by Robin Caroll
The song ended, and she keyed up her mic. “Good evening, Mystique. Thank you for listening. This is Gabby Rogillio, playing the dedications of your heart. Before I move into the next set, as I promised you earlier, we have a very important announcement to make.” She licked her lips, willing excitement into her tone. “In the studio with me tonight is Mr. Clark McKay. Welcome, Mr. McKay.”
He leaned toward the mic she’d set for him. “Thank you, Gabby.”
“Why don’t you tell our listeners about the big KLUV announcement?”
“Certainly. I’m pleased to announce that I’ve purchased KLUV from Mr. Ellison.”
“Mystique, I hope you all give Mr. McKay a true Southern welcome. He’s from the Philadelphia area, so let’s pull out the welcome rug and show him what Southern hospitality is all about.” She queued the station identification tune. “After these messages, we’ll get back to the dedications of your heart.” She set the loop, turned off her mic and removed the headphones.
Mr. McKay did the same. “So, how do you think it went?”
She glanced at the flashing lights on the phone. “We’ll see.” She pressed the button and answered via speakerphone. “KLUV, you’re on the air.”
“Hey, Gabby, did I hear you right? A Yankee bought the station?”
She gestured for Mr. McKay to answer.
He paused for a moment, as if to gather his thoughts.
“Gabby, you there?”
She couldn’t leave a caller hanging. “Sure, we’re here. Mr. McKay is the new owner of KLUV. We’re all very excited to start a new chapter for the station.”
“But he’s a Yankee, right?”
She put her smile into her voice. “Only by birth, not by choice.”
The caller laughed. “Then I’ll look forward to meeting him. Thanks, Gabby.”
She took the next call. “KLUV, you’re on the air.”
“This Mr. McKay…how’d he buy the station? I heard Mr. Ellison’s unconscious.”
She looked to Clark again. This time, he came through.
“Mr. Ellison and I have been negotiating for days. The paperwork was finalized this week, before this incident occurred.”
“Oh, hello, Mr. McKay.”
“Hello.” He glanced at Gabby. “I’m really looking forward to meeting everyone in Mystique and making this my home.”
No response over the line. He looked to Gabby again.
She shrugged. “Do you have a dedication?”
“No, I just wanted to know what was going on.”
Gabby pressed the button again. “KLUV, you’re on the air.”
“I have a message for Mr. McKay….”
The hairs on the back of Gabby’s neck stood at attention. Maybe it was the voice synthesizer the caller used…maybe it was the menacing tone. Either way, Gabby’s gut twisted. She wet her lips. “Yes?”
“Tell the Yankee if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll go home.”
Her heart thudded. Same message that had been spray-painted on his car. “Who is this?”
“Just know, Mr. McKay, nobody wants you here.”
The line went dead. Gabby quickly queued up a set of songs, despite her trembling hands.
“I had no idea so many people hated me.” Clark’s voice didn’t waver.
“That was a threat, Mr. McKay. I think we should call the sheriff.”
“And report what? The good people of Mystique don’t like me? Won’t accept me as a new business owner?” He shook his head. “That wasn’t a direct threat. Nothing the sheriff can do.”
“But it was the same threat that was spray-painted on your car. And the caller used a device to disguise his voice. Who does that unless they’re up to no good?”
“I’ll call McGruder later, but don’t hold your breath on the sheriff being able to do anything.”
But the call unnerved her. Attacks. Vandalism. Now this threat. What was happening to Mystique?
What was going on with KLUV?
Gabby took four more calls of people asking questions about Mr. McKay, or how Robert was. No more harassing callers, thank goodness. Enough was enough. She settled the headphones over her ears and leaned over her mic. “Mystique, we’re all praying for Robert Ellison’s full and speedy recovery. This next song is dedicated to him.” She flipped the switch, and the opening bars of “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother” filled the studio.
“You handled that well.” Mr. McKay set the headphones on the desk and stood. “Thank you.”
