by Sheri Leigh
"Not here.” Nellie frowned, tucking her pen behind her ear. “Try the Starlite. Isn’t it about time you parked your behind over there anyway?”
Dusty sipped her root beer, staying out of what she knew was coming—Nellie was a teetotaler, an AA addict.
“I could hop on over there for you.” Shane taunted her. “Want me to bring you back a beer?”
"Lee Williams ought to be fined, the way he lets the kids drink." She patted at her hair, once a luxurious blonde and now beginning to turn a soft white.
Dusty hid a smirk. It was true that they’d been able to drink at the Starlite long before they’d turned twenty-one, and everyone just looked the other way. Kids will be kids. The “Just Say No” and D.A.R.E. campaign never made inroads into their rural community.
“I turned twenty-one a few years ago, sweetheart.” Shane laughed. “Besides, you know that's why he gets more traffic than you do from the locals. They prefer beer with their chicken wings and fries. Why don’t you get a liquor license, Nellie?”
"Shane Curtis," she said, hands on her hips. "I happen to be the best restaurant in town, and at least I'm not stooping to doing anything illegal."
"You're the only restaurant in town.” Shane leaned casually on the counter. “And if Buck Thompson is willing to look the other way if Lee lets eighteen-year-olds drink, then why not? It's sure not hurting his business any."
"It's just wrong, that's why not," Nellie replied, her eyes blazing.
Shane snorted. “Come off it. So Buck Thompson gets free drinks, and the guy who checks Lee’s liquor license is shown a good time. It’s the way the world works.”
“Not my world,” Nellie retorted. Dusty was watching them, back and forth, like a tennis match.
“No?” Shane’s smile was a small, cynical thing. “Then why do you hire kids under sixteen without work permits? If I remember right, little Joe Turner’s just thirteen, isn’t he? Wasn’t he working behind your counter all summer?”
"That’s different," Nellie told him after a moment's hesitation. Dusty saw her jaw working. "And it's none of your business either."
"Uh-huh,” Shane replied. “Pot. Kettle. Black. Ring a bell?”
Nellie was so angry she was turning red. "Shane, I want you—"
"Out of here, and never come back, I know, I know." He held his hands up in a warding-off gesture. "Don’t get your panties in a bunch, all right?”
He slid off the stool, still smiling. “Be seeing you, Dusty." He nodded in her direction and then strolled out the door, tucking his hands in his pockets.
"That kid." Nellie made a face. “Him and his brother—just like their father. Talk about pots and kettles.”
“But it's true." Dusty turned away from the door to look at Nellie. "Isn't it?"
Nellie stared at her and then sniffed. “There’s true, and then there’s true.”
Dusty stared back at her until Nellie averted her eyes, looking toward the kitchen as if she’d heard something there to draw her attention.
“I wouldn’t want the Starlite’s clientele anyway.” Nellie narrowed her eyes as she looked at Shane standing outside. “And you know, I wouldn’t put it past Lee to hire someone underage to work for him, now that Honey Moore’s got herself in trouble.”
"What happened to Honey?" Dusty asked, referring to Lee's former often-sought-after waitress.
"Little bit pregnant is what I hear," Nellie said in a stage-whisper. "Wouldn't surprise me that Lee himself is the daddy, but she didn't stick around long enough for us to find out, of course."
"Really?" Dusty asked, but her interest turned toward the big picture window in the front of the restaurant. She saw Shane outside in front of Cougar's talking to Billy. He looked, except for his pale complexion, vigorously healthy standing there in his leather. She found herself thinking about what Cougar had said to Mike White, and then remembering the last time she’d talked to Nick. He was with Shane that night. She knew it was true. Her instincts were always right, and the only time she found herself in trouble was when she didn’t follow them.
"That boy is nothing but trouble," Nellie said, following Dusty's gaze.
Dusty nodded, but she was smiling. It was a genuine smile, but not without bitterness. She had an idea.
