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

by Lisa Smartt

  “No, it’s doing well. Real well. This is my friend, Jake Smith.” Jake looked at me and cringed. I wondered if it was that word “friend.” “He sells insurance in Union City. Dusty fixed my car when I broke down one time on the way home from Carlie’s. He’s a mechanic in Bradford.”

  “Nice to meet ya, Jake.”

  “You too, Dusty.”

  Dusty picked up the drink carrier and looked straight at me. “How are you, Clara? Are you doin’ okay?”

  “Pretty well. Yeah. No complaints really.”

  His voice got quieter and he looked at the floor and shuffled his feet a bit. “Well, that’s good. That’s real good.”

  I noticed his tan work boots were severely worn. The laces were matted and covered in dirt and oil. There was something about how the jeans and the boots came together to produce a wave of attraction. Jake worked hard every day. He labored and I respected his labor. I glanced across the table. Jake was scanning the menu and ignoring both of us.

  I didn’t want Dusty to walk away. He started to turn from the table but I spoke in a desperate effort to stop him. “And what about you, Dusty? Are you doing okay?”

  He quickly placed the bag and the drink carrier on the table and put both hands in his pockets while he glanced out the window and then straight at me. He shook his head and spoke matter-of-factly, “Truthfully, not so good, Clara. Not so good. I mean, business is fine. Yeah, lots of business right now.” He paused and looked at Jake for a good long time and then at me. “It’s my personal life that’s been a disappointment lately.”

  I couldn’t help but smile uncomfortably. “Is that right?”

  “It is. Sadly, it is.” He smiled and stared right at my face. There was a gentleness there. The kind of gentleness that only comes to one who’s lived hard but then been pardoned. I don’t know. Refreshing.

  Jake chimed in, “I hate to interrupt but I’m kind of on a time crunch right now. Dusty, it was good to meet you.”

  Dusty smiled like he knew something was happening between us. “Oh, well, yeah, I’ll let you guys get back to what you were doin’. Clara, it was good to see ya again. Be safe. Jake, keep sellin’ that insurance.”

  He walked out the door and never looked back.

  Jake continued talking, never missing a beat. “Okay, about yesterday, I’m sorry about Mom. But I’m even more sorry that I didn’t do anything about it. I am.” I must have been looking into space. “Clara? Clara, did you hear me?”

  “Uh, yeah. Your mom. You were talking about your mom. Don’t worry about it, Jake. What could you do? It was my fault. I shouldn’t have spilled the beans. Not on the first meeting. I don’t know what got into me. Really.”

  “Yeah, that’s okay.” He reached out for my hand. “Look, Clara, it’s been a long time since all that bad stuff happened to you. You’re not a teenager anymore. Why don’t you try to put that all behind you and make a new life now?”

  Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t say that was bad advice. I might even say it was good advice. Kind of. But I got a gnawing feeling that Jake was just trying to smooth over his personal trouble. He needed to fix me. His mother would never tolerate someone who was broken and he needed to super glue me together. And quickly.

  “I’m all for the new life part. I am. I’m trying to make a new life. But I’ll never forget what happened and I’m not even sure I should.” I saw the young blonde waitress heading for the table so I quickly spoke. “Maybe there’s a way my story could help others. I mean, maybe if I weren’t so timid about it, I could help other women who’ve been through the same thing, or help girls who are going through it right now.”

  Jake’s countenance fell as the young woman spoke, “What can I get you two?”

  “Clara, what do you want?”

  “I’ll just take a Coke. I’m not really hungry.”

  “I’ll take a Coke and a burger and fries to go.”

  To go? Jake drove to Greenfield to settle the deal, make it all okay. But he didn’t have time to see what I needed to settle.

  “Jake, do you have to get right back?”

  “Yeah. Mondays have been busy lately and daylight is a’wastin’. I thought you were staying ‘till Wednesday. Thought I might convince you to go back to Carlie’s.”

