Twisted Creek

by Jodi Thomas

  While I watched, Mary Lynn pulled up in her rusty Volvo. She drove over the dam road twice a week to see if any of her orders had come in. She’d said she was redecorating, but the mailman swore she must be “one of them compulsive shoppers,” because he was always delivering something she’d ordered.

  The old maid took a few steps, then noticed Paul. Unlike me, she didn’t hesitate. She walked right up to the banker and knelt down beside him.

  I couldn’t hear what they said, but after a while, Paul stood, dusted off his jeans, and they headed toward the store. I ran downstairs feeling guilty that I’d watched.

  “Afternoon,” I managed as they came in. “I’ll get your package, Mary Lynn.”

  “Thank you,” she said in her polite, shy way. “And would you mind if we had a pot of tea, Allie? I think that might just hit the spot.”

  “Of course,” I said, thinking that we didn’t usually serve tea. It didn’t seem to go with worms.

  But Nana and I managed to find an old steel pot. While she heated water, I stacked Lipton bags on a saucer. We added the old sugar bowl and a small plate of cookies. Nana spread one of her bandana napkins over a cookie sheet and I served tea to our guests sitting in the bay window.

  “Thank you,” Mary Lynn said. Her gentle smile somehow didn’t touch her eyes.

  Since she didn’t invite me to join them, I moved to the other side of the store. As the afternoon aged, I watched her pour him tea. Neither seemed to talk much. Once I saw him nod when she pointed at something on the lake.

  They were still there when the fishermen began to dock for the night. Luke’s canoe slipped in just as the sun touched the water. He pulled out a string of fish and walked up the dock.

  Without a word to me, he handed the catch to Nana. “Same deal?”

  My grandmother smiled. “Same deal.”

  As they disappeared into the kitchen, I walked over to Mary Lynn and Paul for the first time. “Could I interest either of you in joining us for dinner? Looks like Luke caught twice what we can eat.”

  They looked at each other, then turned to me and nodded. Paul stood slowly, like a man finding his footing on new ground. “I’ll help him clean the fish.”

  Mary Lynn looked up at him. “You know how?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve done it a few times.”

  When he disappeared out the back, I sat down by Mary Lynn. “Is he all right?”

  She nodded. “He will be.” She hesitated before sharing. “His wife wrote to tell him she filed for a divorce. She said buying a dusty little shack on a nowhere lake was the last straw.”

  “Why’d he do it?”

  Mary Lynn shook her head. “He said he’d always dreamed of having a place, a retreat from the world. He thought she understood.”

  “He might be in time to stop the sale.”

  “No. I don’t think he wants to. Maybe his life with her was part of the reason he needed the retreat.”

  I felt like a voyeur looking into someone else’s pain so I changed the subject. An hour later, as we sat on the porch eating Luke’s fish and Nana’s cottage fries, I tried not to act as if anything was wrong even though I guessed this must be one of the saddest days of Paul’s life.

  He ate little, stared at his plate, and forced a smile when he did look up.

  Mary Lynn told us the story of how Jefferson’s Crossing got its name. It seemed Jefferson Platt was named after his ancestors who operated a raft so wagons could cross Twisted Creek. When they dammed the water and created the lake, his people stayed on, first with a trading post and later with the small bait store.

  Luke backed her up, saying that when he was a kid he’d heard old Jefferson tell the same story. Except for the army, he’d lived his life in one spot.

  I tried to picture Luke as a boy. Reason told me he couldn’t have been born six-feet tall and hard as a rock, but I couldn’t visualize him younger. Knowing that he’d come here for years ended my worry about him being a drifter, but I couldn’t see him living anywhere else. If this were his getaway place, where did he live?

  When they’d left and Nana had gone up to bed, I walked out to the campfire Luke had built. Fall drifted in the air, chilling the breeze off the lake.

  We sat for a while looking at the flames. I loved to watch the colors dance toward heaven. Once I’d tried to paint the firelight, but I could never make it come alive. An instructor told me that the only way I’d ever make fire look real on canvas was to burn it.

