A Week From Sunday (17 page)

“Sorry about your first night,” Quinn apologized.

“Is it always like that?”

“No, thank goodness.” He laughed easily. In the bright moonlight she could see the broad grin that lit up his face. “The folks of this town can be a bit lively from time to time, but it usually isn’t that bad. If it was, I wouldn’t be in business.”

“When that man started talking to me, it nearly scared me to death!” Adrianna exclaimed, her hand flying to her chest.

“That’s Reuben for you. If he were only half as smart as he is strong, he wouldn’t be the type of fella to start a fight. He’s been that way his whole life, so I suppose it isn’t fair to think he’d change now.”

In her mind’s eye, Adrianna could see Quinn as he stood before the piano. When Reuben had turned to him, the rage that had swept over his face was so great that it resembled storm clouds ready to burst. Tentatively, she said, “He seemed awfully mad at you . . .”

“It’s been that way between us since we were kids.” He sighed. “I thought it might be different as we got older, but it isn’t . . . it’s only gotten worse. Most of the reason is because of Lola.”

“Lola?”

“Reuben has had a crush on her since they were kids. They went out together a few times,” he explained. “She denies it, but in this small town people talk.”

“I don’t see why he wanted to insult me . . .”

“Lola probably put him up to it.”

“But, why?”

“Who knows.” He shrugged. “She may think you’re going to take her job.”

The excitement that had been churning around in Adrianna’s chest suddenly turned to anger at the thought that the housekeeper was somehow behind what had happened at the Whipsaw. How on earth could she possibly hate her enough to have someone do her harm? Her growing rage must have been as evident to Quinn as if she had spoken her thoughts aloud, because the man quickly spoke up.

“It wouldn’t do you any good to confront her about it.”

“Why not?”

“She’d just deny it.”

Then why on earth do you have her in your house?
Adrianna wanted to ask but held her tongue. She had heard Quinn criticize Lola several times, so there must have been a reason he hadn’t fired her.

“I’m glad the sheriff showed up when he did,” Adrianna said, changing the subject. “Who knows what could have happened . . .”

“The fighting had stopped when he got there.”

Once again, Adrianna bit down before she could say more. From the grimace that had crossed Quinn’s face, she knew the sheriff was something of a sore subject. Even though he had stopped the fighting, the tone he had taken with the tavern owner was not a friendly one. Quinn walked on silently, his hands jammed deeply into his pockets.

Minutes later, they turned down the street that led to Quinn’s home. The tall trees with their long limbs blocked out the moon’s glow, leaving their path a dark one. Up ahead, she could see no light coming from the house; everyone must have gone to bed. Quinn’s mood seemed as black as the night, and she made up her mind to try to change it.

“It’ll be better the next time I play,” she said as confidently as she could.

At the wrought-iron gate, he stopped suddenly and turned to her. Without the light from above, she couldn’t see his face, but the sound of his voice did nothing to raise her spirits. “You don’t have to come back to the Whipsaw again,” he told her.

“What are you talking about?” she exclaimed.

“Your debt is paid.”

With the whirlwind of emotions that had coursed through her that evening, she was momentarily surprised to find her anger directed at Quinn. Even though she could not see him clearly, her hand shot out and grabbed his shirt.

“Quinn Baxter! I’ll have you know that I’m not a quitter when the going gets rough,” she barked at him. “I caused the accident that injured Gabe and broke your liquor bottles. We made a deal for me to pay you back, and I intend to fulfill that agreement!”

Silence greeted her.

Suddenly conscious of the way she had spoken to him, she was about to open her mouth and apologize, to soften the blow, when she felt him move toward her. He surprised her by coming closer. Her first instinct was to take a step backward, but she somehow managed to hold her ground.

“Quinn, I . . .” she began but he hushed her with a finger against her lips.
How can he see me so clearly when I can’t see his finger in front of my face?
In the darkness, she swore that she could feel the heat coming off his body.

Gently and delicately, she felt his lips touch hers in a warm kiss. Once again, instead of moving away, she felt herself becoming one with it, her breath locked in her chest. Limply, her hand fell away from him and swung at her side. She closed her eyes and reveled in the moment, hoping that it would go on and on. When he broke away, the only feeling she could recognize was disappointment.

Quinn reached around her and opened the wrought-iron gate. Together they walked up the narrow path to the porch.

Chapter 14

T
HE BLACK
P
ACKARD
came to a stop in front of the diner, its radiator hot from the long drive. The mid-afternoon sun poked briefly from among the rainy clouds, the light dazzling as it danced off the car’s wet exterior. The respite in the damp day was brief; seconds later the sun was once again hidden from view, the day back to matching the gloomy mood of the Packard’s driver.

Richard Pope glanced fitfully through the car’s windshield as he peered up at the weathered sign above him. “Evans Diner,” it read plainly. Nothing about the place merited notice. It had poor lighting, a long crack in one of the four windowpanes that fronted the main street, chipped and peeling paint around the door frame, and a tattered awning that would surely offer no protection from the rain. Grass and weeds grew in the cracks of the cement walk in front. Wearily, he got out of the car and headed for the front door.

“Damn rain,” he muttered.

From the moment he had discovered Adrianna missing, he had been searching for her. He could only guess how many diners and gas stations he had entered up and down the roads that led from Shreveport. At first, he’d been full of hope and a sense of conviction that he would soon find his wayward bride-to-be. Now, after disappointment followed disappointment, every town had begun to look the same. Still, he continued on in the belief that she had to have stopped
somewhere
or that she had been seen by
someone
.

