"We'll be back in an hour or two," said Jack.
Diane followed her friends and slumped against the doorframe, observing all the activity. Outside there was the sound of laughter, car doors slamming, and engines starting. Beau Shackelford, whom Diane couldn't recall having uttered a single word all afternoon, was carefully packing his bass safely in its case, while their daughters zoomed around his truck in circles pretending to be airplanes.
Carol Anne was packing things into the trunk of her car. Looking around she called out, "Girls, get in your car seats." Obediently, they scrambled over to the car and started to climb in.
"Lina honey, where's your new doll baby?"
Lina stopped and said, "She's in the kitchen having a nap, Momma. I'll get her." On her way past Diane, she grinned proudly and informed her, "My dolly's name is Cassandra. She's just a baby, so I gotta go get her."
"That's nice," said Diane as she watched the little girl trot back into the kitchen.
Inside, Lina stopped at the table, stood on tiptoe, and stretching out her arm, just managed to pluck the last brownie from the plate. Chewing and humming to herself, she made her way to the doll, which lay in a heap of doll clothes and tiny blankets by the refrigerator. She bundled up everything and scolded her baby.
"Cassandra, you lost one of your shoes." She slipped it onto her doll's tiny foot. "And you dropped your paci!" She retrieved the tiny pacifier and jammed it into the little pink plastic mouth.
Turning to leave, with the doll cradled expertly on one hip, something caught her attention. One corner of a sheet of paper protruded from under the refrigerator. She pulled it out and held it up. Unable to read the words, she nevertheless concluded that this was probably something the big people would consider important.
"Lina, come on. We've got to go," called Carol Anne from the porch.
"Here I come," she answered and headed for the back door. On her way past the table, once more she stood on her tiptoes and put the note where the grown-ups would see it.
The sun was low in the sky as the last guests left. Diane waved to the musicians as they drove away, closed the door and leaned against it, sighing. The silence seemed strange after an entire day of noise and commotion. Finally, everyone's gone and I can relax. As nice as those people are, I'm so looking forward to sitting down with a big cup of tea and that paperback I brought with me. Maybe some aspirin would help.
Looking down at her clothes she realized she was still wearing the dress she'd put on early that morning, to impress Chris. For what? Why should I try to impress him? He disappeared without a word in the middle of the night. Maybe I'll never see him again. So what. "Who needs him?" she said aloud to an empty room.
She strode across the kitchen and into the first floor master bedroom. Kicking her shoes off, she pulled the dress over her head and tossed it onto a chair. This was followed by her bra. In the bathroom she washed her face and looked at herself in the mirror. Every time I think of him, I get mad. Her reflection scowled back at her.
Back in the bedroom she pulled on comfortable old jeans and a favorite soft T-shirt and decided not to bother with a bra. Her firm round breasts needed little support.
Switching on her bedside table lamp, she saw the paperback she'd brought with her. It was Tori Baxter's latest romance novel entitled, 'Caribbean Fire'. I'm going to start it tonight. I'd better finish cleaning up in the kitchen first and find something to eat.
Half of Carol Ann's black walnut cake was on the counter by the sink. The creamy caramel icing drew her, so she swiped her finger through the swirls and popped it in her mouth. Delicious! She nibbled at some stray crumbs, and then cut a healthy wedge. Moving around the room she straightened up and put water on to boil for tea. As she munched the cake and listened to the tea kettle begin its familiar sound, she gazed out the window at the woods behind the piled chunks of tree trunk.
She'd never had black walnut cake before. It was pretty tasty. Picking up the knife, she cut another, smaller wedge, looked at it for a moment, cut it in half and began nibbling again. There were still a few plates and coffee cups in the sink. Turning on the water, she reached for the dish soap.
