Like Slow Sweet Molasses (6 page)

“You
know, Angela. We
chance
seeing a lot more of each other, in passing,
since my goal is to become the attentive nephew Aunt Belle deserves.” Chance’s
eyes gleamed as he mocked her while casually leaning on the door facing
outside. “I have you to thank for pointing out this oversight, regardless of
your methods.”

He
moved down a step with a sly grin fastened to his face.

Angela’s
tender smile eclipsed the perfect laugh when a lofty bubble of air floated out
to him as her door eased shut. That put the cherry on his cake for she was
indeed a sweet confection for him to behold.

Chapter Four

The
decision to barbeque for his aunt was a precipitous one. That’s why Chance
tooled his Harley on a midnight run from the local supermarket, rainwater
splashing from his biker boots up to knees. Reflections of the amber lights on
his bike were prisms in the puddles along the roadway reminding him of the
sunny interior of Angela’s cozy home. He liked the way each room had a color
theme that flowed one to the other in perfect harmony, one hue never
overshadowing the other. The atmosphere was conducive to encouraging her
creativity. That was obvious to him the moment his big foot trampled over the
Oriental rug; passed by the satin black console piano and his eyes skimmed the
pleasant interior.

Although
structured, neat and orderly, it wasn’t to the degree of obsession. The place
had a “go with the flow” feel, pretty much the way he believed she conducted
her life. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be devoting her efforts to helping youngsters
or the elderly when a lucrative music career was probably within her reach. Her
moral tap twisted either hot or cold, the latter he suspected was a rarity, and
never lukewarm. Any cause championed received her undivided attention and great
passion.

This
was a woman after his own heart—one whose company wouldn’t be hard to enjoy on
a regular basis.

The
motor’s fine-tuned fluctuating rumble hailed his arrival on his aunt’s block,
announcing when he pulled upon the sidewalk with his long legs performing a
ride-walk step until he parked on her drive. Removing the light refracting
domed helmet, the calamity going on next door drew more than his attention as
porch lights on both sides of the street popped on like a timed orchestration.
He strode to the middle of the ruckus created by an older man nearly an inch or
two over his six-one height but rounded at the belly and the attractive woman
exhibiting her skills at beating down Angela’s door. She could be none other
than her mother. Chance unzipped his leather jacket along the way, his
groceries currently a distant memory.

He
approached the two with his badge in hand, as he pounded the steps.

“Police.
Lt. Brock Alexander.” He introduced himself, acutely aware his presence
startled them. “What seems to be the problem?”

Angela’s
mother whipped her head around, never ceasing her assault on the storm door
barring her entrance to the house. “We didn’t call the authorities.” He thought
she would boot him off the premises. “But, I’m sure glad you’re here. Break it
down.” She issued the order, moving back to give him room.

Her
husband held his stomach in laughter. “She’s punishing us, Connie. Don’t make
the policeman hurt himself.” Chance let go an audible breath of relief. “He’s
mortal man, Doll, not Superman.”

“You’re
wrong, Lee. She’s in pain not in the throes of a vindictive revenge.
Something’s not right.”

“I
have to agree with your wife, sir.”

Lee
Munso responded, “Are you a personal friend of my daughter’s?”

“No,
sir. Just a relative of a concerned neighbor.” He went on to explain the reason
he butted in. “My Aunt Belle Thatcher lives next door. That’s how I know
Angela. I’m guessing you’re her parents?”

“You
guessed right, Lieutenant. Lee and Connie Munso.”

“Formalities
aside for a moment, please—what can we do?” Connie asked.

Chance
pulled his cell and wallet to retrieve Angela’s business card. The phone rang
three or four times before the machine answered. His message was brief. “Your
parents are here.” He left them instructions to continue knocking while he
checked the doors and windows around the house. Chance didn’t let up on
calling. Finally, fate rewarded him when she actually answered.

“Chance?”

He
heard the confusion in her voice still husky with sleep. “First, are you okay?”

