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"The Miranda Chronicles "


Chapter 1
Allow me to introduce myself

By GWHARGIS

I'll bet you would never believe that in the course of three hours time, I became unemployed, a jilted lover, and a brand new first time mother. Gratuitous pat on the back, I didn't miss a beat.

Before I try to suck you further into my "never a dull moment" life, I want to properly introduce myself. My name is Miranda Jessup Buckley. Just your nothing special kind of girl. My highlight year was fifth grade. I was the first girl at Flanders Elementary school to get breasts. And, I'm not talking cute little buds that wink coyly at you from under a t shirt. I'm talking under wire bra from hell boobs. I was a hit until the eighth grade, when at that point, every other girl had their own set.

School never interested me. I wasn't a scholar and spent most of my academic career thinking about anything but my studies.

I had no more interest in college than a bald man has in a comb. Career day was just an opportunity to get out of class. I walked from table to table vaguely listening to them ramble about their said careers. Took their pamphlets and dropped them in the trash on the way out.

Some people start working toward a goal in high school. Not me. No career or higher education path beckoned me. A wonderfully inspiring teacher once compared me to a plastic bag that blows randomly around a parking lot. "You have no idea where it will go and to no one's surprise, neither does it." I figured he meant I was carefree. I liked it. It sounded good to me. For a while I even bought into the whole "all who wander are not lost" bullshit.

I was lost. Very, very lost.

Which leads me to my first mistake as a pseudo adult. Letting Farley Buckley give me a ride home from a party when I was nineteen.

Farley had been a couple of years ahead of me in school. He was fairly good looking with blonde curls that fell into his blue eyes, giving him a mysterious appeal.

We really didn't have much in common other than we both liked the same beer and laughed hysterically at inappropriate things. One thing led to another and, in my desperate attempt to feel like I had a plan, I said yes when he asked me to marry him.

He didn't get down on one knee, just set his beer down on the table at Stokes Billiard Room and said, "Randa, I think we should get married."

I told him he was crazy or drunk or both but he persisted.

"This has been on my mind. It ain't the beer. We have fun together. We're crazy about each other. It just makes sense."

Looking back I should have realized the red flag in his confession. He never said he loved me. I should have said no, don't think so, better luck next time. But I didn't. I said yes.

So the wedding plans began. I planned the whole thing, proudly telling anyone who would listen that Farley and I were getting married, not because I was knocked up but because we wanted to.

Farley wasn't real helpful with the wedding plans. But he did have big plans for his bachelor party. Another red flag that I missed was the fact Farley and the owner of Llarado's Gentlemens Club was real good friends. I trusted Farley. Trusted him to look but not touch. Now I see that was like trusting the fox to guard the hen house.

Two days before our wedding, some chick, who wouldn't identify herself, called me. She said that Farley had slept with not one but three of the dancers from Llarado's the night of his bachelor party.

Of course, my trust in him never faltered. How dare some bimbo cast a shadow of doubt on my future husband. Why would she do that? Was she jealous?

Two years into our marriage, there's a young woman ( former Llarado's dancer) knocking on the door to our trailer.

"Tell your man that I'm gonna take him to court if he doesn't start paying child support again."

Standing there, my jaw ready to hit the floor, all I could think to say was, "Who are you?"

She tosses her glossy blonde hair over her shoulder and shakes her head. "You really are as dumb as he said."

So, there you have it. Have I gotten your attention? Do you want more? Cause, lawd, I got more to tell.

For instance, why did I stay married to that cheater for nine more years? I gave a vow of for better or worse. It was like the flip of a coin. Maybe it was just a one time thing.

Heads, he never does it again. Tails, this is just the first time I find out.

Pour yourself a stiff one because this ride has just begun.



To be continued ...

Author Notes Thank you to seshadri-sreennivisan. Perfect picture.
This is a character from the school of hard knocks. She has a lot to tell.


Chapter 2
Dumped and Fired part 1

By GWHARGIS

I know I left y'all shaking your heads when I explained how I stayed with Farley, my cheating ex-husband for nearly a decade.  And I'll be the first to agree with those who called me an idiot.  But I wised up. Or so I thought.
 
Enter Dougie Wilcox.  I had a crush on him through high school.  He was wrong in all the right ways.  Wore his shirts too tight, his jeans too low and he smoked cigarettes.  Now I'm not talking sneaking off behind the bushes smoking.  He would light up in gym class.
 
Red flags, yes.  But his hotness overruled those flags.  Of course, like everyone else, those hot bad boys tend to get a little flabby around the waist.  They still try to maintain the cool aura but it's a stretch for them.  Even Dougie Wilcox.  Yet, seeing him as a mere mortal some 15 years later, I still felt my pulse quicken when he spoke to me.
 
It was at work, The Little Eagle Gas and Go where I work 40 to 500 hours a week.  I was just about to close up and turn off the pumps when he strolled in.
 
"Am I too late?"
 
I looked him over and decided this just might be worth staying a little late.
 
"Today's your lucky day."  I smiled slightly so I didn't give my hand away. 
 
"I need twenty on pump seven and I'm gonna go grab some Buds."
 
I've never been scared to ask a guy out.   They either say yes or they don't.  No big deal. But at that moment I felt like seventeen-year old Miranda.  I felt tongue tied.
 
"You went to Patterson High school, didn't you" he asked as he put his twelve pack on the counter.
 
I nodded, tossed my hair casually over my shoulder.  "I sure did.  You look familiar, were you a student there?"
 
He didn't miss a beat. "I did, at least until I quit.  That place was lame.  Did you graduate?"
 
"By the skin of my teeth."
 
"What's your name?"
 
I was wearing a name tag but he didn't seem to notice so I tapped it.
 
"Mirina?"
 
"Miranda"
 
"Oh, sorry.  That's nice.  Sounds exotic."
 
This was going no where so I told seventeen-year old Miranda to step aside and let thirty-three year old Miranda ask him out.
 
"I get off in about twenty minutes.  You got any plans?"
 
Dougie grinned and shook his head.  "Damn, girl, were you this forward in high school?"
 
I could have taken it as an insult but I didn't.   "As a matter of fact no.  I waited for guys to ask me out.  I waited for a lot of things.  I now know that you can't wait for what you want.  You just go for it."
 
He slapped his hand on the counter and let go a laugh.  "Damn, girl."  He held up his other hand to high five me.  
 
And yes, any grown man who high fives a woman or says "damn girl" like he's a sista in the hood, should definitely be a red flag contender.  But I let it slide.  Spending some time with Dougie Wilcox, one of Patterson County High school's hottest guys, was a teenage fantasy fulfilled.
 
In two weeks time, he was unloading his truck into my trailer.  He pulled a picture I had of the tree of life down from behind the couch.  In its place, he put up a four foot long picture of a 1964 Mustang.
 
"Isn't she beautiful?" he asked.  He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. "Can you imagine me driving one of those?  Gawd, I'd look so good."
 
Apparently, he didn't notice me sitting beside him in this little fantasy.  But I did.  And if Dougie Wilcox wasn't careful, Miranda Jessup Buckley just might key his little fantasy car.
 
But like a good girlfriend, I gave him a little slack.  As egotistical and conceited as he was, he never cheated on me.
 
Dougie had one major flaw.  He wanted to be the star of the show.  He wanted the attention that he got throughout high school.  That kind of thing is cute ... at first, but after a couple of years? Not so much.
 
Which leads me to today.  And how Dougie Wilcox got my full attention.
 
 
Part 1 of 2

Author Notes No picture. I will post 2nd half tomorrow.


Chapter 3
Dumped and Fired (part 2)

By GWHARGIS

My co-worker, Rita, greets me as I walk through the glass doors.  She's bug eyed, which means she's frazzled or upset.  Most of the time she gets upset when there are more than three people in the store.  In my humble opinion, Matt should let her go and hire someone who knows how to do more than use the cash register.  But no one cares about my opinion so ...
 
"What's wrong?" I ask.
 
"Pump three is acting up."  She follows me to the panel that controls the pumps, wringing her hands like it's the end of the world.
 
"You reset it?"
 
"No.  I didn't know which one it was."
 
"Didn't think it might be the one that's flashing red?"  I reach down flip it off, wait about thirty seconds then turn it back on.
 
Rita smiles sheepishly then looks up at me.  "Thank God.  I was afraid you might call out and I'd have to call Matt to come down here and fix it."
 
Matt is the owner.  Not by choice, because Matt thinks the Little Eagle is beneath him.  But his daddy, who owns a total of seven gas station/convenience stores, had a stroke five or so years back.  He gave two to Matt, three to Horace, Matt's older brother, and two to Sadie the sister.
 
"Don't call Matt for dumb shit like this."
 
I get my purse put away and pull on the ugly red vest that has an ugly yellow eagle embroidered across the back.  I pin my name tag on and as I'm tucking my hair behind my ears I glance at Rita.
 
She is still wringing her damn hands.  
 
"What's up with you today?"
 
"I just figured you'd be upset."
 
"I'm used to your inability to find your way out of an open paper bag.  Makes me feel needed."
 
"You haven't heard, have you?"
 
I don't like to play games.  Never have.  Don't like puzzles, or Scrabble. Pictionary used to send me into a rage.  I'm a cut to the chase kind of girl.
 
"You got about three seconds before I get loud.  We don't want that, now do we?"
 
"Missy Toblerone was in here, earlier, like around 7:30.  Which is weird because she likes to sleep in. Anywho, she's showing me this blouse she bought at the thrift store," she stops talking as she sees my left eyebrow arching higher than the right one.  It tends to do this when I'm getting irritated. "She said she ran into Dougie, you know, Wilcox."
 
"Yeah, I know his last name, Rita.  I've lived with him for close to three years."  I'll admit my voice got a tad aggressive.  
 
"She said that he said he was moving away."
 
"Shit, he's been saying that for years."
 
"He said he was leaving today.  He was buying a suitcase.  Missy said he had empty cardboard boxes in the back of his truck."
 
Even though I don't really believe any of this, a little wave of nausea hits me. "I think I might have noticed some signs if he was planning on leaving.  Besides, Missy Toblerone killed her husband.  Why would you believe her?"
 
"Allegedly killed him," Rita says.
 
"It's stupid.  He isn't leaving me.  He went to work this morning.  Hopped right up after the first alarm and,"  I stopped.  He was a snooze button pusher.  He never hopped up out of bed unless it was a special occasion, like a car show.
 
I tug my vest off and grab my keys off the back counter.  Damn that alleged killer, Missy.  And damn you, Dougie Wilcox, if it's true.
 
" I'll be back."
 
I run towards the door with Rita on my heels. "What do I tell Matt if he calls?"
 
"He never calls.  Tell him I had car trouble. Hell  Rita, I don't care what you tell him."
 
I thought the saying, driving like a bat outta hell, was just that, a saying.  But apparently, it is an achievable goal.  I achieved it.  A route, that normally takes twenty six minutes, took just shy of fifteen.
 
And there it is.  Dougie's truck right in front of the trailer.  And the empty boxes have been filled.   
 
I don't think an FBI SWAT team could have gotten into a place any quicker than me.  I find a very surprised Dougie squatting down stuffing his clothes into a used suitcase.
 
"Randa, you're back.  I thought you'd be at work.  Whatcha doing, baby?"
 
" I was about to ask you the same thing ... babe."
 
"I know this looks kinda bad, but I'm not good with goodbyes."
 
"And here I thought that killer was making up stories."
 
"Alleged.  They never found his body, Miranda."
 
"Dougie, what is going on?"
 
He stands up and comes over but I'm in no mood for his bullshit.  "Sit down."
 
"Just tell me."
 
"I got a new job."
 
"Where? Alaska?"
 
He smiles.  Not because he's at ease, no, no, no.  He's trying to seduce me.  I guess he figures a quickie for the road might be nice.  
 
"Where, Dougie?"
 
When he sees I'm in no mood to play, he shoves his hands in his pockets.  "Myrtle Beach."
 
"What the hell.  You were going to sneak out of town?  No goodbye, no thanks for letting my kid sleep on the couch for the last two months?  How about Waylon, he's okay with you just ripping him out of school to move to a place where he don't know anybody?"
 
Dougie looks down at the floor and bites his bottom lip.  "Yeah, about that ...".
 
"Absolutely not.  You are not leaving him here.  You're his parent.  Not me."
 
"He likes you.  I can tell."
 
"He flips me off when he thinks I'm not looking. He does not like me, Dougie Wilcox.  That is abundantly clear."
 
"Once I'm settled, I'll send for him.  Please, Miranda, just do this for me."  He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet.  "Here's a hundred dollars.  That should help."
 
"You have lost your damn mind."
 
"Please!" 
 
The phone is ringing and he's begging.  Whoever is calling hangs up.  But Dougie is back to packing.
 
"Two weeks.  That's not that long." he says without looking up.
 
He tries to close the lid but clothes are sticking out here and there.  Hastily, he yanks a few shirts out and recloses it.  
 
The phone rings again.  I'm in no mood to be civil right now and I'm about to unleash my venom on some poor unsuspecting telemarketer.
 
"What do you want?"
 
"Miranda, it's Matt.  Where the hell are you?"
 
"Geez, since you called my home number and I answered, I'm guessing you already know where I am. "
 
"Get your ass back to the store now."
 
"Matt, I'm kinda in the middle of a little crisis right now."
 
"Rita says the pumps are down.  I need you to go fix things."
 
"It's your station, Matt.  I'm in the middle of something myself.  Go flip the switches yourself or tell Rita to do it. I don't care which option you choose."
 
I look up to see Dougie and suitcase go scooting past me and out the door.
 
"Matt, I'll call you back."
 
"Don't bother.  You're fired."
 
And just like that the snowball, that is my life, starts gaining speed as it rolls down hill.
 
 
To be continued ...

Author Notes Stay tuned for the continued adventures of Miranda.


Chapter 4
Don't Shoot the Messenger (4)

By GWHARGIS

I don't move for about thirty minutes.  I feel like one of those hapless characters in a comedy who steps on one of those rake things.  You know, how the long wooden handle pops up and hits them in the face.  
 
I glance up to check the time.  The clock is a cheap round one, Ford is written in fancy letters.  Dougie left it.  His mistake.
 
The stunned feeling is starting to burn off like the morning fog.  And now, I'm getting pissed.  I look around for something long enough to knock it off the nail it's hanging on.  It clatters to the floor.  There is a part of me that wants to see it broken on the floor and then there's the part of me that wants to break it myself.
 
I reach down, pick it up and walk to the front door. 
 
"Dougie!  You forgot your stupid clock," I scream as I step out onto the porch. The satisfying sound of it shattering makes me smile.  
 
I look over to where Mrs. Fine sits on her porch.  She's the unofficial  neighborhood watch.  Her mouth drops open.
 
"Trouble in paradise?" she says once the shock wears off.
 
"Just seeing if time really does fly," I say.  
 
I'm not a fan of Mrs. Fine.  She's old so she doesn't have a filter.  I don't have much of one but common sense should tell you you don't comment on certain things.   And I can tell you that she damn well watched Dougie packing up his crap and then run out like a Baptist from a liquor store. She knows he split.  She just wants me to know that she knows.  
 
Having gotten that little bit of satisfaction from the clock episode, I need to concentrate on my next dilemma. How to tell a thirteen-year old boy that his dad left him.  And there is one person who just might have an answer for me.
 
I call my momma.  "Hey," I say as soon as she answers.   "What do you know about thirteen-year old boys?"
 
"Well, they usually smell bad, are acting like little boys one minute then pretending to be Sean Connery the next.  Why?"
 
"Oh, I'll explain later. "
 
"What's going on, Miranda?"
 
"Nothing.  Everything's good.   One more question.  If you had to break some bad news to a thirteen-year old boy, would you just cut to the chase or try to slip it into the middle of a conversation?"
 
"Miranda Jessup what is going on?"
 
Not sure if you're paying attention but she doesn't use my married last name when addressing me or referring to me.  My momma pretends that those ten years didn't even happen.  Gotta love her.
 
"I promise you, Momma.  I will come over and fill you in.  But right now I gotta deal with something."
 
The hundred dollar bill is on the table where Dougie put it.  I think tonight I'll take Waylon to the Pizza Oven down the road and gently tell him our new living arrangements.  What could go wrong?
 
 
 
Waylon stares at his plate.  He's not much when it comes to conversation.  And to be fair, I'm usually not around much with my schedule.
 
"How's school?"
 
"Okay."
 
"Got any friends?"
 
He cut his eyes at me.  Waylon isn't the kind of kid who has charisma.  He doesn't really have much personality.
 
"I got a couple."
 
I nod my approval and look around.  Just tell him.  Get it over with.  Why am I so scared to tell him that his dad left?  Is he gonna cry?  Do boys his age cry?  Damn, I'm in over my head.  
 
I lift the pilsner glass in front of me for some amber liquid courage.
 
"Where's my dad?" He watches me with those unwavering eyes.  I must be acting suspicious.  
 
"Well, Waylon, you want the good news or the bad news first?"
 
He straightens and leans back in his chair.  "Where's my dad?"
 
"On his way to Myrtle Beach."
 
Little frown lines knit his brow.  "When's he coming back?"
 
"So, I guess you want the bad news first."
 
"No. No.  He left me?"
 
