Romance in Color

by Synithia Williams

  “Sheriff’s got it off limits.” She squeezed Linc’s hand.

  “Clever set-up. Generator and everything. Want to see?” Corey pushed the gate open further.

  “Not today.”

  “Corey,” Linc interrupted the exchange. “How about we drive you home?”

  “Patti’s gone.”

  “You’re drunk, Mr. Maxwell.” Mona pushed past him and opened the van’s side door. “You belong at home. In bed.”

  “You coming with?”

  “Dirty old man.”

  Linc gave her a nod and a thumbs-up sign.

  • • •

  Mona swung her arm to direct Corey to the open van door. “Come sit, Mr. Maxwell.”

  Corey studied her and raised an index finger to his temple. “Not old.”

  “Drunk.” She managed only the single word before Linc started the tractor. She shrugged at the complication to conversation. Tipsy customers at the diner didn’t make for many rational exchanges. All too often they came in after the bars closed, demanded coffee, and grabbed at her arm as she poured. Unpredictable.

  Linc emerged from the shed after parking the tractor and sent several glances in her direction as he closed the doors and snapped a new combination lock into place. “Time to go home, Corey.”

  The drunk released his hold on the gate and took several uneven steps before sinking down in the van. He grabbed an assist handle, kept both feet on the ground, and looked at Mona. “I’m not old. Fifty. A month ago.”

  “Inside, old man.” She stared at his one day growth of salt-and-pepper beard. “That makes you older than my father.”

  “Bossy. Pretty. Come home with me?”

  She reached down, surrounded his knees, and lifted his legs into the van before he reached for her. “Settle in.”

  “Listen to her, Corey.” Linc blocked the drunk’s arms. “I’m taking you home. Best offer you’re going to get.”

  “You vomit in the van, you clean it.” Mona stepped away to tend the gate.

  “She’s right. Now grab hold on the console or something.” Linc closed the sliding door, gave Mona a nod of approval, and climbed in the driver’s seat.

  “Thief,” Corey said as Mona got into the passenger seat. “Bad seed.”

  Is he babbling about Daniel?

  “Hang on, pothole coming up.”

  “Stole Patti,” Corey continued.

  Mona opened her mouth and closed it before the first question could escape. Mr. Maxwell wasn’t rational at the moment. She’d save the multiplying questions for Linc during the forty-odd miles back to Eau Claire.

  “Last stop.” Linc halted the van several yards from the back porch of a two-story house centered on a neat yard.

  Mona got out and pushed back the side door. “Time to get out, Mr. Maxwell.”

  His legs and body moved stiff and awkward until his feet touched the ground and his fingers found a plastic handle. “This ain’t Jack’s.”

  “Home.” Linc guided Corey’s head away from obstacles as he pulled him to his feet and shouldered in for support.

  “Keys.” Mona held out her hand to the pair of men.

  “Try the door,” Linc suggested. “I’m not going to frisk him until I know it’s locked.”

  She crossed the open porch and frowned at five empty beer cans lined up at the end. A moment later she stood inside the storm door and tested the main entrance. The knob turned easily. Stale beer, onions, and unwashed socks scented the cluttered kitchen. I’ve smelled worse. Empty Leinenkugel cans lay dented on the counter and she glimpsed more in the top layer of the trash can.

  Linc guided a stumbling Corey past her and into the next room.

  “Are you putting him to bed?”

  “Sofa,” Linc replied. “All the bedrooms are upstairs.”

  “Do you plan to leave him?” She stood at the edge of the room as Linc lowered a silent Corey to a brown vinyl couch.

  “He’ll be fine.”

  “I counted fifteen empties in plain sight.” Mona stepped forward and started to unlace Corey’s boots. As she tugged the braided nylon loose, she glanced at the side of the boot she touched and then Linc’s. “Check this.”

  “Red Wing boots? Nothing odd about that. Wear them myself.”

  “I see that.” She shrugged, but the memory of Linc giving his boot prints to the crime scene technician lingered.

