‘Oh, shit!’ Megan said, coming in to Bess’s room. Bess and Alicia were sitting on the bed playing liar’s poker.
‘Ummmmm?’ Bess inquired, not looking up from her game.
‘Listen!’ Megan demanded. When neither sister looked up, she plopped herself down between them, thus stopping any gamesmanship that might have been going on.
‘Get your fat ass up!’ Bess said, shoving Megan.
‘Say what you want, but my ass ain’t moving!’
‘Why must you use improper grammar, Megan? You know it makes my ears bleed!’ Alicia said.
‘Do y’all want to hear what is going to happen to us in the very near future?’
‘What?’ Bess said, as she stopped shoving her sister.
‘The police chief of Black Cat Ridge is coming to interview us,’ Megan said in as dramatic a voice as she could conjure up.
‘Why?’ Bess demanded.
Alicia rolled her eyes. ‘About the white car, dumbass,’ she said.
‘I’m not sure, Alicia, dear, but is “dumbass” actually proper English?’ Megan said.
‘Bite me,’ Alicia said.
‘Oh, you mean because of those guys. Well, good,’ said Bess. ‘We need the police on this and there’s not much Mrs Luna can do since she works for the Codderville force.’
‘You would think her living in BCR, she’d take a job here,’ Megan said.
‘I’d venture a guess that BCR doesn’t pay nearly as much as she’s making in Codderville, especially now she’s been promoted to lieutenant,’ Alicia said.
Megan shrugged. ‘Yeah. That’s probably right.’
‘So when is this interview going to happen?’ Bess asked.
Megan shrugged. ‘All I heard was “he’s coming by later.” I have no idea what constitutes later.’ She turned to Alicia and grinned. ‘How’d you like that one? Constitutes. Good word usage, huh?’
‘Piss off,’ Alicia said. ‘Even better word usage.’ She hopped off the bed and headed for the door. ‘I hope he doesn’t come too late. We have school tomorrow, remember?’
‘Oh, Lord,’ Megan said. ‘I’ve been trying to forget. What are you wearing?’
‘That new black-and-white-striped tee with black leggings and that new red mini,’ Alicia said.
‘Oh, that’ll look good,’ Bess said. ‘I’m thinking about that tie-dye maxi with the blue shrug.’
‘I’m going old skool,’ Megan said. ‘Jeans and a tee. Probably the one from that Taylor Swift concert.’
‘Can’t,’ said Alicia, heading out the door. ‘New rule: no tees that advertise anything, even bands, etc.’
‘Well, that sucks!’ Megan said.
‘Tell me about it,’ Alicia said as she headed down the stairs, followed by her sisters.
The girls found their parents in the kitchen: Willis at the stove stirring a pot and E.J. at the bar, cutting veggies for a salad.
‘What do you have there, Dad?’ Alicia asked. She still felt a little uncomfortable calling him that, after the drama of the summer when Willis had left E.J. and Alicia had found out it was partially her fault, but now he seemed to preen every time she called him dad, so she figured it was all good.
‘My two-alarm chili, without beans, of course, and a small batch of no alarm for the ladies,’ Willis said.
‘I guess I’m no lady,’ Megan said. ‘Bring on the two-alarm for me!’
‘You know, Dad,’ Bess said, taking the plates from Alicia, who had pulled them down from a cupboard that was too high for Bess to reach, ‘it’s now three against two, what with Graham off at college. The small batch should be the two-alarm, not the no alarm.’
‘She’s got a point, Willis,’ E.J. said.
‘Who eats seconds around here? AND takes leftovers to work for lunch? Me, that’s who!’ Willis said. ‘The big batch will, as always, remain two-alarm. Thank you very much,’ he finished with a bow.
Megan applauded.
‘Megan, use your hands for something more useful – like setting the table,’ her mother suggested.
‘They’ve got it taken care of,’ she said, head-pointing at her sisters.
‘We need napkins, or really a whole roll of paper towels. This is going to get messy,’ Alicia said. ‘And pour drinks, please.’
‘Jeez, you’re needy! And bossy!’ Megan said, but set about doing her chores.
