by Judy Nickles
Penelope looked up at her father. Was there a warning in his words?
The man let loose with a belly laugh, spewing droplets of warm beer in the air. Penelope covered her sandwich with her hand. “Baby girl got a name?”
Penelope tried to signal Jake with her eyes, but he said, “Nellie.”
“Nellie.” The biker jerked back the fourth chair and straddled it. “Hi-ya, Nellie.”
She wrinkled her nose at the odor and turned her face away when she noticed he wasn’t wearing a t-shirt under his vest.
“She’s shy,” Jake said. Penelope could hear the sarcasm in his voice, but it appeared lost on her erstwhile admirer.
A beefy hand circled her upper arm. “Well, we got to do somethin’ about that, don’t we?”
Penelope tried without success to pull away, but his fingers dug into her flesh. “You’re hurting me,” she said.
Across the table, Jake shifted in his chair. “Easy, son.”
The biker grinned but didn’t let go. “Sorry about that.”
“Please let go of my arm.”
“Pretty-please,” he taunted.
“Pretty-please,” she said with ice surrounding each word.
He laughed and tightened his grip. “With sugar on it.”
She put her lips together and shook her head, making her earrings dance. Across the table Jake swigged down the last of his beer. “Finish your sandwich, Nellie.”
“I’m not hungry,” she said.
The biker looked at Jake. “She’s not hungry.”
“Then wrap it up, and let’s go.”
Penelope complied and tried to stand up, but her backside hit the chair again, courtesy of the biker’s grip. “I want to go,” she said.
“She wants to go,” the man parroted.
“That’s what she said.” Jake leaned across the table. “Thought you fellows had a code of conduct where ladies and old-timers are concerned.”
Something flickered in the man’s eyes. His fingers flew open, releasing Penelope’s arm, and he stood up so quickly the chair overturned. She watched his eyes dart around the room and wondered what—or who—he was looking for. From the jukebox, Kenny Rogers pleaded with someone not to take their guns to town. Almost as if on cue, a single gunshot shattered the air and sent bodies scrambling for cover.
CHAPTER THREE
Penelope tried without success to see her father, but the biker’s weight crushed her against the splintery wooden floor. Arms and legs spread-eagled like a turtle pinned under a rock, she thought she could feel her eyes bulging. “Daddy?”
“He’s all right.” The biker’s voice, no hint of its former twang, came out clipped and correct. “Be still, and be quiet.”
Yankee, she thought with automatic contempt. “You’re squashing me.”
He lifted his body slightly but kept his fingers around her wrists, rendering her arms immobile.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Not sure. Be quiet.”
“Shut up, Nellie, “Jake hissed from somewhere.
She heard chairs crashing around her. The jukebox went silent as the front door flew open against it. Feet stampeded in that direction. The cooler above them groaned and sputtered, sending droplets of water spattering down. Suddenly, the biker heaved his body upwards. She rolled over in time to see him disappear toward the back. Then the wail of police sirens displaced the eerie silence left behind by the exodus of patrons.
“Daddy?”
Jake stood over her, his posture reminiscent of the soldier he had been a long time ago. “For heaven’s sake, get up off the floor, Nellie. Brad’s going to come walking through that door any minute, and he’s gonna be shocked enough seeing you here, much less with your skirt hiked up to your drawers.”
Penelope fumbled with her turquoise, red, and yellow broomstick skirt and scrambled to her feet. “Out the back,” she said. “Hurry.”
With Jake at her heels, she headed down the short hall, past the restrooms that never smelled exactly clean, toward what Roger euphemistically called the ‘fire door’, and flung it open. Officer Rosabel Deane, the police department’s newest recruit, smiled. “Going somewhere, Mrs. Pembroke?”
“I guess not,” Penelope said, tugging at the yellow knit pullover that had edged its way above her waistband. “Office Deane, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am. You want to just step back inside?”
“Do I have a choice?”