  Linc stuffed a throw pillow from a recliner under Corey’s head. “He’ll sleep it off. Be good as normal by morning. Hope he remembers to go to work tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Does he do this often?” She handed Linc an afghan from the back of a rocker.

  “He has a reputation. I haven’t witnessed much firsthand.” He shook the crocheted blanket and let it settle over the sleeping man. “He’s off the roads and not wandering around the fields in the dark. Nothing more we can do for him.”

  Mona paused in the kitchen. “Do you know Patti? Should we call her? Is she the sort of person to come back?”

  “I don’t have the first clue where to contact her.” Linc touched her elbow. “It’s time for us to go home.”

  Us. Home. She led the way to the van as the coded conversation of a drunken neighbor refused to vanish.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mona tested the gold ring past her knuckle over and over. The slender new band glided easy. “Fits well. Yours?”

  “Exactly as advertised.” Linc eased off his matching ring and tucked it into the small square box.

  “They can share.” She slipped off the gold band and set it on the Dacron pad next to his. Any moment now she expected the dream to snap and she’d wake, scrubbing restaurant pots in a steamy room.

  Instead she blinked twice and still heard reluctant shopping cart wheels and parent commands to children drifting in from other regions of the mega discount store. Fresh popcorn scent invaded from the snack bar and settled sweeter than dessert in her stomach.

  Friday. She hooked uncooperative hair behind her ear and forced a smile for Linc. A casual observer would see a groom on a budget paying for wedding rings. This hurried marriage with deadlines, short acquaintance, and the inheritance of a family farm in the balance didn’t break past his calm exterior. No. Once, in the clerk’s office, he showed hesitation. She looked away, afraid he’d read something on her face. She needed to emphasize the positive, not dredge up his stumbles through the oath.

  “Are you ready to do serious shopping?” He touched her hand.

  He’s playacting the groom again. She refused to dwell on the warm comfort that invaded from his fingertips all the way to her core. In an effort to mask his true effect on her she straightened and stepped away from the glass counter. “You don’t need to do this. You already bought your own ring.”

  He shrugged. “I want to. And I think you deserve a new dress and any little accessory doodads that come with it.”

  “I have a little of my own money. Plus Lorraine paid me today.”

  “Enough?” He held her hand, lightly, but impossible to ignore. “It’s your wedding. My experience with brides is limited, but I gathered the impression they liked to be fancy.”

  “That’s not the question. Yes, I’d like to get married in a dress. And I didn’t think to bring one when I left. That doesn’t mean you need to pay for it.” She added the advertised price of sundresses they’d walked past and a few other basics lacking in her backpack for one reason or another. She could make it with all of her wages for the week and only a few dollars out of her reserves.

  “I’m going to go for a haircut.” He forced several bills into her hand. “I’ll meet you in the front. Look for me on one of those old-men benches outside the optical shop in an hour or so. Fair enough?”

  “I’ll add a few staples for the house.” It didn’t feel right for the groom to buy her dress. No matter how the reasons for this marriage—business deal, farce—tilted toward him.

  A short time later, Mona emerged from the fitting room, added the cream, red, an
d black sundress to her cart, and headed toward accessories. A red purse with an adjustable strap fit her needs and budget as the next addition. She tossed in a package of socks on the way past the display and rounded the corner to shoes. She owned sandals, loafers, wedges, three pairs of boots, and two pairs of sneakers. The problem at the moment was that the sneakers on her feet and worn flip-flops at the duplex were the only shoes not tumbled in the Minneapolis closet. They could have been on the moon for all the use they did at the moment. She reached for a delicate white sandal with a three-inch heel. Bargain price. A minute later she pulled out a pair of size fives and smiled. It was time to head for the more practical aisles: cleaning supplies, beauty, and health.

  Laundry stain remover, a package of sponges, and toothpaste dropped from her hands into the cart after minimum decisions. Need these. She placed a box of tampons beside the new shoes. Four steps further down the aisle, she paused to let another shopper through and stared at the display on her right.

  She gripped the cart handle and considered the boxes with bold, heroic brand names. What sort of wedding night did Linc plan? Did he keep condoms at the house? Leftovers from—Tami?

