The Wedding Circle (8 page)

She pointed to their mothers out on the deck, then to the men whooping it up across the room. “The truth is, I'd give anything to be a fly on the railing out there. Not to mention that Daddy is over there by the fireplace telling his god-awful bawdy jokes, and your father and uncle seem to be birds of a feather with it all. What's not to like about that?”

He swirled his snifter of Courvoisier and tilted his head. “Yep, I'd say it's going pretty smoothly. And you're right—I can hear those punch lines from here. They're pretty stale.”

“Never mind that. I think
The Robber Bridegroom
review tomorrow will be the capper for your new in-laws. They'll see that The Cherry Cola Book Club is my greatest achievement to date.”

“But it'll soon take a backseat to the new library,” Jeremy added, hoisting his snifter.

“Well said. You don't know how long I've waited for my parents to appreciate why I've always wanted to be a librarian. It's ridiculous that they've made me feel defensive about it.”

Maura Beth's smile grew even wider as her mother and Susan McShay finally came in from the deck and joined Connie for what looked like more girl talk. “I think we're going to be just fine,” she told Jeremy, observing their body language from afar. “And that's not my cordial talking.”

7

Trouble in Takeoutland

B
arry Bevins was beginning to worry. He thought he knew all the back roads in and around Greater Cherico, but now he had to admit it. He was lost. He'd been driving around in the fading light for over fifteen minutes, trying to locate the takeout order address. He'd even called The Twinkle on his cell phone to reconfirm it.

“Yes, Barry,” Periwinkle had told him. “You don't have it written down wrong. 305 Littlejohn Lane is what I'm showing here. You're on the right road. I'm sure you'll find it soon. But give me another shout if you need help.”

Barry ended the call and then focused on the folly of it all. This was what came of Miz Peri buying a used panel van instead of something new that had a GPS system. And his mother had refused to let him get a fancy cell phone with that particular app. Too expensive, she had told him. But perhaps this latest incident would persuade her to let him upgrade.

Nonetheless, he was becoming so rattled that he turned off the Hunter Hayes CD he'd been listening to right in the middle of his favorite country music cut—“I Want Crazy.” Well, he certainly seemed to have gotten his wish. The dilapidated houses out this way were getting fewer and farther between with each minute of travel. The last mailbox he'd been able to make out as he passed it in the fading light had read: 212 Littlejohn Lane. But this was no city street filled with next-door neighbors who were always ready to lend a hand. It was one of those winding country roads—the kind with no line of sight and the sort of dangerous curves that could cause careless or drunk drivers to have wrecks. But when it changed from smooth asphalt to bumpy, noisy gravel, Barry knew it was time to turn around and ask directions. He'd remembered his mother's comments on that particular subject once. “Men never stop and get help. I know that shiftless father of yours never did!” she'd declared.

So it was with no small degree of apprehension that he pulled over to the side of the road and slid out of the front seat of the van as he approached the little shack at 212 Littlejohn Lane. There were lights on inside, but the place had seen better days—if it had ever had any at all. The flimsy columns seemed to be struggling to hold up the roof, and there was clutter everywhere along the sagging front porch: an old tire leaning against the wall, a couple of rusty folding chairs, a watering can, stacks of magazines weighted down by bricks, and several terra cotta flower pots filled with dirt but with nothing growing in them. There was also a faded sign staked in the middle of the weedy yard that read:
BEWARE OF DOG.
Thankfully, there was no barking to be heard, and it even flashed into Barry's head that the dog had either died or wised up and wandered off for greener pastures.

He had not even reached the porch steps when a tall, slim man opened the front door and stepped out. Backlit the way he was with Barry looking up at him, he was just a dark figure with vague features, and therefore somewhat disturbing to behold. Echoes of slasher movies filled his head.

“Kin I hep ye?” the man said, his voice thin and high-pitched.

Barry froze in his tracks, swallowed hard, and took a deep breath to steady himself. “Yessir, I think I'm lost. Can you tell me where 305 Littlejohn Lane is? I have to deliver some food to a Mr. Donny Derbin, and it's gettin' cold. The food, I mean. Not the weather.”

The man cackled. “Ain't no sich address, son. Ain't no Mr. Derbin out here, neither. Road turns to gravel about a half mile farther down. After that, it's just yer piney woods and whatnot roamin' around in 'em.”

“You sure?”

“About the whatnot?”

