Who Loves Ya, Baby?

by Gemma Bruce

Elton twirled a strand of hair that grew from the center of his bald spot. “Well, it was a dirty trick to play and the rest of us are gonna suffer for it.”

  May whacked him on the back. “Leave the boy alone. Nobody else was stepping forward to help out, and he don’t even live here anymore. Count your blessings, Elton Dinwiddie.”

  “I’d rather be counting my chickens,” said Elton.

  “I’m sure they’ll turn up,” said Maude and led Julie away.

  “Will they turn up?” asked Julie as Maude scuttled her across the floor, dodging the dancers who seemed to be doing some kind of Texas two-step, and toward another group of people standing at the other side of the dance floor.

  “Think so. Hi, Emily. I want you to meet Julie Excelsior. Emily’s the town librarian.”

  Julie and Emily shook hands.

  “I came by yesterday, but you were closed,” said Julie, trying to ignore Emily’s impressive cleavage. Emily smiled coolly and began reciting the library hours until Maude interrupted to introduce Julie to the rest of the group.

  She recognized some of the names; others were unfamiliar. But it was pretty obvious from the reactions she got that they all remembered her or at least had heard about her. And she had to force herself not to run screaming from the room.

  Soon Maude was trundling her away again. “Your patrician air is beginning to slip.”

  “I feel like a sideshow freak,” said Julie, but lifted her chin higher and smiled at the people they passed. Halfway down the room she put on the brakes. Cas was standing near the band, dressed in his uniform and talking to Christine and Ian and—

  “It’s Charles Reynolds,” said Julie and dug in her heels, which did absolutely no good since Maude outweighed her and still had a death grip on her arm.

  “Think of Wes and out-grand him. Hiya, Cas. Christine, Ian, Reynolds.”

  Christine and Ian both said hello. Cas flashed a smile that broadcast to the farthest corner of the room and Julie could have kicked him. Reynolds’s expression was just as clear, and just the opposite. It could have turned the dancers, or her, to salt.

  Cas stepped toward her and kissed her cheek. “You look wonderful,” he said under his breath.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered as she watched Reynolds’s eyes bug.

  “You remember Julie Excelsior, don’t you, Reynolds?” Maude purred the words.

  Christine and Ian took the opportunity to slip off to the dance floor. Cas kept grinning like an idiot, and Julie didn’t know which man she wanted to deck more.

  “Hello, Mr. Reynolds,” said Julie, trying to ignore Cas’s proximity.

  Maude frowned. And Julie recognized her mistake. Too deferential . She breathed out. “I met Christine and Melanie in town, but I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing you and Mrs. Reynolds.”

  Maude gave her the slightest nod of approval. She’d manage just the right amount of hauteur. And she suddenly realized how much all that role-playing as un undercover detective might come in handy. She began to relax. But Cas was standing way too close and his father’s eyes were shifting between the two of them so rapidly that watching them made her dizzy.

  “Would you like to dance?” asked Cas.

  “What?” Julie squeaked.

  “Dance,” he repeated, leaning into her.

  “Aren’t you on duty, son?”

  “Great idea,” said Maude. “I’ll just stay here and talk to Reynolds.” She slipped her arm in his.

  “Jesus, Cas,” said Julie, her smile frozen into place as he led her to the dance floor. “Are you nuts? You’ll have the whole town talking.”

  “So? If I’m expected to dance with every unmarried woman in town, I may as well start with you.”

  Julie raised both eyebrows. “Thank you very much.”

  Cas grinned. “But I’m only going to dance with the others.”

  “Cas, stop it.” Julie quickly looked around. She wasn’t surprised to see the entire room watching them. Even the dancing couples were twisting their necks to get a better look.

  Another spectacle. I’m doomed, thought Julie. Then she swore she could hear Wes’s voice. You are an Excelsior. You should be leading the dance.

  He was asking a lot. People were going to talk, to wonder, but as long as Reynolds didn’t rush across the floor and drag Cas bodily out of the room, she could pull it off. And she was confident that Maude wouldn’t let him anywhere near the dance floor.

  Cas reached around her waist. She resisted as he pulled her close. “Julie,” he said.

