Finding Floyd (18 page)

"Preston and his wife Sarah exchanged bemused
looks. Turning back to Granny, Preston suppressed a grin.

"We've brought some nice sliced country ham
and biscuits for your supper. There's a little potato salad too. Is
there anything you're needing from the market this week?" Sarah
spoke to her eighty-nine year old grandmother with an indulgent
soothing tone of voice.

"I reckon not," said Granny gazing around the
room and settling on the refrigerator. "Though now I think on it,
if Henry is going to be around, you might could pick up a jar of
them sweet pickles he always was partial to and maybe a couple cans
of baked beans. I'll need more beer, what with the way Henry drinks
it like water, and probably some potato chips. Get the low-salt
chips. I'm not supposed to have too much salt. That's what the
doctors says, and remember to use my credit card this time. I don't
need no charity from you young folks."

"Sure Granny. Whatever you want," said
Preston opening cabinets and peering into the refrigerator. He saw
plenty of beer and chips, making a mental note to cross those items
off Granny's list. "We'll be by in a day or two, and Sunday we'll
be here to collect you for church, okay?" He spoke even more slowly
than his usual liquid drawl and a little louder than usual so the
old woman was sure to hear. She nodded absently and turned toward
the living room where she had the volume turned up on the
television and the applause from a game show could be clearly
heard.

Outside, the young couple climbed into their
pickup and smiled at one another. He toyed with the keys before
starting up the truck and asked, "Do you think she's all
right?"

"Well, she does seem to be eating more. All
that chicken was gone." Sarah held up the empty plate she'd left
filled with fried chicken a few days earlier.

"But do you think she's finally gone all the
way round the bend?" asked Preston. "Now she's seeing ghosts. How
long ago was it Grandpa Henry drowned in Smith Mountain Lake?"

"It must be close to ten years now," said
Sarah. "You know Pres, there are some who say that old people start
to see and hear the ghosts of their dearly departed, just before
they're getting ready to go themselves. I'm not saying I believe in
all that, but..."

"I do believe some folks are gifted with the
second sight, but they're few and far between. Don't think Granny
Shackleford is one of them though." He turned his boyish grin on
her. "I wouldn't call Henry her dearly departed. As I remember it,
when they found his boat overturned and reported him missing, she
just said, 'Good riddance'."

"Can you blame her? Poor old Granny, bless
her heart." Sarah shrugged and ran one hand through her long blond
hair, which fell below her shoulders. "God forgive me for saying
so, but I don't have fond memories of my grandpa." Frowning, she
turned her bright blue eyed gaze on her husband.

"No, I don't blame her. She never would
accept the fact that Henry died. Always insisted he'd run off with
that trashy girlfriend of his. Can't recollect her name, but she
lit out about the same time." Preston said. He studied Sarah's
clear blue eyes and her heart shaped face with its perfect
complexion, and then let his gaze roam over her perfect hourglass
figure. Her full breasts and broad hips filled her jeans and blue
work shirt. For an instant, their eyes locked and he reached out
and gently stroked her cheek. She smiled. "I love you darlin' sweet
thing and I'm glad you're nothing like your grandpa. "Let's get on
home." He pulled onto the road and accelerated.

"Poor Granny," said Sarah, looking out the
truck's window at the view of distant Blue Mountains. "If she's
really thinking that she's seeing and talking to Grandpa Henry,
well, she just ain't right Pres."

"I know. Maybe it's time we talk about
getting her out of that old farmhouse and into a home, though I
can't imagine she'd go for it. Funny, how she thinks Henry has come
back. Can't say as she's even mentioned his name for years. I don't
mean to speak ill of the dead, honey," Preston said soothingly to
his wife. I know he was your grandpa and all, but Henry Shackleford
wasn't known for being generous, or kind." He paused. "Wasn't known
for his honesty or trustworthiness either. I'm just saying..."

Searching the long deserted apartment over
the garage, Bruno found some ancient yellowing magazines, which
still held the name and address of the recipients: Henry and Ethel
Shackleford. They were turning out to be a source for everything he
could possibly need to stay safe and well hidden. By the condition
of the place, Henry was obviously long gone.

