Suggestion of Death

by Susan P. Baker

  He remained between the cars to be sure the truck didn’t return to finish him off and watched the red taillights fade into the distance. That near-miss was no accident. After determining the perpetrator wasn’t returning, Jim let himself feel the bruises upon earlier bruises pulsating particularly in his joints. He picked himself up and brushed himself off. No time to notify the police. No time to wait for them to arrive and no time to listen to their barrage of questions. He was determined to get some answers right away. He knew exactly where he was going to get them, and she’d better be there.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Distant thunder rumbled as Jim drove to Butch’s Bar-B-Q. An occasional bolt of lightning lit up the sky in the distance. The storm could pass right over them or stop and give them a light and water show. It didn’t seem to have committed itself one-way or the other. It was pretty, though, and so far, nonthreatening.

  Tuning to a local country radio station, he flexed the fingers on both hands in time to the music as he drove. And rotated his shoulders. Sat up very straight and tensed his abdomen muscles. Turned his head from side-to-side gently. Very gently. He would live but anticipated days and days and days of soreness.

  Butch’s was past Dead Man’s Curve. That very thought made his fingers tingle with heat. He gripped the steering wheel and focused on his driving, expecting to glance up and see glaring headlights in his rearview mirror or hear the grate of metal upon metal as the Taurus was hit from the side and pushed over the edge of the cliff. Thankfully nothing like that happened.

  Jim exceeded the speed limit, but only slightly. One accident per day was his limit. He didn’t intend to push his luck. He also wasn’t in a hurry to find out if Patty had betrayed him. In his gut, he knew she had. His heart, however, was still hoping for a plausible explanation for her recent weird behavior. His dream of their reconciliation, of his success as an author and investigative reporter, and of a happy little family in a loving home seemed more fairy tale-like with each passing moment.

  He wasn’t kidding himself. He knew they had problems that would need work. The whole family would have had to get counseling if things had worked out. He had been looking forward to being with the kids when they experienced life’s little tragedies.

  By the time he reached Butch’s, it was eight-thirty. Butch’s, the most popular barbecue joint in the county, was packed—a night didn’t go by that it wasn’t, except major holidays when Butch insisted on closing despite customers’ protests.

  Driving slowly up and down rows of parked cars, Jim searched for Patty’s little red Ford. When he didn’t find it the first time around, he figured it was probably squeezed in between a couple of pickup trucks, and that he’d missed it. He made the rows a second time. He was late, but somehow he’d thought she would wait.

  He parked in the fire zone and ran inside where the smell of grilling meat blasted him. Country music and loud voices in conversation made it difficult to hear when he asked the hostess if she had seated a lone woman at a table. Patty could have gotten there some other way or with some other person. She didn’t say she’d be alone. She could have gone ahead and gotten a table and ordered for both of them.

  “No, sir,” the hostess replied, “no single ladies this evening.”

  That stir of air in his stomach that he sometimes got when he felt like a fool returned. “Are you sure?” He held up one hand. “She’s about yay tall and has dark eyes, deep-set, and the prettiest—”

  “Yes, I’m sure, mister, now will you please quit bothering me and go away?” She beckoned to a party of four waiting at the podium.

  Jim felt like the biggest sucker of all time as he climbed back into the Taurus. She had only to crook her little finger, and he had come running like an adolescent with his first crush. Something more than fishy was going on, and he was going to find out what it was if it took all night.

  He headed back the way he’d come, determined to catch the end of the WiNGS meeting on the other side of the county. Something was going on there that night that she didn’t want him to know about. She had sent him on a wild goose chase, but he wasn’t going to be deterred.

  He was going to finish what he’d started. He was going to get enough evidence on the WiNGS group to hang them.

  The storm was now at Jim’s back and closing. He’d hoped to outrun it and get his business taken care of before the downpour. He could see some of a fantastic light show in his rearview mirror as the sky was illuminated by lightning every few minutes. On any other evening, he would have pulled over and watched for a while. Now, he was in a hurry. Now, he drove well above the limit.

  The radio blared out a heart-rending country tune interspersed with static. Thunder rumbled. The wind blowing in through the window ruffled Jim’s hair. He clutched the steering wheel so tightly that his hands began to ache as they had earlier in the day when he’d gone crashing down the hillside in his Mustang and into the park. He didn’t even want to think about what it would take to repair it and get it back in good condition.

  The drive to West County Christian Church, a small wood frame building in the middle of three lots, took about twenty-five minutes. Jim spotted Pat’s car in the parking lot as he drove by the building. So it was a set-up. He shook his head at his stupidity and drove to a stand of trees half a block away where he parked in the shadows. Keeping under the cover of the trees and the darkness, he approached the building from the rear. There was less exposure than through the cleared parking lot. The cooler wind blasted through the trees. Lightening flashed nearby. Thunder boomed. He hoped no one was looking outside.

  He didn’t know exactly what he was going to do except first make a list of the cars and license plates in the parking lot so he could ascertain who the members were. He’d brought a camera but wasn’t sure it was safe to use it. He wished he had a special one that would take pictures in the dark without a flash.

