by Marla Meyers
“There ya’ go. It’s ready to shoot. Just take it off safety, right here.” Joe pointed to the safety trigger.
“Thanks, Joe. I’ll keep this by my bed at night.”
“Probably won’t need it, but it’s good to have since you’re out here all by yourself.”
Marissa did her best to converse with Joe, talking about the weather and new businesses in town. She stood up when she heard heavy boots coming up the porch steps. Sheriff Carter and Will walked in seconds later.
“Well, anything?” Marissa doubted it.
“Not a thing. You probably scared off whoever it was. Might have been a hitchhiker passing through. Or the fellow sees that we are here and doesn’t plan to show himself.” He frowned as he rubbed his chin. “How about one of us stay here with you tonight?”
Normally, she would have refused the offer, but she still had a chill running the length of her spine every few minutes, and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled sporadically. Something didn’t feel right. She wasn’t sure how much protection Sheriff Carter would be, but just having another warm body in the house might settle her nerves.
“I don’t want to put you out, Sheriff.” She opted to give them a chance to back out.
“Marissa, honey. Don’t you worry. There is no reason for you to stay out here alone tonight. I’ll send Joe and Will on home in my truck, so long as you don’t mind taking me home in the morning? I’ll take the couch by that window so I can keep an eye on the barn.” Sheriff Carter pointed to the sofa, then took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Besides, if anything happened to you, your momma would reach down from heaven and bop me on the head.”
Marissa smiled. “Well, when you put it like that, okay.” She still wondered how she procured enough nerve to stake out the stranger in the barn anyway. She had just convinced herself it was kids.
She never slept good by herself anymore. Ever since she and Scott had split up, she had a hard time falling asleep.
Two hours later, Sheriff Carter was snoring on the couch. Marissa lay in bed with her eyes wide open, shadows from the trees outside dancing all around her. And something niggled at her. She didn’t know what it was, but deep in her gut, she was sure something just wasn’t right.
Chapter 4
XXX“Rise and shine, darlin’!” Marissa heard Sheriff Carter, yelling from the den, where he had M ^L-slept on the sofa.
“I’m awake. I’ll just be a minute,” she said, rolling out of bed, feeling refreshed after having had the best night’s sleep she had had, since her arrival.
"There’s some donuts in the pantry, Sheriff, if you’re hungry,” she yelled at him from the bedroom.
"Thank you. Don’t mind if I do,” he answered, walking to the pantry.
Sheriff Carter looked like he ate a lot of donuts, Marissa thought, as she walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Marissa, herself, was a hopeless junk food junkie. Donuts, hamburgers, pizza and the like were the main entrees on her diet. Careful not to eat too much of these delicacies, she was able to maintain a good 120 lb. weight. Scott had always been a meat and potatoes person, so she used to cook for him during the week. But, since their separation, she ate what she liked and things that
were fast usually items picked up through a drive-
through of some sort.
“Good donut,” the Sheriff said, as Marissa sat down at the kitchen table.
"Not bad, huh?” she said, grabbing one for herself.
“You ready to take me on back to the station?”
“Whenever you are. And, thanks again for staying. I slept really good last night.”
“Well…I was happy to do it. You gonna’ feel okay all by yourself out here? I mean, no phone and all?”
“Oh sure. I’ll just keep everything locked up tight. It was probably, like you said, just a hitchhiker or something. Since he didn’t show up last night, he’s probably gone,” she said, only halfway believing that to be the case.
“Well just the same…Joe and I will drive by here as often as we can and check on you.”
“Awe…that’d be great. You ready now?” she asked, grabbing her purse and heading towards the door.
“Sure “am. Let’s go,” he said.
After Marissa dropped off Sheriff Carter, she stopped at Dan’s Diner, a little diner on the side of the main highway. She knew she would be at the farm through the weekend and thought she would see if Becka wanted to come out. As the phone rang, she thought again about the possibility that Becka might already have plans. Hoping not, she waited.
