October 17 (Monday morning)
Shane woke to a ferocious thunderstorm after a restless night in his motel room. He couldn’t stop thinking about the previous morning: obviously something troubled Bethany, but she hadn’t revealed what. Of course, Shane didn’t ask. Why hadn’t she responded to his profession of love? Did she no longer love him or did she just refuse to acknowledge it?
Though Shane had never stopped loving her, Bethany seemed to have carved him out of her heart almost entirely. Oh, there was still at least a piece of him left inside her. How large a portion? Not sure. Significant enough that he’d thought they were close to making love Saturday night. But he’d ended up sleeping on her couch.
Yeah, he was perturbed, but what was bugging Bethany after his night on her couch? It was their first night together in three years and yet they weren’t together. She’d likely wanted some kind of commitment: whether they’d be together forever. Bethany probably wondered what his intentions were. She seemed to want him, but appeared to be scared. Of what? He didn’t know. Bethany seemed unsure whether she could afford to still love him.
As best Shane could figure, the first step was to reach Bethany and reassure her about his commitment. Apparently love was not enough. Evidently assurances about commitment and future were the new table stakes. How or why? He’d have to work on that after he talked to her.
About 7:30 a.m., Shane called her cell phone. Had to leave a message. As he looked through the window at the driving rain, heavy thunderclaps vibrated the glass. The sudden noise was startling because Shane hadn’t seen the lightning. He wondered which direction the storm front was moving and how long until it passed over them. Great day to be on a bike.
He tucked his hunting knife and .357 magnum under his heavy raingear and dashed out to the Road King. Shane hurriedly unlocked the saddlebags, carefully stowed his weapons, relocked the compartment, and took off.
He had a long, heavy duster like cowboys wore one hundred and forty years ago, but it offered absolutely no protection from the street water that all the other traffic, and his own tires, splashed continuously.
Shane rode the short distance to Bethany’s house. No car in her driveway... not in the garage either. No sign of her through the cottage windows.
He tried to remember the name of Bethany’s workplace. Couldn’t. Rode another couple of miles downtown to the courthouse to ask somebody in a county or city office. He probably needed a visitor’s bureau, if Verde-town even had one, but didn’t feel like searching for it in the awful storm.
Inside the courthouse, the first visible office was Voter Registrar. By now, Shane was a soaking mess and left a trail of water everywhere. When he walked, his boots squeaked on the waxed and buffed tile floors; whenever he stood still, a puddle quickly formed.
The clerk at the desk looked up and gasped. Her name tag—Georgeanne.
“I’m trying to reach my girlfriend and I can’t remember where she works.”
Georgeanne, still speechless, fumbled with the top button on her sweater.
“I’m from out of town.”
She’d probably figured that out already. Georgeanne had likely never seen a soaking wet biker.
“I know it’s a CPA firm—name of the owner. His name is an old car.”
The clerk gathered her composure sufficiently to guess: “Edsel? Corvair? Baracuda?”
“No, not models... makes. Like Chevy or Ford... Chrysler.”
“Uh, maybe you should check with DMV... next floor up.” Georgeanne looked eager for him to leave.
“They sent me here,” Shane lied.
The clerk looked around the large room. Several co-workers watched, though some were partly hunkered behind the tall counters and workspace dividers. One chimed in, DeSoto? Then another suggested Tucker. Somebody mentioned LaSalle. A comedian offered DeLorean.
Finally, someone in the corner called out Packard and it rang a bell. Shane slapped the counter and splashed water. “Packard CPA!”
Clearly relieved that the guessing game was over, Georgeanne handed him a Greene County phone book.
He tried to focus on the tiny print. “Don’t have my glasses.” Shane pushed the slightly soggy phone book back toward Georgeanne.
Considering the slight tremble of her fingers, she found the listing rather quickly. She wrote the number in large digits on a small tablet and tore off the page.
Shane took the paper, pulled out his phone and called.
Everybody in the office listened.
“Packard CPA.” Since this was not Bethany’s voice, it was evidently the owner.
“Is Bethany Muse there?”
“Beth? No... hasn’t come in yet.”
Shane accidently emptied his cuff water as he checked his watch. “It’s 8:45. Wouldn’t she be there by now?”
“Supposed to be here at eight. Who is this?”
“You don’t know me, but Bethany and I used to be... a couple.” Shane heard some sighs in the background of the voter office.
“Oh... the biker in California. Is it raining where you are?”
He must think I’m in Long Beach. “Uh, yeah, pouring.”
