Forever Road

by Catie Rhodes

  As though propelled by an unseen force, Rae flew backward out of the room. The door slammed behind her. The room was quiet except for the sound of Hannah crying.

  “Did you see that?” What a stupid question to ask. Of course she saw it. Otherwise she wouldn’t be crying. I remembered the way my ex-husband’s sensitivity to the spirit world increased when he was drunk or high in my presence.

  Hannah didn’t answer. She just kept crying. Shoving the skeleton key in my pocket, I crawled to my feet. I rounded the desk, knelt next to Hannah, and patted her on the back.

  “I thought you knew what I saw.” Shame dug into my conscience for reasons I couldn’t quite describe.

  “I didn’t know it was like that.” Hannah rose and turned on another lamp. Her face red and blotchy from crying and her makeup a streaked mess, she looked humbled and childlike.

  “This is the first time I’ve seen you not look like a famous person,” I said.

  Hannah’s brow furrowed in puzzlement before she realized what I meant.

  “Go to hell, Peri Jean.” She said it with a smile tugging at her lips. “Your hair is sticking straight up. You look like an extra from an old music video.”

  Together, we put the office to rights. Obviously, Rae wanted me to have the key. Hannah insisted I keep it on me at all times. Just in case having the key would have saved Rae from the fate she met. Somehow, I doubted that. I left as soon as Hannah settled in at her apartment.

  I went to Dean’s and stayed half the night. But I couldn’t stay all night. The idea left me feeling too vulnerable.

  The next day was the most hellish Friday I ever had during H & H Week. In addition to helping Hannah at the museum, I cleaned two bed and breakfasts, filled in at Dottie’s Burgers and Rings for the lunch rush, and helped Eddie Kennedy set up a booth where he’d offer carriage rides to tourists. My pockets jammed with checks and cash, I rushed to hit the bank before they closed for the weekend to deposit today’s earnings. Memaw’s Christmas computer cost me more than I intended because I ordered her a laptop instead of the desktop I originally chose. In light of her health situation, she needed something portable. I couldn’t come any closer to thinking about Memaw having cancer without totally losing my grip.

  Cars jammed the bank’s one drive-through window. Apparently, all the local merchants had the same idea I did. The tourists took advantage of the only bank-run ATM in town. I swung into a parking place and hotfooted it inside. The lines were almost to the door. I picked one and settled in for a long wait.

  I must have nearly fallen asleep on my feet because, when someone tapped my shoulder, I jumped and let out a little scream. Jill Frankens, the accounts manager, stood before me.

  “Come on in my office,” she said. “I’ll help you in there.”

  I gratefully followed Jill to an office off the open lobby. She must be desperate to go home at a decent hour to break protocol like this. I don’t blame her.

  Once in her office, Jill motioned me to a chair in front of her desk and went to sit on the other side. A ring flashed on her hand. On closer inspection, I recognized it as her high school ring.

  Jill graduated a couple of years ahead of me in school. A non-entity at Gaslight City High, she was smart, studious, and bound for somewhere else. She went away to college and made a career in Dallas until her parents began having health problems, and then she gave it all up to move back to Gaslight City.

  “Just give me your deposit slip, and I’ll enter it in for you after hours.” She wrote out a receipt for my deposit.

  “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.” Jill folded her hands on her desk and leaned forward. At thirty-two, she’d risen as far as she could at the First National Bank.

  “Oh?” I hadn’t seen any missed calls on my blasted dying cellphone.

  “You had a check bounce on your account.” Jill, who had always been nice to me, kept any insinuation out of her voice and a sympathetic expression on her face. A flush colored her high cheekbones.

  “One I wrote?”

  “No. The one Michael Gage wrote you. His bank is in New York, so it took a while to come back.”

  I slumped and swallowed a volley of curses Jill didn’t deserve to hear. Believe me, a string of them ran through my head.

  “Thank you for telling me.” I struggled to keep my voice even. His check was a big one, and I’d already spent the money. The hot check meant a lot of the work I’d done during H & H Week was just going to pay back what should have been in my account.

