Colin was replacing worn tiles on the floor in front of the jukebox; the idiot box was playing The Yardbirds’ “Heart Full of Soul.” He looked up, concern in his eyes.
“You feel okay, Asha?”
She picked up a pencil to add notes to Netta’s orders. Her friend was learning fast and would soon take a lot of weight off her shoulders. With the baby coming, she would be a godsend. Netta was getting another promotion this payday—to manager. And pleased how Winnie was fitting in, maybe Asha would promote the young girl to hostess and hire another waitress or two.
Dropping the pencil, she picked up the glass of green tea and lemon. “Sure, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
Colin shrugged. “You’re drinking green tea instead of Pepsi, for one. And maybe the way you answered the phone; hope in your eyes—though mixed with a flash of fire.”
“I’m a little tired, restless. The winds make me edgy. They rattled the panes of the windows last night and kept me awake.”
“The baby making you sick yet?” He almost ducked after asking the question.
“You know, Colin, you’re too damn smart,” Asha growled.
He smiled winningly. “Until you came along, no one noticed. It was ‘good old Oo-it—always great for a laugh.’”
“They were laughing with you, Colin. Everyone loves you.”
He replaced the cap on the putty cement. “Yeah, I know. Why I loved the nickname. But Oo-it isn’t all of me. Sometimes, names are often roles we’re forced to play. Think maybe that Jago was able to forget his troubles and just be Jago here? Hey, I’m not saying that lying to you was good, and taking the proxies put him in the doghouse, but a name is just some label we stick on people. You loved Clint a long time before we learned his name. And what the heck”—he chuckled and flashed a grin—“I’m an Oo-it. Names aren’t as important as a person’s actions. Did Jago tell you about the drive-in project? We’re partners. He put up the money, and he and I are going into the drive-in franchise business. People will have to call me Mr. Oo-it. Or how he gave Netta money to start a dress shop in Lexington? And that he’s trying to line up a deal for Sam to market his gumbo recipe?”
She blinked, shocked, maybe slightly hurt. “No, he didn’t. Of course, I shouldn’t be surprised he forgot to mention these things. He didn’t even tell me his real name.”
“He was playing faery godfather, and leaving it up to us to tell you. Netta’s dragging her heels, scared—I’m not sure she’ll do it. I was waiting for my first franchise sale. Sam held off seeing if the deal happened or not. We wanted something real to tell you, not just hopes. The main thing, Jago cared enough to see us. Whatever his name, he’s a hell of a man, Asha. Don’t lose him over a silly name.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
At dark the next day, a gale force gust of wind hit the side of the small diner, sending the huge plate glass windows rattling. It set Asha’s teeth on edge. These sorts of windstorms hit Kentucky in November and again in March. The only time she didn’t like the state’s changeable and moody weather. The day had been rather warm, but now a rapidly moving cold front had blown in, dropping temperatures and sending 35 mph winds to gusts of 55 and higher. The old farmers in the area called it a nor’easter. The wind reminded a person they were human, and they and their feeble shelters could be blown down by a force unseen. Mother Nature humbled one.
When the lights flickered and threatened to go out, Asha paused from thumbing through the Crownline Boats catalogue and frowned. She loathed the winds when they howled like this, always dreading when the electricity went out, due to limbs breaking off and taking down the power lines.
“Maybe I should look at a generator catalogue instead of cabin cruisers,” she grumbled to herself.
Last night had been bad enough without Jago. The winds picked up before dawn. It made her glad Colin had finished putting in new storm windows on the bungalows; that cut down on the noise some. Weather aside, she’d been restless all night: tossing and turning, endless glances to the phone, waiting for Jago Mershan to call. She wondered where he was, what he was doing. Missed him.
“The man just doesn’t understand proper groveling protocol,” she groused.
The lights flickered again. Both Colin and she glared up at them, as though it was possible to stop them from winking out by will alone. Putting down the putty knife, Colin closed the can of cement. With a worried sigh, he pushed it and the water bucket out of the pathway to the kitchen door.
“You know, Asha, talking to yourself could be a sign you’re alone too much.”
