He didn’t. The door didn’t open, and nothing else happened, either. I tried the knob. The place was locked.
So Rafe wasn’t with Yvonne, but obviously he wasn’t here either. Maybe he’d changed his mind and decided to head back to Nashville after the funeral. Maybe the thought of staying in this God-forsaken place where he’d grown up, had been too much to bear.
Or maybe I’d missed him somewhere along the way and he was rolling around in Yvonne’s bed right now.
There was nothing for it but to leave. And although I was tempted to drive all the way back through Sweetwater to Damascus again, for one last check, I didn’t. It was just too pathetic. Instead, I drove home, where mother was thrilled that I was back safely, and happy to turn the conversation away from both Satterfields and our relationships with them.
When I came down to the kitchen the next morning, mom looked surprised. “You’re up early. Are you driving back to Nashville already?”
“I was thinking of going out for breakfast,” I explained. “To Beulah’s. You’re welcome to come if you’d like.” Please say no.
“Beulah’s?” Mother wrinkled her aristocratic nose. “I don’t think so, darling. I have an appointment with your Aunt Regina later this morning, to discuss the Sweetwater Christmas Tour of Homes. And Beulah’s food is rather heavy, don’t you find?”
“I guess.” I wasn’t going for the food, so I didn’t care. “I’m not sure I’ll be going back to Nashville today. I wouldn’t mind going to see Aunt Regina with you. Maybe talk about advertising in the home tour brochure, or something. I have to come up with a way to get some clients. And make some money.”
“If you remarried...” mom said and thought better of continuing.
“I like what I do. And I’d like to be successful at it. Aunt Regina is good at writing newspaper copy. Audrey is good at running the boutique. You’ve built the Martin mansion into an events venue. Catherine is a lawyer. I’d like to have a career, too. One I enjoy and I’m good at.”
“Sheila doesn’t have a career,” mother pointed out.
“She seems happy taking care of Dix and the kids, though. Doesn’t she?” I rarely see Sheila, other than Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, the fourth of July, and birthdays. Maybe a dozen times a year.
“Wouldn’t you be happy taking care of a husband and children?”
“I guess that would depend on who the husband was.”
The words fell out of my mouth before I realized I had had the thought. Mother looked shocked, and I added, “I know you brought me up to be a good wife and a good mother and all those things. But these days, women like to have careers outside the home, too. I’m not ready to stay home and take care of a man. I tried it with Bradley, and it didn’t work.”
“If you had had children...”
“I’m not sure that would have made a difference. If the marriage is rocky, adding kids to the mix will probably just make it worse.”
I’d realized that when Bradley and I broke up. And then I’d been grateful that my one and only pregnancy had ended in a miscarriage. “I’m going to run. When are you meeting Aunt Regina?”
Mother said she and my aunt were meeting at eleven, for an early lunch at the café on the square. “You’re not planning to spend three hours at Beulah’s, are you, darling?”
“Of course not,” I said. “I’m just having breakfast. And touching base with an old friend who works there.”
“One of your old friends works at Beulah’s?”
“She’s more of an old acquaintance. Someone I went to school with. I saw her at Marquita’s funeral yesterday, and thought I’d go to Beulah’s for breakfast this morning.”
“Ah.” Mother’s face cleared. “Well, be careful, darling. A lot of riff-raff goes to Beulah’s.”
“I’ve been there before. And it’s broad daylight. I’m sure I’ll be safe.” I ducked out the door and hustled down the hallway.
Fifteen minutes later I pulled the Volvo into the parking lot outside Beulah’s Meat’n Three, and had to wait for someone in a rusty pickup with a gun rack to pull out before I could slot my car in. Picking my way across the graveled lot, treacherous for someone on three inch heels, I tried to compose my face and my thoughts so I wouldn’t grab Yvonne by the lapels when I saw her and scream at her to tell me whether she’d spent last night alone.