  “Here’s the check.” She set the offending slip of paper on her desk. I slipped it into my bag with a shaking hand. Jill pressed her lips together.

  “Thanks, Jill.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “It’s Pastor Gage, so I’ll waive any fees when he makes it good.”

  It was a nice thing to do. But I couldn’t help thinking, IF he makes it good.

  Fuming about Gage and his bad check, I sped down Farm Road 4077 to Memaw’s house. I could already taste the skillet steaks and gravy Memaw planned to cook that evening. As I rolled down the driveway, my headlights flashed over Dean’s Trans Am sitting next to the carport.

  What the hell? We hadn’t agreed on him invading my living space this early in the game. I parked under the carport and adjusted the rearview mirror to check for food between my teeth and smudges of dirt on my face.

  Once confident I looked presentable, I bolted out of my car, stomped toward the house, bubbling with annoyance. I didn’t like Dean just showing up like this. It made me nervous. I could deal with him losing interest after a few spirited rolls in the hay. After all, they all ended that way. But I never let guys come to my house. They didn’t get to see where I lived and what I treasured.

  Dean had taken the decision out of my hands. It burned my ass. Before I opened the door, I took a few deep breaths and counted to ten. As usual, it slowed my anger enough to let in a few rational thoughts. Call it a lesson hard learned.

  Dean had shown me nothing but kindness after our initial hostilities, and—as a bonus—he was hotter than East Texas asphalt in August. If I walked in blazing mad, it determined the course of this relationship. Did I really want to throw it away over Dean doing something most people considered normal? I took another deep breath and opened the door.

  I expected to smell food cooking, to hear Dean and Memaw making small talk. What I saw shocked me. Dean and Memaw sat in complete silence on the couch. The good smells I had expected to be pouring from the kitchen were absent.

  Memaw’s face was pale, and a full ashtray sat in front of her. Despite her cancer, she’d been smoking again. Dean sat next to Memaw, his elbows on his knees. I recognized the look in his eyes—pity.

  Fear clogged my throat, and I swallowed convulsively. My mind raced through the possibilities and hit on the one thing I’d suspected but couldn’t quite prepare myself to face.

  “Why don’t you sit with us, honey?” Memaw scooted away from Dean to form a space between them on the couch.

  “No.” I backed up until I hit the front door. The wild urge to reach behind me, grab the doorknob, open the door, and run beat at me. “No.”

  Movement flashed in my peripheral vision, and Rae’s specter floated into the room but stopped at the dark mouth of the hallway. Even she wore a compassionate expression.

  “Noooo…” This time I screamed the word.

  Dean shot up off the couch and came to me. He gripped my shoulders. In my state of increased awareness, I made note of the chill bumps on his arms. Rae was feeding on our emotions and recycling them to cool the room, making her presence known to Dean and Memaw. I put my hands on Dean’s chest to push him away, but he pulled me to him, crushing me against him.

  “The Fischers provided Chase’s dental records,” Dean said, still holding me tight and stroking my hair. “They wanted to know one way or the other.”

  “Stop it.” I flailed against Dean, forcing him to squeeze me even tighter.

  �
�It was him, Peri Jean.” Dean shook against me, either from experiencing my grief with me or from the frigid room. “Chase is dead. The ME found a bullet hole in his skull. He was already dead when someone put him in the GTO and set it on fire.”

  I screamed at the ceiling. My best friend is dead.

  My knees buckled, but Dean continued holding me upright. Memaw’s arm snaked around my waist, firm as iron. I jumped and turned to face her. I hadn’t even heard her coming. I leaned my head on her shoulder as I had when I was a little girl.

  “Let’s get her on the couch, Dean.” Memaw stepped away as Dean scooped me into his arms and carried me to the couch where he gently set me down. I heard myself sobbing, but I didn’t feel the deep pain that usually accompanied crying. It was as though I watched the whole scene from somewhere else.

  “Rae, please leave,” Memaw said. “You are freezing us out.”

