Authors: Maddie Cochere
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Saturday morning was hot and humid. The storm last night lasted for hours and brought massive amounts of rain. There were reports of considerable flooding in the neighborhoods on the south side of town.
I didn’t want to leave the air-conditioned comfort of the apartment, but I wanted to run to the deli and then to the market to be sure Mick had food for the coming week. We were headed to the club this afternoon to play racquetball with Samantha and Larry and would probably spend the early part of the evening playing cards.
Mick was working in his office. I stuck my head through the doorway to say good-bye and then ran down to the carport. I had no idea what the weather was going to be like in New Orleans next week, but it couldn’t be any worse than what Ohio liked to throw at us during the dog days of August.
Martin’s was first on my list, and it was only a few minutes before I was whipping into his parking lot. I thought the turn was faster than expected, and it actually surprised me. I had been making an effort to slow down in the lot and not startle the old man. My foot firmly on the brake, I turned the wheel to pull into my usual parking space in front of the window. My heart jumped, and I gasped. My foot was on the brake, but it was all the way to the floor. I pumped the brake rapidly to no effect, and the front end of the Chevelle crashed through the plate glass window and into a shelf of pastry products.
I was shocked and terrified at the same time. Did I hit anybody? Was anyone hurt? Or worse, dead? What if I killed someone? My mind started spinning, and I felt confused. My brakes didn’t work. Why didn’t my brakes work? The car had regular tune-ups and check-ups, and was always in perfect working order. And what was up with the glass from the window? It was all over the place and large, dangerous shards were hanging from the frame.
Martin stepped to the doorway of the store and yelled angrily, “Susan Hunter, you could have killed someone!”
I couldn’t help it. I could feel it coming. I was going to cry - hysterically. Before the gusher could come, I pulled out my phone and hurriedly punched Mick’s speed dial number.
“Hi, sweetheart. What’s up?” he asked cheerfully.
“Mick,” I squeaked out. Just hearing his voice caused a tight lump in my throat. I couldn’t speak because the tears were ready and threatening to take over my voice.
He knew right away something was terribly wrong. “Susan, what is it? Are you alright?” My words still wouldn’t come out. “Sweetheart, where are you? Talk to me!” I could hear the panic in his voice.
“At the deli. Please hurry,” I whispered. The tears started flowing, and I was sitting, sobbing in my car, when the first police cruiser arrived.
The next few hours were exasperating. I insisted the brakes didn’t work, and Martin kept telling the officers I was always flying up to the window, and I misjudged this time. I didn’t blame him for being angry, but he wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say. I overhead him telling Mick he would be calling my father tonight to tell him he had to come back to Ohio and take that blasted car away from me.
Our insurance agent had arrived quickly and was aghast the store didn’t have safety glass in the windows. Lugnut had been called to tow the car and take it to the garage. A reporter from the Carbide City Courier was on the scene almost immediately and had taken a lot of pictures. There was no expectation of privacy, so he could easily hear all of the arguing between me and Martin. A crowd had gathered, and when someone yelled, “
Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage to this town, Susan Hunter?
” Mick asked the officers to either move me inside or let me go. They had my statement, so they let me go.
Back home again, I rummaged in the hall closet for my grandmother’s afghan. I flopped down on the sofa and pulled the afghan over myself. I had a chill running through my body. I didn’t feel like crying any more. I was drained, and I didn’t want to think about anything. I closed my eyes and heard Mick talking softly in the distance. He had called Samantha to cancel racquetball for the afternoon. I must have dozed off for a few minutes because I next heard him talking to my dad.
“She’s ok, Earl. Tell Lilah not to worry. She’ll be there to meet you on Thursday, and I’ll see you both Friday night for dinner. … Ok, Earl, I’ll tell her. … You, too. … Bye.”
He came over to the sofa, sat down on the other end, and said, “I told Samantha if you were up to it, they could come over this evening to play cards. And your dad said to tell you he and your mom love you very much. I wanted to be sure he knew what happened before Martin called him with a twisted version.”
I sat up, moved next to him, and put my head on his shoulder. “Thank you,” I whispered. I looked up into his eyes and asked, “You do believe me, don’t you? About the brakes?”
“Susan, if you say they didn’t work, I believe you. The officers wouldn’t let me get in the car to even push on the pedal once,” he said shaking his head. He glanced at his watch. “What do you want to do? It’s still early. Do you want me to run you anywhere?”
“No,” I told him. “After what I heard in the crowd, I don’t think I should be going anywhere. Would you call Sam back for me? I don’t really want to talk with her right now, but why don’t you ask her and Larry to come for dinner, and we can play cards after. Cooking will take some time off my hands, and I think I’ll appreciate the company later.”
Mick nodded and pulled me up onto his lap with his arms around me. I put my head on his shoulder.
“Susan, I know something’s not right here, but I’m not sure what it is. Until whatever is happening here in Carbide City is resolved, I don’t want you going anywhere other than work without me. Got it?”
I nodded. It wasn’t a paranoid request, it was a smart one, and I appreciated him for it. I leaned into his neck and took a deep breath. As usual, he smelled wonderful and being held by him had a completely calming effect on me. I instantly relaxed, and we spent the next several minutes making out like teenagers on the sofa.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Comfort food. Today called for comfort food, and I delivered it. Larry and Samantha had just been treated to Summer Chicken, which was my dad’s favorite fried chicken recipe. Potatoes, peas, and chicken were all cooked in the same skillet. The drippings were then used to make a rich sour cream and thyme sauce to pour over the entire dish. It was fattening and delicious. I made rhubarb pies for dessert.
