The Last Chance Cafe

by Linda Lael Miller

  Evie was just arriving, behind the wheel of a small green Toyota with a bumper sticker that read, I Brake for Gnomes. The twins were buckled into the backseat, and though Evie waved cheerfully as she got out of the car, Kiera and Kiley stayed put.

  Grateful that she and Chance were no longer alone—it wasn’t him she didn’t trust, but herself—Hallie hurried to greet her visitor. Evie had told her earlier that she would bring the girls home after play-group.

  “Hi,” Hallie said, waiting for Kiera and Kiley to jump out of the Toyota and steamroll her in their usual fashion, all giggles and hugs and waving papers. She was puzzled that they hadn’t already done so.

  “We’re decorating the Grange for the Harvest Festival,” Evie explained. “It’s sort of a tradition. There’s chili and cornbread—lots going on. I was hoping Kiera and Kiley could join in. And you’re invited, too, of course.”

  Hallie’s tendency to be overprotective surged to the fore, but she contained it. Her situation required constant vigilance but, at the same time, she did not want the children to grow up in constant fear. They’d been through more than their share already, thanks to the odyssey she’d taken them on. “Okay,” she said carefully. “I guess that’s all right.”

  Evie nodded, clearly pleased, and favored Chance with a bright smile. “Hi,” she said, eyes twinkling. “I hear Jessie’s back.”

  “Hello, Evie,” he responded cordially, with a nod in his voice. His tone was that of a fond older brother. “Jessie’s home, but she’s just passing through.”

  Evie shook her head. “She must hate being away from her loom and her horses so much. Not to mention Doc.”

  Chance laughed. “Doc’s a sticking point, all right,” he agreed.

  Hallie looked toward her daughters, who waved through the windows of Evie’s little car, their faces wreathed in hopeful smiles. They wanted to go back to town and join the decorating party, there was no doubt of that. She nodded slightly, to signal that she’d given her permission, and they bounced and applauded, eyes alight.

  Hallie walked over to the Toyota, as casually as she could, and leaned in through the open window on the driver’s side.

  The twins greeted her with a chorus of “hi’s.”

  “Hi,” Hallie said, smiling. God, they were so beautiful, so precious. Her love for them was a consuming, desperate thing, bigger than anything else in her life, bigger than she was.

  “You’re not going to change your mind, are you?” Kiley fretted, and Hallie felt a deep pang. “All the other kids get to be there. We’re going to have chili for supper, and put up all kinds of neat decorations—”

  Hallie smiled. “Sounds like too much fun to miss. Maybe I’ll join you.”

  Kiera squealed with delight at this, Kiley beamed, and the two of them high-fived each other. It was a plan.

  “Good idea,” Chance said, when Hallie told him that she’d decided to accept Evie’s invitation to help out with the festival preparations.

  Hallie gazed toward the house, where Jessie had been weaving at her loom, almost nonstop, since her return to Primrose Creek a few days before. It would do the other woman good to get out for a few hours, see some of her friends, relax a little.

  Evie read her mind, or so it seemed. “Bring Jessie,” she said. “What about you, Chance? Will you be there, too?”

  He hesitated, but only briefly. “Sure,” he said. He was looking down into Hallie’s face, though he spoke to Evie. “We’ll be along in a little while.”

  Evie nodded and got back into her car, honking the horn once as she drove away. The twins waved exuberantly from the back window.

  “You’re freezing,” Chance said, and steered Hallie toward the porch, up the back steps, into the kitchen. The steady thunkety-thunk of Jessie’s loom filled the house with a low, comforting rhythm.

  Chance closed the door, and leaned against it, at the same time pulling Hallie into his arms. He wedged his hands into the back pockets of her jeans and pressed her close again. His warm breath touched her mouth, played there, causing her flesh to tingle. “If we were alone,” he teased, filling her senses with his scent and substance, “I do believe I’d make an effort to seduce you right about now.”

  It wouldn’t take much of an effort, Hallie thought, but she wasn’t about to make an admission like that aloud, obvious as it probably was. Instead, she heaved a great sigh. “Ah,” she said, “but we’re not alone.”