  She reached out and then retracted her hand the instant it grazed the box of twelve. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d purchased them. Like a careful twenty-first century girl she’d carried a pair in her purse for years. Hadn’t needed one since—last fall, or a year ago?

  Then Linc’s kiss invaded her memory. She’d never been affected by a kiss like that before. She’d never felt such a perfect fit, or wanted so much from a man’s mouth. Every night since Monday the tingle from it crawled into bed with her, tickled her mind, and interfered with nightly prayers.

  We get married Monday. The pastor of a small independent church had promised a short ceremony with the traditional vows. Mona steered her cart into the next aisle and stared without seeing at the shampoo display. What’s going to happen after the wedding kiss?

  • • •

  Basil stood two paces away from Nick and gave a second look to each of the teens and young adults as they entered the warehouse. The dance floor was getting crowded with laughter and shouts competing with a band of drums, two guitars, and a saxophone. My last one.

  He reached for his phone before the chirp announcing a text faded. He read the single word from his spotter and swore before holding up the message for Nick. “Raid!”

  “Damn!” Nick echoed and grabbed the most recent arrival by the arm. “Sorry, man, we’re closed.”

  Basil headed into the mass of swaying bodies, turned a few around, and pointed them toward the door. “Scat.” At the base of the small stage he gave hand signals to the lead guitarist and waited while he morphed the band into a slow tempo rendition of “Get Lucky.”

  Each and every employee understood what that song meant: open the exits, thin the crowd, and dump drugs.

  Basil did his share of pushing dancers toward one of the three alley exits suddenly opened. He aimed for his office. Unknown to even Nick, he intended to stuff tonight’s receipts into his pockets and melt into the dark city night.

  A young girl in a pink tube top threw both arms around Basil’s neck. “Dance with me, big boy.”

  “Leave.” He disengaged her hands and turned her toward the nearest exit. He pushed her toward a boy with neck tattoos. “Follow him. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

  “Quitter.” She reached for his arm but he evaded it.

  She looks twelve. I’m getting too old for this. He continued to move across the dance floor, directing people out. A scream erupted at the front entrance.

  “Brute.”

  “We have a warrant. Hands up. Face the wall.”

  Damn and double damn. Not my night. Basil pushed his way through the remaining crowd until he sighted a female patron held tight by two officers wearing riot helmets. “Ease up. All of you.”

  “You.” A tall man pointed to Basil with a baton. “With the others.”

  Basil glimpsed federal agency initials across the officer’s jacket as a strong hand pushed him against the wall. An instant later his skin shivered under the familiar pattern of a frisk. He’d avoid a weapons charge; he never carried during a rave. Who snitched? “ID’s in right back pocket. Sir.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mona rubbed her thumb across the keys and new fob from Linc. She held the duplex key up to the morning sunshine admitted to her room from the single window. This most recent gift from him symbolized so much: trust from him, independence for her. A smile tugged the end of her mouth upward as she dangled the molded acrylic decoration in the light. A bright red apple and two green leaves molded flat changed sunlight into bright geometrics on a white wall. Fake stained glass.

  “He trusts me.” She glanced at the two framed photos on the small table. “I’m sorry you can’t see me as a bride, Mother. He’s a good man. I don’t know if I love him … it’s all rushed. I’ll do my best. Forgive my mistakes.”

  She touched the top of the second frame, the one with cracked glass. “Granny, you tried all our time together to teach me right. I’ll not be speaking my marriage vows in what you consider a sacred space. I do remember your lessons in my heart. Bless me.”

  A moment later, she dropped the keys into her new purse. They nestled beside the cell phone and bus pass, the other recent signs of progress and independence. She swallowed hard at the memory of more keys Linc wanted to add. Learning to drive is important to him. Just last night, over his ritual dish of ice cream, he’d talked of driving lessons, of getting her license and perhaps a used car before they moved to the farm. Her mind stalled in confusion thinking that far ahead.

