by D L Lane
There was only one man known to drive such a swanky piece of modern-day machinery—Thayer Drayton King, or Mr. King to be more precise.
“I am quite sorry, Ms. Singleton,” the smooth voice of a man said from the open window of the expensive car.
While I knew of Mr. King, I hadn’t actually laid eyes upon him before. And with the glare from all the gleaming parts of his automobile reflecting in my eyes, I still hadn’t fully seen him.
“I certainly did not mean to give you such a fright.”
He spoke very well, and I imagined him being from some upscale place like New York City.
“Are you all right, Ms. Singleton?”
“I’m not Ms. Singleton.” I backed myself into the ditch so I could take cover in the one spot of shade.
“You’re not Bruce Singleton’s daughter?” He sounded surprised.
“Yes. But my name is Mississippi. Not Ms. Singleton.”
He chuckled. Why? I had no earthly idea.
A rather large man dressed in a black suit coat came from the driver’s position, rounded the car, and opened his door with a “Sir” before he moved aside.
“Thank you, Charles.”
My first real glimpse of Thayer Drayton King consisted of one polished loafer followed by a perfectly creased and cuffed pant leg.
When he straightened himself to his full height, I looked at him. All of him. Not only was he tall, but he must have been a year or two older than Danny Joe, putting him somewhere in his early twenties, not an aged tycoon. I wasn’t sure what a tycoon meant, but that’s what Fawna-Leigh called him. A tycoon. In my mind, I’d pictured Mr. King as old, round-bellied, and gray-headed, but in reality, he was anything but.
Broad of shoulder, he stood there as if he ruled the world, dressed in a first-rate white suit. His black-as-night hair, combed and tidy, was short on the sides and wavy on top, and his dark, full eyebrows suspended over long, thick lashes bettered the cool blue shade of his eyes.
I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t keep myself from staring at him. Those sharp cheekbones, his sturdy jaw, and a pencil-thin mustache that brought a person’s attention to his perfect lips, not too thick, not too thin. Although, I didn’t rightly know why I’d focused on them.
Scrubbing my fingertips across my forearm, I tried to understand what was happening as goosebumps skipped across my skin. It was at least ninety degrees in the shade. But if I put all that strangeness aside, I knew, when it came to men, he was the most handsome, polished man I’d ever seen.
My attempts to sweep the chills away came to a halt when Mr. King strolled toward me, smiling like a friend.
Pleasing to look at or not, I distrusted him immediately, taking another step back. In my experience, men who smiled that way were usually up to no good. But then, he stopped and bowed like a gentleman might greet someone notable before glancing back at me, as if I required such a greeting.
“Mississippi. It is my great pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said. “When I inquired about your name earlier, it was meant to be a polite question. I know of you through your father and brothers, so I did not wish to be disrespectful by calling you by your given name. It is quite rude not to call a lady by her surname, especially on first introductions.”
I tried to hide my amusement at being considered a lady by yanking up the front of my drooping dress.
Mr. King quickly looked away.
“I’m not sure ’bout given names and surnames, and what’s considered rude from where you come from.” I rubbed the sweat from my neck and slicked my damp, sticky hair back from my face. “But, here, where I’m from, people don’t worry on such things.”
“They don’t?”
“Nope. Nobody has ever called me anything but, girl, Mississippi, or Sippi.”
“Hmm...” He eyed me, but not in a disturbing way. “It is much too hot to be standing out here conversing. Allow me to give you a lift. Are you heading into town?”
“I’m headed to Harlow’s.”
“The grocer, Harlow?”
I’d never heard Harlow’s called a grocer before, so I asked, “Is a grocer a store?”
One dark brow bent high above his left eye. “Yes. Well. A grocer is a way of saying Harlow owns the establishment that sells food and other goods. A grocery store,” he explained.
I filed that bit of knowledge away, deciding to look up the word ‘establishment’ in the tatty dictionary I kept hidden beside Mama’s perfume beneath my floorboard, hoping the definition wouldn’t be part of the missing pages.
“Oh,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
“You need not walk in this heat any longer.” He turned to glance over his shoulder toward Charles. “We will be taking a detour into town.”
Without question, Charles nodded and reopened the back door.
Mr. King was smiling once more as he returned his sky-blue gaze toward me and held out his hand.
I stared, amazed. He had the cleanest fingernails.
“Come, Ms. Singleton.” He motioned.
I reached out for his hand, wondering at the cool tingling sensation of his fingers wrapped around my warm palm as he assisted me over the small embankment.
It only took a few steps, and then he helped me into his automobile as if I deserved all the fuss.
Once inside, the driver shut the door. Then he and Mr. King had a conversation before they went their separate ways.
Fast as fast could be, his driver took the position at the wheel.
“Ms. Singleton, take this,” Mr. King said as he slid in next to me on the backseat.
I looked at the white, dirt-free handkerchief he was holding suspiciously. “Why?”
“You may use it to wipe your face.”
I glanced up at him. “Why?”
He tipped his head to the side as if in wonder. “To remove the perspiration from your brow, of course.”
The man used words I hadn’t heard before, but he said them prettily.
