The Fame Equation (24 page)

My third decision was safety, and my eventual decisions here were based on one of two main choices. I could back off, as the text suggested, or I could continue to nose around Melody’s life to see if I could come up with anything the police couldn’t. I had already been able to tell them a lot about Melody’s daily habits, and about her personality. As her closest friend, I could see life through her eyes better than anyone else could.

I turned the thought sideways. What would Melody want? She’d want me to be safe, but she was never one to back down from something she believed in. She believed in the mission of her church and the riding center so strongly that she had worked hard to carve out time to spend there. She certainly would not have been as successful so early in her music career had she been a shrinking violet. No. Melody would not have let this text scare her, and I wouldn’t either.

So, how to stay safe? At horse shows I made the younger kids who showed with me use the buddy system. When they were in my care, they could not go anywhere past our immediate barn aisle without someone else being with them. I could do that. I could buddy up.

Decisions made, I relaxed. I took another sip of chocolate, then fingered the letter in my pocket. Part of me couldn’t wait to open it, but the other part of me never wanted to read it. If I read the letter, it meant that Melody was really and truly gone. Somehow the envelope ended up in my lap. It was just a plain number ten business envelope with my name written on it in Melody’s handwriting. What was Melody thinking when she wrote the letter? Did she sit at her kitchen table? Or was she on her back porch? It made me sad to think that I’d never know.

Cautiously, I opened the flap, slid the letter out, and unfolded it. It was two pages, written by hand on plain white copy paper.

Dear Cat,

Well, if you’re reading this then something awful happened to me. I just hope it was quick. I want to let you know that you mean the world to me. I am so very glad that we met and became such good friends. We haven’t known each other long, at least we haven’t at the time I am writing this, but I feel as if you are the sister I never had. Well, I do have a sister and if you are reading this then you have probably met her and know exactly what I mean.

Moving forward, I want you to remember all the fun times we had. Every one of them. Remember when we hiked up to Hidden Lake and picnicked on the old cement dance floor? We sat in a pile of fire ants and itched and laughed all the way down the hill. And the time we were asked to leave the movie
theater because we were laughing so hard? It wasn’t even a funny movie! I am still glad I wasn’t recognized. Davis would not have been pleased.

But seriously. Cat, you are an awesome person, and I love you more than my silly words can say. I’ve left you a little something in my will. I hope you find it helpful. Even though I know you will do something practical with it, over time, I hope you do something fun, too. For us. I want you to do something that will make you laugh. I’m not sure how heaven works, but no matter what, I’ll be right beside you for the rest of your life, laughing along with you.

Please don’t let my mother or anyone else contest my will. Making out my will was like all the instructions I ever received about writing a song: keep it simple and write what you mean. I meant everything that I put into my will and I want people to respect that. I also entrusted my electronics and journals to you because I know without a doubt that you will keep my private thoughts private. Guess I should wind this up. Pastor Ruthie says our soul never dies, so know that I will be the first one to greet you whenever it is your time. Hugs and love to you, Cat, for all of your life.

Your loving sister,

Melody

It took me a long time to read the letter because I was crying so hard I couldn’t see very well. I hadn’t brought any Kleenex with me, so had to use the sleeve of my jacket to wipe my eyes and blow my nose. After I’d read the letter for the second time, and the third, I was so emotionally drained that I felt like I’d been sucked down a garbage disposal. Eventually I climbed down out of the tree and Hank and I made our way back to the house. I felt a hundred years old.

After I changed my jacket and splashed some cold water on my face I went out to the barn.

“Want to make a Walmart run with me?” I asked Jon.

He looked up from a spot he was rubbing on Gigi’s back. Jon had been doing some basic massage on Gigi every day and it helped take the edge off her flightiness. I couldn’t wait to get the vibration plate and whispered my thanks to Melody. “I’ve got a lot to do,” he said.

“Me too, but it will give us a chance to catch up.”

Jon thought about it. “West Nashville or Ashland City?” he asked.

We were located almost equal distance between the two.

“Either,” I said.

“If we go to the Walmart in Ashland City we can stop at the Co-op. I was going to pick up feed tomorrow morning, but could do it today.”

I got my purse, turned on the headlights to combat the increasing gloom of the day and we headed down the drive, Jerry Reed singing “East Bound and Down.” Before I had a chance to make a right onto River Road Jon said, “Okay, what’s up?”

I sighed, turned the radio down, and filled Jon in on the text and on my phone situation.

“So I’m your safety buddy,” he said.

“For now.”

Jon considered the information, and then nodded.

At Walmart, we selected a phone, and Jon put the number into his cell.

“Put it in your address book as ‘Sally,’” I said on impulse. “Just in case.”

“In case what?” he asked.

“In case the killer gets your phone, or taps into it somehow.” I had no idea if a phone could be hacked, but I did not want to take a chance.

We then picked up a few groceries, and my eyes scanned the darkening parking lot as we walked back to the truck, Jon carrying the bags. To my great surprise, I spotted a familiar man pushing a cart several rows away. I took stock: sunglasses, ball cap, and a jacket that was too large for his frame. He looked suspiciously like Mr. Clean Cut. Without thinking I darted between two cars and began to run toward him.

Unfortunately, the man was near his car. He jumped into an older, dark green Honda and sped away. I just had time to see that when he started the car, and when the headlights came on, one light was yellower than the other.

I stopped running, placed my hands on my knees and bent over, gasping.

Jon ran up beside me. “What was that all about?”

I waved my hand at him, indicating that I’d tell him as soon as I had enough air to form words. Before long I stood up and filled him in.

“And you haven’t mentioned all this before because . . .”

“I thought it was coincidence, that I was making something out of nothing. But now that I know Mr. Clean Cut drives the car that has been behind me a lot, it’s probably something.