"Shhh.  Calm down.  He said he would send for you.  As soon as he gets settled."
 
"You made him leave!  Didn't you?  You were always nagging him.  He left because of you."
 
You know how people say "don't shoot the messenger" when they deliver bad news?  I'll bet somewhere back in history, some poor shlep had to tell a king or some rich dude some bad news and I'll just bet that poor guy was led out back and shot.  All because he was the messenger.
 
"He said he got a new job."
 
"It was because of you.  He never got to do anything fun because of you.  This is your fault.  And I hate you."
 
He shoves his chair back and takes off towards the front door.
 
When I look up, every person in there is staring at me.
 
"He's fine.  Low blood sugar."
 
I look out the window to see him kicking the bumper of my car.  Maybe that little exercise in futility will take some of the edge off his anger.  
 
I know one thing.  I'm gonna finish this beer before I have to go out there and confront that little demon.
 
Yes, this could have gone better but it's only day one.  It's got to get better, right?
 
Right?  Please tell me it's gonna get better.

Author Notes This is part 4 of Miranda's story


Chapter 5
Just Desserts (Miranda 5)

By GWHARGIS

I give Waylon a few minutes to kick the crap out of my bumper before I go to the register and settle up.
 
"You can do this," I mutter to myself as I push the heavy door open and head out.  He's letting go a string of curse words like I haven't heard in quite a while.  
 
"Hey, Waylon, you about done?"
 
He's out of breath and his kicks are getting less menacing by the second.  But he's still angry.  Angry with me, angry with his dad, and probably angry at himself for trusting Dougie.
 
I toss a quick look over my shoulder and see people gathered at the window watching what's unfolding out here.
 
"Let's go home."
 
"I don't want to go back to your stupid ugly trailer.   It's not my home.  You're not my mom.  You are just some stupid, pathetic piece of trash that my dad hooked up with."
 
The last time someone called me trash, I dumped a beer over their head.  I try to swallow back the nasty response that's brewing inside me because this is just a kid.
 
When I used to watch Dr. Phil on television, sometimes there'd be this ungrateful little ass talking ugly to their parents on there.  I remember thinking if my kid ever talked to me like that, why I'd knock the attitude right out of them.  And yet, here I am in my very own Dr. Phil moment and I'm swallowing back my anger.
 
"Either get in the car or walk back.  Its entirely up to you.  But for what it's worth, your dad left me behind too.  So, I may very well be some pathetic piece of trash that your dad hooked up with, but I'm hurting too."
 
His red, brimming eyes flicker up for just a few seconds. Without a word, he opens the passenger door and slumps into the front seat.
 
"Do you think you'll be going to school tomorrow?"
 
"What else can I do? "
 
"I can write you a note if you want to go in late.  You know, take the morning to get yourself together."
 
"It ain't gonna change anything.  At least, at school I'll be able to talk to my friends."
 
"Ok.  Just putting it out there."
 
When we pull into the Garden of Eden Mobile Home Park, I see someone sitting on my porch.  It's Aaron Earl , my neighbor.  To describe Aaron is like trying to describe the wind.   He's a laid back plumber's assistant when he's working.  A hippie when he's smoking weed. And a prophet when he's drinking.
 
"Aaron, your porch broken?" I ask as I walk to the steps.
 
"Where's Dougie?" 
 
"You tell me," I say.
 
"A friend gave me some beer he made.  Was gonna let him have one."
 
I hand my keys to Waylon and he unlocks the door and slips inside.
 
"He's not here, Aaron.  You might want to give that beer to someone else."
 
"Just tell him to come on over when he gets back." Aaron stands up, wobbles a little then grins at me. "I ran into Missy Toblerone this afternoon.  She told me the craziest story."
 
"What was that?  That she didn't kill her husband?"
 
"Oh, don't be like that Miranda.  There's gotta be a body to be a murder. Everybody knows that."
 
"Spoken like a true serial killer."
 
I look towards the door.  I don't really want to go in yet.  I'm not one of those girls who lights candles or waves burning sage around to purify my house, but I can tell you one thing.  There are too many reminders of Dougie in there.  From that damn monstrosity of a picture of the Mustang to the coffee mugs with bucks and does on them.  But the main reminder is a heart broken kid on the couch.
 
"Let's just clear the air.  Dougie packed up and left me.  He left his kid here.  Said he'd send for him in a couple of weeks.  But I'm not sure he's gonna follow through on that."
 
Aaron reaches out and squeezes my shoulder.  "Whoa.  That sucks.   You want this beer?"
 
"You bet your ass I do." I reach out and snatch the unlabeled brown glass bottle from him and plop down on the top step.
 
Aaron sits back down.  "God only gives you as much as you can handle."
 
"Oh, I forgot to mention that I lost my job this morning too."
 
I twist the top off the bottle and guzzle it.  It's bitter and terrible but I need it.
 
"When God closes one door, He opens another."
 
I swallow the last of the putrid swill and slam it down beside me a tad more forcefully than necessary.  "Aaron, you hope to meet God one day, don't you?"
 
Aaron smiles and nods.  
 
"Keep saying stuff like that and I'm gonna arrange that meeting. "
 
"Hold on.  All I'm trying to say is that it's gonna be okay."
 
I know he's right.  Deep down I know that life will go back to normal.  It always has before.  But before, when I hit those bumps in the road, I only had to worry about Miranda.  There is another passenger on this train wreck that I call my life.  One that doesn't really know me, like me or trust me.
 
Aaron's rambling on about stations in life and how we get tested.  I'm trying not to pick up this empty bottle and whack him over the head with it.
 
I lean my head back and look at the little pin pricks of stars.
 
"God,  it's me, Miranda.  Don't hang up. Please.  I'm just gonna need you to start opening those doors -fast. " I think.
 
 
To be continued ...

Author Notes This is the 5th installment in the Miranda Chronicals.


Chapter 6
Missing that Maternal Gene (pt 6

By GWHARGIS

Waylon is gone when I finally wake up.  I had figured I'd find him pissed off and holed up on the couch when I got up but he must have been serious when he said he needed his friends.  Anyway, it's a good thing he's not here.  I need to try and start to figure things out.  I've got about three weeks until the rent on the lot is due.  We don't have much food in the house and I'm guessing Waylon might get hungry at some point.  What do you feed a thirteen year old?  Dougie always took care of that.  I'm never here at dinner. 
 
I'm going to have to get a job, and the sooner the better.  I'm a good hard worker but I'm not a pushover.  I'm not gonna put up with shit.  I tried being a waitress.  That was a bad fit.  And I'll tell you why.  It's usually the women who are the worst.  It's either, "This portion's too big. This portion's too small.  I'd like the dressing on the side.  Can you make sure the chef knows I don't want pepper on one side.  Blah, blah, blah."
 
Now men, on the other hand, would eat a burger that they dropped on the floor.  They laugh if something's too spicy. They'll wash a piece of burned pizza down with an ice cold beer.  The thing about some men is they do a little something called grab ass.  And Miranda Jessup Buckley don't play that game.
 
After getting let go for "attitude problems"  I switched over to retail.  I got fired from Bensons Pharmacy all because I told an ancient old relic (Mrs. Harding) to go some place else to shop.  Was it nice of me to do that?  Absolutely not.  But here's the thing.  Every time that old crusty biddy came in she would methodically go through the items on the shelves and loudly report that they were cheaper at Turners Apothecary store.  So, after about six months of listening to her I snapped.
 
"Mrs. Harding, carry your geriatric ass to Turners Apothecary and save that thirteen cents on your hemorrhoid cream."
 
Mr. Benson, the owner, just looked at me and pointed to the door.  And that was that.
 
I got the job at The Little Eagle Gas and Go a few days later.  And it was a good fit, at least until yesterday.
 
I need to talk to someone who can help me sort things out.  I need my momma.
 
 
 
Momma frowns when she opens the door.  "Why aren't you at work?"
 
"Nice to see you too."
 
I maneuver past her and head for the kitchen.  "Got any coffee made ?"
 
"I'm always happy to see you, Miranda, but your impromptu visits usually mean bad news."
 
"Everything's good."
 
"Pour me another cup while you're at it then sit down and tell me what's going on."
 
I carefully fill two mugs and carry them to where she waits at the table.
 
"Well, you remember how you told me not to get involved with Dougie?"
 
Her lips disappear into a thin line and she nods.
 
"Turns out you were correct."
 
"What's happening?  Is he stepping out on you?"
 
"Momma, he left me.  Packed up almost everything he had and moved to Myrtle Beach."
 
Her face goes from pinched to sympathetic in an instant.  "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry.   Are you okay?"
 
I shrug.  "I'll be fine. But remember when I said he took almost everything?  Well, guess what he left."  I pause but don't wait for her to answer. "He left his kid."
 
"What!  No, he did not.  And you were okay with that?"
 
"It all happened so fast, I don't know.  One minute I'm at work and Rita tells me that someone said Dougie was leaving town.  The next minute I'm flying down 17 doing 25 over the speed limit.  And I find him packing up all his stuff.  I didn't have a whole lot of time to process it.  Then Matt is calling me telling me to get my ass back to work."
 
"Well, I sure hope Matt apologized after you explained what was going on."
 
"I got fired."
 
My momma closes her eyes and let's  go a big sigh.  "When it rains, it pours." She reaches across and puts her hand over mine.  "You're a strong woman, Miranda.  You're going to get through this.  But you can't take care of this kid."
 
"I don't really want to but he's got no one else."
 
"There's a reason you and Farley never had any kids.  And, Miranda, we all know he wasn't shooting blanks.  He's got about four kids with as many different women."
 
I put my head down on the table.  "You should give pep talks for a living," I mutter.
 
"What happened when you brought that baby home for your parenting course in the tenth grade?"
 
"First off, it was a doll and not a baby.  And second, I had things to do that weekend."
 
"It died.  Two hours after you brought it into the house.  You killed that baby.  You were not meant to be a mother."
 
"Again, doll not a living breathing human being and I was fifteen.  I'm thirty six years old.  I don't think I'm going to kill the kid."
 
She smiles. "I know you aren't going to kill him.  But teenagers can be downright hateful.  Are you prepared for that?"
 
I perk up.  I've seen that part already.  I've been on the receiving end and I survived.  I can do this.  Granted, I'm not gonna win any awards for mother of the year but if I can keep him alive, off drugs and in school, well, shit,  I'm doing better than a lot of parents out there.
 
I look over at my mother and smile.  "Good talk.  I'll call you later this week."
 
I dump the leftover coffee into the sink, kiss her cheek and head for the door.
 
"Miranda, what are going to do?"
 
"I'm gonna do what you, God, and apparently everyone else thinks I'm not capable of.  I'm gonna be a mom."
 
 
To be contined

Author Notes This is a continuation of The Miranda Chronicals.


Chapter 7
Hammer Time (pt. 7)

By GWHARGIS

*** This is a continuation of a larger story.  Miranda Jessup Buckley is a woman who ignores red flags, does things her own way and lives life according to her own set of rules. ***
***  So far, Miranda has been jilted, lost her job, and is now responsible for her former lover's thirteen year old son, Waylon.  ***
 
 
 
I've gone out of my way to be nice to that little twerp.  Bought Pop Tarts, frozen pizza,  made spaghetti.  I've asked him about his day.  Offered to help him with his homework, and was grateful he didn't want my help, to be totally honest.  But he has not so much as acknowledged my presence.
 
"Waylon, there's some oatmeal creme pies in the cabinet if you want one."
 
Waylon scowls.  It's his signature look.  
 
I lean back against the cabinet and force a smile. "What's that? Oh, no thank you, Miranda. You've done too much for me as it is."
 
The look never waivers from his ungrateful pudgy face.  
 
"What the hell is your problem, kid?  It's not gonna kill you to speak to me."
 
"I didn't ask you to get those things for me.  I didn't ask for you to look after me."
 
"No.  No, you didn't but you're a kid.  I'm an adult.  It's not my job, my obligation or my duty.  But I'm doing it."
 
"I don't need you."
 
The fiery words that fill my mouth with alarming speed are cut off with my mind screaming "abort mission".  But the anger is going to come out.  Slamming my palm against the counter I cross the distance between us in less than a second.
 
"I don't give two shits if you want to be here or not.  And you can be as mad as you want with your dad.  But do not bite the hand that feeds you."
 
He looks away, maybe in fear, maybe in anger.  I can't tell which and it doesn't matter.  I now have his undivided attention.
 
"Pay attention because I am going to explain the house rules," I say as I lean in closer.  A foul stench that smells like a three day old onion sandwich wafts up. "Oh gawd.  Is that you?  When was the last time you showered?"
 
"I don't know."
 
"Well, if you can't remember then it's been too long.  Rule 1 you are to shower with soap every day.  Rule 2 you will be civil and polite to me, the person who pays the bills and keeps you alive."
 
"My dad said he's coming back in a couple of weeks to get me."
 
"Good.  Then it shouldn't be too hard to follow the rules for such a short time."
 
He grunts as I walk back over to the counter.  I can only imagine he's holding up his middle finger as my back is to him. "And Rule 3 is no more flipping me off.  Now, get your stinkin' butt in the shower."  I smack my hand on the counter again and suppress a laugh as he jumps.
 
I'm sure he's bitching and moaning about me while he's in the bathroom, but as long as he's washing that b.o. off I don't really care.  I know enough to understand that kids need structure.   And Waylon is about to get a crash course in structure.
 
Twenty minutes pass before he comes out.   He pokes his wet head around the door and frowns.  "My dad took the deodorant. "
 
"Did you wash under your arms with soap?"
 
"Yes."
 
"Then you can use mine for tonight. I'll get you your own tomorrow."
 
He recloses the door.  When he finally comes out he holds up his dirty clothes.  "What do I do with these?"
 
"Put them in the laundry basket."
 
"He took that, too."
 
Damn.  He took the laundry basket but left his kid.  What a stand up guy.
 
"Ok.  I guess we need to make a list of things Dougie took and replace them."
 
I go into the kitchen and dig through the junk drawer for a pen and a piece of paper.
 
"Laundry basket.  Deodorant.  Anything else?"
 
Waylon points to the cabinet under the television.  "He took the DVD player and most of the movies."
 
"Nice. Real nice."
 
"I have one question and it's a really important question.  Did he take all the toilet paper?"
 
Waylon frowns, "Why would he take the toilet paper?"
 
"Because Dougie Wilcox is a shitty asshole."
 
Waylon smiles.  A real, honest to goodness smile. 
 
Rome wasn't built in a day so I'm not gonna assume things between Waylon and me are honky dorie.  But at least we're starting to lay down a foundation.
 
 

Author Notes This is a continuation of a story.


Chapter 8
Alleged Aisle Talk (pt 8)

By GWHARGIS

***Miranda has been left to take care of her former lover's child.  She's unemployed and her world has been turned upside down.  But dealing with a disgruntled teenager has made her realize what responsibility is.***
 
 
 
I stand at the kitchen sink, my second cup of coffee in my hand.  I watch as Waylon walks like a condemned man to the bus stop.  He's sluggish and vastly different from what his dad had been like at that age. Whereas, Dougie Wilcox was cool in high school, Waylon isn't comfortable in his own skin.  I try to like the kid.  I really do.  After my little outburst about his father the other night, I thought we might have something in common.  But by the following morning,  he was back to ignoring me.  He was, at least, polite when he turned down the Pop Tart I offered him.  I guess there have been steps in the right direction.  He now showers every night after dinner.  That is the biggest and best turning point.  
 
I look up to check the time only to realize the clock is missing.   I'll add that to my list of things I need to replace because of Dougie Wilcox.
 
I dump out the rest of my coffee and finish getting ready to run errands.
 
 
The parking lot at the Dollar General is empty except for three cars.  I'm glad, too.  Because I don't want to have to talk to anyone about what's going on in my life right now.  And Patterson County is a small county when it comes to people knowing your business.  For instance, my finding out that Dougie was leaving me via the grapevine.  I've heard rumors that ended up being true and rumors that were out and out lies about people.  But they all had one common denominator.  Someone took it upon themselves to start spreading the news.
 
I have some money in the bank and about seventy bucks in cash in my wallet.   I have to stick to my list.  No tossing something into the cart just cause I find it appealing.  Not today, Miranda, not today.  So, I stride right in through those double doors with a purpose.
 
I have about two thirds of the list crossed off when I start down the aisle for the laundry basket.  I'm doing my damnedest to focus on the laundry stuff and not get distracted by the fluffy towels and the fresh clean shower curtains.  I should have looked up.  Should have checked the aisle for the incoming assault.
 
"Miranda Buckley," a sickening, overdone Southern voice makes me stop dead in my tracks.  It's Missy Toblerone.  The one who told Rita about Dougie and his plans.  
 
Why, oh why, did it have to be Missy?
 
"I haven't seen you in a month of Sundays.  How've you been?"
 
"Never better, Missy.  You?"
 
"I'm fine.  I heard that Dougie up and left you." She leans her arms onto the cart and waits for my reaction.
 
"They ever find out what happened to that husband of yours, Missy?"
 
Yes, yes, I know it's not nice to bring up someone's missing and presumably dead husband but I'll live with that.  Personally, I think she killed him.  Jason Toblerone was a trust fund baby.  He wasn't a real nice guy. Kind of spoiled and entitled but he didn't deserve to be killed off by his wife.
 
