A Shadow on the Ground (15 page)

“Oh, no, ma’am.” J.D. drained the last of his beer then wiped his graying blond mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “I allow this is all I’ll be able to handle tonight.” He smiled, crinkling his bright blue eyes, then adjusted the ever present blue bandana wrapped around his wide forehead. “I’ve gotta get home. I like to get there before my dad goes to sleep.”

“How is your dad?”

“Ninety-three, half-blind, and mean as a striped snake.”

“And you stay with him?”

“Oh, he’s not so bad. I take care of him. He takes care of me.”

Morgan dumped the container of lime and lemon slices in the trash. “You’re a good man, J.D.”

“No,” he said softly. “I’m not worth much.” He grinned at her and picked up his denim jacket. “But I’m happy.”

After he left, Peach emptied the plastic tip jar onto the counter. “Why do you even talk to J.D.? He’s nothing but a worn-out old hippie who still makes moonshine behind his garage and smokes anything he can get his hands on. I’d never waste my time on a loser like that.”

“J.D. is a nice guy. He’s a little lost. But half the people who come into this bar are lost souls.”

“Listen to you. You want people to think you’re tough, but inside you’re a bleeding heart just like your brother. Get real, Morgan. J.D. is trailer trash.”

Morgan looked at her incredulously. “You live in a trailer.”

“So, what?” Peach swept a long strand of bleached hair over her broad shoulder. “I’m not gonna live in one forever. I have plans. I have dreams. J.D. will die in that airless little shack he lives in, and never know there’s anything better out there. Like every other barfly who pisses away his paycheck in this dump.”

“I thought you loved it here in Riverbirch. You said you always wanted to live on a farm.”

Peach stopped counting one-dollar bills and glanced up. “I do. But unless you own one of these fine farms, you’ll never get anywhere.” She scraped a pile of coins into her hand. “Good thing I have my eye on a man who not only owns a farm, but treats me like a queen.”

“Who?”

She shook her generous hips and laughed. “Well, Sean, of course.” Her eyes closed halfway and unfocused dreamily. “He just hasn’t realized it yet, but he’s all about me.
Oh!
Guess who came into the bar this afternoon looking for you?
Denny.”

“My ex-husband Denny?”

“I told him you didn’t come in till five, and were probably still at home.”

“He came by. Peach, I wish you’d called me. At least given me some warning.”

“I didn’t want to upset you. What did he want?” She bit her thick bottom lip. “I’d forgotten what a hunk he was. He looked good, Morgan.
Real
good.”

Peach handed Morgan her share of the tips, then pulled a bottle of bourbon off the shelf. She poured a double shot and downed it, then cracked opened a beer. Beneath the yellow bar light, her face looked puffy and sallow. And old. The amount of hard liquor she consumed on a daily basis was taking its toll.

“Andy’s beginning to notice the bourbon is disappearing.”

“Oh, I don’t think he’ll mind if I borrow a buzz. All I have to do is remind him I slept with him
after
he married Carol. He was all about me then, but Carol has always hated me. She thought I was having sex with him long before we actually did anything.”

“How can you do that to another woman? How can you sleep with a married man?”

Peach shrugged. “He got me drunk and said he wanted to leave her. He said he’d heard I was the best.” She grinned. “He paid my rent through June; I had to prove him right. That’s why I still have a job here. That’s why I’ll
always
have a job here.”

Morgan realized her mouth was hanging open, and closed it.

Poor, sad, delusional Peach. Did she really believe the men she latched onto gave a damn about her? Couldn’t she see they were using her as badly as she used them? Her reputation was legendary. How many of these men, unless they were sober, and in strong, loving marriages, would turn her down if she came on to them? Riverbirch and Cherokee Bluff were small towns. By now, the local men knew what kind of woman she was. And after three drinks, most of them didn’t care.

Peach poured herself another shot.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Morgan chided gently. “You have to drive.”

“Not for a while, Mother. I still have to make out the schedule for next week.” She fished a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. “Andy doesn’t care if I smoke in the office, either. Another perk I’ve earned.”

“I’m gonna head on home. Want me to lock up?”

“No, I’ll do it.” Peach pulled a bottle of cologne from her purse and spritzed some on her wrists. “Ethan said he might come by later. The two of us need to talk.”

