by Dana Mentink
“Let me guess, an S?”
“Hard to say. It’s sort of worn away. Could be a B or it could be an S.”
“Even if it is an S, it could stand for anything. Spot, Scruffy, Spencer.”
“Spencer?”
She started. “It’s a name stuck in my memory.”
“A pet?”
“No, but he was a dog, for sure.”
Judging by the look on her face, Spencer had done more misbehaving than chasing after squirrels. Rhett wasn’t about to dig into that particular can of wigglers. “Why don’t you try calling Sweetness without the hot dog incentive to see if he recognizes his name?”
“Right. That’s a good idea.” She put down her snack and walked a good ten feet away. The dog eyed her from his upside-down position. “Sweetness?” she called in a soft voice.
The dog rolled over, sprang to his feet, and careened over to her so fast his paws roiled up two columns of dust. She stepped back in alarm. Sweetness reared up and put his paws on her jacketed shoulders. Having finally got the well-dressed lady right where he wanted her, he began to lick her face with energetic swipes of his enormous tongue.
She made a gurgling sound, threw up her hands, squealed, and thrashed until Rhett finally grabbed the end of the rope and pulled the dog away. He couldn’t help laughing.
“It’s very rude to laugh, you know,” Stephanie said.
Rhett mumbled an apology.
Satisfied with his performance, Sweetness meandered toward the shrubbery to pee on selected branches.
Stephanie wiped the drool off her face with the back of her hand and looked at the dog with disgust.
“Congratulations,” Rhett said. “You really did find Sweetness.”
Three
Rhett walked back to his trailer, Stephanie stumbling along on her impractical heels. Amusement aside, he wasn’t quite sure what her plans were, but his were clear. Fix the trailer and head out as quickly as possible. The entertainment had been great, but it was over.
When they arrived at the campsite, he located a bowl from the kitchen cupboard and offered the dog some water, which he drank in messy canine fashion. He handed Stephanie a bottle. She glugged it with more enthusiasm than he would have thought.
“Where do you have to deliver the dog?” he said.
“Eagle Cliff, Washington,” she rattled off.
“Where’s that?”
“In Washington. The state, not the district.”
“So I gathered. What part?”
“I don’t know. Someplace rural.”
“Is there an airport nearby?” Rhett flashed on his sweet little Cessna parked in a hangar back in the Bay Area, all sleek metal and sandalwood with leather seats. He had a sudden craving to fly her again. Blinking, he refocused. “Maybe you could fly him.”
She stared at the dog, as if mentally measuring his impressive girth. “How much does it cost to fly a dog this size?”
Sweetness took that moment to gasp and hack. Ten seconds later he vomited his hot dog onto the ground.
Stephanie blanched. “Never mind. I’ll pay whatever it takes to get this over with.”
Rhett retrieved his laptop and used the truck bed as a table to power it on and do a quick search. “Eagle Cliff. Are you sure that’s the right place?”
“Agnes Wharton corresponds only through snail mail if you can believe it, and her address is 1 Eagle Cliff Road, Eagle Cliff, Washington.”
“Hmm. Well, you’re not going to fly Sweetness there. It’s pretty remote. No airport close by.” He squinted at the aerial photograph. “Not much of anything close by, as a matter of fact.. It’s just mountains. Are you sure?”
Her serrated look stopped him. She was sure. “Anyway, you’re better off driving.”
“I can’t,” she moaned.
“Why not?”
Her fingers toyed with the empty water bottle. “I sort of temporarily lost my driver’s license.”
“Ah.”
“I wasn’t driving drunk,” she said with some pique.
He held up his palms. “Hey, I’ve got plenty of sins on my own plate.”
“I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea. There was no alcohol involved. I don’t drink. It was more a matter of, er, rage-induced recklessness.”
“Something to do with Spencer?”
“Now that you mention it, yes.” She rubbed a hand across her eyes. “But I don’t really want to talk about it.”
