Molly smoothed the tears from Leslie’s cheeks with the thumb of one hand. “I’m working on it, Leslie.”
The door opened and a deputy stuck his head in the door. “Y’all through in here?”
Molly snapped at him, protecting Leslie’s privacy. “Shut the door. I’ll let you know when we’re finished.” The door closed and she turned back to Leslie. “Come on, we need to get you out of here.”
Molly helped Leslie stand. Leslie looked at her long and hard, before she said, “I really like you Molly Kincaid, but I think I might love you if you buy me a drink.”
“How about I buy us a whole bottle and take it back to Brad’s? That way, I can have one with you.”
“You have a deal, Kincaid.” Leslie was regaining her composure. She winked at Molly. “But don’t think you’re going to get me drunk and take advantage of me.”
Molly gathered her belongings, glad that Leslie was feeling better. “That goes both ways, Ms. Walker. No sneaking into my room later, when you’re drunk and can’t resist me.”
“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Leslie teased.
Molly stopped moving and looked right at Leslie, when she said, “Leslie, I’ll be honest with you. For the first time since I was ten years old, I’m not sure of a damn thing.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Molly followed Leslie’s GTO to the liquor store and pulled in beside her in the parking lot. She was just about to turn off her car, when Molly saw Stick Branch striding up to the door. She cut the engine, but left the computer on. If Stick was going to be a dick, she wanted it in digital color. Molly stood up out of her car, prepared for another onslaught of derogatory remarks about her heritage. She stepped to the sidewalk, shielding Leslie, who was already there.
“Well, if it isn’t Joey Erickson’s dyke defense team,” Stick said, then spit at Molly’s feet.
Molly looked up into Evan Branch’s eyes. His son was an exact replica of the man that terrorized her childhood. The memory of her ten-year-old self, smashing his head with a bat, flashed before her eyes. She felt the heat intensifying under her collar, the rage rising to the surface, and she was glad the gun was in the car and not in her hand. Instead of leading Leslie away from him, Molly took a step closer to Stick.
“I see you’ve followed in Daddy’s footsteps. You’re just as much an asshole as he was. Do you beat women, too? Is that how you make up for your inadequacies?”
Stick’s eyes took on that look; the one Evan would have before he completely lost it. He snarled at Molly. “You could use a good ass whippin’. Teach you how to respect your betters.”
Leslie chuckled behind Molly. “Oh Stick, you are so dense. You have no idea who your sister is, do you?”
“I ain’t claimin’ this bitch as my sister. There ain’t no tellin’ who her real daddy is. Her momma was a whore and tricked my daddy into marryin’ her. Grandma told me all about it. She also told me that whore killed him and screwed the prosecutor to get out of it.”
Molly was seething, but she did not have the opportunity to respond. Leslie stepped around her and took the situation in hand. She was laughing when she said, “Stick, this playground bully routine is getting old. No one is scared of you. Go home, drink a beer.”
Stick’s eyes bulged with rage. “You better be scared of me.” Molly watched his face change to the sadistic mirror of his father. He focused on Leslie. “How’s your cat?”
Molly moved fast. She saw Leslie’s jaw muscles set and knew she was about to leap at this man. Molly grabbed her and pushed her out of the way, getting in Stick’s face.
“I’m going to tell you this one more time. I’ll say it slow so you can understand. I have no interest in the Branch estate, but now I have an interest in you. If you continue to harass me, or anyone associated with me, I will ruin you.” She leaned in close enough for him to grab her, and lowered her voice. “Go ahead, make your move. The last Branch man that threatened someone I cared about is in the ground. Care to join him?”
They glared at each other for a second, before the owner of the store came out the door. “Hey, what’s going on out here?”
Molly stepped back from Stick. “Nothing. Just a little family business.”
Stick sized up the situation and chose retreat, but not before one more jab at Molly. “You’ve been warned. Get out of Dobbs County.”
Molly watched Stick get into his four-wheel-drive truck and leave. She placed her hand on Leslie’s back and guided her toward the door. “I’m going to need more than one drink.”