“What about?”

Peach hoisted her purse on to her shoulder. She picked up her shot glass. “I need to straighten some things out with him. For a few weeks, he was all about me, then he stopped calling. I really liked the guy. I thought we should talk it out, see where we went wrong.”

“I didn’t know you and Ethan were seeing each other.”

Peach smiled. “Well, I guess he doesn’t tell you everything, now, does he?”

Morgan crossed the empty bar and left by the back door. Was Ethan really meeting Peach tonight? Was he like some of the other men in town who trashed Peach behind her back then said yes to her the minute she invited them into her bed? Hard to tell with Ethan, though. Sometimes Morgan felt she didn’t know him at all. If he
was
meeting Peach, she hoped he didn’t mind paying a price. Nothing was ever free with Peach.

Halfway home, Morgan remembered she'd left her paycheck in the office. She banged her fist on the steering wheel and cursed. Of all the stupid-ass things to do. If, by some miracle, the pickers Harlan had talked to showed up, they would expect to be paid in cash. She had no choice but to turn around and go back.

She turned left into the abandoned Texaco station and made a U-turn, circling the only two pumps left standing. She braked at the road and waited for a car to pass. Her cell phone jangled to life beside her.

“Morgan here.” She balanced the tiny phone between her ear and shoulder.

“Gage here.” The low, familiar baritone sent a shiver skittering across her shoulders.

“Checking up on me?”

He laughed softly. “Well, I could lie and say Jeremy wanted to know why you're forty minutes late, but I'll take my chances and admit that yes, I was checking up on you.”

“J.D., one of our regulars, hung around while we closed. It took forever. I just turned around on Barkerstown Road, and I'm on my way back to Bad Moon to pick up my paycheck. I can’t believe I left it in the office. Hang on.” She pulled on to the narrow, deserted road, then rolled the window down and breathed in the cool damp air. She switched her lights to bright and pushed the gear shift to second, then third. “Okay, I’m back.”

“I wanted to say something about Jeremy and me moving into the guesthouse. I know it's the last thing you thought would happen today.”

“You got that right.” She glanced in the rearview mirror. “I'm still angry as hell at your uncle, but I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.” She didn’t mention the warning bells clanging like a three-alarm fire in her head, or the voices screaming at her to run the other way.

“Good,” he said. “I know having us around might seem like an intrusion. Jeremy and I discussed it, and we don’t want to cramp your style.”

“That would imply I have a style to cramp.”

“What are you talking about? You have a lot of style.”

“Oh, I’m stylish, all right. Jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, secondhand work boots, my grandpa’s old straw hat. What do they call that, Early Barnyard?”

“Don’t knock the farm girl dynamic. I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for Mary Ann from
Gilligan’s Island.”

“Aren’t you a little young for that show?”

“Reruns on cable. Every day after middle school. Mary Ann made puberty almost tolerable.”

“I’m not going to ask what Ginger did for you.”

He laughed. “I like this. You and me. Talking like normal people.”

“I don’t think normal people talk like this—oh, my God. Now, this is weird.”

“What?”

“I’m turning into Bad Moon, driving around back where the employees park. All the lights are off, and Peach's car has a flat tire.”

“Why is that weird?”

“Because I've only been gone fifteen minutes. Peach said she had work to do before Ethan stopped by. Maybe he got there early, and they decided to leave. I didn’t notice her car had a flat before I left. You’d think Ethan would have stayed to help her change it, or called Triple-A.”

Morgan switched off the ignition. She got out of the truck and climbed the rickety steps to the back door. She jiggled the doorknob. “Door's locked. That's a good sign.”

“Morgan, I don't think you should be—are you by yourself?”

“Of course, I'm by myself. I’m unlocking the door. Not easy with a phone in one hand.”

“Don't hang up. What are you doing now?”

“I’m walking down the back hallway.
Damn
, it’s dark in here. Now, I’m reaching around the corner for the light switch. I can hear you breathing, Gage. This is starting to sound like an obscene call. Next thing I know, you'll be asking what color panties I'm wearing.”

“I'm breathing hard because I don't have a good feeling about this.”

“They're blue, by the way.”

“Morgan, I hear something. What’s that noise?”

