Bombshell

by Phyllis DeMarco

  “I don’t want you comin’ out here by yourself anymore,” he told her. “Seems the workers are all right, but you never can tell what’s gonna come off those damn riverboats. I’ll bring you here in the morning, and pick you up at night, and if you find yourself alone in the diner, you lock that door until I get here, understand?”

  She shook her head again and tried to protest, but he silenced her with a gentle kiss. “I ain’t gonna take no for an answer, Annalee. I’m not gonna let anything hurt you.”

  Chapter Four

  Fifty dollars a day to pay the workers, plus an extra seven dollars to the Brown children to pick weeds, meant work progressed at a rapid pace. At the end of the first week, four men with carpentry skills had reinforced the porch, built a teak pathway from the parking area to the front door, and replaced the exposed pine timbers inside with dark cherrywood.

  By the second week’s end, landscapers had planted a lovely garden near the new outdoor dining deck, and the new industrial-sized stove was installed. Even Sheriff Calaway pitched in and helped in his spare time, once they’d seen to the long-term jailing of the hobo who’d attacked her, though his aversion to spiders kept him away until the webs had been cleared out.

  Once the cost of the new equipment and salaries for the permanent staff were figured into the equation, along with an additional two weeks’ worth of work, Annalee figured she’d spent an additional ten thousand dollars on the venture. Seventeen thousand dollars, all told, on an idea that might just leave her bankrupt in the end.

  But as she stood in the doorway and took a moment to gaze at the workers going about their business, and as Earl and Molly’s children tended to the new garden, Annalee knew it was worth it. No one looked hungry anymore. No one walked around with their bellies growling or with the look of fear in their eyes. Folks looked happy.

  And, best of all, they’d worked for it. With nothing handed to them out of charity, the Browns and all the men and women who helped renovate the Blue Lantern could hold their heads high and know it was their hard work that had brought a diner to life and put food on their own tables.

  One more week, she mused. One more week, and most of these folks will move on. The Blue Lantern will be open to the public...and we’ll find out what kind of business this place will bear.

  But what if there’s no business?

  The screen door opened and slammed shut before Annalee could be pulled from her suddenly fearful thoughts, and even then she nearly screamed with fright when a warm hand caressed a loose lock of platinum blonde hair at the nape of her neck.

  John Calaway laughed, startled by her fright, and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s only me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “My mind’s been elsewhere,” she said with a soft, nerve-wracked laugh. “There’s still so much work to do before we open.”

  “I hope you’re not worried about that hobo comin’ back,” he said in a quiet voice. “I did some checking around and found out he’s wanted in Missouri and Iowa for attemptin’ things with women that oughtn’t ever be attempted. We got him, and he won’t be coming back, sweetie. And any other no-count bum who comes through here thinkin’ he can get frisky with you has got another thing comin’.”

  Annalee slinked her arms up around his broad shoulders and kissed his cheek. “I’m an awful lucky girl, Sheriff.”

  “You sure are.” As he pulled himself away, Annalee noticed a mischievous glint in his eye, a playful sparkle that chased the dark thoughts from her mind and brought a smile to her face.

  “Something’s stirring in that brain of yours.”

  “There’s a new picture playin’ at the movie house down on Main Street.”

  “Oh?”

  “A little bird came along and told me somebody I know just happens to be in that picture.”

  Annalee’s grin broadened to a sheepish smile. “Which one is it?”

  “Something called Curse of the Black Cat or some such thing,” he said. “How come you didn’t tell me you were in a scary movie? I love scary movies!”

  “I made that picture over a year ago. I must’ve forgotten all about it.”

  “Let’s go see it tonight.” The eagerness in his eyes reminded her of a little boy. An utterly charming little boy trapped in the body of a gloriously strapping, full-grown man.

  “John, I have so much to do here,” she whimpered. “And look at me—I look like hell.”

  “Oh, come on. Ginger Rogers herself can’t hold a candle to you, sweetie.” He snatched the dishrag out of her hands and tossed it aside. “Forget work for one night, will you? You could use a break, and I want to see if my gorgeous girl can act as well as she can sing.”

