T's Trial: A Bone Cold--Alive Novel (11 page)

“I know, but a minute ago, he pulled up beside us and waved.” His buddies nodded their affirmation. “It was Sam! What’s he doing?”

Lyla didn’t doubt for a minute that it was Sam, and she knew perfectly well what he was doing. “You keep an eye on him, okay? See what exit he takes.” She smiled at the boys, now all turned around to watch the convertible. She made her way back to the front. So he took his challenges seriously. Well, so did she.

*  *  *

T had no trouble following the two yellow school busses. He even stopped for coffee at a drive through and caught up with them handily. He enjoyed the glide up to the back of the bus in which he’d caught sight of Harrison, waving, then backing off. He’d kept his eye out for Lyla to appear. No disappointment.

Almost two hours after the adventure began, just when he was beginning to think they were heading to Timbuktu, the busses pulled into the Fair Park area near downtown Dallas. He parked close by and surreptitiously waved at Lyla as she helped assemble the children in rows near the busses. The first hurdle over, he entered into the second.

The will-call window seemed a logical enough place to start. He stood patiently in line for five minutes, creeping toward the front. He watched through his sunglasses as the school children filed in, were sent to the bathroom then herded to the entrance line. Lyla walked by with a fistful of tickets and rudely shook them in his direction. T had no doubts that he would see her over the dinner table later in the week.

“Name?” The clerk was middle-aged, female, wary.

“I don’t have a reservation.”

She tapped at the Sold Out sign above her head. “I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

“No cancellations?”

She looked at him, pursed her lips, and folded her hands. “Sir, we have been sold out for two months. Totally sold out.”

“Not even one little, bitty ticket?”

“Not even if you were the President.”

“What if I was a rock star?”

“What if I was Marilyn Monroe?”

He smiled. “Wouldn’t we have an interesting conversation.”

“Sir, there are people in line behind you. Please move on. I’m sorry I cannot help you. Next?”

He was about to be elbowed out of the window by the social director of a nursing home. T stood his ground. “May I see the exhibit curator?”

“How about security?” But she picked up a phone, spoke briefly, replaced it. “If you’ll wait over there, he’ll be right with you.” She indicated a spot next to a wall some ten feet away. Out of sight, out of mind.

Not on your life, honey, T thought. He moved over just enough to let the nursing home social director get her tickets. When no manager had showed in five minutes, T tapped on the window, caught the clerk’s quick look at the security guard. He was spared further embarrassment by the appearance of the exhibit curator.

“Do we have a problem, sir?” He was polite, surprisingly young. He looked very studious in his rimless glasses. He looked all business with the security guard not five feet away.

T assessed his situation. It looked as if bribery were the way to go. He stuck out his hand and introduced himself with his real name. “I think we each have a problem, Mr.—” he scanned the lapel label, “—Dopson, and I can help you and you can help me. If I could see you in private.”

Dopson quirked an eyebrow, scanned T up and down. His curiosity obviously piqued, he ushered T back through the barely visible door he had appeared through. Dopson took up residence behind his desk. “Your problem first or mine?”

T seated himself although not invited to and removed his shades. “Mine. I need a ticket for this morning. Preferably now. It’s a rather long story, but suffice it to say, it has to do with a wager, a lady, and a ten thousand dollar donation to a mission church.”

“We are sold out.”

“Precisely. Which brings us to your problem.” T settled back in the chair, crossed his legs, reached into his chest pocket for a blank check, which he unfolded. “I’m sure an exhibit of this nature is rarely fully underwritten.” Dopson shrugged slightly, a maybe—maybe not gesture. “Certainly, you could use more of something. And I’m sure you’d like to keep something this popular around for a longer period of time. Expose more people to the elegance of China. Make more money.”

“Your point?”

T sat up, laid the check on the desk, reached for the fountain pen lying on the blotter, and started to date the check. “Of course, I fully expect you to call the bank, certify that this full amount is sitting there, ready to come to you, before you let me in.” He signed his legal signature, Edwin T. Samuels. The check had BCA’s logo on the top left. Their checks had been known to be collector items; it had saved them lots of money. He hardly expected that to happen now. At the bottom, T wrote ‘donation’. If it was good enough for a church organ, it was good enough for an exhibit.

