End Detour [The Mystic Museum 4] (Siren Publishing Allure)

by Loc Glin

  “You’d best get rid of that chip that’s on your shoulder, missy.” He took one hand off the wheel to wag a finger at her.

  She had to smile. If she didn’t know better she would think he was her father, and that helped to calm her raw nerves and fear. “You’re right, sir. I’d best do that. I’ve been carrying it around for a long time now. Sometimes I forget how I should act without it.”

  “My Cecily came home with the same chip on her shoulder. She went to New York City, too. She came home dressed funny like you…not in a bumblebee outfit, but her clothes were too tight and too short, just like yours.”

  “Bumblebee outfit?” She looked down at her striped top and gold skirt. She had to laugh. “I guess it does look like a bumblebee. I never gave it any thought.”

  “That don’t sound right…a woman not thinking about what she looks like.” He took his eyes off the road to look at her for a moment.

  “I didn’t say I don’t think about my appearance, I do. I have to look a certain way for my work.”

  He took his eyes off the road again. “Let me guess, undercover narcotics agent posing as a prostitute?”

  She laughed. He had a sense of humor. “Half right, and we both know which half that is.”

  “Narc cop it is then.” He smiled and winked.

  “Thank you, Hugo. I appreciate that.”

  “I don’t take kindly to people who use drugs. Drugs killed my Cecily. She came home an addict. She kicked it, and got herself clean. She found a good man that loved her. She loved him, too, so they got hitched. She and Billy were happy. When she got pregnant they were thrilled, especially Billy. When he was killed in Afghanistan, before the baby was born, it broke Cecily’s heart. You would think that having a baby would give her something to live for.”

  “It didn’t?”

  “After little Billy was born she got that postpartum depression really bad. She started using again. A year later she overdosed.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thank you. Like I said, I don’t take kindly to people who use drugs.” He looked at her pointedly.

  She saw a question, not an accusation in his eyes. For some crazy reason she cared what this man thought of her. “We’re in agreement about that. I may dress the part of someone who more than likely uses, but I assure you I don’t. I lost a close friend and a few acquaintances to drug overdoses. I can’t abide the stuff.”

  “It’s bad enough that you lose someone that you love. I don’t know about you, but I’m still dealing with being angry with her for doing it to herself. It’s just so senseless,” Hugo grumbled.

  “I know exactly what you mean.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you with my sorrows.”

  “Hugo, you don’t have to apologize. It’s good to know that I’m not alone. I thought I was a bad friend because I was so mad at him.”

  “He was more than a friend, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes, but I would have been just as pissed if he wasn’t.”

  “It’s a senseless waste of life.”

  “Yes, it is.” She sighed. “So who takes care of the baby since Cecily died?”

  “Billy isn’t a baby anymore. He’s going to be seven, and he’s as smart as a whip. Me and my son Harold take care of him. My wife helps as much as she can, but she doesn’t get around very well anymore.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that about your wife. Hugo, are you headed into town?” She dipped an eyebrow and added, “I know this is going to sound odd, but where are we? I mean what state? It certainly isn’t New York.”

  “You got that right! This here is the Gem State, the sweetest state in our fine country..”

  “We’re in Idaho?”

  “Yep.” His voice was filled with pride. “I’m surprised you knew that. Not many people know Idaho’s nickname off the top of their head.” He gave her an appreciative look.

  Shamika’s shoulders slumped. Why couldn’t it have been Pennsylvania or Connecticut? Anyplace that was closer to home.

  “So, are you headed into town?

  “No, I’m on my way home.”

  “How far is your home from the nearest town? I think I’m going to need a place to sleep tonight.” She didn’t want to start walking again, but it seemed like she would have to. “Maybe you better let me out. I’ll try to hitch a ride to town.”

  “Nonsense. You can stay with us until my next run into town.”

  “And when will that be?”

  “Next week.”

  “A week!”

  He chuckled. “Do you have some pressing narc business to take care of?”

  Mika squirmed in the seat. “No, but a week is a long time.”

  “Time enough to turn your life around,” he muttered.

  “I’m sorry what did you say?”

