Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors (23 page)

“Sandy has a past. I have a past. You have a past. The past is behind us. There is absolutely nothing we can do to change it. What is important to all three of us is the present and the future."

She returned to the chair and smiled faintly. “You couldn't have given me a better opening if I had written the script."

Something was coming. Tim sensed it. It made him uncomfortable. He noticed a clean ashtray and asked, “Mind if I smoke?"

She nodded her permission. “A few weeks ago when you first arrived in Dot you said you would probably stay just long enough to convert your inheritance to cash. My guess is that you've now decided to stay. Surely you realize Dot is a dying community, and that, like me, your future is closely tied to whatever future Dot may have. I have heard rumors that you are making plans to turn things around for our town by doing some major remodeling of the hardware store and perhaps even constructing a new building for the Discount House."

He nodded.

“Dot is more than thirty miles away from the nearest hospital. We desperately need a well equipped clinic here, especially if the population of Dot begins to grow."

“You want me to fund it,” he said rather than asked.

It was her turn to nod.

“I imagine you have given much thought to this idea. What kind of money are we talking about?"

“One, perhaps two million dollars."

“Wow!” he exclaimed. “Would it ever pay for itself?"

“You are the businessman, but I doubt it."

“I don't have that kind of ready cash."

“But you could raise it."

He paused. “Perhaps. May I ask you two personal questions?"

She laughed. “I don't think you can get any more personal than the videos you have seen. Go ahead."

“Are you a good doctor?"

Without hesitation she replied, “I am the best GP to ever practice medicine."

“Are you still on drugs?"

“With sheer bull-headed determination I weaned myself off drugs. I have been clean for three years. I won't go back."

He stood up. “Let me have your clinic proposal in writing. I will give it serious consideration. That's all I can promise at this time."

“You will have it in a few days,” she said, also standing and extending her hand, which he shook gently.

As an afterthought Tim asked, “You don't happen to have a brother who is a lawyer and looking for a job do you?"

“No,” she laughed. “Why do you ask?"

“Silas Coan's son has gone back to Winston to take some corporate job he was offered, and Silas has lost his mind. He and his wife are leaving Sunday for an extended European vacation. Less than an hour ago, he gave me his practice. Now I must find a lawyer for Dot."

“My baby sister graduated from the Wake Forest School of Law in May and last month passed the bar exam. Would a female attorney do?"

“My sexism just showed, didn't it? Sorry about that. If she's interested, have her contact me as soon as possible."

Tim spent the next thirty minutes at the hardware store. He discovered that Sean had completed the installation of the inventory control system and found Tracy busily entering data in the back room. He was pleased to see that his three employees seemed to be extremely happy and proud of their accomplishments. Everyone, he thought to himself, should have a job he enjoys. Sandra's joy on seeing her book review in print popped into his mind and he smiled warmly.

In the hardware store, someone mentioned Dottie's meatloaf. His mouth began to water, not at the thought of meatloaf, but rather Dottie's country style steak, smothered with thick gravy. He made Dot's Diner his next stop.

He slid into the only empty booth and waited for the smiling lady, rushing from patron to patron, to have time to take his order. He began to reflect on the unexpected events of the morning and was startled when Dot placed in front of him a big plate of country style steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, and green peas—just what he wanted.

“This one's on the house,” she beamed. “Your letter and my canceled note came in the mail this morning, Tim. I can't thank you enough."

“You're welcome,” was all the reply he thought necessary.

“You sure have made Tracy a happy woman,” Billy grinned as he carefully stuck the nozzle of the gasoline hose into the filler pipe of Tim's Mustang. “Computer stuff is all she talks about now."

The wailing sound of the Dot Volunteer Fire Department siren assaulted Tim's ears.

“Oh, shit,” Billy said, releasing the handle of the gasoline pump hose. “You're gonna have to finish this."

Billy dashed inside the service station and reappeared in less than two minutes wearing a fireman's protective suit and helmet. He climbed into his pickup as the fire truck, lights flashing and siren sounding, came up the Old Charlotte Road and turned left onto Highway 13.

