T's Trial: A Bone Cold--Alive Novel (29 page)

“Bertie!” Fletch was effusive. “You’re not really going to cook for us, are you?” He held his arms wide, a joyful host welcoming a beloved guest.

“Well, what does it look like?” Bertie was tying an red gingham pinafore apron around her waist. She picked up a deep iron skillet. “Had to bring this from home. Just knew Lyla wouldn’t have one that was adequate.” She looked around. “Bring that cooler over here and start washing those filets.” The instructions were to T. He obeyed, plopping the container by the sink. Fletch looked in as T opened it to reveal fish.

“I thought you meant beef filets,” Fletch chided her.

She settled the iron skillet on the stovetop. “Spent all day catching and then cleaning those. That’s prime catfish.”

“You caught them?”

“Well, I’m not dead yet! That there’s what you've been stalking all week. Just thought I’d show you it could be done.”

“That’s always been my attitude. Got to show him what can be done.” T looked over at Fletch. The smile was gone from his eyes, his mouth fixed in a sneer.

So much for kid gloves and peace, Fletch thought as he started folding the discarded grocery sacks. Hey, I was willing. But if that’s the way you want it—okay, T, it’s war.

*  *  *

Lyla spent the afternoon playing proprietress. Sally went to see the grandbaby, so Lyla re-inventoried the perishables for the weekend and adjusted her order with the supplier. Murph wasn’t coming to cover the evening so he could work extra hours over the holiday weekend. Therefore, Harrison spread his homework out on the counter top so she could help him and attend to customers, too.

The evening flow of traffic didn’t deviate from the norm. The nightshift stopped to gas up and get snacks, the day shift came by for fresh milk and bread they hadn’t wanted to wait in line for in town. She sold two fishing licenses, the rest of the morning’s papers, and the remaining cream pie for a bridge party that night. Red stopped by on her way home, noted the situation, and took Harrison for take-out. They’d return with Lyla’s meal later. Bertie was conspicuously absent and when Lyla thought about it, she worried, but then a customer would come through the front door and business crowded out everything else.

Arial arrived at seven, Harrison and Chinese in tow. She had run into Red in Jinks, wangled a free supper and brought Harrison home. Lyla sat down at the counter to eat while Arial semi-earned her keep lazily sweeping the front aisle. It was the first time Lyla had had to herself all afternoon since the short drive home after leaving T. She let her thoughts wander back to their time together. The longer she thought about it, the more difficult it became to sit still. Her body wanted him once more, but her conscience was pricking. In an effort to assuage both, she stood up with her dinner and walked toward the front windows, still eating.

The shadows were lengthening as she watched Shep make his walk back to the front door from the patch of grass near the road that he daily fertilized. She was absorbed in the dog, not paying attention to the other side of the parking lot when the opening of the front door startled her. Tib grabbed her take-out box before she dropped it.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, Lyla.”

“You didn’t. I was just watching Shep in the sun. Exciting life I lead.”

She was halfway back to the counter, when he answered. “I’d say you’ve seen more excitement lately than you normally do.”

“Very funny.” She settled down on a stool behind the counter, he took one in front. Arial continued to sweep. To her credit, she was starting on the second aisle at the back. Harrison ignored them as he tore out the front door for an evening romp with Shep. Lyla closed the take-out container. “Seen Bertie today?”

“Sitting right here this morning.”

“Since then.”

He thought, reached up and removed his hat, put it on the stool beside him. “Didn’t see her, but I heard she was out in your boat fishing. Half expected you’d be down at your own place eating Bertie’s cooking tonight.”

“That where she is?”

“Don’t know, Lyla. Do you care?”

“Why don’t you just say what you came to say, Tib.” Lyla wadded up the paper napkin, tossed it into the wastebasket behind the counter. If Tib was jealous, she’d just as soon hear about it right now. And why. So much for Dub calling off the troops.

“Hadn’t planned on going into it in public.”

“We can fix that.” She stood up. “Ari, watch the store and Harrison, keep him down here, okay?”

Tib looked at her with consternation. “Well, why don’t you just announce to the world that something’s up?” he hissed.

“You’re the one wanted privacy. You want Harrison coming upstairs when we are?”

Arial leaned on her broom. “Sure, Lyla. Got to work off my supper somehow.”