Beulah’s was buzzing. Filled to the brim; there were people at all the tables and ranged around the breakfast counter. Two waitresses were threading their way between the tables, trays with coffee pots and water pitchers held above their heads. Neither of them was Yvonne. Nor was she the waitress behind the counter, taking care of the eight or nine men perched there.
“We’re full up, hon,” she called out when she saw me. “It’ll be a few minutes before we can seat you.”
I nodded. I thought about asking if Yvonne was anywhere about, but she’d already turned away to fill someone’s coffee cup. Instead, I looked around the restaurant. And felt my stomach clench when my eyes reached the table in the far back, the one I’d sat at last time I was here.
Rafe was sitting there. With his back to the wall, so he could keep an eye on everyone in the place. He’d seen me as soon as I walked in, of course. He’d probably seen me cross the parking lot, too.
He was alone, at a table for two. Maybe he was having breakfast with Yvonne, and she was in the bathroom or something. I hesitated.
He arched his brows, watching me dither, and the expression in his eyes was somewhere between amusement and malice, with a little challenge thrown in for good measure.
I suppressed a sigh. Talk about being caught between the rock and the hard place. There were people here I knew, or at least people who knew me. People who were familiar with Rafe, as well. The fact that Margaret Anne Martin’s perfect youngest daughter sat down to breakfast with LaDonna Collier’s good-for-nothing son, would raise some eyebrows and set tongues a-wagging in Sweetwater.
On the other hand, pretending I didn’t know him would hurt his feelings. And it would make me feel ashamed of myself.
I took a deep breath and headed for the back of the restaurant, my head held high, nodding and smiling politely left and right to people I recognized. They followed my progress out of the corners of their eyes, in some cases with undisguised curiosity.
I stopped in front of Rafe, my heart beating hard. “Good morning.”
He smiled. “Morning, darlin’.” The greeting was accompanied by a leisurely once-over, from the top of my head to the bottom of my skirt and back.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” I said, making sure my voice carried to at least the tables closest to us. Bad enough that they saw me talking to him; at least they should know we hadn’t planned to meet.
“I told you I’d be spending the night.”
“I know you did. But last night...” I bit my tongue, just before blurting out that when I’d gone looking for him, he hadn’t been where he said he’d be. He knew what I didn’t say, though; I could read it in his eyes. They narrowed with amusement. When he didn’t comment, I could have kissed him. At least if we’d been somewhere else.
“Have a seat.” He pushed the chair on the opposite side of the table a few inches with his foot.
“You don’t have company?” I pulled it the rest of the way out and sank down.
He quirked a brow. “Who’d I be eating with, darlin’?”
“I thought maybe... Yvonne?”
He shook his head. “She ain’t here.”
“Did you come to see her?”
“I just came to eat.” He glanced around the room and back at me. “Lots of people looking at us.”
I folded my hands in my lap, demurely. “This’ll be all over town by suppertime.”
His eyes met mine across the table. They were serious. “You OK with that?”
“I’m sitting here, aren’t I?”
He smiled. “Bet your mama ain’t gonna be happy when it gets back to her, though.” He paused
a second before he added, thoughtfully, “Or Satterfield.”
Oops. The thought of Todd hadn’t even crossed my mind. And he’d have an absolute fit when he heard. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“Didn’t say you were, darlin’.” Rafe leaned back against the wall, hands folded across his stomach. He was wearing a short-sleeved black T-shirt today, tight across the chest and shoulders, with that viper winking at me from under the sleeve. “So what are you doing here? This place ain’t exactly Fidelio’s.”
“Same as you. Just looking for breakfast,” I said.
“Uh-huh.”
I grimaced. “Fine. I was hoping to see Yvonne.”
The amusement was back in his eyes. No malice this time. “Checking up on me, darlin’?”
“Why would I be doing that?”
