Darkness Before Dawn (18 page)

“We’ve got a special on roses today,” the clerk announced as soon as she reappeared.
Presenting the white box to Meg, she added, “This one will only cost you
2.75 plus tax. Let me see, the total is
2.93.”

Meg dug through her purse, found three one-dollar bills, paid the clerk, picked up
the rose, exited the store, and walked back to her car. Laying the rose box on the
passenger seat, she backed out of her spot and headed the Mustang in the direction
of the city cemetery.

“Well, Steve,” she whispered. “It has been a while, but I think it’s time I start
returning a few gifts to you. This should look nice on your grave. And it is such
a beautiful day.”

Suddenly her train of thought was interrupted as a car pulled out of a parking lot
directly into her path. Jerking her wheel to one side, she slammed on the brakes and
managed to miss the other vehicle by inches.

What in the world?
Meg thought as she straightened her wheel and passed the now stalled sports car.
A stern look on her face, she stared at the other driver. Sheepishly, he returned
her stare then shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands as if to say, “Sorry, I
didn’t see you.” When his right hand became visible just above the dashboard of his
car, Meg noticed the man was holding an open can of beer.

A sudden rage burned through Meg. Shaking her fist, she hit the gas and rushed from
the scene. First Steve and now her! Forgetting all about the rose and the cemetery,
she turned her car around and headed home. By the time she got there she felt very
alone, very abused, and had little patience for people of any age, description, or
size. She just wanted the world to leave her alone.

After parking her car in its place, she reached over, picked up the box containing
the yellow rose, and then, walking by an empty trashcan, pitched the box in with scores
of other things that now meant nothing. This act seemed to calm her nerves and as
she quickly mounted the steps to her apartment, her temper slowly began to burn out.
Digging the keys from her
purse, she managed to unlock the apartment door just in time to answer the phone.

“What is it?” she demanded as she picked up her landline on the second ring.

“Hello, is this the Richards’s?” a man’s voice asked.

“Yes.”

“This is Comet Cleaners. We’ve had some clothes down here and if you don’t get them
soon we’ll have to sell them or give them to the Goodwill or something. They’ve been
here a very long time.”

“I’ve still got my coat on,” Meg assured him. “I’ll run down right now.”

Comet was only five blocks away and the drive took about two minutes. As she drove,
she mentally inventoried her closest. She was sure she’d picked up her good coat.
Hadn’t she worn it last month? Or was that the month before? And almost everything
else she owned didn’t need to be dry cleaned. Maybe it was the blue, wool suit. She
remembered dropping it off in February and perhaps she hadn’t picked it up. Pulling
up to the shop, she parked her car, got out, and hurried in.

“I’m Meg Richards,” she announced to a heavy, balding man behind the counter as she
entered the store. “Someone here just called me about some clothes that I had forgotten
to pick up.”

“Yeah, that was me who called. Let me get ’em.” He turned and ambled back to a clothes
rack and began to search. As he did, Meg picked up a brochure from a stack on the
counter and, for lack of a better way to kill the time, began to study the different
services that Comet now offered. Who knew that a cleaners would have a Facebook page?
And what did a small town cleaner have to tweet about? As she mulled over those questions,
she was vaguely aware of the door opening behind her. Out of the corner of her eye,
she noticed a young high
school girl come from the back of the shop in order to wait on the new customer.

“Jimbo,” the girl said in a dreamy, lighter-than-air voice. “Love your new wheels.
When you gonna take me for a ride?” The way the girl emphasized that last part of
the sentence made Meg wonder just what the word “ride” meant.

“Some day, baby,” came the young man’s response.

That voice! Meg knew that voice! Looking into a counter mirror, her eyes flashed past
her own reflection and to the image of the high school student. Even though she’d
only seen him twice in person, she immediately recognized the other reflection as
that of Jim Thomas. This was the closest she’d ever been to the kid who killed her
husband since that night she’d left the ER after seeing her husband’s mangled and
burned body.

“You here for something special?” the girl asked.

“My old man’s cleaning. Hope you know where it is because I’m in a hurry. So get moving!”

Taking the order in stride, the girl quickly disappeared through the door to the back
of the shop.

Left alone in the room with Jim Thomas, Meg’s knees grew immediately weak, her stomach
began to churn, and boiling blood rushed through her veins. In the quiet room, she
was fully aware of the loud pounding coming from her chest. Surely, he must hear it,
too. But he said nothing, apparently unaware of her wildly beating heart, much less
her presence. Too scared to look at him, she turned her eyes back to the brochure,
pretending to study it.

With a whoosh, the door to the back once again opened and the bald man reappeared,
this time carrying a blue, pinstriped suit covered by a clear plastic bag embossed
with Comet’s logo.

“Here we go,” he said. “One suit. That’ll be
3.75.”

