by Maris Soule
“Good for bebé.” He glanced at my protruding belly and made a rocking sign with his arms. “Sleep safe.”
“Oh, no. I already have a crib. What I was looking at is this.” I tapped the mobile on the crib, setting it in motion. “But I don’t want it.”
He frowned. “No like?”
“Yes, it’s nice, but I’m just looking. You know, window shopping.” He looked confused. “I wanted to see what you had.”
From his expression, I wasn’t sure how much English he understood, so I placed my right hand above my eyes and turned my head from side-to-side, as if looking for something or someone. I don’t know if my gesture conveyed my meaning or not because, when my gaze reached the checkout counter, I forgot about the man beside me. Earlier, I hadn’t noticed the glassed-in area behind the counter. A sign next to an opening in the glass said CASHIER.
“Oh, Brenda.” I sighed, suddenly overwhelmed by the realization that less than a week before she had used that area to perform her job.
“Brenda?”
“What?” I looked back at the man standing by me. Had I said Brenda’s name aloud?
“Qué?” he said, frowning. “What ‘bout Señora Brenda?”
“She was a friend,” I said, deciding I had to say something. “Una amiga. She worked here, sí?”
“Sí, maybe.” He glanced over at his coworker, then back at me. His smile had disappeared, and his posture was now guarded. “You want buy something?”
Considering his reaction, I decided it was time to leave. I’d discovered what I wanted to know. The store looked like a normal furniture store, Brenda had worked here, and simply mentioning her name made an employee nervous. Time to act like I couldn’t find what I wanted. Again, I looked around, as if trying to find something, then gave an exaggerated sigh and let my shoulders sag. “Darn it,” I said, hoping I sounded disappointed. “I saw a child’s rocking chair on this store’s website. I really liked it, but I don’t see any like it here.”
My salesman’s cheerful demeanor returned. Smiling, he raised a hand about knee high. “Mecedora for bebé?”
I wasn’t sure what a mecedora was, so I made a rocking motion with my right arm.
He nodded. “Sí, we have.”
I still wasn’t sure he understood what I was looking for. “For a toddler. For a niña tres o quatro anos.”
“Sí, we have. Nueva.” He turned and started for the storeroom.
“Que esta pasando, Miguel?” the other salesman, who was still with the father and daughter, called out.
The one called Miguel said something back in Spanish that I couldn’t understand and pointed at me. The other salesman nodded, and Miguel proceeded into the storeroom.
Moments later, he returned with exactly what I’d seen on the website. A rocking chair perfect for a toddler. It had tiny, colorful flowers on the back and seat and a music box attached to the rocker. Packing material surrounded the music box, but my eager salesman assured me it would work.
“Is good, right?” he said, grinning. “Bueno.”
“Yes, Bueno.” He’d sold me. “How much?”
The price was what I remembered seeing on the website, and I knew I wouldn’t find anything else quite like it. “I’ll take it,” I said and pulled out my credit card.
“Juan!” Miguel called to the other salesman, who was still with the father and daughter. “Señora want buy.”
I still couldn’t follow what Juan said back to Miguel, but finally Miguel smiled. “He say okay, I take care of you. But no credit card. Cash only.”
“Really?” I pointed back toward the entrance to the store where a sign on the window indicated all major credit cards were accepted. “But it says . . .?”
“Credit card machine no work. Boss take wife to doctor. Fix tomorrow.”
I prefer to pay for large items, such as furniture, with a credit card, but I couldn’t argue against a broken credit card machine, and I did have the gift money from the Sporbachs. “Then, I guess it’s cash.”
Miguel repeated the price, plus the addition of state tax, and I pulled out the envelope the bank teller had given me. Miguel had just handed me the receipt when the father and daughter left the store and Juan joined us.
“What’s up?” he asked, looking at the rocking chair by my side.
“I sell,” Miguel said proudly.
