on his elbows and looks up at the sky.
"How's your teacher been?"
Again with the side eye. "I just keep telling myself that I only have him for one semester."
I pat his knee and use it to push myself up. "You'll make it. I was never a teacher's pet. I can give you pointers on flying under the radar."
"Mind if I take my shower?" he asks.
"Go right ahead."
We walk into the trailer and I put my work vest on the counter and search the fridge for a beer. There are none to be had so I grab some orange juice, and pour myself a small glass. Waylon's notebooks and chrome book are splayed out on the kitchen table. I need to pay some bills so I start putting papers away, and go over to plug in his chrome book so it will charge and be ready for school tomorrow. I can hear the shower running. I open his folder that has Marine Biology written in his messy script on the cover. There are papers shoved in there like a maniac has been through it. His other folders are neat and the papers are pristine. But this one doesn't even seem to belong to the same kid. I start flipping through the papers. Red marks are all over the work. I pull a report out that I know he worked on for days. Scribbled across the front cover is a nasty note from Tomlin.
"This is a paper that might make a seventh grader proud but you are in the eleventh grade. Margins are wrong. Didn't support your points with facts. Maybe if you read the book I assigned, you would have been more prepared." Right next to the note was a C minus.
I slip his notebooks and folders into his backpack and close my eyes. Conjuring the face of Mr. Tomlin, I visualize myself walking into the classroom and smacking the smug look off of his face.
"Oh, Mr. Tomlin, you and I are going to have a come to Jesus meeting. Yes we are."
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda is raising her ex-lover's, Dougie, son. Now Dougie is back and Miranda is afraid that he wants to take Waylon. She catches two shoplifters and gives them a punishment of sorts by making them clean up the store. Now, she decides to talk to Waylon's teacher.
*************************************************************************************************
After Waylon falls asleep, I crawl into my bed and think about my next move. I need to check with the court to make sure Dougie's sudden reappearance doesn't nullify my temporary custody agreement. I think about the things that damn teacher wrote on Waylon's paper. Even if it wasn't perfect, the note was just so negative. Aren't you, as a teacher, supposed to be molding the minds of our youth? Why would someone be so ugly to a kid, especially a kid who is trying? I had a teacher like him. My teacher hid his abusive words under the guise of humor, but they still hurt. I take ten deep breaths and try to clear my mind. (Rita told me she saw this on Tik Tok as a sure fire way to relax and fall asleep.) I try to keep my eyes closed but like a kid on Christmas Eve, I'm wired.
I go into the kitchen and grab the phone, take it back to my room and dial Mitch's number.
"Hello, Miranda, does your mother know you're still awake?" he teases.
"I won't tell if you don't tell," I lay back on the bed and close my eyes, trying to picture his face.
"What's going through that pretty head of yours? I know if you're calling this late at night, something is bothering you."
I groan. "I can't just call the man I love simply to hear his voice?"
At this, he laughs. "Out with it."
Hearing his voice makes me smile. Makes me feel silly for being so worked up about everything. Mitch makes everything make sense.
"I'm scared that Dougie is going to take Waylon. I'm worried about one of his teachers. The guy seems to be hell bent on destroying any confidence that Waylon has. I was thinking about paying him a little visit one day this week."
"You think it's that bad? Waylon is in eleventh grade. Maybe let him handle it for a little while longer. They haven't even been in school for a whole month yet."
Even though he can't see it, I frown. "But I want to meet this teacher. Maybe, if we can talk, I can let him know how it's affecting Waylon. I'm not gonna go for his jugular."
"That's exactly what you're gonna go for, Miranda. This is what you live for. If you feel like you have to contact him, send a note. Maybe that will let him know you're concerned about Waylon."
"You're such a good mom, Mitch," I whisper. "Your girls are lucky to have you."
"Alright, alright, enough of that. Go to bed Miranda. I'll see you tomorrow. Love you."
"Love you," I say as I disconnect. I hold the phone close to my chest. How did I luck out with him? After all of the losers and red flags, I finally got a good one. "Good for you, Miranda," I whisper to myself as I start to feel my eyes closing on their own. "Good for you."
**********************************************************************************************
I take Waylon to school in the morning, drop him off and purposely avoid eye contact with Mr. Tomlin. To look at him might trigger him ... or me. I drive to the visitor parking lot, pull into a space and turn off the engine. The cars are still pulling through the line, but it's dwindling. I hop out of the car and walk directly over to where he is standing.
"Mr. Tomlin," I say, plastering my best smile on my face. "I'm Miranda, Waylon's," I stumble over the way to describe my relationship with Waylon. I needn't have worried because he waves his hand at me like I'm a pesky mosquito.
"Waylon's mommy, and you're here because your little man is having a hard time in my class. Probably the first hard time he's ever had."
My teeth sink into my own tongue in an attempt to be civil. "Actually, I was wondering if you have time to talk about his work. He loves Marine biology and is talking about studying it in college. It would be nice if you were a tad more encouraging."
Tomlin, turns, looking down his long nose at me. "Mrs. Wilcox, it's not my job to encourage these kids, my job is to teach."
"It is your job to encourage them. And, I'm not Mrs. Wilcox. My name is Miranda Buckley," I snap. "This kid has been through hell the past two years. I may not be his mother, but I promise you, if you continue to pick on him, you will be running into me again."
I turn and start walking back to my car.
"If you think I'm going to change how I teach because of a middle aged woman's tantrum, you're in for a disappointment," he calls out to my retreating back.
I stop, and turn slowly to face him. He thinks he got me with the middle aged comment, but he would be wrong. Hell, he's my age, maybe a little older. "Mr. Tomlin, I'm afraid this was me being polite. When I have a tantrum, as you call it, you will wet your prissy little britches. That is a fact. Good day, Mr. Tomlin."
I don't bother to wait for a reply. I didn't come to fight. I came to talk to him adult to adult. Too bad that didn't work out.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Buckley is raising the child of her ex-lover, Dougie. Dougie hasn't been seen or made contact in over a year, but suddenly he has called her. Now she is afraid that he has come to take his son back. She has confronted a teacher of Waylon's, thinking it will help.
**********************************************************************************************
Mitch takes me to lunch at a small cafe just outside of town. It's about the only place where we can eat in peace. Every place in town has locals coming up, interrupting any conversations we try to have. Of course, being the sheriff of the county, he can't tell them to buzz off. He's polite and cordial and everything that I wouldn't be. I never look up or make eye contact basically because my face can't keep a secret. If I'm aggravated, it shows. And constant interruptions are aggravating.
I'm not gonna lie when I say it kind of pisses me off when people look at me like I'm not worthy to be with Mitch. He's a grown up. He can pick to be with whoever he wants, and he has picked me. Suck on that Patterson County.
I remember once when a county commissioner came over just to say hello to Mitch while we were out to dinner. The look on his face, or rather, disbelief on his face when he found out I worked for a gas station and was dating the esteemed sheriff of the county, was irksome. I didn't say anything, even though the words were steamrolling towards the end of my tongue.
Mitch looked over at me after the commissioner was gone. "Really, Miranda?"
"I didn't say anything," I said through clenched teeth.
"You didn't have to. That look you gave him could have curdled milk."
"In my defense, he was very judgmental. Did you notice how he looked at me when I told him where I worked?"
Mitch shrugged. "So what, he's a blowhard. If you haven't noticed, I love you. I don't care what other people think about you or me. You shouldn't either."
But today, we are about the only people in the cafe. We place our orders and Mitch brings up the teacher. "Did you send a note like I suggested?"
I shrug and start to straighten the slight wrinkle out of the corner of linen napkin.
"You didn't, did you? You went in true Miranda style, guns blazing and left him for dead." He does this half laugh that implies he isn't amused.
"I like the direct approach. Things can be misconstrued in texts and notes. I just asked him to give Waylon a little grace. That's all."
"Did you tell Waylon you were going to speak with his teacher?"
"I don't remember." Impatiently, I look towards the kitchen for our waitress. "Where's our food, I'm starving."
"Look, I know you love that kid. I know you'd do anything for him. But sometimes, you have to let a kid figure things out, by themselves. They will come to you for advice if they need it."
"He's had to figure things out for most of his life, Mitch. I just wanted to fight one battle for him. Is that so wrong?"
He reaches over and takes my hand in his. "No. He's lucky to have you in his corner. And I mean that. But you need to look at why you did what you did. Was it for him or for you?"
**********************************************************************************************
After lunch we head to my house for a little alone time before Waylon gets home from school. Thankfully, Aaron's truck is gone again, otherwise, he would have invited himself over like he always does.
While I fix a pot of coffee for us, Mitch sits in the kitchen chair and ties his shoes. "Hey, they found out who those other two bodies were from Haynes Pond. Two Federal Agents. Apparently, they came down from the D.C. area because of a tip off that moonshine was being funneled from Patterson to Raleigh and Durham. They must have been on that old bridge at the same time as Aaron's great uncle. The weight of both cars caused it to collapse. The Haynes family didn't want to get in trouble for letting bootleggers use their land and never reported it."
"Damn," I say. "Can you imagine the hell of waiting for any word on your loved one and never knowing why they didn't come home?"
"No. But those were different times. Still, if there are any family members left, they'll get closure now."
I hand him a mug of coffee and we head out to the deck. The smoke halo of Mrs. Fine can be seen against the bright September sky.
Mitch looks over and waves. "Afternoon, Mrs. Fine."
She tilts her head to the side and puffs on her rank smelling cigarette. "Afternoon, Sheriff. You here on business or pleasure?" When she opens her mouth, a cloud of smoke billows out.
"I'm off duty."
She flicks the cigarette butt into the road. "I like having a cop in the neighborhood. Makes a woman like me feel safe."
I roll my eyes. "Like anybody would mess with that old hag," I whisper.
Mitch nudges me. "Glad I can be of service," he calls back.
"And, Miranda, my hearing is twenty-twenty."
I try not to look at Mitch. I know he's thinking this is the funniest thing. I hear the bus as its brakes protest at the bus stop.
I can tell by Waylon's walk that he's had a rough day. I see the eyebrows that are scrunched down over his eyes. He stomps up the stairs to the deck and storms past us without a word.
"Rough day?" I ask.
He grabs the door handle and stops. "Stay out of my life, Miranda. Stay the hell out of my life."
That's when I realize I should have listened to Mitch. That is the exact moment I realize that even though I have learned to recognize red flags in others, I still don't see my own.
I hop up to follow him, but Mitch grabs my arm. "You, go for a walk. I'll go talk to him."
"He isn't gonna listen to you."
Mitch kissed my forehead. "I'm not the one who screwed up his life."
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda is raising Waylon, the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. Now, Dougie has returned and Miranda thinks he's come back for the boy. She talked to Waylon's teacher and may have aggravated the situation.
*************************************************************************************************
I start walking to the mailbox when Mitch goes inside. I can hear the raised voice of Waylon but can't really decipher what he's saying. All I can tell is he is pissed. I kick the granite stones as I walk. I hope Mitch can get through to him, but I have my doubts. Of all times for Aaron to be gone. He could talk some sense into Waylon.
"That boy has a real attitude, Miranda," Mrs. Fine says. "Somebody needs to snuff that out."
I shake my head. "Not now, Mrs. Fine."
"You got to be firm with that kid. He already has one strike against him with that deadbeat daddy of his."
I look over, watching the smoke as it dances around her head. "I don't know anything about raising kids, especially teen aged boys. I'm realizing I'm in over my head."
Mrs. Fine cocks one eyebrow and shakes her head. "Kids are like animals. You have to set the limits and make sure they bathe, do their homework, go to bed, all the things that come natural to you and me. You can't be their friend."
"I blew it today. I thought I was helping but I didn't. He's pissed at me, Mitch is saying I told you so. I feel like shit right now. I can't do anything right."
Mrs. Fine flicks her cigarette an inch away from my face. "Oh, for Pete's sake. Quit feeling sorry for yourself. Parenting is all about making mistakes. Stop whining and go back inside and talk to him."
I look back at the trailer. It's now or never. I forget about the mail and quickly head back. I stomp up the stairs and grab the door handle.
"Thanks, Mitch, I can handle it from here."
Mitch holds up his hands and backs up towards the door. "I'm gonna head on out. You two play nice. I don't want a call about domestic disturbance after I leave." He looks at Waylon and then at me. "I'll call you later."
I wait until I hear Mitch start his car before I speak. "Look, I did what I thought was the right thing, Waylon."
"I asked you not to. You knew I didn't want you to confront him."
"I didn't confront him. I talked to him. Why would you say I confronted him?"
"First, that was his description of it. Second, I've seen you in action."
I blew out an exasperated breath. "Waylon, I'm sorry. If I could go back in time, I would drive off and let you handle it." I look around the room, and somehow it feels smaller than before. Anger and resentment seem to be talking up all of the room. "That's not exactly true. I'm not your mom or you're aunt. There is no blood between us, but I love you. I hate to see you get hurt. So, I probably wouldn't change anything."
He says nothing, just sits on the couch staring at the blank television screen. "I know you do. But, I'm almost seventeen. I don't need you to fight my battles for me. Especially not with him."
I clasp my hands and nod. "Noted."
"He did change my nickname."
"What was your nickname?"
"Mr. Tomlin called me Dougie's boy. Now he calls me Momma's boy."
I close my eyes and try not to react. I really don't like Mr. Tomlin. And knowing I can't do anything about it is eating away at me. "Tell him to stop." I offer.
Waylon shakes his head. "I don't open my mouth in that class. He's already tossed a couple of people out."
His brow isn't furrowed anymore and his voice is regulated so I think the storm has passed. "Are we good?" I ask.
He nods. "Close, but I think Patterson deli will smooth everything over."
I sigh and grab my keys off the counter. "Come on. You are a shrewd negotiator, you know that right?"
***********************************************************************************************
The phone is ringing as I get the front door unlocked. "Grab that will you, Waylon?" I ask as he slips past me.
"Hello?" he says, his voice deep and confident.
I'm putting my pocketbook on the counter and taking off my jacket when I hear this strangled cry come from Waylon.
"Dad? Is it really you?"
My dinner does a sudden lurch as I process his words. He looks so happy and relieved. I step back out on the porch, giving Waylon his privacy. Five minutes later he comes outside. "It was my dad. He's back in town. He's coming by after school tomorrow. I can't believe I'm finally going to see him. After all this time."
I know he's happy. This is the one thing he's been dreaming of for two years, I get it. But where is the anger? Where are the questions about where the hell has Dougie been all this time? I'm pissed that Dougie will get off scot free. "That's awesome, Waylon." I walk over and hug him. "I'm so happy for you."
He can't stop smiling. "I'm gonna finish my homework then take a shower. Night, Miranda. Thanks for dinner."
I nod and go into my room. I need to talk to someone who will understand how I'm feeling. I need to talk to my momma.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda is still trying to get her life together. She is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. Dougie has been missing for close to two years, now he is back in town and Miranda is afraid that he's come back to take the boy.
***********************************************************************************************
I don't bother to call Momma, before showing up on her doorstep. When she opens the door, she smiles first then immediately replaces the smile with a serious look. "Well, Miranda Lynn, this is a surprise. It isn't my birthday, and it isn't Mother's Day. What do I owe this pleasant surprise to?"
"Can't I just come see you without a reason?" I ask as I inch past her and head to the kitchen.
"You can, sure, but you usually don't. What's going on?"
I slump down on the stool at the counter and study the rooster wallpaper that's been there for as long as I can remember. "Dougie's back."
Momma does a dramatic step back. "Back as in here. In Patterson county?"
I nod. "I know he wants Waylon back."
She shakes her head and crosses to the refrigerator where she pulls out a carton of eggs and a stick of butter. "Scrambled eggs?" She never turns around to see if I shake my head yes or no. Eggs are our love language. When the world becomes overwhelming, she fixes scrambled eggs. When I'm sad or she's worried, scrambled eggs make everything better. "Waylon wouldn't go with him. He loves you. He's a smart boy."
"You should have heard how happy he was after he talked to his dad."
She moves the skillet off of the burner and comes over to wrap her arms around me. "It's only natural that Waylon would be happy to hear from him. Give it time, Miranda. That boy isn't stupid, he'll see through the bullshit pretty quick. And, who knows, maybe Dougie's changed."
I level my gaze at her. "That would be something."
We chat about mundane things while she finishes fixing breakfast, you know things like the weather, my job. Then she brings the plates over and we start to eat.
"How's Mitch?" she asks, dabbing her mouth with a paper napkin.
"He's fine. He still level headed and pragmatic. Not sure what he sees in me, to be honest."
"Miranda Lynn! Don't you ever put yourself down like that. Mitch loves you. You're a smart and beautiful woman."
I look at her, my momma, my biggest defender and fan. "If I'm so smart, why is my life such a train wreck all the time?"
"Nobody has a perfect life. That's a myth. You remember the Ferguesons?" she asks.
"The big white house on the corner? They had two girls, both a little older than me. I remember them, why?"
"Mrs. Fergueson passed last year from breast cancer. One of her daughters ran off and joined some religious cult and Mr. Fergueson married his secretary less than a month after he buried his wife."
"And?" I ask, wondering where this was going.
"And, I thought they were perfect. They were the perfect Facebook image. It's all smoke and mirrors, Miranda. There is no such thing as perfect. We are all the conductors of our own trains. Some derail and are back on track in no time. Others derail and they just walk away from the wreck, hop another train and repeat the process. When you were in the hospital, Mitch told me how much he loved you. Said that you were probably one of the smartest, most determined people he'd ever known. It killed him to see you lying there on the hospital bed. He told me , he kept waiting for you to open your eyes and say something smart alec. So, don't you ever forget how smart you are."
I scoop the last bite of egg and eat it, then sit back full of eggs and love.
***********************************************************************************************
Rita finishes ringing her customer up and grins when I come around the counter. "The reporter called again. She was asking questions about Waylon."
"You didn't tell her anything, did you?"
"No. Just that he was still living with you. She asked what grade he was in and which school he went to."
My eyes narrow and I tense up. "You didn't give out that information, please tell me you didn't."
Rita shakes her head, her blond hair cascading over her shoulders. "No, No, I told her I wasn't sure. Told her to call back after you got here."
I pull my vest on and flip my hair out from under it. "What the hell does she want to know about Waylon? Unless she knows Dougie is back. She's a little news hound but even she wouldn't stoop so low as to try to get a story from a minor."
Rita shrugs. "Oh, wow, look who's back." She points at the door and I roll my eyes. In walks Alice and Brenda. Alice saunters like she's the cat's meow and Brenda follows her, clutching her purse.
"Ladies, you aren't here to start any trouble are you?"
Alice smiles like she's just heard a dirty joke, but Brenda is shaking her head. "I brought money with me." She lifts her leather purse up so I can see it.
I turn to Rita and whisper. "Don't take your eyes off of either of them." I come out from behind the counter. "So, ladies, how were the strippers?"
"Too young," Alice says. "They had the goods but didn't know what to do with them."
"Well, I'm sorry it wasn't as wonderful as you thought it would be. Still, it had to beat having the early bird special at Applebee's."
"The appetizers at Applebee's are a tad bigger than the appetizers that day."
I cough my laugh into my palm. Alice is a real character.
"We are giving it one more chance." Alice tosses her head from side to side.
"Strippers? How many different young men do you know, Alice?" I ask.
"Met this one as we were walking by a construction sight. Nice enough kid."
I shake my head. "Well, the best of luck to you ladies. I hope it's everything you think its going to be."
Brenda walks to the counter with a bottle of Manischewitz blackberry wine. She sets it down and then starts patting herself down. "See, nothing in my shirt," she says, making sure I watch her.
"Okay, Brenda. I can see that." I say, scanning the bottle and slipping it into a bag. After she pays, I walk with them to the door.
"Ladies, have a great time. And, remember, young men scar easily. Be gentle with them."
I watch them as the walk across the parking lot. Two old women who still go after life with gusto. God help those strippers.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley is raising Waylon, the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. Dougie disappeared without a trace close to two years ago, but has suddenly shown back up. And Miranda is convinced he's back for Waylon.
*************************************************************************************************
I check my watch and see that now is about the time Waylon is getting off the bus. I wonder if Dougie is there, sitting in my living room and drinking my beer. I could kick myself for not changing the locks when he first left, but I had a few other things going on at the time. And, I know he wouldn't hesitate to let himself in, if he could. He probably still thinks it's his place, even though he never once made a payment. His money went to Dougie approved things like his truck and beer and the occasional car show. Now, my money, that went to daily living things, like helping him out with the occasional truck payment, and the rent for the lot and the trailer payment. I shake my head trying to rid the mental picture of the jack-ass on my couch with his feet on my coffee table.
I'm just about rid of the image when in walks the pride and joy of The Patterson Gazette, Colleen Weaver.
"Miss Weaver, long time no see."
"Miranda. How are things?" she says, sitting her over sized leather purse on the counter and digging for her recorder. "Have you heard from the Toblerones?"
"Other than right after the trial, no. Why are you asking?"
She shakes her head. "Just wondering."
I look at her like a parent who knows there are never random questions. "Miss Weaver, I'm pretty sure you're fibbing and you do have a reason for asking. Come on, tell me why you're asking."
"Is that boy still with you?"
"Waylon?"
"Yes. Mr. Wilcox's son. Is he still living with you?"
I feel my body start to tense up. Why is she asking and what does she care? "He is. Is that news worthy, Colleen?"
She smiles and looks down. "You called me Colleen, am I in trouble?"
"You prefer Miss Weaver?"
She looks at the recorder in her hand and tosses it back into the depths of her purse. "It might be a story later on, but honestly, I just wanted to know."
"Why? Why do you want to know, and why might it be a story later?"
Colleen looks towards the door. "I wish I could tell you, but I can't...at least, not yet."
I figure if I go silent on her, she'll break and tell me why she's so interested in Waylon. No such luck. Colleen is a cool one under pressure. So, I give in. If I start asking the questions I might be able to figure out her angle. "Why so interested in Waylon?"
"It's not for a story. That I can promise you."
"What do you want to know?"
"How old is he?"
"Sixteen. A tad young for you, Colleen."
Her cheeks turn the lightest tone of pink, but I'm damn proud that I made her blush. "Does he want to go to college?"
"Yes. I've put a little money aside for him to go to the community college. He's already started applying for scholarships. He's a bright kid. He's going even if I have to take on a second job."
"That's admirable," she says.
I'm wondering if she's talking about me or Waylon, but I don't have the balls to ask her. "Anything else you'd like to know?"
"I heard a rumor that his father is back in town. Is that true?"
And, here it is. "Did you come here to ask about Dougie?"
"No. You're saying it's true then."
I look down at the counter and flick a piece of paper off the counter with my fingernail. "I'm not confirming or denying."
"Miranda, I'm not here on a story."
"You keep saying that, Colleen, but if it's not a story you're after, then why are you here asking me a bunch of questions?"
Colleen lifts her purse off the counter and heaves it up on her shoulder. "You're life is going to change, Miranda. Just know that."
She leaves without another word and I stand there, mouth gaping as my mind starts to catapult out of control.
I pick up the phone behind me and dial my house. It rings eleven times before the answering machine picks up. I slam the phone down and dial Waylon's cell. "Pick up, pick up, pick up," I say as the line goes straight to voice mail.
What if Dougie is just taking him off? I don't get to say goodbye, I don't get to see Waylon one last time? Certainly, Waylon would want to say goodbye to me and my momma. He's crazy about Momma.
My heart is slamming in my chest and as I'm picking up the phone to call Mitch to have him put out an all points bulletin on Dougie, a truck pulls into the lot. I hang the phone back up as Waylon climbs out of the passenger side and heads for the door.
My breath comes in quick bursts and I try to get myself under control before he sees me like this. I throw the best smile I have on my face and lean casually on the counter. "Is that your daddy's new truck?"
"Yeah. He's taking me out to Route 17 to practice driving. It's nice, isn't it?"
"Sure is."
He looks out at his father who is still sitting in the truck.
"Well, I don't want to keep you. Thanks for stopping by to let me know your plans. Any idea what time you'll be home?"
He shifts from foot to foot. "If he was to come in here, you wouldn't get mad would you?"
I wrinkle my nose. "Why would you think that?"
"I said it was fine. He said you'd probably throw something at him. He'll stay outside if it's going to upset you."
Dougie isn't as dumb as I thought, but for Waylon's sake, I control my impulses and shrug. "He's your dad. He can come in if he wants to." I even go as far as to look at the jack-ass and smile and wave.
Then I take a deep breath as the driver's side door opens and Mr. Red Flag himself steps out, all smiles and cockiness. Without missing a beat, he comes straight for me, arms open for a hug. I narrow my eyes and raise my knee. "Y'all have fun," I say as he sidesteps me, when he realizes my intentions.
"You haven't changed a bit," he says, a smirk on his face. But, he's wrong. I have changed. I have changed more than he can ever imagine.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda is taking care of her ex-lover, Dougie's son, Waylon. When Dougie disappears and breaks off all contact, Miranda gets temporary custody of Waylon. Now, Dougie has resurfaced and Miranda is convinced he's back to take Waylon.
***********************************************************************************************
I watch as Dougie and Waylon pull out of the parking lot and wince at the sound of the truck tires squealing when Dougie peels out. He's such a show off. I can remember when we'd go places and he'd drive like a maniac. Swerving and braking for no reason, taking corners like he was being chased by someone. He'd look over at me while I was clutching the door and grin. He honestly thought he was turning me on.
"Can you slow down? I'd like to get there in one piece," I'd say, trying not to show him the brunt of my irritation.
It never failed, he'd look at me like I had just peed in his cornflakes and mutter something about me never wanting to have any fun.
I think about Dougie now, instructing Waylon on the proper way to handle a vehicle. Probably telling him how women get turned on by aggressive driving, telling him not to sweat wearing a seat belt and how yellow lights mean speed up to get through before the red light. I make myself stop. Maybe Dougie has finally grown up. Maybe he has changed. I pray Momma is right.
The store is dead tonight. I've had one customer and four or five at the self pay pumps. I wander around, fronting the shelves and restocking the few drinks that are gone. I'm cleaning the junk under the counter when the chimes on the door sound.
I pop my head up over the counter and see Mitch. "Look it's the fuzz," I tease.
"Ah, haven't heard that in a long time. Pretty quiet here tonight." He walks down the candy aisle and grabs a Reese Cup. "You going straight home after you get off?"
"Not sure. Dougie took Waylon out for the night. Said he was going to teach Waylon how to drive."
"That'll be good for both of them. Plus, it gives you a chance to spend a little alone time with me." He tosses the candy on the counter and winks.
"Come back to my place and have a beer. It's a nice night to sit on the porch and look at the stars."
Mitch smiles and leans in to give me a kiss. "I'll see you around ten." He starts walking to the door and as he's about to exit he turns around. "Miranda, I'm gonna let Waylon spend some time with his father, but I'm gonna have to talk to Dougie sooner or later. Maybe you can convince him into coming by the station, so I don't have to come looking for him."
"I'll pass it along, Mitch, that's all I can do."
**********************************************************************************************
Aaron is sitting on the steps when I get home. The trailer is dark and that's my clue that Waylon is still with his father. "Evening, Aaron," I say, dropping my purse on the chair by the door. "How long have you been sitting here?"
"Fifteen minutes or so. Was that Dougie that came and picked up Waylon this afternoon?"
"Yep." I say it closed mouth, because I'm trying to remain civil, but even to my own ears that "yep" was loaded with attitude.
"Where the heck has he been?"
I shrug. "I haven't asked and to be perfectly honest, I don't care. Dougie came back to see Waylon and that's all that matters."
I check my watch. "Wonder what's keeping Mitch?" I ask aloud.
I hear the phone ringing inside and jump up to unlock the door. "Hello?"
"Hey, I'm just finishing up with an accident. Should be there in about twenty minutes. Still okay with me coming over?"
I look around at the empty trailer. No Waylon, draped on the couch, staring at the television. "Yes, please hurry."
I don't hang up the phone. I call Waylon's cell and it goes to voice mail again. "Hey, it's me. Just wondering what time your daddy is gonna drop you off. Hope your driving lesson went good. I'll leave the door unlocked. Oh, Aaron stopped by, um, that's all. See you in a little while." I hang up.
Digging two beers from the fridge, I return to the porch. "Here," I say, handing one to Aaron.
"Thanks," he says, popping the top and slurping the bubbly head that comes through. "Did you shake mine up?" He laughs and pours some of the excess foam onto the grass.
