A Dangerous Departure From Hillbilly Hollow

by Blythe Baker

  I nodded sympathetically, though based on the collection of energy drinks and fast food containers lying around his gaming computer, I had to wonder whether Blanche hadn’t been on to something there. I, of course, didn’t say this.

  “She wanted to evict an elderly resident, so she could make more money. She would rave on and on about rent control, and how much money she was losing every month because of it. I understand the importance of turning a profit but turning out little old ladies is beyond even me.”

  “Do you mean Mable Abernathy?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I’m not good with names.”

  “The woman who lives on the first floor right by the front door?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, a bit more firmly this time. “I never brought the topic up with Mom willingly and I didn’t like to egg her on when she got worked up about it. It doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

  Except, maybe it did? If Blanche was seriously going to try and evict someone, then she could have placed a target on her own back. I had to admit that the idea of Mable Abernathy killing anyone—especially since she hadn’t left her apartment in twenty years—was absurd. But I also wanted to pursue every opportunity.

  I was about to ask Jay if there was anyone else in the building who may have been upset with his mother, but a knock at his door interrupted me.

  “Someone else?” he asked, obviously surprised. Apparently, he didn’t get many guests.

  As he was walking to the door, the person knocked again and then rang the doorbell.

  “I’m coming,” he barked.

  “Good afternoon. Sheriff Larry Tucker here. Is Emma Hooper around?”

  I winced. Even if he hadn’t offered his full name—title and all—I’d recognize that lazy drawl anywhere.

  “Okay, what’s going on?” Jay asked, throwing the door wide and stepping back, trying to separate himself from the situation. He looked back at me. “Are you in trouble with the law or something?”

  “No, no. Not Emma,” Tucker said with a laugh. “I’m just a friend. The lady in the first-floor apartment told me she saw Emma come down here a few minutes ago.”

  Mable Abernathy sure had a sharp awareness of her surroundings for being as old as she was.

  Jay crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay, well you two can have your reunion upstairs. My house isn’t a meeting place.”

  An odd look crossed Tucker’s face, but he looked mostly confused rather than offended. “Are you ready to go, Emma?”

  In fact, no, I wasn’t. I had quite a few more questions for Jay, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to be answering any more of them now that Tucker had made a surprise appearance. If I wanted to talk to Jay again, I’d have to come armed with a lot more than brownies.

  “Sure,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment.

  Tucker smiled and turned sideways to let me pass through the door. He gave a hearty wave to Jay, who frowned and then slammed the door closed.

  “This hallway makes a real decorative statement, don’t it?” Tucker asked, looking around at the lights and the dark gray walls. “Does your apartment look like this?”

  “No, it doesn’t.” I wondered whether the question hadn’t been Tucker’s attempt at asking if we could go up to my apartment but based on the easy smile still on his face, I doubted it.

  “Are you as hungry as me? Those peanuts on the plane didn’t last me long,” Tucker said.

  I had to admit I was starving. The physical activity of cleaning up my flooded apartment paired with the amateur sleuthing had really worked up an appetite.

  “I could definitely eat,” I said.

  “We could stay in or go out,” Tucker said.

  I thought about my pantry upstairs, and how it was stocked with nothing more than a few cans of soup and a bag of mold that had once been bread.

  “If we want to eat anything even halfway edible, we should probably go out. My pantry is in a pretty sad state after all these months away.”

  Tucker held the front door of the apartment open for me and I squeezed past him. Before I could even touch the first step, he grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back.

  “Whoa, watch out,” he said. “There’s a dead bird there.”

  I looked down and there was a gray and black pigeon lying on the front step. It looked perfectly healthy except for the fact it wasn’t breathing.

  “Ew. Gross. That wasn’t here half an hour ago when I walked through,” I said.

  “Or when I just came in,” Tucker said, looking around. “Weird.”

  It was strange that the bird had chosen the stairs of my building to die on, but stranger things had certainly happened. I walked around the bird and down to the sidewalk.