She countered, “My mum always said it was a mark of a highly intelligent child.”
“You momma could’ve lived in England in a ‘hall’ that had fifty bedrooms, with servants to wait on her hand and foot. What did she do? Lived on a rundown horse farm and ran The Windmill. I loved her, but she wasn’t your average person—you know?” Colin teased.
“What’s that line—in Lawrence of Arabia about Brits loving desolate places?”
“Yeah, well, Larry was a queer bird.” Colin stood up, wiping his hands on a rag.“Hey, I made a pun! Sorry, I’m not finishing this project tonight. I have a hot date, and I don’t want to be late.” Even in the fluctuating light, his blush was clear.
Asha smiled. “Hot date? Who’s the lucky lass?”
“Winnie.” He beamed.
She’d noticed Winnie taking an interest in Colin the past few months. He’d helped fix up her cabin into a wonderfully warm home. In turn, she began prodding him: first change, she’d taken him to Lexington to have his hair styled, eschewing Colin’s monthly trip to Jake the Barber in Leesburg. Then she’d started helping him shop for clothes.
Gone were the ten-year-old, never-wear-out, hooded sweatshirts. Asha admitted the change was fantastic. Colin was very handsome. Winnie had found a diamond in the rough and was polishing him to a shine. Derek sneered and made comments about Winnie doing it just to make him jealous, but Asha thought the young woman had simply looked at Colin and seen all that potential waiting to be tapped. The two made a cute couple.
“Oh? And where are you taking Winnie?” she asked, smiling.
He gave a short snort of laughter. “She hates Lexington, is a small town girl at heart. Leesburg still rolls up the sidewalks at 8 p.m. That leaves few options. I wanted to do something special. I slipped Ella twenty bucks, and she’s fixing up the porch room at The Cliffside. Roses, candlelight and maybe a little slow-dancing to their jukebox—which doesn’t play ‘Surfin’ Bird.’ I hope she likes it.”
“She will. Run on and have a great night. I’m going to eat a piece of cheesecake and close up early. These winds depress me. No one ever comes when the weather is bad. No use staying open.”
“Sam’s off night. He’s over at Melvin’s playing poker. He won’t be back ’til late. You’ll be okay here?” Colin seemed on edge from the wind, too.
She rolled her eyes. “I’ve run this place since I came back; no one’s cared before. Now Jago’s not here, suddenly everyone’s concerned I’m by myself? My purse is under the counter—with my gun. Run along and have a lovely time with Winnie. With this weather, you’ll have The Cliffside to yourselves.”
Colin nodded and slid on his navy windbreaker. Fixing his collar, he hesitated, eyes troubled.
Asha paused, her back to the swinging door to the kitchen. “I meant to tell you how handsome you are with your new duds and haircut.”
Grinning, he bounced on his feet. “Yeah—I’m pretty cute, eh? ’Night, Asha.”
“’Night, Colin.”
In the kitchen, she picked up a saucer for herself, then on impulse lifted another. Delbert might like a treat, too. And maybe now was a good time to look at his photo album. Going into the food locker, she used a pie cutter to divide the cheesecake, carefully lifting out each slice to leave the remaining pie in perfect condition—Sam got cranky when she just cut slices off with a knife. It was comical, the way he fussed at her. She might be the owner of The Windmill, but
he was boss in the kitchen.
She carried the plates out and placed them on a tray. Going behind the counter, she filled a glass with pink lemonade for her, and snagged a milk carton out of the cooler for Delbert. Once again, her eyes went to the phone, half expecting Jago to call. With a sigh, she closed and locked the front door, flipped the sign to CLOSED, and then turned out the overhead lights.
The jukebox sedately played a Gene Pitney tune, as she picked up the tray. “You better be glad I love you, you metal escapee from The Twilight Zone. Someone else would have pulled your innards out long ago.” Balancing the food tray with one hand, she reached out and gave it a pat. “Night-night. No ‘Bird is the Word’ or ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight,’ eh? Delbert and Sam need rest.”
