by Kym Roberts
The light above the gate illuminated the sign that my daddy had made for my mom. Eve’s Gate had hung on that iron bracket since the day we moved in—with an occasional mishap of it falling on someone’s head. Those rare incidents created rumors of my mom’s spirit haunting the sign, and that tidbit of gossip had always given me comfort. Especially now since the alley was empty.
I sighed and stepped back in my apartment.
“Don’t close that door!”
My heart skipped a beat, or I had indigestion, I’m not sure which, but I smiled as I looked out and saw Cade Calloway making his way through the alley.
I glanced at my watch. Ten seventeen. “You’re late. I should close this door and eat leftovers.”
Cade eyed my mom’s sign and I smiled. She’d hit him on the head a time or two.
Once he was passed it, he looked up the stairs and said, “You don’t have any leftovers. You’ve got a half-eaten half gallon of ice cream.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Wrong.” I had two brand new half gallons of ice cream. It was almost time for peppermint shakes and I wanted to make sure I didn’t run out.
Cade took the steps two at a time with a takeout bag in each hand. Once he got to the top of the steps, he crowded me on the landing. “Hi,” he whispered as he looked down at my mouth.
“Hi, yourself.” I nodded toward the takeout bags that smelled almost as good as he did. “What’d you bring me?”
“Pork fried rice and beef and broccoli.”
“You’ve earned passage into my home.” I turned and brushed against him as I went back into my apartment. I told myself it was an accident, but who was I kidding. I wanted the contact between us.
Cade put the bags on the table. “I see you were expecting me.”
For a moment, I was embarrassed by the paper plates and plastic ware I’d thrown on the table. It’d been my way of protecting myself from a broken heart. There’s nothing worse than setting the table with china, silver, and candles and then spending the night looking at the empty chair across the table. Not that it ever happened to me, but I saw it plenty of times in the movies and those women were just downright pathetic.
“Sorry. I forgot to run the dishwasher.”
“You don’t have a dishwasher.”
“Huh, imagine that. Would you like some iced tea?”
“No wine?”
“The only bottle I have, you can’t have.”
Cade laughed. “Really? I rank that low?”
“It ranks that high.” I poured two glasses and grabbed a couple serving spoons and made my way to the table to sit down across from Cade.
We’d sat at this very table countless times in high school while doing homework and filling out college applications for Cade. He’d been a year ahead of me and had been recruited by the best schools in Texas on a football scholarship. That career had been our downfall, and I wondered if we were doomed to follow the same path.
“What can you tell me about Matt Allen’s death?”
Cade looked up as he dished out our food. “Why do you ask?”
“I was just thinking about him getting electrocuted and the Barn getting shot up, all within a couple days.”
“Those are very different incidents. Matt’s death was an accident.”
“Was it?”
Cade put down the serving spoon and frowned. “What makes you think it wasn’t?”
“I just don’t believe in coincidence.”
Cade shook his head and passed me my plate. “You’re always looking for trouble.”
Ignoring his remark that stung more than I cared to admit, I started to take my first bite when my cell phone rang. I glanced at it on the counter and decided to let it ring. This was a night to be savored. I took a bite and nearly moaned as the flavors of the rice, meat and vegetables began to quench my hunger.
Cade ignored my phone and began asking me about the poetry reading on Friday when it rang again. “It’s okay to answer your phone,” he said.
“It’s not going to be anything important.”
“Then it will be over with quickly. Or, we could listen to it ring all night.”
I got up and answered the phone on the fourth ring. “Hello.” I tried not to sound irritated but from the smirk on Cade’s face, I failed.
“I’m sorry,” were the first words out of my cousin’s mouth on the other end of the phone.
That got my attention. “What? Jamal, what are you talking about?”
“Please don’t kill me.”
“Jamal, if you don’t tell me what I’m going to kill you over, then I’m going to kill you for real.”
“I just wrecked your daddy’s truck…”
“You what?” I heard the traffic pass and a horn blare. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. A truck swerved at me and clipped the front end of the truck, I spun around and ended up smashing into the concrete barricade. The truck isn’t drivable.”
That one bite of fried rice was screaming to come up. How was I going to tell my daddy? He loved that truck. I loved that truck. I grabbed my keys and ran for the door.
“What’s wrong, Princess? Where are you going? I don’t want you going off by yourself. Not after what happened tonight. I’ll come with you.” Cade was up out of his chair and at the door at the same time I was.
“No!” I yelled. It was more denial of what I was about to find than a response to Cade. “I need you to stay here, Princess is still out and—” My voice hitched. This had been my opportunity to make things right between us, but my cousin and my daddy’s truck meant the world to me…and him. “Please, Cade. Wait here for Princess.”
Cade ran his hand through his hair, clearly irritated. “Whatever you need. I’m here.”
I ran out the door and down the steps. “Where are you?” I asked Jamal.
“I’m on the bridge over the river.”
“The highway?” He could get killed standing on that bridge.
