Somewhere along our trek into town, the car thump-thumps over uneven terrain.
When I look in the side mirror, I realize we just crossed over railroad tracks.
Chapter Forty-One
Ice Cream Interrogation
On the way into town, Cain stops at an abandoned building. There isn’t a shortage of them around here, but I like the one he chooses best. He digs around in the bag he brought and withdraws my can of orange spray paint, compliments of an apologetic Madam Karina.
“Thought you’d want it,” he says. “I remember you tagged that wall in Detroit.”
My cheeks warm, remembering him as a stranger in the gold sedan that night.
“Go on,” he nudges.
And so for the next half hour, I leave my mark on Pox, Texas. This time, I don’t write what’s in my heart. I simply draw a fire upon the brown brick wall, flames licking their way upward. It seems the only thing powerful enough to do a bottle of orange spray paint justice.
When I’m done, I stare up at the building and imagine it ablaze, entrails crackling and smoking. I imagine who’s on the inside, too. And what their faces will look like when they race into the night, seeking safety from the vengeful heat, their cheeks smudged and their eyes wide.
I don’t have to wonder who started the fire.
It’s us, right? Wilson asks.
After I’ve finished, Cain doesn’t ask where I want to go, but he does a fantastic job of taking a guess.
In town, we pass squatting brick buildings with generic names—Auto Shop and Home & Farm Supply and Pox County Municipal. Cain eventually parks the vehicle and motions for me to follow him inside. The door chimes when we enter a shop appropriately called Ice Cream. It’s one of those big, honking red signs that doesn’t pretend to care. They know you want what they’re selling, and that’s all that matters.
Though the sign is tired, the décor inside is inviting. It’s set up like an old general store with quirky gifts and jellies on stale crackers ready for sampling. Country music blares over the speakers, and a dozen round tables sit proudly on original hardwood floors. There isn’t much light streaming through the single, dusty window, but it’s more than enough to peruse the ten flavors of Bluebell ice cream.
“Can I use my credit to pay for this?” I whisper to Cain, knowing I should resist, realizing there’s no way I will.
He digs his hand into his jeans. “Nah, this is on me.” I open my mouth to object, but he cuts me off. “It’s actually on Angie, if that makes you feel better. She slips me some cash for helping her out from time to time.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
He grins. “Will you just pick a flavor, already?”
I press my hands against the glass and stare down, buzzing with excitement. It’s sad how little it takes to get me going.
Pick orange sherbet, Wilson says. That stuff is amazing!
“Hell, no,” I say.
Cain gives me a questioning look, and I gather that I just spoke aloud to Wilson. I wave my hand like it’s nothing and return to this critical choice.
“I’ll take Cookies and Cream,” I say to the man waiting on us. “No, Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. No, sorry, the first one. Definitely the first one.”
The man sighs. “Cookies and Cream?”
Cain leans in behind me. His stomach presses into my back and I try not to think about how enormous he is. Like a tidal wave arched over a fire ant. “Give her a scoop of each in a waffle cone.”
I want to tell him that’s too much, that he shouldn’t spend all his cash on me. But I can’t bring myself to do this. Call me selfish if it’ll make you feel better. This is ice cream we’re talking about.
I smile when the man hands my loot over, and I wait patiently(ish) as Cain orders two scoops of vanilla bean with sprinkles. I rag on him pretty hard about those sprinkles, and he belly laughs the whole time. I think he may have ordered them just to hear me berate him.
“You’re the only girl I’d let talk smack to me about my sprinkles,” he says.
I take a bite and mutter. “I’m the only girl that’d dare mention it.” I mean it as a joke, but the smile slips from Cain’s face. “Did I say something wrong?”
He shakes his head. Ice cream drips over his knuckles as we sit across from each other, customers chatting around us. “No. It’s just…you’re not afraid of me, are you?”
“Are you afraid of me?” I ask.
He laughs once. “No, I’m not.”
