Happily Ever After
Page 17
Leo Simmons cursed his way to the police cruiser, threatening Rip, Joe, and quite a few people Joe didn’t know. Joe followed him, battling the urge to free his steel hold on Rip’s collar. Sam led Simmons into the passenger seat of a cruiser, retrieved a first-aid kit, and crouched beside him. Joe’s immediate frustration dissolved into respect as Joe watched Chief Sam work his suspect with the savvy of an inner-city detective.
“Sorry about the dog bite, Leo. We’ll get you fixed up in a second.”
Leo’s lined, sour face softened at Sam’s words. He glared at Joe. “The mutt ought to be shot.”
Sam nodded. “We’ll talk about that later. Right now I want to know what you’re doing here.”
Leo responded with a grin of well-rehearsed surprise.“I’m just down pickin’ up a few supplies for the wife, Chief. Ain’t a man got a right to shop for his family?”
“Sure he does. But why the ski mask? It’s early May.”
Leo’s face turned granite.
Chief Sam stood, surveying the fire as if he hadn’t noticed Leo’s expression. “I hate to add this, but you smell like you bathed in gasoline.” He returned his gaze to Simmons. “It’s not looking good.”
Simmons studied his fingertips. “I’m not saying anything. I know my rights. I want a lawyer.”
Joe watched the man and tightened his grip on Rip’s collar, thinking how much he’d like to join his dog in a collective lunge at the saboteur. The fire hissed behind them as the Deep Haven VFD saturated the last rebellious flames on the house and the garage. The pungent smell of wet char fueled Joe’s frustration. He shot a piercing glance at Sam, who answered him with a spiked eyebrow and a nearly indiscernible shake of his head.
Joe sent a prayer heavenward as Chief Sam knelt before Simmons. “Tell you what, Leo. You tell me why you’re in town, dressed in black, reeking of gas fumes and hanging around a house fire, and I might be inclined to help you out of this fix.”
Leo’s face colored slightly at the chief’s words.
“I’ve known you a long time, Leo, and other than a few reckless-driving citations, you usually stay on the right side of the law. I’m inclined to believe your story, if you tell it to me straight.” Chief Sam’s eyes were gentle. Joe felt as if he were watching a wood-carver whittling away a man’s hard shell to find the treasure inside.
Simmons buried his face in his hands.
“Cindy and the boys would sure like to see you back at home tonight.”
Joe saw the man’s shoulders begin to shake. He could barely make out Leo’s ragged voice. “I didn’t have a choice, Sam. It wasn’t my idea.”
“Tell me who’s behind this, Leo,” Sam prodded.
Simmons surrendered to sobs. Sam gave Joe a look that told him how he felt about seeing a man crumble.“You’re free to go, Joe.”
17
Mona shivered in the sopping grass as mud soaked into her fleece sweatpants, watching the smoky apparition gnaw on her dreams and consume her hope. The fire had crawled along the gutter and invaded her bedroom—where she had been unconscious earlier. If it weren’t for Joe, she’d still be inside, unaware of the specter inhaling her lace curtains. For a fleeting moment, she wished she still lay blissfully unconscious on her bedroom floor. Smoke inhalation. How painful could that be? Certainly less so than waking up to find her future literally reduced to ashes.
Who had attacked her? She ached in places she didn’t even know she had hurt during the struggle, but nowhere more than in her confused heart. Had Joe snuck up behind her, strangled her, then set fire to her home, only to drag her from the flames moments later? Doubt raged through her. She’d seen the pain in Joe’s eyes when she’d accused him of starting the fire, pain she’d now inflicted twice in one day. Most of all, she remembered the sheer agony on his face as he dragged her from the house.
“Don’t look,” he’d whispered in a wretched tone. She was appalled to realize that, as soon as she caught her breath, she’d pounced on him.
She wiped her eyes now and searched the darkness for the police cruiser, then froze in horror. She’d seen Joe being interrogated by Chief Watson, and now the chief was handcuffing a suspect. Mona buried her head in her arms and shuddered—Brian was right! She bit her lip, but it couldn’t restrain the anguish of knowing that a man she trusted, a man she thought she could even love, had betrayed her. She should have known better than to open her heart. At least she’d been wise to rebuff Joe the past few days . . . just think where she’d be if she’d let herself fall completely for his charming, deceitful smile.
