Her dad reached for the hall light switch, but she grabbed his hand to stop him. “No,” she said softly. “You go back and finish your news. I’m going straight to bed. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
He squeezed her hand. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Good night, Daddy.” She leaned over, kissed his wrinkled cheek, and started climbing the stairs.
“Good night, Kate,” he said.
In her room, she slowly undressed. Her face had stopped throbbing, but it felt warm. Her headache had gotten worse. It hurt to touch her cheek. She thought of that old joke where the patient says: “Doc, it hurts when I touch my cheek.” The doctor responds: “Then don’t touch your cheek.” She smiled in the darkness, but that hurt, too.
She sat at her bureau and leaned in close to the mirror. With her hands, she pulled back her shoulder-length blond hair to reveal her cheeks, so she could compare them to see if the swelling was visible. Tilting her head one way, then the other, she couldn’t really see a difference in the dim light. She looked into her eyes, which usually appeared to be green, but they looked gray. At least he hadn’t given her a black eye. She gently ran a finger over her wounded cheek and thought she felt puffiness.
The next morning, she would do her best to conceal the swelling with makeup, but for a few days, the injury would be difficult to hide. She wondered how her father would have reacted if he had seen the evidence of what Tommy had done to her. Dad had never raised a hand to anyone, but what would he do to defend his only daughter?
Pulling down the blanket and sheet, she crawled into bed. She lay there, wearing only panties, and she fanned herself with a magazine. Her eyes open, she listened to the hum of the TV downstairs and heard an occasional rumble of a car passing by. Crickets chirped below her open window. Life went on.
At about eleven she heard her father shut off the TV. She listened to his slippers slap as he climbed the stairs and disappeared down the hallway. A door opened and closed, and then the house went quiet.
A disturbing sound broke the short silence.
She instantly recognized the chugging of a diesel truck engine. The truck came slowly closer and halted in the street out front. In the darkness, she smelled, or maybe imagined smelling, cigarette smoke. She felt Tommy sitting down there in his truck, puffing on a cigarettewaiting and watching.
Would she ever really be free of him? She pulled the sheet up to her chin as if that would protect her. She finally heard him shift gears and pull away from the curb. The engine’s sound slowly faded into the night.
Had he known that she was listening? Had he come there just to scare her? Was his twisted mind plotting against her? She reached for her cigarettes, sat up in bed, smoked, and worried.
Chapter 4
On Monday morning, Zack woke with an ache that throbbed in his head and rang in his ears. He had been drunk for four days and nights, only leaving his place for food or beer. He’d watched soaps, movies, cartoons, and rock videos, which only provided a temporary escape from his unfortunate reality. Jim had shown up Saturday afternoon, and they had drunk more beer and watched a Tiger’s game. Not once did they mention Zack’s layoff.
“Shit,” he said, sitting up in bed. A sharp pain shot though his skull. “No more beer,” he vowed.
Holding his head to keep his brains from gushing out, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was still wearing blue jeans, a Detroit Redwings T-shirt, and white socks. At least he’d remembered to take off his shoes.
The palm of his hand remained pressed to his forehead, as he shuffled across the bedroom carpet toward the bathroom. As he reached for the shower door, a spark jumped from his fingertip to the metal door handle. “Owww,” he yelled. He shook his finger, and turned on the hot water. Dropping his other hand from his forehead, he braced himself with both arms on the sink and stared at the stranger in the mirror. He remembered the young, athletic-looking Zack, with his neatly trimmed, medium-length brown hair, sideburns, brown eyes, and a face that had made girls smile and turn their heads when he walked by.
The man in the mirror wasn’t the Zack he knew. Dark bags hung under his bloodshot eyes, and a four-day beard ran wild across his face and neck. The face in the mirror looked to be at least ten years older than Zack, who was twenty-three. Hadn’t he seen a man with a similar face begging for quarters on a Detroit street corner? Didn’t he see his dad looking like this often enough when he was growing up? He closed his eyes briefly and then undressed. Steam poured over the top of the shower walls. He opened the door, stepped inside, and was surrounded by the soothing heat.
