You've Got Tail (5 page)

The front door cracked open, and what looked to be about a size-twelve tennis shoe shoved through the opening. It was soon followed by the rest of Jo Jo. He wiped a red paisley handkerchief across his sweaty forehead and shoved it in his back pocket. It was my turned to be relieved.

“Hey, Sunny.” He acknowledged me first, then Babel. “Babe.”

Babel tsked in disapproval. It made me think less of him. Beautiful body or not, he wasn't on my top-ten list of favorite people at the moment.

“Hi, Jo Jo.” I jerked my thumb at Babel. “Ignore him.” Big talk, coming from me. I hadn't been able to ignore the man since I met him.

Jo Jo smiled, wide and friendly. I was glad that at least one person in this weird little town was happy to see me. “Are you ready to work?”

“Sure thing.” His eyes never left me. Secretly, I was thrilled that he seemed intent on freezing Babel out. “Where do you want me to start first?”

I rummaged the keys to the U-Haul out of my purse and tossed them at Jo Jo. The kid caught them like a natural-born ball player. “Bring in all the stuff you can carry and I'll help with the larger items.”

“I'll help with the stuff he can't manage,” Babel said.

I wasn't quite sure what to make of his offer, considering just seconds earlier he was trying to get me to leave town, but I nodded. “Good enough.”

Babel took off his flannel shirt and tied the sleeves around his waist. Under, he had a tight, faded blue tank. His biceps, triceps, and all the rest of the muscles in his arms bulged as he filled the mop bucket in the sink. My legs, especially my thighs, felt like the inside of a jelly donut. He rolled his head sideways and dropped his gaze on me.

I could barely meet his eyes. Jerking my thumb to the door, I said. “I'm going out for a bit.” I needed distance from Babel Trimmel before I did something regrettable. Or pornographic.

When Jo Jo came in with his first armful, I said to both of them, “I'm stepping out for a minute or two. You cool with that?”

Jo Jo shrugged. “Where do you want me to put your stuff?”

“Upstairs. What you can manage, anyhow.”

“Good 'nuff.” And he took the stairs by two, bounding up, making me anxious about my lamp, along with a small circular table and a toaster he carried.

I fought back a sigh. “You okay with me getting out for a while?” I asked Babel, since he hadn't responded the first time.

“Yep,” he answered noncommittally as he scrubbed at the stain behind the counter.

“Good 'nuff,” I said, mimicking Jo Jo.

A
s I walked down Main Street, I drew expected stares. Apparently, not everyone in town had come to meet me under the awning of Johnson's General Store. I tried to stay positive, smiling, waving at a few. Most of them just darted their eyes away as if I had a second head. I decided it was the way I dressed that kept me from fitting in. I'd have to rummage through my luggage for more conservative clothes.

Because they'd totally fall in love with me if I looked like a townie. Right? A girl could dream.

A black and white police car pulled up next to me before I'd walked less than a block, and that's when I met Sheriff Taylor and his wife, Jean. I looked around, fully expecting Aunt Bea and Opie to show up any minute.

“Hello, hello. Welcome to Peculiar.” Jean's hair was pulled back in a loose bun, neatly held together by a dozen bobby pins I could see when she turned her head. Her hair shone in the sunlight, glittering with strands of silver. She looked middle-aged, except for the eyes. The skin around them was flawless, apart from the slight darkness that made her look as if she hadn't slept the night before, or the night before that. She glanced around at my truck and open U-Haul. “Is there something we can help you with?”

At last, friendlies. “No, thank you. Babel and Jo Jo have it under control, but I appreciate the offer.”

Sheriff Taylor, a short and stocky man, cocked his eyebrow at me. “Uhm, I think there's been a mistake, darlin'.”

The use of “darlin'” (no “g”) was said in such a way that it didn't sound like he was being condescending. I figured it was just the way people must talk in the Ozarks. Besides, I hadn't introduced myself, and maybe it was his way of asking who I was.

“Sunny.” I held out my hand. “Sunny Haddock. And there's no mistake.”

Jean gave me the eye. It was the same look my geometry professor used to give me when I wasn't getting a concept, but he thought I really should. Pure disappointment.

