by Jodi Thomas
“He’ll set the whole north shore on fire,” I whispered as I grabbed my flannel shirt and ran for the stairs.
At the edge of the porch, I tugged at a rolled water hose and charged down beside the dock toward the flames dancing almost as high as Luke’s shadow. Maybe my under-the-bed monster wasn’t going to kill us. Maybe he’d be happy just to burn us out.
Ten feet from the fire, I reached the end of the hose and almost fell backward with the sudden stop. I pointed the drizzle of water at Luke. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He turned and put down the empty basket. Though his face was in shadow, I could tell by the angle of his head that he studied me. “More pointedly,” he mumbled, “what are you doing?”
The drip from the hose tinkled across my toes and I jumped with the sudden cold. Tossing the worthless water hose aside, I took a step toward him. My foot sank into the puddle I’d just created.
I straightened, trying to ignore the disgusting sensation of cold mud moving between my toes. “We have to put the fire out,” I said far more calmly than I felt. “Not build it bigger.” I noticed several big chunks of driftwood at the base of the campfire. Luke had planned for a big fire.
He didn’t move, just stared at me with that what-kind-of-alien look he had whenever he faced me.
Straightening, I tried not to notice that I was only wearing a thin T-shirt that didn’t quite cover my panties. I pulled the flannel shirt around me.
His eyes met mine. Those blue eyes were guarded now, giving away nothing.
I picked up the basket and headed for the lake. “If you’re not going to help me, I’ll do it myself. I’m not about to go to sleep with this fire blazing a few feet from the dock. If it catches the walkway on fire, it’ll burn right up to the house.”
Two feet from the water, the bank turned slippery with mud.
I told myself it didn’t matter. I was on a mission. This place might not be much, and I might not have it for long, but I had no intention of losing it to fire.
Mud caked my ankles by the time I was close enough to bail water out of the lake. I made it back to the fire, sloshing and leaking more water than I had remaining in the basket.
I could have spit and done more good.
I tried again and again while Luke watched me. If he hadn’t been a foot taller than me, I would have given serious consideration to clobbering him.
On my fourth trip to the lake, I heard a splashing sound coming from the water. I stared out into the blackness. The fog had grown so thick I couldn’t see more then ten feet.
The sound came again, like someone slapping at the surface with even beats.
At this point, if the Loch Ness monster came up out of the depths, I wouldn’t have bothered to scream.
“Hello!” someone yelled. A moment later a pair of long canoes sliced through the darkness toward us.
“Thanks.” The boy in the first boat laughed. “We were too far out to see where to dock. If you hadn’t lit the fire, we’d have been on the lake all night.”
Luke waded into the shallow water and helped the boys tug their boats in.
“You got any more of them biscuits?” one thin kid asked as he warmed by the fire. “We flipped the canoe that carried all our food.”
I nodded and invited them in. While they loaded their boats onto the trailer, I duckwalked back trying to fling off as much mud as possible before I tracked it into the house.
Scrambled eggs defined the limit of my cooking skills. That, added to the fried pies, seemed to keep the four teenagers happy. They sat in a line on the stools, inhaling the food and coffee while they talked about their grand adventure.
I had a feeling it would be even more exciting by the time they got home.
“How much?” one finally asked when his plate appeared licked clean.
When I looked confused he added, “For the food.”
“Nothing,” I said. I would have fed them even if they hadn’t a dime.
The boys stood and left, thanking me.
When I turned back to clean the plates, I found a twenty in the tip box.
Chapter 8
Wednesday
September 18, 2006
2200 hours
Luke stayed out on the porch telling himself he needed to keep an eye on the fire, but he knew in truth he needed to keep his eyes off Allie.
She’d almost stopped his heart when she’d stepped from the fog into the firelight wearing nothing but a shirt he could almost see through and pink underwear.
Pink panties. Dear God. Didn’t she know that women out of their teens wore black, or red, or even white, not pink? At least he thought they did. He couldn’t really say he’d had a great deal of experience researching the matter.
But there she stood, her hair reflecting in the firelight, her breasts high and pointed, and her pink panties showing-her eyes blazing at him like she wanted to throttle him.
Luke thought of explaining, but he was having far too much fun watching her storm around.
Then, when she’d realized why he’d built the fire, she didn’t even look in his direction. No thank-you. Nothing.
Luke leaned against the porch railing and stared into the night. Allie Daniels was messing with his mind. Hell, the sight of her was messing with his body. He was a man who prided himself on always being in control. He liked his job, it challenged him. And he liked having no complications in his private life.
Shifting his weight, he realized he had no private life. The only reason he’d taken time off from work was to investigate Jefferson’s death. He didn’t just work for the ATF in drug enforcement, he was the badge he carried. Most nights he left the office, stopped off for fast food, then did paperwork until he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He kept his life and the people he met in neat little files.
She might not be a suspect, but she was definitely a person of interest in this investigation.
He shook his head as the sound of her laughter drifted onto the porch.
It was late. Luke needed to bank the fire and get some sleep. He had predawn plans at a few of the houses he’d found on the west shore. The more he walked the land of this lake, the more the place smelled of trouble.