“Hello,” she heard Becka answer.
“Hey woman! What’s up?”
“Are you kidding? Not a thing. How’s the cleaning going?”
“Well, the cleaning is about done. The Realtor should be out here this afternoon,” she said, looking at her watch.
“Good, so you’ll be home this weekend?” Becka asked, sounding hopeful. Marissa figured she must not have gotten a date for the weekend.
“I wish. You know I love this place, but I miss everything there.”
“So, what’s the problem? Once the Realtor comes out, aren’t you done?”
“Yeah…except meeting with the lawyer. I couldn’t get an appointment until Monday morning, but I’m planning on driving back Monday afternoon. I was wondering. Why don’t you come here for the weekend? You could fly out here and we could drive back together on Monday. Believe it or not, there is an airport about twenty miles from here. Unless, of course, you made plans with Spencer…maybe?”
“We will talk about Spencer, the rat, when I get there. I would love to come out for the weekend! I haven’t been out to the farm in a long time. Well, I guess since your Mom’s funeral. Listen, I have a late meeting Friday at the office. How about I catch an early flight Saturday morning?”
“Great!” Marissa answered, relieved at knowing she wouldn’t have to spend the weekend out here alone. She knew she and Becka would have a great time.
“How do you want to do this?” Becka asked.
“I’ll call you Friday night, from a pay phone. There isn’t a phone at the house. Have your flight number and arrival time and I’ll pick you up at the: airport Saturday morning. I have a lot to tell you, too. I’ve kind of had a weird last few days myself,” Marissa said, referring to her stranger in the barn.
“Oh, really…like what?” Becka asked, sounding most intrigued.
“I’ll fill you in when I see you!” she teased back.
“Well, I guess I shall have to wait. If I must!” she said, giggling. “Then I’ll talk to you tomorrow!”
After she hung up, knowing Becka was coming, Marissa decided to stop at the liquor store and get a couple of bottles of wine. She envisioned Saturday night with Becka. They would revert back to at least age sixteen, put on their long night shirts, then probably paint their toe nails, before getting into a really heavy conversation about men…or the lack thereof. That’s when they would pop the first cork on the wine. After a nice buzz had been maintained, they would begin to compare every man’s biological package, that they knew…and guesstimate about the ones they didn’t know. Somewhere, during the course of the evening, the lip synching and air guitar show would begin. It’d be great, Marissa thought to herself as she pulled into the liquor store.
A shrill bell chimed as Marissa walked into the liquor store. From behind a closed door, towards the back of the store, came a little old man saying, “Can I help you there, Hon?”
Marissa was starting to wonder if there was anyone, even remotely close to her own generation, left in this town. She assumed most everyone her age had flown the coop, as she had.
“Yes, Sir. I’m going to look at your wine. Can you point me in the right direction?” she asked, recognizing Mr. Hinkle and wondering if he would recognize her.
Pointing towards the back of the store, he asked, “Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
“Not sure. I’ll just look for a minute, if you don’t mind
.” she said, as she walked towards the wine racks.
Deciding to pass on the cheap, twist off caps, she grabbed two bottles of White Zinfandel. Heading up to the counter, she thought about what a long night tonight and tomorrow night would be, and with that thought, she headed back to the wine rack and grabbed one more bottle. Her stomach would hate her, but a glass or two or three might help her sleep.
“This will be it,” she said to the little man, setting the bottles of wine on the counter.
“Okay. That’ll be $34.26,” he said, slowly placing the bottles in a bag.
She handed him a check, which he seemed to study for a while, as if trying to place her name with her face. She was getting ready to help him, when he recognized her.
“Marissa Dow? Is that you?” he asked, probably a little confused. She had taken back her maiden name when she and Scott divorced, but had never changed her driver’s license. It still read Marissa Chancelor.
“Yes, Mr. Hinkle. How are you?”