“My
head is killing me. What time is it?”

“After
mid-night.”

“I
took something for pain.” Her voice was ripe with panic when she spoke this
time.
 
“What’s the matter? Has something
happened to Mrs. Thatcher?”

He
rushed to allay her fears marveling how she always thought of others. “No! No!”
After that he worried, “Pain medicine with a slight concussion…I don’t know
about that.” Then he started to laugh in her ear. “Your parents are terrorizing
the entire neighborhood trying to get to you. Your mother even wanted me to do
a little B&E of my own. That’s breaking and entering.”

“I
know what B&E means, remember?” she bit out. “Get back to the part about my
parents.” Flicking on the bedside lamp, inexplicably, intensified the rattling
coming from downstairs.

“They’re
tearing down your front door. Don’t you hear that racket? That’s coming from
your porch.” He started the walk back, dipping into his watch pocket for a
toothpick.

“Oh,
goodness! Tell them I’ll be right down.”

“Hurry.
Your mom’s--” he couldn’t control his mirth, “agitated enough to rip the door
from its hinges.”

Angela
bristled at the laughter choking his words. “I said I’m coming!”

She’d
greeted her guests by the time he joined them, her eyes squinting with pain,
her hair protected by an intricately tied black half-scarf and her shapely form
enhancing the heck out of the short silk robe covering her body. Chance
remained in view but out of the family’s circle as they went through the
motions of shutting down their rampant emotions. At last satisfied she met with
no harm, they remembered him, looking as if this was their first encounter.

“Mama,
Daddy, this is Lt. Brock Alexander. His aunt lives next door. Chance, Connie
and Lee Munso.”

The
Munso’s craftiness wasn’t lost on him. They wanted to hear their daughter’s
introduction before drawing conclusions of whether he was to be trusted.
“Please to meet you both.” All eyes traced over him. “Well, I’ll be next door,
if needed.” He backed up a step noticing that Angela followed closely. “Are you
sure you’re okay?” he whispered.

She
didn’t know why but his sucking on that tiny stick irked her. Not only that, it
was a dangerous habit of his—she noticed—and grappled the toothpick from his
teeth, flicked it into the grass and answered, “The headaches are diminishing
to a nagging nuisance.”

He
stood in stupefied silence.

Her
mother interrupted, surprised at the show of familiarity between them.
“Headaches?
 
What headaches? When did
they begin? How bad?”

“Easy,
Doll. It’s just a headache,” Lee consoled his wife. “Right, Cookie?”

The
alarm was palpable. Chance intervened, “Sir, it’s more than—”

“Chance,
goodnight,” Angela almost shouted. Her parents stared between her and Chance,
their silence growing as tall as a mountain. “Oh, alright. I have a slight
concussion!”

“Won’t
you come in? I do believe we need to talk.” Lee Munso summoned the lieutenant,
moving outside next to Chance as if he could stop him if he attempted to flee.

Angela
objected. “Daddy, it’s late?” She realized how immature she sounded. “Father,
later in the day will be soon enough to interrogate Chance. He’ll be around.
Won’t you, Chance?”

She’d
dismissed him, again. “See you folks in the morning.”

Across
the fence, his Aunt Belle questioned, “Brock, do you need the old lady?”

Angela
chimed in as she trotted out to the porch, not allowing him a second to
respond.
 
“Everything’s fine, Mrs.
Thatcher. No need to come out in this weather.”

 
“She’s referring to the shotgun.” Chance
chuckled. Angela saw no humor in the situation, drawing a “Don’t you say it,”
out of him.

Connie
and Lee watched the exchange with curious looks. “Get in here,” Connie
demanded. “Both of you.”

Chance,
with a twinkle, crept inside, daring Angela to even think of her favorite
phrase she used on him, and came under immediate attack.

“What
do you know about these headaches?” her mother clucked.

