Wildly Inappropriate

by Eden Connor

  * * * *

  Cynda backed out the door, closing her cell phone and digging in her purse to double-check she had the back door key to the farmhouse, delighted by the news her charges were being dismissed. After a day to think it over, going to court didn't hold that much appeal. She stopped on the steps staring at the heavyset man wearing a uniform similar to those Daniel wore to work. He whipped a dark baseball cap off close-cropped gray hair. "Are you Mrs. De Marco?"

  "No, but I'm Daniel's… friend." She raised her chin, but saw no judgment in the man's florid face.

  "I'm Rusty Owens, ma'am. Coroner's Investigative Division. Jus' want to apologize for not gettin' out here yesterday. We had a shootin' death involvin' an AK-47 and I was stuck in town pickin' shell casin's out of a brick wall till way after dark."

  The older man talked slow but his pale blue eyes looked honest and he sounded sincere. "Okay."

  "We've moved our command center over to John Carpenter's place. It's closer to the site from his side of the ravine. I didn't want y'all to think we aren't workin' this case."

  She hurried down the steps and gratefully shook the hand he offered. "Thank you for telling me."

  He gave her hand an extra squeeze. "I heard about your man throwin' them young guys outta here for bein' rude to you. Good for him. You and your man'd be welcome at my church any time."

  His gesture might not mean much to Daniel, Cynda thought, but it meant the world to her. Thanking him once more, she jumped into her Volkswagen, worrying until he moved his dark sedan. She didn't want to be late to pick Lila up even if her job wasn't yet official.

  "Cynda!" Jonah was throwing rocks into the woods from the driveway. She admired the graceful lines of Colton's stone-faced bungalow, but decided she preferred the farmhouse with its buttery coat of paint.

  "Ready to become a high school freshman?" she asked the young boy. "This is a big day in my book."

  Lila was standing on the porch, digging into her back pockets. "Jonah, where did I put that door key?" she called, waving at Cynda.

  "Front watch pocket of your shorts." Jonah rolled his eyes. "She gets scatter-brained sometimes."

  Two hours later, Jonah had his new school ID in his pocket and they'd tracked down the location of his locker and classrooms. Lila and Cynda were looking at his list of classes as they trudged across the large school parking lot toward her car. "I don't know this Mrs. Reeves," Lila said, pointing at the paper. "The chemistry teacher."

  "I do. She's hard as nails," Cynda said. "She gives pop quizzes like I brush my teeth. Religiously, every day. Sometimes twice a day."

  "Oh, my God." Jonah stopped walking. "You mean to tell me that between you two, you know every teacher I have?"

  Cynda ruffled his hair, grinning. "Welcome to a small town, kiddo."

  "Mrs. Walker! Lila!"

  They all turned to see who'd yelled. Cynda recognized the muscular frame of the baseball coach. He broke into a trot until he reached them, offering Lila another piece of paper.

  "Lila, I just wanted to give you this roster of prospective players. I have a tryout scheduled for you on my field this coming Saturday. Is that okay? I meant to call you this past weekend, but my wife and I ended up making a quick trip to Gatlinburg." Recognizing Cynda, he added, "Cynda Avery, how're you doing? I haven't seen you since Jarrod's funeral. How's Miss Coralinne?"

  "Gettin' smaller by the minute," she heard Jonah mutter.

  "We're doin' okay, Coach. Thanks for askin'."

  Coach Roberts pointed at Jonah. "Lila tells me you know how to throw the pitch that won me my last state title. I'm looking forward to watching you throw it, Jonah De Marco."

  Lila was studying the roster. "Saturday's fine with me. I'll start calling them today." She raised her eyes from the paper, smirking. "Coach, I saw every one of these kids play this past spring. Looks to me like we're going to kick some butt."

  The coach nodded emphatically.

  Cynda flashed Jonah her best 'I told you so' grin.

  "I'd better get back to registration," the coach spoke up. "Speaking of kicking butt, Lila, tell Charlie when you talk to him that I said hello."