  When he got close, he could see movement inside the building but couldn’t make out any detail. He had to leave the cover of the trees, cross a ditch, and enter the clearing where the church was so he could see inside. He crept up and peeked through the screen. About two-dozen women sat with their backs to him. A long, rectangular table stood at the front of the room. Patty sat at the table and faced the other women.

  She was saying something—making some point to the group—he recognized her gestures. The wind howled as it blew through the parking lot, making it impossible to hear what the women said even if he could have heard through the closed windows. Two other women sat with Patty. Jim didn’t know either of them.

  An overwhelmingly strong scent of roses abruptly assaulted his nose and a sour taste bloomed in his mouth as if he’d taken a bite out of a bouquet. He reared back from the window and something jammed his ribs. He flinched and stood stock still, knowing exactly who it was behind him, and what it was stuck up against his back.

  “See what you’re looking for?” asked Bitsy Wink in the voice she reserved for recalcitrant child support contemnors.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jim’s heart tried to climb out of his chest. His throat closed. His hands shook when he realized the thing stuck in his ribs was the barrel of a pistol. Fortunately, it wasn’t a knife.

  “Turn around slowly.”

  Bitsy Wink did, indeed, have a gun, though it was not the large caliber revolver he’d seen in her holster at the courthouse. The exterior lights of the church illuminated the outside of the building enough for Jim to see a small, chrome-plated derringer, which fit easily into her large, meaty palm.

  For a moment during a flash of lightning, he glimpsed her hard expression. His knees began to buckle before he regained control of himself. The last thing he wanted to do was stumble into her and risk the gun going off.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Her voice was as mean as the look in her eye.

  “I-I wanted to make sure I was in the right place before I came in.”

  “Bull shit,” she said throu
gh clenched teeth. “I’ve had enough of your antics. Now turn around and get moving.” She prodded him with the gun barrel.

  Jim’s chest ached, and his breath wouldn’t come. His arms felt like lead weights hanging by his sides. He tried to read Bitsy’s face, but couldn’t. He needed to stall for time. “Where do you want me to go?” He looked for a means of escape.

  She pushed the gun into his chest. “Do an about face and start walking, and I’ll tell you when to stop. Head for the parking lot.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” When he turned around, she pressed the gun up against his shoulder blade.

  Jim took baby steps and glanced inside the building as they came even with some windows. He could make out Patty saying something to the group. As they approached the corner, he thought about making a run for it. He guessed that derringers weren’t very accurate and probably couldn’t hit a distant moving target, but he didn’t really know and didn’t want to find out the hard way. He was too close to her and couldn’t figure out a way to put some space between them.

  “If you’re thinking of running, forget it. I’ll shoot you down like a coyote in a hen house, make no mistake.”

  Jim shook his head. “Yes, ma’am. I have no doubt.” And she’d probably enjoy it, too.

  “Don’t get smart, either.” Her voice held a tone that said I’d-like-to-slap-you-senseless.

  They rounded the corner and ran smack dab into a woman coming from the other direction.

  “Excuse me,” she said after she chuckled and straightened up. “Bitsy, we were wondering what happened to you.”

  Jim spun around just soon enough to see Bitsy pull her gun hand from her pocket. He wasn’t sure the other woman had seen the derringer. “Excuse me, ma’am. I didn’t see you coming.”

  They stood under an outside light on the corner of the building. Bitsy’s jaw flexed. He could imagine the wheels and pulleys working in her mind, trying to figure out what she was going to do with him, how she was going to explain him away.

  “We was just coming inside, Carol Ann. This here’s Mr. Dorman, and he wants to make a speech to the group. Ain’t that right, Mr. Dorman?”

  His heart climbing up his esophagus, Jim cleared his throat to force it back down so he could speak. He didn’t know what to do except go along. Some of the women might not be in on the murder scam, Carol Ann being one of them. She looked fresh-faced and naive.

  Jim held out his hand to shake Carol Ann’s. “Yes, ma’am. I wanted to talk about my articles. I’m writing about child support.”

  “Why that’s just swell, Mr. Dorman.” Carol Ann took his hand and somehow ended up hooking her arm in his. “Come on inside, and when our speaker gets done you can be next. Hurry up, cause the sky is going to fall at any moment. We don’t want to get caught in it, now do we?” Her peppermint breath was refreshing after Bitsy’s. Carol Ann patted his hand and pulled him along.

  “It’s exciting having a real author, ain’t it, Carol Ann?” Bitsy walked so close behind Jim he could feel her breath on the back of his neck and knew if he survived this, her rose smell would be all over his collar and in his hair.

  He felt like a mouse with one leg caught in a trap. The cat was toying with him. His only choice, as he saw it, was to play along. He let them lead him to a chair. He caught Patty’s eye. Her face turned as white as her mother’s underwear, and she started to rise, but apparently thought better of it and slid back down, clasping her hands in front of her.

  A woman speaker stood beside the table. Her topic was about having a live-in boyfriend when one has custody of the children, and how that’s frowned upon by some judges.

  Several women stared at Jim and whispered to their neighbor. Most of them eyeballed him like he was a giant cockroach.