“It’s my job, right?” Her heart pounded. How could she have been so rude? To her boss, of all people?
His brows bunched. “I suppose so.”
“I guess you want to get settled in Robert’s office? I don’t think he removed his personal effects.”
“That’s okay. I’ll start in there on Monday. Maybe Mr. Ellison will be better then.”
She clenched and unclenched her hands under the desk. “I pray so.”
“Me, too.” He hesitated at the door. “Well, thank you again.”
She smiled, then turned back to the phones, ignoring him as he left. She sighed when he moved down the hall.
It’d been her job. But she hoped he wouldn’t find any more reasons to come by for the late-night show. He was too handsome. Too charming. Too much of everything she wasn’t supposed to let herself admire.
Not again.
Every pew filled to overflowing in the small community church. Clark waited until the benediction was completed before slipping out from the back row pew. He shook Pastor Lum’s hand, then waited in the foyer. The message had been inspiring and well delivered, but Clark had to admit, he’d been less moved by the sermon than by the Bible reading given by Ms. Gabby Rogillio. He could listen to her voice all day…and planned to listen to it at least a little longer this day, if she’d agree to join him for lunch.
Several members of the congregation came to him, hands extended, welcoming him to Mystique. He’d longed for this kind of fellowship.
“…and you must join the singles Sunday school group,” said an elderly lady with glasses as dated as her muumuu dress. But Clark’s attention focused over the lady’s shoulder.
Gabby.
He touched the lady’s shoulder softly and made his escape. Weaving around the throng of people lingering and chatting in the foyer, he hurried to her. She stood surrounded by a flock of friends. He sucked up his courage and approached her. “Gabby.”
She turned so fast that her curly hair brushed against him. “Oh. Mr. McKay. How are you?”
“Doing okay, for a Yankee.” He smiled, hoping she’d see the humor.
Her eyes twinkled as she laughed. “Very good, Mr. McKay. Very good.”
“It’s Clark, remember?”
“I remember.”
The foyer suddenly became very warm, the people very close. He stuck his hands into his pockets. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me for lunch.”
She stared at him as if he’d just sprouted a second head.
But then she smiled. “I—I guess.” She glanced over her shoulder at the three women forming a semicircle around her. Two of them nodded. A stamp of approval? She faced him again. “That sounds nice.”
He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
She whispered to her friends, then accepted his arm. “Lead the way, McKay.”
He glanced to the parking lot, then toward the street. “It’s such a lovely day, why don’t we walk to the diner? The rental car…well, it’s a rental.”
“The weather’s perfect.” Her smile did strange things to his stomach. Like make him forget he’d skipped breakfast after oversleeping. “How’d you like the service? Isn’t Pastor Lum the best?”
It was hard to concentrate when she walked so close to him that he could catch whiffs of her perfume. Or shampoo. Something spicy and tangy, not make-your-teeth-hurt sweet. He forced the words past his lips. “I enjoyed his sermon.”
“It was good today. The Book of Daniel is my
favorite.”
“I enjoyed your reading. Very much.”
Little dots of pink infused her face. “Thank you.” She lowered her lids and stared at the sidewalk.
He’d better change the subject quick or she’d bolt. “Is the diner okay with you?”
Gabby threw her head back and laughed. “It’d better be. It’s the only place open for lunch on Sundays.”
“Good thing I like the food, then.”
“You’d be un-American if you didn’t like Ms. Minnie’s.” She smacked her lips. “That woman can cook.”
He chuckled and opened the glass door to the diner. Something about the way she anticipated the food warmed his heart. It was so open and honest. How refreshing.
The diner was packed with locals, all decked out in their Sunday finery. Gabby smiled over her shoulder at him, took his elbow and led him to a booth in the back. They dropped onto the cracked vinyl seats, and Clark glanced around. “Fills up pretty fast.”
“After-church crowd is the busiest.” Gabby nodded at the waitress who’d shown him so much interest the other night.
She strutted over with a coffeepot and filled Gabby’s cup, then smiled at him. “Want a cup, sugah?”