Two steps and she booted something hard, nearly tripping. “Bloody hell, I almost kicked the bucket,” she joked. She’d stubbed her toe on the metal pail Colin had used to clean putty from the tiles he was putting in. Using the side of her foot, she nudged it over to the corner out of the way.
At the porch, she allowed Clint out of his ‘prison.’ The puss padded inside, dancing, sure he was about to be fed again. His company was comforting; Asha enjoyed him being underfoot, and was sorry she had to keep him out of the restaurant. He’d been on the glider swing, staring off into the night as though he expected Jago to show up.
“Sorry, puss. I sent Mr. Mershan on a wild goose chase. My guess, he’s still in England, trying to get connections back. Maybe in a day or two.” Asha locked the outer entrance, pausing to stare out into the night, too. “Sheesh, I’m as bad as you, Clint. He’s not coming. We’d best forget it. Come on, let’s spend the evening with Delbert.”
Another gust of wind slammed the front of the old overseer’s house, shaking the whole structure. She was less worried about the restaurant. Five years ago, because of insurance regulations, the windows had been refitted with shatterproof safety glass, and the wood door reinforced with steel. You could take a sledgehammer to them—they’d crack, but likely wouldn’t shatter. However, the main house caused her concern. Built in the early 1800s, the antebellum home was, for the most part, constructed solidly; ceiling joists were not of pine but heavy poplar. It creaked and groaned in protest, making Asha suck in a breath, alarmed, as the air seemed to push under the eaves and nearly lift the old roof off.
Dismissing her worries, she entered the lobby. “Delbert, Clint and I brought you pie,” she called.
The television played in the inner office, but the room was empty. Delbert would surely return in a minute. She set the tray on the desk, then took pity on Clint and poured milk into a saucer for him. Purring, the kitty’s pink tongue rapidly lapped up the liquid.
Asha’s attention was drawn to the television as they flashed a weather bulletin telling of the high winds. “As Colin would say, ‘No shit, Sherlock.’” She flinched as another blast of cold wind battered the front of the old house. “Clint, I don’t care if his name is Mershan, I wouldn’t mind if he were here. He could lie to me all he wants, tell me how this house has stood this long and will stand another hundred years.”
Becoming concerned when Delbert didn’t return, she decided to go check on him. At the turn in the long hallway, she noticed a dim light coming from his rooms. For some reason, prickles crept up her spine; her fey sense warned that something wasn’t right. Pushing open the door, Asha saw Delbert on the floor, his album and his precious pictures spilt about him.
Her heart jumped as she rushed to him. “Oh, Delbert, no!” First thought was he’d had a stroke or a heart attack. She checked his pulse; he was breathing slowly, but his heartbeat remained steady.
First aid always said to keep a patient warm. She dashed to the bedroom and grabbed a blanket and pillow; returning, she snugged the cover around him. As she lifted his head to place it on the pillow, her fingers touched something wet and sticky.
Yanking her hand back, she stared at her fingers. Blood? Poor dear must’ve cracked his head when he’d fallen. Damn.
Sam was out playing poker, and Colin was with Winnie. No guests were currently staying with them. She’d need to call the state police; maybe they’d evac him with the helicopter from the University of Kentucky Medical Center. Then she’d ring Liam. She kissed Delbert’s cheek and rushed to the lobby.
Scurrying around the counter, she opened the phonebook to find the number to dial. 911 didn’t work outside of cities. Upset, shaking, she nearly dropped the receiver of the 1950s-style phone they still used. Then it hit her—no dialing tone. Flicking the flasher a couple times, she hoped to hear the reassuring hum. Nothing. The line was dead.
The lights flickered ominously with yet another strong gust of wind. “Oh, please, don’t you go out—ohhhhhhhh.”
She shook, trying to decide what was best to do. The drive-in was closed for the season; no one would be up there. She could drive up the hill—too long a distance to run—to the employee’s homes, but they likely didn’t have phones either since they came off the same major poles.
Then she remembered Jago’s cell phone in her purse. Hopefully it was still charged. As she replaced the receiver, noise from the atrium caused her to look up. For an instant, she hoped Sam was returning early.
