Shadow Dance_ A Novel Part 4

He hung up before she could say a word. He'd sounded nervous, worried maybe. She shook her head. There was something about him that made her uneasy. She wasn't sure if it was simply because he was such a nervous man, always looking over his shoulder as though he expected someone to pounce on him, or if it was something else that bothered her, something she couldn't quite define. No matter the reason, her philosophy was simple: better be safe than sorry, and so she would only meet him in a public place.

An air-conditioned public place, she qualified. She was hot and sweaty and trying hard not to be miserable. Think positive, she told herself. After she peeled off her clothes and took a nice shower, she'd feel much better.

She still wished she could keep on driving so she could get back to Boston sooner, but that was out of the question. The car she was driving had a high probability of breaking down on the road, and just picturing herself stranded in the middle of the night made her shudder. No, that was definitely out of the question. Besides, she'd promised Isabel, and she couldn't go back on her word. And so she would meet Professor Weirdo, talk to him about his research over dinner, get photocopies of his research, and leave Serenity first thing in the morning.

Good, she was already feeling better. She was determined now, and she had a plan.

"Oh, no," she whispered.

The plan crashed and burned when she pulled into the motel parking lot and got a good look at the h.e.l.lhole Professor MacKenna had recommended. She was pretty sure Norman Bates ran the place.

The driveway was a gravel pit all the way up to each of the units. There were eight in all, slapped up against one another like warehouse boxes. The white paint was chipped, and the single window in each of the rooms was coated with grime. She couldn't even begin to imagine how awful the rooms must be. Bedbugs would run from this place. They had higher standards.

But she could handle it for one night. Right?

"Wrong," she said aloud.

Surely she could find something better, a place where she wouldn't have to be afraid to take a shower.

Jordan didn't consider herself pampered or a sn.o.b. She didn't care if the motel was a bit run-down, but she wanted it to be clean and safe. And this place didn't measure up to either one of her basic standards. Since she had no intention of spending the night, she didn't need to see the rooms.

Jordan put the car in park and leaned out the window to get a good look at the restaurant across the street. She made the mistake of resting her arm on the hot edge of the window. She flinched and jerked her arm back inside the car.

The Branding Iron reminded her of a train because the building was long and narrow with a barrel-shaped roof. On the side of the road was a billboard with a purple neon horseshoe. She presumed it was meant to look like a branding iron.

Now that she had her bearings and knew where the restaurant was, she pulled out of the lot and drove on. She was almost certain that the car rental agency didn't have a branch in Serenity, which meant that she was stuck with this lemon until she drove to a larger city, the closest being over a hundred miles away. Jordan decided that once she checked into a motel for the night, she'd notify the rental company, then she'd find a mechanic to patch up the radiator, and she would be sure to buy a dozen gallons of water before she headed out of town. Just thinking about driving into the middle of nowhere with a malfunctioning car made her nervous. Mechanic first, she told herself. Then decision time. She might leave the car here and take whatever form of public transportation was available. Surely there were buses or trains or something.

She soon came to a wood-plank bridge with a sign announcing that she was crossing Parson's Creek. The creek didn't have a drop of water in it, and as she clattered across, she read a warning posted on the railing that the bridge was impa.s.sable during high water. Not much of a concern today, she thought. The creek was as dried up as the town appeared to be.

On the other side of the bridge, a wooden sign painted forest green with bold white letters greeted her: WELCOME TO SERENITY, GRADY COUNTY, TEXAS. POPULATION 1,968 WELCOME TO SERENITY, GRADY COUNTY, TEXAS. POPULATION 1,968. In smaller, hand-painted letters were the words, "New home of the Grady County High School Bulldogs."

The farther east she drove, the larger the homes became. She pulled to a stop at a corner, heard children laughing and shouting, and turned toward the sound. On her left was a neighborhood swimming pool. Finally, she thought. She didn't feel like she was in a graveyard anymore. There were people and noise. Women were sunbathing while their children played in the pool, and the life-guard, baking under the sweltering sun, sat on his perch half asleep.

The transformation after crossing the bridge from one county to another was astonis.h.i.+ng. On this side of town, people watered their lawns. The area was clean, the houses well kept, the streets and sidewalks new. There were actual signs of commerce with shops open on either side of the main thoroughfare. On the left, a beauty shop, a hardware store, and an insurance office, and on the right, a bar and an antiques shop. At the end of the block, Jaffee's Bistro had tables and chairs set outside under a green-and-white awning, but Jordan couldn't imagine anyone wanting to sit outside in this heat.