"Sadly, no.  It's like he just vanished into thin air."
 
"Thin air, wood chipper, whatever.  One day it'll all come out in the wash."
 
Missy smiles then straightens up. "I get the feeling that you think I might have done something heinous, Miranda. Do you think that I could overpower and kill my sweet husband, all by myself?"
 
"I'm afraid I do. Unpopular opinion, I know, but it's how I feel."
 
"Well, I guess your entitled to your opinion.  But word to the wise, always speaking your mind might be why you can't keep a man."
 
She carefully moves her cart around mine and smiles like she just won the Miss Congenialty award.  It's very odd behavior to me.  If someone had accused me of killing my husband I doubt I'd be so calm.  As a matter of fact, I'd be camped out at the police station until they found him.
 
I wait until she leaves before I head to the checkout.  I'm not scared of her but I don't want to disappear into thin air either.
 
I decide to go by the Little Eagle Gas and Go to fill up my car and check to see if Matt had left a check for me.
 
Rita is manning the register.  She looks terrible.   Her hair, which is usually immaculate, is bound up in a messy bun.  She doesn't notice me when I come in.
 
"Twenty on pump nine," I call out.
 
"Give me a second,"she says as she tries to put something in the safe just below the register.  When she looks up, her face floods with relief. "Oh, gawd, Miranda.  You're back."
 
"Just for gas and hopefully my check."
 
"Please come back. He's driving me crazy.  He's always barking orders at me.  I hate it here.  And I hate working with him," she whispers loudly. "He's as mean as a dang snake."
 
"You just gotta know how to handle him, Rita."
 
"Tell me how to handle him."
 
"Talk to him like you're married to him." I laugh. 
 
Rita shudders. "No way.  He's a weasel. "
 
I look to the door marked Employees Only. "He back there?"
 
She nods.  "Good luck."
 
I knock on the door but don't wait for an invite.  He's at the desk hunched over a mound of paperwork.  I see what looks like about a week's worth of deposits sitting in the chair beside him.
 
"Came for my check."
 
He glances at me then shakes his head.  "I write checks every other Friday."
 
"Come on, Matt.  I need my money.  Stuff has come up.  I can't wait until next Friday."
 
There is another knock on the door.
 
"What?"
 
Rita opens the door and peeks inside. "I can't get the door to the propane container open."
 
"Use the key."
 
Rita shrugs.  "I tried.  Can you come help me?"
 
Matt looks at me.  "Go help her."
 
"I don't work here, Matt."
 
He pushes back his chair sending it toppling over.  When he's gone I reach down and right it.
 
Matt comes back in about thirty seconds later.  His face is crimson.  "What will it take to get you to come back?"
 
"I don't want to come back.  Not to a place that fires me over the phone when I have a personal emergency."
 
Matt checks to see if anyone around the office door.  "Close the door please."
 
After I close it, he looks at me with puppy dog eyes.  "Please, Miranda.  Come back to work. I can't do this. I can't work with her.  She's a dingbat.  She's been here, what, four or five years?  She still has to pull out a piece of paper with her password on it.  She can't count back change.  I caught her selling beer to a couple of teenagers.  I asked her if she checked their ID's and she said yes.  Knew they were eighteen but they convinced her she did the math wrong."
 
I can't help but laugh.  
 
"It's not funny.  What kind of moron can't count from one date to another.  And her voice.  I cringe everytime she calls my name."
 
"Are you about to cry, Matt?"
 
"No."
 
"Darn.  Was kinda hoping you were."
 
"What would make you change your mind?"
 
I never would have thought I'd be in this position.  Not in a million years, but power makes you do wicked things sometimes.
 
"First, I want an apology for firing me.  Then I want a raise."
 
"Ok.  I'll bump you up to thirteen-fifty an hour."
 
I shake my head.  "No.  I was thinking fifteen an hour.  Because I know for a fact that your brother pays his employees fourteen to sixteen an hour."
 
Hastily, he nods.  "Fine.  Whatever.  Just start back tomorrow."
 
I could say yes, but why stop with my demands now.  "Next Monday.   I have things to take care of before then."
 
I'm sure he hates me right about now, and that's fine by me. But I also know that he has a new found respect for me as well.  Cause he just learned that Miranda Jessup Buckley don't come cheap.
 
 
To be continued ...

Author Notes This is a continuation of a larger story.


Chapter 9
The Truth about Missy (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

*** So far Miranda Jessup Buckley has been dumped, fired and left to handle her ex-lover's kid.  She thinks she's figured motherhood out and was rehired by a frazzled boss.  Now, she is slowly learning about Waylon, the boy and a bit about herself.
She has agreed to help her neighbor, Aaron Earl get his truck. But she has no idea he bought it from her nemesis, Missy Toblerone.***
 
 
 
Waylon climbs into the back seat of Aaron's new truck.  It is a nice truck.  There wasn't a speck of dirt on the outside or a grain of sand on the floormats.
 
"Dang, Aaron.  This is a nice truck. How are you going to afford the payments?"  I run my hand across the chocolate brown leather seat.
 
"You won't believe me when I tell you how much I got her for."
 
We get settled in and fasten our seat belts.  He puts the key in the ignition and it revs up nice and smooth.  He drives us slow by Mrs. Fine.  I wave real friendly like at her.  "Gosh, I hate that old bat."
 
I hear Waylon snicker behind me. "She tells me she's watching me every morning when I'm walking to the busstop," he says.
 
"Shoot, she watches everybody so don't go feeling too special."
 
Aaron looks over at me and I'm not sure if he's trying to flirt, is nervous or just realized he needs to use the bathroom.
 
"Aaron?  You need to tell me something?"
 
"I probably should have told you where we're going.   I'm feeling kinda bad now for not telling you."
 
I've got no patience for people who are afraid to just say what's on their minds.   My arms involuntarily fold across my middle.  It's defensive posturing or so I've been told.
 
"Now might be a good time to tell me then."
 
"Just know, if there was anyone else I could have asked, I would have."
 
"Spit it out or pull over."
 
"I bought it from Missy." He says the words fast like I might not catch what he says.
 
"You jack ass.  You know damn well how I feel about that - that murderer."
 
"I said I felt bad for not telling you. And it's only you and a handful of others who think she did something to him."
 
"That's because I know her, Aaron.  She's always been a manipulative, lying bitch."
 
Waylon leans forward.  "Who are y'all talking about."
 
Aaron looks at Waylon in the rear view mirror. "A real sweet girl who could melt butter when she talks to you.  Miranda, apparently, knows something about her that no one else does."
 
I drum my fingers anxiously on the door handle.  "Acid also melts things, Aaron. "
 
"So, you gonna tell us?" Waylon asks.
 
"It's not gonna be the same because you weren't there but here goes.  In the eleventh grade, Missy and I were both elected for Homecoming  Court.  Well, there could only be one from the grade so we were neck and neck.  I used to be pretty friendly with her.  But we weren't good friends.  I just never trusted her.  Gut feeling.   You know how that is."
 
'Did she win?  Is that what this is about?"  Waylon sighs and sits back.  
 
"She did but that's not the point of the story.  She had bought some weed and asked me to stow it in my locker.  Promised she'd share it with me.  And I did it.  But that very afternoon, surprise locker checks.  The bitch knew they'd be checking lockers.   She set me up."
 
Waylon popped up again suddenly interested.  "So, she got you in trouble, won the beauty pageant and you're still pissed about it."
 
"It wasn't a beauty pageant.  Homecoming was a way for your friends to show the school who they liked.  It wasn't based on grades or shit like that.  Your friends voted for you.  Meant a lot.  So, instead of being at the game and then the dance, I was at home suspended for a week."
 
"She ever apologize?" Aaron asks.
 
"She said that she went to them afterwards and told them it was hers but she said they didn't believe her."
 
"That could be true," Aaron says.
 
"She never did that.  She's a liar."
 
"Are you gonna kick her butt?"  Waylon says.
 
"No.  I'm gonna taunt her about killing her husband like I always do."
 
"I get that she narc'd on you but do you really think she killed someone?"
 
"I do.  And I'll tell you why.  She married Jason for his money.  Made no secret of that.   She was right up there with my ex-husband as far as fidelity went.  Then she goes out of town for the weekend all by herself.  Comes home to find Jason missing.  One tearful plea to the public for any information and that's it.  Wouldn't cooperate with police.  Wouldn't allow them into her home until they got a warrant.  To me, that's pretty damn suspicious."
 
"I'll admit it's weird behavior but it doesn't mean she killed him."
 
I study Aaron for a few seconds.  He's young, pretty niave and a bit of a tree hugger.  "I know why you don't believe it.  You don't think a woman is capable of murder, do you?"
 
"Some are, I guess.  Just don't want to think about any of the ones I know being capable."
 
We pull down the long driveway to Missy's very grand house.  
 
"Let's make this quick," I say, unbuckling my seat belt and hopping out.
 
Aaron nods and turns off the truck.
 
He runs up to the front door and rings the bell.  When she opens the door she looks over.  She starts walking towards me with that big plastic smile on her face.
 
"Oh, crap," Waylon says. "This is gonna be good."
 
To be continued...

Author Notes This is a continuation of a larger story.


Chapter 10
Legend Has It (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired, a child has been left in her care and that was just in the first day.  
 
She is helping her neighbor, Aaron retrieve his truck and runs into Missy Toblerone.  She doesn't care for Missy but has to behave with Waylon around.  It may take every bit of her resolve to do it.  ***
 
 
 
I look up to see Missy making a beeline for me.  She has that damn fake smile plastered on her face and I wonder what face I'm making.  I'm not smiling, I can guarantee you that. 
 
"Well, isn't this something?  Twice in one week."  She turns to look at Aaron.  "I didn't know you knew Miranda."
 
"Yeah, we hang out," Aaron says.
 
"We're  neighbors," I correct him.  
 
Missy crinkled her nose.  "So, you live in that cute little trailer park just outside of Patterson Proper.  Well, it's a small world."
 
I look away and bite my tongue because all I can think is this: It ain't that small, no one can seem to locate your missing husband.  I glance down to see Waylon looking at me.  He's watching me to see what I'm going to do.  
 
"Who is this handsome young guy?" 
 
"This is Waylon, Dougie's boy."
 
"I'm a little confused because I thought Dougie left town."
 
"He did," I say.  "He's going to come get him once he finds a place in Myrtle Beach."  My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears.
 
Missy does this little laugh-cough thing.  
 
"Were you going to say something, Missy?"
 
She looks from me to Waylon and then back to me.  "No offense, but I just never ever thought of you as the mothering type.  I mean, no offense."
 
Shes trying to bait me and I know she wants a reaction.   Instead of getting mad I shrug my shoulders and laugh right along with her.  "I'm just as surprised as you, Missy.  I mean, I couldn't be more surprised if your missing husband walked up behind you right now."
 
Missy did this little involuntary shudder when I said that.  "Well, Waylon, it's nice to meet you.  I know your daddy from way back.  He was real handsome.  You must look like your momma."
 
"Is your husband's case still open?"
 
To my great pleasure, Missy finally loses her smile. "Jesus, Miranda, I don't know.  Why don't you go to the police and ask them.   You seem quite interested."
 
Guilty.  Guilty.  Guilty.  Even if, and it's a big if, she didn't kill him, she doesn't give two shits if anyone is still looking for him.  Which means, she doesn't care if he's found.  And if she doesn't care, it means she doesn't love him.  And that just sucks.  
 
"Maybe I will, Missy."
 
Aaron takes a step in between us. "Okay, well, we need to get going.  Waylon has a science project and we have to stop by Haynes Pond."
 
"Ew.  Why would you want to go there?"
 
"My Marine Biology class is having us get water samples from around the county," Waylon says.
 
"Why don't you get water from the beach?  Haynes Pond is filthy."
 
"Miranda said its full of used condoms," he says looking at me and grinning.
 
"Well, she would know."  She doesn't wait for my reaction or response.  Just turns away and walks back towards that huge house of hers.
 
"What a bitch," Waylon mutters.
 
It wasn't necessarily in my defense but my heart opened up to him just a little bit.  We had a common interest now.  We both had the same opinion of Missy Toblerone.
 
Aaron turned to me.  "I swear I didn't know she was going to come out and say anything to you.  She just wanted me to let her know when I was coming to pick up my truck."
 
"Ugh.  It's fine.  Let's just get the water from Haynes Pond and get home.  I have to go back to work on Monday so I gotta get some stuff done." 
 
 
I follow Aaron and Waylon and pull down the dirt road behind them.  They used to throw parties down here. I had been to plenty.  It was pretty overgrown now.  I guess today's teenagers are a bit more sophisticated than we were.
 
I hop out of the truck and follow Waylon as he goes to the waters edge.  The bank is muddy and it stinks.  
 
"Hey, Miranda, did I ever tell you that my granddad used to be a bootleggers during prohibition?" Aaron is staring at the water.
 
"No.  I've never heard that story. "
 
Waylon pulls his shoes off and takes a step into the muddy water.  "What's a bootlegger?" he asks. 
 
"A bootlegger is someone who smuggles liquor and beer into places where it's illegal.  A long time ago there was a law that was passed making it illegal to drink liquor."
 
"That's a stupid law," Waylon says.  He's about knee deep and bends down to scoop some water into the bottle. "That should do it."
 
Aaron points to a thicket of live oaks and Virginia Creeper and nods. " My granddad said that the people who owned this land back then, were sympathizers to the bootleggers.  They'd let them cut through their property.  Even built a bridge to bypass the main road."
 
"Aaron, there's no bridge anywhere around here."  I hate to call him out but I don't want him to get too carried away with his story.
 
"No, not now.  But it was here.  Granddad said that it was just a little wooden bridge just a few inches higher than the water level.  If you didn't know it was there you'd drive right on by.  They didn't drive with their headlights on when they were running booze so even if the federal agents were watching them they would just disappear in the bushes."
 
"So, what happened to the bridge?"
 
"The federals came out one night and cut through the supports.  Two men died that night.  Their cars went into the pond when the bridge collapsed."
 
"Shit, the water is only about four foot.  You telling me that they couldn't roll down their windows and climb out?"  Now I know he's going too far.
 
"Miranda, it's four feet deep here.  Back over there it's close to twenty feet deep.  My granddad's younger brother was one of those who died. I'm not making this up.  He cried everytime he talked about it."
 
Now I feel bad.  "Sorry. I just never heard any of this."
 
Waylon walks over to where we're standing. "So, did they get the cars out?"  
 
"According to granddad, there are two cars loaded with hooch at the bottom of the pond."
 
Waylon's eyes light up.  "We should go down there."
 
Aaron looks over at me and winks.
 
"Maybe."
 
"And on that note, we need to get back home."
 
"Come on, can't we just swim around a little.  You know, in case we can see anything?"
 
I can't just say no.  I don't want to be the buzz kill so I hope Aaron can pick up on my subtle hints.  Of course, Aaron is about as mature as a thirteen year old.  He is pulling his shoes and socks off as fast as he can.
 
"Are you kidding me?" 
 
And there you have it.  One minute I'm hearing a local legend and the next minute I'm watching two idiots wading out into the dirtiest body of water in Patterson County.  I just hope they can swim because I'm not diving in there to save them.
 
To be continued ...
 
 

Author Notes This is a continuation of a larger body of work.


Chapter 11
Muddy Drawers

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and had a child left in her care.  And that was before noon.
 
Now, she is scrambling to make sense of all she's been dealt.  She speaks her mind and has a sharp tongue which keeps her from having a lot of friends.   She, her neighbor Aaron Earl and Waylon, the kid she's watching, form an unlikely bond.  
 
Aaron has filled Waylon's head with finding old cars from the Prohibition Era at the bottom of Haynes Pond.  Before Miranda can stop them, both dive into the murky water in search of said cars. ***
 
 
 
I've never felt like the smartest person in any group, that is, until now.  Both Aaron and Waylon are walking deeper and deeper out into the muddy creek.  I keep waiting to see a fat old moccasin come cutting through the still water but so far nothing.
 
"Okay, you've had your fun.  Let's go," I call.  If they hear me, neither let on. Instead, they swim toward the overgrown marsh grass that juts out into the center.  I've never been on that side of the pond in the light of day.  A couple of times I ventured over there at night with a boyfriend for some extra privacy.  Thinking about that now I realize how stupid I used to be.
 
"Dammit all," I say to no one because no one is listening to me anyway.  I head to the thicket and try as carefully as I can to weave through it.  There could be a danged black bear in there.  Who knows what is in there.  And I'm pretty sure that I could be mauled to death before either of those nimrods would come to my aid.
 
Even though it felt like a half a mile of hard fought terrain, in reality it was probably eight feet of tangled brush. I step through to the other side.  It's pretty much the same as the side I came from but to my relief I can see Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee swimming around.
 
"Find anything?"
 
Aaron waves at me.  He's a nice guy but there are times (like this one) that he reminds me of a dumb hound dog.  "Geez, you cut through that mess?  I'd bet there would be a thousand and one snakes in there.  You are one tough chick, Miranda."  He paddles over to where Waylon is putting his face under water every couple of minutes and holds up his hand for a high five.
 
"If you haven't found a car yet, come on out and let's go."
 