Dopson paused, studied the check, studied the man in front of him. A smile drifted across his lips. Dopson the adversary was gone. “Who would ever have thought Eddie T would show up in my office and buy the most expensive ticket on record. She must be some lady.”

“She is.”

“So you’re recuperating in Dallas?”

“Just in for the day.” He placed his fingertips together, moved them back and forth against each other. “Not going to call the bank? You believe I am who I say I am?

“Well, I’m a trusting soul, but for this price,” he traced the check outline with his finger, “I’ll let you in before I call the bank. If you’ll wait, I’ll conduct a personal tour.”

“No necessary.” He stood.

“One more thing,” Dopson hesitated, “I appreciate your need to be incognito. You don’t suppose someone more astute than I would recognize you and do harm to our exhibit?”

“I have been moving about freely for some time.” He covered his eyes once more with the dark glasses. “However, I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t talk to the media about this.”

Dopson stood. “The museum does sponsor a charity auction each holiday season. Perhaps something signed by the entire group?” He let his voice trail off.

“I’m sure that can be arranged. You have a business card? I’ll take care of it.” He held out his hand. Dopson shook it, then handed him his engraved business card.

“Let me get you in. The back way’s through here.”

*  *  *

He spotted her at eleven fifteen. Standing in a group of children that included Harrison, they’d removed their headphones and were looking at a piece of silk weaving. Harrison spotted him first, beamed broadly, pulled on her sleeve. She turned and couldn’t help smiling. He tipped an imaginary hat and waited for her to join him.

“You must be a magician, Sam. What’d you do—roll a little old lady in the parking lot?”

“I don’t mess with surly seniors. Bought my way in just like everyone else.” He rocked back on his heels. “Now do I get my date?”

“Do I get to know how you really did this?”

“As I’m bringing you home.”

“Maybe I should have sent you for those three other tickets.”

“I don’t think I have that much magic.” Or expendable cash at the moment. She turned back to the children. “Lyla?” She stopped, looked at him over her shoulder. “How’s two o’clock Thursday sound?”

“I’ll be ready.” She started off again.

“Lyla?”

She turned. His grin went ear to ear. “Dress to paint the town.”

*  *  *

“I was about to call out the militia.” Fletch was sitting on the top porch step as T bumped the Mercedes over the sandy drive at four o’clock. He rose and rammed his hands into his shorts pockets.

“Get a grip, Fletch. Think I was going to get on a plane and fly away home?” T got out of the vehicle, stretched. “Come to think of it, that very thought did cross my mind.”

Fletch paled. “I even thought about going on a bender.” Fletch’s eyes narrowed. T slammed the car door, threw his hands up. “But I didn’t! I came back! I can be trusted!”

“That remains to be seen. Where have you been?”

They started up the log steps. “Well, I trailed the bus down there…”

Fletch interrupted. “I know all about that. And your appearance at the exhibit.”

Now it was T’s turn to be surprised. “How?” His stomach had taken a slight turn. Damn that curator!

Fletch weighed his words, let T squirm a little as he casually opened the door. “Harrison’s been up. I think he may have snuck away from Mama since he stayed about half a minute and then bolted. He was just so excited he couldn’t contain himself. Seems Lyla is accompanying you to parts unknown on Thursday. It’s going to be the talk of the town.” Fletch continued on into the kitchen, T trailing him. “Naturally, the boy was disappointed when you weren’t here so he could pump you for the details.” He settled at the breakfast table, opened his laptop.

T paced. “She told him?”

“I don’t know. Ask her. Seems that when the local widow smiles at the gay houseguest, at an exhibit he’s followed her to, there’s reason for talk.” He drummed his fingers. “How did you get in?”

T rubbed the tips of his fingers together. “I made a donation. I’m surprised the bank didn’t call to check with you about it. They must trust me more than you do.”

Fletch smiled weakly. “Where have you been?”

T stopped his pacing. “If you must know, I found where I want to take her. The few times we’d been there, we were always chauffeured. Not that I would have remembered it anyway.” The last was mumbled. “I went to a drive-through for a hamburger, came back here. Happy now?”

