Chapter Twenty-Eight
Home, sweet home. I've never been so glad in all my life to see the 'Glenvar City Limits' sign. In fact, I got a lump in my throat when we passed it. Gasoline Alley and the Thompson's place. Winslow Automotive. Pilazzo's. The library courtyard and the police station. Even Kroger's looked beyond beautiful.
I planned to climb in the bed, pull the covers over my head, and stay there until time to go to work Saturday night. You’d have thought I would have known by then that Destiny and the gals had other plans for me, now wouldn’t you?
When we turned down the street toward my apartment complex Mom said, "I want you to go inside and pack some clothes. I'm taking you to Charli's house to spend the night. John is still out of town and she's there all alone with the children."
"Thanks anyway, but I'll just stay at my place. I'll be fine."
"Marty, please. Someone tried to kill you today. I don't want you girls to be alone. Daddy and I have to go to his boss's house for dinner tonight and I'll worry myself sick if you two are by yourselves. In fact, I'll feel a lot better if we get Tim to come over and stay there, too."
She certainly had a point. "Yes Ma’am," I said.
She parked in front of my building. I was surprised when she got out of the car and started up the steps.
"You don't need to come in," I told her, "I'm okay. I'll just be a few minutes."
"Nonsense," she said. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. If someone wants to hurt you, they'll have to go through me first."
"Oh." I got my spare key out from under Rowena's doormat and unlocked my apartment door. Delbert was sitting just inside the door, meowing loudly when I went in.
He immediately zeroed in on Mom's ankle. She screamed and kicked at him. "Shoo! Go away! Marty, make him stop touching me!"
I picked Delbert up and took him in my bedroom. "Delbert! You know better than that. She's scared to death of you. You'll have to stay in here until she leaves."
He squirmed and wriggled, trying to jump out of my arms. He was determined to get back to Mom. It's like the more she hates him, the more he loves her. He's so male sometimes. It really makes me nuts.
When I went back in the living room, Mom was standing rooted in her spot, her nose wrinkled in distaste at my furniture.
"Mom, if you're going to stay, fix yourself a soda or a glass of tea and sit down, for goodness sakes. You aren't going to catch anything. Since we're here, I'm going to take a shower." I punched the button on the answering machine.
"You have two messages," the disembodied answering machine lady said.
The first one was from Charli. "Marty, call me, I have an idea about the case. This is Charli." Duh.
The second one was from Tim. "Marty, I got a message from Detective Luray about the fire. Call me when you get home. I need to talk to you. It's quarter til four." He sounded rattled. For once I was glad that Mom and Dad had insisted I have a land line. And even more grateful that they were willing to pay for it.
I glanced at the clock. It was only four. I punched the reset button and started toward the bathroom.
"Aren't you going to call Tim?" Mom asked me.
"I will, later. He can wait."
"Martina Gayle, you should be ashamed of yourself. That poor boy is worried sick about you. The least you can do is call him and let him know you're all right." She shook her finger at me.
"Good grief! I said I'd call him. Geez! All I want to do is get out of these stinky clothes. He can wait that long. It's just Tim, it's no big deal. Geez!"
"I don't know why he lets you treat him like that. Well, I guess I do. But, for the life of me, I can't understand it."
"What's to understand? I treat him nice. He's my best friend. I'm real nice to him." Okay, so I sounded just a tiny bit defensive.
She shook her head. "Nice? You walk all over him. You treat him like a lap dog. You treat that cat better than you treat Tim. And he just keeps running back for more. I used to think he'd get over it, but I guess he's too far gone."
"What do you mean, too far gone?"
"I mean the poor boy is hopelessly, totally, head-over-hills in love with you. And you encourage it. You shouldn't do that. One of these days, he's going to wake up, and then, you won't have a friend anymore."
My mouth dropped open. I stared at her and started to laugh. Tim in love with me? That was without a doubt the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard. So why on earth did everyone keep saying it?
I left Mom standing in the living room and went to take my shower, still laughing my head off. One look at myself in the mirror sobered me up. I'd actually been running around in public looking like that, too. I stood in the shower until the water ran cold. My hair still smelt a little smoky, but there didn't seem to be any permanent damage.
Well, maybe the bathing suit and RUN! t-shirt. I wound them in a ball and dropped them into a plastic garbage bag. I didn't think they were salvageable, but I hated to toss them without sending them through a couple of laundry cycles.
I was feeling a little light headed. I realized that I hadn't eaten since the bagel and coffee from early in the morning. I wrapped a towel around my hair, put on my robe, and went out to the kitchen to get something to eat. Mom had finally decided to sit. She was at my dining table, leather purse in her lap, making notes in her leather-bound steno pad.
