Doug and Carlie's Love Conspiracy (Doug & Carlie Series Book 2)

by Lisa Smartt

  “You can’t do that, Aunt Charlotte. They won’t let you ask for information like that on the radio. Let’s think of another option.”

  “I say we go creepin’ around Dusty’s neighborhood. We don’t know it was his daddy. Could be a neighbor or a friend of a neighbor.”

  “I’ll pick you up at 10:00.”

  “You know I’ll be ready. Oh, and Carlie, do you and Doug need any more sausage? We have a fresh batch.”

  “No ma’am. We’re good.”

  We were good because we never really eat Uncle Bart’s sausage which we know is from a questionable meat source (think squirrel or possum) and it’s also hotter than a habanero pepper dipped in lighter fluid. Some things are just better left unsaid.

  It only took fifteen minutes to get to Dusty’s house. He lives out in the country between Greenfield and Bradford. But he doesn’t have property to speak of. There’s a road which has about ten houses kind of lined up in a row. Some of them are well cared for and others aren’t. We decided to just park on the shoulder of an adjoining highway. There was a tree between our car and the street which we hoped would keep us from standing out. We popped the tops on two off-brand diet orange sodas and decided to keep watch a while. His house was a little blue clapboard house near the middle. It had a dirt driveway, old white rockers on the porch, and a beagle pup running through the yard.

  “Aunt Charlotte, I think we’re supposed to keep watch at night, not at 10 in the morning. Crime show detectives never set up a neighborhood watch after breakfast, do they?”

  “Well, we ain’t on a crime show. This is real life and I figure we’ll see somethin’ that’s gonna give us some clues. Keep your eyes peeled and don’t drink too much of that soda. Ain’t no porta-potties out here.”

  We watched an old woman hang work clothes on the line behind a gray mobile home. A young mom and her toddler girl were swinging on a rusty swing set in the backyard next to Dusty’s house. But there was no sign of mayhem or criminal activity.

  “Aunt Charlotte, I think this has been a bust. I better go home and get to writing. I’m almost done with chapter 9 but I have to send 12 chapters to the publishers by next Thursday.” My new book was called, “Country Girls Can Survive If they Stock Pile Peanut Butter.” It was a funny look at country living and cooking and marriage.

  “Patience, Child. Patience.”

  For some reason, I felt the need to go along with Aunt Charlotte’s plans. I was driving. I could have started the car and driven off. But I didn’t. I had respect for her age and tenacity. She was right. I needed patience. Aunt Charlotte was trying to help me develop patience, and help Dusty all at the same time.

  “Wait. What’s that truck doing, Aunt Charlotte? The white one next to Dusty’s house.”

  “I say we sit tight and find out.”

  Two young men got out of the truck and stood in the driveway smoking cigarettes. A blue Trans Am pulled in behind the truck and one of the young men handed the passenger something, a package of some kind. He drove away as quickly as he had pulled in. Moments later a red SUV pulled in. Same scenario. An old aqua blue Impala pulled in next and the young men retrieved two big packages from the truck cab and handed those off.

  “Aunt Charlotte, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out something’s fishy about this.”

  “Oh, absolutely. Reckon we better go pull in that driveway and ask ‘em what they’re sellin’ over there?”

  “What? No! Absolutely not!! Are you crazy? We could get killed!”

  Aunt Charlotte bent over laughing and some orange soda sprayed from her mouth, “I’m messin’ with ya, Baby. Just messin’ with ya. Let’s go talk to Raymond and see what we can do.”

  I pretended to hit Aunt Charlotte on the arm. But of course, I would never really hit her. I loved her deeply. We had almost nothing in common. Other than Doug, she was my closest friend.

  Raymond is Uncle Bart’s second cousin. He’d worked for the Sheriff’s department for more than twenty years. He would know if there had been any drug complaints out on Antioch Road and if there could be a connection to Dusty’s trouble.

  When we entered the Sheriff’s department lobby, Millie, a chubby young woman wearing a ton of bright make-up, greeted us warmly, “Mrs. Charlotte, how are ya? And what can we do for ya?”

  “We’re lookin’ for Raymond, Millie.”

  “He’s in his office. I’ll tell him you’re on your way back.”

  “Thank ya, Baby.”

  Aunt Charlotte called anyone under 50 “Baby.” I didn’t know why. I’d never thought to ask. I followed her down a long corridor and into a tiny office.