  “Even after seein’ a dead bird, I’m still starving,” Tucker said. Then, he clapped his hands together excitedly. “Okay, New Yorker. Show me your city!”

  Tucker was definitely going to be one of those enthusiastic tourists who marveled at the urine-soaked subway system and took pictures of every skyscraper he saw, but I couldn’t help but find his excitement a little contagious.

  I said, “Okay. First stop: pizza.”

  10

  There were always too many amazing pizza places in New York City to count. There was a shop on every block, and everyone claimed to have the best slice around. I made it my mission when I first moved to the city to find the best pizza, but after three weeks of eating nothing but pizza, everything began to taste the same, so I opted for convenience. And nothing was more convenient than Matteo’s.

  “You have a pizza shop that’s walking distance from your apartment,” Tucker said, putting his hands on his hips and looking back and forth from my apartment building to the little corner shop in front of us.

  I nodded. “Isn’t it great?”

  Matteo’s sat in a glass-fronted shop with a faded green overhang above the door. The inside of the restaurant was microscopic, with only enough room for two tables and four chairs. Occasionally, someone would come in and sit down at a table to eat, but Matteo would usually rush them out after a few minutes. He didn’t like when people lingered in the store. Don’t you have a table at home?

  The shop was warm, and the windows were steamed up because of the chill outside.

  “Haven’t seen you in a while,” Matteo said when I walked in. The flat line of his mouth gave no indication of whether he thought my absence was a good thing or a bad thing.

  “I’ve been out of town.”

  He nodded. “What can I get you?”

  “Two pepperonis,” I said.

  He nodded again and turned around to grab our slices from the still-steaming pepperoni pizza sitting behind him. He put each on a stack of two paper plates for added strength, and then tossed them up on the counter.

  “Nice place you got here,” Tucker said when he handed over his debit card.

  Matteo raised an eyebrow at him.

  “The pizza looks delicious,” he continued, despite how clear it was Matteo didn’t want to engage.

  I’d always liked New York because of the lack of small talk. Most people were content to simply provide a service and go along with their day. Whereas, I couldn’t pay for my items at the grocery store in Hillbilly Hollow without learning about the checker’s grandmother’s failed hip replacement and the details of the ensuing law suit.

  Matteo handed back the card and disappeared into the kitchen without a word. Tucker, to his credit, still didn’t seem fazed.

  “This looks great.” He grabbed the crust and began to lift it straight up, causing his toppings to slide down towards the tip.

  “Whoa, hold on.” I pulled the pizza out of his hands. “You have to fold the crust for more stability, otherwise you’ll lose your toppings.”

  I demonstrated, and then Tucker followed suit. He groaned after his first bite. “Okay, this is the best pizza I’ve ever had.”

  The bell above the front door rang as we walked back onto the street, pizza in hand. We ate and w
alked, and I pointed out the bodegas on the corners stocked with everything from candy to cigarettes and cold cuts. Tucker was amazed at the sheer amount of different ethnic grocery stores available to buy from.

  I tossed my empty paper plate into the trash and pulled out my phone to check the time, when I noticed I had a few text messages. I had three from Suzy over the last two hours.

  SUZY: R U in NYC yet? Is Tucker really with you?

  SUZY: Srsly. U need to talk to Billy. He’s being crazy.

  SUZY: At this point, Billy thinks U and Tucker are eloping. Call him.

  What was she talking about? I’d already talked to Billy. He knew everything was fine. I shook my head and checked the rest of my notifications. I had SEVEN messages from Billy.

  BILLY: Let me know when your flight lands.

  BILLY: I mean, U don’t have 2. But I’d like 2 know U made it safely.

  BILLY: U haven’t texted back, but I’m going 2 assume U made it safely.

  BILLY: Send pictures of your New York apartment. Suzy and I want 2 see where U live.