  Finally, I could stand the silence no longer. “The banker’s wife is divorcing him because he bought a place out here.”

  He stirred the fire. “Good a reason as any, I guess.”

  I tried to see his face in the shadows. How could someone who kissed so good show no sympathy?

  “That’s all you have to say?”

  “Would you rather she left him for another man, or because she bankrupted him, or because she had a gambling problem?”

  I got the point. “You’re right. The reason doesn’t matter, I guess, because it’s not the real reason. She left him because she doesn’t love him anymore.” Somehow that sounded so much worse than all the other reasons.

  I wanted him to say something like loving someone for even a short time was better than never loving at all, but he didn’t. He just turned his back and watched clouds reflecting shadows on the water. I wondered if this quiet man had ever said he loved some woman. Did he understand Paul’s pain?

  I stood. “Good night, Luke,” I said as I started up to the house.

  He said good night so softly I couldn’t be sure I’d heard it.

  When I reached the porch, I glanced back and saw him standing on the far side of the campfire staring out into the lake. His legs were wide apart, his body at parade rest. He seemed to be looking for something. Watching for something.

  Chapter 17

  Thursday

  September 26

  2200 hours

  Luke noticed a thin line of gray smoke circle and rise against the nighttime sky. He could feel someone or something moving in the night. From patrolling the streets years ago in Houston, he’d learned that evil craves the shadows. As soon as he knew Allie was safely inside, he pulled his backpack from the canoe and began his search with night vision equipment. Today, he’d moved silently in his boat around the shoreline, trying to think like a drug dealer. Trying to guess where they’d set up next.

  Smiling, he remembered how his cover of fishing had slowed the search because the fish kept biting. He’d even dropped the hook once without bait and somehow managed to snag a water moccasin. When he accidentally flipped the snake into the canoe he almost dove into the lake to avoid it. Only the fear that the slimy creature might have been traveling with friends kept him from the water.

  He’d thought of calling it a day and going into town for a steak and a visit with the guys at the office. Luke had moved around enough over the years to know men at every ATF office in the state. He also knew they wouldn’t be interested in an old man’s death on some forgotten lake. Even the proof of three burned cabins wouldn’t pull them into his vacation investigation. They’d probably say that on a wild night a lightning storm could cause as much damage.

  Luke needed more evidence, plus once he caught the fish he wanted to go back and offer them for supper. If it were another time, another place he might have asked Allie out on a date. Brought her flowers instead of fish. They’d go somewhere nice to eat and she’d be wearing something besides jeans. Who knew, in another world they might even end up in bed-but not in this world. She was as much of a suspect as any of the other nuts around her. Being attracted to her didn’t take her off the list.

  Reaching his boat, Luke had just pulled on his backpack when car lights turned into the drive and headed toward the store. He ducked down and watched as the two fishermen he’d seen earlier climbed out and stumbled to the porch. The big one he’d heard called Hank almost dragged the other up the steps.

  “Drunks,” he swore and low
ered his pack back out of sight.

  Luke moved toward the store as they pounded on the door.

  “Help,” the big one yelled. “Somebody help!”

  Lights flickered on upstairs. Luke hoped Allie stopped to put on clothes. He didn’t know if he could take the sight of pink panties again.

  “Help! My friend is dying.” Hank wiggled his buddy as if showing proof.

  Allie pulled open the door as Luke stepped onto the side of the porch. When she flipped on the light all he saw for a moment was blood covering the smaller man’s chest.

  Hank kept yelling, “You got to help him, lady. I can’t.”

  Allie backed away so pale Luke thought she might faint.

  He rushed forward, stepping into the role of an authority as easily as he would well-worn shoes. “What happened here?”

  He helped guide the bleeding man inside. The smell of whiskey and blood blended thick in the air.

  “I don’t know,” the town crier yelled. “We was fishing off the bank a little after dark and the next thing I knew he was screaming like the devil had a grip on him.”

