by Nina Barrett
“Not about that. The jobs we staged this last week should have given us plenty of additional publicity. His message said we were the lead story on CNN Friday night. We’ve got the heist set up on Tuesday. Maybe that’ll be enough to lure the Deb out—if it can be done.”
Tall clumps of orange daylilies and wild daisies brushed her skirt as they climbed the rise. She seated herself on a stone bench overlooking the river. Below them, weeping willows trailed fronds in the brown current while colored dragonflies darted amidst the cattails.
He stared back at the house. Distance was kind to its fading grandeur. A breeze was swinging the weathervane atop the carriage house cupola.
“We need to talk about the sleeping arrangements, Jan.”
She tilted her head back to look at him.
“We’ve had separate beds in the motels we’ve been at, even the cheaper ones. I figured it’d be that way here, too.”
“Yeah, it was kind of a surprise to walk into that room. I guess we got the honeymoon suite.”
“It would look funny asking for a rollaway when we’re registered as Mr. and Mrs.”
“But it’s only tonight and tomorrow, Mac.”
Tonight and tomorrow. Easy for her to say. Two long, dark, quiet nights. Double bed, fluffy pillows; jasmine scented air coming in through the open windows; her long, bare legs showing under her nightshirt again as they had the other nights they’d spent together while outside fireflies sent their own mating signals.
“I can make up a kit on the floor, Jan. I mean the couch is only a loveseat. It isn’t big enough for either of us.”
“Oh, come on. Just think of it as a sleepover, like when you were a kid. You stay on your side. I’ll stay on mine. The law and the lawless, right?” She waved a hand. “It’s no big deal.” Her big, honest eyes looked up innocently.
Chapter Six
He paused at the entrance to the lane, resting his hands on his knees. Somehow the run back had seemed longer than his run out. He concentrated on catching his breath.
He’d carefully eased himself away from her in the early morning dimness of their room. In the bathroom, he’d changed into a T-shirt and old pair of sweatpants. Last night she’d spent time in the bathroom soaking in the claw-foot tub while he tried to distract himself in the bedroom with old copies of Southern Living. He’d stared at the printed pages trying not to think of her in the warm water, heaping piles of suds floating around her while she relaxed, her eyes closed. Then getting up, the lather clinging, to wrap one of the fluffy towels around her warm, wet, naked…
Damn. The roadwork wasn’t accomplishing what he had hoped.
“It’ll be easy. Like a sleepover.” Easy for her to say. “We’ll just stay on our own sides. Did you ever see that old Clark Gable movie? The one with Claudette Colbert where they had to share a bed?”
Whatever.
Sleep had finally come last night as he grimly clutched the rail on his side of the bed only to wake up rolled to the center, the sweetness of her hair teasing his nose, her breath on his skin, her mouth inches below his. On its own, his hand had started to move to the softness below the nightshirt.
Shaking his head as if that would remove the memory, he took a couple of long, steadying breaths and readied himself for the last leg.
Yeah, he’d pushed himself away from her, but not before leaving a kiss in her hair.
He started his run back. It was still early. Maybe he’d grab a steam bath first. Might help to shed some of the extra weight he’d picked up in Europe.
The run was good for his thighs and calves. Most of the exercise over the last six months had been secondhand—watching mindless games on television, more European soccer than he’d known existed, or tuned into ESPN at his apartment while he waited for a decision to come about his future with the Bureau.
Dahlia was setting up breakfast in the dining room as he entered. He gave her a quick wave before finding his way to the spa facilities in the back of the house where he and Jan had come across them the day before.
“Good morning, sir.” Junior Grady was laying out towels as he entered. “Looks like you’ve been up and about.”
“I needed to work off some of that dinner from last night.”
The fried chicken, country ham and butter beans, sautéed greens, baked yams, and peach pie hadn’t helped his resolution about physical fitness.
“Thought I’d grab a steam bath before starting to chow down again.”
