Better Off Thread, page 22
Charlie must’ve really liked his car, because he didn’t fire at us. Instead he ran down the steps.
I put the car in reverse, placed my right hand at about the eight o’clock position on the steering wheel, and accelerated to around thirty miles per hour. I slammed the clutch and threw the wheel. The car spun around, and I popped the clutch back into first and sped away. In my rearview mirror, I could see Charlie climbing into the truck.
I quickly reached the end of Carrie’s driveway, turned the hard left onto the main road, and drove as fast as I safely could. Still, we had a lot of road to cover before we got to civilization and could call for help.
I groaned as I heard the roar of a vehicle coming upon us really fast.
“Crap! It’s him!” Carrie cried. “What’re we gonna do?”
“Just stay calm.”
I slowed slightly, allowing Charlie to edge closer to us. He pulled slightly to the right as if he were going to pass us on the wrong side of the road. I guessed he intended to either hit us or to appeal to Carrie in the passenger’s seat to stop and talk with him.
I pulled the hand brake and spun around in the opposite direction. Charlie apparently forgot that he wasn’t the one driving the sports car. When he swerved to miss us, the truck rolled onto its top.
I was speeding away from the truck when I heard sirens. “Help’s on the way. We’ve got to go back and flag them down.”
Again I spun the car around.
“Where did you learn to drive like this?” Carrie asked.
“Mom insisted on my taking a stunt-driving course when I was seventeen.”
We approached the pickup truck as a police cruiser was pulling to the side of the road. I stopped the car, put it in park, and got out.
“Be careful!” I shouted. “The man inside that pickup truck has a gun!”
The officer instructed Charlie to toss the gun out the window. He did so, and the policeman radioed for an ambulance.
Carrie got out of the car and ran to the officer’s side. “Please call for another ambulance. That man shot my boyfriend, and he’s bleeding to death.”
“Got it.” The officer looked at me. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“Yes. Could you please get a message to Detective Ted Nash of the Tallulah Falls Police Department and tell him Marcy is okay?”
“Yes, ma’am. Could you get back into your vehicle and pull it off the road please? I’m going to need to question you both before I can let you go.”
I walked back to the car on wobbly legs. I put the vehicle in gear and moved it over to the shoulder. Then I buried my face in my hands and sobbed.
Chapter Thirty
I was sitting on Carrie’s sofa with a black and green granny-square afghan over my shoulders when Ted walked through the front door. I gasped and stood. He bridged the distance between us in two long strides and enfolded me into his arms. He kissed my mouth, my cheeks, my forehead, my mouth again.
“Are you all right?” His voice was strained.
“I’m better now that you’re here.” I clung to him with every ounce of strength I had.
“So am I. Let’s get you out of here.”
“Did Officer Franklin say I can go?”
Ted nodded. “He knows where to find us if he has any more follow-up questions.”
“Good. I’m so ready to be home.”
“Everybody is there waiting for you and are ready for you to be home, too,” said Ted.
I frowned. “There are people at my house? Why?”
“When I got there and realized you were gone but that your Jeep was still in the driveway and Angus was in the backyard, I got concerned. Then I found your phone and became even more worried. I saw that the last number you’d called was Riley’s, so I called her.”
“Charlie Emerson confessed to killing Sandra Vincent,” I said. “Not just to me, but to Carrie and to Officer Franklin, too. Captain Moe is in the clear.”
“He’ll be thrilled to hear that.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m just so happy that Captain Moe is off the hook. Charlie even admitted how he did it. He was proud of his cleverness. But what were you saying about Riley?”
“When I called her, she relayed your message to me. I was still afraid that John Martin had taken you, and I had police in five counties looking for him . . . and for Charlie Emerson, as well. Meanwhile, Riley came over. Captain Moe was with her at the time, so he came, too.”
“Let me guess: Paul heard something over the scanner?”
Ted chuckled. “You got it. He and Vera are there, too. Probably half the town will be there when we get there.”