Lyla looked down at Tib. “Are you coming?”

*  *  *

“Do you think they market this stuff in LA?” T rolled his eyes as Fletch held the pint jar of homemade green tomato relish and studied it. “Never seen it.”

“You’re probably not looking for the right thing. Got your heart set on something else and not open to the possibilities,” T answered for Bertie.

Seated at the head of the dining table, a man on either side of her, Bertie looked from one to the other. T wondered if they could be any ruder to the provider of this excellent meal. The double
entendres
and veiled threats had flown from both of them, but his had been particularly destructive.

“I’ve about had it with the carping, boys.” She addressed them as if they were children. “Which one of you is going to start explaining to ol’ Aunt Bertie?”

They looked at each other, mutually shrugged, said nothing.

“Okay, then I’ll start.” She picked at the last vestiges of the fried catfish on the platter before her. The from-scratch hush puppies and home fries were long gone. “Let’s tell me why the Osprey was out in the middle of the channel after midnight last night. Then we can discuss the Oklahoma patrol.” She eyed them both, but let her gaze linger on him.

“Lyla and I took it out.” He looked at her squarely, his gaze unrepentant.

“I don’t suppose there’d be any sense in me thinking you were fishing?”

He shook his head.

“What were you going to do with the boys from across the border?”

“I didn’t know they existed. You need to discuss that with Lyla.”

“Well, there’s a good deal of truth to that.” She fiddled with her napkin. “Now that you do know—”

“We’re docked. I swear.” He raised his right hand. “I’m not ashamed of our relationship, but I am protective of Lyla’s reputation.”

She turned her attention to Fletch. T watched him flinch under her gaze. “Now you tell me what all this fighting between the two of you is about.”

“No fighting here.”

“I got ears. You two are at war. I’m not so old I can’t guess the subject, but I’d sure like to know what the issues are.”

“We’ve had a slight difference of opinion on the future.”

Bertie nodded. “Whose?”

“Bone Cold—Alive’s.”

“Well, according to all those magazines, that’s just rosy. Everyone’s waiting for your return like it was the Rapture.”

“Well, not everyone.” Fletch looked straight at T. “Some people would say BCA’s day is over.”

“Perhaps a change would be good,” T answered.

“Perhaps a proven formula is worth money in the bank.”

“Always the bottom line.”

“Put food on your table.”

“On yours.”

“Let you get higher than a damn kite and not come down for years.”

A kite? How fitting a comparison, T thought. That would pretty well describe his mental state for the last decade. Stretched out tighter than a damn kite string! But he attacked Fletch. “Let’s see, how many of those shiny little statues are in your showcase? How many platinum albums? Three double, two triple, if my rotted, drugged, hallucinatory mind can recall!”

“You may not think I’ve always had your best interest at heart, T, but I have. From the night I pulled you and C out of that sleazy bar in New Orleans to your first nomination and yes, that debacle in Los Angeles that got us here, I’ve thought of you first! I’ll admit I closed my eyes to your abuses, but boy, you did as well skunked as sober. Who was I to complain? Everybody else went whacko over women or money or making the cover of
Time
as the leaders of the new music wave, but not you. No, you’d just retreat into that damned piano and the drugs that let you hear some Muse the rest of the world didn’t know existed! You took the women and the money and the fame and you turned it all around and came back with more for more. I’d never seen anything like it. I thanked God you were mine!”

“All the way to the friggin’ bank!”

“Every day. Every night. Every minute.” They were glaring at each other. Fletch broke the contact, turned toward Bertie. “So to answer your question, Bertie, I’ve come up against something I’ve not seen in over ten years—a totally sober Edwin Thomas Samuels. A man in love. A man fully prepared to give up everything he’s worked for to settle down.” He tossed his napkin into his plate. “I can’t persuade him that this is a passing fancy, that this has the same permanence as the cover of
Time
, that this can be enjoyed for the moment and then left. Left so he can go back to doing what he has done so well for so long.” Fletch scooted his chair back. “My arguments are exhausted.” He made to rise. “But the cavalry will arrive. Reinforcements are coming—and sooner than you think.” He turned his attention back to T.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Didn’t I tell you? How could I forget?” Fletch was standing now, made a mockery of slapping himself on the forehead. “C called last night. They’ll be here Thursday morning, early. I must have bragged on the location just a tad too much. They can hardly wait to rebuild the bond with you and enjoy the pleasures of the lake.” He grinned maliciously.