Waylon draws in a lungful of air and suddenly dips under the surface and disappears.  Several seconds pass and no Waylon.
 
"Aaron,  where is he?"  The little lump that is in my throat starts growing, expanding like a tumor.  I start to think he's caught on something just below the surface.  Air bubbles leaving his young body while clueless Aaron treads water.
 
I'm about to kick my own shoes off and go in after him when he bursts through the surface.
 
"Ok!  That's enough of this shit. Let's go home."
 
"Holy shit,"  Aaron says.  "It's true.  They're down there.  Miranda,  the cars are down there."
 
Waylon holds up a strip of metal.
 
I'm squinting because they're so far out and I can't really make out what it is.  "That could be anything," I say.
 
"Could be, but it aint," Waylon yells.
 
"I can't wait to tell my dad," Aaron says.  "He's not gonna believe it when I tell him we found the cars."
 
Waylon dives back under.   This time he comes back up quicker.  "Got the Ford emblem off.  Almost fell off in my hand."
 
"Figures." Aaron laughs.  "If it was a Chevy, you'd be in for a fight.  Chevys don't fall apart like Fords."
 
I think about that stupid picture that's hanging on the wall behind my couch.  Dougie was a Ford man and apparently, Aaron is a Chevy guy.  It just irritates me to no end that men will stand by a damned car but not by their women.  
 
"Okay, you got your souvenir.   Can we please go now?"
 
Aaron leans close to Waylon, and I know they're talking about something, but I guess they don't want me to know.
 
"Five more minutes," Aaron says.
 
Whatever, I think as I turn to go back through the wild to get to the other side.   I move through a tad quicker on the return trip.  
 
I'm sitting in the driver's seat of Aaron's old truck when they come traipsing up.  Both are covered in muddy water and bits of weeds and leaves are stuck to them.  They look terrible, and I'll let you guess how they smell.
 
"So, boys, what are y'all gonna change into?  Or are you gonna let your fancy new truck get broken in?"
 
"Hmm.  Guess we didn't think this through," Aaron sighs.  Then he snaps his fingers.  "I got it."  He reaches behind the seat where I'm sitting and pulls out a canvas bag.  "Hey, Waylon, where's your backpack?"
 
Waylon goes to the new truck and returns with it.
 
Aaron starts pulling stuff from the canvas bag and handing it to Waylon.  "Put this crap in your bag, then strip down to your skivvies and we can put our wet clothes in this canvas bag."
 
I lift a very large knife that's fastened in a leather sheath.  "You preparing for the zombie apocalypse?  Where'd you get this thing?"  It has to weigh four or five pounds.
 
"My mom gave it to me last Christmas.   Pretty cool, right?"
 
"It's terrifying, Aaron.  Is it a hunting knife?"
 
"I think its a survivalist knife.  At least, my mom said it was."
 
Waylon's eyes light up.  "That's awesome."
 
Before he decides to reach for it, I shove it down into his backpack.  Then grab the odds and ends that Aaron keeps handing me.  I zip it up and lug it around to the passenger side of the truck.  
 
Satisfied that his plan will work, Aaron starts pulling his wet clothes off. "Come on, little man.  Start stripping."
 
Waylon glances around then pointedly stares at me.  I take the hint and turn around.  
 
I hear a truck door close and figure it's safe to turn around.  I am wrong in the assumption.  There stands Aaron clad in a pair of boxers.  He stretches.
 
"You want to grab some lunch before we go home "
 
"You don't think we'll have trouble getting a table?"
 
He frowns for a second then shakes his head.  "It's after one, so I'm thinking the lunch rush is over. "
 
"You don't think a thirty-six year old woman waltzing into a restaurant with a thirteen-year old and a twenty something guy clad only in their wet underpants, that wouldn't raise a few eyebrows?"
 
He blushes.  "We could get it to go," he says .
 
I point him in the direction of his new truck and climb into his old one.
 
I wonder if other people have days like this.  I can't be the only one.
 
Can I?
 
 
 
To be continued ...

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 12
The Columbine Curse (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley, has been jilted, fired, and had her ex's son left in her care. 
 
Her neighbor, Aaron Earl, has taken them to Haynes Pond and lured 13 year old Waylon into looking for some cars that were at the bottom of the pond.  Turns out that Aaron's great uncle just might be down there in one of those cars.  
 
Now, Miranda has a lot on her proverbial plate. On her first day back at work, she gets a surprise phone call. ***
 
 
 
By the time we get home it's the middle of the afternoon.  I had plans to do the laundry, fix a nice dinner, start clearing out that storage room for the kid, but Aaron keeps talking about that stupid pond and those cars at the bottom.  He just won't leave.  So, I just let him talk and work around him.  I figure he's bound to catch on that I care as much about whatever is in those cars as I do about the horse power of his new truck.
 
And another thing, how is he affording this truck and his old one?  Is Aaron selling drugs?  If so, he doesn't need to be hanging around Waylon ...or me, for that matter.
 
"I got a question for you," I say, stopping in front of him.
 
"Shoot."
 
"How are you able to afford this new truck and keep your old one?"
 
"I got a really good deal, Miranda."
 
"It don't add up, Aaron.  I don't care how good a deal you got.  It don't add up."
 
I glance over to see if Waylon is listening.  He's puttering around the entertainment center, moving magazines and crouching down to peer under it.  Then it hits me.  Quickly my hand goes to my back pocket and I pull out his phone.  "Hey, you looking for this?"
 
He scowls.  "Why do you have it?"
 
"I thought you might want it while we were gone."
 
He stands up and clomps towards me. I hold it out and he snatches it.  "Did you go through my phone?"
 
I can't help but roll my eyes.  "Gee whiz, because what could be more exciting than going through a kid's phone?  Oh, probably anything."
 
He looks at me the same way I used to look at my parents when I thought I was smarter, cooler and hated them for just being parents.
 
"Waylon, I need you to take the trash to the dumpster.  It's starting to stink."
 
One more sour scowl before he ties the hefty bag up and hoists it up over his shoulder like it weighs fifty pounds. 
 
After the door closes, and he's out of earshot, I turn back to Aaron.  "Are you selling?"
 
"I might later, but I still like my old truck."
 
"Not your damned truck, Aaron.  Are you selling drugs?"
 
His face goes pale. "No!  I would never do something like that.  Why would you think that?"
 
"Because, as beautiful as The Garden of Eden Mobile Home Court is, there isn't one single resident here that can afford to have two vehicles.   So, if you aren't selling weed, what are you doing?"
 
Aaron frowns and looks down. "Truth is, my dad loaned me the money."
 
"Your dad?  Jesus, Aaron how old are you?"
 
"Twenty six."
 
"Twenty six, and you borrowed what, fifteen grand, for a truck, that you didn't need."
 
"Eighteen grand.  But that was still a good deal."
 
"Go home, Aaron."
 
"Are you mad at me?  Because I got the truck or because I borrowed money from my dad "
 
I take a deep breath.  " I'm not mad.  I don't have any reason to be.  I'm just tired of boys and their toys."
 
"It sure feels like you're mad at me."
 
He stands up and looks around.  "You got a real nice place here.  It's cozy."
 
"I'll give you the name of my decorator,"  I say as I lead him to the door.
 
 
Sunday passes just the way a Sunday should.  I sleep in, shower, fix Waylon and myself a nice breakfast of pancakes, bacon and good slow cooked grits.  He eats every single bit and goes for seconds.  
 
"Look, I'm sorry I took your phone. I just thought that, if your dad called, you'd be able to talk to him."
 
"He isn't gonna call.  Why would he?"
 
"Dougie loves you, Waylon.  Don't ever doubt that.  He just doesn't use his head very often."
 
"My mom said he was a narcissist.  You know what that is?" he says.
 
"The center of his own attention? "
 
"He's either the victim or the hero.  Never the bad guy.  He can be really great then he can be a ...," he says, his voice trailing off.
 
"He can be a complete ass."
 
He looks up, startled at my statement.
 
"Hey, I have an idea.  Why don't we take a picture and I'll take it to Walgreens.   I'll print them out and we can put our images on that stupid Mustang picture.  You pose like you're driving and I'll pose like one of those bimbos on the hood of the car.  Then we can take a picture of it and send it to him."
 
Waylon grins.  "Can I have a cigarette dangling from my mouth."
 
"Perfect."
 
I get most of the storage area cleaned out and after vacuuming I look around the tiny room.
 
"Waylon, what do you think? "
 
"What are you gonna do with all the crap that was in there?"
 
"Probably toss most of it. But what do you think about this being your space?"
 
He starts to smile then catches himself.  "What do you mean?"
 
"You can't sleep on the couch forever. This could be your room.  We can get a futon, a small dresser.  I mean, just until your dad comes for you."
 
He nods.  "Yeah. That'd be cool."
 
 
 
Monday morning I'm folding laundry.  I've got about three hours before I have to be at work.  I'm tossing around the idea of hitting the thrift store in search of a dresser for the kid when the phone rings.
 
"Hello."
 
"Is Douglas Wilcox there?" a woman says, articulating every syllable.
 
"No."
 
"Do you know where I can locate him?"
 
"Who is this?"
 
"It's Krista Maples from Patterson County High School."  The woman's voice is very crisp and professional.  It's that passive aggressive type of voice.  "I need to get in touch with Mr. Wilcox.  It's concerning his son, Waylon."
 
"I'm his, uh," I pause wondering how to politely say his father abandoned him with me, "he's staying with me.  His dad had to leave town.  Is something wrong?"
 
"You might want to come down here.  There's been an incident."
 
"Incident or accident?"
 
"He's been found with a weapon in his possession. "
 
Shit.   Shit, shit, shit.  Where would he get a weapon and why would he be stupid enough to bring it to school?
 
"You hang tight.  I'm on my way."
 
I don't say goodbye just slam the phone back on the receiver and grab my keys.  
 
"What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Miranda?"
 
 
To be continued ...
 
 
 

Author Notes This is the continuation of a larger body of work.


Chapter 13
Enter the Dragon's Lair (Miranda

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley, has been jilted, fired, and left to take care of someone else's child.  After a nice weekend, she is getting ready to go back to work since being fired.  But one phone call from Waylon's school sets her morning on its side.***
 
 
 
Remember when I said school had never been my thing?  Well, turning into the parking lot of Patterson High School, suddenly fills my heart with dread.   I didn't graduate from Patterson.  I went to the cross town rival, Cameron High.  I was one of the first graduating classes, when it was state of the art, shiny and clean.  I, and, I'm pretty sure, most of my contemporaries took that for granted.  Now, pulling up into the fire lane, I see a dinghy old building.  There is nothing remotely new or charming about it.  It looks like one of those schools from a horror movie. 
 
Times have changed because in my day, you could just walk into a school, state your business and get on with your day.  Now, you have to get "buzzed" in.  
 
After the buzzer allows me to pull the heavy metal and glass door open, I step inside.  I take a deep breath to steady my nerves.  It smells like a high school.  Sweat, perfume, hormones are all mingling in the air.  It's rank and nostalgic.
 
The door to the office is propped open, not with a triangular wedge of wood or rubber.  Nope, it's propped open with a text book that is shoved under the door.  Higher learning at its best.
 
A sweet older lady is at the desk. Her cheater glasses pushed up on her salt and pepper hair.  She smiles widely.  "Good afternoon, oh goodness, it's morning.  Good morning, how can I help you?"
 
"Someone called me about Waylon Wilcox."
 
She shuffles some papers nervously, then pushes a button on the intercom.  "Waylon Wilcox's mother is here."
 
"I'll be right out.  Tell her to have a seat. "
 
The lady looks up and starts to repeat everything I just heard.  "I heard.  I'll just sit over there."
 
"They'll be right with you."
 
"I got it," I say, biting the tip of my tongue to keep from saying something smart ass.  But I'm sure my face is putting that message out, loud and clear.
 
I flip through the yearbooks on the table next to my chair.  Except for the hairstyles, nothing has changed.  The pretty, popular crowd has the majority of photographic real estate, while the science and math geeks get a page only if they win some competition.
 
"Mrs. Wilcox?"
 
I grab my purse off the floor by my feet and stand up.  When I look up, I throw up just a little in my mouth.
 
"Miranda?"  she says.
 
"Elaine."
 
"Is this some sort of joke?"
 
"Elaine Buckley,"  I say, hoping maybe I'll come to in an alternate universe.  "I thought you used to be the head warden at the prison school."
 
"I was the principal, and it was the county alternative school." Her words come slithering out of her clenched jaw.
 
Elaine Buckley, headmaster of Patterson High School is one and the same as Elaine "Lainey" Buckley, my former mother-in-law.  This does not look good for Waylon.  Because whatever chance he had of some sort of mercy by way of the Patterson County School System, just got flushed down the toilet.
 
Her smile has not changed.  It is as unfriendly now as it was when I was married to Farley.  "Follow me."
 
She leads me down a hallway with posters of teenagers with beaming white capped teeth smiles.  You know the kind.  The future's so bright, you're gonna need shades kind.  We stop in front of a closed door and she knocks three times then there is the sound of a lock disengaging.
 
"Is that the secret club knock," I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.
 
"I'm glad you're finding this funny."
 
She ushers me in.  It's a room straight out of a cop show.  Waylon is sitting at the table, looking down.  A resource officer on one side and a burly P.E. teacher on the other side.  It's kind of comical and I would normally laugh, but this kid's future is up for grabs right now.
 
"What the hell, Waylon?"
 
He looks up, his eyes bulging and filled with fear.   " I forgot it was in there.  I swear to God.  I wasn't going to do anything bad with it."
 
"Calm down, Waylon.  What did they find?"
 
He looks to the table on the right side of the room.  "I swear I just forgot it was in my backpack.  I went to give the teacher that bottle of water from Haynes Pond and it fell out."
 
Damn it!  There on the table was that hideous knife of Aaron's.  It looks even bigger and more deadly here.
 
"Alright, I can explain this," I say, ready to clear things up but the dragonlady named Elaine holds up her bony hand.
 
"There is a zero tolerance policy here.  I'm going to have to expel him."
 
Waylon let's out a little sob.
 
"Oh, come on , Elaine.  Look at him.  Does he look like some crazy kid who would hurt somebody?"
 
She folds her arms across her waist.  "It doesn't matter whether I think he looks like he'll do something.  The fact of the matter is he brought a weapon to school."
 
"Can we talk?  Privately?"
 
Elaine looks very uncomfortable. I know she isn't scared of me.  She just doesn't like me.  And the feeling's mutual.
 
The resource officer visibly bristles.  "I can call for backup, Principal Buckley.  We can have her and him escorted off the property."
 
"Yes, you go on and call for backup, you Barney Fife wannabe."
 
Elaine waves him off.  "Take him to the cafeteria for a few minutes."
 
The men grab Waylon's upper arms and lead him out.  They struggle to get through the door because both men want to take the lead. 
 
She motions for me to close the door.  "What's on your mind, Miranda?"
 
"This is bullshit and you know it.  My neighbor was cleaning out his truck and started shoveling crap into Waylon's bag.  He wasn't going to use it."
 
"If I let him off, I have to let everyone off."
 
"Cut the crap, Elaine.  Waylon is a good kid.  He loves school.  Every morning he gets himself up and walks to the bus stop.  Nobody drives him here.  He loves this marine biology class.   He's smart.  Don't ruin his future because of me."
 
Elaine looks away, irritation playing on her face.  "He brought a weapon on school grounds, I can't just let him off scott free."
 
"Have him write a paper about not checking his backpack.  Have him write a paper about water purity.  Anything."
 
"Miranda, Miranda, Miranda," she sighs.
 
"Elaine, Elaine, Elaine."
 
"Three days suspension.  Plus a paper on the importance of not holding things for others."
 
"Three days?"
 
Elaine holds up her hand. "Three days suspension or expulsion. Even you should see the opportunity I'm giving him.  He could go to the prison school."
 
I know when not to pick a fight.  This is what they call a plea bargain agreement in the legal world.  It's actually very lenient and probably one of the nicest things Elaine Buckley has ever done.
 
"I would say it's been a pleasure to see you again, but, let's be honest, we both know I'd be lying."
 
"Good bye, Miranda.  Make sure that boy keeps his nose clean.  Next time I won't be such a softy."
 
She sends for them and after a few minutes they return to the office.
 
"Let's go."  I put my hand on his shoulder and lead him to the door.  "Elaine." I nod curtly as she stands there with her hands on her hips.
 
"Miranda."
 
There are no warm fuzzy feelings as we step outside into the dazzling sunshine just a dragon and her two minions watching us from behind the glass doors.
 
To be continued...
 
 
 

Author Notes This is the continuation of a larger piece of work.


Chapter 14
Break Down (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley, has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.  She is just getting used to things when his school calls.  When she goes down there to find out what the problem is, she comes face to face with her ex mother-in-law. ***
 
 
 
My hands are shaking by the time I get to the car.  I want a gun and one bullet, but I'd settle for a cigarette and a beer.   Of all people to come face to face with.  Why did it have to be her?
 
I can't tell you how many uncomfortable Thanksgiving dinners I had to sit through. How thankful can you be sitting across the table from someone who hates your guts. There was really no reason for her to hate me.  I put up with her damn son who ran around town humping anything with a pulse.  For nine years I turned the other cheek until I had whiplash. 
 