Looking pleased as punch, he smiled saying, “Your Mamma talked about you all the time. Wonderful woman, Marissa, just wonderful. We sure miss her.”
Fighting tears, Marissa assured him, “Mamma loved this place and all of you.”
Mr. Hinkle seemed to be remembering back and then he placed his hands firmly on the counter and said,
“Your Mamma was a fine woman. I saw her every Saturday night at the square dance hall for the last several years. She was quite the dancer, your Mamma,” he said, fondly snickering. “Although, ya’ know, we didn’t see much of her those last couple of months before she died. She kinda' stayed to herself. Probably wasn’t feeling good and just didn’t let anyone know,” he said, frowning and shaking his head.
This really caught her attention, because she thought Mamma always sounded fine on the phone and never said anything about not feeling good. Damn it! Why didn’t she find more time to spend with her.
“What do you mean, Mr. Hinkle? Mamma never said anything about feeling bad when I spoke with her.”
“Well, she just stopped coming to the hall. I would see her at the market sometimes and would ask her about it, but she’d just say she’d been busy or give some kind of excuse. Now that I think about it, she probably just didn’t feel up to it.”
“Maybe,” Marissa answered softly, thinking Mamma never complained about feeling poorly. Maybe she just grew weary of all these old farts hitting on her all the time, she thought amused. Mamma would have been quite the catch in Grove Hill.
“Well, it was sure nice to see you again, Marissa,” Mr. Hinkle said, as Marissa retrieved her bag from the counter and headed towards the door.
“You too, Mr. Hinkle. Take care now,” she replied, still wondering if Mamma had been sick and didn’t let anyone know.
Back at the farm, Marissa stashed the bottles of wine in the refrigerator, wondering briefly if the Realtor would open the refrigerator and think she was an alcoholic or something. There wasn’t much in the refrigerator. The three bottles of wine kind of stuck out.
After some random picking up, she heard a car pulling up the dirt road. She went and sat out on the front steps and waited. Out of the car waddled a little gray-haired woman that couldn’t have been more than five feet tall and had to be at least seventy-five years old. Not surprising.
After what seemed like a very long time, the woman neared the front porch, toting a large purse that seemed too big for her to handle.
“Hello there. You must be Marissa,” the woman said in a very meek and refined manner.
“Yes, Mam,” Marissa answered, as the woman attempted to struggle up the front porch steps. It must be hard getting old, Marissa thought.
Lending her a hand, Marissa said, “Watch your step now.”
Appearing not to have heard her, the woman said, “I see that Buck has kept the place up real nice. I hadn’t been out here in a long while.”
“Yes, Mam. We are sure lucky to have Buck. He has been wonderful.”
Reaching the top step, the woman said, “Well, let’s have a look around the house, shall we?”
“Please,” Marissa motioned. “Make yourself at home.” The little woman began going from room to room, appearing to take inventory of every item in the house on a little note pad she was carrying.
After about thirty minutes of inspection, the little woman asked, “Now let’s see…how many acres exactly do you have here?”
“Eighty-five,” Marissa answered.
“All right. Now, the property line is on the other side of the pond. Is that correct? The pond is yours, right?”
“Yes, Mam. The property line runs to the east, up to the highway, all around the pond and borders Mr. Jenkins property.”
“Let’s have a look outside, shall we?” she asked, seemingly oblivious to Marissa’s responses to her questions.
“Sure,” Marissa said, getting up and opening the door, then realizing she didn’t know the woman’s name.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name?”
“Myrtle,” the woman answered, most matter-of-factly, in her little voice, as she began taking inspection of the perimeter of the house.
“Well, nice to meet you, Myrtle,” Marissa said.
No response.
“How long has the barn been here, Michelle?”
Deciding not to correct her on the name variation, she replied, “As long as we have had the farm. I assume it was built the same time as the house and the house is one hundred and twenty years old, or there abouts. But, Daddy did make some repairs to it. I remember that.”
