Читать книгу Firefly Nights - Cynthia Thomason, Cynthia Thomason - Страница 10
ОглавлениеADAM AND KITTY rode in the back of the patrol car to the downtown area of Sorrel Gap, North Carolina. The police station was a redbrick building on a shady two-lane street of similar structures designed to capture a historic feel.
Sheriff Oakes’s office was sparsely furnished with three desks, a few filing cabinets and a gun rack. There was one other person in the office, a plump, fiftysomething woman. She stood up when they came in and appraised the prisoners with a disapproving eye. “These the folks who stole from the Value-Rite, Virgil?” she asked.
“Yep. This is Kitty Watley and her son, Adam. Folks, this is my wife, Wanda Oakes.”
“How do you do,” Kitty said, attempting a smile. Good manners couldn’t hurt.
The woman nodded, disturbing tight gray curls in a nest on her head. “I knew something like this would happen,” she said to her husband. “Once the Value-Rite opened, we’d have a crime wave, and you and I would end up working most Sundays.” She handed a piece of paper to the sheriff. “Quint called from the store. He said the boy stole fifteen hundred and twenty dollars’ worth of merchandise. Only a cordless mouse for $69.97 wasn’t damaged.”
Kitty stared at her son in disbelief. “A cordless mouse? We didn’t even bring your computer.”
“That’s a serious crime, son,” Sheriff Oakes said.
“Look, I can get the money,” Adam said. “If you’d just let me make my one phone call...”
“No, Adam,” Kitty said. “You’re not calling anyone.”
The office phone rang and Wanda picked it up. “It’s Tommy,” she said, handing the phone to her husband.
He listened, mumbled a brief response and hung up. “That was my deputy, Miss Watley, calling from where you left your truck. He traced the temporary tag to a dealer and says the vehicle is registered in your name. Your story checks out.”
Thank goodness the car dealership had accepted her old driver’s license as proof of identity. Of course when a person paid cash for a junker, not many questions were asked.
“Look, Sheriff,” Adam said. “My mom and me—we’re stinkin’ ri—”
Kitty clamped a hand over his mouth. “Not now, Adam.”
Sheriff Oakes asked for Kitty’s driver’s license. She could honestly say it was in her stolen wallet. “Run a check on her name anyway,” Oakes said to his wife. “See if there are any warrants in Florida.”
“There aren’t,” Kitty said.
Oakes did a quick head-to-toe appraisal of Adam. “And no rap sheet on the boy?”
“Of course not,” Kitty said, though the words not yet came to her mind. “Adam was just trying to help me.”
“Seems like he only made things worse,” Oakes said.
“Sheriff, what can we do? What I told you about my money being stolen is true. I can’t pay for that merchandise. But I’d be glad to work off the debt. I’ll do anything you say that will make up for what my son did today.”
The sheriff rubbed a thumb over his upper lip. “Well, Miss Watley, that’s mighty generous of you, but you weren’t the one who stole that stuff.”
She felt color rise to her cheeks. She was doing exactly what her father had always done. She was making excuses and offering solutions for her son’s behavior. Maybe now was the time to show Adam that he had to be responsible for his mistakes. They’d come to a symbolic crossroads in the town of Sorrel Gap, and, as desperate as they were, Kitty decided it was time her son took the proper path.
“You’re right, Sheriff,” she said. “It was Adam who stole that merchandise. And I’ll make sure he does whatever you think is appropriate punishment for his crime.” She paused when another pain knotted her stomach. This time she analyzed it as a symptom of parental guilt. She wasn’t blameless in all this. She was Adam’s mother, and her complacent acceptance of Owen’s dominance all these years made her responsible by default for what Adam did. She looked at Sheriff Oakes and said, “But I’m still his mother, and I’ll do my part to make up for what happened.”
Adam gulped. “What are you saying, Mom?”
“You’re not going to get out of this so easily, Adam.” She waited for Oakes’s reaction. “What do you think, Sheriff? We’ll do whatever you say.”
“Kitty,” he began with an almost fatherly patience, “I hate to see a boy head down a road of crime. I surely do, but this being Sunday, I suppose I’ll have to remand him over to juvenile until tomorrow when he can appear before the county court judge...”