Mona turned her attention back to the firefighters, watching them through a liquid haze. The fire, finally extinguished, sent a fog of steam into the night sky. The local volunteers, decked out in gray fire-retardant jackets and black rubber boots, were dousing the house, dragging hoses through her wild roses and trampling the hosta, drowning the porch and, with her luck, her polished coffee bar and sanded end tables. Thankfully, the new sofa had yet to arrive. She could cancel the order and save herself the hassle of returning it. A fine, airy mist settled over her. She lifted her face to it; the moisture mingled with her sorrow.
A crowd had gathered in the unpaved lot next to the house, a fistful of gawkers and speculators in bathrobes. She heard murmuring and some clucks of pity, but Mona refused to turn around and acknowledge the disaster to their faces. It was bad enough she’d lived down the appearance of the plumbing truck, the exterminator, and the numerous deliveries from Frank’s Hardware. They knew the truth as much as she: The Footstep of Heaven Bookstore and Coffee Shop was a failure.
She searched for Liza, thinking it strange her friend wasn’t also sobbing beside her in the grass. When she spotted Liza nestled safely inside Brian’s embrace, a shard of jealousy pierced her. Liza had chosen correctly. She had seen Brian’s shining-knight character while Mona had picked a saboteur. Her gaze drifted back to Chief Watson, loading the culprit into the squad car. Well, at least Joe Michaels was out of her life. He wouldn’t be around to do her, or her heart, any more damage.
“Are you all right?” A worried voice sliced through her despair. Mona lifted her gaze and gaped as Joe squatted beside her, his sooty arms hanging over his wet knees, his blue eyes studying her with palpable concern.
She glanced back at the police cruiser. “I thought . . .”
“I know what you thought.” Mercifully, he looked away, but Mona’s heart tore anyway.
“I-I don’t understand,” she stuttered.
Joe met her look with troubled eyes. “I’m not sure I do either. But I think Sam and I found your saboteur.”
“Sam? Since when are you on such friendly terms with the local law?”
Joe shrugged, but his eyes glinted mysteriously, accompanied by a hint of a smile. Mona felt heat travel up her spine, and a warm glow spread out through her entire body. Joe wasn’t the saboteur. The relief she felt at that realization was so profound, her eyes filled. “Who was it?”
“A guy from the park department.”
“I don’t know anyone from the park department.”Her voice broke into a moan. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either, but we’ll figure it out.” He smiled at her, and the we in his phrase embraced her heart. He was keeping his promise, despite her atrocious behavior. That insight tore open a thousand wounds.
“I’m sorry, Joe. I should have never let myself believe you would hurt me. I should have trusted you.”
Joe looked away and ran a hand through his hair. When she saw a muscle pull in his jaw, she felt physically ill. She’d hurt him much more than she’d realized.He said nothing but remained hunkered down in the grass next to her.
Silence passed between them while shame colored Mona. Was it too late to repair the damage she’d done to their friendship? “I’m so sorry,” she repeated weakly.
Joe finally met her eyes, and the tenderness in them made her want to cry all over again. “I forgive you.”
She looked away, blinking back t
ears, letting his kind friendship comfort her. If only she had been able to hold on to her dream as well . . . perhaps she might have found a little touch of heaven in Deep Haven.
“Your dream isn’t crushed, Mona. I think we caught it in time,” Joe said gently, as if reading her tortured thoughts. “I’ll have to sleep in the truck, but the house still appears structurally sound. We’ll see in the morning. Please don’t give up.”
Her sweet moment turned bitter as she hung her head and mentally refuted his words.
He cupped her chin with a grimy hand and forced her to meet his gaze. “It’s going to be all right.” The compassion in his tender eyes made her long to climb inside his strong arms and hold on tight.
Mona closed her eyes. It wasn’t all right. Joe’s innocence was the only good news in the tragic evening. She had to face the brutal reality. God didn’t want her to have the Footstep of Heaven. She didn’t want to know why. She just wanted to stop fighting Him. Maybe there were lessons to be learned in defeat.
