Finding Floyd (6 page)

"Well then how do they know the extent of the
damage and what do you mean by several? How many are we talking
about?" Jack asked as he signaled and moved into the turning lane.
"Where did you say this happened?"

"Out along the Mississippi River. Present day
states of Arkansas, Missouri, Tennessee, places like that. They
were felt all the way out to the East coast, though. There were
three or actually four big ones." She paused and turned to him.
"Getting back to my point, I'm still going to set my next book in
Tennessee, but this one's not going to be a Civil War story. This
book is going to be about the quakes, but really much more besides
that. Anyway, I've come to a decision." Vicky rested a hand on his
knee. "You know, I love you," she said.

"And I love you too." Jack laughed. "What's
the decision?" At a glance, he took in her shoulder length auburn
hair and incredibly striking bright hazel green eyes.

She met his gaze and gave him one of her
irresistible sexy looks.

"Don't do that! I'm trying to drive
here."

""Don't do what?' She smiled again and
stroked his thigh. "I'm not doing anything."

"You're giving me one of those looks, that
says we should take the next exit and get a room," said Jack with a
laugh.

"Well, anyway, this next book will be more
mainstream. A serious historical novel."

"Sounds like a great idea," said Jack.

"Do you think we could take a research trip
all the way out to western Tennessee, by the Mississippi next week?
It would be after we spend some time with Diane."

"Sure," he answered, smiling at her. "Why the
hell not? We can do whatever we want. We're not on a schedule and
it's important for your next book. Since you're going to author
more serious stuff, are you going public with Tori Baxter?"

"I don't think so. I'm comfortable with
keeping my identity a secret. 'Torrid Tori' writes blazing hot,
sexy romances. For this new book, which may evolve into a series of
historical novels, I think I'll write under a new pen name.
Something other than Tori Baxter." Frowning, she nestled back into
her seat and sighed. I just have to come up with a great new pen
name. What do you think about Melinda Peters?"

"Melinda Peters? Sounds like an author to me,
but what do I know? I'm not supposed to tell you this, but there is
someone else who knows your secret."

"Who did you tell?" she narrowed her eyes at
him.

"Nobody!" He held up his right hand, "I
swear. Your Uncle Dominick has always known. He told me just before
our wedding and he said he'd never tell a soul because he knew
that's the way his 'little Victoria' wanted it."

"Of course. I should have known. Uncle Dom
knows everything. He's psychic. If he said he'll keep it to
himself, he will." Dominick Buonadies had been like a father to her
after her parents were killed in a car accident, years before.

Vicky sat up and pointed up the road. "Hey,
the exit for Staunton's coming up soon. Can we stop there? I read
about a great place to eat on Main Street,"

As they approached the exit, Jack slowed and
headed toward Staunton. "Sounds interesting. You said this place is
on Main Street?"

"Yes, it's in a big old mill."

"Getting back to Diane, you said she'd be
down here another couple of weeks?"

"Right. She's really just house sitting for
the dog, but she's doing some garden planning for her friend,
Sandy. They're BFF from college, remember?"

"Right," he said. "By the way, did she ever
see any more of Chris, that FBI guy who was at our wedding?"

"No, she didn't. I think that's one reason
she wanted to come down here and get away. She was kind of bummed
out about it," Vicky said, pulling her phone from her purse, as it
signaled an incoming text.

Sighing, John Van Wart pulled away from his
beautiful fiancé, disentangled himself from her arms and stared
with annoyance at the ringing phone. "Let me see who it is." He sat
up and reached for his cell, where it sat on the coffee table.

"Why don't we just ignore it, Babe," Theresa
cooed. "Come back here." Her long dark brown tresses fell over his
shoulder as she leaned into him.

"Hey, it's Ralph." He grinned apologetically.
"Can't blow him off." His friend had recently sold them his
historic tavern in rural New York State and headed south to
retire.

"Okay Babe. We don't want to ignore Ralph. I
kind of miss him, don't you?" She massaged his thighs with one hand
tickling the back of his neck with the other.

"Yo! Ralph. How's sunny Florida?" He nodded
and grinned at Theresa.