"Honest opinion, Aaron, what do you think about Dougie?"
"I don't know. He could be cool. He wasn't good enough for you. Why? You aren't thinking about getting back together with him, are you?"
I scowl at him. "I should punch you for even asking that. No! I know Waylon is happy that he's back, but I can't help but wonder why he's back."
Aaron shrugs. "Maybe he missed his kid. Even the worst parents can realize what's important."
"I hope so. Momma said that maybe he's changed. I pray he's here for the right reasons, for Waylon's sake." After a few moments of silence, I look over at Aaron. "Still working with your brother?"
"Yeah. Few days a week. I, uh, went and told my dad about the DNA findings and how the other car was a Fed's car. He said I needed to find a new focus."
"Aaron, forgive me for saying this, but your daddy is an asshole. You helped solve a mystery, helped give closure to two other families, not to mention your own family. You should be proud of yourself."
A slight smile comes to his face. "Thanks."
"I'm proud of you. You were like a dog with a bone about it. You showed grit and determination when most others would have given up. Stop measuring yourself by your daddy's yardstick and start measuring yourself by your own."
He holds out his half empty beer can and clinks it against mine. "Thank you, Miranda, that means a lot coming from you."
"So, besides working for your brother a few days a week, what else are you wanting to do?"
Aaron gulps his beer and turns quickly to face me. "I'm thinking of writing about it?"
"About the cars in the pond?"
He nods. "That and about my great uncle, the other fellas, about Waylon and me diving and finding them, then you finding Ed Preston's dead body there. I could write about how I got to assist in pulling the cars out. I really think its a story that people could sink their teeth into."
I take a sip and let the cold liquid slide down my throat. I try not to think about Ed Preston.
"Miranda?"
"I think if anyone can write this story, it should be you."
Mitch's headlights illuminate Aaron's face and I can see how happy he is.
"I'll see you later," Aaron says and waves at Mitch as he walks across the yard. "Oh, how's this for a title? The Three Musketeers at Hayne's Pond."
I try not to laugh, even though I know he's joking around. "Change it to the Three Stooges at Hayne's Pond, and I'll bet you sell more copies."
He laughs and continues home.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Buckley is raising her ex-lover, Dougie's son, Waylon. When Dougie disappeared and made no contact, Miranda was granted temporary custody. Now, Dougie is back and Miranda is afraid he's going to take Waylon away.
***********************************************************************************************
Waylon finally gets dropped off around midnight. I go to the door and wave, reminding myself that if I act half way civil to Dougie, maybe Waylon will keep me in the loop about Dougie's plans. He's smiling ear to ear when he comes in.
"Sorry I'm so late. We drove around and Dad showed me where he used to party back in the day. Showed me where he ran off the road in high school. Man, he was wild, wasn't he?"
I listen to the excitement in his voice and know that Dougie told him stories that were ninety per cent bull shit and ten per cent imagination. He painted a picture where he was the coolest guy who ever lived. I believe that just as much as I believe Waylon saw him as a super hero.
"You go on and get ready for bed. I'm gonna run out and talk to your dad for a second." I open the door and hold up my hand to keep Dougie from pulling out of the driveway.
He rolls down his window and smiles at me. He has the same sleazy smile as always. "Hey, Babe."
"The name's Miranda now, at least to you." I clench my jaw and look away. "When did you get back into Patterson?"
"Few days ago. Had to lay low in case anyone was still looking for me."
"Who? The police?"
Dougie grins. "The police are the least of my worries. There were a few good old boys who were hell bent on getting to me. I figured it was easier on everyone if I just disappeared. Missy helped me set everything up. We owe her a debt of gratitude."
"You owe her. I don't owe that psycho anything. Where have you been all this time?"
"Not too far away. I went down to the Keys for a while then ended up back in Myrtle Beach and finally made my way back here." He lays his arm across the edge of the door frame and gives me a once over. "You look good, girl. You been working out?"
"Dougie, cut the crap. Why did you come back?"
"He's my son."
"And? He was your son when you ran off and left him and me to start your new job. He was your son when you were hiding for the past two years. Why the sudden interest now?"
Dougie looks at the house, not at me. "Look, it's late. I'm gonna go and you can go back inside and neither one of us will say anything we will regret later."
I pat the door of his truck. "I'm pretty sure I won't regret anything that comes out of my mouth."
"Well, I'm back, whether you like it or not. See ya."
He puts the truck in reverse and is about to pull away when I remember the teacher. "Hey, what do you know about Waylon's teacher?"
"Who?"
"Mr. Tomlin. He's a science teacher. Waylon said he knew you in high school. Apparently, you bullied him and now he's taking it out on Waylon."
Dougie frowns and I can see him thinking. "Tomlin? Is it Dennis Tomlin?"
I shrug. "Very pinched looking face. Not a shiny happy character."
"If it's Dennis Tomlin, yeah, I know him. He was a butt pirate."
I shake my head. "Butt pirate?"
"Gay. But not the cool kind of gay. He preyed on the younger guys, you know ninth graders and the smaller guys. I caught him playing grab ass in the boys' locker room one day after school. Poor kid was trying to get away from him and Tomlin was pushing him around, trying to get the kid's towel off."
"Did you tell anybody?"
He looks down at me and smiles proudly. "I did better than that. I punched him in the nose and then told everybody what he was doing. Word spreads around in a small town."
I roll my eyes. "Don't I know it."
"Maybe I should go talk to him, you know, man to man."
I shake my head to keep from laughing at either of them being called men. "If you do, wear something sexy for him."
I walk back inside and close the door. So, this guy has always been a bully. For a minute I panic that he is harassing Waylon like he did that boy in the locker room, but I think Waylon might have told me, or if not me, then Aaron.
Waylon is standing by the kitchen sink drinking a glass full of water. He probably has been standing there since I went outside just to make sure I don't scare his dad off.
"So, you had fun tonight," I say, smiling at him. "How long is he back for?"
"That didn't come up. Yes, it was a lot of fun. He didn't treat me like a little kid this time. We talked, really talked." He looks down into the sink and sets his glass down. "You're cool with him being back, aren't you?"
"Of course. He's your father. Now, you really need to get a little sleep before school tomorrow."
Waylon nods and crosses over to his little bedroom alcove.
I need to ask him about Mr. Tomlin. "Hey, Waylon, how are things with Tomlin going?"
"Okay, why?"
"He's never, you know, made you feel uncomfortable, has he?"
"Like how?"
I wince, now feeling stupid for bringing it up. "Just uncomfortable. Maybe standing too close to you, putting his hands on you."
I flinch at the face Waylon makes. "Ew, gross, Miranda. No! He has his golden boy in class. Terrence Evanoff. The sun rises and sets on him."
"Does Terrence, rather, is Terrence okay with that kind of attention?"
Waylon shrugs. "I never asked him."
I let the subject drop and decide to pay my reptilian ex-mother-in-law, Elaine, the principal at Waylon's school, a visit soon. If anyone can stop a predator at the school, it will be her.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda is raising her ex-lover, Dougie's son, Waylon. She obtained temporary custody when Dougie disappeared but now he's back and Miranda is afraid he's back to take his son.
***********************************************************************************************
I have an hour and a half before I have to be at work so I drive to the high school and pull into the visitor parking. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel and stare at the entrance to the building. If there is anyone I could live the rest of my life never seeing again, and be at peace with that knowledge, it would be Elaine Buckley. My ex-mother-in-law and I have a long and uncomfortable history. She despises me and I think she is the Anti-Christ. She blames me for the divorce between her son, Farley, and me. Maybe I am to blame, because I am the one who went out and got a lawyer, but only after years of him stepping out on me.
I pull my keys from the ignition and start for the school. Just stay calm and let her know about Mr. Tomlin. Surely, even Elaine will want to make sure nothing is going on. I won't even bring up Waylon's name, just that kid Trent Evanoff. I pause and rack my brain for the kid's name. I know it started with a T, but Trent doesn't sound right. Why didn't I write it down? I'm terrible at names, especially when I'm upset and what Waylon told me upset me. I'll just call him the Evanoff kid. Maybe she'll slip up and say the first name.
I get to the door and press the buzzer. No one asks why I'm here, just buzzes me on through. I step in to the office and look around. No resource officer is lounging about, thankfully. That little toad of a hall monitor gives me the creeps.
The secretary puts her cell phone down and looks up at me. "Hi, sorry, trying to put in my grocery list. How can I help you?"
"I need to see Elaine," I say.
"I'll see if she's free. And who are you, hon?"
"Just tell her Miranda is here."
She nods and calls to Elaine's office. She whispers something and I hear her as she says my name, then says it again. When she puts the phone back down she smiles stiffly at me. "Have a seat. She'll be with you in a few."
I flip through the yearbooks that are scattered on the side table and look up the faculty pictures. Sure enough, smiling smugly, is a Dennis Tomlin.
Elaine comes up front, greets me with the warmth of a frozen tundra wind. "Miranda, this is a surprise."
"You didn't say pleasant surprise, Elaine," I say, chiding her playfully.
She doesn't seem to defrost one single degree. "No, I didn't. How can I help you?"
"Are you going to invite me back to your office?"
"I'm sure whatever you have to say, it can be said right here in the lobby."
I shrug, knowing the minute I say something about Mr. Tomlin being a predator, Elaine is going to flip her wig and drag me down the hall. "Okay, I'm just gonna warn you that what I'm about to say might not be a great reflection on the school."
"Spit it out, Miranda."
"I think Mr. Tomlin is trying to groom one of his students." I watch as the words settle on her and her bottom lip turns down. Quickly, she looks around to see if anyone might have heard my statement.
"That is the craziest thing I think I've ever heard you say, and I've been around you when you were drinking, Miranda."
"I have it on good, well, pretty good authority that he did this in high school and tried to force himself on several younger boys."
"Lower your voice!" she hisses, then motions for me to follow her behind the reception desk and back to her office.
Once we are both inside, she closes the door. "Mr. Tomlin is one of our best teachers. This sounds like a smear campaign. Who made these accusations?"
"Someone who was there, and caught him."
"Miranda, do you know what our teachers make? Do you know how hard it is to try to rein in teenagers. Sometimes, things teachers do are misconstrued."
"There is something about him, Elaine. Underneath that best teacher act of his, there is bad news. I don't care if you believe me, but watch him. I know you want to protect your teachers, but don't forget to look out for your students." I stand up and start for the door.
"You said he was grooming someone. Who would that be?"
"All I know is his last name is Evanoff."
"I'll talk to him."
I nod then open the door and leave.
When I get back to my car, my hands are shaking. I hope Elaine was being truthful when she said she'd talk to the Evanoff boy. But I won't have anyway of knowing, I'll just have to trust her to do the right thing. This is going to be torture.
***********************************************************************************************
Matt is in the office when I come into work. He looks rough, bags under his eyes, and his clothes are wrinkled.
"Jesus, Matt, are you living in your car or something?"
He looks up confused. "No. Why?"
"Well, look at you. You don't look like you've had any sleep in week and your clothes are wrinkled and a mess."
He sighs heavily. "Wife's been out of town at some religious retreat. I've got the kids by myself. I messed up the washing machine, forgot to send money with them for lunches. I'm worn out."
"Take them out for pizza tonight."
"We had McDonald's Monday, Patterson Deli last night. I can't afford to take them out again. This is killing me."
"When does she get back from her retreat?"
"Not until Sunday," he says, his voice cracking as he speaks. "I love my kids, Miranda, but they are bad. There is no other way to say it. Randy is hitting his sister, she's taking his shoes and throwing them into the fireplace. I can't turn my back on them for a second."
"Grow a pair, Matt. They are kids. You make them behave. You take the remotes and the tablets and everything else. Lock them in the trunk of your car. Tell them if they don't start acting better, you won't give them their things back."
"Do you have any idea what hell they will raise? Kids don't listen to reason. They fight back."
I tap my foot. "You are their father, Matt. Take the wheel."
He sighs again and nods. "You're right. I'm gonna straighten them out. When they get home from school, I'm gonna sit them down and let them know who's boss." He pushes back the chair and stands. "I've got this."
I pat him on the back and smile as he leaves the office and heads for the back door. "You got this, Matt."
I smile until he's safely on the other side of the door and the door is shut. Poor guy. He doesn't stand a chance.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. Now, Dougie is back and she's afraid he might be back to take the boy away.
***********************************************************************************************
Aaron and Waylon are sitting on the porch when I finally get home. Waylon is huddled close and they are both staring at a piece of paper in Aaron's hands.
"What are y'all doing?" I ask, all the while wondering if I really want to know.
Aaron looks up, excitement in his eyes. "I found out some information on the two Feds who were in the other car. This is crazy. The senior officer, was Howard Elgin. Born in Bethesda, Maryland. Had a wife and two daughters. Wife died of cancer in 1957. Both daughters got married and I'm trying to find out contact information for them or anyone from that family."
"How'd you find that out?" I ask, amazed that Aaron had actually followed through and done some research.
"I tapped into the online library of D.C. Then I googled the agents missing during the years of prohibition. There were twenty-three agents missing during those few years. But, I looked into those two after I found out Nathan Page was a home grown guy. Born and raised in Patterson, down around Atlas. Seems he was a distant cousin of the Haynes."
"You think he was dirty?"
"Maybe not dirty, but he may have tipped off someone down here."
I motion for them to slide over so I could sit. "What else do you know about Nathan Page?"
"He was under investigation twice right before he and Elgin went missing. Tampering with evidence and roughing up an informant. Trying to coerce a witness. He sounds like a guy you wouldn't want to mess with." Aaron says.
"Any one still around here that is kin?" I ask.
"Just started looking into that. If there is, I'll try to talk to them. Isn't this cool? I mean, last year they were just bodies in a car at the bottom of a pond. Now, they're real."
"Aaron, they were always real. You were just wrapped up in finding your great-uncle." I look over at Waylon. There is a strained look on his face. He, of all people, understands the pain these two men's families went through. He knows what it is like to wonder where someone is. There is no closure just a lifetime of waiting. I clear my throat and turn to Waylon. "How was school?"
"Riveting." He clips his words, but there is a smirk on his face.
"How about Tomlin? He cross the line today?"
"No. He was his usual charming self. He got distracted because his golden boy got yanked out of class and missed half of it. But other than that, he was fine."
Good for you, Elaine, I think. At least she took me seriously. "Are you friends with that boy?"
Waylon shrugs. "Not really. He's weird. Talks about comic books and anime all the time."
I nod and look at my watch. "I've gotta do a few things before I turn in. Don't stay out here too much longer." I turn to Aaron. "This is impressive Aaron. I think you're on to something. And, just an idea, but why don't you call Colleen Weaver at the Patterson Gazette. She's pretty good and maybe she'll give you a couple of pointers."
Aaron grins. "Thanks. Is it okay if I drop your name?"
"Sure. That and two dollars will get you a cup of coffee. Just do me a favor and don't tell her anything about me, um, you know, if she should ask."
"Got it."
I duck inside and watch Waylon and Aaron sitting on the porch, talking like best friends. As annoying as Aaron can be sometimes, I'm fortunate to call him friend.
***********************************************************************************************
I turn on the shower and wipe the condensation off the bathroom mirror when the water gets hot. There she is, my toughest critic, staring back at me. "You may have sealed Waylon's fate with that teacher, you know that right? If Mr. Tomlin finds out you've stirred up some mess with his good name, Waylon might as well kiss that GPA goodbye."
"So, knowing what I know, I should let him get away with grooming a kid, you know, to save Waylon's GPA?"
"You don't know anything, Miranda. You are assuming. How many times have you charged into a situation knowing only hearsay and assuming its the gospel? Too many times, Miranda. Step back. Don't let nosiness and your need to be right, be what is Waylon's undoing."
"I'm not. But Dougie said," I start but the withering look I receive from the mirror shuts me up.
"Dougie is a liar. You of all people should know that. How do you know he caught Tomlin after some kid? Don't you think other people would have heard about this?"
"Maybe I'll ask around?"
"Waylon asked you not to interfere. You did it once and he forgave you. Do it some more and if his daddy asks him to leave, that boy is gone. Be the one person he can trust."
I watch a rivulet of moisture roll down the mirror. "He knows he can trust me."
"You assume it. Don't put it to the test by sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."
I step into the hot spray and lean back letting it soak my hair. I should have asked Mirror Me, if protecting one child was as important as placating another. I think about Howard Elgin and Nathan Page. Was Nathan the bad guy? Did he tip off the local runners or was he trying to serve and protect. All we have is hearsay. All parties involved are dead. Maybe Nathan was pulled in two different directions just like me.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. After he disappeared without a trace, she filed for temporary custody and stepped into the role of mother. Now, Dougie has returned, and she is afraid he is back to take the boy away.
*********************************************************************************************
I get to work a few minutes early and peek through the front window of the store to find Matt and his two kids standing by the counter. My gut tells me to run, it looks like he's waiting. He's standing there, looking around, checking his watch and pausing every few minutes to say something to one of his kids. They're cute but just from watching for a few seconds, I can tell they are a handful.
I walk in and Matt's face splits into a thankful smile. "Miranda, I was afraid you were going to call out. I kind of need a favor."
"Let me guess. You need me to watch your kids for you. Something's come up and you can't take them with you."
"I need to run some reports back in the office. I was going to see if you could just hang out with them. Just for an hour or so."
"I can't baby sit and watch the counter, Matt."
"No, Rita said she would man the store while you took them for a walk or to the park. Just for an hour. Please, Miranda."
I grimace and cast a dubious look at his offspring. "Why can't Rita do it?" I ask.
Matt takes a step closer. "They would eat her alive. These two, they need your special touch, Miranda."
"You want me to scare them straight? Let's make sure I'm clear on this assignment. Blink once if that's what you're saying."
Matt looks at the children the blinks once.
I clock in and turn to the kids. "Okay, children. Auntie Miranda is now in charge. Follow me."
They stare up at me and I see the boy smirk as I walk by. I get to the front door and when I turn around, neither of them are following me. I march back and peer down at them. "Did I stutter?"
"I don't know you. I don't have to go with you," the boy says.
"Oh, you're going with me. You can either walk out on your own accord or I can hold your hand. How old are you? Six?"
"Eight," he says, indignantly. "She's six."
"She's acting older than you right now," I say. I figure if I divide them, make them try to out do each other for my favor, I'll have an easier time. "Are you sure you're only six," I say, ignoring the boy and focusing my admiration on the little girl.
"I'll be seven soon," she says, nodding her head.
"You certainly are mature for six. Do you two have another brother or sister?"
"No." She shakes her head. "It's just Daddy, Mommy and me and Randy."
"Are you sure? I could have sworn that your daddy was telling me about a little boy and girl who acted like little babies. Since, you act so mature, and I'm sure Randy doesn't act like a little twerp, who could he be talking about? Whoever it was, they threw someone's shoes in the fireplace, were jumping on the furniture. But, maybe he was talking about someone else's kids. I'm just glad I'm not having to watch those kids. I'd probably beat their tails. Sounds like they need that."
The little girl glances at her brother. She's starting to put things together. She can either act like a civilized person or she can risk being called a baby.
"Shall we go for a walk?" I ask.
"Where?" the boy, Randy, asks. "I don't like to walk."
"Most small children don't," I muse. "Does your daddy have a stroller in the back of his car? I could push you."
He frowns. His whole face is dark and unpleasant. "I'm not a baby. Quit saying that!"
I stoop and look him in the eye. "Then stop acting like a spoiled little jerk. Follow me."
I take them over to the vacant building on the lot next door. I watch as both of them try to read the graffiti that's been spray painted in random spots on the walls.
"What is this place?" Randy asks, bending down to pick up a rock. He is staring at the dirty plate glass window with more than mild interest.
"You break that window and you'll wake up Earl the cook. He doesn't like to have his nap interrupted." I put my finger to my lips.
"No body's here," Randy says.
I smile. "Throw that rock and find out," I say. "But, I'm gonna warn you, I'm not gonna stick around to save you. My butt is gonna be back in the Little Eagle safe and sound. You and your sister, y'all are on your own." I back up, looking around the side of the building. "If you want to hear a story, I'll tell you one."
I watch as Randy tosses the rock away. "A baby story or something scary?"
"Oh, it's scary." I say. I level my gaze at them both. "Can you handle a scary story?"
Both nod.
"Earl ran this place for years. He wasn't the cleanest man. Very rarely took a bath, never washed his hands. But, his burgers were delicious. People came for miles around to eat a burger that Earl made. One day, a health inspector showed up. Earl showed him around and started fixing him a burger. The health inspector watched as Earl started forming the hamburger pattie never once stopping to wash his hands. He wrote a very bad report, causing Earl to have to shut the restaurant down."
"Why didn't he wash his hands?" Randy asked.
I shrug. "Said he didn't like being told what to do. Never did it when his daddy asked him to, never really listened to his parents at all. Earl started out as a bratty kid and never learned to grow out of it. But, now, he waits in this old creepy building for bad kids to come around."
Randy looks up at me nervously. "What does he do with them, the bad kids, I mean?"
I know I'll probably go to hell for this, but I can't help myself. I look at the two wide eyed children and I whisper, "He grinds them up and makes hamburgers." I wait for the shock of what I've just told them to take full effect, then as cheerfully as I can, I say, "Ready to go back to the Little Eagle?"
They both take my hands and we walk back across the parking lot to where their father waits.
He looks at me and smiles slightly confused as the two walk hand and hand with me. "This was fun. Maybe y'all can come back again sometime."
Both look over their shoulder, back towards the abandoned burger joint. "Daddy, can we go home now?"
"Sure," Matt says.
As I step around him, I whisper in his ear. "If they start to act up, just say the name Earl."
"Earl?" he repeats, causing both Randy and his sister to clutch at him.
"You're welcome."
I'm sure Matt didn't want me to scare the hell out of his kids, but he wanted results. And, by golly, he got them.
| Author Notes | This is a tad longer than my usual post, but I never did any Halloween posts this year and the scary stuff had to come out. |
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. Now, Dougie is back and she is afraid he will try to to the boy.
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I don't hear from Matt after they leave, and I'm assuming that's a good thing. Rita clocks out once I get back from my lunch, and I settle into the evening straightening the shelves and restocking the cooler since I didn't get to do it while I was babysitting.
It's a slow night. I think maybe five people come into the store, and a few more go through the pumps. I call home to check on Waylon.
"Hey, what are you doing?" I ask as soon as he answers.
"Was reading. Are you bored or just being nosy?" he teases.
I smile but don't give him the benefit of a laugh. "Maybe a little of both. What are you reading?"
"Night."
"Okay," I say uncertainly. "Good night."
He laughs out loud at this. "Night. It's a book by Elie Wiesel. It's about a man who was in a concentration camp in Germany."
"Sounds depressing," I say.
"I think that's the point, Miranda. It shows what he went through."
I never read it in school. I don't really ever remember reading anything, except Huckleberry Finn and I heard they've banned that now. Schools have changed in the last twenty years. When I was in high school, I was taught survival skills. You were taught to count, to read, and if you wanted to go to college you were put in academic classes. If you weren't interested in college, you were encouraged to go to a trade school. But, now, the kids seem so sophisticated. It's like they are programmed to memorize but not to learn. I'm a firm believer in the school of hard knocks. When you have to figure something out on your own, it sticks with you. But then, I was never a stellar student and was glad to be out when I graduated.
"Are you going to hang out with Aaron tonight?"
"Probably, why?" he asks. "You got a date?"
"I'm about to find out. You don't mind if I go by to see Mitch before coming home, do you?"
"No. Just bring a couple of donuts home, please?"
I shake my head. "Of course. I'll be home later."
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The porch light is on when I pull into Mitch's driveway. I see him look out the front window and then come to the front door to open it for me.
"Hello, Sheriff," I say, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. "I'm here to turn myself in."
"For?" he asks, his eyebrow cocked.
I press up against him and wrap my arms around his neck. "For being too damn sexy, what else?"
"You are definitely guilty of that."
We go inside, and I snuggle up to him on the couch. "How was your day?" I ask.
A strange look comes to his face. Like he's unsure of himself. "I came face to face with a ghost this afternoon."
I pull back so I can see if he's joking. "No shit? A real ghost? Or someone from your past?"
He sits up, almost moving as far from me as possible without actually moving physically. "There are some things about me that you don't know."
My heart starts beating faster. "As in?" I ask, cautiously. "Are you seeing someone else, Mitch?"
"No, no, I could never do that, not to you."
My heart rate slows down a bit but I still feel like the rug is about to be yanked out from under me. There is a part of me that wants him to just cut to the chase and the other part wants me to leave before things get messy. "So, just tell me about this ghost."
He sighs and stares up at the ceiling. "My best friend all through high school was a guy named Marshall. He was a helluva guy, back then, straight as an arrow, hard worker, Jesus, the girls used to throw themselves at him. But he had designs on one girl, her name wasJen. She was pretty enough, but very young. He was a senior and she was a freshman. He waited for her to get through school, asked her to marry him, which she did. But, Marsh, he was obsessed with her, like to the point where he would follow her to make sure she was going where she told him she was going. He didn't want her to leave the house. She couldn't take it so she ran off, left their daughter with him. So, Marshall, he starts seeing this little bank teller by the name of Carolyn Forbes. Carolyn is much more down to earth than Jen ever was. Anyhow, she got pregnant. Marshall demanded she get an abortion, but she didn't. Well, Marshall married her, so his kid wouldn't be called a bastard. Then Marshall started to change. He started drinking. Unfortunately, he was a mean drunk. Started hitting the kid. I should have stopped him, Miranda."
"How could you stop him? You didn't know he was doing that, did you?"
"Carolyn would call me, telling me that Marshall had gone off drinking and ask me to find him and bring him home. And I would. Every single time. I should have arrested him, let him sober up before I took him home, but I didn't. I would deliver him right back where that little boy was waiting. I'd spy him, peeking through the bannister. Knowing that his daddy was gonna beat the hell out of him once I left. Goddamn it, Miranda, I should have saved that kid from the hell he endured. That's my job, serve and protect."
I reach over and run my hand down his arm. "Please tell me this story has a happy ending."
"I saw that boy today, well, he's a grown man now. Has a little boy of his own."
"What did you say to him?"
Mitch looks over at me. "I stuck out my hand to shake his and told it was good to see him again."
"What did he say?"
"Nothing. He smirked. Didn't say a damn word, then picked up his kid and walked away."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah, me too."
We all make mistakes. Some are bigger than others. This one will haunt Mitch. Even if that boy forgives him, I know Mitch will never forgive himself.
| Author Notes | The story he tells about his friend Marshall is from my novel "The 'Shine Baby". It's available on Amazon and also in my portfolio. |
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda has been raising her ex-lover's son after he disappeared without a trace. Now Dougie is back, and she is afraid he came back for his boy.
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I forgot to grab the donuts for Waylon, and know better than to go home empty handed. I swing by the Piggly Wiggly and dash inside to see what they have in their bakery. There are only a few people inside. Late night shoppers like me are an odd breed. Either you work a late shift or you have the munchies after smoking something illegal.
I open the donut case and pull out two crullers and a Boston cream, then head to the dairy cooler to grab milk. I buy at least three gallons a week. I am minding my own business when I turn to go down one last aisle. I come face to face with someone, and I don't mean that figuratively. No, I bump noses with someone. I drop the bag of donuts, but manage to hold onto the milk. "Excuse me!" I say, hoping I didn't hurt anyone. I look up and for a moment, I hate my cursed luck. There is only one person who would be worse to run into and that would be Missy Toblerone. This is contestant number two. Mr. Tomlin is staring a hole right through my head. He recognizes me, I can see it in his eyes.
"In a hurry?" he says, reaching down to pick up the bag of donuts. "Health nut?" He wrinkles his nose in disdain at the sugary treats.
"For a friend. I apologize, I didn't see you."
"Apparently."
This guy is about as friendly as a rabid dog, and I am fighting the urge to tell him what I really think about him. But, I swallow the peppery taste of sarcasm and think about Waylon. I can't and I won't make this worse for him. "Mr. Tomlin, it appears we got off on the wrong foot. Can we cut to the chase and just get along for the sake of my boy and your student?"
