“Right.” Randall tightened his jaw and glanced at Brad who was examining more of the photos mounted on the walls and displayed on bookshelves. “I was wondering if he ever talked to you about some of the people that he associates with ... outside of Wyman's.”
“Do I seem like someone interested in a teenager's social life?” He put down the newspaper and sighed.
“Not his social life ...” Randall took a deep breath and unclenched his fists. “I'm concerned ... I think there are some guys trying to pressure him into ...”
Ray held up his hand. “Spare me the drama.”
“Has anyone else approached you about Wyman's?” Randall exhaled.
“Possibly. But why would I discuss that with you?”
Ray stepped behind the bar and lifted a crystal decanter onto the surface, poured a drink and looked at Brad who was staring at a faded group photograph in a frame. “Bradford, is it?” Ray held the glass out to Brad who swallowed hard and licked his lips. “Ten year old, single malt. The best you'll ever taste.”
Randall narrowed his eyes at Ray who ignored him and put the glass to his lips and slowly took a sip. Brad turned away and picked up his rucksack. Randall caught his eye and nodded toward the door.
“Alright, we're out of here,” Randall said and motioned to Brad.
“I thought you needed something on my balcony,” Ray said and made a grand sweeping motion toward the view.
“We’ve seen enough,” Brad grumbled and followed his brother to the door.
Ray walked behind them and held the door open. Randall gave him a nod and walked through to the hallway with Brad trailing behind him.
“One more thing,” Brad said and stepped back in the room.
Ray tilted his head to one side. “And, what is that?”
Brad reached his right hand forward, grabbed Ray by the throat and slammed him against the polar ice colored walls with a thud. He pressed his left forearm into Ray’s chest and leaned into his face. “If you ever come for my family, I promise you one thing,” Brad said through gritted teeth.
“You're choking me.” Ray dropped the glass to the floor and clawed at Brad’s wrist with both hands.
“When they find your body, there'll be one piece missing. I always keep one for a souvenir,” Brad tightened his grip. Ray’s face began to flush, and his eyes bulged in fear. Brad smiled. “You wanna know which one?”
“My big brother has a sick sense of humor. Come on, man.” Randall shook his head, patted Brad’s shoulder, and walked back into the hallway.
Brad let go of Ray's neck and watched him gasp for air on the floor for a few minutes. Ray staggered back to his feet, coughing and rubbing his neck. Brad stepped away and closed the door slowly behind him. Randall held the elevator for his brother who shrugged and stepped in next to him.
“Strange that Ray would visit Wyman’s. Definitely not his kind of place. Doesn’t make sense.” Randall released the stop button and the doors closed. “Those boys stalking Milo never came around Moe’s Tavern. I checked all the security videos. I’ve got to find out who they are.”
“Naw, you gotta find out who they work for.”
“You’re right.” Randall nodded, then gave Brad a side-eye and a smirk. “You scared the crap out of him in there. What you do that for?”
“I got my reasons.”
Chapter Seven
Milo
IT HAD BEEN WEEKS SINCE Milo had seen Jules. He was busy with catering jobs and she had been through another surgery. They kept up with each other through texts and video chats and neither had let on to anyone else about the confrontation with Norman and Flip at the cabin. It seemed she was able to keep secrets even from her best friend, Ebony. Milo had given up the gig for a Hawaiian luau themed birthday party just to spend some time with Jules. He had been worried about the latest surgery, but they promised her sight would be almost perfect afterward. Or, maybe that was how he had interpreted what she said.
He met up with Jules at the McClendon Library. He would drive her to the Post Office so that she could drop off more paperwork for college and then head back out to Wyman’s for some music and BBQ on the riverbank. Afterward. he would drive her home and meet her parents.