  Luke moved in close, pulling the bloody man’s hand away so he could see the wound. His chest was bloodied but no wound visible. Luke grabbed the man by the shoulder with one hand and forced his head up with the other.

  Blood dripped in a steady stream from both nostrils. A huge hook pierced the left side of his nose. “It’s not as bad as it looks, boys.” Luke hoped he was right. “Get me ice, a pot of cold water, and a few towels, would you, Allie?”

  She nodded and almost ran to the kitchen. Luke pulled the patient to the first chair in the café area. “Now, tell me again what happened.”

  The bleeding man took a deep breath and forced words out. “I hooked myself trying to cast. It was dark. Hank thought I was hung up on something so he yanked on the line. When he did, I fell forward on my face.”

  Hank agreed to his part in the crime. “His face splat against a boulder half the size of a car. Thinking I’d killed him, I fell into the water trying to get to him. I got tangled in the line. I could have drowned.”

  No one listened to Hank.

  “I think your nose is broke,” Luke said, more to himself than the bleeding drunk. He’d seen enough bar fights to recognize one. They usually bled sufficiently to stop a fight.

  Hank knelt down beside his friend, now that he realized death wasn’t near. He seemed fascinated with the wound. “It’s broke all right, Dan. You’ll be sneezing in your left ear from now on.”

  Luke frowned at the drunk’s bedside manner. “Take a seat, Hank. I’ll get him cleaned up, then I’ll drive you both to town.”

  Allie returned with a pan of cold water and towels. Luke dipped one of the towels, rolled it, and hung it over the back of Dan’s neck. The chill might sober him up and slow the blood flow.

  While Luke washed Dan’s face, he told Allie to search for a pair of pliers. He wasn’t surprised when she handed them to him and disappeared. The drunk did look frightening. Blood still dripped. The hook stuck out the left side of his nose and both eyes were starting to turn black.

  Luke snapped off the end of the hook and pulled it through the flesh. Then, bracing his fingers on both sides of Dan’s nose, he snapped it back into place.

  The drunk yelped, then his eyes crossed in pain.

  “Can you breathe?” Luke asked, hoping Dan wouldn’t pass out.

  “Yeah,” Dan answered. “That hurt like hell.” He sounded as if the pain had sobered him somewhat.

  So much for a thank-you, Luke thought, then handed Dan the towel and looked up at Hank. “Are you sober enough to drive him to the emergency room in Lubbock?”

  Hank nodded. “Then, I think we’ll go home. We’ve had about as much fun as we can stand for one night.”

  “Yeah,” Dan mumbled around the towel. “And after my wife gives me hell, she’ll feed me till I feel better.”

  Luke walked them to their car and watched until they pulled out on the road. He almost felt sorry for them. Unless he guessed wrong, they were probably both married and were in for a great deal of teasing.

  “Want a cup of coffee?” Allie asked from the porch.

  Luke knew he didn’t have time. He had a full night of hunting to do if he planned to find a meth lab among the hundred shacks and cabins around here, but he said, “Sure.”

  While she put a pot on, he stripped his shirt and washed blood off his hands and arms. His T-shirt was tight over his skin, the way he wore them when he strapped a bulletproof vest on.

  “You growing lately?” She studied him.

  “No,” he lied. “I just bought the wrong size.”

  Allie turned her back to him as she pulled two cups from the shelf.

  “You still wearing pink?”

  “What?” She followed his gaze down her body. “Oh,” she muttered in sudden understanding. “Not that it’s any of your business, but my grandmother always buys me underwear and socks for Christmas. She thinks I like pink.”

  Luke couldn’t believe he’d asked her, but now he had, he was glad she didn’t act all offended.

  “We through talking about underwear?” he asked as he met her stare.

  “Yes,” she answered calmly.

  “Then, would you mind if I kissed you again? I’d kind of like to know if it was half as good as I remember it being.”

  She smiled and moved to within an inch of him.

  He would have liked to pull her close and feel her body against him, but he’d only asked for a kiss and now wasn’t the time to step over the line.

