Mom furrowed her brow and looked out the window for a minute, then back at Ms. Johnson. “All that is mighty odd, I’ll give you that. Wonder what sent him into such a tizzy?”
“Tizzy? Honey, he weren’t in no ‘tizzy.’ He was lathered up like a rabid dog, foam danglin’ from his jowls and all. When I left last night, he was mumblin’ to that hairy fleabag. Kept tellin’ him it had to protect your master and warn me when he comes. And I think, whatever ol’ Pops was afraid was gonna pay him a visit, did last night. When I got there this mornin’, the front door was wide open and the mangy mutt nowhere in sight. Knew somethin’ was wrong right away. Sensed it, ya know? Then, like an old fool, I pushed my worry away, thinkin’ I was just lettin’ the heat get to me. I mean, Lawdy, this summer’s been a doozy. Don’t reckon I recall a hotter one. So, I went to the kitchen and started to fix some coffee, hopin’ maybe he’d just taken the dog for a walk and forgot to shut the door. Imagine my surprise when I opened the drapes overlookin’ the back veranda. Ol’ Pops looked like the Devil done waltzed in, snatched out his soul, and dragged it straight to Hell.”
Ms. Johnson paused, took a deep breath and followed it with a long gulp of water. No one moved or spoke as we each thought about what Ms. Johnson told us. Finally, Mom gathered her thoughts together and asked, “You said you had somethin’ to show us as well. What…what is it?”
The color that had seeped back into Ms. Johnson’s face while she told her story, faded again. She wet her dry lips, then bit the bottom one. She tried to contain her tears and hold her trembling mouth still. She fumbled around with the napkin on the table until she unrolled it and released the silverware. With shaky fingers, she wiped at her damp brow and cleavage once again. She drew in a ragged breath and then cleared her throat. “After the sheriff finished questionin’ me, I decided to go home and change into a drier dress before I came here to eat. I mean, I’d been sweatin’ like a city whore in a country church the whole time. But the second I stepped inside my front door, I knew someone had been in my house. Grabbed my shotgun from the closet and warned the bastard to show his face ’fore I found him and blew it off. Right when I reached the phone to call the sheriff, I noticed bloody paw prints on the floor. I sort of laughed at myself for gettin’ so wound up, ’cause after seein’ the prints, I figured a critter snuck in and hurt itself tryin’ to get out. Happened to me before with a raccoon and another time with a skunk, remember that Ms. Gertie?”
Meemaw nodded her agreement in silence, motioning with her hands for Ms. Johnson to continue her story.
“So, I put the phone down and followed the trail. The prints stopped at my bedroom door. I pushed it open and saw the mutt on my bed. At first, I was angry the hairy thing was not only in my house, but on my bed. Thought maybe it followed my scent trail or somethin’. Figured whatever got to ol’ Dane scared the critter and it ran to my house. But then, I saw all the blood. Gobs and gobs of the red stuff was all over the walls and my comforter. Room was covered in it. When I looked back on the bed, I noticed the beast was dead. Ripped apart and its guts nowhere in sight. Lawdy, I ain’t never gonna get all of the mess clean. Never. Or sleep on the mattress again. It’s ruined.”
“Oh, my word! How awful,” Mom whispered to no one in particular.
“Honey, you ain’t heard the awful part yet. That story was just the appetizer. This here is the main course. This was a hangin’ outta its mouth.”
None of us took a breath when Ms. Johnson reached into the pocket of her dress, extracted something, and then opened her hand for us to see. She held out a piece of paper marked with faint scribbles. Ms. Johnson’s arm shook as she moved her hand closer to Meemaw. Instinctively, Mom put her arm out in front of her own mother and pushed her back against the seat.
She senses something is wrong, too.
“Lucinda… why did you bring it to us and not give it to the sheriff?”
“If you read the note, you’ll understand why.”
“What does it say, Lucinda?” Meemaw asked.
“I done already read it once and ain’t repeatin’ it. Read it yourself.”
