Nearly Dead in Iowa

by Wendy Byrne

  "Do you have any idea where he might be?" I didn't want to speculate on if he was alive or dead so skipped that question.

  "Not sure. I thought I heard him mention something about a cabin but have no idea where it might be. More than likely he's hanging out with one of his female friends. I'd check out Anton and Iowa City. He had some girlfriends living that way, and he normally chooses women who are engaged or married. But you didn't hear it from me." He gave me a tight smile. "Not much to do around here except gossip, which might explain all the buzz about Tony and his escapades."

  I took another gulp and finished the second glass. The beer seemed to be hitting me hard. Oh yeah, I'd begged off dinner rather than eat. Sooner or later I needed to get back to eating like a normal person, but worries about my weight creeping up continued to be old baggage that I couldn't seem to get rid of easily. Instead, I'd scarfed down some Diet Pepsi with a protein bar chaser at dinnertime.

  Before I could respond, someone sidled up next to me and whispered, "Don't you think he's a little young for you?" I knew that cynical tone.

  Jeremy moved away and busied himself wiping down the bar. I straightened in my seat, turned, and scowled. "You're criticizing me for being friendly?" Maybe I was overselling my innocence, but I didn't need Gabe or anyone else questioning who I talked to or what I said.

  "You call it friendly. I call it flirting." He leaned back in his chair.

  "I'm sorry, is there a law against it in this podunk town? Maybe you can call your BFF Sheriff Crowder and have me arrested."

  He graced me with a tight smile before he spoke. "Does Viola know you snuck out?"

  I plastered a phony smile on my face and tapped my finger against the bar top to keep from pushing him off the stool. "Not that's it's any of your business, but I left a note." The guy was grumpy with a capital G, and whenever he got close, he made me grumpy too. "Does your grandmother know where you go at night?"

  He held up his hands in protest as Jeremy delivered another beer for me, and a bottle of water for him. "Hey, I'm not doing anything wrong. Can you say the same thing?"

  I mimicked his posture. "Well, neither am I." I settled back in my seat and sipped— guzzled might be a better word—my beer. "As long as we're casting aspersions, are you stalking me? Because, if you are, I'm sure there are laws against that."

  "I don't think so, but should I be?"

  "Stop answering my questions with a question. It's rude." I wasn't sure why this guy had a bug up his butt about me, but it needed to stop.

  "I'm a curious guy." He eased back in the chair as he twisted off the top of his bottled water and drew in a drink, setting it down like it was a bottle of beer. More than likely there was a story somewhere about the whys, but I wasn't interested enough to ask.

  "Curiosity? Yeah, right." Figuring this situation between us would only get worse, and he'd blown any chance I might have had of getting any further information out of Jeremy, I slid off my seat. The back of my sandal got caught in the rung of the bar stool as I stood, causing a near face plant. Luckily a last minute dive toward the bar top saved me from humiliation. My clumsy move, however, knocked over the remainder of my beer as well as three others and doused my shirt from collar to hem.

  I might be able to paint graceful scenes on canvas, but the term had never been used to describe me. "I'm so sorry, Jeremy. Let me pay for those." I gave Gabe the death stare as a faint smile twittered at the corner of his mouth.

  "It's okay, Isabella. Are you going to be alright getting home?" Jeremy asked.

  "Sure. My sandal caught on the chair." I shrugged and took out a twenty despite his protests. "It was nice meeting you, Jeremy."

  "Same here."

  While it was difficult pulling off a head-held-high exit with a beer-soaked shirt, I did my best and made my way through the crowd. I didn't know when all these folks had arrived, but apparently it happened during my so-called conversation with Gabe.

  What a PIA that guy was.

  The wind had picked up in the hour or so since I'd come, and big fat raindrops had started to fall. At least they might wash away the beer aroma I had going. A streak of lightning lit up the sky, making me happy I didn't have far to walk.

