The Bogus Biker

by Judy Nickles

  Mary Lynn took a notebook out of her floppy zebra-print bag. “That’s what I came for. Let’s get to work.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Coast clear?” Jake asked, poking his head around the door facing.

  “Mary Lynn went to the Garden Market.”

  Jake emerged from the closet-sized hall leading to his apartment and plunked a plastic shopping bag on the table.

  “He may not even be back, but I swear, Daddy, his clothes stunk to high blessed heaven.”

  “I got him some stinkum.” Jake held up a can of deodorant and chuckled. “Your mother always thought it was funny when I called it that.”

  “I remember.”

  “Also some shaving cream, a package of disposable razors, briefs, and some socks.”

  “Surely he won’t be here that long.”

  “Well, however long, he’ll smell better. Want me to take all this upstairs?”

  “No, I’ll do it. Rosabel came by and checked things out and said I could clean the other room now.”

  “She find anything?”

  “No.”

  “Say anything about Brad?”

  “Just for me not to tell him she told me those fellows’ IDs were bogus.”

  “He’ll enjoy telling you that himself.”

  “More like throwing it in my face.”

  “Now, Nellie.”

  “I wonder who Tiny really is? FBI? DEA? CIA?”

  “Well, not CIA. That’s for frying bigger fish than we’ve got here in Amaryllis.”

  “I guess so. I didn’t plan anything for supper, and we can’t go back to the Sit-n-Swill for Reubens. Not that I care.”

  “I’ll run over to the Garden Market Deli and pick up something.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. Whatever looks good.” Jake headed for the back door. “I take it you told Mary Lynn about all this?”

  “All of it except for Tiny.”

  “That was probably a good idea. I won’t mention him either if I run into her.”

  ****

  Upstairs, Penelope laid the packages of underwear, socks, and pajamas on the bed and lined up the toiletries on the bathroom vanity. What would Tiny think of all this when and if he came back? That they were trying to make points with him for some underhanded reason? She hoped not, but it would be interesting to see if he cleaned up nice, as her mother used to say. With that in mind, she went to her own room and hunted up a hotel comb still in its cellophane wrap. She’d picked it up on a trip to Tupelo a few years back, and the name of the hotel was printed on it. But a comb was a comb. It would have to do.

  After adding the comb, as well as some peroxide, cotton balls, and a fresh bandage to the amenities on the vanity, she glanced around to see if anything was missing. Then she took a closer look at the pajamas—the pair of bright yellow cotton pants had motorcycles printed on them. Motorcycles. Oh, you’re a pistol, Daddy. Then she thought again about Tiny sleeping in the buff the night before and didn’t like the way it made her feel.

  Rushing out of the room, she went down to the kitchen again and rummaged in the pantry for the clown waffle iron. After rinsing it and leaving it open to dry, she mixed waffles from her grandmother’s recipe. Pre-packaged mixes had always been pretty much unknown in the Kelley household. Her mother made everything from scratch, too, and worried about what Penelope cooked for Jake and Bradley when she wasn’t able to do it anymore.

  Penelope poured the batter into a plastic container with an airtight lid and placed it beside the leftover green beans and new potatoes she’d cooked two nights earlier. I could’ve warmed those up…thawed a couple of chicken breasts…The phone on the wall beside the dining room door interrupted her thoughts.

  “Mother?”

  “Hello, Bradley. How are you?”

  “I’m good. Just wanted to say thanks for thinking about not cleaning the room until we could go over it.”

  “I’m glad you acknowledge that I occasionally think.”

  “Mother.”

  “And I also knew what that green stuff was without being told.”

  “Yeah, Officer Deane said she smelled it the minute you opened the door up there. Their IDs were fake, too.”

  She remembered she wasn’t supposed to know that. “Oh?”

  “You really should ask for two forms of ID.”

  “Couldn’t they fake two just as good as one?”

  “Not as likely.”

