A Memory Worth Dying For (26 page)

“Don’t say that word over the phone. I’ve told you before; anybody with a scanner can hear everything that’s said on cell phones.”

“Nobody’s got a scanner around here, and even if they do, they won’t have it tuned to this channel.”

“The firemen and cops all have one, and I’m sure they know the exact frequency to use. You never know who might be listening. Just don’t say anything you shouldn’t.”

“Okay, pardner.”

“I told you to stop calling me that. Now, do you have it or not?”

“You mean the . . . I mean, yeah, I have it.”

Okay, then use it, and don’t let anyone see you. Do you hear?”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear. I know what I’m doing.”

“How will you attach the . . . er,
key holder
to the car?”

“What? Oh, . . . well, it’s magnetized. It’ll only take a second to attach. It shouldn’t be hard at all.”

The man slumped down in his seat. “Well, be careful. If you get caught, you’re on your own.”

“Yeah, I know. Just like always.”

When he hung up the phone, he sat back in his chair and felt a heavy weight on his chest. It had to be done. It was the only way. It was his life or hers. She could mess everything up. He should have taken care of it long before this. If he didn’t take care of it now, it would soon be too late.

FORTY-EIGHT

MARTI SAT IN THE SWELTERING
heat, waiting for Clara to come out of the garage. The sooner she dropped Clara off, the better. The look on the head nurse’s face proved one thing—she’d heard and believed all the rumors and accusations hurled at Marti three years ago. Marti could see it in the wary look in Clara’s eyes, and it made her uncomfortable. The court case had been in all the local papers. The Rushings were an important family in the community, and according to the rumors, Marti had disgraced their name.

Marti’s clothes felt as if they were melting to her skin. It must be over one hundred degrees today. She reached to turn on the ignition and start up the air conditioner when Clara exited the building.

Clara opened the door and settled into the car. “Now, I’m ready to go on into town. You said you have a meeting at the Carson Café?”

Marti nodded and cranked the car. “Yes.”

“Abel said he’d go out and replace the hose on my car and then drive it back to the garage. He was pretty sure it would take less than an hour. I have a couple of stops to make in town, so would it be all right if we park at the café, and then I’ll meet you there afterwards so you can bring me back here to get my car?”

“I guess that’s okay. I’m not sure how long my lunch will be, but you can wait for me in the park if you get through before I do.”

Marti drove to the restaurant on the corner of the square. There was nowhere to park in the restaurant parking lot, so she parallel-parked in one of the pay-by-the-hour spaces across the street. They both got out of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk.

Marti watched Clara glance down the road and scrutinize the traffic. A wrinkle appeared between her brows, and Marti turned to see what held her attention. A black truck disappeared around the corner of the next block. She wondered if it was someone Clara knew. It seemed she wasn’t too happy to see the truck. Maybe it was someone she was trying to avoid.

Marti stepped up to the antique meter and saw it was empty. She fumbled in her purse for change, but Clara stepped forward.

“Here, let me take care of that. It’s the least I can do to thank you for the ride into town. Would an hour and a half be enough, do you think?” When Marti nodded, Clara fed six quarters to the meter. The meter box clanged and registered ninety minutes on the display.

Clara turned to Marti. “Would you mind leaving the car door open in case I get back before you’re done with your meeting? It’s too hot to sit in the park.”

Marti hesitated before digging out the extra set of keys from her purse. “Here, I have an extra key. Take this in case I’m not here when you get back. It’s so hot, you might need to run the air conditioner to stay cool.”

Clara took the key. “Thanks.”

Marti watched Clara strut down the street toward the bus stop and plop down on the bench. Where is she going? Marti shrugged. It was really none of her business.

She turned toward the café and saw a man walking toward her. Stanley Baxter.

“Mr. Baxter! Hey, I thought I recognized you.”

“Well, I’ll be doggone, if it’s not Martha Rushing.” He held out his hand, but Marti pushed by his outstretched arm and gave him a sincere hug.

“How are all your family?”

“They’re great. Chelsea sure missed you after you left. You should come see her little daughter, Maria. She’s a little doll baby, and growing like a weed.”