  BILLY: Or should I ask Tucker 2 send pics? Maybe he’d actually answer his phone. LOL.

  BILLY: I ordered cheese fries at the diner. I’ll wrap up the leftovers and save them for when U return…if U return.

  BILLY: Just kidding. I ate them.

  “Everything okay?” Tucker asked.

  I looked up and noticed him looking over my shoulder at my screen. I quickly locked the phone and shoved it back in my pocket.

  “Yeah, totally fine. Just some friends checking to make sure I made it here alright.”

  “Ya mean Billy?” Tucker asked, a hint of animosity in his voice.

  “And Suzy,” I added.

  “So, Billy has always been just a friend?” Tucker asked, balling up his paper plate in his hands and dunking it into a trash can as we passed.

  “We’ve been friends since we were kids, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Never anything more than that?” he asked. “You two never dated?”

  A startled laugh burst out of me. “No. Billy and me? No. Never.”

  “Just checkin’,” he said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “I wouldn’t want to step on any toes. It’s good for the Sheriff to keep friendly with everyone.”

  My eyes felt like they were bulging out of my head. Larry Tucker had his arm around my shoulders. He was hitting on me. What was I supposed to do?

  I laughed nervously and stepped away from him, bending down to pick up a random piece of trash off the sidewalk and drop it into a nearby dumpster. Apparently, littering was a very big deal for me now.

  So many women back in Hillbilly Hollow would be screaming at me right now. Tucker was a hot commodity, which made it even more strange that he had set his sights on me. It wasn’t that I wasn’t a good-looking person, but I was one of the few women who had never once tried to throw myself at him. I had never encouraged him in any way, so why had he gone to such lengths to try and spend time with me? He’d crossed the country for a date.

  Tucker caught up to me and placed his arm around my shoulders again, not at all discouraged by my subtle attempt to shake him off. “What should we do now? We could go dancin’. I’m sure the clubs in New York are a lot different than the country clubs back home.”

  “I’ve never really been much for going to clubs,” I said. “I don’t drink or dance much.”

  “Oh,” he said, sounding only slightly disappointed. “Well, then what’s there to do on a Sunday night in the city?”

  I was about to make the excuse that I was tired and suggest we each head to our respective beds for the night when someone on the opposite side of the street caught my eye. Unlike the passersby who had hoods pulled up and earbuds in, steadily moving toward their destinations, this person was standing perfectly still and looking towards me. It took me less than a second to realize why.

  It was Blanche. She’d shown herself to me three times in one day in Hillbilly Hollow, but I hadn’t seen her since arriving in New York, which seemed strange, especially since I had been in the building where she died. But here she was, finally, appearing to me in the middle of the sidewalk.

  I stopped moving and turned towards her. She had on the same ankle-length dress and the same gaudy jewelry as the last time I’d seen her, but this time her mouth seemed to be moving. I squinted, trying to get a better look at her silvery form. Was she saying something? Trying to give me a message?

  “Emma?” Tucker asked behind me, but I ignored him and stepped towards the curb.

  I needed to get a better look at Blanche’s spirit. I needed to know what she was saying. It could be a clue, and considering how far I was from solving this crime, I needed all the help I could get.

  “Emma, where are you going?” Tucker asked, his voice fading into the background, joining the din of the city. I’d forgotten how loud the city could be. Waking up in my old attic room at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s, the only noise I heard was the rooster and the shuffle of hooves from the barn out back. It was a peaceful kind of noise. But here it was distant horns and city buses and music coming from open windows and bars. I wished it was quieter so I could hear Blanche.

  Blanche’s lips continued moving, but as I got closer, I still couldn’t hear anything. Suddenly, her mouth stopped moving and her eyes grew wide. Funnily enough, she looked like she was seeing a ghost. Her entire body seized up, shaking for a moment before she winked away and disappeared.

  I took a few more steps towards her, hand extended as if to grab her, hold her to this world. But it was already too late. She was gone.

  “Emma!”

