Dead Air

by Robin Caroll

  “I’m not so sure about that. He bought my house, Immy. My house.” Gabby took a sip of her café au lait, then set the mug on the table. Her gaze locked on the card lying on the table, and the coffee soured in the pit of her stomach.

  “Oh, Gab, I’m so sorry, hon. But there’s no way he could’ve known.”

  “But Immy…” She knew she whined, but couldn’t stop the overflow of emotions.

  “Come on, Gab, it isn’t his fault Howard was murdered and Robert arrested. He had his car vandalized and his house broken into.” A heavy pause hovered through the connection. “Sweetie, he’s not Blake Riggsdale, you know.”

  “So you keep reminding me. But I think he is keeping things from me, like Blake did.” Gabby ran a finger around the lip of the mug. The pain of Blake’s actions still hurt, even though it’d been years since he’d used her.

  “He’s only known you a couple of days,” Immy said. “Give him time to open up. And such a big gesture with the roses. Great day in the morning, Gabby, are you blind? The man’s totally smitten with you, and you’re giving him the brush-off. You’re acting like a silly little nitwit.”

  “Yeah, the roses were a nice touch. But I can’t help wondering why.”

  “No man can know the heart of another, Gabby. Only God can. And He’s also the only one in a position to sit and pass judgment.” She let out a loud sigh.

  Now Gabby’s stomach really roiled. The bile of self-condemnation inched up the back of her throat. She pressed her lips together tightly, then swallowed. A lump stuck in her craw. Her gaze focused on the roses again.

  Immy’s voice softened. “I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty or bad, but to make you see what you’re doing. You don’t know why Mr. McKay’s sending you flowers. But you can’t just assume to know. That’s not your place.”

  “I know,” Gabby squeaked out. Her heart jumped. “You’re right. I need to call him and apologize.”

  “That’s my girl.” Immy chuckled. “Don’t beat yourself up over this. God knows you’re under enough stress and you’re just trying to help Robert. You just need to make sure you don’t hurt other people in your crusade.” A long pause followed. Then, “And that he bought your house, however unwittingly, probably added to your annoyance with him.”

  Boy, had she ever hit the nail on the head with that one. “Thanks, Immy.”

  “No worries. I’ve got to run. I need to go check on Mr. Tobias. His Alzheimer’s is getting worse.”

  “Oh my. I’ll say a prayer for him.”

  “Thanks.”

  Gabby stared at the dead phone in her hand. She should call Clark, her heart reverberated Immy’s words.

  No, she needed to do more than that. She had to go to Clark to talk. This apology deserved to be made in person.

  Had she received the flowers yet? Clark opened another spreadsheet on his laptop.

  Uneasiness nestled tight in his chest. Gabby seemed positive of Robert’s innocence and if she was going to put herself in danger by investigating, he was going to help. How else could he protect her? Besides, having been a journalist for years, Clark agreed something didn’t seem right. Oh, he believed the Ellison marriage was in trouble—that much he’d detected. Poor Robert. He was a deacon in the church—a divorce wouldn’t sit well with the elders, especially in a small town. But a murderer? No, Clark was with Gabby on this one—he couldn’t believe Mr. Ellison was a cold-blooded killer.

  A knock rapped on his front door, startling him. He hadn’t had a single visitor aside from Aunt Beulah. Who’d be coming now?

  Clark shoved to his feet and swung the door wide-open. His heart fell to his toes.

  Gabby stood on the threshold, looking better and fresher than any woman had a right to. “Hi, Clark.”

  “Hi.”

  “I wanted to thank you for the roses. They’re lovely.”

  An in-person thank-you. That had to be good news, right? “You’re most welcome. Would you like to come in?”

  “Um.” She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I need to apologize to you, as well.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “I was rude. I’m sorry.”

  Her honesty was his undoing. “Then we’re both forgiven?”

  “I guess we are.”

  “Would you like a tour of the house?”

  Darkness passed over her expressions. “I can’t.” Were those tears forming in her eyes?

  Maybe she knew the previous owners and was sad they were gone. The reason didn’t matter. He needed to get back on the even footing from a moment ago. “Let’s prove there are no hard feelings between us. Bury the hatchet once and for all.”