"I called Charli. She's expecting us." She closed the notebook and stuck it and her expensive gold pen back in her purse. "Go get your stuff together. She said you could bring the cat."
"I'll go pack."
After eating a sandwich, I dressed, packed my stuff, put Delbert in his kitty carrier, and we headed over to Charli's. It took a lot of fast talking, but I finally convinced Mom that I needed to drive myself to Charli's house.
"Mom, I'm supposed to play in that celebrity softball tournament tomorrow. You know, the one to benefit the Special Olympics. Anyway, I've made plans to meet some people at the Civic Center ball fields at eight tomorrow morning. We're gonna practice a little so we won't be humiliated in front of everybody. If I don't take the truck to Charli's, I'll have to get her to drag the kids out and take me over there."
"We-ell. I suppose it'll be all right. But you make sure you stay right behind me. I don't want you out of my sight for one minute."
"Okay." I held up two fingers. "Scout's honor."
I climbed up into John's big old truck and started it. It growled and rumbled, doing its mini-earthquake bit. I cranked the radio volume way up and threw it into reverse. I waited for Mom to pull out of the complex parking lot, ground around until I found first, and followed her.
For some reason -- I suppose she wanted to make sure I really followed her -- she only drove about five miles an hour. I beeped the horn at her after a few maddening minutes of it. She didn't take the hint. Instead, she putt-putted her way down to Main Street.
We were briefly separated at a traffic light, but she pulled over to the curb and waited for me to catch up. When we passed Pilazzo's I took a quick peek to see if I recognized any of the cars. I didn't. A couple of blocks later we reached Willow Wisp Street, the main road into The Oaks at Stableford Manor. Mom flipped on her turn signal and waited for the light to change.
I hummed along to the radio and watched the traffic go by while we waited. A guy in a Denali had a life-size cutout of John Wayne riding shotgun. It almost caused me to miss the big maroon car with a mottled vinyl top and a bashed in front bumper that was making a turn onto Main from Willow Wisp. It looked really familiar. For some odd reason, Nancy Winslow's floppy hats popped into my head.
Of course! There was only one hat. A red one. The lights at Pilazzo's had made the hat look rust colored. I'd thought the car that hit me was brown. Maybe it was like the hat. Maybe the lights had only made it look brown. Maybe, just maybe, it was another color. Maybe maroon?
The light turned green and Mom made her turn. I jammed the truck into gear and stepped down hard on the accelerator, co
ntinuing down Main Street. It was the only thing I could do. I had to follow the maroon car and find out if it had been the one that had smashed into me. Mom would certainly understand that.
I managed to stay about two cars behind it all the way through town. Just past the high school the maroon car made a left down a winding slightly rural road called Lewistown Lane. The road Beth Turner and Nancy Winslow live on. Right across from each other. My heart was pounding a mile-a-minute. Could it be one of them?
The car pulled into Nancy's driveway and stopped. I should have guessed. She must have found out somehow that I'd spied on her and Steve. I went about a quarter mile past Nancy's house and turned around in the parking lot of a little white clapboard church. I needed to look at that car close up, make sure I was right about it being the one that had hit me before I called the police.
I pulled in Beth's driveway and stopped the truck. I couldn't see Nancy's house too well. A row of pine trees planted in the Turner's yard shielded their house from the street. Good cover for me. I climbed out of the truck and crept up to the corner of the lot, directly in front of Nancy's. Standing behind one of the pines, I had a pretty clear view of the car and Nancy's house.
The car was empty. I caught a glimpse of someone moving around toward the back of Nancy's house. Perfect opportunity for me to check out the car. I ran across the street.
The car was an old Thunderbird, big and bulky. I was almost positive it was the one that had hit me Wednesday night. I walked around to the front. A distinctive streak of red paint on the crumpled silver bumper confirmed my suspicions. Damn that Nancy.
I dashed around the side of the house toward the back, determined to confront her and tell her she was going to have to pay for the damage to my Mustang. Her house was a small brick one story, about thirty years old. The driveway stretched into the back yard ending at an eight by ten foot storage building. The yard was shaggy and weed-filled. A sad looking window box with half-dead geraniums in it sat on the small back stoop.
I went up the three concrete steps and started to knock on the back door. I caught myself just before my hand hit the door. Nancy was big. And strong. A whole lot bigger and stronger than little old me. Confronting her around front, where people driving by would see us in case she decided to try and sit on me or something, seemed like a good idea. A very good idea.
I turned around and started back down the stairs. I'd just stepped on the crumbly concrete walkway when I heard the door open. I turned around and let out a loud shriek.
I was nose to nose with a particularly nasty looking gun. And whose slightly shaking hand was pointing the damn thing at me? Nancy Winslow's? Nope. Vanessa Young's.