Читать книгу Three For The Road - Shannon Waverly, Shannon Waverly - Страница 8

THE FIRST THING on Pete’s mind when he opened his eyes the next morning was his bike. Where the hell was it, and if it had even one scratch, how did the fool who’d scratched it want to die?

The second thing he thought about was Mary Elizabeth Drummond, that preppy little pain in the butt who was trying to wreck his vacation—and doing a pretty good job of it, too. He’d never met anyone so fly-brained in his life, and why he’d stuck his neck out for her was still a mystery.

Pete eased onto his back and scowled at the water-stained ceiling of his cell, recalling the previous night. If she just hadn’t walked into that bar, none of this would’ve happened. He was familiar with places like that, knew the type of guy who frequented them. For the most part, just your ordinary, law-abiding Joe. But add a woman to the equation—an unattached woman, he amended, thinking of the few who’d been there with their husbands or boyfriends—and your ordinary Joe suddenly transmuted into King Kong. She should have known that, too—although, to be fair, he doubted she’d spent much time in bars.

Pete’s mouth tightened in a rueful grimace. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world...

Last night after being brought in, they’d sat at adjacent desks while being booked. That’s when he’d first heard her name. Mary Elizabeth Drummond. Even in his thoughts he put a spin of mockery on it. He wasn’t sure why, except that the name struck him as sort of stuffy and tedious. It had no...give.

Sitting where he was, he’d been able to hear the reluctance in her voice when the officer asked her name, a reluctance that had deepened when she was asked her address, birth date and social security number. Pete got the feeling she didn’t want the police to know who she was. For a while, in fact, she’d actually refused to give her address. Said she was in transit, moving from one state to another, and at present didn’t really have an address. Pete had noted her amazement and dismay when all her vital statistics came up on the computer screen, anyway, just on the cue of her social security number.

What really roused Pete’s curiosity, though, was the anxiety he’d detected when she’d been asked if there was anyone she wanted to call. No, there was no one, she’d said, an answer that had compelled him to turn and take a new, harder look at her. A princess like that, you’d think she’d be on the phone right away, a dozen people she wanted to complain to.

Another thing about her that didn’t jibe was her voice. It was husky and deep-throated, a Scotch-and-soda voice that belonged more to a torch singer in a smoky piano bar than to someone wearing Bass Weeguns loafers.

Pete winced reflexively when he remembered the turnaround in her attitude after she was asked to explain what had happened at the Starlight Lounge. Suddenly she was a fountain of information. A damn Niagara Falls of information. And she was angry.

Well, maybe indignant was a more appropriate word. She didn’t seem capable of really ripping loose. He’d noticed that about her last night, first with Sonny and then at the station. Terminally polite, that was her problem.

But Pete knew she’d been angry inside. Her cheeks had been a feverish pink, her sentences rushed and tumbled, and her slender frame never really stopped shaking. She reminded him of a bottle of carbonated soda, shaken to a froth, but all sealed up.

She was convinced her arrest was a mistake, even after the officer patiently explained the charge against her for the third time. She seemed to think that if she kept yapping, eventually he’d see the error in his logic.

She kept repeating that the gun was only a toy. Couldn’t quite grasp the concept that wielding even a toy in a public place was a serious, arrestable offense if that toy was perceived as real and dangerous by those it was pointed at.

Pete and the other two men were booked and on their way to their cells, and she was still sitting there yapping.

Pete swung his feet off the lumpy cot. Get the broad out of your head, he told himself. You’ve got problems enough of your own. He rubbed his eyes. “Augh,” he said aloud, grimacing under a sudden pain. “Mean left hook you’ve got there, man,” he grumbled to one of two snoring hulks in the cell across the aisle.

Pete watched with deepening disgust. He didn’t like bullies. Never had. And if Sonny was anything, it was a bully. That was why he’d stuck his neck out for Mary Elizabeth Drummond.

Relieved that he’d finally found an acceptable rationale for his behavior, Pete got up stiffly and studied his face in the mirror over the small white sink. “Great,” he said flatly. The area around his right eye had turned brownish purple overnight and his upper lip was puffed.

Ordinarily he wouldn’t have cared. It wasn’t the first fight he’d been in, or the worst, but he had his brother’s wedding coming up in a week. He’d hoped to look at least halfway decent.

Peeling away the tape that held a gauze pad in place, Pete examined the two-inch gash that Sonny had carved into the side of his forehead. It could’ve been worse, he thought. He’d seen the swing coming in enough time to pull back and just be grazed.