  "Will do," the older woman promised, her grin slipping a bit. The coach jogged away and Lila smothered a yawn. "I think I'll die if I don't get a nap," she announced. "I was going to ask you to run us to the mall, Cynda, but I can't keep my eyes open. We can eat dinner at that place you like with the teriyaki chicken, Jonah, how's that? Maybe you and Daniel can go too? Jonah needs a new baseball glove."

  Cynda unlocked her car, torn between relief and anxiety. Now she'd have a chance to go talk to King before Daniel got off work. She drove them home and turned the car around.

  The loan shark did business out of a rundown building that sat the mere width of the road from the railroad tracks. The red bricks were covered in soot from passing trains. Acid rain and age had pitted the concrete out front. Faded lettering on the grimy picture window proclaimed Leo's TV Repair was the cheapest in town. A barber shop and a beauty shop anchored the other end of the building.

  Cynda parked in front of the barber shop and locked her doors. Her heart was rattling like a boxcar over rough tracks when she stepped inside the open door to the repair shop, eying the kudzu vine dangling over the ragged awning above the door. Had the vine climbed up the back side of the building and crawled across the roof? If so, she had no desire to see the back of the building.

  A white guy with stringy auburn hair and long sideburns sat on a rolling stool in the middle of the front room, cutting open a cardboard box. In spite of the heat, he had on long sleeves. She guessed him to be roughly thirty. Nothing about him was particularly scary, other than the practiced way he tossed the razor knife from hand to hand and the dead look in his blue eyes.

  "Help you?"

  Cynda swallowed, trying to force her heart back down her throat. "I need to see Mr. Dazza." It nearly scalded her tongue to call King "Mister", but she had come to beg.

  He inspected the cotton dress from Daniel's attic, making Cynda wish it was wool in spite of the sweat running down the back of her neck. "You got a name?"

  She bit back a sarcastic retort. "Miss Avery."

  His forehead wrinkled beneath his comb-over. The box cutter picked up speed. His head jerked in the general direction of King's office. Walking past the hired help toward the room where the vile loan shark had put her into a collar, Cynda tried not to touch anything. Everything in sight seemed grubby, including the man watching her, even though his jeans and faded T-shirt appeared clean.

  The office was small, perhaps twelve by twelve. She peered into the gloom. No one sat behind the chipped Formica desk.

  The slight squeak of the old floorboards behind her told Cynda she'd made a mistake. His harsh whisper was right at her ear. "King ain't here, but the cops come by earlier. I'd say that's your fault, since you the biggest debt he got owin'." He tugged one braid. "Miss." Tug. "Avery." The front of his jeans brushed against her ass, moving slightly from side-to-side. "Why you gonna go and call the cops when he done helped your granny out?"

  She wanted to throw up. Straight ahead, an open doorway gave her a view into the large warehouse space at the back of the building. Light streamed through a side door, but disorganized stacks of boxes, some piled higher than her head, blocked her path to freedom. Running into that maze while the man at her back chased her was as smart as that first victim in a horror movie, the one who went out to the garage to check on a noise with a serial killer on the loose. More kudzu vines curled around the big sliding door. She vividly imagined getting free of this guy only to step on a snake.

  She knew better than to show fear. King had been afraid of something too and she prayed this man knew what, even though she didn't. Turning, she met his dead eyes, deciding to go with her best hood rat imitation, rolling her eyes at the way he dragged the edge of the razor knife across the stubble on his chin. "You mus' be trippin', white boy. I came to tell King there was a body found yesterday on
that land he wants me to help him buy. Po-lice crawlin' all over the place. It's under their jurisdiction right now, so can't nobody sell it. He gon' have to wait to buy it, so he gotta give me a couple more weeks on our deal. Think you can remember to tell him that or do you need to fetch me a piece of paper so I can write it down?"

  Her cutting tone brought life to his dead eyes. "I can remember."

  "Good for you." Her slow stroll out of that place was the best performance of her life. The key in her shaking hand skittered across the door lock, digging into the paint. The mercury hadn't dipped below a hundred all week, but Cynda felt a chill worthy of November dancing down her arms. For the first time in her life, she broke the speed limit the minute her car cleared the railroad tracks.

