As the countdown to launch for Every Hidden Fear continues, here's a peek at the first chapter.
EVERY HIDDEN FEAR
A SKEET BANNION MYSTERY
CHAPTER 1
I had dead leaves and cobwebs in my hair and stuck to my face. I
couldn't wipe them away because my glove-covered hands were digging wet, smelly
leaf slime out of the gutters while my tough old grandmother scolded me for
letting my house get into such bad shape. I'd had better afternoons chasing
down murderers.
I'd planned on a quiet, restful day for a change since Brian was
off with friends. I didn't get those very often any longer with Gran and my
ward, Brian Jameson, both living with me, especially lately with Brian’s grumpy
mood. I'd thought I might read a book for pleasure or sit on the front porch
and knit in the unseasonably warm weather. One of the advantages of giving up a
hard-hitting career with the Kansas City Police department and moving to a
small college town as head of campus police was the slower pace of life here
right outside the city. Perhaps I might take Lady, my collie, for a nice, leisurely
walk through town and windowshop on our way to the park. Until I caught that
hardheaded old woman up on a ladder, getting ready to clean my gutters. Eighty
years old and climbing a ladder as if she had no more sense than a squirrel!
So nothing would do but to give up my peaceful afternoon and climb
up to do the job myself with Her Toughness holding the ladder steady and
calling out orders, complaints, and warnings while a train hooted its way
through the heart of Brewster, Missouri. I just wanted to get finished and off
the ladder—I'm not fond of heights—and wash up. But Gran was not a person to be
satisfied with a lick and a promise, so I could see I was going to be stuck up
there all afternoon, moving slowly around the house.
"You can't neglect things like this, Skeet." Gran's
voice was stern as I pulled loose a Virginia creeper vine that had somehow made
it all the way to the gutter. "If you're not constantly watching and
taking care of little things with a house, all kinds of things will fester in
the dark and grow out of sight to damage it until they pull it down on your
head."
I sighed. I was a little shocked at how much junk had collected in
my gutters, and from this height, I could see more Virginia creeper around the
corner and heading for the roof. But I really didn't think I was in danger of
my solidly built ninety-year-old house collapsing on my head imminently any more
than Gran was going to collapse in a Victorian faint at my feet.
"Those clogged gutters'll lead to leaks in the roof and in
the walls, if you don't take care of them. Water's your enemy when you own a
house. It'll rot the wood and weaken your whole structure." Gran shook her
head as I threw another clump of leaf slime down to the ground, a little too
close to her feet. "It's the stuff that's out of sight and hidden from
view that does all the damage."
I rolled my eyes as I turned back to the gutter. I was taking care
of it, wasn't I? No need to go on and on about my sins of neglect.
"Okay. I just never owned a house before, Gran. I didn't know
all this stuff. Now that you've told me, I do. And I'll take care of
things." I didn't see why I couldn't hire someone to clean out the gutters
and things like that, giving some guy who needed it work and saving my few peaceful
afternoons off for myself.
She ignored everything I said. "After this, we'll have to go
to the hardware store and get some caulk for the windows. It’s going to be
Thanksgiving soon, and you haven't winterized this house. Normally, we'd have
had some snow or ice by now, or certainly hard freezes."
"It's the good thing about global warming," I teased as
I leaned as far as I could along the front of the house before having to climb
down and reposition the ladder. "We're becoming a milder climate here in the
tornado-blizzard zone."
"Hmph! Human messes always screw up the earth. No respect, at
all." She dodged another handful of twigs and leaf slime. "But the
earth is going to slap back. Got a big, bad storm on its way. Need to be
prepared."
"Gran, all the weathermen and the weather station say this
mild weather's going to last through the holidays. We shouldn’t get any real
winter weather before New Year’s Day. Wouldn’t be the first time our first real
snowstorm didn’t hit until New Year’s."
I caught myself after reaching too far and started to climb down
the ladder. This was the part about heights that I really hated, climbing down
backwards, so I concentrated on my feet and the next rung.
"I don't have to listen to yonega weathermen. I hope I have enough sense to read the signs all
around me like I've been doing for eighty years, like my grandmother taught me
and I tried to teach you." She waved away my attempt at protest. "And
the signs all around tell me we've got a blizzard coming, a bad one."