He hands the bag of donuts over and smiles. Alligators smile in a similar fashion, flashing teeth and cold reptilian eyes. "Sure, Ms. Wilcox." He nods curtly and eases around me. I head to the register, knowing he called me Wilcox on purpose. This guy is trying to get me to confront him. I have a feeling Dougie isn't lying about what he saw. Tomlin is a creep. I'm a strong believer in the gut feeling. I feel it in my gut. Tomlin plays with people, just like a cat does with a mouse. As soon as the cat gets bored, the poor little mouse dies. I will try to get along with him, for Waylon's sake. But I am going to watch him, and if I see anything that warrants action, you best believe I will stop at nothing to make his life a living hell.
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Waylon is asleep when I get there, the remote in his hand and a bag of Doritos on the floor. I put the Doritos and the donuts on the counter by the sink and lock the door. I'm not going to wake him up to go get in his bed so I grab his quilt and put it over him. "Night, Waylon," I whisper, gently taking the remote out of his hand and setting it on the coffee table.
I go into the bathroom and start the shower. I look at my reflection.
She nods her head and a little smirk comes to her face. "You know he called you Ms. Wilcox on purpose, don't you?"
"Yes, I realize that."
"Surprised you didn't straighten him out."
"I'm trying to be civil for Waylon's sake."
"He isn't going to allow that to happen. He's going to keep on needling until you finally break."
I look at my own reflection. "Oh, ye of little faith. I lived through Missy Toblerone, this guy isn't anything."
She laughs. "Miranda, Miranda, Miranda, you aren't good at holding back when you feel like someone is crossing the line. He can read you like a book. I've seen his kind before. He will keep on and on until he finds that one chink in your armor. Then he will strike."
As much as I want to tell her she's wrong, I know she isn't. So instead of denying it, I look at my reflection and say, "I'll just have to try my best."
Reflection rolls her eyes. "Until you hit the point of no return, then what?"
"I'll ruin him," I mutter.
After my shower, I go into my room and crawl into bed. The dreams start almost immediately. One minute I'm back in high school but I'm older than everyone else. All I know is I don't want to be there. The next thing I remember is running down the hallway trying to find the exit so I can go home and Ed Preston is standing in front of the door. I don't want to go past him so I just stop. "I need to get out of here. Move please!" I'm crying as the words come tumbling out of my mouth. Ed just stands there, his cloudy blue eyes boring into mine. He opens his mouth and a swarm of black flies comes out. That's when I wake up. My t-shirt is soaked and my heart is hammering away in my chest.
I've got a bad feeling about Mr. Tomlin, and it isn't just because of Waylon. People like him either hurt others or meet with their own dark end. Either way, I feel it in the air. Something bad is going to happen.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. When Dougie disappeared without a trace, Miranda assumed the role of guardian. Now he's back and she is afraid he is going to take the boy.
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Sleep was fitful the previous night and I opt for two cups of coffee instead of my usual one. It doesn't really help. I walk into work and find Rita talking to a trucker from New York. They are chatting up like the best of friends and for a moment, Rita doesn't even notice me when I walk by. The trucker is smitten with her. Calling her ma'am, complimenting her professionalism and gushing over her accent. I clear my throat to get by so I can clock in.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Miranda. I didn't see you. Is it eleven already?" Rita says, her face flushing as I cut my eyes at her. "This is Calvin Harvey, from upstate New York. He's a long haul driver and is thinking about moving down here."
"Awesome," I say, forcing a smile. Just what we need, another Yankee. "There ain't no place like Patterson," I say. "Nothing says local like marrying your cousin."
He twitches and tries his best not to react. "Seems like a lovely place, wide open spaces and everyone is so friendly." He looks at Rita with more than mild interest. "I sure do like what I've seen."
I nod and kind of push Rita behind me. "Well, if you do move down, get Rita and her husband to show you around."
His face is crestfallen. He looks at his imaginary watch and smiles. "Well, time to get back on the road."
Rita smiles radiantly. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Harvey."
He skedaddles towards the door and hops in his truck.
"He sure was nice," Rita sighs as the words come out of her mouth.
"Rita, he was hitting on you."
She frowns. "No, he was just being friendly."
"He was that. But did you notice when I said you were married, it was time to hit the road. How many times do I have to tell you sometimes friendly isn't really friendly? Sometimes its an old creep on the road trying to hit on a pretty girl."
Rita reaches over and hugs me. "Awe, you think I'm pretty?"
Once again, Rita has learned nothing from the valuable knowledge I try to share. She heard she was pretty, still thinks a smile is a gesture of purity and that all is good in the world. Thank goodness I'm here to ruin that illusion.
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Rita mans the register while I restock the drink cooler. I'm still tired as hell and everything that normally takes a couple of minutes is taking three times as long. I finally relent and sit down on a stack of cokes. I draw in a deep breath and stretch. I make the decision to fill a few more spots and take a break. Maybe after dinner I will feel up to finishing the cooler. I grab four two liter Dr. Peppers and start pushing them into the slot. Some people are willing to pay an extra dollar for a chilled two liter, believe it or not. I can feel them slipping out of my arms as I struggle to lift them into place.
"No, no, no," I hiss as the last one slides down the length of my body hits the floor, makes a loud hissing sound and the cap shoots off like its the fourth of July. All I see is a caramel spray that looks like a water sprinkler on steroids. I can't get away fast enough and the icy blast of sticky cola sprays me from head to toe.
By the time I look down at the bottle, it is empty, rocking back and forth in a brown puddle. I wipe the drips from my eyes and pick the wet t-shirt away from my body.
"Perfect," I say. "What a perfect day. First I don't sleep, then this. What else, Miranda? What else can happen to you?"
Note to self here, never ask that question when there is still time on the clock. Inevitably, something will happen. This next part will prove my theory.
Rita opens the cooler door and calls me. "Miranda, you need to come out here."
"Sure," I mutter, still wiping at the drips on my face. When I open the door and step out, I can't believe my eyes. There stands Colleen Weaver, a photographer, and Mr. and Mrs. Toblerone, the parents of Missy's late husband.
Colleen steps forward. "I realize I told you I'd be here last Thursday, but something came up." She pauses to look me over curiously. "Anyway, the Toblerones have something they want to give you." She nods at them and steps away.
I try to act as if I'm not standing here dripping Dr. Pepper and this is just a normal day. Even though my face is starting to dry and the sticky residue is making me uncomfortable. Even though my shoes are making that horrific sound that happens when you step in something tacky. Even though I'm fighting the urge to throttle Colleen Weaver and her perky yet no nonsense way of dealing with things that is irritating the hell out of me.
"Ms. Barkley," Mrs. Toblerone says, her voice meek and shaky, "I just want to tell you how much Darrel and I appreciate you finding our son. We had almost given up hope of ever knowing what really happened to him. You gave us peace. So, we'd like to present you with a check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
I stand there motionless. I don't care that she called me by the wrong name. I don't even care that Colleen gave me no real warning because this can't be real. I see the flash of the camera and forget what I look like. This can't be real. I half expect to wake up from a dream. But a drip of soda rolling between my breasts reminds me this is real.
Colleen is holding her recorder out, waving it up and down, trying to signal me to start my thankful soliloquy. She wants her story.
I nod at the couple and with a small smile I say, "Excuse me." I head for the restroom and close the door.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Buckley is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. When Dougie disappears without a trace, Miranda manages to get temporary custody of the boy. Now, Dougie is back and she is afraid he's here to take his son away.
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When I finally emerge from the bathroom, having wiped my face and washed as much soda off of my arms as I could, I find them all still standing there. I don't know whether to apologize or turn back around. I force a big smile on my face and step forward. "I, uh, just want to thank you for this. It isn't necessary, but I thank you. I'm glad you found some closure. I'd hug you both, but, well, as you can see, I'm kind of sticky right now. I washed my hands so, at the very least, I can shake your hands. I'm sorry that you had to put up a reward for answers about your son. I'm sorry you had to go through this hell for so long, with not knowing. So, um, thank you."
The older woman steps forward. "I hope it helps you and your family."
"Did anyone ever call you with tips about him, or any information?"
She nods. "We were sent on a few wild goose chases in the beginning. Then as time passed, people just forgot about him. They'd call and ask about the money. Got tons of calls about whether or not anyone had claimed the money. Funny how the person missing becomes old news, but the reward stays fresh in every one's mind."
My heart aches for them. The one thing they longed for was the one thing no one could give them. And to be honest, I only stumbled on the information. I stand there by the window, holding the yellow check with numbers I could only ever imagine in my hand, and watch them head to their car. They hold hands, and I watch as he leans close to kiss the top of her head. I slip the check into my back pocket before turning away.
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Rita sends me straight to the bank. She says there is no way I should walk around with that big check in my back pocket. What I really want is a shower, but the best I can do is to change my work shirt.
To my surprise, the manager of the bank comes out and introduces himself. He brings me a cup of coffee and asks if I have a few minutes to spare so he can talk to me about investments and how his bank can help me plan my financial future. With this much money I can plan my own financial future, I wonder where he was when I was depositing my regular pay checks. He's a persistent man so I make an appointment for next week and get a two hundred dollar advance on the check.
When I pull back into the Little Eagle parking lot, I see Matt's van there. I'm sure Rita called him while I was gone. As much as those two act like they don't really care for each other, they are two peas in a pod.
"Heard the Toblerones were here," Matt says as soon as I step back in to the store. "You deposited it, didn't you?"
"Yes, Matt," I say. "Is now a good time to put in my resignation?"
He goes pale and it takes him a few minutes before he realizes I'm joking. "Funny," he mutters. "Besides, even though that kind of money is pretty substantial, if you aren't careful, you can just run through it."
"I'm not gonna blow through it, Matt. Believe it or not, I'm a financially responsible adult."
He nods almost sheepishly. "Oh, by the way, I only had to say the name Earl once and those two have been angels, well, almost angels. What did you tell them to get them to behave? I've threatened them with Santa and everything."
I lean in close and whisper, "I told them that Earl was the cook next door to here and he used bad kids to make his hamburgers. And before you ask, no, I didn't tell them they would be the ones making the burgers. Earl grinds them up and cooks them. Works like a charm."
He steps back, his mouth agape and eyes wide, "What? Why would you tell them that?"
"Matt, remember when I said blink once if you wanted me to scare them straight?"
He nods.
"How many times did you blink?"
"Once."
"When someone goes to the Mafia Don, they are granted one request. In my humble opinion, they shouldn't waste it on something trivial."
"But, I didn't think you would scare the hell out them."
I smile and reach up to pinch his cheek. "Come on, you knew who you were dealing with. Let's just agree to be happy it worked. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to call my mother and tell her the good news."
I walk back to the office, knowing that Matt will never again ask someone to straighten out his children. If you aren't willing to get your own hands dirty, you shouldn't get mad at someone who you ask to do it for you. I suppose in a way, both Matt and his children got a little lesson.
I take a deep breath and dial my momma's phone number.
"Hello, Momma. You aren't gonna believe this." I say, even though she hasn't even had a chance to say hello. "Are you sitting down?"
"I already know, Dougie is back. Lady at the hair salon told me."
"Forget about Dougie. I have a question, how much is that new roof going to set you back?"
"About fourteen thousand, why?"
"Merry Christmas, Momma." I giggle as the words come out.
"What on earth are you talking about?"
"Momma, the Toblerones gave me a check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I had no idea there was a reward. That girl from the paper, she came by and told me my life was going to change. Damn if she wasn't right. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Momma. Can you believe it?"
"Don't go telling everybody. They'll be coming out of the woodwork after you."
"I'm not. I just had to tell you. I love you, Momma. Look, I've got to go."
"Miranda, things are starting to look up. You better take a moment to thank God."
I hang up the phone and sit back in the chair. I suddenly realize, I'm ill equipped to deal with good fortune. First Waylon, then Mitch, now this. Things are looking up, and I'd better get used to it.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda has been raising her ex-lover, Dougie's, son. When Dougie disappeared without a trace, Miranda filed for temporary custody. Now Dougie is back and she's afraid he's going to take the boy away.
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You know when you hear good news or something good happens to you, the first thing you want to do is share it. Share it with your friends, family, enemies, hell, anyone who will stand still long enough to listen. That's how it is with me. I want to scream it from the top of my lungs but I know Momma is right. People get wind of a financial windfall and they all stick out their hands. I call Mitch and tell him to come by the store on his way home. I call Waylon and shoot the breeze, ask him what he wants for Christmas.
"If you could have anything, money not being an issue, what would you ask Santa for?"
"I don't know. A nice pair of shoes. Maybe Nike or Adidas."
"Really? That's what you'd ask for?" I can't help but feel a little disappointed. Where is the mention of a car or a trip to Vegas? "Think, Waylon, You could have anything."
He lets out a bored sigh. "Maybe a small john boat so I could go out on the water some."
"Interesting," I mutter. "Okay, write a letter to Santa Claus and maybe you'll get one."
He is silent for a couple of seconds then he laughs. "Have you been hitting Aaron's bong, Miranda?"
"No! I was just wondering. Aren't you gonna ask me?"
"Sure. What would you want if Santa could bring it?"
"I would pay off this trailer and put some money aside for you to go to college."
"Well, write your letter," he teases. "Oh, I forgot to tell you. Tomlin was out today. Someone vandalized his car. Wrote the F word all over it. Orange spray paint."
"F word? There are a few, which one? And if he was absent, how do you know about it?"
"Fag. And some kids on the bus said their bus goes right by his house and there he was in his bathrobe, talking to some cops. Said he looked pissed off." I can hear a little glee in his voice but I'm not gonna call him out on that. Tomlin has taken great pleasure in tormenting Waylon. As my grandma used to say, "You reap what you sow."
"Well, that's not a very nice word, so don't go around repeating it."
"You asked me which F word. I only said it because you asked. I know not to use that word. I'm not an idiot."
I smile, then think about how his father had used it. Maybe the apple does fall far from the tree.
"Hey, Aaron just pulled in, so, I'll talk to you later, okay?" he says, excitement returning to his voice. "Remember, write that letter," he teases.
As I'm hanging up the phone, in walks Mitch. "Hello, Beautiful, how was your day?"
I walk around the counter and wrap my arms around his neck. "It's been eventful. I had some visitors this morning."
He slips his arms around me and brushes my hair back from my face. His fingers get tangled in it. "What the hell is in your hair?"
"Dr. Pepper, but that's neither here nor there. The Toblerones came by. They wanted to thank me for finding their son." I pull away from Mitch to dig in my back pocket. I unfold the deposit slip and hand it over.
"This isn't real. Is this a joke? Two hundred and fifty grand?" He stares at it wide eyed, like he's waiting for the punch line. "Miranda, this is awesome. No more Little Eagle, no more working nights."
"Whoa, Mitch. I'm not gonna quit my job because I got some money."
"Well, now you can find something else. Shoot, it wouldn't even have to be full time."
I step back. "Mitch, I like this job. I can't work for other people. Matt gave me a chance when most people were slamming doors in my face. Shit, I'm kind of the face of the Little Eagle. Why would I quit doing what I love?"
He sighs and reaches out to pull me back again. "I'm sorry. I just figured you hated working here. All I ever hear you do is bitch and complain about the customers. If you like it, stay here."
"Everyone bitches about their jobs. It's cheaper than therapy." I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him. "Funny, even kissing is better when you're rich."
"Hmm. Can't wait to find out what else changes," he whispers. "But, I've got to go. Molly is in a play at the school. I'll call you later. Love you."
I watch him walk out to his car and hug myself. Money, a kid I'm crazy about, and a perfect boyfriend, what else could make this day better? Well, it's not my last customer of the day.
I hear the thumping bass of the over sized speakers about a block before the truck pulls into the lot. I grimace as he gets out of his truck and saunters to the front doors.
"Did you hear what happened to that teacher?" Dougie says loudly. "Sounds like somebody called him out."
"Did you do that, Dougie?"
He grins. "No, not me, but I might have mentioned it to a couple of guys who aren't exactly fans of the queens and fairies."
"That wasn't exactly a cool thing to do." I step back to the counter and start straightening it up, trying not to give him any reason to stick around.
"So, you want to go grab a beer?"
"No."
"You quit drinking, Randa?"
"No. Just don't want to grab a beer with you."
He comes over to the counter and leans over it. "I had to leave, babe. You were holding on too tight. I'm not the kind of guy who can be on lock down. I never meant to hurt you. You believe me, don't you?"
I feel the tingling of sharp words and unkind phrases bubbling on my tongue. "Which time was I holding you to tightly, the times I made your truck payment, or when the rent was due? Was it the time you came back and saw that your son was doing better without you being in his life? I'm just curious, Dougie."
He eases back off the counter and smiles coolly. "Say the word, Randa, and I'll disappear again. But this time it'll be your fault Waylon won't see me."
He turns around and heads for the door. Scumbag, I think. He's putting all of this on my shoulders. "That's right, Dougie, don't ever take any responsibility for your actions. Typical Dougie Wilcox. Good to know nothing has changed."
I watch him climb into his big ugly truck, and decide maybe that's what I should ask Santa for. Take Dougie back to the North Pole where he will freeze his over sized ego off.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. When Dougie disappeared without a trace, Miranda was granted temporary custody. Now, Dougie is back and she is afraid he's here to take Waylon away.
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Aaron and Waylon are sitting on the porch when I drive up to my trailer. I can see Aaron writing something on a pad of paper and Waylon is holding his phone's flashlight over it. Not sure why they don't go inside, but different strokes for different folks.
"Please tell me Aaron isn't doing your homework for you," I say as I walk up to them.
"I wish," Waylon mutters. "No, He's writing down some stuff for his book. It's gonna be so cool. He said I could write a chapter. Tell my side of things."
Aaron looks up and winks. "You can too. It'd be pretty cool for all three of us to have a section."
"Have you talked to anyone about the agents yet?" I ask. I tilt my head but realize I can't read his handwriting. "Why don't y'all come inside for a few minutes. Sit at the table."
They follow me inside and pull the chairs out and sit. I put my stuff away and sit with them. "Let me hear some of your ideas."
He smiles self-consciously. "I really don't have that much. Just a few sentences."
"That's a start. Read them to me."
He sighs and flips a page over. "Oh, here's one." He clears his throat and begins, "What started out as an ordinary day proved to be anything but." He stops and looks over.
"Keep going," I encourage him.
He shrugs. "That's all I've got so far."
It's been two weeks. At this rate, it's going to be a very short book. I force a smile that's meant to encourage him. "Aaron, you could tell about how your grandfather or whoever he was, used to tell you about his brother who disappeared. Build up the legacy of moon shining and stuff like that."
His eyes light up. "Man, I should get you to write it. That's good stuff. See, that's why you're the brains of our group."
I roll my eyes and take the paper from him. "Think about the things that you'd want to know. If you're gonna write a book, make it one that you'd want to read. Think about that day. How the water felt, how your toes squished in the mud at the bottom of the pond. That kind of stuff. Take the reader with you. Make them dive under the water, make them look for snapping turtles and trash on the bottom." I stop and look up to see them both staring at me, mouths agape.
"Damn, Miranda," Aaron says.
Waylon shakes his head. "How do you know so much about writing?"
"I love to read. I love when an author takes me on a journey," I say.
Waylon shakes his head again. "I've never seen you so much as pick up a book."
"I used to read. I loved reading. I'd like to get back into it. Take my advice or don't. I'm sticky and I'm gonna take a shower. Night, you two."
I leave them, furiously writing down ideas and random sentences. As I'm closing the bathroom door, I hear Aaron. "She's so smart."
I peel off the t-shirt and drop it into the hamper. I remove my earrings then step out of my jeans and turn on the shower. My reflection shakes her head. "I can't believe you stayed at work all sticky and disgusting."
"Rich and sticky isn't nearly as intolerable as being poor and sticky," I tease.
"Why don't you write a book?"
"No. No one in their right mind would read it. What do I have to say anyway?"
She shrugs. "A lot of people use writing as a form of therapy. Helps them navigate their feelings."
I smile. "Well, when did you get your degree in psychology?"
"Oh come on. You watch Dr. Phil," she snaps. "Besides, no one has to read it. It's like our little conversations, you don't tell anyone about that."
"Because when someone finds out you talk to yourself, they think you are crazy."
She smirks. "I did notice that you didn't mention to either Waylon or Aaron about your sudden windfall. Why is that?"
"I forgot. They were talking about the book and stuff."
She laughs. "Bull shit! You are afraid Waylon will mention it to his dad."
I reach over to check the temperature of the shower. "Do you blame me?"
"The problem is, he's gonna feel hurt that you didn't confide in him. It's gonna get around town. Stuff like this doesn't stay under wraps for long."
"I'll think about it. Maybe tomorrow."
"It's quite a dilemma. Trust him not to tell Dougie or keep it from him."
I step into the luxurious hot water and lather up. After my shower, I'll tell him. He's old enough to keep a promise, but will he keep it from his dad? I don't want to be the one to tell him what a jackass Dougie is. Maybe he's old enough to hear about him. Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is tell someone the truth.
I rinse the soap out of my hair and think about the blank journal that my momma gave me a few years back. It's in the bottom drawer of my nightstand. I had always planned to use it but somehow it stayed tucked in the drawer. Maybe tonight I'll write about all the dark things that weave around in my thoughts. I'll confess my sins to the paper. When I was in middle school and high school, I used to write in my diary. I remember how exciting it was to tell it everything. No subject was off limits.
I pull on my robe after stepping out of the shower, and go into my room. I sit on the edge of the bed and pull the bottom drawer open. I dig through the junk and finally feel the hard bound book in my hand. The giddy excitement wells up inside of me. I pull it out and open it to the first page. My momma's handwriting is on it. Tears well up as I read the inscription.
"Miranda, you are an amazing woman. I'd like to take credit, but this has all been you. Write your dreams in here or whatever you want. I love you, my beautiful girl."
I set it on the bed and go out to the living room. Aaron has gone and Waylon is sitting on the couch, using the remote to flip through the channels.
"What's up?" he says, looking over. "You have a weird look on your face."
"I need to tell you something, but first, I need to make sure you understand why you have to keep this to yourself. I mean, you can't tell anyone about this. No one. Do you understand? No one."
He nods. "Not even Aaron?"
"No one, Waylon. Swear to it."
By now he is looking scared. He inches forward on the couch and nods nervously. "I swear."
"Sit back. This is going to be a long story."
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda is raising her ex-lover's son, Waylon. When Dougie disappeared and no one heard from him, she filed for and was granted temporary custody. Now, Dougie is back and Miranda is afraid he's come back to get Waylon.
***********************************************************************************************
Telling Waylon about the reward gives me mixed feelings. On the one hand, I'm glad to share it with him. On the other hand, I can see in his excitement that he is itching to share the news with someone.
"You can't tell anyone, Waylon. I know it's exciting but this has to stay between us. No Aaron, no kid on the bus, no," I pause and watch him. "No, Dougie."
"Why can't I tell my dad? He'd be happy for you. He still has a thing for you."
I try to regain control of my face, before I look like I smell something bad. "That so?"
"I wasn't supposed to tell you that." Waylon grins. "He said you were the perfect woman in his opinion. Feisty and smart."
If I'm not mistaken, I see a glimmer of hope in his eyes. I need to set the record straight immediately. "Waylon, you understand nothing is going to happen between your dad and me, right?"
He nods. "I know. He thinks he can win you back. I tried to tell him that you were with the sheriff now. He said something like, "temporarily". He seems to be trying, at least."
I nod and reach over to squeeze his hand. "And, I'm glad for that, for you. But, there isn't a snowball's chance in hell that I'm getting back together with your dad."
"What are you gonna do with the money?"
"Putting some in the bank, pay off the trailer, put some in an account for your college."
He looks at me in disbelief. "You're gonna give some of it to me?"
"For college. If you choose not to go to college, it will remain in a trust for you until you reach twenty-five. No car, no crazy vacations. This money is for something to help you."
He smiles and impulsively jumps up to hug me. "You're the best, Miranda."
"Speaking of college, will your grade for marine biology this year keep you out of the running for a scholarship?"
"I don't think so. Mr. Tomlin is too busy worrying about his car and the fact that his golden boy, Terrence was transferred out of his class."
"When did that happen?"
"I told you about his car. How could you forget?" He laughs and shakes his head. "Last week, someone wrote the F word on the side of his car."
"Yeah, yeah, I remember. I mean why was this Terrence kid, transferred out?"
He shrugs. "Who knows," he says.
My heart does this little flutter and I wonder if the boy came clean and told Elaine something incriminating. "Well, you watch yourself around him. Mr. Tomlin strikes me as someone who likes to start stuff."
Tomorrow, I'm going to ring up my ex-monster-in-law, and try to find out some information. But tonight, I can go to bed knowing one kid is safely away from this creep, and hope and pray that Tomlin doesn't set his sights on someone else.
********************************************************************************************
I can't let my curiosity go with just a phone call to Elaine. I will be able to tell much more by seeing her face. She always had a tell. If I was right about something, she would do this little impatient sniff and look away while she crossed her arms over her middle.
I'm going to do the nice thing and stop in the school, two fancy coffees in hand, and chat her up about donating something for the school. Then I will switch gears to find out about the Evanoff boy. If Tomlin is a predator, and I definitely think he is, he needs a spotlight on him all day.
I buzz the intercom, a bag of donuts and two coffees in my hands, then waltz into the office. "I'm here to see Elaine."
The troll of a security guard steps closer, either suspicious of my need for her or because he can smell the donuts. I set the bag on the counter and push it towards him. "Please, help yourself."
He peeks into the bag and a strange little smile comes to his face. "These aren't poisoned, are they?"
"If you're gonna die after eating one of these, it'll be the sugar that gets you."
Elaine comes out as if on cue. She hands the secretary a folder and tells her to call the counselor about a student. She looks up, sees me, can't conceal her unhappiness. "Miranda, what has brought you here?"
"Thought we could chat." I lift the coffee cup and offer it to her.
"I'm really busy today."
"You can spare me a few minutes, surely." I smile at her, letting her know I'll play nice but I'm not going anywhere.
"Five minutes," she says briskly. She casts a leveling glance at the security guard. "Shouldn't you be checking the bathrooms? The bell has already rung."
Sheepishly, he stuffs the rest of the donut into his mouth and leaves. She says nothing to me, just turns to go back to her office and I follow her.
Once inside she sits at her desk. "What do you want, Miranda?"
"I came bearing gifts, Elaine. Coffee from Patterson Deli. They buy directly from Peru. This is top of the line. Taste it." I slide the insulated cup over to her.
She lifts it to her lips and nods impatiently. "What?"
I'm having such fun getting her to act civil and jump through hoops I almost forget why I came. "Good, isn't it?"
"Delightful," she says flatly. "What do you want, Miranda?"
"Did you talk to the Evanoff kid?"
She draws in a deep breath and reaches for a paper on the desk top. "Is this any business of yours?"
"I think so. I think it's the business of every parent who has a child in this school. I'm going to guess that since the boy was transferred out of his class, he said something against Tomlin."
Elaine shakes her head. "I've got things to do. Thank you for the coffee and the donuts. Have a pleasant day, Miranda."
"Have you looked into Mr. Tomlin's background, Elaine?"
"He came highly recommended."
"If someone gets hurt by him, you better believe I will not only throw you under the bus, but I will be driving the bus and I will back up and run over you again. Am I making myself clear?"
Elaine smiles. "I have it all under control. Go home, Miranda."
I pick up my cup of coffee and head to the door. "Have a good day, Elaine. Look both ways before crossing the street. You just never know when a bus is coming."
I return to the office reception area and see the security guard standing there talking to the secretary.
"Has that poison kicked in yet?" I tease.
"Not yet. But I might need another one just in case."
I smile at him and hand over the bag. "Enjoy." I look over my shoulder to see Elaine watching from the doorway of her office. She sniffs, looks away quickly, then crosses her arms.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. When Dougie disappeared without a trace, Miranda filed for temporary custody of the boy, Waylon. Now, Dougie has returned and Miranda is afraid that he is back for the boy.
***********************************************************************************************
I wander down the halls of the school and study the posters and artwork that adorn the walls. Things sure have changed since I was in school. Posters were of teenagers sitting at picnic tables, one or two smoking a cigarette, with the caption that reads, "Please don't leave your butts around" or something equally silly. These posters are of rainbows and odd cartoons, captions saying "Celebrate all the colors of the rainbow" or "We all bloom at our own pace." I shake my head and walk a little farther down the hallway. Artwork is taped up. Collages of dolphins and marlin scattered as far as the eye can see.