“You sold her that rocking chair?” Juan’s attention turned to me. “I’m sorry, Señora, that chair isn’t for sale.”
“But I just bought it.” I looked down at the chair by my side. I couldn’t see anything wrong with it.
“You—” He seemed to be trying to find the right words. “It hasn’t been completely unpacked.”
The only unpacking I could see was the wrapping around one of the rockers, which I assumed protected the music box. “That’s okay. I can unpack it myself.”
“It hasn’t been logged in.”
“Then write down whatever information you need and log it in.” The more he argued, the more determined I was to have the rocking chair.
He shook his head. “You don’t understand. We cannot sell this chair to you.”
“Why? Why not?” I’d come to this store because two people who had worked here had recently died. Now a salesman didn’t want me to buy one of the items sold in the store. There had to be a reason, but to discover that reason, I needed the rocking chair.
“Look,” he said, glaring at me, “you can pick it up tomorrow. We’ll—”
I didn’t let him finish. Firmly, I placed a hand on the back of the chair. “I’m not driving back into Kalamazoo from Zenith to pick up what I have right here, and my husband is a homicide detective for the Kalamazoo Sheriff’s Department, so I never know what his hours will be. He told me to come here and buy the rocking chair you advertised. I have done so. Now, is there a problem?”
Juan and Miguel looked at each other, but neither said a word. Finally, Juan smiled. “Okay, Señora, you win, the chair is yours.”
His smug look made me wonder if I really had won. I turned to Miguel. “Would you mind carrying the chair out to my car for me?”
Miguel looked at Juan who nodded, and I released my hold on the chair. “Nice doing business with you, Juan.”
“And with you, Mrs. . . .?” He waited for my name.
“Kingsley,” I said, deciding it would be better to use Wade’s name in this case. “Mrs. Wade Kingsley,”
I followed Miguel as he carried the rocking chair out of the store to the loaner car. Once both the chair and I were in the car, I locked the doors and started the car. The clock on the dash showed it was getting late. Later than I usually returned home after having dinner with Grandma. I dug through my purse for my cell phone, and when I found it, punched in Wade’s number.
“I’m heading home,” I said when he answered.
I heard another man’s voice in the background, one I recognized. “Is Chambers there with you?” I asked, just as I noticed movement inside the furniture store.
The “Open” sign went off.
Wade said, yes, that he and Deputy Chambers were having a drink. More than one drink, I had a feeling, hearing Chambers’ laugh.
Juan stood inside the store, staring out at where I was still parked. My stomach tightened. Sitting here, in the dark, was stupid. “I need to get going,” I said and started the car. “But I just had an interesting experience. I’ll tell you more when I get home.”
“P.J., where are you?” I heard Wade say just before I clicked off the phone.
Chapter Nineteen
Two symptoms of schizophrenia are seeing something that isn’t there and the constant feeling of being watched. As I drove home, I experienced both of those symptoms. It was after I’d turned off I-94 onto the sparsely traveled backroads that would take me through Zenith and on to my house that I noticed the headlights. It was too dark for me to tell if it was a car, SUV, or truck behind me, but for miles and miles it stayed the same distance back and made the same
turns I made.
As I entered the Village of Zenith, I slowed down and looked into my rearview mirror. I thought the car following me would catch up and I could get a better view, but it was gone. When or where it turned off, I didn’t know, but no car followed me, no SUV, or truck. The street was empty.
I felt foolish then for thinking someone was following me. If I still lived in the city, as I had for years before Grandpa Benson died and I inherited the farm, I wouldn’t have noticed a car behind me at this hour. In the city, unless it was very late at night, there were always cars and trucks on the streets, coming and going. But it was different in rural areas.
I stopped at Zenith’s one and only blinking red light. I’m not sure why. There wasn’t a car in sight, not behind me, in front of me, or on either side street. Smart people were at home, which was where I should be.