"John, how you doing?" came Ralph
Spangenberg's gruff voice. "Are you busy? Not interrupting
anything, am I?"

"Uh," he said, looking into Theresa's big
dark Mediterranean eyes set in her perfect oval of a face. He
swallowed as his eyes dropped to her amazing round breasts that
he'd just released, peeking at him from her unfastened blouse. She
batted her lashes and grinned seductively. Clearing his throat he
answered, "No Ralph. No problem. How's everything in Florida?"

"Well, to tell ya the truth John, that's why
I'm calling. I've gotta say, this sunshine state ain't exactly what
it's cracked up to be. I can't stand the weather here. It's always
humid as hell. You've got to twenty-four-seven stay in the air
conditioning, and the bugs are something awful."

"That's too bad. What about your lady friend
down there? You know. The one you hooked up with online?" asked
John as he stroked Theresa's breasts.

"Yeah, that's another thing. It didn't really
work out between us. I'm not seeing her anymore."

"That's too bad," said John teasing Theresa's
nipples into eager little peaks.

"I'm not sure I'm cut out for this retirement
stuff anyway. I'm thinking I made a mistake coming down here, know
what I mean?"

This got John's attention. "You still okay
with us buying your place?"

"Yeah, sure. The tavern got to be too much
for me."

John felt Theresa rise off the couch.
Reaching for her, he frowned and motioned for her to come back.

Leaning in, she kissed him on the tip of his
nose and whispered, "Don't forget where we left off."

Watching Theresa reach behind to hook her
bra, putting those beautiful breasts out of sight and out of reach,
he sighed and asked distractedly, "So what are your plans? We miss
you up here in the Grove. Are you thinking about maybe moving back,
or what?"

"Geez John, I don't know. It'll be spring up
there soon and I'm gonna miss the change of seasons and all that.
Down here they say there's three seasons, warm, hot, and hot as
hell. We're moving right now, from warm to hot and I'm not looking
forward to it."

"Sounds like you need a vacation from
retirement or something," said John absently. He stared at
Theresa's incredibly sweet round ass, as she walked away.

"I'm still renting a place, so there's
nothing really tying me down. By the way, John. How's the
renovation of the tavern coming along?"

"It's right on schedule. It all should be
done in about a month, new bathrooms and everything. Theresa and I
are about to take a little vacation ourselves."

"Where you going," asked Ralph.

"We're heading south to Virginia for a few
days. The work on the tavern is wrapping up and Fred can look after
things while we're gone."

"Where exactly are you going?" asked
Ralph.

"A little town called Floyd, in the Blue
Ridge Mountains. Diane is taking care of a B & B for a friend
who's on vacation. It's empty this time of year, so she told us to
come on down if we got tired of the cold weather. So, that's what
we're going to do.

"What's it like there?"

"It's just a small town in flyover country,
probably a lot like Pippin's Grove. I want to go because it's
supposed to be some big time Bluegrass and Country music
place."

"Huh, hmmmm," rumbled Ralph. "Let me just see
something here. Hold the phone a minute."

Listening to the older man's deep voice, John
could picture his huge three hundred pound barrel-chested frame.
For a minute he heard his friend muttering to himself and he
waited, admiring Theresa's perfect figure as she walked past
him.

"Okay John, I got it. I looked it up in my
atlas. This place you're going, it's in Southwest Virginia, not too
far from Tennessee. That'll be a pretty long trip. Hmmm, I'm
wondering..."

"It's not too bad. Maybe nine or ten hours.
We're looking forward to getting away. It's been pretty busy here.
What are you thinking," he asked.

"You said Diane is staying at a bed and
breakfast there?"

"Well, she's house sitting for a friend. The
place will be empty, so the plan is that we stay there and help her
out with a few things. Vicky and Jack are going too. It's a
vacation for all of us. Hey, why don't you drive up and meet us
there?

"Well, I wouldn't want to invite myself, but
I was thinking..."

"Come on, Ralph. Diane would love to see you.
She's probably bored out of her mind, all alone there. We'll text
her and ask, but I'm sure she won't mind."

"Yeah, well, maybe. Truth is, I've been a
little down lately. Got myself into a funk. Maybe I should meet you
guys there. You can tell me about what you've done to Paulding's
Rest. I kind of miss the old tavern."