I probably should have left, I doubt Elaine would have approved of my little unguided and unsanctioned tour, but I'm a sucker for nostalgia. And being here gets me to thinking about what my life was like when I was in high school. I wonder if eighteen year old Miranda would have ever imagined herself raising a teen aged boy? No sir, the only teen aged boys she ever thought about were the kind she chased. Worrying about their education or the fact that a pedophile might be stalking the art covered walls of the school wouldn't have ever crossed her mind. That younger version of me, well, she didn't really understand that people like that even existed.
I hear voices coming towards me. I duck into an alcove and turn away.
"Look, Mr. Tomlin, I told you it wasn't my choice," an unmistakably young sounding voice says.
"Who told the principal to move you out of my class then?" Mr. Tomlin hisses. "If you didn't ask her, who did?"
"I, I don't know. I need to get back to class."
The sound of footsteps gets closer, and I press myself back against the wall.
"Terrence, I'm gonna find out who caused this. If it was you, just tell me the truth. I thought we were friends. You're a special boy." Tomlin's voice is soft and filled with emotion.
"Mr. Tomlin, I need to get back to class," the boy says.
I hear them both walk away, one set of footsteps fading off to the left and one set echoing off to the right. I creep closer to the edge of the alcove and peep out. I see the back of the boy, hurrying down the hall. He's on the smaller side. Looks like someone in the eighth or ninth grade.
"Excuse me," I call out.
He slows down and looks over his shoulder. "I'm heading back to class now. A teacher stopped me." He says the words, and they sound practiced, like he's said this many times before. He thinks I'm a teacher or work at the school.
"Are you Terrence?"
He stops and frowns, suspicious of me. "Do you work here?"
"No, I'm Waylon Wilcox's, uh, step mom."
He tilts his head. "I don't know what class he's in right now. You could go to the office and they can check his schedule."
"Oh, I'm not looking for him. I couldn't help but overhear you talking to that teacher. Is everything okay? You seemed a little rattled when you were talking to him."
He rubs his hands together and his eyes sweep the hallway for anyone. "I'm fine. He used to be my marine biology teacher. My mom had me transferred. He won't let it go."
"You could tell Ela-, I mean the principal."
He smiles weakly. "I can handle it. I gotta get back to class," he says hooking his thumb in the direction of the stairs leading to the second floor.
"I understand. Nice to meet you, Terrence."
He starts to smile then stops. "How'd you know my name, anyway?"
"Heard him say it. Have a good day." I turn and walk back down the hall to the front door.
I have my hand on the door when I hear Elaine. "Miranda, where did you come from? I thought you left already."
I don't miss a beat. I dazzle her with my best ex-daughter-in-law smile. "Ladies room, Elaine. Coffee does that to me."
"Alright. Goodbye, Miranda." She moves over to the door and holds it open for me. "Next time make an appointment. I never liked you just dropping by when you were married to my son, so, as you can imagine, I like it even less now."
"Have a good day, Elaine."
**********************************************************************************************
I swing by my mom's afterward. She is in the hall closet, pulling out clothes and jackets that haven't seen the light of day in a good two decades.
"Is this yours?" she asks, holding up a fake fur jacket that looks like something Wilma Flintstone would have worn for a night on the town.
"Uh, no." I shake my head and run my hand across the cheap fur.
"Why the hell is it in my closet then? It wasn't mine."
"Toss it."
"But, suppose someone comes looking for it?"
I shake my head. "Momma, It's been in the hall closet for, at least, twenty or thirty years. No one is going to come asking for it now."
She holds it up to give it a once over, then looks over at me. "Are these things coming back in style?"
"Well, I sure hope not. It's ugly as sin. Here, let me go get a trash bag and I'll drop it off at the thrift store for you. How much longer are you gonna be? I'd like to take you out to lunch."
"I haven't touched this closet in over ten years. I'm gonna be a while. But if you're in a giving mood, order a pizza and roll up your sleeves. I could use the help."
By the time the pizza arrives, we have seven umbrellas, countless coats and jackets, two tennis rackets, and a vacuum cleaner that has been broken since1989.
"Well, Miranda, there are six more closets in this house. Help me tackle another one?"
"I really should get going," I say, stretching to loosen up the muscles in my back.
She smiles and pats my arm. "Well, this will all be yours when I pass away. You can just wait to go through everything then." She starts up the stairs and glances over her shoulder. "Have a great afternoon."
"Damn, you are good." I race up the stairs after her.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda has been raising her ex-lover, Dougie's, son. When Dougie went missing, she filed for temporary custody. But, Dougie has since returned, and she is afraid that he is back for his son.
***********************************************************************************************
Mrs. Fine is sitting at her usual post when I pull into the Garden of Eden Mobile Home Park. She sits, legs crossed and one of her cheap cigarettes perched between her bony fingers. I feel her beady eyes on me before I even get out of the car.
"I heard your ship finally came in," she calls out in her scratchy voice. I watch as she puts the cigarette to her thin wrinkled lips and draws in a deep breath. She holds the smoke for an eternity before it billows out like smoke from a dragon's nostrils.
"I'm not sure what you're referring to," I say, busying myself with the contents in my purse.
"Oh, come now, Miranda. You're front page news." She holds up the afternoon edition of the Patterson Gazette. "Not a very flattering picture of you," she mutters just loud enough for me to hear her.
I hurry over to her trailer, and without asking, snatch the edition out of her bony hands. Damned if she isn't telling the truth. There is a grainy photograph of me, looking like I've been dragged behind the Good Humor truck for about thirty miles. Even though the details are blurry, my shirt and vest are stained and there is a dark spot on my jeans that makes it look like I wet myself. If I had the cash on me, I'd find every paper machine in the county and buy all of the copies. Not only does it alert everyone that I came into some money, but I look like road kill, to boot.
I grab the pack of cigs that she has stashed on the railing and tap one out, and before I can rethink my actions, Mrs. Fine is ready with the lighter. "Shit. I can't believe Colleen didn't let me know when she was publishing this."
"Who the hell is Colleen?" she asks.
"The reporter who wrote this. Colleen Weaver."
"It's not a bad story, but I'd kick her ass for that picture. But then, that's just me."
I draw in a lungful of the disgusting smoke and try not to get upset. I might be safe from Dougie reading about it. I don't think he even takes time to read the menu at Burger King. But, Elaine and her husband get the paper, or at least, they used to. My mom gets the paper whenever the paper delivery guy doesn't toss it on her roof. Shit, Matt carries it at the Little Eagle.
One more drag and I drop the half smoked devil-stick down and smear it into the gravel with the toe of my shoe. "Thanks for the smoke and do me a favor. When you're done with that copy," i start but she cuts me off.
"You want me to save it for your?"
I frown at her suggestion. "No, I want you to burn it."
*********************************************************************************************
Waylon is doing his homework and I'm paying a couple of bills when Mitch comes by.
"If you're here to harass me about that God awful picture in the paper," I tease as he stands there on the porch. My smile fades as he looks past me to where Waylon sits. "What's wrong?"
He nods for me to come outside and waits until I close the door before he speaks. "Miranda, when was the last time you saw Dougie?"
I shrug. "I guess its been about a week. Why? Has he disappeared again?"
"Not exactly. I believe he's been involved in an altercation."
"Mitch, I don't have time for you to speak in police gibberish. What the hell has happened?"
"Two men were found on the side of the road. Dougie's truck was pulled over out past Haynes Pond. The other vehicle was forced off the road. It looks like road rage. It looks like Dougie took a hammer to the occupant of the second vehicle. Some woman was driving past and said she saw a tall dark haired man acting like he was going to bust out the windshield of another car. When we got there, Dougie was out cold, but the hammer was still in his hand and the other man was dead."
My mind spins. Dougie isn't a killer, much less, someone prone to road rage. He didn't put that much effort into anything. "That can't be real, Mitch."
"It's very real. Do you want me to tell Waylon, or do you want to?"
I shudder. This is going to kill him. He just got his daddy back and now, something like this? I can't answer. "Has Dougie said anything?"
"He was still out. They were taking him to the hospital. He wasn't conscious when I came over here."
"I don't believe he would kill someone. Not unless he was being threatened in some way. Even then," I mutter.
"He knew this guy, Miranda. It was the teacher. It was Waylon's teacher."
I don't dare look up at Mitch. I've not told him that Dougie knew Tomlin back in high school. I've kept their previous relationship a secret. I didn't tell Mitch that Dougie was the one who instigated Tomlin's car being vandalized. But, cold blooded murder? It doesn't sit.
"If you want a ride to the hospital from me, let's go tell Waylon."
I nod silently and put my hand on the door knob. I thought my day was bad because of a crappy photograph in the paper. Little did I know that was the highlight of the day.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. She got temporary custody of the boy when Dougie disappeared. Now she thinks that Dougie has returned to take him away.
***********************************************************************************************
The nurse will only let immediate family in to see Dougie. He has a concussion, some bleeding on the brain, which according to the shift doctor, could be bad or could be nothing. His pupils react to light, and that shows brain function.
"This place gives me the willies," I mutter as Mitch and I go to the little waiting area at the end of the hall. "I hate hospitals."
Mitch reaches over and pats my knee. "No one likes hospitals, but thank the good Lord for them."
"I know. They just smell funny and people die."
"They get well, too," he says. "This hospital saved your life. I'll always be grateful for this place."
I smile. "I wasn't dying, Mitch. I got clonked in the face by a lunatic."
Mitch nods. "I know, I know. Just seeing you here, unconscious and all battered and bruised. Not something I ever want to see again, I can tell you that."
I look past him down the hall to see Waylon coming towards us. He looks like a little boy. His eyes are wide and he's pale.
"Waylon, you okay? How's your daddy?"
He shoves his hands in his pockets and he struggles to keep it together. "He's hurt pretty bad. He woke up for a minute, and he asked for you."
I glance at Mitch. "Should I go in there?"
Mitch shrugged. "I guess. He asked for you after all." There is a coolness in his voice that I can't miss. I'll have to remember to ask him about it later. I'm hoping it isn't petty jealousy. "Do you want to come with me? In case he says something."
Mitch looks from me to Waylon then back again. "I'm in uniform. That's probably not a good idea."
I take Waylon's hand and walk back to Dougie's room with him.
Dougie's head is wrapped with white gauze and he has various wires and tubes attached to him. There is no color in his face.
"Dad?" Waylon whispers as he leans in close to his dad. "I'm here, Miranda's here, too."
Dougie stirs but doesn't open his eyes. After about five minutes, the nurse comes in to tell us that visiting hours are over.
Mitch stands up as we enter the waiting area. "Well?"
I shake my head. "They probably gave him something for the pain. He didn't wake up. I think we should go home, and in the morning I can bring you back here to sit with your dad. He's gonna need you," I say, turning to look at Waylon.
"What about school?" Waylon asks. "If I miss too much time, Tomlin will fail me."
I swallow the lump in my throat. Neither Mitch nor I had told him any details about why his dad was in the hospital. Just that he was hurt.
"We're not gonna worry about school right now. I'll call your principal first thing in the morning."
I put my arm around Waylon's shoulder as we walk to the elevators. "Miranda, what's going to happen to him if the brain bleeding doesn't stop?"
"Listen to me, Waylon. If he was that bad off, they would have flown him to Norfolk or Greenville. Stop thinking about things that might not happen. He's in good hands. I'll bet tomorrow, he's gonna be asking for a beer and pinching the nurses."
At last, I see a tiny smile on Waylon's face.
*******************************************************************************************
I take a hot shower, and call Rita to tell her what happened. I promise that I'll be at work tomorrow but I might be late. She peppers me with questions, but I can't tell her anything. Mitch shouldn't have told me, but he knew I wouldn't come with him unless he did. All I could say was Dougie got hurt and there was head trauma. I should call Momma, but I know I'd spill the beans if she started to ask me a bunch of questions. Plus, I know she wouldn't sleep tonight if I told her anything. I'm hoping she'll agree to sit with Waylon at the hospital some tomorrow when I have to go into work.
I pick up my journal and flip to the next blank page.
"How can you live with someone for three years and hear that they have been accused of a crime. Not just a stupid crime, but a heinous crime. A hate crime is what it will be dubbed in the papers. A gay teacher beaten to death with a hammer by a white homophobic redneck. It wouldn't matter to Dougie. He would just be excited to be mentioned in the paper, He could weasel out of anything. But Waylon would be devastated. All of the fall out would land right on poor Waylon.
"Do I think Dougie is capable of this? No, not in a million years. He doesn't invest his feelings in things like that. As far as I know, Dougie doesn't invest his feelings in anything or anyone."
I stop and tap the pen on the paper. I've got to figure out what happened. I know Mitch is a good cop, but he doesn't think like I do. He's too logical. The world isn't just facts and logic. There are a lot of what if's. I'm a "what if" girl.
What if Dougie did stop Tomlin? Why would he do it? Dougie had laughed when he admitted he had instigated the vandalism. Why go to this extreme? What if Dougie was just in the wrong place at the wrong time? What if Tomlin was caught with someone, doing something he shouldn't be doing, and Dougie stumbled on that? That would mean there was someone else there, but who?
I slide the journal back into the drawer and turn off the lights. I say a prayer for Dougie, Waylon and for Dennis Tomlin. Before long, I drift into a fitful sleep filled with dark nightmares of long hallways where dead, milky eyed Ed Preston stands, keeping me trapped in a world where I don't belong.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. When Dougie disappeared last year without a trace, Miranda filed for temporary custody. Now, Dougie has returned and Miranda thinks he is here to take his son back.
***********************************************************************************************
There is something ominous about walking the hallways of a hospital at night. Its like being in the realm of a world that is between the living and the dead. The lights are low, the halls are quiet. It's downright spooky, if you ask me. But now, when the day is just starting, it's almost cheery. Nurses walk around energized and wearing big dazzling smiles on their faces.
The nurse on charge gives me a pass to go to Dougie's room. Waylon is sitting in a chair pulled close to the hospital bed. Briefly, he looks up at me. "The lady said that the doctor was gong to be coming in here soon. I thought you might be him."
"Has he opened his eyes?"
Waylon shakes his head. "Not yet."
Dougie makes a moaning sound, but his eyes remain closed.
The doctor comes in and introduces himself. "I'm Dr. Reeves. I was here when Mr. Wilcox was brought in. Are you familiar with what has happened to him? Did anyone go over this with you?"
Waylon shakes his head and looks to me. I clear my throat and tell him what I heard from Mitch. Well, not everything. I leave out the part about Mr. Tomlin and the possible bludgeoning.
"Well, the good news is, the bleeding on his brain has stopped. Now, its a waiting game. The problem with brain injuries is we don't know the extent for a while. He could wake up with a headache and that would be the worst of it. He could have memory issues, or physical issues. Right now, all we can do is keep him comfortable and watch him. If he does come to, don't engage him in the details of what has happened to him. Just call the nurse and let her know."
Waylon nods quickly and leans in closer to his dad. "That's good news, Dad. The bleeding has stopped. Can you hear me?"
Another moan, soft and weak, escapes from Dougie.
"I think he's getting ready to come to," Waylon says anxiously.
Dr. Reeves steps over and pulls Dougie's eyelid up and shines a pin light in it. "It's just an involuntary sound. Good news, his pupils are responding to light. Let's give him some time to rest. That's the best thing for him, right now." The doctor gently pats Waylon's shoulder.
"Thank you, Dr. Reeves."
He says a quick goodbye and ducks out of the room.
Waylon turns on the television and occasionally tells his dad something that is happening on the show. I glance at the clock on the wall and borrow Waylon's phone. I step out into the hall and call Momma.
"Hey, Momma, it's me. I need to ask you for a favor. Will you come to the hospital to stay with Waylon so I can go to work?"
Her voice loudly penetrates my eardrum. "Why is Waylon in the hospital!?! What happened?"
"He's here because his daddy got hurt. Waylon is fine."
"Jesus, Miranda, you probably could have lead with that. You sure know how to give your mother a heart attack. What time are you leaving there? I'm not even dressed yet."
"I'd like to leave around noon. Will that give you enough time?"
"Yes. Tell Waylon I'm bringing him some lunch. Oh, what happened to Dougie? Did he fall after tripping over his ego?" She giggles at her own comment.
"He's in a bad way, Momma. Head trauma. The brain has stopped bleeding, but he's been unconscious since they found him."
"Well, good Lord, now I feel like a real heel. He's gonna make it, right?"
I look at the closed door. "I sure hope so."
*******************************************************************************************
Instead of going straight to work, I drive to where the crime happened. I'm sure Mitch wouldn't approve, which is precisely why I don't tell him. Both Dougie's truck and Mr. Tomlin's car have been towed off and all I can find are the deep trenches in the dirt beside the road. I'm guessing that is where Tomlin's car was forced off. I look down at the tires marks that were more than likely made by Dougie's truck. It looks like he pulled off the road in a normal fashion. I walk from one spot to the other. Where Dougie's truck was, the weeds and grass are pressed down in a north bound direction. The other spot is pressed in the opposite way. How do you force someone off the road when you're both going in two different directions? And, if Dougie did try to force Tomlin off the road, why weren't the marks on the other side of the road? If anything, the way things appeared, Tomlin was after Dougie.
I get back in my car and drum my fingers on the steering wheel. "Wake up, Dougie. I have so many questions. How do you murder someone and end up getting knocked out? I can't believe you would do something like this. This isn't you. Missy, yes, but not you." I turn on the engine and start driving to work.
**********************************************************************************************
After giving Rita the Readers Digest rendition of what happened, minus the murdered school teacher, and then answering most of her questions, she starts to go back to work.
"I tell you one thing, Miranda, Patterson is changing. And not for the better. I heard that some man was murdered out by Haynes Pond. They should just fill that nasty place with sand and make it a parking lot. Nothing good ever happens out that way."
I can't answer. Last year I would have agreed with her. Now, I realize bad things happen everywhere. And bad things happen to good people. There is no rhyme or reason. All you can do is expect the worse and hope for the best. Make that pray for the best.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda has been raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. Dougie has returned to town, she is worried he will try to take his son back. But, now, a teacher has been murdered and Dougie seems to be the prime suspect.
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I show up at the Sheriff's office bearing gifts. I have a huge bag of donuts, éclair's, bear claws and a jug of coffee for them. I know they have coffee there already, the smell of it will knock you down as soon as you open the door. This is real coffee. Fresh beans ground with a hint of cinnamon tossed in for good measure. When I set the spread up, they all but hoist me up on their shoulders.
Mitch meanders out of his office and eyes me with what I think is suspicion. "What do we have here?" He folds his arms across his chest and rocks back on his heels. "Why would you come bearing gifts, Miranda?"
"Because, I think you all deserve it. Because I know each and everyone of these wonderful law enforcement officers," I say, leaving the last words hanging as I wonder how to phrase my next statement.
"I feel like there is something else you want to say. Am I right?"
I try to flash an innocent smile but I can tell he isn't buying it. "I have a favor."
Mitch holds up his hands. "Everybody, put the donuts down and step away from the table. Miranda is bearing gifts under false pretenses."
I grab his hand and haul him towards his office. "Y'all enjoy the donuts," I call out as we step into Mitch's office. "Jack ass!" I snap. "Yes, I have a favor. Yes, I realize you are going to tell me no, but I'm asking anyway."
"Ask. And just remember, don't act all surprised if I do say no." He sits on the edge of his desk, arms still folded in front of him.
"Can I see the crime scene photos that were taken the other night?"
"Why?"
"Because I think Dougie was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Mitch smiles. "Don't you mean Dennis Tomlin was in the wrong place at the wrong time?"
I look at the framed awards and certificates that adorn the walls in Mitch's office. I know he's a good cop. But, they don't necessarily mean he's always right. "Of course he was. But I really think Dougie was stopping to help him."
Mitch's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "The guy who ruined Tomlin's high school reputation. They guy who said enough trash to people that he knew would act out on his information, that they vandalized the victim's car? That guy?"
"It was dark. He may not have known it was Tomlin. Besides, Dougie wouldn't just drive by someone who was in distress. He may be an ass, but he's a human being."
"I can't let you look at them. It's unethical and I really don't want you butting into our investigation." He steps around his desk and shuffles a few papers then grabs a manila folder and lays it in the center of his desk. "I need to go talk to a man about a horse. Shouldn't be gone for more than seven minutes," he says, tapping his wristwatch and glancing towards the clock on the wall. "If I come back and you are searching my desk for this folder right here, I will have to arrest you. Understand?"
I try not to smile. "Yes, Officer, I understand."
He leaves me in there, closing the door and giving me a little bit of precious time to do my own investigating.
*********************************************************************************************
I sit in the parking lot of the Sheriff's office scribbling things onto the back of my car's owner's manual because I can't find a single piece of paper in my cluttered and filthy car. I don't want to forget what I saw. I keep thinking about the anonymous caller who reported seeing Dougie swinging his hammer on the windshield. Maybe she saw someone else hitting the windshield. But, the hammer was found in Dougie's hand. If Dougie was hitting the windshield, who snuck up on him and hit him in the back of the head? Why didn't the woman identify herself?
I close my eyes and think about the pictures of Tomlin's car. The spray painted words seem to crowd my head and I force myself to focus on the other parts of the picture. The driver's door was open, the windshield shattered and splintered but not completely knocked out. Then I remember the passenger door. It wasn't open, but it was sitting out like someone had hastily closed it, yet not given the act enough force. It was ajar enough where you would have to bump it with your hip to close it properly. Maybe someone was in the car with him. Maybe he was seeing a man on the side and the woman was this man's wife.
I settle back in the seat and draw in a deep breath to focus. I'm going down the rabbit hole with what if's. Once Dougie wakes up, I'll be able to ask him questions.
I drive to the hospital and make my way to Dougie's room. He is still unconscious. I stand over him and instinctively reach down and brush his hair off of his face. "You know, you're about the biggest jack ass I've ever known. But, you gotta pull through this. Waylon needs you. Don't forget about your son, Dougie."
I sit down in the chair beside him and settle back to wait.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. When Dougie disappeared, she was able to obtain temporary custody. But now, Dougie has returned, and she is afraid he is back for his son. Meanwhile, the boy's teacher is murdered and all signs point to Dougie as the one who killed him. Now, Miranda has to prove Dougie's innocence.
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Day four of Dougie's hospital stay there is a glimmer of hope. He opens his eyes, albeit, briefly. The doctor said we should be cautiously optimistic. Waylon didn't pay attention to the word cautiously, instead he is over the moon happy.
"He's gonna be okay, Miranda," Waylon says as soon as I walk into the hospital room. "He opened his eyes. He's gonna be okay."
"Did he say anything?" I ask, shrugging off my jacket before sitting down in the chair next to the bed.
"The boy," a young nurse says. He opened his eyes and said the boy. She nods towards Waylon. "He must know you've been here the whole time."
I smile at Waylon. "That's awesome," I say to him as he looks over at me hopefully. "Keep doing whatever it is you're doing. It must be working."
We talk about school and I finally tell him that his teacher is dead. He frowns. "What else can happen? First Dad, then Mr. Tomlin. What happened to him?"
"He was murdered, Waylon. Your dad didn't have an accident. I think whoever killed Mr. Tomlin, tried to kill your father. Someone called the Sheriff's department and said they saw your daddy hitting Mr. Tomlin's car with a hammer."
Waylon shakes his head quickly. "No way. He'd never do something like that. You know that, Miranda. He might be flaky and irresponsible, but he wouldn't ever kill anyone."
I hold up my hands. "I know, Waylon. I'm gonna try to make sense of this whole thing. Someone hated Mr. Tomlin. They had to have hated him for them to do this. Is there anyone in your school who had a problem with him?"
Waylon shrugs. "If you weren't his pet, he could be a real jerk. Once Terence left the class, he was really mad. Seemed like the teachers were okay with him. I did see a blond lady going off on him in the parking lot one day."
"Do you know who it was? The lady, I mean."
He shakes his head. "No."
I wait until Waylon is enveloped in his homework before I make up the excuse to go get us some dinner. "I'm gonna grab some Chinese food and I'll be back."
He lets me know what he wants, and I promise to be back in thirty minutes.
************************************************************************************************
Thank goodness they still make telephone books. I look under Evanoff only to find three different people. Luckily, they are all within five miles of each other. I drive to the first address and sit outside, waiting for someone to come out. After five minutes, I decide to go knock.
I can hear voices coming through the closed door and I try to make up a quick story to explain why I'm standing here on their stoop. An old man opens the door and smiles, revealing more gum than teeth.
"Is this the Evanoff residence?" I ask.
"Yes, ma'am, I'm Ed Evanoff. And you are?"
"Miranda Jessup," I say, leaving off my last name. "I was wondering if there is a Terence Evanoff here?"
He shakes his head, and without the smile ever leaving his face, says, "He's my grandson. He and his mom live over on Reacher Court. I could call over there for you, if'n you want me to."
I shake my head and thank him. "I'll just head on over there. Thank you for your help."
I hop back in my car and drive the three blocks to Reacher. I spot Terence dragging the trash can down to the curb. I don't bother to stop, just pull up in front of the house and roll down the passenger window. "Terence?"
He pauses and looks up quizzically. "Yeah?"
"I'm Miranda. I met you last week at school."
He glances toward the house and I see a blond woman opening the storm door. She comes out, staring hard at me.
There is no time to waste. I need a good story and I need it now. "I'm writing a story on budding scientists. Your name was given to me by Elaine Buckley. Well, not just yours, but several students. I'd like to talk to you if I can."
The blond strides across the lawn, looking none to friendly. "Can I help you?" She looks into the car, taking in the trash and clutter.
"Well, I'm Miranda Jessup. I'm doing a story on budding scientists. I was hoping to talk to Terence."
"Isn't it a bit odd that you would just show up and not call ahead."
I keep that fake smile on my face, fighting the heat that is suddenly overwhelming. "I get that a lot. I just get so excited to start a project, I don't think about things like that. I can come back another time."
The blond woman tilts her head. "If you leave me your card, I can call you when there is a convenient time."
Alarms are going off in my head. Abort mission. She is onto you, Miranda. I grab my purse and start digging through it. "Well, wouldn't you know it, I don't have one with me."
She reaches and pulls Terence back away from the car. "I think you better leave."
"Can I call you to set something up?" I ask, weakly.
"Goodbye, Ms. Jessup."
I exhale loudly as she guides the boy across the yard. She is a hands on mother, as far as I can tell. She's what I call a momma bear. And, what do momma bears do when you mess with their cubs?
They kill.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. She is granted temporary custody when Dougie skips town, but now he is back and Miranda is afraid he will take the boy. A teacher who has history with Dougie is killed, and Dougie is the prime suspect.
*************************************************************************************************
I return to the hospital with the takeout Chinese, only to find Mitch sitting by Waylon, talking about football. Both look up as I enter. "Mitch, I didn't know you'd be here. I didn't get you anything, but you are welcome to share mine."
"No, thank you anyway. I just stopped by to see how Waylon is doing and how his father is. I would like to talk to you, though. I can wait until you're done eating."
My radar goes off. He knows something. There is that casual but purposeful demeanor that he gets when he knows something.
"No, we can talk now." I set the carton of lo mein on the bedside table, and nod towards the door.
Mitch follows me out into the hall and takes my hands in his. "How's Waylon holding up?"
"He's worried about Dougie. I mean, what kid wouldn't be? But more than that, I think he's worried people will think he's a murderer. Is there anything I can tell him that will help ease that load off his mind?"
Mitch shakes his head. "We did find evidence of a third party being there. Shoe prints around the scene. Like a child's size. Maybe a woman."
"Have you checked out Terence Evanoff's relationship with Mr. Tomlin?"
"We have. No one has said they were anything more than teacher and student."
"Why did you really need to talk to me, Mitch? I know you're concerned about Waylon, but there has to be something else."
He sighs, squeezes my hands and draws one of my hands to his lips. "Miranda, I do love you. You are one of the smartest people I know. Too smart to really be impersonating a news reporter and stalking this Evanoff boy. Please tell me you didn't do that."
"No! I never said I was a reporter. I said I was doing a story on budding scientists."
"Damn it, Miranda, you lead them to believe you were a reporter. What were you hoping to accomplish?"
"I just wanted to talk to the kid. I think, if anyone knows Mr. Tomlin, it will be Terence."
"You have to stay away from him. His mother called the station. She wants an out APB put out on you. She was angry. Miranda, please don't get too involved, and in turn, hamper the investigation."
I nod. Not because I intend on giving up, but it will make him feel better. I won't be so impulsive anymore. "I promise. But I need you to check her out. She was incredibly over protective."