My fingers wrap tightly around the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white.  I'm trying those calming breathing exercises and I can feel my blood pressure still just amping up.  If you know me, then you know that I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut on a good day.  Today is not a good day.
 
"Miranda, I'm sorry about the knife."
 
Even though I can hear him, all I can do is think about that smug woman who had managed to ruin consecutive Thanksgivings and now my morning.  "Mother fucker!" I scream.
 
Waylon reaches for the door handle.  His hand frantically lighting on every spot except the actual handle.  "I'm sorry.  Geez, I'm so sorry. "
 
Once the dirty little words are out I take a couple of those cleansing breaths and I can speak.  "I'm not mad at you.  I'm mad at myself for letting us get mixed up with Aaron and that stupid truck of his.  I'm mad at Aaron for putting it in your backpack and I'm mad at Elaine Buckley.  I hated her then and I hate her now."
 
"Was she your principal, too?"
 
"No.  It's worse.  I was related to her."
 
"How?"
 
"That mean old dried up prune was my mother-in-law."
 
"You were married?"
 
"I sure was.  I'm gonna give you some advice, kid.  Don't ever get married."
 
"To someone you don't love? "
 
"Just don't."
 
"I don't understand.  Who shouldn't I get married to?" Waylon is frowning, confused and still slightly traumatized by my outburst.
 
"Don't get married.  Period.  Live with them.  Travel with them.  Do puzzles together.  Just don't get married."
 
"Did she boss you around?  She stands in the hall bossing us around.  Acts like her poop doesn't stink."
 
"Every Christmas, she'd buy me some damn frumpy turtleneck sweater.  Every year.  Did she ever see me wearing a turtleneck sweater?  No.  No she did not.  That was her subtle way of telling me that my boobs were too big.  Her words were "they're distracting"."
 
I happen to glance over and he's smiling.  Probably because we are both dismantling his principal. 
 
"What'd you say?"
 
I smile, thinking back to that final Christmas.  I had my unopened gift in my lap.  I had already told Farley that if I opened another crappy turtleneck, I was gonna go off on his mother.  She was sitting in the wing back chair, her legs twisted to the side like she was in the British monarchy.  I could see the look of pure enjoyment come to her pointed face as I started tearing the paper.  Thats when I knew it was another sweater.
 
"Just thought this would cover those up.  People won't take you serious in this world.  Not when they're distracted by those things."
 
"For crying out loud, Elaine.  They're boobs.  Boobs, tits, ta-tas, fun balloons, breasts, or whatever you want to call them.  They are not things.  You have them, Elaine.  You have tits.  Surely you've noticed."
 
"I just think that if you covered them up, people would take you seriously."
 
"If someone doesn't take me seriously because I have big boobs, that says more about them than me.  That's just my humble opinion, Elaine."
 
"It's Christmas Eve and here you are in a blouse that barely covers them.  I just think it's inappropriate." 
 
I toss the box to the side, cover the ground between us in three very aggressive steps.  I lean down, making sure that my arms put enough pressure on the sides of my distracting mounds, to pop a button that would shoot off with enough force to go clear through Elaine Buckley's skull.  "Why on earth would I cover these voluptuous works of art?"
 
Elaine had probably never seen cleavage quite like that before.  She bolted out of the living room.  I know my father-in-law was impressed because it took him five minutes before he realized his wife was gone.
 
Waylon is still waiting to hear more.  "You tell her off?"
 
"We came to an understanding."
 
"Ha!  I can't wait to tell her I know what a crappy mother-in-law she was."
 
"No.  Waylon, this was a once in a lifetime thing.  Do not cross that woman.  You stay under the radar from now on.  She has already promised me that shes watching you."
 
"Okay, okay.  Geez.  What are we gonna tell Aaron about his knife?"
 
"He can come get it, if he wants to."
 
"I like him.  He's fun."
 
I shake my head.  "I want you to steer clear of him.  I know he's a nice guy, but -," I say, unsure how to tell Waylon I don't trust him but Waylon cuts me off.
 
"He said you're hot."
 
"Geezus.  I must really be a magnet."
 
"What are you talking about?"
 
"Someone who attracts a certain type of person."
 
Thankfully, he just shrugs.  Doesn't ask what type is magnetized to me.  He taps the passenger side window.  "I think they want us to leave."
 
The resource officer is standing outside now.  Arms folded across his chest, legs spread like he's some big dog bad ass.
 
I should just put the car in drive and pull off but we all know I can't do that.  I tell Waylon to roll down the window and I motion him over.
 
"Now, you make sure you tell Sheriff Taylor that I said hey.  Take care of yourself, Barney."
 
Waylon covers his face with his hands as the resource officer sputters, trying to respond.  
 
I drive Waylon home and let him into the trailer.  "Do some schoolwork so you don't fall too far behind.  I won't be home until after nine so you're on your own for dinner."
 
I get to the bottom of the steps when I hear him.  "You were pretty cool today."
 
And hearing those five words was worth facing the dragon.
 
 
To be continued ...
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 15
The Surprise (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   A pretty bad day, to say the least.  While preparing to go back to work, she gets a phone call from Waylon's school telling her to come down there.  A weapon has been found in his possession, which is bad news, but it gets worse when she comes face to face with her ex-mother-in-law.  Now, after a long day, all she wants is to sip a cold beer on her porch.  But very rarely does Miranda's life go according to plan.***
 
 
 
 
I pull into the parking lot of The Little Eagle Gas and Go about thirty seconds before my shift is to begin.  I can see Matt standing at the counter, craning his thick neck  while he fumes that I'm not five minutes early. 
 
I push through the double doors and he's frowning at me.
 
"You're almost late.  Not a good idea when I'm giving you a second chance like this."
 
"There's no such thing as almost late.  I'm on time.  And, I'm the one giving you a second chance, not the other way around.  So, mind your manners, Matt."
 
I scan the store.  No Rita.  "Where's your coworker?"
 
"She's in the back.  Restocking the cooler."
 
"So, what have I missed?" I walk around the counter to grab my vest and pull it on.
 
"Not much.  I hear you're dating again."
 
Turning around, I shake my head.  "Really?  So, who am I dating ?"
 
"Some dude named Aaron."  Matt props one butt cheek on the counter and grins.
 
"He's my neighbor.  I'm not dating him.  Who the hell told you that? "
 
"Missy.  She was in here this morning.  Said the two of you were making goo-goo eyes at each other."
 
The thought of making goo-goo eyes at anyone makes me cringe, but the thought of making goo-goo eyes at Aaron Earl makes me nauseous. 
 
"And you bought it?" I can't help but laugh.
 
"You aren't denying it."
 
"You must be one gullible son of a bitch to believe anything that comes out of that girl's mouth."
 
"I'm not gullible.  Rita was eating it up.  I just thought it was funny."
 
"Ok.  Cause it sounded like you believed it."
 
Rita comes out from the back.  She runs up and hugs me.  "Oh, thank goodness you're back.  I don't think I could take another day of," she says, pausing when she notices Matt is not quite two feet away. "Another day of not seeing your beautiful face."
 
Matt sighs heavily and pushes himself up.  "I'm going on home now.  See ya, Miranda."
 
"See ya."
 
Rita watches as he walks out of the store then a cascade of words comes tumbling out.  "So, who's this new guy.  I heard he's real cute and real young.  What's his name?  I can't remember what Missy said it was.   He's tall, at least, Missy said he was.  Missy said he reminds her of Heath Ledger.  I can't wait to see him."
 
"Whoa.  Slow down.  He's my neighbor.  End of story.  We are not dating."
 
Rita looks crestfallen. "You and he aren't, you know, together?"
 
"No.  Look, I know you think Missy Toblerone is fabulous, but she's a liar.  She always has been and always will be."
 
Rita slowly nods her head.  "And, there's no possibility that the two of you might end up together?"
 
"Absolutely not."
 
"Okay.  I'm just glad you're back."
 
Seems out of character for me, but I've missed The Little Eagle Gas and Go.  I belong here.
 
 
                    ***********
 
Waylon has pulled the cushions off the couch and put them in his new room.  I tell him I'll find a futon this weekend and he can still sleep on the couch until then, but he seems excited to curl up in his new space.
 
I leave him to enjoy his new found privacy.  I carry my beer to the porch and sit down on the top step.  The sky is peppered with a thousand stars and a sliver of moon gives very little light.  But it's cool and quiet.   Not too many people outside at ten p.m.  
 
There is one person outside.  He's standing on the gravel covered road just at the edge of his lot.  I feel him looking over.  
 
"Nice night," Aaron calls.
 
"Unhuh."
 
"Would it be okay if I came on over?"
 
I lift my beer, ready to take a sip.  "Well, Aaron, you're creeping me out just standing in the dark and staring."
 
"I'm afraid you're mad at me."
 
"I'm wary of you."
 
"You're what?"
 
"Wary. I'm wary of you."
 
"I can't hear you, Miranda.  Can I come over there or not?"
 
I take two healthy sips before answering.   "Yes.  You can come over."
 
Aaron stops at the bottom of the steps.  "You're mad at me, aren't you? "
 
"I'm suspicious.  You seem like a nice kid.  But things just don't add up with you, Aaron."
 
"Sounds like you're mad."
 
I tilt my head to study him.  I've never really taken the time to look at him.  I don't see the Heath Ledger angle.  He's a skinny twenty something who has a little boy's smile.  He's nervous around me now.  Like someone who's been scolded and is desperate to get back into my good graces.
 
"Are you selling?"
 
"You mean drugs, don't you?"
 
"Yes.  I mean drugs."
 
"Hand on the Bible, no."
 
I look past him to where his two trucks are parked.  "Do both of those trucks have car payments?"
 
"Not really.  The white one I got in high school.   And you know where I got the other one."
 
"You have to pay rent for the trailer and the lot.  Utilities.  Insurance on both trucks.  You always seem to have weed and beer. I just don't see how you can afford it."
 
"I have a job."
 
"Dougie said you work about 30 hours a week as a gopher for a construction company.  Is that true or was he bullshitting me?"
 
"It's complicated. "
 
"Forget it, Aaron.  I can't afford to get mixed up with anything sketchy.  And I'm not gonna let Waylon get sucked in either. "
 
Aaron shoves his hands in his jeans. "Come on, Miranda.  I'm not sketchy.  I'd never do anything to hurt either of y'all. "
 
"You already have.  That damn knife of yours fell out of his backpack at school.  He's out on suspension until Thursday."
 
Aaron groans. "Oh my God. I'm sorry."
 
"Your knife is at Patterson High.  If you want it back."
 
Aaron looks over his shoulder towards his trailer.   "If I show you something, do you promise not to think less of me?"
 
"I doubt it's possible, Aaron."
 
"Good.  Come with me." He holds out his hand but I ignore it.  Leading me over to his trailer he pauses at the front door.  "It's a little messy.  The maid doesn't come until Thursday."
 
"What a coincidence, that's when my girl comes, too."
 
He opens the door and steps aside.  I can't believe what I'm seeing.  
 
"What the hell, Aaron?  Am I missing something?"
 
"I wasn't exactly truthful with Dougie.  I guess I didn't trust him very much."
 
The trailer is incredible.  A white leather couch is lined up against the wall.  A plush carpet anchors the matching leather chairs and a hand carved coffee table sits in front of the couch.  "Surprise."
 
"How can you afford this?"
 
"I'm rich.  My dad retired from the construction business and split the business between me and my older brother, Dale.  We both work about thirty to thirty-five hours and my mom does the books."
 
I lean back against the door frame.  "Aaron, you're a piece of work. "
 
"So are you, Miranda.  It's why we get along."
 
 
 
To be continued ...
 
 
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 16
Help Needed (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired, and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   It's been tough but things are finally starting to settle down.  Her neighbor, Aaron, confides in her that he's rich and really didn't trust a lot of people with that information.  Now, he is asking for her help.***
 
 
 
 
 
Aaron reaches over to turn on the lights.  I feel like I'm being pranked right now.  This modern chandelier lights up and I can see more of the room.  There is an electric fireplace with a dark wooden surround.  
 
"Dougie never knew you were rich, hunh?"  I can't help but laugh.  Dougie was a user of people.  A self-serving user.  I bet he would have left Waylon with Aaron had he known Aaron's  situation.
 
"Dougie was nice enough but," he says, letting his voice trail off.
 
"Say no more." I look at some pictures that are framed and hanging on the wall.  One catches my attention.  It's a candid shot of two boys both in their early teens.  It has to be Aaron and his brother.  "Is that you?"
 
He crinkled his nose.  "I was fourteen.  Dale and I had just won the Sunfish race at the yacht club."
 
"Oh, the Yacht Club."  
 
"Come on, Miranda.  Don't be like that.  I'm not like that anymore."
 
I nudge him playfully.  "Just giving you shit, Aaron.   If you live like this, why would you say my place was cozy?  Is that a rich person's way of saying it's a dump.  Cause if it is, I'm okay with it.  It is a dump."
 
Aaron shakes his head.  "Noooo.  Your place feels like a home.  I like it.  My mom did all this.  When I moved out she was devastated that I bought a trailer.  I wanted to get stuff from the thrift store.  Maybe build my own coffee table. But she took it upon herself to fix it up.  So, what you see here, all this, is her."
 
"She has style."
 
"Can I ask you something?"
 
"Shoot."
 
"Do I come off as an idiot?"
 
What to do, what to do?  Should I lie?  Should I tell him he reminds me of a big dumb puppy?  I'm not good at lying.  "Well, you don't come off as a business owner who lives  here."
 
"What does that mean?"
 
"It means that you, well, you just don't seem like someone who would run a successful business."
 
"So, you think I'm stupid."
 
"For crying out loud.  I'm not saying you're an idiot, but you sure do act like you're in left field sometimes."
 
"I don't like what I do.  Mainly, cause everybody thinks it was handed to me.  I guess it was, but I do have a lot of responsibilities.  I just don't like the construction business."  
 
"So, sell your half to your brother.  Does he like it?"
 
"Not as much as my dad but a lot more than me."
 
I glance at the stove and see the clock.  Ive been here for almost thirty minutes.
 
"Ok, Aaron.  I've got to go."
 
He reaches out impulsively.  "Will you help me?  I really want to go back to Haynes Pond.  I got a friend who can give us scuba equipment so that we can go back down.  I just can't do it alone.  I'm sure Waylon will be up for it.  But I'd like for you to be there.  You don't have to so much as touch the water.   It would just mean a lot to me, having you there."
 
It's hard to say no to someone who looks like they just might start bawling if you do say no.  "I'll think about it."
 
He starts to look excited.
 
"Pump the brakes, Aaron.  I didn't say no, but I didn't say yes, either.  I need to think about it."
 
"Thanks, Miranda.  You're as smart as you are pretty."
 
I turn away quickly, before he can see my face.  This is just what I need.  A confused, rich, younger guy fawning over me.  It really doesn't sound that bad once I think about it, but I've never been the type of girl to fall for a guy with a wad of cash. Besides, this is Aaron Earl we're talking about.  Until about thirty minutes ago, I envisioned a roadside couch and couple of crates for side tables in here.  And I never thought I'd ever hear the words yacht club come from his mouth.
 
"I'll walk you home," he says.
 
"I'm good.  Just watch me from the porch."
 
"I don't mind."
 
"I know you don't.   But, like I said, I'm good."
 
I'll be the first to admit it.  I can be kind of judgemental.   I had written Aaron off as a doped up hippie.  One minute he's acting stupid over a sunken car in Haynes Pond, the next he's showing me around his palatial trailer, and the next he's acting all star crossed lover on me.  The kid is a puzzle.
 
 
Waylon is laying back on the cushions, craning his neck to watch television.  "So, where you been?"  he says.
 
"Aaron had to show me something."
 
"Uh huh."  He stretches and tugs his sheet and blanket up around his neck. "Night."
 
"You want me to turn off the TV? "
 
"Yeah, thanks."
 
I turn it off.  Lock the door to the trailer then turn down the living room lights.  I think about the fancy chandelier in Aaron's place as I look up at my boob light.  You know the kind I'm talking about.  Looks like a naked boob hanging from the ceiling.
 
I turn on the shower and close the bathroom door.  My reflection looks back at me.  "Hey, dummy.  Some rich, kinda cute young guy is interested in you.  What's wrong with you?" she says. 
 
"Nothing's wrong.  I've got a lot going on.  Besides, it's only been a little over two weeks since Dougie and I split."
 
"You mean since he dumped you." My reflection can be a real bitch it seems.
 
"Sure.  Since he dumped me.  I just can't go there."
 
"The kid waited up for you, did you notice that?"
 
"Hmmm. He did, didn't he?"
 
"You know what your problem is, Miranda?"
 
"No, but it sounds like you're gonna tell me all about it."
 
"You are so focused on your pre-conceived notions that you can't see the forest for the trees."
 
"Okay, what the hell does that mean?"
 
"It means take a chance and help Aaron."
 
I step under the warm spray and close my eyes.  What could it hurt to go back to Haynes Pond?  It would give Waylon something to focus on other than the fact his deadbeat dad hasn't returned any of his calls.
 
But Haynes Pond will have to wait.  I have to get through the rest of the week.  And lately, my weeks have been a little bit bumpy.
 
