Taming Theresa (28 page)

That much accomplished, John was ready for a
break. In the refrigerator, he found a beer and opened it, drinking
deeply until he realized that blood was dripping off his elbow.
"Damn! How did that happen?"

Inspecting himself, John twisted his head
around and saw that he'd somehow managed to slice open the back of
his upper arm, in addition to small cuts on his hands. "Man, I
don't need this now," he murmured while he tried to rinse some of
the blood off at the sink.

Realizing that wasn't going to work, he
grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his arm, and ran quickly up the
stairs into the bathroom. After cleaning the cuts in the shower, he
decided that he was going to need some help to staunch the flow of
blood. He managed to wrap a clean towel around his arm and cross
the hall to the room with his duffle bag and found some jeans. By
the time he'd called Doc Sweeney's house, blood was soaking through
the towel.

Waiting at the kitchen table, staring at the
phone on the wall and his cell, he had time to think. No one had
called for two days. I thought that at least Vince or Joe would be
concerned when I didn't join them for a beer at the tavern. Oh
well, Vince is probably home with his wife and kids. Joe has
Marsha. Those two are all over each other all the time. How would
they know Terry left me? The only one who knows is Terry and she
hasn't called. Should I have left her a message?" He lifted his arm
and tried to tighten the dripping towel.

"Hello? Anybody home?" Doc was stepping
gingerly around the construction debris on the porch, holding his
black bag safely out of harm’s way.

"In here," John answered.

Doc stepped into the kitchen and took in his
surroundings. He turned back to survey the rubble on the back
porch, then looked back at the dirty kitchen, it's trash can
overflowing, the sink full of dirty dishes and blood dripped
ghoulishly across the floor. Then he turned to where John sat
dressed only in a pair of jeans, morosely holding a bloody towel
around his arm.

"Were there any other survivors?" he
asked.

"Very funny Doc," he said, but didn't
laugh.

After Doc stitched him up, he warned John to
rest and keep the arm elevated. "Get somebody to give you a hand
here. I don't want that arm to open up again. I'll just give you a
tetanus shot before I go. Give me your left arm."

"Great, now I'll have two sore arms. Oww!
That hurt more than the cut."

Doc laughed. "I think you'll live. Hold
still, this one is for infection."

After Doc left, John had a second beer and
tossed the empty bottle into the box with the others.

Wandering into Vicky's little office room
next to the porch, he examined the spines of the books on her shelf
and pulled out a thick paperback. It was a novel, entitled
'Rendezvous Romance', by Tori Baxter. It had a leering, bearded,
fur trapper grabbing for a full-breasted Indian princess on the
cover. A romance, he thought with disgust, and put it back, with a
sigh.

Selecting a hard cover volume at random, he
wandered into the living room and collapsed on the couch. He winced
when Romeo and Juliet joined him, curling into furry balls on
either side. The anesthetic was wearing off and his arm throbbed.
"Take it easy, guys. I just had surgery."

To his surprise, the book was about the
treason of Benedict Arnold, his accomplice, British Major John
André and the patriot soldiers who captured him. Pictured on the
cover was André in his scarlet uniform coat mounting a wagon, the
hangman's noose hanging above his head. A favorite subject of his,
John started reading, but couldn't concentrate. He kept thinking of
Theresa and wondering where she was. After reading for only a few
minutes, he fell asleep, the book open on his lap.

Jack arranged their suitcases in the Toyota's
trunk, closed the lid and got into the driver's seat. He found his
keys and the airport long term parking ticket and turned to his
bride.

"I love you," he said. "That was fun, but
it's time to get back to work.

Her hazel eyes sparkled and she smiled,
putting out a hand to touch his face. "I love you too,
sweetheart."

He leaned in and kissed her deeply once more
before straightening and starting the engine.

"You think Romeo and Juliet missed us?" she
asked.

"They had Terry to keep them company all
week," said Jack as he slowed, approaching the little booth and the
parking attendant. Jack handed him the ticket and his credit card,
wished the man a pleasant day, and joined the traffic leaving the
airport.

"You're right, Terry loves cats," she
agreed.