That was seconds before Sonny’s buddy had jumped into the fight. Could’ve been a lot worse, Pete thought, the lines of his face falling into a study of pensive concentration as he remembered—Mary Elizabeth Drummond pulling that gun from her purse. Fly-brained she might be, but she also had courage. He’d seen the gun shaking in her hands from twelve feet away, yet she’d stood her ground and gone out on a limb...for him?

Pete shook his head to knock away the nonsense and reached for the faucet. He splashed cold water on his face and, straightening, let it trickle down his neck. He couldn’t start developing a soft spot for Ms. Drummond now. Because of her he’d been arrested. Because of her he’d spent the night on a cot that felt like a cobblestone road. Because of her he would be wasting a whole morning in court, when what he’d planned was to be riding his new bike.

He heard footsteps in the hall. Pete dried his face on a thin, scratchy towel. A young officer, new with the morning shift, banged on the bars of Sonny’s cell, then unlocked Pete’s cell and brought in breakfast.

“‘Morning. Sleep okay?”

Pete nodded. He might be mad as hell, but the local constabulary would be the last to know it.

The young man set the tray down on the end of the cot. “Half an hour till we go over to the courthouse.”

“I’ll be ready.” Pete reached for his coffee.

The officer paused. “We brought your bike in.”

“What?”

“Your motorcycle. Last night you asked if we could remove it from the parking lot of the Starlight Lounge. I thought you’d like to know that we did and it’s safe over at Bernie’s Garage. That’s on Third Street. You can pick it up after your court appearance.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it. How much for moving it?”

“Thirty dollars.”

Pete nodded agreeably. “I don’t suppose you could tell me what the going rate is for a bar fight in this town?” He smiled—amiably he hoped.

“About a hundred, if you get any judge other than Collins. With Collins, oh, anywhere between one-fifty and three.”

Careful to show no reaction, Pete took a sip of coffee. It was hot and surprisingly good, but didn’t do much to lessen his irritation.

“How’s the girl?” He wasn’t sure why he asked, except that she was the source of that irritation.

The policeman grimaced. “Not too happy. Friend of yours?”

Pete cocked an eyebrow.

The officer laughed. “Didn’t think so. She asked for tea this morning. Earl Gray, to be exact. With honey and lemon. That was after she insisted someone go feed her cat.”

Pete shook his head, lips pressed tight to show he commiserated with the young man.

“Were you able to tow her RV?”

“Yep. It’s at Bernie’s, too.”

“Is it going to be laid up long?” Somehow, the thought of her spending any significant time in this town, with Sonny on the loose, made Pete uneasy.

“Naw. Nothing wrong with it. She just got it stuck in a ditch.”

Pete sipped his coffee, keeping his eyes down and his thoughts to himself. They weren’t kind. They weren’t too politically correct, either.

“Well, you go ahead and finish eating. I’ll be back in half an hour.”

The young officer was closing the door when Pete said, “So, did you get it for her? The Earl Gray, I mean?”

The officer’s mouth twitched. “What do you think?”

“I think... I’m glad I won’t be seeing her after today.”

The lock slid shut to the sound of the officer’s laughter. Then he said, “Hey, Sonny, rise and shine. Billy, get up, let’s go.”

* * *

THE DISTRICT COURTHOUSE was a three-minute cruiser ride from the police station. Mary Elizabeth was sitting with her police escort in the second row of folding chairs, chewing on her lower lip and wondering how her cat was, when the stranger from the night before walked in. Her whole body seemed to rise a little when he did.

She’d been waiting for him to make an appearance. The previous night, lying sleepless in her cell, she’d thought a lot about what he’d done for her, coming to her defense the way he had. It was enough to make the most hardened cynic have faith in mankind again. Yet she hadn’t even had a chance to thank him.

She was reluctant to admit it, but there was another reason she’d been keeping an eye out for his arrival. She just wanted to get another look at him. Even last night, under the most stressful conditions, his looks had been distracting enough for her to take notice.

He walked with his police attendant down the aisle that divided the seats. When he got to Mary Elizabeth’s row, he paused, his steely blue eyes meeting hers as if perhaps he’d been curious about her, too, this person he’d risked life and limb for. He didn’t look any happier now than he had last night.

She knew she looked awful. She was frightened and embarrassed, and had been that way all night. Now her eyes were bleary and her skin was dull. Her clothes had seen better times, too. Instinctively, she ran her shackled hands along her linen walking shorts in a futile attempt to iron out the wrinkles.

