A Stolen Chance

by LaRoque, Linda

  Next order of business was a little shopping. First of all for a laptop computer. She’d left her old computer at home, minus the hard drive. It added additional weight to the already heavy handbag sitting on the car seat beside her. A new purse was another item on her list.

  As she drove down the historic highway, she scanned the storefronts, looking for a place where she might buy a computer. One of those supercenter places sat a block off the road, its large sign strategically placed to draw in customers, and thirty minutes later she walked out of the store with the most powerful laptop they sold and a handbag, a midsized shoulder bag. Her identification allowed her to pay, using her new debit card, with no problem.

  She passed a trailer court, pulled into the parking lot of an economy-priced motel, and checked in. Inside her room, she brewed a cup of coffee in the little two-cup coffeemaker and sat at the desk with a cup of the hot brew and her laptop. Before anything else, she removed the hard drive and inserted the old one. Locating the files she needed to maintain her online clients, she saved them to a stick drive. Then, she typed in a government code and erased the drive. She removed the old drive and set it aside to toss later, along with the wig.

  With the new hardware in place, she set up the email account. A message popped up on the screen.

  You’ve got mail.

  She opened her account and, sure enough, she had one message. It was from Lauren. Why had she emailed? They’d agreed not to get in touch for a month or so.

  She clicked on the message.

  Dear Shannon,

  I have kept something from you, so please forgive me. I have terminal cancer of the liver. I didn’t tell you before, as I knew you’d alter your plans, and I couldn’t allow you to do that. Your friendship has been dear to me. If you hear of my sudden demise, don’t fret over the circumstances. It was my choice. Hopefully, my way out of this world will have erased your problem.

  Be happy.

  Chapter Three

  An icy chill inched up Susan’s spine. She shivered and rubbed at the goose bumps covering her arms. Not Lauren. Dear God, not my cherished friend. Please…please, God…she can’t die. She read the message again. Her sudden demise…erased your problem…. What did Lauren mean? Sudden demise? Calm down, Susan. Don’t buy trouble. Get the facts before freaking out.

  She pulled up the Chicago Tribune online and searched their website for an obituary for Lauren Walker. Nothing. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was tempting to stop with the Tribune, but to be safe, she checked two other newspapers. She relaxed against the chair back. Thank you, God.

  Maybe Lauren meant to warn Susan of what would come—her dying of cancer. The idea seemed surreal. She’d appeared healthy enough, but memories now flooded Susan—Lauren, who rarely took medicine, popping pills. When questioned, Lauren said the doctor gave her vitamins to take while she dieted. Her comment made sense at the time. Lauren had lost close to twenty pounds in the past two months. In Susan’s opinion, Lauren took the weight thing too far. Her appearance bordered on malnutrition.

  Now Susan knew why. Her friend wasn’t dieting, she was deathly ill, and she’d not wanted Susan to know, to worry. Her “vitamins” were painkillers. Tears gathered in Susan’s eyes. She longed to get in the van and turn the vehicle toward Chicago and be with Lauren when she passed. That’s why Lauren hadn’t told her about the cancer. She could be dying, but Lauren wanted Susan to survive and be happy.

  She sniffed and brushed tears aside. If Lauren wanted her to live, she’d not disappoint her. She closed the laptop and, through watery eyes, stared unseeing out the window at the few cars in the parking lot below. It’d be several hours before guests started checking into the motel.

  The urge to speak to Lauren gripped her. She returned to the chair and struggled to resist picking up the cell phone on the desk beside the laptop. She fisted her hands and put them in her lap. They’d agreed to wait six months before making contact. Hopefully Dewayne would give up the chase by then.

  Susan snorted. If the idiot possessed a lick of sense, he’d give up after a month, but his hate and a mean streak drove him. He might never stop searching. Six months was too long. Lauren might not live that long. What was she thinking? Liver cancer patients rarely lived three months, much less six.