Marti laughed. “Maybe I will. Tell them all I said hello.”

“Sure will, Marti. You take care now.” He held the door for her as she walked into the restaurant and then followed her in. A man in a tan suit joined Mr. Baxter. The hostess led them to a table in the back.

Cool air hit Marti in the face as soon as she stepped up to the hostess desk, and she took pleasure in the feeling. She had forgotten how hot Texas spring days could be. The large round clock hanging above the cashier let her know she was ten minutes early.

When the hostess returned, Marti asked for a table on the balcony so she could look out the windows to the river running through the mountains. She stopped at the overlook and saw children splashing around in the shallow rocks and jumping from one smooth rock to another. Sounds of their laughter floated up on the humid air and mingled with the conversations of the other customers, adding a hominess to the atmosphere.

Marti glanced toward the street and noticed a man in a jumpsuit and hat lingering around her car. Her heart dropped to her stomach when he turned toward the restaurant and glanced up at the window. His sunglasses made it hard to see his features, but he stared up at the window. She nervously moved back away from the glass. When she inched back up to the side of the window and peeked around the ledge, the man was gone.

She rubbed her forehead. You’re crazy, Marti—looking for trouble when there isn’t any.

With a smile at the lady sitting next to her table, Marti sat down to watch the street below for her friends. Fans whirred overhead, pushing the cool air from the vents down to the tables below. Marti sat back and glanced around the room at the western style décor. She pulled out the plein air painting application Cynthia sent her through e-mail and began filling in the blanks. She was curious which orphanage they were supporting with the fundraiser. Alana had mentioned how important donors and fundraisers were to the orphanage they were connected with in Tennessee. Most non-profits existed only through donations. This was a fundraiser Marti could participate in wholeheartedly.

FORTY-NINE

DANIEL THREW THE FIFTY-POUND
bag of horse feed onto the truck and used his shirt sleeve to wipe off the sweat running into his eyes. He stood for a moment and took a deep breath—paying special attention to the odor radiating from the pallet of stacked feed behind him. He walked back through the double doors connecting the storage room to the store section of the building and nodded at Walt, who was helping a customer behind the counter.

“Are you sure this feed’s fresh, Walt? It smells off.”

“I just got it in this morning, Daniel. They’ve added some kind of new yeast culture to help with digestion. That might be what you smell. It’s not much different than before as far as performance goes.”

“Okay . . . just checking. Thanks.”

“You got it. I’ll help you load that feed as soon as I get done here.”

“Don’t worry about it, Walt. I got it covered.”

“Thanks, man.”

Daniel walked back outside and looked at his watch. Veronica wouldn’t be done with her hair appointment for a couple of hours. He could pick up his orders in town and have time to spare. Veronica mentioned having his scraggly hair trimmed after meeting the preacher that morning, so a trip to the barber shop wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

He pulled a bag of feed from the pallet and started loading his pickup until the truck body was full. Then he went back in the building to sign the ticket. Walt was busy with another customer, so Daniel walked around the store, checking off the list in his head of things he needed to purchase in town. He scrutinized a couple of halters for young colts, swung them over his shoulder, and pulled a bottle of penicillin out of the medicinal refrigerator.

As he made his way to the back side of the store, he glanced out the window overlooking Main Street and noticed Marti walking up the sidewalk in front of the Carson City Café. She was probably meeting Skyler and Cynthia. The tingling sensation returned, and unconsciously he rubbed the back of his neck. Marti had a way about her that made him feel strange.

He watched her walking along, a serious expression on her face until she saw someone coming in her direction. Daniel’s gaze shifted to see who deserved the beaming smile that popped up on her face. When he saw a tall man in a blue sports jacket wave and return her smile, he wasn’t prepared for the resentment building inside his chest. Who was this man? And why was Marti so happy to see the guy? Although the man’s face looked familiar, he couldn’t remember anything about the stranger except a feeling of envy. Why did he remember the animosity but not the man?

The man held out his hand, but Marti pushed aside his handshake and gave him a hug instead. A flame started in the pit of Daniel’s stomach and grew into a roaring blaze. Marti had lied to him when she said she was meeting friends in town. Instead, she was meeting
a
friend. Maybe a
special
friend.