  The shock of Memaw addressing a ghost jerked me back into myself. My chest ached with my loss. I’d never get to tell Chase how much I appreciated his friendship, how important he was to me, or how much I loved him—but just not that way. He would never get better, overcome his addictions, or decide to join a band and relive his teenage dreams. Chase’s son, Kansas, would never know what a great, loyal man his father was. He’d only hear Felicia’s awful stories about what a terrible husband he’d been.

  I curled into a ball on the couch, gasping and sobbing. My tears burned my skin as they tracked over my face. They made plopping sounds, reminding me of rain as they wet the couch’s old upholstery.

  I had lulled myself into believing Chase wasn’t dead because he hadn’t come to see me in ghost form. That he’d gone on without telling me goodbye spiked into me like a poison dart. The pain of it all rushed over me, suffocating me. Dean’s and Memaw’s hands caressed me and they murmured comforting words, but I couldn’t respond. My sobs turned to half-screams, which turned to whimpers when my throat grew raw. I drifted into sleep when my body grew too exhausted to continue mourning.

  I woke in the middle of the night in my bed. Someone’s arm weighed me down. I trailed my fingers over the arm, touching the soft hair and hard muscles distinguishing it as male. The part of my mind that had not quite woken thought Chase had come back. The rational part of my brain knew it was Dean. I turned on the bedside lamp to find him fully clothed on top of the covers next to me. He woke smoothly and squinted at me.

  “I’m sorry I pitched such a fit.” Speaking hurt my raw throat, and my voice came out all scratchy and husky.

  “Apologize for wrecking my car or forgetting my birthday.” Dean kissed my cheek and curled his arm around me to pull me closer. “Never apologize for crying when you’ve lost someone you love.”

  I snuggled into Dean even though I wanted to get up and find my cigarettes. I decided I’d quit smoking again after Chase’s funeral. Dependency on the nasty little cancer sticks stunted my whole life.

  “I need to ask questions about…” I couldn’t quite say Chase’s name.

  Dean sat up and leaned against the headboard. “Okay.”

  “You said he didn’t die when the car burned. He’d been shot?”

  “The angle of the wound indicated he died instantly. I doubt he suffered.” Dean pulled his arm off me and fiddled with his watch, but his eyes never left mine.

  “The other body…was it Olivia?”

  “We don’t know,” Dean said. “But probably. She’s missing. We’re waiting for dental records.”

  “Olivia had something going on with Billy Ryder and Veronica. You should have seen the way she acted when I went in there looking for Chase. She probably called Billy or Veronica and let them know where to find him.” My eyes itched and burned from all the crying. I rubbed at them and winced at the discomfort.

  “Sugar, you’re not the only one who can investigate this case.” Dean yawned. “Your boyfriend, that Neanderthal bouncer at Long Time Gone, told me the very same stuff.”

  “It’s Billy Ryder. I just know it.” And oh, how my heart burned. From anger, and grief. And guilt. If only I had trusted Dean sooner, Chase might be alive. In jail, but alive.

  “Veronica’s old partner in crime?”

  “I just have a feeling,” I said. Dean shrugged.

  “It’s not our case anymore, so I’ll tell you I gave the Texas Rangers the sketch Rae drew. They’ve circulated it to law enforcement in the tri-state area.”

  “What about Benny?” I asked. “He’s in this up to his tits.”

  “Dunno. One thing’s for sure,” Dean said. “He didn’t set that car on fire. He was in jail when it happened.”

  I got up and dug through my dresser until I found the carton of Marlboro reds I’d hidden in there. I took out a pack, popped it against my palm a couple of times, and unwrapped the cellophane. Dean watched me light my cigarette.

  “I’m quitting after Chase’s funeral,” I said to his unasked question.

  He raised his eyebrows and grinned. Despite the grief piercing my heart, I smiled back. Cigarette clamped between my teeth, I climbed back in bed with Dean. To his credit, he didn’t react to the proximity of my toxic smoke. I made another silent vow to quit.

  “Billy Ryder is tying up loose ends.”

  “It’s a good thing you realize that without me telling you,” Dean said. “No more snooping around. Both him and Veronica are stone cold killers. Not sure how Benny fits in with those two losers, but he’s proven he’s violent.”