"She's a single mom, they tend to be that way. But, I did look into her background. She works at the oral surgeon's office, billing clerk. She and Terence's father divorced when the boy was four years old. The dad moved to Virginia, remarried soon after and has no record. Neither does she. She is a member of that holy roller evangelical church on the beach road. Apparently she spends every Sunday, and Wednesday nights there. Did I leave anything out?"
"Thank you. I just got a weird vibe when she came over to my car."
"Miranda, I'm sure you did, but I can't base a case on vibes. I'm sure you'll investigate on your own, but don't go near that woman again...or her son."
"Okay. Now, can we go back in and share that container of lo mein?"
He kisses my forehead and pushes the door open.
Waylon looks up, eyes wide. "He's waking up! He opened his eyes and tried to speak. He's okay, Miranda."
Mitch leans over Dougie, then tells Waylon to call the nurse.
Dougie's eyes open again. He blinks slowly, trying to focus on anything. "What...," his raspy words trail off.
"Dad! I'm here. You're gonna be okay. I knew it."
I look from Dougie to Waylon. A tear rolls down Waylon's cheek and drips down onto the sheet.
The nurse swoops into the hospital room and we all step back out of the way. "Visiting hours are over," she says hastily. "You can go down to the waiting area, and I'll come find you when the doctor on call has a chance to see him."
Waylon reluctantly lets us usher him down the hall. He keeps looking towards the room, hoping to see the doctor or nurse coming.
"How long does it take to look at him?" he asks, irritation lacing every word.
"They have to check his vitals, examine the wound on his head. Probably initiate some tests for brain damage." Mitch says, then winces as I nudge him for the last thing.
It does seem like a long time passes before the same nurse comes to find us and give us an update.
"Can I go back now?" Waylon asks.
"Not tonight, son. He was only conscious for about five minutes. The doctor sedated him. He will probably be out for the rest of the night. Why don't you and your mom go on home and come back tomorrow. By then, we should know a lot more."
She smiles sympathetically at Waylon, but he doesn't notice. He just wants to go be with his dad.
"You'll be no good to him, if you don't get enough rest. I promise we will call if anything changes overnight."
I thank her and put my hand on Waylon's shoulder. "Come on, Waylon. If they call, I'll bring you right back to the hospital. Deal?"
He nods but doesn't look happy.
Mitch tugs me back for a minute. "How about I bring over some ice cream?" He's trying, but it's going to take more than ice cream to make Waylon smile. It's going to take the miracle of Dougie being wide awake and full of his usual self absorbed cockiness in the morning. And somehow, I just don't see that happening in the next twelve hours.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Buckley is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. When Dougie disappeared without a word, Miranda got temporary custody. Now, Dougie has come back, and Miranda is afraid he is here to take his son. Then, a teacher who has been giving Waylon a rough time gets murdered, and all signs point to Dougie as the culprit. As much as Miranda wants Dougie out of her life, she knows he is innocent and now has to prove it.
***********************************************************************************************
Aaron is sitting on his porch and makes a bee line for my car as I pull into my space. Usually, Waylon is all smiles when he sees Aaron. Tonight is different. He looks tired, and has been unusually quiet on the ride home from the hospital.
"I can tell him to go home. It's up to you," I say, before either of us get out of the car.
"No. It's fine. Maybe Aaron has some good news."
I smirk as Aaron comes around, a curious look as he waits for us to get out. "Whatever, it is always entertaining."
"What are y'all doing? Having a secret meeting in there?" Aaron jokes. "Where you been? I came by last night and no one is home, tonight the same. Aren't you supposed to be at work, Miranda?"
He chatters on like an inquisitive little boy, not pausing long enough for us to answer.
"How come you got the night off?" he asks.
"Hold on, slick," I say, giving myself a minute to process the onslaught of questions. "We just came from the hospital."
"Your mom sick?" Aaron asks.
"No. Dougie was attacked. He's been unconscious since he was found."
"He in a coma?"
I look over at Waylon. I don't really know if he was in a coma. Unconscious was what I heard. Are they the same thing or are they different. "I don't know. He's just unconscious."
"Well, shit. That sucks. He gonna be okay?" He switches his gaze from me to Waylon. "Geez, Dude, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I woulda said a prayer for him, had I known."
"You can still say one," I say, moving around him to continue to the door. "Mitch is bringing ice cream, if you want to come inside and have some."
"Sure. I'll be right back. I got some more stuff for my book." He jack rabbits across the yard and disappears into his trailer.
We go inside and Waylon flops on the couch. "Why is it I'm tired, but I really haven't done anything but sit all day for two days."
"Worry will do that to you. And, I'm sure you aren't sleeping at night when you finally do go to bed."
He leans back and tilts his head back on the cushions. "What's gonna happen to him, Miranda? If he does have brain damage, who's gonna take care of him?"
"You can't worry about things that haven't happened. My daddy used to tell me, don't borrow trouble. So, Waylon, we aren't gonna borrow trouble. We are going to take one day at a time."
He nods, but doesn't lift his head to make eye contact. "What did Mitch talk to you about? Remember, he took you into the hall."
I can't tell him the truth. He might confront the Evanoff boy at school, if he thinks I suspect the boy's mother. "He told me he loved me. Kissed me and told me I was gorgeous," I wait for his reaction and he doesn't disappoint.
"Sorry I asked," Waylon mutters. He pulls himself up enough when Aaron knocks on the door and enters.
"I contacted the family of both agents. I'm having a zoom call with each of them. I have a list of questions for them. Man, this is getting so real. I can just feel that this thing is going to be big."
"New York Times, baby," Waylon says. He gets a little spark in his eyes and I know seeing Aaron is helping him get his mind off his father.
"Hey, it could happen. Oh, I said a prayer for your dad. Maybe you should, too, I mean, the power of prayer. Whoa. It's a real thing."
"Thanks, Aaron."
I walk towards the door when I see headlights flicker across the living room wall. I step out onto the porch as Mitch carries the grocery store bag to the house. "Aaron, came over. Hope you have enough for an extra person."
He smiles that reluctant smile he reserves for Aaron. "He isn't high, is he? I don't think I can deal with that tonight."
"High on life," I tease, planting a kiss on his cheek as he gets close enough. "He's all wrapped up in his book idea."
"Book, huh? Bet he gets it printed on rolling papers."
"Stop. Mitch, the man of my dreams, can come in. But Officer Mitch has to stay outside, unless, he has a search warrant."
"Mitch, the man of your dreams, is coming in."
There is an uneasy peace between Aaron and Mitch. Sometimes it's almost nerve wrecking, other times, it's just amusing. Thankfully, they both are courteous, and seem to be focusing on keeping Waylon from falling into a dark spot tonight.
Aaron tells Mitch about the research he's done. While he does that, I go to the phone, dig through the junk drawer, and find Colleen Weaver's card. After three rings, she answers.
"Colleen, it's Miranda," I say.
"Oh, hello. Why are you calling me?"
This girl has no filter. But there are times when I'm guilty of the same thing. I decide to dive right in. "Well, I'm calling in a favor."
"I owe you a favor?"
"I've been two very good stories for you. I did notice that you went from Colleen Weaver, associate reporter to Feature writer. I'm gonna take credit for that, thank you very much."
"What do you want, Miranda?"
I glance over at Aaron who is entertaining both Waylon and Mitch with his story. I turn my back to them and in a hushed tone whisper into the phone, "I want you to help my friend write his book."
There is silence for a moment. "You want me to write a book for your friend?"
"No. I said help him. Look, he's a really nice guy. Cute, rich, single, but he doesn't know a comma from a semi colon. Besides, it's a good story."
"How cute and how rich?"
I smile. Wording is everything. "Think Hollywood."
"Okay. I'm in. One question, Miranda. Is he an idiot? As in, am I going to be the one writing this book?"
Again, wording is everything. "Think Hollywood, Colleen. Talk later."
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda has been raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. She obtained temporary custody when Dougie disappeared without a trace. But now, Dougie has returned, and Miranda is afraid he is here to take the boy. A teacher who has been hassling Waylon has been murdered, and Dougie is the prime suspect. It is up to Miranda to prove his innocence.
********************************************************************************************
Aaron, Mitch and Waylon eat three very large bowls of ice cream with all the toppings, then drift outside to throw the football. It warms my heart to see them out there. They are just three guys, talking about things that I'm not privy to and probably don't want to be. It's not a cop, a misguided thirty-something, and a kid who is worried about losing his father.
I step into the bathroom and turn on the shower. I wipe the fog from the mirror as the water heats up the room.
"Hello, Miranda," Reflection says. "You really thought pretending to be a reporter was going to get those people to open up to you and confess to murdering that man?"
"No, but sometimes you can pick up on a vibe or they might say something related to it. You never know."
"You've watched too many Columbo and Murder She Wrote episodes. You need to tread carefully, Miranda. Dougie is a sitting duck in that hospital. Piss the wrong person off and they might just put a pillow over his face when no one is looking."
I do a double take to see if it's my reflection or someone else's. "Damn. That's harsh."
"Hey, it happens all the time in television shows." Reflection shrugs and nods for me to re-wipe the mirror. "Maybe your monster-in-law, Elaine will talk to you now. Her golden goose has been murdered, after all. She could have a shit storm brewing if what you think he was doing is true. Maybe this Evanoff kid is just the tip of the iceberg."
I hadn't though about that, to be honest. Suppose other students come forward and make accusations about Mr. Tomlin. Suppose Elaine was protecting him. She acted like my suspicions were unfounded. She has been known to act surprised about other things. (Her darling son, Farley, my cheating ex-husband, has five children by three different women. This all during the course of our marriage. Yet, she was surprised I tossed his cheating ass out after nine years.)
After I shower, I go to write in my journal, recounting the day and outlining my thoughts.
So, Elaine will either help me or she will do everything in her power to stop my investigation. There will be no in between with her. I really do hate seeing her. She has bad karma, and sometimes I think that shit is contagious. I don't bring donuts, just a bottle of that atrocious wine she used to drink at Christmas as a peace offering, if you will.
The receptionist seems to know I'm not here for any other reason than to see Elaine. She looks at the bottle of wine in my hand and smiles wryly. "Wish I had an opener. I could use a glass."
I turn the bottle around and stare at the label. "No, this swill is terrible, but Elaine fancies it. Maybe next time I'll bring a real bottle of wine for you."
"She's almost done with the grief counselor."
The thought of Elaine needing a grief counselor seems strange to me. She is usually the one causing the grief. "I guess this has hit the school pretty hard."
"Well, yeah. He was nice enough. He could definitely rub people the wrong way, but to be murdered? That just doesn't seem real."
"I only met him a couple of times. Was he a nice guy?"
She shrugs, a soft smile coming to her face. "He was nice to me. The students were crazy about him."
I think about Waylon. He couldn't have been the only one who had a problem with him, there had to have been others.
"It's a shame what happened," I mutter. "Did you say Elaine is getting grief counseling?"
She sakes her head. "She's talking to the grief counselor. Trying to target the students who are having a hard time dealing with this. She is going to set up some sessions for them, if they need extra help."
"I guess Terence Evanoff will probably need that," I say, nonchalantly dropping the leading question in her lap.
"Definitely, Terrence has been out of school since the day it happened. He was quite close to Mr. Tomlin."
I'm about to ask her what else she knows about Tomlin and Evanoff, when the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I sense the static charge of evil in the air. It is her. She is drawing close.
"Oh, joy, Miranda," Elaine says flatly. "To what do I owe this visit?"
"Brought you a little gift. You are dealing with a terrible situation right now. I'm just worried about you, Elaine."
She laughs, but there is little humor in it. "Ugh, that God awful wine."
I frown, remembering having to toast to Christmas and New Year's with this crap, at her urging.
"I thought you loved this. You drink it every Christmas."
Elaine smirks. "I only got it because I knew you hated it. I just enjoyed watching you try to finish the glass."
I shake my head. "You cu-," I bite my tongue as I see the receptionist staring wide eyed at me. "You comedic little minx, you."
Elaine walks over and plucks the bottle out of my hands. " I know better than to think you'll just go away on your own. You've got seven minutes. Come on."
I hardly wait for her to close her office door before I start my questions. "So, the office lady said that all the students loved Mr. Tomlin. That true?"
Elaine nods. "Most did. There were a few that had problems with him, but that can be said about every teacher in the school. Mr. Tomlin was well liked and a very good teacher. It was mainly parents that didn't like him."
"Mrs. Evanoff?"
"Among others. You didn't care for him, did you?"
"I didn't trust him."
Elaine says nothing, just stares at me.
"Okay, I didn't like him. But, damn, Elaine, you know I wouldn't kill anyone. If your son is still walking around, there's your proof I'm no killer."
She graciously ignores my remark and leans over closer. "Mr. Tomlin was a beacon to some of the young people. He was a safe person to talk to. A lot of parents didn't like that."
"You mean the gay students."
She smiles. "It isn't easy for a lot of them. They are confused, get bullied, some even get physically intimidated. Tomlin let them know there is hope after high school."
I sit back. "I didn't know that."
Elaine smiles brightly. "There is a lot you don't know, Miranda. Believe it or not."
I glance at the bottle of crappy wine. "You want me to dispose of that?"
"Heaven's no, Miranda. It was a gift," she lifts the bottle and gazes at it. "I'll dispose of it."
And, with that, she drops it in her trash can next to the desk.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. When Dougie disappeared without a trace, she obtained temporary custody. But now, Dougie has returned and Miranda is afraid he is here to take his son back. In the midst of that, a teacher is killed and Dougie is the prime suspect. Now, Miranda has to prove that he is innocent, if only for Waylon's sake.
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If you hear a rattle from the bushes, would you think it was a baby's rattle or a snake? Sometimes, that's how I feel about churches. Are they really there to help you with your soul or are they there to lead you by the nose? And, before you start throwing holy water at me, listen to what I'm saying. I've been to churches that were no more than glorified and sanctioned witch hunters. Anything out of the norm was cause for alarm. I've heard preachers say love thy neighbors, then tell you that gays are spawns of Satan. I've seen children shunned because their parents never married. These are the jokers I'm talking about. They are the ones who are making up the rules as they go along.
The Church of Mt. Olive is out on route 17. Its a cinder block building, void of any architectural details and it resembled a bunker more than a church. It is set back off the highway about an eighth of a mile, and the only way to get to it is to drive down a rutted road that is lined with oyster shells. By the time I pull into the parking lot, I run my tongue around my teeth to make sure none were jarred loose. Six cars are in the lot.
I try not to come up with an outlandish lie for the reason of my visit. I can tell them the truth but then my hand is played, and if they don't want to be forthcoming, I'll have wasted my trip. My stomach starts feeling queasy and I reach for a piece of Trident.
I tried to dress churchy, but I don't really know how to, so I just made sure no cleavage was showing, and my pants weren't too tight.
I hurry to the door and knock once before entering. "Hello," I call out, making sure the door doesn't slam shut.
I see a lady peek out of a doorway. "Can I help you?"
"Oh, I'm not sure, really. I'm out browsing at churches. I guess shopping for a good fit. I heard about Mt. Olive through a friend."
The lady waves me towards her office and welcomes me with a warm smile. "Oh, that's marvelous. Who's your friend?"
Her question catches me off guard. I scramble. The only name that comes to mind is Evanoff, and I don't even know her first name. "Oh, gosh, it was on the tip of my tongue, but now that you've asked me...," I shake my head and smile like Rita does when she forgets something.
She waves her hand and points to the over stuffed chair in the corner. "No matter. Have a seat. Do you live here in Patterson?"
"Yes, ma'am. Born and raised here."
"What church were you attending before, or are you just now coming to Jesus?"
"I didn't really go to any church. Kinda just talked to God when I needed to." I look away. While it's not really a lie, it's not really a regular thing.
"Well, would you like a tour?"
I smile, suddenly feeling off the hook. "That would be delightful."
She takes me to the sanctuary first, making sure to point out the one stained glass window. Assuring me that if they find enough in the budget they will add another one as soon as possible.
I study the window. It's a man and a woman, dressed in ancient garb, so clearly not Adam and Eve, and what looks to be a head on a platter. Both are smiling. The head, not so much.
"That's not Jesus, is it," I say, making sure to not phrase it as a question. "What, uh, is it?"
She reaches over to squeeze my forearm. "Heavens no. That's the scene of Salome getting the head of John the Baptist. It's from the book of Matthew. Just goes to show you how powerful sex is." She starts pointing out the choir box and where the baptismal pool was hidden.
"So, did you ever remember who mentioned our church?" she asks curiously.
"My son has a friend at school, Evanoff, I believe is his last name. Mentioned how he just loved this church."
She nods. "His mother, Mira, she's very active in the church. She leads a parenting teenagers class, right here, every Wednesday night. She is a good mother. She doesn't believe in all the foolishness that some parents let their children get away with. You know, spare the rod, spoil the child."
"Well, that is amazing. I had no idea. Might have to attend one of those."
"She and Reverend Foley are always brainstorming ideas to keep our younger members on the path to righteousness."
"You don't say."
"Oh, I do say. They have straightened out a lot of young people. And, when I say straightened out, you know what I mean. Young people are confused. They get their information from smut videos and those damn rappers. It can send them down the wrong path."
I nod, wondering how I can extricate myself from this uncomfortable conversation. "Well, I appreciate this. Thank you for taking the time to show me around. Is there a pamphlet for Mira's class? You know, something I can take with me?"
She leads me back to the main hallway and points to a five foot long bulletin board. "There are all kinds of information on the board. We have a lot of extra-curricular activities here at Mt. Olive. Help yourself to any of the information." She smiles at me and just before ducking back into her office, she calls out, "Hope to see you Sunday."
I start perusing the board, seeing everything from parent's night out, to Mira's classes, to a brochure for a sleep-away camp, The Narrows, a camp for enlightenment. I grab all of them and quickly make my way to my car.
I adjust my rear view mirror and hold my own gaze. "Maybe you do need a parenting class. Maybe you need to hear Mira's advice in person."
I pull out of the parking lot, and make my way back down the bumpy driveway. Come Sunday morning, I'm gonna be sitting in a pew. Question is, who is going to be sitting with me. Will it be Momma, Mitch, Waylon or Aaron?
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda has been raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. When Dougie disappeared without a trace, Miranda obtained temporary custody, but Dougie has returned. Miranda is afraid he has come back for his son. Despite her mistrust of Dougie's intentions, he is now the prime suspect in the murder of one of Waylon's teachers. Miranda knows, in her heart, he didn't do it, so she sets her sights on proving his innocence.
************************************************************************************************
Matt has hired two part time cashiers to help out in the afternoons and evenings. This arrangement has given me some free time to scour the web for information on Mr. Tomlin, Mira Evanoff, Reverend Foley, and anything else I can find related to Mt. Olive. Most of it is the usual, happy, God fearing testimonial things that are written about churches. There are beautifully photographed images of the cinder block building. I'm pretty sure someone added trees and flowering bushes to the photo. It didn't look as cold and stark as it did when I stopped by this morning.
There is little about Mira Evanoff, a little bio of Reverend Foley. He is married to his high school sweetheart, has two children. Moved to Patterson in the late nineties and became full time with the church after the standing reverend passed away six years ago. He seems like a nice guy. Raising money for charities, organizing highway and beach cleanups several times a year. Opened his church up for the homeless two weeks in winter, then urged other churches to follow suit. This guy sounds really good for the community.
I check the monitors to make sure the new girl is okay, then lean back in the chair and stretch. My stomach is unhappy today. I couldn't even enjoy my coffee earlier. Momma said it's nerves. Momma is usually right.
I type in The Narrows. Twenty-one items come up. I check out the first few. "The Narrows, an idyllic camp for tweens and teens to navigate through the complexities of young adulthood. Geared toward making wise choices in the eyes of God...". This goes on for several paragraphs. Pictures of clean-cut young people are scattered throughout the text.
There are several testimonials of attendees, glowing reports of how confused youth were guided to return to the Lord. It almost sounds like reform school for the soul.
But, after digging through the highlighted things, the darker side of The Narrows was starting to become evident.
"Camp Narrows should be called Camp Narrow-minded. The closest thing to medieval torture ever. They will beat the gay out of you. The level of guilt and coercion used knows no limits. It's their way or the highway. If this is how God works, I want no part of it. I counsel troubled teens and what they need is understanding and to trust someone. They will only get bullied at The Narrows."
This goes on for several paragraphs. I scroll down to the end and I get the shock of my life. There is a picture of Dennis Tomlin, shaking hands with Reverend Foley. The caption reads, "Working with The Narrows has opened my eyes to how the world views the homosexual community. It may not be Auschwitz, but places like this should be feared."
I know Mitch doesn't really think that Mira, the little speck of a woman, could have anything to do with Tomlin's murder, but this is another connection to Tomlin.
As I reach for the phone, I glance at the monitor again. Speak of the devil, Mitch is walking past the counter, heading for the office.
"I was just gonna call you," I say, walking out to greet him. "Everything okay? Or is this a donut emergency."
He smiles tiredly, then he ushers me back into the office. "Do you think I can borrow you for a few?"
My spicy little mind gets cranking and I go to lock the office door. "No, Miranda, I need you to come down to the station for a few minutes."
"What's going on?"
"It's Aaron. He was involved in an altercation. I can't make sense of it, he asked for you. He's embarrassed, I just think you're my shot at figuring out what happened."
"Is he okay?" My spicy self is suddenly kicked to the curb by the Miranda who is worried about her friend.
"He's a little banged up, but he's fine."
I call Matt to let him know I have to leave work for a little while but I'll be back. Luckily, its been a slow day and Rita hasn't left yet.
******************************************************************************************
Aaron looks up with bloodshot eyes when I come into the interrogation room. It could be that he's been crying or it could be from his chronic use of marijuana. Your guess is as good as mine.
"Thank you, Miranda."
"What's going on, Aaron? Are you hurt? Mitch said you got into an altercation. Tell me what happened?"
He leans forward, covers his nose and mouth with his hands. "I took a side job. I was gonna help out some senior citizens. You know, handy man kind of stuff."
"Okay. So, what happened?"
"I showed up, tool box, couple cans of paint, you know, brought whatever I thought I might need. I knock on the door, some old lady opens it. She looked like that puppet, you know, Madam. She told me to come inside and get comfortable. She asked me if I brought my own music. Weird question but maybe she was gonna turn on a radio for me if I didn't have anything."
"Aaron, get to the altercation part, please," I say gently.
He nods, glancing to the mirrored window, knowing there are people on the other side. He swallows, then takes a breath. "I asked them what they needed me to do," his voice trails off as he says the words.
"Aaron, just tell me, please. What did they say?"
"They said, "Get naked"."
As Aaron covers his face again, I see two faces floating around in my head. "Mitch!" I holler. "Where are they?"
Seconds later he is leading me down the hallway to the holding room. I peek through the glass and see two very familiar faces.
Brenda and Alice.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. When Dougie disappeared without a trace, she acquired temporary custody of the boy, Waylon. Now, Dougie has returned and she is afraid he has come to take Waylon back. While she doesn't trust Dougie, she knows he is innocent of a terrible crime against Waylon's teacher. Miranda has to prove his innocence.
**********************************************************************************************
Before I can grab for the handle to the door, the only thing that separates me and those two old con artists, Mitch grabs my hand.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asks, moving in between me and the door. "You can't go in there?"
"Why not? I know these old birds."
"How do you know them, Miranda?"
"Remember that time I told you I had shoplifters? Well, two guesses as to who they were. Tears on Command Brenda and her friend, Real as Press on nails, Alice."
"Whether you know them or not, I cannot let you in that room with them. Aaron is ready to give us a statement and press charges against them."
I shake my head knowingly. "Aaron isn't going to press charges. You know that. He is a sweet and gentle soul, Mitch. He would never press charges against two old ladies."
Mitch guides me to the lobby. "I'm gonna take you back to work now. Thank you for coming down here. Do you work tomorrow night?"
"No," I answer, glancing back at the door that hides Brenda and Alice.
He tilts my chin so I am looking at him. "Because, this black and white cop would like to take this renegade vigilante out to dinner."
"Okay. I'd like that. I might spend part of the day at the hospital."
"That's fine. I have to do some paperwork here for a while, so maybe I can pick you up around four, and we can take a walk on the beach before dinner."
I smile, lean into him and try to absorb the moment. "I'd love that," I say as I nuzzle his neck, then step back.
"Don't start anything now, right when I have to take you back to work," he whispers, shivering and looking at me with smoldering eyes.
********************************************************************************************
Momma calls as I step back into the office for my dinner break. "Hey, Momma, what's up?"
"Waylon just went into see his daddy. His eyes are open. Talking, but says he has no idea what happened. Doctors say it may come back to him, may not. Something called traumatic induced amnesia. I don't know. He looks pretty rough. He did ask about you."
"What did he ask?" I ask, groaning inwardly. "If I could pay his hospital bill?"
She laughs. "Just where you were. If you knew he was in the hospital?"
I unwrap my sandwich and take a small bite. "It sure would help if he could remember what happened and why he stopped."
Momma sighs. "Well, don't count on any testimony from him. He wasn't the brightest thing to begin with, from what I can remember, so I doubt this conk on the head did him any favors."
I try not to laugh, after all, this is Waylon's father and he is suffering in the hospital, but Momma calls them as she sees them. "Tell Waylon I'll be home by ten. Thank you Momma."
"Thank me, for what?"
"For being who you are."
"Oh, I love you, too."
*********************************************************************************************
At seven-fifteen, Mitch pulls in. He parks his car, walks around to the back and opens the back door of his patrol car. Out step Alice, her smug smile unchanged from the first day I laid eyes on her. Brenda climbs out after her. She is sporting her confused smile and her over sized dress has deep pockets that appear empty...for now.
Mitch holds the door open for them and shrugs his shoulders. "I asked them if they needed anything before I drove them home. They needed a couple of things from The Little Eagle. I'm going to grab a cruller and go wait be the car. Remember, say whatever you want but don't rough them up." He winks and retreats to the squad car.
"Brenda, Alice, long time no see. What have you two crazy gals been up to?"
Alice glances over, looking like ice water runs through her veins. "A little of this, a little of that."
"Handsome escort you got there." I nod towards where Mitch waits.
Brenda keeps her head down, purposefully checking out the candy aisle. She looks nervous, but Alice, calm, cool and collected.
"Brenda, you alright? You look a little nervous. You aren't trying to fit a fistful of Clark bars in your pockets are you?"
Alice steps in front of Brenda, blocking my view from the counter.
"Lets go, Brenda, that nice police officer is waiting. He was kind enough to help us when our Uber didn't show up."
"I'd say that's above and beyond." I mutter.
Brenda tosses her handful of candy on the counter and Alice plunks her cheap wine on the counter.
"You don't mind if I check your pockets, Brenda. You understand, right?" I say, and wink at her.
She quickly pulls her pockets wide and I glance quickly. "You know, word gets around this county quicker than a fart in an elevator. That officer is my boyfriend. That young man you attacked is my friend and neighbor. I'm so glad I'm getting the chance to talk to the two of you," I sigh, leveling my gaze at Alice first, then Brenda.
Brenda's face crumbles, tears start spilling from her eyes and I lose it.
"Can it, Brenda. Crying on command might get you off once in a while, but save those tears because I'm on to the two of you. You think you can do what you want, whenever you want. There are consequences. That poor guy you tried to force yourselves on, is a sweet guy. One of the nicest you'll ever meet. He'd give you the shirt off his back, if you asked him to."
Alice taps her nails on the counter. "Apparently not. He was clinging to it earlier."
"Not funny, Alice. He wouldn't press charges, would he?"
"N-n-no," Brenda sniffles as the words come out.
"That's what I mean. Personally, I think he's a sucker. I'd have pressed charges against you both so fast, your damn heads would still be spinning. One word of advice, ladies, mind your p's and q's, cause I'm gonna be watching you, and you can guarantee I will make sure you are on his radar as well." I point to Mitch who happens to look up and wave.
Brenda dabs at her eyes with her sleeve, heads for the door and ducks outside. Alice takes her time, putting her credit card back into the proper spot in her wallet. She leave with a slight smirk on her lips.
"I'll see you around, Alice," I call as she reaches for the door.
"Maybe you will, maybe you won't," she says.
"Oh, come now, Alice, women like you don't just fade into the background. You'll go out with a bang."
Alice pauses by the door and turns around, middle finger flying high and straight. "See you around."
