Don't Turn Around

by Hunter Morgan

  “It’s about darned time.”

  She smiled to herself, feeling better than she had in days. Gaitlin appeared to have lost interest in harassing her. Angel seemed to be safe, at least for the time being. Despite his grumpiness, her father’s mental state was relatively clear. And her relationship with Lincoln was on track. Life was good.

  Chapter 29

  Ambient music played softly in the entryway where Casey and Lincoln waited in line to sign the guest book. They’d arrived fifteen minutes early for the memorial service and still had to wait in line in the cold to get inside. The funeral home was going to be packed. Adam Preston Sr. had apparently been a well-respected man in the state political arena at one time. Someone had told Lincoln in his office today that the lieutenant governor was expected to make an appearance.

  Casey and Lincoln inched forward in the line.

  “Just so we get this straight, now,” Lincoln whispered in her ear, “I don’t want any of this nonsense when I die.”

  She lifted her brow.

  Lincoln gazed at the white walls in the entry hall, hung with religious paintings. Mourners were dressed in dark suits, dark dresses. Women wore dark hose and black pumps. The place smelled thickly of lilies. Flowers of death. “No service for me, religious or otherwise. I want to be cremated and have my ashes spread on my grandparents’ farm.”

  “Lincoln, that’s not legal,” she admonished. Secretly, she was pleased. Pleased that he wanted to tell her what he wanted her to do with his ashes. Conversations like this suggested he wanted her around long enough that they would grow old together.

  “You don’t have to tell anyone that’s what you did with me,” he teased in her ear. “Right by the pond, under the silver maples, that’s where I want to spend eternity.” He gestured as if sprinkling salt on his plate. “Maybe a few ashes in the pond. I bet I’d make good fish food.”

  “Lincoln.” She had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing. Several mourners looked her way, frowning. She turned her back to Lincoln and inched forward.

  Adam walked through a doorway that led from the main chamber of the funeral home, where the service would be held. He walked from the podium where the guest book was, down the line toward the door, shaking hands. Speaking in a hushed tone. He looked as good in his somber black suit, white shirt, and dark red tie as he had the night he had worn the tux to the DuPont Hotel. When he reached Casey, he put out his arms. Casey hugged him, feeling just a little uncomfortable doing so in front of Lincoln.

  She had told Lincoln that she had met Adam at the nursing home the night Adam’s grandfather had died, and she had mentioned that she had talked to Adam a couple of times this week. Lincoln hadn’t seemed pleased, but if he was jealous, he hadn’t said so.

  “You okay?” Casey asked as she stepped out of his embrace. He was wearing his usual cologne.

  “Hanging in there.” Adam grimaced.

  “You know Lincoln Tyndall.”

  “I’m very sorry for your loss.” Lincoln offered his hand and the men shook, their gazes meeting.

  They clasped hands just a second too long and it seemed awkward. Casey could almost feel the testosterone building in the stuffy room. She was flattered that Lincoln felt the need to be jealous, flattered that Adam liked her well enough to get his tail feathers ruffled, but really, this was the twenty-first century, and they were at a memorial service.

  “Are your parents here, yet?” Casey asked, turning her back slightly on Lincoln. “I’d like to meet them.”

  “Yes. I’ll introduce you when you come inside, but I hope you’ll join us at their house in South Bethany afterward. Both of you.” He offered a quick, politic smile. “Just a small reception for family and close friends.”

  “Adam, I’m so sorry.” A thin, elderly woman with yellow-blond hair walked up to him, arms outstretched, her hands like claws. Her cheeks were bright red with rouge. One of the grandfather’s cronies, no doubt.

  “Excuse me,” Adam whispered. He clasped Casey’s hand, then released it and walked away. “Mrs. Clendaniel.”

  Casey and Lincoln faced forward again and he leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Do I need to be concerned that he might be trying to cut in on my girl?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I’m your girl?”

  “Of course you are.” He ran his hand down her back. “I don’t know. He smells awfully damned good. What do you think he pays for that fancy cologne? Think it’s Parisian?”

  She faced forward again. “I’m dating you, Lincoln. Not Adam.”