Kitty’s empty stomach plunged, and she fought a wave of nausea. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but certainly not this. Not a detention facility. Maybe she could call Bette, ask her for more money. But fifteen hundred dollars plus the fine, and truck repairs...
And then Wanda Oakes called her husband over to speak privately. But in a compact office, privacy wasn’t an option, and Kitty heard most of what she said.
“Virgil, Campbell comes home from the hospital today,” Wanda whispered.
“I know.”
“I’ve asked everyone in those hills to look after him. Even offered a small salary. Nobody has time what with planting going on now. Plus, it’s not like your nephew’s tried to fit in with us since coming home. Folks may admire what he did in Iraq, but he’s changed.”
“It’s the accident, Wanda,” the sheriff argued. “He’s had a hard time.”
“I think it’s more than that. Every time I ask him what happened over there in Raleigh, he says he doesn’t want to talk about it. If you ask me, he’s been in the city too long.”
“I know he’s been secretive, but he served his country. He’s due a little privacy.”
Wanda sniffed. “Fine, but I’m just telling you. No one’s going to put themselves out for him. And he flat out refused to come live with us till his leg and ribs are healed. Let’s face it. I’m the one who’ll be stuck going out to that place every day to see to his needs.”
The sheriff scratched his neck. “Are you going somewhere with all this, Wanda?”
She passed a furtive look at Kitty before mumbling something about working off the theft, community service and totaling up the debt to Sorrel Gap.
“Do you think Quint will go for it?” the sheriff asked.
“I’ll call him and ask, but I know he will. He’ll want this incident to go away quietly so he doesn’t get any bad press on the opening weekend of his store.”
Virgil shrugged. “I suppose it could work. At least the bill will get paid. Plus, we’d be saving the county what it costs to keep the boy at the detention center.” After a moment the sheriff returned to Kitty and Adam. “My wife and I are good judges of character,” he said. “We can see that you two are good people deep down.”
Kitty held her breath. This sounded like a snow job. Even so, she was willing to listen. Whatever Oakes was about to say might be their only hope of getting back on the road.
“Do you have time before you have to be in Charlotte?” Oakes asked.
“Yes, sir. Some.”
“And you’ll guarantee that your boy will take care of all debt to the village of Sorrel Gap and the Value-Rite?”
“Yes. Adam?”
“What?”
She pinched his arm.
“Okay, jeez!”
Sheriff Oakes grinned. “Then there might be a solution to this problem.” He leaned against a desk and crossed his arms. “My nephew comes home from the hospital today. He had a little crash with his airplane and busted up his leg pretty good.”
A little crash? Kitty pictured wrecked metal and broken limbs.
“He’s a fine fella,” the sheriff continued. “An Iraq war hero. Lives in a place down the road with lots of rooms. I don’t guess he needs any serious nursing. Just general care. If you can see clear to staying out there and looking after him for a spell, and if your boy agrees to work with Quint over at the Value-Rite, I expect I can convince a judge and the citizens of Sorrel Gap to call your debt paid.”
Was the sheriff acting a bit too casual? At this point, doubts flooded Kitty’s mind. What exactly would their living arrangements be? How would she get along without her truck? And sure, the sheriff vouched for his nephew, but he was a complete stranger to her and Adam. He could be a jerk or worse.
As if sensing her reluctance, Sheriff Oakes stood straight and stared at her. “It’s a fair solution, young lady,” he said. “I guarantee you’ll be treated right, and once this debt is paid, you’ll be free to move on.”
The sheriff waited for her answer, his features stern. Kitty knew she was out of options. It was this deal or detention and court for Adam—with all the evidence rightly stacked against him. She could put off her entrance to the design school if that meant Adam wouldn’t be incarcerated. And since Oakes had said his nephew was in a plane crash, chances were his leg injury was severe. If she and Adam felt threatened by him, they could outrun him to the nearest neighbor’s house to find help. And he was a veteran. That was a detail in his favor.
She took a deep breath, glanced at Adam, whose disbelief was etched in his features. The best part about Oakes’s proposition was its benefit to her son. He’d finally learn that his actions had consequences. She put her hand on Adam’s shoulder. “I’m ready to accept this deal, Sheriff,” she said.
Adam gasped. She ignored him. “But I still have a problem with my truck. How will Adam and I get around?”