Sheriff Taylor stepped toward me, which made me nervous, so I took a step back toward the diner.

“Young lady,” he said in an official way. “This isn't a town you want to live in.”

“Oh, yes, I do.” What was wrong with these people? I was feeling less than welcome for certain, and frankly, I'd had enough. “Look, even if my best friend hadn't gone missing a week ago, this diner is half mine. In other words, I own a small piece of this town. The other half belongs to Chav, the only person who has a chance in hell of getting me to go anywhere. You know, I didn't expect a lot when I made plans with her to come here.” Maybe a small parade, some confetti, the local marching band, and some banners…“But, I didn't expect animosity. And just what are you doing to find Chavvah? Maybe you should be more concerned about what's happened to her and less about running me out of town, because I'm certainly not going
anywhere
until I see for myself that Chav's okay.”

He cocked his head sideways, sizing me up. For a minute there, I had a vision (again, not a psychic vision) of the sheriff pushing me against his vehicle, handcuffing me, and hauling my ass to jail. I resisted the urge to run back and jump into the Toyota and head for the hills. Instead, I pulled my shoulders back, held my chin high. Perfect position if someone wanted to knock me out.

The sheriff shrugged and tilted his head toward the shop. “I don't think you'll be staying too long.”

“And you would know this how?”

“Call it a hunch, darlin'.” He tipped his official sheriff's hat. “Keep your tail tucked and your head low.”

That was the oddest send-off I'd ever heard. “Uh, whatever.”

Jean smiled a tolerant smile and patted my hand. “He just means stay safe, sugar. Oh, and…” she leaned in close and whispered, “…peaches and cream.”

All right, an even stranger colloquialism. “Uh, back at ya.”

“I mean to say, your fanny's showing, dear. Just thought you should know.”

Embarrassing, most definitely. Note to self: Booty shorts may not be appropriate attire for the Ozarks.

Under Jean's reproachful stare, I pulled them down in the back. She smiled again. It was sort of freaking me out.

I didn't move or stop holding my breath until Jean and the sheriff pulled away.

The buzzing in my ears had settled into a dull hum. Maybe the change in air pressure was causing it and there would be a short adjustment period before it went away.

As I walked down the street, I passed an antique shop, a quilt shop, and a leather and tack store, before pausing outside of Blonde Bear Cafe. I should have asked Babel if he wanted lunch. Not a date or anything, just a bite to eat.

Man, I would have liked to take a bite out of him. He'd be a seven-course meal complete with dessert. Thinking about the way he would taste almost made me forget how irritated I was with him. Thinking about how Chav might feel about me crushing on her baby bro reminded me how irritated I was at myself.

The dog, the one with the white ear, appeared next to me while I contemplated how filling Babel would be for lunch. Cold fear knotted my stomach, stripping the lust-filled thoughts from my mind. Outwardly I kept calm. The beast hadn't done anything threatening yet.
Yet
being the operative word. It lay down in front of me, and I felt a push inside my head.

Judah.

“Judah?” I said. The dog looked up perceptively, and if it hadn't been of the four-legged variety, I'd have said it seemed shocked. Did this dog know something about Chav's brother? Maybe this was his dog? “Did you belong to Judah?”

It blinked its eyes once at me.

“Better question, are you planning on making a meal out of me?” I tried to put humor in my voice when I said it, but I was serious as hell.

It blinked twice, and I hoped like crazy once was yes and twice was no. Maybe I should have established some kind of baseline.

The door to the cafe opened. Blondina Messer was holding the door. The dining room smelled of grilled onions, hamburgers, and fries. All the stuff you'd expect in a country restaurant.

My stomach turned a little. I'm a vegetarian. I don't eat meat. It's not a personal choice, more like a necessity. Now, don't get the impression that I'm a health freak, I'm not. I'm all about Sticky Buns and Otis Spunkmeyer Chocolate Chocolate Chip Muffins and glazed donuts. (Just thinking about those tasty carbs makes me salivate. Pavlov's dog has nothing on me.) But for as long as I can remember, meat of any kind has made me physically and psychically ill. I throw up, I have visions of blood pouring from the poor creatures' wounds, and more often than I like, I pass out. So, vegetarian.

