Catch a Falling Star (5 page)

“Happens all the time.” Mart shrugged. “I’ve got an address for them here in town, but no one’s responded, and they’ve left no forwarding address. No one’ll answer the cell phone number I have, either.” He typed a few more keystrokes, and the printer whirred to life.

“I’ll give it a try for you.”

“Good luck on that. It’s getting so bad I’m going to change my policy to pre-pay only.” Mart took a paper from the printer and handed it to Justine.

“Why’d they put their things in storage, anyway?”

“The husband—usually the husband—gets deployed, and things go south for the wife here, and so she takes the kids home. Sometimes she’ll leave him, or he’ll leave her. Or they start blowing their money.” Mart scowled at Justine.

If he only knew how much she’d paid for her favorite purse. Way more than the six hundred he was growling about. She swallowed hard under his dark gaze. “That’s a shame. The families give up so much for their country.”

“Ah, whatever. These kids nowadays don’t know the meaning of sacrifice. They want life to be cushy. The big babies don’t know commitment either, or the value of keeping their word.” Mart waved at her. “So until the Tremontes get me their money, they don’t get a thing back.”

“I’ll pay their bill.” Her own words surprised her. They surprised Mart, too, by the look on his face. “Because I’m going to find the Tremontes and give them their family treasures back.”

“You’ve got more money than sense.” But he didn’t complain when she paid him the full amount due just before she and Azalea left the storage center.

Funny, for a few minutes she’d forgotten about the eighty thousand dollars she still had to come up with.

As Azalea and Justine drove away from the storage center, Justine looked down at the scrapbook on her lap. “I’m going to find them.”

“I’m sure you will, dear.” Azalea frowned. “I wish I knew about them, because I've already sold some of the things in this unit. But now it doesn’t seem right to be selling the rest of their items at the flea market this weekend.”

“Well, you didn’t know. At least until now, anyway.” If only her own problems were so easily solved.

“I’ll figure it out, so don’t look so distressed. People have friends of friends around here. It’s a small world, so they say.”

Azalea dropped Justine at her house, and Justine trudged up the sidewalk. The scrapbook made her arm ache, but in the end she made it inside the cool house and placed the book on her long dining room table.

Justine turned the pages of the scrapbook again. The family’s smiling faces looked back at her once more. They didn’t look like people who would skip out on a bill.

She paged back to the wedding photo on the second page. She wanted that, one day down the road. Her thoughts drifted to Tyler Drake then to the eighty-thousand-dollar noose around her neck. A steep amount of money, but she should have been able to find it somewhere. Her last film had netted her just a hair over three million.

Justine punched a speed dial number.
Answer, Ty
.

Sweet Justine, how are ya?”

Tyler, finally!” Her voice echoed off the dining room walls. “Why haven’t you called me?”

The sounds of traffic drowned out his voice. “—busy on the set here.”

“Where’s here?”

“New Zealand. Thought I told you. We’re actually headed out for dinner and a few drinks.”

She dared not ask who
we
were. “I’m in a jam. My lawyer called me today. The back taxes on my Hollywood hills home are way overdue, plus for some reason the mortgage payments weren’t being made for almost six months now.”

“I thought Neil was taking care of all that for you.”

“He is. Or is supposed to be. But I don’t have the eighty thousand in cash at the moment.”

“Ah, I see.” Squeals and laughter and a pulsing beat came across the phone line. “I’d get Neil to handle it. Have you talked to him yet?”

“No. . . . I was going to. . .but I wanted to hear a friendly voice.”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad you called. Let me know what Neil says. Chin up. You’ll be okay.” The phone went silent.

Justine stared at the phone. Here she was, stuck in Texas of her own choosing, with Ty off living his dream and Neil doing who knew what with her money. What was left of it.

Azalea didn’t think she was a hopeless cause. But the way things were looking, she was losing altitude fast and would crash and burn. “God, if You’re really there and interested in the mess I’m in, feel free to lend a hand anytime.”

The house answered her with silence.

#             

“C’mon, Billy.” Maddie ran ahead of him onto the flea market grounds. Starlight Market Days drew dozens of vendors and hundreds of buys over the last weekend of every summer month. Billy should be home, working on the cottage. But he’d promised to take Maddie to Market Days.

The milling crowds and clusters of vehicles made his pulse pound. He flinched, ever so slightly, at chatters and squeals. Worst of all, a child fired a cap gun a few yards away. Instinct almost sent him diving for cover behind a vendor’s booth.

Billy could smell the explosives even now. No one had ever told him memories had smells. Screams and curses in the air, his ears ringing as the Humvee ripped apart with them inside it. Crawling to a roadside ditch before a hidden shooter could finish off what was left of him. The sensation made him feel like a coward now as he entered the market grounds. He should have grabbed his weapon and fired, even if he missed.

He forced himself to stop in spite of the sun that beat down from above. Maddie had already found a pair of her friends, and they sauntered off to one of the concession stands.

Of course a fifteen-year-old didn’t care about old junk and treasures. She wanted to see her friends. And here he stood, almost incapacitated by a cap gun.

Billy looked down at his arms, dark from working in the sun, his fists clenched. This was a bad idea. He could handle attending church, finally, so long as the crowd wasn’t too active and he found a seat in the corner of the sanctuary, way in the back.

The little boy with the cap gun grinned at him. The child had dark hair and skin tone that spoke of his Mexican heritage. His missing front teeth reminded Billy of Ahmed, an Iraqi boy who had stolen his heart. Not far from Tikrit, Billy and his unit had supervised training the town’s police force and had helped the town find a source of safe drinking water after Saddam Hussein poisoned the wells . They also scouted the area for any groups of insurgents looking to cause trouble.