Angela’s
‘
let’s see you get out of this one’
smirk tested his patience. He
prepared himself to admit she fell because of him when she took the burden on
herself.

“I
slipped, hitting my head. Chance and Mrs. Thatcher got me medical attention and
nursed me overnight. End of story.” Angela was too slow. Her mother’s hand
whipped out to clamp her cheeks in one hand as she repositioned her head
towards the light for closer examination.

 
Eyes blazing, Connie Munso jumped on his case.
“Did you hit my daughter?”

He
was astonished as her look said she found the exact spot on Angela’s face that
resulted from the fall. It was her insane accusation that riled him.

“Mama!”

“I’m
waiting, Lt. Alexander.” She ignored Angela’s protests, her clench pursing
Angela’s cheeks together giving her mouth that fish-faced look.

“I’ve
never so much as laid a hand on a woman, Mrs. Munso. I don’t intend to break
that rule regardless of how your daughter grates on my nerves. She can be quite
obnoxious if not downright exasperating.”

Lee Munso bellowed with laughter,
unable to hold in his amusement.

“Lee!”
Connie countered. “This is serious.” A snicker broke free—as did Angela with a
twist of her head.
 

Chance
gawked at Angela who rolled her eyes at her parents. “That’s the way they deal
with stress. Crazy, huh?”

“How
long have you two been acquainted?” her father asked.

Chance’s
“a little over a day”, conflicted with Angela’s “we’re not” retort, instigating
more questions from the older couple.

“A
little over a day, you say, Lt. Alexander. Enough time for you to analyze and
conclude that my angel is an extremely opinionated young woman, I gather.” He
sobered. “What branch of the department?”

“Forensics.”

“With
a degree in…”

“Criminology.
Minor in psychology.”

“Bingo.
There it is.”

Chance
butted in, thoroughly confused. “There what is, sir?”

“That
uncanny ability of yours to decipher what a complicated person she is and also
not hold it against her. That’s to be commended. Thank you for looking after
her.”

 
“Daddy, don’t start.” Angela’s look washed
over her father and then Chance. “I don’t need another contrived intervention.
Do you hear me?”

“Cookie,
you need to remain calm.” Connie recommended to her daughter who advanced on
Chance, caught him between the shoulder blades with both palms and outright
pushed him towards the door.

“Please
forgive my parents. They can be a little dictatorial at times.”

“Look,
I’m grilling for my aunt tomorrow, uh, today. You’re all welcome to come over.”
He dug in his heels to make his invitation.

“Thanks.
But, we have plans.” She shot down any comments Lee and Connie would have made.

“No,
we haven’t,” her mother admonished. “What time?”

“About
eleven. After Mass.” He grinned at Angela’s expression. “Can’t a policeman take
his aunt to church?”

“Oh,
good grief. Good-night.”

All
heads whiplashed as she impolitely sped past and stomped up the stairs. Chance
surmised if her headache was gone, that tactic to reach the top floor would
surely have it resurface.

“Was
it something I said?” he wondered aloud, retracing his steps to the door,
crotchety that he let her get under his skin.

“I’ll
walk you out,” Lee volunteered. “See you in a few, Doll.” His hand searched for
his cigarettes, freeing the box and a smoke in one motion and offering one to
Chance. Chance gave a “no” shake unable to squelch the feeling his world was
about to blow sky high. They strolled to the sidewalk languishing under the
umbrella of tree limbs still dripping the last dregs of rainwater.

Angela
focused on the impromptu meeting, her silhouette faintly outlined in the
upstairs window blocked only by the sheer curtain. A match flared in the
darkness causing a red plume to spark as her dad inhaled a lungful of smoke.
She fingered the curtain for a surreptitious view, knowing by his movements,
Chance’s masterful skills detected her there. Her eyes raked over his body
prior to coming to rest—after a full sweep—on his. Even in the darkness, their
stares locked in confrontation. Hers warned him to stay away. His revealed a
burgeoning curiosity he was incapable of ignoring.