“Go right ahead. The steam bath and sauna are ready.”
He used a changing room to strip off his sweaty clothes, wrapped himself in a towel, and headed for the dry heat of the sauna.
He leaned back against the wall, letting the warmth sink into the core of his bones. The dry heat opened all the pores on his body. Hopefully, the nicotine he’d inhaled over the past few weeks was being sweated away. If only it were as easy to get rid of old memories. He rose, stretched, and pushed the door open into the adjoining steam room. He found a seat through the mist and sat taking in a deep lungful of the damp air. Finally, he got up, secured his towel about him, and ran his hands through his dripping hair as he pushed the door open to the outer room again.
He could hear voices, but his eyes were wet. He rubbed away the moisture, looked and took a step backward.
The brunette sister, Daisy, was busy giving a massage. She had a leg bent back as she massaged a narrow arched foot, a towel barely covering the rounded rump of her client.
Lying on her stomach, Jan laughed as she turned to say something to Daisy. Catching sight of him, she pulled her towel back around her chest, her eyes widening.
But not before he got a glimpse of tan and pink and perky.
If she’d lost weight recently, at least it hadn’t affected the good parts.
Daisy paused and gave him a bright smile.
“Good morning, sir. I guess great minds think alike.”
He wished.
He cleared his throat and found his voice.
“I’m ah, I’m going to go up and grab a shower before breakfast, Jan.”
She nodded as he turned toward the dressing room.
“Take your time,” she called. “Daisy’s just getting started.”
Oh, yeah.
It was going to be a long, long, cold shower.
****
He sat back in the chaise lounge and studied the back of the house. In contrast to the immaculate appearance of the pillared front, there was no argument this side could use a paint job despite the climbing bougainvillea that attempted to camouflage it. Evidently, even at the Major’s, first impressions counted.
Beside him, Jan opened a tube of sun tan lotion and dabbed some on her shoulders.
“Need some help?” He closed the book he’d been flipping through while he waited.
“Sure.” She passed him the lotion and lifted her hair away from the back of her neck. He held his breath and kept an eye on the couple under the sun umbrella. They’d already appropriated the morning paper by the time he and Jan had come downstairs. The older gentleman was still turning the pages. It looked like he was commenting on something to his wife.
“Hey, don’t wear a hole in it.”
“Sorry.” He pulled his hands away from the velvet of the neck and shoulders edging her sundress. At the other end of the patio, it looked like the newspaper reader’s wife was gathering up her things.
Jan settled back in her chair and reached for her magazine and sunglasses.
All right, they were both on their feet now, the newspaper abandoned on the table.
He capped the tube, rubbed his hands on his arms, and nodded toward where the older couple was making their way toward the French doors.
Jan looked up at him.
“I’m going to check out what’s going on in the world.”
It looked like the other guests had been following the financial news. He straightened the pages and flipped through the sections as he walked back to where Jan was waiting, her magazin
e closed on her lap.
National news, sports, op-ed, daily living.
Around the state. He stopped, put the rest of the paper down, and sank back on the chaise lounge.
On the lower half of the page, a headline in bold type read “She’s Back…?” Under it, a subtitle declared, “Authorities issue a definite maybe.”
He took a deep breath and read the article to Jan.
“Are recent hold-ups in Lockington, Georgia; Cedar City and Corren, Alabama; and Magnetic Springs, New Majestic, and Foundry Creek, Mississippi, all related? Law enforcement officials are currently reviewing bank surveillance tapes of the robberies which show images of a young, well-dressed woman and her male companion. The two have escaped with something approaching a quarter of a million dollars at this point. Similarities in the method of operation lead authorities to believe the robberies are connected.
“The daring daylight robberies are attracting further notice by law enforcement due to their marked resemblance to a series of unsolved hold-ups across these same states a quarter century ago. In those crimes, the tall, striking mysterious woman dubbed the…”
He clenched a fist and looked up at Jan.
