Night Skyy

by Rich Bullock

Conrad Langworth officially welcomed her to Deer Cove, and soon had her outfitted with a complimentary scone the size of a baseball mitt. He paired it with a hot drink topped with three inches of whipped cream. He claimed it was a light variety. Right.

  “I heard you’ve been sick, so I don’t want to overload your system.”

  As if the scone by itself wouldn’t send her into a sugar coma. She closed her eyes as the first bite melted on her tongue. The pastry was full of sweet butter, lemon, and blueberries.

  “Someone might have to drive me home,” she said, breaking off another chunk and vowing she would save half of it for later. She hadn’t even tried the drink yet.

  “They might anyway,” Connie said, lifting his chin toward the front windows. “It’s beginning to rain.”

  Skyy spun on the stool. In the span of thirty seconds, small drops grew to medium size, then large, pelting the windows and bouncing off the patio tables as if trying to strip their white paint. The few pedestrians outside ducked heads and ran for cars or shop doorways.

  Connie offered his phone, and Skyy called Ember for a ride whenever she finished at the auto repair. Relieved she wouldn’t have to mount the ATV in the cold and wet, Skyy relaxed as Connie told how he’d branched out from his other shop in nearby Perilous Cove. At least seventy, he was as vibrant as a man in his forties, and his warm blue eyes reminded her of a summer afternoon.

  “I like the warm dry air here at the lake,” he said, “excepting today, of course.”

  Another couple rushed in to escape the rain and joined Skyy at the bar. As Connie fixed their orders, the three laughed at his stories about growing up in Hollywood and sneaking into the production lots with his friends.

  “We kept trying to blend in with the paid extras so we could go see ourselves in the movies, but the security guards caught us every time and tossed us out. One of them finally called our parents, so we never made it onto the big screen.”

  She laughed again, then realized laughing had become a solitary exercise the last years. Sure, she laughed at the occasional online meme—by herself, or a funny post on the Night Thoughts page—by herself. Before she could go too far down Poor Me Lane, Ember came in and took the stool beside Skyy.

  “That was fast,” Skyy said, checking the wall clock at the end of the bar. “I didn’t expect you for an hour.”

  “I bartered with Mark. Told him if I could leave early, I’d bring him a Cappuccino Blast tomorrow.” She pointed at Skyy’s plate. “What were you eating?”

  Skyy looked down. Only a few crumbs remained on the plate where the giant scone had sat. Maybe it was her imagination, but she envisioned her blood sugar bouncing along the coffee shop’s ceiling like a helium-filled balloon. She groaned. “I think that was lunch, dinner, and tomorrow’s breakfast.”

  “I’ll take one of those,” Ember said to Connie. “Please,” she added when Connie raised a brow.

  “Coming right up.”

  “Did you ask him about using the Wi-Fi tomorrow night?” Ember whispered to Skyy.

  Skyy rested her head in her hands. Now the room was for sure spinning. Night Thoughts was tomorrow, and she’d blanked on what day today was. Too much time being sick. And when feeling better, dwelling on a certain cop. And overdosing on evil scones. She had to get her act together. The show required high-speed connectivity, and it was time to find some of her own. This tagging onto another’s service wasn’t fair to the person paying the bill.

  Connie—like an ever-listening bartender—heard Ember’s question. He tapped his chin with two fingers while Ember explained the need.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “You buy two drinks or scones a week, and I’ll throw in all the Wi-Fi you can use. Twenty-four seven access.”

  “We’ll also need a key,” Ember said matter-of-factly, then “What?” at Skyy’s elbow in the ribs. “I’m already an employee. And we can’t sit outside if it’s like thirty degrees and snowing.”

  Connie went to the back room for a few seconds, then returned. Ember beamed as he slid a shiny brass key across the bar.

  “If I’m missing any Cappuccino Blasts, I’m comin’ after you, missy.”

  Ember saluted. “Yes, sir!” But she couldn’t hide her big grin.

  “By the way,” Connie said, placing a phone note pad on the bar, “Canon called earlier and left a message on my machine here. Probably couldn’t get through to you because of the cell towers and lines being down.”