The sign on the door said "Open." Her priorities immediately s.h.i.+fted. Air-conditioning sounded like heaven at the moment, and so did a nice cold drink. She'd find a mechanic and a motel later.

She parked the car, grabbed her purse and her satchel with her laptop, and went inside. The blast of cold air made her knees weak. It was blissful.

A woman sitting at one of the tables rolling silverware into napkins looked up at the sound of the door opening.

"Lunch hour's over and dinner isn't being served yet. I can do you up a nice tall gla.s.s of iced tea if you'd like."

"Yes, thank you. That would be lovely," Jordan replied.

The ladies' room was around a corner. After she washed her hands and face and ran a comb through her hair, she felt human again.

There were ten or twelve tables with checkered cloths and matching cus.h.i.+ons on the chairs. She chose a table in the corner. She could see out the window, but the sun wasn't in her face.

The waitress returned a minute later with a frosty gla.s.s of iced tea, and Jordan asked her if she could borrow a phone book.

"What are you looking for, honey?" the waitress asked. "Maybe I can help."

"I need to find a mechanic," she explained. "And a clean motel."

"That's easy enough. There are only two mechanics in town, and one of them is closed until next week. The other one is Lloyd's Garage, and that's just a couple of blocks from here. He's kind of difficult to deal with, but he'll get the job done. I'll get you the phone book, and you can look up his number."

While she waited, Jordan pulled out her laptop and set it up on the table. She'd made some notes the night before and a list of questions to ask the professor, and she thought she'd look them over again.

The waitress brought her a thin phone book open to the page with the listing for Lloyd's Garage.

"I went ahead and called my friend Amelia Ann," she said. "She runs the Home Away from Home Motel, and she's getting a room ready for you right now."

"That's very nice of you," Jordan said.

"It's a lovely place. Amelia Ann's husband died several years ago and didn't leave her anything, not one dime of life insurance, so Amelia Ann and her daughter, Candy, moved into the motel and started managing it. They've made it real homey. I think you'll like it."

Jordan called the number for the garage on her cell phone and was curtly informed that no one could look at her car until tomorrow. The mechanic told her to bring it in first thing in the morning. "Figures," Jordan said with a sigh as she flipped her phone shut.

"Are you just pa.s.sing through Serenity, or did you get lost?" the woman asked. "If you don't mind me asking," she hurriedly added.

"I don't mind you asking. I'm meeting someone here."

"Oh, honey. It isn't a man, is it? You didn't follow a man here, did you? Tell me you didn't. That's what I did. I followed him all the way from San Antonio. It didn't work out though, not for long anyway, and he up and moved on." She shook her head and made a tsking sound. "Now I'm stuck here until I can earn enough money to move back home. My name's Angela, by the way."

Jordan introduced herself and shook the woman's hand. "It's nice to meet you, and no, I didn't follow a man here. I am am meeting a man for dinner, but it's business. He's bringing me some papers and information." meeting a man for dinner, but it's business. He's bringing me some papers and information."

"Nothing romantic then?"

She pictured the professor and almost shuddered. "No."

"Where are you from?"

"Boston."

"Really? You don't have that accent, at least not much."

Jordan wasn't sure if the comment was good or bad, but Angela was smiling. She had a lovely smile and seemed to have a sweet disposition. In her younger days she'd been a sun wors.h.i.+pper, Jordan guessed, because she had deep creases in her face, and her skin looked a bit like dried leather.

"How long have you lived in Serenity?"

"Close to eighteen years."

Jordan blinked. The woman had been saving for eighteen years and still didn't have enough to move back home?

"Where are you going to meet this businessman for dinner?" Angela asked. "You don't have to tell me. I'm just curious is all."

"We're having dinner at The Branding Iron. Have you ever been there?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "But it's not as good as the food here, and it's located in a bad part of town. The restaurant's a local landmark, so it stays open, and they do a real good business on weekends. It's not safe after dark. Your businessman must be a local, or maybe a local told him about the place. No one outside of Serenity would even know to suggest The Branding Iron."

"His name is MacKenna," she said. "He's a history professor, and he has some research papers for me."

"I haven't met him," Angela said. "Of course, I don't know everyone in town, but I'll bet he's new to the area." Angela turned to leave. "You go ahead and enjoy your tea, and I'll leave you alone. Everyone thinks I talk too much."

Jordan knew the waitress was waiting for her to disagree. "I don't think you do."

Angela turned back, a big smile on her face. "I don't think I do either. I'm just friendly, that's all. Too bad you can't have dinner here. Jaffee's making his special shrimp dish."

"I think the professor suggested the restaurant because it's right across the street from a motel he recommended."