  “That doesn’t exactly answer my question,” he said under his breath.

  His tone surprised her. It was a little…aggressive. Lincoln was always so calm, so easygoing. She reached back and took his hand, squeezing it as she accepted the pen the gentleman ahead of her offered. She leaned over the podium to sign her name in the guest book. She and Lincoln would definitely not be attending the reception at Adam’s parents’ house. The last thing she needed right now was Lincoln getting into a cockfight with Adam.

  “This is good, Shonda, real good.” Angel dropped a couple of noodles on the high chair tray for Buddy. “It’s good, ain’t it, big boy?”

  “Just macaroni and cheese outta the box with tomato soup stirred in,” Shonda said, taking a bite from her plastic bowl. “You don’t add the water for the soup. Makes it creamy.”

  It was Sunday night and they were seated at Shonda’s kitchen table—Angel, Shonda, Buddy, and Shonda’s little girl, Toneesha. Toneesha, almost two, was cute as she could be. So cute that she made Angel almost wish she had her own little girl to dress up and do her hair.

  It was nice coming over to Shonda’s at night, not having to hang out at the shelter. Usually, Shonda was busy with her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Darrell, but this week they were off again. Earlier tonight, on the phone, Angel had heard Shonda threatening to cut Darrell’s balls off if he stepped in the house, so she was guessing he wouldn’t be back tonight.

  Angel hoped Shonda would invite her and Buddy to spend the night. Maybe they could sleep on the couch or something. It just depended on whether or not Shonda’s sister was crashing there tonight. The house had only two bedrooms, so it could get crowded on a weekend. Everyone at the shelter had been real nice to her and Buddy, but it just wasn’t the same thing as having a real friend. Shonda was a real friend.

  “Biscuits are good, too,” Angel said.

  “I like my baby to eat good food.” Shonda slathered margarine on her own biscuit.

  Buddy popped the last piece of macaroni in his mouth and tossed his plastic sippy cup on the floor. Shonda’s dog sniffed it.

  “Mama,” Buddy said, clapping his cheesy hands together.

  “All done?” Angel got up to get the dishcloth and wipe her little boy’s mouth. By the time she came back, Shonda was already letting Toneesha out of her booster seat. Angel wiped both kids’ faces and hands, and the children toddled off into the living room talking gibberish.

  Angel flopped back in her chair to finish her macaroni and cheese.

  “Want a beer?” Shonda pulled a can out of the refrigerator and popped the top.

  Angel shook her head. “Nah. I been tryin’ to lay off. Seems like I always get myself into trouble when I drink too much. Seems like I always get myself hit when I drink too much.”

  “I’m not gonna hit ya,” Shonda teased, pushing away her bowl.

  Angel grinned and licked her finger, then picked up the last crumbs of biscuit off the table. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah. Good for you. Seems like I always let Darrell back in the house when I been drinkin’.” Shonda tipped her can.

  “This week at the shelter’s been good for me.” Angel gingerly touched her still-tender nose. A lot of the swelling had gone down; it actually looked like her nose again. “Made me think a lot. I’m done with Charlie.” She looked at Shonda across the table. Shonda had a big, bushy Afro these days. It looked so good on her that Angel wished
she had one. “I’m serious.”

  “I’m sure you are.” Shonda cocked back in her chair.

  “No, really. That girl at the shelter I told you about? We talked again this morning. She thinks we can get into that trailer the first of February. We show the lease to Juanita, who runs the shelter, and we can definitely stay there the rest of the month.”

  “Where’s Charlie going to go if yer gettin’ evicted from housing?”

  Angel shrugged, then took a sip of red punch from a plastic cup with “Dora the Explorer” on it. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

  “He tell you when the funeral was?”

  “Nope.” Angel set her cup down. “I told him I’d go, but I ain’t heard from him since he came to work the other day. And that’s okay with me, ’cause I wasn’t going for James—stupid bastard—for killin’ himself. I just offered on account of I thought Charlie might want me there. I ain’t heard from him, so I’m thinkin’ he’s finally got it through his thick skull that I ain’t comin’ back. He’s too busy with his fancy lawsuit, thinkin’ about all that money he’s goin’ to be comin’ into, to care about me.”