“Then why would I be afraid of you?”
Cain finishes his ice cream in another few bites. He eats like a blue whale, all that food just sliding down his throat like he’s swallowing a fishing boat and a great white shark and maybe a tire or three. After he wipes his mouth, he says, “You really think I’d be scared of you if I knew what you did?”
I’m suddenly colder than the last lick of Bluebell in my hand. I’m solid as the earth. “Maybe you wouldn’t be afraid,” I say, measuring my words. “But you should be.”
He scoffs. “Impossible.”
For one glittering moment, I consider telling him my secrets. Right here, leaned across this table, squat in the middle of Pox’s famous Ice Cream joint. But I hesitate too long, and then it’s gone. I open my mouth to fill the void but stop when I hear something said behind me that sets off bells. Like hearing a parent calling for their kid, and then understanding it’s you they’re calling for, and that’s your parent.
I tilt my head so I can better hear what’s being said.
“…say Ellie’s been there for months, the poor girl. It’s not like anything anyone does will help.”
A new voice chimes in. “I heard her father came into town looking for her. Said he was taking Ellie’s picture up and down Main Street, but of course no one’s talking.”
I shoot up in my chair and cross the room. Maybe I should form some sort of plan before barreling over there, but I know only that this girl I replaced is named Ellie and is someone I haven’t been able to get out of my head. And here are two people finally talking.
I sidle up next to their table and run my hands over my naked hair. I hate Poppet right now for confiscating my wigs. “Hi,” I say dumbly. The two women look up. “I apologize for interrupting, but I heard you say my friend’s name. Ellie?”
The larger woman leans back in her chair. “And you are?”
“Domino,” I answer. When the woman continues staring at me, I add, “I live at Madam Karina’s place, and I’m looking for Ellie.”
The thinner woman stares across the space at her friend, worry creasing her face. She’s clearly waiting for the larger woman to speak. Eventually, she does. “No one knows where Ellie is, dear. She just up and vanished. Upset Madam Karina something awful.”
“Madam Karina is a friend of ours,” the thinner woman blurts out. “We hated to see her upset. If any trouble came to that little girl, it was well deserved.”
“Shut up, Viola,” the other woman says. She glances up at me. “Look, go back to that boy over there and enjoy the day. Don’t worry yourself with bygones.” As an afterthought, she says, “And tell Madam Karina we said hello, and that we’ll be sure to bring her some of our canned pears soon.”
“And you are?” I say, repeating her earlier words. Behind me, I hear a chair slide across the floor. Three earthquake steps later, Cain brushes up beside me.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
The larger woman ignores my question, pressing her thin lips against a porcelain cup of coffee and slurping loudly. She leaves a red lipstick stain when she lowers the glass. “Domino was kind enough to introduce herself. And now she’s leaving.”
I’m not sure why it’s her final dismissal that pushes me over the edge, but it does. “I heard you talking about Ellie, and I won’t leave until you tell me what you know.”
Cain’s eyes snap to my face when he realizes what I’m asking about. “Come on, Dom, let’s get you a Coke.”
I glare at him. “Don’
t patronize me.”
The thin woman slumps in her chair. “Just listen to him and get out of here. You’re going to make trouble for everyone.”
“See, that’s what I mean. What kind of trouble?” My voice grows more urgent. It’s like there’s this black seed of uncertainty that rooted itself in place the moment I saw Madam Karina in that Detroit alleyway. As much as I want to please her, as much as I want to believe she loves us girls, that seedling won’t go away.
The large woman lifts her coffee cup a second time. “Trouble is trouble, isn’t it?”
“Domino…” Cain urges.
Don’t you dare let them dismiss you like that, Wilson sneers. You can’t go back to Madam Karina’s without learning what they know.
He’s right.
I slam my hands down on their table. “Tell me where Ellie is!”