“My nephew has a Jeep,” he said. “He might let you use it once you gain his trust. But your first obligation is to him. I don’t want to hear that you’re driving around Spooner County on joy rides.”
Kitty almost smiled. As if she could do anything remotely joyful on thirty-seven dollars. In her old life, that didn’t even cover a haircut. She nodded. “Agreed.”
They could do this, look in on the sheriff’s relative while Adam worked off his debt. Plus, there was an added bonus. They had a place to stay and Owen would never think to look for them in Sorrel Gap. “We’ll do our best,” she added.
“I know you will, Kitty, and to show my appreciation, I’ll have your truck towed into town at our expense.” He grinned. “But I’ll keep the keys here in the office until this matter’s settled.”
“Mom!” Adam wailed.
Ignoring the sheriff’s veiled warning, she said to Adam, “Would you rather go to the detention facility?”
He mumbled a brusque “No.”
Kitty pressed her keys into the sheriff’s outstretched hand. “Can I ask one question?”
“Now’s the time.”
“How long until I get those back?”
He gave the keys to Wanda. “A few weeks maybe. Give or take. Fifteen hundred dollars is a lot of money, especially when the boy can’t work more than three or four hours a day. But it’s pretty country here. Might be the best summer you folks ever had.”
Adam grabbed her hand. “The whole summer?”
“No, surely not,” Kitty whispered to him. “Not if you work real hard.” But Kitty still had her doubts, both about her son and the man they were dedicating the next weeks to. But they were committed now. “We’ll need our personal things from the truck,” she said to Oakes.
“I’ll have my deputy run them out to you later. But I’ll take you to Campbell’s place now so you can settle in.”
Kitty walked to the door with Adam reluctantly beside her. When she looked over her shoulder to say goodbye to Mrs. Oakes, the woman appeared quite satisfied with the arrangements. Blissfully so.
* * *
AFTER A TWENTY-MINUTE ride in the patrol car down a narrow, two-lane road, Kitty was beginning to wonder if they were ever going to get to the home of Sheriff Oakes’s nephew. But the scenery was beautiful—summertime green and lush—and she found herself relaxing despite her misgivings and listening to Sheriff Oakes’s description of Sorrel Gap history.
The town had begun to thrive as a tourist destination once the four-lane road called the Spooner County Expressway opened in 1980. Before that, this narrow highway, which Oakes told her was called Old Sorrel Gap Road, was truly nestled in the elbow of two ridges of foothills rising from each side.
Kitty expected to see lavish homes bordering the country road, so she was surprised when they drove past an abandoned gas station and a couple of vacant clapboard buildings. “How much farther?” she asked the sheriff.
He pointed to a vague spot in the distance. “The Saddle Top Motel’s just over that rise.”
A motel? Good news. She and Adam wouldn’t be alone with Oakes’s nephew after all. There would be guests and employees around. When the car crested the hill, she spied a tall metal pole with a rusted oval sign on top. Then she saw the motel—a one-story brick building baking in the noon sun like a sedentary caterpillar. The sign on top of the pole proclaimed its identity.
Kitty made out the faded image of what might have been an engaging old cowpoke in chaps and stocking cap—years ago. His arm jerked crazily up and down in the wind, pointing first at the sky and then at the faded words, Saddle Top Mountain Motel. All of the letters except for the first ones in each word had paled to near obscurity. Three lightbulbs, out of an entire ring of empty sockets, clung stubbornly around the perimeter of the sign.
“Where the heck are we?” Adam asked. He’d sat up and had flattened both hands to the passenger window. His expression had transformed from disinterest to something resembling terror.
Sheriff Oakes veered left into a gravel parking lot riddled with potholes and ground to a stop. “We’re at the Saddle Top Motel, son,” he said. “This is where you and your mother will be staying.”
Kitty shot a warning look over the front seat when Adam started to speak. Then she swallowed past a lump in her throat that accompanied the realization that vacationers hadn’t stayed here in years. “Your nephew lives here?”
“Sure does. The place has been in Campbell’s family for a long time. Camp’s grandpa used to run it, but the business failed when the expressway diverted traffic. It’s been closed now for nearly thirty years.” Oakes stared out the windshield. “Doesn’t look too bad, all things considered.”
