“Great.” Marla Jean was just glad she’d agreed to ditch the Bookmobile, and once they did, she’d convince her to stay home for the night. One thing at a time.
“Marla Jean, you must think I’m awful. I want you to know I’m normally not so irresponsible.”
Suddenly the whole conversation hit Marla Jean as absurd. “I don’t know why you care what I think. You certainly didn’t when you started seeing my husband.” The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them. She’d never been one to mince words, but at the time of the divorce she’d morphed into a timid rabbit. Afraid saying the wrong thing would blow up what was left of her shattered world. For a while she’d turned into someone she didn’t recognize.
So telling Bradley off had been long overdue, but one glance at Libby’s wilted expression and she backed down. It seemed utterly unimportant now. “I’m sorry, Libby. That was uncalled for.”
Libby shook her head fiercely. “No, you have every right to be outraged. I’ve never apologized to you, for my part in breaking up your marriage. There. I’ve said it out loud. I’m not proud of it. In fact, I’m ashamed, and when Jake told me that we’d practically forced you out of town, and I found out Brad still owed you money for your house, and you couldn’t buy a house when we all have houses to spare, well, it was too much. I realized I couldn’t marry him. I can’t stand up in front of everyone in town tomorrow and pretend that love justifies everything we’ve done. You poor thing.” She let out a sudden sob.
Marla Jean’s back went up at the well-meaning words. They made her out to be so sad and pathetic, and as usual it amounted to nothing more than pity. Dismal, wretched, mealy-mouthed pity. She’d had all the pity she intended to take from every living soul in this town, including Miss Libby Comstock. It was time to take the bull by the horns.
“Look, you still love him, right?” Marla Jean spared a glance at the distraught woman beside her before returning her attention to her driving. She was getting the hang of it now—feeling a little more confident by the minute.
Libby looked stricken. “Of course I love him. But I shouldn’t. It’s wrong and nothing good can come of it,” she wailed.
Marla Jean rolled her eyes. Could the woman be any more melodramatic? Before she could think of a suitable response, the light at the intersection of Mitchell and Park Row decided to test her newfound shifting abilities by turning red just as she approached. Libby cried more quietly now, which was good. She didn’t need any distractions while she stepped on the brakes and attempted to downshift. The light turned green and as soon as she stepped on the accelerator the Bookmobile died. “Rats.”
Libby stopped whimpering long enough to say, “You really must keep the clutch engaged, dear.”
“I know, Miss Comstock.” She tried again but the traffic light was on a slight hill and after a series of jolts the car shuddered, died, and rolled backward.
Libby sniffed. “Let the clutch out as you step on the accelerator. It’s quite simple, really.”
Through gritted teeth, Marla Jean muttered, “I’m trying, Miss Comstock,” and floundered for the delicate balance of easing up on the clutch and giving it some gas. But then—miracle of miracles—they were moving. “I think I’ve got it this time,” she yelped as they rolled out into the intersection.
But getting back to their woman-to-woman talk, Marla Jean continued, “Before you make any drastic decisions there’s something you should know about me and Bradley.”
Libby stopped crying and focused sharply. “What about you and Brad?”
“I’ll always love him—”
The honking of horns and the blare of headlights came out of nowhere as a car barreled through the intersection right in front of them. Startled and panicked, she wrenched the steering wheel to the right and took both feet off the pedals and hit the brakes. Marla Jean’s head slammed into the side window and bounced off, leaving her dazed.
When the car stopped they were nose down in a shallow ditch. Books including a dog-eared copy of Dr. Zhivago rained down from the shelves, despite the safety straps designed to hold them in place, and landed like flat cannonballs on their heads and shoulders. Marla Jean threw up her hands in an effort to protect herself until the barrage stopped.
The driver’s side of the Bookmobile flew open and a female voice said excitedly, “Miss Comstock, don’t worry. I’m here to rescue you.”
Marla Jean turned her bleary eyes toward the voice and found Genna Stanley standing outside the door. Genna’s voice changed from concern to outrage in a matter of seconds. “And Marla Jean, are you plum crazy? What in the world are you doing taking off in the Bookmobile with Miss Comstock?”