  A sob swelled into a wail. She stumbled from the chair and fell across the king-sized bed, curled into a ball, and let her sobs consume her. She pounded the bed and buried her face in the pillow. Her friend, her dear friend…dying. Life wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t the cancer victim be Dewayne? Lauren never hurt anyone, always helped others. She didn’t deserve to have her life cut short. Dewayne cared for no one but himself. Rotten to the depths of his soul, he did nothing but deliver pain and heartache. Again she wondered what had happened to him to alter his personality so. He’d always been selfish, but not cruel.

  Dewayne had wooed her with expensive dates, flowers, candy, and gifts. Her parents hadn’t approved of him but tried to keep from nagging her with their concerns. She’d been swept off her feet, thought he was the ideal man. When he proposed, she’d readily accepted. Early in their marriage, he’d been good to her. They’d been content, if not deliriously happy. They’d been married less than a year when reality set in for Susan, and she realized Dewayne lacked the most important qualities needed in a good husband—patience, loyalty, strength of character, and dependability. Dewayne cared for her, she knew that, but he cared more about his needs and concerns than he did hers. Then he’d fallen in with Leo Sharp. The drugs and then the violence began. If she’d been a little older than her twenty-one years, had listened more to her parents, insisted on a long engagement… But she hadn’t.

  Her swollen and gritty eyes grew heavy. She closed them. A nap would help her body. Nothing could soothe her. Sometime during the night she kicked off her shoes and crawled under the covers fully dressed.

  ****

  “You’re a lucky man, Dewayne.” The doctor, who had to be at least eighty years old, removed a pair of glasses from his black bag and then snapped the case closed. Though the doctor had removed the bandages from Dewayne’s eyes the previous day, his vision was still blurry. “These glasses will help you see clearly.”

  Dewayne took the black frames, held them close to examine them. Damned things would horrify anyone with a sense of style, him included. He snorted, but carefully put them on. The thick lenses sat heavy on his nose. The doctor’s face came into focus. Ah, better. He could perceive every wrinkle, pit, and wild hair on the old man’s ancient face.

  The doctor picked up his bag and started for the door.

  “I’ll eventually be able to trash these, right, Doctor?”

  He stopped and turned back. “I’m afraid not. Sorry. Be grateful you’re not completely blind.”

  As the doctor closed the door, Dewayne picked up the mirror lying on the bedside table and studied his profile. The glasses were damned ugly, but he could deal with them. The condition of his face was another story. The blaze had singed his eyelashes and eyebrows off and left his skin blistered and blotchy. Hell. He looked like a freak. One more thing to chalk up to Susan. The bitch had burned him again in more ways than one.

  He snorted and picked up the remote control. He eased back against the pillows, and flipped on the television. A local female newscaster stood in front of a burned house. It was Susan’s. He leaned forward and turned up the volume.

  “Investigators announced early today the blaze at Susan Lawton’s home was intentionally set. Authorities aren’t revealing details but said someone set the fire from within. The body found in the ruins is believed to be Miss Lawton. Speculation is that she committed suicide. We’ll keep you—”

  Dewayne clicked off the set and tossed the control on the table. Set from inside… No shit… The bitch killed herself and tried to take me with her.

  ****

  Carson held his hand open, palm up. His Uncle Buck peered down at the tiny object. At just after six a.m., they stood behind the co
unter of the restaurant, waiting for customers to come in. “I swear to God, Carson, I wasn’t at your place last night.” He winked and nodded at Aunt Leona. “Your aunt had me otherwise engaged.”

  Carson shook his head. “Whoa! Too much information.”

  Leona swatted Buck on the butt. “You old goat. The windows rattled with your snoring by nine o’clock.”

  Well, that little bit of information cleared Buck of being his visitor. It had been after eleven when he’d turned in last night.

  Leona grabbed Carson’s hand. “Let me take a look at that.” Her glasses hung from a ribbon around her neck. She slipped the skinny lenses onto the middle of her nose and bent in close to get a good look. She gasped and jumped back. “Could this fetish be one of Grandpop’s?” She leaned in again, picked the raven up, and held it between her forefinger and thumb, turning it nearer the light. “This carving appears to be very old and fine. This bird has an inlaid turquoise eye, but many of the newer ones have other ornamentation.” She shrugged. “Not that I’m trained in Zuni art, but I wonder if it could be from Grandpop’s missing collection. Threw Dad into a tizzy when he couldn’t find them. Evidently he didn’t know about them until Grandpop was on his death bed and talking out of his head. Dad almost tore this place apart, searching.”