She started with surprise when the faucet handle came away in her hand. Dumbfounded she stood holding it with the plastic dish soap bottle in her other hand. Water shot from the hole like a geyser where the handle had been. It sprayed like a shower over the sink, the counters, and splashed on the kitchen window. Dropping the useless handle and soap, she tried to stop the geyser with her hands, sending the water shooting in different directions and soaking her shirt. She screamed when the cold water hit her chest and flowed down to soak her jeans.
Chris Owen closed the door of his black Suburban and walked slowly around to the hood. Hands on hips he studied the driveway where the massive fallen tree should have been. Amazing! It was gone. In the fading light, he could make out some large slices of the trunk and more across the yard where a huge pile of fresh logs rose near the old stack. Impressive work, he thought, scratching his head. How did she manage that? A bunch of the neighbors must have come out with their saws. They don't like to let good firewood go to waste.
At that moment he heard a frantic shriek from the house, followed by more screams and shouts.
"That's Diane! What the hell? Oh my god," he muttered. Toricello! Could that no good slime-ball has discovered this place? He took off for the house, his heart pounding. If that bastard hurts her, I'll kill him. Leaping onto the porch he sprinted for the back door, drew his gun, and flung it open.
In the midst of a shower of water spurting from the sink, a soaking wet Diane was yelling and trying unsuccessfully to reinsert the broken faucet handle to prevent the water from spurting all over. The sight was so comical he couldn't help laughing. Holstering the gun, he gently pushed her to one side.
"Get out of the way!" he yelled, as he wrenched open the cabinet below the sink and crouched down over the puddled water. Reaching in, he turned the valve rapidly until the water stopped flowing. Gingerly, he got to his feet trying to avoid the flood.
Diane stared at him wide eyed, as water continued cascading down her front. "How did you do that?"
He shrugged. "I turned off the water."
She looked down at the flooded room and shook her head.
The silence was broken by the tea kettle's shrill whistle. Chris stepped carefully to the stove and turned off the gas. Looking at Diane's incredulous expression, he chuckled. "I always seemed to find you dripping wet and in some sort of trouble."
She glowered at him, defiant and dripping. "Where the hell have you been?" Sparks flew from her eyes.
Chris frowned. "Why are you so mad?"
"Never mind. I don't care where you've been!" She turned away. It had taken only a second for her surprise to turn to irrational rage. "Get out!"
"What do you mean? I told you I had a job to do." He looked at her puzzled. "You're all wet. Let me get some towels."
"What are you doing here? Diane stared at him for a moment before jabbing him angrily in the chest and erupting. "You just disappear in the middle of the night without a word, without a call, text, note...or anything! After yesterday I thought... Well never mind yesterday." She paused, took a deep breath, and asked quietly, "What do you mean you told me?"
"I left you a note."
"No you didn't. There was no note," she spat.
"Diane, I did. I had to leave really early. I got a text message from my boss and had to leave right away. I wrote you a note and left it right there." He turned and pointed to the kitchen table top where there was a plate with a few crumbs, salt and pepper shakers, and a lone sheet of paper. He took two steps to the table, grabbed the paper and glanced at it.
Diane stood in a puddle, trembling with anger.
"Here it is, right where I left it this morning. You can't tell me you didn't see it," he said, holding it out to her.
At first, she refused to look at it. Then her eyes shifted, she saw the handwriting and
looked more closely. She wiped water from her face and dried her hand on her jeans. Reaching out, she snatched the note. It took her less than a minute to read and she looked at him curiously, then back down at the note. Finally she looked up and shot him a wary disbelieving glance.
"You just now put this on the table. I know you did. You must have. I've been feeding people at this table all day and I know this wasn't there. How did you pull this sneaky trick?"
"Diane, how the hell could I do that? I ran in a couple of minutes ago, turned off the water and that's it. You saw me."
"I don't understand," she mumbled, scowling at the note. "I think I'm going crazy or something."
She reread his note and then said softly, "Oh Chris, this is so sweet. Your note explains everything." She reached for a chair and sank down. "Oh my god! I just don't get it. Where was this all day?"