“Oh jeez, Miss Comstock?” Marla Jean unbuckled her seat belt with shaky hands and scrambled over to check on Libby. She listed sideways in the passenger seat, held in place only by the seat belt. Her head slumped forward and her eyes were closed. Blood ran from a gash on her face. “Miss Comstock, oh gracious, Libby, are you okay? Can you hear me?”
Genna leaned into the open door and upon spotting the unresponsive woman screamed loud enough to wake hibernating bears in far-off caves, “Oh my God, Marla Jean, you’ve done it now. You’ve killed Miss Comstock.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Jake didn’t want to drink cheap booze and smoke expensive cigars while watching half-naked women gyrate on a poorly lit stage. He didn’t want to, but that’s what he’d been doing for the last two-and-a-half hours. The fact that he didn’t want to might have concerned him under normal circumstances. After all, he appreciated a half-naked woman as much as the next guy, but between last night with Marla Jean, today’s talk with Theo, and Aunt Libby’s wedding tomorrow he had too much on his mind. His attention wandered while the blonde wearing not much more than a dragon tattoo and a smile shook her charms in his face. He smiled to be polite, handed her a ten-dollar bill for her valiant efforts, and then picked up his drink and moved to a table at the back of the room.
Some of the guys at Bradley’s dealership arranged this little bachelor wing-ding to celebrate his last night of freedom, and Jake had to give Bandy some credit. He actually seemed a little embarrassed by it all. Jake watched an extremely limber redhead do a backbend and pick up a twenty-dollar bill with her teeth. Bradley barely seemed to notice. That’s when Jake started thinking he really might love his Aunt Libby after all.
Libby’s future husband had done nothing but talk about her all night long. He’d even tried to call her a couple of times, but had only reached her voice mail. “I guess she’s out with your mother and her own friends,” he said sheepishly. “I’d really like to hear her voice right now. I can’t believe we’re really getting married tomorrow. I tell you, Jake, I can’t wait.” And he’d smiled from the inside, like a guy who’d found the key to making himself whole.
None of that changed Jake’s long held opinion of the guy, and it certainly didn’t excuse the crappy way he’d treated Marla Jean. But then again, who was he to talk? He had made love to Marla Jean for all the wrong reasons, hadn’t he? Selfish, self-centered, self-indulgent reasons, and now because he felt guilty, he was going to attempt to lessen that guilt by sticking his nose into something that was really none of his business. Aunt Libby told him to back off. It was her life, her business, and she’d said she would handle it.
So for now he sat at his table and watched Bradley’s buddies buy tequila shots and make toasts to Libby’s many virtues. He tilted his chair back against the wall, stretched his long legs out in front of him, and settled in for a long night. He couldn’t wait for this entire weekend to be over and done with. Then maybe life would get back to normal.
Normal.
A memory of Marla Jean sitting beside him in his truck, laughing and stealing his french fries, barged into his head, and he knew for dang certain he didn’t have a clue what normal meant anymore.
“Come clean, Marla Jean. Have you been drinking?”
“No, I told you that already, Sheriff Watson.” M
arla Jean squeezed her eyes shut and hoped when she opened them she’d only see one of him.
After Genna quit screaming at the sight of Libby collapsed in the passenger seat, she’d called 911 and the sheriff and an ambulance had arrived shortly after. Libby lay on a stretcher surrounded by the EMTs while Sheriff Watson grilled Marla Jean like a common criminal. Genna was giving her version of things to Officer George Mendoza on the other side of the intersection. Her arms waved around dramatically, and she pointed at Marla Jean in an accusatory manner.
Marla Jean’s head couldn’t hurt more if someone decided to use it for batting practice, and the double vision thing wasn’t helping her mood, either. She tried to refocus on what the Sheriff was saying.
“I know what you told me, young lady, but you smell like a brewery, and by your own admission, you just left Lu Lu’s.” Sheriff Watson fingered his bushy Tom Selleck mustache while he studied her. He’d been a Magnum P.I. fan back in the day, and off duty sported nothing but Hawaiian shirts. Thankfully, he skipped the short shorts and stuck with blue jeans. Marla Jean always thought he looked uncomfortable in his khaki uniform, and even now fidgeted and pulled at his too-tight shirt. Somberly, he added, “And you failed the field sobriety test.”
