Tough Customer (5 page)

Without another word, she left the office. Berry stared after her, puzzled by her mother's uncharacteristic rudeness.

"Must be important," the sheriff observed out loud.

Berry echoed, "Must be."

DODGE CURSED THE TOUCH-SCREEN KEYBOARD ON HIS CELL phone, wondering who in the hell had fingers small enough to actually type something on it. "Damn computer geeks," he muttered.

Of course it would help if, at the same time he was trying to peck out his message, he wasn't also driving an unfamiliar car and lighting a cigarette.

Finally he gave up on getting the text typo-free and sent it with only a few misspellings. The important thing was, Caroline would receive the message that he was on his way to Merritt.

He still couldn't quite believe that, after thirty years and counting, Caroline had contacted him. She'd called with a desperate plea for help. For Berry, not for herself.

I'm not asking you to help
me,

Dodge,
she had said.

Well, good,
he'd said back. Because if she'd asked him for a personal favor, he would have hung up on her. He was certain he would have. Probably. Maybe.

But Caroline was too clever to take that approach. Instead, she'd called him for their kid's sake. He would look like a real bastard if he didn't at least show up and check things out, wouldn't he?

Derek and Julie had thought so, and they'd told him as much. Insisting on driving him to the airport, they'd packed him into their car without further ado. They'd even ushered him through the ticket-purchasing process and seen him as far as the security checkpoint, mistrusting that he would follow through on his reluctant decision to go.

Throughout the flight, he'd told himself that he could always hook a U-turn at the Houston airport and fly right back to Georgia. Or he could go someplace else for a few days. Mexico sounded good. Tequila and brown-eyed ladies. Or a Caribbean island. Many to choose from. All had girls in string bikinis that matched the potent pastel drinks. Yeah, sand, surf, and getting tanked sounded good.

Instead, he had called Caroline as soon as he landed at Intercontinental, before the plane had even taxied to the gate.

When she answered, she'd sounded breathless--relieved?--and told him it wasn't convenient for her to talk just then but she would text him directions to their meeting place. With the text message, she'd added a postscript, asking that he text her when he was in his rental car and on his way.

Which he'd done, and now, he was ninety minutes away from seeing her.

The thought of it filled him with a sick anxiety that made him mad at himself. He would make it clear to her from the get-go that he wasn't about to get sucked into any mess not of his making. He had come only to listen, provide some advice if he could, and then leave. If at any point he determined that she was crying wolf, he would tell her to go to hell, that she was on her own, which was the way she had wanted it. Well, wasn't it?

He should have told her that last night the instant she identified herself. He should have hung up, finished his cigarette, then rolled over and gone back to sleep.

Instead he'd got up, showered, and dressed. He'd even packed a suitcase, on the outside chance he lost his senses and heeded her summons.

While waiting for daylight to come so he could go see Derek with the hope of being refused time off, he'd sat there in his shabby room, on his sad double bed, staring into the lonely darkness, wondering again if the call had been a dream.

Because before that, he hadn't dreamed about Caroline in ... hmm ... at least three, four nights.

He had never been to Merritt, wasn't even sure he'd ever heard of it before. He took the interstate north out of Houston, then exited onto a four-lane divided highway that angled slightly east for about seventy miles until he left it for a two-lane highway that cut due east, cleaving a pine forest like the straight and narrow shaft of an arrow.

It was beautiful country, the kind of forested terrain that most people didn't associate with Texas, which typically called to mind barren plains, tumbleweeds, and oil derricks silhouetted against an endless sky. There were plenty of oil and gas wells in East Texas, too, but the dense forests concealed them. In this part of the state, the sky looked smaller, closer.

Twenty miles outside of Merritt, he began seeing billboards advertising bait shops and taxidermy services, public piers, lake resort communities, cabins for rent, and RV campgrounds. A mile out, he spotted a pink and white sign for Mabel's Tearoom, and his stomach did a somersault.