Once through Zenith, I picked up speed, but still kept the loaner Chevy below fifty-five. Although the drizzle we’d had most of the day had ended, every so often I could see shiny areas on the road ahead where a thin layer of ice covered the pavement. Black ice. I also kept watch long the sides of the road for deer. One thing I didn’t need was an animal dashing out in front of me, causing me to slam on my brakes and go into a spin—deer or pigs.
I was on the last two miles of my drive home, not far from where two nights before I had seen the pigs and ended up in a ditch, when I once again noticed headlights. A car was coming up behind me, its headlights on high. The reflection in my rearview and sideview mirrors nearly blinded me, and my first thought was the car was going too fast for road conditions. As the vehicle rapidly closed in on me, I lightly tapped my brakes, hoping the driver would notice and slow down.
If he did, I couldn’t tell, and merely tapping my brakes made my car slide a bit to the right. I turned the wheel to correct the slide and wished I were driving my own car, not a loaner. The feel of the car wasn’t quite the same. I overcorrected and felt the back end of the Chevy fishtail a little.
Just a little, but it was enough to make my stomach lurch. I loosened my hold on the wheel and hoped the car would correct itself.
“Slow down,” I said, as much an order for me as for the car behind me.
The lights in my mirrors became brighter, almost blinding. Close. Too close.
“Get off my—” I yelled, then gasped. The car was beside me, barely inches away. Crowding me.
I gripped my steering wheel afraid the slightest movement of my hands would move my car closer to the one beside me. I ventured a quick glance to my left, could tell the vehicle beside me was a light-colored SUV, but couldn’t see much more. I didn’t dare really look for any length of time. As it was, the loaner pulled to the left.
I felt my car bump against the other car, and I quickly corrected my steering.
Overcorrected.
Once again my car started sliding to the right. I turned the steering wheel to the left, then back to the right. I needed to get control. Except, I couldn’t. The Chevy continued to slide, its backend swinging to the left.
I heard the crunch of gravel and knew my front tires were on the shoulder. I jerked the wheel to the left, then to the right. I had no idea where the other vehicle was or what it was doing, all I cared about was regaining control of the car I was in.
It didn’t happen.
The front of the Chevy skated off the icy pavement, across the gravel shoulder, and down into the drainage ditch that ran along side of the road. I heard a loud screech, like fingernails on a chalk board and felt a jarring bump. Pitched forward, I braced my arms so my belly and chest wouldn’t hit the steering wheel, all the while pressing down on the brake with my right foot. The seatbelt’s shoulder strap tightened, holding me in place, and the Chevy came to a jarring stop, its engine still running.
The air bag hadn’t popped out, which surprised me, but the seatbelt had kept me from serious injury. I pushed myself back, sucked in a breath, and looked out the side window to see where the other vehicle was.
It had stopped on the road ahead, its brake lights illuminating its backside. I still couldn’t tell if the SUV was silver or white, and it was too far away for me to make out the license plate. I kept staring at it, afraid it would start to back up. What could I do to protect myself? I popped open the console and looked for anything I could use as a weapon. The console was empty.
Heart racing, I dug into my purse for my cell phone. I had it in my hand when the brighter red of the brake lights went off and the SUV moved forward, not back. “What!” I yelled, relief mingling with anger.
The vehicle continued on, picking up speed. “Damn you!” I shouted at the retreating vehicle. “You could have killed me.”
I watched those two red taillights grow smaller and smaller until I couldn’t see them at all. Only then did I refocus on the Chevy I was in. I tried to back the car up, but nothing happened. The engine revved, the wheels spun, but the car did not move.
Finally, I stopped trying and turned off the engine. With a sigh, I clicked on my cell phone.
This time I had plenty of battery left.
At first Wade thought I was kidding when I told him I was stuck in a ditch only a short distance from the house, but as soon as I told him what had happened, his reaction turned to concern. “Are you all right?”
