It sat in the back corner, with the larger Lost River on one side and the smaller Snake River it split into on the backside. Beer signs, including one like hers with the lizards, invited a person to come in from the muggy heat and cool down with a brew and some music. The building was a small, oblong box that Elva had recently extended by several feet. The front door had been moved to the right; the previous door’s opening was filled in with wood that didn’t quite match the rest. A ramp had been installed for disabled persons. She wondered if Elva had ever taken her advice and built a deck out back. “Who wants to sit outside with the mosquitoes?” she’d said.
Kim glanced at the clock in her car: eleven. Where had the morning gone? It was already opening time. But there wasn’t a car in sight and the lights weren’t on. Where was Smitty?
She helped Oscar out of the car, and he ambled right up to the steps. He was definitely used to coming here. Her hand was shaking when she inserted the key. She realized she was afraid things had changed inside, obliterating all of her childhood memories. She’d spent so much time here, helping Elva after school and sometimes hanging out when her parents were either working or not getting along. Oddly enough, the bar had been her comfort zone.
She pushed open the door to the familiar smells of stale smoke and old wood. And an unfamiliar one: the lingering aroma of fried food. Oscar walked right in and did the same checking-out routine he’d done with the house. She wondered if pigs lifted their leg to claim their territory. Ahead of her was a wall that she guessed enclosed the new kitchen.
She switched on the lights and took in the bar—and smiled. It was exactly as she remembered. The tightness in her chest eased. Like Elva’s house, the interior was all dark wood. A long bar stretched along the back wall, its mirrors reflecting an impressive array of bottles. That bar had been Elva’s pride, coming from an old saloon in Georgia. The piece had been hand-carved a century before from mahogany, stained dark and polished until it gleamed. The mirror had been broken in transit, and Elva had cried.
The rest of the open room had the usual smattering of tables, some small and cozy and some long enough to accommodate large groups. She’d added a second television. Most importantly, the pictures were still there adorning much of the wall space. They dated back to the beginnings of Cypress. There wasn’t as much dust on the pictures as she thought there would be, only a thin layer. Grime filled the cracks in the floor, though. She imagined it sanded down and covered with a thick coat of varnish.
The addition was indeed a kitchen, a small one. Kim grabbed a plastic-coated menu off the table and read down the meager list of offerings: chicken wings five different ways, four different sandwiches, and a selection of fried veggies. She frowned. A kitchen meant a cook; all these tables meant a waitress. She glanced at the clock. Where was everybody?
The door opened and two scruffy-looking guys walked in. They stopped cold when they saw her.
“Hi, come on in. I’m Elva’s granddaughter, Kim.”
“We know who you are,” one said.
“Where’s Smitty?” the other one asked.
She said, “I…I don’t know.”
They turned around and left.
She did remember them, now that she thought about it, but she didn’t remember having done anything to offend them.
An older couple came in. Kim vaguely remembered them too and greeted them the same way she’d greeted the men.
“Heard you was back,” the woman said. She outweighed her husband by about a hundred pounds. “When you leaving?”
“I don’t know.” Bitterness burned her throat. As they turned to leave, she said, “Wait a minute. I don’t remember kicking your dog or burning down your house. What’s your problem?”
“No, but you tried to punish a good man for sins he didn’t commit. The Macgregors been good to us over the years. We don’t take quarter with people who done them wrong.”
“Where’s Smitty at?” her husband asked, scanning the room.
“He’s not in yet.”
He gave a “humph” sound which his wife mirrored, and they left.
Kim dropped down to the nearest chair. What was going on here? Had the Macgregors asked everyone to boycott her? She rubbed her hands down her face. Is that what had happened to her waitress and cook? “Oh, Oscar, this isn’t good.”
The pig ate a French fry off the floor and looked up at her. He waddled over and touched his snout to her leg. She patted his head. He smelled like shampoo, which meant that Zell had bathed him before bringing him over. That also meant that pigs required baths.