He took the paper from her hand and examined it closely. I think I see some evidence here," he said. "Yes, someone with very small fingers has left their prints here." He held up the sheet where, on one corner there was a tiny chocolate thumb print and three smeary prints on the opposite side. I'll just take this to the lab and see what they have to say." He grinned with amusement.
Diane began sniffling and dabbing at the water droplets that continued to rain from her wet hair.
"Oh Chris, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. It's a very sweet note and explains everything. I'm sorry."
"It's okay. Who knows what happened to my note, but its here now. Let's forget it." He dropped the paper on the table and smoothed her damp hair.
Diane cleared her throat and smiled weakly. "Okay."
They gazed into one another's eyes.
"You're beautiful when you're dripping wet, you know that?" He smiled and drew her into his arms. Their lips met and they kissed. Diane put her arms around him and he felt the dampness from her T-shirt soaking into him, but he didn't care. Gently, he kissed her cheeks and forehead.
"Oh my god," she whispered and brushed her lips against his.
"Hey, you're freezing." Taking her by the shoulders, he pushed their bodies apart and looked down. "You win!"
"What are you talking about?" she asked, blinking.
"You win the wet T-shirt contest." He stared appraisingly at the contour of her breasts and the hard puckered nipples perfectly defined by her wet shirt.
She looked down at herself. "Oh," she said softly and blushed. "We should really clean up this mess."
"Yes." He took his hands from her shoulders and began slowly rolling the T-shirt upwards, exposing her midriff. "Let's get you out of these wet things first." When he got to her ribs he paused, gently kneading her bare skin with warm hands. He rolled a little higher until the shirt was just below her breasts. He bent forward and kissed her again.
"Oh my god." She breathed, raising her arms, inviting him to continue.
Pulling the rolled cloth off her breasts, he drank in their beauty, stroking the tips until they grew longer and tighter. Tossing her shirt aside he stroked the perfectly erect pick nipples and drew one into his mouth. Trembling, she fell into his arms. They kissed again and again, as he led her toward the bedroom door.
"Oh god, Chris. I don't know, maybe we shouldn't... I mean..."
He suckled one breast, strumming the other nipple with a finger.
"Well, maybe...Oh my god," she moaned. "Hurry. Now! Please, let's hurry! Jack and Vicky will be coming back."
"Jack and Vicky?" he asked.
Heavy footfalls sounded on the back porch, and they stood frozen for a moment. When someone hammered on the door, Diane shrieked and dashed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
* * *
Black Walnut Pound Cake with Brown Sugar Icing
1 1/2 cups butter, at room temperature
1 1/2 cups light brown sugar
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
5 large eggs, at room temperature
3 cups sifted all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup whole milk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 cup chopped black walnuts
Preheat the oven to 325°F.
Grease and flour a 10-inch tube pan.
Beat butter and sugars until the mixture is light and fluffy.
Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each.
Sift together flour, baking powder, and salt.
Alternating add the dry in thirds with the liquid, beat until smooth.
Fold in the nuts.
Pour into pan, reduce temperature to 300F and bake one hour and 20 minutes until done.
Cool cake before frosting.
Brown Sugar Frosting
1/2 cup butter
1 cup dark brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup cream
1 teaspoon pure vanilla
2 cups sifted 10X sugar
Melt butter in heavy saucepan.
Stir in the sugar and salt.
Boil, lower heat and stir constantly until smooth
Add cream and bring to a boil while stirring.
Cool until lukewarm. Add vanilla.
Add 10X sugar and beat.
Drizzle over cake, spreading to coat.
Chapter 8
Jack smiled as his wife stepped from The Country Store, carefully licking around the side of a double-dipped chocolate cone.
"Hey, Jack," she called from the stone step. "This is the place I read about on the 'Visit Floyd Virginia' web site. They have live music here every Saturday and Sunday afternoon and on Friday nights there's three hours of music and dancing.