  Before she could answer, he planted a dozen playful kisses along the curve of her neck, completely distracting her as he reached around to untie her apron strings. His deft fingers tickled the small of her back, and even as Annalee fell into a fit of giggles, she knew she couldn’t deny him the chance to see her in a perfectly awful motion picture.

  “Only if you help me finish things up in here,” she told him. “I still have to hang all the pots and pans in the kitchen—”

  “Done.” He disappeared, quick as lightning, into the kitchen, and for a moment all was silent. Annalee gave some thought to following him, but the silence was shattered by his mystified voice. “You want ’em hung up, you said?”

  “Do you want me to come in there?”

  “No, I’m here to help, sweetie,” he hollered back. “You want ’em on these hooks over the stove?”

  “Yes, please.”

  There commenced the sound of much metallic clanging and a colorful array of grunts and curses. Satisfied that the sheriff had at last found his way in the kitchen, Annalee returned her attention to wiping the new countertops clean of construction dust, humming a tune to herself as she thought ahead to their night at the picture show.

  And then a scream shattered her thoughts, a high-pitched scream of the sort of bloody terror that preceded someone’s gruesome death, at least in the horror pictures. That the scream was followed by a crash of pots and pans sent her scrambling for the kitchen...

  Where Sheriff Calaway swatted wildly at something so vile, so evil and wicked in its intentions that his handsome face was white with the pallor of death.

  “Don’t move, Annalee, it’ll charge right at you!”

  “What will?”

  “Centipede!” he cried. His body shivered and convulsed as soon as the word fled his pale lips. He flailed at the fallen pots and pans with the broom as if he were trying to rescue the world from a rabid beast.

  Annalee fought a terrible urge to giggle. Stepping into the epic battle with a brave face, she tossed aside the pots and pans and paused to hunt for her quarry.

  Calaway screamed again, and started swatting away as their foul enemy emerged to re-engage the conflict. True enough, the villain was as ugly as he was determined: three inches long and hundreds of two-inch long legs to give him the kind of speed and agility required to make a grown sheriff scream like a little girl.

  The centipede advanced, feinted to the left and, just as Calaway had warned, charged straight toward Annalee, who promptly crushed it under the sole of her brand-new open-toed pump.

  Calaway collapsed against the countertop. His breathing heavy and labored, he wiped away at the beads of sweat on his forehead and could barely watch as Annalee went about the grim task of wiping the carnage off her shoe and from the floor.

  “Must be fixin’ to rain,” he breathed. “Always come upon them sons-a-bitches when it’s fixin’ to rain.” He bent low, picked up the pots and pans from the floor with trembling hands, and appeared to be trying to calm himself down.

  “My goodness. What do you do when you’re at home or at the police station and those things pop out at you?”

  “I don’t ever see ’em. Penelope must eat ’em or something.”

  A fresh giggle tickled the back of her throat, but when Annalee gazed into his
eyes and realized they were filled with stark terror, the terrible urge to laugh faded. She took hold of his shaking hands and led him out of the kitchen. “Let’s get some air.”

  Lightning illuminated the cloudy night sky. The wind picked up just as she finished handing out the last of the pay envelopes, and by the time Earl and Molly Brown loaded their brood into their car, the first drops of rain started to fall. Annalee sat down next to Sheriff Calaway on the brand-new porch steps and rested her head on his shoulder.

  “I just don’t like bugs,” he softly insisted.

  “Well, that was one mean centipede.”

  “It was.” He reached over and gathered her hands into his and toyed with her fingers. “Thank you for rescuin’ me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  They watched, sore and half-drowsy from a long day’s work, as heavy raindrops splattered to the ground.

  “Can we go see that scary picture now?”

  ****

  Annalee had forgotten how awful Curse of the Black Cat was. Sitting in a darkened theater packed with townsfolk, she gazed up at the sixty-foot version of herself and realized some things were best left forgotten.

