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Grams had once told Gera that one of her biggest liabilities—which, in an odd twist of nature that only God above could understand, also turned out to be her greatest asset—was the fact that she was fearless. She faced her problems head on, never shirking from the possibility of a fight.
It was that head-on approach that landed Gera in the principal’s office, the second day of third grade. A boy tried to bully her, having had limited success with the same technique the year before. However, Gera would have none of it. She marched up to him on the playground on that second day of school, popped him in the nose, and watched the blood trickle out in a slow, red pool. The boy didn’t flinch when she hit him. But at the first sight of blood, he dropped to the ground in a dead faint.
She had no more problems from that boy, ever again. In fact, they became good friends, partially because Gera brought him brownies the next day, with enough extra for the whole class to enjoy.
That same fearless nature was the reason Gera adored roller coasters and scary movies. She wasn’t sure why the notion of driving down the winding mountain had frightened her, but now that she had managed it half-drugged, she knew she had conquered her fear. Head on, minus one or two sideswipes to her bumper.
And it was that fearlessness that kept her going when her mother died at an early age, and when Grams got the dreaded diagnosis of cancer. Gera fought the doctors, argued with the technicians, yelled at the nurses who poked her grandmother with needles and tubes and that horrible stuff they called chemo. What the disease didn’t kill, the medicine did. Grams succumbed to both, but Gera was a fearless warrior, coming to see her every day, right up until the end. She was a cheerleader when Grams got discouraged, a nursemaid when Grams got sick, a rock when Gram grew weak.
And so today, unsure whether she acted upon the liability or the asset, Gera tackled another of her troubles. Head on.
She marched into the Cactus Bar and took a seat at a table, making sure she had a clear view of the bar and the man behind it.
When Billy Boy Macandie saw her, he took a double take. Then a slow smile touched his face, and he flicked his tongue, just like the snake that he was. Gera stared back at him, unamused.
Customers came up to the bar and drew his attention. Gera used the opportunity to study the back wall with its mantled fireplace, where Mac’s image was often seen. Now that she had latched onto the theory of someone framing Mac, she liked it more and more.
Her first inclination was to think that someone could have slipped inside the bar via a secret back entrance, donned a hat and coat, and posed as Mac there by the fireplace. Yet that idea didn’t make sense. First, why would someone stand there all night long, on the off chance someone might come along, see them, and mistake them for the legendary ghost? Second, the bank wrapped around the bar, effectively cutting off any notion of a hidden back door. No need to worry about security when your walls bordered a bank; few other buildings were sealed and secured as surely as a bank building. So no secret entrance.
But there could be a projected image, Gera thought. She strained her neck to see around the room, but there were too many people. She did spy one cable that looked a bit out of place. It ran across the ceiling and came down the wall adjacent to the fireplace, about a dozen feet or so out. The angle and placement would be right, she decided, for some sort of laser device, but a table of rowdy drinkers obstructed her view.
She felt Billy Boy watching her. He made no secret of it. He even followed the path of her eyes, staring at the cable. Was it her imagination, or did he look amused, as if imagining ways in which he could strangle her with that very cord?
She was being ridiculous, of course. She could see no such thought in his face.
A few moments later, a waitress came to her table. “Compliments of the bartender,” she chirped, sliding a drink in front of Gera.
Gera glanced up, catching his satisfied smirk. She refused to blink, refused to look away. She met his glare, head on. Her eyes never wavered from his, but she knew when the smirk slid from his lips. Knew when he cleared his throat and swallowed. Hard. Smiled, ever so slightly, when his eyes took on a nervous tick.
Eyes still on his, Gera stood from her table, took her untouched drink, and walked to the bar, putting a bit of swagger into her hips.
Billy Boy misread the signs. His nervous tick relaxed. His tongue ring flicked out. Writhed in slow and explicit implication, as his eyes darkened with excitement. Gera kept coming, even when her stomach threatened to turn. Billy Boy grinned. He let down his guard.
Gera leaned over the bar, motioning him forward with her finger. He laughed as he leaned in, tongue writhing. Most tongue rings made a clicking sound against teeth. His, she discovered at close range, made a hiss. Disgusting, she thought, even as she crooked her finger into the neck of his t-shirt and pulled him forward.
“Thanks for the drink,” she purred. She tugged again, stretching the shirt. “But you keep it.”
Her words were so quiet, so sultry, that he never saw it coming. Like a snake, her strike was swift and silent.
