Another Hour to Kill

by Anita Higman

  I dragged myself up off the floor. I had entered the fertile land of the “what if’s” again, and I hated it. But a plan was forming in my head. I would wait until Vlad made an error. A grave one. Something that would trap him. Evidence that couldn’t be so easily explained away. I just hoped that the future proof didn’t turn out to be my dead body.

  I crushed the rose petal and then marched into the kitchen for a pad and pen out of a junk drawer. I needed to put Vlad’s conniving nature into perspective. I could simply solve the problem by not allowing him back into my house. Done. That was fixed easily enough. Now, I had more important things to attend to—I had a wedding to plan.

  After horsing down a nuked frozen entrée, I turned on my fancy alarm system and headed over to a coffee shop I’d recently spotted that was a mere three blocks away. After parking my new silvery SUV, I strode into the Blue Jazz Coffee House. At seven o’clock, the place was still crowded with people who loved their caffeine. My kinda Texans.

  “Hi,” I said to the older gentleman behind the counter who wore a bowler hat, a handlebar mustache, and a smile from here to Dallas. “I’d like a medium latte, please.”

  “You bet.” He rang me up, and then I could hear the usual pleasant sounds of finely tuned machines creating the perfect caffeinated beverage. Ahh. It’d be nice not to have to drink my own coffee for a change. Maybe it would help flush out some of that mind-numbing drug I’d just been given.

  “By the way, I knew you’d order a latte.” The older man behind the counter nodded and grinned.

  “Is that right? How did you know?”

  “I’ve been doing this for so long, I just know people.” He fiddled with one of the magical levers.

  “Really? But how exactly?” Sometimes I wished I weren’t so inquisitive.

  “Lots of clues. What people wear, say, the way they move. The whole package.” He shrugged. “Hey, I just know. Or I get pretty close.”

  Okay, now I was genuinely intrigued. “So, if I pointed to a man in a prison line-up, you could tell if he were a criminal?”

  He laughed. “No, but I’d know what he’d order to drink.”

  I chuckled.

  The man set my latte on the ledge. “Body language is a powerful tool. I can always tell when someone’s lying too.”

  I carefully removed the cup and saucer from the counter. “Hmm. So, what do people do when they’re lying?”

  “Lots of things.” He looked at me. “They usually don’t like to make eye contact. Or they have way too many hand gestures. Or they scratch their noses. Stuff like that.”

  “Really? Fascinating info.” I held up my cup. “Thanks for the body language lesson.”

  “You’re welcome.” He made a few exaggerated hand gestures, and we both laughed.

  Easing down at a nearby table, I took in the swirling jazz music, the eclectic atmosphere, and my frothy mocha brew. The Blue Jazz was a feast for the eyes with all the photographs of coffee berries and coffee fields. I took a comforting sip and breathed in the aroma of coffee brewed right. I settled back against the comfy chair. The Blue Jazz was about to become my favorite hangout.

  Then I sighed, thinking how my mind always seemed to stray to anything and everything beyond my bridal responsibilities. So much so, it worried me a little. I wanted to marry Max; I just didn’t want all the flashy noisy froufrou part. But what was wrong with me? What woman worth her set of female hormones hadn’t dreamed of the perfect wedding day—a beautiful extension of all her lovely imaginings? All her fashion and decorating dreams coming together in one gargantuan bridal extravaganza?

  Me. I’m the one who never pined after those things. I must have some sort of bridal planning impediment. But I certainly didn’t want any therapy to fix it.

  I dabbed at the frothy milk on my upper lip with a napkin. Then again, Max’s relatives were good, loving people. And somehow, against their better judgment, they’d grown to care for me. So I really should plan a big honking wedding. Say it out loud, Bailey. “I will plan a big honking wedding.”

  The man behind the counter waved his Derby hat and then pointed at me. “Hey, guys, this lady over here is planning a wedding.”

  Cheers went up all over the coffee house.

