Chapter 6 #2
Tate was sweating. He could see the men, and he had to make his boss believe him.
“Please, Mr. Sparks, they’ll hurt you. One has a gun, and the other one is in their getaway car.
The driver will pull up behind you, blocking you from backing out, as the other one approaches you from the front with a gun pointed at you.
They want the night deposit bag. You need to call the police.
Ask the police to follow you there from a distance without giving themselves away. ”
Andy sighed. “Yeah, sure, kid.”
“Please, Mr. Sparks. Call them now before you leave. You don’t have to mention my name. Just tell them you got a tip that someone might try to rob you there.”
Andy hesitated, but the intensity in Tate’s voice and the look on his face were impossible to ignore.
“I’m probably going to make a fool of myself, but okay,” Andy said, and pulled out his phone.
He told the cops the story Tate suggested and hung up.
“Okay, Tate. Mission accomplished. See you tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” Tate said, then got in his truck as his boss headed uptown.
Tate drove out of the alley to the street then paused, waiting until he saw two cops driving out of the police parking lot in the direction of the bank.
Satisfied that he’d done all he could, he drove home, pulled up beneath the carport, and parked. As he was getting out of the truck, he heard sirens and police cars on the move and breathed a sigh of relief. The would-be thieves had been arrested, and Mr. Sparks was safe.
He carried his food into the house, washed up, turned on the TV, then reheated his food and took it to eat on the sofa.
After he’d finished, he thought about his parents and hoped they were having the best time of their lives.
No sooner had he thought it than his phone rang.
When he saw who it was from, he smiled as he answered.
“Hey, Dad. Yes, I’m fine. All is well. Work was busy. I just ate supper, and I’m beat. Are you two having fun?”
Abel’s laugh said it all. “Yes, we are. We’re headed to a music show here at the casino, but your mama wasn’t going to be happy until she knew you were okay.”
“Tell her I’m being a good boy,” Tate said.
Abel chuckled. “I will do that. Take care. Promise you’ll call us if there’s an emergency.”
“I promise,” Tate said.
He was still smiling when the call ended. He was taller than his dad, six months shy of turning twenty, and yet the last thing his mother still told him when he left the house was to be a good boy. He knew she’d get the humor in the message.
He was thinking of Briar, wondering what was going on with her day, when he heard a car pull up into their driveway. From where he was sitting, he could see Andy Sparks coming up their walk, then knocking at their door.
“I should have expected this.” He sighed and got up to answer.
The moment Tate opened the door, Andy Sparks started talking.
“It was just like you said it would be! Lord, have mercy! What a gift you have been given. I had to thank you face-to-face. I will never doubt your words again. Both men have been arrested for attempted armed robbery. Chief Watts said they are wanted for robberies in two other counties.”
“That’s good to know, boss. The main thing is that you’re okay,” Tate said.
“Yes, well…just so you know, next time I hear someone laugh about you having second sight, I’ll set them straight,” Andy said.
Tate shrugged. “You don’t have to. People pretty much ignore me now, but thanks to some spiteful women, it’s my mother the town still shuns. This isn’t a kind place for people like us to live.”
Andy eyes widened. “I had no idea. I noticed years ago that I wasn’t seeing her in the store anymore, and that you and Abel were doing all the grocery shopping, but I didn’t ever ask myself why.” Then he held out his hand. “I’m sorry this is happening, but man to man, I thank you.”
Tate shook his boss’s hand without comment, then shut and locked the door after he was gone. As he went to shower and shave, he began wondering why Briar hadn’t called.
* * *
Mariah Lowe had spun a lie of monumental proportions to explain her weeklong solitary visit to her parents’ house.
The story began with Roger attending a business convention and Briar being away at camp.
Mariah’s plaint about not wanting to be alone in that big house by herself for so long, and how much she missed them, was the story she gave them, and she was sticking to it.
It didn’t matter to her that there wasn’t a single shred of truth in any of it.
She was home—soaking up the coddling and petting like the spoiled daughter of well-to-do parents that she was.
* * *
But Roger wasn’t that content. After days of no contact, and his wife not answering his calls or responding to his texts, he was pissed.
He could only imagine the debt she was running up on her credit card, and if he left this discord between them too long, she might start leaning toward the divorce he’d threatened her with.
