by Nina Barrett
She turned as the bell over the front door tinkled.
“Mac, this is Etta. She and her husband own the cafe.”
“Glad to meet you.” Etta smiled at him.
“Hi.” He slid onto the seat beside her. “Water looks good. Could you find a glass for me?’
“Is something wrong with the car?” she asked as Etta turned away.
“One tire is low. I think it just needs some air.”
“The air hose is around the side.” Their waitress returned with his glass. “My husband is making a delivery for Maggie May down the road, but he’ll be back shortly.”
“I can do it. No problem.” He took a long drink, swirled the water and ice in his glass, and drank again. “So what looks good?”
“I don’t know. You decide.” She slid the menu over. “How are we fixed for funds?”
He grimaced. “Getting a little light. Don’t know how long we’ll have to stretch things.” He closed the menu and put it back in the holder.
“Ma’am,” he called to Etta at the other end of the counter. “Do you think you could get us a couple burgers with the works?”
“Sure thing.” She came over with her pad and wrote it down. “Anything else?”
“No, that’ll, well, maybe coffee. What about you, Jan?”
She shook her head.
Etta paused on her way back to the kitchen to greet two men in work clothes coming in. Did law enforcement ever drop by the café?
“We may be sleeping in the car tonight,” Mac said.
“Big change from the weekend.”
“Oh, yeah. I don’t know how much farther we can travel.” Mac glanced at the clock above the coffee urn. “It’s after five now.” He lowered his voice. “The pizza place should have opened up and noticed their car was gone. They’ve probably reported it as stolen.”
“Great.” She buried her face in her hands.
Etta returned with Mac’s coffee.
“Cream?”
“Black is fine. Excuse me, do you get a paper here? A newspaper?”
“It should be here soon. We get The Fawcett County Herald. They usually deliver it about this time. Dennis,” she called to a man just entering. “I’ve got your take-out ready.”
“Fawcett Country?” she asked as Etta returned to the kitchen.
“I knew we were near it. We’re back on the Major’s home turf, although I figure it’s ten or fifteen miles north of here. I think that river we’ve been following along the levee is the same one that runs by the Major’s.”
He drank his coffee in silence as she played with her glass.
Her mouth watered as Etta returned with their plates. She thought he was hungry too by the way he grinned. It was the first time she’d seen him relax since the disaster in Titusville.
“Looks wonderful,” he told their server. From Etta’s smile in return, it looked like she wasn’t immune to Mac any more than most women probably were.
Transfixed she reached over to pick up the thick bun. The steaming meat dripped juices down onto the crisp lettuce, sweet onion, and red tomato. She took a bite and didn’t stop till Etta returned with two dishes of coleslaw and a plate heaped with golden, fried-cornmeal balls.
“It’s just hush puppies and slaw from lunch. They’re no good left over so help yourselves.” Etta waved off their thanks. “Enjoy,” she said as she went over to ring up a sale at the cash register.
Mac was finishing the hush puppies when a pick-up pulled up beside the door. A young man got out of the truck and reached in the back to pick up a load of newspapers. He brought them in to sit beside the cash register and paused to talk to Etta.
“Let’s see what the news is,” Mac said.
She laid her fork down as he went to get a newspaper, stopping to look at the front page as he put some change in a glass bowl. Mac’s face was grim as he sat down beside her.
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She pushed her dishes to the side as Mac spread the paper out between them.
She stared at the picture at the top of the page, forgetting to breathe. The photo showed the burned-out frame of a car sitting alone on the blacktop, a group of men standing to one side.
Mac fingered a man in a suit, his back to the camera.
Warren Whittaker.
She moistened her lips and looked again at the headline. It hadn’t changed—F.B.I. Agent Injured in Titusville Explosion.
She drew a long breath as Mac bent over to read.
“Special Agent Jacob Derossiers of the Federal Bureau of Investigation was critically injured today in the explosion of a car in the parking lot of the Titusville, Georgia, Savings and Loan. The F.B.I. had been called to the scene to investigate the robbery earlier that day as part of an on-going investigation of similar crimes. The robbers, a man and woman, fled the scene in a local delivery truck leaving their original getaway vehicle locked with the keys inside.