“Can’t imagine,” Rafe said, grinning. After a moment he added, “You’re outta luck, though. Yvonne’s not here this morning.” He raised his voice, snagging the waitress’s attention, “Hey, darlin’. Savannah here’s looking for Yvonne McCoy. She coming in later?”
The waitress, a bubble-gum popping fifty-year-old with a beehive, someone who’d been working at Beulah’s since I was a little girl, stopped beside our table. “Yvonne’s supposed to be here right now. Didn’t show up this morning. That’s why we’re running around like chickens with our heads cut off.” She glanced over her shoulder as someone else tried to get her attention, and held up a finger. “What can I get for you, hon?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m not staying.”
“Suit yourself. You done, hon?” She turned to Rafe. He nodded. “Here you go.” She handed him his check and moved off.
“They must really want the table,” I said. Rafe nodded.
“You ready?”
“I’ll wait outside.” I knew I should just get in my car and drive away, especially now that the old biddies and gents probably thought I’d come to Beulah’s specifically for a three minute conversation with him before the two of us left together. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, though.
“Do you think something’s wrong?” I asked two minutes later, when he came through the door, putting on a pair of mirrored sunglasses.
“With Yvonne?” He shrugged. “Why’d you think that?”
“Because she was fine yesterday. And she doesn’t seem the type who’d just not show up for work without calling in. If she can.”
“Maybe she had company last night,” Rafe suggested with a grin.
It was my turn to raise my brows. Both of them, since I can’t lift one at a time the way he can. “If you’re suggesting that you stopped by her house yesterday and made her too tired to walk this morning, you can spare yourself the trouble. I’ve spent the night with you, and I could still get out of bed the next day.”
I bit my tongue, a little too late. And looked around guiltily. Nobody was near enough to have heard me. Praise the Lord.
Rafe chuckled. “You know, darlin’, one of these days you’re gonna end up being practically human.”
“I’m practically human now.”
“Yeah?” He switched subjects. “I’m parked round back. You can follow me over there if you want.”
“To Yvonne’s house? I know where it is.”
“Course you do.” He walked away. I made my way over to the Volvo and got in. By the time I had the engine started and the car running, he was leaving the parking lot.
I got to Yvonne’s house about thirty seconds after he did. He was still sitting on the bike at the curb, and as I pulled to a stop behind him, I was reminded of the first time we’d met. The first time in twelve years, anyway. It had been the first week of August, outside Mrs. Jenkins’s house, and when I saw him, he’d been straddling this same motorcycle, wearing what looked like these same faded jeans and this same black T-shirt. As well as these same sunglasses. And back then, before I recognized him and realized who—and what—he was, I’d taken one look at him and been floored by that raw sex-appeal he exuded. Followed half a second later by apprehension: this was not someone a nice girl should be getting involved with. My instincts had been screaming at me to stay away from him, to stay in the car and get the hell out of there. If I’d listened...
But that was water under the bridge. I opened the car door and got out. Rafe swung his leg over the bike and stood, as well. “Almost like old times, ain’t it?”
Obviously I wasn’t the only one who remembered. “Let’s hope the outcome is a little better this time. I’d just as soon not stumble over another bloody corpse.”
Rafe didn’t answer. Which told me more about his expectations than a response would have done.
We went up to the front door and knocked.
“There’s a back door, too,” I said after a minute, when there’d been no answer. “And the ground is higher. We can see in.”
Rafe glanced at me, but refrained from comment. He pulled the bottom of his T-shirt out of the waistband of his jeans and used it to try the doorknob. When the door turned out to be locked, he agreed to check around back.
We walked around the house, past the small, white car that was still parked under the carport. If I looked closely, I could see my footprints from last night; the way my spiky heels had sunk into the soft ground. Thank God I was wearing heels again today; maybe nobody had to know that I’d been here last night.
The back door was locked, as well. “That’s the guest bedroom,” I said when Rafe walked toward the nearest window. He quirked a brow, and I blushed. “I... um... stopped by last night.”