Montague Faulkner pushed through the glass doors between the restaurant and the house. A tremble went through her as she considered how he’d gotten in there. She had been the last person out of the restaurant. True, she hadn’t locked the atrium. That meant he’d come in the motel entrance while she was in Delbert’s room, and gone through to the diner. But why?
His bright blond curls were wild, obviously whipped by the wind before coming inside. He gave her a small half-smile, which never reached his eyes. “Ah, so you are here. I went to the restaurant but didn’t see anyone there.”
Her blood buzzing with rising dread, Asha summoned a false calm; she had to clamp down on the instinct to run. “Slow night. The weather always keeps down the number of customers.” No fool, she wasn’t about to say it kept them away entirely. Delbert needed help—fast. Despite that, Montague’s appearing from the restaurant told her not to let this man know how vulnerable her situation was.“I’m taking advantage to catch up on a few things around this place. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Been meaning to talk to you for some time. You’re always busy.”
Not for one minute did she accept his surface behavior. The more normal he tried to make the situation, the louder her warning bells chimed.
“Any tree limbs down? I fear losing electric in winds like this. Such a pain when that happens. Damn lobby fills up with the customers bitching and moaning—like I can do something about it by twitching my nose.” She stressed that someone might come at any moment, not wanting him to see she was alone, vulnerable. Her inner voice warned her not to ask Monty for help. Feeling panic, she didn’t take time to reason out why, simply trusted her instincts. To cover her deep unease, she kept prattling, as if she found nothing disquieting about his presence.
“Some of these trees are hundreds-years old. Notice how there aren’t many elm trees any more? Dutch Elm disease, they say.”
As she blethered on, she made a show of straightening stuff on the motel front desk, mindlessly chattering as if it were natural for them to stand around gossiping about trees. Yet, at the back of her mind, she kept recalling all the hearsay, how they whispered this man had raped a child when he was in his teens. Also, something she couldn’t define—a sense of Laura being with her—cautioned Monty was dangerous and here for a purpose. She wanted to maneuver him to where she could make a clear dash to the restaurant, and to her gun in her pocketbook.
“The poplars have been hit by a nasty bore beetle that gets between the bark and slowly kills the tree. A shame, since they have those beautiful yellow tulip blooms come spring. Guess that’s why they call them tulip poplars, eh? They’re huge, and with the poor things in bad shape, we keep losing power when limbs snap off.”
Her prattle seemed to
confuse him, but with the fine edge of panic rising within her, it was hard to keep up. Too many things were just now becoming clear. Delbert hadn’t cracked his head in a fall: Monty had hit him. A falling limb hadn’t knocked out phone service. Monty also had been the one to leave the letter on the refrigerator. He’d wanted her to get mad at Jago and send him away. Carefully, he’d chosen a time when Colin, Sam and Liam were not about. Only poor Delbert.
And her.
Quickly running through her options, Asha considered making a break to the office and locking herself in with Clint. Only, there was nothing to defend herself with, and the door was flimsy at best. She’d trap herself in the small, windowless room with no recourse.
Picking up the feather duster Delbert had left on the chair, she pretended to clean as she babbled on. Reaching the office door, she fluttered it over the top of the frame, muttering about grime, then quickly pulled the door shut to keep Clint in there out of the way; she needed to concentrate on getting herself out of this situation, and wasn’t about to hand this creep a weapon to use against her.
Monty took a step toward her as she touched the doorknob, but eased his stance when he saw she merely pulled it closed. Those gold eyes watched her without blinking, once again causing a flashback to that damn crocodile in the Cincinnati Zoo. Only there was no glass wall between them here. Deep in the pit of her stomach, she comprehended she faced a man capable of killing—this she felt from Laura—with only her cleverness to save her. Right now, she could barely think.
Funny, she’d berated Jago for lying to her. Now, lies were all she had to save herself from evil.
“Excuse me, while I keep working. There’s so much to do around this damn place. So little help. I’ll be glad when Tri-dent Ventures buys me out. I’m hoping to get big bucks from that. Then, I can get rid of this crazy place, go some place where it’s warm and sunny.”
Riding the Thunder Page 31