Pushing the door open, Richard stepped into the midst of the afternoon lunch crowd. Men in hats and overalls sat elbow-to-elbow at the long front counter, their shoulders hunched over their meals and the sounds of their gruff voices carrying over the din of forks striking plates. Several couples sat at the narrow booths near the windows, the women cackling like barnyard hens. The tangy smell of frying meats mixing with the odor of cigarette smoke assailed his nostrils.

“Just grab yerself a seat,” a woman’s voice said. Startled out of his disdain, Richard looked down to see a fat lump of a woman with an apron around her waist staring back at him. Her wisp of a smile showed a missing tooth and others that were soon destined to join their lost sibling. Absent-mindedly, she scratched behind her ear with a pencil.

“Excuse me?”

“Just find a place to park yer fanny, and I’ll come get yer order.” Without another look, she was off to tend to a waiting table, her gnarled mop of dirty brown hair bouncing behind her.

Finding the last empty booth back in the far corner, Richard trudged to his seat with contempt. It took every bit of self-restraint he had not to pull a cloth from his coat pocket and wipe the seat.
How could the inside of this place be as filthy as the outside?

As he waited for the dumpling of a woman to return to take his order, his mind raced over the question that had haunted him from the moment he had found Adrianna gone. With her father dead, why hadn’t she realized that he had given her a great honor asking her to be his wife? Frankly, the only course that offered her the same comforts she had become used to was with him as her husband.

What galled Pope the most was that Adrianna had run away from the comforts of Shreveport and rushed headlong into the ignorant masses of the Louisiana countryside.
Didn’t she realize that nothing in her life had prepared her to cope with the working class people who were beneath her?
He had to fight to keep a sneer from crossing his lips as he looked out from his booth at the simpletons that filled the diner. As his harsh gaze went from face to face, one of the patrons at the counter, a stick of a man wearing greasy overalls, opened his mouth in a mask of laughter, and the soup he had been eating spilled out and ran down his chin. Absently, he wiped it with the back of his hand, his peal of laughter never wavering. Pope wanted to stand up on his seat and scream at these people, but he knew that his educated words would be lost on them.

Richard Pope’s station in life was something that he was terribly proud of, and he intended to guard it. His father, a successful banker in his own right, had taken great pains to educate his only child about the importance of being a man of high standing. Private schools and harsh discipline had been his lot. Even after a banking crisis robbed the family of much of its wealth, as well as the health of the family patriarch, Richard had put his lessons to use. Through his relationship with Charles Moore, he’d rebuilt all that had been lost. His marriage to Adrianna would be the crown jewel of all he had strived for.

“What can I getcha?”

While he’d been viewing the diner with disdain, the waitress had sidled up to the table, an order ticket at the ready. Like a mindless cow, she nibbled on the pencil eraser.

“Just a cup of coffee,” Richard muttered.

“Sure I can’t interest ya in a slice a pie?” she pressed. Moving closer and giving a conspiratorial wink, she said, “I ain’t one ta do much braggin’, but we got the best darn pecan pie in the state of Louisiana.”

“Not for me.”

While the waitress went to fetch his order, Richard reached into his suit coat and pulled out a photograph. Sliding it faceup onto the table, he couldn’t suppress a small smile as the beautiful face of Adrianna looked up at him. It was the same photo that had sat upon the mantel above the fireplace back in Shreveport. He had made a small alteration to it, cutting Charles Moore free from his daughter; the old man was dead and gone and no longer a part of his life. Where once this picture had been a cherished memento, it was now an instrument to be used. He’d sullied the photo by bringing it to innumerable diners and gas stations, hoping that someone would recognize her.

“Here ya go.” The waitress interrupted his thoughts and placed the coffee mug on the table. A couple of drops of liquid sloshed out of the cup and landed near the photograph.

A sudden rage washed over Richard, and it took all of his composure to keep from screaming at her. Instead, he snatched the photograph from the table and said, “Thank you, my dear, but before you run off, I was wondering if I might ask you a question.”

“Sure thing, honey.”

He handed the portrait to the waitress. Inwardly he cringed at the thought of the woman’s dirty fingers holding Adrianna’s likeness, but he knew that there was no choice. “Have you ever seen this woman in here before?”

Without more than a cursory glance, the woman looked back at him, her eyes wide. When she spoke, her words were dipped in scandal with every syllable. “Did yer sweetie run away from ya?”

The lie that rolled over Richard’s tongue was as well worn as an old shoe; he’d used it enough that if he himself had heard it, he would have believed it. “Nothing that exciting, I’m afraid. This woman is my cousin. She was driving through these parts a couple of weeks ago on her way to Florida, and we haven’t heard from her. I, being her closest relative, am looking for her.”

The waitress seemed to ponder his explanation and then, with a shrug of her shoulders, turned her attention to the photograph. Her brow furrowed and knit tightly in concentration as she studied Adrianna’s face. Momentarily, Richard’s heart leapt with the hope that this would be the end of his search. However, the waitress looked up at him and frowned. “I ain’t never seen her before.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed.

“Yep.”

As quickly as his heart had jumped with hope, it now sank with the realization that he had once again come up empty in his search.
How many more times will I have to go through this?
Before he could reach out and snatch the picture from the waitress’s hand, she surprised him by speaking.

“It’s just that . . .” she began but stopped.

“What?” he asked. “What were you going to say?”

“Well, it’s just that I been gone from work for a bit,” she explained. “I had me a touch of the sick and ain’t been here. If she come in while’s I was gone, I wouldn’t a seen her.”

“Who would have been here?” Richard took the picture from her hand and looked at her with disgust. “What about the other waitresses? One of them could have seen her.”

“Maude woulda been here most of the days I was gone. If yer cousin done come in, she woulda seen her.”

“Is she here today?”