Dancing Naked in Dixie (31 page)

“Mr. Mayor, city council members, ladies and gentlemen of our fine city,” he clears his throat. “I come forward tonight after much deliberation. My heart is heavy with worry about the future of Eufaula.”

There are murmurs of agreement.

“As y’all know, Jordan Construction has been part of the backbone of our community for decades. We provide jobs, stability, and health insurance for the people who live here. I believe that our company makes Eufaula a better place to live. We’ve been part of preserving and restoring the city’s historic landmarks for decades.”

A spatter of clapping breaks out on one side of the room. TJ waves his acknowledgement and grins his appreciation.

“Thank you. We’re so blessed at Jordan Construction. Truly fortunate.”

Shug’s father sounds more and more like a voodoo doctor promising to heal the sick and raise the dead. My chest tightens and I brace myself to hear the rest.

My father eases closer to my shoulder. I shift my gaze to his face. His mouth barely moves. “Look up Jordan Construction’s financials.” He glances back at Shug’s father, frowning. “Hurry,” he whispers.

I pull out my iPhone and begin searching for clues while TJ continues his speech. After scrolling through three different sites, I hit pay dirt. With a nudge to my father’s elbow, I ease the screen into his line of vision. He nods, checking the numbers.

With a sudden burst of curiosity, I go back to the Eagle Investment website. When I found the photograph of Mary Katherine, I was so flustered that I didn’t notice the name of the project or the type of property that had been built.

As I search, TJ, thank goodness, is still droning on. His voice fills my ears. “I want you all to know that I’m committed to the future of Eufaula,” Shug’s father says. “The city, the people, the growth. I’ve studied the Phase III plans,” TJ pauses. “And I’ve given each detail careful consideration.”

My finger hovers over a page with the title “Recent Projects.” I tap it, and it begins to load. When the page comes up, I scroll down to find the one with Mary Katherine. I squint at the photograph and enlarge it, trying to see the huge white banner hanging on the building.

In all capital letters, the sign reads “Tiger Paw Landing.” There’s a familiar blue and orange logo with an intertwined A and U.

I adjust the page again, examining the angles and details of the property.

There’s no doubt about it.

Behind Mary Katherine’s smiling face, there’s a set of brand-new, luxury condominiums.

Chapter 35

I shove the iPhone at my father, point at Mary Katherine’s image, and gesture to where TJ was sitting. “Read the banner,” I mouth at him. David studies the screen, and then manipulates the photograph. His eyes widen.

Coincidence? Or not.

I’m about to stalk up to the front and announce my entire, outlandish, awful, but probably-true conspiracy theory when my father sticks out an arm to hold me back.

TJ is wrapping up.

“In closing,” he says, “I ask that the community throw their support behind the Phase III. Mr. Mayor, members of the city council, we need your votes in favor of this project. Thank you.”

There’s a beat of silence, then a clap. Another follows, and a portion of the room picks up the momentum. Mostly businessmen are nodding and clapping. Of course, the representatives from Eagle Investments are smiling. When I search for Mary Katherine, she’s gone.

Traitor.

There’s more gavel banging. “Attention!” The Mayor calls. “If there is no one else who wishes to speak, we’ll consider the matter closed and the city council will now vote.”

“Wait just a minute,” my father calls out, waving his arms.

The mayor peers into the crowd, trying to establish who’s talking.

David squeezes through the crowd and takes his place behind the podium. “Good evening. It’s so nice to see everyone,” he begins. “It’s been a long time.”

I blink and frown, wondering what on earth my father is talking about.
A long time since when?

“I’m David Sullivan. I run a travel magazine in New York City. And I have some concerns about Phase III.”

There’s a burst of chatter and my father waits a moment for it to die down.

TJ stands up, red-faced. “Now, hold on, sir. Who do you think you are barging in here like this?”

David turns around, smiles, and nods at Shug’s father. “I suspect you don’t remember me. We met back in 1965, Mr. Jordan,” he says, allowing the date to sink in.

My knees buckle.
What?
The announcement causes TJ to lower himself into his seat.

