Gone South (41 page)

Mel’s eyes were wet. “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s a beautiful car.”

The lieutenant sighed, shifted his weight, and addressed Tish. “Ma’am, I understand there’s a garage at the back of your property.”

“Yes, there is.”

“I’d like your permission to take a look inside.”

Her mind roiled with questions—Didn’t they need a search warrant? Would they find a stolen car? Could her prospective employer find out?—but she could only manage a faint, “Why?”

“Because Miss Melanie Hamilton is the prime suspect in the disappearance of her father’s 1956 Corvette.”

“He’s not my father anymore,” Mel snapped. “And it’s not his car.”

“Sure, he sold it, but the buyer hasn’t taken possession yet.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Mel said. “I mean it’s my grandfather’s car.”

Darren stepped forward. “Your granddaddy’s dead, Mel,” he said gently.

Her eyes swam with tears. “You think I don’t know that?”

She turned to go inside, but the lieutenant gripped her shoulder. “Stay put,” he said. “I’ll want to ask more questions.”

“Fine.” Mel drew back, trying to escape him. “And go ahead and snoop in the garage. You won’t find anything.”

Tish gave her a warning look, then turned to the officer. “If you’ll let go of her, I’ll get the key to the garage.”

Reluctantly, he set Mel free. “Don’t go anywhere, young lady.”

She brushed her fingers across her shoulder as if to rid herself of his touch, but she didn’t argue and she didn’t run.

Tish went inside and ran upstairs, her heart pounding. She didn’t want to think of the consequences of having a stolen car in the garage. A car worth sixty grand.

She hurried down the stairs with her keys but took a moment to compose herself before opening the door. In two minutes, she’d know. And then she’d have to figure out what to do next. Of all times for George to be out of town.

When she walked onto the porch, Darren was trying to make peace between Mel and the lieutenant, who were practically nose to nose.

“I’m staying right here on the porch,” Mel said.

“Why don’t you come with us, Miss Hamilton,” the lieutenant said. It was plainly an order, not a request.

“Come on, Mel,” Tish said. “I don’t know about you, but I have nothing to hide.”

Mel let out a huff. “Oh, all right. Let’s go.”

Tish led the tense, silent trek to the garage. Very much afraid of what they’d find, she scrutinized the sandy ground for tire tracks. The closer she came to the garage, the more slowly she moved, excruciatingly aware of everything in her path. Weeds, stones, pine cones—and tire tracks, but she didn’t see any fresh ones. As far as she could tell, they were all old ones from George’s and Calv’s comings and goings.

Mel had been falsely accused before. If this was another false accusation, it could explain her hostility.

Stopping in front of the garage, Tish glanced over her shoulder. Mel stood with her arms folded across her chest, her eyes burning with defiance. The lieutenant and Darren stood squarely behind her. If she ran, she wouldn’t get far.

Tish opened the padlock, lifted it off the hasp, and said a quick prayer. She shoved the stubborn door to the left—and let out a sigh that seemed to leave her chest as empty as the garage.

“See?” she said. “We have nothing to hide.”

The lieutenant left Darren to guard Mel and walked in. He strolled in a large circle, taking in the huge assortment of tools and what George called the clubhouse furnishings: a fan, camp chairs, and a cooler.

“Somebody’s been working on a car in here,” Robot Face said.

“George Zorbas,” Tish said. “He’s renting the garage from me, but he took his car out of town this weekend.”

“And his car is the only one that’s been in here?”

“Yes,” Tish said. “I walk out here almost every day, and I’ve never seen a car here except George’s Chevelle.”

“Miss Hamilton,” the lieutenant said, “your daddy tells me the last time the Corvette disappeared, about six years ago, you were at the wheel. You come back to town, and your daddy’s car goes missing again. Strange, isn’t it?”

“He’s not my daddy and it’s not his car,” Mel said between clenched teeth. “It never was. It was my Grandpa John’s.”

“There’s another funny thing too,” the cop said. “This morning, your dad ransacked his house looking for his spare key, but he didn’t find it. Last time he remembers seeing it was a couple of years ago. Just about the time you left town.”

