T's Trial: A Bone Cold--Alive Novel (2 page)

He grimaced as he spied the magazine rack in front of the cash register. Staring up at him was his own picture, the cover shot for a rag Bone Cold—Alive decided long ago not to sue for being tawdry and ridiculous. The stories, good, bad or indifferent—but they were never that—only added to the publicity fire. It’d been decided that the more they were talked about, the more people wanted to see them and experience what they did. Today’s headlines screamed in three inch letters: Eddie T Imprisoned! Hell, they were close on to the truth with that. He picked it up and placed it by the credit card.

The woman behind the counter was about his age, her ash-blonde hair caught in a ponytail, her full lips upturned in a rueful smile at his choice of reading material. Her blue eyes appraised him as his did her, but he held the advantage with his sunglasses. Still, he couldn’t help but smile back at her. She was of a medium build, not too skinny, just enough to hold. Well, hell, he hadn’t done any of that lately, either. Not that he didn’t try at Betty Ford, but damn!—those people just weren’t understanding where sex was concerned! This woman was perched on a stool, so it was hard to tell how tall she was. Since the only vice he had left was gambling, he’d bet she came to his shoulder. If Fletch wasn’t so determined to keep him hidden away, he’d rethink the dullness of the next three weeks, despite his supposed off-limits status.

“Don’t approve of my reading choice?”

“Makes me no difference, long’s you pay for it.” The voice was soft, the accent barely Southern. She held up the card. “Anything else?”

“This’ll be all.”

She turned the card over. “Mr. Fletcher?”

“My boss.”

“My guests.”

She extended her hand and he took it. Her hands were large, the nails plain and short, the fingers long. Pianist’s hands. He bet she could reach over an octave, no sweat.

“Lyla Lee,” she introduced herself.

He made his grip firmer. Although his hands were and always had been soft—musician’s hands, meant for caressing the keys, not laboring—he’d not have her thinking him without strength.

“Mr. Fletcher wasn’t up to coming in. Sent me for the key.”

She pulled the card’s magnetic strip through the cash register and punched in the amount. A receipt was spit out and she handed it and the card back to him. He scribbled Fletch’s name and took both card and magazine in hand.

“I’ll need to take you up to the house. It’s a bit of a bear to find the first time.” She hopped off the stool and, opening the cash drawer, retrieved a ring of keys and a single one. She came around the counter and stood shoulder high to him. “Come on, I have to lock up since I’m the only one here.”

He followed her to the front door. Her back view was just as pleasant as her front.

“Just lock the door on a busy day like this? Must be the boss.” He failed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

The dog followed them out. “Lyla Lee, Quik-Lee. What do you think?” She twisted the key and pulled it out, pocketed it, smiled. “I see you’ve already met Shep. You passed inspection, or he’d never have let you in.”

T smiled down at the dog and reverted to the original subject. “There’s just something about a woman in business.” He leered. “Red-i-Lee, Lee Marina…”

“And the Dub-Lee.”

“All yours?”

“My father-in-law’s.” She glanced over at the Mercedes, its engine now started, the windows up, the occupant cooling down. “I’ll meet Mr. Fletcher at the house.” With a smile, she got in the Jeep and turned the key she’d left in the ignition. Shep settled himself in the passenger seat.

***

“Well?” It was Fletch’s only comment as T tossed the tabloid at him. “Oh, striking likeness!” He smoothed out the front page as T put the car in gear and followed Lyla down the county road. “She didn’t recognize you?”

“Get a life, Fletch. I hardly look the same.”

“It’ll grow. You really should have thought about the consequences of fire.”

“I don’t recall the incident at all.”

“That alone would keep me sober.” He watched as the sign for the Lee Marina turned to the right and they went straight. “Think you’re going to be able to retrace our tire tracks?”

“It’s your job to toss out the bread crumbs.”

“What’s she like? Other than quite pretty and totally off-limits, redirected charms or no?”

“Married. Has a father-in-law. No nonsense. She did tell you she had a piano?”

“For the bloody hundredth time, yes!” He unconsciously gritted his teeth, memories of T’s piano urges in his mind. Before rehab his need for the solace afforded by a keyboard was often tantamount to addiction. It hadn’t disappeared as his need for drugs had.

“She plays.”

