The wham of the impact coincided with the air bag catapulting Avery back against the seat.
She closed her eyes and laid her head forward against the bag, then jerked back from the chemical smell. People said it had a sickening thud. No one mentioned how an air bag smelled.
What had Cres smelled with his last breath?
“Are you all right?” A female voice, the redhead probably, asked while someone knocked on the passenger window.
“Did you see that?” Bill’s voice rang out. “She crashed into our store.”
“I called 911.” Martha picked up speed as she hobbled near. “The police are at a wreck on I-20. They want to know if she’s conscious.”
The redhead loomed next to Martha. Their path was blocked by Avery’s vehicle across the sidewalk.
Dazed, Avery turned her neck and looked down at her body. No visible blood, but her skin was ice-cold. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she fought to draw a breath. I’ve got to get out of here! She leaned to push open the door but instead nearly fell off the seat and into the side of the white car. Her door was gone!
No, not gone. It was crushed against the back fender like a wadded-up piece of aluminum foil.
“We need to drive her to the hospital, Bill.” Martha’s voice wafted through the open door. “Or get an ambulance.” The trio peered through the windshield as though looking at a museum exhibit.
“I don’t need an ambulance.” Avery scooted across the front seat, her bottom smashing the biscuit. Sausage and mustard smeared the seat, and she groaned.
“Where does it hurt?” The redhead opened the passenger door.
“Nowhere.” Avery put a hand to her neck. “Everywhere. I’m sorry about your car. I have insurance.”
“You’d better.” The woman’s laugh was shrill.
Avery’s legs wobbled when she crawled out. “I’m Avery. Avery Broussard.” She grabbed at the woman to keep from falling, which seemed to be something of a habit lately.
“Whoa, steady there. We need to ice that bump on your head and get your insurance papers. I’m Kathleen Manning.”
Avery touched her forehead and winced.
Kathleen’s gaze followed the movement, landing on her left hand. “We need to call your husband!” The corner spun when Avery shook her head.
“Is there someone else? Family? Coworkers? A friend?”
Family? No way would she worry her dad over this, and Evangeline wouldn’t welcome a call. Maybe Ross, but T. J. had said he was out of town. Coworkers? She wasn’t sure she had a job anymore. Friends? For a year she’d all but been a hermit.
No answer was needed, though, the question overshadowed by the commotion of people stopping to gawk. They’d better not be here for a biscuit, or they were in for a big disappointment.
“Avery?” A man’s voice joined the ruckus, and she squinted to see T. J. sprinting toward her. “Are you hurt?”
“Oh, dear Lord.” She put her face in her hands. “Just a little headache.”
“You’re going to have a big headache,” Bill said. “I expect you to pay for all the damages. And if this messes up our deal, you’re responsible.”
“Now, Bill.” Martha patted his arm.
The parking lot tilted.
“She needs to sit down.” T. J. put his arm around Avery’s waist, and she relaxed as he eased her onto the curb.
“She a friend of yours?” Bill asked.
“She is.” T. J. knelt beside her, so close she caught a glimpse of herself reflected in his eyes. Despite mud on the knees of his jeans, he smelled crisp and clean, a mix of cold outdoors and soap. Not the expensive cologne Cres had favored, but ordinary soap. An enticing scent, lacking pretension.
“Who are her people?” Martha wobbled closer.
“My family doesn’t live here.” Avery tried to stand.
“Careful.” T. J. put a hand on her arm. “Relax.”
The blare of sirens joined the cacophony in Avery’s head. A police car roared through the intersection, sounding a loud horn as it pulled into the run-down parking lot, blue lights flashing.
“They made it after all.” Martha sounded proud. A couple of bystanders stepped closer, embellishing what had happened to anyone who would listen. Bill shook his head and a metal cane simultaneously.
An African American woman in a tan police uniform approached with her forehead wrinkled. “Anyone hurt?”
“Just my store.”
“Sir,” she said to Bill in the voice of a middle-school principal, “I’m trying to establish if we need an ambulance.” Her gaze landed on T. J. and widened. “T. J.? What’s going on here?”
“Hey, Jazz. I don’t think there are any serious injuries.” He peered at Avery. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“I need to go to work.”
The officer knelt and threw T. J. a big smile, a look Avery suspected he was used to from women. He smiled back, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Avery, this is a friend of mine, Jazz Hamilton. She’ll take good care of you.”
“That Broussard woman doesn’t need coddling.” Bill pointed at the storefront. “This mess is her fault. Arrest her.”
Avery nodded. “The accident was my fault.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” Bill protested. “You destroyed our store.”
“You should have been more careful,” Martha said, her voice stronger.
Officer Hamilton held up her hand, her unpolished nails clipped short. “If everyone will be quiet, we can proceed.” She flipped to a blank form on a clipboard, then slipped on a pair of reading glasses, her pen poised above the paper.
