Chapter 33

 

When I was sure the copter was good and gone, I beat feet back to my car where I’d left it in the station parking lot. The Charger was gone, and, no doubt, so was Alonzo because Agee’s rusted pickup was parked in its place, the changing of the guard. I thought I’d stick my head in the station door before I split to get a cool blast of air for the road and catch my breath and to be civil, I’d say a quick hi-bye to cousin Agee.

Agee was a few years older and a few pounds heavier than Alonzo. As far as I could tell, other than that they could’ve been identical twins.

George Jones sang The Grand Tour. Agee was on the phone. He looked up when he saw me come in and he put his hand over the receiver.

“Hey, Kim,” Agee said, holding out the phone, “it’s for you.”

I was beginning to hate incoming calls. I cringed and took the receiver. “Hello?”

“Good,” Evelyn said. “I caught you.”

“Boy, I am glad it’s you,” I let out a sigh of relief. I don’t think I’d actually ever been relieved before to get a call from my mother, but this time I was. It sure beat hearing from Freddy Kruger again.

“What?”

“Never mind. What’s up?”

“Bud Upton called,” she said. “Looks like Larry White’s in town, and he wants to meet later this afternoon.” Evelyn took a long, dramatic breath. “Now Kimberly, you know I want to ride the pony and all, but do you suppose there’s any way you’d let me off the hook just this once and go to this meeting without me? You know I trust you completely. Alonzo’s gonna be so disappointed if I don’t go to King’s Island.”

At this point, leaving Evelyn out of things not only had its appeal, it was probably the right move. Things were getting a bit hairy, and there was every good reason to think that they might get hairier.

“I’ll handle this, Mom. Go with Alonzo. Have some fun.”

“You serious?”

“Of course.” Gee, I was swell.

“Well, I guess I raised you right then. Well, almost.”

I handed the phone back to Agee who’d been standing there staring at me like a dumbstruck woodchuck the whole time. “Everything okay?” he said, recradling the phone.

“Everything’s just super.”

“Wanna beer?”

I did want a beer, badly, but I wanted to drink it somewhere far away from WFOG and anyone related to me. “Thanks, Agee, maybe next time.”

Agee shrugged. “At least let me give you a hug before you go.”

 

All roads lead to Sparkie’s Lounge, or that’s the way it was beginning to seem. I took the same booth Amy and I had recently occupied and the waitress, also the same one, brought me a glass of water and a menu.

“You must like this place,” she said, taking out her pencil.

Like there were lots of other choices.

“I must.” I ordered my usual, a cheeseburger with the works and a Little King.

“Be right back with your beer,” she said.

“Terrific.” I was greatly anticipating the chilly Little King. This was the best news I’d had all day.

She picked up my menu and tucked her order pad into the back pocket of her jeans. For the backside of thirty, she had a pretty nice backside going for her. She wasn’t kidding. She was right back with my Little King. She poured it into a glass. I didn’t really want it in a glass, but it seemed like she was trying to be nice or at least efficient, so I just said thanks.

I enjoyed my beer and cheeseburger and tried to get my mind to take a coffee break. I was getting nowhere rehashing the questions. I certainly had them down pat. It was answers I needed, and soon.

Although it made me more than a hair uneasy, I was looking forward to meeting the man who called himself Larry White face to face. I only hoped that he didn’t bear a strong resemblance to Freddy Kruger.

I shoved my empty lunch plate aside and was contemplating having a piece of coconut cream pie for dessert when Mayor Scotty Mink came in with a giant of a guy who wore a dark suit, alligator boots and a black cowboy hat. He was probably the Wal-Mart store manager.

The waitress carried menus to a table by the window and while Black Bart seated, Scotty Mink took a short detour to my table.

“Why, hello, Ms. Claypoole,” he said, touching my shoulder. “What a nice surprise to see you. I thought you’d be long gone by now.” His hand lingered on my shoulder.

“I’ve got a few loose ends to tie up before I go.”