  “Let’s try to get through this without making a spectacle of ourselves,” she said and felt him flinch. Well damn it, it was his own fault. She couldn’t help it if he’d walked away from her all those years ago. Made her the object of gossip. She still didn’t trust him, she realized with a jolt of sorrow. And she wanted to. She wanted things to be good between them. And they never could.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked, lowering his head to hers.

  “Nothing. It’s just weird being back here.”

  “I won’t let you down, Julie. I promise.”

  She pulled away to look at him and almost tripped. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Then she took a proper ballroom stance, looking past his shoulder and not at him, and they finished the dance in silence.

  When the music stopped and they were walking back to where Maude and Reynolds waited, Julie saw Melanie enter the hall. She was dressed in black as usual. The only compromise she’d made for the dance was an extra length of chain around her hips and a black leather vest decorated with silver studs and foot-long leather fringe.

  Reynolds must have seen her, too, because he strode away from Maude just as Cas and Julie returned.

  “Melanie’s here,” said Maude. “Reynolds just went to say hello.”

  “Shit,” said Cas and followed his father through the crowd.

  “I saw her,” said Julie when they were alone. “Full Goth glory. Is Reynolds going to cause a scene?”

  “Not if Cas can get there first. How was your dance?”

  “Okay.”

  “Hmmm,” said Maude.

  A tall man in a dark blue turtleneck took Maude away to dance and Julie stood staring at the dance floor so she wouldn’t catch anyone’s eye. Terrence and Tilda danced by, then seeing her, reversed their steps and danced back to her.

  “Hi,” said Tilda. “You remember Terrence.” Tonight her hair was bright red, maybe in honor of the Candy Apple Dance, and Terrence was poured into a black suit, white shirt and necktie that looked like it was choking him. Terrence stretched his neck, reminding Julie of Smitty when he was trying to escape his leash.

  Julie smiled at him in sympathy. “Of course I do. How are you?”

  Tilda beamed up at Terrence and he beamed down at her. And Julie thought, I like them.

  “Just hunky-dory,” said Tilda, giving Terrence a squeeze. “Oh, shit.”

  Terrence and Julie turned to look where she was looking. Two men dressed in motorcycle jackets stood in the entrance. It didn’t take much to recognize them as the dolts from the Roadhouse.

  “Damnation,” said Tilda. “They said they weren’t coming. And they were already two sheets to the wind when they left the Roadhouse an hour ago.”

  “You want me to show them the door, honey?” said Terrence, his voice even deeper than usual.

  Tilda shook her head. “It’s open to the public. If they get rowdy, you can help Cas get rid of them.”

  Henley and Bo swaggered onto the dance floor, causing a pile-up, before couples began redirecting their steps around them.

  Tilda began tapping her toe, not to the music, but in consternation. “No good. Either one of them. And up to no good if I know anything at all.”

  “I’ll fix it for you, sugar,” said Terrence.

  “Thanks, smoochums, but I don’t want you to mess up your new suit. Isn’t he handsome?”

  “Huh? Oh, yes,” said Julie. She’d just seen Cas and Reynol
ds at the other side of the room, but no Melanie.

  “Well, we’re off to tear up the dance floor. See ya later.” And they started off, Terrence pushing Tilda along, oblivious to the music or the steps, and both having the time of their lives.

  Julie began to skirt the room, smiling at people but not stopping until she caught sight of Melanie’s black spikes. She must have survived any diatribe by Reynolds because she was alone and still at the dance. We’re two of a kind, thought Julie as she threaded her way toward the girl. A couple of misfits.

  But before she reached Melanie, Julie saw her slip out a side door, followed by Henley and Bo. Up to no good was right. Julie picked up her pace.

  She stepped through a door into a hallway that led to storerooms and bathrooms. Halfway down, she saw them. Melanie was standing between the two men. Henley had his arm around her shoulders and Melanie squirmed to free herself, while she called him every name Julie had ever heard and some she hadn’t. Bo looked on and laughed. Julie began to run.

  “Hey,” she called.

  Henley turned around. “Here’s another one wants a good time.” Julie got a whiff of whiskey as she stepped past Bo, grabbed Henley’s wrist, and bent it downward at a right angle. The action brought him to his knees.