“You have to call Martin,” Jon said.

“I know, but let’s get the grain first.”

We drove west on Hwy. 12 to the center of town, but instead of making a left on Hwy 49 toward the Co-op I kept going. Jon just raised an eyebrow.

“I forgot. I want to stop in at Mayfield’s Books,” I said.

John Mayfield had a great used bookstore and gave all the proceeds to local charities. Besides, I wanted to see if he had a Goosebumps book for Bubba. As I had loved the pseudo scary books when I was younger, I thought Bubba would, too. There was a copy of a classic,
Night of the Living Dummy
, on a crowded shelf so I paid John his dollar, then drove the half mile or so to the Co-op where Jim Ed rose from the bench in front of the store to greet us.

Jim Ed was a chatty member of the Giles family who held court every day from the Co-op, as a way keep his marriage intact. Since his retirement a decade or so ago, Jim Ed had wandered down to the Co-op just about every morning, and stayed most of the day.

Store management figured out early on that having Jim Ed ensconced on the bench out front was the equivalent of thousands of dollars worth of advertising each week. Fact was, Jim Ed was the town’s biggest gossip and a lot of people came by just to hear what news Jim Ed had to share. Today he wore his usual white undershirt, dark blue work pants, black suspenders, white tube socks, and black lace up shoes with thick soles. He’d added a heavy, thigh-length green raincoat dotted with yellow flowers to ward off the chill. Jim Ed had a habit of borrowing his wife’s coats.

His thinning hair, usually blond, had recently been dyed dark brown, and spots of the dye hadn’t quite been scrubbed from his neck. When it came to his teeth, Jim Ed once joked that he used to have “summer teeth.” “Some’re here, some’re there,” he said. But he’d gotten those pulled a while back and now sported a full set of sparkling white dentures.

“Holy reintarnation, if it ain’t Jon Gardner and Miz Enright,” Jim Ed said, holding out his large, bony hand. Jim Ed welcomed everyone as if they were the King and Queen of England. When he stopped shaking my shoulder out of its socket he took off his hat and held it over his heart. “Miz Enright, I am truly sorry for the loss of your dear friend. You must be de-viled.” I was pretty sure he meant devastated.

“Thank you Jim Ed,” I said. “She left us far too soon. Life can sometimes be unfair.”

“Well, expecting life to be fair is like expecting the bull not to make a run at you because you’re one a them vegetarians.”

I smiled. “True, Jim Ed. Very true.”

“Say now––,” Jim Ed could be as windy as a sack full of farts, but fortunately another truck pulled in and the occupants pulled his attention away from us. Jon and I took the opportunity to dash into the Co-op. Before I knew it, five hundred pounds of feed had been loaded into the bed of the truck and we were back at the farm by the time raindrops started to fall.

“I’ll unload,” Jon said when we pulled up to the barn.

I wasn’t above lifting a few feedbags, but we’d called Martin as soon as we left the Co-op and his unmarked car was already in the drive. This was the second time Detective Giles had shown up in mere seconds. I was beginning to think he was related to Flash, the speedy superhero.

I told the story of Mr. Clean Cut for the second time. “Bill Vandiver saw him too, in the café after the reading of the will, and Buffy saw him when we had lunch at Provence,” I added.

Martin had a long fuse, but I could tell his anger was close to bursting. He stomped around my kitchen dispelling energy right and left. “Did you ever think if you called me as soon as he drove out of the parkin’ lot I could have sent someone to look for him? By this time we could’ve stopped him and we’d know who he was.”

Darn. I hadn’t thought of that.

“It’s just that I like you,” he said, sticking his hands into his pockets, then just as quickly pulling them back out. “My brother likes you. Even my mother likes you.”

“Now that’s going too far,” I said. By this time I was mad and on my feet, too. “Your mother hates me. Call it for what it is, Martin. She’d rather have her son date a pig goober than me.”

We were both surprised by the honesty of my words and stopped to take stock. Sometimes it was hard for me to differentiate the brother of my boyfriend from the law enforcement official. Right now I wasn’t sure which hat he wore.

Martin spoke first and his words were soft. “It’s not that she doesn’t like you. She actually thinks highly of you.”

I snorted.

“She just thinks you are not a good match for Brent.” Martin held up his hands before I could protest. “She thinks Brent needs someone who is more of a homebody. That’s all. Other than that, she really does like you as a person.”

I didn’t want to argue the point. Mama Giles might even be right. But even if she was, it wasn’t any of her business.

“I have a new cell number,” I said. We’d called earlier from Jon’s phone. “I’m using the buddy system. I promise not to go anywhere on my own until the murderer is in custody. I promise to use caution, and to be careful.” Then I drew on my fine command of language, and shut my mouth.

“Okay,” he said. “But if anything, and I mean anything the slightest bit out of the ordinary comes up, you call me. Now lock all of the doors and windows after I go, and don’t be stupid like you were a few months ago and open the door without first seeing who’s on the other side.”

I did make that teensy mistake once and ended up getting myself kidnapped. I’d learned from that experience though, and added no door opening and not getting kidnapped to the list of promises that I made to the detective.

Brent was on call that night and was staying close to home. I still had not had time to tell him all that was going on. Soon, though. I would do that soon.

Darcy had gone home with her friend Amber after school. The two had been close since kindergarten and were going to treat Amber’s mom, who was going through her second divorce, to dinner and a movie.

Even though it came in spurts, sometimes Darcy’s generosity and compassion amazed me. She was going to stay at Amber’s that night, then in the morning head to her dad’s. Mason had set up a meeting with a college prep counselor. Darcy had wrinkled her nose distastefully when she heard that news, but she walked the line with her dad pretty well. She regularly pushed his boundaries, but never too hard.