Deadline

“You don’t look okay to me,” the young man insisted. “You want me to call Doc Howell for you?”

“I said I’m okay, you little twerp,” Lester spat out. He looked around as though only now realizing the mess he had made. “I didn’t mean to knock over the sodas.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the clerk told him. “Maybe you should just go on home now.”

“I need to get my beer first,” Lester told him and, stooping down, he began gathering up the fallen beer cans.

“Maybe you should just forget about that beer,” the boy said.

Lester glared up at the young man from his position on the floor, where he had three cans of beer gathered against his chest. “I ain’t leaving here without my beer.”

The young man hesitated. He looked over at Tess for a second as though he was unsure whether or not to challenge Lester. Tess shook her head, not wanting the younger man to get into a situation with someone who didn’t seem stable.

“I tell you what,” the boy said as he picked up the bag of chips. “I need to clean up that beer that spilled and pick up those drink bottles before somebody comes in here and slips and hurts themselves. So why don’t you just take your beer and chips and go on home now. You can pay for them the next time you come in the store.”

“Suit yourself.” Lester grabbed the bag of chips from him, hugged them to his chest with the beer, then scrambled toward the exit. When he reached the door, he paused and looked over at her once more, holding her gaze for long seconds.

And there it was again, Tess thought. The terror. The man was terrified of her.

Then he shoved through the door, sending the overhead bells clanging in the silence as he disappeared outside into the night.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know what got into old Lester tonight. He drinks some, but he’s usually harmless. That’s the first time I ever saw him get all crazy like that. I guess he’d had one too many for him to go off on you like that.”

“Don’t worry about it. There was no harm done,” Tess assured him. She picked up the plastic bottle that had fallen closest to her. Walking over, she handed it to the young man who was restacking the soda display.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Just out of curiosity, who is he?”

“His name’s Lester De Roach. He works off and on as a mechanic at a garage in town. According to my grandpa, Lester really knows his way around a car’s engine when he isn’t drinking.” The young man, who had continued to restructure the display of bottles, paused and scratched his head, ruffling the thick brown hair. “Funny thing is, I didn’t think he was drunk when he came in here. I mean, he looked like he was hungover, but not drunk. Otherwise, I would have sent him on his way and not let him get anywhere near the beer case.”

Sure, he had smelled of beer, but when he’d looked at her, his eyes had been as clear as glass—not dulled by the effects of alcohol. No, for some reason, she had spooked him. And the only thing she could think of was that he had thought she was her mother—Melanie Burns. She could understand his being shocked, even a little frightened at the prospect of seeing someone he thought was dead. But terrified? It didn’t make sense. “He seemed more scared than drunk to me,” she told him.

“He did, didn’t he?”

“Either way, I’m not sure he should be behind the wheel of a vehicle. You might want to alert the local police that his driving might be impaired. I would hate to see him cause an accident.” Like the one she’d almost had with him, she added silently.

“It’s sheriff in these parts, ma’am,” he corrected. “And I’ll give him a call. Sorry again about him carrying on like that.”

“As I said, no harm done.”

“Thanks for being so understanding,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to have a poor impression of Grady because of Mr. Lester. Most of the folks here are really nice, friendly people.”

“I’m sure they are.”

The bells on the front door sounded and in came a pretty blonde wearing tight-fitting jeans and a sweatshirt with Ole Miss emblazoned across the front. She sashayed over toward them. “Hi there, Bobby. Ma’am,” she said with a nod of her head to acknowledge Tess. “Gee, what happened in here?”

“We had a little accident,” Bobby informed her. “Don’t forget your candy bar, ma’am.”

Tess scooped the chocolate bar off the counter and dropped it in her bag. “Then she started for the store’s exit, leaving the two young people alone.

“Enjoy your visit in Grady,” Bobby called out to her retreating back.