“You son of a—” T stopped himself as he pushed against the table and rose. “How could you let them come early?”

“I didn’t have a thing to do with it. C called. They’re coming.”

“Call them back and tell them no.”

“I will not.” Fletch was stacking the dishes. “The honeymoon’s over, T. Straighten this out with Lyla. Don’t prolong the inevitable. It’s over.” He lifted the stack onto the fish platter, prepared to carry them to the kitchen.

Bertie looked from one of them to the other. They stood above her, glaring at each other, oblivious to the fact that she still sat with them. She ventured the question uppermost in her mind. “What difference does the band’s arrival make?”

Fletch answered her, although neither of them looked down. “Yeah, T, just exactly what difference does it make? A few more groceries, longer line to the bathroom.”

“It’s really hard to explain, Bertie.” T glanced in her direction. “To put it simply, they’re a crass lot.”

“Well, that’s as simply put as I’ve heard it in a long time,” Fletch added sarcastically. “And you used to be Chief Crass. I can hardly wait to see how they respond to the new and improved you.” He turned slightly to leave the table, his arms full of dishes. “C is going to make hash of your ass.” He minced a few steps. “Better be prepared for bro, T.” He took note of Bertie’s expression. “Pardon the language, Bertie. But that’s mild compared to what you might hear. I’d stay away if I were you.” He continued into the kitchen.

T still stood. Oblivious to Bertie, he raised the napkin over his head and threw it on the table, emitting a roar as he did so. No sooner had the cloth left his fingers than he began flexing them.

Bertie sat, a stunned expression on her face.

“I’m sorry, Bertie,” he began. “He’s right. You need to stay away. It won’t be pretty.” He bit his lip. “I need to play.” He turned and strode to the piano, began reeling his fingers and thoughts together.

Five minutes later he looked up. She was gone. To the kitchen no doubt, getting more of an earful from Fletch.
Damn, damn, damn.
What a mess!

Chapter Twenty-Three

“T
ea?” Lyla reached for the pitcher, pulled it out of the refrigerator.

Tib shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He had hung his hat on the broom mouse at the end of the counter. It gave her a saucy air. “Lyla, I’m only interested in talking.”

“Well, I’m thirsty.” She tumbled ice and squeezed a lime slice into a tall glass, filled it with tea. She set the pitcher, a glass with ice in it and her filled glass on the table. “Sit.” She pulled out a chair, did so.

Tib followed suit. “Lyla.” His eyes fell from hers to the empty glass. He reached for the pitcher, poured, sipped. She wasn’t going to help him with this conversation. “Lyla, what’s going on here?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Tib.”

He nodded. “Things just haven’t been the same since those two showed up.”

“Meaning Sam and Fletcher.”

“Precisely.”

“Even though you haven’t said so, I’m sure Fletch checked out from your little license search, or I’d have heard.”

“True enough. Some corporate bigwig. Clean. Rich.” He sipped the tea he hadn’t wanted. “They show up and our world takes a tumble.”

“You mean yours. My world’s just fine.” She concentrated on the glass.

Tib rolled his glass from the fingers of one hand onto the fingers of the other, leaving wet circles on the dinette table. “No, I mean ours. It’s like some little mouse is nibbling away at our world. You’re different. I no longer get a smile—hell, you didn’t even go on the picnic lunch yesterday! I don’t understand this change. I can’t describe it to you, except everything is different and somehow it’s connected with those two at your house.” He looked at her. “I know you told me they were okay, but, Lyla, the patrol told me they were curled around each other like two fishing worms last night…” She tried to control her expression, to guard herself, but his voice faded as he watched her. “Oh, sweet Jesus, tell me no, Lyla. Tell me that wasn’t you and that Sam. I deserve the truth, Lyla.” She swallowed, looked away. “God knows, I’ve been faithful to you, to the idea of us. I can’t say I haven’t seen this coming, haven’t feared it to the point that I’ve done everything I could to avoid it. But a stranger? A man who is so obviously trying to cover something up he poses as—?” He blew into his now-folded hands. “Tell me the truth, Lyla.”