'Til Grits Do Us Part (48 page)

I stared at him, wondering if I should play along or not.

“You were just getting ready to drop me off,” I said, holding my breath. “So I can finish my interview.”

“Really?” Ray passed his hand across his face in bewilderment. “Out here? No way. Let me take you back to town.” He took his foot off the gas. “What kind of story is it?”

“Oh, any story,” I said casually. “If you'd be so kind as to let me off right here, then I can…” My hand hovered nervously over the handle.

A red barn appeared on the hillside, and Ray glanced at it. Then at me. Then he scowled and jammed the accelerator down.

“You were going to let me out back there!” I gasped, hanging on to the door handle.

“Shut up! Stop changing the subject! You wore red to the city council meeting to send me a message. That day in the park you wore a red dress.” He waved his arm. “The night of the crash you wore a T-shirt with Japanese kanji, just like she did. You sent me a special stamp, too, on my newspaper subscription renewal.”

My head reeled. “That's all random! And I don't do subscription renewals. Clarence does!”

Ray didn't seem to hear me. “And then you sang our song.”

“What song?” I gripped my head in both hands.

“When you were digging through the Dumpster, you sang it. The one your mom liked.”

“That was your song with Amanda?” I yelped. “I had no idea! I just found it in her guitar case!”

“Of course you knew it. That's why you sang it to me. Don't you see? It's exactly the same song I left in your gas tank as a message.”

“That triumph thing was…a song?”

“Oh yes.” Ray turned his eyes toward me. “ ‘Angel Band,' it's called. An old bluegrass tune about longing for heaven. You love that one.”

No, no, no…not again!
I groaned and buried my face in my hands.

“And you used to work at Jerry Farmer's restaurant. You're a vegetarian, angel.”

“I'm not a vegetarian. I have a freezer full of venison!” Granted, I'd probably never eat it, but it was there. “Wait a second. I hit you with a deer leg when you came skulking outside my house, remember? You must have taken it with you because nobody found it after you ran off.”

“That wasn't yours. It couldn't have been.” He paused. “Although it did make a nice roast, if I do say so.”

“What?”

“In the Crock-Pot. You just have to stew it long enough tenderize the meat, and a pinch of chili powder takes the gaminess out.”

“So that's the secret.” I pounded a fist on my hand.

Ray leaned closer. “Here's another secret. I sent you flowers at the place you grew up. You got them! The mailbox was empty.”

“Where I grew up?” I squealed. “You think I'm from Deerfield? A trailer park?”

“That's where we fell in love after I moved to Virginia.”

“I grew up in Brooklyn!” I pounded the seat with my fist. “Not Deerfield. Some guy named Herbert Jones got your dumb flowers and turned them into the police for tampering with a federal mailbox!”

“Liar!” Ray looked wild-eyed again, but his eye began to twitch. “You're Amanda Cummings.”

“I'm not Amanda. I'm Shiloh P. Jacobs. I'm from Brooklyn, New York, and I never saw you before that day someone plowed a Jeep Cherokee into your window!”

Ray looked panicked. “Stop it, angel! Stop saying things like that. I won't let you.” He waved the gun closer. “I know it's you. I loved you, my angel! I believed in you, and you…you threw it away.”

He flexed the trigger finger with shaking hands, making me wince. I thought of grabbing the wheel and jerking us off the road, but we were speeding too fast for that.

“I wasted twelve years of my life for you, angel. And you're not getting another chance now.”

“Ray,” I said, dropping the name game and feeling a weird sort of pity. “I'm really sorry for what Amanda might have done to you. But I'm not Amanda. I'm Shiloh. You've got the wrong girl.”

The gun wobbled, and he wiped his face with his sleeve.

“Listen to me.” I tried to make my voice strong and confident. “It's easy to mistake identities. I do it all the time.”

His head came up briefly, and I took a deep breath, praying for wisdom. “I judge people, Ray. I think I know them, have them figured out. Like Tim and Jerry. Who would have thought they'd read Shakespeare? But I'm wrong when I set myself up as somebody's judge. People change. People grow. Even me.” I reached out a hesitant hand and—surprising even myself—put it gingerly on his arm. “Don't ruin your life by believing a lie. Admit you've made a mistake, and start over.”

Ray came around a bend, his chest rising and falling with emotion. And when he turned to look at me, his eyes looked heavy with pain. “No,” he whispered hoarsely. “I can't do it.”

“You can. Just pull over and let me out.”

“No!” Ray's voice hardened. Without warning he stomped on the brake, lurching us to a stop. Then he grabbed my face and turned it forcefully toward him with his free hand and stared into my eyes. “You're Amanda. I'd know those eyes anywhere, angel. Shiloh. Whoever you are. And you're going to be so sorry.”

I almost grabbed the gun, but he'd locked his trigger finger firmly in place. It amazed me that Ray could talk, drive, and hold the gun at the same time. Must be nice to be ambidextrous. In the same situation, I'd probably shoot myself in the foot or plow into the barn.

Ray was too quiet. Pulling over to the side of the road. I needed to speak—say something—do something. Stall.

“Those are some beautiful cows,” I said, hoping to distract him. “Holsteins, aren't they?”

Ray let the gun drop slightly, so I jabbered on. “Ever read the story of Abraham, Ray? It's from the Bible. He let his nephew Lot choose the best land, which probably looked just like that—all green and hilly. And then God sent angels.”

