Chapter 27 #2
“A man’s got a right to say his piece.” Mojean Parsins, Doyle’s mother, squared off with the older woman. “And you oughta keep that parrot nose of yours out of other people’s business.”
“I could if you hadn’ta raised a hooligan.”
“Ladies.” Knowing he took his life in his hands—women were apt to leap and bite, and were as likely to be carrying as their men—Brooks stepped between them. “It’d be best if you, and everybody else, went on home now.”
“You entrapped our boy, you and that Lowery woman. Lincoln told me just what you did. And the Conroys here, they’re trying to make a killing off a bit of teenage mischief.”
Hilly Conroy elbowed her husband aside. From the look of her, Brooks decided she’d finally found her mad. “Mojean Parsins, you know that’s a lie. I’ve known you all your life, and I can see on your face you know that for a lie.”
“Don’t you call me a liar! Your boy’s run that hotel into the ground, and you’re trying to make my boy pay for it.”
“You don’t want to stack your son up against mine, Mojean. If you do, and you try spreading those lies, you’ll be sorry for it.”
“You go to hell.”
“That’s enough.” Mojean’s husband, Clint, stepped forward. “That’s enough, Mojean. We’re going home.”
“You need to stand up for your boy!”
“Why? You’ve been standing in front of him his whole life. I apologize, Hilly, Mick, for the part I played in making Doyle the embarrassment he is. Mojean, I’m going down to the car, and I’m driving home. You can come or stay, that’s up to you. If you stay, I won’t be home when you get there.”
“Don’t you talk to me that—”
But he turned, walked away.
“Clint!” After a quick, wide-eyed look around, she trotted after him.
“This has about worn me out,” Jill commented. “I’m going to walk on home.”
“Why don’t Hilly and I give you a ride, Ms. Harris?” Mick stepped forward, took her arm. “I’m sorry about this, Brooks.”
“You just take Ms. Harris on home.”
“This isn’t finished, Conroy.”
Mick sent Blake a cold stare with weariness around the edges. “I’m telling you for the final time, I’ll do no business with you. Stay away from me, my family and my properties. Keep your assistant and his like away from me, my family and my properties.”
“If you think you can squeeze more money out of me, you’re mistaken. I made you a fair offer.”
“Go on home,” Brooks told Mick, then turned to Blake.
Here he didn’t bother with disapproval or disappointment. He arrowed straight into disgust, and let it show.
“I’m going to be talking to Mr. and Mrs. Conroy later.”
“Getting your stories lined up.”
“I’ll be talking to Reverend and Mrs. Goode as well.
Do you want to imply your minister and his wife are liars, too?
The fact is, my deputies and I will be talking to everybody who witnessed or had part in this business this morning.
If I find there’s been any level of harassment on your part, I’m going to advise the Conroys to file a restraining order against you and whoever you’ve been using to dog them.
You won’t like it. You’ll like it less if one’s filed and you cross the line of it. ”
“You can’t bully me.”
“You’d know all about bullying, so you know that’s not what I’m doing. I’m outlining the situation. You may want to talk it over with your lawyers before you do anything you might regret. For now, I’m telling you to move along. Your wife looks upset, and embarrassed.”
“My wife is none of your business.”
“That’s the truth. It will be my business if you cause another ruckus.”
“Lincoln.” His color down again, his voice calm, Reverend Goode stepped forward.
“I understand you’re in turmoil. I’m here if you want to unburden yourself.
But I must ask you to take Genny home. She looks ill.
I must ask you not to come back to this house of God with an unchristian purpose.
Go home now, Lincoln, and tend to your wife. I’ll pray for you and your family.”
“Keep your prayers.” Blake strode away, leaving his assistant to help Genny down the slope toward the waiting car.
“You’re going to need some strong prayers, Reverend.”
Goode sighed. “We do the best we can do.”
* * *
She changed clothes three times. It was completely unlike her to worry about wardrobe unless it was for the purpose of establishing identity or blending in.
Her research indicated that attire would be casual, unless specifically stated.
But that could include a casual dress or skirt, neither of which she currently owned.
Now she felt she needed to acquire some.
If they succeeded—no, when they succeeded, as it did no harm to employ Brooks’s positive thoughts—she’d find use for a more expansive and varied wardrobe.
Now she settled on dark blue capris and a red shirt and sandals she’d rarely worn and only bought in a weak moment.
She spent some time with makeup, also rarely worn since she’d become Abigail, as blending and going unnoticed had been the goal.