A few hours later, wearing fresh clothes and with two slices of cold pizza tucked into his stomach, Zack felt almost alive almost. The pain in his head had subsided to a dull ache.
A decision had come to him during his long, relaxing shower.
He went down to his car and drove to the Auto Workers Credit Union. He cashed his final paycheck, withdrew his savings, and closed his bank account. When he arrived back at his apartment, a thick envelope containing $1,245 sat next to him on the passenger seat, broken into sixty-two crisp twenty-dollar bills and one worn five. The teller had tried to give him fifties or hundreds, but Zack had insisted on the twenties. The thick stack looked better to him and, after all, he had never carried any bill larger than a twenty. He wouldn’t feel right buying a cheeseburger with a hundred-dollar bill.
Mrs. Wilson was out front again when he pulled up, this time pushing an edger with a wooden handle back and forth along the side of the driveway. She smiled as he got out. “How are you feeling today?” she asked.
“Except for a headache, I think I’ll live.”
“Have you recovered from the shock of being laid off yet?” she asked.
Zack felt her genuine concern for him. “Yeah, I think I have.” He took the edger from her and began trimming the grass.
“Zack.” She touched his arm, and he stopped and looked at her. “Don’t worry about the rent. This old place is paid for, and I have Bernie’s pension check and Social Security. You just give me what you can, if anything, until you’re back on your feet.”
She was like a mother to him, but better. She cared but didn’t interfere, and she suggested but didn’t demand. She’d always been good to him, even when his parties got too loud. He looked at her. “I’ve made a decision,” he said, dreading having to tell her. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, but his decision had been made. “I’m leaving town.” He watched her eyes drop to the pavement. “The way things are going, I’ll never find a job around here. Too many people are out of work. I have to go where the jobs are. I’m sorry.”
When she looked back up, he saw her trying to contain her emotions and smile. “I understand. If that’s what you think you have to do, then, by all means, do it.”
She had come through again. He hadn’t doubted that she would.
“I’ll write,” he told her quickly.
“Don’t make any promises. If you get a chance, fine. But don’t feel obligated. If you ever want to come back, you’ll always have a place here.”
“I’ve got packing to do.” He handed the edger back to her. “Will you be around in an hour or so to see me off?”
“I’m not going anywhere.” She gently pushed him. “Go on.”
He had forgotten his headache by the time he dropped the last armful of his belongings into the trunk. Back upstairs, he made a final tour of the apartment to see if he had missed a pair of shoes, a radio, or whatever. He had gotten it all, not that he had that much to pack.
He called the telephone company and then his sister to tell her his plan and that he’d be in touch when he got settled somewhere. Finally, he descended the stairs, ready for his journey.
Zack stepped into a big hug from Mrs. Wilson, as he left his home for the last time. He heard her quiet sobs and felt her tears dampen his shirt as they embraced. “You take care, son,” she whispered in a wobbly voice.
As he backed his c
ar out, she stood all alone, waving good-bye, and Zack returned the good-bye regretfully.
Chapter 5
Jesse raised the muzzle of his .22 rifle and took aim. He squeezed the trigger and a beer bottle exploded twenty-five feet away.
“Go ahead,” said Tommy. “See how many you can hit in a row. Let’s bet a six-pack.”
“You’re on, sucker.” He aligned the gun sights on the next bottle in the long row they had laid on a decayed log. The rifle cracked, and the next bottle shattered. Jesse grinned over the rifle stock at Tommy. “I’ll take Bud,” he said and aimed at the next bottle.
“Just keep shootin’.”
Jesse hit the next bottles in the line, but missed the fifth.
Tommy laughed and snatched the rifle from him. “Four? This will be the easiest six-pack I ever won.” Once when they were teenagers he had hit twenty bottles in a row. He slid more rounds from an open box into the rifle’s loading tube and twisted it closed. He then placed the rifle butt against his shoulder and squinted through the sights. “Watch this.” After a deep breath, he gently squeezed the trigger and the next bottle disintegrated. Exhale, breathe, and squeeze. The second bottle burst. Soon after, the third and the fourth bottles were hit. Tommy paused, looked over at Jesse, and winked.
