“Are you around your auntie?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“I could tell,” he said. “Look, I’ll ask around here for a nice place between here and there and I’ll text you the address and time.”
“Sounds good,” I said.
“Can’t wait to see you.”
“Me either,” I said, a blush coming over my face.
“Okay. Bye.”
“Bye.”
“Who was that?” Nosy-Zanne asked as soon as I got off the phone.
“A friend.”
“You don’t have any friends.”
“Well, if that wasn’t a punch in the gut,” I said.
“Was it Chief-of-Staff?”
“I thought we agreed about the name.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” she said. “I was going to say, Chief-of-Staff Alex.”
“We’re going out to dinner tonight.”
“Do you want me to make a batch of tea for you to give him?”
“No.”
“Good,” she said, and blew out a breath acting relieved, “because I don’t think I have anything powerful enough to get that man on the right track.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Dinner with Alex turned out good. A small Italian restaurant in Jasper, only a forty-five minute drive for me, a little over an hour for him. The food was scrumptious, the atmosphere in the restaurant inviting. I didn’t try so hard to get “gussied up” as Auntie Zanne put it. A pair of sensible pumps, a deep purple lace dress, and a simple pair of gold earrings. I looked pretty, I thought, but didn’t look like I was trying. The rest of me was what it was, my hair and skin is what it is, and good or bad, Alex didn’t say a word about it.
“You’re looking good,” I said to him. “Face all cleared up. Pain gone away?”
“Sure is.”
“Stomach better?”
“Everything’s better now that I’m here with you.”
He wore an Italian virgin wool, light gray suit I’d bought him. If he did it to impress me, it worked. A light gray shirt, a gray silk tie with diamond shapes peppered throughout. His low-cut hair, short beard and moustache recently trimmed and lined. I pictured him venturing out in St. Charles to find a barber. It all made me smile.
I thoroughly enjoyed his company, and it seemed he enjoyed mine. It seemed as if we fell right back into sync with each other, the way it had been before I moved back to Roble. We talked, laughed, we touched and it seemed like a warmth of tenderness surrounded us.
“And this is the second murder now,” I said, telling him how the little place I’d avoided was becoming almost as exciting as the metropolis I’d been pining for.
“Well, let’s hope that crime here never gets as bad as it is in Chicago,” he said.
“Fingers crossed,” I said and held up my hand, one finger wrapped around the other.
“So you solved the first one and now are kind of undercover on this one?”
“Yeah, because if my cousin, Pogue, ever found out that I was meddling in his investigation, I think he’d burst a membrane.”
“Burst a membrane?” He threw his head back and laughed. “It’s not taking you long to pick up the slang down here.”
I suddenly felt defensive. “Being down here. Or from down here, isn’t a bad thing,” I said. Shrugging, I added, “I am what I am.”
“Okay, Popeye,” he said, holding up his hands. “I like what you are.” He reached over and took my hand. “I love what you are.”
I smiled. At least outwardly. On the inside there was more that I wanted to say to him, but couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. Or was afraid to.
But it nagged at me, and nagged some more. I wanted to make the night enjoyable, so all during dinner I didn’t say anything. I just didn’t know when I’d see him again, and I didn’t want our last words to be angry or bitter ones, or with me whining about anything. But by the time the dessert menu was brought over, I just couldn’t keep quiet anymore. He was leaving. My heart was aching and I didn’t know where I stood. I didn’t know what I was waiting on.
“Did you think I was just going to run off without saying anything?” Alex said, when I told him I wasn’t sure if I was going to hear from him again when he left that night.
“You did,” I said. “I thought you’d be there when I got back.”
“I started feeling better, and I knew I had to drive to Lake Charles the first thing...” He looked at me. “Plus, I was hungry. We missed dinner and I hadn’t eaten all day. I grabbed a bite to eat and then, you know, I just wanted to get some rest. In a bed.”
“You were in a bed.”
“My hotel bed, you know what I meant.”
“So what is going on with us?” I took my fork and picked over the chocolate truffle cake I’d ordered. I had let my coffee get cold.
“The same thing that’s been going on with us,” he said.
“No, it’s not the same. Before you were married. We had to keep us a secret.”
“Well that part has changed,” he said, and smiled “That’s good, right?”
“Has it?”
“Of course it has,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret when I rented a car and drove nearly two hours to see you, was I?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” He took in a breath, and I wasn’t sure if he was irritated with me, or just wanting me to understand. “Look, Romaine. We’re just going to have to tough out this long-distance relationship until we can get back to Chicago.”
“Is that still the plan?” I asked.
“Still my plan. I’m doing all I can, calling folks that owe me favors. But we can’t make a job appear out of thin air. It’s not me. It’s the economy.”
I chuckled. “That’s funny.”
“What?”
“The economy is keeping us apart.”
“Nothing can keep us apart,” Alex said. “Unless you don’t want to be with me anymore.”
I smiled.
