Chapter 41

 

Amy and I piled into the Lexus and got the heck out of there before Chief Cokie changed her mind and carted us downtown to spend the night with Rick Rod. “Would you think I was a big baby if asked you to stay with me tonight?” Amy said.

“Of course not.” I’d practically been reduced to thumb sucking myself. Besides, spending the night, or more accurately, what was left of it, with Amy didn’t exactly sound like torture. “In fact, it’s a good idea.”

 

We ran by my mother’s house first. I wanted to make sure that everything was A-OK at Tara, that Evelyn was safely tucked in and locked up for the night. I also wanted my toothbrush and my teddy bear.

I left Amy in the car. I let myself in, crept upstairs and peeked in on my mother and found her and Bunky in bed snoring up a storm. All was one at Tara.

I left a note on the kitchen table saying that I’d be spending the night at Amy’s, and I’d call in the morning. Before leaving, I checked to make sure that all of the doors and windows were secure and I locked the front door behind me.

 

“This really is sweet of you,” Amy said, killing the engine.

“Listen, any night I don’t have to sleep with a foul-smelling Pekingese is my good fortune.” Could I sweet talk or what?

“It’s nice to know I rate over a stinky dog.”

“Well, you know what I mean.”

 

The Tudor was lit up for nighttime and it glowed like a show home in a glossy magazine. I was glad I wasn’t paying the electric bill, or the mortgage.

“What are the chances that Dr. Smith might make a house call tonight?” I’d already had about all of the excitement I could handle for one evening.

“If he does, I’ll shoot him,” Amy said as she unlocked the front door.

“Sounds reasonable.”

We stepped inside and Amy punched in the alarm code, disarming the system. The little blinking light went from red to green. 

“I don’t think I’m quite ready for sleep yet,” Amy said. “How about a drink?”

“Excellent idea. Maybe something medicinal, like whiskey and a glass?”

Amy grinned a weary, beautiful grin. “Perfect.”

 

She showed me into the well-appointed living room and said, “Make yourself comfortable.”

I took a seat on the lovely floral print couch, and she went to the antique mahogany bar and got two glasses and a bottle of Maker’s Mark. I could see that Amy’s bar was a lot more impressive than A.C.‘s. Of course, the bar at the bowling alley was more impressive than A.C.’s.

She dropped a couple of ice cubes in each glass and poured two healthy drinks and carried them over. She handed me mine, kicked off her shoes and took a seat next to me on the couch. There was probably no appropriate toast for an occasion like the one we had on our hands, so we just went ahead and drank our late-night libation.

 

The Maker’s Mark went down warm and smooth like the fine Kentucky whiskey it was and it was medicine. In no time at all I was feeling almost human again. I was actually starting to relax a little and it looked like Amy was, too. She was stretched out on the couch with her feet in my lap. She had cute little painted toenails and a very nice pair of legs which were scratched here and there from our woods romp the night before.

“This is some house,” I said, and it was. The furnishings and ambience were a well-conceived blend of modern and traditional, kind of like Amy. Every room I could see was adorned with fresh flowers and real art. The house reeked of money and taste, an all-too-rare combination. Nancy Merit would go apeshit over this place.

Amy yawned. “It’s okay,” she said, like she was bored with the house. Probably sharing it with the dentist had taken some out of the thrill out of it. He could probably ruin living in the White House.

If Amy thought this joint was just all right, I’d hate to think how she’d rate my mobile home, but it didn’t really matter. I liked my doublewide, and that’s was all that counted. Lately, I’d been feeling a little lonesome for the trailer and I knew I’d feel a lot better once I was parked safely back inside of it, God willing.

Amy yawned again. “What’s your place like?”

“Well, it’s nothing like this, of course, but it’s nice and roomy, sort of a blend of modern and traditional.”

“It does sound nice.”

“Did I mention that it’s a doublewide trailer?”

Amy leaned up and stared at me. “You’re making that up.”

I just smiled back at her. This was as good of a place as any to change the subject. It was obvious that I wasn’t going to impress her with my custom floor plan.

 

I had Amy’s cute little naked feet in my lap and I was all warm inside from the whiskey and just starting to fantasize about the as yet unannounced sleeping arrangements, when, abruptly, Amy sat straight up.

“Did you hear something?” she said.

“No.”

“I thought I heard something.”

“Like what?”

“Shhh. Listen.” I did, intently, but I didn’t hear a thing except the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the mantel. We sat there in the uneasy quiet, exchanging only eye contact. Finally, Amy leaned back. “Guess I’m hearing things.” She picked up what was left of her drink and finished it off. Then she set her glass back down on the table.

“Maybe it’s bedtime,” she said.

“Maybe so.”

“Well, you’ve got two choices.” Amy swung her feet to floor. “You can sleep in my bed, or not.” She was certainly direct. I admired that. More people should try it.

But before I had a chance to fully admire Amy’s directness and mull over my bedtime choices, we both heard a distinct crashing sound coming from somewhere in the house.

“Shit,” Amy said, scrambling to her feet. “Where’s my purse?”

I hopped up from the couch, and we both looked around frantically, but her purse was nowhere in sight.

“Where is it?” Amy said, tossing couch cushions. Then she dashed into the adjoining dining room and kept up her frenzied search.

I sprinted to the foyer. Maybe she’d put it down on our way in. I quickly scanned the entry, but came up empty-handed. This was bad time to be coming up empty-handed.

The crash sounded like it had come from the basement. I knew that the best plan was for us to stop hunting for a missing gun and hit the door full-speed, vacate the Tudor pronto. I had my hand on the front door, but I couldn’t go without Amy.

“Amy!” I shouted. “Let’s get out here. Now!” I waited a beat, but no Amy. “Damn it, Amy! Come on!”

Still, no Amy. Obviously, she was totally focused on getting her hands on that damn gun.

Fear and frustration went head-to-head, wrestling like black angels inside of me, but I didn’t have time for fear or frustration. We had to go. I was sure that there was little or no discretionary time left. We had to leave the house now.

“I’ll drag you out of here if I have to!” I spun on my heels, hot to make good on my threat.

“Good evening, Ms. Claypoole.”

 

I’d been hoping that I’d never hear that voice again as long as I lived, but unless I was hallucinating, I was most assuredly hearing it again and it was coming from somewhere uncomfortably close, as in right behind me. I finally knew what it meant to feel your blood run cold. In my case, it was running ice cold.

Slowly, I turned all the way around.