I wave to Mitch through the window as he backs out of the parking lot.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. After he disappeared without a word, Miranda got temporary custody of the boy, Waylon. Now, Dougie has returned and she is afraid that he is back to take Waylon from her. When Waylon's teacher is murdered, Dougie is the prime suspect. Miranda knows that Dougie might be a lot of things, but he is no killer.
*********************************************************************************************
Mitch shows up at my trailer at four-forty-five. He looks so handsome. But then, he always does. I do my best to clean myself up. I even took the curling iron to my hair.
"Wow," he says, stepping into the house. "You look gorgeous."
"Thank you, Officer."
"Where's Waylon?" Mitch asks glancing left then right. "How was his dad today?"
"Well, Dougie seems to think we are still a couple. He was asking me if his beer was in the fridge for when he gets released from the hospital."
"I called the hospital earlier today. Hoping the doctor would let me come try to get a statement from him. Guess I should wait another day or two, huh?" Mitch scratches his chin and grabs my jacket off the hook by the door. "So, what did you say when he asked about his beer?"
I slip my arms into the waiting jacket and shrug. "What is there to say, Mitch? He is obviously still messed up. It's been almost three years."
Mitch nods and holds the door open for me to leave. "So, he thinks he's coming here when he gets released? Next time he says something like that, tell him I have a room down at the station for him."
I let it slide. Mitch is jealous. I don't have a clue why, but all signs point to jealousy. Men are like that. They get very puffed up when it comes to another man, especially an ex-boyfriend, making comments about what they consider theirs. It doesn't matter that Dougie has a snowball's chance in hell of ever getting back with me. It's the principal of the thing to Mitch. My own dad got jealous when the butcher at the Piggly Wiggly told my mom he cuts the pork chops extra thick for her. The thing is, my dad loved pork chops, and that was the only reason my mom even went to the meat department anyway.
He dives us to the beach and we park at an access. The wind is whipping the sea oats and grasses north. It's a good ten degrees cooler here than it was at home. But the sky is beautiful. A classic Carolina blue with a slight wisp of a cloud. The gulls call out as they fly overhead.
"What is it about living just a couple of miles from the beach, and yet, here it is almost November and this is only the third time I've been down here." Mitch sighs as he takes my hand and leads me to the walkway.
"We have jobs and other responsibilities, Mitch. Any free time is always filled with other things to do. It gets too cold in the winter and too crowded in the summer."
"Still, seems like a waste of paradise to me."
I turn to kiss his cheek. "Paradise is where ever you want it to be."
He grins. "Guess where I'm thinking paradise is?"
I roll my eyes and tug at his arm. "Let's walk."
We walk down near the shoreline. Both of us kick our shoes off at the start of the access, and the cool sand feels good.
"Miranda, how do you feel about Dougie, I mean, now that he's back?"
"Exactly the same way I felt about him after he left me. Nothing. Do I care about him? Yes. Do I love him? No. And to be perfectly honest, I don't know if I ever did. Puppy love maybe, but not real love. What I feel for you, Mitch, that's real. Get that through your head, mister. You are stuck with me."
I see the tension drain from his face. He puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. "I was hoping you would say that, Tiger."
********************************************************************************************
Momma drops Waylon off around eleven. She took him to dinner and a movie. It seems to be their thing. I don't ever recall her taking me to a movie other than to drop me off with friends. But those two have really bonded since he came into my life. He has become her unofficial grandson.
"What time did you and Momma leave the hospital?" I ask, brushing out my wet hair after my shower.
"Around six-thirty. Dad kept falling asleep."
"Well, being sick or injured can certainly put a strain on your body. After I got hurt, I slept more than I have in forever. Just takes some time. He'll get there."
Waylon looks up and seems to be troubled. "He thinks you guys are still together."
"I thought maybe he did. But, it's okay, Waylon, his memory will come back. Eventually, Dougie will understand what is going on. We don't need to worry about that right now."
"He wants you to come sit with him again tomorrow."
"I work. Did you tell him that?"
He nods. "He said he had to tell you something."
"Any idea what?"
Waylon shakes his head. "No. Just said it was important and you'd understand."
"Okay, well, it's late. You have school in the morning and you haven't even taken your shower yet."
He moves past me into the bathroom and I go lay down on my bed. What does he want to tell me? God knows, I hope he doesn't tell me he loves me, we all know that would be a lie. Could he have remembered something from that night? In a perfect world, he will be able to remember what happened. What is it that he needs to tell me that I would understand?
I turn out my bedroom light and pull the covers up around me. Maybe I can make time for a quick visit in the morning. I just hope I don't end up regretting it.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. Dougie disappeared without a trace, and Miranda received temporary custody. Now that Dougie is back, she is afraid he will take the boy away from her. When one of Waylon's teachers is found brutally murdered, Dougie is the prime suspect. Miranda knows that Dougie is capable of a lot of things, but not murder.
*********************************************************************************************
I grab a bagel from the coffee shop in the lobby of the hospital, then head up to his room. There is a nurse in there, checking tubes and adjusting little buttons on a few machines. She chats about the weather and I listen to hear if Dougie answers. His voice is thick, sluggish. He sounds nothing like the cocky son of a gun I remember.
"Should I wait outside?" I ask, just opening the door enough to poke my head through.
"No, you come on in here. Douglas was telling me all about you. You're even prettier than he lead me to believe," the nurse says, a tried and true smile covering her face.
"Thank you. I'm Miranda," I say, reaching for the chair and dragging it closer to the bed. "I'm taking care of his son, Waylon."
She nods her head. "I know Waylon. He's a good kid. A real trooper. A lot of young people his age, they don't want no part of hospitals. That boy sits by his daddy's side and doesn't move until he has to."
I glance to see Dougie, looking over at me. "You came," he says. He extends his hand and for a second I hesitate. I don't really want to hold his hand, but the nurse is watching, expecting the Miranda of Dougie's making, not the real one.
"Just a sec. I need to wash the sticky food off my hands," I lie. I move quickly to the bathroom and close the door. "You can do this," I whisper to myself. "Just find out what is so important that he wants you to know." I run the water and splash a little on my face before going back to where Dougie is.
"I missed you, Miranda. I missed you so much," he says, staring at me like a sad sack puppy.
"I was here yesterday, Dougie."
"No, I mean before. When I came back, you blossomed. You weren't the same wild and crazy girl I used to know."
"Taking care of a child will do that, Dougie. Isn't a lot of time to party and go crazy when you have to make sure someone's homework is done, that they've showered and eaten dinner. It's called parenting, Dougie. You should try it."
He winces but the sappy smile never leaves his face. "I deserved that. But it's true. I miss you, miss us."
I shake my head. "There was no us to miss, Dougie. I was more like your momma than your partner. Besides, I thought I was holding you back."
"I was a fool."
It is so satisfying to hear the words out loud, but, it doesn't change a thing. I don't love Dougie. I love Mitch. "We've all changed, Dougie."
He leans back further on his pillow and closes his eyes. "Couldn't we try again, for Waylon's sake?"
I shake off the uncomfortable feeling I have and touch his arm. "Waylon said you had something important to tell me."
"That night, there were people trying to pull a kid from the car. He was screaming. Is he okay?"
I feel a shiver rush through me. "How old was the kid? What did he look like?"
He shrugs. "I can't remember. I just remember him screaming for help."
"Dougie, did you see Dennis Tomlin in the car?" I ask.
He shudders. "I couldn't tell who it was. So much blood."
I can see the numbers on the black screen quickly going up. I squeeze his arm. "Lets not talk about it anymore. I think Waylon is coming back this afternoon. Momma took him to the movies last night. She sure does like him. But it's hard not to. You've got one special kid, Dougie Wilcox." The numbers start to get lower, and I notice his rhythmic breathing. I reach for my purse and tiptoe out of the room.
**********************************************************************************************
I drive the long way to work. My mind going over what Dougie had said. If the kid was screaming for help, Tomlin was already dead, then who was the kid trying to get away from? I think about the footprint that I found. A child's or a woman's? Who would commit such a horrendous crime and why? Once again, my thoughts go to Mira Evanoff. If she's as religious as everyone says she is, how could she murder a man? No, I'm not naive enough to think that everyone who professes to be a Christian couldn't do something like that. Preachers have committed adultery, abused children, killed spouses. They are human. Humans are flawed. But from what Mitch briefly described about Dennis Tomlin's injuries, this was a killing that was fueled by rage.
I pull into the parking lot of The Little Eagle and turn off my car. I wonder if there are any other prints on the hammer that was in Dougie's hand. Surely, in a fit of rage, a killer wouldn't be lucid enough to wipe off prints. I lean back against the seat and draw in a deep breath. I need to write this down. I pull the random paper I was using before and add my clues hastily. "Other prints on hammer?" "Dougie heard screaming but said Tomlin was already dead."
As much as I want to continue trying to piece this together, I have to don my ugly red vest, and spend the rest of the day making change and small talk. But I'm just getting started. I know Dougie didn't kill Dennis Tomlin and I aim to prove it.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. When Dougie disappeared with a trace, Miranda was granted temporary custody of the boy, Waylon. Dougie returns and now she is afraid he has come back to take Waylon from her. Then a teacher, who Waylon has a rocky relationship with, ends up murdered and Dougie is the prime suspect. Miranda knows Dougie is capable of a lot of things, but he isn't capable of murder.
************************************************************************************************
During my break I reach for the phone and dial the Sheriff's office to talk to Mitch. I really want to bounce my ideas and questions off of him. I pick at my nails as I wait for the receptionist to put me through.
"Hello Tiger," he says. "I was just about to call you."
"You were? I can hang up and let you follow through on that, if you want the credit."
"Funny. I had a visitor this afternoon."
I sit back in Matt's over sized office chair and glance at the monitor. "Who was that?"
"A young man named Terrence Evanoff." He pauses to let the name settle in my mind. "Came to find out if we had any clues about who killed his teacher."
"And," I ask, suddenly sitting forward and waiting for more. "What did you tell him?"
"Just what I can. We have a suspect, no motive and no real leads."
"Well, Dougie told me he heard a kid screaming for help and that he didn't know it was Tomlin because of all the blood."
"Dammit, Miranda, why didn't you call me. I could have come in to question him. Did that even cross your mind?"
I stare at the phone with enough anger to rip it out of the wall. "Whoa. I was there as his friend. No, calling you did not cross my mind. Lose the attitude, Officer Danner."
I hear him sigh, his way of trying to calm himself down and still let me know he's pissed at me. "Is that all he said?"
"I asked him if he saw the kid and he said he couldn't remember. Just the scream. It proves that he didn't force the car off the road. He saw a child being forcibly removed from a vehicle and he stopped to help. He didn't even know it was Tomlin in the driver's seat."
"So he says. Did you ever think he might be lying to you? Are you naive enough to believe him?"
I feel a curse word crawling up my throat and into my mouth. "We have customers, Mitch. I gotta go." I say, staring at the monitor that displays an empty store.
"Wait, Miranda, I'm sorry," he says. "I just don't know him as anything other than an idiot who left you and his son. Forgive me for not giving him the benefit of the doubt."
"But you know me, Mitch. I know him. I know what I see and hear. You refuse to check out Mira Evanoff. You refuse to look at the whole picture. You only go by the evidence."
Again, he sighs. "That is all I can look at. I have to make sure things hold up in court. I have to watch every step I take so that if I do get that person to go to trial, they don't go free because of something I did foolishly. You can run around the county and dig through every clue you find. I can't."
"Will you do me a favor?"
"What?"
"Call Terrence and talk to him. I think he knows something. You've already told me I can't go near him. Just talk to him."
"I'll call him tomorrow. I'll ask him to come down here to identify something we found in the woods, see if he can identify it as belonging to Dennis Tomlin. Good enough?"
I smile. "Thank you for indulging me."
********************************************************************************************
Just before closing, Aaron pulls up to one of the gas pumps and starts to fill up his truck. He keeps glancing towards the store.
I finally go out with a fistful of trash bags to start emptying the garbage cans. "What are you doing here? I thought you could only put diesel in this monstrosity of yours."
"No, only high test. I, uh, came to talk to you. You never seem to be home any more."
He reminds me of a brother, even though I've never had one. I feel like a protective older sister.
"What's up?"
I work while I listen to him. Taking the full and half full bags out of the can, twisting them tight before tying them closed. Then snapping open the fresh bags and putting them in the cans.
"I can't show my face around town anymore. Everybody and his brother knows what happened to me. I'm humiliated."
"Why are you humiliated? Two people assaulted you. Because you are a kind and true gentleman, you didn't retaliate. Why would you be humiliated?"
Aaron pulls the nozzle from his gas tank and hooks it back on the pump. He only put four gallons in. "I just am. Word got back to my dad."
I roll my eyes. Here we go. Aaron and his father have a ridiculously messed up relationship. Aaron yearns for approval and his father is unable to accept Aaron for what he is. "And?"
"He told me to come out of the closet once and for all." Aaron says, his voice shaking. "Miranda, I'm not gay. I couldn't hurt those old women. No matter what they were trying to do to me. I couldn't hurt them."
"Aaron, listen to me and listen good," I say softly. "Your Father is up there." I point to the night sky. "He is the only father's approval you need. And, I can bet he is so proud of the man you are. Stop wasting your life trying to gain the approval from a man who probably doesn't even like himself. Stop trying to be someone you aren't, just for him."
Aaron nods, a small smile replaces the hopeless look of earlier and he looks away, sniffing. "I knew you'd make things better."
Before things get too emotional, I lightly punch him in the arm. "Follow me. I have day old crullers inside. A healthy dose of sugar and you'll be good as new."
Aaron nods, then starts walking beside me and throws his arm around my shoulder. "Miranda, you should be a therapist." he says, squeezing me tightly.
"God help you if you come to me for counseling. That's the blind leading the blind."
I put my arm around his waist and squeeze him back, happy knowing he feels safe with me.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda has been raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. Dougie disappeared without a trace and Miranda was granted temporary custody of Waylon. Now, Dougie has returned and she is afraid that he is back for the boy. When one of Waylon's teachers is brutally murdered, Dougie is the prime suspect. Miranda knows Dougie is capable of a lot of things, but murder isn't one of them.
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I call Mitch before I go to bed. I hate for things to be hanging in the air like they are. If I have to apologize to Mitch, I will. The fact that it never even crossed my mind to tell him Dougie was awake, makes me pause. If the shoe had been on the other foot, I would have been all bent out of shape. It's not that I don't think Mitch will search for the real killer, that's not it at all. It's the fact that he thinks he has already found him. If I defend Dougie too much, Mitch will think I'm still in love with him. I wonder if Dougie's prints were the only ones found on the hammer. Was there blood on his clothing? From the description of the deceased, there would be a fair amount of blood spatter on Dougie.
"Hey," he says, letting a little yawn tag onto the end of his greeting. "Sorry about earlier."
"Forget about that," I say hastily. "Was there blood on Dougie when he was found?"
"Some, yes."
"Consistent with bashing someone's skull in? Was there blood on his forearm, his pants?"
"I'll have to check the crime scene photos. Why? What are you getting at?"
"Can I come to the station tomorrow, before work, and look at them?"
"Geezus, Miranda, you don't want to see those things. You'll have nightmares."
"I already have nightmares, Mitch. Ed Preston pops up in my dreams like clockwork. I can handle it."
He goes silent for a few seconds. I know he's trying to shelter me, but I can handle it. To just look at that kind of photo for curiosity would be morbid. I want to see what the first cop on the scene saw. I want to be there right after it happened. The only way for that to happen is to see the photos.
"Come before eight. I don't want anybody else in the office when you're there. Got it?"
"Yes, sir. Mitch, I know this is a big deal. Thank you for trusting me and my instincts."
"Well, Tiger, you do have good instincts. Maybe you should become a cop," he teases.
"Thanks, but you know I have a problem following orders," I say, letting a flirtatious little lilt ease into my voice.
"Well, yes, there is that. Go on to bed and turn off that over active brain of yours. I'll see you at seven-thirty. Love you."
"Love you, too." I hang up the phone and look over at Waylon who is curled up on the couch, headphones on and almost asleep. As much as I want Dougie gone out of my life, I have to do this for Waylon. I go over to him and drape the afghan from the back of the couch over him.
*********************************************************************************************
I stop by the Patterson Deli for two cups of coffee and two biscuits to take with me. I glance around the deli. Lots of business folks, checking their phones while they wait for their orders to be called up. I shudder when a familiar face comes into view.
"Elaine," I say, trying to conceal the bitter taste the name leaves in my mouth. "They get rid of the teacher's lounge?"
"When did you become an early riser?" she says, a disdainful sneer on her face.
"When I stopped having to wait up for a wayward, cheating husband to come home." I smile, knowing she can't top that one.
She looks around, then back at me. "How is Waylon's father?"
"He's getting there. He woke up a couple of days ago. Remembers very little about what happened. But, I think it will come to him, gradually.
She looks up when they call her name, steps away to grab her coffee, then comes back. "I hope so, Miranda. You may not have liked Dennis Tomlin, but he didn't deserve what happened to him. He went out of his way to help a lot of students. So, if you're trying to figure out what happened, don't just try to clear your boyfriend, try to find out who actually killed Dennis."
I look into Elaine's eyes and for the first time I see a human being, not a prude, not a monster-in-law, but a person who lost someone she truly cared about.
"That's what I want to."
She doesn't say goodbye or kiss my ass, just turns and walks away. After several mind blown minutes I hear the barista calling my name.
*************************************************************************************************
Mitch unlocks the door and takes the coffee carrier from my hands. "I made coffee, didn't know you were bringing some," he says, then leads me to his office.
The top of his desk is littered with photos. Before pictures of Dennis Tomlin show a smiling man, in a pale blue golf shirt. He looks innocent enough. But then, looks can be deceiving. I lift the school picture and shudder. The hard lines of the black and white crime scene pictures leave nothing to the imagination. "Oh, my God," I whisper. "Who could do that?"
"Guess that's what we are trying to find out," he says, taking the photo out of my shaking hand.
"Where are the pictures of Dougie?" I ask, trying to shake off the queasiness that rolls through me.
Mitch digs through them. "Here."
There are six photos of Dougie. One of the hammer in his hand, one of how he is laying on the ground. One of his truck, and the tires marks from where he pulled over, and the rest are just different angles of his on the ground.
"Look at his arms, Mitch. There isn't much blood on his arm. With all the blood from Tomlin, how did so little get on Dougie. It doesn't make sense."
"I think I'll go visit with Dougie," Mitch says. He watches me, waiting for how I'll react.
"I think that's a good idea. Maybe he'll remember more." I look over the pictures once more. Dougie holding onto the hammer, while his left arm is pinned beneath his back. Dougie's right arm, with just a few splatters of blood. "Why was his arm bent like that?"
"Maybe he was trying to break his fall, or," he pauses and looks up. "Someone grabbed him from behind...then hit him."
I kiss his mouth. "Good luck." I say, glancing at the clock on the wall. "I'm gonna clear out before everyone starts showing up. Can you come to the house for a beer tonight?"
"Rain check. Sasha and Molly are coming over for dinner and a movie tonight. But tomorrow night, I'll be there, I'll even bring the beer." He kisses the tip of my nose and walks me to the door. "And, before you ask, I'll call you with anything new from Dougie."
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. She is very taken with the boy and when Dougie blows back into town, she is afraid he is there to take his son from her. While she has come into some good luck by collecting a generous reward, Dougie is accused of killing a teacher. Even though, she hates Dougie being back in her and Waylon's life, she knows he didn't do it. Now, for Waylon's sake, she has to help prove his innocence.
*********************************************************************************************
After leaving the Sheriff's station, I drive around the block. I'd like to be a fly on the wall when Mitch starts to question Dougie. Dougie is good at smooth talking people of the opposite sex. He isn't the brightest bulb in the box, but he has swagger. Now, Mitch is quiet and unassuming, and I find that sexy as hell. I must have matured because I used to fall for swagger. I loved being with the life of the party when I was in my twenties and early thirties, but I've changed.
Getting back to being a fly on the wall, I wonder how Dougie will react when Mitch comes into his room, in full uniform and on official business. It won't take long for him to realize Mitch isn't going to fall for his trailer park charm.
I see Mitch's car drive past me, his hands are at ten and two and his seat belt is secured. The man is by the book, if nothing else. I quickly reach over and fasten my seat belt, put my car in gear and stay far enough behind him to stay undetected. Just as I thought, he drives to Patterson General Hospital and pulls into the parking lot for visitors.
I pull into the lot and park near the back, staying put until I see him exit the cruiser and disappear inside. I count to ten, and follow him.
The elevator doors are closing and I head over to catch the next one.
"You are terrible at tailing someone," a voice calls out.
"I wasn't tailing you, uh, so to speak. I was just heading here too."
His eyes dance with amusement. "That's good. Because I spotted you the minute you pulled onto the street, staying three cars behind me. You really need to work on that."
I wait until he joins me at the elevator. "You don't think I can spy on you and you won't be the wiser? My friend, I am a stellar detective. I've caught cheating husbands and killers."
"They were amateurs, Miranda. First piece of advice, don't take every road they take, cut down an alley, ride down the side street and loop back. Change lanes."
"I'll keep that in mind. You heading up to see him now?"
Mitch nods. The elevator doors open and he touches my arm gently as I try to step in beside him. "Go on to work, Miranda. I can handle Dougie."
"He didn't do it, Mitch."
Mitch steps in and presses the button for the trauma floor. "That's what I aim to find out."
I watch as the doors start to close. "So, I'm gonna go practice my tailing skills. Call me," I say to the closed elevator doors.
**********************************************************************************************
Rita is on me like white on rice as soon as I step into the store. "You're early," she says, breathless from her excitement. "Have you heard the latest?"
"Latest what? And I'm warning you, if this about someone in Hollywood, I will be mad at you for the rest of the day."
"It's about, um, Missy. You know Missy Toblerone?"
I stare at her, trying not to smack her. "I'm pretty familiar with Missy, Rita. What about her?" I ask. There is a part of me that is prepared to hear how she was killed in prison, like Jeffrey Dahmer. If anyone could make enemies in a short time, I believe Missy could.
Rita is hesitating, suddenly looking like she wished she had never brought it up. "I'm not sure how true this is."
"Spit it out, Rita. What have you heard about Missy?"
"She's filing an appeal." Rita steps back and chews her fingernail nervously. "What are you going to do if she gets out, Miranda. She is gonna come after you, I just know it."
Hearing her say those words out loud, sends a cold chill down my spine. I can't let Rita see that I'm unnerved. I busy myself with putting my purse down, and fixing my ugly red vest. "Everyone who gets convicted files an appeal. I figure she will file another one after this falls through. Lawyers are just making money hand over fist with appeals. They file a few papers and the judge says there is enough evidence or there isn't. This isn't anything to be worried about."
"Her lawyer has found some extenuating circumstances. Something about her Miranda rights not being explained to her." Rita looks up and gasps. "That's so weird."
"What is?"
"Well, your name is Miranda and it was because of you that she got caught. Now, something called Miranda rights might get her out of jail." Rita holds out her arm. "Look, I've got chill bumps from that."
I could have done without that little nugget of news, but I can't imagine Missy getting released. Maybe they will put her in a mental hospital, I mean they wouldn't just let her out on the streets. They can't do stuff like that, can they?
"Didn't Mitch arrest her? You don't think he could have forgotten to read her her rights, could he?"
"No, of course not." I lean against the back counter and feel a wave of nausea roll through me. "This was too important. He never would have forgotten."
"Honey, go sit down in the office, you look like you're about to pass out."
I take three steps and everything goes black.
| Author Notes | Computer fixed and I'm ready to roll. Thanks for y'all's patience. |
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. She is quite taken with the boy, Waylon and when Dougie comes back to town, Miranda is afraid he will try to take his son. Miranda has had a windfall of money after finding the remains of a missing man. When Dougie is accused of murdering one of Waylon's teachers, Miranda knows in her heart that he is innocent. Despite wanting Dougie out of her life, she knows she must find the real killer.
************************************************************************************************
I smell something fishy when I finally come to. I gag a little and pull back, only to hit my head on the counter behind me. "What is that?" I ask, trying to see past the fuzzy screen that has coated my eyes.
"Sardines," Rita says, waving the little tin under my nose again.
"Will you stop!" I snap, struggling to stand up.
"I had to do something. You passed out cold. I couldn't find any smelling salts and we're out of bottled ammonia. This was all I could think of." Her voice is all high pitched and I instantly feel bad for yelling at her. She doesn't do well with crisis situations. She did what Rita does and I should be thankful she didn't call 911.
"It's fine. I'm sorry for snapping like that. How long was I out?"
She looks at her watch and bites her lip, probably trying to calculate the time elapsed. "About a minute and a half."
"That's all?" I fell a tad under whelmed and stand up slowly. Rita steps closer, her hands outstretched to catch me in case I go down again.
"I'm alright," I assure her, trying to shake off the woozy feeling that lingers. "Don't tell anyone about this little episode, got it?"
She stares at me like a deer in headlights.
"Don't tell Matt, don't tell my mother, don't tell your mother, and please, for the love of God, don't tell Mitch," I say. As the words are leaving my mouth, I hear the door chimes. Matt is in the lead, my mother is close on his heels, and peeling into the parking lot with lights flashing is Mitch. I tilt my head in disbelief. "You managed to call all three, and open a can of sardines, all in a minute and a half?"
"I called Matt, he called your mother and I called 911 who probably called Mitch. It takes a village," she says softly, a weak smile on her face.
I slide back down to the floor in defeat. Here it comes. I'll be forced to go home, force fed by my mother, who thinks that the only reason someone passes out is because they aren't eating properly. And, I'll probably get a lecture from Mitch about taking care of myself. So, as I sit here, feigning light headedness, I can only ask myself one thing. Do I shake Rita now or after everyone leaves?
***********************************************************************************************
I convince Matt to let me stay at work. I tell them I haven't eaten since dinner last night, and that's why I was so light headed. After the paramedics come and take my vitals, I'm cleared. I have to have a follow up with my primary doctor just to be sure it wasn't something besides hunger that sent me toppling to the ground.
I go back to the office with Matt and sit down in the chair opposite him.
"So, Miranda, what really happened?"
"I already told you, I hadn't eaten. That's it."
He looks down at the top of his desk and sighs. "Rita told me she had just given you the news about Missy. Did that have anything to do with what happened?"
I shake my head, puffing up with false bravado. "Hell no, Matt. I'm not scared of Missy. She is a thing of the past. I've practically forgotten about her."
He slaps his hand on the desk and laughs. "The woman tried to kill you, Miranda. If I haven't forgotten her, there is no way in hell you have. Stop being such a bad ass. It's okay to be spooked by that news. And, if she ever gets out, which I think would be a miracle, I will make sure you're safe, at least while you're here."
My heart is bursting but I can't let him know that he's about to make me cry. "Are you getting sweet on me, Matthew?"
Crimson rushes to he cheeks, and he lets out a little growl. "Damn it, Miranda, I'm being serious."
I reach over and squeeze his hand. "I know. And I appreciate it."
There is a knock on the door and both Matt and I look over. Mitch leans in and looks at me. "Can I see you when y'all are through?"
Matt stands up and moves past him. "We're all done. Good luck, she's still full of piss and vinegar."
I grin at Mitch, announcing loudly," I think Matt has a thing for me."
"No, I don't," Matt shouts as he goes to talk to Rita.
"You okay?" Mitch says. He squats down beside my chair and brushes my hair back from my face. "Is that really what made you pass out?"
I want to freeze times like these. Sometimes, it feels like Mitch and I are the only two people in the world. I feel totally safe, almost peaceful as I look into his eyes. "Yes. I should have eaten breakfast or grabbed a donut to have with my coffee. I was just caught up in the investigation and forgot. Are you worried about me? Are you starting to develop a thing for me, too?" I whisper, easing in for a kiss.
"It goes way deeper than a thing. I'm nothing without you. Please take care of yourself."
He straightens up and holds out his hand to help me out of the chair. "Come on, your mom is chomping at the bit to see you."
I stop and look at him. "You talked to Dougie, right? What did he say?"
He smiles but it's a forced one. "Apparently, Mr. Wilcox has a thing for you, as well. Looks like your dance card is full. You were right about him stumbling on the scene. He can't remember seeing anyone except the boy, and he couldn't remember what he looked like. But he said he heard a man's voice."
"Wait, was Dennis Tomlin alive when he got there?"
"No. He said he heard a man's voice saying "Oh, honey, what have you done?"
"There was someone else there?"