He was right. By the time we got back to my house, Riley, Captain Moe, Paul, Vera, Sadie, Blake, Todd, Audrey, and Veronica were there. Sadie had brought food. Veronica had brought Clover, and the bunny and Angus were playing in the foyer when we arrived.
Veronica met us at the door and hugged me. “Thank heavens.”
I got a hug from everyone else, and I was told what food was waiting for Ted and me in the kitchen. I thanked Sadie, but didn’t tell her that what I wanted most at the moment was a hot bath and to be alone with Ted. She insisted on going to the kitchen and getting Ted and me a plate of food. She told everyone else they could help themselves.
Sadie brought a tray of food into the living room and sat it on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “Are you sure you’re all right, Marce? You look pale.”
“I’m fine. Still a little shaken, I guess. I hope John Martin will be all right. Has anyone heard about his condition?”
“No.” Ted took a sandwich from the tray. “Carrie has your number, so I’m sure she’ll let you know something as soon as she can.”
“I’d like to come by and talk with you tomorrow,” said Paul. “I want Tallulah Falls to know what an important part you played in solving this murder and getting Captain Moe exonerated. But I know you need to recuperate tonight.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m going to wait till the morning to call Mom, too.” I smiled. “She’ll be delighted that my stunt-driving class finally came in handy.”
Everyone looked at me as if I were joking. Instead of explaining, I selected a sandwich from the tray.
My cell phone rang. It was the default ring, so I knew it wasn’t someone who called often. I picked up the phone and looked at the screen.
“It’s Carrie.” I answered the call.
“Hey, Marcy. I wanted to let you know that John came through the surgery okay, and the surgeon thinks he’ll make a full recovery.”
“I’m so relieved.”
“You saved our lives. Thank you.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
“John says come spring, he owes you a gazebo.”
I laughed softly. “He doesn’t owe me anything. I’m just glad he’s going to be all right.”
I ended the call and relayed the information that John Martin was going to be fine. Weariness set in, and my eyelids got heavy.
Ted took the sandwich from my limp hand and put it back onto the tray. “Why don’t we get you upstairs?”
“No, that’s okay. I’m fine.”
“Ted’s right,” said Vera. “We all need to go so you can rest. We’ll see you tomorrow, dear.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” said Captain Moe. “You’re a heroine, Tink.”
I let my head loll against Ted’s shoulder.
* * *
When I woke up, the room was dark. I realized I was lying on my bed. I bolted upright.
“Hey, hey, hey. It’s all right,” Ted said soothingly. “I’m right here.” He got up off the chair where he’d been sitting and moved to the side of my bed. “How’re you feeling?”
“Groggy. I don’t know why I got so tired. It can’t be that late.”
“It was the stress you were under this evening, babe. It exhausted you. Why don’t I run you a bath?”
“That’d be great.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Yeah.” My stomach growled a confirmation.
Ted smiled. “While you’re taking your bath, I’ll go down and see what there is to eat. Mother wrapped up the food Sadie brought and put it in the refrigerator.”
“That was sweet of her. And this is sweet of you. Thank you for taking such good care of me.”
“Want me to bring a tray up, or do you want to come down?”
“I’ll come down. I’m not an invalid.”
“I know. While you eat, maybe you can tell me all about that stunt driving.”
I smiled. “Maybe I will.”
I lay back against the pillows and listened to the water filling the tub. Ted was wonderful. Captain Moe was a free man. Poor, banged-up Charlie Emerson was in jail, awaiting a psych evaluation. John Martin was going to be okay. And I had no intention of having that man build me a gazebo. I might’ve helped save his life, but he was still a jerk. Besides, I wasn’t even sure I wanted a gazebo.
I luxuriated in my bath, and then I went downstairs to the kitchen. Ted had lit candles and put the food on the table.
“Where’s Angus?” I asked.
“Had to go potty, so I let him out back.” He pulled out my chair.