As Meg once again looked up, Thomas’s eyes met hers in the mirror. He obviously didn’t
know who she was. Still, he did stare at her—an intent, unembarrassed stare. It only
took her a few seconds to realize he was actually sizing her up! Feeling uncomfortable
under his gaze, Meg glanced back down, fumbled with the latch on her purse, and finally
pulled out a ten-dollar bill. Handing it to the clerk, she grabbed the suit off the
counter.

“Just a second and I’ll have your change,” the man said. Ambling slowly to the cash
register, he greeted the boy in the letter jacket. “Tell you what, Jim. That basket
you made the other night to win the game against Centerville, I never saw anything
like it.”

“Well, somebody had to do it, Mr. Weaver,” the boy answered cockily.

“Yeah, but nobody could but you!”

A nervous Meg watched the man lethargically open the cash register and deposit the
money. Then, before he could get her change, the phone rang.

“Comet Cleaners?” The owner announced. The shop’s owner waited for a moment before
explaining, “That’s a big order. It might take a couple of days to clean eighty band
uniforms.”

As the bald man and the potential customer quibbled on time and price, Thomas continued
to leer at Meg, and for lack of anything better to do, she continued to study the
brochure she had picked up a few minutes before. Finally, when the call ended, the
bald man slowly counted out the money and walked back to where Meg anxiously stood.

“Six and a quarter,” he explained, handing her the change. “And we appreciate it.”

“Just a minute, Jim,” the man stated, turning to his other customer. “I’ll see what’s
taking Candy so long.” The man disappeared into the back room, leaving Meg alone with
the boy.

Picking up the suit, Meg tried to move quickly past Thomas and out the door. But in
haste to exit, the now panicky Meg, tripped over a cardboard display and fell against
the boy’s arm. Pushing herself off, she dropped her cleaning on the floor. As she
picked it up, the boy laughed, “What’s the rush, sweetheart?” Noting the scrubs and
her hospital ID he added, “You in a hurry to give somebody mouth-to-mouth?”

Straightening herself, Meg ignored the kid’s smart remarks, took a deep breath, and
walked toward the exit. Grabbing the handle, she started to open it but stopped when
she saw his reflection in the glass. He was staring at her legs, a grin spread from
ear to ear, so he obviously liked what he saw. Now she felt like little more than
a piece of meat.

Turning back to face his grinning face she asked, “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

“No, but I’d sure like to!” came the boy’s cool retort. “That is, if you’re game?
I’ve always thought older woman were hot, and they like me, too.”

A rage deeper than the one she had experienced the night she had spied on him from
her car bubbled up in her gut. If she had had a gun, Meg knew that she would have
shot him. He was even worse than she imagined. He was coarse, crude, and disgusting.
What was most disturbing was that no one else seemed to notice these traits, or if
they did, they overlooked them. Certainly, the hero-worshiping clerk or the gum-chewing
bimbo who waited on him didn’t see Jim Thomas for what he really was. But Meg did.

Her eyes glaring, her jaw set, she stood up to her full five feet two inches and with
a voice so strong that it even surprised her, she replied. “My name is Meg Richards.
My husband, Steve, was the man you killed in that car wreck a few weeks ago. Are you
sure you want to know me?”

The boy’s cocky smile quickly evaporated. Seconds later the color drained from his
face and his jaw had grown slack. Meg allowed the introduction to hover in the air
for only seconds before adding, “You take a good look at me. You remember what I look
like. Because I’m going to get on a witness stand in a courtroom in a little more
than a month and I’m going to put you away. But that’s not all.”

Meg formed her free hand into a fist and added, “When they let you out of jail I’m
going to be at the gate waiting. Because when the state’s satisfied that it got its
due, I’m going to begin to exact mine. I’m going to be your shadow. You’re going to
see me on every corner and in your every dream. I’m going to haunt you for as long
as you live. And then when you die, I’m going to meet you in hell!”

Meg almost couldn’t believe what she had just said. More than that, she couldn’t believe
how good it felt to say it. She lingered a moment, a vicious smile now etched on her
face, a frightening wrath burning in her eyes, watching as the boy seemed to melt
in front of her. His lips now pale and just barely open, visibly trembled, and his
hands alternately reached in and out of his letter jacket’s pockets. He was almost
too shocked to breathe and probably too stiff to walk.

Satisfied she had made her point, Meg turned, flung the door open, and hopped into
her car. Just before she pulled off, she stared back at the shop and caught Thomas
in her line of sight one more time. As her eyes met his, he looked down. She had won
round one. Round two would be fought in a courtroom and she now figured that she could
win that one, too.

A
S
J
IM
T
HOMAS
’
S EYES FOLLOWED THE
M
USTANG DOWN THE STREET
, Candy reappeared at the counter with Judge Thomas’s clothes. Her lighter-than-air
voice announced, “It’s
45.32.”