 
To be continued ...
 
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 17
What am I Thinking Now (Miranda

By GWHARGIS

***So far: Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired, and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.  Everywhere she turns life is giving her lemons.  There is only one thing to do.  Make the biggest pitcher of lemonade the world has ever seen.  Last night, her neighbor, Aaron Earl, let her in on a little known fact.  He isn't a shiftless bum.  Rather, he's fairly wealthy and then he asked for her help.  Confused, Miranda went home, and her reflection in the bathroom mirror gave her a good talking to.
 
 
 
 
For some reason I dreamed about Dougie last night.  I open my eyes when I hear Waylon in the kitchen.  He's looking for something to eat, I'll bet.  I never knew teenage boys can eat a week's worth of groceries in a couple of hours. 
 
Now, I lie here, running my hand over the empty spot where Dougie used to be.  Do I miss him?  I'll have to say yes.  I've already told you how I'm not great with red flags. (Mainly when it comes to men.) But now I'm seeing all the red flags that came with Dougie Wilcox.  The fact that in not one single conversation did he ever utter the words "we".  It was always,  "Wouldn't I look great in that car."  "I'd like to go to Costa Rica."  "Miranda, run to the store and grab some beer for me."
 
My eyes burn.  What the hell is wrong with me?  I can honestly say I wasn't in love with Dougie.  And I won't kid myself and assume he was in love with me.  But we had something.  Three years of something should count.  
 
Now, Aaron is acting all puppy love about me.  My eyes burn more.  You probably think I'm about to cry.  Wrong.  Miranda Jessup Buckley doesn't cry.  No, I don't cry, I just get saltier. 
 
 
 
                 *****************
 
 
Rita is once again in a state of panic when I get in to work.
 
"He's back," she whispers, nodding her head in the direction of the coolers.
 
I don't even have to look to see who she's talking about.  I already know.  It's Ed Preston, local pervert.  This guy is crazy as shit.  Been caught playing with his personal hackey sack in the ice cream shop, the produce section at the Piggly Wiggly and the local library.  He says inappropriate things to people he doesn't think will stand up for themselves.  Boy, did he pick the wrong store today.
 
"I got this, Rita." I look around for a pair of scissors, pluck them off the counter behind me and start my trek to the coolers.
 
"What are you gonna say to him?" 
 
I smile at her, like I'm getting ready to explain something to a child.  I hold up the scissors and make a little chop chop action with them.  "I'm not gonna say anything." I head down the aisle.
 
"Ed, can I help you?"
 
He looks over.  His pale milky looking eyes doing a slow stroll over my body.  No sir, Ed, not today. 
 
He has his hand in his pocket and he's either digging frantically for change or he's doing what he's known for.  And since I don't hear any coins jingling, I'm going with the other choice.
 
He smiles.  "Bet I know what you're thinking about."
 
"I'll bet you don't."
 
"Why don't you come closer and whisper in my ear, sweetie."
 
I step closer. "You sure you want to know?"
 
He nods his head, his hand in his pocket is still steadily working. 
 
"I was thinking about  Lorena Bobbit," I whisper, my mouth just a few inches from his ear.  It is at the precise moment when the look of understanding comes to his face that I poke his crotch with the tip of the scissors.  "Now, you will take your hand out of your pocket and you will get your creepy ass out of this store or you will be tomorrow's headline. Man loses penis while playing with himself in store."
 
Ed stumbles back, frantically trying to pull his hand out of his pocket.
 
"You're a crazy bitch," he says.  "You're crazy!"
 
I wink at him and hold up the scissors. "You have no idea, Ed, no idea."
 
He finally wrenches his hand free and bolts down the aisle and out the door.
 
I return to Rita.  "Told you I'd take care of it."
 
"What did you say?"
 
"I inferred.  Told him if he didn't leave the store now I was going to make him headline news."
 
"You know what, Miranda?  When I grow up, I wanna be just like you."
 
I look over at sweet, pretty Rita, then shake my head.  "No you don't." 
 
Pump three starts messing up about thirty minutes into my shift and I can't get it back on line.  I go bag it.  The buzzer keeps sounding every thirty seconds and it's giving me a headache.
 
And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, in walks Missy Toblerone.
 
"Miranda, I thought you got fired.  I'm sure someone told me that," she says.
 
I look over to see Rita wincing guiltily.
 
"You got your job back, good for you.  What, have you got naughty pictures of your boss?"
 
"Can I help you, Missy?"
 
She purses her lips then tilts her head before speaking. "What happened to us?  We used to be best friends?"
 
"I don't like people who lie to me and about me."
 
"I never lied about you. I looked up to you.  You had that beautiful hair, you had guys drooling when you walked by.  You got caught with pot and you blamed me."
 
"It was your pot, Missy."
 
"How come you didn't tell anyone.  You could have avoided all that unfortunate mess."
 
"You could have stepped up. I wasn't a snitch."
 
"Well, I'm sorry.  Sorry you got suspended.  Sorry I was too shy to come forward."
 
"Whatever.  I've got work to do.  If you need anything, I'm sure Rita here will help you."
 
"Why don't we meet for a drink one night."
 
This woman is unbelievable.   If she thinks I'm that easy she's nuts.
 
"I'll pass.  Wouldn't want to end up in a wood chipper or something."
 
Missy smiles like a true serial killer.  "You should really watch what you say.  I like you, Miranda.  I really do.  You wouldn't want me to change my mind, now would you?"
 
I'm gonna be honest. I felt a shiver run down my back.
 
 
To be continued ...
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 18
Complaint Filed (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda has dealt with life's issues. But finding the town pervert in her place of employment, makes her take action.  After dealing with that, her nemesis comes calling. ***
 
 
 
 
Missy stands there looking at me like she's waiting on a hug or something.  "We have history, you and I.  And we used to have such a good time hanging out."
 
"That was close to twenty years ago.  People change.  I've changed.  You, you have definitely changed."
 
"I'm rich.  You're going to hold that against me?"
 
"Yeah, sure, we'll pretend that's where I was going with that."
 
"We have more in common now than we ever have."
 
I glance over at Rita who is watching all of this like it's the Movie of the Week.  "Missy, the only thing we have in common is that we both still think boot cut jeans are in style."
 
"What?"
 
"They aren't.   They haven't been in years."
 
That crazy smile creeps back on her face.  "You think I'm going to give up but I'm not.   I'm gonna win back my very best friend."
 
Silver dollars could have fit inside Rita's eye sockets.  She looks after Missy as she walks out of the store then she spins around to me.  "Shit, Miranda, she ain't playing around.  That girl right there is a narcissist. "
 
"English, please."
 
"It means she is someone who uses people.  She will treat you like crap and when you call her on it, she will say it's all your fault.  She will play the victim.  People like her are emotional vampires."
 
Her words aren't helping alleviate the unsettled feeling I have been experiencing since she walked in.  "So, tell me, Dr. Phil, what do I do?"
 
"I have no idea.  Just don't piss her off."
 
I'm getting ready to go put clean liners in the trash bins when I see the blue lights of Patterson County's finest turning into the parking lot.
 
"What the hell now?"
 
Sheriff Mitch climbs out of his squad car and slowly adjusts his hat.
 
I push the door open with my hip and nod.  "Coffee and donut emergency?"
 
"You're just who I'm here to see."
 
"Me?  What have I done now?"  Of course, I'm joking.  Other than a speeding ticket or four, I'm a model citizen.
 
"Someone has filed a complaint about you."
 
"Come again?"
 
"I said that someone has filed a complaint against you."
 
"Am I supposed to guess or are you gonna share with me?"
 
Mitch puts his hands on his hips and sighs.  "Ed Preston."
 
"This is a joke, right?"
 
"He said you threatened him with a pair of scissors."
 
"And?"
 
"And?  What do you mean "and?"  You can't go around threatening to stab people with scissors.  This is what's wrong with the country today, Miranda."
 
"I respectfully disagree," I say.  "How many times has that weirdo been caught rubbing his talleywacker in public?"
 
Mitch looks away.  I know he doesn't want to be here, especially at the prompting of Ed Preston.  "Jeez, don't call it that."
 
"Talleywacker?  What should I call it?  And answer the question.  How many times has he been caught?"
 
"Five or six times.  But that's beside the point.  You threatened to stab him.  You can't do that.  You can't. "
 
"For the record.  I didn't threaten him.  I might have poked him in the talley-, oh that's right, I'm not supposed to call it that.  I poked him in the crotch and told him to get his ass out of the store."
 
"Call me the next time he comes in.  If he files another complaint against you, I'll have to follow through."
 
"You have a teenage daughter, don't you, Mitch?"
 
He nods.  "Two."
 
"What are you gonna do if Ed visits their place of employment?"
 
"I guess my body cam will suddenly stop working."
 
"That's what I thought.  Now, go on inside and grab a coffee and a donut.  It's on me."
 
"Thanks.  I'll file this as a misunderstanding.  That sound good?"
 
"Sounds good to me."  I turn away and busy myself with the trash bins until Mitch comes back out.
 
"Got a sec?"  I ask, walking towards his car.
 
"So long as you don't utter the word talleywacker, sure."
 
"Has there been any new leads in the Justin Toblerone case?"
 
"There is no case, Miranda."
 
"So, a healthy thirty-three-year old man disappears and no one is suspicious?"
 
"People leave town all the time.  It's called freedom."
 
"He's not contacted anyone in two and a half years.  Left a mansion.  Took no money with him.  Do people do that all the time?"
 
"No.  They don't.   But his wife said he'd been acting odd and distant for quite some time."
 
I laugh. "And you bought that?  Have you met her?  She's certifiable."
 
"Miranda, worry about yourself.  Let the police do whatever they need to do.  But in this case, there isn't anything to do."  He opens his door and starts to sit down.  "Thanks for the coffee and muffin.  And remember, if you see Ed Preston, call me."
 
I muster up a smile and wave as he backs up.  Surrounded by nuts lately and I'm the one who gets a visit from the police.  Our tax dollars at work.
 
 
To be continued ...
 
 
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 19
The Watcher (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda has been talked to by police for threatening the town pervert.  She has a former high school friend who is hell bent on rekindling their friendship.  With her co-worker, Rita's warning in the back of her mind, Miranda finds herself looking over her shoulder frequently. ****
 
 
 
 
I go into the back office and look at the surveillance cameras.  I'm checking for two faces.  Neither welcome here.  One is a nuisance.  The other is a bigger problem.
 
Now, if you know anything about me, you know I don't get flustered easily.  Rita was pretty knowledgeable about the whole psycho-babble thing.  I pressed her for more information and even had her check out stuff on her phone.  So much of the stuff that happened between Missy and me throughout high school fit the description.  She made sure I knew she was smarter than me.  She had the uncanny talent to kiss up to teachers and others, whereas, I never had the ability to fake them out because my face ratted me out.
 
Rita knocks on the door.   "What are you doing?"  Her eyes flicker to the desk.  She probably thought I was doing some orders, but the desk top is clear.
 
"I'm puzzled."
 
"About?"
 
"Why after all this time, Missy is chatting me up?"
 
"Maybe she's just lonely.  She doesn't really have anybody now that Justin has gone missing."
 
"Then she should have thought about that before she killed him."
 
Before Rita has the chance to say it, I correct myself.
 
"Allegedly killed him."
 
Rita glances behind her, checking to see if any customers are nearby.
 
"Do you really think she killed Justin?"
 
"Let's put it this way.  I don't think he's sunning himself on a beach in the Cayman Islands. "
 
Rita rubs her hands over her arms as if chilled.  "I sure do hope you're wrong.  No offense."
 
I look back at the monitor.  "I hear ya."
 
When Rita goes back out to tend the register, I close the door and pick up the phone and dial the number to home.  It rings four times before Waylon answers. 
 
"Hello."
 
"Hey, just checking in.  Are you bored yet?"
 
"How can anyone be bored when there is the Price is Right, The Young and Restless and The Bold and the Beautiful?"  He says with a flatness to his voice.  
 
"Done any schoolwork?"
 
"Some.  What time do you get off?"
 
"You won't see me until ten tonight.  Listen, do me a favor and just make sure the door to the trailer is locked.  And don't answer it.  If anyone comes knocking."
 
"Okay, that's weird and random."
 
"It is.  Sorry.  Just had an issue earlier and I'm a little on edge."  I don't get an answer so now I'm afraid I've spooked the kid. "I'm just being paranoid.  Just lock up for me."
 
"Okay.  What do I do about dinner?"
 
"You fix yourself something.  Didn't figure I'd have to explain that to you."  I'm joking and I think I hear a stifled laugh.  "There are frozen dinners in the freezer.  Peanut butter in the cabinet, there's a few packets of Ramen in the cabinet over the microwave."
 
"Ok."
 
"Lock up.  I'll see you tonight."
 
 
             *******************
 
 
It's a slow night tonight.  Any normal day I'd enjoy the quiet.  But today has taken its toll on me.  First, Mr. Talleywacker then Mrs. Alleged Murderer then Officer Mitch.  How much can one girl take in a day?  Now, I'm finding myself scanning the parking lot and double checking the door that leads out back for the third time.
 
"Miranda," I say to myself.  "You are tougher than this.  How dare you let these weirdos put you on edge.  Go gather the trash and get ready to count down the till.  You're thinking like a helpless woman.  You are a force.  A force to be reckoned with."  I do give myself the best pep talks.
 
The last words are just out of my mouth when the bells on the door chime.  In walks a tourist.  And do you know how I know it's a tourist?  He is wearing a Patterson Surf's Up t-shirt.  No local would be caught dead in that.
 
"Evening.   Enjoying your vacation?"
 
He smiles at me with a hint of surprise on his face.
 
"Where are you from?"
 
"Ohio."  
 
"That's a hike from here."
 
"Just eleven hours.  Not bad."
 
I look out to see what kind of car he's in and if he's at one of the pumps.  He's just here for beverages apparently because he's pulled up in front of the store.  I look past his car and squint.  I can see the front end of a car sticking out just past the dumpster.
 
My stomach does a weak flip.  No trash tonight, Miranda.  Not on your life.  Well, really, not on my life.  
 
Mr. Ohio brings up two six packs.  He looks of age but I still ask for ID.  He hands it over, looks around while I do the math and finally takes a breath when I tell him he's good to go.
 
I follow him to the door and lock it close on his heels.  I scan the parking lot.  The car behind the dumpster is gone.
 
I write up today's receipts, stow the bank bag in the small safe behind the desk in the office.  Quickly, I check the monitors.  The only car in the parking lot is mine.
 
I scribble a note to leave on the front counter.  "Sorry about the trash.  See you tomorrow, Miranda."
 
A good night's sleep is all I need.  I just need to get home, have a beer, a shower and close my eyes.  
 
I pull the door to the office closed and I lock it.  That's when I hear the doorknob to the back door.  Someone is turning it.
 
 
To be continued ...
 
 
 
 
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 20
Welcome the Calm (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda has been jilted, fired, and left to take care of a child that isn't hers.  Everytime she gets her footing back, life throws another curve ball at her.  Today she confronted a well known local pervert at scissor point. Had a visit from the infamous Missy Toblerone, then a visit from the Sherrif.  All she wants to do is go home and have a nice cold beer.  But as she is locking up the store, she hears someone rattling the back door.  ***
 
 
 
I stand stock still.  Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me.  Then I see it turning.  
 
My mind starts going over all kinds of scenarios.  You know the kind. Woman alone, robber ties her up.  She gets put in freezer to die a terrible death.  Pistol whipped and made to tearfully open the safe.  Not gonna happen.  Not tonight and not to this girl.  If there's one thing I know about myself, it's that I'm gonna go down swinging.
 
Looking around for some sort of weapon, I spot a broom, the scissors and a can of Libby peas that someone was too lazy to put back.  I drop the can of peas into a plastic bag and tie it closed.  I quickly unlock the front door, all the while looking around for the dirty son of a bitch.  If he's my size I'll charge him and hit him over the head with can.  If he's big, I'll throw it at him, hope for the best and run.
 
I slowly move towards the edge of the building.  The sound of footsteps crunching on the pavement grows louder.  I have the element of surprise on my side so when the jack ass is just about to pass by, I jump out swinging the bag with the can in it.
 
"Dammit!  What the hell are you doing?"
 
I let the bag fall on the curb beside my feet.
 
"Mitch?  What the hell am I doing?  What the hell are you doing?  I thought you were trying to break in."  My heart is thumping a mile a minute and I'm pretty sure his is too.
 
His hand briefly touches on his side arm.  "You almost assaulted an officer.  You know I could have arrested you for that. What's in that bag?"
 
"It's a can of peas."
 
"You came out armed with a can of peas?  Are you stupid?  Why the devil didn't you simply call 911?"
 
"Don't be ridiculous?  Everybody knows y'all are slow as molasses to respond."
 
After it's out of my mouth, I realize I'm not helping my case.
 
"Miranda, I know you think you're tough and you think you can handle everything by yourself, but what you just did was stupid.  Plain and simple."
 
I look down at the ground.  "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry I almost beaned you with a can of peas.  Why were you at the back door trying to get in?"
 
"I was checking to make sure the store was secure."
 
"I've never known the Sherrif's department to do that before."
 