Mel kept quiet, her lips pressed tightly together and her eyes narrowed.

He moved closer. “Admit it, Miss Hamilton. You stole the car the first time when you were fifteen—”

“I did not steal it.”

“Okay. You took it for a joyride.”

“A joyride? A
joy
ride? When my grandpa had just died?”

“Come on, Lieutenant,” Darren said. “There’s no car here.”

“But it’s somewhere, and I intend to find it.” The lieutenant glowered at Mel. “Stop wasting my time, young lady. If you won’t tell me where it is, I’ll find it anyway. I’ll turn the whole county upside down if I have to, but I’ll find that car.”

“Go right ahead.” Mel shot a pleading glance at Darren. “I’m not a thief. I’m not.”

“We’ll see about that.” The lieutenant began the long walk back to the house.

Darren studied Mel with worried eyes. “Melanie, I’ll ask you one more time,” he said softly. “Do you have anything you need to tell me?”

“I see what you’re doing, Darren. Y’all are playing good cop, bad cop. No, I don’t have anything to tell you.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. You think I’m a criminal, don’t you?”

“It’s not looking good,” he said. “The sooner you come clean, the better.”

“The sooner people stop calling me a thief, the better.” Holding her head high, Mel started after the lieutenant.

Hands on his hips, Darren watched her disappear behind the camellias. “Miss McComb, do you have anything you’d like to share with me?”

She hesitated. Although the Corvette wasn’t on her property, that didn’t prove Mel’s innocence. “How can I reach you if I think of anything?”

Darren handed her a card. “Here’s my number. Call anytime. Thanks.”
He paused, running his fingers over the neat stubble of hair on his head. “Sometimes I worry about that girl.” He walked away.

“I do too,” Tish whispered. Her fingers shook as she pulled the door closed and padlocked it. She had to call George.

In the distance, church music floated on the air. It was an organ, flying high and happy over the congregation’s singing. As near as she could figure, it was the little white church two blocks away.

Sooner or later, she’d find a church. For now, maybe she needed to find a lawyer.

Daisy snuffled around on Mel’s bed, hunting for pretzels in the folds of the quilt. She gave up and gave Mel one of those sad looks.

“They’re all gone. Sorry.” Mel sighed. “George would kill me if he knew.”

He would kill her for a lot of reasons.

She flopped over on her back. “He doesn’t trust me,” she told the dog, softly so Tish wouldn’t hear. “He only lets me baby-sit you because he doesn’t care about you. He hopes you’ll run off and never come home. Like my folks would’ve been glad if I’d never made it back from Florida. If that pervert had left me dead by the side of the road, I never would’ve embarrassed them again.”

Mel grabbed her pillow around her ears so she couldn’t hear cars going by on the street. She was the only twenty-one-year-old in town who didn’t have her own vehicle. Anybody else could go anywhere, anytime, but she couldn’t even walk down the block. The cops would be watching. She was trapped.

It reminded her of the time she’d helped Stu paint the porch when she was five or six. She’d painted herself into a corner. He’d laughed his head off, and then he’d reached over and picked her up with his long arms.

Now she’d painted herself into a different kind of corner, and it wasn’t something her big brother could get her out of even if he wanted to. And he wouldn’t want to.

She’d never had such a miserable birthday. Stu never called. Her parents
never called, of course, but Tish was being too sweet, like that awful principal at the middle school who’d thought she could get kids to talk by treating them like her little buddies.

“You are a dead duck, Melanie John,” Mel said quietly. “Dead. Duck.”

She lit a cigarette from the pack she’d bought on Friday night on her way to pick up her clothes. She didn’t bother to crack the window. “Sin boldly,” Calv had said.

Then she tried to decide what to do.

Pack, she decided. She could unpack later if a miracle happened and she could stay, but if she had to make a run for it, she’d be ready to go.

It didn’t take long. Even now, including the “new” clothes she’d stashed under the bed, she didn’t have much to take with her. The clothes rolled up nicely in the sleeping bag, but she couldn’t think of a good way to pack the shoes.

