“You’d best stop while you’re ahead,” Huck said. “Mother still thinks I was drunk that night.”
Clark laughed gratefully. “Your kindness allowed me to meet and marry my perfect girl,” he whispered. “Thank you.”
“I’m so glad this day happened.” Huck wiped a tear from her eye.
“Me too.” Clark finished his brandy. “So when does Gabe get back?”
“Tomorrow. I hope one day you two can spend time together. You’d like him.”
“I know I would, but business is business.” Clark paused. “Wait a minute. Why don’t you drive up to Kilgore with me this afternoon? We could find Gabe and have a nice dinner.”
“Oh, Clark. No. I’ve forgiven you, but Gabe—”
“Listen.” He leaned toward Huck, placing his hand atop hers. “Like I said back at the bank, it may be years before I get down this way again, and I sure would like to right things. If your husband is the man I believe him to be, he’ll forgive me.” Clark squeezed her hand gently. “Besides, you could witness the excitement of a real oil boom, then travel back to Houston with Gabe in the morning. What do you say?” Clark removed his hand and sat back.
The scene of Gabe’s refusal flashed across Huck’s memory. But more important than a shopping spree to pacify her own hurt feelings was Clark’s need for forgiveness. She had known his family her entire life. And what had happened on the front porch of Mrs. Thompson’s boardinghouse was history. Maybe taking Clark to see Gabe was the honorable thing to do. Gabe would be mad at first. In fact, he’d be furious. But she’d been married to the man for over five years now and knew his heart. Gabe would quickly see the merit in her actions. “I’ll need to go home and pack a few things.”
“How ’bout I pick you up in an hour?”
“Fine. Here’s our address.”
The trip north was delightful, and since the summer had been dry, they didn’t have to contend with muddy or washboard rutted roads. It was hot, so Huck had worn a lightweight sleeveless dress hemmed just below the knee.
“I love this part of the state,” she said as they motored atop a ribbon of reddish sand beneath the towering sway of emerald pines. They’d just stopped to fill up at a rural gas station. She sipped a grape soda pop, allowing the sweet fizz to cool her dusty throat. The owner lived in the back, his wife selling soft drinks out of their kitchen icebox. “Think you’ll ever move your family to East Texas?”
“Too hot and humid.” Clark tossed his empty bottle out the window.
“Clark Richards. A car could crush that bottle and blow a tire.”
“Nah. Some country bumpkin will find it first and redeem it for a penny. Think of it as helping the ignorant poor.”
Huck ignored the comment. “What I miss most is dogwoods blooming in the spring.”
“What I miss most … is you.” He reached across to the passenger side and rubbed up her bare knee.
Stunned, Huck pushed him away. “Stop that.”
“Just an innocent little pat between friends.” He placed his hand back on the wheel. “I guess old habits die hard.”
“Make sure that one’s dead.” Until now, Clark had been a perfect gentleman. He’d even sat in his luxurious automobile while she finished packing, after mentioning how his joining her inside the house might give neighbors the wrong idea. She scooted closer to the door. If he touched her like that again, she’d demand he stop and let her out.
Clark smiled. “While you were getting our drinks, the kid pumping gas told me that we’re about twenty miles from Kilgore. Said when the wind is right, they can smell the oil field.”
“Lovely.” Huck stared straight ahead. Why would a family man try to place his hand where it didn’t belong? What had been intimate when they courted was now repulsive. She glanced his way. Hopefully, that would be the end of his shenanigans.
“I think the oil field smells like money. Can’t think of a more pleasing scent.” He breathed deeply. “Except for the scent of … you.”
“You’d best keep your nose on the driver’s side.” She folded her arms.
“I was joking.” He raised his hands in a show of innocence. “Did marriage destroy your sense of humor?”
“I don’t think your wife would consider it funny.” She faced him. “Come to think of it, you’ve never mentioned her name.”
“Maiden name was Michaels. Eleanor Katrina Michaels. Family calls her Elli for short. Met her on a train from Dallas to Chicago. She was born and raised in the Windy City to a family rolling in old money. Her father is a major stockbroker.”