“Oh, for Heaven sakes! You’re actin’ like it was written by Satan himself, Lucinda,” Meemaw snapped. She reached over and snatched the paper from Ms. Johnson’s hand. She spread the crumpled mess on out on the Formica. “What in the world could be so…?”
Meemaw’s voice dried up, her bravado long gone. I thought her eyes were going to bug out of her head they grew so wide. Mom leaned over and read it too, her lips moving in silence as she squinted at the small print. Both of their faces blanched, and Mom’s hand rose up and covered her mouth. My own fear had skyrocketed and not just from Ms. Johnson’s eerie story. Though I didn’t want to know what it said, I was unable to stop myself from asking. “What? What does it say?”
Again, the diner was silent. Even the air conditioner stopped running, like it waited for the note to be read aloud. I glanced over my shoulder to see if Papa Joe was still in the kitchen but didn’t see him. I hoped he was out back, smoking, leaving us alone to calm down Ms. Johnson. I wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone out loud, but I was scared and hoped he hadn’t left for the day. I glanced up at the old clock on the wall. Was Daddy on his way back yet? A brief flash of anger hit me because none of the important men in our lives were here when it seemed we needed them.
Irritated now, I reached over the seat and grabbed the paper from Meemaw’s unsteady hand. When I did, a familiar aroma hit me and made my head spin with old, childhood memories. I remembered the scent—apples and talcum powder.
Nana.
I choked down my fear, forcing myself to read the words. Though already dry and dark brown, I smelled the rusty odor of the blood used to create them. I tamped my rising terror back down and read:
Dane was weak, so I took care of him. Now he’s gone, and my time has come—and I am strong. Stronger than all of them put together. I’ve been waiting for a very long time to reclaim what’s rightfully mine. Give this note to SIN. You know her as Sheryl Ilene Newcomb. Watch her face when she reads it. I know what she did. She knows what she did—and who she really is. Let her know I am coming for her. Tell no one except the Kovlin women. Their reign is about to end. Tell the Kovlin clan I’m coming. Going to collect what should have been my inheritance—my birthright. Tell any others and you’re a dead woman, Lucinda. The death of this mutt will pale in comparison to yours. And I’ll know—because I’ll be watching. I have your scent. You’ll never see or hear me coming.
“And, there was this,” Ms. Johnson murmured. Her faint voice was followed by a small thwack as she tossed another item from her pocket onto the tabletop, this time in a hurry like it was on fire. My fingers shook as I lifted the object up to get a better look at it under the light. My heart thundered in my chest. The sickening taste of bitter bile rose up from my stomach. A shudder of cold panic slammed through me as I stared down at the item in my hand.
It was a necklace. One made from thin leather and a crude rendition of a cat’s head carved in wood, woven into the center.
“Just like Nana’s,” Meemaw whispered in disbelief.
Kovlin reign? What did that mean? Oh, God, the writer of the note knows what I did to Nana. How? Did someone see me that night? Who is coming and what birthright? What the hell is going on?
As the four of us sat hunched together like a bunch of frightened chickens waiting out a thunderstorm, Papa Joe walked in from the kitchen. With slow, sure steps he crossed the small space with silent footfalls. Something about him seemed different. His body posture seemed odd—made him look taller and stronger than usual. His gait was smooth, fluid. Confident. The entire dining area seemed to darken and the temperature soared as he moved closer to the booth. Warm heated radiated from him. I cut my eyes to the front window, thinking the earlier rainstorm was about to turn into a downpour and the dark storm clouds were the reason for the change in light. To my surprise, it was sunny outside, yet the yellow rays didn’t seem to be abl
e to penetrate inside the restaurant. When I turned my attention back to Papa Joe, I had to blink twice to ensure I wasn’t dreaming. His big, limpid brown eyes had morphed into a golden sable color. They pulsed with energy as his deep, throaty voice cast a cloak of soothing balm over us all when he spoke. His focus was pinpointed on Ms. Johnson. “No need to worry, ladies. The note is but a prank, written by bored teenagers. Ones who are jealous of Sheryl for one silly reason or another.”