He took a deep breath. It was time. He wasn’t looking forward to the day she moved onto campus. He had mapped it through his GPS at about a three-hour trip each way to Birston College. The restoration on his ‘70 Chevy Impala Fastback was complete and road ready thanks to Randall. Maybe a new set of tires before winter set in would be a good idea. He had picked out a set of new rims for it, but Randall had convinced him to finish the interior work first. And now that Jules was sitting next to him, he realized that it was worth all the time and money. She was wearing a peach colored Birston crop top over plaid shorts and woven sandals. And her perfume made the car smell like a rose garden. He was anxious to know one thing.
“Better?” He asked as soon as she climbed into the car.
“No, not much. Maybe the next one.”
“Wow, how many surgeries they want you to have?”
Jules turned away. That was a dumb question. She was wearing new glasses. He was positive everything had worked out, but he should have been prepared in case it didn’t just like the last time. And, the time before that.
“New glasses, huh?” He softened his voice.
Jules nodded in silence.
“I like them. Green is my favorite color. That's probably why I live in a tree.”
“You don't live in a tree.” She almost smiled.
“Maybe I should. Then people couldn’t find me.” He poked her arm a few times, right where she was most ticklish. “But you could still come visit me on your flying dolphin.”
Jules smirked at him, then laughed. Milo pulled out his phone and opened the music app.
“Hey, I downloaded the new album by Dez. Have you heard it?” He played the first track and Jules bobbed her head to the rhythm.
“Oh, I like that.”
Her smile was back. He had missed it so bad. He had missed everything about her. Funny how he didn’t realize it until that moment. She took his phone, squinted, and then swiped to the next song.
Milo leaned over and kissed her. It was awkward but it landed. He held it for twenty seconds. It was not too messy. He kept his hands resting on her hands. It was tense and a bit clumsy but mostly it was just ... embarrassing. She pushed him away.
Oh no, big mistake. She hates me now. What if she tells her parents or Ebony? Of course, she's gonna tell her best friend about this and then everybody will know how stupid I am. So stupid. I need to apologize. He wiped away the residue of the brown sugar lip balm and sweat from around his mouth.
“Jules, I'm so ...”
She turned back and faced him, her glasses were off and her eyes gleaming in the sunlight. She placed her hands on his cheeks and lingered for a moment, then slowly drew nearer as her hands slipped to the back of his neck and pulled him close. Her eyes were dark, darker than he expected. He was frozen in that gaze so intense that he was sure that she could see right through him. He wondered if she felt pain in those eyes; if she knew how badly he wanted the surgeries to stop and how he would do anything for that to happen; that he wanted to be with her more than anything else in his life; how she made him feel like anything he did or wanted to do was possible and better and ...
She closed her eyes and he was lost. Like all the stars had dropped from the night sky and he stopped breathing. She parted her lips and pulled him into the kiss. He followed her lead and this time it was ... everything.
When you know, you know.
MILO STEERED THE CAR into a parking spot near the management office at the campgrounds. He touched Jules on the arm and said, “You stay here.” Then he climbed out and headed toward the small crowd that had gathered near Middlebow Lane. He overheard a few of the residents talking and asked what was going on. One of the kids pointed at a vehicle up the path that led to a row of cabins along the northern ridge. But Milo couldn�
��t make out what was happening. More people had swarmed the area. Some were crying.
Milo pushed past them and stood on a wooden railing to get a better vantage point. His knees buckled when he finally got a glimpse of the vehicle and he dropped to the ground. He sat there a few minutes, his hands were trembling as he brushed the soil from his clothing and stood back up. With each swipe of his hand, he tried to force back the memory of the last time he had seen that county coroner’s wagon. It was at Hazelton House when they came to take away Miss Rowena’s body. But this time two body bags were being carried down the path and aligned at the rear of the vehicle for transport.
Milo took a deep breath, let it out and inhaled another one, then looked back at the scene trying desperately to find a familiar face. He rushed forward and shoved everyone out of his way, searching, listening, scanning the crowd for anything that gave him a sign that his friends were safe; a ballcap, the pattern on a jacket. Anything. Finally, he picked up the sound of Randall’s voice and hurried toward that direction. He spotted him and took off running at full speed, pushing people to the side. Brad grabbed Milo by the back of the collar before he plowed into Randall. “Slow down, son.”