The upside of that was the blessed silence that would be in the house.
The downside would be paying her alimony for the rest of his life and living alone.
He knew Briar wondered what was going on between him and Mariah. More than once today, he’d caught her staring at him. She deserved answers too. He didn’t know what to tell her, but he knew what he was going to do.
After he closed up the office for the day, he hung a sign on the front window.
CLOSED UNTIL MONDAY
It was a long drive to Savannah and back, but since Mariah wasn’t answering her phone, he was going for a face-to-face talk. Either he’d come home alone, or she’d be driving her ass back behind him. He’d had enough of the uncertainty.
* * *
Briar was in the car with the seat reclined and her eyes closed, waiting for her dad to lock up. She had a headache from staring at computer screens for too long, and her hair and clothes smelled like cigar smoke from her dad’s last client of the day.
The man had walked into the insurance agency with a cloud of smoke surrounding his head and a lit cigar in his mouth.
He continued to smoke and sling ashes in the room for the next twenty minutes until he and Roger had finished their business.
He left as abruptly as he’d entered, winking at her as he passed her desk.
She pretended she hadn’t noticed and stood up the moment the door closed behind him. “Good grief! The office is going to smell like a stinky cigar and bad cologne for a week.”
Roger nodded. “One of the hazards of dealing with the public. I’ll turn on the air purifier before we lock it up. Grab your stuff and head for the car.” He tossed her the keys. “Start it up and turn on the air conditioner. You’ll feel better once you get some cool air in your face.”
And now, because her eyes were closed, she didn’t see him hanging up the CLOSED UNTIL MONDAY sign. She thought about calling Tate, but decided she’d wait until she got home. She wasn’t having a conversation with Tate, and her father as a witness.
When Roger finally got in the car, he thought Briar had fallen asleep, and he quietly shut the door and drove home without talking. He parked the car in the garage, and as soon as the garage door was rolling down, Briar sat up.
“I am seriously sick to my stomach from that cigar smoke, and my head is killing me. I’m going to take some pain meds, then shower and wash my hair.”
He frowned. “I’m sorry, darling. I had no idea it affected you this way. Tell me what you would like for supper. I’ll make it while you’re cleaning up.”
“Don’t worry about me. I don’t want anything until my head quits hurting. I’ll scrounge something up for myself later,” she said, then got out of the car and stumbled into the house.
Once she got to her room, she stripped, tossed her smoky clothes out into the hall to take down to the laundry later, then went to the bathroom.
After downing some pain pills, she showered and shampooed her hair.
Her headache was down to a dull throb by the time she was out of the shower.
She towel-dried her hair, put on clean pajamas and slippers, and headed downstairs.
She could hear the shower running in her parents’ bedroom as she reached the ground floor and headed to the kitchen.
Her dad’s dirty dishes were still in the sink, so she prowled through the containers in the refrigerator and found some leftover chicken pot pie.
After a quick reheat in the microwave, she sat down to eat, and as she did, she noticed the time and called Tate.
The phone rang four times, and she was just about to leave a message when he answered breathlessly.
“Hey, sweetheart. I had the water running in the kitchen and almost didn’t hear the phone. How’s my girl?”
She shivered with sudden longing and made herself focus.
“Tired. Trying to get over a splitting headache. Some old guy came into the office right at quitting time. He smelled like he’d taken a bath in a cheap cologne and was smoking a cigar about the size of a baseball bat.
He puffed smoke and slung ashes all over the place, then had the gall to flirt with me as he left. ”
Tate grinned at the indignation in her voice. “I’m sorry you’re feeling bad. If I could, I would love away your pain.”
“I would willingly accept the offer,” she whispered.
“It will happen when it’s time,” Tate said. “And you’re still my girl,” he said.
“Never once have I doubted that or you. Dream about me,” she said.
“Know it,” he said, and disconnected.
She shivered with longing, then remembered her food and ate until it was gone.
Her dad came back into the kitchen as she was carrying her dishes to the sink. “Are you feeling better?” he asked.
“Mostly,” she said.
“I’ll load the dishwasher. You go on up and have an early night,” he said.
Briar nodded. “Thank you, Daddy.”