Leslie answered with a sigh, “I may need the whole bottle.”
#
Little towns do not have a wide selection of top shelf liquors. Molly spent some time digging around in the liquor store, until she found a bottle of small batch bourbon, Basil Hayden’s. Molly was done with stress and worry for the day. After arriving back at the house, she sent Rainey the information on Joe’s email and his password. Then she worked with Randy on motions, until Gray called. She took the call on the porch, solidified her plans, and arrived in the dining room just as Tammy and Leslie called everyone to the table. Now, full of ham, cabbage, and little red potatoes, Molly was sitting on the couch in the TV room, sipping bourbon, straight up, no ice. Aged eight years, as compared to the four of Jim Beam’s white label brand, it was going down smoothly.
With the kids gone, the adults took over what was the main living area for Brad’s family. The family sleeping rooms were just off the end of the large open area. Brad explained how he knocked out a wall to create the space. Molly listened politely, but she was not paying attention. She tried not to think about her mother’s medical records. She would eventually have to suck it up and read them, reliving the damage done, but all Molly wanted right now was her world to go quiet for a few minutes of peace.
“What’s behind that door?” Randy asked, pointing at an unusually small door in the wall.
“That’s the old servants’ stairs,” Brad said. “I left it in for escape access from upstairs. That side door over there we don’t use, but you can never have too many exits for the fire marshal.”
Randy continued to talk with Brad about the renovations. Leslie was still in the kitchen with Tammy. All through dinner, Leslie would touch Molly. She would place a hand on Molly’s arm when she was making a point, bump against her under the table. She even dropped her napkin, and nearly put her head in Molly’s lap while picking it up. All very innocent looking, but Molly knew it was not. She did not think anybody else at the table thought it was either. The looks being passed among the dinner guests, Randy and Tammy in particular, signaled the news had been spread about this morning’s kiss.
Molly was a little shocked though, when Leslie entered the room and sat down beside her on the couch. She did not just sit down next to her. She slid up close to Molly until their hips were touching. This forced Molly to raise her arm to the back of the couch. Leslie slipped under Molly’s shoulder, leaning against her, as if she had been sitting with Molly like that for years. Leslie sipped her glass of bourbon on the rocks, never looking at or acknowledging Molly at all. Molly took a big gulp of bourbon, feeling it slide down her throat to meet the heat coming up from below. Her heart was pounding so hard, she was sure Leslie could count the beats. Molly turned up her glass. More alcohol was definitely in order.
“Let me get you a refill,” Brad said, playing host and taking Molly’s glass. “Leslie, how about you?”
“Sure,” she said, handing her glass to Brad. “Why not?
Tammy came in, drink in hand. It became apparent immediately that she did not drink much. She was giddy already, and less inhibited. She slid in next to Leslie, on the couch, taking in the scene.
“My, aren’t you two cozy?” Tammy turned to Randy and giggled.
Leslie shot back, “No use pretending there’s nothing going on. I didn’t think I could take another suspicious look from you.”
“I was not looking at you suspiciously. It was approval,�
�� Tammy said, giggling again.
“Hear, hear,” Randy added, toasting the air.
Molly said nothing. She was not used to public displays of affection. Fingers on the elbow of the woman she was escorting, a gentle hand in the back as they moved through a crowd, on a few special occasions an arm looped through hers, that was about the extent of Molly’s public lesbian exposure. The picture with Stephanie draped on her was an anomaly she much regretted. Molly had whisked Stephanie out of the party, shortly after, to avoid any more candid shots. Similar to her look-a-like Hollywood star, what Molly was doing and whom she was doing it with was no one’s business, but her own.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Brad said, handing Molly her glass.
“Long day,” Molly replied.
Molly sipped the bourbon and tried to relax. It was not that she minded Leslie sitting with her the way she was. It was being the object of everyone’s attention. The knowing smiles, Randy’s “I told you so” expression, Tammy’s giggling, it all became too much. Molly stood up suddenly, almost toppling Leslie.