  Raymond rose to greet us. “C’mon in, Ladies. Good to see you. How can I help you today?” His desk was covered with papers and old coffee cups and a few faded pictures of little kids who probably now had kids of their own. He was a tall skinny man who looked a lot like Uncle Bart only he didn’t have a full beard, him being a law man and all.

  “Raymond, I’m not gonna waste your time. Dusty McConnell’s in trouble with the law but I don’t think he did it. He ain’t a drug addict. He’s had a hard past but he’s gettin’ his life together and this whole cocaine thing, well, I just don’t buy it. He works hard at that shop ever’day. He never seems high on nothin’. I think he’s been framed. And I think I know what happened too.”

  Raymond twirled an ink pen between his fingers. He looked unhappy with Aunt Charlotte’s declaration but he knew not to dismiss her. “And how do you think it happened?”

  “Well, I think there’s some young fellas dealin’drugs out there on his road. In fact, I know there is. Somethin’ probably went wrong with one of their deals. I reckon they got scared or somethin’ one night and they hid that cocaine in his truck thinkin’ they’d get it later.”

  “And how would you ladies know what happens on Antioch Road at night?”

  “Well, I don’t know what happens there at night, but I know what was happenin’ there no less than an hour ago. Right there in broad daylight. It was drug dealin’, Raymond. I don’t think they’s passin’ out Bibles, I’ll tell ya that.”

  Aunt Charlotte proceeded with every detail of what we saw, the license plate of the white truck, the makes of the other cars, the description of the young men, the house, the driveway.

  Raymond looked more serious now. “Thank you, Charlotte. I promise I’ll do some investigating.”

  “Look, Raymond, I’m not tryin’ to be rude or nothin’, but you’ve got to stay on this. Dusty McConnell’s life is on the line here. It is. Now promise me you’ll see this through.”

  He wrote something on a note pad and nodded his head. “I will, Charlotte. I will. But don’t worry. His life is not on the line. It’s a drug possession charge. The most he’d do is six months or so. With his record, maybe a year.”

  “Well, that shows what you know about the word ‘life’, Raymond. Life is not about the length of a jail sentence. A man’s life is his dignity. It’s his character, his work. Dusty, he’s made a lot of mistakes in the past. He has. But now, well, now he’s on the straight and narrow, workin’ hard, goin’ to church, even pursuin’ a good woman. And this drug charge? If he’s found guilty, it would take the life right out of ‘em. And I can’t watch that happen. I won’t watch it happen.”

  “I’ll check it out. I promise.”

  “Thank ya, Raymond. We’ll be on our way. If I don’t hear from ya by tomorrow afternoon, I’ll give you a call or come by. You can count on it.”

  He shook his head and with a grin, he muttered, “I expected nothing less.”

  We walked back down the corridor and I could have sworn Aunt Charlotte had grown ten inches. She was just 5’3”. But after the conversation with Raymond she seemed taller than me. I knew a lot of people in Sharon thought she was odd. A raccoon in the house. A loud voice. Unusual thrift store clothing. An old house that was poorly decorated and never spotless. But they didn’t know the real Aunt Charlotte. What a shame. She was full
of compassion and tenacity. A pioneer woman. As Chester would say, “When God made her, He done broke the mold and maybe that was with good reason.”

  Chapter 33 CLARA LOUISE: Confession is Good for the Soul

  I couldn’t believe I was on another road trip to Tennessee. I was weary of the drive but I was longing to be in Sharon. Commerce held nothing for me anymore. My parents were fighting more than usual. The Kindergarteners were as ready for spring break as I was. Doug and Carlie’s place provided solace from all of it. They offered everything I didn’t have. A lack of conflict. A lack of loneliness. Belonging. Jake would pick me up tomorrow afternoon for another date. That made me both happy and stressed.

  Doug and Carlie were waiting for me on the front porch and we all sat in the rockers for a while and drank cocoa. I envied them. Oh, how I envied them. The way they looked at each other. I envied their life together, a life full of love and sex and happiness…without baggage or fear. I asked Carlie if I could speak with her privately. Doug said he was happy to give us some time. He went to the bedroom to watch TV.