  One hour until the wedding. She’d be—Mrs. Lincoln Dray? Mary Monica Dray? Mona Smith? I’ll keep my name. She recalled Linc’s raised eyebrows when she’d stated her decision, but he’d voiced no objection. No, he’d expanded her name in private to, Mary Monica “call me Mona” Smith. She didn’t feel capable of adding an identity change to her life today. Thank goodness, the official legal records would not be affected by a delay.

  Door chimes interrupted the soft house sounds. She dropped the tissue packet in her hand before she identified the three tuned notes.

  “I’ll get it.” Linc’s voice drifted down. A moment later his footsteps in dress shoes slapped against the upper flight of steps.

  Mona heard male voices, low pitched, the words lost in the wide space of lower level. She practiced a smile in case Daryl had decided to meet them here instead of at the chapel.

  “Mona.”

  “On my way.” She gripped the purse in one hand and hurried as fast as her new, still unfamiliar, three-inch-heeled sandals allowed.

  “What?” She snapped her mouth shut before another word escaped. Two sheriff’s deputies stood in the foyer and another pair waited a few steps outside, on the flat cement square of an entrance.

  “Mary Smith?” The largest uniformed officer addressed her.

  She clasped her purse tight enough to whiten her knuckles. “Yes.”

  “We have warrants.” He waved a handful of folded papers. At his nod another officer stepped inside and reached for first one and then the other of Linc’s wrists. “Lincoln Dray, you are under arrest for the murder of Daniel Larson.”

  “No!” Mona leaned forward and sealed her mouth shut. Police didn’t listen during an arrest. Sometimes they remained deaf to reason too long.

  “We have evidence that proves you attacked Mr. Larson in the barn.” The officer with the papers beckoned a woman forward. “Fingerprint match came back this morning.”

  “Ms. Smith.”

  Mona turned toward the female voice only to be confronted with another deputy. The woman grasped her hand, handed her purse to another officer, and continued to place handcuffs on Mona.

  “Mary Monica Smith, you are under arrest for obstruction of justice in the murder of Daniel Larson. You have the right—”

  Voices blurred to a murmur as Mona watched one o
fficer open her purse and thumb through the contents while another frisked Linc for weapons. Uniforms and faces blurred through unshed tears. She blinked the world back into focus and lifted her chin. Linc was innocent. She was innocent. She pressed her lips tight. Best not to give any words for the police to twist against them later.

  “Place them in separate cars.”

  “I see one pair of boots.” An officer eased past Mona to the collection of Linc’s shoes on a rug.

  “Check all the rooms and closets for a second pair.”

  Mona moved forward into the sunshine without warmth or promise. She halted when the deputy tugged on her arm and brought the scene into clarity. A parade of police cruisers, two from River County Sheriff Department and one from the City of Eau Claire, lined the narrow street. She glanced down the row and spotted a crime scene van and a black sedan bristling with antenna. Everything except a SWAT team. Linc stood mere yards away under the watchful eye of one officer while he consulted with two others.

  Scattered words from this low conversation reached her out of context: lawyer, witness, procedure.

  “No. No. No. You have it all wrong.” She spewed the words out as a deputy escorted her to the second patrol car.

  “Calm down, ma’am.” He opened the rear door and placed his hand on the top of her head.

  “White,” Linc called to her from outside the lead car. “My lawyer … our lawyer’s name is White. In Wagoner.”

  Our? Mona held her breath while the officer fastened the seat belt. She had debt and no job. How could she even dream of money for an attorney? All her nightmares piled atop each other, leaving only cracks and slivers of a fine June morning. She opened her mouth to scream and swallowed it down at the last instant as handcuff chains clinked behind her back.

  “Sit tight.” The officer closed the door on her world.

  What choice do I have? After three deep, calming breaths she looked out from her cocoon in the back seat. The officers held another conversation complete with wide gestures from the largest, most authoritative one. They finished placing Linc in the car ahead of her and she fixed her gaze on the back of his head. Our lawyer’s name is White. She leaned forward, tested the range of the seat belt, and studied her feet. Last night she’d applied bright red polish to her toenails as a symbol of joy, luck, and the beginning of new life. Laughter begged for release and sent a ripple over her skin.