Jamal gave me directions but I knew exactly where to go. I jumped in his rental car and was there in two minutes. He was standing at the bed of the truck with his arms folded and the phone up to his ear. It was the stupidest place to stand, the man was going to get himself killed.
“Charli, I’m sorry.”
“Where’s the other driver?”
“He took off.”
I looked my cousin up and down in the dim lighting. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry, Charli.”
“I don’t blame you. It was an accident. I’m just glad you’re okay.” I was still sick when I looked at the truck, but I was relieved that he was in one piece. “Have you ordered a tow?”
“It’s a two-hour wait.”
I looked at the front of the truck and cringed. It was bent and twisted like the front axle was a spiral, not a straight piece of steel. To my utter disappointment, the truck was in bad shape.
My vision blurred as I neared the front end of the vehicle. This had been my parents’ truck. Oncoming headlights blinded me.
“Are the police on their way?” I asked.
“Yeah, but they’ve had a busy night.”
“You told them it was a hit-and-run?”
Jamal nodded his head and I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I looked down at the screen as I read the text from Cade: Princess is home safe and sound. Are you okay?
I immediately texted back. I am, but I won’t be home for a couple hours.
Do you want me to come to you?
Yes, I did, but I didn’t think it would be fair to Cade to make him stand on the shoulder of a bridge risking his life for a truck that wasn’t his. I texted him back: Jamal is with me. I should have expected the response.
Night, Princess. See you tomorrow.
Chapter Seven
Daddy’s truck was finally towed to Dean MacAlister’s auto shop, but it didn’t look good. An officer had taken a hit-and-run accident report but didn’t think it was any more than a DUI on that stretch of the highway. I wasn’t quite convinced, but Jamal was unable to give much more of a description beyond saying it had been a deep red, older model pickup truck with an unknown design on the driver’s door.
My father had taken the news much better than I had. Whereas my memories of the truck were family event-oriented, Daddy’s were of how much money it had sucked out of him the twelve years I’d been gone. He had a new truck now, and he wasn’t sure why he’d hung on to the old one. We decided to keep my aunt in the dark since she’d gone to bed by the time I’d called. Jamal and I went to bed looking forward to a better tomorrow, both promising we would wake up in good moods—and we did.
As the morning progressed, we had to adapt our original plans for our press conference because it had drawn so much attention. We ended up moving it outside the Barn and into the paved courtyard between our bookstore and the Texas Mantiques next door. This displeased Mateo a lot. After Dad told him everything under the sun about the Book Seekers app the previous night, he didn’t like me standing out in the open, and his arguments had put everyone on edge. He’d relented finally and said he’d have officers watching the event.
Luckily the weather had cooperated, giving us blue skies and temps in the upper sixties in Hazel Rock. If we’d been a little farther north and west, we could have been in the middle of the first snowstorm of the year that was dragging through the Rockies and down into the Texas Panhandle. I shivered with the morning breeze, just thinking about the cold winter weather. I didn’t miss it one bit.
Mateo looked across the crowd at me with his eyebrows lowered. I suspected he wanted to haul my butt off to the jail where he thought I would remain out of harm’s way—safe—caged was more like it. Yet I couldn’t deny that the man had a way of making me feel like a ninth-grader acting up in front of the coach. The urge to drop down and give him twenty was overwhelming. Of course, it might be a little bit embarrassing since I wasn’t sure I could do twenty push-ups anymore.
Scarlet leaned over to say something, but I elbowed her as Cade’s mom tapped the mic my cousin had set up for her. “Shhh. I’m fine.”
Her sigh told me I’d answered her question. It would have been the seventy-eighth time she’d asked me how I was doing that morning. I was feeling completely smothered by everyone. I understood their concern, yet at the same time I had a hard time believing I was being targeted. Something was going on, and like the cops staring across the crowd, I was determined to find out what had fired up someone.
Penelope Calloway stood in the courtyard surrounded by reporters with Jamal on one side and my daddy on the other. She had on a traditional royal-blue suit with navy trim, large pearlized buttons that matched the three strands of pearls around her neck, and the bracelet around her wrist. The suit accentuated her curly silver hair beautifully. She was the model of conservative success—the perfect arm candy for a man wanting to go far in politics. Not beautiful, not sexy, but appealing in a down-to-earth manner and personality. Her eyes were stern and straightforward, her mouth offset in the disciplinarian fashion. But when she laughed, it was the definition of wholesome. Her eyes would sparkle, and she made everyone feel loved.
She was the perfect grandma. She was stately and regal—standing next to my cousin who looked like a rap star and my daddy who could pass for a ranch hand. The combination made my stomach burn. Who exactly was our target audience?
“If you haven’t heard by now, then you must be living in the back forty,” Penelope started. Polite smiles were passed through the crowd. “And I’m talking about the back forty behind the back forty.”
