Midnight Crossroad (Page 28)
“Nice to meet you, Shawn. Yeah, I’m the newbie. I came in to pick up some stuff.”
“Sure. What you see is what we got.” Shawn swept his hand through the air to indicate the shelves of junk food and small necessities, like batteries and tissue and cooking oil. Shawn Lovell looked like Everyman. About five foot ten, short dark hair with a little gray, not thin or fat, clean-shaven, no scars or birthmarks or moles. If a movie role had called for a generic guy, Shawn Lovell would have been up for the part. But while he was smiling, he was wary; that was the interesting thing. Shawn was an easy read.
Manfred bought a Coca-Cola, a box of graham crackers, and some Slim Jims. He placed them on the counter and hauled out his wallet. He could hardly ask exactly where Creek was. He’d been sure he’d see her. “How are Connor and Creek? I mean, after what happened?” he asked, hoping to come at his goal sideways.
Shawn said, “They were pretty shaken up.” Though he almost sounded neutral, Manfred could feel the tension and anxiety in the man. He supposed that was natural in a father with teenagers who’d been exposed to the nastier side of life.
“I’m glad they didn’t see the body,” Manfred said.
“Me, too—especially Connor.” Immediately, Shawn looked as if he wished he hadn’t spoken.
Manfred was so tempted to say, “Why not Creek?” But he knew that any singular mention of Creek would be a mistake. “Glad they’re okay,” he said, his voice as neutral as Shawn’s had been. He took his bag of unnecessary purchases and turned to leave. “Good to meet you,” he added over his shoulder. “I think now I know everyone in town.”
“See you, man,” Shawn said. But he looked as if he hoped he wouldn’t see Manfred any time soon. The bell over the door rang as a patrol officer came in, and this time Shawn turned away as if he were glad this conversation was over.
Manfred nodded and left. As he walked back to his house, he thought, Shawn Lovell is one tense guy. I guess like everyone else here, he’s got a secret. Manfred was almost tempted to try to forget about Creek Lovell and her smooth skin and her intelligent eyes. Getting past her dad was going to be a piece of work. I should locate the nearest honky-tonk and meet a woman my own age, he thought, but the idea was kind of ridiculous. He was not much of a bar person. He liked parties well enough, but he didn’t know anyone in this area who’d invite him. He was not a churchgoer, he was not political, and he knew all too well the perils of meeting someone online.
Especially since Creek was so wonderful.
He shook himself. This was a circular train of thought and he had work to do. Manfred put the Coca-Cola in the refrigerator, the graham crackers on the shelf that served as his pantry, and the Slim Jims he slid into the drawer of his desk as emergency rations.
His phone rang, and he picked it up. “Bernardo the psychic,” he said. “Yes, Anita Lynn, tell me what’s troubling you today.” He settled in to listen. He noticed absently that the tree outside his east window was moving in the wind.
Across the street, that brisk wind was causing Fiji trouble. Her curly hair blew around her head like a light brown nimbus, and she couldn’t see a thing. She was kneeling next to the rose bed that ran around the low back porch, snipping the deadheads off the bushes. This was the last time she’d have to perform the task this year. Before long, the first frost would fall, and she’d prune the roses down for the winter and cover the soil with pine straw or hay.
Soon, very soon, she had to start putting out her elaborate Halloween decorations. What costume should she wear this year?
She was trying to think about anything besides Aubrey Hamilton Lowry.
“Fiji,” called a voice, and she was surprised, when she swiveled around and looked up, to see Bobo standing to her left. He’d come around the side of the house. His blond hair was blowing in the wind like hers, but his eyes were surrounded by dark circles and his clothes hung as though he’d lost ten pounds in the past two days. He looked like hell warmed over.
“Come have a seat on the back porch,” she said, trying to sound easy and natural. “I just got a little more to go.” Self-consciously, she bent again to finish her task, all too aware she was presenting her posterior to his view.
“Go get a Coke out of the refrigerator if you want one,” she called. “Or put on some coffee, if you’d rather.” He was out of his apartment. He’d come to her house. She tried not to feel an ignoble blast of jubilation.
Bobo went inside and returned with a cold drink. He didn’t speak, so neither did Fiji, and it seemed oddly companionable, her working while he watched. The sun on her back made her feel relaxed and a little drowsy. The pile of deadheads in the bucket mounded up in a satisfying way. She kept at her task until she could not find another single one to lop off.
“I’m scared to ask how you’re doing,” she said, heaving herself to her feet and stripping off the thick gloves. It was time for her to open her shop, but this was more important.
“I loved her, so I miss her. She died, and I’m sad. She lied to me, so I’m hurt. I have enemies, so I’m worried.”
Fiji couldn’t think of anything to say in the face of such honesty. She dusted off her hands before placing her clippers in the bucket along with her gloves. Setting the bucket aside to deal with later, she went in to pour some iced tea and came out to sit beside Bobo. She felt ridiculous, suddenly, that when she’d seen the gun, she’d had a split second where she’d believed it was possible Bobo had killed Aubrey.
But he had not told her everything. She wasn’t in doubt about that.
“You better tell me about the enemies part,” she said. She’d brought some Keebler chocolate chip cookies, and she put them on the little table between their chairs. She didn’t care if it was nine in the morning, they were Bobo’s favorites. Absently, Bobo took one and ate it in two bites. Then another. She wondered how long it had been since he had something to eat.
“My grandfather owned a lot of businesses,” he said. He stared across Fiji’s well-planted backyard. Mr. Snuggly stared back, but Bobo’s gaze didn’t see anything closer than a thousand yards away. “Best of all, when I was a kid, was the sporting goods store. Before the big box stores opened in Little Rock, people would drive for miles to see it. It was really big.” A ghost of a smile passed across Bobo’s face. “He also had a lumberyard and a construction company. He was silent partner in some other stuff. I was in and out of his and Gram’s house my whole life. My dad worked for him. This was in Shakespeare, Arkansas.” He smiled at her. “Big fish, small pond.”