But if she looked bad, the dark-haired stranger looked even worse. Noticing his bruises, her expression crumpled. I’m sorry, she wanted to say, and hoped her eyes conveyed the message.

If they did, her apology fell on stone. He merely scowled and turned his head.

Another time, another place, perhaps she wouldn’t have minded. But here, today, it would’ve been nice to have a friend. She felt rather out of her element. Never having been arrested before, she didn’t know what she was doing.

She’d thought of hiring a lawyer but had been told it wasn’t necessary; her case was too small. Which was just as well since she couldn’t afford a lawyer, anyway. Still, she felt vulnerable without defense, helpless without someone to negotiate this unfamiliar system with her.

What if she was found guilty? She’d have a criminal record then. What would that do to her future? To her chances of getting a job? Decent housing? And what if Charles found out? He’d never let her live it down.

With hands that shook visibly, she pressed at the wrinkled linen again as if doing so would iron away those problems. When her hands reached her knees, she surreptitiously tugged up her saggy tights. Just as surreptitiously, she glanced at the tall, loose-limbed stranger, slouched in his chair across the aisle.

He looked so calm, so capable and impregnable to injustice. She’d bet he would never allow anyone to pin a guilty verdict on him if he was innocent. Maybe she should take her cue from him. Maybe the time had come for her to accept that she was truly on her own and no one was going to watch out for her but herself.

Pulling in a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and waited for her case to be called.

“Who’s the judge today?” Pete asked the policeman sitting beside him.

“Gertrude Collins.”

“Collins,” Pete repeated. He sank lower in his seat, giving Mary Elizabeth a dark sidelong look. Nothing had gone right since running into that woman.

She was called first. Pete watched her walk up to the bench, her spine straight as a poker, her mouth tight with righteous indignation. Her charges were read and then the judge asked how she pleaded.

Lifting her chin, but not so high that her invisible crown slipped off her head, she said, “Not guilty.” Pete exhaled a long breath through his teeth.

He watched the judge confer with her and the police prosecutor—explaining the options, he guessed. Cases as small as theirs were usually taken care of immediately and on the spot. Court dockets were too overloaded to make a production out of every case that came through. Besides, she was obviously guilty—they all were—and six policemen and a bar full of witnesses could testify to that fact.

But after a long deliberation, she still insisted she wanted to fight the charges. Pete heard the officer beside him sigh. He saw the judge sigh. Three people in front of him looked at their watches.

“Could I have the other defendants in this case?” The judge motioned for Mary Elizabeth to stay.

Pete was escorted up to the front of the courtroom, with Sonny and Billy close behind. Sonny and Billy were greatly subdued this morning. They stood before the judge as docile as lambs, like Pete, knowing that cooperation was the name of the game here, the key to getting out quickly.

Their charges were read: property damage, public intoxication, and assault and battery with dangerous weapons—the weapons being the broken bottle Sonny had wielded and the chair used by Pete. After spending a few minutes plea bargaining with the police prosecutor, who in turn conferred with the judge, they were each found guilty of simple assault and fined one hundred and fifty dollars. They paid their fines, along with the towing charges for their vehicles, and were told they were free to go.

The judge then looked at Mary Elizabeth, her expression seeming to say, Got the picture?

Mary Elizabeth swallowed.

Sonny and his buddy took off as soon as their fines were paid. Pete was pocketing his wallet and thinking of doing the same when Mary Elizabeth turned her eyes on him. He’d noticed they were an unusual shade of warm coffee-brown, and right now they were very large and very lost.

He tried to look away. He didn’t like her kind, he told himself. He’d dated a few princesses in his day and found them dull and patronizing. The dull part he could excuse...

Still, there was a bruised look in those eyes that appeared too real, a vulnerability he never would’ve associated with her.

He caught himself up short, just as he was sliding into sympathy. Aw, no. He wasn’t going to fall for that trap again. That’s the way things had started with Cindy. He gave his shoulders a flexing roll and set off for the door.

But halfway there he paused. Behind him, Mary Elizabeth was asking the judge to clarify the trial process she’d have to face if she contested the charges. Pete didn’t really care what happened, but he was curious enough to want to listen in. He made his way to the side of the courtroom and stood against the wall.

Mary Elizabeth spoke quietly. He couldn’t hear everything she said, but he got the sense of it. Capitulation.