I set my first foot on the ground and breathed a little relieved
sigh. "Meteorologists have—"
"Meteorologists! Why are they looking at meteors when the
signs are here in the caterpillars and squirrels and foxes and trees and other
living beings?" She snorted with disgust and moved away from the ladder as
I stepped off the last rung.
"Gran, I don't want to argue with you on such a nice day.
Let's take a break and go in for some coffee and some of those cookies you made
last night. We can bring them out to the porch here and relax for a minute
before doing the rest of the gutters." I reached to take her arm but
dropped my hand after seeing the odorous junk from the gutters smeared on my
glove. "And I could clean up a little."
"Hmph! You just want to get out of cleaning the rest of those
gutters. Don't think I don't know it." A spark of mischief appeared in her
dark eyes. "But those were good cookies last night, and they’d go well
with some hot coffee."
Before I could agree enthusiastically and lure her on into the
house, a noisy, bright green car pulled up in the street in front of us. We
both turned toward it just as Brian leaped out of the back of clean-cut
quarterback Noah Steen's car and slammed the door. Brian’s best friend, Angie
Melvin, had one tattooed arm hanging out the passenger window, and she stuck
her head with its burgundy and blue hair out as well. "Bye, Bri. Call me
later. Hi, Skeet. Hi, Mrs. Whittaker."
Angie had first-named Gran one time only in the first days after
Gran moved herself in with Brian and me. Gran put a stop to that in no time,
and she was the only adult in town that Angie didn't call by first name or some
sarcastic nickname. Mine, when she was pissed at me, was Supercop.
Brian nodded and waved, then turned a scowling face in our
direction as Noah and Angie drove off.
"Didn't you have fun with Angie and Noah?" I asked.
"You look like you lost your best friend."
"Maybe that's because I have," he snapped back at me.
"Angie just hangs on that stupid jock's every word and ignores me. I don't
know why they ask me to come along. Sometimes I think she doesn't want me
there, at all. He's the one who always asks. Just trying to get in her good
graces. Like he's so sensitive and caring. Hah!"
"Whoa, Brian. She didn't sound like it just now, asking you to
call her later and everything."
"That's just so she can go on and on about handsome Noah and
every little thing he said and did. And isn't he just wonderful, Brian? Isn't
he the greatest? The most boring phone calls in the world."
I opened my mouth to try to make things better somehow, but Gran
jabbed me in the side with her bony elbow and frowned at me, so I just shut my
mouth and focused on Brian the way I would focus on witnesses in silence to
lead them to say more than they intended when I was investigating crimes. Brian
stood in frowning silence for about half a minute. Then, the technique worked
its magic.
"Sometimes I don't think Noah really likes Angie, at all. Not
that way, you know. I think he's just playing a game with her, and she's going
to get hurt real bad." He lowered his eyes and shook his head impatiently.
"And I don't think I can stand it because she's already been hurt so much.
I don't see how she'll survive it. I'd like to hit him, but he's older and
bigger and a jock, and he'd probably wipe up the floor with me. Then he'd just
take Angie off and hurt her anyway."
He swiped at his eyes angrily. “She deserves better than him. I
can't see what she sees in him. She's usually so smart. Just brilliant. But right
now, she's being so dumb.”
“She can't see that there's a great guy, smart and talented and
honorable, who would treat her much better, can she?” Gran asked quietly.
Brian stood in silent shock. “I don't...” He shook his head
furiously and ran up the porch steps and into the house, banging the screen
door behind him.
I started after him, but Gran laid her hand on my arm. “Let him
go. He needs to cry it out and hit walls, and he won't be grateful to have any
witnesses to that later.”
“He's in love with Angie? That can't be! He's too young. Only
fifteen. I know he thinks the world of her. But that's just friendship. He
can't be in love at his age. Can he?”
I'd had custody of Brian for less than a year since his parents
died. Pretty soon, the adoption would be final, if nothing got in the way. I
had a bad feeling love might be one of those things that could derail it.
“Skeet, his age is when the worst of love hits. And he won't know
what to do with it. He feels totally out of control.”
That sounded like love at any age to me—or at least my experience
with it. I was not a fan of Cupid's.
