“What?” she whispered, “Where’s everybody?”
“Forget about that ... all of it.” Ray put his finger under her chin and lifted her face to make eye contact with him. His fingers were so soft against her skin, tracing the outline of her jaw back and forth, then slowly along the outline of her ear, down the side of her neck and resting along the nape, stroking gently back and forth. “You know with a little direction ...” He kissed her cheek gently, “and correction, you could be a wealthy woman.”
“You think so?” she murmured. “Someone killed Josh,” she struggled with the dim recollection. “Randall?” She could smell the heavy scent of cinnamon and bourbon against her face.
“Yes ...” Ray was smiling at her. It made her feel nauseous.
“Milo ...” she whispered. He had told her something important but she had lost it somehow. “What was it?”
“You're right, not here. We don’t want that kid interrupting us. Besides, this place is a pit. I've got the perfect spot for us.”
Ray walked out the front door onto the porch ahead of her. The rain had stopped but the sky was still dark and threatening. Traci followed behind him, then stopped and looked around.
“Hold on,” she said, “I just remembered something.”
“Alright, but don’t keep me waiting.” He stroked the side of her face with the back of his hand, “It will be a night to remember. Trust me.”
“You're right, it will be a night to remember,” Traci lifted the Mossberg from the closet. “It's the night when you call off the investigation against Randall, or the night that I exercise my rights to protect Casa de Tracinda and put a hole through you so big ... Or is it Maison d' Traci?
“What the. . . wait, hold on ... be careful with that thing ... “
“Who shot Josh? Tell me!”
“What? I don't know. How would I know? Why are you asking me?”
“Who was it? They were trying to kill Randall. Why?”
“Wait, what ... what are you saying? I don't know what you're talking about, I swear. Where'd you get that idea?”
“It was a setup and you know it. You can stop that investigation against Randall. Don't even try to deny it.”
“Now ... that's something I might be able to help with, but you've got to calm down and put that gun away so we can talk about it. Stop pointing that at me or ...”
“Or what? You'll call the police?” she whispered with a jittery smile. “Stop the investigation. Do it now.” She lifted the shotgun, “Now.”
“Hmmm, I don't think you're crazy enough to pull the trigger, but I can see how everything that's been going on is really affecting your ... ability to ... think clearly. I'll make the call on Monday morning to set things straight for your boyfriend. As a favor to you. You can thank me later.”
Traci stepped forward through the front door as Ray stumbled backward down the steps into the yard. Two streaks of lightening flashed across the sky.
“You know what follows lightening, Ray?”
He took an uneasy step backward.
“Thunder.” She aimed the shotgun and pulled the trigger. The blast took out the windows on both sides of the pristine Range Rover and set off the alarm. She dropped another shell in and waited while Ray frantically dialed his phone with his butt firmly planted in her flower beds.
Chapter Fourteen
Randall
RANDALL HAD JUST PARKED in front of his townhouse when he got a call from Chief Dorsett. It had been a long day of sitting in community meetings about adding crossing guards due to all the road projects and how to keep kids on dirt bikes from cutting through the Senior Ladies putting green. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could tolerate these assignments. Instead of going inside, he started the car and decided to take a drive to clear his head.
“Welcome back,” Dorsett said. “I approved a couple days off for you. Rest up. It gets harder from here.”
“What?” Randall pulled over and parked by Jessie’s Car Wash. He turned off the ignition and increased the volume on the bluetooth. “What did they find?”
“Well ... the bullet that killed St. John came from a .38 so that clears you. The guy had a ton of priors. Of course, that doesn’t matter now. But he never took a shot that night. We can go over everything later.” The chief hung up before Randall could utter another word.
He should have felt relieved, but there was something strange about the way the entire incident was handled. Not only was he cleared, Josh St. John’s rifle had not been fired. What took so long for them to complete the report? And, now what? Was his career over or did the chief really believe they could just turn the page and act as if the whole thing would blow over? There were so many pressing concerns that still needed resolved. But he had only one thing on his most urgent list of priorities that needed fixed. And, he didn’t know what to do about it.
Reverend Mac and the KMP grief counselor had told him that Traci was communicating and “functional” whatever that meant. The last visual he had gotten was from Officer Sinclair about Traci leaving Dewey Station with Ray Winston. Of course, she had every right to move on ... with someone else. She was a free woman. And right now, his life was a train wreck. How could he blame her? But, that guy? He started up the Chevelle and headed north on Primrose, cutting through the detour and around the orange construction barrels.
He had talked to the chief about maybe it was time to leave Keeferton. He knew that each day the investigation dragged on it was sinking his career to the point it was almost beyond recovery. Not to mention the impact on the rest of the staff and Keeferton as a whole. If he left, sure it would make him look bad, for a while maybe, but the community could heal. And Traci could move on and put the headlines in the past. He waved to Mr. Churchill who was closing up his barber shop at the corner of Spring Street and made the turn at the stop sign. He was still young and had a little money saved. He could sell his place, maybe there was some equity there with the current market. Yeah, a fresh start. At this point, he had nothing to lose ... except Traci. He dropped the Chevelle into neutral, turned off the ignition, coasted into the driveway, parked and got out.
