Now he looked around with new eyes. “Maybe it’s time we freshened it up a little, then. Will you call the painters?”
“How about a new carpet?” Fran said, getting into the spirit.
“That’s a good idea.”
“And how about some new clients to pay for the renovation?”
“I have plenty of clients.”
“Not clients who pay their bills.”
“Can I help it if I’m a nice guy?”
“Nice guys don’t practice law. And Mrs. Balou called again. Now she thinks it might be aliens at her patio door, and she wants you to sue them.”
“If we win, it might pay for the renovation….”
“Take these children somewhere, Billy Ray. They don’t need to be cooped up on a beautiful morning. Your first appointment isn’t until three, and I happen to know you worked late last night. So you’re allowed some time off.”
“Hear that, kids? We’ve been set free.”
Kitten wrinkled her nose, a perfect replica of Carolina’s. “Where are we going?”
“Do you like getting dirty?”
She cocked her head as Chris socked him in the shoulder enthusiastically.
“Do you like grease and grime and loud noises?” Billy Ray continued.
Kitten’s eyes shone like stars. “Where are we going?”
“We’re going to fix cars.”
“Really?”
As they made a hasty exit, Fran’s “harrumph” was still echoing through the building.
Joel Wainwright was closer to eighty than seventy, stoop-shouldered, wrinkled and liver-spotted from too many years in the Florida sunshine. Billy Ray had watched his grandfather age in proportion to his only son’s exploits, so that even at sixty, Joel had looked like a much older man.
At sixteen Joel had run off to see the world, and he hadn’t returned to Moss Bend for ten years. Along the way he had learned that he didn’t have to be a poor dirt farmer like his ancestors. By the time he came home to stay, he had honed his talent as a mechanic into considerable skill. By the time he was thirty, Joel owned his own garage, and by the time he was thirty-five, Joel’s Garage had the best reputation in River County.
Although Joel could still clean a carburetor at lightning speed, most days he chose not to. He had never been a talkative man, but now he seemed to enjoy passing the time with his customers more than their cars. His staff was knowledgeable and talented, and he kept a close eye on their work. But most of the time he could be found behind the counter in the waiting room checking accounts with an old adding machine manufactured twenty years before the advent of the home computer.
Today, when Billy Ray and the children arrived, Dahlia, Joel’s office manager, was behind the counter, chatting with a. customer. Dahlia, a dark-skinned wraith of a woman, had been with Joel as long as Billy Ray remembered. Next winter, when her husband Pete retired from his job as a janitor at the courthouse, they planned to move south to be closer to their children in Orlando. She would be sorely missed, but Billy Ray suspected that Joel might outlast several managers before he finally sold the garage.
Kitten immediately headed for a lamp in the corner. It was a pink Cadillac with a gilded shade, the most ridiculous accessory in the world, which was why Dahlia had presented it to Joel on his last birthday. Now Kitten, with Chris at her heels, began to turn it on and off, watching the gold shade shimmer.
The customer left, most likely prompted by the light show, and Dahlia gave Billy Ray a broad smile. “You ought to have a couple of kids of your own by now.”
“Well, this morning these two belong to me. I thought I’d give them the garage tour. Is Joel around?”
“He’s fiddling with a car. Bay one.”
“Why?”
“Grady’s sick. Jimmy’s at a funeral. Mabel Groves was his aunt. They’re burying her this morning over at First Baptist.”
Like everybody in town, Billy Ray knew who Mabel Groves was. Like everybody in town, he knew everybody else.
“What’s Joel working on?” he asked.
“Something with brakes. One of the sheriffs cars.”
“Oh?” He wasn’t excited about being at the garage when one of Doug’s deputies came by to get the car. “When are they coming by to pick it up?”
“Joel’s promised to get somebody to drop it off at the station.” She grimaced. “Probably me. The things I do for that man.”
“I don’t know what he’ll do when you leave.”
“He’ll keep right on going.” She hiked a thumb at Kitten and Chris. “I know those two. They’re the judge’s grandkids.”
