Discarded Promises

by Candice Poarch

  A little annoyed, Quilla said, “I thought you said Christmas.”

  “I don’t want you to ring in the New Year alone. It’s just one more week. What will it hurt?”

  “You’re so innocent, you’re scary,” Quilla said. “I’m going outside to sweep the sidewalk.” But it was more to clear her mind.

  Outside, a crowd had gathered across the street at the Farmers’ Market at the courtyard where people were shopping for the holidays. Vendors arrived before daybreak showcasing their wares. Quilla usually discovered unique finds there, like many of the pillows for her chairs and bed.

  She glanced at her watch. If she was going to make it over there, she’d have to do so before nine. By then many were loading up their cars to leave.

  As she swept she thought of Paul because she refused to mull over her conversation with Regina. She didn’t believe his tale about the ring. Who would forget a three-carat ring, anyway? The thing would cost twenty thousand dollars, if not more.

  When Quilla was about to go inside, she saw a pair of boots. She’d been outside for less than two minutes.

  She looked up to her father’s frown.

  “Want to tell me about this dead body?” His voice was firm and demanding.

  “Aunt Ruby called you.”

  “You were on TV. Why did I have to find out that way? Why didn’t you tell me?” His face was a glowing mask of anger. “And why didn’t you answer my phone calls?”

  But his anger didn’t frighten Quilla.

  “You could have saved yourself a trip today and called instead,” she said.

  “You’d have ignored it like all the others. I’m not leaving here until I get a satisfactory explanation.”

  A couple passed her walking toward King. “Let’s not argue in the middle of the street, okay? Coffee’s on the burner,” she said, opening the door. “You can get a cup from the back room and I’ll be right in. Introduce yourself to Regina first.”

  The older man watched her a moment before he disappeared through the open door. Quilla nodded to the people passing by whom she saw on a regular basis.

  Finished with the sweeping, she made her way inside. Before the door hit her in the back someone grabbed it and pulled it open, scaring the living daylights out of her.

  “Are you out of your damn mind?” an angry Denton asked.

  It took a moment for her heartbeat to settle. “What is wrong with you?” Lucky leaned her front paws on Quilla’s leg.

  “Don’t you have any more sense than to go on TV and announce to everyone in Alexandria that you saw someone kill Sadie? Don’t you know whoever did it is going to be after you? Do you ever think before you act?”

  “I didn’t see his face. If he were standing in front of me I wouldn’t recognize him.”

  “He doesn’t know that. But he sure as hell knows who you are now.”

  “Good, maybe the police will take this seriously now.”

  “Didn’t I tell you I was looking into it?”

  “Yeah, you said you were. But you haven’t done anything. I wasn’t waiting around for you forever. You can’t do any more than I can, anyway.”

  “You’re certifiably crazy, you know that?”

  Quilla reached into the bowl for Lucky’s treat. “I’ve been called worse.”

  “Who are you?” Quilla’s dad came out carrying a cup of coffee and a bad disposition.

  Denton stared at him a moment, then at Quilla. “Denton Manning.” He approached the older man and extended a hand.

  “What’s your business with my daughter?”

  “A friend of the woman who’s missing, as well as Quilla’s.”

  “Sadie left her dog with Denton,” Quilla said. Lucky had eaten the treat and looked up for more.

  “She stopped by the morning she was killed. Said she was going out of town.” He glared at Quilla. “And she found her on the jogging path.”

  “I don’t like this,” Owen Day said, “you living here all alone. You better move back in with me.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Denton said as if someone had asked his opinion.

  “I’m fine where I am,” Quilla assured them. “You aren’t going to take over my life or dictate what I can or can’t do. I asked for help. You wouldn’t offer it. I did what I thought best.” She’d lived on her own since she was eighteen. She wasn’t about to give up her freedom now.

  Both men looked at her in that clueless way they tend to do when their power was usurped.

  “Do you want me to keep Lucky today?” she asked in the ensuing silence. “Another late night?”

  “Yes and no. I won’t be out late. I want you to keep her. I also want you to stop talking to the press. You’re asking for trouble.”

  He shook her father’s hand. “Pleasure meeting you, sir.” Then he turned back to Quilla. “Stay out of trouble, will you?”

  “I always do.”

  A customer entered the store, and her father followed Quilla back to the small kitchen.

  “You’re taking care of Sadie’s dog?”

  “Only during the day. She left her with Denton, but he’s gone all day and Lucky doesn’t like to be alone.”

  The customer came to the door. “Poor Lucky. I used to see Sadie walking her sometimes. The poor dog has to be mourning.”

  Owen Day looked at the customer as if she’d lost her mind.

  “I sold her her first dog, the one that was killed,” the woman continued. “Sadie was so heartbroken. I’m so sorry about her death.”

  “So am I. How may I help you?” Quilla asked.

  “We’re going on a trip to Philly. I want some treats for my sister’s dogs.”

  Quilla came out and packaged the treats. Three more customers arrived before she could leave. Her father was still waiting for her.

  “We need to talk, Quilla.”

  “Now isn’t a good time, I’ll call you.”

  “Can you come for lunch one day? Do you work every day?”

