A Wish and a Prayer (17 page)

“What do you think?” Freddy asked her softly. His voice broke her mood and brought her back to reality. “Lot of work, but she'll be gorgeous when I'd done.”

“Going to take a while.”

“I know, but I don't care.” And she didn't. Even if the restoration took a year, her dream of owning a Vincent had finally come true. What mattered more was that every minute spent working on it would bring back memories of her father and the Vincent he'd owned during her childhood. In her heart she already sensed him smiling down. “Let's get the paperwork done so I can take her home.”

In the year Jack had known Rocky Dancer, he couldn't remember ever seeing her so pleased. To him the bike looked like a candidate for one of Mr. Wellers's graveyards, but she obviously knew more than he did.

In the office, he waited while the two went over the paperwork. Once everything was finalized, she wrote out a check and handed it over.

The scrap dealer's old eyes twinkled. “First check for fifty grand I ever held.”

Jack swung to her in surprise and received another Sphinx-like smile. To say he was floored was an understatement.
Fifty grand!
The inevitable question that followed was: How does the manager of a diner write a check for that much cash? The longer he was around Rocky, the more questions he had.

With the bike loaded and chained down in the bed of the truck, they waved good-bye to Mr. Wellers and drove off.

“So what's so special about this bike?”

“Other than being the biker Holy Grail, the Shadows were all hand-built by a company called Vincent HRD. The bikes were supposedly inspired by the RAF fighters that flew over the factory during World War II. Less than two thousand were made and they were designed so they could be ridden and maintained by injured soldiers.”

She went on to tell him how the clutch could be operated with only two fingers, and how for its time, the bike sported many breakthrough innovations. “My dad owned one back in the day. Took me for my first ride when I was like four.”

“Four?”

“Yeah. He'd put me behind him on the seat and use a belt to strap me to him until I got big enough to hold on to him on my own. Loved it.”

“Put a four-year-old on a bike these days, and CPS will be at the door.”

“I know. Things were different back then, especially out here.”

“That's amazing to me. And your mom was okay with it?”

Rocky looked over and wondered how to explain to him about her mother. “My mom committed suicide when I was nine.” She hadn't meant to begin that way, but the words sort of tumbled out, and now it was too late to take them back.

“Oh, Rock,” he whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

She shrugged. “Me, too. Are you hungry? I am. How about we stop and get something?” The eyes she looked into were filled with pain and questions, but he didn't press her for more information, and she appreciated that.

“Sure.”

She swung into the first fast-food place they happened upon, and while they ordered, her admission hung between them like a third person in the cab.

“That's what you meant the other night when you said growing up out here as a kid was hard.”

“Yes.” She drove the car to the pickup window and took the bags and cups of drinks the kid handed out. She asked him, “Are you in a hurry to get back?”

“I have to meet Trent at four.”

She looked down at her watch. It was nine thirty. “Then how about we park and eat.”

“That's fine.”

They found a spot in a side lot away from the main door and ate and talked. She told him about her mother, and all the fights she'd gotten into in school because of the illness, and how heartbroken her father became after her mother's death.

“That had to be hard on you both.”

“It was. Part of the reason why I am the way I am, I guess. Hoping I'm not scaring you off.”

“No, Rock. If anything, it makes me want to hang out with you even more.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because I don't think you tell every Joe Blow that walks into your life what you just shared with me. That you'd trust me with that—I don't know. It's hard to explain, but I want to know everything about you now.”

“I'd like to know a lot more about you, too.”

“Only way to do that is spend more time together. Will you let me take you out?”

“Sure.” She looked over his way. “Happy now?”

“Extremely. How about you?”

“Ditto.”

They stared at each other for a timeless moment, and then Rocky leaned over and they shared a first kiss. When they drew apart, he ran a finger slowly down her cheek. “That was nice.”

“Ditto,” she whispered. “I think we should have our first date right now.”

“And what do you want to do?”

“Let's go look at trucks.”

