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Traci
RANDALL DROPPED TRACI off at the tall ponytail palm shading the corner of Moe’s Tavern just as his phone rang.
“It’s a guy I know in the D.A.'s office. I’ve got to take this call. Wait for me here.” He pulled away and parked under the newly constructed drive-in car port area.
“Any news?” Traci said anxiously as he rejoined her along the path to the entrance.
“Yeah, it's very good news.”
“Well, tell me.”
“I can't say.”
“C’mon, please.”
“Ugh, this pouting is killing me, Traci,” he sighed. “Alright ... I can tell you that Charlotte Carter was offered a plea bargain. And her lawyer is signaling like she's going to accept it. Judge Davis likes to get things over with quick. Bad headlines are bad for tourism.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that there probably won't be a trial,” he said and brushed her hair back to see more of her cheeks glistening in the sun, as he rested his hands on her trim waist. “And that means that you won't have to testify.”
Traci was thrilled. He had never seen a smile so bright and free on her face before.
“I think we should celebrate,” she said and drummed her fingers along his forearms.
“What did you have in mind,” he said and wrapped his hands around the small of her back, pulling her closer.
“Gumbo!”
Traci grabbed his hand and pulled him past the line at Moe's Tavern that was wrapped around the building and across the parking lot. Smoke billowed from the shack at the rear where the pit crew kept the mountains of brisket, turkey legs, chicken quarters and ribs over the coals, mopping, seasoning, turning and slicing like a well-trained army. Runners dashed back and forth through the side door with “To-Go” orders for eager diners waiting in the designated parking spots. Everyone had to shout to be heard over the loud Zydeco and Swamp Water Blues tunes alternating through the speakers on either side of the building. And no one seemed to mind. Inside acoustics were somewhat better for diners to converse but most were too busy eating authentic samplings from regions across the country. Traci walked up to the hostess station posted under the canopy outside the entrance.
“Tracinda Simmons” she told the hostess.
“Ah, Ms. Simmons, please follow me.” She led them to her VIP table with the unhindered view of Mount PierPoint.
“Boy, this place is packed. Good thing I'm with you or I'd have to starve,” he said holding her chair out as she was seated and slid his fingertips gently along her bare shoulders.
“Yep, and they took that raw fish you like off the menu. Yuck!”
“Sashimi. It's good to try new things. I'll convince you yet.”
“No way.”
“You're usual?” the hostess asked with a friendly smile.
“Yes,” Traci said, “and for my friend also.”
She had to figure out how to explain what had happened at the gun range without mentioning Josh St. John and opening up a can of worms about “that bunch of outlaws” living in the woods. Or, how could she trust someone with so many “dangerous affiliations” and on and on. Randall couldn’t understand her relationship with Josh. So, she never mentioned him.
Traci’s name had not made it into the papers surrounding Charlotte Carter’s arrest. But Josh knew what had happened in Magnolia Grove and made it a point to stop by the neighborhood more regularly to check up on her and her friends working at Bent Willow. Even though there were some things from her teenage years that would remain buried between them, she trusted Josh. He was never wrong. But now that evil woman was in jail ... well, why bother talking about all of that anyway. That was it. She would just not talk about it. Period.
Moe, wearing his unwavering smile and trademark “Everything’s better with Smoke” t-shirt, appeared with a bowl of Louisiana gumbo and placed it in front of Traci and a tray covered in butcher paper stacked with a rack of Memphis-style barbeque ribs for Randall. A server followed behind him with the side fixings of seasoned potato wedges, macaroni and cheese, collard greens, and corn on the cob. Traci pulled away a corner of her baguette and dipped it in the glorious sauce teeming with sausage, rice, crawfish and okra.
“Oh my god, this is the best, Moe! How is everything going?” She took another bite, shamelessly filling her mouth.
“It's good to be back. Nothing better. Working hard, just gotta keep it up.” He pulled up a chair and straddled it. “That small business loan you and Mr. Winston found me was enough to buy back my place, but I’ve got to hold steady for at least six months to prove I can keep it afloat ...”
“Well, the crowd is proof you've got the winning touch,” Randall said tucking his napkin in his collar, eager to get started eating. He paused and watched as Traci delighted in each spoonful of gumbo. She sensed his glance and grinned.