  “It’s a long walk to town.”

  “You wouldn’t consider turning around, would you?” She tried for a sweet tone, but missed the mark.

  “Almost home now, missy, it’s a bit late for that.” He turned off the main road. The arch across the road read, “The Turner Spread.”

  “Why do you keep calling me missy?”

  “Because your attitude seems a bit condescending to me…It’s like you think the world owes you something. Like, you think I should kiss your behind just because you got into my truck.”

  “I do not,” she said in a huff. She crossed her arms under her breasts.

  “So now you’re going to act like a spoiled child…not much difference if you ask me.”

  Shamika narrowed her eyes and squinted at the old man. If she didn’t know better she’d swear he’d known her all her life.

  A cloud of dust followed them to the rear of the impressive two story building. The roof looked like it could use a little attention, but the house appeared to be in good shape. The house was cream colored with brown shudders. The shutters looked like they actually worked. The kind she grew up with as a kid had been put on for show. The wraparound porch was filled with comfortable lounge furniture. After a long day out in the fields, that furniture would be just the place to rest weary bones. A picture of her father flashed into her mind. Hugo parked the truck facing the house. He pulled up the emergency brake and opened his door.

  A young boy ran from house. The screen door slammed closed behind him. His face bore a huge smile as he flung himself into the old man and wrapped his arms around Hugo’s waist.

  “Pop-pop, where have you been? I looked all over for you.”

  Hugo leaned down so the boy could kiss his cheek.

  “Didn’t Nana tell you I went into town?”

  “Yes, but sometimes she forgets things, so I couldn’t be sure.”

  “What about Uncle Harold?”

  “He was out in the fields.”

  “You were a good boy to stay here then.”

  “I knew you’d say that.” The boy grinned up at the old man. Pride filled his face and his chest puffed out.

  “Did you?” Hugo asked, looking down at the boy. The old man picked the boy up and carried him halfway to the house before he put him down. The boy’s head turned at the sound of the truck door opening.

  Shamika slid out of the truck. She hadn’t noticed how high up it was when she’d climbed in. Her feet still hurt, so she stumbled a bit before she closed the door.

  The boy’s mouth dropped open as he stared. “Who’s that, Pop-pop?”

  “Someone who needs our help,” Hugo replied, squeezing the boy’s shoulder.

  “What happened to her clothes?”

  “That’s one of the things she needs our help with. You run ahead and tell Nana we have company.”

  He watched the boy scurry to the house and waited for Shamika to get closer. “I sent the boy ahead to tell Nadine we have company.”

  “Nadine?”

  “My wife. I thought you might want to get cleaned up before you meet everyone.”

  “The bathroom would be nice.”

  “I’ll f
ind some of the Cecily’s old clothes. Nadine never had the heart to throw them away.” He opened the screen door for her. “Bathroom is down the hall.” He pointed. “I’ll only be a minute.”

  The bathroom door clicked shut. Shamika leaned her forehead against it. Closing her eyes, she said, “What the hell have I gotten myself into now?” She put her tote purse down. When she looked in the mirror, she was shocked at the picture she presented. The wig was askew. Her face was dirty. Streaks caused by sweat cut through the coating of dust on her skin. Her lipstick was faded and her mascara was smudged. She was a mess. “You look like a bumblebee that’s had a run in with a fly swatter.”

  She relieved her bladder and took care of the necessities. After removing the wig, she shoved it into the tote purse. She washed her face and contemplated taking a shower, but dismissed the idea. These people were strangers to her. Her position was already vulnerable, compounding it at this point was out of the question. She lifted her arms and sniffed. “It will have to do.” When she searched her bag for some deodorant or perfume, she found her phone instead. With arms raised, she held the phone up and moved around the room. “No reception. That figures.”

  There was a knock on the door. “Yes?” She cracked it open.

  “Here you are, Shamika. They should fit you. You and Cecily are about the same size. I’m not sure about the shoes though.”

  Shamika opened the door a little wider.

  “There’s a towel and a face cloth, too. I thought you might like to take a shower, and I wasn’t sure if there was a clean set in there. I think you’ll find some bodywash in the shower .”

