Bombshell (7 page)

“You sure? I just—there ain’t no tellin’ about some of the folks workin’ here.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “My car’s right out back, and it won’t take me ten minutes to get back to the Inn.”

Earl reluctantly nodded his head. “Well, I suppose I have to be satisfied with that. See you tomorrow, ma’am. And thank you. For everything.”

“Hard as you and Molly work, I ought to be thanking you.”

“You pay good money,” he told her. “This’ll go a long way to gettin’ our farm back.”

Annalee studied the big man for a long moment and marveled at how well he’d cleaned up his act. Earl Brown was no longer the monstrous ruffian she met on her first day in town. Instead, a little sobriety and a lot of hard work had brought out the gentleman in him.

The notion that she may have had something to do with his transformation humbled her once-proud heart. Humility was something foreign to Annalee Harrison; it was not her strong suit. “Go home, Earl. All this gratitude is making me nervous.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dusk fell quickly, as did the silence once Earl and Molly went home for the night. Annalee put into her purse what money remained, locked the front door, and headed out to her car.

It had been a good day. Aside from the run-in with the nasty hobo, a good number of men made it through the day and worked hard to earn their pay, and the Blue Lantern looked better already. Tomorrow they would finish pulling the weeds and overgrowth, and maybe there would even be time to see this doctor Molly had mentioned, this Doc Graham who supposedly was so wonderful—

“Any money left for me now?” The voice was gruff and terrible, and as the man lit something that approximated a cigarette, the light from his match illuminated a set of cold, calculating eyes. “Or how ’bout some food? I was just a little hungry—you didn’t need to be a bitch about it.”

Annalee froze dead in her tracks. The fresh, sudden terror brought a lump of bile to the back of her throat. “You stay away from me.”

His approach was slow, those terrible eyes intent on doing the worst sort of harm. He wedged himself between her and the Roadster and grinned. “Yeah? Or what? I don’t see any big man around to protect you now.”

“I mean it! Get away from me!”

The man took powerful hold of her arms and pushed her back against the car. He was short and wiry but strong, much stronger than Annalee could have imagined. Beating him in the face with her purse did nothing but make him mad. His heavy breath came out in nauseating grunts; the rank smell of it hung in the air and permeated her skin, and she wanted to cry, to scream for help, or maybe even to push him away, but once those dirty hands got hold of her, they would not let go.

What happened next passed as fast as a bolt of lightning, for one second the horrible man was grinding himself into her...and the next, he was on his back with a shattered jaw and a shotgun jammed in his face.

Annalee might have screamed if the shock hadn’t numbed her, or if the urge to vomit hadn’t been so overwhelming. The most she could do was let out a sob and wonder what had just happened.

“You all right, Annalee?”

John. Dear, sweet John. She would know that soft voice anywhere. “H-he came here this morning.”

“Earl pulled me over and told me,” Calaway said. “Said he had a nervous feelin’ in his gut about this fella.”

The injured hobo writhed in pain. His cries earned him a boot to the stomach before Sheriff Calaway cocked the shotgun. “Move again, you sick sumbitch—”

A second squad car rolled up to the café, its single cherry bulb flashing in the night. Calvin Stamp and a tall deputy bolted from the car.

“The hell?”

“Thought he’d try his hand at roughin’ up a defenseless woman,” Calaway growled. “I can’t reach my cuffs, Calvin.”

“I got ’em.”

Annalee turned away as Calvin and the tall deputy, whom Sheriff Calaway called Sonny, dragged her attacker into the back of their squad car. As soon as she heard the door slam shut, she lurched behind her car and threw up.

Calaway rushed to her side, held her hair out of her face, and brought his water canteen to her lips. “It’s all right, sweetie,” he whispered. “Did he hurt you? Did he...”

Annalee shook her head as she gulped the bitter canteen water. “I’m just scared, is all. He came upon me so fast…”

“I don’t want you comin’ out here by yourself anymore,” he told her. “Seems the workers are all right, but you never can tell what’s gonna come off those damn riverboats. I’ll bring you here in the morning, and pick you up at night, and if you find yourself alone in the diner, you lock that door until I get here, understand?”