Gran went on over my thoughts. “It was bound to happen. He's always
thought the sun rose and set on Angie, so when the hormones kicked in, she's where
all his feelings ended up.”
“Oh, shit! Hormones. Sex. Please, no. Not to my boy. Brian's too
young to handle all that. Hell, I'm too young to handle all that, so how can a
kid manage? And how on earth can I help him?”
I couldn't guide a kid through first love. I'd made a mess of my
own love life, marrying an exciting, handsome fellow cop who made me laugh and
thrill with passion, only to find that he couldn't handle a strong woman who
made a success of her career and had to manage his fears by being verbally
abusive and sexually unfaithful. I had nothing to teach poor Brian, except the
lesson I'd learned--avoid romance and love.
“Give him room, for one thing, Skeet. A lot of the love miseries a
person's just got to sort out on their own.” Gran shook her head. “He's right.
Angie's already had a lifetime of hurt, and she doesn't need more. And he's
probably right about the other boy's feelings. Brian's a good observer.”
I wanted to throw something. Angie had had such a rough time
lately. I'd been glad to see Noah show up and some color and happiness come
back into her cheeks once she'd healed enough physically to go back to school.
With her mother a drug addict, her father murdered, and the stepmother I
believed had tried to kill her in charge of her, she'd been through hell. Recovering
from physical injuries and surgery to remove her spleen had left her bereft of
a lot of her admirable strength and vitality.
“This is all too complicated.” I gestured with my stained glove
toward the front door. “Let's go clean up and figure out what to do over
coffee.”
“And cookies,” Gran added, as she started up the porch steps.
As that same train gave a mournful whistle from the far side of town,
I followed her, wishing I could go back to being on the ladder wrist-deep in
gutter muck and blissfully innocent of the problems roiling beneath the surface
of my life. Gran was right. What you couldn't see could destroy you. I
suspected that, the way water was your enemy if you owned a house, love was
your enemy if you wanted a happy, peaceful life.
***
The next day was a bright, clear Sunday, and Gran talked Brian
into going fishing with her and my old friend, Sid Ambrose, our part-time
county coroner in his retirement from the medical examiner's office in Kansas
City. Sid got a kick out of Gran, and she enjoyed having a fishing buddy up
here. I was glad to see Brian off to spend some time with two of the wisest
people I knew.
I had a lazy morning sitting in my pajamas and knitting in the
company of Lady and Wilma Mankiller, my scrappy street cat that I’d brought
with me from Kansas City. Wilma used to constitute my immediate family, but it
had since been expanded to include Lady, Brian, Gran, my dearest friend Karen,
and others. I had to shake my head sadly
when I remembered those days of just Wilma and me in a drab city apartment.
She seemed much happier now, too, as she batted around at the pink
yarn moving past her head or thrust that head under my hand, demanding petting.
Wilma was not the shy and retiring type. She went after what she wanted.
Eventually, I dressed and drove to the Clubhouse Restaurant
located on the public golf course next to River Walk Park. They had a great
Sunday brunch buffet, and if I was lucky, we’d get a table overlooking the
river where I could watch eagles and herons, as well as the constant ripple of
the Missouri’s powerful current. I'd promised to meet Pearl Brewster, last
descendant of our town’s founder, for a lunch meeting with my friends, Miryam
Rainbow and Annette Stanek. Pearl had a project she wanted us to help her with,
probably something to do for teens. Pearl was the local champion and mentor of
teens with any kinds of problems, and her projects were usually useful and
sensible.
As I left my car, I could hear another train in the distance, the
regular background music of Brewster, Missouri. Train tracks ran through the
heart of town to a station on the edge of the wide Missouri River. As one of
the earliest river ports, we’d always been a natural stopping place for trains,
with tracks leading both north to Omaha and Des Moines and south to Kansas City
and beyond to Oklahoma and Kansas. Passenger trains no longer held much
importance in American life, and the old station was now a hip restaurant, but
freight trains still ran both directions through Brewster night and day.
The train moaned off into the distance, and I saw Joe Louzon,
Brewster’s chief of police, walking toward me. I gave a little moan of my own.