By the end of the meal they all agreed that their respective chilies had been great, even though there might have been a bit more heat than advertised in the no-alarm chili. The salad and the plate of fruit dealt with that successfully.
The girls were cleaning the kitchen and arguing when the front doorbell rang. E.J. and Willis went to the front of the house and all three girls looked at each other.
‘That’s him, I bet!’ Megan stage-whispered.
‘Should we go in now?’ Bess whispered back.
‘Maybe we should wait until they call us in,’ Alicia whispered.
So the three dried their hands and stood in the kitchen, waiting. They could hear talk from the living room – mostly two male voices, their dad’s and another man’s – with an occasional female laugh. Then they distinctly heard their mother say, ‘I’ll just go get them.’ And in she came. ‘The police chief is here to get your statements about that white car,’ she said.
The girls nodded and walked single file into the living room, like stair steps going up – first Bess, then Alicia, with Megan at the end.
Willis and the man were both standing up. ‘Girls, this is police chief Barry Donaldson. Barry, my daughters, Bess, Alicia and Megan.’
The chief was shorter than their father, maybe just six foot, with snow-white hair and skin darkened by years in the sun. He was just a little overweight, mostly in the stomach, but still wore his uniform well. He had bright blue eyes that sparkled.
‘Ladies,’ he said, and bowed slightly. ‘Why don’t y’all have a seat while I ask a couple of questions.’
They all sat down on the long part of the sectional sofa, with Willis and E.J. taking up one end and the chief the other.
Chief: ‘Now when did y’all first notice this car following you?’
Bess: ‘I was driving and I noticed the car pulling out of our street as we left, but didn’t really pay any attention. I noticed it because there aren’t any white cars on our street.’
Chief: ‘And when was the next time you noticed it?’
Bess: ‘We were talking, you know? So I wasn’t really paying attention until we pulled into the shopping center. I saw the car behind us and it didn’t really mean much at the time, but I’d pulled into the wrong driveway – the theater is the second driveway not the first, and I had to go all around Kohl’s and Academy to get to the Metroplex and, when I found a parking place, I saw that car again. It was right behind us.’
Alicia: ‘She called it to our attention, and Megan and I both looked and it looked like the two men Mrs Luna had described the day before.’
Chief: ‘Dark hair, swarthy complexions. Is that right?’
Alicia: ‘Yes, sir.’
Megan: ‘Yes, sir.’
Bess: ‘Yes, sir.’
Chief: ‘Did any of you notice the make or model?’
Alicia: ‘It was a white Ford Taurus. Fairly new.’
Everyone in the room turned to look at Alicia. She turned pink and said, ‘I like cars. I notice these things!’
The front door opened and a young patrol man burst in. ‘Chief! A white car just came up the street, saw us, and went speeding off!’
‘Well, follow ’em, for God’s sake!’ the chief said.
‘Morris went after ’em. He sent me in to tell you.’
The chief sighed. ‘See that thing up there on your shoulder, boy?’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘What is that thing?’
‘It’s a radio,’ the patrolman said, his face turning red.
‘Now you and I are both stuck here without transportation and Morris’s driving solo after two miscreants. Is that about the situation as you see it, boy?’
The patrolman hung his head. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said.
Willis stood up. ‘Come on, Barry, we’ll take my truck. You can deputize it.’
You!’ the chief said, pointing a finger at the patrolman. ‘Stay here. On the front porch. Anybody, I mean anybody, comes by this house, you radio me, you got that boy?’
‘Yes, sir!’
The chief sighed. ‘Let’s do it, Pugh.’
OK, so the Smithsonian isn’t just a museum. It’s like a hundred and fifty museums. Well, maybe not that many, but a bunch. Monticello was very nice – that’s the house Thomas Jefferson lived in – and took up the morning, then we had lunch at a cafeteria that was very good, but a tad expensive, then we headed to the Smithsonian. And that shot the entire afternoon! I’m not kidding! The whole baritone section didn’t come with us when we left the Air and Space building, wanting to see everything, not just the interesting stuff, and we lost a few more in the Lifestyles or whatever building – the one with Archie Bunker’s chair from All in the Family. I wasn’t really interested in any of that fal-de-ral, but then I found this building that had this big walk-in display of the dresses worn by the first ladies over the years. Now that was something! Me and Rachael sorta got stuck in there, discussing the intricacies of some of the hand work. Who knew? Rachael sewed, just like me, and she didn’t need a pattern either. There was a bench, and we just sat there for the longest and oo’ed and aw’ed over those dresses.
