The Bogus Biker

by Judy Nickles

  “I’d like to, Mrs. Pembroke, but I’m on duty.”

  “Then come sometime when you’re not.” She looked around. “Is that it?”

  Shana nodded. “That’s it.”

  Penelope picked up the garment bag. “All right then. Let’s get out of here.”

  ****

  (Wednesday)

  Two days later, the people of Amaryllis, Arkansas, turned out in droves for Travis Pembroke’s funeral at the Methodist Church. Penelope and Jake sat on the front row with Bradley between them, and the Hargroves on the other side. Harry delivered the eulogy, and the remaining members of the football team—the Coyotes of 1966—served as pallbearers. The Amaryllis Police Department, all wearing full dress uniform, followed the hearse to the family cemetery at Pembroke Point for the private committal service.

  Penelope found it difficult to concentrate on the minister’s words as she stood beside the casket poised over the open grave. I thought I’d said goodbye the day I walked out of the county courthouse with my divorce decree in my hand, but I guess you never say goodbye to someone who’s been part of your life. He wasn’t a bad person, just flawed—and aren’t we all?

  She searched the faces of the by-invitation-only mourners, all familiar to her, and felt a stirring of disappointment. I’m standing here burying my ex-husband, knowing his death finally makes me a widow in the eyes of the Church, and I’m looking for Sam. Who was he? Where is he? And why do I even care? Bradley’s arm went around her as she shivered in the summer heat.

  “In sure and certain hope of the resurrection…” the minister intoned. Don’t be too sure. I knew the man better than anybody, and I’m not entirely certain he was ever really sorry for anything he did. I just wish I were certain I’d put all this behind me someday.

  Her lips moved in The Lord’s Prayer. I wonder what Sam believes in. Maybe not anything. She shook herself mentally. It’s a sin thinking of that man, especially now. I’m losing my blessed mind, that’s what.

  Only the three of them—Penelope, Jake, and Bradley—remained until the casket was lowered into the gaping hole. “In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Sprit,” Jake murmured. Penelope and Bradley crossed themselves and joined his “Amen.” Then, arm in arm, they walked up the rise toward the house.

  ****

  Over supper put together from a myriad of dishes brought by friends and neighbors, Bradley mentioned he was taking his father’s will to the attorney the next day. “I know Dad meant for the Point to stay in the family, but I don’t know what I’m going to do with it.”

  Jake helped himself to more pasta salad. “You’ll figure it out, son.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “It’s just one of those things you have to do.”

  Bradley’s shoulders sagged like they bore the weight of the world. “I know, Pawpaw. It’s just that…”

  “And there’s the Pembroke jewelry,” Penelope interrupted as she saw Bradley’s mouth tighten.

  “I don’t know what to do with that either.”

  “I’ll put it in my safe deposit box at the bank,” Jake offered. “As I remember, there’s some pretty pricey stuff there. You’ll have a bride to give it to one of these days.”

  Lord, don’t let it be Abigail the librarian. Penelope hoped Bradley couldn’t read her mind.

  “It was nice of you to take Shana to the airport,” Penelope said.

  “I wanted to do it. We had a good talk.”

  “Cleared the air, did you?” Jake asked.

  “I told her to just put all this behind her. One mistake shouldn’t color the rest of her life.”

  “It’ll take her a while to forgive herself,” Penelope said.

  Bradley nodded. “She made a mistake, a big one, but so did I. I turned her off by being too overbearing. I have that in common with my father, I guess.”

  “People can change,” Jake said.

  “This whole thing has made me take a hard look at myself, that’s for sure. I thought I knew it all after going to school over in Little Rock and getting my own office at the PD. Boy, was I wrong.”

  Jake touched his arm. “You’re a good officer, Bradley. Everybody says so.”

  “I’d rather just be a good man like you, Pawpaw.”

  Jake chewed his lip. “Well, son, it’s a lifelong thing, being a man the best you can be. And it’s never easy.”

  Later, when Jake had gone to his room, Bradley helped his mother clear up in the kitchen. “I’ll help you whenever you’re ready to go out and work in the house,” Penelope offered.

  “Thanks, Mother. Maybe I’ll get started next weekend.”

  “Anytime. Just let me know. Bradley, I got the impression there was a connection between you and Sam.”

  “That’s one of those things I can’t talk about.”

  “I understand. Could you just tell me who he is?”

  “Not even that. I’m sorry.”

  “Okay.”

  He put the last container in the refrigerator and closed the door. “You need to get somebody out here to fix that hole in the floor in Nan’s No-No. The two agents who came for the money made pretty much of a mess.”

  “I’ll call Jerry Bentley.”

  “He can do the job. Do you have termite inspections regularly?”

  “Every year.”

  “I didn’t see any sign of them, but it’s damp between the floor and the dropped basement ceiling. A good breeding ground for mold.”

  “I’ll see about that, too. Do you want to spend the night here?”

  “No, I need to run by the station, and then I’ll go on home.”

  She put her arms around him. “Remember the old song your Nan used to sing about how tomorrow will be a lovely day?”