  “Ow-w-w,” he yelled and Julie clipped him with her high heel. He sprawled on his butt.

  “Random,” said Melanie and rubbed her shoulder.

  “What’s the big idea?” said Bo and grabbed for Julie. Julie stepped to the side and gave him a push. He fell over Henley just as Cas and Terrence reached them.

  “Guess Julie’s got it covered,” rumbled Terrence; white teeth appeared in his beard and disappeared again. “I’ll just show these bozos outside if that’s okay with you, Sheriff.”

  “Fine,” said Cas, not taking his eyes off Julie. “What happened?” When Julie didn’t answer, he turned to Melanie. “You’re not encouraging those two, are you?”

  Melanie rolled her eyes.

  “Cas.”

  “Stay out of this, Julie. Are you? Because those two are trouble.”

  Melanie sank into one hip. “Christ, you sound just like Reynolds.”

  “She wasn’t encouraging them,” said Julie. “They followed her out and accosted her.”

  Cas frowned at her. “So you came rushing to the rescue.”

  Julie blinked, unreasonably hurt by his sarcasm. “Us girls have to stick together.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that they might be dangerous? That you might want to call on the local law enforcement to take care of the situation? Or do you think you can do a better job?”

  Melanie smacked him on the shoulder. “What the fuck’s wrong with you? She was trying to help. And she did fine without you; brought Henley to his knees in a second, then kicked the shit out of him.”

  Julie winced. “I didn’t really kick him.”

  “It was some weird judo move,” said Melanie. “It was so uptown. So random.” Her enthusiasm was so not Melanie.

  Cas continued to frown until Julie felt like she had to offer an explanation or give herself away. “I learned it in self-defense class.”

  Cas’s frown deepened and she hurried on.

  “All women in the city know self defense. It comes with the territory.” She widened her eyes innocently. “Gee, it really works.”

  Cas’s face relaxed a fraction. “Well, don’t count on it working again. People get hurt trying to use that stuff.” His lips tightened and Julie knew he must be thinking of her kayoing him in the Roundhouse. It wouldn’t do if he started asking himself why she was so fluent in defense techniques.

  “You’re right,” she said meekly and saw Melanie scowl at her.

  He ushered them back into the hall where the dance continued unawares and Henley and Bo were nowhere to be seen.

  Julie danced a few dances with people she barely remembered, ate a few hors d’oeuvres, and drank a glass of punch that tasted like cough syrup. She’d heard the word “heiress” several times as she passed through the hall, and wondered if they could really be talking about her. She didn’t see Melanie again. She’d probably gotten bored and gone home, which is where Julie wished she were. Her feet hurt and Cas had been kept busy dancing with other women of the town, making the rounds, being friendly and authoritative, and never once glancing in her direction. His lack of attention irked her as much as his attention had earlier in the evening.

  Reynolds must have put it to him, thought Julie. So what else was new?

  Maude was constantly on the dance floor or at the punch bowl, a hit in her crimson dress. But her apparent rebound after Wes’s death didn’t fool Julie. Maude was a trouper.

  At last the band wound down and Julie breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief.

  “Not over yet,” said Maude, coming up beside her.

  The band cranked up one last time with a fanfare that rivaled a fire alarm.

  Julie looked at Maude.

  “The crowning of the Candy Apple Queen.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Maude just smiled.

  The room became quiet as Marian and Charles Reynolds climbed up the front steps to the stage; Charles, a little unsteady on his feet; Marian nodding over the crowd like the Queen Mother. She was dressed in a red silk suit in honor of the occasion.

  She ran her fingers over her frosted French twist and took the envelope from Mayor Felix Baumgarten, who had been mayor when Julie was a girl. Five names were called out and five eager young women climbed the steps to take their places next to Marian and Charles and the mayor.

  Two men, one of whom was Dan Pliney, came forward holding a red cape, a third man carried a tiara on a red cushion.

  “That could be you up there,” said Maude, giving Julie a wicked grin.

  “Oh, please. Though I wish Melanie had been picked. Now that would be something to see.”