  Hugo extended his hands through the opening.

  “Lock the door. No one will bother you.” He smiled kindly at her. “I’ll stand guard if you like.”

  Was he reading her mind? “That won’t be necessary, Hugo.” She took the pile of clothing and the towels out of his hands.

  He nodded and moved away.

  She closed and locked the door. Her eyes slid from the shower to the clean clothes in her hands. “I’ll make it a quick one,” she mumbled to her reflection in the mirror.

  Ten minutes later she was slipping on the jeans and T-shirt. Her hair was a mess, but she did what she could to make it presentable. She felt like a new woman.

  Chapter 2

  Harold leaned against the barn door. He’d heard the truck approach. Now that the dust had settled, their newest guest stepped down from the truck. He was put off by the clothes she was wearing. Prostitutes dressed like that, and his opinion of prostitutes wasn’t very high. Even so, his body did react to the very shapely and buxomly woman his eyes beheld. He adjusted his crotch for comfort. His father was always helping strays, be they animal or people. What had his father gotten himself into this time?

  Sometimes he wished he could be more like his father. Hugo was always able to see the good in people and was willing to trust them before they proved themselves trustworthy. His father had faith in people. He wished he could say the same of himself.

  Since Cecily died he had a hard time trusting anyone. He’d loved his sister with all his heart. He thought she was the sweetest person in the world. But it turned out she was a drug addict, and he had a strong feeling she’d been a prostitute during the time she’d been away from home. Cecily had destroyed his faith in people, especially women. She’d broken his heart when she died. He couldn’t look at a woman without remembering how she’d lied to him.

  He never understood why she went to New York in the first place. They had everything anyone could want right here. Wheaton wasn’t a big city, but it was big enough and growing all time. They had good friends and neighbors, the kind of people who would give you the shirt off their backs if you asked for it. It was hard to find that in big cities.

  In Cecily’s senior year of high school, the drama teacher told her that he thought she had talent. Those words of praise filled Cecily’s head with dreams of becoming a star. So she applied to colleges leaning heavily into the entertainment arts. She hadn’t been accepted into Juilliard, but there were other colleges close enough to Broadway. One of them accepted her application and off she’d gone.

  Harold was almost five years older than Cecily. He’d missed most of her high school years, being away at college himself at the time. His memories of her were of the kid sister, not the full-grown woman. So when she came home strung out on drugs he’d felt responsible. He convinced himself he’d let her down. It was irrational, he knew that, but in his mind it was his fault. He poured his heart and soul into helping her to straighten herself out. When she married Billy, after a whirlwind courtship and was happy, he let himself believe that he’d done his job as a big brother. Everything would be okay. When she got pregnant, she and Billy were thrilled. His heart had swelled with satisfaction. Life was good. He and his family were living the dream.

  When Billy came home, and was placed six feet under, Cecily fell apart, but the pregnancy kept her looking to the future. She’d held it together for the baby. Cecily had assured him that she was okay. He’d believed her. She looked and acted fine, sometimes she even seemed happy. After little Billy was born, something changed, but she still maintained that she was fine, that her melancholy would pass. He later found out about her severe postpartum depression.

  Why hadn’t she told him? He could have fixed it. He could have made her feel better. He would have made her feel better. Cecily had promised him she would never use drugs again. She’d lied, and she died without giving him a chance to help. He couldn’t forgive her for that. His heart had been, and still was, filled with sorrow and anger. He seemed to direct that anger at women in general. All women, except his mom, weren’t to be trusted. They could rip your heart out and not give a damn.

  He looked at his watch.

  “I have chores to do before dinner. I’ll meet the bitch later.” His lips flattened into a hard line.

  Nadine steadied little Billy on the short stepladder. The boy was just like his mother, and his uncle for that matter. They’d loved to ring the dinner bell, too.

  The boy laughed as he stroked the metal striker around the inside of the triangle dinner gong. “Come and get it,” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

  “Hush now, you’re gonna burst Nana’s eardrums yelling like that. If they don’t come directly, you can go and fetch them.” She patted the boys behind just before he leapt from the ladder. She gasped. “You’re going to be the death of me yet, Billy. You could get hurt doing things like that.” She tsked and shook her head.