“Nope. I give up. The Footstep of Heaven is gone.”She heard Joe sigh and she opened her eyes. The expression on his face baffled her . . . sorrow perhaps, or maybe agreement. He frowned, as if he were about to argue, but Mona shook her head. “I’ve had enough. God is trying to tell me something—the Footstep of Heaven Bookstore and Coffee Shop just isn’t meant to be.”
She turned her gaze back to the house. It looked so wounded in the moonlight, the fire-engine spotlight adding to its sickly pallor. In the backyard, the skeletal remains of Joe’s steps and his charred apartment reminded her that he was homeless and now probably penniless. The odor of melted plastic and charred wood turned her already soured stomach. She spied some of the firefighters folding their long gray hose into even sections; others wandered to the scattered remnant of spectators, weaving tales of bravery and exploits. The mob behind her began to disperse.
“By the way,” Mona murmured into the watery padding of midnight, “thank you for saving me.”
Joe stared at the house, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw his eyes fill with fierceness, a certain flicker of determination she’d seen before, just before she’d plunged over the waterfall.
Then Joe moved close and did what she was hoping he’d do. He wrapped his arms around her and cocooned her in an embrace she didn’t have the strength or desire to fight. She laid her head against his chest and wept.
18
You look like a pretzel,” Mona commented, leaning over the bed of the pickup truck, where Joe was curled up clutching her extra motel pillow. Rip lay at his feet, looking profoundly more rested than his owner, although she had to admit, despite his soot-stained shirt and ripped jeans, her handyman looked amazingly handsome this morning.
Joe opened one eye and stretched his arms. “Beats a motel bed,” he said, grinning.
“Sorry about booking the last room,” she said. She’d offered her floor, but he insisted he preferred his truck. She suspected he also preferred a perch where he could monitor her securely locked motel door. It warmed her to know he wanted to protect her.
Liza appeared at the door of the room, looking bedraggled and drawn.
“Liza’s looking unusually rough this morning,” Joe commented, winking at Mona. She punched him playfully, in defense of her roommate.
Joe swung out of the bed of the truck and landed next to her. “I’ll take you two out for breakfast. I know a great spot that sells deep-fried elephant ears guaranteed to chew through the lining of your stomach.”
“Oh, yum,” Mona said, touched by his offer.
The World’s Best Donuts dining area was packed, all seven tables. Joe, Mona, and Liza stood at the door, toting their greasy bag of morning goodies and balancing coffee, creamer, and little red stir sticks.
“Over here!” Edith Draper stood, attracting the attention of every patron in the room, and waved the crew over to her table. Next to her, Chuck Parson, Mona’s Realtor, sent them a sympathetic look. The trio found vacant chairs from around the room and scooted under the tiny orange Formica table.
Edith immediately covered Mona’s hand with her own. “I’m so sorry about the fire, honey.”
Mona blinked back tears. She thought she’d cried herself dry last night into the ratty motel pillow.“Thanks, Edith,” she said in an unsteady voice.
“And don’t worry; I won’t mention a word to your mother. I am sure you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”
Mona started to reach for the bakery bag. She didn’t want to discuss her plans within earshot of the town. Despite her cool composure, she was fragmenting quickly.
Joe handed her a napkin-wrapped elephant ear. Liza had chosen a chocolate-covered donut, and Joe folded his own gooey long john into his mouth.
Chuck sat next to Joe, whispering into his ear while Joe nodded. Mona narrowed her eyes, wondering at their conversation. Joe flashed her a wide, conspiratorial grin.
“Now, I suppose, Brian will get his wish,” Edith blurted, scorn lacing her tone.
Mona frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Edith stirred her coffee. “I told you Brian wanted to buy your place. You are going to sell, aren’t you?”
“I-I don’t know yet,” Mona stammered. Despair gathered in her chest.
“Fight for your dreams, sweetie.” Edith patted her arm. “I would hate to see a Speedy Burger built over that cute little Victorian.”
“What are you talking about, Mrs. Draper?” Joe leaned forward, an odd expression on his face.
Edith’s gaze traveled around the group. “Oh, my goodness, did I forget to tell you?”
Everyone nodded.