But by the time we were more or less through with the Smithsonian (and we hadn’t even seen all the buildings), it was time for dinner back at the hotel. I decided to go up to the room and get room service because, and I hate to admit this, I was tired. A couple of the other people my age also left for their rooms. Three hours later, Rachael still wasn’t back in the room. And all I could say to that was, ‘Told you so.’ I turned off the light and went to sleep, hoping, sorta, that she didn’t stumble getting to her bed in the dark.
‘I think we should call Mr Brown,’ Mr Jones said, looking behind them as Mr Smith sped out of Black Cat Ridge. He could see the cop car trailing behind them, lights flashing. This was not a good sign.
‘Shut up!’ Mr Smith said, trying to lose their tail by weaving his way speedily through the streets of the subdivision.
‘I think he’ll be interested in hearing how you’ve botched this whole thing,’ Mr Jones said.
‘You know I’m going to kill you, don’t you?’ Mr Smith said.
‘I’m calling Mr Brown right now!’ Mr Jones said, pulling out his cell phone.
Mr Smith took one hand off the wheel, reached into his shoulder holster and brought out his Beretta. He shot Mr Jones in the foot before he dialed the first digit.
Willis and Chief Donaldson met up with Morris, the driver of the chief’s car, about seven blocks from the Pugh home. He was standing outside the cruiser looking around.
Willis pulled up next to him and the chief got out of the car.
‘Whatja doing, Morris?’ he asked.
‘Well, sir, I was chasing that white car, but then I lost it, but I think it was OK because it wasn’t the same license number as the one reported.’
‘Did you get the license number of this white car?’ the chief asked.
‘Yes, sir, I called it in.’
At that moment, the dash computer let out a ping. Morris looked at the chief and the chief said, ‘Go on, see what it says.’
Morris crawled in the front seat of the squad car. ‘Those tags belong to a white 2010 Ford Focus—’
‘So it wasn’t even a Taurus you were chasing?’
‘Sir, it says those tags were reported stolen earlier today at the Wal-Mart on highway twelve.’
‘So it was them?’ Willis ventured from his vantage point, still in the cab of his truck, but with the window down.
‘Yeah, coulda been,’ the chief said. ‘Shit.’
‘You shot me in the goddam foot!’ Mr Jones screamed.
‘So don’t threaten me, asshole!’ Mr Smith screamed back. ‘You’re not calling Mr Brown, you got that?’ He brandished his weapon at Mr Jones. ‘You got that?’
‘Yes!’ Mr Jones screamed. ‘I got that! I really, really got that!’
‘OK, then,’ Mr Smith said, settling back in his seat, a calm mist descending over him. He looked over at Mr Jones, who was trying to get his foot up in the seat, but was having trouble because of his long legs. ‘Guess we should deal with your foot,’ he said.
‘Ya think?’ Mr Jones asked, the sarcasm abundantly clear. ‘Take me to a hospital!’
‘Can’t do it,’ Mr Smith said. ‘They have to report all gunshot wounds to the police.’
‘Well, you should have thought about that before you shot me!’ Mr Jones said.
Mr Smith found his way out of Black Cat Ridge without being followed and pulled onto a side road that went down to the river. He pulled under the bridge that connected BCR to Codderville, shut off the engine and turned on the interior light.
‘Get your foot up here,’ he said to Mr Jones.
‘I can’t!’ Mr Jones said. ‘My leg doesn’t bend that way!’
Mr Smith sighed. ‘Get out of the car and lift your foot onto the seat.’
Grumbling, Mr Jones got out of the car, limping and, holding on to the door, stuck his injured foot onto the passenger seat.
Mr Smith studied the foot. The motorcycle boot Mr Jones was wearing had a hole in it in the baby toe vicinity. ‘OK,’ he said to Mr Jones, ‘I’m gonna take off the boot. So hold on to the door.’