The judge sighed in relief. She found Mary Elizabeth not guilty, but fined her two-hundred-and-fifty dollars.

It was a reasonable sum, but Pete could see—could almost feel—Mary Elizabeth’s indignation picking up a new head of steam. Why was her fine higher than the men’s? she wanted to know. Pete squinched his eyes shut. The men, she said as her handcuffs came off, had smacked each other black and blue while she had done nothing except stop the fight, which you’d think she’d be commended for instead of punished. Furthermore, why was she being fined at all if she was innocent?

Before he could think, Pete cleared his throat, loudly. She glanced over and he shook his head, hoping she understood.

She was breathing hard, conflicting emotions warring in her eyes. Something in their depths made him think that maybe her reaction to her fine wasn’t really indignation at all, but fear. Fear of what, he didn’t know.

Finally he saw her give in—a slow exhalation of breath, a slumping of her shoulders.

“Sorry, Your Honor,” she mumbled, and reached into her bag for her wallet.

Pete stood away from the wall and once again turned to leave. He didn’t like what just happened, that small communication between him and her.

He was halfway to the door again when something caught in his peripheral vision: Mary Elizabeth searching through her purse. Dread crawled over him.

“It’s not here,” she said, no longer speaking in that Scotch-and-soda voice that so intrigued him. She was practically squeaking now. “I...I can’t find my wallet.” She searched again, taking several items out. Her face had gone crimson.

“Are you sure it was in your bag?” the judge inquired.

“Positive. I had it last night at the bar.” She kept rummaging through the purse, swallowing, turning redder. Finally she looked up, her eyes slightly wild. “I think it was stolen.”

“Stolen?” the judge repeated.

Mary Elizabeth nodded. “At the Starlight. After I pulled out the water pistol, I threw my purse onto a table. I don’t even remember doing it. I just remember that’s where I found it when I left. While it was lying there, somebody must’ve helped himself to the contents.”

“I see.” The judge dragged a hand down her face. “Officer Wilson,” she called, addressing the policewoman who’d been part of the arresting team at the Starlight, “as soon as Ms. Drummond’s business with the court is concluded, take the information regarding her wallet.”

The policewoman gave a short nod.

Mary Elizabeth looked up at the judge, dazed. “Your Honor? How am I supposed to pay my fine?”

“Did your wallet contain all your money?”

Coffee-brown eyes shimmered with tears. She nodded. “Seven hundred and twenty dollars.”

The judge cast her a stern look. “It isn’t wise to carry so much money on your person, Ms. Drummond, especially when you’re traveling. Better to divide it and put it away in several locations.”

Mary Elizabeth lowered her eyes and said nothing, all her uppity self-righteousness gone. Pete was beginning to think it hadn’t been very real to begin with.

“Well, I suggest you call your bank and have the money wired to you.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Your Honor. I closed all my accounts before I set out on this trip.”

Standing a few feet away, Pete scowled. Closed all her accounts? And she had only seven hundred bucks? Mary Elizabeth was becoming more of a puzzle every minute.

Then it hit. That was why she’d reacted to her fine. She’d been worried about the amount of money she’d have to hand over.

The judge said, “Then I suggest you contact a relative or a friend.”

Again, Mary Elizabeth shook her head. “I...I can’t do that, either.”

The judge was growing impatient. “Unless you want to work out an alternative, I think you had better, young lady.”

“May I ask what the alternative is?” Mary Elizabeth inquired, squeezing and twisting the strap of her purse.

“Fifteen days in the county jail.”

Mary Elizabeth’s eyes went a few degrees wilder.

Pete clasped the nape of his neck. Don’t do it, Mitchell. Get yourself the hell out of here, he thought, even as he stepped forward and said, “Your Honor, I’ll loan Ms. Drummond the money. That way you can get this train moving again.” He could’ve sworn the formidable woman on the bench mouthed the words “Thank you.” He didn’t say “You’re welcome.” He was angry at her for assuming Mary Elizabeth had money readily available, an assumption based on the style of her hair and the quality of her clothes.

Mary Elizabeth turned in surprise. Her gaze traveled over him in quick assessment, taking in his black eye, two-day-old beard, faded jacket and jeans whose knee had finally popped a tear.

“That’s very generous of you, but I couldn’t possibly accept your money.”

Instantly he rued his generosity, not knowing whether to laugh at her mistaken assumptions about him or shove her condescension down her throat.

“Fifteen days,” he reminded her, half hoping she’d go for the time.