  Quilla knew she wasn’t going to be able to continue avoiding him. “Wednesday. A late lunch.”

  He nodded. “Good. You’re looking good.”

  “So are you.”

  “Take care of yourself. If you . . . if you need me, I’m here for you.”

  Regina was lecturing her. Denton and her father were angry. But she was in control. Everything was still just fine. They just didn’t understand.

  That evening, Quilla slipped her wallet in her jacket pocket and went out to pick up something for dinner. She’d ordered it over the phone and it should be ready by the time she arrived.

  Since she’d be gone only a few minutes, she’d left Lucky snoozing by the fire, and with the restaurant’s close proximity, she’d be back before the dog could miss her.

  The city’s decorations were a cheerful sight, she thought. But she couldn’t get Regina’s conversation out of her mind. No doubt the young Regina probably had dinner with a boatload of boyfriends. One for every night. But that wasn’t fair, Quilla realized. What hurt was Regina actually telling her she had no life.

  Quilla entered the restaurant behind a laughing group of yuppies. She passed tables as she zigzagged to the back where the cash register was located. People were there in groups laughing and eating, drinking and socializing. Whereas she would eat her seafood salad alone in front of her fire. Not quite alone, she thought. Not with Lucky nearby to collect scraps. Despite what Denton thought, dogs were great company.

  The seafood salad was ready when she asked for it. After quickly paying, she left, refusing to watch the happy people.

  On her way back, she passed an alley, the same alley she passed a thousand times a year. She was deep in thought about Regina’s conversation when suddenly someone snatched her arm and started digging in her pocket.

  In a flash she saw his face, a grotesque figure, she thought, before she realized it was covered in a ski mask, and he was breathing hard from nerves.

  For a split second stark terror immobilized her, and Qui
lla just stood there frozen and gazed at him in horror.

  “The wallet. Now.”

  Her breath left her body in an audible hiss. She was facing her worse nightmare. She recognized that he was huge, not an ounce of flab, but tall and muscular.

  Her mind, numb with shock, couldn’t assimilate what was happening.

  Her seafood salad dropped on the ground and she felt herself being dragged. They were almost hidden from view, and in a moment they would be completely hidden in the dark alley. And then she saw the gun lifting to point at her.

  Her mind freed itself from its benumbed state when she remembered the keys in her hand. With every ounce of strength she balled her fist and popped it upside the man’s head at the same time she kicked out, connecting with something.

  Dropping the gun, he cursed, staggered, and lost his grip.

  She was free. Dimly watching him slap a hand to his head, she leaped to her feet before she noticed he was reaching for the gun. He was closer to it than she, but she heard footsteps approaching and dragged in a huge breath and screamed at the top of her lungs.

  His eyes widened as if he were a deer caught in headlights. Then he was all motion. In a split second he caught her.

  “Hey. What’s going on?” somebody called out from a distance.

  Quilla yelled louder, kicking out with every ounce of strength. Then she was on her feet and running again. She heard footsteps behind her, but she kept pumping toward King, yelling her head off.

  “What’s wrong?” someone asked.

  When she looked back she saw that the man had disappeared. Her breath hitched in her throat. People started to gather around her and soon an officer charged toward her on horseback.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “A man tried to snatch my wallet. He had a gun. He went that way.” She pointed in the direction from where she had come.

  “What did he look like?”

  “He wore a ski mask. It was too dark to see clearly.”

  “Did you see what he wore?”

  “Jeans, I think.”

  The officer went charging in the direction where she pointed. It was then that Quilla realized the stinging pain zinging up her thigh.

  Quilla had never been attacked before, and that lack of control, of not knowing whether she would live or die, was unlike anything she’d ever felt.

  Denton would have to arrive to get Lucky while she was dabbing antiseptic on her scrapes.

  “What happened to you?”

  When she told him, he cursed. “Are you sure it was just a wallet snatching and nothing else?”

  “Of course. He asked for my wallet.”

  “You better call in your credit cards.”

  “He didn’t get it.”

  “You actually fought over your wallet?”

  “I could care less about that. I fought because he was pointing a gun at me.”

  She dabbed at a cut. When it stung, she dragged in a breath.

  He glowered at her and turned away. A second later he dragged her into his arms and held her gently. She dropped the cotton ball on the floor.

  “I’ve never known anyone who found danger the way you do.” When he kissed her gently on the head and she felt the warmth of his arms embracing her, she wanted to give in, cry out her relief. But she didn’t know how to let go.

  The next day when Quilla opened the store, a man was waiting at the door. Quilla offered him her shopkeeper’s smile when he said, “Your father sent me. I’m your security guard during working hours.”

  “You can’t be serious.” A lot of good it would have done last night. The thief grabbed at her wallet after hours.

  “I’m very serious.”

  She studied the man, who appeared to be in his early forties. While she scrutinized him she noticed the bulge under his jacket. “Do you have a gun under there?”

  “Sure do.”

  “Loaded?”

  “Wouldn’t be very useful if I had to load the gun in the heat of trouble.”

  “What’s your name and how does my father happen to know a bodyguard? What are your qualifications?”