  “So how did you all get to the Sit-n-Swill so quick last night?”

  “That’s police business.”

  “I see.”

  “Don’t start, Mother.”

  “No, sorry. What are you doing for supper tonight?”

  “Abigail’s cooking some seafood recipe she picked up in New Orleans.”

  “What was she doing in New Orleans?”

  “Library convention.”

  “I don’t know why they have conventions in a place like that. Who wants to sit in dreary meetings when there’s so much to do?”

  “Abigail said the sessions were interesting.”

  Why am I not surprised little Miss Prim and Proper went to the meetings instead of sight-seeing. “Have you seen your father recently?”

  “No.”

  “You should call him sometimes.”

  “I called him twice last week, but he wasn’t home. She was.”

  “Shana.”

  “Right. I left messages, but I guess she didn’t give them to him.”

  “Twit. Listen, Bradley, come over anytime for supper. Bring Rosabel with you.”

  “Mother, my relationship with Officer Deane is purely professional. It has to be.”

  “Oh, sure. I understand. Sorry.” She didn’t amend the invitation to include Abigail Talbot. That girl possesses about as much personality as a sloth on tranquilizers.

  “But I’ll see you sometime. Be careful.”

  “I’m careful. You need to take your own advice.” She’d never forgotten the first time she’d happened to hug him when he was wearing his bulletproof vest, and how she’d died a little inside.

  “Bye now, Mother.” He hung up.

  Penelope dropped the receiver back into the hook and stood thinking about the baby she’d rocked and nursed, so soft and safe in his sleeper and blanket. Now he wore a keflon vest and packed a gun so big it scared her just to look at it, much less think of what it could do to a human body. She’d raised him to follow his dreams—but sometimes what he was doing gave her nightmares.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Daddy, did you ever wish I’d been a boy?” Penelope asked while they ate less than authentic sweet and sour chicken, fried rice, and egg rolls from the deli. She’d tasted real Chinese food at the best restaurants in four states, and this wasn’t it.

  “Can’t say that I did. Why?”

  “I just wondered. Sometimes I think I wish Bradley had been a girl.”

  “He’s a good boy.”

  “I know that, but we’re not close like I might’ve been with a girl.”

  “Wynne and I were real happy with you, Nellie. Took us long enough to get you here. We’d about given up. Then when you were three, she had that late miscarriage, and by the time that was over, we knew you’d be all we’d ever have.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing Bradley was all I had, although I’d have liked one or two more.”

  “But not with Travis.”

  “Right. Not with Travis.”

  Jake shook his head and selected another egg roll from the pasteboard carton. “I knew he was a wild kid, but I never figured him for a womanizer after the two of you married. Reckon his folks are spinning in their graves out there at Pembroke Point.”

  I’d heard a few things before we married, but I thought he’d change. I was blessed wrong about that, now, wasn’t I? “At least I got Bradley out of the deal.”

  “You ever think about marrying again? I mean, Bradley’s grown, and you’re still young enough to…” His voice trailed o
ff.

  “You know I can’t do that, Daddy.”

  “Because of the Church.”

  “I couldn’t give that up. It’s too important.”

  “You could at least go out some. I know you’ve been asked.”

  “Nope. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”

  “Not all men are like Travis Pembroke, darlin’.”

  She shrugged.

  “Don’t you miss having a man in your bed?”

  “Daddy!” The blood rushed from her neck to her face and down again.

  “Well, Nellie, we’re two adults. It’s not like either one of us hasn’t…”

  “You’re my father, for blessed Pete’s sake! It’s indecent to talk about things like that.”

  Jake dipped the last bite of eggroll into the soy sauce. “I missed your mother like that. Still do.”

  But I’ll bet things were good between the two of you that way. Travis wasn’t worth the time it took him to… She rose from the table and began to clear away the cartons and plates. “Like I said, this isn’t a fit conversation for us to be having.”