  “Well, thanks, but really, I need to get back home. I’ve been on the road too much lately and I’m tired.” I looked down at the table because I couldn’t face him. “I’m going to ask you something, Jake, and I don’t want you to be afraid to tell the truth. I’ve lived the last fifteen years of my life under a rock. I have. I wore no make-up, didn’t care about my clothes, all in an effort to keep men away. And it worked too. It worked until I saw my roommate fall in love.” I folded the cheap paper napkin over and over again. “Something about watching that process changed my perspective. It changed me. I started having hope. Carlie taught me to not be afraid of being a woman. She even convinced me not to fear attention from men. I know you don’t understand it, but that’s what I was doing. I lived in constant fear.” I looked up and tried to smile. “But no more, Jake. I’m serious. I’ve decided to live honestly. And I want to know that my honesty isn’t going to be a problem. For you or for your family. If it is, well, we need to part ways.”

  “No problem, Clara. So, will you stay? Till Wednesday at least?”

  “I guess.” I’m not sure why I decided to stay. Part of me dreaded spending a week alone in my dreary apartment. Another part of me wondered if I needed to give Jake more time, more time to accept me, more time to get to know me. All the while wondering if he could someday even love me. All of me.

  I drove into Doug and Carlie’s drive and laughed out loud when I saw Carlie and Ms. Charlotte on the front porch. They were jumping up and down and dancing and flinging their arms in the air in celebration of my arrival. I felt loved. And that was the gift I needed.

  I opened the door and Ms. Charlotte yelled out, “Welcome back, Baby! Welcome back!”

  I think it was the first time I’d ever been given a “Welcome Back, Baby” party. We all knew there was only one way to handle it. Make pickles.

  Chapter 40 CARLIE Three Days Later: Here Comes the Judge

  Clara went home yesterday. She said the time with Jake had been fine, but I didn’t buy it. She didn’t seem like a woman in love. He didn’t seem like a man smitten anymore either. Something had happened. Something she wasn’t willing to talk about. But something I knew I would drag out of her eventually.

  I sent my publishers a completed transcript. “Country Girls Can Survive if They Stock Pile Peanut Butter” should be on the shelves by mid-fall. The fall would bring a few book signing trips and maybe even another trip to Hollywood.

  Dave called to tell me that Doug’s cousin, Shannon, had slipped into a dark place emotionally. A few times he got quiet on the phone. He loved Shannon deeply and none of his love could erase this terrible pain. The more they tried to have a baby, the more bad news they received. They were now researching adoption but the thought of starting a whole new journey seemed overwhelming. I thought about the boy Clara gave birth to many years ago. What was he like? What were his parents like? Did she ever hope to meet him? Had she ever thought of making contact? I prayed a simple prayer: “Lord, please find a baby for Dave and Shannon. And please heal Clara’s heart.”

  Aunt Charlotte was still working feverishly on the Dusty McConnell “We don’t believe he did it” cocaine mystery, but time was running out as he was scheduled to appear before Judge Richards in the morning at nine. Raymond said the boys in the white truck turned up clean, at least for now. Something about that didn’t sound right though.

  Not that I would know. I admit I’m not the most experienced person when it comes to felonious drug activity. I still remember the day Tim Perkins walked into Geometry class bragging about the “special brownies” at his Friday night party. I asked a simple question. “What made them so special?” He replied, “You know? Weed.” I told him I’d never heard of
putting weeds in brownies but I thought walnuts or marshmallows were always a nice touch. The whole class laughed. It took Janice Carpenter twenty minutes to explain it to me at lunch. Tim and his friends called me “Naïve Nellie” the rest of our junior year. Mama said I should wear it as a badge of honor.

  Next morning 8:45 am Court House

  Doug had several appointments at the bank and couldn’t get away. Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Bart gladly accompanied me. Aunt Charlotte wore her best dress which was a bright green double-knit number with big fake pearl buttons down the front and a wide black plastic belt which could barely perform its job duties despite control top pantyhose which she swore were cutting her in half. Uncle Bart wore black dress pants that were a tad too short and a white shirt with every button fastened. Was I embarrassed? No. I’m not an 8th grade girl trying to get the “cool kids” to like me. I’m a grown-up.