Whatever. So she was down to one pair again.

My little barefoot beggar
, Grandpa John had called her when she ran around barefoot all the time. He’d said a barefoot beggar was ready to step onto holy ground. Another one of his weird little sayings.

She hesitated when she saw the napkin rings on top of the dresser. It didn’t seem right to take them now, but it would be rude to leave them. She didn’t know what to do.

So she lit another cigarette. She didn’t usually do that, one after another, but her nerves were shot. She couldn’t even focus on smoking. She picked up her cig, put it down, walked around the room, tried to think. Tried to pray.

Her life was a mess, but she didn’t have a better life anywhere else.

She’d just remembered the toiletries in the bathroom when Tish knocked on the door. Mel lowered the bedroll to the floor and tried to sound innocent. “Yes?” she said.

“You’ve got company,” Tish said.

“Great,” she grumbled, picturing Robot Face on the porch. “Here we go again.”

Shoot, maybe it was Darren. She would smell like smoke, and she hadn’t even brushed her teeth.

She padded to the bedroom door and opened it. Tish had walked away already, not even trying to explain who it was.

“Tish,” she called softly. “Who is it?”

No answer.

Pretending to be calm, Mel walked into the living room. And there stood Hayley with a big grin on her face.

“Happy twenty-first birthday, doll!”

“Oh my gosh! I thought you forgot.”

“No way! We’re going out.”

“I can’t afford—”

“My treat. I’m taking you out for your first legal drunk. I mean drink.” Hayley giggled.

Mel put her finger to her lips and widened her eyes in warning.

“Oops,” Hayley whispered. “Of course I remembered,” she said in her usual voice. “I didn’t have a number to call, but I heard you were staying here.”

Tish came in from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. “Introduce us, Mel.”

Mel raced through the introductions in a hurry. Hayley managed to act sweet and dignified, but Tish must have heard that little slip-up because her eyes held more suspicion than friendliness. Or maybe Hayley’s tattoos bothered her. Mel loved them and wanted some too, but she’d promised Grandpa John she wouldn’t get any skin art, ever.

“Get dressed up a little, Mel,” Hayley said. “We’re gonna have fun.”

Tish’s lips thinned to a tight, angry line. She crooked her finger and gave Mel the stink-eye. “Melanie, may I have a word with you?”

Reliving how she’d felt when she was six and she broke the goldfish bowl, Mel slouched after her into the kitchen. “What?”

“I heard what she said about drinking. You’re an adult, and I’m not your mom, but your friend looks like trouble.”

“No, she’s a good person. She’s the only real friend I’ve had ever since, like, kindergarten.”

“You don’t take care of a friendship by doing something stupid like drinking and driving.”

Mel rolled her eyes. “I won’t drink.”

“On your twenty-first birthday? You expect me to believe that, after what Hayley said?”

“She said it. I didn’t. I might have one little drink, but that’s all. I promise.”

“But what about Hayley? And she’s driving! There are some things you can’t undo, Mel, like getting a DUI and having it on your record forever, or getting in an accident.”

“If she has too much, I’ll drive.”

“You don’t even have a license. Oh, Melanie.” Tish folded her arms across her chest. “You’re an adult. Please act like one. I won’t wait up for you.”

“Trust me. I’ll stay perfectly sober.”

“All right. That’s your line in the sand. Don’t cross it. Cross that line and you’re out on your ear. Got it?”

“Got it. Now I’d better change my clothes.”

“Oh, and now I’m supposed to take care of the dog for you again?”

“You know you love her.”

“I do not!”

“Yes you do, because she’s George’s dog and you love George.”

Mel escaped Tish and returned to the living room, where Hayley stood gawking at that awful old portrait. “Wait in the car,” Mel told her. “I’ll be right out.”

Hayley nodded and slipped outside.

In the bedroom, Mel knelt on the floor and unrolled the sleeping bag a little so she could pull out one of the nicer thrift-store shirts and the favorite jeans she’d taken from her old room. The jeans were a little baggy, but she wasn’t as skinny as before. She hoped Tish wouldn’t notice they were different jeans.