Billy sat in his pickup listening to instructions on the two-way radio mounted under the dash. As he cranked the engine he shouted to Tim, “Ain't a house fire. There's been a bad wreck a couple of miles down 13."

Tim finished filling his tank, and waited in the office for Tracy to arrive.

“I wish he weren't a volunteer,” she said when she rang up the sale. “I always get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach wherever I hear that siren. He's going to get hurt one of these days. Of course, I don't know what Dot would do without the volunteers. We certainly can't afford to have paid firefighters."

Tim tried to reassure her. “Billy said it wasn't a house fire. He said it was a car wreck."

“Oh God,” she responded. “That's even worse. Gas tanks explode, you know."

Tim didn't feel right, leaving her there alone, so he stayed. They made small talk about the hardware store's new computer system. Together they heard and then saw the ambulance approaching from the Charlotte side of the Old Charlotte Road and not long afterward a wrecker emerged from the back of the Dot Racing Motors shop and headed east on Highway 13. More than an hour passed before the ambulance, red lights flashing and siren wailing, passed the Super Save on its return trip to Charlotte.

“It was the spider car,” Billy said, pulling off the fire-resistant suit. “Smashed into the Crooked Creek bridge abutment at high speed. The whole front-end was jammed into the passenger compartment. It looked as if he meant to do it. There were no skid marks at all."

“The Sheriff was driving?” Tim asked.

“Yeah. Could have been some kind of mechanical failure."

“Is he okay?” Tracy asked, searching Billy's eyes.

“No,” Billy responded somberly. “He's still alive, but I don't think he's gonna make it."

With one exception, the same group of people who met in the small conference room at 9:00 a.m. on Friday, November 1, reassembled at 3:30 p.m. the same day. They concentrated on a statement for the county manager to read at a press conference scheduled for 5:00. With little debate, the group approved a draft prepared by the county attorney.

It is with great sadness that we announce a double tragedy, which has occurred in our Sheriff's Department this day. Employees discovered the body of Deputy Cathy Long this morning in a county motel room. A thorough investigation is underway. At this time, it would appear she lost her life sometime during the early morning hours in the line of duty.

In an unrelated incident, Sheriff Matt Dilson suffered critical injuries in a single car accident late this afternoon on Highway 13. The cause of the accident is also under investigation but appears at this time to have resulted from mechanical failure.

Sandra turned from her computer, cross that Tim interrupted while her creative juices were flowing. Her characters had suddenly moved towards an unexpected activity and she was anxious to see just where the story was going. She scanned the headline of the Saturday morning newspaper he held out to her. “Sheriff Critically Injured: Deputy Slain."

She took the paper from him and hastily read the article. She refolded the paper and handed it back to him. “You can destroy the videos now,” she said, and she returned to her novel, which had become almost as real to her as life, itself.

Susan Honneycutt eased her hand through the thick layer of bubbles and cautiously tested the water temperature. It was a little warmer than she intended, but she stepped into the bubble bath anyway and slid her graceful body beneath the suds, causing the water level to rise and the overflow drain to become momentarily active. Because it was Saturday morning, she had slept late and then enjoyed her favorite activity—walking.

When she had first entered law school, the unexpected demand on her time resulted in many hours of sitting and snacking. Her five foot five inch delicate frame began to balloon. Her second year roommate solved the problem for her with two very simple suggestions—walk while studying and shorten her hair.

Cutting her waist length chestnut hair was emotionally painful. In spite of the compliments her boyish bob elicited from classmates and Vic, she still felt an important part of her personality had fallen to the floor along with the long tresses. Without question, the short style saved her an hour a day in terms of grooming. She could now wash her hair and let it dry naturally. One pass of the comb was all she needed.

She immediately liked the use of her feet as a major exercise program. The very first day she sensed her endorphins springing to life. Not only did the excess weight fade away, but also her overall feeling of good health improved. During law school, she studied her textbooks while walking. Now paperback novels took their place. She was determined to read all the classics she bypassed during her undergraduate years.