A firm hand comes down on my shoulder and spins me around. Eric stands over me, a repulsive grin sweeping across his mouth. “I’ll tell you where she is. In fact, why don’t I show you?”
I jerk away from him.
“Okay, let’s go.” Cain practically pulls me off my feet, and suddenly the two of us are soaring through the establishment toward the front door. “Too much sugar,” he yells toward Eric in the worst excuse for an explanation I’ve ever heard. “I gotta get her back before Madam Karina has my hide.”
Eric salutes Cain with two fingers, but his eyes never leave mine.
Already, I’m conflicted about snapping at those two women who probably did nothing wrong. I look back to gauge their faces, but instead my gaze lands on Eric.
Eric and his blatant threat.
Eric and his knowledge of Ellie’s whereabouts.
Eric and his gold deputy badge that says he’s untouchable in the town of Pox.
Chapter Forty-Two
Pink Couches
and English Tea
Cain drags me toward the black sedan, and I let him. Not that I have a choice when it comes to his raw strength. He closes my door and climbs into the driver’s seat. As soon as his door is closed, I lay into him.
“Tell me what you know about that girl.”
Eric pushes open the screen door and watches as we pull away, yellow Texas dust kicking up around the car. I keep my eyes trained on the officer until we’re a safe distance away.
Cain watches the road. “I know what you know. That she left a few months back, and it upset Madam Karina.”
“There’s more to it than that!”
The muscles in his forearms jump. “Yeah, I think there is, too. I also know Eric is in Madam Karina’s pocket just like the cops were in her father’s pocket, and it isn’t good to ask too many questions.”
“What does her father have to do with anything?”
“He doesn’t, really, except that her father was the mayor of Pox for a long time, and he wasn’t a straightlaced kind of guy. My dad said he taxed business owners and then kept the money for himself. Not much anyone could do about it, since he was paying off the deputies. And since Madam Karina is this guy’s daughter, that power just sort of slid over to her. Lot of people want to leave Pox, because it’s shady here, but they don’t have the means to do it.”
“So, what, you’re just going to roll over? Cain, if you’re living in a house run by a criminal, wouldn’t you want to know?” I shake my head. “Something is really, really wrong here.”
He laughs, though I don’t see how this is funny. “Didn’t you know? We’re all criminals. It’s Madam Karina’s House for Burgeoning Convicts. You going to cast the first stone?”
“Stop laughing. What if Ellie is… What if that girl is dead or something?”
The grin on his face vanishes. “If I thought that, I’d be gone.”
“So what do you think happened?”
“My honest opinion?” He glances at me, and I nod. “I think she stole cash from the house and skipped town. And I think Madam Karina covered it up by circulating rumors. Better to have people afraid than have them think you got robbed.”
“But you seemed worried back there.”
Cain straightens. “I wasn’t worried. I just know the madam has powerful influence in this town, and sometimes it’s better to leave questions unanswered.”
“Influence like Eric?”
Cain doesn’t respond.
“You know those women said Ellie’s dad is looking for her. Even if she’s okay, isn’t it wrong that her family thinks otherwise?”
I let that hang in the air as the landscape soars past, silence settling between us like a sticky morning fog.
Cain shifts in his seat. “Let’s talk to Angie about it.”
“Thought you said it was only rumors. No harm, no foul.”
“I don’t like that her dad is looking for her,” he says. “You’re right. People shouldn’t be afraid of Madam Karina. It isn’t right.” Cain seems to be telling himself this as much as me.
“You think Angie knows something we don’t?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Think she’ll tell us?”
“Depends on how much she lost at cards this morning.”
Angie trails outside as we pull up, cussing at her Dobermans to get back. Get back to where, I’m not sure.
An American flag hangs limply on a pole at the top of her trailer, and an old oak tree bows over her home like it’s paying homage. Pecan shells and dog feces litter the ground and, though it’s a park, the next trailer over is well out of earshot. Angie lights a cigarette and strides toward Black Betty, her beloved tractor. She lays a hand on the machine like she’s afraid it may suddenly vanish.