“Well, I just checked the Internet weather and it’s clear on the west side of Nashville. We’ve got the entire band of storms right here in Greene County.”
“Yeah. Well, anyway... about Bethany...”
“Maybe she got caught by a train.” Packard seemed anxious to get off the phone. “Check back later.”
“Well, could you ask her to call me when she gets in?”
“Huh? Okay. Give me a second.” He acted like he’d never taken a message before. “All right. What’s your number?”
Shane recited it twice. “By the way, where are you located?”
“You’re coming here?”
“Well, I probably won’t if you give her the message, but I need to know where she works. What’s that address?”
With obvious reluctance, Packard revealed it.
Shane repeated it twice as he wrote the address on the same note page as the phone number. “Have her call me.” He thanked Packard and hung up. Then he showed the address to Georgeanne and asked for directions.
Shane’s presence, if not the abundance of water he’d brought in, had already caused a lot of attention. Not only had the other clerks stopped their own activity to listen and watch, but so did the other customers being served... and those waiting in line. Guess they’ve never seen a wet biker either.
Georgeanne’s directions were amazingly precise: “Take Main Street east, out of town. It’ll curve around to the right... you’ll pass the park on your right. It’ll be Highway 70 by then. Cross the tracks and go maybe half a mile farther south. It ought to be in that commercial strip on the right hand-side.”
“If I wasn’t in a hurry, I’d give you a big hug.” Shane grinned. “You’re the first woman who’s ever given me directions that good.”
Georgeanne blushed. Perhaps because of his compliment... or possibly she’d pondered what the soggy bear hug would feel like.
As Shane departed the Registrar section, he saw a janitor approaching with a mop and bucket. “Hey, Mack, somebody made a mess in there.”
Shane stood at the courthouse entrance and looked out toward the parking lot, which was beginning to resemble a shallow lake. Evidently Verde-town didn’t plan too well for drainage.
All this trouble just because he’d finally figured out that Bethany probably needed to hear him speak about commitment and their future together. Shane could have just slept-in at the motel, gotten up leisurely, had warm coffee and a thin waffle, and waited until the rain passed over. Of course, the heavy storm front showed no signs of movement. The whole of Greene County was apparently socked in.
Shane called her cell phone again. No answer, so he left another message. “Bethany, I think I understand what was bothering you yesterday morning... and last night. We need to talk. Call me.”
A courthouse security guard strolled nearby, evidently to check him out.
“I’m leaving... just waiting for it to clear.”
“Then you’ll be here a while, ‘cause this front ain’t moving. Just heard a bulletin on the radio.”
“Crud.” As Shane looked through the glass doors again, the building’s interior lights flicked off and then back on.
“I was ‘fraid of that. Last big storm we had like this... knocked out most of old downtown.”
Shane gave him a puzzled look.
“Power grid dates back to the Civil War. Can’t get a bond issue passed to upgrade it.” The lights dimmed again. The guard walked away but kept an eye in Shane’s direction.
Shane checked his phone again for messages. None. Time to go. But no point in running to his bike. People do that in the rain, but they get just as wet or wetter when they run. Shane just walked quickly.
About ten minutes later, Shane pulled under the large canopy of a gas station and called Bethany’s office again.
Packard answered. No, she hadn’t shown yet. But the CPA had an idea. “Maybe she has a doctor appointment... or dentist. Whenever she’s been this late, it’s usually something like that.”
“Could you check her desk calendar and see if that’s it?”
Packard’s sigh suggested he disliked making any effort related to his sole employee. “Uh, nothing on her calendar... but I don’t think she always writes it down.”
“Okay. Just tell her to call me when she comes in.”
Another heavy rumble of thunder which sounded like the boom of artillery. Sometimes lightning made a harsh ripping noise, which always reminded Shane of the German 88 mm projectiles soaring overhead in World War II movies. He’d heard plenty of weaponry on the battlefield in Kuwait and during airborne training, but never that 88 mm sound. Very distinctive.
Shane rode back through the rain to Bethany’s cottage. Her vehicle was not in the driveway or the garage. Shane peeked again through the cottage windows. No sign of life inside Bethany’s, but he saw the curtains flutter next door. Nosy neighbor.
Huddled under the decorative eave which nearly covered the economical stoop, Shane tried to think. Bethany’s friend, Connie—where did she work? The Chrysler dealership. Yeah, he’d seen that complex somewhere near Exit 242, a few more miles in the pouring rain.