  An older Hispanic lady with a kindly smile mentioned that she was an award-winning floral designer for weddings. I nodded, thinking that sounded impressive, so I snatched up her card.

  Then another stranger, a middle-aged woman, leaned toward me from the next table. “Hey, my sister does the best catering this side of the Mississippi. In fact, she’s called the barbeque queen of weddings. I’ve got one of her business cards right here.”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Name’s Lillian.”

  “Hi. I’m Bailey Walker.” I shook her hand and accepted her card. But I blinked, trying not to stare. Lillian sported a red beehive hairdo, a Texas twang, and a dangerous amount of cleavage.

  “Good deal,” she said. “You give my sister a call. Ya hear?”

  I stuffed the card in my purse. “Thanks.”

  After another rush of business cards and suggestions from a quarter of the guests in the shop, I had most of the phone numbers and business cards I needed to put together a big wedding. Of course, I had no idea if it would look like a wedding or a barn dance, but it felt so good to get started I bought a piece of chocolate pound cake to celebrate. I settled down again, nibbling and relaxing and pondering all the good and wonderful things about married life.

  “Boo,” someone whispered in my ear.

  I startled and turned around.

  Joby Goldstein stood right behind me, about to explode in a fit of hilarity.

  “I’m not the jumpy type, but you just scared the woozoos out of me.”

  Joby doubled over with laughter, apparently delighted to have caused a fuss. Or maybe just pleased to hear me say “woozoos,” a word I’d never said in my life. Guess the kid brought out the quirky in me. “So, where are your parents?”

  “You mean my foster keepers? That’s not the same.” Joby came around to the other side of my table and plopped herself down on one of the chairs.

  I glanced around the shop, but no one looked over at us. “So where are they?”

  “They think I’m in bed. I snuck out the window. It’s only two blocks.” Joby shrugged.

  “But it’s getting late. What if they came in your room and you were missing? They’d be frantic.”

  “I’ve never seen them frantic. Except when the man foster keeper runs out of beer. That makes him frantic.” She looked at me and grinned, but it was far from a happy smile.

  I was never sure how much of what Joby said was true and how much was just said to get people riled up. But so far, according to the coffee guy’s tip-offs, Joby was telling the truth. “But it’s not safe for a girl your age to be out so late and all alone.”

  Joby raised a shoulder. “I’m as safe as you are.”

  Well, maybe she was right. I’d just been drugged in the safety of my own home.

  “I come here to think. Everybody needs a good thinking place.” Joby eyed my chunk of pound cake and licked her lips.

  “And what do you think about?”

  “Stuff.”

  I smiled and then slid the plate over to her.

  Joby stared at the pound cake, hungrily, but waited.

  “It’s okay. You can have the cake.”

  She dug in and then paused. “Wouldn’t it be grand if I had my first taste of coffee to go with this fine cake?” Her grin showed all her teeth.

  I was being bamboozled. Big time. “Okay. One sip.”

  “Thanks.”

  I scooted my cup and saucer over to her.

  Joby took a long swig. Then her eyes got all dreamy. “So, that’s what it tastes like. I could drink a whole lot of this.”

  I pulled the cup back. “Too much and you might think your bed is spinning.”

  Joby laughed. With hardly another breath, she began gobbling up the res
t of the cake.

  “I’m not going to take the cake away from you. It’s okay to chew.”

  She smiled and slowed down.

  Now I was busy wondering about something else—curious if her foster parents were giving her enough to eat, or if this display of hunger was normal for a preteen girl. I had no idea.

  When Joby came up for air, she said, “Sometimes I come here to pray too. I always ask God to send me a real mom and dad. People who’ll know how to make sure I’m all snugly in bed at night. And be frantic if I suddenly wasn’t there. And somebody who’d make me laugh.”

  “Those are good things to pray for.” I smiled, but cringed inside, knowing Joby was about to ask me to be her mother again. I was flattered. Honored actually. But I hadn’t even gotten the wedding-married thing down yet. What kind of a mother would I be anyway? It was such an iffy proposition at this point. If Joby stayed with me a few weeks she might start thinking her foster parents looked pretty good. “When you’re finished with the cake, I’m going to drive you home.”