Blondina clucked her tongue. “Well, come on in. Unless you plan on just standing around all day gathering flies.”

Stunned, I stuttered, “Uh, yes. To the coming in, not the gathering flies part.”

She laughed, and it was deep and loud, like a man's burly laugh. It shook her all over. Even her bleached-blonde hairdo trembled. “Then come on,” she said.

I looked down at the dog, who was blocking my way and wasn't moving, so I stepped around him and into the cafe. Blondina sat me at a table and brought over a menu. “What'd you like to start with, honey?”

I'd never been darlin'-ed, sugared, or honeyed so much in my entire life. Not even by people who knew me well enough to call me darling, sugar, or honey. Funny enough, it didn't really bother me. It felt downright homey. “I guess I'll start with coffee?” I made it a question.

“Good choice, Sunny. Cream or sugar?”

“Just black. Thanks.” I was rewarded with a smile. Her teeth were overly large for her mouth, but again, perfectly white and cavity free, at least superficially.

When the waitress, not Blondina, brought over the coffee, she gave me a sweet smile that beamed “how can I serve you?” She had golden-brown hair, nearly coppery, with a Marilyn Monroe figure. Ample, but with curves in all the right places. Her name tag read Selena.

When I took the coffee, our fingers brushed. I caught a glimpse of her curled up in a bed with pink ruffles, crying, as she clung to a picture of a pimply faced boy.

I nearly dropped the coffee. That had been a clearly focused vision. Much like the one I'd had with Babel earlier. Something that only happened when Chav was around. I should've kept my mouth shut, but I had to know if it was real. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Why, yes.” She smiled brightly.

“Does he have a bad case of acne?”

Her smile dimmed. “He's growing out of it.”

Oh shit. Real! Should I warn her? My brain screamed, “Nooooo!” But my scorned lady parts said, “Definitely.”

“Be careful of that one. He's likely to break your heart.”

“That's not a nice thing to say.” Selena frowned. “You don't know Bobby, so shut your pie-hole.”

I was glad I already had my coffee or it might have come with an extra shot of spit. Talk about winning and influencing people. I should have listened to my brain. “Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you.”

Curtly, she asked, “Can I get you anything else?”

Okay, so she didn't like me either. What else was new? I shook my head, but before she could get away completely, I asked about my new stalker. “Do you know who that dog outside belongs to?”

Selena looked in the general direction of the door. “What dog would that be, hon?”

“He was lying down in front of the door just a minute ago. Reddish-brown fur, sharp nose, kind of skinny. White ear?” The description didn't seem to register with her, or if it did, she was careful to keep her face blank. “I think he might have belonged to Judah Trimmel, but I can't be certain.”

A momentary expression of surprise crossed her face, then it was gone. “I don't believe I know of a dog like that around here.”

Huh.

I had my coffee along with a Cobb salad, ignoring the wary glances from the other customers. A potent gamey scent wafted through the restaurant. It reminded me of the milk shed we had at the commune where I grew up. All damp and musty and animal. The smell disappeared as quickly as it had presented. No one else in the diner noticed. Or if they did, they didn't react.

I'd already opened my mouth and offended the waitress, so I kept quiet about the odor. It wasn't worth the extra bad ju-ju. After I finished eating, I paid for lunch, left a nice tip for Selena (it was the least I could do after opening my big, fat mouth), thanked Blondina for inviting me in, and headed out.

A very tall woman in tight blue jeans, low-heeled boots, and a fitted red blouse nearly ran me over on the sidewalk. I looked at her face and recognized her instantly.
Sheila of the Canadian Mist.
An image of her perfect naked body straddling Babel popped into my head. It was something I didn't think a thousand hot showers could wash away. It made me wish someone would develop a mind-bleaching pill. They could sell the shit out of something like that.

“Pardon,” I said, more polite than I felt.

She stopped and sniffed me, as if I was wearing some sort of exotic perfume. Her expression became hostile. “Look where you're going next time, bitch.”

I could have said the same to her, but the menace in her demeanor promised violence, and I was a pacifist for the most part. At least when it looked like I had no chance of winning. I waited until she'd gone into Blonde Bear Cafe before I continued my walk.