Right. If your current home was a park bench or the asphalt under a bridge. Kitty didn’t see the point in expressing her own opinion, so she just said, “Why does your nephew live here instead of in town?”
The sheriff paused a moment before saying, “Free-and-clear housing, I would expect. Once Campbell’s grandfather passed, he inherited the place.”
So this man is an incompetent pilot with a busted-up leg, and no visible means of support. Great.
Oakes continued. “Campbell didn’t need the motel until recently. Before coming home, he lived on the Matheson estate in Raleigh.” Oakes’s voice held a hint of pride. “Now, that’s a name you’ve heard of, I’ll wager.”
“Matheson? No, sorry.”
“Matheson Fine Furniture?”
Kitty shook her head.
“Well, I’ll be. I thought everybody had heard of Leland Matheson. He’s worth a few cool millions. Campbell lived on his estate and worked as his business adviser and personal pilot for the past three years since he got out of the Air Force.”
Kitty felt as if she were on a roller coaster of good news–bad news. This last bit of information was encouraging. Apparently the nephew had recently held a decent job. But since she was here to take care of this pilot who had just crashed his plane, Kitty couldn’t help wondering if his former employer, doubting his pilot’s skills, had fired him. Figuring the best way to know was to ask, she said, “So, why did your nephew leave his job?”
Oakes frowned. “He said it had something to do with a personal matter. Plus, he wanted to start a business back here where he grew up. Bought his own two-seater aircraft for taking aerial photographs. Unfortunately the fuel line ruptured, so that plan’s on hold.”
A shiver ran down Kitty’s spine. Her father often chartered personal aircraft in his capacity as owner of Galloway Groves. She always found an excuse not to accompany him on trips. The thought of being in a small plane was high on her list of least favorable ways to travel. And she figured that anybody who made a living flying one of those death traps ought to know he was only a loose screw away from disaster.
The sheriff opened his car door and stepped out. “Come on, folks. Campbell should be here in the hospital van any minute. Wanda says the motel key’s under the potted plant by the office door.”
Potted plant? Was he referring to that mildewed pickle crock with three spindly twigs sticking out the top? Kitty guessed he was because that’s precisely where he headed.
She got out and opened Adam’s door. When he remained in the car, she reminded him why they were here.
“Okay, already.”
They stood side by side staring at ten worn-out, run-down, dismal units broken by a peaked-roof office in the center. If a building could droop, this one did. In fact, the entire structure looked as if it was just waiting for the mercy of a wrecking ball.
* * *
“HOW YOU DOING back there, Captain Oakes?”
Campbell turned away from the familiar landscape flashing by the side window of the Spooner County medi-van. “I’m okay, Joe,” he said to the young man in the front passenger seat. “And you don’t have to call me captain. It’s been plain old Campbell for quite a while now.”
“Yeah, I know, but you’re still a hero around here. Everybody knows what you did over in Iraq.”
Campbell glanced down at the fiberglass splint that went from his ankle to his thigh and suppressed a grimace of disgust. Everybody knows what I did four days ago, too, he thought. A few years before, during Operation Iraqi Freedom, he had flown forty successful sorties over Baghdad in a Fighting Falcon. And then on Wednesday he crashed a single-engine Cessna Cardinal into a cow pasture. “My status as a hero, if I ever had one, is over,” he said.
Joe shrugged. “I still remember the stories about you. I think the town council should have had a parade or something when you came back home.”
Campbell focused out the window again, mostly to hide the smirk he couldn’t suppress. Joe didn’t understand. Nobody in Sorrel Gap would have a celebration for a prodigal son who’d been living on Matheson property in Raleigh. A renovated six-room carriage house on the lavish twenty-acre estate was a cultural world away from this small North Carolina town.
And the truth was, Campbell wouldn’t be here now except Diana Matheson had screwed him over one time too many. His future had come down to a choice between his pride and his cushy income, and Campbell had opted for pride. He’d left the estate just ahead of Diana, who caught a plane to Europe to get over her distress. Right. At least he’d been the one to say goodbye first.
The medi-van topped the hill and descended toward the Saddle Top Motel, a sad reminder of Campbell’s childhood and the glory days when Old Sorrel Gap Road was known as the Gateway to the Blue Ridge. Campbell could have afforded better accommodations in town, but so what? The building, as pathetic as it was, was his.