  Skyy picked up the pink note.

  Skyy & Ember -

  Just checking in. If I get out of here early enough on Tuesday, I’ll be home late. Hope you’re feeling better, Skyy. Call me if anything comes up. - Canon

  The shop door opened and closed a few times while Ember ate, each time flooding the room with colder air than the previous breach. It was growing dark outside, and everyone was excited about the prospect of snow, an evidently rare event at Storm Lake.

  One time when the door opened, the freezing tide kept coming, eliciting a small chorus of “close the door” by those sitting at the tables. Skyy turned to face the front of the building.

  A waif of a girl stood framed in the opening, one hand propping the door wide, the other clutching a small black trash bag at her side. Despite the freezing weather, she wore only a thin waist jacket over a tight mini-dress that ended more than a foot above her knees. The rain obliterated any style her ash-blond hair might have had, giving her a drowned-rat appearance. Water ran down her porcelain skin, forming a growing puddle on the tile floor around a pair of black high heels at least two sizes too large for her feet.

  “Come in,” Connie called, waving the girl forward. She remained where she was, eyes darting and connecting with each person in the room one at a time. Finally, her shoulders shook and her eyes fluttered, whether from cold or decision, Skyy couldn’t tell.

  “I’m looking for Skyy D,” she said, her voice hitching in desperation. “She lives somewhere around here. Do any of you know her?”

  Only Ember and Canon Truax knew the Skyy Delaney sitting on this barstool was Skyy D of Night Thoughts. Who—?

  Ember’s sharp intake had everyone, including Skyy, turning to her. Ember hopped off her stool and took a step forward.

  “K?”

  Chapter 21

  Skyy glanced at Ember, then back at the girl in the doorway. K. The girl who had called in to Night Thoughts one time? How did this girl find out where Skyy was? Until a couple of days ago, she didn’t even know.

  The girl was staring at Ember. “You’re Skyy D?”

  Ember shook her head. “I’m Ember.” She pointed at Skyy. “She’s Skyy D.”

  Now it was beginning to make sense. Ember had done Friday’s show by herself, and she’d obviously been a busy little cohost.

  Skyy stepped forward, but stopped halfway across the room. The girl, shivering as she was, appeared ready to bolt right back into the freezing night at the first sign of aggression by anyone. Fortunately, everyone in the coffee shop was too engaged in the drama to make a sound. A couple held up cell phones, probably videoing the encounter.

  “Hello, K,” Skyy said, keeping her voice low and even. If this girl was from the background Skyy suspected, the last thing she wanted was some bubbly, phony enthusiasm. K was used to life on the streets. No one there was bubbly, not even friendly—unless they wanted something. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Please, come in.”

  K didn’t move, but her eyes betrayed a flash of longing. Skyy might not see that same expression on her own face in the mirror every morning, but she knew the feeling: a wanting of things beyond her reach, sometimes beyond what she felt she deserved. If she desired something too much, the disappointment of not gaining it would gouge deeper than never wanting in the first place.

  She remembered too well the first missed Thanksgiving with her parents and brother after her natural family imploded into a hot mess. So many Christmas trees and presents lost, July 4th backyard barbecues and sparklers that never happened. And
Loser Boyfriend had made it clear he didn’t want that either, at least not with her.

  She sighed inwardly. Maybe she could do better with K, give the girl hope for a future far better than whatever made up her past and present.

  “They have amazing scones,” Ember said. “My treat.”

  That evidently sealed the deal. K stepped into the room. But instead of letting the door shut, she turned and whispered something. A small, hooded figure slipped around the corner of the doorframe where she’d been out of sight. A couple inches shorter than K, she tucked against K’s side and grabbed her hand. Together they walked toward Skyy.

  Finally, the front door closed with a bump, cutting off the frigid air. The central heater struggled to regain control of the room. The other patrons were probably relieved, but no one said a word as the girls stopped in front of Skyy.

  “This is Olivia,” K said. “She needs your help.”