  “Carlie, it’s late and I’ll get right to it. I don’t even know how to love a man. Even if I wanted to, I don’t know how. I don’t. I’ve never had a good relationship with Daddy. I’ve never even kissed a man. I mean, not really. Not like the way someone would kiss someone they love. I haven’t. Jake has been so nice and I like him. I do. He tried to kiss me at Stone Mountain and I couldn’t do it. I still remember all the men who would kiss me and it was all just to get something else. No man has ever loved me, Carlie. Not one man. Ever. I’m 32 years old and no man has ever loved me enough to fight for me. They never even had to.”

  Carlie reached out her hand to grab mine. “Just start with the truth. You say, ‘Jake, I have to tell you something. I haven’t dated in years because my teen years were fraught with sexual abuse. But I’m working on that. I’m really trying to work through some of the things that happened to me. But I’ll be honest. Those experiences were horrible. Truly horrible.’ Then you tell him the whole thing. Jason and all his friends. The pregnancy. The baby. The adoption. You tell him you’re fighting to believe the truth. You’re fighting to see yourself the way God sees you. But you’ll need help in that fight. And any man who wants to be with you, well, he’ll have to be willing to go into battle with you…and for you.”

  “Good night, girl. You have a way with words. Can you come with me and tell Jake yourself?”

  Carlie laughed. “Don’t ask twice. You know I’m nosy enough to do it, but smart enough to decline. Plus, we don’t want to risk one of those Cyrano de Bergerac moments, you know, where Jake THINKS he’s falling in love with you but really he’s falling in love with your big-butted best friend who’s in a bathroom stall speaking into a little headphone mic.” She laughed and added, “That would be disastrous. Look, Clara, it’ll be fine. And if it’s not, it’s because he’s not the right guy. Let’s get some rest, huh? We can visit more in the morning.”

  I stood to give Carlie a hug. “You bring comfort to me, friend. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, sister. You’re welcome.”

  I woke up long before Doug or Carlie. I grabbed a water bottle and wrapped myself in a thick blanket and sat on the porch. Watching the sun come up over the farm was a gift. In the quietness, I prayed. “God, help me. Please help me.” And in a life that had been filled with terribly ugly moments, that one moment stood out as beautiful.

  Chapter 34 CARLIE: Cheering for the Home Team

  Doug and I have been married less than a year so we still need a lot of privacy. We want to take care of other people but we want to take care of each other too. That’s a balancing act, to be sure. We were glad Jake was coming at 1:00. We were happy for them because they would get to spend more time together. And we were happy for us too.

  I love to watch the clock for punctuality. At 12:55 his clean silver Camry came gliding up the drive. Smart, Jake Smith. Very smart. You don’t want to get on my bad side. He wore faded jeans and a green polo shirt nicely tucked into his belted jeans (ten points for the belt and the tuck-in). Jake’s hair was dark and short and his eyes were kind of an odd but lovely Army green color. His skin was medium in tone. I’m whiter than school glue, but Jake is more the color of that flesh crayon that has now been booted from the Crayola box because we all know that flesh comes in many different colors. Anyway, Jake’s skin was not white. Not brown. But a medium tannish pink.

  Poor Jake. His clothing was perfect. His hair was kind of spiked, all clean and neat. But his new white tennis shoes were much too bright. But just like my willingness to forgive him for the short tie, I made a conscious choice to forgive the blinding white tennis shoes. Maybe the shoes were a gift to make up for his perfectly straight teeth.

  I waved as I walked out onto the porch, “Welcome, Jake. Come in! Would you like some sweet tea or water?”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  “Have a seat in the living room. I’ll get Clara.”

  I knocked gently on her door and walked in. Clara was standing in front of the full-length mirror. She looked adorable. Casual brown shoes with jeans and a bright yellow shirt cinched with a leather belt. Her hair was curled just like Charlene had curled it. Her Mary Kay was applied as if to say, “I’m applying for the job of ‘girlfriend’ and I’m darn serious about it too.” She no longer looked like an insecure teenager. She looked like a beautiful redheaded woman. I heard Doug talking to Jake about March Madness (which has something to do with basketball or mad cow disease), so I took a few minutes for my own dating pep talk. “You look beautiful, Clara.” I grabbed her hands in mine. “I’m praying for you, friend. You need to do this. You have to do this. Jake will understand. Knock ‘em dead, Girl! Knock ‘em dead!”