He nodded, keeping his eyes on Gabby, not wanting to encourage the woman.
The waitress poured him a cup of coffee. “Know what y’all want?”
Gabby smiled at the tired-looking woman. Then again, next to Gabby, everyone looked tired, or worn or plain. “I think I’ll have the shrimp po-boy, Carol Ann.”
The waitress stared at him, popping her gum. “And you?”
“The same.”
The waitress sauntered off, stopping at various tables to top off cups.
“Any idea when you’ll hear back about your car?”
“I’m hoping tomorrow. Sheriff McGruder asked Lou to rush his report, so I’m anticipating it’ll come tomorrow.”
“Lou’s good. And he’s honest.” Gabby took another sip, then set down the cup with a gentle thud. “So, tell me about yourself.”
“What do you want to know?”
“How old are you?”
“I’m thirty-five.”
“Married? Children?”
“No, never married. No children.”
“Someone waiting for you back in Philadelphia?”
His heart quickened. Was she interested? In him? “No. I’m all alone.”
“Somehow I doubt that.” She shifted in her seat.
“What about you?”
She froze. “Me?”
“Yes, you—tell me your life story.”
She ran fingers through her hair, shoving it over her shoulder and down her back. “I’m twenty-nine, never married, no children, and you already know I’m a deejay.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“I have an older brother, Antonio. Luckily, he and Mama and Papa live in Natchez.”
“Why is that lucky?”
She laughed. “Let’s just say it’s lucky for me, so I can live my own life.” She flicked her wrist. “What about you? Any brothers or sisters?”
“Nope. Only child.”
“How sad.”
Clark smiled. “Not really. I was doted on, adored, spoiled.”
“Rotten, I’m sure.”
“Yeah, I’m sure I was.”
“Was?”
The waitress delivering their lunch saved him from answering. As soon as she’d sashayed away, Gabby peered at him. “Would you like me to pray?”
“Yes, please.” And please don’t think I’m a heathen for not offering myself, but it’s been a long time since I’ve felt comfortable praying in front of someone. Even though he’d cleared his name, he’d never forget the way people he thought were his friends had ostracized him. Even the ones who proclaimed to be Christians.
But not Gabby. She flashed another high-wattage smile before bowing her head.
Sitting across the table from her boss was probably the worst idea. Memories of her early times with Blake marched across her mind. He’d been her college boyfriend, and her boss—the station manager at the news channel where she’d interned, back when she was studying broadcast journalism. She’d loved him, trusted him—right up until he’d betrayed her. Handsome, charming, work-focused men couldn’t be trusted. Men like Clark. So how could she explain how much she was enjoying lunch with him?
She lifted her sandwich and took a big bite. The zesty Cajun spices set her taste buds on fire, but in a marvelous way. Ms. Minnie did cook like a dream.
Clark mirrored her, and immediately, the air seemed sucked from his lungs. Reaching for his iced tea, he nearly spilled it all over the table. He took a gulp, then another, then another.
She pressed her lips tight together, but her laughter squeezed past. “It’s a little hot.”
Tears filled his eyes while he drained his tea in a final gulp. Ice clattered against the glass as he set it back on the table.
“Hot?”
He sputtered and coughed.
Gabby had to laugh. His eyes looked like a well-used road map that had gotten wet one too many times. He blinked and blinked—tears ran down his cheeks. The overall appearance filled her heart with giddiness. This was a man she could laugh with. The thought sobered her immediately.
When had Clark slipped under her defenses? The intent way he looked at her? The way he made her feel?
“Hot doesn’t begin to describe this stuff. It’s lethal.” He coughed again. “Man, how do you eat this without smoke coming out of your ears?”
“It’s an acquired taste.” She smiled as he dabbed the corners of his eyes with a napkin. “The trick is to not take such big bites until your taste buds become accustomed to the spices.”
“Gee, that was information you could have passed along a bit earlier.”