  “How’s that?” Her eyes widened, suspicion dancing in their depths.

  “Have dinner with me. Tonight.”

  “Supper. Your Yankee tendencies are showing.”

  “Excuse me?” Would his place of birth and raising always be a punch line to her?

  “In the South, we refer to the night meal as supper, not dinner.”

  “Supper, then.”

  “I work the nightshift at the station, remember? I go on at ten.”

  He chuckled. “I’m not likely to forget. Could we maybe eat before you have to go to work?”

  “I—I guess so. Do you want to meet at Ms. Minnie’s?”

  “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of Sam’s Steakhouse.”

  Her lips pursed as she debated. Finally, she let out a breath. “What time would you like to meet?”

  “Why don’t I pick you up at eight? I’ll make reservations.”

  Gabby grinned. “You don’t need reservations at Sam’s on a Tuesday.”

  “Oh. Is eight good for you?”

  “Sounds fine.” She moved toward the door.

  “I’ll pick you up then.”

  Her voice cracked. “Uh, Clark?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you again for the flowers.”

  Gabby pulled the rental car into the VanDoren Bed & Breakfast parking lot and killed the engine. She stared through the windshield at the valets milling around their outpost, not really sure what she was doing. Why’d she come here?

  Because Rayne was her most fashionable friend and, in spite of herself, she really wanted to look nice for Clark.

  She headed to the front entrance. People moved about the grand foyer area. Lots of people. Way too many for this time of year. Was Rayne hosting some kind of event? Guilt that she’d been so wrapped up in her own issues and emotions lately that she hadn’t even thought to inquire about her friends’ lives pushed her toward the front desk.

  “Hi, Gabby. Here to see Ms. VanDoren?” the young girl behind the counter asked.

  Gabby couldn’t even remember her name. “Yes. Is she in?”

  “Go on back.”

  She headed down the hall and paused outside of Rayne’s office. The door sat ajar, and she could detect Rayne’s I’m-not-pleased-with-you tone in her voice.

  Gabby ducked her head inside. Rayne sat at her desk, looking like a dark-blonde Barbie doll propped in a massive leather chair behind an oversize desk. The phone stuck against her ear, Rayne spied Gabby and waved her in. Gabby dropped into one of the three Queen Anne chairs facing the desk as Rayne wrapped up her call.

  Rayne hung up the phone and studied Gabby’s face. “So, what brings you by?”

  She couldn’t even voice her concerns. “Nothing. Just wanted to drop by and see how you were. How the B and B is doing.”

  Rayne’s smile lit up the dark-paneled room. The office didn’t suit her—it was too dark, too masculine. No wonder, her father had designed it for himself. “We’re holding our own. Right now, we’ve only got two vacancies.” Her excitement showed in her eyes.

  “That’s great.” She hoped Rayne hadn’t picked up on the cracking of her voice.

  Rayne studied her a bit more intently. “But that’s not the real reason you came by. What’s up?”

  Busted. “Uh, I was wondering if yo
u could suggest something for me to wear tonight.”

  “Tonight? Where to?” Rayne’s eyebrow shot up.

  “Clark’s taking me to Sam’s Steakhouse for supper.”

  “Oh my. I didn’t know.”

  “He just asked me today.”

  Rayne moved to sit on the edge of the desk, her legs dangling in front of Gabby’s. “Today? Do tell.”

  Gabby explained about the letter, the slit tires and Clark being a rock during the stressful time. “He sent me flowers.” She smiled, and heat fanned her face.

  “Flowers? Really.” Rayne crossed her arms over her chest. “What kind of flowers?”

  Gabby swallowed. “White Confederate roses.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “It’s just supper.”

  Rayne laughed. “Sure it is. And white roses, excuse me, white Confederate roses, too.”

  “Okay, okay. It’s a date. A real-live-I’ll-pick-you-up date.” Gabby snorted. “Happy now?”

  “Happy for you.” Rayne moved to peer out the floor-to-ceiling window. “Let’s see, Sam’s Steakhouse. Hmm.”

  “It’s just a restaurant, you know.”

  “How about that black dress you wore to the Cotillion?” Rayne faced her.