“Look,” he said. “You can pack up right now and come back with me. Stay at my house and we can work this out. Coming here... Staying here seems to be what you want.”
“I just don’t want to have to count on you for everything I need.”
“I don’t mind.”
That made a cover of warmth enfold me and the words seemed all I needed to hear.
“Everything will be fine,” he said. “You’ll see.”
I had begun to wonder what it was going to take for me to be fine. I made the decision to come back to Roble because I didn’t have a place to stay. Now he was offering one to me. Why wasn’t I jumping at the opportunity? Wasn’t it what I wanted? Wasn’t it what I’d been hoping for all this time? Maybe Auntie and her marriage tropes had made me anxious about what a marriage to Alex would be. I closed my eyes, took in a breath and when I opened them, I put on a smile.
I had been so foolish for so long, wanting someone else to bring me the happiness I craved. He was right. Everything was going to be fine. I was going to be fine. And then suddenly I knew, only I could make sure of that.
There was a thump, thump, thump which made me bounce in my seat, and I knew exactly what it was. I had a flat tire.
“Of course,” I said and hit the palms of my hands on the steering wheel after pulling over to the side of the road and taking the car out of gear. “Of course.”
I was driving back from my dinner with Alex, feeling sad, and free, and frustrated, and relieved, and happy, and lovesick, and heartbroken, all at the same time.
I took in a breath.
So, instead of going straight home, I took a now-frequent detour and drove by the new ME facility. I loved that place—so shiny and new, it made me so happy that I’d drive by just to look at it, but tonight it was the reason for my current cr
isis. If I’d gone straight home, I wouldn’t have been on this country road that clutched in its black sea of asphalt something which could puncture the tread of my tire.
I grabbed my white-background, floral print pashmina out the backseat I’d brought to guard against the chill of the evening, got out of the car, wrapped it around me and circled the car. It was the back tire, driver’s side, flat as day old Pepsi. I didn’t know if getting air would get me home or if it required a tire change. Either way, it wasn’t something I could currently do myself.
Auntie had an auto service she used for her cars, but I didn’t know the number or even if she used the same service that I remembered. I pulled out my phone and called the roadside assistance I had with my cell provider. I’d given up my car long ago, but I always played it safe and kept the service as part of my mobile plan. I just didn’t like ever being stuck somewhere without help. They took my information quickly and efficiently and estimated a twenty-minute wait. I knew they’d probably be much longer.
The first question they asked was if I was in a safe place. I was on a dark, desolate country road, the nearest clearance about half a mile away. That clearing was the ME facility. I told them yes, I was safe and gave them the address to the office, letting them know that that was where they’d find me when the tow truck arrived. I was going to hike down the road and wait inside.
So glad I didn’t wear the five-inch heels.
I’d walked the Lakefront Trail on a regular basis the entire time I lived in Chicago, and after all I was raised a country girl. Walking the three thousand feet or so to the facility shouldn’t even work up a sweat.
I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face in the dark night. It was quiet and cool out, I stuck my phone down into my evening bag and put the gold chain strap over my body and pulled my shawl up over my shoulders. I paced my steps as I walked, keeping to the side, careful not to stumble on any loose pebbles.
I soon learned it wasn’t the loose pebbles that I needed to worry about. Along my mostly always-deserted road came a truck. First, the 4x4 approached at regular speed, but then seemed to slow as if it recognized me. I didn’t want to be bothered with anyone and didn’t mind the time I had to spend waiting for a tow truck. I decided if a window came down and I was asked if I needed help, I was going to wave it off and tell them I was okay. Help was on the way. But then it stopped. A good twenty-five feet from me as if it were watching me. Motor revving, breaking through the silence of the night, a flicker of the headlights and it went to high beam. I held up my hand to shield the glare, and turned my head away.
“What do you want?” I mumbled to myself, my heart starting to race. I hadn’t ever imagined that I’d become afraid of anything I’d encounter when I stepped out of my car. Now I knew that if something happened, no one might come to look for me down this road. It wasn’t the way back from Jasper where’d I told Auntie Zanne I was going, and there were no houses down it either way.
“Why are you just sitting there,” I muttered. My head was starting to ache with fear, my legs tingling, my hand trembling. I slowed my pace, now anxious about me moving nearer to it rather than the other way around.
The revving stopped, I could hear the truck being put into gear and then it took off. It came racing down the road my way. I stood still, bracing myself. I couldn’t determine which way it might go, so I didn’t know which way to run. I took in a deep breath and held it.
The truck stayed in its lane as it whooshed past me, blowing my hair and pashmina up and out. I turned and watched it as it passed. Black maybe. Dark-colored for sure. There was lettering on the back windshield. A long name. Maybe the word “University” was part of it. I couldn’t tell. Hurrying my eye to the back of the truck to see the license plate, I saw a decal of a fleur-de-lis. Blue. Maybe. Yellow. Definitely. The colors caught my eye and made me miss most of the numbers of the plate. I remembered a zero. I think a one.
“Shoot!”