“Let’s start with you, Avery. Tell me what happened.”
“I told you,” Bill growled, pointing at Avery. “That woman ran into our store.”
The officer tilted her head, looking at Avery over her glasses.
“The parking lot was slick,” Avery started.
“The ice had melted,” Bill interrupted. “She was speeding. And mad. Real mad.”
“Upset,” Martha corrected.
“My car was parked next to hers, and she slid into it,” Kathleen said.
Avery squeezed her eyes closed, and T. J. touched her hand.
“She smashed Kathleen’s car first and then the front there.” Bill gestured with his cane at the broken window and the hole in the building.
“Were you upset?” Officer Hamilton asked.
Only for a few years.
Bill broke in again. “She was mad because I wouldn’t sell her a biscuit.”
That small furrow appeared between T. J.’s eyebrows. “Bill, why don’t you let Avery give her side of the story?”
“Good idea.” The officer nodded.
“I wasn’t speeding, and I didn’t care about the biscuit. My car stalled, and I tried to back up, but I went forward instead.” Avery put her hand to her head, wishing she could escape the crowd closing in around her.
“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?”
“I need to get this over with.”
The officer looked at Avery over her glasses. “Your license, please.”
“It’s, it’s on the floorboard. And my insurance card’s in the glove box.”
“I’ll get them.” T. J. fished around in the car until he came up with the items.
Ms. Hamilton squinted at the license, and her gaze moved to the small slip of white paper in her hands. “Do you have a current proof of insurance? This one’s expired.”
Avery’s head ached as she tried to think where the new card was. “I’m insured.”
“You’d better be,” Kathleen muttered.
The officer walked to the back of the Tahoe and narrowed her eyes. “Your tags are expired too.”
“That can’t be right. One of the maintenance guys took care of that last week. He was supposed to put the updated insurance card in there too.” The words made her sound like the spoiled rich woman she had fought so hard not to become. “I should have taken care of that myself. I’ll pay for the damages.”
“T. J., will you stay with her while I run her license?”
Avery frowned.
The officer arched one eyebrow. “Would you rather sit in the back of the patrol car?”
Avery gave her head a quick shake, and Ms. Hamilton spoke into a radio in the car and occasionally jotted something. Bill, still grumbling, ushered Martha back into the store. Kathleen placed a call, her voice urgent as she whispered into the receiver.
“You sure you don’t want to call someone?” T. J.’s brown eyes were filled with concern. “Ross would—”
“Do you always rescue nutcases, or is it just me?”
He looked as though he was considering a smile. “I’ve needed rescuing a few times myself . . . At least you haven’t thrown up on me.”
“T. J. helps everyone.” Officer Hamilton returned, clipboard in hand. “You couldn’t ask for a better champion.”
“Okay, Jazz. Don’t go overboard.” He nudged a rock with the toe of his boot. “I just stopped for a glass of tea. It was a slow morning anyway.”
“Yeah, right.” The officer pointed at his muddy knees. “I heard about the busted pipe at the mission.”
“Bud did most of the hard work on that one.”
The radio on her police belt crackled with a message, and she sighed. “Enough chitchat.” She handed Avery her license, insurance card, and a ticket. “Get that insurance straightened out immediately or you’ll lose your license.”
“Will do. I’m a very responsible person.”
The officer’s expression was impassive. “You might want to keep ice on that head and take a couple of ibuprofen.”
Nearby, Kathleen’s phone played a twangy country-and-western song, and she answered and spoke for a few moments before holding it away from her ear. “I’m having my car taken to the garage, Mrs. Broussard. Do you want them to tow yours?”
“It’s Avery.”
“Do you want them to tow yours, Avery? Yes or no?”
“Is the place reputable?”
Kathleen laughed, a big, bold sound. “She wants to know if you’re reputable,” she said into the phone.
“Oh, just tell them to tow it.” This probably wasn’t the time to call the Broussard mechanic.
“Do you have someone to drive you home?”
Avery turned to T. J. “I’d appreciate a lift. I can pay you.”
He smiled. “This one’s on the house.”
Kathleen’s cell phone buzzed, and she glanced at the text message on the screen. A shadow ran across her eyes before she looked up. “Could you drop me off too? Thanks to all this”—she waved at her car—“I’m late for work.”
Kathleen held out her hand. “Avery, I’ll need a check to cover my deductible right now. If your insurance doesn’t pay, I’ll need more, of course.”
“My checkbook’s in the car.” She flinched as she looked at the smashed SUV.
“I’ll get it—and your other things.” T. J. headed to her vehicle. “Go sit down.”
As Avery walked toward his truck, Kathleen was mumbling. “I knew better than to dye my hair red. You don’t change your life by changing your hair color, no matter what Lindsey says.”