  I always wanted to be a cheerleader. But for some reason, the powers that be never let me. Society has the misguided feeling that a tall, chubby, teenage girl cheering on the sidelines would make the high school boys play worse, not better. But of course, there’s no real data to support that. No data at all.

  I deemed matchmaking far more important than a high school basketball game anyway. And Clara was more precious to me than a pimply-faced kid hoping for two points. I had to cheer for her because no one else would. Jake and Clara drove off into the sunset in a new silver Camry. Well, it was 1:00 so the sun wasn’t setting. And they weren’t really at the end of a fairy tale yet either. Not yet. I prayed a simple prayer. Oh God, please don’t break her heart.

  Chapter 35 CLARA LOUISE: Freedom, Sweet Freedom

  The movie was stupid. Too much action. Not enough dialogue. As we were walking out of the theater, Jake knew he had made a mistake. “That was intense. Was it a little too intense for your tastes, Clara?”

  “Well, yeah. I’m kind of a girly girl when it comes to movies. So yeah, if more than one person dies, I’m pretty much spent emotionally.”

  He put his arm around me and dropped his head. “Oh, no. I’m really sorry then. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Jake. No biggie.”

  “We’ve got some time before dinner. Any stores you wanna go to? I don’t even know what stores women like. I don’t even know if you like to shop.”

  “Yeah, I like shopping. But could we just go to a coffee place or something and talk? I have something I need to say and the sooner I get it said, well, the better off I’ll be.”

  Jake looked worried or puzzled. I couldn’t tell which.

  “No problem. How about yogurt? There’s a yogurt place next door.”

  “Sounds great.”

  I ordered a small plain chocolate yogurt. Jake ordered some huge pink swirly concoction with a lot of fruit toppings and whip cream. If Carlie were here, she could analyze the hidden meanings of our food choices. I had no idea if the big swirly yogurt meant he was in love or just that he had a preference for dumb action movies.

  We sat at a quiet table in the back. Jake took the lead. “What’s up, Clara?�
��

  Sudden tears made me mad and frustrated. I would never get this done if I couldn’t control my emotions. I stood up and walked toward the back. “I need to go to the restroom. I’ll be back.”

  When I walked out of the restroom, he was checking the messages on his phone. He looked worried.

  With a handful of tissue, I sat down across from him. I lowered my head and tried to speak quietly. “Jake, I’m broken. I am.”

  He leaned in across the table. “I can’t hear you, Clara. What did you say?”

  “I said that I’m broken. I didn’t kiss you because I don’t know how to kiss you. I want to but I don’t know how to kiss a man. I don’t and I never have.” I ate a bite of yogurt in a failed effort to provide a distraction.

  A look of startling relief came across his face. “Oh, Clara, gosh, that’s not a problem. It’s not. Don’t worry about it. I appreciate that kind of innocence. Really. My last girlfriend had the opposite problem. She had done all kinds of things with all kinds of men and it was a mess. She eventually ran off with a guy she met on the internet. Looking back, it was probably the best thing that could have happened though. Look, I love the fact that you’ve never kissed anyone. It’s a relief, really.” He smiled and grabbed my hand. “That’s a good confession, Clara, not a bad one.”

  Tears sprang up again and I whispered. “No, Jake. You don’t understand. I’m not innocent. I’m far from innocent.”

  “Okay. I know I’m a guy and everything, but I don’t understand. You said you’ve never kissed anyone and now you say you’re far from innocent. What am I missing?”

  “I’ve never kissed someone in…well, a relationship way.” I quickly asked God for recall of Carlie’s words. “My teen years were filled with abuse. Sexual abuse. I was 15 the first time I had sex. It was with a 25-year-old neighbor. But he wasn’t the only one. There were men. Lots of men. Some of them young and some old. It was two straight years of relationship hell. Hell on earth. I had a baby. He’s almost 16 now. I placed him for adoption with a couple from Louisiana.” I placed my head in my hands and cried like someone had died. And someone had died. The woman I could have been died. The woman I always wanted to be died. But deep down, I wanted to believe she could be resurrected. Made new. Jake glanced out the front window then gently took hold of my hand. “I don’t know what to say. What am I supposed to say? I’m sad for you. I am. Your sadness is my sadness. But I do think there’s healing. If you thought I was gonna run, I’m not. I’m still here, Clara. I’m still right here and I’ve got no plans to go anywhere.”