  “Sorry Nana.” Billy sighed. “You worry too much.” The boy’s big round eyes peered up at her, filled with feigned remorse.

  Funny, she didn’t remember these things bothering her when Cecily and Harold were that age. It must be her old age making her so cautious, or maybe it was losing her daughter, and her son for that matter, because Harold just wasn’t the same since Cecily passed away.

  Harold used to be happy and carefree. He’d loved people. He’d loved life and everything in it. Her son was such a caring and loving person that people loved him in return. That special spark he’d had was gone now. It seemed to have died with Cecily. Nadine knew the embers still burned within him, he just needed someone to get past his crap and light a fire under him. Harold needed a girlfriend, a woman, a wife. There wasn’t much hope of him finding one, now that he’d scared off every woman within a hundred mile radius of the ranch. It seemed to her that he was mean to them on purpose. He looked for something to get angry about so he could lose his temper. Most women wouldn’t abide a foul temper on a man.

  “Nana? Are you all right?” Billy asked.

  “Right as rain. Now you go and fetch Uncle Harold and Nate. See if you can find Cyrus, too. We have company they should meet.”

  “Okay.” Billy took off at a dead run.

  “Just give me one tenth of that energy, and I’d be a different person. Scratch that, just ease up on the pain in my knees and hip, and I’d be a different person.�
�� She ran her hand over her hip and down to her knees in a soothing massage. “To be able to walk without this darn cane would be a pleasure indeed,” she muttered as she made her way back into the house.

  Hugo was setting the table. He’d enlisted the help of his newest charity case. “Charity begins at home” is a cliché statement. Well, her Hugo took it to heart quite literally. She’d lost track of how many people he’d brought home with him. “They need our help,” he’d say. She quirked her lip in a half smile.

  When she and Hugo were very young and just starting their life together, they’d needed help. Lauren Miller extended his hand to them in friendship. Lauren took them in. He gave them work on his spread. He taught Hugo the ropes, providing him with the tools of the trade. Over time he and Hugo became good friends, more than employer and employee. When the opportunity to buy this spread arose, Lauren lent them the money for the down payment. They’d been neighbors ever since. Hugo had been so grateful he’d decided to help as many people as he possibly could. It was his way of repaying that act of kindness. Pay it forward, as the saying goes. He hoped to change people’s lives just as Lauren had changed his.

  Cyrus and Nate were two of Hugo’s charity cases. Cyrus was a Vietnam War vet. Cyrus had been traumatized in the war and to this day had trouble communicating with people. One could say he was downright antisocial. For the most part Hugo was the only person Cyrus actually talked to. Cyrus did odd jobs for them. The man had a gift. He was really good with engines and mechanical stuff. Somehow he kept their old truck and farm equipment in tip-top condition. The little cabin he’d built for himself wasn’t much more than four walls, but that was where Cyrus chose to live. Most times he’d come to the house for dinner, sometimes he wouldn’t. She wanted to make sure he showed up tonight.

  Nate showed up six months after Cecily had left this life behind her. He’d shown them a letter from Cecily inviting him to come and get straightened out. Cecily had been a widow and pregnant when she’d written the letter.

  Hugo had asked Nate why it had taken him so long to come. Nate told Hugo that he was battling a problem with drugs and didn’t want to show up stoned because of the baby. But the bigger problem had been the fact that he couldn’t seem to earn enough money, never mind hold on to it long enough to buy a ticket. Nate had finally decided to walk and hitchhike. That helped him to stay clean, but it also meant that he had to stop along the way and pick up odd jobs to get enough money to survive while he traveled. Hugo thought Nate left out a few of the details. He thought Nate may have resorted to stealing when the need arose. Hugo wouldn’t ask, because he didn’t want to know. Anyone he helped started with a clean slate. What they chose to write on that slate was up to them. The past was the past. What you do today and every day in the future is what counts. The past can’t be changed, but the present and the future can, that’s what Hugo believed. Nadine smiled. That was one of the things she loved about her husband.