“Agent Derossiers was attempting to gain entry into the car when he inadvertently triggered an explosive device left behind by the couple. He was airlifted to a burn center in Atlanta where he is listed in critical, but stable, condition.”
Critical? She shaded her eyes for an instant. Beside her, she felt Mac bow his head in his fists.
She opened her eyes and continued reading.
“Authorities have not yet released figures as to how much was taken in the robbery. Cash reserves at the bank had recently been increased due to building activity in the Titusville area. Law enforcement officials are reviewing surveillance tapes of the robbery taken in the bank, but it is believed the pair is also responsible for a series of robberies this summer across Alabama, Mississippi, and Georgia. Dubbed the new Dixie Deb, the well-dressed woman, along with her silent male companion, have apparently patterned themselves on the original Dixie Deb robbers of a quarter-century ago. That couple, involved in similar bank robberies, disappeared at the height of their notoriety and the case was never solved.
“An APB has been issued for the Titusville Feed and Seed delivery truck the pair stole in Titusville—Georgia plates GA 127VIK. The couple is to be considered armed and dangerous. Please do not approach them—just contact your local 911 dispatcher. An F.B.I. spokesman said the pair may have been carrying explosives with the intent of blowing up the vehicle and staging their own disappearance with the proceeds from their crimes.”
“So what about dessert?” Etta refilled Mac’s coffee cup.
As casually as she could, Jan turned the page.
“I think we’ll pass.” Mac cleared his throat.
“Okay. I’ll bring your ticket. Find anything in the paper?”
Mac flipped the pages to the inside.
“Not really. We were looking for some kind of local jobs, quick cash, you know. We’re a little short on funds right now.”
Etta put her coffee pot down on the counter and looked sympathetic.
“Well, I might be able to put you on to something if you aren’t too picky. Louis should be back soon from Maggie’s. That’s Maggie May’s Trout Farm just down the road a piece before you come to the old sorghum mill. She needed some extra help out at the hatchery, and Louis went down to lend a hand with the evening chores. He should be back anytime now. Maggie had a couple high school boys there, but summer conditioning for football has started and she’s short-handed.”
“Sounds great.”
“That’s Louis pulling in now. Come out with me and I’ll introduce you. Maybe he can take you down to Maggie’s and you can talk to her.”
“Okay. Jan if you want to stay here, I’ll be back soon.”
She nodded as Mac laid a bill on the counter and followed Etta out to the parking lot where a hefty, middle-aged man in overalls was getting out of a pick-up truck.
She folded the paper and placed it picture side down on the counter. Finishing her water, she stood up and stretched before going in search of the restroom.
Mac and the man in the pick-up were gone when she returned. Collectin
g their dishes, she returned them to the kitchen where Etta was loading the dishwasher.
“Thank you. You didn’t need to do that.”
“I don’t mind. I’m just waiting on Mac.”
“Yeah, Louis is giving him a lift down to Maggie’s. You folks got somewhere to stay tonight?” Etta straightened up and studied her.
“No, we ah…” How to explain? She picked up glasses and handed them to the woman who was filling the top tray, playing for time. “We left in pretty much of a hurry. It was kind of an emergency.”
“You’re a nice looking couple. Him big and solid, you willowy and graceful.”
Willowy and graceful. That was a nice way to put it. Better than calling her Sticks and Bones as they had in junior high when suddenly she had towered over the boys in her eighth-grade class.
“Thank you. Not everyone sees it that way.”
“I was kind of that way myself before I starting eating too much of Louis’ cooking.” Etta added soap powder to the dishwasher. “So you leaving someone behind? You were doing a real job on your fingernails out there.”
“Well.” Maybe that could be an explanation for their time on the run. “My ex-boyfriend wasn’t the nicest person. Mac pretty much rode to the rescue.”