He had a pile of things he didn’t want to talk about either, so he focused on the details instead. How would his assistant have arranged this travel dilemma? He’d not appreciated Sonya enough, he realized, the implacable white-haired woman who always dressed to the nines and knew more about his habits than his own mother.
“Well, maybe you could get a taxi.”
“To Washington?”
“It would probably require a series of taxis.” He eyed Sweetness. “Large ones.”
She groaned. “This is a nightmare.”
“There’s always a way.”
Her gaze lingered longingly on his computer screen. “May I…” A hesitation. “Would you mind if I used your laptop to check my e-mail and send a message? A real quick one?”
He handed it to her. “Help yourself.”
“Thank you,” she said in such a heartfelt way that it warmed something inside him. He didn’t want to assist this woman, or anyone else, yet he found himself doing exactly that. Odd. She logged onto her e-mail, chewing a fingernail while she perused the inbox.
“Only fifteen messages asking where I am. That’s not too bad.”
It did not appear she was joking.
After a minute of tapping the keys, she paused. “Does ‘Encountered a slight delay, will call you as soon as matter is resolved’ sound too dire?”
“Why don’t you throw in there, ‘Making great progress’? I mean, you did find the dog.”
Nodding, she typed and sent.
The sun began to sink, bathing the clearing in long, low shadows. Stephanie swatted. “What was that? Something buzzed by my ear.”
“Haven’t you ever gone camping before?”
She managed to look down her nose at him, which was a feat because she was sitting. “I…am…not…” she pronounced each syllable with crystal clarity, “a…camper.”
The word camper came out with the impact of an obscenity from those gracefully curved lips. He couldn’t help laughing again. “Well, I haven’t camped in a long while, so I guess I shouldn’t come across as Joe Park Ranger, but those insects are mosquitoes. We’re near the water, and it’s dusk. There are going to be a lot of them.”
She leaped up as if she were spring loaded, bringing a startled Sweetness to his feet with a croaky bark. “Mosquitoes and I do not get along. Wherever they bite me, I swell. A lot. It is not attractive.”
“Well, the bats will probably be out soon. They can put away millions of mosquitoes in one feeding.”
She did not look frightened, just deeply weary.
“Bats. Great. Why not?” Her face went all blotchy and pinched as if she were about to cry. A crying woman? Make a plan. Solve the problem, Rhett. It’s what you’re good at. He didn’t want to be any more involved with this woman and her dog drama. He breathed and contemplated how to off-load her problem, but no solution presented itself. “Love thy neighbor,” he’d recently read. Sure, love them, but invite them in? Totally inconvenience yourself for someone you’d only just met? There had to be a clause in the fine print about that.
He forced out a breath. “Listen, it’s getting late and you’re probably tired. Why don’t you stay in my trailer tonight, and you can make some calls in the morning to arrange dog transportation?” Had he really just made that offer?
Wariness overrode the threatening tears. “I appreciate that, but…”
He held up his palms. “Nothing inappropriate. I’ll sleep in my truck.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And wouldn’t your wife or girlfriend object to having me lodge in your
trailer?”
“I’ve got neither.” He slapped at a mosquito on his hand. “At least get inside while you think about it. There’s a bed made up already. I can have the water and electrical hooked up in a half hour or so, and you can have a shower too,” he found himself saying, surprising himself again. When exactly had his mouth declared independence from his brain?
He saw he’d hit upon the magic word. Her eyes darted as she considered the possibility of a shower in her future. “What about Sweetness? He won’t…I mean, you wouldn’t want him in your trailer. He could have a disease or something.”
“I’ll make him up a bed in the back of my truck.”
“You’re very generous.”
Generous? If she only knew how completely selfish he’d been with his life. How utterly and miserably he’d failed in all the things that mattered. He shrugged. “Not really.”
“Opening up your trailer to a strange woman?”
He looked away. “Haven’t had company in a while. I’ve been away.” He handed her a flashlight. “Use this until I get the electrical going. I’ll come show you the ropes soon as I’m done.”