Mitch shrugs. "If he did hear a man's voice, then yes. Tomlin, the deceased, the boy crying for help, the man who said what have you done and whoever honey is."
I wave at my momma who is filling the counter with snacks, which I'm sure she will force feed me before she leaves. "Mitch, there were five people there. Someone saw something, someone knows something. If Dougie remembers any more, his life will be in danger."
"I'm already ahead of you. I've put a detail by his door."
I walk over to Momma and she takes me in a bear hug. As good as it feels, all I can think about is finding out who "Honey" is.
| Author Notes | Sorry for this exceptionally long post. |
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. She has really taken to the boy, Waylon and then Dougie returns. Now she is afraid that he is back to take his son. She has recently come into reward money for finding a missing man's remains. When Dougie is accused of murdering Waylon's teacher, she knows she is the only one who can find the real killer.
*************************************************************************************************
People from all around the northern part of the county are coming in, all wondering why the police and ambulance were here earlier. Nosiness is our county motto here in Patterson. If it happens, why wait for the afternoon addition of the Gazette, just mosey on down to the scene of the crime and start asking questions.
"What was all the hub bub here at lunch time?" an old timer asks. He has his hands in his pockets and doesn't even pretend to be shopping. He just stands there rocking on his worn out heels, waiting for his question to be answered. There is a vague familiarity to him. Probably one of those who only comes in here in the off season.
"Hub bub, here?" I say, feigning ignorance.
He grins, like he's in on a joke. "Come on, you get robbed or something?"
"No sir. No body has robbed us. What's your next guess?"
"Some silly, shit for brains tourist got hurt in the store."
"One more strike and you're out."
His grin falters. "Look, I'm a citizen. I pay taxes. What the devil happened here? My son-in-law bought me a police scanner. I think you were robbed. Is that it?"
I sigh. I want two things. Number one, for this pain in the tail tax paying citizen to get out and for this day to end. "Not robbed per se, caught a kid stealing bubble gum."
He looks at me warily. (With good reason, I might add.) "You called the cops, on a kid stealing candy?"
"Every hardened criminal starts off small. Nip it in the bud, I say."
He grumbles about people being entitled, and how if parents still used the switch or the belt, why, we wouldn't have these little con artists and future penitentiary trainees. I motion for him to step aside so I can wait on a customer. "How's your day going?" I say to the woman who is sporting Jackie O shades. She looks like a bug because the shades are entirely too big for her face.
"Good. Heard y'all had an exciting morning here."
"Appears that way. Is this it for you?" I ask, waiting for her answer before I hit the total key on the register. "You putting this on a card?"
She nods without looking up.
I watch as she signs the pad. Her handwriting is messy and I can't tell if she wrote Mickey Mouse or Mount Rushmore, or Mira Evanoff. I catch my breath and lock eyes with her, or at least, I think I lock eyes with her.
"How's your story coming?" she asks. Just from her tone, I can tell she hasn't forgotten me or my stupid attempt to talk to Terrence.
"Still in the works. Takes a lot of investigating. I'm not one to give up, Mrs. Evanoff."
She tips the corner of her mouth with a lackluster smile. "Miss Evanoff."
"Have a good day, Mira. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around," I call out to her retreating back. She neither responds or acknowledges me.
The old man taps the counter and smiles at me. "You got spunk, little lady. Hope your afternoon and evening are quieter."
"You and me both," I say, sighing as I try to shake off the uneasy feeling of coming face to face with Mira again.
He taps the counter again. "You take care of yourself, Honey. You're too pretty to stick your nose where it doesn't belong."
I look up, shocked. He isn't an off season customer. It's Mira's father and Terrence's grandfather. That's why he looked familiar. They were checking me out. I was a sitting duck.
I call Mitch and tell him about the Evanoffs coming here.
"Did they threaten you, Miranda? In any way?" he asks.
"No, but I felt like they were casing the place. He was asking me all kinds of questions and they didn't even act like they knew each other. Suppose they had come here tonight when I'm closing up? It would have been two against one."
"Maybe they just wanted to know what happened. Stranger things have happened."
"No. No way. The old man said I should stay safe and not stick my nose where it doesn't belong."
"I'll drive by their respective houses and see what they are up to. I still have a couple of questions for Terrence. And, after I do that, I'll come there and follow you home. Remember, call me if they show up again."
I say goodbye and look towards the door. Rita leaves in an hour and a half, and then it will just be me. I look around for a weapon of any kind. I have a bottle of raid roach killer and a fly swatter. Since the Ed Preston confrontation, we are no longer allowed to keep scissors out front. A stupid, yet totally understandable rule, if you ask me. I remember there is a wooden pole with a nail in the end, by the back door. It's for when we are cleaning up trash around the parking lot. Stab the trash and drop it in the trash can. That will do. I might not be able to kill anyone with it, but I can perforate the hell out of them.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. She has taken a liking to the kid and is raising the boy as her own after Dougie disappears. Now, Dougie has returned and she is afraid he has come to take his son back. But, Dougie winds up being the prime suspect in Waylon's teacher's murder. Despite the fact that she wishes Dougie was no longer in her life, she knows she must find the real killer...for Waylon's sake.
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Sometimes karma or the universe, God in His almighty wisdom, steps in when you are having a really crappy day and gives you a diversion. I was sweating it out thinking about Mira and her father returning to visit the Little Eagle again, when the phone rings.
"Thank you for calling the Little Eagle, this is Miranda, how can I help you?" I have been saying this same line for years, and now, when I say it, I rarely pause or put any inflection in my voice. Half the time it's prank calls, tourists asking for directions around Patterson, or your run of the mill heavy breather.
"Miranda, this is Colleen."
No need to ask for a last name. I only know one Colleen, little Miss Blunt-question-asking Weaver. "Colleen, what can I do for you?"
"Oh, I was just calling. How are you doing? Have you spent half of your reward money yet?"
"No." I frown. Small talk isn't usually on Colleen's agenda. I wait, wondering if she is going to ease her way into dropping a bomb shell on me. "It's great to hear from you and all, but can I ask you why you're calling me?"
"Oh, right, I just wanted to let you know that I contacted your friend."
My mind is scrambling. What friend? I can't get the afternoon's events out of my head and I'm drawing a big blank. "I'm sorry, Colleen. It's been a rough one. Refresh my memory."
"Aaron Earl. Remember you asked me to check in on him? About the book he wants to write."
Everything comes rushing back to me. I haven't thought about Aaron or his plans for writing a book in several days. "Oh, yes, of course. And, did you talk to him about it?"
Oddly, I think I hear her giggle. "I did contact him. We met up for coffee and he told me all about what y'all found down at Haynes Pond."
"So, do you think you might be able to help him?"
Another giggle. "Definitely."
"Colleen, can I ask you something?"
"Sure," she says.
"I think I heard you giggling. I'm wondering why?"
There is a pause and finally Colleen clears her throat. "Oh my gosh, Miranda, he is adorable. He's funny, cute, and," she says, pausing again.
"You like him, don't you?"
"I really do. We met for coffee day before yesterday. I had carved out an hour for him, but I couldn't make myself leave. We sat there and talked for three hours. Then we just walked around town. I'm not usually like this, Miranda. I'm a freaking mess. I can't concentrate on my work. All I do is think about him. His smile is the sweetest thing ever."
I smile and bite my lip. I feel like I'm meeting Colleen for the first time. She isn't Colleen Weaver, ace reporter. She's Colleen Weaver, twenty-something woman, falling head over heels for a cute guy. "How old are you Colleen?"
"Twenty-seven."
"When are you two going to see each other again?"
"Friday night."
"Dinner?"
"No, he wants me to show him how to look things up about the two agents and find information about local bootleggers. I just don't know if he feels the same, you know, about me." Her voice goes soft, the way a woman sounds when she's too afraid to ask questions, but still wants to know the answers.
"You could ask him."
She groans. "You sound like my mother. Maybe you could ask him."
"Three's a crowd, Colleen. Besides, you should probably take it slow, in the beginning. I mean, enjoy each others company before you get all wrapped up."
"You're right. Oh, I forgot the reason I was calling. I got a call from Missy Toblerone's lawyer. They are appealing again."
"I heard. Something about her rights not being fully explained to her."
"Well, that, and the fact that Sheriff Danner used excessive force when he arrested her."
Her words settle hard on me. There is no way Mitch would do that. He's a professional. He is a good cop. "No way."
"Just repeating what I was told. If I hear anything else, I'll let you know."
I hang up, look at the clock, groaning as I realize there are two more hours to go. I try to replay reporter Colleen and her giggling alter ego gushing over Aaron, but all I can think about is Mitch getting scrutinized for doing his job. He saved my life. She killed a man in cold blood, and watched her own husband die, not bothering to call for help. How is it possible she could get out of prison because Mitch put the cuffs on her too roughly? The crazy bitch hit me in the face with a gun, after she ran out bullets to shoot at me. There is something wrong with our justice system. Something very, very wrong.
I drum my fingers on the counter. There is only one thing that can make me feel better.
Scrambled eggs at my momma's house. I dial her number and she answers on the first ring.
"Miranda, everything alright? I went by and picked up Waylon after school. We just got home from the hospital. They have an officer guarding Dougie, did you know that?"
"Yes, Mitch wants someone with him since he's starting to remember that afternoon. I'll swing by and get Waylon after I get off."
"I can bring him home, I don't mind."
"I need eggs, Momma. Scrambled eggs."
She goes quiet. "I'll turn back your bed, settle Waylon on the couch. You come on. We'll have a big old plate of scrambled eggs when you get here."
"Thank you, Momma. I love you."
"I know you do. Miranda, everything is going to be alright. You just need to trust that it is."
I sigh after I hang up. I sure hope she's right.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley, is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. She has taken a strong liking to the boy and after Dougie disappears, she files for temporary custody. Now, Dougie is back and he's been accused of murdering Waylon's teacher. Even though Miranda would prefer if Dougie wasn't in her life again, she knows he isn't capable of murder. Now, she has to prove it.
*********************************************************************************************
Momma is sitting on the brick stoop in her nightgown and robe, when I pull into her driveway, with Mitch following behind me. She hasn't changed much. Little things like a few more lines around her eyes and more gray hairs than a few years ago, but she is still one of the prettiest women I know. She rarely dolls herself up, content in jeans and sweater, hair pulled back into a bun. She's worried about me, I can see it on her face, even though she smiles and waves like this is just another normal Sunday visit, instead of ten thirty on a Tuesday night.
She stands up, and tightens the belt on her robe. "You didn't tell me Mitch was joining us. Here I am outside in my pajamas. I'm sorry, Mitch."
"Hey, if I hadn't just gotten off of work, I'd be in my sweat pants and a t-shirt. You look fine."
We follow her inside. She leads me into the kitchen while Mitch heads for the living room where Waylon is watching television. I sit down at the table, while she pulls the skillet out of the cabinet.
"One egg or two?" she asks, pulling the carton of eggs from the fridge.
"Two."
"Mitch, Waylon, either of y'all want scrambled eggs?" she yells to them, still standing in front of the refrigerator.
Neither accept the offer and go back to laughing at whatever is on the television.
"You want me to fix the toast?" I ask, suddenly feeling guilty for making my mother fix me eggs when I'm fully capable of fixing them myself.
"No, you sit. What's got you so worked up?"
"You know how I pride myself on being aware and being able to take care of myself?"
She nods, as she taps the pristine eggshell on the edge of the pan. "I do. Which makes me worry about you even more, but go on."
"The person I think had something to do with Waylon's teacher's murder, came into the store this afternoon. She walked right up to me, I made small talk with her. I didn't have a clue it was her, until she was ready to leave. I felt like a sitting duck."
"Working by yourself at night? Miranda, you are a sitting duck. I hate knowing you work nights alone. You're right off the main highway. I'm always afraid some crazy is gonna come after you."
I roll my eyes, feeling like a teenager who just got caught past curfew. "That's not gonna happen. Mitch has guys make rounds several times a night. I'm as safe at the Little Eagle as I am at home."
This time she rolls her eyes at me. "A trailer park, that's the first place I think of when I think of a safe neighborhood. Miranda, you had one close call, not so long ago, I honestly don't think I can take another."
"I'm careful, Momma. I really am. I'm backing off the investigation. Mitch can handle it. I just think differently than him. I think in what ifs and he thinks in hard evidence. But, two heads are better than one. Sometimes I point out something obvious to me and it opens his eyes to a new way to look at things. We're a team...sort of."
She turns around, still holding the spatula. "You are very good together, in more than just the detective angle. You're beautiful and smart, too smart for your own good, but you will always be four-year-old Miranda Lynn, hiding in the clothes rack at Sears, giving your poor mother a heart attack."
She plates the eggs and carries them over to the table. "Now, let's just enjoy these eggs."
We eat in silence, the noise of the television and Waylon and Mitch's laughter, a comforting background distraction.
*********************************************************************************************
Mitch and I stand on the front stoop, close to each other without touching. I wrap my arms around myself, fighting off the chill of the night air. "Thanks for following me here. I'm sorry it took you in the wrong direction from home." I trace the curve of his face with my finger. "You look tired."
"I am tired. It's been kind of busy lately," he says, a tease in his voice. "And, I love seeing your mom."
"I think she has feelings for you, too." I tease.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Shoot."
"What's with the eggs?"
"It's our comfort food. When I'd have a bad day at school, Momma would fix scrambled eggs. If she had a bad day, we ate eggs. When my dad passed a few years ago, we ate eggs almost every night."
"So, it's your comfort food. Good to know."
I sigh and glance towards the door. "It's really late, you should get going."
Pulling his car keys out of his pocket, he leans in for a kiss. "Call me tomorrow. I love you, Miranda Lynn."
My insides flutter at his words. Love does strange things to a person. It makes you ignore red flags, sit through terrible movies, giggle at silly jokes that you've heard a million times. In this case, love makes my fluttering stomach revolt and as Mitch drives away, I lean over the railing and puke into the bushes.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. She has come to love the boy, Waylon and think of him as her own. Now, Dougie is back and she fears he is here for the boy. But, when Waylon's teacher, Dennis Tomlin, is murdered, Dougie is the prime suspect. As much as Miranda wants Dougie out of her life, she knows he is innocent and sets out to prove it.
*******************************************************************************************
The sun is laid across the bed when I wake up. I can hear the muffled sounds of Momma and Waylon downstairs as they prepare for their day. I'm sure she's fixing him a big breakfast and is planning on taking him into school. I look around at my bedroom. It's the same as it was close to twenty years ago when I moved out. A time warp, if you will, of posters, and random stuffed animals that I was not willing to take with me, but wouldn't allow her to throw away. Some of my clothes are still in the closet, hung on the cheap white plastic hangers, as if waiting for me to try them on. I sit up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and look at the nightstand beside me. There is absolutely no dust to be found. Momma keeps it clean as a whistle and ready for nights like last night. Who ever said you can't go home again, never met my momma.
I'm padding down the steps just as those two are heading out thee front door. "If you give me a second, I can take him in."
"No, no, you go on in the kitchen and have yourself a cup of coffee. I'll be back in half an hour," Momma says, unlocking the storm door and holding it for Waylon to wriggle past her. "Come on, Waylon, we don't want to be late." She lets the storm door close as they both hustle down the sidewalk to her car.
"Bye, Waylon," I say to the car as it backs out of the driveway.
After I pour myself a very large cup of coffee, I pick up the phone and dial Mitch's number.
"You made it home last night, I see," I say as soon as he answers.
"I did. You get any sleep, Tiger?"
I twist from side to side, trying to stretch out my still fatigued muscles. "I did. No waking up, no nightmares, it was amazing."
"That's good. You've been burning the candle at both ends lately. I worry about you, you know."
"I worry about you, Sheriff Danner."
"I guess worrying about each other keeps us from worrying about ourselves, doesn't it?"
I wait a few seconds before I broach the question that has been burning in my brain for the past twenty-four hours. "So, you said you talked to Dougie. Did he have anything to add to what we already know?"
"Not much. He said he heard a man say "Oh, Honey, what have you done", then he heard the boy say "no,". Then he says he got hit."
"So the man hit him?"
"Here's where it gets confusing. The man was over by the car, but Dougie's wound was on the back of the head. So, he was hit from behind."
I can hear the police radio crackle to life in the background. "You sleep with that thing on all the time?" I tease.
"Hey, Miranda, let me call you back. There's been a missing person's report filed on a minor. I need to head into the station. Love you." He hangs up, not letting me protest or say goodbye.
*************************************************************************************************
When it's time to leave for work, Momma hands me a brown paper bag overflowing with a sandwich, chips, an apple, almonds and cranberries, a pack of nabs and not one but two clementine oranges.
I look up in disbelief when I peruse the contents. "I'm not going to work in the mines, you know," I say.
"Eat it. All of it. Give me one less thing to worry about."
I lean over and kiss her cheek. "I promise...to eat all that i can."
She walks outside with me and stands on the stoop as I rummage through my purse for my car keys. "How's that weird neighbor of yours?"
I glance up as my fingers curl around the key fob. "You've got to be more specific, Momma."
"The pothead one."
"Aaron? He's good. He's got it in his mind to write a book about the cars he found in Haynes Pond. He's actually been doing research, and reaching out to the dead men's family members, trying to find out what they have heard about the missing men."
"He still have a crush on you?"
"No! He never really had a crush on me. He just needs someone to lean on from time to time. Besides, I called in a favor with Colleen Weaver to help get him started on the book and," I smile remembering the little girlish giggle as she talked about him. "I think she has a crush on him."
"It'll be a crap shoot if those two have children. Colleen was a child prodigy."
"How do you know that?" I ask.
"I used to be in the Patterson Women's Club with her mother. That woman never stopped bragging about her. You would have thought she was Marie Curie or Helen Keller, to hear her talk about Colleen."
I put me key in the lock and stifle a laugh. I'm not sure what Marie Curie and Helen Keller have in common, but apparently Colleen has traits of both. It makes sense to Momma and that's good enough for me.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley, is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. She has come to love the boy, Waylon, as if her were her own. Now, Dougie has returned and Miranda is afraid he is back to take Waylon. When Waylon's teacher is murdered, Dougie is the prime suspect. No matter how much Miranda wants Dougie out of her life, she knows he is innocent and sets out to prove it.
*************************************************************************************************
I leave Momma's house with the intent to run home and take care of a few things, but curiosity gets the better of me and I turn right onto the main highway and pull into the police station. I wonder who the missing kid is. I park in the visitor's space and walk into the station. As soon as I open the door I can hear raised voices, actually I hear shrieks.
"Find him!" a woman yells. "That's your job. Get in your car and find him!"
"Mrs. Evanoff, please calm down. We are doing everything we can. Patterson is a very big county. You don't know when he disappeared, you don't know what he is wearing. We are doing everything we can."
"Find my son or I will make so much trouble for you, Sheriff Danner, you'll wish you had never signed on with the department."
I peek around the corner, careful not to let either of them see me. Mira is livid. She looks angry, not worried. She spins her head from side to side, and waves her hand at the four or five uniformed officers who are at their desks. "Send them out, if you can't tear yourself away from your coffee."
"We are doing everything we can right now. We've contacted the highway patrol, law enforcement in the surrounding counties. And I have several squad cars out, at this very minute looking for Terrence. We will find him. Go home and let us do our jobs."
"If one hair on his head is hurt, you will be sorry," Mira hisses.
She walks past me, her face contorted in anger.
"Mira," I say. "Any idea where Terrence would go?"
She stops, just past where I stand and turns partially, but doesn't face me. "You are everywhere, aren't you?" she says, her voice flat and detached.
"Dumb luck, I guess." I look at her, see the lines of worry on her brow. The bags under her eyes showing a sleepless night. "Look, the sheriff is doing his job. They are short staffed and well, maybe I can help."
"What do you get out of this?" she asks.
"I have a sixteen-year-old myself. I'd die if he went missing. I just want to help you find Terrence."
Mira nods slightly, her eyes filling with tears, but none escape. "Thank you. He's all I've got." Her voice drops off.
I follow her out and glance at my watch. I have about forty minutes before I have to clock in. "Do you have a recent picture of him?" I ask.
She nods and digs into her purse. She hands me a photocopy of his school picture. "This was last years. They haven't sent the new ones home yet."
"This will help. I'm gonna go drive down route 17. Give me your number and if I find anything, I'll give you a call. You can call me at the Little Eagle, the one on State road."
Mira nods and walks towards her car.
*****************************************************************************************
17 is a very non-descript road. Lined on either side by pine trees and ditches full of murky swamp water, its not a place you want to have your car break down. I'm less than a mile from where Mr. Tomlin and Dougie were found. I'm going the same way Tomlin's car was headed. Fifteen miles from the state line of Virginia.
My stomach grumbles and I reach for the bag of food. I dump it on the passenger seat and grab for the nabs, tearing through the cellophane with my teeth. The cheese cracker and peanut butter taste so good. I pull over at the scene, the yellow caution tape now flapping in the breeze, having come undone from the trees.
T minus twenty-five minutes and counting before I have to hurry back to the Little Eagle and don my ugly red vest. I park the car and step out. Such a peaceful scene that was witness to a horrendous crime. I wander around the area, checking the ground for anything out of the ordinary. I know damn well I won't find anything, Mitch's guys were very thorough. But, being here helps me think. The birds, mainly crows, are talking up a storm. I hear crunching deeper in the woods, and I try to guess what kind of animal it is. I hear a cough, at least, I think it's a cough.
I move past the trees that line the road and step over a fallen branch. Someone is in there, and I think I might know who.
"Terrence, you alright? I brought food, in case you're hungry."
"Go away."
"A lot of people are looking for you. I'm coming in there to get you, but it'd be a lot easier if you came out."
"Please, just leave me alone. Everything is my fault. I just want to go away where no one knows me."
I sigh, knowing I'm going to have to hike in there to him. "Damn it, have it your way," I mutter, pushing branches back with each step I take. "Promise me one thing, Terrence. Promise me that you won't run, cause I can't chase you on account of my pants are a tad tight." I lose sight of the road and my car as I venture further into the brush. "I just want to talk to you."
Just as I think about giving up and retreating, I see him, sitting on the cold ground, slumped back against a big pine. He looks cold and miserable. "Terrence, I'm glad to see you. You hurt?"
He draws his knees up against his chest and shakes his head. "This was all my fault."
I kneel down beside him, tentatively reaching out to show him I mean no harm. "Just come on home, no one is going to be mad at you. I promise, your mother is going to be so happy that you're safe, she will forget about being angry."
"Mr. Tomlin is dead because of me. That man, the one in the hospital, is there because of what I did."
"Terrence, Mr. Tomlin wasn't a really nice guy. He was grooming you."
The boy frowns and wriggles free of me. "No, he wasn't. He was trying to help me. You're just like the rest of them. Because he was gay, he was a creep. Except he wasn't. He was risking everything to drive me to my father's house. I was trying to get away from my mother."
"Did you kill Mr. Tomlin, Terrence?"
He lifts his eyes and I watch as one tear rolls down his cheek. "Yes. He's dead because of me."
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie Wilcox. She has come to love the boy, Waylon, as if her were her own child. When Dougie returns, she is afraid that he has come back to take the boy away. One of Waylon's teachers is brutally murdered, and Dougie is the prime suspect. As much as Miranda wants Dougie out of her life, she knows he is innocent and sets out to prove it.
*********************************************************************************************
Terrence won't make eye contact with me, and part of me expects him to jump up and bolt away. The mid morning air is laced with a damp chill that zeros in on my core. "Are you cold?"
He shrugs. This poor kid has so much on his mind, he doesn't even seem to notice the temperature.
I sit back on my heels and wrap my arms around my knees. "What happened?"
He shakes his head. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Okay, we don't have to talk about it. But we do have to get you back to town. Everybody and their brother is worried about you. Let me take you to the Sheriff's office and they can let your mother know you're okay."
He finally looks at me with blazing eyes. "No! What part of I'm trying to get away from her, don't you understand?"
"Okay. Look, I have about five minutes to get to work. And, I can't leave you out here all by yourself. So, we can do things the easy way, which is, you let me drive you to The Little Eagle, where I work. Or, I can mosey on back to my car and call the cops," I say, hoping he won't see that I'm bluffing about calling the cops.
He doesn't answer, just hoists himself up and starts brushing leaves and debris off his jeans. "You swear you won't call my mom?"
"Yes. I just want to make sure you get some place safe. If you don't want me to call your mother, I won't. Deal?" I ask, extending my hand out to him.
He glances at it, and reluctantly shakes it.
I turn away and start trekking back to the car. "I have food in the car. Didn't bring anything to drink. I honestly wasn't expecting you to be here."
He slips into the passenger seat, and I offer up the bag of goodies. He shakes his head, but I can hear his stomach growling, so I drop it in his lap. "Don't be stubborn, kid. Just eat something."
That was all the coaxing I had to do. He hardly peeled the clementines before shoving them whole into his mouth. The sandwich was swallowed in less than four bites. He swallowed the last of bite of food and looked over at me sheepishly. "Thanks. I, uh, didn't realize I was that hungry."
"I'll park around back and go in first, then open the back door for you. You can clean yourself up in the men's room and then wait in the office until Rita leaves."
He nods. "Who's Rita?"
"My co-worker. She's not real good with secrets, so, the less she knows the better. Once she's gone, you and I can figure out what we're gonna do. This can't go on for much longer. There are a bunch of officers looking all over for you, and then there's your mother."
"I don't want her to know you found me."
I shake my head. Teenagers are so damn dramatic. "Look, she's worried sick about you, Terrence. Every minute she thinks you're missing is torture to her."
He shakes his head again. "No, don't call her. She just wants to," he says, pausing and squeezing his eyes shut. "Just don't call her. You promised."
I grip the wheel, feeling like he just might jump out of the moving car. "What does she want to do, Terrence?"
"What?"
"You said she just wants to...what? You tell me and I will make the decision about who to call."
For a few seconds it's painfully quiet in the car. The shadows of the trees on the side of the road, passing over him in quick rhythm. "She wants to send me to that camp. The one for queers."
I frown. "What are you talking about?"
"The Narrows. She was gonna send me to that camp. I went to Mr. Tomlin, cause, you know, I thought he might be like me," he says, suddenly looking down at his hands clasped in his lap. "He seemed so, I don't know, okay with it."
I nod, knowing he's talking about being gay. I don't dare ask him. He seems so insecure and guarded. "Did your mother know you were talking to Tomlin?"
"Yes. That's why she took me out of his class. She said he was a bad influence. Said he was encouraging me to sin."
"Did she think he was getting too close to you, could that have been the reason she was upset about your being near him?"
"She knew he was gay. He used to work with the camp. He told me it was a horrible place. They tell you that you'll go to hell if you don't change. He said they showed films of AIDs patients when they were dying. He left when he realized what they were doing. Indoctrinating hate against people like that, like him and me."
I can't say anything right now, shocked at this revelation. "Terrence. Why were you in his car that day?"
"I- I asked him for help. I called him, begging him to come and get me. I wanted him to take me to my father's house in Virginia. He risked everything to help me. I know a lot of people didn't like him. He said he rubbed people the wrong way. He knew that if he got caught, he'd lose his job and probably his teaching license. I put him in that position. Nobody but me." Once more the guilt ridden anguish came to his voice.
"You might have put his career in danger, but you didn't kill him, Terrence," I say. "But, I'm pretty sure you know who did."
He turns away, directing his gaze out the window and says nothing.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie Wilcox. She has grown to love the boy, Waylon, as if he were her own son. Now, Dougie returns and she is scared he is back to take Waylon away. When one of Waylon's teachers is murdered, Dougie is the prime suspect. As much as she wants Dougie out of her life, she knows he didn't do it. Now, for Waylon's sake, she set out to prove Dougie's innocence.
************************************************************************************************
Getting rid of Rita is pretty easy. I tell her I tweaked a muscle in my lower back and ask her to go change out the trash bags in the lot out front. Once she is busy with that, I let Terrence into the store through the back door. I lead him to the restroom, hand him a travel tooth brush, a small tube of toothpaste and pull the door closed. "I'll let you know when to come out, okay?"
He mumbles something through the door, which I can't really understand, so I just hope he understands the assignment. I need to find a clean shirt for him and maybe a pair of sunglasses. If someone sees him here, and recognizes him, I could be charged with something. My thoughts go to Mira. She really seemed upset that he was missing. She was the picture of worry. But to hear Terrence talk, she was determined to scare the gay out of him.
