“Darby! What happened back there?” I screeched. “Do you think that guy saw you or heard the horn? How did you keep us from crashing?” I was still gripping the dash.
“It wasn’t a guy. It was a woman,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Was it an old woman who simply didn’t see us?” I asked. I had heard the most dangerous drivers on the roadways in Florida were the elderly. I was starting to relax my grip now that I realized we were safe.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “I couldn’t see if she was on her phone or distracted, but she was behind us in the middle lane, so she had to see us when she moved up and forced herself into our lane. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she did it on purpose.”
“How did you learn to drive like that?” I asked him. I was breathing more normally now. “If I would have been driving, I would have slammed on the brakes, let go of the wheel, covered my eyes, and hoped for the best.”
He smiled and said, “My dad wouldn’t let me drive until several defensive driving classes were under my belt. I enjoyed them so much, I’ve taken a few racing courses over the years. Did you know that when you’re driving fast, you should accelerate coming out of your turn rather than going into it? And in a situation like we just faced, braking can sometimes be more dangerous than accelerating out of the problem and getting back onto the roadway. I wish I would have had another way out. One of the worst things you can do is leave the roadway at any time. Your chances of crashing into something are much higher than if you can stay on the road. If she would have waited another 15 seconds to move into our lane, we would have either caused a pile-up or met the bridge abutment personally.”
The thought caused a shudder to run through my body.
The rest of the drive was uneventful, and we arrived at the races in one piece. We had great seats in the grandstands, and I thought the races were both exciting and nerve-wracking at the same time. Thankfully, there were no accidents.
We brought a small cooler of sodas with us, but with the heat, we had consumed them after a couple of hours. Darby turned to me and said, “Susan, I’m going to run down and get us a couple of drinks. How about a cold beer?”
I wasn’t much of a beer drinker, but a cold one sounded really good out here in the hot sun, “Sure, and a snack, too?” I asked with a pretty-please smile.
He laughed and said, “I’m on it.”
There was a lull in the action, so I took some time to look around at the people attending the races. The stands weren’t filled to capacity, but there was a large crowd. I was surprised at the number of teenagers and senior citizens in attendance. The drag-racing crowd at home was mostly in the 20 to 50 age range, but boat racing was a popular sport in Florida, and all ages seemed to enjoy the races.
I spotted a guy and girl enjoying a moment a few rows below me. He had put his arm around her and was pulling her close for a kiss. It dawned on me that it was refreshing not to have guys trolling the front of the stands with signs that read, Show Us Your … wait a minute … was that the skinny guy?
I had just caught a glimpse of a skinny guy with dark, shoulder-length, curly hair as he was sitting down. He was six rows in front of our seats and off to the right by almost ten people. From the back, he looked like the skinny guy from the restaurant and the beach. Could this be a coincidence? It seemed odd he would be here at the same time we were.
Darby poked me to take my beer and nachos. He settled back down into his seat.
“Look down below us several rows and to the right,” I told him. “I’m sure the skinny guy from the restaurant is here.” I tried to point him out, but I could no longer find him. “I know I saw him a minute ago. Don’t you think it’s weird he’s here, too?”
“Not really,” he said shoveling nachos into his mouth. “These races have been advertised all over the state.”
Maybe he was right. Why did I care the skinny guy was here? For all I knew, the family with the two kids could be here, too. The action started again, and we enjoyed the last few races. The cold beer had hit the spot and nachos always tasted better at sporting events.
We got up to leave, and I suddenly felt lightheaded and noticed some weakness in my arms and legs. “Darby, wait, something’s wrong,” I said sinking back into my seat. “I don’t feel well.”
“It’s probably from too much sun and the beer,” he said. “If I help you, do you think you can make it down the steps and to the car?”
“I can try,” I said as I stood and nearly lost my balance.
He had to practically hold me up all the way down the steps. When we got to the parking lot, I simply couldn’t walk any more.