Chapter Five
Dusty guided the Jeep up into the driveway and cut the engine. She sighed as she pocketed the keys and looked up at the house. It was a typical two-story white farm house with black shutters. The paint was chipping and, in some places. it was coming off in long strips, as if someone had stood there and peeled it.
There was a barn farther back on the property. It had been red once, but it had turned gray from the weather and time. There were acres of unused land behind the house. It had once been for farming, but her father, unlike his father before him, was no farmer.
Jay Chandler had decided that there was more money in business and had gone to Babson College in Boston, where he had met her real mother, Dustine—Dusty's namesake. Dustine had still been in high school, but after she’d graduated they were engaged, and when Jay had received his B.A. in accounting, they were married.
Dusty knew her father had shifted gears after a year or so of accounting, deciding to go into architecture. He went back for a second degree and now owned his own, very profitable, business. Her mother had never had a career, and Dusty could remember her always being there—until the cancer. She’d died when Dusty and Nick were only five. Julia had come seven years later and a lifetime too late. No one could ever fill their mother's place.
The house was surrounded by unused land, most of it trees and woods. Even the barn went unused, except for storage. Her father's black Range Rover was parked in front of the garage.
Dusty sighed again, taking in her surroundings, wondering what she’d been trying to prove, moving to Chicago, becoming a cop. She’d tried so hard to put her small town life behind her, to forget, except for Christmas and a few other holidays, that it even existed. She’d worked so hard to become good at what she did, eager to earn her stripes, work her way up to detective. She wanted to prove to everyone—her father, Julia, Shane, the whole damned town—that she was more than just…
Just Nick’s twin sister.
Stop! She snapped at the voice and it was gone.
Funny thing was, no one had ever even come to see her out in Chicago. Not even Nick. Not once. He’d been too busy practicing law in California, not even in the same time zone anymore, a million miles away. Her life, her work on the force, had seemed so important at the time, as if she were building something, proving something. And now…
Now nothing seemed to matter anymore. Not even the suspension, the investigation, the fact that her job was hanging by a thread.
Not anymore.
Quit! She told the voice, but the thought remained, just like the blinking light on her cell. The message was from Jack. She took her phone out of her pocket, flipping it open and pressing buttons. His voice came out of the speaker.
“Dusty…I keep trying you. I called your house four times. Would you please pick up the phone? I don’t want…I don’t want to have to tell you this in a message. Dusty…listen…I’m sorry. I did everything I could. I told you to fly back, defend yourself. I tried…but…well, they…they decided to let you go…That’s it, kid. Your career’s over. I’m sorry. You were one of the good ones…”
She flipped the phone closed again, trying to shake off his words as she got out of the car, not bothering with the lock. She walked up the wooden stairs, avoiding the gaping hole on the third that was always getting a promise from someone about repair, and went into the house.
"Dad?" She hung up her coat in the closet in the kitchen. She was getting ready to do battle. "Julia?" She toed off her shoes. The bag she’d carried in from Cougar’s rested on the kitchen table.
"In here," her father called from the living room. She took a deep breath, crossed her fingers, and kissed them. We used to do that when we were kids, remember when—
She quickly cut it off, and her after-thought was that she was getting damned good with those mind-scissors. She headed in the direction of his voice.
Stopping in the doorway, she saw her father sitting in the armchair—Papa bear’s chair. Remember— SNIP The thought was gone. Her father was reading the paper. Her stepmother was on the couch, legs curled under her, reading glasses propped precariously on her pert nose, reading a Nicholas Sparks novel.
"I have something to discuss with you." Dusty sat in a chair across from them—it was a neutral zone. She waited for her father to fold the paper and Julia to mark her place in her book, letting her reading glasses fall to hang on a thin silver chain around her neck.
I’ve been fired." Dusty said it out loud for the first time, trying not to hear the quaver in her own voice. "I won’t be going back to Chicago."
"What?" Julia cried.
"I’d like to stay here," Dusty continued. "For a while."
"What?!" Her stepmother was much louder this time. "I'm not hearing right. I can’t be."