She shook her head again and tried to protest, but he silenced her with a gentle kiss. “I ain’t gonna take no for an answer, Annalee. I’m not gonna let anything hurt you.”

Chapter Four

Fifty dollars a day to pay the workers, plus an extra seven dollars to the Brown children to pick weeds, meant work progressed at a rapid pace. At the end of the first week, four men with carpentry skills had reinforced the porch, built a teak pathway from the parking area to the front door, and replaced the exposed pine timbers inside with dark cherrywood.

By the second week’s end, landscapers had planted a lovely garden near the new outdoor dining deck, and the new industrial-sized stove was installed. Even Sheriff Calaway pitched in and helped in his spare time, once they’d seen to the long-term jailing of the hobo who’d attacked her, though his aversion to spiders kept him away until the webs had been cleared out.

Once the cost of the new equipment and salaries for the permanent staff were figured into the equation, along with an additional two weeks’ worth of work, Annalee figured she’d spent an additional ten thousand dollars on the venture. Seventeen thousand dollars, all told, on an idea that might just leave her bankrupt in the end.

But as she stood in the doorway and took a moment to gaze at the workers going about their business, and as Earl and Molly’s children tended to the new garden, Annalee knew it was worth it. No one looked hungry anymore. No one walked around with their bellies growling or with the look of fear in their eyes. Folks looked happy.

And, best of all, they’d worked for it. With nothing handed to them out of charity, the Browns and all the men and women who helped renovate the Blue Lantern could hold their heads high and know it was their hard work that had brought a diner to life and put food on their own tables.

One more week
, she mused.
One more week, and most of these folks will move on. The Blue Lantern will be open to the public...and we’ll find out what kind of business this place will bear.

But what if there’s no business?

The screen door opened and slammed shut before Annalee could be pulled from her suddenly fearful thoughts, and even then she nearly screamed with fright when a warm hand caressed a loose lock of platinum blonde hair at the nape of her neck.

John Calaway laughed, startled by her fright, and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s only me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“My mind’s been elsewhere,” she said with a soft, nerve-wracked laugh. “There’s still so much work to do before we open.”

“I hope you’re not worried about that hobo comin’ back,” he said in a quiet voice. “I did some checking around and found out he’s wanted in Missouri and Iowa for attemptin’ things with women that oughtn’t ever be attempted. We got him, and he won’t be coming back, sweetie. And any other no-count bum who comes through here thinkin’ he can get frisky with you has got another thing comin’.”

Annalee slinked her arms up around his broad shoulders and kissed his cheek. “I’m an awful lucky girl, Sheriff.”

“You sure are.” As he pulled himself away, Annalee noticed a mischievous glint in his eye, a playful sparkle that chased the dark thoughts from her mind and brought a smile to her face.

“Something’s stirring in that brain of yours.”

“There’s a new picture playin’ at the movie house down on Main Street.”

“Oh?”

“A little bird came along and told me somebody I know just happens to be in that picture.”

Annalee’s grin broadened to a sheepish smile. “Which one is it?”

“Something called
Curse of the Black Cat
or some such thing,” he said. “How come you didn’t tell me you were in a scary movie? I love scary movies!”

“I made that picture over a year ago. I must’ve forgotten all about it.”

“Let’s go see it tonight.” The eagerness in his eyes reminded her of a little boy. An utterly charming little boy trapped in the body of a gloriously strapping, full-grown man.

“John, I have so much to do here,” she whimpered. “And look at me—I look like hell.”

“Oh, come on. Ginger Rogers herself can’t hold a candle to you, sweetie.” He snatched the dishrag out of her hands and tossed it aside. “Forget work for one night, will you? You could use a break, and I want to see if my gorgeous girl can act as well as she can sing.”

Before she could answer, he planted a dozen playful kisses along the curve of her neck, completely distracting her as he reached around to untie her apron strings. His deft fingers tickled the small of her back, and even as Annalee fell into a fit of giggles, she knew she couldn’t deny him the chance to see her in a perfectly awful motion picture.