  If my father hadn't sent me that letter prompting me to go off on this harebrained adventure in the first place, I'd be safe and sound in Manhattan—no dead bodies, no nosy neighbors, no sheriff throwing shade my way. Instead, I'd be safely ensconced in…well…yeah…I wouldn't be ensconced in anything since Joseph had made sure about that. The jerk. I didn't feel one bit guilty about giving away his Hugo Boss suits.

  I drew in a deep breath. No sense in dwelling in the past. It would only have me spinning my wheels. Now was the time for me to break free from my old normal and slide into my new normal.

  As a sign from the heavens I wasn't quite there yet, the sky opened and rain pounded down on me. Because there was a need for Mother Nature to drive home the point, this was quickly followed by hail and wind that nearly knocked me off my feet.

  If this were one of those tornado things that Iowa was famous for, I would be toast before I got to Viola's. A black pickup truck with darkened windows pulled along the curb.

  While the truck idled, the driver cracked down the window enough for me to hear his voice but not enough to allow me to see his face. "Do you need a ride?" I wasn't sure if this was the norm in a place like Inez, but as a Manhattan girl born and bred, accepting an offer for a ride meant stupidity to the extreme.

  I ignored the offer and started to walk faster as pea-sized hail pelted me. Goosebumps broke along my extremities as I trudged on.

  The truck pulled close to the curb once again. "You're getting soaked. Why don't you hop in?"

  "No thanks." I accelerated to a trot while the truck traveled along the curb matching its pace with mine.

  "I spotted you at the bar."

  I wasn't sure if that was supposed to endear me to him, but I ignored his comment and began to run. Uncertain if it was having had lived in Manhattan all my life where strangers who talked to you were ignored for their potential serial killer status, or the weird Spidey sense that seemed to be traveling up my back, I trudged on and looked for an opportunity to take a short cut.

  "You're going to catch your death in this rain," he shouted.

  Those were his actual words, but in my head it sounded like Hannibal Lecter talking about eating my liver with fava beans and Chianti. My pulse spiked, forcing my legs to move faster. I silently cursed myself for drinking tonight—too much, too little—didn't matter.

  I cut through a yard and hoped I could keep the directions back to Viola's clear in my head. My long legs allowed me to vault over a few low fences without stumbling, and my adherence to regular visits from a personal trainer gave me some amount of confidence. With my shirt plastered to my body and my hair stuck to my face, I tried to increase the distance between this guy and me. Right now I didn't know if he was evil or well intentioned, but I wasn't about to take any chances.

  Like in a bad movie scene, everything around me seemed to move in slow motion. It felt like the closer I got to Viola's, the farther it seemed. Had I made a wrong turn in my quest to outrun the man in the truck? I was second-guessing my second-guessing. Visions of me as a heroine in one of those real-life crime dramas on TV with the voiceover saying something like Where did she go wrong?

  The title would aptly capture my current circumstances: Nearly dead in Iowa.

  Somehow I'd taken a wrong turn and ended up back at my father's house, stumbling onto the gravel driveway just as Gabe pulled in and stopped inches away from hitting me. My outstretched arms on the hood of Gabe's truck were the only things that kept me from face-planting for the second time within the last fifteen minutes. My breath came out in pants and nothing seemed to make sense—especially the part where I was grateful to see him.

  The truck was still running when he threw open the door and jumped to my aid. "What are you doing here?" I should have known better a
s the words grumbled out in his usual ornery style.

  My body quaked as I tried to portray a sense of dignity I didn't feel. "Nothing much. Some weirdo in a black pickup truck started following me."

  "Did you get a plate number?" His hand rested on my elbow as he led me to the passenger seat of his truck.

  No doubt I looked a little worse for the wear, but I couldn't let him know how scared I'd been. I shook my head. "Probably somebody looking for directions or someone trying to help when it was storming and I overreacted."

  To his credit, he didn't say a word as I buckled in, and he put the car in gear. "Where was the truck?"

  I suddenly felt a little foolish. "I'm sure they're long gone by now."

  "Humor me." For once, his words didn't seem to have the sarcastic edge as he traced the way back to Otis's. "Which street did you take home?"

