Fighting for Anna

by Pamela Fagan Hutchins

  Maggie gasped. “Oh my gosh!”

  “What is it?” I joined her.

  “This picture.” She waved it at me. “My parents are in it. It’s in front of some old building that one of our ancestors built a long time ago. It’s not even in La Grange anymore. They moved it to Round Top.”

  I pulled the picture from her to get a look.

  “The younger couple.” She pointed to them. “That’s my mom and dad.”

  “They look too young to be friends with Gidget’s parents.”

  “The Wendish community is small.”

  “Are you Wendish?”

  “By ancestry. I occasionally go to the annual festival for some cultural history, but I quit going to church when I was a teenager. They were into it, though, when I was younger.”

  “That’s pretty cool.”

  “Now that I’m older, I think so, too. Anyway, I can’t wait to show my mother this picture.” She positioned it on her thigh and snapped a photo, then texted the picture.

  My phone rang. The whiskey had started to go to my head already and my focus was caca. I held a finger up.

  It was Annabelle.

  “Hi, sweetie,” I said.

  She quickly said, “Hey,” and then went on with “I’m working on Senator Herrington’s campaign. For real. I’ll get internship credit, or whatever. I’m so excited.”

  “That’s fantastic.” I hadn’t voted for the man, but this would be great on Annabelle’s resume.

  Maggie filled my coffee cup with whiskey. No more coffee. I shook my head at her, and she grinned like the Cheshire Cat.

  “I know.”

  “You’re going to be busy. How are you going to fit in school and swimming and volunteer work? No, never mind I asked that. If there’s one girl in the world who can organize her life to fit it all in, it’s you, Belle.”

  “No problem,” she said. “Jay’s a little . . . well . . . I think, he’s kinda jealous.”

  “Jay? Jealous? Why?”

  “He thinks I have a crush on Senator Herrington, but, like, he’s so old.”

  I laughed. It felt good to laugh with tears still in my eyes. “He is way old, Belle.”

  “He may be old, but he flirts. I don’t flirt back, though.”

  An oogey feeling replaced the warmth. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to work with him?”

  “I barely see him. But just think, what if he wins the presidency and I know him?”

  “Well, that would be cool. Just don’t get to know him too well.”

  “I won’t. Gotta go. Jay’s here to pick me up. Oh, you should call Sam, too.”

  “Congratulations, Belle. I love you.”

  The phone went dead. It was too late to call Sam. I shot him a three-word “How are you???” text, then swallowed some of the searing concoction and yelled, “Gack!”

  Maggie laughed.

  “Are you okay?” Rashidi asked.

  I took another sip. It went down easier. The next one after that, easier yet. Three or four later, the stings of today had numbed. I gave my new friends a thumbs-up.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The coffee and whiskey had rounded my sharp edges. I’d listened more than talked and laughed until my sides ached at Maggie riffing on her past indiscretions and Rashidi describing his interviews with the Texas A&M extension service. They didn’t quite know how to handle a dreadlocked Rastafarian from the islands with an accent they’d only heard in movies. He’d agreed to stay to meet more folks the following week since he was on summer break at UVI—keeping him in College Station was cheaper than another round-trip flight. It gave him a chance to look at housing and explore the area. But instead he was at my place, an area he’d already explored.

  I woke up next to Maggie. She’d flung an arm across my neck. The snores coming from her dainty nose and bowed lips were chainsaw decibel. I lifted her arm as gently as I could and set it at her side.

  Her snoring stopped for a second. “No, Gary.” She mumbled unintelligibly for a moment or two. “Okay, just once more.” Then her whiskey snoring resumed.

  I sat up, the bed creaking underneath me. My head shouted echoing protests. I’d never been much of a drinker. Even less so after marrying Adrian. Hangovers weren’t conducive to peak athletic performance. I was out of practice, and I clamped my hand over my mouth as nausea set in.

  The sun had risen, just barely, but there was no longer a rooster alarm clock. And no sound of doggie paws. I put my feet on the creaky wood floor. My outfit from yesterday—stained, sour, and now wrinkled—was plastered to me. My sandals were still on, though one foot had come out of its front strap. The shoe hung from my ankle. I put my hand over my mouth and exhaled. My breath was worse than my clothes. I stepped off the bed with my arms out for balance. My bare toe and flopping shoe landed on something both hard and soft.