  “And this year’s Candy Apple Queen is ...” Marian paused.

  “The suspense is killing me,” said Maude.

  “Isabelle Schott.”

  “Oh surprise,” said Maude. “She’s Marian’s protégée.”

  “I met her at the hotel restaurant,” said Julie.

  Isabel lifted her hands to her face as two of her court pushed her none too gently forward. Reynolds took the cape from the cape bearers and settled it around Isabel’s shoulders, while Isabel smiled happily at the crowd.

  “Lives with her father, a widower,” whispered Maude. “He’s trying to get her married off, so he can get it on with Edith Turnbull.” Maude nodded to where a man clapped harder and louder than the others. The woman from the police station stood next to him, looking every bit as appreciative at Isabelle. “And guess who’s the prime candidate?”

  “Cas?”

  Maude nodded.

  “And he?”

  “Give me a break. Haven’t you figured out anything since you came back?”

  Julie turned back to watch Marian Reynolds place the crown on Isabel’s head. Reynolds smiled down at her and Julie thought, Shit. They’re planning for Cas to marry her.

  “And now, Isabelle, it’s time to name your escort,” said Reynolds in a voice that rang across the hall. Isabelle, Reynolds, Marian, and the mayor looked out into the crowd. All but the mayor zeroed in on the same spot and Julie knew that they had found Cas.

  Isabel smiled out at the crowd. “I choose for my Escort,” she began.

  And that’s when Julie saw the chicken.

  Chapter 16

  It seemed to materialize in front of the stage, a huge white leghorn with a red wattle and comb. It shivered and shimmied and high-stepped right toward the crowd, its head jutting forward with each step.

  Someone sniggered. The people in front stepped back as the hen strutted her stuff across the floor.

  “Hey, that’s my Rowena!” Elton Dinwiddie pushed through the crowd. “Here, Rowena. Come here, baby. Pluck. Pluck.”

  Isabelle looked down, horrified. Marian gaped at the chicken,
then frowned at the crowd as if looking for someone to blame. Reynolds yelled, “Get that chicken out of here,” just as the crowd broke into laughter. Elton leaned over to pick up Rowena and two more chickens strutted out from under the stage.

  And then the room was filled with chickens. Leghorns, Rhode Island reds, bantams, Wyandottes, Minorcans appeared in front of the stage like a magician’s trick.

  They kept coming, pushing the ones in front closer to the crowd. Soon the floor around the stage was filled with chickens. They began pecking at the floor and at each other.

  Three roosters entered last, one after the other.

  “That’s my rooster,” said the man in the blue turtleneck. He pushed out of the crowd, scattering chickens and people as he hurried to claim his fowl.

  The largest rooster leaned over and took a bite out of the smallest one. The victim spread his wings and dove at his attacker, and the third rooster quickly joined in.

  A roar went out among the men and someone yelled, “Cock fight. Twenty bucks on the bantam.”

  “Not with my rooster, you don’t.” The owner grabbed for his rooster, but fell over a hen who’d sat down in the middle of the floor. Startled, the hen airlifted right into Edith Turnbull’s mohair sweater. Edith shrieked and tried to bat it away. The hen scrabbled at her sweater and fell to the floor, leaving a trail of chicken shit down the row of mother-of-pearl buttons, before disappearing among the feet of the crowd.

  The whole floor was beginning to fill up with chicken droppings as they panicked and ran mindlessly in all directions.

  “My God,” said Julie. “There must be fifty or more.”

  “Who are going to get hurt if we don’t contain them soon.” Maude pushed the onlookers aside and began giving directions, grabbing chickens and shoving them at anybody who would take them.

  “Somebody get a box,” yelled Elton over the noise of chickens and crowd. “My whole flock is here.”

  “So’s mine,” said the rooster owner, who held the giant bird under one elbow and a hen in the crook of his other arm.

  “Get these chickens out of here,” commanded Reynolds and ran down the steps from the stage, alarming the chickens even more. His foot skidded and he went down on his ass. The chickens squawked and scurried into the crowd. Someone tripped and fell back into two ladies, who screamed and stumbled into the people behind them, setting off a domino effect across the room.