He’d asked me to have lunch with him that day at the Clubhouse, and I’d been
happy to claim a previous commitment. You’d think he’d have known I’d never
agree to go to lunch, just the two of us. That would feel too much like a date,
something I was definitely not doing.
“Skeet, did you change your mind?” he asked eagerly, a bright
smile lighting up his broad, muscular face.
“No, I’m meeting friends for lunch. Just the way I told you.” I
had to stop my forward motion because he planted his stalwart body directly in
my path like the defensive end I knew he’d been back in high school football.
“It so happens we’re eating here.”
Joe'd been good for a long time about not pushing his desire for anything
beyond friendship. He knew my ex-husband was still in my life because we shared
care for my ailing father, but that never bothered Joe, who always seemed
secure and rock-solid sensible.
“What friend exactly are
you meeting?” he asked with intensity. “Don’t bother with some little white
lie. I saw your hired-gun pal, Heldrich, go in just a second ago.”
I rolled my eyes and sighed. It was only when Terry Heldrich came
into town that Joe suddenly became jealous and downright pushy about wanting
more from me than I could give. It wasn’t fair when we’d never been more than
friends, and I’d made it clear I wasn’t ready for anything else. Besides, Terry
meant nothing to me. He might have had other ideas, but I just avoided him. Still,
I felt like I’d lost a good friend in Joe.
“I imagine you’ve seen a number of people go inside recently. Some
of them might be the people I’m having lunch with, but Terry’s not one of them.
Would you please move out of my way? I’m going to be late for lunch.”
He tightened his mouth into a straight line with a little
skeptical pursing of the lips at the center. I missed the days when he used to
smile warmly at me and make me feel that he was happy with me just the way I
was. I missed my friend.
He stepped to the side and gestured me to go ahead with his strong
right arm. His eyes, half-sad, half-angry, followed me as I passed.
I couldn’t help turning to tell him, “I’m meeting Pearl, Annette,
and Miryam, honestly.”
He rewarded me with a half-hearted smile, neither one of us
getting what we wanted.
I shook off the sadness the encounter caused me as I entered the dark,
fragrant interior of the Clubhouse Restaurant with a crush of people, most of
them coming in off the links after playing rounds of golf. I wouldn’t let it
ruin my day. I looked forward to hearing what Pearl had to say and to getting
the reaction of the others. I liked old Pearl, and no one knew this town her
great-great-grandfather had founded better than she did.
In front of me as we moved through the walnut-paneled halls, some
of the town politicos chatted with the local sensation, wealthy developer Ash
Mowbray, who'd apparently played a round of golf with them. Ash had one of
those big, deep voices that dominate a whole room, as if the owner never learned
as a child how to use his indoor voice.
"Don't tell me it's a cinch if it isn't, Harvey," he
blared. "You're the mayor. You should know whether you have the votes or
not."
I noticed poor old Harvey Peebles turn a sickly shade of yellow as
he looked up and rushed to reassure the much-taller Ash in a smaller, more
civil voice.
Behind me, someone set a gentle hand on my shoulder, and I turned
directly into Terry Heldrich's chest, covered in a dark T-shirt under a
battered leather bomber jacket. Immediately, I bounced away in embarrassment,
brushing off his hand.
"I'm sorry," he said, looking down at me with a grin
that gave the lie to his words. It lit up his dark eyes above those cheekbones
other men might have paid for, if they could have. "Didn't mean to startle
you. I just wanted to say hello."
His employer, Walker Lynch, swept past us imperiously in another
group of golfers without a break in his conversation even when they were
directed to a table.
"Hello," I said. "You'd better catch up to your
party. Your boss may want you for something."
Terry knew I didn't approve of who he worked for and what he might
or might not be doing for Walker, but he kept showing up in my path anyway. I
had to give him points for perseverance, if not sensitivity.
I could tell the first time we met that he was nothing but trouble
for any woman, especially me. When we had to run background checks on him as
part of a murder investigation, we kept coming up blank. He had a military
special-forces background that was classified before he did some mercenary work
that also seemed classified and then some government work that was—guess what?
He should have disappeared back to Kansas City shortly after with
his wealthy employer, Walker Lynch, but to my dismay, Terry rented an apartment
in Brewster and commuted to the city—like a growing number of people. Brewster
was in danger of becoming just another Kansas City bedroom community and losing
its charm and identity.