"Julia—"
"Jay, talk to your daughter," Julia cried, her eyes wide.
Her father sat up tall in his chair. "Dusty, what in the hell happened?"
"I was fired,” she repeated flatly.
"We’re not deaf!" Julia’s mouth drew in tight and then she spoke again. “Don’t be a smart ass!”
It was Dusty's turn to stare with an open mouth. She had never heard Julia use profanity. Ever.
"Why did you get fired, Dusty?" Her father asked the obvious, trying, as always, to mediate.
“It’s a long story.” She swallowed hard, wondering just how she was going to explain it.
"Then you better start talking," Julia snapped.
“It was a set up. Retaliation…” Dusty began, wondering if this was how every criminal in jail who actually hadn’t committed a crime felt when he professed his innocence. She didn’t know how to go on, how to let them down, how to disappoint them in a way that wouldn’t hurt so much. She looked at her father. He was watching her, but she couldn’t read his expression. She couldn’t stop the memory of his arms around her in the middle of the night, his voice choked with emotion, telling her that everything was going to be okay. Do you cry? She wondered, looking back at him. Do you?
She took a deep breath and launched into the whole story, telling it from beginning to end, including the horribly embarrassing truth about being taken in by Stephen, the video, everything. When she was done, the silence was deafening, but she couldn’t look at them. She couldn’t face their pain any more than she could face her own.
“So what are you going to do now?” her father finally asked.
“I don’t know.” She sighed, shaking her head. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to stay here for a while untiI I figure that out…”
“Jay, this is ridiculous,” Julia protested, turning to her husband. “These aren’t children, they’re grownups! First Nick, now Dusty…”
“Julia, stop.” Her father held up his hand. “Dusty, you’re welcome to stay.”
“Well, I want her to pay rent,” her stepmother mumbled, arms crossed as she sat back in her chair.
“That’s fine,” Dusty replied, waving Julia’s comment away.
“No,” her father sighed. “You don’t—”
“No, I want to,” Dusty insisted, glancing at her father. She didn’t look directly at Julia, but she could feel the heat of her gaze. “I’ll find a way.”
Her father’s eyes were sad, and she could barely stand the weight of the disappointment in them. “I’m so sorry this happened, Dusty…”
She nodded, feeling a lump in her throat. “So am I.”
“It’s been a hell of a year.” Her father sighed as he picked up his paper. Julia sighed as well as she propped her glasses back on her nose and removed her bookmark.
The subject was clearly closed.
Dusty sat there for a moment, wondering at their reaction. She had expected the disappointment, but she’d also expected anger, questions, protestations. Instead, there was almost nothing. Just this silence.
They don't care anymore, she realized, and the thought hurt. Nick’s gone, and I’m all they have left…and I’m just not enough to get excited about.
She trimmed the rest of those thoughts neatly with her mind-scissors and her only after-thought was that she’d think about it later—a modern day Scarlett O'Hara.
* * * *
The Starlite was much smaller than it looked from outside. There was a bar along one wall, backed by single, triangular shaped mirrors. Like any bar, the place was filled with tables for patronage, with several pool tables at the other end. The usual Strohs and Budweiser decorative mirrors hung on the walls, and lamps hung low above the pool tables. An old Wurlitzer jukebox stood in one corner gathering dust and was often frequented by Grady, Lee Williams’ cat.
Dusty stepped inside and was instantly nostalgic and missing Nick. She hadn’t been in here often—a handful of times, really, because this was her brother’s haunt and he hated her tagging after him—but it was a place that, for her, was completely and utterly Nick.
"If you miss one of those stalls, I'm going to hang you up by your ears, Sam!"
A laugh.
Dusty whirled toward the direction of the voice.
"Well, hey there.” Lee Williams stepped out of the shadows and into the dim light of the bar. “What can I do for you?"
" I...” Dusty hesitated. Lee was a big man, formidable, with a round face and mustache. “I saw your sign out there."
Lee raised his eyebrows, pulling his ponytail over his shoulder. Dusty found it ironic that forty or fifty years ago, he might have been kicked out of the same kind of establishment he now owned just for the length of his hair.