  Dusty McConnell’s face looked unusually pale but he smiled when he saw us walking down the corridor in front of the court room. He was wearing khaki pants and a light blue oxford shirt with a navy blazer and some fancy brown cowboy boots. As the barber shop men would say, “He cleans up good.” For just an instant, I wished he were Clara’s boyfriend. I don’t know why exactly. Maybe I was remembering him sitting on our couch talking about how Clara couldn’t put an alternator in a car, and how she respected the fact that he could. As a matchmaker, how could I not be moved by his desire to be respected, and loved?

  Aunt Charlotte hugged him and wiped a tear from her eye. “How you doin’, Dusty? You okay this mornin’?”

  “I’ve been better, Mrs. Charlotte. My lawyer wants me to plead guilty. Says I’ll get less time that way, that maybe I’d be out in less than a year.”

  Aunt Charlotte grabbed him by the arms. “Absolutely not! Dusty, were those drugs yours?”

  “No ma’am.”

  “Then why in tarnation would you stand right there before a judge and tell him you were guilty? Good night, Baby. That’s straight-out lying. I didn’t graduate high school and even I know that much.”

  Dusty smiled and spoke nervously. “I wish it worked that way, Mrs. Charlotte. I do. I don’t know how the drugs got in my truck, but no one else seems to know either. And that’s a problem. A big problem.”

  A tall, thin, older lady with stacked gray hair and a carved wooden cane approached me and said, “Excuse me. Can you tell me how much time you figure I’d get for an arson charge, if it’s my own house and I just need the insurance money?”

  “Uh, I’m sorry, Ma’am. I’m not a lawyer.”

  Her nose wrinkled and she said with disdain, “Well, then why the heck would you come to the court house dressed up like a lawyer?”

  I placed my hand on her back gently. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. Didn’t mean to cause any confusion.” She unhappily turned and limped away. That’s when I knew my choice of black dress pants, and a red power blazer had been the right one. The black and white polka dot scarf must have just sealed the deal.

  I hugged Dusty. There was that odd but pleasant pine tree scent again. I wondered if it was some kind of mechanic hand soap or something. I told him Doug regretted not being there. “We’re for you, Dusty. We are.”

  His lawyer approached us and said, “It’s time to go in, Dusty.”

  He turned to follow his lawyer. Looking back he tried to force a smile, “I know, Carlie. And thank you. Thank you all.”

  I’m deathly afraid of court rooms for the same reason I was afraid of the principal’s office growing up. I don’t like to be in trouble and I don’t like to see anyone else in trouble either. I’m also keenly aware of the fact that judges, like principals, can make mistakes. Oh, not on purpose. No. They can make mistakes because they’re human. Like the time Tommy Carithers had to stay after school for a whole week for starting a food fight in the middle school cafeteria. Only Tommy didn’t start the food fight. Bill Meyers threw the first ketchup-covered hamburger bun. It hit shy Katie Johnson on her left cheek and she got ketchup in her eye lashes too. I know. I was there. But when Tommy, in an act of naive chivalry, pelted Bill with tater tots, one of the tots hit him in the eye and he cried out in agony like a Shakespearean actor. His dramatic ability convinced Mrs. Morrison that he had severe cornea damage. In middle school, ketchup on your eyelashes will never compete with a term like “cornea damage.” Tommy served his detention time like a true martyr. Five years later he married Katie Johnson and they have three kids who raise sheep for the 4-H.

  Uncle Bart led us to the front of the court room. I saw several law enforcement officers and lots of community people in the room. I wanted to believe people were there to support the ones being charged or the ones who had been victimized. But I knew some of them were there for sport. Like gladiator days, without the blood.

  “All rise. The honorable Archibald Richards presiding.”

  I sighed with sweet relief. The judge was short and round and I felt confident a bald man named Archibald would be a man of mercy, after the playground bullying he must have survived. Thank you, Lord, for small favors.

  The judge and the lawyers said a bunch of legal stuff I didn’t understand about a young woman who was charged with drug possession. It only took fifteen minutes for the judge to sentence her to probation and community service because she didn’t have a rap sheet. They didn’t use the term “rap sheet.” I got that from TV.