Mr Jones held on and screamed like a little girl when Mr Smith yanked off the boot.
‘Big baby,’ Mr Smith said. There was a lot of blood on Mr Jones’ white sock. Mr Smith pulled that off, eliciting yet another child-like scream of pain. Taking the already ruined sock, Mr Smith cleared the area of blood. There was a small divot cut out of Mr Jones’ foot, right below the smallest toe. It was less a wound and more a severe scrape. But in his position, Mr Smith noted a large hole in the floor of the car.
He threw the bloody sock at Mr Jones. ‘Jesus, Jones,’ he said, ‘the car got it worse than you did. Get in.’
Mr Jones looked down at his foot. ‘It’s still bleeding,’ he said.
‘Then keep the sock on it. Jeez, get in the car and let’s go.’
Mr Jones got in the car, leaning down to wrap the bloody sock around his wound before shutting the door. ‘Where are we going now?’ he asked Mr Smith.
‘Now we gotta get another car.’ Mr Smith sighed. ‘This is getting old.’
The next morning was hectic. Nobody got much sleep the night before, knowing those two men were still out there, but it was the first day of school, the first day of being juniors for all three girls. It wasn’t as cool as being seniors, of course, but they were now upper-class women, and that was something. They got dressed, Bess and Alicia just as they’d described the night before, and, after much throwing of tops hither and yon, Megan managed to find a three-quarter sleeve, handkerchief-hemmed gauzy Indian print top, low-cut enough to show boobage, but not so low cut as to instigate a riot – either with the boys at school, the school authorities, or, she hoped, her mother.
Megan lucked out. Her mother was too busy making breakfasts and fixing lunches to care.
‘I’d rather eat in the cafeteria,’ Megan said, turning her nose up at the brown bag her mother had prepared.
‘Eat it and shut up,’ E.J. said. ‘Email notice last night. The kitchen will be closed for at least one week pending the completion of the remodeling.’
‘That’s what you get when you go with the lowest bidder,’ her father said from his stool at the counter.
‘Where are we going to eat?’ Megan demanded.
‘The cafeteria will be open. The kitchen is cordoned off,’ her mother said.
‘Just great,’ Megan mumbled.
‘You’ll live,’ Alicia said from her stool where she was finishing up her cereal.
‘I’m driving this morning!’ Megan called.
‘Nope.’ E.J. pointed to a whiteboard on the refrigerator. ‘It’s Alicia’s turn.’
Alicia stuck her tongue out at Megan. ‘Very mature, Alicia!’ Megan said, sticking her tongue out back at her.
‘Gawd,’ Bess said. ‘Mother, may I please take the bus?’
Megan pushed Bess, who pushed back.
‘Finish eating, please,’ their mother called out. ‘And don’t anyone touch anyone else. At all. Do you hear me?’
They ignored her but bent down to their cereal bowls.
Ten minutes later they were out the door and piling into the minivan, both Bess and Megan shouting ‘shotgun!’ at the same time.
In a way, I hate to admit it, but I was right. I woke up Wednesday morning and the bed next to mine was empty – never slept in. I would have thought that Rachael and Brother Joe would be a little bit more discreet, but things aren’t like they used to be. People living in sin and having babies out of wedlock like it’s no big deal. Homosexuals having babies willy-nilly, and people talking out loud in mixed company about sex. But you’d think they would at least keep this stuff at home and not flaunt it in front of the entire choir like this.
I went down to breakfast and ran into my friend Ethel, another soprano. I said, ‘Guess who never came back to the room last night.’
She made an ‘O’ with her mouth and her eyes got big. ‘Not at all?’
I shook my head. ‘Not seen hide nor hair of her since we got back to the hotel last night.’
Then she elbowed me in the ribs. ‘Look! There’s Brother Joe.’
I looked. Sure enough Brother Joe was in line at the breakfast buffet, loading his plate like he thought calories didn’t matter. I couldn’t help noticing he was alone, though.
‘Do you think we should let them drive to school alone?’ Willis asked me as they pulled out of the driveway.
‘Ha! A little late to be asking that!’ I said.