I quickened my steps and, licking my lips, I tried to calm myself. I could see the facility. Big. Dark. Safe. I turned back to look down the black road where the truck had disappeared. I swallowed hard, turned face forward and broke into a trot. Picturing myself on the dark road in a horror flick, I thought perhaps my heart may explode it was beating so hard. Then I heard the roar of the truck again. Coming back my way.
I needed to hide.
I stumbled down the small embankment at the road’s side, taking the brightly colored pashmina off and balling it up. Everything else I had on was dark, it would meld into the night. I was hoping to get lost in all the blackness that surrounded me. I laid flat in the grass and tried not to even breathe. The truck came slowly back down the road, taking its time, seemingly searching for me. I closed my eyes and waited.
The minute or so seemed like an eternity. I wanted to try to get the license number, but was too afraid to lift up my head.
And then it left.
As soon as I knew it was gone, I got up and ran to the building. Out of breath and carrying my shoes, I shakily pushed in the code on the keypad and pulled the door open when I was showered in the glow from headlights.
I hurried in and shut the door knowing no one could get to me once inside. But as I pulled it closed, I saw that it was a car—a Cadillac, not the truck that had pulled in. I squinted my eyes. “Ball 1” was the license plate. It was one of Auntie’s cars.
I watched through the glass door as Rhett stepped out of the car door.
I pushed the door open, happy to see him. “What are you doing here?” I asked, tears starting to well up in my eyes.
“I came to see about you,” he said. He stood at the door and then looked me over. “Are you okay?”
“I am now,” I said. “I am now.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Since I’d gotten back to Roble, Rhett seemed to have a habit of showing up when I needed something. I had decided to paint my room solo, and he appeared at my door and offered the help of he and his bandmates. I needed a ride to a place Auntie wanted me to come, I was going to ask him after I grabbed a bite to eat, and he showed up while my head was sticking in the refrigerator. At the wedding when I couldn’t find Auntie or her Roble Belles and needed help clearing people out, there he was.
It seemed like that’s what he did for me. Show up.
“You’re always showing up,” I said, my questions about him rising. Auntie thought he was undercover, and maybe part of what he was doing included watching me. How else could he always seem to know when I needed help?
No, I thought. Who uses their real name when they do that? I looked at him. Maybe his name wasn’t really Rhett. And maybe that’s why he’d always been so secretive.
“How did you know I was here?” I asked.
“You were taking a long time getting back,” he said. “I know that you come by here.”
“Did Auntie Zanne tell you to come and look for me?”
“Maybe,” he said, drawing the word out.
“Or maybe not?”
He looked at me, then turned his head to glance back out into the dark night.
“Was someone after you?” he asked, turning back to me.
“What makes you think that?” I asked.
He pointed to my dress. “It’s stained down the front like you pressed yourself against the ground, lying flat. If you had fell, you’d be more scuffed up.”
“I got a flat tire,” I said. “I’m waiting for roadside service.”
He turned and looked outside again. “Where is the car?” he asked.
“Down the road. About half a mile.”
“And you walked from there?”
“Yes.”
“And is that when someone came after you?”
“You want to come in?” I asked. “Or just stand here at the door.”
“I can come in. It’ll be nice to see the place that occupied
all your time over the last few months.”
We walked over to the desk, and sat. He took one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk. I took my phone out of my purse and laid it on the table so I could watch for it ringing. With all the antics going on outside, I didn’t have any gauge how much time had passed.
“So you want to tell me what happened when you were walking from the car here?”
“I don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because there isn’t much to tell. I don’t know much. I was walking here and a truck seemed to be... I don’t know stalking me.”
“The truck was stalking you?” he asked, a smirk on his face.
I hunched a shoulder. “The driver in the truck, I guess would be the stalker.”
“Did you see who it was?”
“No. I didn’t see anyone. I’m not even sure of the color of the truck, so I can’t describe it to you. I didn’t get the license plate number, and I can’t be sure any of it was as menacing as I thought at the time.”
“Just menacing enough for you to hit the ground and hide?”
“Just about that much.”
“You want me to take a look at your flat tire? I can fix it”
“No, roadside service shouldn’t be long now,” I said, I touched my phone to bring up the time. “They said twenty minutes.”
“Well, I’ll stay with you until you get back home. Follow you after they repair the tire. Keep you safe.”
“You’re going to keep me safe?”
“Yep. I’ll keep you safe for as long as you’ll let me.”
“What’s your real name?” I said, looking at him out the side of my eye.
“What kind of question is that?” he said and chuckled. “And where did it come from?”
“Remmiere is a French name, right? You speak French. Not French Creole, but you’re not from France.”
“Are you suspecting me of being the killer again?” he said. He shifted in his seat so he could look at me. “Remember you thought I might have killed Herman St. John and put his body in a casket at Babet’s funeral home.”
“His real name was Ragland Williamson, but you know that, don’t you?”
LOVE, HOPES, & MARRIAGE TROPES Page 11