Annette waved at me from the bar, tall enough that I could see her
red head over the crowd. I knew the shorter Miryam and Pearl must be with her.
“There’s my party. I'd better be going, and so had you." I
started out toward my friends.
"Skeet," Terry called as I pushed on through the crush
of people in the lobby. I turned toward him. His grin had subsided into a
tight-lipped smile, and his hands rested on his hips. "I'm still expecting
you. To come see my new apartment. Have you lost the address?"
I shook my head. "I haven't lost your address. I wouldn't
hold my breath if I were you."
He laughed out loud, throwing his head back and showing perfect
teeth. "But that's the wonder of it. You are so very not me." He
brushed the tip of his hat in salute, and I marched away from him to where Annette
and the others stood waiting. I could feel him staring at me, a heated area
between my shoulder blades where his eyes rested. He thought he was so funny—and
so hot. I’d continue to ignore him, and he’d eventually take the hint and leave
me alone.
"Pearl, how are you?" I asked as I reached my
destination. I learned at Gran’s knee that you always greet elders first. Among
the Cherokee, elders are highly respected and valued. Not the way most American
society functions. I figured when I got old I’d better move back down to the
Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma to live where I’d still count for something.
"I'm doing well, Skeet. Well enough to be sorry I haven’t
just played a round of golf." Pearl was only six or seven years younger
than my grandmother, but like Gran, she was physically fit and active, more so
than a lot of her younger colleagues. They just made women tougher in those
days, I think. Pearl entered a lot of golf tournaments where she was a prized
partner because her teams usually tended to win or come in high in the running.
"Annette. Miryam. How are you guys?" I smiled at them, a
little uncomfortable as they both hugged me. We’re good friends, but I’m never
been much of a hugger or cheek-kisser. Not a lot of call for that as a police
officer.
"Great, Skeet,” Miryam said with a flip of her blond curls. I
knew most of the male eyes in the room would be focused on Miryam, and so did
she. “Looking forward to having lunch with you and hearing what Pearl wants to
rope us all into now.”
Pearl called over a waiter and arranged for our table. Within a
few seconds, the waiter came back and led us to a table at the back of the dining
room by the windows that overlooked the river, a prime location thanks to
Pearl’s status in town. Unfortunately, it was directly next to the big table
where the politicians and Ash sat.
On the other side of Ash's table sat Bea Roberts,
owner of Aunt Bea’s Antiques and Collectibles, with Peter Hume, owner of
Creative Home Design, and his young companion, Dante Marcus. That was a bad
juxtaposition. Bea and Peter were very vocal leaders of the opposition to Ash
Mowbray's plans to build a huge shopping mall (financed in large part by Walker
Lynch) out by the wealthy Wickbrook neighborhood. Bea and Peter both owned
shops on Brewster's courthouse square, as did Miryam, and all three believed
that Ash's development would destroy the square and all its stores.
Bea had run against Harvey Peebles for mayor and
barely lost to him. She was revving up for another campaign, determined to
defeat him, especially after he fell right in with Ash's mall plans. Peter,
who’d always seemed a quiet, laid-back guy before, had transformed into an
enraged, aggressive quarreler once Ash appeared to be finding traction for his
project. I knew with those two tables of enemies right next to each other,
someone wouldn't have an enjoyable meal, and I was afraid it might be us.
In fact, Harvey looked downright sick as Bea and
Peter glared at him, though Ash himself seemed oblivious. The two city council
members with Harvey, Professor Aldo Lutz and Ian Parguenter, fidgeted and
shifted in their seats, as well.
"This is my treat," said Pearl as she opened
her menu. "So order something you've always wanted."
"Oh, my." Annette chuckled. "You must
be planning on seducing us into a hell of a lot of work, Pearl."
We all began to consider our menus and make our
choices.
"Everything's so fattening," Miryam
complained.
"Nonsense! You're not a model or actress anymore.
You don’t have to adhere to those stupid, unhealthy diets any longer."
Pearl shook her head vigorously. "Eat something so you can build muscle. Like
Skeet here. You won't age well, if you don't."