‘Yeah. I didn’t think about it until I saw them pulling away,’ he said, the look on his face so tragic I wanted to take him in my arms and kiss his worried brow. I restrained myself.
‘They’ll be fine,’ I said.
‘Yeah,’ he said, although I could tell he didn’t mean it.
‘Tell you what,’ I said, picking up my new iPhone, ‘I’ll call them and have them call you as soon as they get to school, OK?’
He smiled. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘That would be good.’
I got Megan on the first ring. ‘Call your dad as soon as you get to school,’ I told her. ‘He’s a little worried.’
‘Yeah, whatever,’ she said.
‘Megan,’ I said, putting my voice on stern, ‘did you hear and understand my instructions?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ she said, her voice on attitude.
‘Just do it, OK?’
‘OK, jeez!’ she said and hung up.
I smiled at my husband. ‘All taken care of.’
‘So when I don’t get a call, should I panic or just assume she forgot?’
‘The latter,’ I said, and kissed him goodbye at the door; a habit we’d gotten out of over the years, but one I’d brought back after the events of last summer. It felt good, somehow.
In a flash he was gone, the girls were gone, and I was left with dirty dishes and an entire day on my own. But my mind has a mind of its own, so to speak, and I couldn’t help wondering about the entire situation we found ourselves in. Was it just a coincidence that these men showed up shortly after the incident of the man at the Driscoll garage, or was there a connection? I had no idea what the connection could be, but something felt off to me; I just didn’t know what. I was still in my reverie twenty minutes later when the phone rang. ‘Hey,’ Willis said. ‘Megan actually called me.’
‘Yay!’ I said. ‘They’re OK, I assume?’
‘Safe and sound,’ he said. ‘You want to meet me for lunch today?’
I thought about my full day of leisure versus lunch with my husband. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘What time?’
‘OMG,’ D’Wanda said.
‘Did you just die?’ Azalea said.
‘I tried to keep the other girls calm,’ Megan said. ‘They were getting hysterical.’
‘And you actually saw a gun?’ Azalea asked, wide-eyed.
‘It sure looked like one,’ Megan said. ‘I thought it was best to err on the side of caution, of course,’ she told her friends, ‘so I took the girls home and had our father contact his friend, the chief of police.’
‘Boy, you sure do get in a lot of adventures!’ D’Wanda said, her voice, her eyes, and her smirk all showing a bit of skepticism.
‘It’s just something in our genes,’ Megan said. ‘My mom has it and she passed it down to me. I’m her only real child, you know.’
‘What about Graham?’ Azalea asked. Having had a crush on Graham since middle school, Azalea tended to bring up his name a lot.
‘Why would I count him?’ Megan asked seriously.
‘Your mother gave birth to him too, for gawd’s sake!’ D’Wanda said.
‘True.’ Megan shrugged. ‘I’ve just never considered him to be a real person.’
The twins looked at each other then back at Megan. ‘Why the hell not?’ asked D’Wanda, the more outspoken of the two.
‘Well, for one, he’s not a girl, and for two, he’s like, you know, my brother.’ Megan shuddered and made a face.
‘You know, girl, you crazy,’ D’Wanda said, and turned her head around to see if there was someone in the cafeteria more sane she could sit with. Not finding anyone that fit that criteria, she said, ‘Well, if this all is really happening, whatja gonna do about it?’
‘What do you mean “really” happening?’ Megan demanded. ‘You don’t believe me?’
D’Wanda shrugged. ‘You have a tendency toward hyperbole, girlfriend.’
‘I believe you,’ Azalea said.
‘Thank you,’ Megan said. ‘And what am I going to do about it?’ she said, looking fiercely at D’Wanda, ‘I’m gonna cut them suckers!’ she said, and all three broke into hand-over-the-mouth snickers.
We had a nine a.m. choir practice with two other choirs we were going to sing with – one from Atlanta, and one from a little town outside of Baton Rouge. With our numbers at twenty-two, the Atlanta choir at thirty-four, and the Hixton choir (the one near Baton Rouge) at fourteen, we had a bunch, but the risers we were to stand on could have accommodated more like a hundred, so we were OK. We’d known for a while what songs we were going to sing, so it was just a matter of getting the three choirs to work together. But with three choirs there had to be three directors, and therein lies the rub. You know, egos.
