Evening
Beth headed straight home after work because she thought Shane might already be in town. He wasn’t. She hadn’t called because she didn’t want to seem too eager for his arrival. Though she was—well, eager but apprehensive.
She’d double-locked both doors and taken a short nap. While waiting on the mental cobwebs to clear away, Beth piddled around with her e-mail and read a few status updates. She hardly ever posted anymore.
By about 6:30, Beth realized she was hungry, but discovered she’d run out of chicken pot pies. She spent five minutes staring at the freezer compartment to see what else she could make. All her old reliables were gone. Unless she was willing to settle for another peanut butter and jelly sandwich—her typical lunch fare—she’d have to dash to the store.
Once she was in for the evening, she hated leaving her cottage. She even thought about calling to check on Connie’s supper plans, but Beth didn’t actually want her friend around when Shane rolled in. So she slammed the refrigerator door and went to her bedroom to put on jeans and sneakers. She also changed into a long-sleeve pullover shirt and grabbed her lined windbreaker.
The Verdeville Grocery on Highway 70 would have been her preference, but that was over two miles to the east. A much smaller, older—and usually a bit grungier—grocery operated on Highway 231, just about half a mile south of Old Highlands. Quite appropriately called the Highland Grocery, it was dreary at seven o’clock. The mad rush of after work shoppers had mostly departed and the much quieter store seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as clerks re-stocked shelves and cleaned up the more obvious messes.
Beth dawdled at the rack with paperbacks and gazed at the covers of numerous romance novels. What happened to the covers with women in the foreground running from dark towers behind them? Where were the covers with women’s heaving bosoms? Most of these books showed handsome men with muscular, smooth chests and impossibly defined abdominal muscles. Sometimes Beth’s life felt like a romance novel. But Shane was nothing like those alpha males. In fact, Shane could chew up most of those guys before breakfast. Ha. Of course, he didn’t look like them either. Shane’s stomach belonged to a real life man who enjoyed beer and munchies without shame. His chest was big and hairy. His arms, long and firm. Shane’s legs, seldom seen in shorts, were muscled but relatively pale.
Someone passed rather too closely behind Beth and startled her. Her mind had drifted. “Always be aware of your surroundings,” Shane often cautioned. “Never let down your guard.” But she had... and it frightened her. Oh, the man in dark clothes who’d just scuttled past her might seem innocent enough, but what if he’d been about a foot closer? What if he’d had a weapon?
After checking out, Beth surveyed the grocery lot before entering her car. It was parked near a light pole even though it was not quite dark yet. She entered quickly and locked her doors.
Inspected the back seat, checked her mirrors, started the engine. Rats! She was on fumes! Beth never let her tank get that low. Well, ordinarily she wouldn’t. Of course, this past nine days had been anything but ordinary.
The gas station north on Highway 231 was close to the unfortunate section of town, so she headed south toward the Interstate. She stopped at a self serve station just north of the Exit 238 interchange.
It was the usual process: open tank, swipe card, insert nozzle... pump gas. Wait a long time. Look around occasionally. She didn’t see or hear any other vehicle drive up and didn’t notice anyone nearby. But as Beth watched the pump numbers and listened for the swooshing sound that would signal gasoline approaching the neck of the tank, someone from the shadows called her name.
She yelped. It was the same voice as before, at the mall.
Beth wanted to run, but couldn’t. Her hand remained on the pump handle. Could she use it as a weapon? Not sure. She tried to remember something from her self defense class... anything.
Nothing.
He stepped closer. Ricks! So he was in Verdeville. Scrawny Sallie had been correct. But what did Ricks want with Beth?
Ricks gripped the wrist of her hand holding the nozzle.
She released the lever and the gasoline stopped pumping. Beth froze.
He spoke her name again. The voice was cold and clammy like it came from an old grave. His breath smelled the same.
“Ricks, you look... different.” Meth does weird things to people.
He squeezed her wrist roughly.
“What the—” Beth winced. “Ow!”
“Been a long time.” Ricks seemed to enjoy hurting her.
“What do you want? Why are you following me?”
Ricks didn’t answer at first. He just studied her, as though he were reading a menu. “You know what I want.”