Angela's eyebrows lifted. "The Lux? He suggested The Lux?"

Jordan smiled. "Is that what the motel's called?"

She nodded. "There used to be a big old sign that lit up. The word 'luxury' flashed off and on all night. Only the first three letters still light up, and that's why folks call it The Lux. They do a good business at night...all night as a matter of fact." Her voice dropped to a whisper as she added, "The creep that runs the place charges by the hour. Get my drift?"

She must have thought that Jordan didn't understand because she hurriedly explained, "It's a wh.o.r.e place is what it is."

"Yes," Jordan said, nodding so the waitress wouldn't feel the need to explain what a wh.o.r.e was.

Angela thrust her hip out and leaned against the table. She kept her voice low. "It's also a firetrap if you ask me." She darted a quick look to her left and then her right to make sure no one had crept into the empty restaurant to eavesdrop, then said, "It should have been torn down years ago, but J. D. d.i.c.key runs the place, and no one dares mess with him. I think he runs some of the wh.o.r.es too, if you ask me. J. D. is a real scary one, all right. He's got a mean streak a mile wide."

Angela was a wealth of information and wasn't the least bit shy about telling everything she knew. Jordan was fascinated. She almost envied Angela's openness and friendly candor. Jordan was the complete opposite. She kept things bottled up. Bet Angela can sleep at night, she thought. Jordan hadn't had a good night's sleep in over a year. Her mind was always racing, and there were nights when she paced the floor of her apartment while she worried about one problem or another. In the morning light, none of those worries seemed all that important, but in the middle of the night, they became monumental.

"Why hasn't the fire department or the police closed the motel? If it's a fire hazard..." Jordan wondered aloud.

"Oh, yes, it is."

"And prost.i.tution is illegal in Texas..."

"Yes, it is," she agreed again before Jordan could continue. "But that doesn't matter much. You don't understand how things are around here. What we have is a different county on each side of Parson's Creek, and they're run as different as night and day. Right this minute you're sitting in Grady County, but the sheriff in charge of Jessup County is one of those folks who thinks he can turn a blind eye to what's going on. You get my drift? Live and let live. That's his motto. If you ask me, he's afraid to go up against J. D., and you know why? I'll tell you why. The sheriff of Jessup County is J. D.'s brother. That's right. His brother. Isn't that something?"

Jordan nodded. "What about you? Are you afraid of this man?"

"Honey, anyone with a lick of sense would know to be afraid."

J. D. d.i.c.kEY WAS THE TOWN BULLY. HE HAD A NATURAL TALENT: he didn't have to work hard at all to get people to hate him. Building his reputation as a bada.s.s was a job he thoroughly enjoyed, and he knew for a certainty that he'd accomplished his goal when he strolled down the main street of Serenity and people hurried out of his way. Their expressions said it all. They were afraid of him, and in J. D.'s mind, fear meant power. His power.

J. D.'s full name was Julius Delbert d.i.c.key Jr. He didn't much care for the name though, thought it was too girly-sounding for the tough-as-iron image he was going after, and so, while he was still in high school, he began to train the residents of his hometown to call him by his initials. Those few who resisted were subjected to his special, though unsophisticated, form of behavior modification. He beat the daylights out of them.

There were two d.i.c.key brothers, and both of them grew up in Serenity. J. D. was firstborn. Randall Cleatus d.i.c.key came along two years later.

The d.i.c.key boys hadn't seen their father in over ten years. A federal prison in Kansas was providing the Senior's room and board for twenty-five to life for an armed robbery that, as he explained to the sentencing judge, had just gone bad. Looking back, he told the judge, he realized he probably shouldn't have shot that nosy guard after all. The man was only doing his job.

The boys' mother, Sela, stayed around until J. D. and Randy graduated from high school. Then she decided she had had enough of motherhood. Tired and worn as thin as a broomstick trying to keep her rambunctious sons out of trouble, and failing miserably at the job, she packed her clothes and snuck out of town in the middle of the night. The boys figured she wouldn't be coming back anytime soon because she took with her all of her large cans of Extra Super Hold Aqua Net hairspray. Their mother's hair grooming products were her only luxury, and she always kept at least five or six cans on hand.

They didn't miss her or her chronic complaining about having to do without, and since J. D. was pretty much running things anyway, life didn't change much after she left. They had been dirt poor growing up, and they were still dirt poor, but J. D. was determined to change that. He had big plans, but his plans required money. Lots of money. He wanted to own a ranch. He had his eye on a nice little piece of land located just thirty miles west of town. The land was small by most Texans' measure at just over five hundred acres, but J. D. figured that once he was firmly established as a gentleman rancher, he'd be able to gobble up all the land around him. The ranch he meant to have was prime land with several good watering holes for the cattle he was going to buy as soon as he figured out a good way to get his hands on some money. There was a nice fis.h.i.+ng lake too, and brother Randy loved to fish.