"One of my deputies is out for a week.  He usually rolls through this area around midnight.  I'm trying to do a few of his businesses."
 
"Oh."
 
"Next time call 911."
 
"Ok."
 
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go change my uniform."  Mitch tips his hat and starts walking towards his squad car, parked in the darkened corner of the parking lot.
 
I lock the door and grab my purse off the ground where I had dropped it.  I wave at Mitch weakly as he waits for me to leave.  
 
For the twenty five minute drive, I try those relaxing deep breathing exercises.  And to my happy surprise I'm relatively calm when I pull up in front of the trailer. 
 
I'm at the door when I hear a familiar voice.  "Hey, you just getting home?"  Aaron says.  He's already in the yard.  I can smell the weed from there.
 
"Are you high?"
 
"Heck no.  Well, okay, maybe a little but not wasted."
 
"Look, Aaron, I've had an awful day.  I'm just going inside and calling it a night.  So, I'll talk to you tomorrow."
 
"I just need to ask you one thing.  Then I promise I'll leave."
 
"Sure.  What do you need to ask?"
 
"My friend will lend us the diving equipment if we plan to go look around this weekend."
 
"Let me think about it."
 
"If there was anyone else to ask, I would ask them."
 
"For one hour. That's it.  No more.  One hour."
 
His face lights up.  "Thank you, Miranda.  You have no idea what this means to me.   Saturday or Sunday?"
 
"Saturday.  One hour."
 
He turns and starts walking back.  "I got it.  We are gonna find the most amazing  stuff."
 
I step inside to find Waylon asleep.  The television is on and when I go to turn it off manually, I see the screen on his phone blinking off and on.  One missed call.  I wonder if it's Dougie.  I could check it but then that would be an invasion of privacy.   And as curious as I am, I am not willing to lose what little ground I have.
 
 
To be continued ...

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 21
A Call from Dougie (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far,  Miranda has been jilted, fired, and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.  Now, she has a neighbor who needs her help, a former high school friend who is determined to get back in her good graces.  Finally home after a long day at work, she gets a phone call she was not expecting. ***
 
 
 
I look out the window to see if Aaron is still standing out there.  Luckily, he got the hint when I turned off the porch light. I really just need to sit down with a beer and enjoy the quiet.  I go over to the fridge and pull out one of Dougie's high dollar kind. 
 
Dougie wasn't really good at sharing.  No, that's not entirely true.  He was great at sharing what was yours. He did not do well with sharing what he thought was his.  Like I would bring home a six pack of his favorite imported beer.  I went and got it.  I paid for it.  He drank it.  If I tried to get one out of the fridge, he would quickly remind me that there were other beers to choose from and these were his.
 
I pop the top off the bottle on the edge of the counter top.  I lift it to my lips and take a healthy swallow.  It is cold and rich and goes down easy.  I walk back over to the window to peek out.  No Aaron, so I open the door and step out onto the porch.  I'm about to sit down on the top step when my house phone rings.
 
"Dammit."
 
I rush back inside to answer it because I don't want it to wake up Waylon.
 
"Hello?"  I say, walking back outside with the phone.
 
"Uh, hey.  It's me."
 
My heart does this weird pubescent flutter.  It's Dougie.  And, yes, I know I said I wasn't in love with him and he wasn't in love with me, but he was a big part of my life for three years and some change.  There was a powerful physical chemistry between us.  So, love or not, the sound of his voice stirred something inside of me.
 
"Well, this is a surprise.   What's the occasion?"
 
"Just checking on my boy."
 
"Really.  It's only been, what, three weeks.  You're kind of acting like a hover dad."
 
"Very funny, Randa.  Is he doing okay?"
 
That stirring feeling is gone. "You want to talk to him?  I can get him for you."
 
"No.  I'll call him tomorrow."
 
"Sure you will.  Look, Doug,  call him tomorrow.  If you don't, I will personally make it my mission to make your life a living hell."
 
"Still feisty," he says.  
 
"He's tried calling you and you won't answer."
 
"I get busy."
 
"You can find time to talk to your own kid.  Don't be an ass, Dougie."
 
"Okay.  I'll call.  But I need to ask you another favor."
 
Funny thing is, I already know what he's gonna ask.  He isn't coming to get Waylon.  I feel it in my gut.  Honestly, felt it from the first day Dougie skipped town.  He was done with us.  Not just tired of me.  He was over being Waylon's father.
 
"Yes."
 
"I haven't asked you anything yet."
 
"Yes, Waylon can stay with me.  You were gonna ask me that.  Weren't you?"
 
"Randa, you know me too well.  I'll make it up to you.  When I come back into town, yes ma'am.  I'll show you just how appreciative I am."
 
I roll my eyes.  "For raising, feeding and looking out for your kid, I think I'm due more than a mediocre three minutes of slap and tickle."
 
"Excuse me?"
 
"Oh, come on.  What you lacked in endurance, you made up for in bragging."
 
He starts to sputter.  "You know, I'm glad I'm gone.  You're a bitter bitch."
 
"You know what, Dougie?  I'm glad you're gone, too.  Now, call your damn kid tomorrow."
 
I don't wait for a pathetic comeback.  Don't bother with goodbye.  I just click the disconnect button.  I lift the bottle and finish it in one steady gulp. 
 
 
   
                   **************
 
Aaron is knocking on the trailer door at eight a.m. on Saturday morning.
 
I squint at the alarm clock and groan.  He's crazy if he thinks I'm going to nasty Haynes Pond this early in the morning. 
 
The banging continues.  I hear Waylon groan and mumble something as he goes to the front door.
 
"Hey, y'all need to get up and get ready to go.  I got the truck all loaded up.  I'm gonna run to the gas station and fuel up, grab us some drinks and snacks then I'll get some biscuits from Patterson Deli.  You like bacon or sausage?"
 
Waylon mumbles his response and closes the door.
 
"Hey, I'm gonna take a quick shower and get dressed."
 
Waylon looks over at me as I walk to the bathroom.  "I just don't understand how people can be that excited in the morning."  
 
"You mean Aaron?  He thinks we're gonna find something."
 
"What happens if we do find something?  If that guy is still in the car, we can't just drag him to the surface.  You can't just take a skeleton out of wherever you find it."
 
"If we do, or y'all do find something, we call the authorities."
 
"The police?  The guy would have been dead for years.  No crime involved."
 
"We call the authorities.  Now, get dressed and remember to bring some extra clothes to change into."
 
True to his word, Aaron comes back with a bag of biscuits.  By nine fifteen we are buckling up and on our way.
 
"Aaron, you did remember to bring extra clothes to change into, didn't you?  I can't take seeing you in your tighty whiteys ever again."
 
"Got clothes, water to rinse off with.  Snacks and drinks."
 
"Is your friend gonna show y'all how to use the equipment?"
 
"Yep.  This is gonna be so freaking cool," he says.  His smile nearly splits his face in two.  "And I can't think of two people I'd rather share it with."
 
"I just hope you aren't building your hopes up.  Might not be anything there.  Might not even be your uncle's car."
 
Aaron grins. "You sound like my dad.  He told me I was wasting my time.  Said if I put as much energy into the business as I do with weird shit, I might be successful."  
 
Though his smile never wavers, I realize that Aaron wants what we all want.  
 
He just wants to be loved.
 
 
To be continued ...
 
 
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work. Gretchen


Chapter 22
Fool on a Washer (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley, has been jilted, fired, and left to raise her ex-lover's child.   Now, after a very rough day at work, she finds herself supervising Aaron and Waylon as they dive in Haynes Pond. ***
 
 
 
 
The biscuit is good but very flaky and I feel bad that I am getting crumbs all in Aaron's new truck.  It is a fully loaded, top of the line vehicle.  Dougie had a nice truck but nothing compared to this.
 
"You ready for this," Aaron says, looking around me to speak with Waylon.  
 
"Miranda says we have to call the police if we find a skeleton."
 
Aaron looks at me quizzically.
"Why?"
 
"Why not?  What are your plans for it, if you do find one?"
 
"I don't know.  Haven't thought about that.  I mainly want to get down there to see if the liquor is in the car.  That could be worth a fortune."
 
I cock an eyebrow.  "For real?  You think liquor in rusted top Mason jars at the bottom of Haynes Pond, is gonna make you a millionaire?  Aaron Earl, you need a new retirement plan. "
 
"I'm hoping we find a dead body," Waylon says quietly.
 
I nudge Waylon because the dead body in question is related to Aaron.  And, even though they never met, family is family.
 
"Guy said he'd meet us down here," Aaron says as he pulls down the narrow dirt road that runs along side of Haynes Pond.   
 
Aaron puts it in park then looks at me.  "You know, we make a pretty good team.  Waylon and me are the brawn and you're the brains."
 
I choke back a laugh.  "You need higher standards, Aaron.  If I'm the brains, you are in trouble."
 
"You're one of the smartest people I know.  Maybe not book smart, but people like that are suckers.  You, you're smart.  You don't fall for stuff.  You're a great judge of character."
 
An image of Farley and then Dougie go dancing through my mind.
 
"Thanks."
 
He turns to look behind us.  "Good, he's here."
 
Both he and Waylon scramble like two hound dogs at feeding time, out of the truck.  I am reluctant to leave the mosquito-free cab.  But I realize if this guy is giving important information to the two of them, someone needs to be paying attention. Since I am the newly anointed "brains" of the group, I better live up to that.
 
 
Ten minutes of instruction and Guy leaves.  He either thinks those two are completely competent or he thinks he's a gifted teacher.  I don't share his opinion.
 
"Are y'all gonna set up hand signals to communicate?"
 
Aaron smiles knowingly at Waylon.  "That's why she's the brains."
 
He scrunches his nose as he's thinking.  "Okay, obviously thumbs up is yes.  Thumbs down is no.  What else do we need?"
 
"How about help?" I say.
 
"Miranda, what could go wrong."
 
"Best case scenario ... nothing.  Anything. Or worst case ... everything."
 
"How about we pretend to choke ourselves."  Waylon grins like this is a big silly game.
 
I reach over and grab his arm. "Hey.  The only reason I agreed to this idiotic idea was because I thought you were responsible enough and taking it seriously. So, you have five seconds to come up with a signal, a serious signal for help, or I'm pulling the plug on this."
 
His face goes serious then pouty.  "Fine.  How about fist and hand wrapped around wrist."
 
"That's better.  Now y'all have one hour.  No more, preferably less.  Go on."
 
They pull the rubber fins on and start their awkward trek into the muck.
 
I want to go back and settle into the truck but I know I'll lose my mind if I can't keep an eye on them.  Warily, I look towards the brush and thicket that blocked the otherside of the bank.
 
"And to think, I used to laugh at soccer moms for wasting their time.  Who's laughing now, Randa?  Not you."
 
It's a quicker pass through the overgrown brush this time.  I guess I cleared it out a little the last time.  Only a few scratches this time.  I look around for a place to sit.  There's all sorts of junk around.  A refrigerator with no door, an office chair, a washer with the lid duct taped shut.  Even a couch.  I opt to sit on the washer.  I have a nice view and my feet are out of water moccasin range.
 
Aaron sends me a thumbs up and dives under.  Waylon looks towards me and raises a finger, I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt that it was his thumb.  He, too, disappears under the surface.
 
I know they have tanks of oxygen but after five minutes of no surfacing, I hop down off the washer and start pacing.
 
Four more minutes pass before Aaron pops to the surface.  "He got the trunk open!"
 
"Why's he still down there?" I holler.
 
"He's trying to get into the car."
 
"No.  No, tell him to get away from it." 
 
Aaron nods and waves as he puts his mouth piece in.  He ducks back under the surface.  After several minutes more, he comes up and hollers they are making more progress.  Submerged yet again and stays under for what seems like ten minutes.  And for all I know, it could have been.  Waylon comes up and waves at me like we are suddenly best friends.  Then he slips back into the murky water.
 
Twenty seconds later, both Aaron and Waylon come splashing to the surface.  They're both swimming towards me.  
 
"What's wrong?"
 
"Waylon found another car down there.  It wasn't just my uncle's car that went down when the bridge broke.  Someone else went down too."  Aaron leans over, putting his hands on his knees.  "My granddad never mentioned that."
 
"Cause it was the fuzz," Waylon says.
 
Aaron shakes his head.  "It's cause he didn't know.  They thought my dad's uncle was alone when the bridge collapsed.  He was getting chased.  I'll bet that's a Fed in that car."
 
I look out at the spot they've been diving around.  It's so calm yet underneath it's a secret graveyard.
 
"I know you said an hour, but please can we have some more time.  You don't understand how important this is."
 
I want nothing more than to say no.  Time's up and I fulfilled my end of the bargain.  But there is a look on Aaron's face that I've never seen before.  It's a look of pure desperation.  I can't take it.
 
"Thirty minutes.  No more, no less."
 
Impulsively, Aaron kisses my cheek.
 
"Aaron," I say in surprise.
 
"You had that coming."
 
 
 
To be continued ...
 
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 23
Double Trouble (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Buckley, has been jilted, fired and left to take care of a child that belongs to her ex-lover.  Now, she is at Haynes Pond watching as her neighbor and her ex's son dive for bootleg liquor at the bottom of the pond.  She's worried about what they will find but soon discovers something horrible on shore. ***
 
 
 
Aaron and Waylon high five each other and return to the water.  As awkward as the flippers are, they both seem to have gotten the hang of walking in them.  I shake my head and walk back over to the washer.
 
"Well, Mr. Maytag washing machine, I sure hope you don't mind me popping a squat on you,"  I say as I hop up on the duct taped lid.  
 
I should have brought a book or something because this is boring.  I don't own a cell phone so I don't have entertainment at my fingertips.  What?  No cell phone?  Yep.  I know.  I'm a relic.  But I've seen how distracted people get when they have one.  Nobody just talks anymore.
 
I swat at a fly then another lands on me.  I hate bugs.  They are disgusting and spread all kinds of germs.  So, now all I can hear is that buzzing in my ear.  I swat like a maniac but the dumb things keep landing on me.  
 
The breeze picks up and it is my hope that they will leave me alone.  But with that hopeful breeze comes an odor.  Not terrible but not good.  Its like when a mouse crawls into your duct work and gets trapped.  
 
Maybe it's just the mud from the pond, but I'm pretty sure I would have smelled it on the other side.  I only noticed it now when the breeze picked up.  I sniff with a little more gusto as I try to define what it is that I'm smelling.
 
Swiveling my butt on the washer, I look at the area behind me.  The office chair, laying on its side with the guts of its padded seat spilling out, and the abandoned couch are there.  There's other random trash mixed in with the mud and weeds, but I seriously doubt any of that could create whatever it is that I'm smelling now.
 
But what I can see is a gathering of flies, all buzzing around the couch.  There is something either in, under or behind that piece of furniture.  
 
I hop down and carefully make my way over there.  I see deep holes in the mud.  Like the kind of holes where the mud sucks the shoes right off your feet.  
 
The smell is more distinct now.  Like old raw hamburger that has set out too long in the sun.  
 
"Just turn around, Randa.  You're probably gonna find a dead little deer or a bag of kittens that some heartless bastard drowned."
 
And, even though my mind is making valid points, I'm just too damn nosy to stop moving forward.
 
From where I am at this point, I don't see anything behind the couch or on it.  Which means the smell is coming from underneath.   I look down, watching flies en mass coming in and out from under it.
 
"Don't flip it over," my mind, once again, tries to appeal to my good senses.  "Go back to the washer and wait for the lovable idiots.  If you flip this over, why there could be a nest of moccasins. "
 
My hand hovers on the filthy matted material, my morbid curiosity commanding my limbs to uncover whatever it is.
 
"One, two, three."  And with that I pull the couch over jumping back as a thick black haze of flies explodes into the air.
 
When I finally open my eyes, certain that the assault of flying pests is over, I want to scream.
 
But there is no sound coming from me.
 
I stumble, my hands coming up to my mouth and nose.
 
There under the couch is a dead man.  Gray skin, almost the color of putty, eyes wide open but a whiteish covering is over them.  His mouth is open, flies go in and out freely.
 
Aaron and Waylon are calling from the pond.  "Miranda!  There's a body in the other car."
 
I slowly turn around.  I can't find my voice.  If I breathe, I'll breathe in his decay.  All I can do is to make a fist and wrap my other hand around my wrist.
 
"Shit, Waylon, she needs help," Aaron says.  "We're coming.  Hang on."
 
I feel the flies buzzing by me, snagging in my hair.  This can't be real.  Wake up dammit.  
 
"What's wrong?  You see a snake?"  Aaron says.  He pops his feet out of the flippers.  "I don't see anything."
 
"He's over there,"  I say, my voice sounds foreign and afraid.  
 
"Ugh," he gags, quickly pulling his wet shirt over his nose.  "Who ... who is that?"
 
I look back towards the body.  "It's Ed Preston."
 
Waylon tries to skirt past me, eager to see something no one should see.
 
"No.  Do not go over there.   I know you think you want to see him, but you don't."
 
He doesn't try again.  "Are you okay, Miranda?  You need to sit down?"
 
"We gotta call the police, go grab my phone from the truck,"  Aaron says.
 
"He was in my store, Aaron.  Three days ago.  I threw him out."
 
"Miranda, listen to me.  When the cops get here, please don't tell them about the cars down there.  I need to see this through.  Will you do that for me?"
 