He laughed long and hard. “You are something, Rocky Dancer.”

“Yes, I am. Are you game?”

“No man in his right mind would turn down an invitation like that, so yeah, I am. Let's go.”

Chapter 19

B
ack in Henry Adams, Bernadine spent the early morning talking with ATF agents and representatives from state and county law enforcement. The preliminary forensics report left her quietly furious. Her truck had been the flashpoint. Baby had been soaked in gasoline, as had the asphalt directly surrounding it. From there the gas was splashed around in random circles, all the way to the edge of the far lot. Now, standing with Sheriff Dalton in what was left of said lot, he spoke while she listened tensely.

“The perp was apparently waiting in that tall grass over there. When people began leaving the building, he or she lit the tail end of the gas, and the flames worked their way across the asphalt surface until they hit the mother lode.”

“Which was my truck.”

He nodded. “Yours exploded first.”

“So someone was out to kill me.”

“Or screw with you. Not sure. All we know is that your truck was definitely targeted, so we're assuming the fire was aimed at you—for whatever purpose.”

“Do you think it's tied to the calls?”

“Possibly. Probably.”

“So your recommendation?”

“I'd get security cameras mounted on every building in town to start, and install a system in your subdivision.”

“Big Brother comes to Henry Adams.”

He didn't reply, but the grimness in his gaze matched her own. “I want to offer a reward, if it'll help.”

“Can't hurt. How much are you thinking?”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

He stiffened.

“If that's not enough, I'll throw in another two hundred and fifty thousand. I want this murderer caught, Will.”

“I know—so do we. I'll get the paperwork started.”

“Anything else I should know? What about the threatening calls I received?”

“They still haven't gotten to it yet. ATF's got their canines out in the field, trying to determine if the person left a trail. Other than that, that's all for right now.”

“Okay. Keep me posted. If you need me for anything, I'll be at the Dog.”

Tight-lipped, she walked around the yellow crime-scene tape and started up the street to the diner.

When she arrived, everyone looked up. A few eager reporters hastily grabbed their digital recorders and made a move to approach, but the glare she blasted their way froze them on the spot. They seemed to rethink the matter and sat down again.

She looked around the dining room and silently beckoned to the people she did want to speak with, and they followed her into Rocky's quiet office.

Once the door was closed behind them, she told them what the sheriff had shared with her about the investigation, and his recommendations. “Trent, I want you to find us a cutting-edge security system, and I don't care how much it costs. Lil, get a hold of the fire chief over in Franklin and tell him we need guidance on purchasing two fire trucks, and what we need to do to get the trained personnel to man them. There'll never be another fire in this town that we have to fight with fire extinguishers.”

She saw nods of agreement. “As soon as the police are done with their investigation, I want that lot razed and redone. Same for the lights.”

She turned to Reverend Paula. “Get in touch with the Sandersons' family and find out if they need any help in any way—whether it's funeral costs, college fund, whatever—and get back to me.”

Marie was next. “Get yourself a new car and send me the bill. Lily, you too. Both of you need wheels today. Monday at the latest.”

Before either could voice a protest, Bernadine turned to Mal. “Babe, I need you to get me the names of the sixteen people who lost their vehicles in the fire. Tell them I'll be adding ten grand to whatever they get from their insurance companies.”

She looked around. “If anybody thinks of anything else we may need to address the fallout of this insanity, let me know. Now, I'm going back out there to have a quick press conference, and then breakfast.”

That said, she left.

She was on point about the brevity of the press conference. The reporters sensed she was too angry to answer nonsensical questions such as “Did she want to give the arsonist a message?” so they stuck to basic information like the state of the injured, how many town residents had lost cars in the fire, and how soon she planned to rebuild the parking lot.

And when it was over, she sat with Mal and ordered breakfast and they left her alone so she could eat in peace.