Miryam opened her mouth to defend herself, but was
overridden by Bea's angry voice.
"You're just letting him buy this town, Harvey.
Lock, stock, and barrel. What happened to your backbone? Or don’t estate
lawyers have one? Can't you stand up to Ash Mowbray and Mr. Deep Pockets Lynch
behind him? What happened to your principles? Or didn't you ever really have
any to start with?"
"Now, Bea. That's uncalled for." Harvey's
voice sounded almost like a bleat. “Besides, this isn’t the place for that.
We’re not here on business. Just having lunch after a game of golf.”
A waiter hovered between the two tables, making
calming gestures.
“And how many of your fellow citizens did you sell
out during this game of golf?” Peter demanded. “How much did they slip into
your pocket to betray our interests?”
“That’s just out of line, Peter,” said Aldo Lutz in
the voice of a professor calling a student onto the carpet. “You, too, Bea. You
don’t agree with the position Harvey and the rest of us are taking. You’ve made
that clear. Honest people can disagree on the issue. But don’t throw personal
accusations around like that. You’re verging on slander there.”
“Yes,” Harvey agreed in a small voice.
“Oh, it’s just the old town elite carrying on in its
death throes.” Ash’s big voice boomed out into the room. “Modern times call for
modern solutions—and modern men.” He grinned as he held up his hands, as if to
show off himself as an example of the modern man.
“I don’t like that man Walker’s brought to town,”
muttered Miryam under her breath as the hostess decorously headed in the
direction of the trouble.
“You don’t have to worry about these toothless old
relics, Harvey and Aldo.” Ash waved his hand as if brushing away a mosquito or
gnat. “Just ignore them. They’ll wither away in no time. Their day is long past,
and deep inside, they know it.”
A
wordless squeal of rage burst from Bea’s mouth. I stared as her face turned red
and swelled. I wondered if she would have a stroke or heart attack on the spot.
“You!
I remember you, Ashton Mowbray!” Bea’s voice was loud with a hard, mean ring to
it. “Son of a drug dealing crook and a drunken whore. A charity case all your
life. We all remember who you are. White trash of the worst sort. A bad seed.
You ran away from here where people knew who you were, but you couldn’t leave
that behind. You still carry your dirtiness with you, no matter how much money
you have now.”
“What’s
she talking about?” I whispered to Pearl, who always knew all the gossip in
town.
Pearl
frowned. “Ash Mowbray grew up here, like she said. Poor. With worthless
parents. The only thing he ever had going for him was his athletic prowess.”
Ash’s
self-satisfied smirk faded as Bea’s words shot out. His mouth set in a hard
line. The politicians at his table all looked aghast.
“You
crusty old bitch!” Ash’s voice blared out so loudly that the entire dining room
turned to stare. The hostess was hurrying to reach the back of the dining room
now. “Don’t forget, I know the secrets of this crummy town, too. I know which
upstanding citizens liked a little dope from my old man or a little slap and
tickle from my mom—and which old ladies liked a young boy’s body in their beds
after he mowed their lawns and got all hot and sweaty.” Bea gasped, and her
eyes widened in shock at his words. “Better keep your mouth shut, old woman, or
you’ll get more than you bargain for.” He’d all but come out and accused Bea of
seducing him when he was a kid, and everyone was staring wide-eyed.
At
that moment, I’d have been glad for Joe’s presence, so I wouldn’t have had to
try to keep the peace. But since I’d turned him down for lunch, he wasn’t
around. I sighed and stood up. “None of this stuff from Bea or you does anyone
any good, Ash. Let’s just shut it down. You’re both disturbing the peace.”
“You’re
picking the wrong team, Skeet Bannion,” Ash said in a threatening manner.
“These old bigwigs are on the way down. They’re crashing, and if you side with
them, you’ll crash with them.”
“I’m
not siding with anyone, Ash.” I kept my voice emotionless. “I’m just trying to
get all of you to settle down and let everyone else in the restaurant have a
pleasant lunch. But if you and your friends would rather I call out the city
cops, I can always do that.”
I
looked over at Harvey and his councilmen, who were shaking their heads and
waving their hands wildly in negation. “That what you want me to do, Harvey?”