Walking a straight line had proven to be too much for her, and she’d poked herself in the cheek when he’d asked her to hold her arms out to her side and then point to her nose. “But I wasn’t drinking. You can ask Mike.”
“I’ll do that. I intend to do a thorough investigation. But right now we’re looking at failure to maintain control of your vehicle, suspicion of driving while under the influence, and possible kidnapping.”
“Kidnapping?” she yelped and regretted it when pain exploded inside her brain. She grabbed her head in both hands. “Come on, Sheriff Watson, you know me better than that.” For years she’d cut his hair and trimmed his mustache every two weeks whether it needed it or not.
“Listen, Marla Jean, everyone knows you haven’t been yourself lately, and it’s conceivable you, being heartbroken and all, couldn’t face the idea of Bradley and Miss Comstock tying the knot tomorrow. Until we get this sorted out, I have no choice but to take you in.”
“Take me in? To jail?” She couldn’t believe it. “You’re kidding, right? And I’m not heartbroken,” she insisted as he herded her toward the squad car. Apparently, he wasn’t kidding. She noticed Libby struggling to sit up. “Can I at least check on Miss Comstock first?”
“I’m sure Miss Comstock is getting all the medical attention she needs. Watch your head.” He put his big paw of a hand on her head and guided her into the back seat of his car.
Marla Jean settled into the seat as a wave of nausea washed over her. “Sheriff Watson, I think I’m about to be sick.”
“Nice try, Marla Jean.” He started to close the back door. “If I had a nickel for every suspect that’s pulled that one on me, I’d be rich enough to retire.”
His words seem to come from very far away. Clamminess gripped her entire body and her eyes and mouth watered with that awful precursor of things to come. Before he could close the car door all the way, she leaned over and threw up all over his shiny black boots.
“Jake, Libby’s been in an accident. Come on, she’s being taken to the hospital.” Bradley rushed across the bar, his eyes wild with fear.
“Is she all right?” Before Bradley could answer, Jake’s phone rang. It was his mother. “Mom, are you okay? What happened? I just heard Aunt Libby was in an accident.”
“I’m fine. I wasn’t with Libby, she begged off her party at the last minute, but Deputy Mendoza just called and told me she was taken in an ambulance to Everson Memorial. I’m on my way there now.”
“Bradley and I will meet you there. Be careful, Mom, and don’t worry. Everything will be okay.”
Jake insisted on driving and Bradley offered no objection. He could barely sit still during the five-minute drive to the hospital. “Why wasn’t she with your mother? I thought they had a big party planned for her tonight. I should have known something was wrong when she didn’t answer her phone. Jake, she’s got to be okay.”
“Hang on, Bradley. Here we are.” Jake drove up to the emergency entrance, and Bradley jumped out of the truck while it was still rolling. He parked in the first spot he found and then sprinted back to the entrance. Bradley was practically wringing his hands as he implored the nurse behind the desk, “Libby Comstock. She was just brought in by ambulance.”
Everson was a small town, but Jake didn’t recognize the woman who looked through her records at a snail-like pace. For God’s sake, how many women had been brought in to this rinky-dink hospital in the last hour? Jake was seconds from jumping over the desk and finding the information himself when she said pleasantly, “Here it is. She’s been admitted overnight for observation. Room 229. But I’m afraid visiting hours are over.”
They headed for the elevators, ignoring the woman’s protest. Taking the elevator to the second floor, they bolted down the hall. Aunt Libby’s room was easy to find. Sheriff Watson stood outside talking to Jake’s mother. She looked distraught, and Jake’s heart sank to his toes. The news must be bad. Jake felt Bradley wobble beside him and caught him by the elbow.
“Mom? Tell us. How is she?”
Jake’s mother turned at the sound of his voice and rushed forward. “Oh, Jake, Bradley, I’m so glad you’re both here. Libby is going to be okay.”
Bradley barreled toward the door. “I want to see her.”
Ellie stopped him. “I’m not sure she wants to see you.”
“What are you talking about? Of course she wants to see me.”
“Bradley, she says she’s calling off the wedding.”