“But...are you sure you can spare it?” she asked.

“For you? Anything.” He winked, but there was no mistaking his sarcasm.

She looked confused. “I’ll repay you. Just as soon as I reach where I’m going.”

“Of course you will. I didn’t say it was a gift.”

The judge asked, “Are you willing to pay her tow charge as well?”

“Yes. How much?”

“Sixty-five dollars.”

Mary Elizabeth’s face dropped. “I don’t believe this,” she muttered, but only loud enough for Pete to hear. He nudged her with his elbow, using restraint to just nudge and not ram. Her muttering ceased.

Pete handed over the cash, making a mental note to stop at the first ATM he came to.

“That’s it? I’m free to go?” Mary Elizabeth asked, a conflicted mixture of incredulity and relief.

“Yes. Next case,” the judge said quickly.

Mary Elizabeth couldn’t shake the feeling she was caught in a nightmare. She felt almost sick from exhaustion and fear, and knew, as she walked away from the bench, her steps were weavy. All she wanted to do was crawl under a rock somewhere and sleep. Instead, Officer Wilson was waiting for her, pad and pen poised.

“The wallet’s beige, cowhide, monogrammed in gold with my initials,” Mary Elizabeth said.

“Credit cards?”

“Yes. Three.” She fought off a tightening in her throat. “And a gasoline card, and four department store cards.” Her sense of being caught in a dream world deepened. What was she to do now? No money, no plastic...

“Where would you like us to send the wallet, if it turns up?”

“Oh.” Mary Elizabeth passed an unsteady hand over her brow. “My friend’s in Sarasota. Yes, definitely my friend’s.” If it ever went back to Charles, she’d die of humiliation. She could almost hear him saying it now, “I told you you’d never make it on your own.”

Unexpectedly, thoughts of home rushed over her, and with them came remembrance of her mother’s affair, her shock at learning she was illegitimate, her distress over her pregnancy...so many problems that had somehow gotten relegated to a back burner since last evening.

Having procured all the necessary information, the officer pocketed her pen, wished Mary Elizabeth well, and walked off, leaving her standing alone with the weight of her remembered troubles. Feeling vague and quite disoriented, she turned to go. “Oh,” she said in surprise. Peter Mitchell, whose name she’d learned just this hour, was still in the courtroom, standing right behind her.

He had the clearest blue eyes she’d ever seen. The fact that one of them was bruised didn’t detract from their impact one bit. Right now those eyes were narrowed under a lowered brow, studying her. She guessed she looked pretty bewildered.

“Yes?” she asked uncertainly.

“Do you want to take my address?”

She blinked, uncomprehending.

“So you’ll know where to send the money I lent you.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” She opened her purse and withdrew a pen and a small notebook. He took them from her and began to write. He had nice hands, she thought distractedly. Strong, broad hands that were cut and callused yet imbued with a certain masculine grace.

He wrote his address on the top sheet of paper, along with the amount she owed him. Then he flipped to the next sheet and wrote out an IOU, to which Mary Elizabeth added her signature and Chloe’s address.

“That should do it,” Pete said, pocketing the IOU.

“Yes.” She glanced down at the address he’d written in a surprisingly neat but firm hand and felt a kick of adrenaline. “You live in Tampa?”

But he had already turned and was heading for the exit. She hurried to catch up. Her head had cleared remarkably. Moreover, her spirits were lifting, probably because it had just begun to sink in that she’d been found not guilty. She would have no criminal record, no impediments standing in the way of establishing herself in a new location.

“This is really a coincidence. I’m going to Florida myself.”

Peter opened the courtroom door and made his way through the crowded corridor, his eyes fixed on the exit ahead.

“I’m going to Sarasota,” she persisted, following. “That’s on the Gulf Coast too, not very far from Tampa, right?”

“No,” he said, hurrying on. “It’s miles away. Many, many miles.”

Mary Elizabeth would’ve contested his claim, but just then she spotted the policeman with the sincere, youthful face who’d arrested her the previous night. He was standing by the main door, just ending a conversation with someone who looked like a lawyer.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Do you know if there’s a phone at the garage where my RV was taken?”

“Yes, ma’am, there is.”

“Great. Thanks.” She’d call the credit card companies from there to notify them that her cards had been stolen. She continued out the door, Peter Mitchell a few brisk paces ahead of her. She’d thought perhaps they’d walk to the garage together or maybe take a cab, but apparently he wanted to go his own way, alone. She drooped with mild disappointment.