The young officer’s dark eyes danced with mirth. “No, ma’am, I’m afraid you don’t.”
Penelope sighed and turned around. Jake, already on his way back in the main area, motioned her to the table they’d vacated. Her unfinished Reuben lay wet and limp beside the overturned water glass. She pushed it away.
Jake’s eyes focused on the front door. In a few minutes his grandson, newly-minted Detective Sergeant Bradley Pembroke, strode in with one hand resting on the butt of his undrawn nine millimeter Glock. “How-do, Brad,” he said, touching his forehead in a mock salute.
“Pawpaw! What in the…Mother!” His generous mouth, inherited like his mother’s from the Irish Kelleys, opened in a perfect ‘O’. Penelope resisted the urge to reach up and close it for him.
Bradley moved closer to the table and leaned down. “What are you two doing here?”
“Having a Reuben and a beer,” Jake said. “At least, I’m having a beer. Your mother’s drinking water.”
Bradley closed his eyes briefly. “Why tonight? Do you know…” He straightened up and tried to rearrange his face to look like the hardboiled cop he aspired to appear. “Just sit there, and don’t move. I’ll get back to you two later.”
Penelope looked around for Roger and saw him leaning against the far end of the bar. She’d heard her ex-husband say that raids, while not the norm, never bothered Roger Sitton. “He likes the excitement,” Travis said once.
The four bikers, along with everyone else who had been in the Sit-n-Swill, had effected a get-away. Everyone, Penelope thought, except Daddy and me, thanks to that sleazy biker character. She glanced across the table at her father and rolled her eyes. He winked.
“Was that a gunshot we heard?” she whispered.
“Reckon it was. Check out the mirror behind the bar.” He nodded toward Officer Parnell Garrett who was examining a thin web of cracks that ran out from a single hole. “What kind?” Penelope asked.
“I’d say a thirty-eight. At least it didn’t hit anybody.”
“Do you think it was meant to, or was it just a random shot? Somebody raising he…Cain.”
“Neither, if you ask me.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I saw one of those biker fellows take something out of his vest pocket. Could’ve been a gun.”
“They hadn’t had time to drink enough to get mean.”
Jake shook his head. “Diversion. Cover.”
“Cover for what?”
“The shipment maybe.”
Penelope digested that. “Those four bikers got out of here in a hurry.”
“Three,” Jake said.
Penelope tried not to smile. “Oh, you heard him, too?”
“Yankee. Some fancy school back east. Had a lot of them in the army during the war. Couldn’t understand most of what they said.” Jake chuckled. “Always hated it when one of ‘em started yelling at us through a megaphone when we were training. We didn’t know what the Sam Hill he wanted us to do.”
“So the biker rig was a disguise? Interesting.”
Jake lowered his voice. “What about those fellows who stayed last night—the ones who got your curiosity going?”
“Come to think of it, they talked like that, too. Yankees.”
Jake nodded.
Bradley skirted overturned chairs as he crossed the floor. “You two see anything?”
“Bikers,” Jake said. “I think one of ‘em might’ve fired the shot.”
“You saw him do it?”
“No, just saw him t
ake something out of his pocket. Couldn’t swear to what it was.”
“So who was in here?” Bradley asked.
“None of the regulars,” Penelope spoke up.
“I hope you don’t consider yourself a regular here.” Bradley’s well-shaped eyebrows came together at the bridge of his nose. “If you want a Reuben, you can get one at the Daisy Café.”
“They close at five-thirty,” Jake said. “Besides, Roger’s are better. And I can get a beer. Ben’s never bothered to get a liquor license at the Daisy. ‘Course, there might be a reason he can’t…”
Bradley huffed and waved a dismissive hand. “What else did you see? Anybody you haven’t seen before?”
“Just the bikers,” Penelope said. “Four.”
“One took quite a shine to your mamma,” Jake said.
“Not now, Daddy.”
“One of them was hitting on you?” Bradley’s face turned red.