“Happier. So where are you taking her?”

“For a day she’ll always remember.”

*  *  *

Dub burst through the door to Lyla’s temporary quarters without his customary knock. Startled, both she and Harrison looked up from their dinner. “Something wrong?” she asked him. “Where’s Red?”

“Well, hell, how should I know where Red is! On her way here, I hope! Talk some sense into you!” His hands were on his hips. “Tell me what I hear is wrong.”

“Depends on what you hear, Dub.” Lyla put her fork down, leaned back and crossed her arms. Harrison looked from one of them to the other.

“You’re going on a date with that fag!”

“If you mean, am I going out with Sam as a result of a bet I lost, then yes, I am. We leave Thursday at two in the afternoon. Since you’re here, it’ll save me a call. Can the bus drop Harrison off at the marina?”

“What you doing betting with him?”

“Well, Dub, it must be the company I keep. Seems like you’re always betting with Norm or Tib about something or other.”

“That’s different.”

“Fine double standard you have. Wonderful example for your grandchild. May he stay with you till I get back?”

“That’s a stupid question, Lyla. Of course!”

“Whole conversation’s stupid, Dub. Now either pull up a chair or leave.”

“I’m leaving.” He stood at the door with his hand on the knob. “Just one more thing. What’s Tib going to say about this?”

“Probably not much more than you already have. Shall I get you a plate?”

He disappeared down the stairs just as noisily as he’d come up them.

“Mama, what’s a fag?”

Lyla resumed eating before she answered. “Just another of Dub’s ignorant bigotries.”

“Add it to the list?”

“Precisely.”

*  *  *

Tib arrived at eight.

With the Quik-Lee empty and Harrison upstairs doing homework, Lyla was contemplating closing early.

Tib stood on the customer side of the cash register. Lyla was parked on the stool from which she was mistress of all she surveyed.

“Heard you were up for adventure.”

“Well, you are certainly being more polite about it than Dub. I lost a bet. I will not renege.” Her eyes dared him to go farther.

“I don’t trust him, Lyla. He followed a group of school children to Dallas.”

“He was following me. He never spoke to the children. He spoke to me and then, as far as I know, he left. It is so simple. I cannot believe the row this is making.” She opened the register, retrieved the day’s receipts, started counting. “Quite frankly, this is no one’s business but mine and Sam’s. Life has obviously become awfully dull around here if this is all we’ve got to talk about.”

Tib shifted his weight and changed tactics. “I’ll be worried about you.”

“I’ll behave myself.” She stacked the ones, started on the fives.

“It’s not your behavior I’m worried about.”

“You just said it was.”

“You know what I mean.” The tens were next.

“I know you are being as petty and small-minded as Dub. That is not a compliment.”

“You want me to follow?”

“Do it and I find out and I swear, I’ll never speak to you again. And you know I am as serious about that as I am about Sam and Thursday.” Twenties.

“Harrison staying with Red and Dub?” She nodded, didn’t take her eyes off him as she continued counting. “Want me to get him and take him fishing? He could help me patrol.”

She smiled. “Clever, Tib. No way I want you sitting with my son on my back step when Sam and I return.”

“Never thought of it.”

Lyla finished with the money. “Tell you what, Tib. Why don’t you just come in for breakfast Friday and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Don’t think I won’t.”

Chapter Ten

W
ednesday morning resembled Monday as Fletch entered the Quik-Lee. He concluded that all the days probably merged here on the lake. Pretty soon, you wouldn’t know a Tuesday from a Saturday.

Nodding at Norm, who held center court at the lunch counter, he lifted a paper from the stack in front of the register. “Caught any fish yet?” the old man shouted over the low mumble of voices.

Fletch shook his head. He’d not rise to whatever ulterior motive Norm had. Lyla got to him before Norm could continue. “I need a couple of sweet rolls to go.”

“Okay.” She moved back to the pie keeper, got the rolls, put them in a pastry bag. “Anything else?”

“No, that and the paper’ll do us.”

She tapped the items into the cash register. “You’ll need to read the It Happened page carefully.” There was a trace of a smile.