  The loom stopped. “Hallie?” Jessie called. “Chance? Is that you?” A moment later, she was standing in the kitchen doorway, elegant in her jeans, loose-fitting shirt of dark green silk, and custom made boots. A brilliant smile set her classic features alight. “How did shooting practice go?”

  Chance frowned at her, ignoring the question. “You’re working too hard,” he replied.

  Hallie realized that she was standing very close to Chance and stepped back too quickly, and too late. Jessie’s eyes danced with sweet, weary mischief.

  “It runs in the family,” Jessie answered.

  “We’re going to town for the evening,” Chance replied. “And you’re coming with us.”

  “That,” Jessie told Hallie, “runs in the family, too. Bull-headed stubborn bossiness, I mean.”

  Chance laughed. “So it does,” he agreed.

  Jessie sighed philosophically. “I’d better get a wrap,” she said.

  Five minutes later, they were all in Chance’s truck, headed for town.

  There were a lot of vehicles parked outside the Grange Hall and inside, the place was jumping. High school students were hanging orange, yellow and crimson streamers from the ceiling. Members of the canasta crowd, clad in colorful sweatshirts and double-knit slacks, stirred enormous pots of chili in the old-fashioned kitchen. Children arranged cornstalks in corners while others, in stocking feet, chased each other between bales of hay and goofy-looking scarecrows, and slid like skaters on ice.

  Hallie took it all in, delighted by the festive atmosphere and the homespun simplicity of the celebration. She’d spotted her daughters first thing, seated at a table with a flock of other children, helping to make a chain by interlocking small loops of autumn-colored construction paper. Sensing Hallie’s presence, they looked up, waggled their fingers briefly, and then turned back to their work.

  Meanwhile, cries of delight greeted Jessie’s arrival. Men, women and children embraced her by turns, asked about her trip, expressed the fervent hope that she wouldn’t stay away so long next time. Hallie noticed Doc Whitman standing to one side, watching Jessie with his heart in his eyes, and something turned over inside her, made her look up at Chance.

  He was looking right back, his expression humorously solemn, in that way that was his alone. “Let’s get some chili,” he said quietly. He laid a light hand to her lower back, and she didn’t flinch the way she always had with Joel, didn’t feel the slightest urge to move away. Instead, she let him squire her toward the long counter between the main part of the community hall and the kitchen. Bowls rose in teetering stacks, soup spoons stood upright in decorated coffee cans. There were paper napkins, too, along with packets of saltine crackers, plates of fresh cornbread, and pats of butter molded into small, smiling moons. A card table had been set up at the end of the obstacle course, and an older woman in a flowered muumuu sat behind it, taking money, stashing it in a metal cashbox.

  Seeing the box, Hallie flashed momentarily on her adventure at Lou’s house, that last afternoon in Phoenix, and she sank her teeth into her lower lip. She’d stashed the evidence in a place where Joel and the others would never find it, but if they were to find her first, or the children . . .

  “What is it?” Chance asked, putting his wallet away. He carried a bowl brimming with chili in his hand, with a big slice of cornbread perched on top, and Hallie realized, with some surprise, that she’d dished up a bowl for herself without ever noticing.

  “Nothing,” she lied, and tried to smile. That night, when she got back to Jessie’s place, she’d go onli
ne, check the Web for news from Phoenix, something she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do, until now. Maybe there had been some break in the case, some development that would set her free.

  Some tables had been set up near the small stage at the other end of the hall, and they sat, Chance and Hallie, eating and chatting with fellow diners. Kiera and Kiley put in a brief appearance to tell Hallie that they’d eaten when they arrived, then rushed back to help with the paper chain.

  “They’re great kids,” Chance said, when he and Hallie found themselves alone. It wouldn’t last, this solitude—the food line was getting longer, and people were headed that way with bowls of chili and plates of cornbread and cups of steaming coffee.

  Hallie laid down her spoon, smiled. “Thanks,” she said. “I think so, too.”

  An awkward silence descended then; Hallie wanted to ask Chance if he’d ever thought about having a family of his own, but she couldn’t think of a way to phrase the question without sounding as if she were in the market for a husband.