“Nothing so dire,” Penelope said. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“Tonight of all nights,” Bradley muttered.
“Why do you say that?” his mother asked. “Something going on?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.”
“I think you just did. The entire police force—all five of you, minus Chief Malone, naturally, didn’t show up for nothing. Besides, you got here before anybody had time to call.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because the phone is in the back, and Roger was behind the bar when the shot was fired and still in the exact same spot when I got up off the floor. So you had to know in advance that…”
“Go home, Mother,” Bradley said, narrowing his eyes in what Penelope supposed he thought was a menacing expression but had always reminded her of the way he looked during pollen season when he had allergies as a child. “Just be glad you didn’t get arrested.”
“For what? Besides, you wouldn’t arrest me. Who’d give the guests at the B&B breakfast tomorrow morning? Who’d feed Abijah?”
“That devil cat can starve to death as far as I’m concerned.”
Jake snorted.
“Just go home, both of you. And get your Reubens somewhere else from now on.” He whirled around, almost tripping over his size eleven feet, and stalked out.
Jake unfolded himself from the chair. “Let’s go home, Nellie. Why don’t you take the road around Pine Branch Creek?”
“What? That’s at least five miles out of our way, Daddy. Besides, that’s where all the bikers…” She let the sentence die. “You’re right. It’s a nice night for a drive. We’ll go through Burger Barn on the way out of town and pick up a couple of milkshakes. I’m beginning to feel empty.”
“Goodnight, Mrs. Pembroke, Mr. Kelley,” Rosabel Deane said as they passed her picking up a beer bottle with gloved hands and dropping it into a bag.
“Goodnight, Officer Deane,” Penelope said. “Good luck.”
Rosabel smiled slightly. “Uh-huh.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“What does Rosabel Deane need luck for?” Jake asked as he pulled himself up into the SUV, a harder job than sliding out of it earlier. “Got to be two dozen beer bottles in there, and twice as many fingerprints. She’ll need a miracle, not luck.”
Penelope turned the key in the ignition, shifted into reverse, and looked over her shoulder at an empty lot as she backed out. “I think she’s interested in Bradley.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Mary Lynn’s niece Frankie said she’d asked a few questions.”
“So of course, that means a mad, passionate affair is going on.”
“Daddy! No such thing, and you know it. You shouldn’t be talking about that sort of thing anyway.”
“Nellie, I may be seventy-five, but I remember when I was nineteen and met your mother. There’s nothing new under the sun.”
“Hush, Daddy.”
Jake sighed. “Rosabel Deane hasn’t been here long enough to get to know Brad well enough to be interested.
“Six months.” Penelope turned into the drive-through at the Burger Barn. “What do you want?”
“I’m full,” Jake said.
Penelope ordered a chocolate shake. “Six months is long enough when you work with somebody every day.”
“I wouldn’t know about that.” When they turned back onto Main Street, Jake said, “Take a right on Cherry Blossom.”
“I know how to get to Pine Branch Creek, Daddy. I spent a lot of time there when I was in school.” Too much time one night, and you probably know it.
“Yeah, but I don’t want to know what you spent a lot of time doing.”
“You know I was good.” Except for once.
Jake sighed again.
“It was safe enough. Privacy, but not too much. Not anymore though. Not since the bikers took it over for their ramble.
“Rumble,” Jake corrected.
“I thought gangs rumbled.”
“They’re a gang of sorts.”
“They don’t really cause any trouble around here, do they? Just make a lot of noise.” She shifted gears and made a right turn. “So, you think Romeo wasn’t a real biker? He could’ve fooled me.”
“I didn’t say that, but he sure came out of his leather quick enough when things got hot.”
“He landed on me like a ton of bricks.”
Jake chuckled. “You looked pretty funny all spread-eagled out like that.”
“I didn’t feel funny. I felt like somebody set a blessed concrete block on top of my back. Maybe two of them.”
“Slow down.” Jake leaned forward and peered through the darkness.
“I’m not speeding.”