“You stay here, Susan, I’ll go get the car and bring it up.” He literally leaned me against a light post.
I felt foolish holding onto the post while people were walking past me, but I couldn’t move or let go for fear of falling down. Cars were moving in front of me as they left the lot, and people were streaming past me. I felt dizzy. What was taking Darby so long? I couldn’t hold onto this light post much longer.
A green Sonic drove by. I noticed it because it was going slower than the other vehicles. I could barely focus on it or the driver, but the slight build and the hairstyle made me instantly think it was Skinny Guy. He officially had a name now.
Darby pulled up with the Fusion and hopped out to help me into the passenger seat. “Are you feeling any better at all?” he asked.
“Not yet,” I said as I climbed in and put my head between my knees. Darby slid behind the wheel. I noticed he had the windows up and the air conditioner was on. I stole a sideways glance at him.
He seemed to know what I was thinking and said, “I thought you might feel better in the air conditioning.” He handed a bottle of water to me. “Drink some water, too; you might be dehydrated.”
“Darby, did you see the face of the woman who ran us off the road?” I asked him.
“No,” he said. “I just caught a glimpse of her wavy hair. She might have been a teenager.”
“Could it have been a thin man with shoulder-length, curly hair?” I asked.
“I guess it could have been,” he said. “Wait a minute. You aren’t thinking it was the guy from the restaurant?”
“Yes, I am,” I told him. He looked doubtful. “It was Skinny Guy,” I insisted. “I know I saw him in a green Sonic when you went to get the car. I was dizzy, but I’m sure the driver had the same build and the same curly hair. Why would he want to run us off the road? Who could he be?”
“Susan, that’s just crazy talk,” Darby said with a disturbed edge to his voice. “You’re suffering from heatstroke and dehydration. Put your seat back and rest. I’ll have you to the hotel in no time.”
I put my head back and closed my eyes. The light-headedness was letting up, but my limbs still felt heavy and weak. I couldn’t relax. What was with Skinny Guy? Was all of this a coincidence? I couldn’t help but feel there was something wrong, but what? How could there be something wrong here in Florida? And if there was something wrong, was the trouble directed at me or at Darby?
Chapter Six
Darby’s bed was more comfortable than the bed in my room. I was propped up on his pillows waiting for him to get out of the shower.
When we returned to our rooms from the races, he sat on the floor outside my bathroom door while I showered and changed into cotton capris and a cap-sleeve tee. I wanted him close by in case I passed out in the shower. I was feeling much better now, and nearly all of the heatstroke symptoms had passed. We were going to order room service rather than go out for dinner, but I didn’t have much of an appetite. Maybe I would encourage Darby to go out by himself for the evening.
I closed my eyes and thought about everything that had happened since Saturday.
Mick, for starters. He was always in the back of my mind, but I’d been forcing myself not to think too hard about him. Maybe I would call him this evening. We really did need to talk.
Then th
ere was Jerry. He seemed like such a loner, and it hurt my heart to think he really was alone and died before ever getting married or having children. I sensed there was something behind his heart attack, and it had to do with the man from Thursday nights. I had to find a way to track him down when I was back in Carbide City.
And now here I was in Florida with Darby. I smiled. I met Darby Tapley almost a year ago when I moved into my apartment. He had already been in the building for over two years. Larry had rounded up a couple of guys from Barney’s Beverage, and they all helped me move from my previous apartment which was only about a mile away. It was an older building in need of remodeling, and I finally had enough of never having enough hot water. The new apartment was a much nicer building with a faux Tudor facade – and plenty of hot water.
