Dance of the Winnebagos

by Ann Charles

  Claire rolled her eyes and squeezed more water out of her hair. If she’d stuck to minding her own business during this trip, she wouldn’t have found the room full of antiques in Sophy’s house.

  Speaking of antiques ... Fishing the brass knob from her pants, which now sported a three-inch tear along the inseam, Claire laid it on the counter. Then she dug in her backpack for the other knob.

  She held them both under the florescent light above the kitchen sink.

  “Well, well. Looks like we have a match.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Saturday, April 17th

  “What do you mean Mac is gone?” Claire asked Ruby.

  She shut Ruby’s cash register drawer and opened the soda pop she’d just bought. Not smoking would be the death of her. She was working her way up to a six pack of Coke a day—the legal version of injecting sugar and caffeine straight into her veins.

  Mac’s absence left her with an empty ache inside. Like Gramps’s favorite country star, Ronnie Milsap, she was having daydreams about night things in the middle of the afternoon ... and the evening, and around midnight, and close to dawn.

  On top of that, the torture device she slept on nearly propelled her Mac-induced fantasies into the sadomasochistic realm; eyebolts and barbed wire were the only things missing.

  “He left about an hour ago, after breakfast,” Ruby said as she emptied her purse on the counter. “Damn it, where are my keys?”

  She sifted through the pile of purse paraphernalia—hand lotion, a Swiss Army knife, nail clippers, and several flavors of ChapStick.

  “Jess!” she yelled up at the ceiling. “Come on, it’s time to go.”

  “Did he go to the mines?” Claire asked.

  “No.” Ruby stuffed a nail file back into her bag. “He went to Tucson.”

  Tucson! Claire’s jaw hit the countertop. No “good-bye,” “see you around,” or even a “catch you later” from the guy. What a waste of a sexy-underwear day.

  “Like I said at breakfast,” Jess’s voice rang down through the overhead, wrought iron vent. “I’m not going, Ruby!” The vent cover practically rattled with emphasis.

  Ruby paused, a bottle of Visine in her hand, and took a deep breath. “That child isn’t gonna make it to her next birthday if she doesn’t knock off the attitude. And to think, I’m doing this for her future. I must be into self-torture.”

  “You and I both know those are the hormones yelling.” Claire waved off Jess’s behavior. “So, did Mac leave any message for me or ...”

  She purposely trailed off, trying to sound breezy, carefree; as if word from Mac ranked below the weather report in everyday life.

  Ruby swept the rest of the stuff into her purse and dropped the bag onto the counter. “Not that I remember.”

  Well! Claire huffed mentally, drumming her fingers on the wooden counter. See if she shaved her legs again anytime soon for Mr. Love-‘em and Leave-‘em.

  “Jessica Lynn Wayne!” Ruby hollered. “Get down here now!”

  Silence reigned overhead for several seconds. Then heavy footsteps pounded across the second floor. Indiscernible muttering echoed down through the vent.

  Claire brushed invisible crumbs off the counter. “Did he say why he went to Tucson?”

  “Something about work.” Ruby dug in her coat pockets, a frown etched on her forehead. “Darn it. I swear I put my keys right next to my purse just a half-hour ago.”

  The sound of Jess stomping down the stairs reverberated throughout the house. A parade of hippos in tap shoes would have been quieter.

  “Did he mention when he’d be back?” Claire pressed. Or if he is coming back at all?

  “Nope.”

  “Damn it, Mom,” Jess said as she pushed through the curtain. “You never listen to a word I say. Harley was right about you.”

  Claire blinked in surprise at Gramps’s name.

  “You watch that cussin’, girl.” Her hands on her hips, Ruby asked, “What do you mean Harley was right? About what?”

  Claire’s shoulders squeezed tight. Just what had Gramps told Jess last night on their walk home?

  “He said you like to screw up my life.”

  “Really?” Ruby shot Claire a tight-lipped, see-what-I-have-to-deal-with look. “How exactly am I screwing it up today?”

  Jess lifted her chin. “By trying to ship me off to some lousy boarding school. Honestly, Ruby, I don’t understand why you had me. You’ve done nothing but shove me off on other people since birth. It’s no wonder Dad didn’t want to marry you.”