Before she could ponder the implications of all that, the door opened again. JoGene Waddell, her first love, walked in. Her heart did a funny skip-beat. He still looked rangy, not having put much meat on his 5’11 frame. His straight brown hair was parted on the side, and he sported a goatee that made him look all kinds of interesting. She’d lost him when she’d lost everything else. He’d broken things off, and she’d understood. She had, after all, implicated his father in a murder.
“Heard you were back,” he said, walking with the same swagger he’d always had. He glanced around. “Where’s Smitty?”
“The million-dollar question.” She came to her feet and then didn’t know what to do with her hands. “How are you doing?”
He took her in with a gaze that didn’t reveal what he thought. “Good. Still working with my dad over at the Gun and Rod Club, managing the cabins now.” He didn’t sound thrilled about it, either.
He knelt down and petted Oscar, who leaned into his hand like they were old friends. It made her feel so left out she felt tears prick the backs of her eyes. She blinked quickly as JoGene straightened.
“How about you?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet. Ask again in a few more days.”
They both laughed in that awkward kind of way.
He looked around. “So, this is yours now.”
“Yep. Did you…come in to eat?”
He hesitated. “Sure. I always get a BLT and a Budweiser.”
She headed to the kitchen. “I didn’t know Elva had a kitchen. I’m not sure what happened to the cook.”
He followed and watched as she searched for foodstuffs. “Elva added this a few years back, because people kept asking her to serve a bit of food. She didn’t have a cook during lunch. Linda May used to wait tables at night, and Elva and Smitty did the cooking and cleaning. It’s not the kind of place you go out to eat dinner, but if you’re coming here for a few brews, might as well eat, right?”
She figured out how to turn on the grill and separated slices of bacon. A large window above the grill allowed the cook to set the food on a counter for easy access. “You said Linda May used to wait tables.”
He glanced away. “Her parents wanted her to take some time off…”
“While I’m here,” she finished what he didn’t say. “There is a boycott, isn’t there? People keep coming in, asking for Smitty, and then leaving.”
He leaned against the open swinging door. “I probably shouldn’t be here either. My dad’d have my hide.”
“Your dad’s still a controlling, tyrannical bastard, huh?” Buck had been a major drawback to dating JoGene.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that. And leave it to you to say that. You never did hold back your words.”
“No point in it.”
The bacon sizzled while she searched for the potato chips the menu said were served with the sandwiches. Next, she found a plastic plate and dumped a pile of them on it. When she looked up, he was watching her again. She remembered hot kisses in the back seat of his Wrangler and the way he’d try every which way to get her to go all the way.
“About that boycott,” she prodded.
He shrugged. “It’s not anything official. Everybody knows you’re in town and they remember. People around here remember things for a long time. You did try to nail their favorite son to the wall, after all, along with my dad.”
“My dad was a
favorite son, too. Nobody jumped to see that justice was done on his behalf.”
JoGene lowered his head and his voice. “Kim, you have to let that go. It was an accident. That was always your problem, not letting things go.”
Even though it was his father’s best friend who’d killed her dad and not his father, JoGene looked uncomfortable with the conversation. Too uncomfortable. Before she could ask him why, he said, “So, how long are you staying?”
“The other million-dollar question. I’m not sure.” She didn’t know why she wouldn’t say a week. That’s all she had off from work. “So why are you here, then? To see if I’d gotten fat and dumpy?”
He chuckled and took her in. “You haven’t gotten fat and dumpy, that’s for sure.”
She crinkled her nose. “Thanks. Words to warm a girl’s heart.” She pulled out the toast and set the bacon to drain. “You want mayo?”
“Lots of it. So what’cha gonna do with this place, anyway?”
“I don’t know yet. I wasn’t expecting any of this. All of a sudden, I’ve got a pig and a bunch of orchids and a bar and a house. It’s a lot to take in.”
“I imagine so.”
“Wharton’s got somebody who’s too chicken to come forward and identify himself who wants to buy this place for next to nothing. You wouldn’t happen to know who it is, would you?”