On the day of the move, Darby came out into the hallway to introduce himself, and to say hello. He set up two lawn chairs in the wide hallway, brought out two glasses of raspberry iced tea, and convinced me to sit down and let the moving guys do all the work. He laughed when he saw the guys come up the stairs with a bowling bag, a set of golf clubs, baseball bats, a basketball, ice skates, and finally a couple of gym bags with racquets sticking out of them. “You had brothers, right?” he asked. “You’re a tomboy.” When one of the guys came up with an ironing board, he said that was the sign of a good woman. We talked for nearly three hours as the guys made several trips from my old apartment to my new. It was then I found out he liked cooking shows, dabbled at being a cook himself, and he worked in his apartment as a freelance writer. He was fun and easy to talk with. I told him about cheater Louie and my jobs at Slimmers and the racquetball club. Once the beverage guys were done moving all of my belongings, Darby came over and helped me hang curtains and position furniture. I made Reuben sandwiches for us that night, and we’d been best friends ever since.
Last on the list of things running through my head was Skinny Guy. What was up with him? Darby thought I watched too much television and was being paranoid. Maybe he was right.
He came around the corner in a pair of khaki Bermuda shorts while towel drying his hair. It was, of course, more tousled than usual now. He flopped on the bed beside me, raised himself up on one elbow, and gave me a big smile. “Are you feeling better now?” he asked.
He certainly was adorable.
“Darby, why haven’t you ever asked me out?” I don’t know why I asked the question. I never really thought about dating Darby, and I certainly didn’t want to date him now. But something about the moment – his closeness, his attractiveness, his concern for me – the question just popped out, and I instantly wished I could take it back. I’m pretty sure I blushed.
He leaned in close and looked deep into my eyes. I was sure I was fire engine red now. “Susan, honey, you know I love you,” he paused, his eyes had a gleam in them, “and I would date you in a heartbeat.” I held my breath, this was not what I wanted to hear right now. “But I’m gay,” he said. He leaned in and kissed me on my nose. Unfortunately, his comment caused me to bolt straight upright, and we clunked heads.
“Ouch! What?” I was holding my head. “Darby, you are not gay!” I exclaimed.
“I am,” he said, laughing while rubbing his forehead.
“Oh my gosh,” I blurted out, “not only can I not tell when a man is married, I have no gaydar!” I flopped back onto the pillows. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“You never asked,” he said. “I don’t hide the fact I’m gay, but I don’t flaunt it either. I haven’t been in a relationship for a long time, so we never had a reason to talk about it.”
“Aha!” I bolted upright again. Darby moved back. “You aren’t meeting a girl on Thursday night, are you? You’re meeting a guy!”
“Yep, guilty as charged,” he said laughing. “And you are, too. Remember, you’re coming with me.”
“I can’t wait now,” I told him with a smile. “Tell me about him.” I flopped back onto the pillows.
“We-e-ell,” he drawled, “I’ve been talking to him online for about six months. It feels like I’ve known him for years. We decided it was time to meet and see if we’re more like friends, or if there are sparks.”
“What’s his name?” I asked.
“I don’t know yet. We haven’t exchanged names other than screen names. We’ll do that on Thursday.”
“Why on earth did you decide to meet at a Polynesian restaurant?” I asked. “Wouldn’t Busch Gardens or The Tampa Bay Zoo have been more fun?”
“He’s a dancer at the restaurant. He dances with feathers and flaming batons.” He moved his hands as if to imitate a hula dancer. “We have to look for the guy with the purple lei around his neck.” We both burst out laughing at the cliché.
Darby took my advice and went to dinner by himself. I decided I did want to talk with my mother, so I went back to my room to find my phone. I flipped it open. It was really no surprise it was dead. I found my charger, plugged it into a wall socket, and plodded back over to Darby’s bed. I was tired and thought I’d rest there until he came back. I closed my eyes.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
… gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door … gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door… gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door…
I opened my eyes and realized I wasn’t actually hearing the foreboding line from Edgar Allan Poe’s, The Raven; I had been dreaming. The room was dark. I must have been asleep for several hours. Why was I dreaming lines from The Raven? And then I heard it. A light rap, rap, rapping at the door. At Darby’s door. I don’t know why, but it frightened me, and I felt vulnerable without him in the room.