  When the bailiff called Dusty’s name, my stomach started churning. Dusty did have a rap sheet and everyone in the court room knew it.

  The judge addressed him directly, “Mr. McConnell, you understand that a drug possession conviction is a violation of your probation, not just a violation of probation, but a serious crime.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What do you plead?”

  “Not guilty.”

  His lawyer looked like a major league pitcher who’d been hit with a line drive. He straightened his tie and looked through some papers. “Your honor, may we have a minute? Just one minute?”

  “Mr. Ray, are you saying you and your client haven’t consulted before now? This is not the time for a consult.”

  “No, sir. We’ve consulted. Evidently my client has changed his mind and we need to confer for one moment. Just a moment, sir. I know your time is valuable.”

  “You have two minutes.”

  Dusty and his lawyer were trying to whisper but we were close enough to hear the heated exchange. I prayed right then and there that Aunt Charlotte would not be responsible for Dusty McConnell’s extended sentence. Aunt Charlotte knew nothing about the law. Maybe his lawyer was right. Maybe it would be better to play it safe and do a little time rather than risking a longer sentence. But something didn’t seem right about that. At all.

  Dusty rose and looked at the judge with confidence. Where he got that confidence, I had no idea. He looked just like Tommy when he decided to serve his term as a martyr for the cause. Resolved.

  “Judge Richards, I’ll be representing myself today. I’m sorry for the delay.”

  The attorney gathered his things and huffed out the back door of the courtroom.

  “Mr. McConnell, in your particular situation, it would be highly advisable for you to have an attorney present. This is not your first criminal charge.”

  “I’m aware of that, your Honor.”

  “Well, then, let me get straight to the point. On January 31st, at 8:45 pm, Officer Timothy Cline stopped you for a minor traffic violation. Is that right?”

  “Yes, sir. My tail light was out.”

  “And?”

  “Because I was on probation, the officer asked if he could search my vehicle. I told him it would be fine. I wasn’t worried. I knew he wouldn’t find anything.”

  “But he did find something. Is that right?”

  “Yes, sir. He found cocaine in the glove box.”

  “Well, Mr. McConnell, that seems like an open-and-shut case then, yes?”

  “It would be. Except it wasn’t mine. I don’t know whose
cocaine it was or why they put it there. I have no idea. But I do know it wasn’t mine. I’ve done some bad things in my life, criminal things. I don’t have to tell you that, Judge Richards.” He bowed his head. “You remember.” He looked up again. “But I don’t do drugs. I own a business. I’m trying to get my life in order and I promise I had never seen that cocaine before that night, before Officer Cline removed it from the glove box. Truthfully, I planned to come into this courtroom today and lie. I’m embarrassed by that fact. That’s what my attorney wanted me to do. That’s what I agreed to do. But I can’t. I’m sworn to tell the truth. I wish I knew who planted that in my truck. I wish I knew why. But I don’t.”

  The judge held up his hand while a young woman handed him some papers. He wrinkled his brow and even his bald head wrinkled slightly. Kind of like those wrinkly dogs on Hallmark cards. She said a few things. He said a few things. Even though Aunt Charlotte stood and leaned forward, she still couldn’t hear what they said. I prayed the judge wouldn’t hold her in contempt of court. I don’t even know what contempt of court is really, but if anyone had the possibility of doing some jail time for court behavior, well, I think we all knew it was Aunt Charlotte.

  “Mr. McConnell, it seems there’s been an unusual turn in your case. There’s someone here in the court room willing to testify on your behalf. The court calls Lucas McConnell to the stand.”

  The crowd made that loud sighing sound that would normally get them in a lot of trouble with the judge, but evidently the judge was distracted by the idea of a new witness. Aunt Charlotte patted me on the leg and whispered to Uncle Bart, “The Lord has done a miracle, Bart.”

  I looked at Dusty and saw him lower his head. He should have looked relieved. But he didn’t. He looked tormented. A tired old man came dragging down the aisle. Dirty torn pants and an old army jacket. A weathered face covered by a red and gray beard. He wore a Cardinals ball cap that looked 50 years old.

  “Mr. McConnell, you’ll need to remove your cap.”