“And how do you know that?”

“You confirmed she has a piano.” T couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Her hands. I know she plays.”

“You and your hand theories. Picturing duets?”

They took a corner too fast and Fletch was flung against the door. “Shut up, Fletch. Leave my theories and me alone. I need a piano.” He clenched and unclenched his hands on the steering wheel. “I don’t know that I can do this for three weeks.”

Fletch nodded. He didn’t know if he could either.

The road was now barely one lane, disappearing on both sides into uncut weeds. The Jeep slowed its speed as the pavement gave way to gravel. Lyla blinked to turn right just as the road bent sharply to the left. Over a cattle guard and through an open gate, they bumped along for a tenth of a mile. As abruptly as the terrain had become rough, it opened up to reveal the lake and the log house that commanded the bluff.

Lyla parked in front of the steps under the shade of a huge tree. T pulled in behind her. She hopped out and waited. Shep disembarked and sauntered up the steps to the front porch where he collapsed in the middle.

Fletch came around the front of the Mercedes, his eyes scanning the horizon, trying to take it all in at once.

“Mr. Fletcher?” Lyla held out her hand to him and he made himself concentrate on her.

“Mrs. Lee.”

“Just call me Lyla.” She smiled back, and for the first time since he’d hatched this scheme, Fletch felt entirely comfortable with it. “Come on, let me show you around and then I’ll get out of your way.”

She walked away from the house, toward the top of the bluff. They followed and stood beside her as she pointed out the wooden steps that led down to a floating dock. A small bass boat was tied up. “It’s yours for the using. You do still want to fish, Mr. Fletcher?”

“Yes.” He stated it positively.

She made an arching movement with her right arm back in the direction they had come from. “The marina is that way when you need gas or bait. Poles and tackle are in the utility room of the house.”

“What’s—” Fletcher sought the right question “—biting now?”

“Stripers and sandies.”

“Oh.” He shrugged at T who rolled his eyes as she turned and led them toward the house.

She took the four split log steps two at a time. The porch half-faced the bluff and the lake and ran the length of the front. There were swings attached to the porch ceiling at either end. A table sat by the one closest to the water. Lyla opened the screen door and balanced it with her foot while she unlocked the deadbolt. She turned and gave the key to Fletch, then held the door open for them to enter first.

They were in the living room, no entry hall, just one large completely yellow-pine room. Windows lined the front and through those at the back a deck and hot tub were visible. A large stone fireplace dominated the far end. On either side of it were double doors. One set was open, the other not. A baby grand piano occupied the front windows. It was closed, its matching bench pulled up under the keyboard. The dining area held a rectangular oak table with seating for six. There were placemats and fresh flowers. Through a swinging door, the kitchen was visible.

“I’ll give you a tour, although it’s basically self-explanatory. The living room,” Lyla extended her hand. “The remote controls are over on the TV set. We have satellite. The hot tub was serviced last week. Just punch the button and relax. Not much to the kitchen, but let’s go.”

Fletch followed her into a honey-warm room, bright with yellows and accented in dark blues. There was another table, a gingham yellow cloth spread on it, in the breakfast nook.

“About the telephone.” She picked up a remote phone from its charger on the end of the white counter. “The store number’s taped to the top. The second number is where I am while you’re here and the third is the marina, which has a roving security force of sorts. Usually my father-in-law. Believe me, he’s enforcement enough for most people. The Wi-Fi code is here,” she tapped a notebook. “Cell service can be iffy, so you probably want to put your phone on the Wi-Fi, but it only reaches so far.”

“We’ll work it out.”

She smiled at him. “Good.” She turned her attention back to the kitchen tour. “Of course, you buy your own food, but if you decide to eat breakfast or lunch out, there’s ten percent off at the counter down at the Quik-Lee. We’re open six to two. You want dinner, there’s a cafe at the marina, but no discount. I’ve got some basics in the fridge so you don’t have to rush right out and shop. Most people have stopped on the way up.”

“Would—” Fletch tried his best to sound flustered, uneasy, “would you shop for us, Lyla? I’ll give you a list, money. It’s that going out and hunting down what we need…” He let his voice hang on a hopeless, stressed out note.

“Certainly. Just jot down what you need. I can, as they say in the big city, get it for you wholesale.” She smiled slightly, and Fletch felt she was completely in sympathy with their need to be left alone.