Randall reached back inside the window, opened his gym bag, switched on the penlight placed it between his teeth and slipped on his cragging gloves. He walked across the patch of broken glass to the thickest maple tree along the northwest corner of the yard, leaped up and wrapped his hands around the lowest solid branch. He pressed the toe of his boot against a notch in the bark and got a good hold, then pulled himself upward. In less than three minutes, he had made it to the slate roof. Forty seconds to the open window and inside the bedroom.
He stood in the center of the room holding his breath, gazing at Traci sleeping, hair tossed over her face, wearing his gray camo t-shirt and her silk pajama bottoms. He turned off the penlight and shoved it along with his gloves into his back pocket. “This woman.”
He crossed the room and gently leaned onto the bed, pressed his calf across her legs to hold her down and covered her mouth with his hand.
“Tracinda, it's me,” he whispered. He dodged a fury of blows, fists and slaps. Finally, he let her land a couple of good punches to his chest and jaw. He deserved every one of them. “Traci, listen ... please.” He grabbed each fist and held them against his chest. “Please, angel, don't. Please listen to me.”
She finally stopped struggling and her body went limp under his weight.
“I didn't know what else to do. You wouldn't answer my calls. You refuse to answer the door when I come by. You avoid me everywhere else. I just ... didn't know any other way.” He sat on his knees next to her. “Listen, sweetheart, please. I want us to be together again. I can't lose you, Traci. I just can't. But more than that, I need you to be okay. Do you understand that? No matter what happens to me, I need you to be okay. If I could bring Josh back to you, I would do it. I would do anything for you. Just tell me what you need from me and I'll do it.”
He watched her eyes narrow and focus o
n him. She said something barely above a whisper. He leaned closer, “What did you say, my angel?”
“Get out.”
He let go of her hands and they flopped to her sides on the bed. He waited in this moment. He recognized it. This was the place where everything comes together or falls completely apart. It was like the wreckage that people turned away from, but it was his job to face it, calculate the factors that caused the tragedy, without emotion. He needed to engage that strength right now because everything he had been pushing through this life for had just pulled out of his grasp. And there was nothing more he could do.
He lifted himself from her presence, walked out of the room and down the stairs. When he reached the front door, he paused with his hand on the bolt. He remembered the day he installed that lock. He thought he could keep her life safe, but now he couldn't even keep her in his life. He walked through the door and secured it behind him. Before he reached the driveway, he heard the familiar squeak of the porch floorboard and spun around. It was Traci in the moonlight. In one leap he was back on the porch with her in his arms.
He remembered the first night he held her on this porch. He took her face into his hands and stared into her eyes. He could feel her trembling, but this time he did not step away. He swept his hands down her back, balled them into fists and pulled her against him. He loved this woman. All of the whining, the crankiness, the arguing, the giggling, the food fights. She was everything he needed right now. He wanted to be her safe place, her rock, her only one. He pulled back and looked at her.
“I love you, Tracinda.”
There, he said it. He said it. And it didn't matter if she didn't answer back. All that mattered is that he said it, out of his own mouth, with his own voice he heard it. And she heard it. She knew it. He pressed his face against her neck and inhaled. This, this was all that mattered.
Chapter Fifteen
Traci
TRACI STOOD TUGGING on the zipper of the green and gold FAMU hoodie and folded the long cuffs up her arms. She ran her hands over her unruly locks trying desperately to smooth and tuck them behind her ears. Randall flicked on the penlight and double checked the address on the card before clapping the iron door knocker on the quaint brownstone.
“Good evening, Reverend. Remember what we talked about the other day at Riverview?”
“Yes,” the man said wrapping the sash around his bathrobe. He coughed and cleared his throat. “Let me guess. This is the woman.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hello there, young lady.” He looked down at her toes wiggling in the rainbow flipflops peeping from under the pink and white polka dot pajama bottoms.
“Hello Reverend.”
“Well, couples counseling is on Tuesdays and Thursdays by appointment only. Call the church office in the morning and set it up with my wife. She'll put it on my calendar.” He turned to walk back inside.
“No, sir. I mean ...” Randall pulled the drowsy preacher aside. “Sir, Reverend, what I mean is ... see Father Kearn said the Friendship Hall at St. Andrews is available for...”
“We’ve got a small Fellowship Hall at the church. My wife can look in the book and tell you the availability and prices ...” He smiled empathetically toward Traci and focused back on Randall. “Son, I really think you should both go on to your respective homes and call in the morning.”
“I'm not looking to rent the hall,” Randall insisted. “I’m not here about that, just a ceremony. Well, not a real ceremony, just a ... well, yes, it needs to be real ... but I mean, can you just go ahead and marry us?”
“You wanna get married?” the Right Reverend raised an eyebrow then narrowed a gaze on Randall that made Traci shiver.