“That they are.”
She lowered her voice. “What are they doing with you?”
Billy Ray was surprised Dahlia hadn’t heard the gossip. “Their mother and I are friends. She has an appointment this morning.”
“And you’re watching them? With all the folks who work for the judge?”
“Carolina prefers to have someone else taking care of her children.”
“Uh-huh.”
Dahlia was a savvy woman. Billy Ray knew she now understood the basics, if not the details. Joel chose that moment to come into the waiting room, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag.
“What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly. His brown eyes flicked to the children in the corner. “You kids got nothing better to do than play with my lamp?”
“What else can we do?” Kitten asked. She glared at Billy Ray. “It’s not dirty in here. You said it would be.” She glared at Billy Ray.
“I promised them grease and grime.” Billy Ray winked at his grandfather.
“Got plenty of that. Got something to cover up their clothes?”
“Chris still stuffs things in his mouth. We’ll have to keep a good eye on him.”
“Dahlia, think you can keep an eye on the kids while Billy Ray and I get under that car?”
“You need some help?” Billy Ray said.
“Yeah, a stronger arm than I’ve got. Got a stuck bleeder valve, and my arms ain’t what they used to be. Step into some coveralls, boy, and do some real work.”
A few minutes later, to Kitten’s delight, Billy Ray was wearing grease-stained coveralls. Dahlia had found a man’s shirt with Joel’s Garage stitched on the pocket for Kitten, rolling up the arms so that the little girl looked like a miniature pigtailed mechanic. Chris’s green playsuit was covered by a man’s ragged T-shirt.
Billy Ray appraised Kitten, who looked for all the world like a five-year-old Carolina. “Now, look, we’re going to need your help. These are the tools I’m going to use.” Billy Ray laid out an assortment, naming each one and pointing as he did. “Do you think you can remember?”
“Can I get under the car?”
Billy Ray thought about Joel’s insurance, about lawsuits and liability. “Just for a moment. Once we’re finished.”
“Can I fix something?” She was so excited she couldn’t stand still. She delivered the question as she hopped from one foot to the other.
“I’ll definitely find something for you to fix. But not this car. This car’s just for looking. Okay?”
“I like the way it smells here!”
Bay one smelled like gas and oil, like tires and sweat-stained upholstery. This kid was definitely not going to be the next Judge Grayson.
Billy Ray circled the car, which Joel had driven up on a low ramp, since the repair had appeared to be minor. But when Joel pointed to the valve that just wouldn’t give, he snorted in disgust. “Guess I really am getting old if I can’t get one of these unstuck. Took a torch to it, too.”
“I’ll see what I can do. You probably loosened it enough for a fresh arm to get it.”
“Young arm. Mine’s old and tired.”
“Okay, Kitten,” Billy Ray called. “Get me the box wrench.”
“I’ve got a hammer socket right there,” Joel said.
“Yeah, but she doesn’t know that.”
Joel came as close to laughing
as he ever did, gurgling deep in his throat.
Billy Ray heard tools dropping on the concrete floor on the other side of the car, then the box wrench slid around the corner, propelled by a tiny hand. “Good job,” he called. “Exactly what I needed. Now hand me the hammer.” He waited until he had that in his grasp, too.
“Just fix the darn valve,” Joel said, ‘so I can bleed the line and get rid of the oil I put around this thing.”
“I’m getting to it.” The valve was every bit as stuck as Joel had promised. Billy Ray squatted, carefully using his weight to help loosen it. Repairing a broken valve was no fun.
The valve came unfrozen at last, and he tightened it so that the leak Joel had noted would be sealed. “There you go.”
“Damn old age, anyway.”
“Anything else you need?”
“Oil filter needs changing. I’m too creaky to be scooting underneath these things.”
Billy Ray suspected Joel just liked having him and the kids around. Billy Ray had spent most afternoons here as a boy, handing his grandfather tools, learning simple, then complex, repairs. If he hadn’t passed the bar, he could have made a good living as a mechanic.