“A prank? But…but what about the dead dog at my house? And this weird necklace?” Ms. Johnson balked.
“There was no dog, Ms. Johnson. You saw nothing. Heard nothing. Read nothing. Found nothing. You are dreaming. A very vivid dream, brought on by the shock of finding Mr. Witherspoon’s body this morning. You are going to go home, pack up, and prepare for an extended vacation with your family once you take a long, refreshing nap on your couch. You deserve some time away after all the years you gave to the Witherspoon family.”
Ms. Johnson started to protest, but Papa Joe’s words seemed to mesmerize her. The thrumming cadence of his voice and the intensity of his gaze befuddled the stressed-out mind of the poor woman. When he put his hand on her shoulder, her eyes clouded over like she was in a trance, her head nodding in agreement. Without another word, she stood up and followed Papa Joe to the front door. She never took her eyes off the glass door while he unlocked it, and then she walked out of the diner. The tingle of the bell above the door was soft and light as she exited. Her footfalls silent as she shuffled out to her car.
Three sets of worried eyes focused on Papa Joe, our mouths agape and hearts still pounding. My mind raced with a gazillion questions. Ms. Johnson acted like a puppet on a string, controlled by the smooth lies Papa Joe had uttered. Did he use some sort of mind trick on her? What would happen when she returned home and found the dog? Would she see it? Was that even possible? No, no way. Fairy tale and fantasy—unless—Papa Joe hypnotized Ms. Johnson. I stole a quick glance over my shoulder and the sun was still bright, yet the inside of the diner held the same dreary darkness. The heat radiating from Papa Joe was intense, though his eyes had returned to normal.
My mouth was dry and my head spun. I wondered if he was using some sort of ancient Native American hocus pocus on all of us. For a split second, I stole a peek at Mom and Meemaw’s faces. Although they didn’t look like a deer caught in the headlights like poor Ms. Johnson had, they didn’t look right, either. Something behind their eyes—something I couldn’t quite pinpoint but still sensed. I looked over at Papa Joe who had a smile on his face, but the emotion didn’t slide up to his luminous eyes. “Come, Kovlin women, we have much to do. We must prepare food for the grievin’ family.”
None of us said a word or even looked at each other as we rose in unison from the cramped booth. My guess was Mom and Meemaw had the same gut wrenching sensation swimming around in their insides as I did. Because somehow, some way, my heart and mind sensed nothing would ever be the same for any of us again.
Ever.
PART TWO - THE CHANGE
CHAPTER SEVEN
The bumpy ride across town ended the second I turned my truck onto the long, paved driveway that led up to the Witherspoon place. Each side of the wide lane blanketed with massive magnolia and weeping willow trees, strategically interspersed to create a shaded, living canopy. When breezy, the limbs of the weeping willow danced with grace and beauty across the pavement. But not today. The trees stood still like statues under the blistering heat of the Mississippi sun.
Between the heat and the weight of the heavy trucks carrying farming goods hither and yon, Locasia County’s roads were full of a ton of potholes. When dodging them, it made any driver look like they were drunker than Cooter Brown on a Saturday night. My ability to drive wasn’t helped any by the lack of sleep and all the crazy thoughts careening around in my noggin. I laughed out loud at the analogy, one of my mom’s favorite sayings. Jesus, I really was tired if I was quoting my mother’s silly expressions in my head.
It had only been a few months since Dane’s grandfather had the driveway redone, and it was like driving on a sheet of glass. Of course, compared to the jarring ride on the way there, even a drive on pea gravel would have been an improvement. Once parked, I paused for a moment and gathered myself together while I checked to make sure the food crammed in the backseat survived the ride intact. Satisfied the contents were safe, I snuck a peek at my reflection in the rearview mirror and scowled. My blue eyes were surrounded by a sea of red, and the dark circles underneath them made me look like I should don a jersey and hit the football field. Actually, I looked like I just left a party at Stony Bamford’s house after a long night of passing blunts around. I scrounged in my purse and found a ponytail holder, gathered up my unruly hair and twisted it into a messy bun, and then slathered some pink gloss across my lips.