“Yes, sir.” Randall squared his shoulders not willing to back down. She wasn’t sure that was the best strategy.
“Right now?”
“Yes sir, can you take care of it right now? I'd really appreciate it, Reverend. Just the vows and a blessing.”
“Vows and a blessing?” He coughed as if the words had caught in his throat.
“Yes, sir.”
“You think this is some drive through chapel like they got out there in Vegas? A blessing? You think I got some lucky charm in my pocket? Marriage is serious business, son.”
“No, sir. Yes, I know. After everything we've been through, I just ... was hoping ... may we have your blessing, please?”
“Stop talking,” Traci thought. She wanted him to just stop talking, to stop looking at Reverend Mac and take her into his arms, swallow her up so tight until she swooned, drawing her in so deep like metal to a magnet until she was locked into that place where all she knew was that this man loved her to the depth of his core. And now something had unblocked, fallen away with this one revelation, “He needs me,” in spite of her stupid donut obsession, moody lady days, temper tantrums when things confused her, night tremors and panic attacks. All the things that made her “a mess” that had counted her out at every turn in her life. She touched his hand.
“No sir. Not a lucky charm. More like a ...” Randall continued.
“Mentor,” Traci said, nodding at him with tender reassurance.
“Yes, a mentor.” He returned her glance, relieved, embarrassed. “A marriage mentor.” He squeezed her hand. She wiggled her pinky finger to signal “too tight.” He loosened his grip and mouthed “Sorry.”
“Well,” the minister looked them over again and took a deep breath, “you need a license, from City Hall ... and they’re closed. Without that ...”
“I'll get it, first thing in the morning as soon as I check in at the station, I'll head right over there. I promise. Listen, I know this is probably not following the right protocol, license first, then the preacher, but I was hoping you would maybe ... extend a little professional courtesy.”
Traci thought Randall was about to ruin their chances, but she had seen this determination in his eyes before. There was no way to shut him down when he got like that.
“Well, you'll still need a witness even if ...”
“I'll make a call and get one of my guys. I know RD will ...”
“Hold on, son. I'll wake up Mrs. McMoultry. She can step in, but it'll take a minute for her to get herself together and all. She's probably not gonna like any of this. She's a real stickler for ‘protocol’ but I think I can smooth things over for you. You get that license and get back here with it as soon as that office opens.”
“Thank you, I'll do it. Thank you.”
Traci watched as Randall, her dear partner and confidant, this strong guardian of the community, flustered and floundering through this torrent of words trying to express what only the two of them understood. She wanted to laugh and cry. She could feel her face flush with emotion as he held onto her as if their lives depended on it. “Maybe it did,” she thought and chuckled softly.
“Dear, you got just as much say in this as he does. You agree with him?”
“Yes, Rev.”
“You love this man and want to marry him, then?” he stepped between them and looked deep into her eyes.
“Yes, Rev. With all my heart, I do.”
“Alright, wait in the room here. And, pray for me as I go wake up Mrs. Mac.” He let out a deep sigh and stepped back inside leaving the door open for them.
“Oh man, I almost forgot.” Randall reached into his pocket and pulled out the engagement ring.
“It looks like a piece of sunshine,” Traci smiled, then covered her mouth at such a ridiculous thought.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s the most perfectly ... perfect ring I have ever seen.”
“You know, Ray helped me out at Jameson’s. I gave him a hard time, but I should probably let him know that I appreciate it.”
Traci held it up to the light and then gently lowered her hand down to cup the face of her beloved, drawn in by his most brilliant and beautiful smile.
“Oh him? Mr. Kinsey sent an email to let us know Ray’s been under a lot of stress lately
and took an extended leave of absence. So, we won't be seeing him for a long time.”
Chapter Sixteen
Randall
RANDALL CHECKED THE time as they made their way down the empty roads and back to Spring Street. He had a few hours before it was time to get back to the station. He was exhausted but it was the best night of his life. “It just proved if you ride out the tough times, something good is just around the corner,” he thought and took a deep breath of the cool night air. He helped Traci up the front steps and into the dark house. Things were going to fall into place now. And, if not, they would ride out the storm together. That’s all he could ask for right now. He switched on the lamp and turned to kiss his bride one more time before securing the house. She was staring at her phone buzzing on the coffee table where she had left it behind. Her hand was trembling as she lifted it and began swiping the screen up, then down. Then up again.
“What’s happening?” he said in a low voice.
“Milo is missing.”
Randall stepped toward her and she backed away. He reached in his pocket for his cellphone. “Alright, I'll make a few calls and get some cars on the street. What time did they ...”
Traci raced upstairs and came back within minutes with her purse, jeans, sweatshirt, and ball cap.
“What are you doing? Let the police handle this, Tracinda.”
She snatched the car keys out of his hand.
Randall reached for her, then paused to process the situation and decide what he should say, “It’s too late and it's too dangerous. The fuel lines on the Chevelle still need work, the car might stall out somewhere ... and, if Milo wanted to return to the streets, no one could stop him.” But all he could muster was “Wait ...”
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