But as he stepped off the porch, all he could think about was pink panties.
Chapter 9
After I did the dishes, I walked back out to the porch and noticed Luke had let the fire burn low. Sitting on the first step, I watched him move onto the dock. The one yard light still burning appeared fuzzy now that the fog had turned into a slow rain.
Tomorrow I’d say I was sorry for acting like an idiot. If he hadn’t built the fire, the teenagers would have spent a miserable night on the lake at the least. I felt bad for not even remembering their old car parked over beside the junkers. The day had been so long it seemed like a week had passed since they’d asked to shove off from my dock.
A thin smugglers’ moon rose, offering just enough light for me to make out Luke. He walked down the long dock toward the water as he had the night before. In fluid movements, he removed his clothes without slowing his stride, dropping them carelessly. The outline of his form was long and lean, powerful with movement and as natural as an animal in his element.
He dove into the water, his hands over his head, and sliced the midnight lake as soundlessly as a shadow’s passing. I sat motionless, listening to the whisper of his long strokes cutting into the water.
When I stepped back inside, the twinkle lights along the back wall greeted me and I was glad I’d left them up. I walked to the small office area tucked almost invisibly between tall shelves. I’d intended to turn off the desk lamp, but reached for a pencil from the can and opened the empty ledger instead. On the back of the first page, without lines to hamper me, I sketched what I’d seen in long bold strokes.
An hour later, I went to bed still thinking of the slim form stretched between land and lake. It might be Luke’s body I drew, but somehow my feelings had poured across the paper
.
In what seemed like minutes, I awoke to the sound of Nana talking to someone. It took me a few seconds to get my bearings. Sitting up, I decided Uncle Jefferson never put up doors on this apartment so he could hear anything going on downstairs. The stairwell acted like a megaphone to the second floor.
Bumps and scrapes rattled as if someone were moving bricks downstairs.
My first thought was that we were being robbed. But that seemed unlikely. Who would want anything on the ground level, or upstairs for that matter? Even the old safe was just a joke around the place. It seems Jefferson spent years trying to give the thing away but no one had the strength to carry it off.
I shoved my legs into jeans as I hopped toward the landing. I managed to pull on my shirt by the time I reached the stairs.
Now the voices were clear. I slowed, listening.
“I’ll put the chips over here and the drinks here,” a woman announced. “Where do you want the candy and bait?”
I reached the bottom of the steps to find a dozen boxes stacked in front of the shelves. “What’s going on?” I asked to no one in particular.
A large woman, dressed like a man down to her black, round-toed shoes, faced me. She had short, curly hair that reminded me of Neapolitan ice cream. Her roots were white, then two inches of dark red. The tips were chocolate brown. “Howdy.” She grinned and her clean-scrubbed face crinkled like twisted plastic wrap. “I’m Micki. Mrs. Deals called and told me you guys were moving in so I figured it was time for me to make a delivery.”
Shaking my head, I tried to settle on which question to ask first. The smell of dead fish distracted me for a moment, then Willie Dowman wandered into my line of vision with a cup of coffee in his hand. He sat on the safe by the cold stove, propped his elbows on his knees, and watched.
Nana handed me a cup of coffee, then offered one to Micki, giving me a moment to think.
“Nice to meet you,” I managed. “There must be some mistake. We didn’t order a delivery, and I don’t know a Mrs. Deals.”
The woman lifted a clipboard. “Your uncle ordered this over two months ago. Said for me to deliver it when you arrived.” Micki’s smile sparked across her face and then was gone, replaced by an all-business stare. “I guess he figured you’d never know what was needed.”
“I guess,” I agreed.
Micki continued, “And Mrs. Deals is the old lady who lives down the road in that big house that reminds me of the Alamo. She’s got more rooms in that thing than she can count. She also has the only dependable phone. Cells don’t work out here half the time and most folks don’t bother putting a line in at their cabins.” She gave me the “duh” look middle school girls always seem to know. “Mrs. Deals keeps up with everything.”
She pointed to a box marked “cookies.” “My guess is she’s missing her Milano cookies. Jefferson always stocked them for her. Said she never bought but one bag at a time like no one would notice that way.”
I glanced at all the boxes marked with brand names for snacks, drinks, and candy. I decided on a more direct approach. “We can’t pay for all this.”
Micki shrugged. “Jefferson has an account and it’s well in the black. All this stuff has already been paid for in full, plus the next couple of loads. He said he wanted you stocked for the fall. I left you our listing, but if you need something not on it we’ll try to get it for you. I make my rounds once a week.”
Willie and I watched as Micki unloaded another four boxes from her delivery van while Nana went back to the kitchen.
As the air filled with the smell of cinnamon rolls, the shelves behind the cash register filled with basic first-aid supplies, batteries, and cleaning supplies. The wire racks were loaded with candy and gum. Milanos and Oreos shared a spot right next to the door.
Micki stacked a few cans of soup and beans on the long wall shelves. “Your uncle usually kept the bait in his fridge in the kitchen, but I always thought he could have slid that old drink chest over here by the wall and plugged it in. The chest would keep the bait cool and be far away from any food. It made more sense, but Jefferson wasn’t one to change.”