  Jim wished he’d told someone where he was going. Even Ethan, who would want to know what happened to his car.

  Bitsy Wink stood beside Jim’s chair with her arms crossed like a military guard. From time-to-time he glanced up at her, but she appeared intent on listening to the woman’s speech. Patty made eye contact with him and frowned. He wished he knew what she was thinking. Was she for him or against him? Rain began pelting the tin roof. Rat-tat-tat. Within moments, torrents of water rattled the glass. Rumbling thunder was so close it sounded like it came from the ceiling rather than the sky. It seemed to have a deleterious effect on some of the women’s peace of mind. A low murmur like a softly playing melody swept the room.

  It was clear when the speaker began taking questions that she had not expected to hear complaints about her comments. One woman thought it was none of the court’s business if she wanted to live with one man or fifty so long as the children were fed, clothed, and educated. A murmur of agreement arose from the audience.

  He listened to the questions and answers and prayed it would take all night for them to exhaust the topic. If he had long enough, maybe he could come up with some way to get away, otherwise he supposed he’d find out soon enough what Bitsy planned for him.

  There was light applause, and the speaker sat down next to Patty. Bitsy left Jim’s side and strode to the front of the room. Jim briefly thought about running but realized it would be futile. There were many of them, only one of him, and Ethan’s car was a half block away. And then there was the small problem of Bitsy’s derringer and the question of the whereabouts of her larger gun.

  “Thank you, Ms. Thornton,” Bitsy said, beaming like Little Mary Sunshine. “That was a very enlightening talk you gave us and something for each of us to keep in mind when we’re trying to decide how to live our lives.” She turned to the entire group. “Now is there any other business that we ain’t taken care of?” Bitsy made an obvious sweep of the room with her eyes. “If not, I have a surprise guest who would like a few minutes of your time. Mr. Dorman is an author and a reporter who is writing a series of articles about child support.” The murmur of voices grew louder. She held up her hand. “But, he is writing the articles from the ex-husband’s side, I believe. Ain’t that right, Mr. Dorman?”

  Jim stood and pushed at the creases in his pants legs. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Who cares,” one woman called out in a lynch-him-now tone.

  “Yeah, like we haven’t already heard every reason in the book,” another said.

  Other women grumbled and groused. Jim had the feeling he was the butt of the joke in a dark comedy. He forced down more and more nausea.

  “Ladies, calm down. Let’s have quiet,” said a somber-faced woman sitting on Patty’s left. She pounded on the table with her fist like a sergeant-of-arms.

  When the women got quiet, Bitsy continued, “Mr. Dorman wants to make a short presentation to y’all and interview one or two of you afterwards. Ladies, welcome Mr. James Dorman.” Bitsy began clapping and took her seat as Jim walked up to the front of the room. He felt like he was making his final approach to the guillotine. Bitsy Wink was his executioner, Patty was his accuser, and the chattering women before him made up the mob of revolutionaries.

  He looked at the all-female audience. Some were very young, hardly old enough to be mothers. Some were very old, probably grandmothers forced by difficult times to raise their descendants. Most of them were in-between, a nondescript middle age.

  He would keep his talk brief though it might be better for his health to filibuster. It wouldn’t be hard to explain what he was doing and ask for volunteers. He studied the faces that stared back at him. Some of them were part of the conspiracy, and some were innocent victims of a ruse created by Bitsy Wink.

  “I’m not going to take a lot of your time this evening.” Jim’s voice came out like a croaking fish. He cleared his throat and suppressed the stomach acid he tasted. “I appreciate your allowing me to speak to you at all. You see, I’m also one of the errant fathers, if you will.” Jim glanced over at Patty and pointed to her. “That lady sitting at the head table is the mother of my children.”

  Another murmur throughout the audience. Jim waited until it died down and began s
peaking again. “You probably didn’t recognize my last name, because Patty changed hers. It was one of the saddest days of my life.” He tried to catch Patty’s eye, but she studied her cuticles.

  “You see, I made a mistake, and my mistake cost me my wife and children. I’ve asked her forgiveness, but I’m not sure she’s ready to give it.” Jim let his eyes meet several of those watching him. He found it difficult to look into their faces very long.

  “I’m here tonight because I’m investigating why fathers fall behind in their child support payments. I know why I got behind, but I don’t think I’m typical. I lost my job and had very little money to live on.”

  A woman called out, “Yeah, well that’s all we ever have to live on, Mister.”

  “I hear you. I hear your rumblings.” He blew out a long breath and hoped they wouldn’t cut him off. “I may be wrong. I may be typical. At any rate, what I propose to do is study five families, and I’d like five of you to volunteer. The article will be written from the father’s viewpoint, but it will also show the difficulties of raising a family without support from the other parent. I’m hoping to get families with as many different circumstances as possible.”

  “Why should we?” a woman called out. “What’s in it for us?”

  Jim shook his head. “Nothing. I’m just hoping the articles will promote clearer understanding of the troubles divided families have. I can’t pay you anything. All I can do is acknowledge your assistance if you want your names used or protect your privacy if you don’t.”