I grabbed my purse and forced my shoulders to relax before stepping out into the sweltering heat. My insides felt like watery Jell-O. Once I climbed up the massive brick stairs that led to the wide wraparound porch, I wiped my sweaty hand on my shorts before I rang the doorbell. I noticed a slight tremor in my hands and willed myself to concentrate on happy thoughts. I thought about fluffy bunnies, rainbows, unicorns, adorable cat videos on YouTube—anything to steer clear of the smoldering panic in my gut. Thankfully, within five seconds, the door opened.
“Hey, babe! Missed you!”
Dane stood aside after opening the large front door of the house, a forced grin spread across his tired face. I wanted to jump into his arms and plant a kiss on him but held myself back. With my luck, his mom would be right behind him and use her cocoa-colored eyes to cut me to shreds. The woman seemed to hate every hair on my head.
A prick of anger danced up my back. She hadn’t done a very good job of hiding the fact that she did not approve of her son dating a “whiter than rice” girl. I overheard her snarky comment one night on the phone months ago when Dane and I had been jabbering until way past midnight. He apologized a hundred times for his mother’s prejudices, and I laughed it off, but it still hurt. It was a wonder he turned out sane at all between his grandfather’s stone-aged teachings and his mother’s racial issues. I mean, come on! She was as dark as two day old coffee, and Dane’s family was part Native American—or had she forgotten that little tidbit of information? Maybe it slipped her mind when young Dane IV slipped her something. I said a silent prayer of thanks for my parents. They may have been southern to the core, but they lacked the particularly nasty southern trait of racism, and thankfully, they passed that along to me. “Glad you’re back home. I’m just sorry your trip was cut short because of what happened. Hate it about Pops. At least you got to attend most of the camp though. So, how was it?”
Dane ushered me inside and pushed the door shut with a loud bang. He leaned down and nuzzled his face in my hair. It wasn’t too much of a stretch for his six foot four frame, since I stood right at five feet ten. Our bodies fit together like we had been made for each other. His warm breath and strong arms set me on fire when he pulled me in closer for a full bear hug. The tension in my muscles, present since the visit from Ms. Johnson the day before and lack of sleep for over twenty-four hours, disappeared with one crushing embrace. “Oh, just a bunch of long-legged giraffes like me, learnin’ how to tighten up our ball-handlin’ skills. And all of me missed you too. Texts and phone calls weren’t enough,” he said, his husky voice muffled as his lips brushed over my hair. He moved his hips into mine and my heart skipped a few beats. Passion warmed my lower body when the bulge pressed against my hips and his strong pectoral muscles mashed my breasts. “Mmmm. You smell good. You baked some peach pie today, didn’t you?”
He nipped at the nape of my neck in a playful bite, and then pulled his head back, his dark eyes dancing with desire. I swatted his tight rear through the thin shorts he had on with a loud smack. His familiar scent hit me and left me a bit unsteady on my feet. He smelled delicious as well. His personal aroma was an intoxicating mixture of
fresh cut wood, citrus, and a hint of musk. His hair was still damp from an earlier shower, and I caught a whiff of the shampoo and body wash I bought him for his birthday, Scented Rain. Combined together, I had to stifle my urge to push him back on the couch and jump him right in the living room. Didn’t matter to me whether his mom was home or not—and he knew it too. His liquid-brown eyes, full of wanting—needing—stared into mine, the smattering of light-green flecks glittered with passion. His full lips curved up in the kind of grin that would make him millions if he decided to give up playing hoops and become a model. Jesus—it was getting really hot in here. I wondered if he was trying to sidestep discussing his grandfather’s death by making my brain turn to mush.
I decided to tread back to safer territory before my raging hormones took over. “Of course I did. It’s your favorite, and I made it all by myself. And there’s a ton of food in the backseat of the truck. You and Ms. Emma will have enough meals to last through the winter. The whole family’s been cookin’ nonstop since we learned about Pops’ heart attack. We spent the entire day and night at the diner.”
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