“We can get to all of that later,” my father says, turning back to row of city council members and the mayor. “But right now, I want to share some details you all might not be aware of. It won’t take long, so don’t worry.” He taps a finger on the podium. “First, Jordan Construction is almost bankrupt.”

There’s a collective gasp and looks of horror exchanged throughout the audience.

“Second, if and when Phase III goes forward, Eagle Investments will accept bids from many construction companies. Strangely enough, the bank that will likely be chosen to finance Phase III has—shall we say—a special interest in Jordan Construction.”

The mayor is pulling at the collar of his shirt. One of the city council members has turned white. Another keeps clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Of course, you’ll want to do your own research on this, but it stands to reason that Phase III will save Jordan Construction.” My father holds up both hands. “Actually, that’s not true. The condominium project will actually net Jordan Construction several million dollars.”

My father’s last comment triggers total bedlam. There are angry shouts and accusations flying. The city council is exchanging harsh words with the mayor. People begin to stream out the doors of the building. I stand on my tiptoes, searching for my father in the chaos. Between two burly shoulders, I catch a glimpse of his face. He’s smiling.

Without warning, an explosion rocks the building.

With a sonic boom echoing in my ears, I’m thrown to the floor and the entire building shakes under my hands and knees. A huge boot nearly crushes my fingers. I scramble back to my feet, calling my father’s name. Women are screaming, children wailing, and all at once, there’s a mad scramble for the doors.

Fire sirens wail in the distance. A hand grips my upper arm, guiding me out the back of the room. It’s my father.

After fighting our way out the back exit, we burst outside, both gulping at the cool night air. All around us, there are people running, car engines being started, and the sound of crying.

“Wh-what happened?” I’m shaken, and my legs don’t want to work.

“We’re going to find out,” my father says. “Come on.”

He drags me to the car. With the click of a button, he opens the door, shoves me inside, and drags the seatbelt over my lap. My door slams shut. A moment later, he’s behind the wheel, turning the key, and throwing the car into drive.

“Where are we going?” I wipe at my eyes, blinking at all of the headlights.

“Historic district,” David says, setting his jaw. “I think someone decided that Phase III was going forward, vote or no vote.”

My father presses the accelerator and I’m thrown back against the seat. Gripping the door handle, I hang on for dear life. As David proceeds to drive with expert precision, weaving in and out of traffic, I brace myself for a crash and shut my eyes.

“Don’t worry,” I hear my father say. “I’m a careful driver.”

“For who? NASCAR?” I open my eyes, leaning away as we almost miss the bumper of a silver Ford Focus.

My father chuckles. “I’ve never known you to be frightened of anything.”

“Well, let’s just say that I’d like to stay alive a little longer,” I force out with a gasp.

David cranks the wheel, making a hard right. I’m pressed against the door as we careen around the corner. I notice that this street is almost empty.

I look behind us. “Everyone’s leaving. They’re all getting out of the city.”

My father nods, his eyes following the trail of taillights.

“What if someone had tried to bomb the building where the meeting was being held?” I shudder. “We all would have died.”

“Think about it,” my father glances at me, then pins his eyes back onto the road. “If you wanted Phase III to go forward, and you were desperate, what would you do?”

As we near the historic district, something flickers in my memory. I almost jolt out of my seat.
Mary Katherine.
The story about leaving the gas stove on. Telling me she could have blown up the whole house.
Whoosh!
I can hear her say the word.

“Oh my God. Mary Katherine. She’s going to try to get rid of all of those empty homes. The ones they wanted to tear down for Phase III.”

My father hits the gas. “Almost there.”

My mind spins. “She was at the meeting. Mary Katherine saw me and left. We have to warn Shug,” I say. “He’s with MeeMaw at Aubie’s house.”

David screeches the corvette to a stop in front of a barricade and flashers on North Eufaula Avenue. Three police cars are parked there, doors open, and at least four men are patrolling the area.

One of the uniformed officers walks up the corvette, face grim. “You’ll have to turn around, sir. It’s not safe.”

“Could you tell us what happened? Please?” I ask, leaning my head so that I can see the man’s face. “Is everyone okay?”

The officer shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m not at liberty to say. The scene is under investigation, ma’am. We’re evacuating everyone in the neighborhood.”