“Only if you help me finish things up in here,” she told him. “I still have to hang all the pots and pans in the kitchen—”

“Done.” He disappeared, quick as lightning, into the kitchen, and for a moment all was silent. Annalee gave some thought to following him, but the silence was shattered by his mystified voice. “You want ’em hung up, you said?”

“Do you want me to come in there?”

“No, I’m here to help, sweetie,” he hollered back. “You want ’em on these hooks over the stove?”

“Yes, please.”

There commenced the sound of much metallic clanging and a colorful array of grunts and curses. Satisfied that the sheriff had at last found his way in the kitchen, Annalee returned her attention to wiping the new countertops clean of construction dust, humming a tune to herself as she thought ahead to their night at the picture show.

And then a scream shattered her thoughts, a high-pitched scream of the sort of bloody terror that preceded someone’s gruesome death, at least in the horror pictures. That the scream was followed by a crash of pots and pans sent her scrambling for the kitchen...

Where Sheriff Calaway swatted wildly at something so vile, so evil and wicked in its intentions that his handsome face was white with the pallor of death.

“Don’t move, Annalee, it’ll charge right at you!”

“What will?”

“Centipede!” he cried. His body shivered and convulsed as soon as the word fled his pale lips. He flailed at the fallen pots and pans with the broom as if he were trying to rescue the world from a rabid beast.

Annalee fought a terrible urge to giggle. Stepping into the epic battle with a brave face, she tossed aside the pots and pans and paused to hunt for her quarry.

Calaway screamed again, and started swatting away as their foul enemy emerged to re-engage the conflict. True enough, the villain was as ugly as he was determined: three inches long and hundreds of two-inch long legs to give him the kind of speed and agility required to make a grown sheriff scream like a little girl.

The centipede advanced, feinted to the left and, just as Calaway had warned, charged straight toward Annalee, who promptly crushed it under the sole of her brand-new open-toed pump.

Calaway collapsed against the countertop. His breathing heavy and labored, he wiped away at the beads of sweat on his forehead and could barely watch as Annalee went about the grim task of wiping the carnage off her shoe and from the floor.

“Must be fixin’ to rain,” he breathed. “Always come upon them sons-a-bitches when it’s fixin’ to rain.” He bent low, picked up the pots and pans from the floor with trembling hands, and appeared to be trying to calm himself down.

“My goodness. What do you do when you’re at home or at the police station and those things pop out at you?”

“I don’t ever see ’em. Penelope must eat ’em or something.”

A fresh giggle tickled the back of her throat, but when Annalee gazed into his eyes and realized they were filled with stark terror, the terrible urge to laugh faded. She took hold of his shaking hands and led him out of the kitchen. “Let’s get some air.”

Lightning illuminated the cloudy night sky. The wind picked up just as she finished handing out the last of the pay envelopes, and by the time Earl and Molly Brown loaded their brood into their car, the first drops of rain started to fall. Annalee sat down next to Sheriff Calaway on the brand-new porch steps and rested her head on his shoulder.

“I just don’t like bugs,” he softly insisted.

“Well, that was one mean centipede.”

“It was.” He reached over and gathered her hands into his and toyed with her fingers. “Thank you for rescuin’ me.”

“You’re welcome.”

They watched, sore and half-drowsy from a long day’s work, as heavy raindrops splattered to the ground.

“Can we go see that scary picture now?”

****

Annalee had forgotten how awful
Curse of the Black Cat
was. Sitting in a darkened theater packed with townsfolk, she gazed up at the sixty-foot version of herself and realized some things were best left forgotten.

“Ugh. Look at how that gown hangs on me,” she grumbled. “Makes me look like I’ve got hips like a Mack truck. I begged them to let me wear something else.”

Sheriff Calaway shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth and stared wide-eyed at the screen as the titular black cat suddenly morphed crudely into a mad scientist—Annalee’s character, the hapless Carlotta, had walked into a trap.

“Annalee, why would you do that?” he yelped. “You knew it was a trap!”

“Well, Carlotta didn’t know it, did she?”

A few people turned to glare at them, but Carlotta’s screams of terror brought their attention back to the film. Annalee glanced once more at the man she adored, the man who now stared with rapt attention at a lousy horror film, and stifled a giggle.