  “Please don’t. They’ll beat me.” Joby put her head down on the table and then gave me a shamefaced grin. “No, that’s a lie. But I wouldn’t want them to know.”

  “All right, this one time I’ll drop you off a little way from your house. And then I’ll watch you get safely inside.”

  “You’d do that for me?” Joby asked.

  “Of course, but just this once. Next time, an adult needs to bring you here. Okay?”

  Joby nodded her head, but I knew she might continue her after bedtime roamings in spite of my protests. I noticed Joby had set a book on the table, but her arm covered the title. “So, what are you reading?”

  “This one is called Seven Trap Doors, but it’s not that great ’cause I already know who did it.” Joby cocked her head. “Do you like reading mysteries?”

  “Max says I would eat them if they had any flavor.”

  Joby finished the last of the cake and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “I like Max. He’s the man you’re going to marry. Isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  Just as we started to yak like two old girlfriends, Max Sumner walked through the coffee shop door. He walked over to the counter without a clue that I was watching him. I smiled, wondering if the guy behind the counter already knew what Max wanted to order.

  Joby followed my gaze over to Max. “Look, it’s the man you’re going to marry!”

  Apparently her voice had boomeranged pretty well, because another round of cheers erupted in the coffee house.

  Max spotted us and grinned without the slightest blush from all the attention.

  Joby gently tapped my hand. “Please let me stay a little longer.”

  I looked back at her. “Why?”

  “’Cause you and Max are going to talk about romantic stuff, and I want to hear it.” Joby smiled a smile meant to elicit sympathy and surrender. “Pleeease.”

  Max grabbed his coffee and strode over to us. He looked at Joby. “Hi, there.” Then he leaned down and kissed me full on the mouth. More cheers erupted and even a whistle.

  Joby rolled her eyes, but her smile said she was more fascinated than fatally embarrassed.

  Max stuck his hand out to Joby. “Good to see you again.”

  “Salutations.” Joby shook Max’s hand like a water pump. “I think that means ‘hi.’”

  “It certainly does.” Max sat down at our table. “So what are you girls conspiring?”

  If Max only knew. I reached out to his hand and squeezed it, feeling doubly glad to see him and his sweet face. “How did it go?”

  “I think they’re going to make an offer on one of the houses tomorrow. I thought I’d celebrate by walking over here for some brew. I’m so glad I did.” Max lifted my hand to his lips.

  Joby looked up at Max with wonder, and I knew what she was thinking—Max would make a great daddy. Yes, Joby, he would. As the two of them chatted and laughed over Joby’s story of scaring the “woozoos” out of me, something struck me. When Joby scared me, it’d been pretty funny, but it’d also made my heart skip a beat or two. Hmm. What if a person had a bad heart, and he’d been frightened just like that? Really frightened—intentionally? And what if that someone died from that panic? Could the perpetrator be charged with murder?

  “Bailey?” Max touched my hand. “Are you okay?”

  9 – A Crafty Beast

  I shook myself out of my daze. “What? Yes, I’m fine.” I took a quick sip of my latte, which had gone cold. “By the way,” I said to Max, “I got some planning done on the wedding.”

  He turned to me, and his brows shot upward. “You did?”

  “Well, I collected some business cards that have potential.” That suddenly didn’t sound like much headway.

  Max leaned back in his chair, with his fingers laced behind his head. “I’m sure it will be wonderful.”

  “Are you going to invite me to the wedding?” Joby stared at us back and forth, her eyes beseeching. “I love love love weddings. It’s all about pretty dresses and really good cake and happily-ever-afters. You know, fairytale stuff.”

  “Have you ever been to a wedding?” I asked.

  “No, but I’ve seen them in movies. And they’re soo beautiful. A girl needs to go to at least one wedding.”

  I grinned. “And why is that?”

  Joby got all serious. “You know, so I can start dreaming about my prince charming, too.”