“You’re gonna choke,” said Jesse, with hope in his eyes.
Tommy said nothing, but just smiled again, and aligned the sights for the next shot. “Watch this.” Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, the gunshots sounded. He missed the last shot of the rapid-fire string. “Damn!” he yelled as he lowered the gun. “What’s that, eight?” He shook his head. “Too bad, man, I believe I doubled your score.” He pointed at Jesse. “I’ll take Schlitz, sucker.”
Two bottles remained in line. “Now check this out,” he said. He opened the door of his truck and leaned inside. He laid the .22 on the seat and removed a 12-gauge pump shotgun from the rack in the back window. Returning to his place in front of the bottles, he pumped a shell into the chamber and aimed it in. Booooom. The sound echoed through the forest. They had driven several miles out of town to an old dirt road leading into woods where they used to hunt deer as teenagers. The shotgun blast had been many times louder than the crack of the .22, but there was no one else within range to hear the shots. With another thunderous boom, the last bottle and part of the log it had been sitting on were gone.
Jesse slowly clapped his hands as he walked to the back of the truck and sat on the open tailgate. Reaching into the cooler, he pulled out two beers and tossed one to Tommy. “I fall for it every time,” he said. He popped the top of a beer can and drank.
“Remember that next time, dummy,” said Tommy, opening his beer. He raised the can to his lips and chugged it down.
“When was the last time we went shooting together?” asked Jesse.
“Don’t know. High School, I guess.”
“Yeah, I think so. We’ll have to do this more often now that you and Kate…” He looked toward the ground without finishing.
“Me and Kate what?” Tommy’s eyes narrowed. “Broke up? Bullshit. It’s just a temporary misunderstanding. We just need a few days to… to rest.” He nudged Jesse with his elbow and winked.
“That’s not the story going around town. Kate’s saying you two broke up for good.”
“We’ll see about that. When she comes to her senses she’ll beg to get back with me.” He wasn’t sure how to turn this around yet, but who else in town was good enough for Kate?
“What are you going to do?” asked Jesse. “Send her flowers?” He laughed at the thought.
Tommy sipped another beer and looked up through the trees at the bright sky above. “That’s a damn good idea, Jess. That’d surprise the hell out of her. Wouldn’t it?” He finished the last of his second beer and motioned for another. “Flowers. Tommy Ray giving flowers.” He shook his head.
Just then, a large black crow soared overhead above the treetops. Tommy snatched the 12-gauge that was leaning against the truck. He pumped a shell into the chamber and raised the barrel, lining it up slightly ahead of the flight path of the bird. He squeezed off another thunderous shot. The bird’s heavy wings went still and it plummeted downward. It bounced off tree branches as it fell and thudded to the ground fifteen yards from them. Its wings then began flapping slowly, beating against the dirt. As they walked up to it, they could see its black eyes frantically moving.
Tommy pumped the last shell into the gun. “Ya know,” he said, looking down at the wounded bird. “Flowers.” He placed the end of the barrel close to the bird’s feathered head. “I think I’ll send the flowers,” he said, as he pulled the trigger. The bird’s head blew up, and the wings stopped moving.
---
The horn sounded, and the workers switched off their machines. Within seconds, the chugging, cutting, and chopping sounds faded into silence. The absolute quiet would continue for fifteen minutes, which was the length of the afternoon break.
Tommy removed his goggles and walked toward the men’s room. He stopped short, went to the pay phone, lifted the receiver, and dropped a quarter in the coin slot. He dialed the number of the town’s only flower shop, which he had memorized earlier.
“Webber’s Flowers. May I help you?”
“Hi there,” said Tommy. He’d been in a good mood since Jesse had given him this great idea. “Who’s this? Mrs. Webber?”
“Yes, it is.”