She had this habit of licking the back of her spoon when she really enjoyed a meal. She remembered the first time someone caught her doing it. She was eating an ambrosia dessert during Thanksgiving dinner for all the kids sponsored by some Catholic food pantry. It was the only carefree memory she had from her childhood. Fast forward to Moe’s Tavern, one month shy of her twenty-seventh birthday. She was happy today. She was wearing her favorite dress and felt beautiful, in her favorite restaurant with the most perfect bowl of gumbo and looking into the eyes of the most handsome man in the place. Caught in the act of stupid spoon licking. She should have felt embarrassed, but she didn’t. His smile was all she felt. She tried not to giggle but she couldn’t help it. She blotted her lips with her napkin to suppress more giggles from escaping and failed. She was just ridiculously happy. It made her uncomfortable and satisfied with everything in her life all at the same time. It didn’t make sense. She had really tried but couldn’t make sense of it at all. She didn’t know how it happened with Randall, or when her heart opened, but ... she just adored him.
“Oh Moe,” she said, “don’t forget my honey cake for dessert, with extra syrup!” She just couldn’t help it.
“And Miss Stella’s banana pudding for me,” Randall said and then with a wicked smile he added, “to-go.” He was right. They needed some “alone time” soon. She missed being with him but couldn’t be prouder. She wouldn’t dare complain about the long hours he put in. It was a sacrifice for both of them.
“Hey, congratulations on your promotion, Cap’n,” Moe said patting him on the back.
“Thank you,” Randall said, “See, if you keep doing the right things, it pays off in the long run.”
Mayor Gundry walked in, pushed his way past the servers darting between tables, and slapped Moe on the back. Moe stood up and embraced the balding portly man with the huge salt and pepper comb-over and thick moustache that he was constantly fussing with and tossing about his face.
“This may be my last term as mayor. I might be out of a job in a few months. Maybe you can bring me on as a line cook, Moe.” They both laughed. Mayor Gundry turned to Randall who stood up to greet the official, “Great job, son. All I hear are good things.” He bellowed and slapped Randall’s forearm, then made his way to a booth near the kitchen.
“I'm a little concerned about the cook I got now, to be honest,” Moe said.
“Milo? Why, what's wrong?” Traci said putting down her spoon.
“Don't get involved. Moe can handle things, it's his business.” Randall said, pointing at her, then licked his fingertips and dropped a clean bone on the opposite side of the stack.
“Tell me,” she said, her eyes fixed on Moe. Her face darkened as she tried not to get frustrated by Randall’s tone and dismissive attitude about something this important.
“Well, I can only get him so far, y’know. The kid's gotta get a high school diploma. I can't seem to talk him into going back to school.” He wadded the dish towel into a ball. “I don't want no trouble with the agency. If I don't get him enrolled this fall, then, well, they might split us up.”
“I'll talk to him,” Traci said matter-of-factly, shrugged and resumed her meal.
“No, Traci. It's between them,” Randall leaned forward, “and the social worker.”
“It's about me talking to Milo. That's what it's about.”
“Moe, help me out here.” He glanced over at Moe and sat back in defeat.
“I gotta head back to the smoker.” Moe stood up and returned the chair to the adjacent table. “How about I bring you another rack? On the house.”
“Yeah, thanks. I would never turn down an offer like that.” Randall said looking surprised at how much food had disappeared from the table. “If I keep eating like this, I’ll have to double my workout.”
Moe picked up the empty dishes and brushed off the tablecloth, “You got it. I’ll be right back, Cap’n.” He patted Traci on the shoulder and with a friendly smile, whispered in her ear, “Now let the man live, Miss Traci. Let him live now.”
She glanced up at Moe and gave him a little grin. He shrugged at Randall and walked away.
“Milo has a job and real structure in his life right now. Let them sort it out. That's all I'm saying.” Randall wiped his hands and took a sip of beer.
“And, I'm saying, I'm going to get him back in school. And, that's that.”
“Okay, fine,” he shook his head. “Do what you want.”