Ahmed’s older brother was the one who’d laid those explosives on the road outside the village. Or maybe the leaders of his group, who swore allegiance to the Shia insurgence, had done it. For all the work that Billy and his band of brothers had done, virtually unnoticed in the news, they’d been rewarded with scars. He prayed every night for Ahmed, that he would stay in school and one day have the life of a normal six-year-old.

Maybe he could never go back to the Middle East, but he could help other soldiers keep fulfilling their dream of making a difference in the world. Liberty was a dream for many of the Iraqis they worked with, and helping them realize the freedom of self-governing had been rewarding.

Billy saw two familiar figures underneath a nearby vendor’s canopy. The banner on the front read
Treasures From Azalea
.

Justine Campbell stood next to Azalea. She wore a giant floppy hat and large dark sunglasses, but that unmistakable smile gave her away. He figured she’d be hiding in that big house of hers until sundown, if she wasn’t pestering him about fancy boots. Of course, Aunt Zalea had a way of getting people to do what she wanted, not unlike Justine herself.

This was the first time he’d seen Justine besides their trips to physical therapy in Temple for the past three weeks. He returned her smile and gave her a nod. What in the world was she doing at Market Days?

Hopefully Justine hadn’t noticed his jumpy reaction to the cap gun. A man at church had made fun of Billy’s reflexes once, and Billy’s harsh words still rang in his ears. Even though he’d apologized, the friendship wasn’t the same after that.
God, I don't want to alienate anyone else. I've worked so hard to get where I am right now.
He strolled up to the canopy.

Aunt Zalea beamed. “Billy Tucker, shopping at Market Days. Imagine that.”

“I’m here with Maddie. She has some heavy-duty shopping to do.” He glanced around for his sister but didn’t see her.

“Just think, by next summer she’ll have her license.”

His stomach shot into his boots at the thought.  “You’re right. Guess I won’t have to tote her everywhere then.” Keeping track of her, though. That would be interesting. Funny how kids could ignore a phone call from family but answer right away when a friend sent them a text message.

“So how are you doing?” asked Justine. She took off her sunglasses.

Was he imagining it, or did she really look happy to see him? A light glinted in her eyes that he didn’t recall seeing before. Usually during their trips to therapy, neither of them felt like talking much.

“Doing fine. I need to measure you for your boots, by the way.”

“I dunno, Billy. That’s kind of a personal thing, you know.”

A customer came up beside him and started rummaging through the oddities on Zalea’s table. Justine slid her sunglasses back on.

“It’s not if you want good-fitting boots,” Billy flung back at her.

She laughed, and the sound was the best thing he’d heard all day. No wonder guys lined up to see her. No wonder her star shone brightly before her accident. Billy felt himself getting pulled into the aura of her charm.

Her expression grew serious. “I do need to talk to you, though. I found something when helping Azalea clean out a storage unit, and I hope you can give me an idea of what to do next.”

“What’s that?”

Justine darted a glance at the shopper then took off her sunglasses and fixed her gaze on him. “Come around to the other side of the booth, and I’ll fill you in.”

He obeyed, and she tugged on his arm, leading him toward Aunt Zalea’s SUV at the rear of the display. She opened the front passenger door and pulled out a cloth-covered scrapbook about fourteen inches square.

“I want to find these people. The husband is, or was, a soldier.” She held the book up to him. He took the book and opened it.

Of course he knew the name Tremonte. “I know this man. I served with Kevin Tremonte but lost track of him after I was wounded. He was sent home early from his deployment. I haven't spoken to him, though. The rest of our unit is scheduled to return in a few weeks”

Funny how people moved on. Not that they didn’t care or keep in touch. But they kept on serving their country while he’d been left to pick up the pieces.

“Well, Mart at the storage place in town was clearing out the Tremontes' unit because they skipped out on their bill, according to him,” said Justine. “I took care of the bill, and Azalea’s helped me find a few of their personal items and kept them from getting sold. But this scrapbook must be important to them. I can’t get rid of it, and it would be wrong to let Mart throw it out.”

“Did he have any contact information for them?”

“Just a cell phone number. I called it, but all I got was a voice mail. I left a message, but no one has called back.” Justine frowned. “I don't know why I didn't think to ask you sooner.”

“That’s. . . That’s a real kind thing you did for them. I’ll try calling them too. Because I want him and his family to be the first guests at Hopeful Acres.” Maybe this would encourage him to finish the renovations. All the place needed was paint and an air conditioning unit for the window.

“Good. Maybe he’ll call you back. And hey, you should tell me about your plans sometime. I’d love to hear about them.” Justine sounded sincere.

He handed the book to her, and she tucked it back inside the vehicle. “Thanks. It’s a way for me to give back and hopefully give some tangible hope to military families.”

“It’s a good idea. You know what they’ve been through.”

“Well, sort of. I mean, Tremonte had a family waiting for him to come home.”

“You did, too.”

“Right. My parents, brother, and sister wanted me home. But someone special. . .” He shrugged and glanced back toward the main market area.

“You didn’t have anyone like that?” Her voice sounded soft.

“Not really.” The image of Tamarind’s face drifted across his mind. “Not for me, anyway. She. . .”

“So there was someone, once?”

“Let’s just call it someone who might have been.” Billy shook his head. “It’s just as well, though. I’m not looking for anyone.”

“Same here.” Justine leaned on Aunt Zalea’s vehicle and crossed her arms across her chest.

“You’re not using your cane today.”

“No. I thought I’d try today without it. I’m not planning to do a lot of walking here.”

“Don’t overdo it.”

“I don’t plan to.” Justine gazed across to the concession stand. “I think I’ll grab some water for Azalea and me. Would you like something?”