Dark Paradise (10 page)

I grab a baseball bat–size branch from the ground. “This isn't funny. Come out!”

The toot of a horn signals the bus's arrival, and I sprint toward the road. I shove branches aside, ignoring the scratches to my face and hands. Running steps follow me, but I don't look back. I dig in deep and pull on my reserve of energy. I burst from the trees, slip on the embankment, and slide down the muddy hill on my butt. At the bottom, I roll to my knees and look over my shoulder. The same flash of red moves at the edge of the undergrowth, but the person doesn't show his, or her, face.

“Coward!” I throw the stick. It crashes into the trees where the silhouette of a figure had been standing, and the thrashing of the bushes makes me think I hit someone.

The bus driver honks the horn again. “Mala, I'm on a schedule. Playtime's over. Get on the bus!”

“I'm coming, Mr. Johns.” I pick up my supersize black leather purse and wipe mud and crushed leaves from my jeans as I climb up the stairs onto the transit bus. My boots squeak all the way down the aisle. The seats are full, which isn't surprising. This is the only bus that runs through the swamp to town. If I needed any other affirmation from the heavens that luck abandoned me today, it appears in the identical forms of the fourteen-going-on-four Acker twins, Carl and Daryl, who keep up a running commentary of increasingly stupid insults about my appearance as I clump down the aisle.

“Mala went dirt surfing.” Carl snorts.

“She doesn't look any different than normal,” Daryl says. “Maybe cleaner.”

The twins laugh.

“Best keep your opinions to yourselves or lumps are gonna sprout on other pieces of your anatomies, you little brats,” I threaten, slapping the back of their knobby blond heads as I walk past their seats. They may not be afraid of my wrath, but if they keep messing with me, their big sister will make their lives miserable. It shames me to know the twins and I are blood relatives, thanks to sharing a great-great-something-grandfather who lusted after his slave. Not that the boys or their racist father will ever admit kinship. The only one in their family who gets a kick out of being my cousin is their sister, Dena, who currently frowns over her shoulder at me from the front of the bus.

I wave her off. I hold onto the top of the empty backseat when the bus lurches into motion, then take off my rain jacket, stuff it and my purse under the seat, and sit down. My wet jeans stick to the vinyl as I turn to stare out the back window. Headlights shine from the corner we just left, coming from the road leading to my house. I press my nose to the glass trying to see who's driving the black Ford that pulls in behind the bus, but the truck stays far enough back that I can't make out a face.

A tap on my shoulder startles a yelp out of me. I spin in my seat. “What?”

Dena settles into the seat beside me and raises her hands. “Sorry. Gosh, what's got you so jumpy?”

“Sorry, cuz.” Wet hair sticks to my cheeks, and I push it out of my eyes with trembling fingers. “Somebody followed me through the woods. Scared the shit out of me.”

“What?” she shrieks. “Did you see who?”

Her panic reignites mine. “No, but I think it's whoever's in the truck behind us.”

Dena stares out the back window, and her freckled nose scrunches up. “I don't see anybody.”

I look back. The truck is gone.

I
t takes an hour to wind through the woods to pick up the rest of us country folk. Those of us living out in the sticks have never fit in with the townies or with each other. By the time we park at the bus stop in front of town square, my head pounds and my nose feels stuffy. I rise slowly, dizzy. My temples throb when I lean forward to pull my stuff out from beneath the seat. It's going to be a long day.

Dena leans against the metal frame of the bus stop with her arms folded and her toe tapping while I take my time getting off the bus. Our gazes meet through the window, and she rolls her eyes, a silent signal for me to get my ass in gear before we're late for our shift at Munchies.

Daryl and Carl shove past me. One of them yells, “Move it, fat ass!”

I trip on the last step. “One day, I'm killing those brats.”

Dena grabs my arm, steadying me. “Warn me ahead of time so I can set up alibis.” She yells at her brothers' retreating backs, “Evil twins, meet me at Munchies in an hour for lunch.”

Daryl raises a hand but doesn't turn around. They head toward Playtown, the place where kids their age hang out. The park has a swimming pool, skating rink, batting cages, and a mini golf course.

Dena and I walk down the narrow sidewalk in silence, which must be torture for my chatterbox cousin. The sun beats down onto my head, soaking up heat, until my hair burns to the touch. I swat at the mosquito on my neck and glare at the roses around the gazebo in the Vietnam Memorial garden housed in Paradise Park across the street.

“I hate roses,” I mutter.
Roses smell like death.

Dena shrugs. “That's because you don't have a romantic bone in your body.”

“I don't like you either, Dee.”

Cold air feels like a slap upside the head upon entering Munchies Diner & Ice Cream Parlor, and my headache eases. The large, saloon-style building, with its gaudy pink, balloon-decaled front window, is my home away from home. I've worked here every summer since starting high school, but this is the first time it's ever been full of customers on a Wednesday morning.

“Saints, is it somebody's birthday?” I say, checking out the packed booths.

Dena shrugs. “Not sure. Look, there's Maggie and Tommy.”