"The Islands were great, but it'll be good to
get back to quiet Pippin's Grove. I miss the farm." Jack smiled at
her. "I know you're anxious to get back to work too."

"Yes, I am. While you were sleeping on the
plane, I was thinking about 'Love in Rebellion', and it just came
to me how to end it. As soon as I get home I'm going to write the
last chapters while the ideas are still fresh in my mind."

"You came up with all your ideas just now, on
the flight?"

"Yes," she said, turning to him with a
curious look. "You know how your head gets fuzzy when the plane is
descending? Time seems to stand still, and your ears feel
funny?"

"Yeah. It's the change in cabin
pressure."

"Right. Remember I told you how sometimes I
get this déjà vu feeling when I'm writing, like I've been there
before?" she asked him.

"I remember."

"Well, when the plane was landing it came to
me all of a sudden. It felt like I was dreaming, but I know I was
awake. It was almost as though I was there; watching it happen,
back in history with my characters. I realize this sounds
disturbing, but it was almost an out-of-body experience. Do you
think I'm crazy?"

"No, Honey." He turned to her with a grin.
"You're just a very imaginative creative genius with an incredibly
hot sexy body that drives me crazy."

She punched him in the arm.

"Hey, watch it. I'm driving here," he said.
"How long until I can read it?"

"Maybe in a week or two.

Her cell phone began making noises and Vicky
dug in her purse until she found it and studied the display. "Terry
texted me. She said, 'I hope the honeymoon was great'."

Vicky looked at her husband. "It was," she
said softly. Looking down she read, “There’s more. She’s back home
and John’s at the farm taking care of everything. Why is she home?
I wonder what that's all about."

Later Jack pulled into their gravel drive and
parked next to John's Ford Explorer. “We’re home.” Laughing
together, Jack retrieved the heavy suitcases while Vicky collected
some of the smaller bags and the gifts they'd bought and they made
their way to the back porch.

Setting the suitcases down, Jack swept Vicky
up in his arms. “What are you doing?” she squealed.

Jack gave her another long kiss. “I’m
carrying you over the threshold.”

“Oh Jack, that’s so romantic,” she sighed as
he reached up and opened the porch door and stepped inside.

When he saw the shattered glass and
splintered doorframe piled near a bin of glass bottles on the porch
floor, he stopped and stared.

"What the hell is this?" he asked,
shocked.

Vicky clutched his neck as she stared down at
the mess. "Oh my god, Jack! What happened?"

"The door frame's been ripped out and
replaced, and that's a new doorknob and deadbolt," He said,
examining the new wood. Turning the knob, he pushed the door to the
kitchen open and stepped inside setting her on her feet.

"Hello. Is anyone home?" he called out.

"In here," said John from the dining
room.

Jack strode across the kitchen and stopped in
the doorway to stare dumbfounded. His friend was seated on a chair
in front of the large dining room window fitting a new pane of
glass into the frame. Various tools and an open can of glazing
compound were set out next to him.

"John! What happened to the back door?"

"Oh, that. Agent Rodriguez got a little
impatient and broke in." He turned from the window. "Looks pretty
good now. Check out that deadbolt. You're safe from intruders now,
man."

"What are you doing? Is that a new window?”
Jack asked, stating the obvious.

"I'll be done with this in just a minute,"
John said over his shoulder. Blood stained bandages were wrapped
around his arm.

"What the hell happened here?" Jack watched
his friend carefully smoothing putty around the window staring
intently at his repair work. He had a serious case of bedhead and
wore only jeans that looked as though he'd slept in them,

"That slime ball, Tony, was trying to make a
point and he shot out the window, but don't worry, the FBI guys got
him this time and locked him up.

"This time? He was here before?" asked
Jack.

"Yeah, the first time, he roughed up Terry a
little, but I tackled him and he ran off before the FBI guys could
catch him." John scraped off the excess putty, and hammered the lid
down on the can.

Vicky pushed her way past her husband, her
voice rising in panic. "What happened to Terry?"