Mabel's Tearoom. On your left as you approach town, just inside the city limit sign. 2:30.
That had been Caroline's reply to his text.

He glanced at the dashboard clock and saw that he was just going to make it by the appointed time. Actually, he'd hoped to arrive early, so that he could already be there when she came in, and he would see her before she saw him.

Thirty years could do a lot of damage. He wondered how Caroline had withstood time. Her hair might have gone gray. She could be wrinkled, flabby, fat. If so, by comparison, he would look reasonably good.

But what he feared was that his manner of living for the past three decades was going to be glaringly apparent. She would see lines in his face that had been etched by vices, hard living, and a total disregard for his health.

Too late to worry about it, though. The damage had been done, and he was here.

Mabel's Tearoom had lacy curtains in the windows and pink geraniums in white wood planters on either side of the entrance. He wondered which of the three cars parked in front was Caroline's.

He was glad he'd taken time at the airport to get his shoes shined. Maybe he should have got a haircut, too, and a professional shave, but then he wouldn't have made it here by two-thirty.

He'd love another cigarette. Just one puff might sustain him through the next few seconds. But...

He pushed open the door and walked in. Announcing his arrival, a little bell above the door jangled, sounding to him as loud and portentous as Big Ben. The place was a single room. Three of the little tables were occupied. One by Caroline.

When he spotted her, his turncoat heart stuttered and stalled. Jesus, she was beautiful. Absolutely, positively, breathtakingly as beautiful to him as the last time he'd seen her.

Being the only person in the place with testicles, he felt about as agile and inconspicuous as a woolly mammoth as he walked toward her. She stood as he approached and stuck out her right hand.

Well, that was one question answered: There would be no hug. Not even a long time, no see one.

"Dodge, thank you for coming."

Even though he hadn't immediately recognized her voice on the telephone last night, probably because it would have been the last one he expected to hear, the years hadn't altered it. Though now it had a flutter, like maybe she was just as nervous to see him again as he was to see her.

"I was afraid you wouldn't," she said.

"I started not to."

She released his hand immediately after giving it one firm shake, then resumed her seat. He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. Then for a time they just looked at each other.

Her hair was lighter than he remembered. Maybe she was using blond to cover up strands of gray. Whatever, he liked it. It was still that rich cinnamon color that he'd never seen on anyone before or since.

Sherry-colored eyes. Once, when he'd waxed poetic--poetic for him, anyway--about her coloring, she'd laughed.

Cinnamon and sherry? I think you read that in a recipe book.
And he'd replied,

He'd bet he could still encircle her waist with his hands. A strong wind could blow her away. Upon closer inspection, he saw a few fine lines at the corners of her eyes, and there was a slight softening of the skin along her jaw, but her complexion was flawless and appeared as soft as ever, and looking at her made him ache all over.

He sensed that this lengthy perusal was as painful for her as it was for him. Painful for him because he couldn't gobble up the sight of her fast enough, and painful for her because she was seeing in his face the corrosive effects of the life he'd lived since she'd last seen him.

She cleared her throat. "How was your drive?"

"Fine."

"Traffic?"

"Not too bad."

"No problem with my directions?"

"I got here." He tried to smile, but his lips felt stiff.

"Welcome to Mabel's. What can I get y'all?"

Dodge hadn't realized the waitress had approached. Feeling helpless, he looked across at Caroline for guidance. She said, "I'll have Darjeeling, please."

He had no idea in hell what that was. Forcing his lips to move, he asked if they had regular Coke, and when the lady said yes, he ordered one.

"Anything to eat? Our apricot scones are worth the calories."

"Nothing for me," Caroline said.

"Me neither, thanks."

She left to get their drinks. Dodge didn't know then, or remember later, what the server looked like, if she was young, old, tall, short, skinny, plump, if she was disappointed that they hadn't tried the apricot scones or if she didn't give a flip and only wanted her shift to be over so she could get out of there. He was functioning in a vacuum.