“What about her mother?” Huck asked, trying to keep Clark’s thoughts aimed in a suitable direction.
“Glad you asked. Elli’s mother is crazy for baskets.”
“Baskets?”
“Collects them from around the world. She read about some backwoods woman living near Kilgore who weaves baskets out of thousands of pine needles. Wants me to locate the woman and buy one.”
“Mother has a small pine needle basket, but I think it was woven by the Alabama-Coushatta Indians.” Huck relaxed. It would be easy to keep Clark talking about his wealthy in-laws for the next twenty miles. “Does your father-in-law collect anything?”
“Piles of silver dollars.” He chuckled. “But get this. The kid back at the gas station says ‘basket woman’ lives nearby. How’s that for a piece of luck? We should be nearing her road any minute.”
“Her road? We’re out in the middle of nowhere.”
Clark nodded. “I guess she’s one of those reclusive types who prefers living off the beaten path.” He slowed the car. “See that creek up ahead?”
Huck nodded.
“Just this side of the bridge is a culvert. That’s our turn.”
They entered what looked like an overgrown logging road, the entrance partially hidden by a thick stand of wild dewberry bushes. After a few hundred yards, the road narrowed to a sandy trail, then all but disappeared, the forest floor covered in an expanse of pine cones, dead branches, and jungly undergrowth.
“I think we made a wrong turn.” Huck peered out her open window into the dim, breezeless shade. If Clark didn’t stop the car, they’d run over a stump or get stuck between the impenetrable trees. “Turn back. We’ve gone too far.”
“My thinking exactly.” Clark braked hard, skidding to a stop beside a giant pine inches from Huck’s door. He switched off the engine.
“What are you doing?” Huck said. She tried to open her door. “I can’t get out.” The dark forest felt suddenly as if it were closing in on her. “Put it in reverse. Start the motor and back up!”
“Can’t go back. Like you said, we’ve gone too far. Much too far.” He faced her, his eyes now wild with a demented glow.
“Clark, please. I don’t like it here.” Gabe was only thirty minutes away, and she’d never needed him so desperately.
“Don’t feel safe being away from civilization?” He began unbuttoning his shirt. “Why don’t you call for help? Scream the way you did that night you dumped me out of your life.” He flung his shirt into the backseat. “Dumped me like a piece of useless garbage.”
“No. Please no!”
“Oh, come now. Your voice is much stronger than that.” He cupped a hand behind his ear. “Release that ungodly scream, not that anyone will hear it.”
“You’re a madman.” Huck grabbed the doorframe, pushing her upper body out the open passenger window. Clark lunged across the seat, his big hands digging into her ribs like meat hooks, cutting off her air.
She screamed.
“I’m disappointed. Not as good a scream as last time.” He squeezed tighter.
“Someone help me! Gabe!”
“That’s right. Try yelling for that pitiful excuse of a man you married. Couldn’t save you then. Can’t save you now.”
“You’re hurting me. Let go.”
“Not until I get what’s been rightfully mine.”
“You’re insane.” Huck twisted onto her back, brace
d herself against the door, and kicked her feet, pummeling his face.
Catching her legs, Clark spread them apart like scissors. He spoke in broken sentences, his breathing heavy. “All our lives. You’ve … denied … me.” He crawled forward, pressing her down into the seat with his full weight. “Now … denial ends.” With one hand, he grabbed both her wrists. With the other, he ripped her dress and slip, exposing her bare skin.
“No.” Huck sobbed. “Oh God. Help me!”
Clark smashed his mouth against hers.
Huck bit down hard, finding a piece of his lower lip. She tasted blood.
Whack!
The sound of his slap echoed in her ears before she felt the dizzying sting. For a split second, she saw a knife. A blade exactly like the one he’d pulled on Gabe. Then darkness.
“Oh no you don’t.” She regained semiconsciousness amid another series of slaps. She could hear Clark’s voice, but his face was a blur. “Not like this!” he yelled. Huck felt him release her wrists. “Wake up. I want you to remember this.” Clark gripped her shoulder, shaking her entire body.