“I’ll do it before you leave. But, please, no special deals.”

“I’ll be sure and get my cut, don’t you worry.” She pointed to the other side of the room. “Utility room is through there. Washer, dryer, garage entrance…” Her voice trailed off as T slammed through the swinging door.

“The damn piano’s locked!” His eyes bore a wild look now that his sunglasses were off. “Is it just furniture? Why can’t I play?”

Fletch held his breath. This was supposed to be all behind them. “I asked if there was a piano and she said yes. I just assumed you could play.” He turned lamely toward Lyla, his hands upraised in a plea for her understanding.

T continued, his voice still raised, “That’s a logical assumption. There’s a piano, I can play, so unlock the damn thing!”

Fletch watched with rising panic as T balanced himself with one hand on the counter and struggled to get his breathing back in order. He was in danger of losing his thinly-held control. Fletch saw in Lyla’s eyes her horrified reaction to this outburst.

“Mrs. Lee.” Fletch returned to formality. “I—” He was at a loss for words. There was no simple, straight-forward, logical explanation for T’s behavior. The goodwill of this woman, who held the key to their privacy, was now in jeopardy.

Lyla looked from T to Fletcher and back. Fletch tensed, as she glanced at the phone. “The piano is always locked.” She swallowed hard, bit her lower lip. “I didn’t think to open it for you.” Her calm was returning as she talked.

She took her eyes off T and turned her attention to Fletch. “You did ask about a piano. It’s my fault that I didn’t pursue what you had in mind. My apologies.” She turned to the kitchen drawer by the dishwasher and fished out the piano’s key from the spoons. “My hiding place.” She smiled lamely and walked between them back into the living room.

Fletch grabbed T’s arm as he went to follow her. “Touch that piano before she’s out of here and I’ll break your fingers while you sleep!” he hissed.

T followed Fletch in to the piano. Lyla opened the keyboard and propped up the back. She was somber. “There’s music in the bench and the cabinets.” She nodded toward two antique music cases. “I used to teach piano down at the church so there’s a wide variety.”

“Thank you.” Fletch stuffed his hands in his pockets. T sat down silently on the bench but made no move to touch the ivory.

Lyla looked from one to the other. “The rest of the house is divided into two areas.” She indicated the closed doors on the other side of the fireplace. “Those stay locked. They’re to my room and my son Harrison’s. Your rooms are through here.” She walked toward the open doors and Fletch followed her. T stayed where he was.

“How old is the house?” Fletch sought to change the subject.

“Sixty years or so. A couple of saloons got torn down on the river during the Depression, and my grandfather jumped at the chance for the pine. It was his house. Now it’s mine.” They reached the first bedroom, a nondescript guestroom, comfortable, cozy, but not too personal, with a double bed, nightstand, dresser, closet, desk. Fletch turned his head to the titles on a set of paperbacks, westerns mainly, that lined the desktop. “My father-in-law’s contribution to my guests.” She crossed to a door. “There’s a double bath that connects to the other bedroom.”

Fletch stuck his head in. Two sinks, two commodes, one shower-tub. The room was made larger by the mirror that covered the wall above the sinks.

“An interesting house for your grandfather to build.”

“These rooms were for my mother and her twin sister. Is the house what you had in mind for R and R, Mr. Fletcher?”

“It’s perfect, Lyla.” He reverted to the familiar. “I apologize for Sam. I—we’ve both been under a lot of pressure. This is just what we need.”

She smiled slightly. “Like I told you on the phone, I’ll check on you every other day, see that you have fresh towels, et cetera. Even though there is a washer, it’s my experience that men usually don’t know what to do with it. I’ll vacuum the house and clean the bathrooms every three or four days. And I’ll grocery shop. Is that still okay? I don’t want to intrude.”

“Perfect.”

They both jumped as the front door slammed and running footsteps pounded down the hall. “Mom!” preceded a young boy by only a second. He stood winded in the hall doorway. Shep had followed him in and was begging attention by bumping his head on the small hand. He idly caressed the dog’s head. “Tib gave me a ride up here. He’s waiting to talk to you. Something about leaving the store locked when the school bus drops me off. I told him not to worry since I knew where you were and I’d just go in the back—”