  He extended a hand. “Irving Jackson. I was in the military police for twenty years. When I left the army I became a personal bodyguard.”

  He looked nothing like the man leaning over Sadie’s body, at least.

  “Just give me a minute.” Quilla picked up the phone and dialed her father’s number.

  “Dad, I don’t need a bodyguard.”

  “Yes, you do. At least during the day. Anybody can walk in your store, and you have no protection.”

  “He has to cost a fortune. You can’t afford him.”

  “I can’t afford to lose you. Don’t you worry about what I can afford. He stays until they find the man who killed that woman.”

  Quilla rubbed her forehead. As long as he was drinking and she was here, she could ignore him. But now he was literally putting himself in her face and she didn’t like it one bit.

  “Why are you intruding in my life after all these years? I’ve been gone eleven years. You can’t suddenly be my father. I’m a grown woman.”

  “I don’t care how old you are. I’ll always be your father. I know I made some mistakes but I don’t plan to pay for them forever. And I’m not going to let you blame me forever. Life goes on. I’m going to make sure we bridge the gap between us. In the meantime, stay safe.”

  Quilla slammed down the phone and looked at the brawny man from across the counter. “Just don’t frighten the customers away.”

  It seemed Denton called every two hours. She had a shop full of people, and when he called at two, she snapped. “I have a bodyguard, so you can quit worrying.”

  “A bodyguard?”

  Resigned, she said, “My dad’s doing. He sent my very own personal protection. Whenever I’m in the shop, so is Irving.”

  “Who is this man?”

  “Look, I have a shop full of people. You can check him out when you pick Lucky up.” She hung up and smiled at her customer.

  It was seven, closing time usually, but during the holidays, she stayed open later. A customer left, and only Irving and she were in the shop. She offered him a cup of coffee, but he declined. She filled one for herself.

  “How did you meet my father?” she asked.

  He frowned at her. “Through my aunt. They’re dating.”

  The cup Quilla held slipped to the floor and crashed. “What?”

  “Why, didn’t you know?”

  Quilla ignored his question. “How long?”

  “A few months. Looks like it’s getting serious.”

  How could her father even think of marrying another woman and putting her through the anguish and terror he put her mother through? On the other hand, Quilla never considered that her father might be that serious with someone. Although he was single, and men tended to marry quicker than women.

  Gratefully, a customer arrived, taking her from the nightmarish thoughts.

  Chapter 8

  “That was her on the phone?” Joyce asked. No need to ask who her was because only one person occupied Owen’s mind these days. He’d awakened her in the middle of night, not once but twice, thrashing about in the grips of a nightmare.

  Owen nodded. “And mad as a hornet.”

  “Is she still on for dinner?”

  “Lunch.”

  “That’s progress. At least she didn’t cancel.”

  “I guess. I’m really worried about her, Joyce. And mad, too. What if it wasn’t just a robbery? Why are they messing with my baby?”

  Joyce put the dish towel down and approached him, then massaged his strong shoulders. “You’ve done what you could. She has a bodyguard. Won’t be easy for someone to get close to her during the day.”

  Until things were right with his daughter, he wouldn’t accept anything more life had to offer.

  Joyce had fallen asleep the night before in his tender, loving arms. Um, um, um. She’d never been to bed with a man who cou
ld love a woman tender and crazy all at the same time like Owen. With any other man, she would have considered if his baggage was worth the effort. Now, she wasn’t one of those women who went racing for the hills because of a little baggage, because everybody who lived to a certain age came with some.

  But his didn’t depend on just him. It involved a daughter who might not ever accept him, and who could blame her? And he couldn’t move on unless she accepted him.

  She’d seen pictures of Quilla’s mother. They were still in his bedroom. To this day, Owen couldn’t part with them. And Joyce was willing to put up with all this for a while. She truly liked Owen, felt herself slipping in love with him. He seemed to care for her, too. A wonder in itself since the average fifty-five-year-old man chased twenty-something skirts quicker than women his own age. Heck, a woman of fifty would have to reach all the way to a man of eighty, and that wasn’t happening. Just yesterday, Owen’s neighbor, who was at least eighty if he was a day, had called out to her, “Hey, baby. You’re a foxy thing. I got what you need.” Goes to show, however old a man was, he still thought he was the stud. And considering she wasn’t a thin woman, to boot, finding a good man was even more difficult.

  A little baggage wasn’t so bad after all.

  Owen’s wife had been a thin, beautiful woman. Owen had said she was a good woman whom he’d abused when he was drunk. She’d never seen that side of him.

  Joyce often wondered what Owen saw in her. She was fifty and thirty pounds overweight. Yet he seemed to enjoy her company as much as she enjoyed his. He was good for her, too, and so gentle. She couldn’t imagine him abusing anyone, much less a wife. But she’d been around drunks and she knew they showed another side of themselves when they were under the influence.

  Her late husband had treated her well. She couldn’t imagine a woman staying in an abusive relationship.

  “It’s not going to be easy, but you have to stick with her just as you did with AA.”

  “Going without drinking is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. There were the nights of cold sweats. The wanting a drink so badly I shook with the need.” He caught Joyce’s hand in his. “Have you ever wanted something that badly?”