Why should he care who she met . . . who she knew . . . who she hugged? That was her business, wasn’t it?

A slow calming breath escaped between his lips but was replaced with a sigh of gloom when he saw them walk into the restaurant together.

Daniel grabbed one of the hoof picks from the display in front of him and marched to the front desk. He plopped everything on the counter and propped his arms on the countertop—rigid and straight. He tapped his fingers impatiently and waited for Walt to ring up his purchases.

Walt gave him a funny look. “You okay, Daniel?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

His clipped response had Walt raising his eyebrows.

The bell over the door rang. Daniel and Walt turned to see a tall man with white hair ambling toward the counter.

Walt nodded to the man and said, “I’ll be with you in a minute, Mr. Welsh,” and then turned back to Daniel. “How many bags of feed did you get, Daniel?”

“Thirty.”

“Okay, let’s see . . . you have thirty bags of Rouster Performance Horse Feed, a bottle of Procaine Penicillin G, two rope halters, and one hoof pick. Would there be anything else?”

“No. That’s all. Oh wait. I need to order a load of Timothy hay, but make sure you get it from Lance Cobb over in Cossio County. He knows I like the second cutting.”

The other customer in the store approached Daniel.

“Daniel, how’re you doing?”

Daniel looked at him—confusion creased his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Jordan Welsh. Vinny’s father.”

“Oh, Mr. Welsh. I’m sorry. I have a case of amnesia and can’t remember most of my old friends. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you, sir.”

“That’s okay, Daniel. I know about your accident. I heard what you said about the Timothy hay and wondered why it’s important to get the second cutting.”

“Well, sir, the first cutting always has more weeds mixed in with the hay. Second cutting’s usually the best quality and the most pure.”

“Don’t you feed alfalfa hay to your horses?”

“We feed alfalfa sometimes. It has its place, but our nutritionist doesn’t recommend it all the time. Timothy hay has the right balance of nutrition and fiber. Plus the protein and calcium levels are lower.”

“I see.”

“Here ya go, Daniel.” Walt handed him the sales ticket.

Daniel took the paper and nodded to both men, then walked toward the door, consumed once again with thoughts of Marti. He climbed into the truck cab and sat motionless behind the wheel. Straightening his back, he thought about what he saw. Was there a connection between Marti and the guy he saw, and why didn’t she mention knowing someone in Carson?

He wished he could remember if he knew the man. It was possible Marti knew someone from this area before she came to visit. He needed to get a grip. It was really none of his business anyway.

If it wasn’t any of his business, then why did seeing her hug this stranger ruin his whole day?

FIFTY

“WHAT?” MARTI’S HIGH-PITCHED QUESTION
caught the attention of the other restaurant patrons. She blushed and lowered her voice. “Who did you say the fundraiser is for?”

Cynthia’s eyes sparkled. “The Tots and Teens Orphanage in Bishop, Tennessee. It’s the only children’s home in that area, and the owners are great. They love those kids like they were their own.”

Marti sank back into her chair. “I don’t believe it! I worked with two of the board members of that orphanage, Alana and Jaydn Holbrook. They’re starting a new homeless shelter in Landeville, just a few miles from Bishop, and they hired me to paint a mural on the wall for the grand opening. As a matter of fact, I know the orphanage owners too. Shirley and Darrell Hamlin.”

Skyler let out a laugh. “You’re kidding! Well, now you definitely have to paint with us in the fundraiser. You have an excellent reason to participate if Shirley and Darrell are friends. You wouldn’t want to let the orphanage down, would you?” She smiled a
gotcha
smile.

Marti bit her lip. “Alana told me they had supporters all over, but I had no idea they had connections as far west as Carson, Texas. This is uncanny.” She laid her napkin on the table beside her plate. “I guess you can count me in. I love Alana and Jaydn too much not to help.”

Cynthia and Skyler squealed and clapped their hands.

“
Ooooh
, I just know this is going to be the greatest year ever. With your talent on our side, it has to be a success! I can’t believe you didn’t know you were an artist when you lived here before. We could have had so much fun.” Skyler said.