“Need some help cleaning up?” the girl offered, but Tess didn’t hear Bobby’s reply as she pushed open the door and headed out into the parking lot. Outside, the air had turned a bit cooler, and Tess hugged her arms to herself, glad that she’d worn the heavy sweater. Quickly she made her way over to the gas pumps where she’d left the rental car. After unlocking the door with the keyless remote, she slid behind the wheel and immediately relocked the doors. She started up the engine, then took a moment to reset the mileage gauge and fasten her seat belt before putting the Mustang into gear.

Recalling the directions the clerk had given her, Tess drove to the edge of the parking lot. When she reached the road, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Pausing, she glanced back in the rearview mirror at the parking lot. She saw no one. But as she pulled out onto the main road, she continued to look in her rearview mirror, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching her.

Chapter Four

Lester stood in the dark behind the Quick Stop where he’d parked his truck and watched the little red Mustang drive away. Once she was gone, he debated about what to do. Still shaken, he decided he needed to make a phone call.

But not there at the Quick Stop, he reasoned. Too many eyes and ears in that place. Damn cell phones he thought, as he opened the door to his truck. Everybody and his brother had one of the blasted things these days. Everybody but him. Hell, he didn’t even have a regular phone anymore—not since the greedy phone company had disconnected the thing when he hadn’t paid the bill. He needed a pay phone. Trouble was, there weren’t nearly as many places to find one these days. Then he remembered the one in that old vacant shopping strip a few miles from his place. Hopping in his truck, Lester headed toward home.

Twenty minutes later he dropped a quarter into the coin slot and punched in the number he had committed to memory—a number he had been warned never to call unless it was an emergency. Seeing a dead woman come back to life was an emergency in his books.

As the phone started to ring, he drained the last of the beer in the can, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He dropped the empty can to the ground and crushed the aluminum beneath his work boot. But the beer did little to ease the fear that had knotted like a fist in his stomach since he’d seen the woman in the Quick Stop.

A cool blast of wind whipped through the concrete strip of deserted shops with broken windows and sagging roofs, but Lester barely felt it. He jumped as the sign in front of a burned-out dance studio squeaked from a rusty chain. Growing more on edge by the minute, he gazed over to his truck just to be sure he was still alone. “Come on, come on. Answer the phone,” he demanded as he listened to the phone continue to ring.

Finally, it was picked up. “Hello?”

“Jesus! I thought you’d never answer.”

“Who is this?”

Lester gritted his teeth. “It’s Lester. Lester De Roach,” he spat out, irritated that he’d had to identify himself to the man. Considering what he’d done for him, he’d think the SOB wouldn’t forget his voice so easily. But then, he was always the one who’d come up with the short end of the deal—even all those years ago.

“Didn’t I tell you never to call me,” the man said, his voice cool, angry.

“You said I wasn’t to call unless it was an emergency. Well, it’s a fucking emergency, okay?”

“Hang on a minute,” he ordered, and while Lester waited he heard a door shut. Then he came back on the line. “All right. What’s the emergency?”

“Melanie Burns. She’s alive.”

The man swore. “Listen to me, you drunken fool. Melanie Burns is dead and has been for twenty-five years.”

“And I’m telling you I seen her with my own eyes. She’s come back—just like old lady Burns said she would. She’s come back to make us pay for what we did.”

He swore again. “You stupid piece of shit!” he said furiously. “You did not see Melanie Burns. She’s dead. Understand?”

“But—”

“No buts. Go home and sleep it off and don’t call me again.”

“I’m telling you, I’m not drunk,” he insisted, despite the beers sloshing through his system. “Melanie Burns is here. In Grady. I saw her not thirty minutes ago with my own two eyes at Bobby Ed’s Quick Stop. She was paying for gas. If you don’t believe me, fine. But you better remember, I’m not the only one who lied about what happened that night.”

After a pause, in a somewhat calmer voice, he said, “All right. Start from the beginning and tell me exactly what happened.”