Before Billy Boy Macandie ever knew what was happening—in the middle of the packed bar, with patrons and co-workers there to witness it all—Gera dumped her drink down the front of his shirt.
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SENSING SHE WAS NO longer welcome in the bar, Gera left. She heard laughter behind her, as well as the string of obscenities that spewed from Billy Boy’s mouth.
There would be no conciliatory brownies after this showdown.
She took the side street, opting off the busy hustle of Main. Before she reached the end of the block, another pedestrian practically plowed her over.
Her first thought was that Billy Boy had come after her. Gera reached for her mace. But the face she saw was a pleasant one, devoid of inks and piercings.
“Oh, good Lord, Gera, forgive me!” Grant said, clearly as flustered as she was. “I didn’t even see you there! I am as clumsy as an ox.” He made certain she was steady, then brushed at his own clothes, soothing away unseen wrinkles from his impeccable attire.
“Is the bank open on Saturdays?”
“Half a day,” he confirmed.
She thought of how Miles Anderson had stormed over there, less than a half hour ago. What a letdown it would’ve been for him, had he risked his life crossing the street and arrived, only to find the doors locked.
“You must’ve been in quite a hurry to leave,” she smiled.
“I was. I was on the phone, and I just plowed right into you. I’m so, so sorry.” He looked genuinely contrite.
Why did some people find him so unpleasant? Gera liked the man. Not that way, not the way he had hoped she would, but he was always pleasant and polite to her. Okay, a tad bit nuts, perhaps, believing in ghosts and towns that slid off mountains, but nice, nonetheless.
“Well, I know you must have somewhere pressing to be, so I’ll let you get there. Have a nice day, Grant.” She wiggled her fingers and started back on her way.
When she realized he was following her, she looked back with a question in her eyes.
“Headed to my car,” he explained, “down here on Hull.”
“That’s where I’m parked.”
His lips lifted in a smile and he picked up his pace, catching up to her in two long strides. “Then allow me to walk you there.”
They made small talk as they walked along the side of the road. When the sidewalk played out, Grant took her elbow and helped her along the sloping path.
“Which one is yours?” he asked as they approached the crowded lot.
“Red Mazda, second row.”
“The one that looks like it has a flat tire? It’s sitting a bit oddly.”
“What? You’ve got to be kidding me!” She pulled free of his hand and ran toward her tilted car. She groaned in defeat, even before she reached it.
“And what about these dents and scrapes on your fender?” he asked in concern. “Isn’t this a rental?”
“Yes, but those are mine.” She waved away his confused look. “Long story. But look at this tire! Completely flat.”
Grant squatted down to examine it more closely. “Not just flat, I’m afraid,” he reported. “There’s a huge hole it in.”
“A hole?” Unease skittered along her spine.
“Yeah, like a chunk, just taken out of the rubber.”
A hole.
Like the ones Miles Anderson warned her about, perchance?
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GRANT INSISTED ON CALLING a garage he used down in Clarksdale. They would replace the tire and deliver the car to her hotel by afternoon.
He also insisted upon driving her back to The Dove. Gera resisted, thinking she should call Jake, but Grant was adamant. His conscience would never rest, he claimed, knowing he left her there to fend for herself until her ride arrived. He could drop her there himself. Five minutes out of his way.
She could think of no polite way out. It wasn’t as if she was accepting a date, she was merely accepting a ride. And even though Jake didn’t like nor trust the man, he had been nothing but polite to Gera. She had really no good reason not to slide into his Saab and wrap herself in the luxurious comfort of cooled, buttery-soft leather.
“Nice ride,” she grinned.
“My other car is a Prius.”
She might as well use the short drive to her advantage. “So you said you grew up here, huh? Went to school in Cottonwood?”
“That’s right.”
“So you and Miles Anderson have been friends all this time?”
His expression changed, but marginally. Remind me to never play poker with the guy, Gera thought to herself.
He avoided a direct lie. “We’ve known each other for a long time,” he agreed.
“But aren’t necessarily friends,” she read between the lines. Gera tilted her head and studied him. “So who got the girl in the long run?”
“Girl?”
“Prom girl. Tiffany, I think?”
“Ah, yes, the lovely Tiffany Braxton. Well, neither of us, I suppose, not in the long run. She was actually Anderson’s first wife, but they were divorced within a year, from what I understand.”