“Perspiration means sweat, right?” I asked.
“Yes.”
‘Perspiration’ was going on my list of words to remember. Perhaps if I had more schooling, I wouldn’t be so unsure. However, Daddy Bruce didn’t think girls needed learnin’, so when Mama didn’t argue with him, I never went back.
When he waved the hanky at me, I hesitantly reached out. Someone had taken the time to neatly embroidery his initials, TDK, on the small square cloth in golden thread.
“Seems a shame to spoil such a nice piece of material, Mr. King.”
“Go on,” he encouraged.
After plucking it from his fingers, I wiped my face, enjoying the clean, fresh scent mixed with a touch of the citrus-spiced cologne he wore. Unsure what to do, only knowing I couldn’t return his handkerchief soiled and dirty, I crumpled the fabric in my hand before stuffing it into my torn change purse.
“You said you know my family?” I asked.
Mr. King nodded once.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Why are you giving me such condolences?”
“I don’t know anything ’bout condolences, but if you mean to ask why I’m sorry, well, I’m sorry you know my daddy and the boys.”
“Explain why you would say such things to me, Ms. Singleton?”
“Mississippi,” I huffed.
He inclined his head. “Mississippi.”
“People don’t usually have much of anything good to say ’bout us on account Daddy tends to drink, show off his temper, and owes people gambling debts.”
Turning, I stared out the side window, watching the trees whiz by as we passed.
“The boys are even worse,” I admitted. “James Henry is on the lam for thieving, and my other brother is soon to be following our oldest brother’s path. I’m likely considered trash due to speculations and gossip. And I’m fairly sure, people in these here parts, tend to wish the Singleton’s would move on.”
“Mississippi.” His sad voice made me look at him.
The right side of his mouth lifted into not-quite-a-smile; however, something in his expression bordered curiosity and maybe even a little shock. “Are you always so forthright?”
“Probably am.”
He waited a moment, clearly picking up on my pinched brow at the use of his fancy words. “Forthright means, blunt, candid, or direct.”
“Then, yes. I am.”
He chuckled again.
“Am I funny?” I asked.
“I find you refreshing.”
I lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “I suppose refreshing isn’t too bad.”
“No.” His blue eyes glittered. “It’s not.”
“So...how do you know my family?”
Taking out a pocket watch, he glanced down at it. “Back to that, are we?”
“Didn’t know we ever left the subject,” I said.
There was that little, one-sided grin again as he slipped the timepiece away.
“Are you late for something?”
“Nothing of import.”
I stared at him, long enough for him to ask, “What is it?”
“My family?”
“Ah...yes.” The man tapped his finger on his knee. “I’m not sure I should go into the particulars of how I know your father and brothers, but I will say—”
“One, if not all of them, owes you money,” I stated.
He just stared at me, and I didn’t think he was doing it ’cause I was rude, more like, sizing me up, considering how much to tell me.
“No need to hide things or beat around the bush,” I said, “especially when I know better than anyone what always lurks within those bushes when it comes to my daddy and the boys.”
With precise movements, he straightened a shiny pair of cufflinks then nodded. “All right. Yes. Money is owed to me.”
“You might-as-well come to grips with the truth.” I heaved a breath, disgusted by my family. “They don’t have anything. The land we own is pretty much in hock with the banker. The house isn’t worth the spit that holds it together. All our farm animals were sold off or killed long ago. The ship Daddy says is going to come in doesn’t dock. He don’t have any real type of income, other than whatever he wins in the backroom gambling parlors in town, and even if he’s lucky enough to win, he’ll drink his profit or spend it on the ladies at Madame Eugenia’s. My daddy won’t pay you back.”
I brushed away a piece of damp hair stuck to my cheek. “As I said, I’m sorry you know them.”
Chapter Three
My tab
When the Duesenberg came to a stop, I glanced out the window, surprised to see Harlow’s place so soon. Unsure why, but the store looked a bit different from behind the glass of the impressive automobile.
“Thanks for the ride.” I quickly went for the door handle.
“Wait.” Mr. King’s hand latched onto my arm, fingers curling around my elbow. “Charles will be around to get your door.”
I didn’t have time to respond. Charles was already there, opening it for me. “Here you go, Ms. Singleton.”
“Mississippi,” I said sourly, before cutting the attitude and attempting some manners. “Thank you for getting the door.”
“Of course.”
Trying to be ‘lady-like,’ I carefully scooted out.
I’d maybe taken a couple of steps toward Harlow’s front doors when a breeze swooped in beside me.
“I’ll escort you,” Mr. King said.
I glanced up at him, confused by the gesture. “Why?”
“You sure do use the word, ‘Why’ a lot. Has anyone ever told you that?”
With a shake to my head, I said, “Nope.”
“All right then. To answer your question, it’s only proper.” He smiled down at me, all straight white teeth. “Besides...I’m going to buy us something to drink on this too hot day.”
“I don’t get it,” I said, more than likely frowning.
“Get what?”
“Why you being so nice to me?”