Susan leaned forward in the tub, placed her hands on her toes and slowly guided her palms up her legs, over her hips, across her slightly rounded tummy, over her breasts and around her neck. Conscious that her nipples were erect she sat up and studied them, squeezing the hard brown buds gently. She often wondered why her nipples were so much larger, proportionately, than her breasts, and why they became erect so easily. Unless she wore a thick bra, her nipples were likely to punch into a blouse at inappropriate times, causing embarrassment. When she did wear a heavy bra, the lack of flexibility was often slightly painful.

“Poor Vic,” she thought as she reclined and watched the dark nipples disappear under the bubbles. Victor Kimel was her blond-headed, hard-bodied boyfriend of approximately two years. Once, only once, she allowed him to slip his hand inside the left cup of her bra. He tried many times to do it again, but she would not let him. She knew he was fascinated, turned on, by her breasts and his touch gave her immense pleasure. She had come to the brink of giving him her virginity that night, and that was something she solemnly vowed to save for her wedding night. She knew it was an old-fashioned concept. She knew everybody did “it” these days. Nevertheless, it was a part of who she was, and she was determined not to give in to temptation.

This is not to say that she refrained from pleasuring herself. She did so often and owned a collection of devices, largely provided by her sister Mary Lou, to add variety to this solitary activity. Sexual gratification was not what she needed this morning. She needed to think through her sister's telephone conversation the previous night.

It was a confusing telephone call, but she thought she understood the facts correctly. Some old geezer in Dot retired. His son was supposed to take over his law practice, but backed out at the last minute. The old man refused to delay his retirement and gave the practice to a guy named Dollar who wasn't even a lawyer. Now this Dollar fellow was looking for an attorney to run the office. Mary Lou told her things had changed in Dot, and that this Dollar character was using his money for the good of the community. The small village was now showing signs of life, and there was even the possibility of growth—but not without a good attorney in town.

Susan could tell that Mary Lou wanted her to take the job. They had never been close, but they were good friends. If the practice were for sale, she would definitely be interested but only if she could pay a dollar down and a dollar a week. She did not want to work for a man who had no legal background.

Why hadn't she just told Mary Lou she wasn't interested? Why did she agree to drive to Dot this afternoon and talk with the Dollar guy? Friday morning she thought God had answered the prayer she had been praying for many weeks. Just before graduation, she applied to four firms, plus the one in Winston-Salem where she worked part time for the past two years. She had won interviews with the four other firms and received proposals from two of them. Friday morning she received an offer from the Winston-Salem firm. It didn't pay as much as the other two, but she knew the people and clientele. She promised to give them her decision on Monday morning, but even as she spoke the words, she knew she would accept the offer from the familiar firm.

Well, nuts, she thought. I'll just talk to the man and enjoy a weekend visit with Sis. Monday morning I'll accept the job in Winston.

She pulled the plug and watched the little whirlpool form as the bath water began to drain. She used her washcloth to remove the soap rings from the porcelain as the water receded. Just before the water finished draining, she stood up, closed the shower curtain, pushed in the button and turned the two faucets simultaneously. She loved bubble baths, but felt a shower was necessary for proper rinsing of the body.

“Yes ma'am,” Vic replied to a customer's question. “You'll find grow lights with other light bulbs and fixtures on aisle seven.” He smiled warmly at the blue-haired lady. “I agree they should be in the garden section. I'll mention it to the manager."

He resumed, without enthusiasm, the task of stocking a shelf with assorted boxes of machine screws. What the hell am I doing here? he thought.

Victor Kimel was not a happy man. All he ever wanted to do was work in retail. When he was a kid, he sold produce from his dad's vegetable garden to the neighbors, going from door to door. Later he sold boxes of Christmas cards to those same people. When he was ten he operated his own soft drink stand in the front yard of his parent's house and cut neighbors’ grass. At fourteen, he became a newspaper delivery boy and at sixteen, when he got his drivers’ license, he took a job as a delivery boy and soda jerk for the neighborhood drugstore. When he graduated from high school, the pharmacist/owner offered him a permanent job as a clerk. He wanted to take it, but his parents insisted on a college education, something they never had.