  “But I promised Rae I’d solve her murder.” I stubbed out my cigarette in the ashtray I kept by my bed and clicked off the bedside lamp. I snuggled under the covers and against Dean. I had a full day of work starting in just a few short hours. Michael Gage’s bounced check made me unable to cancel the jobs. Mourning would have to wait until Sunday morning.

  “If you are killed solving Rae’s murder,” Dean said around another yawn, “what good is it going to do you?”

  He began snoring lightly without hearing my response. I listened to him breathe as I stared into the dark. Dean didn’t understand. Rae’s murder had been one thing. I could accept that she’d gotten in over her head and just wanted her murderer brought to justice. Chase’s murder flat out pissed me off. I would get Billy Ryder, and I’d knock his dick in the dirt. No matter what.

  22

  Saturday, and the end of H & H Week, finally arrived. I rushed from my paying job to help Hannah close down the museum before the street party. Not that I was in the mood for a street party, but even I was not tough enough to stay home alone in the wake of Chase’s death. Besides, Memaw and Hannah threatened to drag me to the street party if I refused to come.

  To my utter horror, Hannah bought us elaborate Victorian era costumes for the street party. She nixed my idea to go as a female gunslinger. Instead, I wore a huge skirt, a bustier, and petticoats. After she tied me into a corset, I understood why Victorian women needed fainting couches.

  I hated everything about the outfit except its purple top hat and wire glasses with purple lenses. Very steampunk. The dress had no pockets, so I attached the skeleton key from the writing slope to a purple velvet ribbon and tied it around my neck. Memaw met us at the museum’s front door. When I saw her gunslinger costume, I glared at Hannah.

  “You wouldn’t want to be Twinkies with your grandmother, would you?” Hannah trilled the words in a way that made me want to kick her in the butt. I might have tried if I hadn’t been afraid I’d trip over my ridiculous getup and fall down.

  We descended the museum’s brick steps and joined the melee. As I did every year, I stopped to take in the scene before me. A regiment of soldiers marched past wearing both blue and gray period uniforms, antique replica rifles slung over their shoulders. The high school marching band, outfitted with kilts and drums, filed behind the soldiers. A man riding a penny-farthing bicycle weaved along behind them.

  Gaslight City’s namesake, the gas powered streetlights, burned brighter than usual because many merchants lowered the lights inside th
eir businesses to resemble candlelight. For all the things I hated about Gaslight City—the caste system, the gossip, and the lack of anonymity—I loved this one night of the year enough to make up for it all.

  Memaw kissed my cheek and wandered off with a marauding band of old ladies. Hannah left to dance with a handsome executive from Longstreet Lumber. Dean and I danced until his boss told him to get to work.

  Alone again. The odd man out. Chase’s loss throbbed within me. My throat ached from the crying I’d done anytime I could carve out a few minutes alone. I allowed myself to imagine how we’d have spent the evening.

  Chase would have laughed at my dress. He’d have danced with me. I sampled food from the different booths and people-watched, reveling in my loneliness. Chase would have walked around to all the booths with me, sharing the food.

  After a few drinks—and whatever else he could get his hands on—Chase would have tried to take me to bed. Subtract Dean from the picture, and I might have gone. Old flames never really died out.

  Eddie Kennedy’s Victorian style horse-drawn carriage appeared from time to time as he took people for romantic rides through Gaslight City’s historic district. We exchanged a wave. He signaled to me to keep my chin up. Did I look that sad?

  A puffy, middle-aged man wearing a suit that cost more than my car stepped into my path. “Peri Jean Mace? I need to speak with you. Please?”

  “Aren’t you? Speaking to me, I mean.”

  “I’m Winston Everett, Mr. Bennett Longstreet’s lawyer. Mr. Longstreet wants to see you.”

  What the hell? As if. “I’ve nothing to say to Mr. Longstreet. He attacked me twice, and he’s accused of murdering my cousin.”

  “Mr. Longstreet has offered a monetary gift for speaking with him.” Winston Everett’s florid cheeks stretched into a phony smile.