  A flush crept up Ruby’s neck and over her cheeks. She glared at her daughter.

  Jess’s bottom lip quivered slightly—the only visible sign of fear in the kid’s stance.

  Claire could hear herself swallow in the thick silence.

  “Go get in the truck right now.” Ruby’s voice was low, her soft southern drawl razor sharp around the edges.

  Jess’s face contorted in rage for a split-second. “Fine!” She tromped toward the door, pausing on the threshold to shoot a hate-filled scowl back at her mom. “I’ll go with you to this stupid school today, but I’m driving!” She held up a set of keys, jingling them, and then slammed out onto the porch.

  “That little shit took my keys,” Ruby said, shaking her head. “What do you think I’d get for her on the black market?”

  Claire grimaced. “I’m sorry for what Gramps told Jess.”

  “Don’t be. Those weren’t his exact words.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He told me,” Ruby answered.

  “You mean he stayed to talk when he dropped off Jess last night?”

  Ruby’s brow wrinkled. She gave Claire a puzzled look. “Well, yeah. That was the idea.”

  The idea for what? “What are you talking about?”

  “Harley coming over.”

  “When he dropped off Jess?” Claire purposely didn’t add, on his way to Hot Cheek’s love shack.

  “Yep.”

  “So, he stayed for a few minutes to talk to you?”

  “No, he stayed for a few hours.”

  Claire did a double take. “He what?”

  The Ford’s engine rumbled to life out front.

  “Damn that little hellcat!” Ruby snatched up her purse and raced for the door. “Thanks again for watching the store. We’ll be back around two.”

  Speechless, Claire stared after Ruby. The screen door bounced in the older woman’s wake.

  So, Gramps had been with Ruby last night, huh? That meant he’d either lied to his cronies about his date or stood up Rosy Linstad.

  Claire chuckled. Oh, how she’d make him squirm with the truth the next time they were neck deep in cigar smoke and cards.

  She chugged the rest of her soda pop and bank-shot the can into the recycling bin.

  As for the hazel-eyed hunk who haunted her dreams, he’d better have a damned good reason for leaving, or he was going to be doing some squirming, too!

  * * *

  The late afternoon sunshine spilled through Creekside Supply Company’s front windows, drenching Aisle One’s row of pick axes, shovels, garden hoses, and post-hole diggers in diluted radiation.

  Claire split off from Gramps and cruised down the middle aisle that divided the store in half, taking a hard right into Aisle Ten: Housewares, Hosiery, and Hygiene—aka the Ladies’ Department.

  Short of breaking into Sophy’s shed, which Claire hadn’t scrounged up the courage to do yet (breaking and entering was a bit more ballsy than trespassing), she could think of only one way to prove that Sophy had kidnapped Henry: perfume.

  She stopped in front of the shelves of perfume. Scanning the familiar boxes of Charlie, Emeraud, and Stetson for Women, her gaze zeroed in on the smoking gun—Tabu.

  Inside the white and black box, a skinny bottle with a black cap looked exactly like the one she’d found in Sophy’s bedroom yesterday. Not that Mac had given her a chance to fully inspect Sophy’s room before dragging her out of th
e house.

  Claire sprayed the inside of her wrist and sniffed the aromatic mix of roses, orange blossoms, and jasmine on her skin. She grinned. Add a dash of dried mud and a sprinkle of dog fur, and she had a batch of dog-stealer brew.

  She stuffed the bottle back in the box.

  “You’re not woman enough to wear that,” a familiar, low-pitched, voice said from behind her.

  The hair on the back of Claire’s neck bristled.

  The last time she’d heard that voice, she’d ended up rolling around on a peanut shell-covered floor.

  Claire looked over her shoulder at her red-taloned nemesis dressed in her usual bar ensemble: a low-cut tank top and sausage-skin-tight jeans. She flashed Sophy a fake smile. “Why, if it isn’t Sophy Wheeler, Jackrabbit Junction’s oldest calendar girl.”

  Sophy’s expertly outlined eyes narrowed. “Real funny. Just like those fingernail scratches on your cheek.”