I nodded in agreement and she relaxed as if she’d been saying the same thing for years and finally someone listened.
When I signed her clipboard, she snapped it shut and offered a friendly smile. “I’ll help you move the chest.” Then with a glance at her Timex, added, “I’m officially on my break now.”
“Thanks, but does bait need to be cold?”
Micki winked. “So I’ve heard. I never caught anything but husbands. And some of them ended up smelling worse than warm worms.” She wiggled her body. “In those days the bait I used for that kind of fishing was plenty hot, I can tell you.”
We shoved the old drink chest across the floor.
Laughing, I asked, “Did you catch your limit?” I decided I liked the break-time Micki.
“I think that last one was over my limit. I should have stopped with three.” She ripped a piece of paper from her clipboard. “I’ll be back next week, but if you need anything, just tell Willie to tell Mrs. Deals and she’ll call. I’ll bring it out for no charge as long as the order’s over a hundred.”
I folded the paper and invited her to breakfast. Willie and Nana were already at the counter testing the cinnamon rolls.
She shook her head and moved her empty dolly toward the door. “No time today. This is Thursday and every little store from here to Lubbock needs supplies for the weekend.” She waved. “Maybe next time.”
Walking her to her delivery van, I wondered what might happen when the weekend hit. It seemed like we’d had company since we pulled up.
Before she started the engine, she rolled down her window and motioned me over. “Watch that old man,” she whispered. “The Landry brothers who fish out here are fine, but that one.” She raised an eyebrow.
“Willie?” He was the only man I could see.
She nodded. “Far as I know, he’s never done anything more than brush against a few women, but I wanted to warn you anyway.”
Great, I thought, I’d left Nana in the café with the lake pervert.
Micki started her engine and I hurried back inside.
I watched Willie Dowman while he ate, but saw no sign. I decided to make sure all the doors were locked at night.
To my shock, Nana stood up and hugged him good-bye. I was speechless. My Nana was a hugger, always had been, but if she knew…knew what, I reasoned. If I told her what Micki said she’d just tell me that she looked into his eyes and saw a good man. Nana was the one person in the world who had never listened to gossip and she wasn’t likely to start now.
Willie paid for his roll and coffee and wished me a good day while I studied him. I decided if he ever did anything fresh I could probably knock him over with one blow. I also decided not to say anything, but to watch him until I knew for sure. If he showed one sign, I’d be calling the sheriff. I had a feeling Sheriff Fletcher would straighten him out.
After breakfast, I talked Nana into going to town. Since she’d already made more money than I had, maybe we should stock up on flour and sugar and make a few things the fishermen might eat.
About an hour later, I left Nana at United and drove over to the mall. Like a speed shopper, I bought sheets, pillows, curtains, and bath rugs. I might have to sleep on the bed Uncle Jefferson left, but at least I’d do it on clean linen. I’d managed to catch everything but the pillows on sale. Walking to the car with all the bags, I felt rich for once.
When I got back to the grocery, Nana waited with two buggies full of supplies. I told myself we’d have to spend a little money to make money and didn’t say a word as I paid the two-hundred-dollar bill.
We stopped for tacos on the way out of town and laughed as we ate them on the drive back.
As we pulled onto the lake road, Nana told the same story about Poor Flo and her mother washing in the creek. She’d often told stories again and again, but usually not this close together. I didn’
t want to hurt her feelings by mentioning it. Maybe it was just this place, or being back in Texas, but the past drifted thick across her mind.
“I loved Flo so much,” she said after a few silent minutes. “I made her promise to never, ever leave me. I made her swear. I didn’t want to grow up and old without her. I told her I needed her all my life, but she must not have been listening.”
I reached over and took Nana’s hand. Her memories were like her life, a mixture of happy and sad. She could no more have one without the other than she could have lived in days without the nights.
Once home, Luke showed up to help me carry in all the groceries. He didn’t say anything, but I guessed he was waiting for an apology. I touched his shoulder once as he passed me with a load, but he didn’t stop. I felt the solid muscle beneath his shirt, but short of tackling him I didn’t know how to make him turn and give me time to say I was sorry.
When Nana offered him supper, he refused and disappeared without even glancing in my direction.
Before Nana’s stew was ready, I sat in the wingback chair in the corner of the kitchen and tried to figure out what I should charge for the goods that were stocked on our little store’s shelves.
The wind chime rattled, telling me that someone had opened the front door. I jumped, feeling like we had our first real customer. I’d dusted everything and turned the labels out. I was ready.
When I entered the store, an old woman in a wool coat a size too large nodded at me, then raised one eyebrow and looked me over.
I nodded back, feeling like a shoplifter in my own store.
She picked up a two-pound bag of flour and a box of Milano cookies, but made no effort to speak to me.
“I’m not sure what to charge,” I mumbled, embarrassed that I hadn’t figured it all out before putting the OPEN sign on the front door.
The woman straightened even more and leveled me with her stare. “I know how much they are.” She fished in her purse and pulled out three dollars and a quarter. “I’ll need two cents in change, Allie.”