Our friends sit cuddled up close in a corner booth. They look so happy to be with each other that I avoid their table and head toward the employee bathroom. I don't feel social, and I don't want to ruin their obvious good mood.

Maggie catches me sneaking past, and her face lights up. She slides out of the booth and charges down the aisle, like the hounds of Hades chase after her. But, instead of looking terrified, her face glows. She grabs Dena in a bear hug, lifts her in the air, and spins her around. She then turns and does the same to me.

“Put me down before you suffocate me,” I say, trying to catch my breath.

Maggie takes after Bessie in looks and size—big-boned, flawless cocoa skin, stunningly beautiful. She gives me a hard kiss on the cheek, laughing when I rub it off, and releases me.

“How are you feeling today?”

“Not too good. I'm sick.”

Maggie pulls out a tissue and hands it over. “You got a little drainage going,” she says, motioning to my nose.

“Thanks, Ma.”

“Sure. What happened to your clothes?”

I twist around to stare at my muddy butt. A snicker comes from beside me, and I glance down at a table full of prissy-looking sorority girls. One of them gives my pants a pointed stare and waves her hand beneath her nose with a snooty expression. The girls cover their mouths and laugh. One of the perks of having a junior college in our town means that, even if these girls were too dumb to get into a university, they have someplace to hang out while they search for a suitable husband. Idiots.

Assaulting customers isn't allowed, Mala.
With the reminder ringing through my head, I give the girl a sunny grin, turn my offensive ass directly toward her seat, and continue with my rudely interrupted conversation. “Had a bit of an accident walking to the bus,” I tell Maggie. “Don't worry. I have an extra pair of jeans in my locker.”

Dena grabs Maggie's arm and whispers, “She has a stalker. He followed her to the bus stop.”

Maggie's dark eyes widen. “Seriously? Should I call my mom?”

I glare at Dena. I should've warned her to keep her mouth shut. The last thing I need is for Maggie to wind Bessie up. She's already stressing about my part in the Prince case. She'll station an armed deputy at my house if she thinks I'm in danger. With my luck, it'll be George. I've avoided him all week.
The jerk didn't even call to apologize.

I cast a sideways glance at my friends. “I need to change. Can you handle all these people alone, Dee?”

“Go on. Sam and Tabitha haven't gone off shift, and you stink.”

I roll my eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

I bypass the counter and go down the hall to the employee break room. A barrage of varying shades of pink blind me for a minute. I focus on the white lockers for Munchies employees gracing the wall beside the sink, ignoring the garish walls painted in clashing carmine and amaranth.

Maggie stays right on my heels as she follows me across the room. “Okay, what's up?” she demands, hands on her hips. “And don't say ‘nothing.'”

I pull a clean pair of jeans from my locker and head into the small bathroom. Maggie doesn't completely violate my privacy by following me inside, but she stands in the doorway with one hand on the knob, in case we're interrupted, while I begin to change. Silence stretches between us for a long, tension-filled moment. Then Maggie, being Maggie, charges ahead. She's not even subtle.

“George and Mama were talking on the porch after work last night. The kitchen window was open, and I overheard them discussing the case they're working on.”

“Oh?” I pull off my tennis shoes. “What did they say?”

“They were talking about you.” Maggie stares expectantly. When I remain silent, she continues, “George said he couldn't stop thinking about you.”

“About me? Georgie told your mom he was thinking about me?” My heart speeds up. “What else did he say? Did he sound guilty? Ashamed? Don't keep me hanging.”

“He said he's worried about Landry Prince going after you.”

“Ah.” I shrug.
Total letdown.

“Feels like you're hiding something,” Maggie accuses, “a secret that Mama and George are in on. Why won't you talk to me?” Her voice rises. “What's going on between you and Landry Prince?”

While I hadn't really been aware of the girls' voices coming from behind Maggie while we were talking, the hush following my best friend's shout is noticeable.

“Shush,” I hiss. “This is why nobody tells you anything. 'Cause you can't keep quiet.”

Hurt fills her dark eyes. “So there is something going on? I knew it.”

I slip on my shoes, preparing to do battle with whoever ignored the Employee Only sign on the break room, and brush past her. Three girls stand in front of the break room door, blocking our exit back to the safety of the packed dining area. When they see us come out of the bathroom, they give us, or rather me, hard stares.

“Hey, Malaise.” It's the rude bitch who waved her hand in front of her nose. Tall and willowy, she looks like a model as she glides toward me. “Can I speak with you?”

I glance at Maggie, who shrugs. “Do I know you?”

“No, we've never been introduced. I'm Clarice Delahoussaye.” She says her name like I should immediately fall down and kiss her feet. Not happening in this lifetime.

“Obviously, you know my name already,” I say.

“Everyone knows you.”

“Yeah, sure.” If she thinks that will make me more receptive to her, she's mistaken. “Look, this break room is for employees only. If you want to talk, we can do it after I finish my shift.”

Clarice raises an eyebrow and gives Maggie a knowing look. She smiles. “I didn't mean to run you off. I just want to chat for a moment.”