  In no mood to get into an insult match, especially with Gramps wandering around the store, Claire went straight for the brush off. “Unless you’re here for Round Two, I have better things to do than waste time listening to you.”

  The Tabu box in hand, Claire walked away from the woman Ruby warmly referred to as The Bitch from Hell.

  “Watch yourself, sugar,” Sophy called after her. “Folks from around these parts don’t take very kindly to trespassers.”

  Claire stopped in her tracks, gulping. She turned back to the red-lipped redneck.

  The glare in Sophy’s gaze made it crystal clear that she knew where Claire had been yesterday. There was no use formulating a denial.

  “You tell the folks from around these parts that I don’t take kindly to dognappers.”

  Sophy lifted an over-tweezed eyebrow. Her reaction didn’t shout guilty, as Claire had hoped, but it didn’t declare her innocence, either.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I think you know.” Claire held up the box of perfume and shook it. “Funny thing about Tabu, it sticks to dog fur the same as skin.”

  Sophy smirked. “That explains your trouble attracting men. You’re not supposed to spray it on your dog.”

  No amount of playing dumb on Sophy’s part was going to veer Claire off course. She’d bet her grandma’s wedding ring that the floor of Sophy’s shed was sprinkled with Henry’s hair.

  “I’m on to your little game, Sophy.” Claire felt like a puffed up kitten hissing at a St. Bernard. “I’m not going to quit until I figure out your motive.”

  Sophy’s eyes glittered menacingly. “If you have an ounce of sense in that foolish little brain of yours, you’ll scuttle back to whatever hole you crawled out of. You seem to forget that you’re a stranger in town—my town.”

  “Threats don’t scare me.” Claire’s heart beat in triple time.

  “Maybe a 12-gauge shotgun would.”

  “Maybe a 12-gauge shotgun would what?” Gramps asked, breaking the tension between Claire and Sophy.

  Sophy turned to Gramps, her sneer and glare replaced by a sultry smile and bedroom eyes. She ran her red nails down Gramps’s arm. “Hello, Harley. You’re looking awfully handsome this afternoon.”

  Claire made a gagging gesture at Gramps. His lips twitched.

  “Sophy,” he replied with a brief nod. “I didn’t realize you knew my granddaughter, Claire.”

  Sophy’s smile faded slightly. “We don’t really ‘know’ each other. We just had a little chat the other night at The Shaft.”

  “What happened to your cheek?” Gramps asked Sophy, his sharp gaze bouncing back and forth between Claire and Sophy’s faces.

  Claire braced herself for a future lecture, sure he’d already added one and one together.

  “Just a little accident at the diner.”

  “Odd things, those accidents,” Gramps said. “Claire had one recently, too.”

  “I noticed.” Sophy grabbed a box of Tabu and dropped it into her basket. “It’s always nice to see you, Harley.” She paused next to Claire and glanced back at Gramps. “You’d better keep an eye on this girl. She’s gonna get herself into trouble if she’s not careful.”

  With a flip of her hair, which moved as a solid mass—no doubt due to the various cans of hairspray Claire had found cluttering Sophy’s bathroom vanity—Sophy sashayed away.

  Gramps shot Claire a frown. “What did you do now?”

  “What? I didn’t do anything.” Claire made a last-ditch attempt at playing the ‘I’m-innocent-I-swear’ routine.

  “Child, I wasn’t born yesterday. When I walked up here, you two were circling each other like a pair of hungry hyenas hovering over a hunk of raw meat.”

  Claire sighed. “Couldn’t you compare me to a prettier animal? A cat would be nice. Maybe even a swan. Do swans fight?”

  “Claire,” he warned.

  There’d be no sidetracking him on this one. “What can I say?” She raised her hands in the air. “I don’t like the color of her lipstick. Besides, she started it. I just wanted to refill my beer.”

  “Sophy Wheeler is one creature you shouldn’t poke with a stick. Rattlers have less venom.”

  She crossed her arms. “How do you know so much about Sophy?” Most men couldn’t see past a pair of big boobs, especially a pair on the verge of falling out of a tank top.

  “I pay attention to details.”

  Claire pursed her lips. “Or has a little red-headed bird with an Oklahoma drawl been whispering secrets in your ear late at night when you’re supposed to be over in Hot Cheeks’ love nest?”