“We made the front page of the state section.”
She moved over to sit beside him, the fragrance of her sun tan lotion enveloping him as she bent over to read. The rest of the story was a detailed recap of the Deb’s criminal exploits from twenty-five years before.
“What do you think?” she asked when she finished reading.
“I’m glad they ran the two pictures.” He tapped the older one. “This is one of the clearer ones of the Deb, while yours…” He moved his finger over to the second. “Isn’t that great.”
“I’m glad. I don’t really want to be recognized and have my name linked to hers.”
“If she’s convinced you’re a poor copy, vanity might compel her out into the open.”
“What kind of circulation do you think this is getting?”
“The paper comes from Montgomery, the state capital. If it’s getting play there, it ought to in other parts of the South, too. It helps that we’ve crossed state lines. Even if the Deb doesn’t rise to the bait, maybe this kind of story will jar someone’s memory and the police will get a tip. They’re posting a substantial reward for information.”
“Believe me, I’d throw in a contribution if it’d bring all this to an end.”
She put her sunglasses back on as he studied the paper.
****
He stared down; his gaze following a bead of moisture running down the tall glass. He swirled it allowing the drip to land on the table as he rattled the ice cubes and studied a sprig of something green on the side. Everything required for a cocktail hour, except for what mattered. He had assumed the lack of liquor the previous day had been because it was a Sunday. What was the deal now?
After a long afternoon in the sun playing a round of croquet with Jan and some of the other guests followed with sitting by the pool, he had scooped it gratefully off the silver tray Dahlia had offered and taken a long drink. His surprise must have been evident for she had given a regretful shrug, and whispered something about the county being dry, before moving on to where the other guests sat around Miss Lily’s wheelchair at the end of the veranda.
Dry? He turned to Jan beside him poking the peach-flavored ice cubes with her straw. Sitting in the sun that afternoon, dangling her feet in the pool, had lent her face and arms a healthy glow. In a yellow sheath, she looked more relaxed than he’d seen her in days. Certainly more at ease than on the road with him or being given the third degree by the I.R.S.
“So what does the weather have to do with us not getting any liquor?”
“A dry county means liquor can’t be sold anywhere within the county limits,” Jan explained.
“Is that legal? I thought they repealed Prohibition.”
“It’s not that uncommon down here in the South. It’s a local option. If people don’t want liquor sales, they can vote to ban them.”
“Thank God, the North won the war. You like this stuff?”
“Yeah, it’s refreshing, isn’t it? I think it’s plantation iced tea. Down home, they make it with cane syrup. And see how they froze peach slices in the ice cubes.”
“Oh, sure.”
She took a sip and smiled. “I’m going to sit up beside Miss Lily.”
He nodded watching her find a place among the other guests listening to their hostess. Carefully made up in a lavender high-necked dinner dress, Miss Lily was holding court in her wheelchair as she detailed stories of past Southern glory. Maybe he could just dump the rest of his drink in one of the potted plants while the others were distracted.
Another night to get through, then they’d be back to what passed as normal for them these days—knocking over rural banks, forsaking the gracious living of the Major’s for economy class and separate beds.
Wish he could convince himself he was looking forward to it.
He was moving stealthily toward a potted Norfolk pine in the corner when Dahlia’s brother-in-law Junior, now in a waiter’s jacket, looked in the veranda door and gave him a quick nod.
He went over to where Junior was standing. Jan seemed caught up in what Miss Lily was saying. She leaned forward, her long legs crossed at the ankles.
“Enjoying your refreshment, sir?” Junior smiled.
“Not as much as some. Jan had to explain to me what a dry county was.”
“An old tradition here. Doesn’t stop most folks from slipping over the county line every now and then and stocking up on the necessities of life. Would you be interested in trying a bit of our Southern heritage?”
He lifted an eyebrow as the younger man produced a silver flask from an inside pocket.