  On her way back to the farmhouse, she stopped to pick up her check from the restaurant. Luckily, a different manager was on duty, but the way he kept darting glances at her while he flipped through the envelopes on the desk told her he knew she'd spent the weekend in jail.

  "Here you go."

  Cynda snatched the envelope with shaking hands, ripping it open right there in the office, lingering mostly because the place was full of people. She could've cried when she saw the amount. Eighteen dollars and forty-two cents.

  "Oh, your uncle came by earlier. He said he'd see you later."

  Eighteen dollars and forty-two cents. That wouldn't fill up the gas tank on the Volkswagen. "My what?"

  "Big dude, about five-eleven. Bald. Said to tell you he'd catch you later." He smirked, eyeing her boldly. "I told him you got fired. He said he guessed it was a good thing he got you a gig as a ho. Is that a black joke?"

  She bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood. "Sure is."

  "I don't get why that's funny."

  "Guess you gotta be black," she replied sarcastically, annoyed when he laughed.

  Blinded by tears, she whirled, stalking out the side door toward her car.

  She heard someone call her name and looked back. Harry was running across the lot. "That guy that came in looking for you? You owe him money, Cynda?"

  "Kinda."

  "I know someone that borrowed some money from him. He's a bad dude. Has this guy workin' for him, a white guy, with reddish hair. You see that man, you run like hell. He's a stone killer. Cut my cousin to ribbons with a razor knife, then he set fire to his house. King held his hand out for the insurance money."

  Her knees had lost their ability to go weak, but her stomach pumped acid, scalding the back of her throat. Mutely, she nodded and turned for her car. She thought about going to Grams' but it was the quiet and serenity of the farmhouse she longed for. She needed to feel close to Daniel, to borrow a bit of his strength, but wasn't certain going by the garage was a good idea.

  Her pulse slowed somewhat when she turned onto the private road the De Marco's lived on. She almost turned in at Colton's again, but it was silly to fear being alone, she decided. Lila had said she wanted to take a nap. Reluctantly, she drove past Colton's mailbox. She slowed further, looking curiously at the front of the log cabin where Eric lived, just visible through a screen of trees. Before she turned into the driveway of the farmhouse, she prayed there'd be a police vehicle around, although she knew better than to expect one, thanks to Rusty Owen's heartfelt speech.

  The driveway was empty. She was being a baby. Cynda parked and found the back door key, hurrying across the lawn and up the back steps. Daisy greeted her with a joyous bark, but dashed past her. Sighing, Cynda dropped her purse on the bar and took a deep breath. Nothing to fear here, she reminded herself. She'd shower and then figure out what she could fix for dinner. A glance at the clock told her Daniel would be home in less than three hours.

  She'd pulled out a fresh towel from the stack in the bathroom closet when a terrible thought sent her back to the kitchen for her phone. Grams had said King came to her house to bring her the money. If that creepy white guy showed up, his razor knife wouldn't have any trouble slicing through that screen her grandmother seemed to think would keep out the world. She hurried back to the kitchen, digging into her purse for her phone. But what could she tell Grams? It wasn't as though she could see the people that came to her door.

  "I see you still here."

  Cynda whirled. The phone slipped from her hand and skittered across the bar. It hit the floor. She winced, hearing the crackle of shattering plastic. King stood inside the back door. Her heart was stuck in her throat. Her voice cracked from fear. "Did I invite you in?"

  His smile was a mirthless slash across his face. He moved toward her. "Looks to me like you and him gettin' real cozy." He nodded, checking out the kitchen with calculating eyes. "That's good. I figured he might take a shine to that big ass of you'rn. His mama was black from the back. For a white woman, she had a fine 'un." His low chuckle grated on her nerves like gravel and she didn't care for the look in his eye. There wasn't a sign of fear in him now. "I bet he's jus' like his daddy, huh? Likes to smack that ass?"

  She wished fervently she hadn't let Daisy out. Darting a glance out the window, she didn't see the dog anywhere. She'd have to get past King to call for her. Cynda's eyes darted around the kitchen. The silverware drawer was too far away.

  His gaze raked her boldly, making her grateful for the modest dress. "Bet he likes to fuck it, too. Well, you be sure and bend over real good for him. I cain't stay long, jus' droppin' by to see how you comin' with our little project."