  Jake sighed. “I worry about you, Nellie. I’m not going to be here forever.”

  “You’re healthy as a horse, and I’m happy the way I am.”

  The look he gave her said he didn’t believe that for a single minute. She hated how Tiny flashed into her mind at that very moment, making her stomach tighten.

  “Reckon Tiny’ll be back tonight?” Jake asked, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin and adding it to the knife and fork abandoned on his empty plate.

  “I have no idea.”

  Penelope turned on the cold water to rinse their plates and silverware and wished she could bathe her burning face in it.

  “Leave the door unlocked.”

  “Since when does anyone in Amaryllis ever lock their doors?”

  “The back door was locked this morning early.”

  “Tiny did it.”

  “Oh. Well, I guess he knows the way upstairs.”

  “I guess he does.”

  “You put everything in his room?”

  “It’s all there. Thanks for doing the shopping.”

  “Sure, sure. I’m going to watch ‘Law and Order’. Want to watch with me?”

  “No, thanks, Daddy. I’ve got some things to do upstairs. Like take a cold shower.

  He walked to the sink and pecked her cheek, which was still hot to the touch. “Night, darlin’.”

  ****

  She showered and went to bed with the latest nursing journal. Since she kept up her nursing license, she figured she should keep up with all the new techniques and developments in medicine, too. Not that she ever thought about going back to work. The B&B kept her busy enough. Being an innkeeper let her meet new people. Healthy people all in one piece. People she didn’t have to patch up or transport to the morgue.

  At ten forty-five, she realized staying awake wasn’t going to make Tiny show up, so she cut off the lamp and snuggled down, She didn’t even have time to doze off before she heard footsteps on the stairs. Not that nice family on the third floor either. They’d come in just after six, hot, sweaty, and drooping, and gone straight upstairs, obviously worn out by the family reunion. And not Jake. He never came upstairs. So it had to be Tiny.

  She realized she was smiling and tried not to. Should she get up and let him know she knew he was here? Maybe not. No, certainly not after the reaction she’d had to that indelicate conversation with her father. Certainly blessed not! She hadn’t felt that way in years, and Tiny would know, because he seemed to know everything.

  Listening again, she heard the footsteps moving toward the front room. He’d find the underwear, socks, and pajamas, the toiletries and the fresh pillowcase. Maybe she should check his wound to make sure it was clean. No, he was a big boy. He could look in the mirror and wash it with the peroxide she’d left in plain sight along with the bandage.

  When she heard the door close, she turned over and closed her eyes and wished she could close her mind as well.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  (Sunday)

  The alarm on her bedside table at 5 AM woke Penelope from a restless sleep. Rolling over on her back she let her mind drift over the day ahead. Breakfast for the third-floor guests, late Mass, maybe get a head start on cleaning. She sat up and put her feet over the side of the bed. As they touched the shaggy pink throw rug, the consciousness of Tiny’s presence at the end of the hall hit her like a wrecking ball. Her body actually quivered as if it were trying to decide whether to topple or stand. She stood up to prove she could do it. Don’t you miss a man in your bed? The memory of Jake’s words made her blush again.

  By nine o’clock, the nice little family had departed, full of breakfast and bearing the lunch she’d insisted on making for them. They’d thanked her at least half a dozen times for everything, and she’d stood on the porch waving until their mini-van turned the corner.

  She’d cleared the table and put on a fresh pot of coffee when she heard Tiny coming down the stairs, circumspectly like a gentleman. Biker, my foot! In the first place, you’re too old for that sort of nonsense, and in the second place…”

  “Good morning.”

  She didn’t turn around. “Good morning. I’ll have your breakfast in a few minutes.”

  “That’s all right. I can get something in town.”

  “You won’t find anything open on Sunday, and besides, there’s plenty of batter left, and the waffle iron heats quick.”

  A chair scraped the wide terrazzo tile as he sat down. “Thanks for the things you left in my room.”