“First wife? How many has he had?”
“Two? Possibly three. That’s not counting Beverly Ruth. They never actually divorced, even though they’ve been separated for years.”
“Beverly?”
Grant nodded, carefully maneuvering the chuckholes and dips marking the roadway like a moldy slice of Swiss cheese. Holes, Gera thought, as he elaborated. “Yes. Beverly Ruth Cunningham.”
She stared at him in surprise. “What? Abe Cunningham was the chief’s ex-father-in-law?”
“Technically, I believe he’s best described as his late father-in-law. No divorce, remember?”
“I can’t believe this! I’ve spoken with him several times, and he never once mentioned that the murder victim was his relative!”
“I don’t think they thought of themselves as family.”
The car glided to a smooth stop, but the lack of motion was slow to register on Gera’s stunned mind.
“Gera?” he asked gently. “We can go for a ride, if you’d like.”
“What? Oh, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize... I’m just so stunned about what you just told me!”
“Obviously.” His gaze traveled to the hotel behind her. Just for a moment, a look of pure envy stole across his face. His eyes seemed to caress the old girl, traveling over her railed porches and towering heights. His eyes shuttered when he sensed Gera watching him. “Shall I see you in?”
“No, no, I’m good.”
“At least let me get your door.” He exited the car gracefully, his long legs making short work of the distance between his door and hers. He helped her from the soft leather, his hand lingering on her arm.
“Thanks again, Grant. I appreciate the ride, and especially you calling the garage and arranging for a new tire.”
“It was my pleasure. If Mondo doesn’t arrive as promised, you let me know. In fact, here’s my card.” He pressed a finely textured card into her hand. “That’s my personal number. Feel free to call. Anytime.” Still his hand lingered. “About anything.”
She stepped away as quickly as politeness would allow. “Okay, thanks,” she said, trying to disengage her arm from his.
She hurried up the steps of the hotel. Just a few days ago, she had found the noisy protests of the creaking boards and the wail of the old front door a bit foreboding. Now she welcomed the sounds.
Jake was behind the desk again, helping guests. Two women, as it turned out, and both were flirting shamelessly with their handsome host. But when Jake looked up to greet whomever had come through the door, and when his eyes met hers, his smile deepened. Totally free of yesterday’s drugs, Gera tingled from the look he sent her. This was definitely all Jake.
“Hey,” he said softly as she came up to the desk. “Be right with you.”
One of the women actually sighed. “Come on, Shelli,” she told her friend. “We can probably find the vending machine on our own.”
He hid a smile and Gera scrunched her nose as the women passed behind her.
“So how is your day going?” Jake asked.
“Not so great. Town is crazy busy, and I had a flat.”
“Do I need to fix it?” he offered.
“Thanks, but it’s all taken care of. Actually, Grant came to my rescue. And don’t make that face. He was perfectly nice. He even gave me a ride home. And I think he may have gone on up the road to drop in on Ruth. Oh, and guess what I found out? You probably already know this, but I just found out that Miles Anderson is Abe and Ruth’s son-in-law!”
“Ex son-in-law,” Jake corrected.
“Grant says they never divorced. Which, come to think of it, may be why the chief was so upset about the lien still on the house. He insisted Beverly was set to inherit it. Which,” she reasoned, “means he might have some sort of claim to it. Eventually.”
Jake looked a bit confused. “Not sure what all you’re talking about,” he admitted. “And I wish I could say you could tell me over dinner, but Terri called in. I have to pull a double. I’ll be stuck here until eleven.”
She looked as mournful as he did.
“Make that ten thirty,” he amended. “I’ll grab a shower and give you a call, if that’s not too late.”
“It’s not too late.”
He glanced around, saw no one in the lobby, and jumped forward, just enough to hang on the edge of the counter and brush a kiss onto her lips. “See you later then.”
“Shall I grab something from the restaurant and bring it to you? We could still eat dinner together.”
“Thanks, but Saturday nights are usually pretty busy. I probably won’t get much of a chance to eat.”
“Okay. Text me if you find a few spare minutes.”
“Will do.” The switchboard behind him rang. “See what I mean? The later it gets, the worse it gets.”
As she threw him a kiss and went toward the elevator, Gera heard Jake apologizing to a guest. “No soap? Or batteries in your remote? I’m so sorry about that, Mrs. Abas. I will send some up immediately.”
And here we go again, Gera sighed to herself. The children.