  “Ugh. Look at how that gown hangs on me,” she grumbled. “Makes me look like I’ve got hips like a Mack truck. I begged them to let me wear something else.”

  Sheriff Calaway shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth and stared wide-eyed at the screen as the titular black cat suddenly morphed crudely into a mad scientist—Annalee’s character, the hapless Carlotta, had walked into a trap.

  “Annalee, why would you do that?” he yelped. “You knew it was a trap!”

  “Well, Carlotta didn’t know it, did she?”

  A few people turned to glare at them, but Carlotta’s screams of terror brought their attention back to the film. Annalee glanced once more at the man she adored, the man who now stared with rapt attention at a lousy horror film, and stifled a giggle.

  The mad scientist, played by an utterly delightful Englishman, staggered menacingly toward Carlotta, stalked her until her back was against the cold cinderblock wall, and wrapped his huge hands around her delicate neck.

  “Aw, no, are you gonna die?” Calaway asked with pure dread in his voice. “Glory be, I can’t look.”

  “Me neither. That gown is just atrocious.”

  Suddenly the hero burst through the door, determined to save Carlotta from her hellish fate at the hands of a madman. Annalee glanced over at Sheriff Calaway, who was shadow-boxing along with the hero, and nearly burst out laughing.

  Onscreen, the enemy defeated, Carlotta and her lover shared a passionate kiss.

  Calaway’s enthusiasm melted into a grouchy frown. “Did they have to go and show that?”

  ****

  Sheriff Calaway held his umbrella over Annalee’s head as he walked her to the door at the Steamboat Inn. His goodnight kiss was as warm and welcome as the summer rain.

  “So am I better at singing or acting?” she asked.

  “Both. Can’t say I cared much for that fella kissin’ you, though.”

  Annalee took hold of his hand and toyed with his fingertips. “Why, John Calaway, I never took you for the jealous type!”

  “Well, I am,” he grumbled.

  “If it makes you feel any better, Dick Webster doesn’t like girls.”

  “Huh?”

  “He’s a sweet fella, but he played a nasty trick on me and ate garlic and onions before we shot that scene, just so I wouldn’t fall madly in love with him.” She slinked her arm around his and pulled him closer. “Besides, I much prefer kissing you.”

  Calaway let his gaze wander down to her lips. “Do ya now?”

  “A little too much,” she said with an impish grin. “A handsome man like you, with those full, wonderful lips—Sheriff, you have done something terrible to me. You’ve got me all hot and bothered, when I’m the one who’s supposed to be doing all the hot and bothering.”

  “I haven’t had a decent night’s rest since you came into town,” he told her. “I’d say you got me bothered, all right.”

  Annalee gazed into his magnificent eyes for a long moment, ready to fall into his arms and make love to him right there on the front porch, until Kiddo woke up and tickled her insides.

  She took a step back, just outside his reach. A sudden wave of exhaustion left her weak and lightheaded, and for a moment it was all she could do to control the tremors in her hands.

  “Are you all right?” The concern in his voice tore at her heart. “You look like you’re ’bout to faint.”

  “I think the day is catching up to me,” she said in a soft voice. “I’m awful tired.”

  “Go inside and get to bed,” he told her. “Much as you’ve been running yourself ragged, I’m surprised you didn’t fall asleep in the car.”

  Annalee looked into his eyes and brushed her lips against his. “I definitely like kissing you too much,” she whispered. “Good night, John.”

  ****

  Two storm-tossed days passed before work could resume on the Blue Lantern. When the rain passed, the crews arrived once more to clean up the storm damage and make the final preparations for the grand opening.

  Annalee placed advertisements in the local papers, both in Pike County and across the river in Missouri. She asked the workers to spread the word far and wide about the sparkling new riverfront café and prayed to God the place would be such a success she would never have to return to a place called Hollywood.

  When she finally made it to the Blue Lantern, she was tired, dead tired, and wishing she could crawl into bed. Bing Crosby crooned on the new radio. One of the few true gentlemen she knew from the old days. His voice was as wonderful as ever.