That could mean a lot of things. “No I don’t, but you won’t get it from me. Whatever it is.”
“Shane’s suitcase.” Ricks licked his lips erratically.
So whatever Ricks wanted was definitely connected to that musty overnighter. “Shane still has it, in Long Beach.”
Ricks dug his blunt fingertips into her upper arm muscle.
“Stop! Ow!”
“Where’s the little suitcase?”
“I told you! Shane’s always had it.”
“Wrong answer. I already checked. Holder doesn’t have it anymore, and I know he wouldn’t toss it out. So the only other place is... you.”
Beth gulped.
Ricks whipped out a folding knife, flicked it open with one hand, and held it to her neck.
Then he released her arm and groped her body crudely.
Hot tears streamed down her face. She couldn’t move with the blade at her throat.
“Not as easy without a brick in your hand... from behind my back.” Ricks looked into her eyes as he pawed her bosom. “You know, I really wanted to finish things with you that time. You missed a great opportunity.”
“You were too zonked that night anyway.”
That angered him. “Look, I’ve got business to tend to, or I’d do you right now.” Bony fingers dug in painfully. “You know... catch up on what I missed.”
Beth tried to twist out of his rough hands. “You didn’t want me anyway. You had Sallie.”
“No, Sallie was Mutt’s girl... when he was around, anyway. When he wasn’t, I took over.” Ricks pressed harder with the knife blade. “Anyhow, she was lousy.”
“She was probably unconscious from all those drugs you had her on.”
“Whatever.” Ricks peered into her face. “Hey, you’ve got a lot of spunk even with my knife poking you.” He laughed wickedly.
Where’s all the traffic? Usually there were vehicles all over this gas station. Beth fought her panic. “Look, Ricks... this is all wrong. Everything that happened between you and me was years ago—the other side of the country. I never encouraged you and I only hit you to protect myself.”
“Maybe you never used encouraging words, but you usually showed a lot of leg in those short shorts.”
“It was summer! I never knew when you’d show up, or even if you would. I just dressed for comfort. It didn’t mean anything.” When Beth swallowed, she felt the blade press even deeper. “Plus, I never told Shane what you did, because I knew he’d kill you.”
“I should’ve killed him when I had the chance. But I was in a hurry.”
“He knows that was you, two weeks ago.” Beth blurted it out before she could think. “And now you’re dead meat.”
“Shut up!” Ricks pressed the knife tighter into her neck.
“Ow! Stop!”
Ricks looked around furtively and licked his lips rapidly.
Obviously stoned—he always was.
“The suitcase. Where is it?”
“If I knew, I’d tell you. I don’t have it. Besides, it was dirty, dusty, and full of junk.”
“It’s not junk after all, apparently. Something in there’s worth a good bit to somebody.” With his free hand, Ricks slapped her face. “And I’m the only other one who knows what the little suitcase looks like.”
“I don’t have it. I swear!” Hot tears distorted her vision.
“You’d lie to keep your panties on and you’d lie to get this knife away. But I can’t hang around here.” A late model SUV turned off the highway and approached slowly. “I’ve been watching you and I plan to visit real soon. You’ve got that little suitcase somewhere... and I’ll find it.” He flipped the knife over and eased the back of the blade across her throat. Then he laughed wildly and trotted toward a dark sedan, parked at the edge nearest the highway.
The newly-arrived SUV reached the pump island. An older man got out and looked toward Beth before leaning back in and saying something to his passenger. Shortly an older woman got out and scurried toward her. Beth’s tears were probably visible from that distance.
“What’s the matter, honey?” She squinted in the darkness toward the car which had just driven away.
Beth broke down. “Mugger.”
The lady hugged her sideways. “You want us to call the police?”
Beth shook her head. “No. I know him. I’ll go to the station and turn him in.”
The woman looked relieved and nodded to her husband, who watched as he filled their vehicle. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Yeah. Fine. Thanks.” Beth nodded. “I’m okay.”
“What’s that on your neck?” The woman pointed.
Beth touched it reflexively. “A little cut. Probably not too bad.”
“Better tend it. Antiseptic.” She squinted to see better in the shadow from the station’s bright lights.