  Cupping the side of her face with his hand, he lowered his mouth to hers. For a moment, he thought she tasted of cherry syrup and bubble-gum toothpaste, then only of Allie. Sweet, sweet Allie.

  She rose to her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck as if she feared he might end the kiss too soon.

  Luke laughed against her lips. Moving away wasn’t likely to happen. He had no plan beyond kissing her. For right now it seemed enough.

  Slowly she leaned into him and the kiss deepened.

  Chapter 18

  When Luke pulled away, I couldn’t think of anything to say. He wasn’t the drifter I’d first thought him to be, but-except for kissing me-he gave no indication that he welcomed any personal questions. Happiness seemed rationed in his world. Somewhere an invisible timer sounded and he stopped.

  He had simply straightened, kissed my forehead, and vanished, leaving me with a full pot of coffee and no answers. He reminded me of one of those old westerns where a stranger rides in, kisses the girl, kills the bad guy, and leaves without ever saying a word. Only problem was, I didn’t know if he played the outlaw or the hero.

  I filled my mug and moved to what was quickly becoming my favorite spot-the bay window overlooking the lake. As I passed the office, I retrieved my ledger book and a pencil. I knew it would be hours before I slept, so I began to draw.

  First Luke, in silhouette, standing by the fire. I fought to capture every detail of the way he stood. Almost military, I decided, as if he were on guard. The fire came alive in the dancing shadow and light across his body and the dark water formed an inky backdrop.

  On the second page I drew Mary Lynn and Paul Madison with the afternoon sun shining behind them as they shared a pot of tea. They sat, the old maid dressed in her frumpy, out-of-style clothes, and the hardened banker with his life shattering around him. There might only be a few years’ difference in their ages, but they seemed worlds apart. He probably knew the best places to eat in every city, played handball in private clubs, and read the Times in bed on Sunday mornings. She didn’t look like she knew who the president was, considered gardening exercise, and had stains from canning berries on her fingers. But somehow, for that moment, they belonged together.

  I caught the scene where I’d seen her lean toward him and lay her hand hesitantly atop his in comfort. Mary Lynn had a gentle heart not meant for crisis. Paul was more the type who thrived on a challenge, but n
ot this time-this time he was broken and she’d been strong enough to pull him back.

  When I finished drawing, I looked around the store and the tiny café. This world I’d tumbled into seemed small, plain, yet when I had to leave I knew I’d be glad for the sketches. I needed to remember every detail.

  I went up to bed thinking of Luke and trying to get the pieces of him to fit together. He’d handled the drunks’ crisis like a pro. Where would a man get such training? It occurred to me that I might be better off not knowing. But I fell asleep guessing.

  Nana woke me a little after dawn. “There’s blood in the café,” she said without emotion.

  “I’m sorry.” I sat up feeling like I’d just closed my eyes. The coffee and kisses I’d had last night weren’t on the list of recommended sleep aides. “I should have cleaned it up, Nana. Luke took care of a guy with a bloody nose last night.”

  Nana grinned. “I’m glad I missed that visitor. It wasn’t any of us was it?”

  I knew what she meant. The Nesters had become our people. “No. Only one of the weekend fishermen. I don’t imagine we’ll be seeing them again.”

  I followed her down and cleaned up the mess, then washed Luke’s shirt. He didn’t come in to get it and that night there was no fire out by the water. I didn’t want to admit to myself that I missed him. But I did.

  The next night, I built the fire, telling myself I needed to burn off some of the driftwood, but in truth I thought it would make me feel less lonely. Not that Luke was much company anyway. Nana said he’d dropped by for a while when I’d gone into town to the bank. Lately she had trouble telling what happened an hour ago from a week ago. For her the days at the lake weren’t days of the week or month, but simply days at the lake.

  I watched the flames and remembered all the people who’d dropped by since dawn. It had been a busy day. If it kept up I’d be doubling my weekly order and paying for it with profit. When we had to leave-if we lasted the winter-we might be driving away with enough money to make a real start. Nothing big, just the down payment on a little house. A real house. Our own house.