  “You ain’t been to see Doc Graham yet, have ya?” Molly Brown asked.

  “I haven’t had time.”

  “You’re worn to the bone,” she chided. “Much work as those men do out there, you do just as much yourself, and that ain’t good.”

  “Once we get past the opening, I’ll rest. I promise.”

  “That’s still three days away, and you ain’t lookin’ so good.”

  The front door swung open. Figuring it was another worker looking for some refreshment, Annalee didn’t bother to look up—until a familiar voice sent a jolt through her heart.

  “You’ve done a fine job here, Toots! I didn’t think you had it in you!” Sully tossed his Borsalino hat onto the table and handed Molly his walking stick. “Put that somewhere, will you, sweetheart? Thanks.”

  Annalee couldn’t help but cringe. “What are you doing here?”

  “All this time you’ve been away, don’t I even get a hug?”

  Molly Brown set the walking stick against the counter and stared at the strange, wiry little man with suspicion. “Annalee, do you know this fella?”

  “Sully and I go way back.” She stood and gave her manager a perfunctory hug, then eased her aching body back into the chair. Scrubbing floors and polishing every last surface of the café for two days straight made her hurt all over.

  “And you haven’t called me in weeks,” he said. “I was worried.”

  A burly man with a heavy camera slung across his shoulder poked his head in the door. “Where do you want me to set up, Mr. Sullivan?”

  “Let’s get some exterior shots first, while we got the light. Make sure you get these people to sign the release forms—and find out who those ragamuffins belong to, so we can get them on film, too.”

  “My children?” Molly asked. “Are you makin’ a picture or somethin’?”

  “Just a little something for Movietone News,” he said with a yawn. “They’re doing a story on all the good Annalee’s been doing around here. Personal interest stuff, that sort of thing.”

  Molly laughed nervously and gingerly smoothed the waves in her hair. “Oh, she’s done loads of good here. Got me and Earl back to work, and a whole bunch of other folks, besides.”

  “Yeah, save it for the cameras, sweetie.”r />
  “Sully!”

  “Annalee, can I go home and get my good dress?” Molly asked. “And maybe fix up my hair?”

  “No,” Sully insisted. “You look fine just the way you are. Perfectly downtrodden and impoverished.”

  “Oh.” The disappointment and embarrassment in her eyes broke Annalee’s heart.

  “Molly, go get your good dress,” she said. “And make yourself pretty for the camera.”

  Molly smiled and hurried out of the café, leaving Annalee alone to glare at her manager. “You can’t come here and talk to people like that,” she warned. “I won’t have it, Sully. These folks are good and decent—they weren’t put on this earth just so you could come and exploit them.”

  Sully sat back in his chair and gave a surprised laugh. “Calm down, Toots. You know this is all to save the career you screwed up. When you stopped calling, I got a little nervous, thinking you’d run off and eloped with some poor dope and just didn’t have the heart to tell me.”

  “I didn’t have time to call. I’ve been busy here.”

  “Yeah, remind me to make sure you get a good manicure when we get you back to Los Angeles,” he snipped. “You look like shit.”

  Annalee could hear no more of his abuse. “Look, you can film here as long as you treat these people with some respect,” she told him. “If they don’t want to talk to you, then you leave them alone.”

  Sully’s grin was terrible. “Got yourself a nice little set-up, huh? Half the town does your bidding, treats you like a goddess—like those jungle pictures where the savages worship the white queen. I warned you about this going-native bullshit, didn’t I?”

  “And you can’t talk to me like that anymore, either,” she insisted, though the quiver in her voice made him smile even more.

  “Are you going to tell me that the last ten years have been a waste of my time?” he asked. “All the work I put into making you a star was all for nothing?”

  “Oh, stop it. You made plenty of money off me.”

  “Yeah, and I can make even more if this goes right. Toots, we can make more. Don’t you want to see that kid of yours set up for life? Don’t you think it deserves more than scrounging around for scraps like those little brats outside?”