  Buck crossed himself. “Hell, son. Old Riley’s ghost visited you last night.”

  Carson, knowing “Old Riley” was the local nickname for his great-grandfather, stifled a laugh at his uncle’s expression. His aunt and uncle believed in ghosts and such. Not that he didn’t believe, because he did, but he’d never heard of spirits moving objects around. Of course, he hadn’t studied the subject, either.

  Leona shivered. “Just be glad he didn’t show himself to you. I bet he’d be a scary apparition. I’ve not seen him, mind you, but I did catch sight of a phantom when we camped down in Chaco Canyon as a child. Dad told me I must have the special gene. I had nightmares for months after.”

  He knew she meant the hereditary trait that allowed some people to connect with spirits. The characteristic had skipped his mother, but not him. Gramps had been with him the first time Carson had seen one of the ghosts. His grandfather assured him there was nothing to fear. Easier said than done, for a nine-year-old. “Where did Grandpop get his collection? If the figures are as valuable as you suspect, how’d he come up with the money?”

  Aunt Leona handed the raven back to Carson. “You know Grandpop was full Laguna. He married a woman from the Zuni Pueblo. We’ve always believed the collection was hers.” She patted his hand and nodded toward their table. “Come, sit down, and let’s talk.”

  “All I know is Lily Riley, my grandmother, died shortly after Daddy was born in 1931,” Leona began. “Your mother and I weren’t close to Grandpop and didn’t spend much time with him in the years before he died. We were more interested in young men.” She sighed. “So we wasted a lot of time we could have spent learning about our grandmother and Grandpop’s history. I suppose Daddy knew all the facts, but it just never came up.”

  Buck came over with a mug and a pot of coffee. He refilled their cups, filled his own, and sat down. “You might find something in the storage shed. Surely there are old family papers, albums, or something out there that might be of use.”

  Leona tapped the table with her knuckles. “That’s right. I remember Daddy going through Grandpop’s stuff, boxing it up, and putting it in the storage shed. We did the same with some of Daddy’s stuff.” She stood and bustled into the small office to the side of the kitchen. Within a minute she returned with a key ring. “Here you go.”

  Carson shoved his chair back and stood. He took the key and stuffed it into his jeans pocket. “Thanks, Aunt Leona.” He kissed her cheek. “When I get time, I’ll go through everything and hopefully find a lead.”

  The door of the café opened, and their first customer of the morning came through the door with a flurry of cold air. A young woman whipped off a knit hat and stuffed it into her coat pocket. With her fingers she fluffed the chin-length blond strands of her hair.

  Hans, with tail whisking back and forth on the rug, studied the newcomer with interest. He sat up on his haunches and chuffed in hopes of gaining her attention.

  She smiled at the dog. “Well, hello there. Are you guarding the door?” She leaned down and patted his head but avoided looking around the room. She moved to the table closest to the door, removed her coat, and slipped the garment over the back of the chair.

  Hans started to follow, hoping for more attention.

  Carson snapped his fingers. “Hans. Stay.” Hans plunked his butt back down.

  Carson placed a menu and a glass of water in front of the lady. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  Smile timid, she glanced up for a mere second, long enough for him to glimpse robin’s-egg-blue eyes, clear fair skin, and pink lips free of makeup.

  “Yes, thank you. And a glass of orange juice.” She kept her head slightly lowered. Her hair draped forward, covering her face.

  “Coming right up.” Too bad. The woman was too pretty to be so shy, or maybe insecure. He wondered if she lived in the area.

  He carried both beverages back to her table and took her order. The door opened and several people came in, halting any questions he might have about where she hailed from. By the time Buck called, “Order up,” the room was half full.