  “Sounds like you got yer shit together, sista.” Shonda raised her beer can in toast.

  “Yeah, things are comin’ together good.” Angel fiddled with the empty cup. “I just wish I had more of my stuff.” She looked up. “You think he’ll hock my stuff?”

  Shonda shrugged. “He’s a man. I wouldn’t put nothin’ past him.”

  “It’s not that I got that much. He can have the stupid TV. I just want Buddy’s clothes and toys.” She glanced up. “I want the toy box. It’s a Little Tykes. It cost me sixty-three dollars.”

  “You ain’t thinkin’ about goin’ back to the house, are you?” Shonda got up to get another beer.

  “I don’t know. Thinkin’ about it.” She shrugged. “He probably won’t even be there. He’s probably at the stupid bar. He and James always liked to play pool Sunday nights.”

  “You want me to go get it? He gets in my face, I’ll kick his ass.” Shonda leaned on the open refrigerator door and popped the top on a fresh beer.

  Angel looked at Shonda. She had no doubt her friend could kick Charlie’s ass, but she didn’t want to put her in the middle of the mess she had created.

  Angel thought hard. Casey McDaniel had warned her not to go back to her house. The director at the shelter had warned her not to go. They said arrangements could be made at a later time to pick up her stuff. But what if Charlie hocked the toy chest? What “arrangements” could anyone make, then?

  “Could Buddy stay here for a while?”

  “Don’t do it, sista,” Shonda warned, shaking a finger at her. Then she tipped her beer.

  Angel got up, taking her and Buddy’s bowls with her. She put them in the sink and ran the faucet. “What would you do?” she asked.

  “Me? I’d go get my shit,” Shonda said. “But me, I’d have killed the bastard the first time he hit me. Darrell might give me shit, Toneesha’s daddy might’ve given me shit, but don’t nobody hit Shonda.”

  Angel walked back to the table and picked up the other dirty dishes and utensils. “Can he stay here or not? I won’t be gone an hour.”

  “’Course he can stay here. He can stay here anytime you want. I love Buddy like he’s my own boy.” Shonda closed the refrigerator and fingered the gold necklace she always wore that spelled out her name in cursive. “You want me to call Darrell, tell him to meet you over there with some a his boys?”

  “I thought you told Darrell you’d cut his balls off if he came around.”

  “I call him, he’ll do what I tell him.”

  Angel shut off the faucet and wiped her wet hands on a bath towel hung over the chair. “I can do this myself. Charlie was tame as a lamb last time I saw him. I think James’s dyin’ might have taken the fight outta him.”

  “Do what you gotta do.” Shonda held up one hand as she walked out of the kitchen into the living room with the kids. “You call me if you need me. Shonda will be there.”

  “You shouldn’t be going out this time of night,” Ed chastised, changing channels on the TV.

  Frazier lifted his head off the carpet and looked at Casey with his big brown eyes as if in agreement with his master.

  Casey stood in the living room, her coat on, keys in her hand. Angel still hadn’t called her back and she was worried. She hated to keep calling the shelter and bugging them. She was just going to do the loop, just check on Gaitlin’s whereabouts, and be right back. “Dad, I’m too old for a curfew.”

  “That boy ought to come here.” Ed reached into the bowl on the end table beside the couch. He tossed a kernel of popcorn into the air.

  Frazier’s jaws opened. Clamped shut. He scooted across the floor closer to Ed.

  “My day, a boy had to come to a girl’s house. She didn’t go to his.”

  Casey wanted to argue that she wasn’t going to Lincoln’s. He was preparing for a trial. He’d been at the office since noon and would probably be working until midnight, he’d told her. But obviously, she couldn’t tell her father where she was going.

  “I’ll be right back.” She walked away.

  “Casey.”

  She was surprised to find that when she turned back, he was looking at her. “You have to be careful,” he said, his voice strange.