“No, sir. About the address.”

“Son, I've lived out here all my life. Even after my wife died, I stayed put outta respect to her memory. Believe me, I'd know if anyone new come out this-a-way.” The man cackled again, turning up the volume this time. “I hate to be the one t'tell ya, but I think somebody's played a joke on ye, son. Somebody's done got the best of ye.”

Instantly, Barry knew the man was right. He had that same queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that he got every time his math teacher, Miss Yeomans, was about to hand out one of her famous pop quizzes—which he had yet to pass.

“Ye know how to git back to Cherico from here?” the man continued.

“Yeah,” Barry answered, shaking his head in disgust at his predicament. “But thanks for your help.” Then he started walking back to the van but turned just as he passed the yard sign. “By the way, mister, if you don't mind my askin'—what happened to your dog?”

“Heh?” the man called out.

“Your dog? The ‘Beware the dog' sign you got here?”

There was more cackling. “Oh! Never had me one. Just figgered the sign'd be enough to keep people from stealin' my stuff!”

“Gotcha,” Barry said, cracking a smile as he wondered who in hell would be remotely interested in anything he'd seen on the front porch or that might be hidden or hoarded inside. “You have a good night now.”

The man's cackling rose to a crescendo. “Come out this-a-way and visit me anytime, y'hear?”

“Umm-hmm,” Barry answered, still smiling.

So now there was nothing left to do but give The Twinkle another call, let them know what had happened, and then head on back.

“Well, I'll be damned!” Periwinkle exclaimed when he gave her the rundown. “We've never had that happen before!”

Barry was sitting on the front seat, shaking his head with the cell phone held to his ear. “No, ma'am, we haven't. Whaddaya make of it?”

Periwinkle hesitated briefly, but then came out swinging. “I'm thinkin' I have a real good idea what's going on, son. But you let me handle it in my own way. You just get back here safely now!”

Barry told her he would, put the phone down on the passenger seat, and then started the engine. He was totally preoccupied with what his employer had said as he drove along, slowly retracing his journey out from town. But not so much that he failed to notice the vehicle that came up fast behind him, seemingly out of nowhere. Had it been lying in wait for him somewhere on some side road, just waiting for him to pass by? That was definitely a creepy thought. Whoever was driving it had their high beams on, and it was nearly blinding him. He put his hand in front of the rearview mirror, trying to block the light and instinctively slowing down. Then he took a chance and braked quickly a couple of times, hoping to get his pursuer off his tail. That only brought an angry-sounding flurry of honks from behind. The driver flashed his headlights several times in a row before settling on the high beams once again. More images of slasher movies flashed into Barry's head.

He was beginning to panic as more adrenaline coursed through his veins. He realized with a growing sense of alarm that he was out in the middle of nowhere, driving in the dark with someone following him who might be drunk or maybe drugged out or something even worse than that. If he pulled over to the side, would the other car do the same? Who knew what could happen then? It would probably be useless as well as dangerous to try and outrun him. But at least he had his cell phone and could call for help. He picked it up and punched in The Twinkle's number on speed dial while carefully steering with one hand.

“Miz Periwinkle,” he began, with the vehicle still tailgating him, “I think I'm in big trouble!” Then he gave her all the harrowing details, breathing hard in between sentences.

“Damn him!” Periwinkle cried out without even thinking about what she was saying. “I can't believe he's gone this far! Listen, Barry, whatever you do, don't stop. I'll call the sheriff's department for you when we hang up. Lon Dreyfus'll send someone out your way pronto. One of his deputies'll put a stop to all that. Are you still on Littlejohn Lane?”

“Yes'm. It goes on for miles out here. I'll be on it a while longer,” he told her, squinting in an attempt to lessen the effect of the glare behind him. He might as well have had a comet on his tail.

“All right, then. You hang up and concentrate real hard on your driving. I promise you, I'm gonna get him off our backs if it's the last thing I do. This is probably all my fault. I should've just gone on ahead and gotten that restraining order when I had half a mind to.”

“Get
who
off our backs, Miz Periwinkle? Who you gonna restrain?”

“Never you mind. Just you hang up and pay attention, son!”