Yes sir, he was going to become a cowboy. He felt like he was already halfway there. He owned the boots and the hat, and he'd worked on a ranch two full summers in a row while he was in high school. The pay stunk. The experience was invaluable.

J. D.'s dream was put on hold for five years with good behavior. He'd killed a man in a bar fight and got five years for manslaughter. There were extenuating circ.u.mstances. According to witnesses, the stranger had started the fight and had gotten in some pretty good cuts with his switchblade before J. D. knocked him out. He hadn't set out to take the man's life, but he punched him hard, and as bad luck would have it, the stranger struck his head on his way down.

J. D. boasted to his brother that he would have gotten more time behind bars if he hadn't given each one of the jurors the evil eye as he was leaving the courtroom.

Randy's take on the incident was different. In fact, his brother's incarceration opened his eyes, and he saw for the first time that the real power was on the side of the law. So, while J. D. was serving his sentence, Randy was changing into a law-abiding citizen, and within a few short years he managed to influence enough people to get himself elected sheriff of Jessup County.

J. D. couldn't have been happier for his brother. Randy's new t.i.tle and his new status in the community were achievements to celebrate. After all, having a sheriff in the family could come in real handy.

JORDAN CHECKED INTO THE H HOME A AWAY F FROM H HOME M MOTEL and was given a s.p.a.cious room in the back of the courtyard. The door had solid double locks. The room was square shaped and clean. A king-sized bed faced the door and a desk and two chairs sat against the wall facing the window. No laptop hookup or Internet access, she noticed, but she could do without for one night. and was given a s.p.a.cious room in the back of the courtyard. The door had solid double locks. The room was square shaped and clean. A king-sized bed faced the door and a desk and two chairs sat against the wall facing the window. No laptop hookup or Internet access, she noticed, but she could do without for one night.

Angela's friend, Amelia Ann, made her feel like an honored guest. She brought her extra little soaps and fluffy towels fresh out of her dryer.

After Jordan unpacked, she stripped out of her clothes and took a nice, cool shower. She washed and dried her hair, put on a skirt and blouse, and had just enough time to head back to The Branding Iron. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten dinner at six, but since she hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast, she was actually hungry.

Dinner was unforgettable...but not in a good way. As it turned out, Professor MacKenna was quite an appet.i.te suppressant.

Though it was just six o'clock, the parking lot of The Branding Iron was full. A waitress met her at the door and showed her to a booth tucked way in the back dining room.

"We have better tables, but the guy you're meeting wanted privacy. I'll show you where he is. Stay away from the fish tonight. It smells funny," she whispered as she led the way. "I'll be serving you," she added with a smile.

Professor MacKenna didn't stand when Jordan reached the table, didn't even bother to nod as she took her seat across from him. His mouth was stuffed with bread, and he should have waited until after he had swallowed to speak to her, but he didn't. He talked around a wad of bread the size of a golf ball that was half in and half out of his mouth.

"You're late," he said, his voice garbled by food.

Since it was only a few minutes past the hour, she didn't feel the need to apologize or respond to his ridiculous criticism. She picked up a linen napkin, unfolded it, and placed it in her lap. His napkin was still on the table, she noticed. Jordan tried desperately not to look at his mouth while he chewed. Had he not been so vulgar, he would have been comical.

The urge to bolt almost overtook her. What in G.o.d's name was she doing here? Hadn't she been perfectly happy and content before the conversation she'd had with Noah at the wedding reception? Now look at her. Having dinner with Professor Uncouth. Lovely, she thought. What a lovely adventure.

Okay, new plan, she told herself. Get through this dinner as quickly and as painlessly as possible, get the research papers, and leave.

"I've already ordered my dinner," he said. "Have a look over the menu and pick something."

She opened her menu, ordered the first item that caught her eye, a spicy chicken dish, and sparkling water. The waitress brought her her drink, gave her a sympathetic look with a meaningful glance toward the professor, and hurried to another table, pretending not to notice that he was waving an empty breadbasket at her.

Jordan waited until his mouth was empty before speaking. "As a history professor," she began, "surely you know the Buchanan clan couldn't be all bad. Over the centuries I'm sure there..." She stopped talking when he vigorously shook his head. Then she asked, "You really believe they were all horrible men?"

"I do. They were despicable."

"Give me an example of something despicable the Buchanans did to the sainted MacKennas," she challenged.