His son didn’t let out the groan of despair that Joe had expected. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that Bobby had loosened his seat belt and was turned around in his seat, half standing and waving to someone.
“Sit down, son. Put your seat belt on the way it’s supposed to be. Who are you waving to?”
“Uncle Darren.”
“Uncle Darren?” Joe hadn’t seen his brother since the wedding two years ago. Darren tended to move around a lot, sometimes just because he felt like it. Other times, although Joe had no proof, he suspected that Darren was forced to move on by unsavory circumstances. He loved his brother, but he had bailed Darren out of so many scrapes and bad business deals that he tended to dread seeing him show up.
“Uncle Darren wants you to stop,” Bobby said, still turned around in his seat.
Joe pulled over into a church parking lot and Darren drove in beside him. His brother loved nice cars, but this one was over the top. Joe was no car expert, but it looked like Darren was driving an early Lamborghini. Since Darren was usually broke, Joe began worrying about where his brother had gotten it.
Darren unfolded himself from the low-slung car and approached them. He wasn’t as tall as Joe, but he was handsome in a showy sort of way. Wavy, dark brown hair. Sleepy eyes. Darren always carried himself with confidence, even if his shoes had holes in the soles and he didn’t have a nickel to his name, but his slow strut to Joe’s car said that he was feeling quite proud of himself at the moment.
“Hey, brother.”
“Hello, Darren.” It had been a long time since Joe had felt any pleasure in his brother’s company. Mainly he just felt resigned whenever Darren showed up. Family was family.
“Hey,” Darren said, “aren’t you glad to see your only brother?”
“Sure. What’s with the car?”
“I was hoping you’d notice.” Darren’s grin was huge. “This is my baby, Lulu. Isn’t she gorgeous?”
“Yes. Gorgeous. Where did you get her?”
“My former business partner bought it from Jay Leno. It’s a 1965 and is in mint condition, but Jay wanted to make room for an older model.”
“Seriously? Is any of that even remotely true?”
“I don’t know.” Darren shrugged. “But that’s my partner’s story and I’m sticking to it.”
“What do you mean, his story?”
“It’s what he told our customers. I didn’t personally knock on Jay’s door and ask him if it was true.”
“Leno or not, that’s one expensive piece of machinery. Why are you driving it?”
“Craig and I had a disagreement about the future of the business. We had different visions. He finally bought out my half of the business by giving me a clear title to this beauty.”
“What’s this business?”
“Isn’t it obvious? We bought exotic cars and rented them out.”
“Other companies are already doing that.”
“Yeah, but they didn’t kick it up an extra notch like we did. It was all my idea. We only provided cars that had formerly been driven by celebrities—cars with a history. You have no idea how much money you can charge someone to sit in the same seat and hold the same steering wheel as a car that Kim Kardashian once drove.”
Joe shook his head. “People are nuts.”
“Absolutely,” Darren happily agreed. “But it worked out well for us.”
“So what are you doing here?”
“I’m a little short on cash right now, so I gave up the lease on my apartment and thought I’d crash at Dad’s place for a while. I mean, he pays rent on it, and he’s not using it.”
“You do realize there’s no electricity, right?”
“I’ve lived in worse.” A shadow passed over Darren’s face and Joe wondered how bad it could have been. There was much about his brother’s life he did not know.
Darren brightened. “I also plan to exhibit Lulu at the antique car show. It’ll be easy prize money.”
“Does Dad know you’re here?”
“Tried to get a message to him but couldn’t. He’s probably sleeping in some hut in Africa, doing good works, eating grubs, and feeling happier than a pig in slop.”
“He’s doing what he feels called to do.” Joe loved and admired their dad. Darren’s dismissive remarks about their distinguished father bothered him.
“He’s doing what he wants to do,” Darren said. “And that’s okay with me, but I don’t think he’ll mind me using his place until I get back on my feet.”
“Getting back on his feet” usually meant that Darren had come for another handout, and this time Joe didn’t have any extra to give him. His new poverty was probably going to be an even bigger shock to Darren’s system than it had been to his own.
“Hi, Uncle Darren!” Bobby had managed to extricate himself completely from his seat belt and now stuck his head out the window beside Joe’s.
“Hi, buddy.” Darren reached over and ruffled Bobby’s hair. “How’s my favorite nephew?”
And then the mask of bravado crumbled as Darren looked at Joe with the sensitive brown eyes that had worshipped him when they were growing up. “It’s good to be home, brother,” he said.
The simple statement went straight to Joe’s heart. Their father had been so busy moving from place to place and involving them in good deeds that there had never been any real geological “home” for their family. Their stalwart mother packed and unpacked and made do and did the best she could regardless of their circumstances. It was she who had defined “home” and kept them together.
After she died it was difficult to keep the family stitched together, and the brothers and father had quickly drifted apart. Since Joe had moved to Sugarcreek, they were all slowly finding their way back to one another. Evidently Sugarcreek was starting to become “home” to more than just him and Bobby.
Darren had issues, but Joe loved him. He just hoped he wouldn’t come to regret the fact that his brother was starting to think of Sugarcreek as home.