  Inwardly, Skyy’s heart broke. It was difficult to determine Olivia’s age with only her face showing, but she was younger than K, who couldn’t have been over fifteen. They both needed help, but K wasn’t ready to admit that for herself—at least not in front of strangers.

  “Hi, Olivia,” Ember said. “Want something to eat?” She held her hand out to the girl. Olivia cut a glance to K for approval before letting go. She followed Ember, but skirted the offered hand.

  Trust was—and would be—an issue with both these girls, and Skyy couldn’t blame them. She turned back to K. “How about you?” She hitched her chin toward the bar.

  K started forward just as the front door burst open triggering the jangling bells. She spun and lost her balance in the oversize shoes. Skyy wrapped her arms around the girl to keep them upright as they both stared at the teen couple who had entered.

  “Sorry!” the female of the couple said, laughing.

  “It’s starting to snow!” the boy said.

  A rattle of chairs filled the room as everyone still sitting got to their feet and hurried to the front windows. Skyy felt K relax, then stiffen again as she realized Skyy was holding her. Skyy loosened her grip, allowing the girl to stand on her own, but Skyy kept her hand on K’s arm.

  “It’s okay. You’re safe here.”

  K straightened and took a breath.

  “You know my name,” Skyy said. “Will you tell me yours? Unless K is your real name.”

  The girl shook her head, but she hesitated. Skyy could almost hear the wheels turning as K evaluated the situation, the people—most especially Skyy.

  “It’s Bailey,” the girl said. “Like Baileys Irish Cream, except without the s. My dad thought it was cool. That’s what my mom told me.”

  Even though Skyy hurt for the girl, she couldn’t help but grin. “I guess that makes us two of a kind. I’m named after vodka; you’re named after Irish whiskey. We’ll be unstoppable!”

  It was stupid, she knew, but she was grasping at anything to build rapport with this girl.

  Olivia and Ember came by on their way to the front windows, and Ember handed Bailey a huge chunk of scone. Bailey took a tentative bite, then closed her eyes and let out a small groan.

  Skyy laughed. “That was my reaction too.” She turned the girl toward the front windows. “So, where did the K come from? Is that your middle initial or something?”

  Bailey shook her head. “Kay, that’s K-A-Y, was a girl I knew last year. She died.”

  Skyy shuddered at the raw statement as Bailey went to the window and inserted herself between Ember and Olivia. Was that to preserve her role as primary in Olivia’s life? A mother or big sister figure?

  “Well,” Connie whispered, coming beside Skyy and leaning close to her ear, “this is interesting.”

  The lump in Skyy’s throat kept her from speaking, but she nodded.

  “Where are they from?”

  She shook her head. “Maybe Ember knows.”

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  This was so far beyond her knowledge and experience. She thought Ember would be challenge enough, but she was eighteen and technically on her own. Sure, she’d been in some lousy foster homes—as well as some good ones—but she’d never had to survive on the streets. What did that do to young girls? Were they damaged for life? Beyond help to ever be normal?

  She shook her head again. So many questions, to none of which she had answers. Asking her mother certainly wasn’t an option, and she had no aunts or close girlfriends.

  “Call the police, or FBI, or…somebody.”

  She needed help, and only one name was forefront.

  Canon Truax.

  She sighed. He’d know what to do. At least know where to begin. Meanwhile, these girls needed a safe, warm place to stay. And real food. Had either ever eaten a salad?

  Connie rested a hand on her shoulder. “I think they need you tonight,” he said so only she could hear, “but I can make some calls tomorrow—if you want me to.”

  She glanced at him as he moved away and mouthed thank you. They’d met only a short time ago, but he was already a friend willing to help.

  Beyond the store windows, darkness had fallen, hastened by the heavy skies. Light from exterior building lights and signs illuminated white flakes slanting sideways as the storm continued to blow through. Now that the rain had softened to snow, a few brave souls left their shelter and stood in the middle of the street with faces turned up and tongues extended to catch the frozen treats.