Once I’d assured him that I was okay—no physical damage to my body and, as far as I could tell, and the baby seemed to be fine—he lectured me. “You shouldn’t be out, driving on icy roads in the dark. What if you had been injured, had gone into labor?”
“I didn’t, but we need to get this car out of the ditch and off the road,” I said. “Soon, before another car comes along and hits the backend.”
Minutes later I saw Wade’s Jeep coming down the road toward me. He pulled up, parking at an angle so the Jeep’s flashing red and blue lights would warn on-coming vehicles. I watched Wade get out, look my way, and shake his head. I was about to roll down my window and tell him not to make any smart remarks when someone opened the Jeep’s passenger’s side door and stepped out.
I groaned as I recognized the tall, skinny man in civilian clothes. Deputy Chambers, my least favorite officer in the Sheriff’s department. He immediately turned on his flashlight and aimed it into my car, blinding me.
I lowered my window. “Get that out of my eyes.”
He harrumphed and aimed his flashlight toward my backseat. “What’s that?”
“A rocking chair,” I said, “for a child.”
Again, he grunted, then stepped back, allowing Wade to come close. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I turned my head to watch Chambers work his way around the Chevy, his flashlight illuminating different sections of the car. “Why did you bring him?”
“We were still talking when you called. It seemed like a good idea.” Wade reached through the open car window and touched my shoulder. “You’ve got to stop scaring me like this.”
I undid my seatbelt and opened the car door. He stepped back so I could get out. Carefully I stood and stretched. Everything seemed in working order.
“What exactly happened?” Wade asked.
I repeated what I’d said when I called. “He was right beside me. I felt him hit my left front fender, and that made me lose control.”
Wade looked at the front fender. So did I.
“Can’t tell,” Chambers said, joining us. “Car’s got dents and scratches everywhere.” He looked at me and smiled. “Sure you didn’t run into more pigs?”
I glared at Wade. “You told him?”
He shrugged.
Chambers chuckled. “He told everyone at the station. Marge really got a kick out of that. Oh, and I hear you still think people are breaking into your house.”
Wade looked up at the cloud-covered sky, and I knew he wished Chambers would keep his mouth shut. Just the mention of Marge’s name upset me. I certainly didn’t need her knowing I ran my car off the road. As for Chambers, he hadn’t believed my house was broken int
o a year ago, thought I was crazy like my mother. No reason he would believe me now, especially since I wasn’t sure Wade believed me.
“In the morning, I’ll write up an accident report,” Chambers told Wade. “For your insurance company. Meanwhile, I think I know why she’s stuck.” He took Wade around to the other side of the car. “It’s that rock.”
The two of them tried to move the rock, but it was wedged under the frame. Finally, Wade said, “Well, we can’t leave the car here. Let’s hope pulling it out doesn’t damage the undercarriage.”
A half hour later we were in the house. The loaner didn’t steer quite right after it was pulled out of the ditch and the muffler clanked against the pavement all the way home, but the car was now parked in the yard. Chambers had left, Jason and Wade were eating some of the cookies Grandma Carter had sent home with me, and I was exhausted. Who ran me off the road was a question that would have to wait until morning.
Chapter Twenty
Thursday morning I woke with a stiff neck and aching shoulders. Even my hands hurt, I supposed from gripping the steering wheel so tightly the night before. Daylight filtered through the bedroom curtains, and from where I lay, I could see Wade standing in front of the full-length mirror, the tails of his partially buttoned dress shirt hanging over the waist of his trousers. For a moment I wondered why he was putting on his business suit, then remembered, just before we went to bed, he’d said he’d have to be in court again today.
I couldn’t suppress a groan when I pushed myself out of bed and onto my feet. It wasn’t just my neck and shoulders that hurt; my entire body ached.
“You okay?” Wade asked, leaving the mirror to come over to me.
“I feel like I was run over by a Mack truck.” I rubbed my neck to loosen the muscles.