Marissa remembered Daddy and Paul putting new boards on the backside of the barn, when she was still young.
Once again, Myrtle said, “Well, let’s go have a look, shall we?”
Marissa, shaking her head in agreement, began what she knew would be a very long and slow walk to the barn. On the way, she found herself thinking about old age more than she ever had. She sympathized with these people. Had she just never noticed before, or was it because she herself was getting older?
After what seemed like a long time, Marissa opened the barn door for Myrtle and she slowly walked in, Marissa following her.
Upon entering the barn, Marissa’s eyes focused immediately on the coffee can in the middle of the barn, stopping and grabbing her chest, as she looked at the fresh daisies in the can. The stranger had been there after all, she realized. He must have come in after she and Sheriff Carter had fallen asleep.
Momentarily forgetting about her guest, Marissa walked quickly to the can containing the daisies, picked up the entire can and heaved it angrily across the barn.
“That bastard,” she said loudly.
“I beg your pardon?” Myrtle asked, eyes wide and sounding quite shocked.
Realizing what she had said and recognizing Myrtle’s uneasiness about her language, she said, “Oh…I’m sorry Myrtle. We have had a vagrant coming in here at night and I realized when I saw those daisies that he had been here again. I’m sorry if I offended you.”
Looking offended, indeed, Myrtle spun around as fast as her little body would allow and with her chin in the air said, “Yes…well…I suppose I have seen enough,” as she headed out the barn door.
Marissa walked with her over to her car. Assuming Myrtle probably didn’t want to face those four vicious steps up to the house again, she asked, “Do you want me to go ahead and sign the Listing Agreement now?”
“Yes dear. Just sign right here,” she said, handing Marissa the agreement from inside her oversized purse, still seemingly puzzled at Marissa’s behavior in the barn and maybe a little anxious to be on her way.
Reading briefly over it, Marissa signed the document and handed it back, saying, “That is my number in Houston. Please call me if you get any offers.”
“We’ll do,” she said, closing her car door.
Marissa waved to her and headed straight back to the barn, wondering whether to go into town and call Sheriff Carter. As she walked in the bar
n door, she was wondering where the stranger had been hiding and how he knew when it was safe to come out here. Maybe he was lurking around in the woods right now, she worried.
Suddenly, with a burst of energy, she began to roll over the haystacks where the glowing light had come from. One by one, she pushed them over and on to the barn floor. She didn’t know what she expected to find, but she was determined to move them all. Sweating profusely now, she heaved the last one over onto the dirt floor. Nothing.
Getting down on her hands and knees, she began to dig around in the dirt with her hands.
Still nothing.
Frustrated, she began to walk nervously around the barn, looking for some clue as to what the stranger might have been doing. Everything appeared normal, except for the fresh daisies that had been left in the coffee can were now strewn across the far side of the barn, where Marissa had thrown them. The haystacks were no longer in a very neat pile, either. Mr. Buck wouldn’t appreciate that, she thought, knowing there was no way she could lift the big bales up and replace them as they were.
Who the hell is this guy? Putting on her “tough-guy’ act, she continued to pace around the barn. “Fine,” she stated aloud to herself. “That’s just fine!” she said, this time a little louder, kicking the coffee can this time, almost daring the stranger to show himself.
He had broken his consistency. It was after seven o’clock last night when he returned. Mad and a little frightened, she headed back towards the house, slamming the barn door on the way out. Part of her wanted to call Sheriff Carter, but she knew if it came down to it, she was physically stronger than all of those nice old men together. All they could provide was peace of mind. Probably, if the boys came back out here, the stranger wouldn’t show himself anyway.
Back at the house, she retrieved the shotgun from under the bed and made sure it was loaded. Feeling angry that this person was frightening her, she walked into the kitchen and sat down at the kitchen table. She laid the gun across the table. She would be at the barn again tonight. She would be hidden, but this time she would have more than a flashlight as her protection.