“This is Tommy Ray, out at the factory. I want to order a dozen roses. Make ’em red, I guess, and deliver them to Kate Jenkins over at the diner. Got that?”
“I sure do. You would like a dozen red roses for Kate at the diner. And how would you like to pay for this, Tommy?”
“I’ll stop by after work, around four, and pay you cash. But make sure you deliver the flowers before three. Kate gets off at three on Mondays.”
“What would you like written on the card?”
Damn, he hadn’t thought about the card. “Uh, let’s see. How about, ‘No hard feelings,’ and sign it ‘Tommy.’”
“We’ll take care of it, and thank-you.”
Tommy hung up the phone and grinned. “That should solve the problem,” he said softly to himself. He shoved open the bathroom door and went in.
Chapter 6
Kate was taking Fred and Marsh Rockland’s order when the flowers arrived.
“Kate, these are for you,” said Mrs. Webber.
“For me?” Her mouth dropped open. “Ah, well, would you put them over on the counter, please?”
“Sure. The card’s inside.”
Kate shrugged toward Mr. and Mrs. Rockland, but finished taking their order.
Who would send her flowers? Her father had sent some last year, but that had been for her birthday. She walked up to the long, white box. Then her eyes narrowed. It couldn’t be, she thought. She pulled off the top and drew a breath when she saw the dozen beautiful, long-stemmed, red roses. “I pray these aren’t from…” she trailed off as she opened the card. As she read, her shoulders slumped.
“Who are they from, Kate?” asked Mrs. Rockland. Kate turned and found Mr. and Mrs. Rockland, four other customers, and the cook all curiously watching her.
“Well?” asked Joe, the cook, wiping his hands on his dirty apron.
“No one,” she said simply, as she scooped up the box and walked across the room. She stuffed the box through the swinging door of the trashcan. It wouldn’t fit all the way inside, and about six inches stuck out. The staff and customers around her had witnessed, with mouths agape, what she had done. Kate hurried over to Joe. “Here.” She pushed the Rockland’s order at him. He just stood there for a few seconds looking at her. “Well, take it. We’ve got customers to serve, don’t we?”
“Uh, yeah, sure.” He took their order and disappeared into the kitchen.
Kate went behind the counter and over to the coffeemaker. She bit her lower lip, thinking, as she made a fresh pot. She couldn’t believe he had sent the flowers. Too late. If only he’d st
arted trying to be nice years ago. She shook her head as she placed the pot under the coffee machine.
---
Tommy started his truck and pulled out of the factory parking lot. He smiled as he flipped on the radio and listened to a Led Zeppelin song. Why had he been worried about this situation with Kate? The flowers would patch things up with her, and life would get back to normal.
He remembered their high school days, which had ended four years ago. Tommy and Kate had been the couple their senior year. Tommy remembered being respected, practically worshiped even, by his classmates. When he wasn’t throwing touchdown passes, he was leading pep rallies. He had never been good at public speaking and had hated that class in school, but yelling “we’re going to kick their ass!” and pumping his fist in front of hundreds of students in the school gymnasium had made him feel like a god as the cheers rained down on him.
The beautiful cheerleader, Kate, and the handsome star quarterback, Tommy. Life was perfect back then.
But then they had graduated.
Tommy had been recruited by a medium-sized university located in the mountains of North Carolina. He had gone for a recruiting visit and had toured the campus with two pretty coeds, one blonde and one brunette. But he had wondered if he could succeed as a college quarterback, or, what had worried him the most, would he fail as a college student? He had hated studying, taking tests, and doing reports in high school. He usually got someone else to do his homework. How could he handle college classes? Yeah, he had heard that athletes were cut some slack when it came to class work. But what if they expected him to perform well on the field and in the classroom?
He had also thought about what it would be like to be one of thousands of students rather than a hero in a small high school with friends he’d grown up with and where he knew everyone. What if he didn’t do well as quarterback and rarely got a chance to play? He would be just another student, and a poor one at that.
Kentucky Murders: A Small Town Murder Mystery Page 2