As her right hand dropped to the floorboard, she felt something smooth. Something heavy. Clutching the neck of her empty pop bottle, she swung it toward Clark’s head with all her strength.
An explosion of glass rained onto the car seat as Clark’s body fell limp.
Trapped underneath him, Huck tried to move but had no strength. Tried calling for help but had no air.
Lungs too empty to scream.
Body too weak to cry.
Something wet and warm pooled at the base of her neck, then trickled down her chest and shoulders.
Lightheaded. Sleepy. If only she could doze for a moment. If only …
Images of Gabe flooded her groggy thoughts. His sea-sky eyes. His crooked grin.
The grin widened, transforming into a booming laugh. A laugh that wasn’t Gabe’s at all, yet somehow familiar. A powerful vibration that traveled into the secret places occupied by her dreams. Suddenly she was free, weightless, floating upward, longing to soar into the cool blue dampness.
And then she heard a voice.
Felt moisture on her brow.
Opened her eyes. Tried to focus.
“Ma’am? Are you all right?” A tall man wearing a Stetson hat mopped her face with a wet handkerchief.
“What? Where’s Gabe?” She needed his arms. His comfort. Not a stranger’s.
“I’m Ranger Gonzaullas. You passed out. I’ve pulled you from the car and everything’s okay.”
“Who?”
“Don’t try to talk. Just lie here under this tree. The man who attacked you is dead.”
“Attacked? Me?” And then as suddenly as Huck had lost consciousness, her mind cleared. She’d been traveling to Kilgore with Clark. They’d turned off the main road and he’d gone mad. There was a knife. An empty bottle. Warm blood.
“No! Clark! Why would he …?” Tears streamed down her face. She’d killed him with an empty grape soda pop.
“Clark Richards is dead,” Gonzaullas repeated. “Shot through the head.”
Several hours later, Huck and Gabe entered the café connected to his hotel.
“Please sit anywhere,” said a waitress.
“We’re meeting Ranger Gonzaullas,” Gabe said. “He’ll be here shortly. He said to ask for his table.”
She nodded and seated them near a window away from the other customers. “Would you like to see a menu?”
“Just coffee,” Gabe said flatly.
After the waitress delivered two cups, they sat in silence. Gabe lit a cigarette and Huck peered outside. The sun would be down soon, but the street was crowded with people.
“You want to talk?” Huck asked.
“We have. There’s nothing else to say.”
“Then let’s go back to the room.”
Gabe shook his head. “We have to meet with the Ranger.”
“Was he the one who killed Clark?”
“I don’t know.” Gabe blew out a cloud of smoke. “He’s dead and you’re alive. That’s what matters.”
She couldn’t believe Clark was dead, the shock of his actions numbing the grief over his death, at least for now. Everything seemed like a horrible nightmare, none of it real. A Texas Ranger had killed Clark, then removed her from the car while she was still unconscious. When she regained consciousness, another Ranger sped her to a kindly doctor who’d declared her to be “one bruised but lucky young lady.” Then Gabe had arrived at the doctor’s office.
“And the doctor is sure Clark didn’t …” She looked across the table at Gabe. A tear slipped down his cheek.
“I’m positive. We can thank the Rangers for that.”
“How did they know I belonged to you?”
“There was an envelope in your purse with cash and a withdrawal slip with both our names on it. The law knew I was here working for Gulf, so it wasn’t hard to figure out.”
She stared out of the window. Did Clark think the police would never find out? Or that Gabe wouldn’t hunt him down and make him pay? She did feel sorry for his family and wondered what would drive a man to such a bitter and tragic end.
And where was Mister Jack when she’d needed him most?
“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Gabe asked.
“Coffee’s fine.” They’d both been too upset to eat. She reached across the table for his hand. He loosely held it a moment, then released it. Huck felt hot tears roll out of her eyes. Shameful tears. Was what happened her fault? If she could start the day over, she would. But what was done couldn’t be undone. And because she’d been so childish, so impulsive, she was almost raped.