Milo bent over his knees trying to catch his breath.
“Does Traci know?” Randall asked his brother.
“I haven’t called her.” Brad looked around as the crowd began to swell even more. “But you know how fast news travels. I’d say we’ve got about a twenty-minute lead before it hits Channel WME Action News and everybody in the county knows about it.”
“What happened? Who ...” Milo managed to ask between gulps of air.
“That inspector found two bodies in an abandoned cabin. Not sure how long they’ve been there or who they are. We can’t get close enough to find out any details.”
“And nobody’s talking,” Brad said with a scowl on his face.
“How did we miss this, man? We’ve got monitors up twenty-four hours a day.” Randall said shaking his head.
“Exactly,” Brad lowered his voice.
“This is crazy, right?” Milo felt lost.
“That’s not the word I would use for it, but close enough.” Randall said. “Something’s not adding up.”
“Right, but here it is. How you gonna deal with it?” Brad nodded toward the KMP officers walking toward them. “Clocks ticking. You better make that call.”
“We need to speak to the owner. Is that you, sir?” Officer Gadsen said.
“That would be my wife, but I can answer any questions you have.”
“I’m sorry but we’ll have to talk to your wife. Or her legal representative.”
“Tick-tock, bruh. Better she hear it from you than these guys.” Brad whispered in his ear.
Officer Sinclair joined them and nodded empathetically. He was one of the KMP officers that Randall employed part time to guard Hopkins Autorama. “You know how it goes. If you can arrange to get her here, that would be great,” Sinclair said. “Otherwise, we’ll have to send a car.”
“Right. Give me a minute,” Randall said and glanced at Brad. “I’ll be right back.”
“Sir, I have to ask you not to leave the property,” Gadsen said and stepped in front of him. “Everyone has to stay put for now.”
Randall looked over this officer with an immediate flash back to Gadsen’s days as a cadet almost flunking out of the academy and making it through by the skin of his teeth. His conduct record with KMP was questionable and another muni force had refused his transfer. Randall took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He sensed Brad tense up and step behind him with a warning, “C’mon, Randall. Don’t make this worse than it is. Let the little sharpie have his day.”
“Lieutenant Hayden’s orders,” Sinclair said with an uneasy smile.
“Right.” Randall glared at them both, then took out his phone and hit speed dial #1 voice call. “Tracinda, leave R.J. with Candace and meet us here at Wyman’s. Do it right now. Take the back roads,” he looked up at the sheriff’s helicopter circling above them, “and stay ten under the speed limit.”
Chapter Eight
Randall
RANDALL CHECKED HIS phone again but there was no news alert or message from his contact within KMP. Everyone was going through the motions at Wyman’s as if it was business-as-usual, but it was anything but that. Reservations for events, and boat and cabin rentals had plummeted. The permanent residents were on edge. Brad had spent days scouring surveillance video and had come up empty. There was nothing Randall could put his hands around to make sense out of what happened. Traci had thrown herself into her community work and Brad started another backyard project. Everyone needed a diversion to keep from being overcome by worry. And today was his day to spend with his son.
Randall’s heart swelled each time he looked at little Remy, a tiny mirror image of himself. Traci complained that it was so unfair that she got all the stretch marks and he got all the credit. Randall countered that the baby had plenty of her attitude and that was enough.
He was a handful, an appetite as big as a lion and a roar to match. And healthy, thank God. He was in charge of Randall’s schedule today and was not bothered by anything his parents were dealing with at the moment. His only interest was in the next spoonful of food and his favorite hippo plush toy. Time was going by so fast; Randall could hardly believe it. He leaned over and whispered, “I wish Pops was here to meet you.” The boy’s eyes lit up as Traci rushed into the kitchen, dropped her purse on the floor, made a beeline to their son, and landed a series of loud sloppy kisses on his cheeks.
“How was the meeting?” Randall asked and lifted his chin for a kiss. She pinched his cheek instead and laughed.