“Trust me, I will.” She picked up one of his potato wedges, swirled it in BBQ sauce and took a big bite. They both smiled, then laughed fully with each other as if no one else was in the place. “What a match,” she thought. He was wearing the ivory and forest green plaid shirt she had picked out for him that highlighted the mahogany undertones of his skin. She slipped off her sandal under the table and wiggled her toe against his calf. They both had been working so hard lately. It was time to have some fun.
Moe returned with another platter of BBQ and refilled Traci’s glass of iced tea. Randall immediately dove into the ribs glistening with the sticky signature “Moe’s Mouthwatering Mesquite” BBQ sauce.
“So good, man. You should bottle and sell this stuff, seriously.” Randall’s cellphone started buzzing again. “Angel, grab that for me.” He stretched his leg forward to give Traci access to his front pants pocket. She reached over and pulled it out and answered, “Captain Randall Wells’ phone.” She felt so silly. The caller identified himself. She covered the front of the phone and mouthed the name, “Pernell?”
Randall snatched the napkin from his collar and grabbed the phone before rushing away from the table to a corner of the dining room.
“Wonder what's going on,” Moe said bending down beside her.
“It's probably about that case with Charlotte Carter.” She gestured for Moe to come closer and whispered in his ear, “The inside scoop is she's going to accept a plea bargain and we won't have to testify.”
“Whew, that's the best news I’ve had in years,” Moe said, “I don't want no part of that cold-hearted woman. Crazy how long it took to get to this. What about the old man, Miss Rowena's husband?”
“Earl Garrett is still under house arrest back at Rest Haven. They don't think he's well enough for jail.”
“Probably right about that. The whole thing is a shame. Just a stinking shame.”
“Yeah, I'm glad it’s going to be all behind us now.”
Moe caught her staring at Randall standing across the room with his back toward them. She looked down at her lap and then wiped her mouth to hide her childish grin.
“You two seem to be hitting it off real nice lately. Don't be embarrassed, Miss Traci. Ain't nothing wrong about being in love. As a matter of fact, it's a beautiful thing.”
“I am ... happy for this ... for us. You know, we've been planning a vacation together for the holidays. Just trying to work out the details with his new promotion and ...” she looked nervously at her hands, “well, we'll see. I don’t want to get my hopes up, I guess. It's weird being this happy. I don't know how else to say it.” She started eating again. “Don’t lick the spoon,” she thought.
Moe nodded, “I understand. But keep in mind, every storm runs out of rain. Enjoy the sunshine while it’s here.”
Randall returned to their table.
“Pernell is one of the detectives assigned to the case ...”
“Yeah, I was just telling Moe the good news that we won't have to testify and Charlotte Carter ... “
“Escaped.”
“What?” Traci dropped her spoon and splashed the soupy sauce across the bodice of her dress.
“They were returning her to the detention area. Somehow the guards got distracted and she slipped away. Totally unacceptable.” His jaw tensed and his fists tightened on the tabletop. “I have to get back to the station. I don't want to leave you here, but I’ve got to get things moving immediately.” He flipped open his wallet and pulled out his credit card.
“I'll make sure Miss Traci gets home,” Moe said refusing to take the payment.
“No need. I've got an officer assigned to her and on the way here now. He’ll escort her home and stay at the premises until I get there. And I ordered a car to be stationed at Hazelton House.”
“Okay, we’ll keep her in the back with us ‘til he gets here. Don’t worry, we won’t let nothing happen to Miss Traci.”
“But ... wait,” Traci’s thoughts were like a thousand pieces of a jigsaw puzzle tossed into the air. She was frantically trying to connect them back into the picture-perfect day they were having. She placed her palms on the tablecloth to absorb the sweat and nervous energy she could feel starting to surge. What was happening? They were celebrating. It was good news. The perfect day. She wanted her perfect day back. There must have been a mistake, a prank, or something like that. “No, Randall sit back down please and let’s finish ...”
“That woman is a confessed murderer,” Randall leaned over the table and looked into her eyes. “She’s dangerous and I'm not taking any chances. No arguments, Tracinda.”
“Okay ...” she whispered and lowered her eyes as the room dimmed around her. All she saw was her hand lift from the white tablecloth and wipe the sauce now mixed with tear stains on her beautiful favorite sundress.
“Deep breaths, Miss Traci, remember?”