Etta nodded sagely. “Thirty years of waitressing, you can tell a lot about people. Your man now, he’s the quiet, silent kind. Keeps things bottled up, but that don’t mean he doesn’t feel them. He’s the protective type. I thought you seemed scared when you came in.”
She didn’t know the half of it.
“So your ex, was he abusive?”
She started to shake her head, then stopped. Emotionally, perhaps Tim had been. To keep her dangling while years went by and he checked off the goals he’d set for himself. Maybe the time since he’d broken things off had given her the opportunity to see what friends and family had hinted at even before Pammy had entered the scene. Years invested in the relationship had convinced her to stay, to overlook the subtle digs and put-downs that had slowly eroded her sense of worth. Maybe play-acting as the Dixie Deb had given her a little more backbone.
“Good riddance to bad rubbish. Sometimes you just gotta head on out and keep going.” Etta dried her hands on a towel. “Why don’t you come with me while I take the trash on out back? I might have an idea about something that can help the two of you get back on your feet.”
She helped Etta lug the black plastic trash bags to a dumpster in the rear of the café. In the west, the sun was setting in a rosy glow. A mockingbird began its evening serenade in the branches of a nearby pine.
“There’s an old cabin back here on the river.” Etta dusted her hands and led the way to an overgrown path away from the sounds of the road and the lights of the cafe. Their footsteps sank into the deep green moss. Wildflowers edged the way. She thought she recognized mountain phlox, trillium, and lady’s slipper.
“It isn’t much. Sometimes we have guests who want to rent it out for a couple days to do some fishing on the Braided River. No one’s here now so maybe the two of you could use it for a spell.”
Shooing a cloud of midges away, she followed Etta through the pines into a clearing. A small sun-bleached clapboard house stood in a clump of scrub pines. Down the sloping bank beyond the cabin, she could hear the tumble of the river as it fell over some rocks.
“It isn’t much, but you can take a look at it.” Etta pushed a trailing mimosa vine away and opened the door. “It’s just the two rooms here.”
“Oh, this is nice.” Jan followed her in. “It’s kind of like a doll’s house.”
“It is small, just this room and a bedroom in through here.” Etta crossed the floor and pushed a door back.
She turned around taking it in as Etta watched, hands on hips.
A rag rug lay in front of a wood-burning, iron stove. There was an old table with a kerosene lamp, two ladder-back chairs, and some shelves in the corner. She moved over to take a look at the second room. A small double bed was pushed against the wall beside a nightstand piled with bedding.
“There’s no running water, but you can use the restrooms up at the café.”
“This is all too kind of you.”
Etta shrugged. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’d be a roof over your head.”
“I don’t know how to thank you. We were planning on sleeping in the car tonight.” She turned around and spread her hands. “Compared to that, this is great.”
“Tell you what. Come up to the café about eleven tomorrow morning, help with the lunch crowd, and we’ll call it even.”
“Of course. I’ll be glad to.”
“Well, I’ll leave you here. Maybe Louis is back with your boyfriend. I’ll send him down here if he is.”
Etta dismissed another attempt to thank her with a wave of her hand and closed the door.
She had been right. It wasn’t a resort, pretty much the opposite end of the spectrum from where they’d been the night before. Still, though, it was a better end to a day that had been nothing but a sheer disaster. She moved around the cabin looking at things.
The shelves held the basics of assorted plates, chipped mugs, mismatched flatware, a teakettle, and some frayed towels. In the bedroom, a mattress had been laid over a rope-strung frame. She shook out the threadbare sheets, pillowcases, and quilt, wrinkling her nose at the mustiness. She made the bed, tucking the corners under and adding the quilt. She was plumping up the pillows when she heard the door open.
“Jan?”
“I’m in here.” She took a look. The old quilt, a double wedding ring pattern in faded pinks and greens, actually looked nice. She scooted around the bed and opened the door.
“So Etta offered to put us up here?” Mac was standing in the middle of the room, surveying it.