Once we were up on the risers, I leaned forward a bit to check out the alto section, but Rachael wasn’t there.
Mr Smith’s phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. ‘It’s Mr Brown,’ he said to Mr Jones.
‘Yeah? Well, tell him you shot me in the foot!’ Mr Jones said.
‘Shut up!’ Mr Smith cleared his throat, rotated his shoulders, and clicked the button to speak. ‘Hey, Mr Brown,’ he said, putting a smile on his face in hopes it would put a smile in his voice.
‘What the fuck is going on?’ Mr Brown demanded.
‘Sir?’
‘Where the hell are you and where is that goddam satchel?’ Mr Brown demanded.
‘Things have gotten a little complicated, sir,’ Mr Smith said.
‘You know, I hired you two because of your reputation as go-getters, guys who really got the job done. It should have taken you no more than a day to get that goddamn satchel! I don’t see no job getting done around here, Mr Smith. Do you see a job getting done around here?’
‘We’re working on it, sir, swear to God.’
‘Swear to your fucking shoes for all I care, asshole, just get me that goddam satchel, or it won’t just be your reputation in shreds, it’s gonna be that plus your liver, your spleen, and your intestines. Get my drift?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ Mr Smith said, but the phone had gone dead in his ear.
They were sitting on either side of a king-sized bed they’d shared the night before. The only room left in the motel. It had been uncomfortable for Mr Smith, but more uncomfortable for Mr Jones because of his foot, or so he claimed.
Mr Smith stood up from the bed, still clad only in his Rule Britannia boxers, and looked out the window at the sad result of their car theft of the night before. It was a twenty-year-old white panel van, perfect for a child molester, but not so great for two guys trying to remain inconspicuous. It seemed to Mr Smith that everything that could go wrong had gone wrong on this job. And it was a big job, too: fifty thousand split two ways. But, Lord, was it a fucking mess or what?
Mr Smith knew in his heart that it was all Mr Jones’s fault. Everything that had gone wrong could be laid squarely at his size thirteens. Mr Smith had plans for this money, big plans. He was gonna ask Sheila to marry him. After all these years together, she might even say yes. Then a nice honeymoon in Hawaii; the perfect way to start their lives together. She’d always wanted him to go legit, so maybe he could use some of the money to buy into her brother’s western-wear shop. In Houston there was always a reason to dress up like a cowboy – the rodeo, the fat stock show, Thursdays. Texans loved to dress up.
But this job – this crazy job! From the get-go it was weird. Following that guy, the one with the satchel all the way from Houston, finally tracking him to an Internet café downtown, then he runs up the ramp at that parking garage. That crazy bastard, jumping off the roof like that. He, Mr Smith, had barely touched him. Really. The man just flew off the roof like he thought he was Superman or something. Then Mr Jones coming up onto the garage roof, asking him if he threw the man over the side. What kind of question was that? Why would he throw the man off the building? Was he bat-shit crazy? No, he mighta shoved him a little, but the guy just flew off the roof – again, like he was Superman or something. Mr Smith had nothing to do with it. That’s what he told Mr Jones, and that’s what he told Mr Brown. That man just flew off the roof. Like Superman. And to top it off, Mr Jones didn’t have the satchel. The truck’s owners had come before he could get it.
Now all Mr Smith had to do was get that satchel from the brown-haired girl and they were off, back to Houston. They’d get their fifty grand, and he and Sheila could get married. That’s all he had to do.
We finished up with the practice by eleven-thirty, and everyone headed to their rooms to get ready for the opening luncheon that started at noon. I, however, waylaid Brother Joe instead.
Grabbing him by the arm, I twirled him around and said, ‘OK, where is she?’
He looked at me, blank-eyed. ‘I’m sorry, Miz Vera, where’s who?’
‘Rachael! I know she didn’t come back to my room last night and she wasn’t here this morning. So what did you do with her?’
Brother Joe looked around. ‘You’re right, she wasn’t here this morning, was she?’
I didn’t say ‘duh’ like my grandkids woulda said, but I sure thought it. ‘No, she wasn’t. And I don’t see her now, do you?’