  "That one over there." I pointed to Whipple Street and kinda, sorta relaxed in my seat.

  "When did the truck start to follow you?" He seemed genuine when he asked the question, like he didn't think I'd made the whole thing up.

  "About a block down. It started to hail, and the truck pulled up and asked if I wanted a ride."

  "People around here are neighborly. Do you think you misinterpreted what happened?" His tone had lost that irritation I had come to expect, so that made me think either he was humoring me, which seemed like a stretch, or he actually believed me, which also seemed like a stretch.

  As I thought through the moment, it took me only seconds to decide. "If he would have asked and left when I refused, it would have been neighborly. But the fact that he stalked me as I ran instead of accepting my refusal is what inched up the creep factor in my book."

  "Makes sense. Where did you go next?"

  I glanced at the houses and they all kind of looked the same—even though they were vastly different in both size and style. My mind blurred as we drove, but I felt pressure to recreate what happened if for nothing else but to make him believe I wasn't making it all up.

  "I cut through that yard over there." I pointed to the rambling two-story with the short picket fence. "I figured I could cut through and lose him along the way. But then I started to panic and got turned around, and nothing looked familiar from the backside, and somehow I ended up at my dad's."

  "You were heading in the wrong direction by then."

  I nodded, knowing he was right. "I'm a bit directionally challenged, but I'm sure being scared had a lot to do with it too." I wasn't sure where the old grouchy Gabe had gone, but I liked this new Gabe. "In the good news department, at least I got my run in." My attempt at humor felt leaden in my chest. Why would someone want to hurt me?

  "There's a good running trail by the school that winds into the hills."

  "I'll have to check that out." He pulled into Viola's driveway. As the truck sat idling, he didn't say a word and neither did I. I'd kind of gotten used to us snipping at each other so wasn't quite used to this Gabe 2.0. "Thanks for the ride. I'm sure it was harmless and my imagination got the better of me. This is Iowa after all."

  "There were some guys at Otis's that weren't the regular crowd. And you stood out from the norm."

  Even though I knew he couldn't see me, I stuck my tongue out at him. Very juvenile I'll admit, but I couldn't think of anything else. "I'm surprised it took you this long to insult me." I got out and slammed the door. "Don't worry, next time I run into trouble, I'll take my chances."

  I flew up the front steps as fast as my thigh muscles could carry me. After I locked the front door, I trudged up the stairs and started the bath. While I hoped I didn't wake Viola, my whole body shivered from the cold, and I couldn't shake the feeling that somebody was out to get me.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Despite the craziness of last night, I had another night of blissful sleep although I felt a bit groggy the next morning. But as the ladies started to arrive, all thoughts of anything other than doing a little investigating were lost. One way or another I needed to know if my father was alive or not and if he murdered his friend. And if I could find out if I had a long lost sibling, that might be the icing on the proverbial cake.

  I dressed and came downstairs to find the ladies in a buzz about the upcoming excursion. Everyone seemed to be talking at once as they flitted about the kitchen drinking coffee and eating coffee cake. I stepped into the middle of it, helping myself to a generous portion of both. For sure I would have to get on the running trail tomorrow or risk having to buy an entire new wardrobe.

  I peeked outside. "It looks like my car is here." Since there were five of us, we could still comfortably fit for the day's excursion.

  "The minivan would give us more room," Viola offered. "I don't use it for much, as Gabe takes me anywhere I need to go, but it still runs despite what he thinks."

  I glanced out the window and spotted the vehicle. As I looked over the car in question, I had to agree with Gabe. With more rust spots than paint, it looked like it wouldn't go more than twenty miles an hour without risking a piece of it falling off.

  "No need for you to waste gas." I figured saying that was better than giving them my opinion about the viability of the vehicle.

  Viola had already prepared to-go cups of coffee and handed them out as we left the kitchen and made our way towards my car. "Do you have an address I can plug into my GPS?" I asked after the ladies had all settled in their respective spots. Viola sat in front with the other three in back.