I looked at Scarlet and wondered why we hadn’t used my best friend as a spokesperson for the app. Scarlet would have been a better choice. She was like a chameleon, changing her style and appeal on any given day. The three people standing in front of the reporters couldn’t mold their styles to blend together, let alone meet our target audience. This was a nightmare.
“The Book Barn Princess has not only landed a book signing with today’s most famous mystery writer, Lucy Barton, but they’ve brought a young talented entrepreneur to town who will put Hazel Rock, Texas on the map. Jamal Harris and his Book Seekers app will help our little bookstore, and boost the economic growth of all our businesses by bringing in customers from across the state.”
I could hear Penelope’s pearls clanking together as she spoke. Her arms were waving, her head was nodding, she was so caught up in delivering the speech to the town and the news media who had gathered, that she’d became completely unaware of her husband standing in front of her shaking his head back and forth in obvious disbelief.
J. C. Calloway was not pleased. If I was a betting woman, I’d say the tight set jaw of Cade’s daddy and the undivided attention Cade was giving him were signs that J. C. was downright angry. I could have told Cade bringing his daddy was a mistake, but it was his mistake to make, not mine.
Meanwhile my Aunt Violet, who stood off to the side of Jamal, was as pleased as pumpkin pie with a dollop of whip cream on top. I’d never seen her so proud. Jamal’s work was finally being given the attention it deserved.
Scarlet shuffled next to me as the speech went on. She could not be quiet longer than a minute and thirty seconds—we’d timed her once. It was part of her nature, part of her charm, and really part of what brought me out of my shell. I’d expected her to talk during Penelope’s speech, there was just no way she could maintain her silence.
“Do you think the shooter is somewhere in this crowd?” she asked.
I shook my head and tried to listen, but my attention strayed back to the crowd and potential shooters. I looked at the street for a red pickup truck with front-end damage and a logo on the driver’s door. Then I returned my gaze to Mateo. He stood off to the side watching the people in the crowd, making sure no one got unruly or brandished a weapon. He even watched the reporters from different local television affiliates. He was expecting some type of violence, that I knew. Otherwise he wouldn’t have three deputies hanging around—one behind the Barn, one at the entrance to the courtyard, and one sitting in a patrol car down the street.
Liza Twaine, a reporter from Channel 7, was standing in the front row along with Oscar Sanchez from Channel 5. You’d never know they worked for opposing stations the way Oscar followed her around like a lovesick puppy dog. Liza had lost her camerawoman since her intern went off to college. She’d also gotten herself in trouble with the law a few months earlier by breaking into Scarlet’s trailer, searching for evidence on a story. Oscar didn’t seem to mind one bit about her criminal record, especially since Liza Twaine now relied on him to help her set up her equipment. It was a dream come true for Oscar as the two worked in tandem—and an interesting concept considering Liza Twaine was involved.
“Do you see the app expanding beyond Hazel Rock?” asked one of the reporters I couldn’t identify.
“I have no doubt that it will,” responded Jamal. “It’ll be ready to go nationwide within the next month.”
I looked at my dad, who didn’t waver in his support. My aunt’s smile however, lost a tad of its brightness. Her trained eye watched the crowd in the same manner Mateo’s did. No one would’ve noticed if they didn’t know her personally, but Aunt Violet was like a second mom to me. I could see the worry on her face for Jamal and me as she met my gaze for the hundredth time. She was worried something might happen while everyone was gathered in the courtyard. She was worried about my safety, and no matter how much she bragged, she was concerned the app wouldn’t be successful—and Jamal would be heartbroken. She knew he was brilliant, unfortunately that didn’t always translate into success.
“Is this a launch
for something bigger and better?” Liza Twaine asked.
Jamal smiled. “Absolutely. We have the funding and the backing to make this app go nationwide.”
A buzz of chatter filled the crowd. Betty, the local quilt maker, was talking to her boyfriend, Franz, who owned the town bakery. I could tell they were trying to figure out how they could apply the app to their businesses—exactly what Jamal had hoped for. Jimmy Scott, the manager from the Hazel Rock Diner, was taking notes in his little black book—he didn’t know that his restaurant was already in the app program with a cookbook on his front porch. But chances were, he’d be creating new recipes in honor of the Book Seekers—possibly a Book Seekers Sampler or a Book Seekers Sirloin—just the thought was making me hungry.
“When will you launch the app?” Oscar Sanchez asked.
Jamal spoke up. “The app is already live. All you have to do is download it and you’ll be able to follow your first clue.”
“I’ve actually got two books on my bookshelf already.” Penelope beamed as she held up her phone and showed the crowd her pink book shelf that looked like the Barn. “I’m going for my third as soon as we finish, because I plan on winning the grand prize.”
“What is the grand prize?” asked Liza.
It was my dad’s turn to answer as he stepped forward. “There’s a private meet and greet with author Lucy Barton here at the Book Barn Princess with a catered dinner for the winner and one guest.”
“But what about everyone else? It’s kind of anticlimactic to only have one winner?” Liza Twaine hit on my biggest fear.