  “Umph.”

  The room swayed, tilted, then righted itself. “Sorry,” I whispered.

  Maggie snored on. Rashidi rolled away from my foot. “That okay.”

  Even his whisper was a sexy singsong that called out to the Tlazol in me, but I told her to bugger off. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I move my bed thing.”

  Obviously. I sidestepped along the bed to the bathroom. When I got to the kitchen a few minutes later, Rashidi was working the coffee maker, wearing only his blue jeans. My eyes gobbled him up before I could cut them away, and heat flushed up my chest, neck, and cheeks.

  His skin glowed. His lean body was sculpted with a rippling six-pack and long legs. I tried to replace his image with Adrian’s. Paler, thicker. The images flickered and competed.

  Rashidi put his hand to his head. “I think we partied too hard last night. I’m not used to that kind of t’ing.”

  “Me, either.”

  I studied the floor and blurted, “Would you like me to go get your shirt?”

  He laughed. “Sorry. In the Islands it’s no big thing. Your house, your culture, your rules. No problem.” He disappeared for a moment, then returned pulling a shirt over his head, leaving me with one last glimpse of his pronounced abs and ribcage. When his face appeared through the neck of his shirt, he had a toothpick again. What was it with him and those things?

  “I’m afraid I don’t have much food.”

  Rashidi peered in the refrigerator while I stayed rooted in place like a statue. “Eggs. Milk.” Then he opened the pantry. “Granola.” He nodded at me. “Plenty.”

  I managed to get myself moving. “So, do you have plans for today?” I melted butter in a skillet and whisked eggs.

  Rashidi was pouring powdered creamer in his cup. He heaped spoonful after spoonful of sugar in next. “No eggs for me.”

  I wondered if he’d have room left for coffee. “I’m not totally clear on the vegetarian thing. Do you ever eat eggs?” I poured eggs into the skillet and stirred.

  He dribbled coffee into his mixture, then poured a second cup, black. “Sometimes. Eggs never alive. Not flesh.” He handed me a coffee.

  “Thank you.”

  Rashidi poured granola and milk to the rim of a bowl, then set his toothpick beside his bowl. “I was t’inking,” he said through a bite of granola and milk. “I’ll open that safe today.” He pointed at me. “And you’ll report the man who broke in your house?”

  I didn’t like being told what to do overmuch, but the way he said it sounded more like a suggestion than an order. I spooned half the eggs onto a plate. “All right. I’ve got some work to do for my day job. And the Internet people are coming back this morning, supposedly, to get things working here.” I ate standing up, like him. “Do you have someplace you have to be that I’m keeping you from?”

  Before he could answer, Maggie appeared, crumpled and bleary, but still a jolt of sexual electricity.

  “Good morning.” I watched for Rashidi’s reaction to her from the corner of my eye.

  There was none. He just took another bite of his granola and lifted a spoon to her in greeti
ng.

  “Want some breakfast?” I asked.

  Her voice was gravely and awesome. “Please. Have you checked on the dogs?”

  She’d brought Janis and Woody with her, and they’d been treated to a night in the yard. Well, Gertrude had her doggie friends, so maybe she didn’t feel completely abandoned.

  I didn’t tell her that all I’d done so far this morning was try not to make a fool of myself in front of Rashidi. “I was just about to.”

  “Dog food?” She rubbed her pale cheeks briskly and color seeped into them.

  “In the pantry.”

  She grabbed Gertrude’s bowl from inside the door. A moment later she was out the back door with another big bowl and the bag of food.

  Rashidi squirted soap in the sink and turned on the water. “You get the trailer’s AC fixed?”

  “I haven’t yet. It’s been crazy.”

  He found a long-handled scrubber under the sink. It looked original to the house. He put the rest of the eggs on a new plate, then attacked the skillet. “I’m pretty handy. I’ll take a look. If I fix it, maybe I can stay there?”

