CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Jake raced to the lobby, taking two stairs at a time. The faster he could get out of the Abandon Inn, the better.

An animated Clive, dressed to the hilt in the red-trimmed Confederate artillery soldier’s uniform, waved his canteen in one hand and the hotel sign-in book in the other. He hooted and hollered about gunpowder, laughing as Pearl attempted to corral him into the back office. Jake grinned at the spectacle but didn’t stop. He had enough relationship trouble at the moment. No sense intervening in Pearl’s nightly routine.

Picking up his pace, he went outside. Then stopped in the parking lot. Crap. No car. The car agency rep said she would bring a car first thing tomorrow morning. In the meantime, he had no transport.

Or did he?

He returned to the lobby. “Pearl, do you have the phone number for that cabbie JT, the one who picked us up from Zephyr Land?”

She’d managed to grab the canteen and held it over her head like a youngster’s game of keep-away. “No, Clive! I said get your butt back into your office!”

Jake waited for her to break free from the insanity. Hmm. Insanity. Was this a glimpse into his future with Amanda? Hanging out on Friday nights, her spotting ghosts under the trees and talking to beings who weren’t there? At least Clive had a sense of humor about things, had the decency to not dress like a carpetbagger. Jake couldn’t fault the guy.

“Just a moment, Jake. I’d be happy to get JT’s number for you,” Pearl said, all the while shooing Clive through the rear doorway into the office.

Minutes later, an exasperated Pearl came out, smoothing her beehive hairdo. “Sorry about that.”

Jake smiled. “Another normal night, eh?”

“That man is gonna drive me to drink. If I could find myself a mason jar, I’d pour some moonshine right now.”

Jake coughed. “You have moonshine?”

“Daddy made it in the woods near Fairhope. I kept a canister or two,” she said with a mischievous wink. “Looks like you could use a drink yourself.”

“Amen to that.” Jake sighed. “But I want a change of scenery. I figured JT could drive me to the nearest town. Any pubs you’d recommend?”

She scribbled down the phone number on an index card and handed it over. “Raw McShuckums Tavern is about nine miles north of here, on the way to Fairhope.”

Jake bit back a laugh. Southern pubs had strange names, even back in his hometown of Athens, Georgia. How did someone come up with the idea?

“If they have drinks, it sounds like the place. Not a rough redneck fest though, right?”

Pearl shook her head, then pivoted around when she heard Clive start hollering again. “I’ve got to go. You call JT. He’ll take you around.”

“Thanks.”

Jake went outside to escape the latest Pearl-Clive show and dialed the cabbie’s number.

“The King lives on. This is JT.”

Chuckling at the Elvis fanfare, Jake gave him the pickup details.

“I’ll be there in five,” JT said. “The rest of my shift has died down, so good timing.”

“See you then.”

Jake tapped End. He glanced back at the glowing window lights from the Abandon Inn. Amanda’s shadowy curves moved behind one set of blinds. Was she peering out at him? Or had she remained stuck in her delusion?

No matter. He needed to get away. Forget about Amanda’s crazy talk.

Minutes later, JT pulled into the parking lot with his window rolled down. “Evening. Where we headed?”

Jake slipped in the back. “Someplace outside of Abandon. I need a drink.”

“Sounds serious.” JT adjusted the air vents. “Any kind of place you prefer?”

“Pearl said something about an oyster? I don’t know. Just a quiet place for a stiff drink.”

“Raw McShuckums,” JT said, nodding. “Good choice.”

They drove in silence as the small town of Abandon faded behind them. Even the air seemed clearer outside of Abandon. Or perhaps Jake was imagining things.

JT fiddled with the music player. “How about some music from the King?” The Elvis tune “Are You Lonesome Tonight” started to play.

Not this song, please. Enough about loneliness. Jake searched his mind for a more accurate Elvis song for the occasion. “How about ‘Hard Headed Woman’?”

“Sure thing.” JT kept driving, glancing up into the rearview with large brown eyes. “Lady trouble tonight?”