I padded softly over to the door, being careful not to make any noise. I peeked out the peephole. I clapped my hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t call out, and I nearly fell I was backing up so fast. It was Skinny Guy! He must be after Darby!
My heart was pounding. I stood still in the middle of room, not daring to breathe. I didn’t see the handle of the door move, but I heard it as it was turned back and forth. It didn’t open; he obviously didn’t have a key. I waited, still afraid to move. I stood there for what felt like an eternity, but was surely only a few minutes. There was no more rapping, no more turning of the handle.
I looked out the peephole again. He was gone. I ran over to my room and looked out the peephole there as well. No Skinny Guy. But what I had seen surprised me. Because of his hair and build, I surmised he was going to have a face like Weird Al Yankovic. Instead, he had a handsome, rugged face like a young Marlon Brando. And worse, he looked familiar.
Had I ever seen him before? Had we ever met? Maybe I had actually seen him since we arrived in Florida, and I simply didn’t realize it. Even though he had a nice face, I was sure there was something sinister about him. Edgar Allan Poe sinister.
I looked around the room as though to assure myself no one was there and I was safe. I saw my phone was fully charged now. I flipped it open. There were two messages from Samantha, but none from Mick. I was surprised at how disappointed I was he hadn’t called again. I punched Samantha’s speed dial number, and she answered on the first ring.
“Susan! You’re not going to believe what’s going on here!” she said without waiting for me to say hello. Her voice sounded excited, but it was a distressed excited. This wasn’t like her. She was usually so calm and was always the person to take charge when things went wrong.
“What’s going on? I have things to tell you, too,” I told her. I wanted to fill her in on Skinny Guy.
“Me first,” she said. “The police have been all over the club. Jerry’s uncle asked the coroner to do an autopsy, and you’ll never guess what they found.”
“Steroids!” I burst out. “I knew it!”
“Well, yes, they did find steroids. But that’s not what killed Jerry. He was poisoned!” she said dramatically.
“What! You’re kidding. How was he poisoned? Who would poison Jerry?” I knew he didn’t seem to have any friends, but why would anyone wa
nt to kill Jerry?
“The detective that’s been at the club won’t give out any details. I only know this because Larry keeps hounding his cousin, Dick, for information.”
“Sam, did you and Larry discuss the Thursday night man?” I asked. “Did you ask Larry to tell Dick about him? I really think he might have something to do with this, or at least he might know something.”
“We did talk about it,” she said. “Everyone who spends time at the club has seen the man, but no one knows who he is because Jerry never talked to anybody about his personal life. Larry said the police know about him, but they haven’t located him yet.”
“Ok,” I said. “You said they found steroids in his system, too?”
“Yes, but they’ve already searched his apartment and found his steroid prescription was legally prescribed. I’ll let you know if Larry finds out exactly what type of poison killed him, but that’s all I know for now.” She paused. “Tell me your news.”
“Well, for starters, Darby is gay!” I exclaimed with an incredulous edge to my voice.
“Knew it.” she said calmly.
“You did not!” I practically squealed at her. “How could you tell?”
“I don’t know, it’s a gift,” she said laughing. “I’ve seen him at your place enough times, and it was just subtle things he did or said. I’ve thought all along he was gay.”
“Sam, I have no gaydar at all,” I whined. “I’ve had other gay friends, but unless someone is over-the-top with their speech or mannerisms, I never have a clue.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said still laughing. “It doesn’t matter anyway. You two have a great friendship, and that’s what counts.”
“Oh my gosh,” I moaned. “That’s not all of it, Sam. There’s Skinny Guy.”
I proceeded to fill her in on all of the Skinny Guy details including the recent, scary Edgar Allan Poe moment. I always hated that poem; it was sinister and gave me the creeps when I read it. That’s probably why I had such a fearful reaction when Skinny Guy was at the door. Maybe he was a jilted lover of Darby’s come to find him and make him take him back. That would make sense. But why would he run us off the road? He could still be a jilted lover come to kill Darby. I’d have to ask him about it when he got back.
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