  The customary oohs and aahs followed as they remarked about the smooth leather interior and the heated and cooled seats. Just because it was a top-of-the-line Jaguar didn't mean I didn't need a mechanic on standby three-quarters of the time. But that would probably be TMI for our current excursion.

  "Nope, we'll direct you. It's very easy to get there. Just straight up Route 80," Dolly offered from the back seat. Good thing Viola had given me some pointers on who was who because now I had the ladies' uniqueness etched into my head.

  Dolly was the tallest, thinnest, and youngest of the bunch. She was a former schoolteacher and always wore white Keds tennis shoes.

  About thirty minutes later and fielding enough chatter and questions to make my head throb, we arrived at the café in the center of Anton. I pulled into an open spot in front of Irene's Diner and was more than a little grateful when the ladies piled out. Negotiating with them during this investigation was going to be a lesson in patience, but going it alone seemed counter-productive since they knew the ins and outs of the countryside.

  Besides, the idea that Gabe warned me against investigating made me all the more determined to do the opposite. Since my mother was more of the go-with-the-flow type, I must have inherited the stubbornness gene from my father. Hopefully I'd be able to meet him firsthand and not behind bars or at the morgue.

  "Let us do the talking," Alice said as we walked together inside. I was beginning to understand their temperament, and she was definitely the feistiest of the bunch.

  The server, who had to be close to their age or older, placed her hands on her hips. "I haven't seen you ladies in a very long time. A lot's been going on around here. I hope you're here to fill me in on Stan 'cause he's the talk of the town. Nobody has much information so far. I'd like to be the first."

  "Izzy found the body," Ramona announced and pointed to me. I could swear everyone within a three-block radius heard her proclamation. Maybe she was hard of hearing, or maybe I was being a tad paranoid about letting the whole town privy to my unsightly discovery. Or maybe I was worried that whoever had been following me last night was part of the crowd at the diner. I should have scoured the parking lot for black trucks with darkened windows before we came inside.

  While a part of me wanted her to keep it on the down low, it was impossible not to notice the interested gaze of all the patrons. Every eye riveted toward me, leaving me uncomfortable with my newfound celebrity status. But if it meant I'd be able to discover what happened to my father, everything would be worth it in the end.


  At least I hoped.

  "What can I get you ladies?" Despite the crowd, the server sat down at our table and, like a maestro in an orchestra, got down to business and gave direction to the other wait staff. One by one they scurried off and gave their orders to the cooks in back while the woman named Irene—according to the tag on her shirt—sat holding court with the ladies from Inez.

  "Poor Stan was dead when you found him?" Irene shook her head as she asked the question even though she already knew the answer.

  I nodded while I tried to block the image. A creepy sensation crawled along my arms as I remembered the touch of his skin against my fingertips.

  Over the last twenty-four hours I'd learned that people in this area were morbidly curious about death. Me? Not so much. But I'd try to humor them if it got me what I wanted.

  A deathly quiet—like when you hit the pause button on the remote—seemed to overtake the place as I began to speak. "I kind of fainted when I tripped over him." The ladies around the table looked at me strangely. "The electricity was out. The door was unlocked, so I stumbled inside and tried to find my dad because we were supposed to meet for the first time. He'd sent me a letter and we'd started to chat by email but—" And there I went rambling again.

  Luckily Irene interrupted my train of thought. "You'd never met your father?"

  "It's a long story that I don't have all the answers to yet, but he'd recently contacted me and wanted to connect, so I made the trek from New York." I drew in a breath to keep myself from admitting the real reason behind my journey. "When I fell in the dark, I ended up by the body and accidently touched his hand and fainted." As I watched their expressions morph from curiosity to awe, I thought about embellishing a bit to further impress them, but resisted.

  "So what did it feel like?" Irene asked.

  I'd also learned over the last day and a half there were no simple explanations with old people. They wanted details. "I try not to think about it." Maybe that would satisfy her curiosity, but just in case, I changed the direction of the conversation. "Long story short is I'm still looking for my father." I handed Irene a stack of the business cards I'd printed off Viola's computer yesterday with my name and cell number.