  She studied him for a moment. “Sure, Dad. Why do you say that?” she asked hesitantly. “Has…have you seen something? Have…any of the presidents been around?”

  He suddenly seemed agitated. He turned back to the TV. “I’m just telling you, Freckles. You have to be careful.”

  “I will, Dad. See you in a few minutes.” Casey walked past the kitchen into the dark laundry room, the hair on the back of her neck prickly. The sensation was so eerie that she almost turned around. Almost tossed the keys on the kitchen counter and called it a night.

  But her fear for Angel was stronger than her fear of the unknown. She locked the door behind her.

  Ed got up from the couch, set the remote on the end table, and walked to the front windows in the living room. Frazier stood beside him as they watched the headlights of Casey’s car back down the driveway.

  Ed was nervous tonight and he didn’t know why. He wished he had someone to talk to. He wished Kate could remember the phone number at her daughter’s house. Then he could call her. She had said she was going to give him her number. She had said they were going to go out on a date. Ed had told her he didn’t have a car, but she had told him not to worry, that her ’84 Mercedes convertible was parked in the garage.

  Ed didn’t know about driving Kate’s car, but he wasn’t that worried about it. If she couldn’t remember her phone number, how could he call her and take her on a date?

  Ed walked through the dark living room, illuminated only by the light cast from the TV. Storm Stories. He’d already seen this episode. Already seen the Coast Guard’s daring rescue.

  He shuffled down the hall, not bothering to turn on the lights. Ed wasn’t afraid of the dark. He wasn’t afraid of the boogeyman or Ned Pepper. They weren’t real. It was real men Ed was afraid of. And not for himself, but for his daughter.

  He had never been a man of feelings. He didn’t believe in ESP or creatures from outer space. But something didn’t feel right. He could feel a tension building around him, and he didn’t yet know the source, but he knew he would know it when he saw it. In the meantime, he’d continue with his preparations.

  In his bedroom, he flipped on the light. He opened the closet door and pulled down several shoe boxes. He had kept his black dress shoes for funerals. Could be for someone else’s, or his own. Also a brown pair of dress shoes and a pair of boating shoes that were too new to give away. In the back of the closet, behind the box with the Cole Haan funeral shoes, was the box that usually contained his golf shoes. Jayne had insisted he donate them to a local charity, but as Ed saw it, people taking charity shouldn’t be on golf courses. Besides, he liked the shoes. Even if he
wasn’t ever going to play golf again, a man needed to keep a little dignity. Sometimes a man just needed his golf shoes. But right now, the golf shoes were hidden behind a laundry basket in the closet. There was something else in the box.

  He carried the box to the bed and sat down beside it. Frazier dropped his bottom on the floor and waited, watching the box.

  Frazier disapproved.

  Under normal circumstances, Ed would have disapproved as well. But Frazier didn’t understand. He didn’t know the history. He didn’t know how Ed had failed as a father to protect his daughter from Billy in the white car. Frazier was a good dog, but he didn’t understand the guilt Ed had carried all these years. He didn’t understand why Ed had to protect Freckles this time, at any cost.

  Ed would make it up to the dog later. Maybe get him an iPod or something. He had been watching advertisements and thought Frazier might enjoy his own personal MP3 player.

  Ed took a deep breath and removed the lid from the shoe box. He carefully took out the left shoe. From inside the shoe, he removed the loaded pistol and checked the safety.

  Chapter 30

  Angel drove around her apartment complex once, then a second time. She recognized most of the vehicles. James’s piece-of-shit truck wasn’t there.

  Cautiously, she pulled into the parking lot and backed into a space only two spaces down from where she had been the night Charlie had beaten her. Her heart pounded in her chest as she got out of the car, leaving it unlocked. As she crossed the parking lot, she kept looking at the street, at her living room window, and back at the street again. If Charlie pulled in, she’d just leave. With or without the toy box.

  But she really wanted Buddy’s toy box. No one understood how important the toy box was to her, not even Shonda. It was like a symbol to Angel of what she could accomplish if she tried hard enough. It was a symbol of what she was capable of doing for her son. And she didn’t want Charlie hocking it for beer or crack money.