Still, as the Saddle Top came into view, Campbell experienced the same melancholy that gripped him whenever he returned to the cheerless structure struggling to survive in the gap. Only this time it was worse. This time, instead of just feeling as hopeless as the old motel was, Campbell would have to suffer the indignity of being hoisted into his living quarters by the medi-van driver and his helper.
And there would be no easy escape from the gap. Because of his leg, he wouldn’t be able to walk or drive away for weeks. And even after five hours of surgery and a half dozen rods and pins, the doctors still couldn’t tell Campbell for certain that he’d be able to walk without a limp, or ever pilot the Cardinal again. And that was assuming the plane’s landing gear and right wing could be repaired.
Unfortunately this mishap had occurred just when things had started to turn around for him. He had a half dozen contracts for aerial photographs stacked up on his desk. Now he’d have to tell his customers to wait out his iffy recovery or hire somebody else.
Campbell pressed his lips together as a painful draw of air stretched the muscles in his chest. Hard to believe that the dependable Fighting Falcon hadn’t suffered so much as a scratch on her steel-gray exterior during his entire deployment. Four months after he’d started Oakes Aerial Photographs, Campbell had watched the Cessna towed back to the airstrip in shambles.
The van pulled as close as possible to the covered walkway in front of the motel office. Even with two fellas supporting his weight, Campbell knew it wouldn’t be easy to get his six-foot-two, hundred-and-eighty-pound deadweight inside the building.
Joe Becker jumped out of the vehicle and opened the wide side door, giving Campbell a clear view of his uncle Virgil’s patrol car. Once he spotted Virgil at the breezeway where the washers and dryers were located, Campbell scanned the front of the motel for Virgil’s wife, Wanda. He’d never hit it off with Wanda and dreaded the thought of having to endure her interference if she followed through on her threat to take care of him.
But it wasn’t Wanda who appeared at Virgil’s side. It was a skinny purple pole of a woman with electrified blond hair that stuck out every which way. And a gawking, curly-haired kid who looked as if he’d just lost his puppy.
“Oh, great,” Campbell grumbled aloud. “You don’t think somebody actually wants to rent a room?”
Only one lone tourist, an old guy in a vintage Oldsmobile claiming he was experiencing America’s back roads, had stopped at the Saddle Top Motel in the six months Campbell had occupied it. Campbell had sent the fella on his way with an unappealing but very accurate description of the lack of amenities to be found here. He hoped Virgil wasn’t thinking he’d do him a favor by letting someone stay and contribute a bit of income. Campbell didn’t need the money. He needed peace and quiet.
The van driver pressed a lever under Campbell’s seat, and it swiveled smoothly toward the door. “I wouldn’t know, Mr. Oakes,” the man said to answer his question. “I can’t see anybody wanting to stay here.”
The two men each slipped one arm under Campbell’s knees and another around his back. With perfect timing coordinated by a command from the driver, they lifted him from the van. Less humiliating, he supposed, than a ride in a wheelchair, but only slightly so.
The men supported Campbell as he hopped on one foot the short distance to the covered porch. Virgil met him and looped Campbell’s arm over his shoulders to help him stand. The van attendants returned to the vehicle to get Campbell’s equipment, which included the detestable wheelchair, crutches, medical supplies and a bag of prescriptions. Campbell narrowed his eyes to get a look down the sidewalk at the couple standing in front of the breezeway. “Who are those people?” he asked.
“Oh, that’s Miss Kitty Watley and her son, Adam,” Virgil said. “They’re going to stay here awhile.”
Campbell wasn’t certain of much in his life at this point, but he was darn sure of his response to Virgil. “No, they’re not. Tell them to go into town to the Blue Ridge Lodge or the Sorrel Gap Chalet. Nobody’s rented a room at this motel for years.” He took a couple of quick hops toward his front door and regretted it immediately when his chest burned as if his broken ribs had erupted into flames. “There probably isn’t a clean towel in the whole place,” he said to Virgil after taking an agonizing gasp of air and letting his uncle support him.
“Well, there will be,” Virgil announced. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. This lady and her kid are going to take care of you while you’re laid up.”
“Like heck they are...”