In the closet he'd found some of Henry's
clothing which was old enough to have gone out of style and come
back in again. He now wore khaki slacks, a somewhat rumpled brown
knit sweater and brown loafers. Everything fit, more or less.
Wiping the grime from the bathroom mirror he appraised his
appearance. "Not too shabby," he said to his reflection. He'd blend
into any crowd and wouldn't be noticed, which was his intention. In
addition to the clothing, he'd discovered a twelve gage shotgun
propped at the back of the closet and on the shelf, a couple of
boxes of shells.

It was a damn shame that sooner or later he'd
have to ice the old lady. It was an uncharacteristic lapse into
compassion for him, and he dismissed the thought immediately.
Whatever needed doing, he'd have to do. He shrugged. She was old
anyway.

Further exploration down below in the garage
revealed an old, but well kept, Toyota pickup truck ready and
waiting for him. The gas tank was nearly full and the keys were in
the cup holder by the front seat. He had a pocket full of cash,
recently retrieved from his duffle bag and spread out to dry in the
apartment. Things were beginning to go his way for a change.

The truck started up right away. As he drove
past her window, he glanced in the house, wondering if the old lady
would notice he was taking it for a drive. He needn't have worried.
She was in her recliner with her head sagging, asleep in front of
the television.

Letting the engine idle for a minute he tuned
the radio to a classical music station. He was going to get what
he'd needed to stay hidden, and he was going to do it far away,
where the cops were not likely to be looking for him. Those stupid
ass Feds were clueless anyway. He hummed along with the radio as he
pulled onto the paved road and arbitrarily turned left. He'd get
his bearings soon enough and find his way to the interstate, or so
he thought.

"Okay okay, Colby, chill out! I can't believe
I'm arguing with this stupid cat again," Diane mumbled under her
breath, as she searched the cabinet where the cat food was kept.
Shifting cans around, she checked every label, but there was none
of his favorite fishy canned food. A personalized ceramic dish
labeled, COLBY-JACK, was filled with dry food, but the cat ignored
it. She went around to the pantry, where Ralph was able to find
everything he'd needed the day before, and looked on every
shelf.

As she stood staring at the ranks of cans and
bottles, her thoughts returned to the night before. Christopher
Owen possessed some mad skills that she'd never dreamed existed.
Their night together had been absolutely wonderful. Shuddering with
delight, she recalled every moment, every touch and caress. From
that first deep kiss, until far into the night, when they'd slept
in each other's arms. When she'd woken up, long before the sun,
Chris had vanished, without a word. Typical.

She was jolted back to the present by a loud
impatient yowl at her feet. Colby paced, meowed, and glared at
her.

"We're all out of your favorite, Colby.
Couldn't you at least just try the dry crunchies?" The cat gave her
a dirty look, and began to yowl again. The tail swished angrily
back and forth as he wound around her ankles. Diane sighed. "Why
don't you go outside and catch a mouse or something?" For a
response she got another irritated yowl and the yellow green eyes
narrowed to slits.

"Colby sweetheart, if I didn't know better
I'd think you didn't like me. She returned his dirty look with a
satisfied smile. Except for the stupid cat's complaining, the house
was silent.

Julia and Ralph had taken off before
breakfast. They planned to take a tour of all the places where
Ralph could purchase the supplies he needed to work his magic in
the kitchen. Starting with breakfast in Floyd, they were touring
Christiansburg, Blacksburg and finally heading to Roanoke. Those
two really like each other, she thought wistfully, and wondered for
the hundredth time where Chris was and why he hadn't told her he
was leaving, or at least left a note.

John, Terry, Jack, and Vicky, were off
driving down the Blue Ridge Parkway and touring the wineries of
Floyd County. Her friends had invited her to join them, but she'd
decided to hang around with Bella and Colby-Jack in case Chris came
back.