  Gratitude suffused me, for him understanding his presence here made me uncomfortable. In a love it/hate it kind of way. “That would be great.”

  I grabbed a dish towel and set up a drying station. I have friends here, I thought. New friends. It was odd. Even odder that I kind of liked it.

  Maggie burst back into the kitchen, dewy beads of sweat at her hairline. “Gonna be a scorcher.”

  “Rashidi and I were just making our plans for the day. What are you up to?”

  She wolfed down the eggs. “I don’t open the shop on Wednesday, and I’m lusting after your junk.”

  “Could you go through the barn like we’d talked about before? But maybe keep an inventory, and let me know if you see any clues to our little mystery?” I put a bowl and plate in the cabinet.

  “Perfect. Oh, and I almost forgot. Gidget has a letter that the county is putting this place up for auction. She hasn’t paid her property taxes in a couple of years.”

  Remembering Maggie rifling Gidget’s mail last night, I said, “Oh no.” I turned to her, dishes forgotten. “You know, someone told me yesterday there were rumors Gidget was dealing drugs in Houston. Like to the artists. That doesn’t jive with a little old lady who can barely make ends meet and can’t pay her property taxes.”

  Maggie went into the living room and brought the letter back to me.

  “Dios mío.” I confirmed what she’d told me then snapped a picture of it. Gidget owed for three years. Nearly $50,000. I emailed it to Greyhound. Emergency. Tax arrears sale of Gidget’s place scheduled for next month!!!!! When I finished, I said, “Well, that woke me up.”

  “Sorry for the bad news.”

  “Better to know than not to know. Greyhound will take care of it, I’m sure.” I scrubbed my scalp around my face, getting the blood going. “So many crap things to deal with right now. I have to report my intruder, at the sheriff’s department this morning. Rashidi has some errands, too, and the Internet guy is coming. Could you let him in?”

  She snorted. “I can let him in, but I can’t promise any more than that. The average number of visits and elapsed time for working Internet out in the country is three visits and three weeks.”

  “Don’t tell me that.” I grabbed the empty Balcones Distilling Texas Single Malt bottle from the kitchen table and dropped it in the trash.

  Rashidi folded a paper towel. I watched as he slid it under a little spider that was on the window sill above the sink. He went to the back door with the paper towel and spider. Out the kitchen window I watched him release it onto one of the fence pickets. He returned and used the paper towel to wipe up water from the counter.

  My mouth hung a little. “Did you just rescue a spider?”

  “He’s God’s creature, too.” He threw the paper towel away.

  Maggie tossed her hair. “If I get bit by God’s creature today, I’m blaming you.”

  Rashidi flashed his ivories at her around the toothpick he’d salvaged after breakfast.

  I shook my head. “One more thing, Maggie. Gidget’s will leaves her old Jaguar to her daughter, but I can’t find it. Be on the lookout.”

  “Be still my heart.”

  I grinned. “While you’re at it, if you don’t mind, find out who killed Gidget.”

  Maggie shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re leaving all the fun stuff for me.”

  ***

  As I rolled down the last mile of the paved road back to Gidget’s from LCSD, I tried not to be disheartened. Even with the photo I’d shown them, the deputies didn’t take my break-in seriously. I guess the idea of me as a victim didn’t jive with painting me as the bad guy. I tried to convince them the person was a suspect in Gidget’s death, but Tank suggested maybe I’d just had a friend run by the camera. I felt murderous.

  Junior promised they’d be by when their schedules cleared.

  Like the twelfth of never, I’d thought.

  I drove on. The roadside foliage was noticeably less green in the last few days. We needed rain. Lumpy’s pickup pulled up in a cloud of dust at the entrance to his drive. He honked and waved at me. I didn’t want to, but I pulled to a stop and rolled down my window. He could have seen my intruder, so talking to him was a necessary evil. He got out and came over.

  I stumbled over pleasantries. “Yes?” My conscience pricked me. My mother would’ve never made anyone uncomfortable if she could help it. Except me, of course. In her world, it was bad manners. “I mean, hello, good morning.” My conscience eased. I was beginning to think my conscience was my mother.