“Thank you.” I sat down and noticed there was a beautiful little Christmas-tree ornament next to my plate. It was a hinged blue velvet box with a white bow. “How sweet! You got me a new ornament.”
He held out his hand. “Let me show you something.”
I handed him the ornament, and he stooped onto one knee beside my chair. He opened the box. Inside was a diamond ring. My jaw went slack.
“Marcy, I love you with all my heart. I was going to save this until Christmas, but after tonight, I just can’t. Will you marry me?”
I blinked away the tears that were clouding my vision. “Yes!” I threw my arms around Ted’s neck. “Yes, I’ll marry you!”
He kissed me and then pulled back to place the ring on my finger. It was a perfect fit.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A special thank you to Sophie Simpson for letting me mention her book, Stitch the Halls! You may visit Sophie’s blog at whatdelilahdid.bigcartel.com.
I also want to give a shout-out to Joseph and Mary Moore, who play Santa and Mrs. Claus in Tennessee. (Do they have Christmas completely sewn up, or what?) Joe gave me the idea for the scene where Santa says he didn’t recognize the child at first because he’d grown so much during the year. I saw him do that at a Christmas event in Kingsport, Tennessee, and I thought it was brilliant. What better way to explain how Santa knows everybody and delivers presents to their houses every year and yet doesn’t know a child’s name? Check out Santa Unplugged at facebook.com /santa.unplugged to see the best Santa ever! (Just don’t tell Captain Moe I said that.)
If you love Amanda Lee’s Embroidery Mysteries, keep reading for an excerpt of the first book in Gayle Leeson’s new Down South Café series . . .
THE CALAMITY CAFÉ
Available wherever books are sold!
I took a deep breath, tightened my ponytail, and got out of my yellow Volkswagen Beetle. I knew from experience that the morning rush at Lou’s Joint had passed and that the lunch crowd wouldn’t be there yet. I put my letter of resignation in my purse and headed inside. Homer Pickens was seated at the counter with a cup of coffee. He was a regular . . . and when I say regular, I mean it. The man came to the café every morning at ten o’clock, lingered over a sausage biscuit and a cup of coffee, and left at ten forty. It was ten fifteen a.m.
“Good morning, Homer,” I said. “Who’s your hero today?”
“Shel Silverstein,” he said.
“Good choice.” I smiled and patted his shoulder. Homer was a retiree in his late sixties, and he chose a new hero every day.
You see, when Homer was a little boy, he noticed his daddy wasn’t around like other kids’ daddies. So he asked his mom about him. She told him that his dad had died but that he’d been a great baseball player, which is why she’d named him Homer. When Homer was a teenager, she’d finally leveled with him and said his father hadn’t been a baseball player . . . that he’d basically been a bum . . . but that Homer didn’t need a father to inspire him. Heroes were everywhere. Since then, Homer had chosen a new hero every day. It was like his inspiration. I looked forward to hearing Homer’s answer to my question every day I worked. When I was off from work, he told me who his hero was the day I asked plus the day I’d missed.
I could sympathize with Homer’s desire for a heroic father figure. My dad left Mom and me when I was four. I don’t really remember him at all.
“That apple tree? The one he wrote about? I have one like it in my backyard,” Homer said. “I cherish it. I’d never cut it down.”
“I’m sure the rain we’ve had the past couple of days has helped it grow. You bring me some apples off that tree this fall, and I’ll make you a pie,” I told him.
My cousin Jackie came from the back with a washcloth and a spray bottle of cleaner. She and I had waitressed together at the café for over a year. Jackie had been there for two years, and in fact, it was she who’d helped me get the job.
My mind drifted to when I’d come back home to work for Lou Lou. I’d just finished up culinary school in Kentucky. Nana’s health had been declining for the past two or three years, but it had picked up speed. As soon as I’d graduated, I’d come home and started working at Lou’s Joint so I could be at Nana’s house within ten minutes if I was needed. I was only biding my time at first, waiting for a chef’s position to come open somewhere. But then Nana had died. And, although I knew I could’ve asked her for a loan to open a café at any time, I wouldn’t have. I guess I got my streak of pride from my mother. But the money Nana had left me had made my dream a reality—I could open my café and stay right here at home.