"Leave it to you to research everything ahead of time." Jack put his arm around her waist and they strolled along the street looking into shop windows. They'd made a quick trip to the grocery store for the things on Diane's list and decided to make a stop in town.
"Nice and quiet," he said. "It's a little like the Grove." Residents of the Hudson Valley town of Pippin's Grove generally referred to their home as "The Grove."
He stopped before a small clapboard building proclaiming it's self: The Republic of Floyd. "This looks interesting. They're still open. Want to check it out?" he asked.
"Definitely. Kyle told me they have a nice selection of wine. We should get a few bottles of red to go with the lasagna."
"Where exactly is that lasagna?"
"Don't worry. I texted Diane and told her to put it in the oven. We brought plenty of Italian bread from home and I'll make a big salad. You think that's enough?"
"Absolutely," he said opening the door for her. As they entered the Republic of Floyd, a pretty woman behind the counter smiled and waved. "Let me know if I can help you."
"Thank you," said Vicky, returning her smile.
Passing up and down the narrow aisles, they glanced at T-shirts and coffee mugs, stopping in front of shelves filled with wine.
"Hey, they've got a really nice selection here," said Vicky examining a bottle. "Maybe we should get some white too."
"Good idea." Jack wandered over to look at the variety of unusual beers. "When we come back to Floyd with John and Terry, I've got to bring him in here to check out the beer."
"I want to come back and look in every one of those little shops when we've got more time, but it's getting late. We've got to get back," said Vicky.
"Yeah, right," said Jack. "We better get going." He brought her selections over to the counter and put a six-pack of beer down next to the wine.
"Did you find everything you were looking for?" the woman asked.
"Yes. You've got some great wines here," Vicky complimented the proprietor as she began ringing up the items.
"Thanks. We try to carry an interesting selection of wine and beer along with some that our customers request. That imported Marsala for example," she said gesturing toward the shelf behind them.
Vicky juggled her ice cream cone while trying to reach into her pu
rse. Jack stopped her and handed the woman his credit card.
"Thanks, Jack. I guess I'm still getting used to being married."
"Newlyweds?" asked the woman.
"We got married last October," said Jack, smiling." About five months now."
"Great, congratulations! Is this your first time visiting Floyd?"
"Yes. It's such a nice place," said Vicky. "We're from a small town ourselves, in upstate New York.
"Come into town for the music on Friday night if you're here. There's really nothing like it anywhere."
"We plan to do that, thanks," said Jack.
"You have a real nice day," said the woman as he gathered up their bags.
"You do the same," he replied following Vicky out the door.
Jack looked up and down the street. "Where to now? Back to the B & B?" His wife didn't answer, but he felt her firm grip on his arm.
"Oh my god, Jack," she hissed, staring across the street, an expression of shocked disbelief on her face.
"What's the matter?" Her fingers dug deeper into his forearm. "What's wrong?" Following her gaze, he froze.
"It's that bitchy FBI Agent that arrested Diane last year, "whispered Vicky. Agent Rodriguez was dressed all in black leather from her cropped biking jacket to high-heeled boots. She stared back at them with focused intensity.
Jack hadn't seen that face for several months, but he'd never forget it. He drew Vicky closer in a protective gesture.
"Does she recognize us?" Vicky asked him.
"She sure does, but what the hell is that woman doing here? In Floyd? I thought all that business with the stolen money and the Jersey mob was resolved. Is the FBI still following us after all this time, or what?"
"Oh my god. I just remembered," said Vicky. She looked down at the remains of her melting ice cream, and tossed it in the trashcan. Dabbing at her hand with a napkin, she said, "Let's go. Diane is home alone." She grabbed his arm and took off for their car.
"What's wrong?" Jack was puzzled.
"That other agent, Chris Owen, is here too. Diane told me she saw him yesterday."
"That's no coincidence," he muttered, opening the trunk and depositing their purchases. "Those FBI idiots are following us again. You're right. We need to talk to Diane."
Finding Floyd Page 7