And Clark was dead.
Gabe held out his handkerchief, so she took it and buried her face in her hands. It was all she could do to look at him, never having seen such anger and hurt occupy one man’s face at the same time.
At the doctor’s office, Gabe had been visibly upset. But after hearing the story, he was overcome with emotion, saying at least a dozen times how blessed he felt that she was alive. So he took her back to his hotel room, where she bathed and changed clothes. Then they’d lain on the bed and he’d held her for over an hour. Feeling guilty, she’d confessed about Clark’s letter, explaining between sobs how he’d not only apologized for his former actions but sought their forgiveness. That’s why she’d traveled to Kilgore with him.
“I wanted to tell you about … the letter … when we sailed on … Cleopatra,” Huck said finally, “but I burned it instead. I’m … so … sorry.”
“If I’d read the letter, none of this would have happened,” Gabe snapped. “I would’ve known it wasn’t a sincere apology.” He stopped holding her and stood, then crossed to the window and peered outside. The next thing she knew, he was facing her.
“Tell me the truth,” Gabe said, his voice an angry whisper. “Did you really expect me to forgive him? Do I need to forgive a dead man?”
Before Huck could reply, Gabe had walked out of the room.
The café door opened with a squeak. Huck looked up and wiped her eyes as Ranger Gonzaullas entered. He still wore the Stetson, and his uniform looked as clean and starched as if he’d just stepped out of the dry cleaners. The famous Lone Wolf Gonzaullas had saved her.
Gonzaullas approached their table and removed his hat. “I’ve done a little research, and there’s something you folks need to know.”
“Have a seat. Please.” Gabe stood grimly and the two men shook hands, even though they’d already met. “Cigarette?”
“Just coffee, thanks.” The Ranger signaled to a waitress, then sat. “Are you folks aware that Richards was connected to gangsters in Chicago? Had planned to rob the Kilgore National Bank?”
“Heavens, no.” Huck stared in disbelief. “I thought he was a bank examiner.”
“He was.” Lone Wolf paused as the waitress delivered his coffee, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Borrowed massive amounts of money from the mob. Missed a pay
ment, so they threatened to put rocks in his pockets and give him an underwater tour of Lake Michigan. That’s when he started stealing from the banks he examined.”
Gabe lit another cigarette. “I guess he was privy to any account he chose.”
“Right.” Gonzaullas sipped his coffee. “Skimmed a little off the top from folks who’d never notice. Then he got greedy. Mob did too. So they made a deal to work together. That’s how we found him.”
“What about his wife?” Huck asked. “Did she know?”
“Left him three years ago. The reason he’d borrowed money in the first place was to fight one of the wealthiest families in Chicago for custody of his son. Six months ago, the boy died of pneumonia.”
“Oh no!” Huck gasped. “We had no idea.” At least what Clark had done was not just about her.
Gabe tapped his cigarette on the edge of an ashtray. “So how did you find him?”
“My partner and I arrested one of the two gangsters Richards planned to meet. Recognized him from a mug shot. After some thorough questioning, this lowlife copped a plea. The boys in Chicago had learned that when this bank job was over, Richards planned to relocate somewhere down on the Mexican Riviera with most of the cash. Mafia’s not big on being double-crossed, so they ordered a bullet put through Richards’s head.”
“Then it wasn’t … you?” Huck could barely speak.
“No ma’am. Best we can figure, these two goons had planned to meet Richards in town, but he didn’t show. So one gangster hung around the bank, while the other patrolled the road from Houston. When Richards sped by with a passenger, he followed. Sneaked some distance on foot and shot Richards through the rear windshield. Luckily, my partner and I got there and apprehended the shooter before he was able to finish—” He stopped. “It’s a miracle I noticed that old logging road. Thought I heard something in the distance, even though my partner didn’t. Just before we crossed Sandy Creek, we saw fresh tire tracks.” He furrowed his brow. “I’m glad you’re okay, ma’am.”
Forever Friday Page 17