  Tucker’s cry was too loud for me to ignore that time, and just as I turned to look back at him, I saw a flash of lights next to me. For a second, I thought it was another apparition, this one barreling towards me like it hoped to run me over, but then I heard the horn.

  “Get out of the road, lady!” A cab driver had his head sticking out of a window and was shaking his fist at me.

  I felt hands on my shoulders and then Tucker was yanking me back to the curb. “What are you doing? You were almost killed.”

  Almost killed. Again. It was the second time I’d almost been crushed by a taxi. I closed my eyes, trying to steady my heartbeat, and I saw the taxi. Only, it wasn’t the same taxi. This one was older, banged up around the bumper and chipping paint around the grill. Also, it was daytime instead of late in the evening. I was using the crosswalk, and then the day was shattered by a shrill horn and the squeal of tires. I looked over just in time to catch a glimpse of the bearded man behind the wheel, eyes wide, and his nametag hanging from the rearview mirror: Ernest. Then, the cab hit me.

  I opened my eyes, gasping for breath. I hadn’t been breathing.

  “Are ya hurt?” Tucker asked, dragging me up the curb and shaking my shoulders. “What’s wrong? Your face looks blue.”

  I blinked a few times, trying to clear my head. I’d just seen the man responsible for my ghostly visions. The man who had hit me all those months ago and fled the scene. The same man I’d seen in a taxi at the airport earlier today. That explained why he had driven away so wildly. Because although I hadn’t recognized him, he had recognized me, and he didn’t want to get caught for his crime.

  “I’m okay. I just can’t believe I was almost hit by a car,” I said, making up the most plausible excuse for my behavior. “I’ve lived here long enough that I should know better than to walk out in the street.”

  “Why were you in the road?” he asked.

  “I…I thought I recognized someone.”

  Tucker frowned and looked across the road, which was empty now. Then he turned back to me and nodded. “Let’s get you home, okay? It’s been a long day.”

  “Okay,” I agreed.

  I was still shaken up, but my fear was quickly being harnessed into something else: determination. I was going to find that cab driver again. And this time, he wouldn’t get away.

  11

  If
there was one thing New York City had over Hillbilly Hollow, it was that my mattress in my apartment was worlds more comfortable than the one I’d bought at the mattress shop in Missouri. The main difference was that this one was broken in. It had a small crater in the center where I lay, which I knew probably meant I needed to replace it, but it felt like crawling into a person-sized nest.

  Perhaps Tucker was right, and the full day of travel had exhausted me, or maybe it was just a coincidence. But I slept more solidly than I had in weeks. It was an uninterrupted eight hours of sleep. I didn’t think I even rolled over. When I woke up in the morning, my body felt stiff from lying in the same position all night but rested.

  My pantry was still in desperate need of stocking, so I threw on a baseball hat and my leggings and walked down to the bakery a few blocks over. I couldn’t be back in the city and not indulge in a fresh baked bagel with cream cheese, and a steaming cup of black coffee.

  While I walked back to the apartment, I made the split second decision to call Billy. It was a Monday morning, so I assumed he would be busy at work and I’d get his machine. But he picked up on the second ring.

  “Hey Emma,” he said, his tone sounding surprised to hear from me.

  “Hey Billy. What’s going on?”

  “I’m at work, but between patients at the moment. What are you guys doing?”

  I knew Billy thought he was being clever by asking how we were doing, but I could see right through it.

  “Well, I, singular, am just walking back to my apartment. I went out for a bagel and some coffee—by myself.”

  “Why are you talking like that?” he asked, trying to sound confused.

  I laughed. “You are ridiculous, Billy. Do you think I want to be here with Tucker?”

  “Your private life is your business,” he said.

  “Right now I’m making it your business, too. I’d rather be here alone, but Tucker invited himself. And I didn’t message you back yesterday because I walked in to a flooded apartment that I had to clean and then I was almost hit by a car last night.”