“Listen to me, Camp. You won’t have to lift a finger. Just sit back and let these two wait on you until you heal.”
Campbell’s sharp gaze connected for a quick heartbeat with the lady’s remarkably round eyes. She attempted a smile and wiggled her fingers from the pocket of a pair of hip-hugging, baggy purple pants. The kid set his lips in a hard, tight line and scowled as if Campbell was his worst enemy. “No deal,” Campbell said. “I don’t want anybody taking care of me.”
Virgil frowned. “You might want to reconsider, Camp. You need somebody and these two are willing.”
Campbell’s innate skepticism took over. “Oh yeah? And how much is this going to cost me? And why would anybody want to stay out here in the first place?”
“It’s not going to cost you anything,” Virgil said. “And they more or less got talked into volunteering as a legal penance.”
Campbell almost laughed. “A legal penance? Come on, Virg.”
“Sort of, yes. They’ve got a small debt to pay to society, and you’re their means to that end.”
Campbell shot his uncle a dubious look. He knew small-town justice worked in mysterious ways, but this was too quirky, even for Sorrel Gap. Was his uncle actually proposing that his incapacitated nephew harbor criminals desperate enough to agree to stay in what amounted to the Sorrel Gap Outback? “What’d they do? Murder somebody?”
Virgil chuckled, but the sound was forced. “Oh, nothing that bad.”
Campbell returned his attention to the desperadoes. The woman, from this distance, at least, didn’t look capable of tangling with a june bug. She worried a pile of dust with the toe of a sandal that had a heel high enough to make Campbell wonder how she didn’t get nosebleeds. She wasn’t looking at him anymore, and he took that as a sign that she was as uncomfortable with this situation as he was.
“Virgil, let’s have it,” he said. “The whole story. Where’d you find these two?”
The men from the van walked past them after bringing in the last of Campbell’s gear and wished the patient good luck. Virgil hollered to Miss Kitty Watley to wait outside, and he helped Campbell hobble through the motel lobby to the former manager’s quarters in back. “Let me get you settled,” he said, “and then I’ll tell you how all this came about.”
He eased Campbell into a tan leather recliner, one of the newer pieces of furniture Campbell had brought with him from the carriage house to brighten up his living quarters. And, with his attention firmly fixed on his uncle’s face, Campbell heard the tale of two Florida travelers down on their luck, a broken-down pickup on the side of the road and Adam Watley’s involvement with the grand opening of Value-Rite.
Virgil proceeded as if the matter were settled. “So, can I go get Kitty and the boy and make the introductions?”
Campbell shook his head. “Not so fast. I don’t like it, Virgil. I know you saw this as a temporary solution...”
“The only solution as I see it. I promised your dad I’d look after you, and you aren’t making my job too easy.”
Campbell held his temper. He’d told his father he’d deal with this on his own.
“You’re not Superman, Camp,” Virgil reminded him. “You need help.”
“Okay, I guess I have to admit to that, but how much assistance am I going to get from a lady who looks like an underripe eggplant and her outlaw son?”
Virgil waved his hand, dismissing Campbell’s concern. “You’ve got them all wrong. Kitty can do anything—cook, clean, do laundry. And her boy, why, he just stole that stuff to help out his mama. He’s a good boy.”
Campbell only believed about half of what Virgil was saying, since he’d seen the glower on the kid’s face, and he’d already concluded that Miss Kitty looked as if she needed more help than she could give. A good stiff wind sweeping off Saddle Top Mountain could carry her all the way down the gap. But on the other hand, a woman without any means of support who was driving an old pickup could probably use the work. Of all the people Virgil might have brought to his door, she’d likely be so grateful for a place to stay that she’d just do her job and mind her own business as he’d tell her to.
Campbell chewed on his lower lip. He hated being dependent on anyone. But for now, like it or not, he was. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give this living arrangement a chance—as long as the woman and her kid fed him and kept his clothes clean and otherwise left him alone. He thought of the alternative—Wanda Oakes force-feeding him collard greens and down-home advice—and decided that trying to make it work with the Watleys was a better solution.
“You win,” he said. “At least I won’t have to treat these strangers like family. But if it doesn’t work, you’re going to come get them.”
Virgil nodded. “Oh, absolutely.”
“Okay. Bring them in.”