  Bradley hugged her back. “It will be, Mother. For all of us.”

  ****

  A pervasive, weary loneliness followed Penelope from the kitchen and made the stairs steeper, the hall longer, and her bed emptier. Her mind returned to her thoughts at the graveside. Now that Travis is dead, I’m really free. That’s a terrible thought, but it’s true. I accepted the fact I couldn’t marry again and still receive the sacraments, and I made a choice. Now that I don’t have to spend the rest of my life alone, I suddenly resent the fact I am.

  She turned over and buried her face in the pillow. A thousand images catapulted through her mind, including the blood-soaked bodies on the garage floor and the sound of him calling her name almost with his last breath.

  Already, her odyssey felt removed from reality, the stuff of a third-rate movie. It was her attraction to Sam, a man who might well have set them all up for death, that haunted her. If I just knew who he was, that would help. Bradley knows, but I understand he can’t talk about what happened. At least he doesn’t know how Sam affected me…how he made me feel. I can’t even confess that. Fr. Loeffler would think…what would he think? I just know I can’t confess it to him.

  She turned over again, clutching the sheet under her chin, and listened to the silence, then to a broken silence. It came again, too real for her to pretend she hadn’t heard it.

  Gravel against her window.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Without bothering to put on slippers, Penelope made it to the bottom of the stairs even before she finished buttoning her robe. She padded through the kitchen, eased open the back door, and stepped outside. What am I blessed doing? Maybe he’s come back to finish the job. Take out the witnesses.

  The full moon illuminated the veranda so brightly she imagined herself back on stage at Amaryllis High, spotlighted for her big scene in the senior play. Tip-toeing past her father’s window, she stage-whispered, “Sam? Sam, are you out there?”

  He arms came from behind her, one hand covering her mouth. “Don’t scream.” He turned her toward him and eased his hand from her lips.

  “I’m not going to scream,” she hissed. “What are you doing here?”

  “Come on.” He held out his hand. Dressed complet
ely in black, he reminded her of the specter of Death.

  “Where? The last time I went with you, I almost got killed.”

  He kept his hand outstretched. “We need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  He didn’t reply.

  “I’m in my robe, and I don’t have any shoes on.”

  “Your toes won’t get frost-bite in June.”

  “Where are we going?” The eagerness pounding in her veins guaranteed she’d go with him.

  “Not far.”

  Without realizing she’d done it, she took his hand and let him lead her down the path that ran through her mother’s garden toward the garage where a bright green “bug” idled in the driveway. “Get in.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked again.

  “I told you, not far.”

  “How far?”

  “There’s not a biker in sight at Rosedale Bridge.”

  “When you knocked me down at the Sit-n-Swill and told me to keep quiet, I knew you weren’t a biker.”

  She thought she heard him laughing softly as he backed out onto the street.

  “Did you come to finish the job? Get rid of the prime witness?”

  “If you really thought that, I’d have had to drag you to the car kicking and screaming.”

  “You moved Shana and me around like pawns on a chessboard.”

  “I don’t play chess.”

  “You could’ve fooled me.”

  Sam turned onto the road leading past the abandoned schoolhouse, slowed, then took the fork toward Pembroke Point. “That’s not the way to Rosedale Bridge,” Penelope said. A sick feeling in the pit of her stomach told her she really should be back at the B&B—kicking and screaming.

  “You’re taking me back to the Point? What for? There’s nothing left in the safe, and I don’t remember the combination anyway.”

  “You’re babbling, Mrs. Pembroke.”

  “There’s nobody there, and…”

  “We’ll be there.”

  “How many of us will stay there?”

  He chuckled. “Do you want to stay?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Then don’t worry about it.”

  She pulled her robe more closely around her, acutely aware there was nothing underneath but a nightshirt and unmentionables. “If you were me, wouldn’t you worry?”

  “Not if I was you, and you were with me.”

  “That doesn’t make a blessed iota of sense.”

  He laughed again. “I guess it doesn’t.”

  Maybe Daddy heard us outside. Maybe he’s already called the police, and they’re looking for me.

  Pembroke Point appeared on the horizon, dark and almost gothic despite the full moon, but the trees from the woods cast long shadows across the winding drive. Sam stopped near the terrace. “Now, we can talk.”

  “Do I get to choose the topic?”

  “

  All you ever do is ask questions, but sure, go ahead.”

  “I’ve got a lot of them. For starters, who are you?”

  “Just Sam.”

  “Travis called you Bart.”

  “I’m sorry about Travis Pembroke. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “You didn’t set us up in that garage?”

  Enough light shone on his face for her to see it grow hard. “That’s what you thought?”

  “What was I supposed to think?” She fiddled with the buttons on her robe. “How did he almost take the fall for what went on out here the night of the fire?”

  “All I can tell you is, it was a mistake.”

  “The fire? Two dead men?”

  “All of it.

  “How did it happen?”

  “You don’t need to know.”

  “Then what about Danny Holmes or Lawrence Drake or whoever he was? Did you know him?”