“Morning, Amy!” said Jackie. “Guess what—Granny says she has a new Pinterest board. It’s called Things I’d Love to Eat but Won’t Fix Because What’s the Point Anyway Since I Don’t Like to Cook Anymore.”
I laughed. “I don’t think they’d let her have a name that long.”
“That’s what I figured. It’s probably called Things I’d Love to Eat, but she threw that last bit in there hoping we’ll make some of this stuff for her.”
“And we probably will.”
Jackie’s granny was my great-aunt Elizabeth, but Mom and I had always just called her “Aunt Bess.” Aunt Bess was eighty-two and had recently discovered the wonders of the Internet. She had a number of Pinterest boards, had a Facebook page with a 1940s pinup for a profile pic, and trolled the dating sites whenever they offered a free weekend.
Lou Lou heard us talking and waddled to the window separating the kitchen from the dining room. She had a cigarette hanging from her bottom lip. She tucked it into the corner of her mouth while she spoke. “Thought I heard your voice, Amy. You ain’t here for your paycheck, are you? Because that won’t be ready until tomorrow, and you ain’t picking it up until after your shift.”
“That’s not why I’m here,” I said. “Could we talk privately, please?”
“Fine, but if you’re just wanting to complain about me taking half the waitresses’ tips again, you might as well not waste your breath. If it wasn’t for me, y’all wouldn’t have jobs here, so I deserve half of what you get.”
Jackie rolled her eyes at me and then got to cleaning tables before Lou Lou bawled her out.
We deserved all of our tips and then some, especially since Lou Lou didn’t pay minimum wage and gave us more grief than some of the waitresses could bear. That’s why I was here. Lou Lou Holman was a bully, and I aimed to put her out of business.
Speaking of daddies, Lou Lou had been named after hers—hence the Lou Lou, rather than Lulu—and according to my late grandmother, she looked just like him. He’d kept his hair dyed jet-black until he was put into the Winter Garden Nursing Home, and afterward, he put shoe polish on his head. According to Nana, he ruined many a pillowcase before the staff found his stash of shoe polish and did away with it.
Lou Lou wore her black hair in a tall beehive with pin curls on either side of her large round face. Her eyes were blue, a fact that was overpowered by the cobalt eye shadow she wore. She shaved her eyebrows, drew thin black upside-down Vs where they should have been, and added false eyelashes to complete the look.
Today Lou Lou wore a floor-length blue and white floral-print muumuu, and she had a white plastic hibiscus in her hair just above the pin curl on the left. She shuffled into the office, let me go in ahead of her, and then closed the door. I could smell her perfume—a cloying jasmine—mixed with this morning’s bacon and the cigarette, and I was more anxious than ever to get our business over with. She sat down behind her desk and looked at me.
I perched on the chair in front of the desk, reached into my purse, and took out the letter. As I handed it to her, I said, “I’m turning in my two-week notice.”
“Well, I ain’t surprised,” she said, stubbing the cigarette into the ashtray. “I heard your granny left you some money when she passed last year. I reckon you’ve decided to take it easy.”
“No. Actually, I’d like to buy your café.”
Her eyes got so wide that her false eyelashes brushed against the tops of her inverted V eyebrows. “Is that a fact, Amy?”
“Yes, ma’am, it is.” I lifted my chin. “I’m a good cook—better than good, as a matter of fact—and I want to put my skills . . . my passion . . . to work for me.”
“If you think you can just waltz in here all high and mighty and take my daddy’s business away from me, you’ve got another think coming,” said Lou Lou.
“If you don’t sell to me, I’m going to open up my own café. I just thought I should give you fair warning before I do.”