“Oh? Anything I can do to help?”

For starts, you could take your slimy paw off me. “I don’t think so, but it’s nice of you to offer.”

“Well, do enjoy the rest of your stay,” he said, turning to join his lunch date.

“Thanks, I will.”

Once I’d gotten the mayor out of my hair, I went back to the dessert menu, but in a rare act of self-restraint, I passed on the pie, picked up my check, left a healthy tip and paid at the cash register. Then I hit the potty and the pay phone. I still hadn’t been able to totally shake my queasy, uneasy feeling, and I was getting a little worried because I hadn’t filled Amy in yet on the threatening phone call. I dropped a quarter in the pay phone, hoping I’d catch Amy before I headed to Bud Upton’s office for my meeting with Larry White.

I rang her home number and crossed my fingers, hoping that I wouldn’t have to talk to Dr. Prickwad again, but Amy picked up on the first ring.

“I’m glad you called,” she said. Amy didn’t sound too good. In fact, she sounded terrible.

I held my breath and asked the question I didn’t want to ask. “What’s wrong, Amy?”

She sniffed. “I told Doug that I wanted a divorce. It didn’t go so well.”

Her timing was incredible. “You did?”

“I guess seeing you again helped put things in perspective. It’s been coming for a long time.”

Always glad to be helpful. I was really hoping that my name hadn’t come up in their conversation. I already had one peeved husband on my hands. I didn’t need Dickhead and Dr. Prickwad fighting over my head on a platter, but I wanted to be sensitive.

“I’m sorry, Amy.” Actually, I wasn’t sorry at all. With the possible exception of his fat checkbook, Dr. Doug Smith had no redeeming qualities that I could decipher. As far as I could see, Amy or just about anybody else was probably better off without him. I even felt sorry for his patients, but I knew it would take Amy some time to let her good fortune sink in. It was a bit too premature to uncork the champagne.

“I’m so glad I finally did it,” she said. “Now that I’ve stopped crying, I actually feel like celebrating.” Maybe it wouldn’t take as long as I’d originally thought.

“God,” Amy said, nearly a moan, “what did I ever see in him?

An excellent question, but hey, who was I to judge? I’d walked down a few stupid roads myself in the relationship department when there wasn’t even a sign of a fat checkbook. In fact, it was more than just possible that I was skipping hand-in-hand with Nancy Merit down another rutted, blue highway at that very moment.

“So...” Amy said, trying to take on a cheerier note, “you called?”

This was a really crummy time to lay it on her but, for her own good, Amy had to know.

“I got a very ugly threatening phone call. Actually we got a phone call.”

“Oh, shit. From who?”

“Freddy Kruger.”

“Who?”

Apparently, Amy wasn’t a big fan of teen slasher movies. “Someone followed us last night.”

I went on to fill her in completely. I brought her right up to date, including my second fruitless search of the field behind WFOG and the creepy copter.

“A black helicopter?”

“Go figure.” 

“This just gets weirder all the time.” I heard her light a cigarette. “And it’s really starting to piss me off. My poor brother’s locked up for something he didn’t do, and there’s some serious bullshit going on in Fogerty and nobody but us gives a crap. And, I married a prick.”

She was pissed off. “Listen, Amy, I’ve gotta run if I’m going to work in a shower before my meeting with Bud and Larry White.” I did want to look fresh for the boys. “Feel like getting together this evening?”

“I’ll pick you up.”

When I hung up, the pay phone spit my quarter back to me. I mistakenly took this for a sign that my luck was improving. I pocketed the quarter and pushed open the hefty wooden door to the parking lot. I wasn’t ten steps out of Sparkie’s door when I heard a rustling sound coming from the bushes behind me. Before I could turn around or open my mouth to say “Christ on toast,” something cold and heavy and hard thumped me good in the back of head. I saw the blue afternoon horizon fill up with dancing black polka dots and felt my knees go. That was all she wrote.