“Brian bid on the house because he wanted to tear it down and build a Speedy Burger!”
“Speedy Burger?” Mona sputtered.
Edith shook her head. “Yes, can you believe it? A greasy fast-food joint right in the middle of our quaint Main Street. He even flew up the suits from the franchise headquarters in Chicago.”
“Chicago?” Joe echoed.
Edith nodded. “But I thought he had abandoned the dream months ago when I told him Mona had outbid him on the house.”
Joe made a face. “I don’t think so.” He fished around in his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of thin paper stock. “This is a boarding-pass stub for a Northwest flight out of Duluth to Chicago. Last week. I picked it up at the house last night. . . .”
Mona’s heart lodged in her throat.
“Liza, were you with Brian all evening?” Joe asked, eyes narrowed.
Liza appeared startled, then paled. “After we dropped off Mona, he took me to Tastee Treat. I went inside to wait for him while he parked the car. . . .” Her voice became stilted. “I didn’t see him again until after you rescued Mona. I completely forgot—I took off for the house when I saw the orange glow from Tastee Treat . . .” Her voice trailed off again, and Mona saw Liza’s eyes widen in shock.
Silence enfolded them and Mona felt slightly ill. “He’s been behind this the entire time.” Her voice shook.“Brian Whitney’s been trying to drive me away!”
“Brian Whitney tried to kill you,” Joe stated icily.
Mona saw the expression of rage gathering on his face, and her mouth went dry. He bounded to his feet.“Joe, no! Wait,” she gasped.
“I’ll be back.”
Mona froze in horror as she watched him leave.
“I’d better call Sam,” Edith said in a tight voice.
Brian Whitney should get an unlisted number if he’s going to attempt murder, Joe thought as he floored the truck toward Brian’s street. Clutching the torn page of the telephone book, he thanked the Lord that the Deep Haven population still trusted each other enough to print addresses. Lord, please help me to stay calm, to apprehend Brian without killing him!
Slowing as he turned onto Brian’s street, he crawled along, scanning the mailboxes. He found Whitney’s name spelled out on a black tin box, and noticed the weasel’s Honda parked in the gravel drive.
Joe climbed out of the truck, barely closing the door. He had to admit, Brian’s digs were nicer than he expected for a small-town city official. The one-story ranch was well groomed. Hosta edged a flagstone path leading up to a long covered porch. A pot of blooming red geraniums guarded the front door. Finding it unlocked, Joe opened it, wincing when the door squeaked slightly. Every hair on his neck raised, and his heart hammered in betraying pitches.
Heavy green polyester drapes darkened the room, and the musty scent of a sixties-era orange shag carpet told Joe that Brian hadn’t done much updating to the inside of his home.
The refrigerator clicked on and hummed as Joe tiptoed through the shadowed kitchen, timing his steps with the plink of a dripping faucet. In the dark windowless hall he spied a light streaming from an open bedroom door. Shuffling closer, he heard a muttering voice. Joe avoided crossing the stream of light and instead lingered in the shadows and watched around the doorframe as shirts, pants, papers, and books landed in soft thumps in an open suitcase on the bed.
Brian was running. He’d destroyed Mona’s dreams, and now he was escaping like a gutter rat. Anger ignited Joe’s adrenaline.
Joe stormed into the room, slamming the door against the wall. “Whitney, what are you doing?” His voice was not nearly as calm as he would have liked.
Brian whirled. His sweaty, red face, a sharp contrast to his crisp two-piece suit, betrayed panic. His expression instantly tightened into a glower. Joe saw his reflection in Brian’s dark eyes and knew he wasn’t dealing with a rational man. He instinctively balled his fists.
Brian exploded in fury. “Get out of here!” He lunged at Joe and smashed him into an oak wardrobe. Blinking, Joe saw a fist headed toward his face and ducked. Brian’s fist landed in the wardrobe door. He cursed.
Joe hurled himself at Brian, hooked a foot around Brian’s leg, and pushed. The two men crashed onto the floor. Joe threw an arm against Brian’s neck and pressed down, crushing his Adam’s apple. Fury shook him. Joe gulped in ragged breaths in an effort to remain focused.“Why! Why did you do it?”