"You did, huh?" Lee hitched his pants up, but his large belly, mostly accumulated from consuming too much of what he sold, still hung over his belt.
"Yes." She sat on one of the red upholstered bar stools. “I'd like to apply for the cocktail waitress position."
"You would?" His eyes flicked over her in the low light. She nodded again. "Well, I tell you, I ain't—" He paused and moved closer to her, squinting a little. "You're Nick Chandler's sister, ain'tcha?"
Again, she nodded.
He let out a low whistle. "Yeah. Resemblance is amazing." He leaned his elbows on the bar and looked at her. "Ever waitressed before?"
"No," she admitted, wondering just how she was going to handle the work history questions. That was, if he didn’t already know she’d been fired from her job in Chicago. Hell, the whole town probably knew already. "But I learn fast."
He laughed. "That's good." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "You any good at counting? Taking orders? Handling money?"
She nodded, brightening. "I worked as a cashier at Cougar's General Store a few summers. I can make change in my head, no problem.”
He rubbed his chin, his brown eyes sharp and calculating as he looked at her. "For the life of me, I can't figure out why you're applying for this job. You know, the library over on Essex is looking for people to shelve books. I think that would suit you."
"Do I look like the bookish type?" Dusty asked, surprised, tilting her eyes up at him.
He smiled. "Not exactly bookish, but you're not quite bar material, either."
"I want this job," she said firmly. "If I didn't think I could handle it, I wouldn't be applying for it."
"I don't know." He straightened up and pulled on one side of his mustache. "This job isn't all you have rolling around in that pretty head of yours, is it?"
"What makes you think that?”
“Oh I don’t know…” Lee smiled. “Call it an intuition?”
“Do you question everyone who comes looking for a job like this?”
"Askin’ why do you want to work here?" Lee conceded. "I’m pretty sure that’s a legitimate job interview question."
She looked away from his dark eyes. To lie or not
to lie, and by the way, why are you here, Dusty?
SNIP
She told him the first thought that came into her head, and consoled herself that it was at least part of the truth.
"You knew my brother?" Dusty asked. "Well, then you know what happened to him. He spent a lot of time here. I guess this is one way of being closer to him. And besides, my stepmother insists on me paying rent if I stay with them. So I need a job, and you’re hiring."
"Okay," he said, scrutinizing her. "You're not telling the truth—at least not all of it. If you don't want to come clean with me, well, that's up to you, but I warn you, this is a real job."
Lee moved so he was in front of her, arms crossed. "You listen good, because I'm only going to say this once. You have to be able to make change and add pretty damn quick in your head. You'll be taking orders out there on the floor and I'll be back behind the bar. Job starts at four-thirty and we don't get busy until six, but closing is two a.m. That's nine or ten hours, most of them on your feet. Pay is minimum wage plus tips. I wasn't kidding about having to be good at adding in your head, because you'll be responsible for all of the money you take in off the floor. If there's any missing, it comes out of your own pocket. You got that?"
"Yeah," Dusty said, watching him light a Winston. The smoke made a momentary screen between them.
He frowned at her and then sighed. "I gotta tell you, you’re the finest piece of ass I've seen in here in ages."
She stared at him and he chuckled. "Even if you weren't as good-looking as you are, you'd get the usual hassle out there." He nodded toward the empty tables. "But with your looks, you may have more than a bit of trouble. You know what a bar clientele is like?"
She nodded, trying not to smile and remind him what she’d done for a living just a few short weeks ago, but he continued. "They ain't particular about their language or manners here. I don't stand for no fighting, and I take care of things when they get out of hand, but a little bragging and a lot of drinking don't hurt us none. They're just words. You get my meaning?"
Again, she nodded.
"Okay." He set his cigarette in an ashtray, a replica of a Buffalo nickel. "So if you get this job, you won't be running to me every time you hear a little profanity, or get a few obscenities thrown at you along with a hand groping your ass every now and then, right?"