  She hoped she looked casual when she moved to the opposite end of the long bar, but she felt the need to put something solid between them. The sweat running down the back of her neck turned cold. "He can't sell it to you right now. I came by your place earlier to tell you that. It might be another week or so before he could even think of sellin' it. And that man you got workin' for you? Seriously creepy."

  King took a step into the kitchen. His brows went up. "Dat so? You gotta overlook Ben. He done spent so much time in prison, he forgot how to act." He moved a step closer. "What's the hold up?" He smirked. "I'm real anxious to become neighbors. 'Specially if you gon' be livin' here."

  Her heart was hammering and she wanted him gone in the worst way, but Cynda wasn't really scared. Not in Daniel's house. Something about Daniel scared King. "The dog found a bone buried on that piece of land you want. The police think it's human. It's a crime scene right now."

  He sauntered a few more steps into the kitchen, jamming his hands into his pockets. Cynda took a step back, her heart making a leap when the amusement on his face turned to anger. "Then I reckon we need to talk about my interest."

  She shook her head. "It's not my fault someone buried a body on that land." Arguing wouldn't get her anywhere, but she thought a good offense might. "If you still want me to help you buy it, then stop pilin' up the interest. I'm doin' my best." She waved a hand. "You can see he don't need the money, so I'm all you got goin' for you."

  "That's jus' what I was thinkin'."

  He moved faster than she'd have believed, suddenly yanking his hands from his pockets and making a leap in her direction. Spinning, Cynda ran toward the archway. If she could get to the front door—

  She pulled up short when he grabbed her braids, pain searing her scalp. His hand went around her throat. Fear and pressure combined to steal her breath. Yanking her against him, he growled into her ear.

  "If you ain't got no money, then I reckon you'll have to give me what you givin' him." He tightened his grip. She clawed at his hand, but he forced her to her knees. "You suckin' his cock, bitch, you can suck mine."

  "No." She was screaming, but all that came out was a croak.

  "You thinkin' now that you got some white man ridin' that ass, you too good to suck a black dick?"

  Digging her nails into his hand as hard as she could, she felt his grip loosen slightly. Wrenching away, she scrambled to her feet. "I was born too good to suck yours." Her leather-soled sandals slipped on the wooden floor in the hall, and he grabbed her hair again.

  Cynda screamed for a
ll she was worth.

  * * * *

  When Reese came into the garage for the second time that day, Dan knew the cop wasn't there to deliver good news. The former county detective who used to drop by annually until about six years ago to assure Rafe he hadn't given up on the search to find out what happened to Cammie stood by the younger cop's side. Retired detective Glen Wise held a plastic bag sealed with red tape and wore a look of grim satisfaction along with his civilian khakis.

  Dan glanced at Eric and Colton. They sensed bad news too, he could tell from their expressions. Colton's finger was frozen on the trigger of the screw gun in his hand. The heavy wrench Eric had been wielding clattered, bouncing around in the engine compartment when it slipped. Dan reached for a rag, deliberately wiping his hands. "My office isn't big enough for five, Reese. Hello, Glen. I wish I could say it was nice to see you." Dan yelled at the hired guys, "Take ten, fellas."

  Glen Wise had brown eyes, and today they were suspiciously bright. He held out the plastic bag. It held only one item. The wide gold band looked ludicrously small in the gallon-sized bag. Dan took the bag. The ring was about sixteen millimeters wide and the polished gold was dull. Dirt caked the irregular lines carved into the surface. Before he squinted at the inscription inside, he knew it was the mate to the one Rafe had been buried wearing. All my love, Cammie had been the inscription inside his father's wedding band.

  All my love, Rafe this one said, the inscription made obscenely legible by the dirt filling the finely etched lines.

  Dan rubbed at the ring through the plastic, thinking of the story behind his parents' wedding bands. A young man in love, Rafe had drilled the center out of a peach pit and then carved it down to a circle to make Cammie a ring. It'd been a sort of joke—a test run, his father had called it—but she'd insisted on having that first token of his love duplicated for their wedding bands. Rafe could talk for hours about all the symbolism associated with a peach.