“I've never run from anyone in my life.”
Except for the stalker in the woods this morning.
“I have work.” I calmly pull on my fuchsia apron and ball cap, with “Munchies” emblazoned across them in white. I'm afraid of turning my back on her to walk to the door. The glitter in Clarice's brown eyes reminds me of a rabid raccoon. Her girlfriends pick up on the psycho vibe. Their eyes shift between us, and they clump tighter around us.

Maggie tugs on my arm. “Seriously, we've got to go. Dena's waiting.”

Clarice graces me with a hard smile, like Maggie hasn't just spoken. “I overheard you gossiping about my boyfriend.”

Boyfriend?
I share a confused glance with Maggie, who jerks on my arm again. I shift my stance, knowing I should leave, but I'm too curious. Which boy does she mean, Georgie or Landry? Not that it matters who she's dating. Neither of them have anything to do with me. I shove my wet clothing inside my locker and slam it closed.

“Overheard, huh? Okay. It's pretty obvious you and your friends followed me in here on purpose. So did you come to fight or what?” I crack my knuckles. “Am I kicking just your ass or all three?”

Maggie sighs. “I'll take the two little ones, but you're explaining this to Mom when she comes to arrest us. She said if we get in any fights after we turn eighteen that she's not bailing us out of jail.”

“God, you two are so ghetto. I didn't come to fight,” Clarice says quickly.

“Then stop with the insults 'cause every word out of your mouth so far only makes me want to punch you in the face.”

Maggie nods. “Yep.”

Clarice's nostrils flare.

I'm kind of worried she hasn't backed down. Most girls stopped messing with me after I got fed up with the bullies in junior high and made a few examples out of them. Maggie and I've avoided getting into full-on brawls for years with bluffing and smack talking.

Clarice flicks a strand of hair over her shoulder, saying “I came to have a civil conversation—”

“Fine, say what you need to say,” I interrupt. Time for her to get to the point. Dena's going to kill me if this takes much longer.

“I want you to back off. Landry's understandably upset about his sister's passing. He's vulnerable. The last thing he needs right now is a bunch of ridiculous rumors floating around town about him being in some imaginary relationship with the witch's daughter.”

My face heats with each word. “Relationship? With Landry. Look, I've never—”

“Just stay away from him.”

Did he tell her about our meeting at the Coroner's Office? Is that why she's so angry?

“Are you listening to me, Malaise?”

I blink at her, finally understanding. She's totally jealous. Imaginary relationship my big toe.

“Yeah,” I drawl. “Loud and clear.”

A smile that isn't reflected in her eyes twists her lips. “Landry's grieving. Don't confuse his vulnerability for weakness or you'll regret it. People do all kinds of
crazy
things when they're grief stricken. And they're forgiven. I just don't want
you
to get hurt. Maybe you should take off today. We're holding a memorial service here this afternoon so Lainey's friends can say good-bye. A lot of people will be emotional.” She reaches out and pats the top of my head, like I'm her obedient poodle.

I jerk my head away and ram my shoulder into hers as I shove past. She catches her balance on her friend's arm. My fingers twitch with the desire to yank out a huge clump of the hair she flippantly tosses over her shoulder.

Her laughter-choked words follow me out of the locker room. “Thanks for the chat, Malaise. I'm glad there won't be any misunderstandings between us in the future.”

Misunderstandings?
Oh, no, her threat was crystal clear, and I suspect that this is only the beginning.

Clarice and her friends cover the tables in the private room in the back with black cloths. Lainey's blown-up portrait sits propped up on the middle table surrounded by flowers, stuffed animals, and handmade cards.
Lainey, we love and miss you.

For most of my shift, I avoid their part of the restaurant, but Dena's on break having lunch with her brothers. I have no choice. I hold the stacked tray of food and drinks over my head and wind through the tables of mourners. From the corner of my eye, I see one of them point at me. Whispers follow.

When I walk past Lainey's picture, her cobalt blue eyes follow me. She looks pissed, like she's mad at being the object of such intense scrutiny and gossip. Or maybe I'm projecting my own emotions onto her. My chest tightens. The air around me chills, icy cold, and each breath has to be sucked into my lungs.

“Mala,” a voice yells.

Startled, I glance up to see Dena waving furiously from the booth she shares with the knobby-headed twins. She points at something behind me. I spin and almost face-plant into a wide chest. I stagger backward with a startled yelp. The tray of food I'm clutching falls to the ground with a loud clatter that draws everyone's attention. I squat and grab the cup rolling toward a boot-clad foot.

“Sorry,” I whisper, then grit my teeth.

“Watch where you're walking.”

“Me watch…” I sputter.

“Pretending like you don't see me again?” the guy asks, stepping on the plastic tray. It cracks in half. The cold that settled around my body earlier vanishes to be replaced with heat. This is the last straw. First Clarice, now this idiot's trying to start a fight. The image of me stabbing a fork into this guy's thigh flashes through my mind, but I stop myself from acting on the crazy impulse and rise to my feet.

“Look, jerk, you bumped into me first. Apologize!” I step forward and glare up into a face that is a masculine copy of the portrait of Lainey Prince. Black, tangled hair hangs over bloodshot gray eyes filled with so much anger that I wince.