She opened the door to the trailer, and Sweetness bounded up the step, but Rhett grabbed his collar.
“Sorry, pal, she’s not a dog person.”
Sweetness gave him a brown-eyed look that hovered somewhere between indignation and disbelief.
“I know, I know. There’s just no figuring out women.”
Stephanie looked over the giant trailer. From the outside it resembled one of those spaceships from the cheap B movies she and her brother used to watch at night after their father had gone to bed. It was white, except for the rust stains and brown striping, with a window set on either side, and two more on what appeared to be an upper level. The trailer looked as though it might collapse when she stepped on the porch, but the rustling overhead was growing louder and she suspected she’d already sustained several mosquito bites. Cautiously, she pulled open the door and climbed in.
The interior smelled old, filled with the kind of air you’d sniff in a crypt. Dim light showed wood paneling all over everything in the small living room and kitchen area. People actually lived in cramped spaces like this? For fun?
She pulled her jacket around her and discovered in the pocket the little book Mrs. Granato had given her on the bus. It fell open to one of the pages Mrs. Granato had dog-eared. With the aid of the flashlight, she read, “He will yet fill your mouth with laughing, and your lips with rejoicing.” Rejoicing? She could not remember what that felt like, but it was definitely not an emotion showing up at the present moment. Something about the darkened camper, the surreal situation, and the little book in her hands unmoored her. Her real life seemed so distant, the same sensation she’d experienced when Ian died, as if someone had torn out the last chapters of her existence and substituted a completely different story line.
Nope, not gonna go there again. With a deep exhale, she reconnoitered. The inside of the trailer was clean, if slightly battered. The wee kitchen funneled through a narrow space with closets on one side and a tiny bathroom on the other. The shower was no more than a square with a plastic curtain around it and a mildewed overhead faucet. All at once, she felt every inch of her dirty, scraped skin, from the blister on the back of her heel to the twigs she was positive were caught in her hair. The itsy-bitsy shower suddenly sparkled in her mind with all the glamour of the Roman baths. A shower would go a long way toward that laughter and rejoicing, she thought, hoping Rhett could get the thing in action soon.
Near the living room was a narrow staircase that must lead to the bedrooms. It was almost dark now, so she flicked on the flashlight and picked her way up the wooden steps. At the top, sure enough, were two bedrooms. One was bare, the mattress stripped clean. Next door was another identical room filled mostly by the bed and some wooden cupboards. This one had sheets and a blanket. It must be the one in which Rhett was planning to sleep.
She sank down and slipped off her pumps. The mattress was floppy, and a bag she had not noticed before slid and bumped into her hip. As she reached to move it away, her nosy tendencies flared to life, and she played the flashlight beam inside, the light catching the shimmer of satin. She stuck her hand inside and removed the fabric, the material soft and slippery against her fingertips. A woman’s nightgown.
A nightgown? But hadn’t he said he had no wife or girlfriend?
Spasms of fear erupted deep in her stomach. Lonely man, making his way across country.
I’ve been away for a long time.
In prison?
“Steph, you’re losing your mind,” she said aloud. “He’s just a nice guy who helped you out.”
But why would a nice guy with no wife or girlfriend have recently purchased a women’s nightie? His business what he wears to bed, she thought. She moved the bag aside, but noticed it was heavy. She peered into the bottom, and her mouth went dry.
Duct tape. Two rolls. Unopened.
I’ve got plenty of sins on my own plate.
She leaped from the bed, dropping the flashlight. Heart pounding, she fumbled around, snatched it up, and flew down the stairs, formulating a plan as she went. She’d sneak out while he was fiddling with the electric gizmos, and run to…where? The camp office she’d seen at the bottom of the hill. There was a pay phone there. She’d call for help.
But what about Sweetness?
She’d grab him on the way. Stephanie Pink might be running for her life, but she wasn’t going to throw away her future in the process.