His voice was dry. “Since you’ve been here before and I haven’t, you care to tell me where Yvonne’s bedroom is?”
“There.” I pointed.
He met my eyes as he walked past, to the window and peered in. And breathed a curse. “You’d better call 911, darlin’.”
“The police?” I had my phone out and was already dialing.
“An ambulance.”
“Oh, no.” I could feel my stomach turn. “What?”
“No idea. Can’t see much. She’s in the living room, and there’s a lot of blood.” His voice was tight.
On the other end of the telephone, the 911 operator answered, and I had to pull myself together to tell her who I was and what had happened. Of course it took me a few seconds to remember where I was, but eventually I managed to get the right address out. “She’s inside the house. We can see her through the window. The door is locked, though. Do we kick it in, just in case she’s still alive and there’s something we can do for her? Or wait for the ambulance?”
“We?” the 911 operator said.
“I mean, if she’s dead, I don’t want to mess up the crime scene. Bad enough that I’ve been walking all over the yard. But if she’s alive, I don’t want her to die while I’m standing out here talking to you.”
“The ambulance will be there in less than five minutes.”
I relayed this to Rafe, who shook his head. “Never mind,” I told the 911 operator as I watched him put his foot to the door, right next to the lock. “Looks like we’re going in.”
The door exploded with a splintering noise, and Rafe tumbled through. I ran up the steps and followed, explaining to the 911 operator what I was doing as I did it.
“I’m in the kitchen. There’s nothing here. I’m walking into the dining room. Nothing here either. The living room... oh, dear God...”
Rafe hadn’t wasted any time, but had gone directly to where he knew Yvonne was, on the floor in front of the sofa. He was kneeling next to her, the knees of his jeans in what would have been a pool of blood had the floor been hardwood. Yvonne had wall to wall carpet everywhere, and he was on his knees in soggy carpet fibers.
Unlike Marquita, whom Detective Grimaldi had told me was shot in the head, Yvonne had been stabbed or shot in the chest. And she had bled a lot. The white T-shirt—the same one she’d worn when I caught a glimpse of her through the window last night—was soaked through, and there was blood all the way down to h
er thighs. Some on her knees and the palms of her hands too. Maybe she’d tried to crawl, or to drag herself to the phone for help.
“What do you see?” the operator prompted. I began to recite facts as I watched Rafe reach out and put two fingers against the side of Yvonne’s throat.
After a few seconds he moved them, reaching for her wrist instead. His face was grim.
“I think she’s dead,” I told the operator. And stopped when Rafe shook his head. “No?”
“There’s a pulse. Very weak.” He glanced up, his eyes flat black. “How long before the ambulance gets here?”
“You should hear them any second now,” the operator said when I asked. I went to unlock and open the front door and stepped out on the stoop, straining my ears. “Is this a crime, ma’am? Do you need the police?”
“Please.” It was unlikely that her chest had exploded on its own, so yes, I was pretty sure someone had committed a crime. I breathed deeply of the fresh air outside. There was that coppery scent of blood in the air inside the house, that took me back to 101 Potsdam Street and Brenda Puckett’s body. The world got a little woozy.
“You OK?” Rafe said. He’d gotten to his feet, as well, and come out on the stoop with me. There was blood on his knees, and on his hands, otherwise he might have steadied me. When we found Brenda’s body, and again after he killed Perry Fortunato, he’d had to carry me out of the room.
I nodded, my teeth chattering.
“Sit. Put your head down.” He nodded to the front step, but didn’t move to touch me. I sat. And closed my eyes and concentrated on taking deep breaths. In the distance, I could hear the ambulance approaching.
It was the usual drill after that. Except for one very important thing. Yvonne was still alive, so instead of worrying about the crime scene, the paramedics hooked her up to fluids and put her on a gurney, before hurrying her out of there. While they were doing that, a police car arrived, and Bob Satterfield took one look at Yvonne going past before he turned to us.
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