‘Well, no, I don’t,’ he said, in such a way that it was like he was talking to a person without all their faculties. Well, he had the wrong old lady this time!
And then he patted me on the shoulder. Patted me! ‘Miz Vera, are you sure she didn’t come back to your room last night? Maybe she just got in late?’
The man was patronizing me. I don’t truck with that, I just don’t. ‘Gee, maybe she didn’t come on this trip at all,’ I said. ‘Maybe I was sitting on a bench at the Smithsonian with a ghost yesterday.’
This time he rubbed my arm! ‘We don’t believe in ghosts, do we, Miz Vera?’
Good God, the man didn’t recognize sarcasm when it slapped him in the face!
‘That was sarcasm, you fool!’ I said, then immediately regretted calling him a fool. The Bible says not to call people fools. ‘Sorry, Brother Joe. But no, she didn’t come in late last night – she didn’t come in at all. Her bed was never slept in.’
‘Well, go on to your room and get ready for the luncheon, Miz Vera, and I’ll ask around, see what I can find out.’
I nodded, still ashamed about calling him a fool, and headed to my room.
‘So did you get all the classes you wanted?’ Bess asked Alicia.
‘Yeah. Except behavioral psychology. They gave me adolescent psychology instead.’
‘Great,’ Bess said. ‘Maybe you can figure out Megan.’
‘Not funny,’ Megan said.
‘Yeah, it is,’ said Alicia.
‘I don’t like it when you two gang up on me,’ Megan said, pouting.
‘We’re not ganging up on you,’ Bess said, as she and Megan walked to the shotgun side of the minivan. ‘We’re just teasing. Come on,’ she said, patting her sister on the back. ‘Lighten up.’
‘Really, Megs,’ Alicia said. ‘I didn’t mean anything— Hey!’ Alicia screamed.
The other two girls looked up to see that a white van had pulled up to the driver’s side of the minivan and someone from inside the van was yanking on Alicia’s satchel. Alicia was yanking back. Megan and Bess ran around the minivan, screaming ‘Nine-one-one!’ at the top of their voices, and grabbed hold of Alicia’s satchel with her. Kids began swarming the white van; one boy grabbed hold of Alicia by the waist and began chopping at the arm of the man trying to take the satchel. The man fell back inside, screamed, ‘Get the hell out of here!’ and the white van tore off.
A bunch of kids were standing around. ‘You OK?’ asked the young man who still had his hands around Alicia’s waist.
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Alicia said, blushing.
‘I’m calling the police,’ the boy said, pulling out his cell phone.
‘Already did it, dude!’ called another boy from the crowd.
Alicia’s hero took his hands off her waist. ‘I’m Damon Scarpacci,’ he said, holding out his hand.
Alicia didn’t take it right away, so Megan shouldered her aside and took the outstretched hand. ‘Thanks so much for saving my sister, Damon. I’m Megan Pugh, and this is Alicia and our other sister, Bess.’
Damon took back his hand and grinned. ‘Oh,’ he said, nodding his head. ‘The Pugh girls. I should have known. Glad I could be of assistance.’
He turned and left the scene.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Megan demanded of her sisters. ‘The Pugh girls? Do we have a reputation? I finally meet somebody really cute at this school and he’s put off by our reputation?’
‘Get in the minivan,’ Alicia said, noticing that half the school was still in the area and listening to Megan mouth off.
They all crawled in and Alicia started the engine. ‘Was that them?’ she asked.
‘Sure looked like ’em,’ Bess said.
‘Oh, yeah. That was them, all right! But were they trying to take you or the satchel?’ Megan asked Alicia.
‘The satchel, I think,’ Alicia said. ‘I think they would have left me alone if I’d have let go. But, dammit! That satchel is mine!’
‘Maybe we should wait here for the police?’ Bess suggested.
‘I just want to go home,’ Alicia said, tears in her voice. ‘I’m sick of this shit!’
The girls came home just as the chief of police’s car pulled up in front of the house. I was torn between unlocking the back door for the girls or rushing to the front door for the chief. I figured the girls had at least one key amongst them, and headed to the front door instead.