"She got pissed at Tony for throwing your
wedding presents around. So then he started twisting her arm so
she'd tell him where the money was, but don't worry, I took care of
him." John gathered up everything and dropped it all in the
toolbox. "Not bad," he said nodding at the window.

"What was he doing with our wedding gifts?
What was he doing here in the first place?" Jack demanded.

"He wanted his money," said John.

"What money?” Jack asked.

“Tony gave this money to Terry. He put it in
her car.”

“Terry had money that belonged to Tony? Why
would she take his money?" squealed Vicky.

"She didn't take his money; he wrapped it up
like a gift and put it in her car.” John answered.

"Wait a minute," said Jack, getting
impatient. "Who the hell is Tony?"

"Terry's fiancé," said Vicky.

"She's engaged to some guy that wants to hurt
her?" asked Jack, astonished.

"No!" said the other two in unison.

Jack sputtered, "You just said he roughed her
up."

"That's right," said John. "Only they're not
engaged."

"Right," said Jack sarcastically

"So why was Tony here?" asked Vicky, sinking
onto a kitchen chair.

"He wanted his money." John pointed a finger
at them. "Only the FBI wanted it too."

"The FBI wants Tony's money? Why?" asked
Jack.

"Oh my god," Vicky whimpered, clutching
Jack's arm. "Is Terry okay?"

"I don't think it's Tony's money," said
John.

“You just said it was Tony’s money!” insisted
Jack.

“He sure thought it was.” John looked at
Vicky. "Terry's okay, I guess. She left me the next morning and
hasn't called."

"But John, why would she leave? Was she upset
about something?"

"I keep asking myself that question, Vicky. I
don't know."

Jack held his hands in the air, helplessly,
and raised his voice, "Wait a minute! Tony's money, that Terry had,
isn't Tony's, it belongs to the FBI?"

“Why did Terry keep his money?” asked
Vicky.

"Nah." said John shaking his head as he
disappeared downstairs with the tools. "I think it must belong to
the mob, but Terry never really had it. She just drove it up
here."

"Well, that answers my next question," said
Jack. "Now I know why the Feds were here." He started for the
stairs with the suitcases, and then dropped them with a crash.
"John!"

His friend came upstairs and followed him
into the dining room.

"Are those bullet holes?" Jack asked,
pointing at two round holes in the wall.

"Yeah," said John, tonelessly. "They're
bullet holes all right."

"You want to tell me how they got there?"

"That would be Tony."

Jack groped for a chair and sank into it.
"All we asked you to do was feed Romeo and Juliet and bring in the
mail." He looked at the bandages on John's arm. "Hey, what happened
to your arm? Did you get shot?"

John smiled, "No, Terry and I almost got
shot, but we're fine."

“Jack, I’m going to give Terry a call later,”
said Vicky.

“How close were those shots?”

“Don’t worry, Jack. I promise I'm going to
fix everything," John said, gesturing at the holes. "I'll be right
back. I need some more stuff from the hardware store." John sighed,
plucked his shirt off a kitchen chair, and pulled it on gingerly
over his injured arm. He walked out onto the porch and stopped.
Turning, he looked at his two friends.

"Sorry, I forgot to ask. How was the
honeymoon?"

"It was awesome. Absolutely awesome," Vicky
said, with a smile.

Jack and Vicky stood in the kitchen, watching
John start his engine and pull away crunching gravel as he left.
Romeo and Juliet came running from the living room to join them,
pacing back and forth at their feet.

"Something is wrong here," murmured
Vicky.

"Do ya think?” Jack shook his head. “I'll
take the luggage upstairs."

"Okay, I'm going to put a pot of coffee on
and get to work. I’ll be in my office, writing."

Jack grabbed her for a kiss, “Hey, don't
forget you're a married woman now."

She wrapped her arms around his neck,
nibbling on his ear. "How could I forget?"

After bringing her a cup of coffee, Jack sat
at the table sipping his own and listened to Vicky rattling away on
her keyboard in the office. She really was a fast typist. Sorting
through the week's mail on the kitchen table, he found the usual
bills, ads, and catalogs. He tossed most of it out, until he came
to a hand written note that hadn't come through the mail. He read
it, thought for a minute, and read it again.