  Sam’s voice came tight and terse through the semi-darkness. “I knew him.”

  “I take it you didn’t like him.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t need to know.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t think I need to know.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Then why did you bring me here? Certainly not to talk about anything important.”

  He turned toward her as much as the cramped space inside the tiny car would allow. “Maybe to make sure you’re all right.”

  “Why should you care?”

  He reached to touch her cheek with the tip of one finger. “I care.”

  She shivered, and the unwanted feeling in the pit of her stomach turned from fear to longing.

  “You’re a survivor, just like I am.” His finger moved to her lips and traced them. “You’ve got a sharp mind. You figure things out. I like that.”

  “I can’t figure you out.” She had barely enough breath to get the words past her lips which were on fire beneath his touch.

  “You don’t need to. Not now.” He leaned toward her, brushing her lips with his.

  What are you blessed doing, Penelope? Why are you here in the middle of the night, half-dressed, with a man who may be planning to…oh, please, Lord, no. Surely he’s not going to…

  His hand traveled down her arm and stopped. “We could go in the house.”

  “It’s locked.”

  “I can get in.”

  “I’ll just bet you can. And then I suppose you’ll carry me upstairs to my ex-husband’s bed.”

  “There are other beds besides his.”

  His other hand stopped just short of inside her robe. This is so wrong. Say something. Say what you didn’t say to Travis years ago.

  “Was it good for you with him? He stroked her neck with a gentleness she wouldn’t have attributed to his general demeanor.

  She willed herself to push him away, but she couldn’t do it. “No,” she heard herself say.

  “Never?”

  “He took what he wanted, and it was over.” Why are you telling him things you never even said to your best friend?

  “I don’t do that.”

  Her whole body felt consumed with desire. Make him stop, Penelope. You know it’s wrong.

  Almost as if he’d read her mind, he moved away from her. “I want you,” he said. “I had the crazy idea you might want me, too.”

  I do…oh, God forgive me, I do, but…

  “I don’t even know you.” Her voice came out as dry as her lips. “You don’t know me.”

  “I might know you better than you think.” He let his eyes drift over her body as she huddled against the door. “I don’t know when I’ll get back this way. I’m already supposed to be somewhere else, but I had to see you first.”

  The odd note of vulnerability in his voice nibbled at her conscience. “I guess I should thank you for keeping Shana and me alive. You did, didn’t you?”

  “I did my best.”

  “I just wish I knew why you had to do it.”

  “It had to be done.”

  “Daddy’s the toast of the coffee set at the Daisy Café.”

  “Jake’s a good man.”

  “Yes, he is. I’m glad you see that.”

  “There’s a lot of your father in you.”

  “I consider that a compliment.”

  “I meant it as one.”

  A long but not entirely uncomfortable silence filled the small car. Finally Penelope said, “Sam, where did you come from? I mean, you didn’t just spring full-blown from somewhere. You had to be a little boy once.”

  “I was a little boy.”

  “And then?”

  “I taught medieval literature for a while.”

  “And now…” She smiled a little. “Never mind. I don’t need to know.”

  “Now I’m a survivor.”

  “Like me.”

  He nodded. “Like you.”

  “Did you really come back tonight just to be sure I was all right?”

  “I like to tie up my loose ends.”

  “You tie up loose e
nds with women by trying to get them into bed with you?”

  “I usually don’t have to try.” He blew out his breath. “I shouldn’t have done it with you. I knew you were different from the beginning. But I knew there was an attraction there—for both of us.”

  “Because you know things.”

  He shrugged.

  “Tomorrow morning I’ll wonder what I was doing here in the middle of the night in my nightshirt.”

  “I think you know.”

  Inexplicable tears filled her eyes. “I…I’ve been thinking about you,” she murmured.

  “Well, that’s progress, I suppose.”

  “Progress toward what? You’re leaving.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  “Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of.”

  He reached for her hand. “Penelope Corinne Louise. That’s a mouthful. ”

  “Penelope was my mother’s cousin who drove an ambulance in London during the Blitz and died one night when a building fell on her.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Never ask a woman her age.” She sighed. “Forty-seven.”

  “I’m a year older.”

  She studied his face. He looked older somehow. The lines between his eyes and across his high forehead might be premature, but they hinted at more than one lifetime already lived.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “I want to be sure I’ll recognize you when I see your face in the post office someday.”

  “In the…” He grimaced. “That’s not very flattering.”

  “Sorry.”

  He brought her hand to his lips, then appeared to freeze.

  “What?”

  “Be quiet.” He put his hand on the back of her neck and pushed her down. “Don’t move.”

  She felt her mouth hit her bare kneecap and tasted blood, but the survival instinct Sam said she had kicked in, and she stayed still. She heard his door open, then close with a soft click, and knew he’d gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  All right, Penelope, now you’ve done it. Gotten yourself in a real mess this time. Why didn’t you tell him to buzz off? But, oh no, you just blindly followed a man who could well be a modern-day Jack the Ripper, down the garden path—quite literally—and rode away with him, half-naked, in the middle of the night.