“You could say that.” Jake stared out the window at the silhouettes of pine needles against the full moon overhead.

“She stepping out on you?”

“Nah, nothing like that.”

“Tell you what. I’m at the tail end of my shift, and I know I’m going to need to drive you back. What’s say I join you for a drink?”

Jake shrugged. As much as he wanted a quiet place alone to sip on some bourbon, JT was strange enough to make any conversation interesting.

“Sure thing.”

Raw McShuckums was more of a shack in the middle of the woods. Dark walls inside, a few rooms with pool tables, and in the main room a long bar with a mirror behind it so patrons could see their reflections.

Jake took a corner seat. JT sat two stools down. Both of them kept an eye on the mirror to make eye contact rather than turning to talk to each other. Maybe it seemed less intimidating this way, a means to chat or get feedback from someone without looking him directly in the eye.

The bartender, a young waif with maroon streaks in her blonde hair and tats down her arms, set out napkins in front of them. “What are we drinking?”

“Bourbon,” Jake muttered.

“And you?” the waif asked, addressing JT.

“Same.”

A few seconds later, she plunked the two shots in front of them and moved seamlessly to the other end of the counter to help other customers.

“You know,” JT began. “We’ve all had women trouble.”

Jake sipped his bourbon. “This is different.”

JT gave a knowing nod, took a healthy swig of his drink. “That’s what everyone says.”

Glancing at the mirror, at JT’s curious stare, Jake figured, why not? Easier to talk to a stranger whom he’d never see again.

“Amanda claims she can see and talk to dead people.”

JT continued to stare, his expression unfazed by Jake’s answer. “Yeah, and?”

Jake twirled his shot glass between his fingers. “What do you mean, and? She’s delusional. She honestly believes she can talk to the dead.”

“So? You’re in the South. People have all kinds of bizarre quirks here. I see Elvis at least once a month over at the Piggly Wiggly.”

Jake bit his lip, picking up his shot glass of bourbon. Apparently everyone in Abandon had mental issues?

“The Piggly Wiggly?” he asked.

“Sure enough,” JT said. “Buying bread and peanut butter. On sale.”

Jake chuckled. “But you know it’s not real, right? I mean, he died in nineteen…”

“Seventy-seven,” JT said. “That’s the rumor, yes.”

“Then how can Elvis be at the Piggly Wiggly, taking note of grocery sales, if he died over three decades ago? It’s not logical.”

JT laughed, kept a wide grin on his face. “That’s your trouble right there. You won’t find logic in these parts.”

“I’m an engineering professor. Logic comes with the territory. Elvis can’t be alive if he died—”

“How do you explain all those sightings?” JT asked. “Every rumor has a kernel of truth. I think it’s completely feasible Elvis got too overwhelmed by fame. Faked his death and continues to roam the South.”

Jake gestured to the bartender. “Can I get another, please? Double?”

“Sure thing.” She got his drink, then looked at JT. “How about you?”

“Just a decaf coffee, please. I’m driving this one back to Abandon.”

Tat-woman poured him a coffee and sauntered away to help others. Despite her harsh appearance, Jake liked her. She wasn’t one of those bartenders who hovered, like some.

“Where were we?” JT asked, ever the cabbie of talkative chatter.

“You were asking why there have been tons of Elvis sightings since his death,” Jake said.

“Right. So, how do you explain it?”

“Easy. It’s hokum.”

JT poured some sugar in his coffee, stirred, and took a sip. “There’s all kinds of mysterious things in this world—”

“Yeah, but I don’t believe in things that can’t be quantified. Elvis sightings? No. The guy’s dead, sorry to say. Ghosts and dead spirits? It’s a brain imbalance or something. She needs to be taking medication, not defending her psychosis.”

“Well, you can have all the logic in the world, but some things just can’t be quantified. Doesn’t mean they aren’t real. Look at the wind, for example. You can’t see it, but you know it’s there. Many people have found comfort knowing their loved ones are in a better place.”

Jake shook his head. “The people selling that dream are charlatans. They’re after as many bucks as they can get for their tapestry of lies.”