“Pure corn liquor, product of Fawcett County.” Junior held up the flask.
“Moonshine?”
“Some call it that or white lightning. High-octane liquid ambrosia might be another name. 100 proof product of local industry.”
He gave a low whistle, tipped most of his glass into the flowerpot, and held it out.
“More of an homage to the past now than anything else.” Junior unscrewed the flask lid and let him take a whiff. “My great-uncle and his friends keep the tradition going.”
“Top it up. Let’s not interfere with history.” He watched as Junior poured in a generous amount. Carefully, he tried a sip.
“Whoo.” He drew a somewhat shaky breath, his eyes watering. “I can see why there’s a market for it. Thank you, Junior, you’re a lifesaver.”
“Glad to oblige. Take it easy, sir. A little goes a long way.”
He moved a chair up to sit beside Jan. One of the other guests had asked a question about the house’s history.
“It was built originally for George Reynolds Randolph and his bride when he brought her to Fawcett County in the 1830s. He wanted to impress her, because she came from a wealthy New Orleans family. He built the main part of the house and several of the outbuildings.
“Later on, in the War Between the States, the house was used as a hospital by Confederate forces and then was commandeered by Union General Fitzsimmons and his staff during their northern sweep of the state. It passed through a number of hands afterward and hadn’t been occupied for some years when my parents, the Major and Miss Verbena, acquired it. The Major, a member of the Alabama Hall of Fame, had the back section added on and the landscaping put in with the proceeds from his career in inventing. My sisters and I grew up here as did my daughters, Dahlia and Daisy, when my late husband and I assumed management.”
From inside, a gong sounded and Miss Lily folded her hands in her lap. Dahlia appeared in the doorway and smiled at the group.
“Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served.”
He and Jan followed the other guests as Dahlia pushed her mother’s wheelchair.
The Heart of Dixie dining room was set with bone china, silver, and crystal. The varied pieces seemed to have come fro
m a number of different sets. He put his drink down and held Jan’s needlepoint-embroidered chair as she seated herself at one end of the long, mahogany table.
Seating himself beside her, he took the linen napkin out of its napkin ring.
“Dinner tonight is fresh lake trout with new potatoes and creamed peas,” Dahlia said as she filled his water goblet.
“Sounds great. Last night’s dinner was wonderful.”
Jan took a long sip from her glass as she turned to talk to her neighbor, a young Japanese woman who appeared eager to practice her English.
“Thank you. Patsy Evans helps out in the kitchen. She’s a shirttail relative on my daddy’s side. In a county like this, you’re kin to half the people who live ’round here. She made derby pie for dessert so save some room.” Dahlia gave him a smile.
He listened with half an ear as the man beside him launched a detailed account of the golf courses he and his wife had visited on their trip south. He and the missus, as he put it, were getting their game in shape before their club tournament in the fall.
Junior, in the role of waiter, entered with salads on a tray as he reached for his drink. Someone must have removed it. He made a face. Beside him, Jan had a firm grip on her own glass as she talked to her neighbor. She transferred her glass to her other hand as she picked up her fork and speared a cherry tomato.
“It’s great, isn’t it?” Her eyes were bright as she looked up at him.
“Makes a nice change from fast food on the road.”
“Better than boiled peanuts?” She let her head rest on his shoulder.
“Definitely.”
Her Japanese neighbor said something and Jan turned with a giggle. His neighbor continued with descriptions of their golfing pilgrimage to Augusta National as the salad plates were removed and the entrée served.
“So how did you hear about this place?” his neighbor asked. “The missus and I pretty much stumbled on it.”
“It came recommended by some people I work with.”
“Well, it’s really something. It’s seen its better days.” The golfer’s wife lowered her voice. “But it’s just charming. I mean, the history, the antiques. If these walls could talk, can you imagine the stories they’d tell? And these meals are not to be believed. You don’t see this kind of thing much anymore with all the chain restaurants and motels around.”