“The door banged shut. Ah, good, the light came on. Well, that helped. One little light bulb dangling from a cord. I never realized how seedy this place looks. God, what’s that?”

“What’s what? Do you see something?”

“No, I smell it. What? It’s smoke. I think I smell smoke. Peach’s jacket is still hanging on the hook beside the door. She must still be here.”

“Get out of there now!” Gage cried.

“Peach! Peach, are you in here?”

Morgan ran through the eating area, knocking tables and heavy wooden captain's chairs out of her way. She pushed open the kitchen door and flipped on the fluorescent light. The bitter stench of burning grease invaded her nostrils. She sniffed hard. “The air’s beginning to fill with smoke, but I don’t see a fire.”

She sprinted down the hall to the office.

“Morgan!”
Gage yelled. “Get out of there now! Hang up and call 911.”

“I’ve got to find the key. If Peach is in the office, she’s trapped.” Morgan looked around frantically. “I don’t know where the key is. Where’s the key?
Where’s the fucking key?”

Then, she remembered. Andy always kept a spare under the money tray in the cash register. She ran back through the kitchen to the bar. She punched in her password, released the cash drawer, and lifted out the metal tray. Empty. Her fingers flew over the bottom of the drawer, felt in every corner. Still, nothing.

“Where is it?” she shrieked into the phone.
“Where is it?”

She held the tray up to the light. The tiny halogen bulbs over the bar caught a quick glint of silver taped to the bottom of the tray. “Got it.” She pried the key loose and ran back to the office. The acrid stench of smoke invaded her nostrils, burning them.

Wispy trails rolled from beneath the door like morning mist off a riverbank. Morgan held the phone under her chin. Her hands shook as she inserted the key into the lock. The key turned easily, and she pushed. And pushed. But the door would not budge.

“I've got the door unlocked,” she cried. “But it won’t open. Something’s blocking it. I can't see what’s in the way.” She banged against the doorframe with her fist. “Peach! Are you in there?
Peach!
Answer me!”

“Morgan!” Gage yelled. “Get out of the building! I'm on my way. I’m hanging up to call 911, then I’ll call you back. Just get out!
Now!”

“The window on the door is painted. I can’t see inside. The hallway is getting really smoky.” Her lungs filled, and she coughed it out. “Oh, God, Gage, I think I hear her crying. She’s in there. I hear her in there.
Peach!
I don't know what else to do. I need both hands to do this
. Peach, where are you?
Get away from the door! Move away from the door, Peach! I’m breaking the glass!”

****

Gage's phone went silent.

He called 911, reported a fire at Bad Moon Rising, then called Morgan back. He paced the length of the guesthouse, his heart pounding, waiting for her to pick up. “Come on. Come
on
.” When her cell went to voicemail, he snapped his phone closed. He grabbed Jeremy's jacket off a nail and banged on the bedroom door. “Come on, son, we need to go. Morgan's in trouble.”

Jeremy opened the door and stared at Gage, wide-eyed. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. Get in the car.”

Gage sped down Milltown Road then turned onto Barkerstown, taking the treacherous hairpin turns as fast as he dared with a child in the car. Somewhere between making sure Jeremy was buckled in and starting the engine, he had switched to automatic, emptying his mind, concentrating on the crisis at hand, planning his next move. He had done it for so many years, it was second nature. It was also the only way he could hold the fear at bay without conjuring every worst-case scenario he could think of.

“Go faster, Dad,” Jeremy said quietly. “I’m not scared.”

He pulled into Bad Moon's parking lot, rumbling over the mud ruts and gravel, braking too fast and jolting the souped-up Mustang to a halt. A tall, thin man stood beside a dark blue sedan, staring at the front of the building.

“Stay here,” he said to Jeremy. “Lock the doors and do not move.” He got out, and for the second time that day, reached for his non-existent gun. He approached the man slowly. “Sir?”

The man turned around. He held a cell phone in his hand. “I just got here. I was getting ready to call for help.”

“I've already called.” Gage ran to the front door and jiggled the knob. “It's locked.” He pushed hard against it with his hands, shoved it with his shoulder. “It feels like a wooden bar may be blocking it. You've got to help me break it down. Morgan Maguire is inside.”

The man stared at him, then shook his head as if suddenly awakened from a fog. “
What did you say?”