“Excuse me,” was all she said, and left the room.
Molly went to the front porch. She was sitting on the railing in the far corner, sipping the bourbon, when Leslie came out the door.
“Molly, are you all right?”
“I just needed some fresh air,” Molly replied, her accent showing.
The bourbon was hitting its mark. Molly was not much of a drinker for obvious reasons. Being genetically predisposed to alcoholism and having lived with it as a child, Molly did not care to travel that path. She never drank excessively, but tonight she was considering it.
“Too much for ya’, huh?” Leslie asked, moving toward her.
Molly forced a grin. “What?”
“All that attention,” she nodded back toward the house, “from them.”
“I’m not much for making my personal life the topic of public conversation.”
“They aren’t public, Molly. They are my friends and Randy is yours. Tammy is just a hopeless romantic. She gets giddy every time she thinks I’ve met someone. I think she lives vicariously through me, sometimes.”
“That’s fine, Leslie,” Molly snapped, “but I don’t have to participate.”
“You are correct. You don’t have to participate. You can remain untrusting, afraid, and very much alone.”
With that, Leslie turned to go back in the house. She stopped at the door, looking back at Molly.
“Don’t stray too far from that sidewalk, Molly.”
The door slammed behind Leslie. Molly recognized the reference to the Kelly Clarkson song Leslie sang on the way to Rainey’s. The one Molly could not bear to listen to, because it was so true to life for her. She was afraid to stray too far from what she could not control. She did not let anyone in. She did not trust easily, if at all. Molly stayed on the sidewalk where it was safe, so she could not be hurt. Leslie figured Molly out in a few short days, and now Molly was faced with the task of examining Leslie’s perception of her. She did not like what she saw.
“Dammit!” Molly shouted in frustration.
“Well, that has to be the shortest romance in history,” Randy’s voice called out of the dark, just beyond the amber glow cast by the house. He stepped into a beam of light from one of the windows, sipping bourbon, strolling up from the backyard.
“I’m not up for your playful banter, Randy.” Molly gulped the remainder of the bourbon from her glass.
“Just thought you’d want to know, she’s gone.”
“Gone?” Molly was alarmed. “Where?”
Randy stood in the yard, looking up at Molly. He pointed back from where he came. “She stormed off on foot, toward downtown. She should be easy to find. I mean, how many places could she go in this town? From what I can tell, they basically roll the streets up at night.”
Molly stared into the darkness. “She shouldn’t be out there alone.”
“Well,” Randy said, and took a sip. “You could stand there and do nothing with your pride intact, in complete control of your emotions, as per your usual behavior. Or, you could try to be a little more human like the rest of us.”
Molly barely heard his last words. She took off for the front door and ran into the house. She found Tammy and Brad standing in the dining room, a bit bewildered.
“Where would she go?” Molly said, running through the room, not stopping, and headed for the back door.
Tammy called after her, “Probably Judy’s Place. It’s a bar, behind Pop’s.”
Molly had changed out of the slacks and silk blouse she wore earlier today, slipping on jeans, a light blue oxford shirt, and her tennis shoes. She took off out the back door at a pretty good clip, hearing Brad calling her name, but she kept going. Molly jogged, hoping to catch Leslie, but she never saw her. Fear took control of her brain, shouting a warning. Molly’s instinct for self-preservation went on high alert. She was not alone.
Downtown looked deserted. The street was ghostly silent. A train sounded its approach on the outside of town. A few cars were parked near Pop’s. The streetlights cast ghostly pools of light, interspersed with dark alleys, and recessed entrances where danger could be lurking. Molly slowed to a walk, watching, listening, and avoiding areas of low light when possible. She could not bring her pistol for several reasons. It was illegal to consume alcohol while carrying the weapon, and she could not enter a bar with it. Molly might bend the law sometimes, but she never broke it, unless speeding tickets counted.