“No,
Skeet. No! There’s no need for anything like that.” Harvey turned in appeal to
Ash.
“We
don’t need any trouble just now. Right, Ash?”
Ash
smiled. It transformed his whole face. “I’m not one to cause trouble, Harvey.
You know that.” Then, he shot a suddenly hateful glance at Bea and Peter. “But
if trouble comes, I’ll always be the only guy who walks off the field at the
end. My motto is take no prisoners. All you old-timers should remember
that from my football days.”
By
this time, Harvey and Aldo each had one of Ash’s big arms in their hands as
they seemed to be begging him to behave. It was amazing the crap people would
put up with from someone with lots of money.
As
the hostess arrived, breathless, Peter threw down his napkin and stood. “If we
have to sit here and be threatened by this piece of trailer trash, I’m leaving.
Come on, Dante. We can find some place to eat with a higher quality clientele.”
“That’s
not necessary, sir,” the hostess said. “I can move your table to the other side
of the dining room if this person is bothering you.”
“I
don’t want to leave, Peter,” Dante said. “And I don’t want another table. I
like this one with the view of the river, thank you very much.”
In
frustration, Peter turned to the hostess. “Why do you have to move us when this
cretin is the problem?” He pointed at Ash. “Why don’t you move—or remove—him?”
“Peter,
you and Bea started this whole shouting match.” Aldo Lutz stood now, as well.
He turned to Harvey and the others. “I think we’d all better leave and find
another place where we can eat in peace.”
Harvey
and Ian Parguenter nodded and stood, as well, shoving back their chairs.
“And
sell out your fellow citizens?” Bea asked with curled lip.
“Are you coming with us, Ash?” Harvey asked,
and Ash shrugged and moved out from the table to join them.
“It’s
not necessary for anyone to leave,” the hostess said in desperation. “We can
rearrange the seating. This is a large restaurant.”
“Let’s
go,” said Ash, and the three politicos followed him toward the front door.
Miryam
looked troubled as we all watched them file out of the restaurant. Her hand shook
when she picked up her glass of water.
“Are
you all right, sweetie?” Annette asked, as Miryam soaked up water from the
tablecloth with her napkin.
Pearl
smiled. “She’s probably just a little stunned, that’s all. So much anger.
Almost a violence in the air.”
Miryam
nodded. “You’re probably an empath like me, Pearl. I’m full of toxic energy now
from that scene. That Ash Mowbray is the most hostile creature I’ve ever
encountered. Leave it to Walker Lynch to bring such a beastly guy to town.” She
looked up at me. “Maybe we should leave, too, Skeet. I think I need to lie down
away from all this negative influence.”
Pearl
seemed about to disagree when she looked at Miryam, who really did look
distressed. “You don’t look well, dear. I suspect you’re right. It’s probably
put us all off our feed. We’ll just reschedule and try to make sure none of
those idiots battling over the mall are around when we do.”
Annette
stood. “That’s fine, Pearl. Do you want a ride home?”
Pearl
stood slowly, and I was reminded that she was almost as old as Gran. “Yes, if
you don’t mind. I don’t really feel like walking, after all that. Isn’t it
amazing how emotional outbursts can take more out of you than physical
exertion?”
Miryam
stood, as well, and moved to offer Pearl a little support at her elbow.
“I’m
sorry this messed up your lunch party, Pearl.” I looked at the table with its
menus still spread out on it.
The
old woman shrugged and gave me a tight little smile. “I’ll just set up another
one to finagle you all into my little project. Don’t worry. You won’t escape
me.” She turned, seeming slightly more fragile than usual, and Miryam and
Annette walked with her toward the door.
I couldn’t blame Miryam and Pearl. All
the shouting and threats left everyone unsettled, even me, and I was used to
them—just not in peaceful little Brewster. Ash Mowbray obviously had some
grudges against the town, and he seemed determined to cause as much trouble as
he could as a way of getting a little of his own back from the town which had
obviously looked down on him in his younger days. I thought of the hate in
Bea’s voice, the rage in Peter’s, and the threat in Ash’s. Ash had come back
intending to stir things up, apparently, and he was definitely getting his
wish. A dangerous wish, it seemed to me.
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