“Look over there. It’s a bike.”
Penelope braked a little and glanced right. “Ahhh-ha, and look who’s standing there by it. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.” She flashed her bright lights, revealing the subject of their recent conversation.
He waved both arms, motioning them away, but she coasted to a stop on the narrow shoulder, cutting her lights but not the engine. When he thrust an angry face against the window, she grinned, feeling safe inside the locked vehicle. He scowled and made a circular motion she took to mean ‘put down the window’. She touched the button but took her finger off once there was a scant inch of space.
“Down,” came the clipped voice. “All the way.”
Against her better judgment, she complied.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Looking for you,” Jake said, leaning across the seat.
“Daddy.” Penelope took a closer look at the man’s face. Beneath the stubble of two days’ beard, it was a nice enough face but lined in places that meant it had a few years. A few curly strands of steely gray hair escaped from beneath a black-and-white bandana. My age anyway. Maybe a little older. Definitely too old to be fooling around on a cycle.
“Your son is going to have a fit when he finds out you came here,” the man said.
“You know who I am? You know Bradley?”
The man pushed his face through the window, closer to hers. “Yes, and that’s all I’m going to tell you. Go home.”
“He had that fit you speak about when he found out you hit on me,” Penelope said, trying not to laugh.
“I didn’t hit on you. I staked you out and maybe saved your pretty little a…backside from a bullet.”
“Maybe we better do what the man says, Nellie,” Jake said.
Penelope thought she agreed, but she couldn’t resist giving voice to the next question. “What’s your name?”
The man rolled his eyes, soft blue ones from what Penelope could see in the light from the dashboard. “Tiny will do.”
Jake’s laughter erupted like the sputter of an empty ice cream dispenser. “Tiny! That’s good!”
“Listen, old timer…”
“That’s Mr. Kelley to you…Tiny.” Jake heh-hehed again.
Tiny looked straight at Penelope. “Get out of here. Now.”
Something in the set of his jaw spoke louder than his words. “I’m going,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”
“I just did. And don’t come back. Not tonight or any other night.”
Penelope put the SUV in reverse just as the growl of more bikes emerged from the darkness. Tiny hit her door with his hand. “Go!” Then he collapsed on the ground and began rolling around and moaning.
“Go,” Jake echoed, touching his daughter’s arm.
Penelope backed up, shifted again, and took off for town, but not before she saw the lights of the bikes and heard Tiny yell something that sounded like, “That crazy broad ran me off the road!”
She put the window up and pressed the gas pedal. “I was right,” she said. “Something’s going down.”
“Uh-huh.” Jake drummed his fingers on the gear box. “Have you cleaned the room those two guys stayed in last night?”
“Not yet. The family who came in this afternoon took the third floor loft.” Penelope considered a minute. “But maybe I better. I don’t want Bradley up there poking around.”
“Well, maybe he’s the one to do it.”
“And if he finds anything, he’ll give me what-for because I let them stay. I can’t run a background check on all my guests, Daddy. You know that.”
“I reckon not.”
“Maybe I’ll go up and see if they left anything behind.”
“Couldn’t hurt.”
“As soon as we get home. Yep. As soon as we get home.”
CHAPTER FIVE
After Jake went to his room, Penelope glanced over the breakfast menu for the next morning. Scrambled eggs, fruit, biscuits, coffee, and juice, with a side of dry cereal for the two children. Then she thought about telling Jake she’d check out the room used the night before. Was it really necessary? The family on the third floor would be there for two days, and no one else was booked until the coming week when the B&B would fill up for the annual Back Walnut Cake Festival and Competition.
The name of the upcoming event made her snicker. Amaryllis had annual festivals and competitions for something or other six times a year. Corny as the names sounded, they’d been the town’s bread and butter since the textile mill on the Black River had to close because of environmental violations and the subsequent crushing fines. When it looked like the owners had pulled out permanently, Mayor Harry Hargrove and the town council went into action.