  Lumpy doffed his cowboy hat at me. “Ms. Lopez.”

  “Ms. Hanson.”

  “Uh, yeah.” He turned and spit a stream of brown juice. “Did that delivery driver yesterday get you your package?”

  My face scrunched up like it did when something made no sense. “I didn’t find any packages. I was gone most of the day.”

  “That’s a shame. I gave him directions when I saw him pulled over on the side of the road here. It’s that new driver.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Our normal driver is a guy named Nacho out of Austin. A Mexican like—uh, a nice guy.” He paused, shooting me a glance to see if I had caught his slip.

  I wanted to roll my eyes, but not while my radar was going off. “So, Nacho is our normal delivery guy . . .”

  He wiped his hands on his shirt front, leaving dark smudges on the tiny white plaid. “Yeah, Nacho. This new guy, I’ve only seen twice.” He stopped, appearing lost in thought.

  He was a little off his game. “So, new guy. You’ve only seen him twice.”

  “Yes, yesterday when he parked here and a week or two ago. Around the time Gidget passed away, maybe a little before.”

  My radar pinged again. New delivery driver. Here when Gidget died, and when someone broke in. “Was he driving a Land Rover?”

  “Nope. A white delivery van.”

  A wave of vertigo tipped my world akimbo. Had there not been a beige Land Rover following me? I pulled my laptop out and opened it. I’d left it on at LCSD so it came to life immediately. “Let me show you something.” I typed in my password and pulled up the picture. “Is this him?”

  Lumpy leaned in. He took off his mirrored Poncherello-from-CHiPs sunglasses and squinted. “Can’t rightly say.”

  “Could it be? What was your delivery guy wearing?” I pointed to the guy in the picture. “Jeans? Boxy, short-sleeved shirt. Light colored?”

  He scratched the top of his head. “Well, yeah. Maybe.”

  “And your guy: medium height? Short dark hair? Caucasian?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I circled the face in the picture with my finger. “Those could be glasses. Did your guy wear glasses?”

  “Yeah, nerdy little glasses.”

  “So this picture could be him.”

  “Maybe,” Lumpy said. “Why is
it so out of focus?”

  “It’s from my wildlife camera.” I hesitated, then said, “Someone broke into the place yesterday.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.” Lumpy stood up, wincing. He frowned and stretched, arching up and back a little bit.

  “Did you see anybody else headed toward Gidget’s yesterday?”

  He turned slightly backwards and launched another stream of tobacco juice. Splat. “Nope. Listen.” He crouched eye-level with me. “You need any help out there, I’m a former Texas Ranger. Had to leave ’em on account of my back.” His sunglasses still off, I caught a sadness as it passed through his eyes. “I could come right now, take a look around.”

  “I appreciate it, Loopy—”

  “Lumpy.”

  “I appreciate it, Lumpy, but I have a friend over to help. Friends, in fact.”

  “You got a feller?” he asked.

  “My heart is taken,” I responded.

  “Well, I guess I’m too late to pitch my hat in. Let me know if that changes.”

  “Thank you for the . . . compliment. And if you see anything else, let me know.”

  “Sure will. Hey, I don’t s’pose you’ve given any thought to that arrangement I had with Gidget to buy her place?”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t. I don’t even own the place yet. Do you have my cell phone number?”

  I gave it to him. He punched it into his phone, his big fingers making slow work of it.

  I drove too fast the rest of the way home, feeling off balance. After Adrian died, my kids and I had been stalked by his killer. I could have just imagined the Rover yesterday. I might not have been followed. But I sure didn’t imagine the intruder. I pulled onto Gidget’s property. There was a parking lot of cars in front of the house. I slammed on the brakes, stopping in the middle of my own dust cloud. I was so excited about the information from the eighth dwarf next door I couldn’t wait to tell Rashidi and Maggie, and these cars looked like a spanner in my works. Who were all these people? I looked from vehicle to vehicle. The truck for the Internet provider service guy, Maggie’s magenta Bess, and Rashidi’s nondescript white rental Ford Fusion, plus Greyhound’s Cayenne and Jimmy Urban’s truck.