‘Chief ?’ I said as he walked up the front walk.
‘Hey, Miz Pugh,’ he said.
‘Please, call me E.J.,’ I said.
‘If you call me Barry,’ he said. Having reached the front porch, he held out his hand and I shook it, ushering him inside.
I heard the back door open as we stepped in.
‘Followed your girls here from the school,’ Barry said.
‘Oh?’ I led him into the formal living room and called, ‘Girls!’ into the family room.
They shuffled in.
I looked from my daughters to the chief. He spoke first.
‘Got a nine-one-one call from the school. Seems a white van was accosting your daughters, trying to pull one of them into the van,’ he said.
‘Oh my God! Who? What happened?’
‘It’s OK, Mom,’ Alicia said. She pushed me toward the sectional sofa. ‘Sit down, OK? Don’t have a fit.’
‘I’ll have a fit if I damn well feel like having a fit!’ I said, resistant to sitting down.
Alicia sat down next to her sisters, so I followed. The chief sat, too.
‘It was my turn to drive and we were getting into the minivan when this white panel van came up alongside me and this guy leaned out of the open side door and grabbed my satchel. I wouldn’t let go. But I saw the guy pretty clearly and I’m pretty sure it was one of the guys who’ve been stalking us. Do you have a sketch artist, Chief ? I could definitely describe the one who tried to grab my satchel.’
‘No, sorry, we don’t, but they have one in Codderville. Let me call Lieutenant Luna and see what we can set up,’ the chief said and got up and left the room, walking into the dining room to make his phone call.
‘Are you OK, honey?’ I asked Alicia, stroking her arm.
‘Yes, Mom, I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t about to let that asshole take my satchel.’ Then she blushed. ‘Sorry, Mom.’
‘About calling the guy an asshole?’ I asked. She nodded. ‘Fair game,’ I said. ‘He’s definitely an asshole, and so is his running buddy.’
The chief came back into the room. ‘OK’, he said. ‘Luna is gonna bring the sketch artist by on her way home. Then the artist will drop the sketch off at my office when he leaves. Meanwhile, can I have a look at this satchel?’
‘Just a minute,’ Alicia said, and went into the family room, coming back with the black satchel. She handed it to the police chief. ‘It’s just got my schoolwork in it.’
‘Where’d you get it?’ the chief asked, opening the case to look inside.
‘We found it in the back of Willis’s pickup when we got back from Austin on Sunday,’ I told him. ‘Our oldest started U.T. this semester and we drove him over there.’
‘And it was just in the back of the pickup?’ the chief asked.
‘Yes. When we got home Willis brought it into the house thinking it was mine. I’d never seen it before. We opened it, looking for ID, but didn’t find any. I was going to take the whole thing to Goodwill but Willis wanted the Dopp kit and Alicia wanted the satchel.’
‘What was in it besides the Dopp kit?’ the chief asked.
‘Men’s clothes. Couple of T-shirts, a pair of jeans and some underwear,’ I told him.
‘What did you do with that?’ he asked.
‘I took all that to Goodwill.’
‘Young lady, could you take out your schoolbooks, please?’ he asked Alicia.
She took out two books and a notebook, and handed the chief the satchel. He put his hand inside.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked him.
‘Well, some of these old things used to have trap bottoms. Just wanna see if this one does.’ His hand came out. ‘Not so you’d notice,’ he said. The chief stood up.
So,’ he said, heading for the front door, then turned back to face them. ‘Unless you got a tag number off that van?’ All three girls shook their heads. ‘Then I’m off. Y’all want me to post someone out here tonight? Gonna have to be a volunteer since we don’t have that many people. And he – or she – (he said, nodding in my direction) – would be unarmed …’
I followed him to the door. ‘Then what would be the point?’ I said, and shrugged. ‘We’ll be OK.’
He left and I looked at the girls. ‘Make a sweep of the house. Lock every window and door. Put the chains on.’
This was touching my family now, and I was beginning to think, even with the satchel being empty, that all this had to be connected. Somebody was after my family, and Willis couldn’t fault me for fighting back – or could he?
I leaned my back against the front door, wondering how Willis and I were going to protect our precious cargo.