“I’ll do it,” he told his grandfather.
“I’ve got to make a call. I’ll be back to help you finish up.”
“Go ahead.”
Billy straightened; then he beckoned Kitten closer, so he could show her exactly what he’d done. She was fascinated. Chris, in Dahlia’s arms, seemed perfectly happy, too.
“Next I’m going under the car to change an oil filter.” He gave a primitive explanation of what that meant and had the feeling that Kitten would greatly have preferred a lecture on the differences between online and V-type engines and cubic-inch displacements.
“Can I come, too?”
“You can take a peek first. I’ll show you what I’m going to do.”
Her eyes lit up the way most little girls’ probably did when they’d just been presented with a Barbie Dream House. He donned goggles for the job ahead and slid under the car. Then he made room for her. She joined him, lying on her back beside him. He pointed out the vital parts, giving a quick automobile anatomy lesson along the way.
“The filter’s like the strainer Mommy uses when she drains spaghetti.”
“Same principle. Now scoot, short stuff, because this gets messy.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Well, your mommy would if she had to wash motor oil out of those pretty pigtails.”
Kitten grumbled, but she did as she was told.
Billy Ray worked as quickly as he could, but the filter, like the bleeder valve, was stuck, and he had to try a cold chisel and ball peen hammer to loosen it. The sheriff’s department cars were roughly used, and they frequently created problems for Joel’s mechanics.
He was grunting with the effort and concentrating all his energy on the filter when he heard what seemed to be a scuffle above him. Dahlia sounded as if she’d moved away, but her voice was raised.
“I can’t let you do that.”
A man’s voice responded in a quieter tone, but it wasn’t Joel’s.
Customers came and went at the garage, and old friends often dropped by just to chew the fat. Billy Ray wouldn’t have thought twice about what he’d heard except for the tone of Dahlia’s voice. Usually she was unflappable, but now she sounded distressed.
He scooted out and peered around. When he didn’t see her, he pushed himself to his feet and circled the car.
She stood in front of the garage. Facing her was the judge, who had Kitten by the hand. Dahlia was grasping Chris tightly, as if the judge, or the young sheriffs deputy beside him, had tried to take him from her arms.
“What’s going on?” Billy Ray advanced to Dahlia’s side.
“Billy Ray, the judge here says these children are supposed to go with him.”
Billy Ray realized poor Dahlia had been thrust in the middle of the battle between Carolina and her inlaws. Dahlia’s husband had worked at the courthouse for more than thirty years, and he was about to retire. He needed the judge’s goodwill to make sure he was allowed to finish the months necessary to receive full benefits.
Billy Ray reached for Christopher, despite his own oily coveralls. “You can go answer the phones, Dahlia. I know you’re needed inside.”
He waited until she was gone. “I thought we’d settled this, Judge,” he said calmly. “Carolina is the children’s mother. Carolina asked me to watch them this morning. That puts me in charge. I can’t let you take either of the children without her permission.”
“For a smart boy, you’re not acting so smart.” Judge Grayson didn’t relinquish his granddaughter’s hand.
“Smart and reliable,” Billy Ray said. “And Carolina’s relying on me to make sure these children are returned to her this afternoon.”
“This is a small town. A small county. I’m not an ambitious man. I figured out a long time ago that I didn’t need anything more than what I had right here. I settled for circuit court judge when I could have had more. I never ran for the senate, like Carolina’s daddy. I just stayed here and made this part of Florida mine.” The judge looked down at his granddaughter. Kitten looked confused; she began to bite her lip. “I’m not going to let anybody take what’s mine,” he added.
“The children belong to Carolina.”
“How’s your practice getting on?” Judge Grayson asked in an apparent change of subject. “I don’t see as much of you as I might in my courtroom.”
Billy Ray knew the subject hadn’t been changed at all. “Shall we cut straight to the point? Make your threats right out in the open. I’ve got work to do.”