As she made it to the bottom step, the exterior trailer lights flicked on. Blinking to adjust to the glare, she saw Rhett making his way to the front door.
Panic surged through her. She grabbed up the nearest item to use as a weapon and crouched down.
The door latch creaked.
Her heart nearly exploded from her body.
He stepped in. “I’ve almost—”
It was as much as he got out before she fired the sack of flour at him.
Reflexively he caught the flour cannonball as it exploded, dousing him in white powder. Her heart sank when she realized her missile had proved ineffective. He was still standing firmly in the doorway in a cloud of white as Sweetness barreled in behind him, barking for all he was worth.
“What—” Rhett started.
She grabbed the next thing she saw, a big metal spatula.
Sweetness went crazy, spinning in circles, breaching the air like some massive, furry whale.
In seconds they were all lost in a smothering blizzard of flour.
Four
“Why…” Rhett said through lips caked with white dust. “Why did you just throw a bag of flour at me?”
She jabbed the spatula in his direction, ignoring the barking from Sweetness. “Keep back. You stay away from me.”
“Or what? You’ll flip me like a pancake?” This is what he got for getting involved in other people’s lives. The woman was nuts. Completely loony. Love thy neighbor probably had an “except for nutcases” clause embedded in the fine print.
Her mouth tightened. “Get out of my way.”
“I’m not in your way. This is my trailer, and that’s my flour and my spatula.”
She shook her head, waving the spatula, which sent the dog into further contortions. “You’re not going to kill me, do you hear?”
With effort, he managed not to raise his volume. “You’re right, I’m not. We didn’t need to waste a bag of flour to come to that meeting of the minds. And would you quit waving that spatula? For some reason it’s making the dog insane.” He grabbed a paper bag from the counter, snapped it open, and dropped the mangled flour sack inside. “What a mess.”
She edged toward the door. Flour collected in the dark strands of her hair and dusted her long lashes. “I’m going to walk out of here, and you’re not going to stop me.”
“Stop you? I wouldn’t dream of it. As a matter of fact, let me help.” He opened the door and held it a
jar, letting loose a swirl of flour into the pine-scented night. “The rope’s in the back of my truck. You’ll want to take Sweetness with you.”
Uncertainty settled around her floured face as she shuffled toward her escape, eyes still wary.
“Out of curiosity, though, why did you think I meant to kill you? Plenty of people think I’m a jerk, but no one has accused me of being a murderer before to my knowledge.”
She chewed her lip, grimaced at the grit, and then wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.
“I found the nightgown.” She enunciated each word with the solemnity of a judge pronouncing sentence.
He blinked. “What nightgown?”
“The one upstairs in the bag.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or swear. Instead he let out a deep sigh and grabbed a paper towel to wipe his face. “That belongs to my sister, Karen.”
Her eyes narrowed, black spots against the unnatural white. “Your sister?”
“Yes. I just came from my Uncle Mel’s property. My sister was staying with him for a while and she left her nightgown. I’m driving this old wreck up to Oregon to meet her, so he gave it to me to return.”
“And the duct tape?”
Duct tape? Suddenly it all made sense. He actually felt queasy knowing where her mind must have gone. He’d hurt women—oh, how he’d hurt Karen—but he’d never laid a finger on one. “This is a sixty-year-old trailer. Duct tape might be the only thing keeping her together.”
Slowly, she put the spatula down on the kitchen counter. “Oh.”
Sweetness, having suddenly lost interest in the activities of the crazy humans, leaped up on the padded rocking chair, the most comfortable piece of furniture in the whole camper, and closed his eyes, his fuzzy hind end hanging off the cushion.
Rhett pulled a broom and a dustpan from the narrow cupboard and began to corral the fine white dust into a pile.
She watched him, her hands folded behind her back. “Um, I apologize, Rhett. I misunderstood. I, uh, I read a lot of fiction.”
He continued to sweep, unsure why he felt hurt. So she’d thought him a killer? So what? She didn’t even know him.