The rattle of Bella's food bowl being licked
clean signaled that she had finished her dinner. Diane stroked the
smooth head as she picked up the dog's empty dish. "Good girl,
Bella." Placing it in the sink, she opened the back door and Bella
ran out with a good natured wag of her tail. Colby still sat in the
middle of the kitchen floor voicing his displeasure with her and
refusing to budge until he received his due.

"Oh all right! You win! I'll make a special
trip to the store, just for you." She found her purse, cell phone
and car keys. "I need to get out of here anyway. I'll take a drive
and go get your cat food. If Chris comes back, tell him I went to
the store."

All the way from the B & B to the grocery
store, her thoughts kept returning to the night before. She
couldn't get Chris off her mind. His look, his touch, and the
tender way he'd begun making love to her, then turning passionately
fierce. She shuddered with a little thrill of excitement with the
memory. Where was he? And why did he have the terrible annoying
habit of vanishing before dawn? Who did he think he was?
Houdini?

Instead of turning into the store parking
lot, on an impulse she turned the other way and pulled into a spot
in the library lot. She'd intended to visit and check out the local
library and now was as good a time as any. Colby-Jack could darn
well wait another half hour for his supper. Maybe I'll get a
library card. I've read all the books I brought and Sandy said it's
a great library. Who knows how long I'll be stuck here and I'll
probably be back to visit Sandy again.

Diane hadn't heard from her friend since
Sandy's cryptic text about the cruise from hell, and she was
worried.

Agent Constanza Rodriguez made her way
through the parking lot, intending to question the grocery clerks,
and store manager about Bruno Toricello. She'd flash his picture
again, in hopes of getting a positive response from the employees.
Walking with purpose toward the doors, she took no notice of the
man in nondescript brown clothes. With his back to her, he was
loading a case of bottled water and other odds and ends into the
front seat of a red Toyota pickup.

Bruno Toricello went around to the driver's
side after depositing his purchases on the passenger seat. He was
thirsty and as soon as he closed the door, pulled a plastic bottle
from the case of water and drank deeply. He hadn't wanted to shop
in the local stores, but after riding around for an hour on winding
country roads, he'd found himself in downtown Floyd. His intention
had been to go all the way to Roanoke, but with no GPS and no map,
finding the highway had been more difficult than he's thought. It
would be tough enough to locate the old lady's house again.

Cautiously, he swiveled his head, scanning
the parking lot. Shoppers were coming and going, wheeling carts and
piling bags into their vehicles. Slowly he eased out of the parking
spot and headed for Main Street. Waiting for traffic to thin, he
saw the local library on the other side of the road.

"They gotta have maps in there. Gotta have
computers too," he muttered to himself. Instead of turning, he
drove straight across into the lot, and pulled around back to park
out of sight. For several minutes he sat drinking water and
considering his options. Maybe I shouldn't show my face in public.
The cops have probably got my picture all over. Should I go in and
see if they got a map, or just beat it back to the apartment above
the garage?

"Damn it to hell," he said under his breath.
He decided to take the risk.

Diane saw her chance and dodged through the
first set of double doors at The Jessie Peterman Memorial Library.
Story hour had just ended and behind her chattering groups of
preschoolers were heading out."

She smiled as she leaned against the outer
door, waiting for a mom, holding the hands of two small children.
The children grinned and bounced along at her side waving their art
projects. "Thank you so much," drawled the young woman.

Absently, she wondered who Jessie Peterman
was, as she fished her car keys from her bag. About to step off the
curb, she came face to face with...the man in Chris's picture, The
Blowtorch! Horrified, she recognized the cruel beefy lips and the
anger in his dark eyes. She froze, as her heart was seized by icy
cold fingers of fear.

"Oh my god. Excuse me," she croaked, taking a
step to one side. He moved with her, stepping a little too close
for comfort, and staring directly at her. She tried to speak, but
her mouth was suddenly dry as cotton. Oh my god! What did Chris say
to do? Don't confront him. Get away as fast as possible and call
me.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked in a voice
so low, she barely heard him.

"No," she whispered. "We've never met." Get
away as fast as possible. She stepped back and reached for the door
and the safety of the public library.