“The governor’s office gave us the green light for our Youth in Place program to get a ten percent set aside to fund down payments for purchase of distressed properties here in Magnolia Grove.” She went to the sink and washed her hands, then dampened a dish towel and wiped R.J.’s little fingers. “DeMarcos is going to offer discounts on materials for the rehabbers and Arden Brothers Construction is going to help out with the DIY workshops.”
She walked over to the window and pointed across the alley. “And, we tracked down the absentee landlord of that place next door. He has to fix it up or sell it off. Lots of changes happening. It’s coming together! I’m excited.” She made a fist pump in the air, then picked up the sippy cup and dish from the table, scrubbed down the placement and replaced them as Randall dodged her elbows. Brad came inside, took a paper towel and wiped the sweat from his face.
“You know,” Traci tossed the cloth into the sink, spun around and looked Randall in the eyes, “it felt so good to be out there doing something that makes a difference. Something I’m good at, you know?” She walked over to the table and examined the chunky bits of food in the baby’s dish. She took the spoon from Randall. “What is your daddy feeding you?”
“Sausage bites,” Randall piped up. “Or, whatever this is you’re trying to pass off as sausage.” He squinted at the tiny print on the package label. “I give up, you tell me.”
R.J. snatched a fistful from the spoon, threw it on the table and giggled. Traci brushed the beige meaty crumbles into her palm and tossed them into the trash. She grabbed a small container of Wholesome Harvest for Toddlers, dropped it in the food warmer and pressed the button. “I know it’s a few months away, but I think we should have R.J.’s first birthday party at Moe’s Tavern. We can close off the patio area and decorate it with balloons and streamers.”
“Sounds good.” Randall stood up and stretched. He slipped his arms around her waist and kissed the back of her neck. She was wearing the orange dress with green palm leaf print that Candace had gifted from her last visit to Jamaica. It had a sash tie that cinched her waist. The dress was soft under his fingers as he slid them along her sides and shifted the sleeves gently off her shoulders. His hands glided down her back and traced the outline of her hips. She complained all the time about the baby weight, but he th
ought her curves were perfection. He loosened the hair clip and inhaled the scent as her curls flowed freely.
She brushed him aside and continued, “I stopped by Moe’s on the way home.”
“Swing and a miss,” Brad snickered from his observation spot across the room.
Randall gave him a side-eye and reached in the fridge for a bottle of water, handed a second one to Brad who refused it and grabbed a beer instead. He turned back to Traci.
“Cool, what did you bring me?” He would settle for something to eat for the moment.
“Have you seen what's parked out front?” She scrubbed out the Polly Panda sippy cup and filled it with apple juice.
“Ummm, what?”
“That thing ... in the parking lot. It's got Milo's name painted all over it. Something about Milo's Mobile ...”
“Milo's Mobile Meals.” Randall took a couple gulps of water. “Yeah, I know. It's a food truck. Well, not quite yet. He's converting it. Right now, it's a ...”
“Trap! He can't drive that thing.” Traci checked the timer on the food, then turned off the switch and faced him with her hands on her hips. “It's not safe, Randall. I looked inside. Did you look inside?”
“It'll be fine.”
“What's he going to do with it? Is he really planning to cook inside that thing? Like how? A kerosene stove in a truck.” She slapped her forehead. “What could possibly go wrong? That's a terrible idea.”
“It’s safe.”
“Safe? When we find people using kerosene at the campgrounds, we make them stop. We confiscate it. Right, Brad?” She turned and faced her brother-in-law.
Brad lowered his head and stepped out of the back door. Traci continued, “I have a gas stove, sure. Inside my house, that's safe. But cooking on a gas stove inside a truck? Going down the road? That's crazy! Nope, not going to let that happen.”
“Propane.”
“I don't like it. I'm going to tell him, no way! Nope, no way.” She wiped the drool from R.J.’s chin and checked his gums. “I'm not letting him do that, Randall.”
Milo's Journey Page 5