Ray's head jerked up at the word
angel
.

“To destroy the evil cities of Sodom and Gomorrah where Lot lived. But Abraham pleaded with God to save Lot. Because,” I added purposefully, “he valued Lot's life.”

“Life? I'll tell you about life. You ruined mine, and I'll never forgive you for that.” Ray suddenly grabbed my shirt collar in his fist, making it cut tight against my neck.

“Three's your number, angel. Our wedding date. We dated for three years. You double-crossed me three days early. You came into my life, left, and I found you again. Three unforgettable moments.”

Three dozen roses
.

“And now there's about to be four.” Ray was too calm. It unnerved me.

“What's four?” I quavered, trying to keep him talking. “Not… ?”
Four. Shi. The Japanese number of death
.

The car had slowed to a near stop, rolling slightly over gravel as Ray's foot let up on the brake. Thin, scrubby locust trees flanked a cow pasture just outside the passenger's side window.

Ray aimed the gun at me. “Good-bye, my angel,” he whispered.

“Forever.”

L
ook!” I screamed, shouting the first thing that came to mind. “Squirrel!” And I smacked the gun out of his grasp as he turned his head.

We both fumbled for it, yelling and pushing as it tumbled off the seat and onto the driver's side floorboard. Ray stomped on the brake and grabbed my hair, fishtailing us to a stop and slamming the car into P
ARK.
I managed to get one hand free and lay on the horn.

The sound worked. Ray jerked my hand off the horn, and I elbowed him hard in the stomach. I knocked his glasses off when he crumpled and threw myself partially onto the floor, shoving his legs out of the way while I dug for the gun. Pulling half my hair free as his grip loosened slightly.

But Ray moved fast and had the advantage of longer arms. He pushed me aside like a pesky fly, our heads banging together, and jerked my hair harder. But too late for him—my fingers felt the pistol under the gas pedal. We both grabbed the gun at the same time, my hand on the stock and Ray's larger one squeezing mine so hard I yelped.

I felt my grip slide—felt him prying my fingers off painfully, one by one—and realized he was going to win.

Unless.

Over Ray's shoulder and curly head gleamed the precious automatic door lock. I let go of the gun. And instead I lunged over him and hit the U
NLOCK
button.

A click reverberated through the car, and just as Ray raised his head, triumphant, I punched him square in the jaw, the only place I could reach. I tugged my hair loose and kicked open the passenger door.

I squirmed out of his grasp and threw myself out of the car with so much force that I stumbled headlong, so close that Ray actually made a swipe for my heel.

I tore my foot away and scrambled through the thick grass toward the pasture, wind knocked out of me and gasping for breath. Scraped elbow bleeding where I'd slipped on the gravel.

My hair flew in my eyes, and I could hardly see where I was going, stumbling over patches of thick weeds. I didn't care. I just needed to be as far away from Ray as possible.

“Get back here, angel!” Ray screamed, and I heard the blast of a gun. The sound of shuddering limbs and falling leaves. A branch fell to the ground just behind me.

I dropped to my knees and scooted under the barbed-wire fence, running as hard as I could away from the car. My messenger bag flapping wildly across my chest.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ray sprint over to the barbed-wire fence in hot pursuit. I ran as fast as I could and then tripped on a slight roll and slammed into the ground. My jaw shuddered with the vibrations.

My slippery sandals were going to get me killed.

And Ray had already scaled the barbed wire, coming fast. So close I could see his glasses hang crooked postfight. His footsteps pounded the grass.

I threw off my sandals and scrambled to my feet, but Ray was too quick. In one flying leap he tackled me, slamming me to the ground. Knocking the breath out of me so much I couldn't even groan.

Oh God, this is it…
.

And then before I could move, I heard something—something
heavy
. The pounding of hooves. An angry grunt.

As if in a bizarre dream, I opened my eyes to see all four hundred pounds of Liv the Llama hurl itself in Ray's direction.

“She never forgets a face,”
Kate Townshend had said.

Ray staggered back as Liv charged him at top speed, breath huffing from angry nostrils. Knobby legs flying, body aimed low to the ground. I dragged myself to my knees, gasping, and not quite believing my eyes. Until I saw Ray, still backpedaling and stumbling, clumsily aim the gun at Liv.

Must. Find. Something. To. Throw.

My mind moved in dazed slowness, but my fingers were faster. Working open the top of the messenger bag and digging inside. Slipping the throwing star from its cardboard package and reaching back over my shoulder. Hurling it as hard as I could.

I heard it whistle, and in slow motion the throwing star glinted against the green pasture grass. Sailing through the air with a perfect slice. Spinning in dizzy spirals too fast to see.

And it caught Ray Otis Floyd on the edge of his right knee.

Quite a bit off target, I must admit. I guess I needed more lessons at the gun range. But at least it hit him.

I heard him shout, saw him crumple. Blood stained his pants. The gun went off at a wild angle, and Liv threw her head back and ran the other direction.

And I, for one, thought that was a pretty good idea.

I sprinted across the field away from Liv, barefoot, dodging cow pies that had browned in the sun. On the slope to my right, cows looked up at me, curious, as I sprinted for the low knoll in the stubbly grass.

Something whizzed past me, bee-like, and I saw a puff of dirt just two feet away. Heard the slight delay of the gun as it went off.
POWWW!
It echoed against the grassy hills, making my ears ring.