“With all the pranks that have been going on these past weeks, I’m worried about the Fifties Fling.” Ed drummed his fingers on the top of his desk. “There is probably a couple million dollars’ worth of cars driving in here tonight and I want to make sure those cars are safe. If some angry teenager out there is deliberately doing random damage, I don’t want him deciding to key the perfect paint job on one of those classics. People have been killed for less.”
“Are you calling in the auxiliary officers?”
“Yes. I’ve also asked Nick to bring Ranger.”
“Our new police dog,” Rachel nodded in agreement. “Are you expecting
drugs?”
“No, but it won’t hurt to let Ranger and Nick be on view,” Ed said. “If nothing else, that dog is great PR for the police department. He knows how to work a crowd, and if there are any drugs for him to find, so much the better.”
Chapter 23
“I see you there.” Carl pulled a few sturdy weeds that had forced their way through the cracks in the sidewalk while the stray dog watched him from behind the corner of the church. “You think you’re hiding from me, but I can see you.”
They were on relatively friendly terms now, but the animal was still keeping a careful distance between them. Fortunately, the dog did not have a problem with eating the food Carl sat out for him as long as he kept several paces away. It had been gratifying to watch the dog filling out and seeing his coat become sleek and healthy. The next few weeks would be interesting. There was nothing that gave Carl more satisfaction than helping a rescue learn to trust again.
He was surprised when George and his wife drove up and stopped at the curb. It was Friday night—their “date” night—which was a concept Carl found mildly amusing.
“Hey, Carl,” George called, “Sugarcreek’s annual Fabulous Fifties Fling is starting up tonight. You’re welcome to come with us if you want.”
The dog disappeared behind the building.
Ge
orge tossed the few weeds he had in his hand behind a rosebush. “What’s a Fabulous Fifties Fling?”
“Some people come dressed like people dressed in the fifties, and there’s an antique car contest. Sugarcreek holds it every year the second weekend in June. The food is good.”
“You sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” George said. “Come with us. You’ll enjoy it.”
“Give me a minute to lock up.”
“No problem.”
Carl not only locked up, but he hurriedly grabbed a clean shirt, washed his hands and ran a comb through his hair. He had stayed away from bars for fear he’d accidentally get into trouble, but a car show? Accompanied by a preacher and a preacher’s wife? There certainly would be no harm or danger in that.
Five minutes later, he climbed into the backseat of George’s old, green, four-door Ford and found himself looking forward to an evening for the first time in years.
Rachel stood near the entrance to the field where the antiquated cars were lining up and parking. The owners came in twos or threes—with plenty of lawn chairs and coolers—so that one person was with the automobile at all times. Owners met with other owners and admired one another’s precious vehicles. Food venders sat up in the main area. To match the theme of the festival, fifties’ rock-and-roll music filled the air.
At one point, she saw several young people huddled together behind the back of a car that had pretend bullet holes pasted to it. The group looked a little suspicious to her until she quietly walked over and saw that the only thing going on was a matronly woman passing out sandwiches and soft drinks to the kids and their friends from the boxy trunk.
Everyone seemed super-vigilant despite the fun fifties’ music in the background. No one wanted to risk having a thief walk away with an expensive, hard-to-get hood ornament.
She watched Nick strolling around with Ranger on a leash and was pleased with the city’s recent decision to add the specially trained dog to the police force. He was working out quite well.
Ranger was a handsome dog. With his healthy, glistening black coat and an official police badge attached to his harness, he had the confident air of a dog with a job to do. If given permission by Nick, he gracefully accepted a few extra pats and exclamations of “Good dog!” from passersby. As with any other police officer worth his pay, he was relaxed and friendly with the people of Sugarcreek but could go on full alert at the first whiff of trouble.
“You doing okay?” Joe asked Rachel when he caught up with her.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Where’s Bobby?”
“With my brother,” Joe said. “Bobby is helping Darren watch over the car he’s exhibiting. You know, the one I told you about last night.”
“The classic Lamborghini his partner supposedly bought from Jay Leno?”
“That’s the one,” Joe said. “I’m afraid he’s depending heavily on winning the prize money. He’s been polishing the thing all morning.”
“That man looks familiar to me,” Rachel craned her neck to see something over Joe’s shoulder. “But I can’t place him.”
“Where?” Joe turned to look.
“The guy standing beside that black Thunderbird.”
“I don’t know him,” Joe said. “Where do think you might have seen him?”
“I have no idea, but he makes me feel uneasy. I don’t know why.”
“He’s not doing anything except looking at the Thunderbird,” Joe said. “Seems like a normal-enough person to me.”
Joe was right. There was nothing at all remarkable or threatening about the guy. He was average in every way. Nondescript clothing. Medium height. Probably somewhere in his sixties. There were a hundred other men milling about the downtown area who looked just like him.
But she couldn’t seem to pull her gaze away. There was just something about him. Something that was affecting her in a powerful way. Something in his stance. Something in the profile of his face.