“Yeah. I think we got lucky for once. I couldn’t believe it when she offered us a place to stay.”
“We had to catch a break somewhere, didn’t we? If only because of the law of averages.” He pulled a chair away from the table to sit.
“What’d you find out?”
“Maggie’s? It’s quite an enterprise. This older lady, Maggie May, runs a fish farm about a mile down the road. She raises trout from eggs to the point where they’re ready to be sold commercially. I can walk there in the morning so we can keep the car out of sight. She just needs some basic fetch and tote labor. I can pick up a little money while we lay low, catch our breath, and figure out this mess.”
“Etta was curious about us. I let her think I was on the run from a bad boyfriend. Anyway, she felt sorry for us.”
“Works for me.”
“I’m going to be helping out in the café at lunch time. I felt like I needed to do something to repay her.”
“We both do. I helped Louis haul used grease out to the grease trap collector in back. They strain it before turning it in for recycling. They must fry a mountain of fish.”
Mac stood and stretched, groaning as he worked the kinks out.
“Well, I’m going to move the car. Don’t know how vigilant the police are about patrolling this area, but it makes me nervous. We passed some kind of a dumping ground in a ravine on the way to the fish farm. Looks like quite a few old wrecks have been abandoned back in there. I’m going to park the car in along with them and get it out of sight.”
“There’s a bed in the other room.” She nodded toward the doorway. “I got it made up.”
“Sounds good. I’m ready to hit the hay. Why don’t you go ahead and lie down? I’ll crash when I get back from moving the car.”
“I think I will.” She watched as he paused in the doorway. “It’s been a long day. Tomorrow has to be better, doesn’t it?”
He raised an eyebrow and looked skeptical. “Hard to get much worse, right?”
Chapter Ten
Jan arched her back and rolled her shoulders as Etta reached over to empty the deep fryer.
“I think the rush is over, girls. Jan, you were a big help today.”
&nb
sp; “I was glad to lend a hand. What can I do now?”
“Oh, you can go on. Rochelle and me have our clean-up routine down pat.”
“Are you sure? I really don’t have anything to do.”
Etta waved a hand. “Go on. And take some of these leftovers. You haven’t had your lunch either.”
“Thanks, I will.” Jan peeled off the hairnet Etta had provided. “I’ll make something for Mac, too. I don’t know what he’s doing for lunch.”
“Go right ahead. I’d rather see it used than thrown away. Maggie’s is down about a mile and a quarter on this side of the road if you want to walk. You can’t miss it.”
She made up a couple of fried catfish sandwiches, added some of the hush puppies she’d been frying, and put everything in a plastic take-out bag.
In the restroom, she filled the sink with water and scoured her face and arms. Even after rinsing off, she still smelled of fried food. And her hair!
She shuddered and dunked her head under the faucet, reaching for the pink stuff in the soap dispenser. She scrubbed her hair vigorously, digging her nails into the scalp. She rinsed it off, wringing as much moisture out of it as she could and using paper towels to dry it. Standing up, she ran her fingers through it to de-tangle it.
She looked at herself in the mirror still wearing the shirt and jeans she’d worn for the last two days. Her face was free of make-up after days of impersonating the Deb, her hair falling in wet waves around it. She didn’t resemble the genteelly-dressed Dixie Deb any more than the terrified accounting professional she’d been in her tailored suit back in the Atlanta office of the I.R.S. But, the thought of being hard to recognize did bring a certain sense of relief.
The smell of grease still permeated her clothes. Maybe she could do some laundry when she got back to the cabin.
It was another hot sunny day. The early morning mist drifting up from the river had burned away. She waved at Louis as he carried something out to the barrel-shaped container beside the back door. All in all, it had been a stroke of luck to find shelter at the Alabama-Rama. How long would they have to stay before things got straightened out with the F.B.I.? Was there any further word about Jake Derossiers? The possibility he might not recover was one she couldn’t bear thinking about. Who had set them up? If she hadn’t locked their keys in the car, the two of them would be the ones in the hospital. At best.