He surveyed the place. “Not sure how much this place would be worth. It’s sitting on decent land, but it’s a locals place. Doesn’t attract many tourists, except for the folks who come to our club.”
She handed him the plate. “Draft or bottle?”
“Draft.”
A couple of guys had come in while she’d been in the kitchen. Though they didn’t leave after her spiel, they asked about Smitty and then reluctantly decided to stay since they’d driven over and all.
When she dropped the draft off to JoGene, she asked, “Where can I find Smitty?”
“Maybe at his trailer over at the park. He’s at the Sunset Park, south of our place.”
She nodded and then got started on the other men’s orders. No waitress, no cook, no Smitty, and hardly any customers. The longer she stayed, the more strain it was going to put on the bar’s finances, whatever they were. She glanced at the clock. She wondered if Wharton and his secret client had anything to do with this.
When she dropped off JoGene’s bill, he said, “You look good, Kim.” He looked at her work-worn hands with short nails that wouldn’t grow no matter how hard she tried. “You married yet?”
“Boyfriend. You?”
“Nope.” In the awkward silence that followed, he got to his feet and handed her some bills. “Be seeing you around.”
Would she be seeing him? And how did she feel about that? She only nodded as he
wandered to the restroom. Who cared? It wasn’t as though she were going to have a fling.
Why did Zell’s sexy smirk come to mind at that thought? He was the last person she’d ever find appealing, other than in a purely aesthetic way. Even when they’d been forced into their stepsibling roles, even when she’d hated living among the Macgregors, she’d admired his looks. Especially when she’d accidentally walked in on him as he was drying himself off after a shower. She’d stood there gawking at him for a few seconds before decency roused her.
Forget about that. Remember those vicious three-hour ping pong matches played in the recreation area beneath the big house, and the way he’d smashed the ball at her and never once let her win.
All right, she might have had an itty bitty crush on Zell. Except for that, JoGene had captivated her teenaged heart. Now she had Simon, calm, predictable Simon who still hadn’t returned her call. She was sure she missed him, or would when she got past her irritation with him. She threw JoGene’s debris in the garbage can with a jerk of her hand and went out to see to her customers.
On his way out, JoGene stopped beside her and said, “I thought I should tell you…be careful, you hear?”
The warning, spoken in a low voice, tiptoed up her spine. “Why do you say that?”
“People are watching you. A few want to make sure you don’t get any ideas about staying. I don’t know how far they’re willing to go to make that happen.” He touched her cheek. “I just want you to stay safe.”
CHAPTER 5
Once Wharton had given Kim the necessary paperwork at the office, he said, “Lucky your granny put your name on the house and bar. That saved you from having to go through probate.”
It was lucky. And odd. Elva always said she was going to live forever. She’d never drawn up a will and said she never would. Swore doing things like that invited death. “When did she add my name?”
“About five months ago.” He turned to the shelf behind his desk and picked up a simple, metal urn. “This here’s your granny.”
Kim took the urn and tried not to think how unfair it was that her grandma, full of life and piss and vinegar, was ashes in a plain urn. What had made Elva think about dying? Then she realized something. “She was cremated? On whose authority?”
“It was a mistake, actually. The funeral home thought they were supposed to cremate her while we were still trying to track you down.” He gave her a smile. “If you give it some thought, you’ll agree that cremating her was best. You can spread her ashes somewhere that meant something to her. Now then.” He pulled out a file and opened it. “We need to talk about my client’s offer. As I said, no one here is going to run the bar when you go back to Tallahassee. You don’t have any family here. There’s no reason to hold onto it. The way I figure it, you’re lucky someone wants it.”
His words stung, but she kept her mouth in a tight line and didn’t let him see it. She wanted to tell him that he couldn’t be sure of that. There might be someone who’d help her out. Smitty’s absence didn’t bode well, but you never knew. Maybe he had the flu. “You’re going to try to get me to take thirty grand for my bar again.”