  Chance was watching someone over near the door; she followed his gaze and saw Kate and Jase step inside, accompanied by their two daughters, Ellen and Janie, pretty little girls in matching blue coats. Their parents seemed shy with each other, as if they were teenagers on a first date.

  “Looks like they’re speaking again,” Hallie commented. She would have given anything to know what was going through Chance’s mind at that moment.

  “Let’s hope it lasts,” Chance replied. He turned back to her, gave her his full attention.

  Madge approached, beaming, wearing a sweatshirt with a smiling pumpkin painted on the front. Battery operated lights flashed on and off all over the front of her torso. “All right, you two,” she joked, “enough of your lollygagging around. I’m in charge of making popcorn balls to sell at the festival, and I need all the helping hands I can get.”

  Thus drafted, Hallie and Chance dutifully trooped into the kitchen, washed their hands at the big steel sink, and commenced shaping sticky gobs of popcorn and syrup into large balls. Someone else wrapped each one in colored cellophane and attached a bit of ribbon, while Madge ran the popper on top of the stove. Out in the main hall, an impromptu band assembled itself; there were two guitar players, and someone sat down at the keyboard of the town’s ancient, out-of-tune piano.

  After almost two hours, a new crew was conscripted, and Hallie and Chance were released from their duties. Kiera and Kiley were with the Stratton girls and some other children, playing hide and seek. Jase and Katie were dancing, along with a few other couples, waltzing and staring into each other’s eyes while everyone else jitterbugged.

  Chance pulled Hallie into his arms and swept her out onto the floor, into a waltz all their own.

  “If I kissed you right now,” Chance whispered into her ear, “you’d probably taste like a popcorn ball.”

  She laughed. “Are you insinuating that I ate some of the product?”

  “No,” he replied, “I’m saying so, straight out. I was right there, remember? I saw you.”

  “You did a little pilfering yourself, if I remember correctly,” Hallie pointed out, her tone prim. She caught sight of a flurry of movement at the edge of the dance floor, recognized Jessie and Doc Whitman. They were jitterbugging. “Well, will you look at that?”

  Chance looked, chuckled. “They’ve never been able to keep away from each other for very long,” he said.

  “They’re in love?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Chance replied, “I’d say so. Trouble is, they’re both so damned stubborn and independent that they can’t agree on what to have for supper, let alone how to make a relationship work.”

  “That’s sad,” Hallie said.

  Chance’s gaze was direct. “But not all that uncommon.”

  She realized that he could have been, and probably was, talking about her, and about himself. The insight made her so uncomfortable that she had to change the subject. “I suppose I should be heading for home,” she said. “I’ve got work tomorrow, and lessons with the girls—”

  Chance sighed. “Any time you’re ready,” he said, but he didn’t sound happy about leaving.

  They said good-bye to Madge, greeted Katie and Jase, exchanged pleasantries with a few other people, then corralled the kids, got them into their coats, and made for the door. Jessie, reluctant to leave her weaving earlier, was still dancing with Doc Whitman. Chance had already checked in with her, and reported back that Jessie would be home later.

  “Or not,” he added, with a twinkle in his eyes.

  Hallie smiled and shook her head.

  At home, Chance saw Hallie, Kiley and Kiera safely inside the house, said good night, and looked in on the horses before driving away in his truck. Hallie watched through the kitchen window until the taillights disappeared into the darkness, then went upstairs to help the girls get ready for bed.

  Kiley and Kiera had already brushed their teeth, washed their faces and hands, and put on their pajamas. It was model behavior, and that made Hallie suspicious.

  “What are you two up to?” she demanded, as she tucked them into their beds.

  Both her daughters were the very personification of innocence. “We’re just trying to be good,” Kiley said.

  “Ah,” Hallie said, and kissed one small forehead, then the other.

  “Do we still have a daddy?” Kiera asked.

  Hallie’s heart cracked. No way out of this one. “Yes, sweetheart,” she said softly, “but you might not see him for a while.”

  “Does he want to hurt us?” Kiley asked. Her voice was very small.