  Gramps’s face reddened. “Get your ass in the car.”

  Claire snickered all of the way to the cash register.

  * * *

  Sunday, April 18th

  The woodpeckers were at it again.

  Mac stood outside the door of Harley’s Winnebago, listening to the rat-a-tat-tat as they drilled their way into one of the willow trees lining Jackrabbit Creek.

  A sprinkling of dew covered the grass in a sparkling veneer. The desert seemed to be holding its breath ever since the sun had crested the Tres Dedos Mountains and doused the cool night breeze. The rosy, pre-dawn glow he’d raced through from Tucson in order to reach the R.V. park—and Claire—had melted into an early morning, powder-blue sky.

  The faint smell of bacon tinged the air, reminding Mac that he’d skipped breakfast in his haste to return.

  Claire had been in his thoughts since he’d left yesterday morning, the vision of her in that Pink Panther T-shirt unshakable. Common sense said to nip this attraction in the bud.

  But, damn, she looked hot in a pair of jeans.

  Tired of this growing debate in his head—the same one he’d covered several times since leaving the city over two hours ago—Mac rapped on the door and listened for movement on the other side of the aluminum.

  The door opened.

  Claire stood there, barelegged in her Oscar the Grouch pajama top. All anti-Claire sentiments flew from his head.

  Her eyes narrowed at the sight of him. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You left without even saying good-bye.”

  Mac tugged on the hem of her top. “Did you miss me?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Liar.”

  “Quit reading my mind.”

  “How about I show you how much I missed you?”

  Her lips curled slightly. “I’m trying to be mad at you.”

  Mac climbed the step and stood nose-to-nose with her. She smelled like fabric softener, flowery soap, and everything Claire. He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, trailing his finger down her neck.

  Her breath caught when he feathered his fingertip along her collarbone. She caught his hand. “Gramps is awake,” she whispered.

  “What are you talking about? I can hear him snoring.”

  “That’s Henry. Gramps is in the bathroom.”

  “I didn’t know dogs could snore that loud.”

  “You should try sleeping in the same room with the damne
d mutt.”

  She still held his hand, rubbing his fingers with her thumb, and had no idea how close she was to being taken advantage of up against the side of a Winnebago. A man could withstand only so much sexual frustration in one week’s time.

  “I brought you a present.” He leaned closer, his lips almost touching hers. Tiny flecks of gold speckled her brown irises.

  “Think you can buy my affection?” Her eyes sparkled. She tried to peek behind his back to see what he was hiding.

  “They say the way to a woman’s heart is through a man’s wallet.” At least that’s what his last girlfriend had read to him out of some Rules of Dating book.

  “Really? I’ve always felt it had to do with the size of his ...” Claire trailed off, blinking in exaggerated seduction, “truck.”

  Mac chuckled, lacing his fingers with hers. “Oh, I’ve got a big truck, Slugger.”

  The softness of her laughter filled him with heat that had nothing to do with the morning rays drilling into his back.

  “So what’s my present?”

  “Close your eyes.”

  She lowered her eyelids, a smile hovering at the creases of her mouth.

  Mac withdrew his fingers from hers and brought forward the leg bone he’d picked up from Steve at the lab in Phoenix.

  “Is that a bone in your hand?” Chester shouted in his raspy voice from the driver’s side window of his Brave. “Or are you just happy to see Claire?”

  Eyes wide and cheeks reddening with guilt, Claire took a step back from Mac, straightening her pajama top.

  God damn it. Was it too much to ask to have a discussion with Claire on her doorstep without the peanut gallery watching?

  Mac held the bone in front of him. “I brought your bone back. Well, most of it, anyway. Steve kept a sample for further analysis. He sent it to an old girlfriend who works in the state medical examiner’s office.”

  Claire lifted the bone from his hand. “What did he say about it?”

  “Hey, Henry’s bone is back,” Gramps said from behind Claire. “Come here, boy.”

  The sound of toenails on linoleum announced Henry’s arrival just before he appeared next to Claire’s bare legs. When the dog saw the bone, he whimpered, then growled when Claire held it out of reach.