Wharton looked like a fat version of Uncle Sam, with a pointed, white beard and white suit that smelled like he’d worn it a few too many times between washings. An unfiltered cigarette dangled from his mouth. “Nope, I’m not going to do that. He’s willing to go up to forty-five thousand. I told him he was crazy upping his offer that much, but he figured you should get something out of it.”
Acrid smoke drifted her way, but she made no move to show him it bothered her. “He. Who is it, and why isn’t he man enough to identify himself?”
“Nothing to do with manliness. He just prefers to have me do the dealing part of things. Keeps it simple.” He pulled out a contract. “All you have to do is sign here.”
She wasn’t sure where the words came from, was surprised when they came out of her mouth. “I might stay in town, run the bar myself.”
The cigarette dropped out of Wharton’s slack lips.
Her instinct was to rush out words about not meaning it. Surely, she didn’t. As much as she loved Cypress, Cypress didn’t seem to have much use for her. Simon sure wouldn’t move there.
Wharton retrieved his cigarette. “No need to get nasty, Miss Lyons. No need for that at all. Forty-five’s a fair offer, more money than you’ll get from anyone else. If anyone else even bothers to offer.”
“I wouldn’t consider an offer unless I knew who it was.”
He gave a wheezy laugh. “Money’s money. Who cares where it comes from?”
That made her wonder if the Macgregors were trying to buy Southern Comfort. Maybe even Zell. “Not interested. If that’s all…” She got to her feet, relieved to get out of the office that smelled like smoke and some other odor she didn’t care to identify.
“That is until you realize that owning a vacant, rotting building isn’t going to do you much good. Thing is, Elva was talking to him about selling the place. They hadn’t talked money yet, but she was interested in retiring. You’ll be following through on what Elva wanted anyway. I’ll be here with that offer, if my client is generous enough to keep it on the tabl
e such as it is.”
He hadn’t even taken her statement about staying seriously, except for his initial reaction. She walked out of his storefront office space across from City Hall’s historic white building. Before she could even take a breath of relief, she saw Buck Waddell leaning against his brown wrecked piece of a truck. He was tall and lanky like his son, though his brown hair was thinning something fierce. He’d done a comb-over with the remaining strands. His bloodshot eyes locked onto her and stayed there as she walked to her car. He’d parked behind her along the curb even though there were plenty of spaces in the lot. He took a drag off his cigarette and flicked it toward her car. She knew there was no point in greeting him and didn’t want to anyway. She did have the urge to check her tires and tailpipe, but she got in and pulled away without looking.
Southern Comfort’s shell parking lot was deserted. She’d closed up for her appointment with Wharton and left Oscar in the bar. It was too hot to leave him in the car. She stepped out of her car and brushed the damp strands of hair from her neck. Though she’d curled the ends under that morning, the humidity had sent them curling up. Even the mosquitoes seemed to take a break in the mid-day. Maybe the humidity weighed them down the way it weighed everyone else.
She thought back to her encounter with Buck. That dead look in his eyes was enough to cool her down even before the air conditioning sent her into a state of mini-shock. Could he be the one wanting to buy Southern Comfort? She sure as hell wouldn’t sell it to him, and he knew it. Wharton was buddies with both Winnerow and Buck.
“Forget them. You’re mine now.” She looked around the bar, and an odd sense of pride swelled in her chest. “You’re officially mine.” Elva had wanted her to have it enough to add her to the deed. Had she been feeling ill? Again, guilt spiked through her at not being there for her. She placed the urn on the bar.
Oscar got up from where he was laying on a pile of blankets and ambled over to greet her like a loyal dog. She’d wanted a dog for a while now. That was part of her dream of home: the house, the dog, and the fenced-in yard. When her dad was alive, they had a black and white mutt named Hobo. He’d gone to Heron’s Glen with them, but disappeared one night. An alligator, the Macgregors had supposed. Part of living in a swamp. Sometimes in the dry season, a wild one got hungry enough to wander down near the house. Another reason to hate the ghastly creatures.
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