  Gabby shook her head. “Lost three buttons and haven’t had a chance to get replacements.”

  “The red dress with the gold piping?”

  “Long sleeves. I wore it at Christmas, remember?”

  “That’s right.” Rayne paused for a moment, then snapped her fingers. “The purple sundress?”

  Possibly. “You don’t think it’s too casual?”

  “For a spring supper? Nah. It’s just a restaurant, you know.”

  They both burst into laughter.

  “Then the purple sundress it is.” Gabby gave her friend a hug. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just don’t you ever forget it.”

  As if Gabby could.

  Rayne hopped off the edge of the desk. “Go home and get ready for your date with Clark. Enjoy your evening.”

  Gabby stood and forced a smile. “I’ll try.”

  “Remember what Ms. Minnie always says…triers never do.”

  “And doers never try,” Gabby finished.

  Rayne touched her hand. “Gab, are you okay?”

  Emotions threatened to hold her words hostage. Gabby nodded.

  “Seriously?”

  “I’m fine. Just have a lot on my mind about Robert and Howard.”

  Rayne’s penetrating stare pinned her to the spot. “I’m sure that’s part of it, but I think there’s more.”

  “Do tell?”

  “I think you’re really attracted to Clark McKay.”

  Heat flooded her face and Gabby ducked her head. “Don’t be silly. We just happen to be on the same side of an issue.”

  “Gabriella Rogillio, stop it right now. Why can’t you just admit you like Clark?” Rayne crossed her arms over her chest.

  Tears blurred Gabby’s vision as the floodgates to her emotions broke free. “Because what if he turns out to be just like Blake? I can’t go through that kind of betrayal again.” A trail of tears slipped from her eyes. “I couldn’t survive the pain.”

  “Oh, Gab.” Rayne pulled her into a hug, holding her tight. “You can’t let that jerk Blake ruin your chances for happiness.”

  Gabby stepped out of the comforting hug.

  “It’s okay to be scared. Be scared silly. Love can be a scary thing.” Rayne wagged a finger. “But don’t let that fear stop you from being happy.”

  “Love? Not hardly.” But the idea slipped into the recesses of her heart. What would it feel like to really love someone, and be loved?

  “You mean, not yet.” Rayne smiled. “Let down your guard and see where it leads.”

  At that moment, her intercom buzzed. “Ms. VanDoren, a guest would like to see you for a moment.”

  “I have to go, but think about what I said. Tear down those silly walls you’ve built up. Get to know Clark’s heart. He just might surprise you.”

  He already did. A hundred times over.

  ELEVEN

  Clark stared out the window, absently studying the magnolia trees swaying in the early evening breeze across the street. Dusk settled over Mystique. A sweet fragrance drifted on the wind, swirling through the open space and filling his house.

  Thank You, Lord, for showing me I needed to get away. For giving me such an enormous wake-up call.

  He’d noticed things sure were slower down in the South—the people, the business, the way everyone talked, the entire town seemed to live by a slower pace.

  Clark glanced at his watch—seven-twenty. Just forty more minutes until he could leave to pick up Gabby for their date. He’d already showered, shaved and dressed, but needed to cool his heels. He refused to be early for their date.

  Wasn’t timing everything?

  In the corporate world, timing was everything. But here, in sleepy little Mystique, and with his heart…was timing important?

  Sad, but he had nothing to compare his emotions to. No woman had ever made him break out in cold sweats before. Not like Gabby did, effortlessly.

  Clark tossed the pen onto the desk and let his thoughts drift. Eventually, he glanced at his watch again—seven-forty. He grabbed his suit jacket from the coatrack, slung it over his shoulder and rushed out the door into the humid evening. While he didn’t want to be early, it wouldn’t do for him to be late.

  He drove toward her apartment, stopping at a red light. He glanced over at the florist shop on the corner. If the delivered roses had made an impression, what would one more being hand-delivered mean? When the light turned green, Clark jerked his car into the florist’s parking lot.

  The clerk called out a greeting as the little bell over the door twinkled, then her eyes widened when she recognized him. Her hands stilled at the arrangement in front of her. “Mr. McKay. Were the roses satisfactory?”

  “Perfectly.”