A couple rounded the corner at Pop’s engrossed in each other, their laughter echoing off the buildings, breaking the eerie quiet. They passed Molly with a friendly nod, and then climbed into a parked car. They pulled away, leaving Molly alone with a half a block to go to reach the corner. She picked up her pace when she heard footsteps behind her. Molly turned to look, but saw no one. The feet taking those steps were hidden in the shadows, the steady clip-clop of leather-soled shoes coming toward her. Molly broke into a run, rounding the corner blind, not knowing what was waiting there, but not wanting to give whoever was behind her the chance to shoot her dead in the street.
A couple of men leaned against the building at the back of Pop’s, smoking cigarettes. A neon sign above the recessed door read, “Judy’s Place.” The men looked up, when Molly flew into view. She slowed her panicked run and had it down to a leisurely stroll by the time she reached the door.
One of the smokers commented, “Damn, girl. You must want a beer damn bad.”
Molly caught her breath, smiled at him, and said, “Ran out at home.”
Molly jerked the door open, and was immediately hit with the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke stained walls. It was illegal to smoke in most places in the state, ironic for what used to be called, “The World’s Greatest Tobacco Market,” but years of nicotine laced air could not be removed from old wooden floors and plaster walls. Molly stepped into the dark bar, lit by glowing signs, touting one beer and another.
A light over a pool table in the back revealed a man and two women, holding pool sticks, watching another man line up a shot. A table of four women all turned to see Molly’s entrance, and then put their heads together. Molly heard the word Foster as she passed the table. A jukebox played a Hank, Jr. song in the corner, near a small area that appeared cleared for dancing. Two women stood poised to make their selections. The rest of the patrons, an equal mix of young and old, male and female, were standing by or sitting at the bar.
Molly saw Leslie, occupying the end barstool, a long necked beer bottle turned up to her lips. Relieved to find her safe, Molly took a deep breath and walked up to the empty stool beside Leslie.
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” She asked.
Leslie did not look at her, but answered, “Help yourself,” and knocked back the rest of her beer.
The door opened behind her. Molly turned to see Randy walk in. She looked down at his leather-soled shoes, realizing it was probably him following her. Before the door co
uld close completely, it was yanked open again. Brad held the door, while Tammy entered, and then followed her in. Random shouts of greeting for the Dawsons were returned with waves and smiles. The three newcomers joined Molly and Leslie at the bar. Tammy sat on the only remaining stool beside Molly. Randy and Brad stood behind them.
A tall woman, with long black hair hanging down her back, was working the bar. She was middle aged, and had once been a great beauty. Her Native American roots showed in her high cheekbones. She replaced Leslie’s empty bottle with a full one.
“You looked like you could use another one. Let me wait on these folks, and then you can tell me what she did this time.” She turned to Molly. “What can I get you, darlin’?”
Molly pointed at Leslie’s bottle. “That looks good.”
The bartender moved on to the others. “And what can I get for the Dawsons and their handsome friend?”
Molly looked at Leslie, while the orders were taken. Leslie sipped her beer and stared straight ahead. Molly followed her eyes to their reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Leslie’s facial expression was flat, emotionless, but her violet-blue eyes told the tale. Molly recognized the look. She had seen it often in the eyes of women, when they became frustrated with Molly’s apparent apathy. A recitation usually followed, listing all the reasons the woman was sorry she ever tried to get to know Molly. She never paid much attention to the rant. She let the woman have her say and moved on. It was different with Leslie. For once, Molly did not want to see that look.
When the beers arrived, Tammy and Randy went to the jukebox. Brad took Tammy’s stool. He had something to say.
“Ladies, you’re smart, grown women and I shouldn’t have to tell you that what you both just did was irresponsible. Someone shot at you last night, or have you forgotten?”
Molly and Leslie took sips from their beers simultaneously, neither responding.
Brad continued, “I care about both of you. As your friend and a police officer, I am asking you to stop and think, before you put yourself in harm’s way. Don’t force me to put my family and my life on the line, because you flew off half-cocked. That’s all I’m going to say about it. Now, let’s enjoy the rest of the evening.”
Molly: House on Fire Page 30