"Great. You know, you shouldn't feel bad
about Florida. Lots of people retire there and then realize they
don't like it. They don't want to move all the way back to the
northeast and the brutal winters, so they settle in North Carolina
or Virginia. They call them halfbacks."

"You sure she's got room for me?" he asked
eagerly.

"I'm sure it'll be no problem. Why don't you
give Diane a call? You have her cell number?" As she walked by
again, John reached out and gave Theresa's little round ass a
squeeze. She slapped at his hand playfully and then gave him a
firmer slap on his cheek before stepping out of his reach.

"Ouch," he yelled.

"What's that," asked Ralph.

"Theresa hit me!"

"I'm sure you deserved it. Hey, nice talking
to you. I've got Diane's number, so maybe we'll all see each other
in a few days. Have a safe trip."

John sighed, dropped the phone on the coffee
table and reached for Theresa. "Come here babe."

She fell into his arms, nuzzling him at the
base of his neck. "What was that all about?" she whispered.

"Oh, Ralph decided he doesn't like Florida.
We'll talk about it later. Kiss me," he said, reaching for her
buttons.

From inside her purse on the coffee table,
came the muffled ring tone of the Italian wedding song, the
'Tarantella'.

"Oh my god! It's Ma again. This is the third
time she's called me already today. She's driving me freakin' crazy
with this wedding planning stuff. Enough already!"

"Let it go to voice mail," he said, planting
his lips on hers.

All three were still in
shock, not knowing what to make of the great quake. Throughout the
afternoon, they told one another of the changes they’d seen in the
land, marveling at the enormity of the disaster. For these
believers in an all-powerful God, there was no other possibility,
but that the destruction was visited upon them by their
Creator.

The three refugees sat
huddled in blankets around the fire, building it into a substantial
blaze. Spitting thick slices of their salvaged bacon on sharpened
sticks, they held the meat over the open flames. Watching the fat
drip and sizzle they burned their fingers sampling bits of the
barely cooked meat.

When the winter sun was
sinking low, out over the broad Mississippi, and the shadows of
late afternoon grew long, they realized they were no longer alone.
Not twenty yards away an Indian dressed in buckskins stood silently
watching them.'

From Reelfoot Legacy, by
Melinda Peters

Vicky's fingers flew over her laptop
keyboard. The plot was taking shape rapidly and she felt a little
thrill of excitement. With new ideas fresh in her mind, she worked
on the outline of her new novel. This one wouldn't be in her usual
genre. Unlike her successful series of steaming hot romances, this
would be a work of historical fiction. The main characters would be
contemporary, living in Western Tennessee near the New Madrid fault
line. Her story would connect the threads of time and memory, from
their ancestors who'd lived through the destructive series of
earthquakes two hundred years before, to the present.

She stretched and leaned back in her chair,
taking in the large room with its king-sized four poster bed,
massive antique maple dresser, two comfortable looking easy chairs,
and the roll-top desk where she sat. Sweet spring air wafted in
through the open window. From the porch below came a soft haunting
tune. Someone was slowly picking out notes on a guitar, while a
fiddler evoked a memory of something sad from long ago. Out in the
yard several men laughed as they stacked wood on a growing pile,
while one man steadily chunk-chunked away rhythmically with an axe.
Vicky was happiest working in a peaceful and serene country
environment like this. The serenity was conducive to her
writing.

As soon as they'd arrived at the big old
Victorian, Jack had carried their things up to the spacious corner
room. Then after admiring the spectacular views of the mountains,
he'd given her a hug and a kiss that promised more, before rushing
back out to join the men gathered around the wood cutting
project.

Down on the porch the music stopped. When it
resumed, the tempo had changed. The sad and sweet refrain was
replaced with a faster, more aggressive tune. The guitar and fiddle
were joined by a deep thumping bass and banjo picker. She realized
that she was tapping her foot in time, the music sending a little
thrill through her. Yes, this was just right, the right time and
place to be working on the new book. When she heard footsteps on
the stairs, she sighed and closed the laptop, hiding her work. Her
writing was still her little secret. Vicky smiled to herself. She
liked it that way.