Larry was leaning back in his chair while Mick and I cleared the table, and I knew he was debating as to whether or not he should unbutton his pants. “Oh, just get comfortable,” I told him with a laugh. He promptly undid the button, and I saw Samantha kick him under the table.
“That pie was fantastic,” she said. “Where did you get rhubarb this late in the season?”
“Mick went down to the market for me this afternoon,” I said. “I wasn’t sure what fruit I wanted, and when he called and said they had a few packages of rhubarb, I told him that would be perfect.”
“That was perfect pie alright,” Larry said rubbing his swollen belly. I laughed at him. It pleased me when my cooking turned out just right and was enjoyed.
“Well, I appreciate that you guys came over tonight,” I told them both. “I feel like a prisoner in my own home, and I really needed the diversion.”
“Dick said they’re not any closer to solving any of this than they were weeks ago,” Samantha said shaking her head.
Mick sat down with the cards and started shuffling. I refreshed everyone’s drink and sat down as well. He dealt the first hand and turned up the jack of hearts. I was flush with diamonds, so I passed on the heart, but hoped the call would come back around to me.
There was a knock at the door. I don’t know why it frightened me, but it did. I was almost fearful and looked at Mick with a slight shake of my head as if to say, “
don’t answer it
.”
He smiled at me, stood up, and strode over to open the door. In walked Detective Bentley. I felt the color drain from my face.
“Have a seat, Chuck,” Mick said pointing to his vacated seat at the table.
“No thanks. I won’t be long,” he said. He looked around the table, and I could tell he was weighing whether or not he should speak in front of Larry and Samantha. It seemed to dawn on him that Dick tells Larry police business anyway, so he went ahead with his comments. “We have the preliminary report from Lugnut about your car. Front and back brake lines were both tampered with. There were small punctures which allowed almost all of the fluid to leak out overnight. The brakes would have worked only for a pump or two before going out completely.”
I could feel the tears starting to well up in my eyes. “Did you tell Martin?” I asked.
“He knows,” the detective said. “And your insurance agent has been back over to talk with him, so Martin is settled down now and looking forward to putting safety glass in all of his windows.
“Why would someone mess with Susan’s brakes?” Mick asked.
Detective Bentley appeared even more tired than he did the last time he was here. “We can only surmise someone who’s heard the rumors that she’s behind the break-ins did it as revenge.” He looked to me and asked, “When are you leaving for New Orleans?”
“Day after tomorrow. Monday,” I told him.
“Good,” he said. “I think it’s a good idea for you to leave town right now. With your car at the garage, and you out of town, it might make it easier for our guys to catch the thief.”
“Do you know about the news article coming out in the paper on Monday?” Mick asked him.
“I do,” he said tiredly. “There’s nothing we can do about it. First amendment and all that. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big first amendment kind of guy, but this story is going to inflame things around here, and that’s why it’ll be good for Susan to be out of town.”
Samantha nodded at me. I knew she and Larry were worried about the rumors, and they had both expressed their relief I would be gone for a while.
Detective Bentley excused himself, and Mick walked him to the door.
“Who wants more pie?” I asked as Mick came back to the table. I went to the kitchen to cut another piece. I knew I was ready for another round of comfort food.
“Oh my gosh, Nate! Where are we?” I griped from the back seat.
The windows of the rented car were down, and the stifling heat and humidity were wreaking havoc on me. My hair was stuck to the back of my neck, my arms were sticking to the seat backs as I leaned my head forward into the front seat, and tiny beads of perspiration were trickling down the side of my face. Darby and Nate seemed as happy as two pigs in mud in the heat and humidity. I hated them both.
We had been on the road for an hour, and I knew we were driving away from New Orleans, especially since we had traveled over open water for at least half of the ride. Nate was still extolling the virtues of Lake Pontchartrain, but I was having none of it. “Are we almost there?” I whined louder.
Darby laughed and said, “Susan, stop. You’re going to love this place. It’s an old plantation that’s been in Nate’s family since before the Civil War. His Aunt Sony and Uncle Alfred have lived there for over 50 years, and they still take care of the house and the grounds. She said she’ll have lunch ready for us when we arrive, and you’ll feel better after you eat.”
I flopped back into the seat and felt my arms stick to the leather. I folded them across my body to keep them away from the seat. I was miserable.
Mick and I had stayed up late talking last night. He was still concerned about my coming to New Orleans without him, but we arranged for specific times to be in touch with each other, and I was relieved to see he was much calmer when we finally stopped talking and went to bed. It was another hour before we came up for air and fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.
The lack of sleep, the early morning flight, and now the sticky, insufferable heat was threatening to send me over the edge with crankiness.
Darby had his knees braced against the dash with a map unfolded across them. “We’re almost there,” he said. “It looks like we turn off onto Dirt Road in about three miles.”
I sat up and stuck my head through the opening between the two front seats again. “Dirt Road?” I asked. “We’re going to a plantation which just happens to be on a road called Dirt Road?” That was the last straw. Rather than to cry from frustration and crankiness, I started to giggle from the absurdity of it all. We were unnecessarily saving money by staying with Nate’s 80-something great-aunt and great-uncle for two nights, we would have the experience of staying in a historical landmark, which may or may not be four-star accommodations, and Nate would get to revisit much-loved memories – from when he was a kid.
“That’s what it says on the map,” Darby said holding it up and trying to show me. “It isn’t capitalized, it’s simply labeled dirt road.”
My giggle turned to laughter. The GPS couldn’t find the address, so we had stopped at a gas station to buy the map before leaving civilization. There hadn’t been any houses or buildings to see along the two-lane road for endless miles now, and we hadn’t passed any other vehicles.
“Slow down, Nate,” Darby said. “I think it’s just ahead on your left.”