  “You’re welcome. Daddy got them for you.”

  “I had on clean clothes when I came.”

  “It smells that way.”

  “A biker in a laundromat can empty out all the other customers in a hurry. Do you think I could…”

  “The utility room is that way.” She jerked her head toward the folding doors she’d had installed to shut off the old-style laundry room from the rest of the kitchen.

  “Thanks. I stashed my stuff in the garage.”

  Just making yourself right at home, aren’t you? “Where are your buddies?”

  “Probably out looking for trouble. At least they’re not looking for me. They think I went off Rosedale Bridge into Pine Branch Creek.”

  “What do they think that?”

  “Because I meant for them to, I guess.”

  Penelope let herself look at him as she brought his coffee. He presented a different picture without the grimy bandana covering his wavy gray hair, now neatly combed back. He’d shaved off his sideburns and the chin stubble. Instead of leather, he wore new jeans and a dark green knit golf shirt. When he said, “Yeah, it’s really me,” she realized she’d been staring.

  “What are you anyway? FBI? DEA? Or maybe one of the bad guys?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll never tell.” Then he grinned. “But it’s Sam now, not Tiny.”

  “Sam what?”

  “Just Sam. I am Sam, play-it-again-Sam, good Sam. Take your pick.”

  She curled her lip and began to spoon batter onto the smoking waffle iron. A few minutes later, when she slid the plate in front of him, he laughed—a rumbling sound reminding her of the old men who used to sit on a bench in front of the courthouse when she was a little girl, feeding the squirrels, reliving their glory days in the first World War, and keeping tabs on everyone’s comings and goings. “Clown waffles?”

  “The little boys staying on the third floor loved them.” She took a pitcher of warm syrup from the microwave and set it down. “I used to make them for Bradley. He thought they were pretty special.”

  “He probably wouldn’t appreciate you telling me that.”

  “Probably not. By the way, how do you know my son?”

  “Uh-uh. I was ready for that question.”

  She poured herself another cup of coffee and sat down across from him. “Did you clean that place on your head last nig
ht? It really needed stitches. I could’ve done it if I’d had what I needed, but…”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Penelope leaned on her elbows. “If you’re going to use my bed and breakfast for covert operations, I ought to know something about them. And about you.”

  “No, you oughtn’t.”

  “Oughtn’t? I don’t here that much around here.”

  He wiped syrup from his lips. “I’m not from around here.”

  “But you’re here, as at the B&B. For how long, by the way?”

  “Until I leave.”

  “Well, how blessed long is that?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “I’m empty until Thursday. Then I’ll fill up for the Black Walnut Festival.”

  He looked up with no hint of humor in his blue eyes. Blue as the summer sky…but sad. Or maybe haunted.

  “I might want to hang around until then.”

  “Be my guest—literally.” She hoped he couldn’t see how her heart was pounding under the ribbed white turtleneck.

  “You’ll be reimbursed. What do you charge per night?”

  “Fifty for that front room.”

  “It’s a nice room.”

  “It belonged to my grandparents and then my parents. Who’ll be paying?”

  “Nobody you’ll ever know.”

  She pursed her lips. “Fine, have it your way.”

  “I will.”

  “Do I get a Junior G-Man badge, too?”

  His mouth twitched. “If you want one.”

  She glared. “Forget it.”

  As he’d done before, he carried his dishes to the sink and rinsed them. “I’m going out for a while. Do you always leave the back door unlocked?”

  “Everybody in Amaryllis leaves their back doors unlocked.”

  “Not a good idea.”

  “It has been so far.”

  “It’s not now.” His feet, encased in white tennis shoes without a logo, made no sound on the tile as he moved toward the back door. “You go by Penelope or Nellie?”

  “My father calls me Nellie. How did you know my name was Penelope?”

  “I know stuff.”

  “I just bet you do, Mr. Eastwood.”