Barry tossed the cell phone on the seat again and took another deep breath to try and calm himself. This was a nightmare, and he was even starting to fear for his life. The car behind could have passed him many miles back. They were the only two vehicles on this little-used road. So at the very least, harassing him was clearly the objective here. If this sort of thing came with the job, no amount of money was worth it. If he made it back to The Twinkle in one piece, he was seriously considering quitting right then and there. He even started practicing his resignation speech out loud as he tensely gripped the steering wheel. If nothing else, it kept him from contemplating a world of worst-case scenarios.

Suddenly, salvation appeared in the distance in the form of flashing blue lights, rapidly heading his way. And even if he got arrested for speeding, so would the insane tailgater behind him. He could feel the relief flowing from his hands gripping the steering wheel all the way down to his foot, which had practically melted into the gas pedal. All he had to do was not take his eyes off the pavement in front of him. Just a minute or two more, and he would be saved. If he could just hold on . . .

 

Periwinkle's intention had been to finish off the last ten pages of
The Robber Bridegroom
for the review tomorrow during the lull between the lunch and dinner services. It was downtime she always looked forward to in the midst of her busy day. An hour or so for a long, tall glass of sweet tea, putting her feet up on her office desk and “just chillin',” as the kids were fond of saying. But a couple of unexpected food delivery emergencies had tied her up and scotched her plans. It had been that sort of day.

Earlier during the lunch service there had also been an uneasy moment when she had just happened to look up as she cleared away the salad plates for the young couple dining at the small table near the front window. She could have sworn the man standing across the street in boots and jeans and staring directly at The Twinkle was her Harlan; but she could not be completely sure because whoever it was had his wide-brimmed cowboy hat pulled down so low over his face that his features were in shadow. Nonetheless, the tall physique looked familiar, and the idea that her ex might still be stalking her made her shudder. By the time she returned with the en-trées, however, the man was gone.

And now, after hanging up with the sheriff's dispatcher in the midst of the current crisis, reading
The Robber Bridegroom
was the last thing on her mind. It was all she could do to keep Lalie Bevins from becoming hysterical about the developing crisis on Littlejohn Lane.

“Don't worry,” she kept saying to her distraught waitress. “There's a patrol car going out there right now. I'm sure everything'll turn out just fine. It's been my experience that those flashing blue lights always put the fear of God in people. Hey, it's always made my stomach fall to the soles of my shoes whenever I see 'em in my rearview mirror.”

But Lalie was inconsolable, working her hands into a nervous tangle and hyperventilating as the entire staff gathered around in the kitchen to support and comfort her. “How do you know, Miz Peri? There are some crazy drivers around Cherico. And there's one of'em out there right now botherin' my little boy!”

“The officer'll call us as soon as everything's resolved,” Periwinkle continued, nervously chewing her gum and gently patting Lalie on the shoulder. “And I just know Barry'll be okay. He's a smart kid.”

“Well, I
don't
know. Maybe we shouldn't send him out so late at night like this,” she said, absentmindedly wiping her hands on her apron as if they were wet. Anything to try to smooth away the awful stress that had enveloped her.

“It's not a bad thought, Peri,” Mr. Place added. “We could cut off the delivery service after seven if you want to. These addresses are always easier to find in broad daylight.”

Periwinkle took the suggestion under consideration, but she had no intention of sharing her nagging suspicions with the rest of the crew. Namely, that it was Harlan John Lattimore up to no good out there on the back roads of Cherico. That it was he and his petty scheming that had sent Barry on this wild goose chase of a delivery. After all, she had chosen not to tell anyone, not even Maura Beth, about the altercation with him a while back. Oh, there was that one time she had picked up the phone and started to let Maura Beth in on everything, but she had relented at the last second. She knew Maura Beth was all caught up in her wedding plans and the little psycho-dramas that accompanied dealing with her parents. Plus, there was the upcoming
Robber Bridegroom
review and all the preparations it entailed. So, for the moment, it was much more important to be supportive of Lalie and to trust that they would all soon be greeting her son alive and well and none the worse for wear. The worst-case scenario was just unthinkable.

“Yes, the daylight helps,” Periwinkle said, but her tone was noncommittal. “Meanwhile, I think we have a couple of desserts to serve to our customers out there, so let's follow through, gang. Parker, would you please take care of that for us and give Lalie a little rest?”

“Thanks,” Lalie managed, trying her best to smile. But her eyes gave her away, darting around the room looking for a safe haven somewhere. Her efforts were futile, however. It was clear that she would not be able to rest until her baby boy was once again safely in the fold.