His brows pulled together. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
With a roll of my eyes, I didn’t bother an answer. If the man knew my family, he’d heard all ’bout me, so I just kept on toward the doors, expecting a talking-to for my bad behavior, but Mr. King remained quiet, walking beside me dressed in his beautiful suit.
Upon our arrival, he opened one of the doors, announcing, “Ladies first,” allowing me entrance into Harlow’s.
“I just need to grab some beer and tobacco,” I mumbled, and headed off to the ice-filled barrel where Harlow kept the specific stuff Daddy liked to drink.
On my way to the back far left row, I glanced around the store to see if Bobby-Ray was working, but he wasn’t anywhere to be found. The little flutter in my tummy dropped, excitement replaced by disappointment.
“Sippi-girl!”
I spun around at the sound of Harlow’s gruff voice.
There was that slimy smirk I disliked, the one plastered across his swollen face as he started plowing his chubby fingers through what remained of his hair, straightening himself for my benefit.
“It’s good to see you,” he said as slow as molasses, giving me the head-to-toe inspection—the heebie-jeebies causing a sick shiver to run down my spine. “Did you come to get some things for your Daddy?”
I nodded, getting straight to the point, no reason to chitchat. “Need some beers and tobacco.”
“The boys like Beechnut, don’t they?”
“Yup.”
“Alrighty.” Harlow pulled a few beers free from the ice barrel, tucking them into the big pockets of the dark blue apron he wore around his sizeable midsection, then tugged a few more dripping bottles out. “You sure do look mighty pretty today.”
I didn’t bother with any politeness, just turned.
“In a hurry, I see.” He stepped around me before meandering toward the front counter, the soured smell of his unwashed body lingering behind him.
Glancing down at my shoes, I scrunched up my nose, holding back the need to cough.
“Sure is a hot one today, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Guess so,” I replied after clearing the horrible prickle in my throat, though I didn’t want to talk to him, not even ’bout the weather.
When Harlow crossed over to another aisle, I caught a glimpse of Mr. King upfront, patiently waiting with two bottles of Coca-Cola. I’d foolishly been hoping I could get out of the store without much in the way of dealings with either of them.
My stomach twisted and not from hunger. Oh, no. My discomfort came from a whole other source—Harlow Brown. I didn’t want to be there with him. For Thayer Drayton King to believe, I was in any way, willingly in cahoots with the man. And what made my uneasiness even worse, I knew discreet, and Mr. Brown, had never been on what one would consider good terms with each other.
Glancing around, I pondered my options, wondering if I should go left. But it was too late. If I had a clear path, I could have skittered off, but Harlow drew Mr. King's notice when he put on the speed as if someone rang the dinner bell.
“Well, hello, sir,” he said, placing the beer bottles on the scratched countertop, pulling the rest from the pockets of his apron to join the others. “Sippi,” he said, turning his hazel gaze to me.
“Yeah?”
I tried not to fidget, hoping Harlow wouldn’t humiliate me.
“Let me take care of Mr. King, and then I’ll fetch the tobacco.”
“Okay.” My nerves settled some. He hadn’t done anything he shouldn’t have.
“Then, we will need to discuss the business of your tab.”
Panic strangled any relief I’d
felt. He didn’t even bother to hide the fact he was staring at my unimpressive chest, licking his plump bottom lip ’til it shined.
“Mr. Brown,” Mr. King interjected, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “You will discuss the business of Ms. Singleton’s tab with me.”
I can only guess my face was caught somewhere between surprised and horrified embarrassment.
“Mr. King,” I whispered, the blazing heat in my cheeks spreading, inching up to the tips of my ears, “please don’t.”
“You needn’t worry.”
That was easy for him to say, I doubted he ever worried.
“Mr. Brown,” he said, returning his attention to Harlow.
I started to slide my foot backward, planning to sneak off, but my movement interrupted the conversation taking place between the men, and Mr. King shifted toward me.
When I looked down, he reached out for my chin, lifting it, making me look at him as he shook his head. “You won’t be doing that again.”
I had no idea what he meant. “Huh?”
“No staring at the floor. You keep that head held high.”
When I tried to pull away, he gripped my chin a bit harder, not hurting me, but also not allowing me to leave. “No looking down. Ever. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I answered, ’cause what else could I say?
Letting go of me, he turned toward Harlow, who stood there blinking and open-mouthed like a freshly-caught fish out of water. “Now, what do the Singleton’s owe your establishment?”
“Well... Let me see.” He shifted his gaze upward. “With her daddy’s purchases last weekend, yesterday, and her beers and Beechnut chew today, it comes to”—Harlow took out his pencil and pad of ledger paper from behind the counter and did a tally—“eleven dollars and twenty-two cents.”
Mr. King tucked his hand inside his suit coat, pulling out a wad of money held in a gleaming gold clip.
I bit the inside of my cheek when he picked, what appeared to be, a fortune free, and then placed several bills upon the wooden top, tapping his fingers over the cash. “This will cover her tab, my purchase here today, and any further purchases made by the Singleton’s this month.”
Harlow wasted no time grabbing the stack of money with greedy hands, sorting through them, clearly counting. “Yes, yes,” he agreed before he even reached the last few bills.