But she couldn't escape the news reports on the Dog's multiple big-screen TVs. Right in the middle of her eggs came a shot of the fire blazing like a movie from hell. She understood last night's event was the news du jour and tomorrow something else would be at the top of the hour, but she didn't want to see it again. Without being asked, Mal got up, pointed the remote, and preempted the news with Mighty Mouse cartoons.

Diners laughed and cheered. After bowing at the waist, he returned to the booth and met her smile.

“Thank you.”

“It's Saturday morning. We're supposed to be watching Mighty Mouse.”

“I can always count on you to save the day.”

“Pretty good at beating up cats, too. Just so you'll know.”

She laughed, and it felt good.

L
ast night's tragedy had stolen some of the joy tied to the groundbreaking for the new Henry Adams African Episcopal Church, especially since it would be built in the open field adjacent to the rec center. One had only to look over and see the parking lot strewn with charred automotive remains and the swarm of law enforcement people still gathering evidence.

Thirty people showed up, however. Add to that the large number of media who'd seemingly given up on getting anything further out of Bernadine but were looking to cover something until she offered more, or until the Cletus hearing on Monday, and you had a good-size crowd.

The event was low-key. Reverend Paula opened with a prayer for the Sandersons and the people who had been injured. She next offered a few remarks about the importance of Spirit, and her hope that everyone in the area, regardless of religious affiliation, would look upon the church as home.

“This can be a church for Baptists or Catholics or AME. The liturgy may be different, but not the touch and presence of the Holy Spirit.”

Her next words were drowned out by the passage of a noisy car caravan filled with sign-holding sillies in pig masks screaming, “Long live Cletus!,” “Cletus rocks!,” and other Cletus-based nonsense as they drove past.

The media instantly swung their cameras toward the cars. Some reporters ran to their rental cars to give chase, while others put on their anchor faces and began speaking into microphones to send breaking news about this latest development back to their individual home stations.

Bernadine sighed angrily at their lack of respect. The arched eyebrow of Reverend Paula and the irritation on the faces of everyone else seemed to mirror her feelings. She couldn't wait until the crazies left town.

Once the FUFAs were no longer in sight, Reverend Paula finished speaking, and everyone prepared for the ceremonial groundbreaking.

Trent was present in his role as mayor, so Sheila handed him and Reverend Grant each a shiny new spade with a beautiful blue silk ribbon wrapped around the handle. Lily, videotaping the ceremony for the Henry Adams Archive Project, moved into position. Reverend Paula, wearing brand-new black-and-silver cowgirl boots, pushed her spade into the earth. Beside her, Trent did the same. The first spades of dirt were turned, and a vigorous round of applause split the late-morning air. In spite of all the turmoil, Bernadine's heart swelled. This would be the first new house of worship erected in Henry Adams in decades, making it yet another milestone on the town's journey to recovery. The reality of that further brightened both her mood and the day.

Usually after such events they convened at the Dog for a good time, but out of respect, Trent suggested it be postponed. He offered instead the idea of a celebratory cookout next weekend after all the injured came home, the Sanderson funeral had been held, and the FUFA hoopla around Cletus's hearing was over, and everyone agreed.

As the groundbreaking broke up, Bernadine saw Lily separate herself from Marie and Genevieve and make her way through the thinning crowd to her side.

“Where are you headed?” Lily asked.

“Office. Want to get Paula caught up on what's been going on while she's been away, and wait around for Jim Edison. He's flying in this afternoon.”

The attorney who'd handled the lawsuit against Leo's company would be representing Bernadine in the suit being brought against her by the city of Franklin. For the life of her, she still couldn't figure out how the Franklin powers that be expected to prevail with no evidence to support their claim, but she'd let him and Judge Davis sort it out on Monday. She and Edison were meeting to discuss strategy. With all that was going on, she was not happy about having to take the time to prepare for Mayor Wiggins and his silliness, but it couldn't be helped.

Lily looked at her watch. “Trent and I are supposed to pick up the kids at the library in a few hours. I'll stop by the fire station and see if the chief's in, so I can get started on the trucks and all.”

“Make sure you start looking for a car.”