  Hard to argue with that. Should I invite Joby to the wedding? My life was getting more and more intertwined with her by the minute. I wasn’t sure if I should invite her or not. “Well, as long as it’s okay with your foster parents.”

  Joby started to squeal, but calmed herself. “That would be most excellent.” She placed her hands in a demure nest on the table. “I never get to go anywhere. Anywhere important, that is.” Then she tugged on her too-small jumper as if it were itchy.

  I looked up at Max. Our eyes met. I could tell he was wondering just what kind of life Joby had at her house. And how it came to be that Joby was here at the coffee shop.

  “Come on.” I gave Joby’s shoulder a pat. “It’s time to take you home.”

  “I want to stay and listen to you guys talk.”

  “And why is that?” Max looked amused.

  Joby crossed her arms on the table. “Because it’s better than TV.”

  Max chuckled.

  “Well, it’s probably past your bedtime.” Wow, I already had that annoying stern-mother sound. While Joby digested that comment, the grating sound of a spoon clinking against a cup caught my attention. To my right sat a woman who not only looked angry about her coffee, but angry about life. And she looked familiar to me. In fact, she looked a little like the homeless lady with the rifle. The stranger glanced my way, so I hunkered down and pretended to look at something on the opposite wall.

  When my gaze moseyed back to the woman, I noticed her attire was clean and her hair groomed. She didn’t look very cheerful, but at least her mind seemed sound. If it really is the woman, then shouldn’t I say something to Max? I could have him take a subtle look in her direction—see what he thought. But, on the other hand, maybe it wasn’t really her at all. Naw, couldn’t be the same woman.

  I drifted back to the conversation. Max and Joby had already plunged into another lively chat. I could tell Joby adored Max. My heart went out to her, wishing she could be in a home where she’d look that happy all the time. Wishing I could be the one to give Joby that promise. That joy. I needed to be ever so careful with that line of thinking. It was so not me. Perhaps there were still some hallucinogens dripping through my veins.

  After taking Joby home, Max and I spent some time parked in front of my house, delighting in each other’s company. “I guess I’ll say goodnight,” I said hovering near his lips after that last kiss.

  Max grinned. “We’ve kissed goodnight about five times now, but six or seven will be even better.”

  I chuckled. “It’s not easy to go
home.”

  He touched my cheek. “I’m looking forward to selling my house. Then I won’t have to make that drive anymore. . .two houses down.”

  I grinned and glanced up at my house. “Are you sure you want to live in such a Goth kind of place? I mean we’re bound to attract those vampire bats Joby was talking about.”

  “Everything loses its terror when you’re around, Bailey.”

  Okay, that was sweet. “Thanks.” I just wish it were true.

  After three more tries, we finally said our last and final goodnight. I lumbered up to my house, feeling sweetened by Max’s love, but also feeling equally tired and anxious over Vlad’s bizarre tricks. Why hadn’t I told Max? I should have. When would I ever be able to open up and share all of my life—not just glimpses? I shook my head. Only God knew the answer to that one.

  After getting ready for bed and slipping on my nightgown, I glanced over at Magnolia’s binoculars, which sat on my new solid-oak dresser. What an unusual gift from her nephew. But a good thing Magnolia happened to be looking across at my house and saw that creature on the lawn. I picked up the binoculars, thinking I had a good hold on the strap, but my fingers lost their grip. The binoculars swung into the dresser and made a hard landing on the wooden floor. Oh boy, that was swift, Bailey.

  I quickly rescued the binoculars and held them up to my eyes to make certain I hadn’t broken them. I focused the lenses and gazed out the window toward Vlad’s house. He had his porch lights off, but the front room, which was attached to the entry, was still lit. His curtains were pulled back, enough that a small area was exposed. I could see Vlad bending over with his arms swinging back and forth. What on earth was he doing? He stopped and held something up. Was that a mop? Yes. The raggedy top looked almost like a person’s head, but it was indeed the scruffy top of an old mop. He put it back down, obviously to clean some more.