His face paled like he’d been struck a physical blow. “The hell she is.” He pulled open the door and stopped halfway inside. “Marla Jean? What are you doing here? And where in the hell is Libby?”
Chapter Thirty
Marla Jean whirled around, blindly grabbing for the flapping edges of her gown, and scooted backward toward the bed over by the window. Libby was in the bed closest to the door, so Bradley’s attention immediately switched to his fiancée as soon as he spotted her.
“Oh Libby, sugar, what happened?” Panic laced his question.
Bradley was joined by Ellie and Sheriff Watson, and Jake. They all crowded into the room, talking over each other, asking questions. It was all too much. Marla Jean climbed back into her bed and pulled the covers over her head. Her skull felt feel like a melon cleaved open with a machete, and all she wanted to do was sleep. Nobody would let her. Every time she’d drift off a nurse would come and ask her to count backward or name the President of the United States. That was bad enough, and now this. All these people yammering on and on.
She heard Jake’s voice. “Are you all right, Aunt Libby?”
“I’m fine, Jake.” Through the layers of linen she heard Libby from the next bed. The scratchy sheet tickled her nose, but she didn’t care. “What is everyone doing in my room? Ellie, I told you I didn’t want to talk to Bradley tonight.”
“Well, that’s too bad, Libby.” Bradley’s voice came through loud and clear and full of hurt and indignation. “First, I hear you’ve been in an accident, and before I can recover from the shock of that, before I can even find out if you’re okay, you announce that our wedding is off and that you’re not going to talk about it. I don’t think so, Libby. I don’t think you can stab me through the heart like that and not tell me why.”
Almost at once the distinct sound of sobbing commenced. Oh wonderful. Libby was turning on the water works again. Not that she blamed her. Calling off a wedding was a big deal. She’d give her that. It wasn’t a decision one came to lightly. But she’d been in Libby’s company going on four hours now, and she’d been bawling for roughly three and a half of them.
She closed her eyes, waiting impatiently for the ensuing fireworks that would surely follow Brad’s bold pronouncement. Jake would tell Bradley to leave
his aunt alone. Bradley would yell some more. Sheriff Watson would tell them all to settle down, or he’d haul everyone down to the station. Maybe then she’d get some rest.
Instead, she felt a hand grab the edge of the sheet and pull it back from her face. The hand belonged to Jake. “Marla Jean, good God, are you okay? What in the world are you doing here?”
“It’s a long story,” she muttered. It seemed she was capable of being embarrassed and happy to see someone at the same time. Her heart swelled at the sight of him, and for now his gaze was filled with worry and concern. He probably wouldn’t feel the same once he found out she’d run his aunt’s Bookmobile into a ditch. “It was a stupid accident, but I’m fine. Hit my head, so they want to watch me for a bit. I hope Libby is okay.” Before she could say more a new voice interrupted the proceedings.
“Sheriff Watson, can I get a comment about this evening’s foiled kidnapping attempt of Libby Comstock?” Alarmed, Marla Jean glanced over to see who the new voice belonged to. Snoopy Boggs, a reporter for the Everson Daily, was standing in the doorway holding a notepad in one hand and a camera in the other. She pulled the sheet back up over her face. Great. A nice write-up in the paper was all she needed.
“Kidnapping?” Bradley jumped from the bed. “What’s he talking about, Sheriff?”
“Now Bradley, wait a minute—” Libby interjected, trying to get his attention, but he’d honed in on the newest development and wasn’t listening.
“There wasn’t any kidnapping, Snoopy.” The Sherriff growled his disapproval at the intrusion. “And you don’t need to be barging into hospital rooms looking for stories. Go on, now. Get out of here.”
Before the reporter could even think about leaving Genna Stanley pushed him aside and rushed into the room. “Oh Lordy, Miss Comstock, are you okay? I was a witness. I saw the whole thing.”
Marla Jean stuck her nose out from the sheet and rolled her eyes. Genna was starting to get on her last nerve. She watched as she hurried over to Jake and grabbed his arm. “Oh, Jake, honey. I’m still shaking. I’d just pulled into the parking lot at Lu Lu’s when I saw your aunt and Marla Jean get into the Bookmobile. Marla Jean was driving and that seemed peculiar, so I followed them. It’s a good thing I did, too.”
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