My throat constricts. “Has everyone gotten out? Is everyone else safe?”

The policeman regards me with serious eyes. “We’re doing the best we can to make sure of that. We’re going door to door, asking everyone to leave the area.”

“The explosion,” David cuts in. “Was it one of the empty homes?” he asks, hands gripping the wheel.

Something changes in the policeman’s eyes. He flinches. “Again, sir, I can’t share that information.”

His walkie-talkie crackles to life and a voice calls for back up.

My skin tingles. I hold my breath.

The operator lists the address, then repeats it.

It is one of the empty houses slated for tear-down during Phase III.

The officer switches off his walkie-talkie with a firm click. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Sir, it’s not safe for either of you to stay here.”

I half-expect my father to pull out the press card again, but he doesn’t argue. I don’t say a word. My father eases the corvette back, does a quick u-turn, and creeps away from the barricade. Ten yards up the street, he puts the car in park, but keeps the engine running.

He shifts in his seat to face me, brow arched in concern.

“You were right,” I breathe. “That address. It’s one of the abandoned houses near Aubie and TJ’s. I have to get to Shug and MeeMaw.”

My father grips my arm. “It’s too dangerous. You heard the police. They’ve gone door to door. They’ve told everyone to evacuate.”

“But what if they can’t hear them? Or they can’t leave? What if all of them are passed out? From the fumes?” I’m getting hysterical just thinking about it. I’ll start hyperventilating if I don’t calm down. I force myself to inhale.
In, out, slow. In, out, slow.

“Let’s try and call him,” my father suggests.

I pull out my cell, scroll through the numbers, and hit dial when I reach Shug’s number. “It’s ringing,” I tell David and press the phone to my ear. But there’s no answer. After six or seven rings, Shug’s voicemail clicks on. I shake my head and hang up.

David turns his head, frustrated. We both watch the policemen. We’re stuck. At a dead end. Backed into a corner. At least it seems that way.

But I’m not giving up. I won’t. I can’t.

With a burst of inspiration—or maybe, insanity—and before my father can catch me, I unbuckle my seatbelt. In one smooth, swift motion, I open the car door, jump out, and start sprinting toward Aubie and TJ’s house.

By the time one of the officers notices me, I’m already way past him.

There are frustrated shouts, the sound of feet pounding the payment. My father is calling my name, pleading with me to stop.

Arms pumping, legs burning, I shut everything else out. I run as fast as I can. Past all of the homes I’ve grown to love, past all of the towering columns, and blooming azaleas. As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I make out the shape of Shug’s car in the driveway.

I push myself harder, forcing my burning lungs to draw in more oxygen. My thighs are screaming, my feet are killing me. I’m almost there.

Twenty yards, then fifteen yards.

With a flash, there’s another explosion. I’m thrown into the air, sailing, drifting before I hit the sidewalk.

My cheek and hands scrape the cement. I taste blood, warm and salty. The ground rocks with aftershocks. And everything goes black.

Chapter 36

Everything aches, my ribs, my legs, even my toes. Breathing is hard work. My mouth is talcum-powder dry. I’m so thirsty.

As I force my eyelids open a millimeter, I wonder if I’ve woken up in Northern Siberia. It’s freezing cold. And everything is white. Is the mattress packed with ice? It’s possible that I’ve been cryogenically-preserved, except that I’m in a bed, not a transparent, upright tube like you see at the movies.

And it’s laser-bright in this room. Sunshine streams in through the double-window pane. It’s morning.

Oh. No.
It’s morning!

Alarms ring in my head, sounding danger. I’m going to be fired. That’s it. My career is over.

My shoulders twitch, trying to lift my body up. My abdomen contracts, then turns to mush. Every limb is shaking, down to my fingers and toes. With monumental effort, I inch my head to the right.

There’s movement. The swish of someone walking. Then a man’s hand on my bare arm. It’s so warm against my chilled skin that I almost dissolve into the sheets.

“Julia,” a man says. “Can you hear me?”

My pupils don’t want to focus, but I train them toward the voice. Like gazing through binoculars and making tiny micro-adjustments to the lens, my father’s face comes into focus.