As I walked back to the counter, checking to see where Rita was, I knew one thing. I couldn't break my promise to Terrence by calling his mother, but I needed to let Mitch know.
I dial his cell phone, thinking that maybe the phones in the sheriff's office were tapped. "Mitch, I'm gonna tell you something, and you have got to promise me you aren't gonna freak out, yell at me or call Mira Evanoff...yet."
"Let me guess, you found him." He lets go a sigh and takes a moment to collect his thoughts. "Where was he?"
"At the scene of the crime. He was there. He was the boy Dougie saw. He knows who killed Tomlin. I'm pretty sure your guess is the same as mine. The kid is petrified of his mother. He called Tomlin to come take him to his father's place in Virginia."
"But, Terrence is a minor. It was against the law what Tomlin was doing. Kidnapping and transporting a minor across state lines, no jury would convict a parent of that."
"Mitch, his mother was going to send him to a scared straight camp."
Another sigh escapes him. "Jesus. I didn't think anyone believed in that crap anymore."
"I know this puts you between a rock and a hard place, but I'm asking for you to stall Mira. If she knows he's been found, you lose the best chance you have of solving this case. Give me time to think."
"Miranda, I can give you an hour, no more than that. If someone sees him, all bets are off. Understand?"
"Yes. I'll call you back."
I hang up just as Rita comes back inside through the double doors. Her cheeks are rosy and her ponytail is slightly askew. "Whew, those bags were heavy. Matt really needs to hire a man to do things like that around here."
"Come one, Rita. Say it with me, now," I coax her. "I am woman, hear me roar. In numbers too big to ignore."
She giggles and shakes her head. "I like being considered the weaker sex. I like having a man take care of me, Miranda."
I roll my eyes and as I do, I hear the bathroom door open. Without being too obvious, I point to the dwindling magazine rack at the front of the store. "See if you can do anything to make that look fuller. We should just stop carrying magazines altogether."
She tilts her head confused by my sudden interest in the sparse spread of periodicals. "I thought you hated magazines?"
"I do. But, if we're gonna carry them, why not have enough to fill the rack."
My eyes go to where I can see Terrence, peering through the four inch opening waiting for me to give him the signal to run to the office. "You agree, don't you?"
She nods, hesitantly. "I get the feeling you're trying to keep me busy, and away from you."
"Nonsense. Okay, okay, the truth is, I, uh, ate a lot of Mexican food, and it's coming back to haunt me."
"Haunt you?"
I squinch my nose up and wave my hand as if warding off evil spirits. "You understand, right?"
I think I honestly see the little light bulb flicker on in her brain as she takes a liberal step backwards.
"Oh. Well, thank you. Matt has Rolaids and Tums in his desk drawer. I can run grab some for you."
"You go take a gander at the magazine rack and I'll go grab them myself."
Telling Rita I have horrendous gas just shows you what I'm willing to do for people. She heads towards the front of the store and I motion for Terrence to hightail it to the office.
He hunkers down in the chair across from the desk and I kneel beside him. "I'm gonna level with you. I did call the Sheriff, but," I hold up my hand as he starts to get upset. "I called in a favor. We have one hour to figure out what to do."
"Call my dad to come get me."
"Terrence, if a man wasn't dead, and another man hasn't been framed for the murder, I would. Hell, I'd drive you there myself, but we can't. Someone killed an innocent man. They almost killed someone close to me. You know who did it, Terrence."
He swallows, hands shaking in his lap. "I can't."
"Do you think you're going to hell because you're gay?"
His eyes flicker warily to mine. "I'm not a bad person."
"I know that. Mr. Tomlin risked everything to help you, Terrence. I think you know in your heart that you need to do the same for him."
Without warning, Terrence reaches out and hugs me. "Tell the Sheriff I'll come in."
I don't answer right away, instead I just hug him tightly, knowing his whole life is going to change.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie Wilcox. She has come to love the boy, Waylon, as if her were her own. Dougie returns and Miranda is sure he has come to take the boy away. When Waylon's teacher is murdered, it appears that Dougie is behind it. No matter how much Miranda wants Dougie out of her life, she knows he is innocent and is determined to prove it.
************************************************************************************************
I return back to the front counter and watch as Rita scratches her head and shifts one stack of magazines. She painstakingly straightens them on the rack, and steps back to survey her progress. "Miranda, I don't think I'm gonna be able to make this look very full. We just don't have enough magazines. I can spread them out. Like side to side on the rack."
I nod. "Sounds good, Rita. You do whatever you think is best."
"Are you sure nothing is wrong? You never let me take control of a project. Don't you even want to come over and see what I'm doing?"
"No, I trust you."
She drops the magazines on the floor and walks over to me, hands on her hips. "Something is up with you, and I don't think its just gas. Now, what is going on?"
I know I can't lie to her again. The jig is going to be up if she goes back to the office, anyway. "Rita, what I'm about to tell you, is confidential. It is also part of official police business."
Rita's eyes go wide. She almost huddles into herself, wrapping her arms around herself. "What have you done?"
I shake my head. "Nothing. I found a missing boy. Don't worry Mitch knows. But, I have to get him to the police station before his mother finds out he's been found."
"He's here?"
I nod, and hook my thumb towards the office. "He's in there, in Matt's office."
The bells on the door chime and I look up. It's the old man, Terrence's grandfather. He is still smiling, looking all sweet and mild, but I know better. "Shit. It's his grandfather."
"Him?" Rita asks. "He's been coming in a lot. Never really buys anything, just mills around for a bit then leaves."
I force a smile as I look up. "Well, look what the cat dragged in."
"Young lady, I don't usually see you here."
"Oh, I'm here most every day. You never know where I'll pop up."
He nods, fingers the brown suspenders that stretch across his shoulders. "We have that in common. I heard from my daughter that you're helping look for Terrence. Just came to say that was very nice of you. Any luck?" He smiles.
I look away from his stained teeth. "No sir. I take it they haven't located him yet?"
He shrugs. "I'm not worried. Boys like him don't do well on their own. He'll turn up. Well, I just wanted to stop by and thank you for your help."
"It's no big deal. I'd help anyone in this situation."
He takes a few steps the pauses. "I just don't know what Mira would do if she lost that boy. She's a force to be reckoned with, I'll tell you that," he says, a chuckle attached to his words. "You have kids, don't you?"
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
"Then you must understand how a mother will do anything for her child."
"Have a good afternoon, Mr. Evanoff ."
He nods at Rita and slowly shuffles to the door before pushing through.
I wait until he is in his car before I dare check on Terrence. I push open the office door. It's empty. No Terrence. All I find is a note. "Sorry. Can't stay here."
With shaking hands, I pick up the phone and call Mitch. I don't even let him identify himself before I blurt out, "He's gone, Mitch. He was hiding in the office and he must have seen his grandfather on the camera. Dammit. He's gone. He was the only witness." I try to control the emotions that are careening out of control. "He knows what happened. Now, he's gone. Shit, shit, shit."
"Calm down. You found him once. He trusts you. Have you looked around the store, out back?"
I shake my head, knowing full well he can't hear me or see me. Rita looks in and nods to the front. "That old man is just sitting in his car. He's just watching the store. He gives me the creeps."
"His grandfather is sitting in the parking lot. I think he knows I found him."
"Miranda, get a hold of yourself. Check out back and I'm gonna swing by. I'm sure the old fella doesn't want a ticket for loitering. Just calm down."
I hang up and open the back door. The back lot is empty. The woods that border the property look thick and impenetrable. "He's gone. You can come back inside." I let my words die on the chilly breeze. There is no sound, other than the rustle of fall leaves and the cars on the highway a mile away. If Terrence is out there, he's not letting on. "Terrence, please. You have to do the right thing. If not for Mr. Tomlin or Dougie, then for yourself."
I sit down on the curb and put my head in my hands. I feel sick to my stomach. I had him. He was going to tell what he knew. Now, he's vanished. And we are no closer to knowing what happened.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. She has grown to love the boy, Waylon, as if her were her own child. But, when Dougie returns to town, Miranda is afraid he has come to take the boy away. One of Waylon's teachers is murdered and Dougie is the prime suspect. As much as she wants Dougie out of her life, she knows he didn't kill anyone. Now, she has to prove his innocence, for Waylon.
*****************************************************************************************
After sitting there, tossing ideas around in my head, I finally go back inside. Rita, half hidden behind the suntan lotion display, is spying on the old man. "He's the kid's grandfather?" she asks, when I walk up.
"He is. Not sure why he's been coming around here though. How many times has he been here?"
"About four or five."
"Never buys anything? No coffee, no gas, nothing?" I ask. I'm trying to figure out why he would set his sights on this place. Why is he so interested in where I work?
"Nothing. Just walks down each aisle and looks around. After about twenty minutes, he just turns and leaves."
I shake off the weird feeling I have. I glance up to see Mitch's cruiser pulling into the lot. He parks beside the old man's car and walks around to where the old man is sitting in the driver's seat. "Cavalry has arrived," I say, a small sense of relief makes me smile.
Rita nudges me and we both let out an exhale as the old man nods and starts backing out.
Mitch walks in and grins. "I was right, he didn't want a ticket for loitering. I told him that he was upsetting the nice ladies who work here. Said it wouldn't happen again."
I nod, and chew on my thumbnail. "Why isn't he out looking for his grandson, Mitch?"
"I don't know. Maybe they weren't close. Maybe, Mira asked him not to. There could be any number of reasons."
I shake my head. "He knew I found him. I don't know how, unless he saw him in my car as we were driving here. But, make no mistake, that old man knew Terrence was here."
Mitch shrugs. "He wasn't out back?"
I shake my head. "He's gone. Probably took off through the woods."
************************************************************************************************
Rita leaves after I get back from my lunch break. She offers to stay, in case the old man shows up again, but I doubt he's the kind of man who would test to see if Mitch was bluffing. I spend the evening waiting on a few customers and restocking the drink machine. After putting the register drawers in the small safe, I hit the lights and lock up.
The only thing on my mind as I go to sit in the car, is the prospect of a hot shower and a beer. The past few days have been rough. I deserve an icy cold one. I hook the seat belt and start the engine.
"Hey, don't scream. It's me."
I know in horror movies, someone pops up in the backseat and the ill fated heroine screams her bloody lungs out, but in real life, you feel your heart wedge in your throat and you pee yourself a little. At least, that's what I did.
I look in the rear view mirror, not trusting myself to turn around. There is Terrence.
"How did you get in my car?"
"I unlocked the passenger door when you drove me around back."
"How long have you been in here?"
"Since my grandfather showed up. I slipped out the back and hid in the car. I was gonna come back in, but he just sat there. So, I fell asleep."
He has dark circles under his eyes. Even though he fell asleep, I can tell he's exhausted. And it's not just from his sleeping in the woods. Terrence looks like he hasn't slept in quite a while.
"Terrence, do you trust me?" I ask.
He doesn't answer, not directly. He holds eye contact with me in the mirror. "I came back, didn't I?"
"I'm gonna call Mitch and have him meet us at my house. Are you gonna run again?"
"I don't know if I can talk about it. None of this was supposed to happen. It's all my fault."
I turn around in my seat, hoping he won't spin out into a guilt fueled tornado.
"Did you kill Mr. Tomlin?"
"No," he says, his voice tight and on the verge of breaking.
"Did you know it was going to happen?"
"No, but if it hadn't been for," he says, but I hold up my hand.
"Maybe this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't called him, but you aren't responsible for the actions of others. If you know who killed Mr. Tomlin, you have to help bring them to justice. Even if it's someone close to you. Look at me, Terrence. Are you going to do what's right?"
He draws in a ragged breath. "Call him."
I drive around to the back of the store and unlock the back door. Slipping into the office without turning on the lights, I dial Mitch's cell number.
"Hey, the old man didn't come back did he?" he asks.
"The old man didn't, no, but the young one did. I'll meet you at the station. He's ready to talk."
For a second or two, Mitch is silent. "Give me ten minutes. I'll see you both then."
After returning to the car, I turn around to look at this kid. He's seen so much, been through hell and back again, but he's just a kid. "Sheriff Danner is going to meet us at the station. You ready?"
"Not really. But what choice do I have. I have to make things right."
I say nothing. There are no words I can offer to take this heart wrenching burden off of him. Terrence Evanoff is going to have to face this alone.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. She comes to love the boy, Waylon, as if he is her own flesh and blood. When Dougie returns to town, she is afraid that he has come back to take his son. One of Waylon's teachers is brutally murdered, and Dougie is the only suspect, but Miranda knows he is innocent. As much as she wants Dougie out of her life, she is determined to prove his innocence.
************************************************************************************************
Mitch opens the door before we can even get out of the car. He glances around, as if expecting an ambush. "I had to call your mother, Terrence."
He winces, suddenly turning for the door. "You promised!" he cries, his attention on me.
Mitch catches his arm, before he can make a break for it. "She didn't know. By law, I had to. You're a minor."
I can see the shaky facade crumbling. "It'll be okay, Terrence. I'm here with you."
He looks at Mitch with a desperation on his face. "You don't understand," he says.
"Terrence, did your mother have anything to do with the death of Mr. Tomlin?" I ask, as Mira Evanoff pulls into the parking lot, tires squealing.
Mitch grabs my arm and pulls me back. "Miranda, you can't ask him that. You could blow any chance we have of using his testimony as a witness. We, I mean, I have to do this by the book. I've already called someone from Social Services to come here as his representative, should he not want to interact with his mother. Now, lets come inside and get settled."
He stops me before I take a step inside. "Go home. You've done all that you can. Go home and I'll call you in the morning."
"Mitch, he needs me. He trusts me."
He smiles at me, gently taking my hands in his. "I know he does. But, I can't let you in. Go home."
Mira slams her car door, her stride is quick and angry. "Where is Terrence? Where is my son?"
"Ms. Evanoff, calm down. Terrence has requested that he not see you. I have a State representative coming to bear witness to his testimony."
"I am going to see my boy, Sheriff. You're going to have to shoot me to keep me away from him."
Mitch stands his ground, keeping her out of the station. "Now, you listen to me. This is about more than your son. A man was murdered and another one gravely injured. You can threaten me, scream at me, whatever you want to do, but I promise you, until your son says otherwise, you are staying out."
I stand in the shadows, listening to her scream expletives at him. He stays calm, cool and professional. I admire that about him. I would have flipped a switch, and Mira would be a stain on the side of the building right now.
"You think I don't know what you and that woman are trying to do? You two want to pin this on my boy. Well, I'll see you both in hell before I let that happen."
I close my eyes, wondering why she thinks Terrence is a suspect. She never said a thing about herself. The old man had said, a mother will do anything for her child. But, it was as if she were offering Terrence up as the sacrificial lamb.
A mother will do anything for her child. Anything. Kill for him, cover for him. Help him kill someone who has been harassing him for the past year. I step out of the cover of shadows and walk back over to the door.
"You set Tomlin up. You had Terrence lure him with that story about the camp. You knew that was the one thing that he couldn't ignore. Who killed him? You or Terrence?"
Mira turns slowly, her expression blank. "We complained about the attention he was giving Terrence. Nobody did a damn thing. The pervert was a god at that school. He would drive by our house some nights. Terrence was afraid to go outside by himself."
I glance at Mitch, who turns to look for Terrence. The office is empty. I nod for him to go search for him.
Mira puts her hand on the door, about to push it open. She pauses long enough to glance at me. "The man deserved to die. I heard nothing but what a wonderful teacher he was, how in tune he was with the students. It was all lies. He was a wolf in sheep's clothing. He would coerce Terrence. When my boy came out to him, he had the power then. Terrence was scared. That's what Tomlin used against him. He was a dangerous man, Miranda. He deserved what he got."
I think about the pictures of the scene. "What about the other guy, Dougie Wilcox, did he deserve to be attacked?"
She sinks down on the step. "He stopped when he saw the car. My dad hit him and put the hammer in his hand. He wasn't trying to kill him. Just knock him out."
"Did Terrence kill him, Mira?"
She looks up at me. "I'll go to jail. It was my justice. I'd do it again."
"Did Terrence kill Mr. Tomlin?"
She looks away, not answering, just rocking back and forth on the step, humming "Amazing Grace".
Mitch comes back out. "I have him in a cell. He confessed."
I smile down at Mira. "So did she."
Mitch kneels down beside her, "I'm gonna read you your rights according to the law. Do you understand, Ms. Evanoff?"
"I understand."
I watch as Mitch stands and holds out his hand to help her up. I don't say goodbye, just walk back to my car, feeling numb. Maybe they both hit him. Maybe they both thought they were doing God's work. Or, they were just Tomlin's prey and they fought back.
I drive home, pulling into the trailer park. I catch Waylon peering out the kitchen window. What if it had been him? What if Tomlin had set his sights on Waylon? I can't think about that. A mother will do anything for her child.
He smiles as I walk inside. "Long night?" he asks, leaning against the kitchen counter. "You're late tonight."
Without a word, I grab him and hug him as tightly as possible. "I love you, Waylon. You know that right?"
He grins but I can see he's stunned. "Yes. I know that."
I fight back tears, stepping away. "Homework done?"
He nods. "Finished everything a while ago. You okay?"
I nod. "Like you said, it was a long day."
"Well, goodnight."
"Night."
I don't bother with a shower. I just kick off my shoes and climb under the covers. I turn out the lights and as I'm about to drift off to sleep, I hear it.
"I love you, Miranda," Waylon's voice calling from the living room.
All is right with the world...at least, for a while.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie Wilcox. She has come to love the boy, Waylon, as if her were her own. Dougie returns to town, and Miranda is afraid he is here to take his son back. When Waylon's teacher, Mr. Tomlin, is murdered, Dougie is the prime suspect. Even though Miranda wants Dougie out of her life, she knows he isn't capable of murder. Now, she sets out to prove it.
*********************************************************************************************
Waylon has already left for school by the time I wake up. I didn't have any dreams or nightmares, probably too exhausted for my mind to conjure up anything. I take a quick shower and wrap a towel around my wet hair, then stagger into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.
It's a gray morning, with the sky wrapped in thick clouds that look like Brillo pads stretched across the horizon. Perfect day for rain. We are usually slow when it rains all day. And, I will welcome a slow day. I stare at the phone trying to will Mitch to call me. I'm dying to know what happened after I left last night. Two confessions for one murder, and I honestly don't know what to believe. I pray that Terrence isn't capable of such a heinous crime, but I have my doubts that Mira could have done it now.
I sip the strong dark coffee and walk over to the couch. I settle back and put my feet on the coffee table. I should call Momma. Later. I'll call her later. I don't really want to talk to anyone right now. I try to convince myself that it's a good thing Mitch isn't calling. But I keep glancing at the phone like a girl waiting for a boy to call.
After I finish my coffee, I wash the dishes, and putter around the kitchen, wiping counters and refolding dishtowels, trying to keep myself busy. The phone rings and I snatch it off the hook like it's the Holy Grail. "Hello," I say, breathless with excitement.
"Miranda, hey, it's me," he says.
I mouth a curse word. The he in question is Dougie.
"Hey, if you're calling for Waylon, he's in school. I'll leave him a note to call you."
"No, I didn't call for him. I was wondering if we could talk. I'm cleared for release this Friday. Maybe, we could have lunch or something. I need to ask you something."
"Why don't you just ask me now?" I say, wondering what could be so important that we needed to be having a meal together.
He laughs in a low and oh, so Dougie way. It used to make me swoon, now I feel a little queasy. "No, this is important. Not over the phone. I'll swing by the trailer after I'm released and we can talk."
I don't bother arguing. He isn't acting like he is going to take no for an answer. But, maybe it just what we need. He needs to put an end to this little fantasy of me taking him back. I'll just lay it all out to him when he comes over. "Sure. Look, I need to get ready for work. Glad you're getting out."
"Thanks. See you soon, Randa."
I hang up and shiver. I always hated that nickname.
******************************************************************************************
I was right when I said it was going to be a slow day at the Little Eagle. Rita has to leave early to take one of her boys to the orthodontist. So, I sit at the counter and eat my lunch, watching as the clouds release the first curtain of rain.
A taxi pulls up to the front of the store and I watch as a large umbrella almost explodes when the back door opens. I can't see anything but four legs and a large purse.
I'm about to put the wet floor sign out when I realize who it is. Brenda and Alice, grinning from ear to ear, heading towards me like I was their long lost friend.
"Ladies, I am not in the mood for any of your shenanigans. You read me?" I say, pushing my half eaten sandwich away.
Brenda walks over to the counter and sets her purse on the counter. "We are on our best behavior. I'm going to leave my purse right here. I'm not gonna steal, or anything."
I wish I could believe her, but every time I have an encounter with these two, something unsavory happens. "Just don't take too long in here," I mutter.
Brenda nods and Alice merely offers her sardonic smile. Both head down the aisle towards the wine.
Lights bounce off the rain splattered door. I turn around to toss the half eaten sandwich in the garbage as the bells on the door jingle. I try not to gasp, try not to show any emotion what so ever. Mira's father steps in, brushes the rain off of his shoulders and then looks directly at me. He smiles.
Either he has no idea that both Mira and Terrence are in the lock up at the Sheriff's office, or he's come to congratulate me on my awesome sleuthing skills. Somehow, I'm not buying either of those scenarios. "Mr. Evanoff, I thought the Sheriff asked you not to come around here anymore."
He walks towards me, slow and deliberate. "Then I guess, I don't really listen too good. Kinda like you."
I start to reach for the phone, but he shakes his head. "No need for that, young lady. You can't always hide behind the man in uniform. Sometimes you just have to take what you've got coming."
I glance over to see Alice staring. Her trademark smirk in place as she listens to Mr. Evanoff.
"What do I have coming?"
He slips his hand into his pants pocket and jiggles some change. "You ought to know better than to mess with a man's family."
"And, you ought to know better than to help kill someone."
He nods like I've just scored a couple of points and tied the game. "Your little blond friend isn't here is she? She's a real sweetheart, that one. You close up all by yourself most nights. Tsk, tsk, that's dangerous. You ever get scared in here, all by yourself."
"Mr. Evanoff, get to the point. Are you about to teach me a lesson?" I say calmly, despite the fact that I'm close to running back to the office and locking myself in. "Now, leave or I'm calling the cops."
He continues to smile. "No, phone lines are down. Weird how that happens when you really need to get through for help."
I cautiously lift the phone. Its dead, no dial tone, no busy signal, just empty space.
"All it takes is regular old wire cutters. Now, why don't we mosey out back and have ourselves a nice little chat," he says, walking around the edge of the counter.
Heart hammering in my chest, I see Brenda walking towards the counter, a bottle of cheap red wine in her hand. "Can you tell me how much this one is?" she asks, oblivious to the fact that this old man is prepared to off me at any given second.
"I think it's around twelve dollars," I say, impatiently.
She frowns. "Can you scan it? I'd like to know exactly how much."
I want to throttle her. I don't feel like scanning a stupid bottle of wine knowing full well that she is just going to try to steal it anyway. "Brenda, now isn't a good time," I say.
Alice walks over. "For crying out loud, Brenda, just hit him over the head," she snaps, grabbing the bottle and bringing it down on Mr. Evanoff's skull.
He drops like a sack of flour.
Alice looks at me, that defiant look in her eyes. "I'm not paying for that."
All I can manage to do is give her a thumbs up.
By GWHARGIS
So far, Miranda J. Buckley is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. She has come to love the boy, Waylon, as if he were her own. When Dougie returns to town, she is afraid he has come back to take Waylon away. When Waylon's teacher turns up murdered, Dougie is the prime suspect. Even though she wants Dougie out of her life, she knows he is innocent, and sets out to prove it.
**********************************************************************************************
Mitch doesn't come to the Little Eagle, as he is still tied up with Mira and Terrence. He sends Tyler. Even though a couple of years have passed, Tyler looks the same. He still resembles the human equivalent of a golden retriever. He barely pays any mind to the old man in the floor, just extends a friendly smile.
"Miss Miranda, you sure do get yourself into some pickles, don't ya?" he asks. He nods politely at Brenda and Alice who are munching on donuts and sipping decaf coffee. "What happened here?"
"He was told by Mitch not to come in here. He thinks I'm the reason his daughter and grandson are in jail."
Alice rolls her eyes. "Look, Officer, he was man handling her. Trying to make her go out back to "teach her a lesson"," she says, doing the air quotes with her fingers. "So, I hit him. Right over the top of his head. A real waste of good wine, if you ask me."
Tyler scribbles in his little notebook, nodding his head, unaware that Alice and Brenda were giving him a lecherous once over. "So, you were under the impression that he was going to harm, Mrs. Buckley."
"Oh, he was going to do more than harm her. Check his pocket. Either he's glad to see you, or he has a weapon in his trousers."
Gently, Tyler reaches in and pulls out a small snub nose pistol. "Man, this thing is old. Wonder if it fires." He holds it by the grip, turning it around to look at it. There is admiration in his eyes. "My granddad used to have one of these. Kept it in a glass case on his desk."
"Tyler, you want to wait until he wakes up and let him try to shoot me? You know, just to see if it works?" I ask, hoping to bring him back to the reason of his visit.
"Ooh, yeah, sorry. The paramedics are on their way." He checks his pockets for an evidence bag.
I reach behind the counter and hold up one finger. "Paper or plastic?" I ask, pulling out an eagle emblazoned store bag.
I look down as Mr. Evanoff moans. I try to feel pity, empathy, anything for him. He's in his eighties at the youngest. Lying on the floor of a convenience store, with cheap red wine in a puddle beneath him. But, I don't feel anything for him. I just stare down at him, knowing he would feel nothing for me if he had succeeded in his original mission.
************************************************************************************************
I can't put off talking to Dougie. I walk down the hall at the hospital and knock on his door. "You decent?" I ask, slowly pushing to door open. I wait for him to answer but all I hear is him laugh.
"You've known me long enough to know I've never been accused of being decent." He's sitting up in bed, his color back and hair brushed in the front, but still unruly where he was hit.
"Never too late to change," I say, knowing it was falling on deaf ears. "You said you needed to talk to me."
He grins, "I thought we could talk over a nice lunch, Randa."
"Dougie, I'm glad you are feeling better and about to be released, but I have a lot going on right now. So, you either tell me what you want to say or forever hold your peace."
"Okay. Will you at least sit down? Please, it hurts my neck to look up."
I drag the chair closer to the bed, then perch on the edge of the seat. "What's on your mind?"
"When I came back into town, I came back for you. I figured we could pick up where we left off, you're like Waylon's mother, so, I figured it would be a good fit."
I look down at floor. "You know you hurt me when you left, Dougie. But, it was a blessing in disguise. I grew up. I finally realized I deserve better. Because of you, I learned who I was."
He sighs and licks his lips. "Glad I could be of service. Here's the thing, Randa, I'm gonna take Waylon with me when I leave Patterson."
My gut wrenches. How did I not see this coming? "Why? He's doing good in school. He has Momma and me. Shit, Dougie, he has friends. Why would you want to take that away from him?"
He shifts his weight and straightens up. "Because he's mine. Because I can do whatever I want."
"I have custody of him. Legal custody."
"Courts want kids with their parents. Don't be a fool, Randa, You don't stand a chance fighting me for him."
I can feel the slow boil of anger starting to bubble. "Besides us getting back together, how can we resolve this?"
"I'm not gonna be able to work for a while. Might never be able to hold a steady job," he says quietly, eyes on his own hands.
I feel something shift inside of me. I can always hire a lawyer and expose him for the weak minded louse he is. Then it hits me. "You know about the money, don't you?"
He smiles like a sixteen year old at a peep show. "It's a small town, Randa, people talk."
"How much do you want? To leave...for good."
"Fifty grand would get me a good head start. Hundred grand would make me forget about this place altogether."
"Twenty grand is all I'm going to give you. The rest is for Waylon's college."
His brows knit and he shrugs. "Look, I guess we can renegotiate tomorrow. Unfortunately, if we can't come to some sort of arrangement that is beneficial to both of us, I'll be heading out of town middle of next week, uh, with Waylon."
I feel tears stinging my eyes but I'm not giving him the satisfaction of crying. "You had such potential. When you stopped to help Mr. Tomlin and that boy, I thought, wow, that was really selfless. But, you're still the self absorbed ass you've always been." I stand up, and head towards the door. "Bring it, Dougie. But, you better get the second best lawyer in the country, cause I'm hiring the best one."
I leave his room before he can utter another word or before I decide to turn around and smother him with his pillow.
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