JT broke eye contact with the mirror and turned to Jake instead. “With every profession, there are always those who take advantage. Don’t have to talk to the dead to know that. There’s honest contractors and pure thieves.”

“True.”

“I’m not defending the crooks,” JT said. “But some folks, particularly in the South, are known to see things most people can’t put a label on. For me, I know Elvis is alive and well. Folks may call me crazy, but what harm I am doing?”

Jake thought a long moment. “You’re harming the truth? The honest explanation?”

“So the hell what?” JT took a swig of coffee. “Is your girl hurting anyone? Taking anybody’s money in exchange for her gift? I’d imagine telling you something like that had to be hard for her. Chances are, she’s trying to help those ghosts with something. Did she give any of that information to you?”

“I didn’t stick around to find out. The news of her delusion sent me running from the Abandon Inn. Literally.” He had the grace to look down. He wondered now what she thought about him tearing out on her like that.

JT leaned back in his chair. “So she’s back there, alone, after she told you something that probably scared her to confess?”

Jake turned, stunned by JT’s direct question. “Yeah.”

JT chuckled. “And you call her crazy. Seems to me you got two choices. Accept her version of things, or be alone.”

Neither option had appeal. He hadn’t known anyone he could be more comfortable around than Amanda—when she wasn’t talking to air or accusing Randall Kern of murder, that is. Dump her and be alone? Not his favorite choice. But to accept her delusion? How? He envisioned their lives several years from now. She’d be on his arm at a faculty party to celebrate his tenure. Then she’d tell his esteemed colleagues how she speaks to the recently departed on a daily basis. Not a good ice breaker. Not at all.

“You’re saying I should not be bothered by her delusion?” Jake asked.

JT shrugged. “What’s your alternative?”

“Get her the help she needs.”

“And that’s your job, is it?” JT asked, then finished his coffee. “Let me tell you something. We all have to be responsible for our own selves. You can’t legally commit her. Maybe you can convince her to see a shrink—”

“Amanda swore she would go. Now she’s changed her mind. Said she knows she’s not mentally ill, she just sees ghosts. She said it like she was talking about what color carpet to buy. Matter of fact. Not like the hokum it is.”

“Personally, I believe in gifted people, but that’s me. I see Elvis, for heaven’s sake. But y’all seem like sweet kids. I’d hate to see things break apart because of something that ain’t hurting anyone.”

Jake didn’t speak for a long moment, just listened to the knocking of the billiards in the next room. He’d spent his entire life on a logical path, had vowed never again to get involved with delusionary tactics. Charlatans had robbed his family, his birthright.

Was Amanda trying to rob anything? No. Not really. She wasn’t committing the evil those snake-oil salesmen had all those years ago. But to accept that Amanda talked to spirits who had died? He wasn’t sure he could do that either.

JT gestured for a coffee refill. “Lots of pros and cons for either side, but it all boils down to a simple choice.”

“What’s that?”

“Do you want the girl, or not?”

Jake finished his drink and made mental notes of the pros and cons.

“Well?” JT prompted.

“Yes. I want the girl.”

“Then it’s simple. Go to her. Accept her oddities. All of them. You won’t be as alone as you think. Everyone south of the Mason-Dixon Line has some form of family secret. Comes with the territory.”

Jake nodded. He’d heard as much, though his deepest secret had been the agony his own mother went through. Wait a second. His mother.

“What if I asked Amanda for proof?”

JT narrowed his eyes. “Proof?”

“Evidence that she can do what she claims. I’ll ask her to talk to my mom. Figure out a way to ask my mom something only she and I would know,” Jake said. “Then Amanda will be forced to admit this isn’t real.”

“Not so sure I’d go with that approach,” JT said. “Women can see through tests like that.”

“If Amanda claims she can talk to the dead, why wouldn’t she be able to prove it?”

Jake smiled wide. Finally. A logical way to handle this dilemma. Once Amanda understood her own psychosis, she’d be forced to seek help when they returned to Georgia.

“Drink up, JT. Things just got better.”