  Hallie couldn’t help it. She started to cry, sitting there on the side of her daughter’s bed, and both children scrambled into her arms, clinging.

  “No,” Hallie managed, after a very long time. “No, honey. Daddy doesn’t want to hurt you.” She prayed it was the truth.

  “He was chasing our car,” Kiley reasoned.

  “He was yelling,” Kiera added.

  “And you were scared, Mommy,” Kiley went on. “You wouldn’t have drove so fast if you weren’t scared.”

  Hallie hugged her daughters tightly for a long moment, then stood them at her knees, so she could look straight into their small, earnest faces. “Listen to me,” she said, very gently. “There’s a lot happening right now, and I can’t really explain it. Not until you’re older.”

  Both the twins looked unconvinced, but for the moment, it was all Hallie had to offer. They kissed her cheeks, then climbed into their beds.

  “Can we talk about Daddy?” Kiera’s small voice piped, when Hallie shut off the light, lingering in the doorway. “Or is he a secret?”

  Hallie wanted to curl up in a fetal position and block out the world, at least for a little while, but of course she couldn’t afford that luxury. Her life, as well as the lives of her children, was at stake. “Both,” she heard herself say. “We can talk about Daddy anytime, the three of us. The rest of the time, we need to keep things secret.”

  “Does he love us, Mommy?” Kiley asked.

  Hallie hugged them both. “Yes,” she said, and she knew it was true. In his own way, as best he knew how, Joel loved his daughters. He had to.

  “What about you?” Kiera pressed. “Does he love you?”

  She ruffled the child’s hair, shook her head. “No, sweetie, I don’t think so. But we were close once—we made you two—so it was good that we were together.”

  The girls seemed satisfied with that answer, at least for the time being, and nestled into their blankets.

  Hallie moved off down the corridor, down the stairs, through the front room. She made tea in the kitchen and helped herself to Jessie’s computer in the living room.

  She flipped the proper switch, logged on to the Internet, hooked up with a news site, then narrowed her search to Arizona. Time for another update on what was happening in Phoenix.

  The newspaper story broadsided her, took her breath away.

  Charles Long, 66, a nat
ive of Phoenix, was found dead in his garage, inside his car on Tuesday evening, by a concerned neighbor. Long was a victim of suicide, according to Metro police . . .

  “Charlie,” Hallie whispered, the image of the man sitting next to her at the bar, the night of Lou’s wake, filled her mind. She saw him handing over the packet with the key to her stepfather’s cashbox, heard his voice. And she was as sure as she’d ever been of anything that he hadn’t killed himself.

  She pushed back from the computer, shaken and sick, and sipped her rapidly cooling tea until she began to feel a little better. When the phone rang beside her, she was so startled that she nearly fell out of her chair.

  She answered on the second ring. “Shaw residence.”

  “Very professional,” Jessie said warmly, from the other end of the line.

  Hallie chuckled. Just the sound of another adult voice helped. “Thanks,” she said. “I try.”

  Jessie hesitated, went on. “I’m not coming home tonight,” she said, all in a rush.

  Hallie smiled to herself. “Okay,” she said.

  “I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “I would have,” Hallie replied. “I appreciate your letting me know.”

  After that, there wasn’t much to say. Jessie and Hallie exchanged good-nights, and then Hallie hung up the receiver and made the rounds of all the doors and windows, setting the locks wherever necessary.

  She went upstairs, looked in on the girls, then took a quick shower, washing away traces of syrup from the popcorn balls and quietly mourning Charlie Long. She needed to tell someone what had really happened to Charlie, someone with the power and authority to help her face down Joel and the others, once and for all. Someone who could take the evidence Lou had gathered and use it as he’d intended, to bring a mob of rogue cops and corrupt officials to justice.

  There were lots of people in the Phoenix Police Department whom she could trust—the problem was, she didn’t know who they were.

  The next morning, after she’d fed the horses and returned to the house to make breakfast for her daughters, now squabbling in the living room, Hallie made her first attempt to ask for help. She called information, asked to be connected with the nearest field office of the FBI. The moment the line was picked up, however, she slammed the receiver down in a fit of cowardice.