“Threats?” The judge chortled. “I wouldn’t lower myself to threaten you, Billy Ray. I save my threats for people who might really do me some harm. But I’ll tell you how it’s going to be. You’re nobody. Your law practice is nothing. This garage is nothing. And after the people of River County realize that you’ve sided with the woman who killed my son and kept these innocent children from living under my protection, then they’ll realize that you and everything you love are less than nothing, too. You won’t want to live here anymore when that happens. And I won’t blame you one bit.”
Billy felt fury rising inside him, but he kept his voice calm. “You know, Judge, for all your ambition, you don’t own this county. Wainwrights have lived here just as long as Graysons have. With or without your approval, we intend to stay.” Billy Ray stooped and swept Kitten toward him, lifting her into his arms along with her brother. She began to cry softly.
The judge’s hand fell away. Despite his arrogance, in a physical struggle, he knew he would lose. The deputy, Al Cranston, who had grown up trailing along behind Billy Ray and Doug, stepped forward, but he stopped when Billy Ray narrowed his eyes.
“The law says that these children are my responsibility today,” he told Al.
“I’ve filed for custody,” Judge Grayson said. “On the grounds that my daughter-in-law is unfit. And I’11 win.”
“We’ll see.”
“I’ll get visiting rights first. You might as well let me have the children right here and now.”
“I’ll let you have them when I see a piece of paper telling me I have to.”
“You’ve made a bad choice, Billy Ray. More than one. Choices often come back to haunt us.”
“Unfortunately, not always. Some people continue to prosper, anyway.”
The judge studied him silently, a slight smile on his face. Billy Ray didn’t blink. Finally the judge turned, with Al at his heel, and walked away.
6
“Billie Ray?”
Billy Ray looked up from the papers he’d been working on since his three o’clock appointment. Fran was standing in his doorway, hands on her ample hips.
He put down his pen. “Why aren’t you gone?”
“Because you aren’t. And I’m getting real tired.”
“I’m sorry, Fran. Go on home. I’ve sti
ll got work to finish.”
Fran marched over and took the papers from his hands, tapping them into a neat pile. “Not anymore. Touch these again tonight and I’ll make confetti out of them.”
Billy Ray leaned back in his chair. For the first time he noticed it was growing dark outside, which meant it was probably sometime after seven. He had promised Carolina he would stop by on his way home from work to give her the details about what had occurred at the garage that morning.
Carolina had picked up the children from his office just after noon, and although he hadn’t had a chance to tell her everything, he had managed the basics. He had also warned her not to let Kitten and Chris out of her sight.
He had no illusions that anything that had transpired at Joel’s had changed Judge Grayson’s mind. The man still wanted his grandchildren, and he had proved he would go to almost any lengths to get them. He had proved he was perfectly capable of snatching them right out of Carolina’s arms, as long as his own reputation didn’t suffer accordingly.
He stretched and looked his most repentant. “You’re right. I’m beat. I’ll leave.”
“You’ll leave one step ahead of me, young man. Don’t think you’re getting me out of here till you go, too.”
He grinned, but her expression didn’t change. Billy Ray knew when he’d lost. “Give Carolina a quick call for me, would you, while I get my stuff together? Tell her I’ll be right over.” He gave Fran Maggie’s phone number.
Somewhere deep inside him, anticipation began to build. He hadn’t been alone with Carolina since he had kissed her in his driveway. He had tried to put that kiss out of his mind, but it had grown into something of magnificent proportions. Kissing Carolina had been like coming home. He had walked around for days in a state of acute arousal, and the only woman he wanted was her.
Outside in the lot, he waited until Fran got into her own car before he got into his. Safety was rarely a problem in Moss Bend, but like anywhere else, there were occasional car thefts and muggings. With all the other businesses on the street closed for the night, the block was eerily empty. He waved her on, then turned to his own car. Fran dawdled in the lot, and he realized she was waiting for him to get in and drive away.
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