  ****

  Susan enjoyed the buzz of voices in the small café. Warm inside, its activity of patrons and workers alike soothed her, but she tensed every time the door opened, afraid she’d been caught. If those who entered glanced her way, they nodded and moved farther into the room. Many knew each other and threw comments and teasing taunts back and forth.

  When the door burst open with a whack, hitting the wall behind it and rattling the small window, Susan froze and watched from the corner of her eye as two men came through the doorway. Dressed in biker gear, one of the two hooted and charged the man who’d served her. He caught him in a bear hug. “I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard the news. Had to check it out for myself.” He set his captive on his feet, looped his elbow around his neck, and dusted his head with his knuckles. “It’s about time you came home, buddy.”

  The man twisted out of the biker’s grasp and pounded him on the back. “It’s good to see you too, Joe. Sit down and have some breakfast. I should get a break here in a minute, and we can catch up.”

  Joe pulled off his leather jacket to reveal a sleeveless T-shirt exposing bulging arms covered with tattoos. He yelled into the kitchen. “Hey, Buck. Leona. Glad to have your nephew home?”

  A petite older lady waltzed from the kitchen carrying a pot of coffee. “Of course we are.” She poured a cup of the brew for him and one for his companion. “I guess that means we’ll be seeing more of you now.” She yanked on his ear. “You better not be getting our boy into any mischief.”

  “Ouch, Leona! You can’t blame all those incidents on me. Carson hatched as many plans as I did.”

  Carson, huh? Nice name.

  Leona sniffed and propped a hand on her hip. “Well, I’ve forgiven you for talking him into joining the Army.”

  The topic of their conversation joined them. “Now, Aunt Leona, I’ve told you a thousand times Joe didn’t have a thing to do with my decision.”

  She reached for his head, and he slapped his hands over his ears, saying, “We’re entirely too old for your correction.”

  An older man in the kitchen cackled and yelled, “Son, your aunt will stop telling you what to do when she’s dead, and not a minute before.”

  Evidently everyone in the room knew these people and appreciated the byplay between Carson, his friend, and his aunt and uncle.

  Enjoying their banter, Susan hid her smile and waited for her meal. Customers passed the biker’s table and greeted him with enthusiasm. She wished she lived a normal life and could be part of such a community.

  From the glowing neon sign out front to the vintage red Formica-and
-chrome tables to the old photographs on the wall, the place fit her image of dining along Route 66 in the 1950s. It’d be nice to walk around and closely study the pictures. Maybe another day, when she wasn’t running from Dewayne.

  “Here we go.”

  She started as the large-framed man set her food in front of her and refilled her coffee cup. When had he gotten up from the table with his friends? She glanced to where he’d been sitting. The two men eyed them with interest, big grins on their faces. The biggest one, Joe, winked at her. She ducked her head. This was entirely too much attention. Just what she didn’t need.

  “Cut into those eggs and see if we got them right.”

  She picked up a wedge of toast and poked the yolk with the pointed end. They were cooked just as she liked them, with the white done but the yolk still runny.

  “They’re perfect.”

  “Good. Can I get you anything else? Ketchup? Hot sauce?” The warm depth and timbre of his voice washed over her body like a soothing balm. She wondered if the enticing resonance matched the man himself.

  “No. Thank you.” She chanced a sideways glance at him. Her heart thumped as she reached for her coffee cup. It rattled against the saucer. She caught it before it spilled. No one else seemed to notice. She chanced another peek. Of medium height, with dark hair and eyes the color of chocolate, he studied her intently, a smile tilting the corners of his mouth. Was he flirting with her? Flustered, she returned her gaze to her food and fumbled to unroll her napkin. Her silverware rattled as she grasped her fork.

  “Hey, Carson.” A woman at a far table spoke over the low hum of voices. “Turn on the television, will you?”

  He moved to the corner of the room and turned on the set placed high enough for the entire room to see. A weatherman graced the screen. From the colors and arrows on the U.S. map, it appeared the weather would be cold but not freezing today in the Albuquerque area. The same wasn’t true for the northern states, which were in for some arctic temperatures.