Caroline must have sensed his uneasiness. "I chose this place because I've never been here. I know a lot of people in town, and it's a friendly community. I thought our first meeting should be where it was unlikely we'd be interrupted."

He wanted to ask what would have been wrong about meeting at her house, but he already knew the answer. She would want to meet in a public place, where a scene was less likely to occur.

"This is fine. Just awfully..." He glanced around. "Frilly."

She smiled, and that made him relax a little.

"I don't know where to start," she said. "I don't know anything about your life in Atlanta."

"What do you want to know?"

"Why there?"

"That's where I ran out of gas. Thought it was as good a place as any."

"You joined the police force?"

"Fulton County Sheriff's Office. They had an immediate opening. I started as an investigator. Good job. Good benefits. Stayed with it for twenty-five years. But the city grew, mostly in self-importance. The office got very button-down. I was getting sick of all the rules and regulations.

"Then I solved a case and had to testify at trial. That's where I met Derek Mitchell, attorney at law. He cross-examined me. We were on opposing sides, but we impressed each other. He asked if I would be interested in working for him as his firm's investigator."

"Less button-down?"

He shrugged. "It's been all right so far."

"It was very generous of Mr. Mitchell to let you leave to come here on such short notice."

"As bosses go, he's okay."

She rearranged her legs beneath the table and took great care with smoothing the napkin in her lap, keeping her eyes down. "Do you have a family?"

"No."

She raised her head and looked across at him. "You never married?"

He replied with a guffaw. "Don't I wish."

She appeared on the verge of giving way to natural curiosity and asking about his marital status but didn't. Wisely, he thought.

Instead, she said, "You didn't know until last night that I was a widow."

"Nope."

"I'm still in real estate. Did you know that?"

"Figured as much."

"I thought you might have. ... I mean, your being an investigator by trade, I thought you would have--"

"Kept track of you over the years?"

"Frankly, yes."

"Frankly, I did. For a while. Then I ... stopped."

"Lost interest?"

"Lost hope."

He sounded pathetic even to his own ears. Practically growling, he said, "I don't suppose smoking is allowed in here."

Her head went back several inches. "You
smoke
?"

That caused him to laugh. "I don't actually smoke. I just inhale. Smoking takes too long to get the nicotine into my bloodstream."

"When did you start smoking?"

"Thirty years ago."

The significance of the time frame didn't escape her. She held his gaze for several beats, then said, "You should quit."

"What for?"

Their stare held until the waitress returned with her tea and his Coke, which was served in one of the vintage bottles accompanied by a slender glass of ice sitting on a little china plate with a white paper doily underneath it. They didn't have Coke in ordinary cans in Merritt, Texas? He didn't touch anything, afraid he'd break something.

Caroline thanked the waitress, spooned sugar into her cup, then poured steaming tea out of a little white pot with pink flowers painted on it. "It's still weak. I didn't let it steep long enough," she remarked.

Okay, enough of this bullshit.
"You gonna talk to me, or what?"

She set her spoon in the saucer. It clinked against the cup as though her hand might not have been quite steady. She looked across at him. "Last night, in my house, a man was shot and seriously wounded. Berry was there."

Dodge placed his elbow on the edge of the table and cupped his mouth with his hand. For the next quarter hour, Caroline talked, pausing only occasionally to emphasize a point or to organize her thoughts. He listened without interrupting her. He would gladly have sat there looking into her face and listening to her voice until his vices caught up with him and his heart stopped.

But eventually, she paused and took a deep breath. "Around noon we had a brief meeting with the sheriff," she said. "Tom Drummond. He's a nice man. We're social friends. He's held the office for as long as anyone can remember. Berry talked through last night's event with him, although I think that meeting was more of a courtesy to me than anything. Tom's duties are basically administrative. He relies on Deputy Nyland for investigative work."