  The three girls stood shoulder to shoulder along the front windows. Ember was the tallest, followed by Bailey, and then petite Olivia. Except for Ember’s darker coloring, the three could pass as sisters.

  But one thing for sure, Skyy Delaney wasn’t their mother. Neither was Skyy D.

  Chapter 22

  After a marathon with prosecutors on Sunday, testifying in the San Diego court yesterday, and returning for grueling cross-examination by defense attorneys today, Canon wanted nothing but to get to his apartment in L.A. and crash for several hours. Driving back to the cabin tomorrow would be soon enough.

  At the advisement of the prosecutors, he’d worn his sling for the sympathy vote. It hadn’t helped at the hearing, and his shoulder ached more than it had while doing light work at the cabin.

  And eating would be good. The sadistic attorneys for the perps somehow convinced the presiding judge to continue straight through the lunch hour, arguing that every minute their innocent clients were in jail was an infringement on their civil rights. Canon had never heard of that happening, and it confirmed the DEA’s suspicion that the cartel had influence over the judge. Breakfast of seven hours ago had long since worn off.

  He exited the courthouse into light steady rain. The same storm front assaulting the middle of the state had worked its way southward, coming ashore Sunday afternoon and bringing much needed moisture all the way to the southern border. It showed no sign of moving on.

  Canon had to shake his head at last night’s news. The weatherman opened the broadcast with the most important question: When will the rain end? Moisture was inconveniencing all the convertible drivers and golfers. San Diegans loved their sunshine.

  While he walked north on Union Street to the parking lot, he powered on his phone. It dinged several times, indicating both text and voice messages. He half expected all to be from Captain Olenski, ordering him to report for duty. But then he saw the messages were from Skyy’s phone.

  The text messages were Call me, and Call me now. Time and date stamped from this morning while he’d been on the witness stand. The voicemail, also from mid-morning, was more interesting. He missed hearing her voice and was anxiously awaiting tonight’s Night Thoughts show. He pressed the Play icon.

  “Canon…uh, hi. Sorry we didn’t get to talk before you left. I have a question for you. I mean, I have a situation…sort of.”

  She paused and sighed.

  “Actually, it’s too complicated to explain in a message because I’m sure you’ll have questions.” Her voice dropped as if she w
ere speaking to herself. “A lot of questions.”

  He pressed the phone tighter to his ear as a loud truck roared past on the street.

  “Could you just call me as soon as you receive this?” Another sigh. “Thanks. Bye.”

  The message ended, and Canon lowered the phone and stared at it, as if doing so could decipher the meaning behind her words.

  He pressed the Call Back button as he neared the entrance to the parking lot, pausing as the call rang. Skyy’s voice message came on.

  Someone slammed into his back, knocking his right side forward. Pain shot through his shoulder and arm like an electric current. He staggered, spinning fully around as he fell to protect his injured shoulder. The sidewalk was as hard as he expected it would be, but he shielded his injured arm by landing on his left side.

  Two teens were sprinting away, laughing. One held Canon’s cell phone high. That would stop the minute they discovered the phone was a piece of junk about ready to die.

  A portly man—probably a defense attorney if the expensive suit he wore was any indication of his profession—and helped Canon to his feet. But then he hurried away, not bothering to ask if he was all right. Yep, defense attorney for sure.

  Canon leaned against a light pole, taking deep breaths while waiting for the pain to subside. Then he headed for his truck where he’d left the pain meds.

  He could buy another phone, even a cheap burner temporarily, but Skyy’s number was programmed into his old phone and he didn’t have it memorized.

  He unlocked his truck and climbed in, debating his course of action. It was still early enough in the afternoon to beat much of the traffic out of San Diego, and by the time he got to Los Angeles… Well, there was never a good time on L.A. freeways, so it didn’t matter much.

  He wanted to get home back to the lake.

  And talk with Skyy D in person.

  “Hi, all. Skyy D here, and you’re listening to Night Thoughts on Black Owl Radio. I hope you’re having a good evening. Thanks for dropping in for my ramblings and to hear some great music from independent artists all over the world.