Ms. Minnie appeared with the pitcher of iced tea. “You okay, Mr. McKay?” she asked as she refilled his glass.
“Just a little spiciness that I’m not used to yet.”
The older woman patted his shoulder. “You’ll be eating cayenne on your Cheerios after another month here.”
His eyes bugged as Ms. Minnie headed to the next table.
“So, I heard you bought a house.”
“I did. On Bridges Street.”
Her heart and stomach flipped positions. “Do tell.”
“A beautiful old antebellum mansion.” He swiped his mouth with a napkin. “It’s in pretty solid shape, too. I got a good deal.”
Gabby let out a sigh of relief. It couldn’t be her house—everyone knew the house was priced too high. That was why it had stayed on the market so long. She sat back and allowed herself to relax. Maybe this man wasn’t so bad after all.
And just maybe, if she made a good enough impression, her job wouldn’t be in jeopardy. If she kept her position, she was almost guaranteed to become syndicated. If that happened, she could afford the down payment and mortgage on her dream home. It wouldn’t fix what had happened to Howard or Robert, but at least her life would make sense again.
“So you’ll be coming into the station in the morning?”
“Yes. I want to meet with Mr. Masters to discuss some changes.”
Personnel changes? Her heart tightened. “Let me know if I can help you with anything.”
His smile did strange things to her. “I do have some ideas I want to run by you, but not on your time off.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I appreciate it, but I have a firm policy to not invade on employees’ personal time.”
Yet, he’d asked her out to lunch. As an employee? For all she knew, he intended to take everyone out to lunch one-on-one to get to know them better. The thought should’ve reassured her. Sadly, disappointment wormed into her heart.
Gabby took a final sip of her tea, then pushed to her feet. “I really enjoyed lunch, Mr. McKay, but I need to be heading back. I’m expecting company soon.”
He stood.
She held up her hand.
“No need. I know my way.” She forced a smile. “Thank you again. It was a pleasure.”
Before he could reply, Gabby spun and marched out of the diner. Her stride quickened as she headed for the church. She trembled. Everything was happening so quickly. The attack. Howard dying. Finding out KLUV had a new owner. Changes.
She turned right on Shannon Street, spying the church’s steeple. The tower cut through the skyline. Seemed fitting, somehow—a very visual reminder every day that God lived with people, not merely an omnipresence in some lofty position who didn’t care about His children.
Gabby reached her car and started the engine. She took a deep breath. Driving past her house would calm her nerves—it always did. She drove toward the residential section of Mystique. Not quite in the city limits, but close enough to be in the town’s hub within minutes. A perfect place to have a house. Not only had she been saving her pennies to put down on the place, but she’d been unable to resist some household items she’d found on sale she knew would look beautiful in her home. Excitement built in her chest. As long as she kept her income, she could realistically move into her house in less than six months. Sooner, if her show was syndicated.
If Mr. McKay didn’t replace her.
She hung a right on Bridges Street. Gabby perked up in her seat as the house crept into sight. Someone had cut the grass. Strange, since the yard hadn’t been mowed in months. Maybe the Realtor had finally gotten around to having it done.
Gabby swallowed a deep breath, her gaze drifting over the top floor of the house. Perfect. As always, the house was perfect. Her scrutiny shifted to the driveway.
She slammed on her brakes. Right in the middle of the street.
The shingle swinging from the bottom of the For Sale sign swayed in the Gulf breeze. The shingle which said, in big, red letters Sold.
She’d barely heard the cell ring. She scrambled to flip it open. “Hello.”
“Have you heard the news?” Eric asked.
“What news? I’m not home yet from church and lunch. What’re you talking about?”
“Robert.”
“He’s awake? That’s awesome.”
“No, he’s still unconscious. And if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay that way. If he wakes up, he’ll be arrested.”
Arrested? She slumped back in her seat. “Whatever for?” Eric had to be wrong. Maybe he’d been listening to Lion Boy’s far-fetched alien-abduction theories a little too long, making him daft in the head.