“Thanks. I will.” With shaky hands, Beth put up the nozzle and closed her gas tank cap and lid. She’d gotten more than enough fuel to get to the police station and then home. She looked back toward the kind woman, now getting into her own vehicle, and waved once. Beth forgot to get her receipt.
“Domestic,” the woman announced loudly to her husband, who was apparently hard of hearing.
Not domestic in the way you mean, thought Beth. Just in the sense that I know the scumbag. She got into her car, muttering to herself. “If Shane had been here, that punk would be lying on the sidewalk with busted ribs and a face like raw meat.”
Beth drove straight to the police station, about a mile north of her house, at the intersection of Main Street and Dock Road. That facility anchored the west edge of old downtown.
Though nearly eight o’clock, Desk Sergeant Travis was still on duty.
Beth didn’t wait for an invitation to speak. “Somebody’s following me all over town, day and night, and just now accosted me at a gas station.”
Travis looked tired and uninterested. “Need to fill out a report.” He handed her a form.
She snatched the paper and turned to see where she could sit.
“You want somebody to look at that?” Travis pointed toward her neck.
“Sure. You have a first aid kit or something?”
“You’re in luck. Medic’s here. Just patched up a drunk-and-disorderly brought in from downtown.” The sergeant pointed toward the door where a young man in short sleeved uniform carried a large case by its sturdy handle. “Yo!”
The medic turned. It was Arnie!
Beth smiled in spite of herself. It almost felt like she was meeting an old friend at a bus station.
Arnie approached the main desk. He looked quite tired too. “Hope this is quick, Sarge. I’m just about to go off-duty.” Then he noticed Beth. “Oh, hey!”
He remembered her! What a warm feeling to be recognized by a hunky medic. Even when you’re still rattled by the dumpster-diving creep nearly chopping off your neck. “Hi, Arnie.”
Arnie’s gaze dropped to her neck. “What happened?” He pointed to a corner and both moved in that direction. “Another break-in?”
“No, this was a mugger... gas station.”
He looked puzzled. “You’re sure having a run of back luck.” Arnie lifted her chin and peered at her cut. “You haven’t ticked off any mob guys, have you?”
Beth frowned. “No, but you’re the second person to mention the mob. I didn’t even know we had mobsters down here in Tennessee.”
“You kidding?” He looked around and lowered his voice as he squeezed his hands into fresh gloves. “Nashville is full of the mob.” He reached into his case for the needed items: cotton, disinfectant, antibiotic ointment, and a large bandage. “So, who’d you tick off?”
“Nobody. I mean nobody in the mob. At least I don’t think so.” It was difficult to speak with her neck stretched upward. “Tonight it was somebody I used to know from California. Ow! Not sure why he’s here, though. But he can’t be with the mob. This guy is stoned most of the time.”
“Well, something brought him all the way here. Must be you.”
“Ow!” Something stung.
“And guys like that—if he’s a drug-case—don’t move around much unless somebody else is moving them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe the mob doesn’t employ this drug head. But for him to drag himself this far out of his comfort zone, somebody had to have hired him.” Arnie finished dressing her neck wound—rather slight, judging by how much effort he’d expended—and then suggested she get a tetanus shot unless she’d had one within five years.
“Don’t remember the last shot.”
“Then it’s been at least five years. Get another one.” He looked down at her blank report form. “Waste of time, unless this guy has a local record.”
“He hasn’t been here long enough to do anything but harass me. But I’m pretty sure he was busted for drugs in the L.A. area.” She waved the form. “Would that be enough of a record?”
“I’m not a cop, but around here, you have a better chance of being arrested with an expired meter than if you commit a crime.” He shrugged. “Department priorities. They need revenue, not more prisoners.”
Sitting this close to a nice-looking man—single, according to his left hand—stirred something.
Then Arnie asked how Connie was doing. “You think she’d mind if I called her?”
Beth struggled to contain the enthusiasm of her reply. “No, I’m sure it would be okay. You two seemed to hit it off.”
He smiled.
“You got her number?”
“Yep. She put it in my phone and gave me a card.” Arnie stood quickly and waved. He was out the door in seconds.
After Arnie left, Beth texted Connie: hunky medic might call. Then she smiled.