But she had a good hand with it, if she said so herself.
She’d use that hand if—when—she transformed to Elizabeth, to cooperate with the authorities and give testimony against the Volkovs.
As she glanced to the monitor to watch Brooks come home, she put on John’s earrings, worn when she felt a need for confidence.
She went downstairs, found Brooks in the kitchen, scowling down at a can of Coke.
“Something happened.”
“Unrelated.” He popped the top, guzzled. “There was a to-do edging toward ruckus down at the Hillside Baptist Church.”
“Organized religion has an unfortunate history of fostering violence.”
He just rubbed the cold can over his forehead.
“This wasn’t about religion. Blake’s been hassling the Conroys—and he took that to church this morning.
He takes something that public, makes a fool of himself, he’s lost control.
He’s not going to leave this alone. I’m going to have to talk to the Conroys about taking some legal steps to… ”
He finally focused on her. “You look really good.”
“I have on makeup. I thought it was appropriate.”
“Really good.” When he smiled, the anger and stress she’d seen in his eyes warmed away.
“How do you do that? Relax so quickly?”
“I’m taking a pretty woman to a barbecue, and it sure takes the edge off my bad mood. Where’s the stuff you made?”
She took it, then a six-pack of beer, out of the refrigerator. “If you feel you should follow through on the problem now, I’m sure your family will understand.”
“You’re not getting out of this so easy. Colorful,” he commented, as he picked up the bowl. “Ready?”
“I suppose.” She clipped a leash on Bert. “You could brief me on the areas of interest of people who’ll be there. It would help me make conversation.”
“Believe me, making conversation won’t be an issue.” He snagged the beer on the way out. “As soon as we announce we’re getting married, every woman there’s going to be all over you about wedding plans.”
“We don’t have any.”
“Take my word on it, honey, you will before the day’s over.”
She considered that while she rode with the bowl on her lap and her dog sniffing at every inch of the back of the cruiser.
“They may not be pleased.”
“With what? You and me?” He flicked her a quick glance. “They’ll be pleased.”
“I don’t think they would, if they knew the full extent of the situation.”
“I wish I could tell them to prove you wrong, but it’s better if we don’t.”
“You seem so calm. I’ve learned to be calm when something has to change, but this is different. It’s hard to be calm, to wait for Captain Anson to call, to wonder what the authorities will say and do. To think about testifying, about being so close with the program.”
“Whatever happens, we’re together. That keeps me calm.”
She couldn’t claim to be. Her stomach jumped, her heart kicked, and with each passing mile she had to fight to keep her nerves concealed.
She tried to think of it as going into a new community, stepping out for the first time with fresh identification.
Nerves plagued her each time, but she knew how to conceal them, how to blend so anyone who noticed her saw exactly what she wanted them to see.
It had worked for a dozen years. It had worked until Brooks. He’d seen something else, something more, but she thought of that now as a blessing. If he hadn’t, she wouldn’t have this chance at a genuine life.
And the genuine life she might have would include backyard barbecues.
When he parked, she thought she had herself fully under control.
“Relax,” he told her.
“Do I look tense?”
“No, but you are. I’ll take that; you get Bert.”
He tucked the bowl under his arm, hefted the six-pack, and with her hand steady on the leash, they walked toward the house. Toward the music and voices, toward the scent of grilling meat.
She recognized three of the women—Brooks’s mother and his two sisters, but not the other women, the men, the children. The thought of being thrust into the midst of so many strangers dried her throat and thickened her heartbeat.
Before she could get her bearings, Sunny set down a platter and hurried over. “There you are.”
“I had a little business to deal with,” Brooks told her.
“I heard.” Sunny tied Abigail’s tongue into knots with a quick, hard hug before she gave Bert a casual rub. “Don’t you look pretty. And what’s this?”
“Orzo,” Abigail managed. “I hope it’s appropriate with your menu.”
“Since the menu’s a lot of this with more of that, it’ll fit right in. And it’s beautiful. Go on and put that on the table, Brooks, and get Abigail a drink. We’ve already got the margarita blender going overtime.”
“I’ll fix you up,” he told Abigail. “Be right back.”
“My girl Mya—you met Mya and Sybill—makes killer margaritas. Why don’t you let Bert off the leash so he can play with Plato?”
Abigail crouched down as the dogs sniffed and wagged at each other. “Ils sont amis. Amis, Bert. C’est tout.”
“He’s all right with kids running around?” Sunny qualified.