She points her cigarette at us. “Madam Karina know you’re here?”
“You know she doesn’t,” Cain replies.
“Then you best get off my property.”
I almost remind her that it’s technically not her property. Might be because I’m envious of her dusty trailer with its curtains and mud-caked doormat. It’s home for Angie, and that’s something.
“We just want to come in for a few minutes.” Cain heads toward the front door, but Angie cuts him off.
“I can’t let you do that.”
Cain peers over his shoulder at me. “She must have lost her ass this morning.”
Angie smacks him on his shoulder. “That’s got nothing to do with nothing. And I didn’t lose my ass, smart aleck.”
“How much you win then?” he antagonizes.
She presses her lips together. “I would have won if that old fart Deloris didn’t cheat.”
“She is a cheat,” Cain agrees.
Angie stares at him with one eye narrowed, trying to decide if he’s messing with her. She must decide he’s not, because she groans and waves toward the trailer. “Well, go on then. Make yourself at home. You’re going to anyway, right?”
Angie’s dogs rush in before the three us can take a step inside. The woman yells at them without conviction and sits down on a pink sofa that’s wildly out of character for her. Then again, I suppose her trailer is yellow. A fact she seems proud of.
“I’ll take a glass of tea,” she tells Cain. He smiles and disappears into her kitchen. He’s been gone for five seconds when Angie yells, “And don’t give the dogs any peppermints. You know how it makes Kali sick.”
“I know, I know…”
“That damn dog and her damn stomach,” Angie mutters to herself before turning her attention on me. “I suppose you’re looking for answers.”
I sit in a chair across from her, hoping if I stay silent she’ll talk more freely.
“Wondering what it is you got yourself into and just how sincere that Madam Karina is?” When I don’t reply, she says, “Well, I’ll tell you this much. I hope you don’t got plans for leaving. Because once you become Madam Karina’s property, you’re tagged for life.”
“What happened to Ellie?” I ask.
Angie sits back and sighs. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”
“Where is she?”
> Cain comes to stand in the doorway, his back to the kettle.
Angie looks at the ceiling. “Mr. Hodge will skin me if he finds out you two are here digging around.”
“Angie,” Cain urges, his voice gentle. “That girl’s dad was here, in Pox, looking for her.”
“Well, he came to the right place.”
“You think she’s still here?” I ask.
“I think you know exactly where she is.” Angie directs the statement to me. “And that’s all I’m going to say about it.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. “Is she dead?”
Angie’s face peels back like an orange. “What? No, you twit. That girl ain’t dead. What do you think this is, some true crime novel? Madam Karina has a heavy hand, but she’s not a murderer.”
The woman runs her hand over one of the Dobermans and he lays his head on her knee. “What you need to be concerned with is what you’ll be asked to do while working for Madam Karina.”
I glance down. “I know what I’ll be asked to do.”
“Do you?”
I turn my face away. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out.”
“And are you prepared to give everything you have to Madam Karina? Because that’s what happens out there in those guesthouses.”
Cain runs his hand over his shorn hair and grits his teeth, his jaw working. “Domino doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to.”
“Like hell she doesn’t.” Angie stands up.
When Cain spots the anger on Angie’s face, he returns to the kettle. But neither of us misses his next words. “How would you know, anyway?”
Angie sucks in air. Opens her mouth to say something. Closes it. Opens it again. “Because I worked in that goddamn house. If you ain’t figured that out yet, you’re dumber than I thought.”
Cain stops what he’s doing, and I remain motionless.
Angie sucks on her cigarette, ashes falling onto the floor. “I worked for her then, and I work for her now.” Her voice drops an octave. “It’s harder than you think to get out. It’s like the Sicilian Mafia.” She makes a gun with her free hand and fires off a round into my chest. “Bang, bang.”
Violet Grenade Page 18