“Will do. Not being able to get around is not fun.”

While Lily moved on, Bernadine waved good-bye to a few locals getting into their cars, then waited for Reverend Paula to finish her visiting. Once that was accomplished, they made the short walk up the street to the Power Plant.

In her office Bernadine gestured Paula to a seat, got coffee for both of them from the urn in the lobby, and after taking a seat at her desk, filled the reverend in on the past week's drama. She began with the visit of Preston's grandmother, then told her about the threatening calls, the Big Box mess with the city of Franklin, and the electronics lockdown earned by the kids. Only after did she relate the confrontations with Al and Odessa Stillwell.

Paula shook her head. “The devil's been a'dancing—as the old folks say.”

“Up and down the street.”

“Personally, I think trying to make amends with the Stillwells was the right thing to do, but we can't force people to accept our generosity, be it in spirit or in cash. And right now, the family is too angry and probably a bit scared, knowing what they're facing. Sometimes that makes people act in ways that aren't, shall we say, Christian. Jesus said love thy neighbor, not pull a shotgun on them.”

Bernadine had been in dire need of a dose of the priest's up-front way of looking at life.

“Keep leading with your heart, Bernadine. Nothing wrong with that.”

“You've helped me a lot.”

“Then my job here is done,” she said, smiling and getting to her feet. “I'm going home to catch up on my jet lag and finish my sermon for tomorrow's service.”

“Thanks for listening.”

“That's what I'm here for, and thanks for catching me up. Call me later, if you want.”

A short while later, the lawyer Jim Edison arrived for their consultation on the Franklin lawsuit, and she gestured him to a chair.

“I saw the fire on the news. My condolences on the deaths.”

She thanked him and got down to business. They spent the better part of an hour talking strategy. She was pleased that his evaluation of the suit mirrored hers—Franklin didn't have a leg to stand on.

When their conference concluded, he closed his laptop. “This will be a preliminary hearing, and it shouldn't rise to the level of a trial. Let's just hope the judge agrees.”

“Judge Davis knows her stuff.”

“I'll be counting on that.” He stood. “I'm rooming at one of the hotels on 183 until after the hearing. If you need legal advice on any of this madness, give me a call.”

Thankful for his offer, she watched him leave the office and turned to her computer to learn what she could about purchasing fire trucks.

A
t 4:00
P.M
., Jack and Rocky rolled up to Trent's garage. They'd had such a good time on their first date looking at trucks that Jack had put a down payment on a sleek silver Chevy he planned to take possession of just as soon as he got rid of his sling. “Thanks for the help with the truck.”

“No problem. Trucks, I know. Romance, not so much. You're going to have to be patient with me.”

He liked her honesty. “I've plenty of that.”

She leaned over and gave him a kiss.

“I had a great day, Professor.”

“Me, too.” He ran a slow finger down her cheek. “Talk to you later.”

She drove away, and he walked inside.

“Hey, you made it,” Trent said, smiling. Gary was with him.

“I did. Hey, Gary.”

“Hey. Heard you and Rock went on a date.”

“We did, and I even bought a truck.”

Trent laughed. “What?”

“Silver Chevy. I'll pick it up soon as I can dump this sling.”

“You know this makes you an official Henry Adams townie, right?”

“And I'm glad to be. So, what are we singing? Have you decided?”

Trent replied, “Thought we'd see who's got the strongest voice first and go from there. Sing something.”

Jack paused to think about what song he'd do. With their eyes on him, he was admittedly a bit self-conscious, but he ignored that and began the opening lines to Bruce Springsteen's “My Hometown.”

By the time he reached the bridge, both men looked impressed. He sang on, and when he was done and the last note faded away, they applauded.

Trent declared, “We have our lead singer, boys.”

“Oh yeah,” Gary said, chuckling and clapping.

“Hell of a voice, Mr. James.”

Jack was embarrassed by the praise. “Thanks.”

Trent said, “Now, let's find a song so we can win this Idol thing.”