  The relief showed in the woman’s smile. “Good. Good.” She wiped her hands on her green apron. “What else may I help you with?”

  “Do you happen to have a single red rose?”

  She laughed. “We’re a florist—of course I have red roses. What kind?”

  “Do you have a red Confederate rose?”

  “I believe I do.” She moved toward the refrigerator case. “Would you like it in a vase, with greenery?”

  He closed his eyes and conjured up Gabby’s image. “No, just the rose wrapped in paper, please.”

  Why did Murphy’s Law always have to apply? The phone rang when Gabby was in the bathroom.

  She hopped from the shower in a cloud of steam, wrapped the fluffy terry-cloth robe around her and then scrambled to the bedroom. Her wet feet lost traction and she slipped, slamming her knee against the nightstand and knocking the phone off the hook. “Ouch.”

  Breathless, she grabbed the receiver and pressed it to her ear. “Hello.”

  “Did I interrupt something, sistah?” Tonna’s laughing words held a hint of mischievousness.

  “Yeah, my shower. I fell and bumped my knee, and it’s all your fault.” Gabby giggled as she perched on the edge of the mattress, rubbing her tender kneecap. “What’s up?”

  “Oh, sorry ’bout that. Listen, girl, you won’t believe what I just heard.”

  “Tonna, you know how I feel about gossip.” Gabby plucked a loose thread from the robe and let it drift to the floor.

  “I thought you said you wanted me to keep my ears open about Robert.” Her tone came out sounding hurt.

  “Oh. Right. Okay.”

  Tonna’s laugh rumbled from her throat. “I love ya, you little hypocrite.”

  That stung, even if said in jest. “It’s for the greater good, Tonna.” At least she believed that. Lord, please help me keep my motives pure.

  “I know, honey. I’m just joshin’ with ya anyway. So, Ms. LouAnn and Ms. Roberta were in the shop this morning,
getting dye jobs. Can you imagine someone wanting their hair to look burgundy? I declare, I think when senility sets in a lack of taste creeps over your common sense.”

  “Ton-na.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Anyways, the two ladies had breakfast over at Ms. Minnie’s this morning—sat across from Sam Wood. And lo and behold, guess what his favorite topic of the morning was?”

  “Robert?”

  “Bingo!” Tonna lowered her voice. “According to Ms. LouAnn, Sam Wood slapped down the morning paper, his face all in smiles, and said, ‘Serves him right.’ Then, as Ms. Roberta tells it, Ms. Minnie asked Sam what had stuck in his craw so early in the morning. And Sam tells her, loud as can be, so Ms. LouAnn says, that he’s glad Robert Ellison’s gonna be behind bars and hopes he rots there until his dyin’ day. Can you believe?”

  “Oh my.” Gabby didn’t know Sam Wood very well, but it had been obvious for years that there was no love lost between him and Robert. She’d never wondered why before, just blew it off as none of her business. Maybe she should have asked a couple of questions. “What else did you hear?”

  “Well, Ms. Roberta says Ms. Minnie went into her lecture about not wishing ill of anyone, but says that Sam just guffawed at her—can you imagine anyone guffawing at Ms. Minnie?—and said, and I quote, ‘Robert deserves every ounce of hardship he gets.’”

  Sam’s dislike of Robert ran so deep that he’d be happy about another’s misfortune? “What else?”

  “Ms. LouAnn says Ms. Minnie ’bout had a tizzy right there in the middle of the diner. Said she pulled out that handkerchief from her dress, dabbed at her forehead, then put those hands on her hips and told Sam Wood that she wouldn’t tolerate any bad lip about any of the citizens of Mystique and if he couldn’t keep civil, he could go somewhere else for his coffee.”

  “Oh, my soul and body. Not a good idea to tick off Ms. Minnie.”

  “Ms. Roberta says Ms. Minnie’s admonishment didn’t matter a lick to ol’ Sam. He just gave a big belly laugh, tossed some bills on the table and sauntered out as nice as you please.”

  What was happening to their town? Mystique hadn’t seen this much excitement since LindaMae had lost her Ms. Mystique title after being found rolling around in the hay with Bubba behind the church. “My, my, my. Anything else?”