This man gave her a bad feeling. A very bad feeling. She concentrated hard, focusing, trying to place him. It was extremely rare for her to forget a face. It was a gift she’d had since childhood, and it had served her well as a cop.
Then, just as the memory of this man began to emerge, everything began slamming shut in her brain. Her vision turned black, her mind went blank, and she crumbled to the ground.
George brought an apple fritter to Carl.
“My wife sent me over with this. She says you have to try one. It’s kind of a specialty around here. Most of us look forward to the festivals in Sugarcreek all year so we can fill up on these things.”
“Thanks.” Carl took a bite of the warm, sweet pastry and closed his eyes in appreciation. When he opened them, he saw that George was watching an ambulance drive across the grass toward a knot of people.
“I wonder what that’s all about,” George said.
“I don’t know,” Carl said, “but it looks like it’s being taken care of by the right people. I hope no one is hurt.”
Chapter 24
“Rachel?”
Dimly, she heard someone calling her name.
“Rachel, honey?”
She felt a mild annoyance when a hand touched her arm and shook her gently.
“Wake up, sweetheart.”
She grimaced. The last thing she wanted to do was wake up. What she wanted to do was to burrow back into the comforting deep sleep where she had been.
“Rachel?” The man’s voice was vaguely familiar, but she did not open her eyes. If she kept them closed, perhaps whoever was talking to her would go away.
“RACHEL!” A woman’s commanding voice startled her. Her eyes snapped open to see Aunt Bertha standing over her.
“It is time to wake up,” Bertha said with deep disapproval. “You have frightened everyone long enough.”
Frightened? What was Aunt Bertha talking about? Was it time for school already? She often had trouble waking up in time for chores. Aunt Bertha seemed to think sleeping in was a spiritual weakness. But Aunt Lydia said she was growing so fast that her young body needed more rest than they did. Aunt Anna simply sneaked her another cookie, giggled, and left her alone no matter how early or late Rachel was in rising.
Her mind felt fuzzy, as though she’d been ill. And where was her daddy?
She glanced at the man standing near her bed. He seemed familiar, but she didn’t know who he was. The room was not at all familiar. It was white, and there were lots of electric lights. Rachel frowned. The aunts did not have electric lights where they lived.
“Rachel!” Bertha took her face between her hands. “Look at me!”
Rachel looked and was surprised to see that Bertha had gotten old.
Her arm itched and she tried to scratch it, but her fingers encountered tape. When she lifted her head to see, she realized that there was a plastic tube running into her skin. Was there a needle in her arm? She hated needles.
“Say something,” the man said. “Please tell me you’re okay, sweetheart.”
She did not understand why this strange Englischman was calling her love names. All she knew for sure was that she was thirsty.
“May I have some juice, Aunt Bertha?” she asked.
The blank look Rachel gave him made Joe take a step backward. It was as though she had never seen him before. The complete absence of recognition in her eyes was a little creepy. Where had the strong, confident woman he loved gone?
And that voice! She sounded like a small child. A very confused small child. Had she really asked for juice? Rachel never drank fruit juice. She was strict about keeping her body in shape. Part of her discipline, she had told him, was that she preferred to eat her calories instead of drink them. Rachel almost always drank water.
“I will go find some juice for you, Rachel.” Bertha’s face was creased with worry. “Joe, will you come help me?”
“Of course.”
Out in the hallway, with the door shut behind them, he was so terrified by Rachel’s be
havior, he could hold back no longer. “What’s wrong with her? She sounds like she’s Bobby’s age, and she never drinks juice.”
“She drank juice when she was a child,” Bertha said. “It was her favorite thing when she was upset.”
“But she’s no longer a child.”
“I think she does not know that right now.”
The impact of Bertha’s words hit him like a physical blow. When Rachel collapsed at the car show, his first panicked thought was that she’d had a heart attack. She always tended to take on too much responsibility, as though the world sat squarely on her shoulders. She was young, but heart attacks didn’t happen just to the old.
When he ascertained that she was still breathing and her pulse was strong, his second thought was for their baby. Had something gone wrong with the pregnancy?
His third thought was that perhaps collapsing was what happened to pregnant women who were working too hard.
The ambulance team assured him that they did not think it was her heart. By the time they got there, she was awake—or seemed to be. Her eyes stared into space, but she said nothing and responded to nothing—not even when the ambulance drivers questioned her.
The more hours they spent in the ER doing tests, the more she seemed to regress. They suspected a stroke until that, too, was ruled out.
His wife was physically as healthy as a horse, but her mind was…well, her behavior was one of the most bizarre things he had ever experienced.
“What’s wrong with her, Bertha?”
“I am no doctor,” she said.
“I want to see Rachel,” Anna demanded as she and Lydia joined them.
“I don’t know if that’s wise.” Joe feared what it might do to Anna if Rachel didn’t recognize her, either.
“I want to see Rachel!” Anna grew more insistent. “I want to see Rachel!”
“If we don’t let Anna go in, there will be trouble,” Bertha said. “And it is not a good thing for Anna to get upset, with her own health issues.”
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