I couldn't care less about those old cars on the bottom of the pond.  I want to know how Ed Preston wound up under a filthy couch at Haynes Pond.  And who it was that put him there.
 
Waylon comes back with the phone and a bottle of water.  "Here.  Thought you might need this."  He uncaps it for me and puts it in my hand.  "Are you gonna puke?"
 
As soon as he says it, the biscuit makes a beeline for the top of my throat.  I drop to my knees and let it go.
 
"Waylon, help her back to the truck.  Turn it on and get the a/c going."
 
"You coming?" Waylon asks.
 
"In a minute," Aaron says softly.  
 
I lean back on the headrest when we get in the truck.  The air blows cool against my clammy skin.
 
As much as I disliked Ed Preston, he was a person.  No one deserves to be dumped like trash.  Nobody.
 
 
 
To be continued ...
 
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 24
Am I a Suspect? (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired, and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   While waiting for her neighbor, Aaron and Waylon to dive and explore two cars on the bottom of the pond, Miranda stumbles on the body of the town pervert.  He's dead.  Now the police show up and they seem very interested in how she came to find him. ***
 
 
 
No matter what I look at, all I see is the vacant eyes of Ed Preston.  I feel like I can handle myself pretty well in most situations.  But this, no, this is not something I can understand.  
 
I know he was murdered.  No one would come to Haynes Pond if they were just out for a walk.  This place is a cesspool.  And, how did the couch wind up on top of him?  I want answers but I can't bear to look at him again.
 
"You want another water?" Waylon asks.  His voice is soft and gentle.
 
Shaking my head, I look over at him.  "Thanks, but I'm good."
 
"What'd he look like?"
 
I know the morbid curiosity is bound to come out but I can't deal with it now.  "I don't really want to talk about it.  Maybe later."
 
"Okay," he says.  
 
"What's Aaron doing?"
 
"He's praying over him."
 
"A little late," I mumble.
 
Waylon's lips curl up a little.  "Are you gonna throw up again?"
 
"No.  I'm good now."
 
Waylon looks behind us.  "Cops are here."
 
It's not just the Sherrif's car that pulls down the dirt road.  The county coroner and an ambulance pull in as well.
 
I lean back against the seat and close my eyes.  I wish I was somewhere else.  Anywhere else.
 
"Hey, Miranda, Aaron is talking to the cop and he's pointing over at us.  Oh, crap, he's heading over here.   He looks kinda grumpy."
 
I jump as the sound of knuckles rapping on the truck window shatters the silence.
 
"Morning, Mitch," I force myself to smile at him.
 
"God damn.  Why am I not surprised?   You are just a magnet for bad stuff.  How'd you find the body?"
 
"Turned the couch over."
 
"What made you turn it over?"
 
"Did you not smell it?  I was sitting on that washer.  Flies kept landing on me and couldn't figure out where the flies were coming from.  Then I saw there was a shit ton of them buzzing around the couch."
 
Mitch takes his hat off and wipes a bead of sweat off his brow with his forearm.  He's studying my face.  "You would have done the same thing."
 
"Miranda, I'm a cop.  I'm trained for this kind of thing.  You, you are not.  Where were your cohorts?"
 
"They were in the water."
 
He looks incredulous.   "In that water?  What in the hell were they doing?  Trying to catch dysentery?"
 
Waylon looks up sharply. "We were diving to look for," he stops when I shake my head slightly.
 
"Diving for what?" Mitch asks.
 
"They are practicing diving."
 
Mitch squints.  "Why would you dive in a nasty pond when the Atlantic Ocean is five mile away? "
 
"Mitch,  did you come over to the truck to be a judgmental prick or you gonna ask me some questions?"
 
Mitch clocks an eyebrow.  "I'm gonna let that slide since you have apparently been traumatized.  First, did you touch the body?"
 
"Hell no.  I couldn't hardly look at it."
 
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small beat-up notebook.  He flips it open and touches his pen to his tongue.
 
"When was the last time you saw Ed Preston ... alive?"
 
"When I escorted him out of the store."
 
"You sure about that?"
 
I blink.  "Are you implying something?"
 
"I'm asking you a question.  You held a pair of scissors to his, uh, genitals.  I hardly think escort is a proper description of your last encounter."
 
"Well, as I recall, I asked you what you would do if he ever paid a call on your daughter where she worked.  Remember what you said?  Your body cam wouldn't be working that day."
 
"I'm not accusing you of anything.  I merely asked you a question.  If you're gonna be difficult, we can go to the station.  So, I'm gonna ask you one more time.  When was the last time you saw Ed Preston alive?"
 
"When I threatened to cut his talleywacker off. "
 
Mitch winces and looks away.  "Okay."
 
"Anything else?"
 
"Can you explain why your friend is preaching a sermon over Ed and he's crying?"
 
"He's very spiritual.   If I had to guess, he's hoping that Ed will be welcomed into heaven."
 
Mitch grunts but doesn't say anything.
 
He writes a few more things in the notebook then looks over at me.  "I'm sorry you had to see what you saw.  I've seen my share of victims and I'll never get used to it."  He reaches back into his coat pocket and pulled out his business card.  "If you need to talk, you can call me."
 
He hands it over and places it into my hand.  "Miranda, do yourself a favor and don't leave town."
 
He steps back from the truck and starts to walk back to where the overgrowth curtains the body of Ed Preston. 
 
"Wait a second!  Am I a suspect?"
 
Mitch levels his gaze as he turns around.  "When it comes to who might have wanted to hurt Ed, just about everyone in Patterson County is a suspect."
 
 
To be continued.
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 25
Putting out Fires (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   For every step forward, she takes two back.  While at Haynes Pond, she discovers the dead body of Ed Preston, the local pervert.  The same Ed Preston, she tossed out of her store at scissor point.  Knowing word will spread like wildfire, Miranda has to take action. ***
 
 
 
 
 
Aaron comes back to the truck with red eyes and a sad face.  He then proceeds to cry on my shoulder for ten minutes.  
 
"Why?  I mean how could someone do that?" he says, once he can finally talk.
 
"Aaron, did you know Ed Preston?"  I ask, trying to be gentle.
 
"No.  I didn't."
 
I reach over and put his shaking hand in between both of mine.  "What I'm gonna tell you isn't going to be easy to hear, okay?  But you need to understand something."
 
Aaron nods, sniffing and periodically wiping wayward tears from his cheeks.  "Go ahead."
 
"I knew him, Aaron.  I've known Ed Preston for many years.  And, I'm sorry to tell you this, but the guy was a creep.  He traumatized many women in Patterson."
 
Tilting his head, Aaron opens his mouth to say something.  "Are you happy he's dead?"
 
I drop his hand back in his lap.  "Do I look happy?  Did you hear me whistling Dixie when I flipped the couch over, Aaron? No.  No, I'm not happy."
 
"But you said he was a creep."
 
"He was.  Did I like him? No.  Do I think he deserved to die? No."
 
Waylon looks over, obviously worried about Aaron's state of mind.  "Do we have to stay here?"
 
"I thought we could go back down and pull that skeleton thing out of the other car,"  Aaron says.
 
"Shit, I forgot about that one," I groan and lean back against the seat.  "I think it's gonna have to wait a few days."
 
To my surprise, Waylon looks relieved.   He quickly climbs in the backseat and buckles his seatbelt.
 
Aaron doesn't say anything but climbs out of the truck to go check with Mitch about leaving.
 
When he comes back he looks at me.  "I think that cop likes you."  He throws the gearshift into reverse. He's silent most of the way home.
 
"Did you look at, uh, him?" he asks. 
 
"Ed?"
 
He nods.  "Your friend said he was posed."
 
"What does that mean? Posed "
 
Aaron looks over to make sure Waylon isn't listening in.  "His hand was shoved down in his pants."
 
"That means whoever put him there, knew him."
 
"That's what your friend said."
 
"Stop calling him my friend.  He's the Sheriff of Patterson County.  Now, what else did he say?"
 
"He said that since there were no drag marks in the mud, he got lured there."
 
I shiver.  No one in their right mind would go off with a stranger.  There were no signs of a struggle.  So, apparently, Ed knew and felt safe around whoever he was with.
 
"If I get Chinese food, can I come over for dinner?"  Aaron says.
 
"Yes."
 
He looks at me with a grateful smile.  "I'm real sorry you were the one to find him.  And I'm real sorry I got so emotional back there.  It's just that we live in such a bad world sometimes."
 
I reach over and squeeze his arm gently.  
 
 
                ****************
 
While Waylon takes a shower and Aaron runs to pick up the food, I call my momma.  I can only imagine when this gets out, every old bitty in the county will be calling her to find out all about it.
 
"Well, well, Miss Miranda.  It's been a while since you checked on your old mother."
 
"It's been a couple of weeks.  And you aren't old."
 
Just hearing her voice knocks some of that dreadful feeling out of me.
 
"You still taking care of that boy?"
 
"Yes.  I'm still taking care of that boy."
 
"Okay, enough small talk.  When you call, that usually means something's afoot."
 
"Who are you, Sherlock Holmes?" I laugh.
 
"Spill it."
 
"You may or may not read about me in the paper."
 
"Interview?"
 
"More like interrogation."
 
"Are you in trouble, Randa?"
 
I close my eyes.  How do you tell your mother you found a murder victim? That you are, also, one of the prime suspects.  That you had an altercation with him.  Why doesn't Hallmark make a fucking card for that?  They have one for everything else.
 
"Miranda, please answer my question?  Are you in trouble?"
 
"I found a dead body today."
 
"Do I know them?"
 
"Every woman in Patterson knows him.  Ed Preston."
 
"Oh my Lord.  Where did you find him?"
 
"Haynes Pond."
 
"Well, what on earth were you doing there?  People don't still go parking there, do they?"
 
"I'll explain all that later.  I just wanted you to know what might come out.  Oh, and I might have threatened him with some scissors the other day."
 
She gets very quiet on the other end.  "You know my friends all talk about their children and it's about promotions, vacations, having babies, losing weight.  Just normal, boring stuff.  I dream of the day I can tell them things about you.  You know, normal stuff.  Is that a pipe dream, Miranda?"
 
"Normal is overrated, Momma.  Everybody knows that.  I gotta go.  I love you."
 
"I love you, too.  And, Randa, please be careful."
 
I hang up the phone and lean against the counter.  I think about normal.  A little normal might be nice for a change.  But I'm not gonna hold my breath.
 
 
To be continued ...

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 26
Fifteen Minutes of Fame(Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired, and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   
After finding the dead body of the town pervert, all Miranda wants is for life to go back to normal.  But, we all know that's not going to happen. ***
 
 
 
 
 
After eating, Aaron suggests we play cards.  "Texas Hold 'Em?"
 
Waylon shrugs and looks at me.  
 
I have no idea how to play it.  I've never played poker before, and after the events of this morning, I'm not in the mood to learn.  "Fish.  Let's play fish.  I used to love playing Fish when I was younger."
 
Waylon and Aaron both laugh.  "Fish it is," Aaron sighs.
 
"You can only lay down a set of four.  Makes it tougher to win."
 
"What about strip poker?" Waylon says, winking at Aaron like it's the cleverest thing ever.
 
I take the deck and shuffle.  "No thank you, boys.  I've seen enough of the two of you to know I don't want to win that game."
 
"That's a bit harsh," Aaron says.  "You deal, meanness."
 
"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."  I grin at Waylon.
 
"Yeah, right you didn't."
 
The game lasts an hour.  We're having fun, laughing, and most importantly, not talking about Haynes Pond or Ed Preston.  Then the phone rings.  Nobody calls me on a Saturday night at nine p.m.  I lay my cards face down on the kitchen table and answer the phone on the third ring.
 
"Hello."
 
"Is this Miranda Buckley?"
 
"Who wants to know?"
 
"This is Colleen Weaver with the Patterson Gazette.  I would like to ask you a few questions."
 
I roll my eyes.  If this chick thinks I'm going to answer a bunch of questions about the upcoming election, she's delusional.
 
"Look, Colleen, was it?  I'm not going to discuss politics or referendums on a Saturday night.  Not with you or anyone."
 
"Ms. Buckley, I'm calling to ask you about the body you found today."
 
I close my eyes.  How did she get my number and how does she know I'm the one who found him? "I'm not going to talk to you or anybody.  Jesus, what gives you the right to call my home to pump me for information."
 
She doesn't seem flustered by my anger.  Stays crisp and professional.  "I'm doing my job, Ms. Buckley.  I help the people of Patterson County stay informed.  This is a homicide.  If you want to tell your side of things, nows your chance."
 
"My side?"
 
"Yes, ma'am.  It was discovered that Mr. Preston tried to press charges against you earlier this week.   For assault?  You were certainly aware of that.  Weren't you? "
 
"I'm going to hang up, Ms. Weaver. "
 
"Of course.  But if you change your mind, you can call the Gazette to talk."
 
I put the phone down.   Both Waylon and Aaron are staring at me.
 
"It was a reporter from the Gazette.  Wants to give me the opportunity to tell my side of the story.  I flipped a damn couch over and find a corpse.  End of story."  I say.  "She knows I tossed him out of the store.  She knows he tried to press charges against me. How?  How the hell does she know that?"
 
Aaron shrugs.  "It's public record.  Reporters do their research."
 
"Are you gonna talk to her?"  Waylon asks.  
 
"No.  God, I just want to forget today." 
 
Aaron pushes his chair back and stands up.  "We can finish this game another day.  I think I'm going to go home and drink until I pass out.  See y'all tomorrow. "
 
I chew my thumbnail.  It's a stupid nervous habit that I have.  As enticing as having a drink right now sounds, it won't solve anything.
 
Waylon gathers the discarded cards and puts them back in the box.  "Let's watch a movie,"  he says.  
 
When I nod my head in agreement, he does something remarkable.   He holds out his hand and leads me over to the couch.  "I'll be right back," he says.  
 
I watch as he grabs a pack of popcorn out of the cabinet and places it in the microwave. Despite how the day started, this is nice.
 
 
                ****************
 
There are no calls on Sunday.  Waylon and I watch movies all day.  I order pizza and we make cookies.  It may sound lame to some, but I think it's what we both need.  And I'm guessing Aaron must have followed through on his plan to drink until he passed out because I don't see him come out of his palatial trailer until mid-afternoon.  He sits on his porch with dark sunglasses on.
 
Monday morning, I drive Waylon to school.  I figure he needs the extra thirty minutes of sleep.  And I need the company.
 
As I pull into the parking lot of The Little Eagle, I see a lot of cars.  Busier than usual, but it is Monday.
 
Rita looks up helplessly when I come in.
 
"What the hell is going on? "
 
She winces.  "Go see Matt.  He's in the office."
 
"What's he doing here?"
 
She looks away. "I called him.  They're here about you.  Everybody knows you found Ed's body.  It's been a nightmare here.  People are so nosy."
 
My stomach feels like it's twisting.  "Is he mad?"
 
"Probably.  But not at you.  He's pissed I called him more than likely."
 
I don't bother to put my vest on.  I get the feeling that he will be sending me home.  I knock on the door then poke my head in as I open it.  "Hey,  I'm sorry about this, Matt."
 
He waves his hand.  "Bunch of fucking busybodies," he mutters.  "I'm gonna send you home, Miranda.  Take a couple of days.  Come back Wednesday.  I'll pay you.  I just can't have this kind of circus here."
 
"I'm sorry.  I get it.  I'll duck out the back."
 
He smiles this half smile.  "Good idea."
 
"Tell Rita I said goodbye.  And, Matt, don't kill her, okay."
 
Without looking up he shrugs.  "No promises, Buckley."
 
I peek out of the office to make sure no one is lurking around then high tail it to the back door.  I step out into the fresh air and pull the door closed behind me.  As I take my first step, I kick something and see it go skidding a few feet in front of me.
 
That now familiar sick feeling washes over me.  There on the gravelly lot is a pair of scissors.  The blades are stained with something dark and rusty.
 
I knock on the door.  When Matt opens the door, I point.  "I think we need to call the sheriff."
 
 
 
To be continued ...
 
 
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 27
Your Move (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired, and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.  After discovering the body of the local pervert, Miranda stumbles on the apparent murder weapon.  The sheriff advises her not to put herself at risk, but Miranda takes the advice of the local know-it-all and jumps head first into trouble. ***
 
 
 
 
I've been waiting in Matt's office for about ten minutes when Sheriff Mitch comes in.  He does a double take when he sees me.
 
"Surprise," I say, trying to work up a smile.
 
"And yet, it's really no surprise at all."  He hooks his thumb at me, a wordless command to follow him out back.
 
"So, tell me how and where you found the scissors."
 
"I was leaving work to go home.  I opened the back door, took a step, heard something skitter across the rocks."
 
"Skitter?"
 
"Yes, Mitch.  That's the sound metal on pavement makes.  It skitters."
 
"Ok.  It skittered.  Then what?  Did you touch it?"
 
"No."  I scowl.  What kind of person does he think I am?  First it was did you touch the body, now it's did you touch the obviously bloody scissors.  "No, not after I kicked them.  But if they're the ones from the store, well, my fingerprints will be all over them."
 
He pulls a plastic bag out of his jacket pocket and takes his pen to pick them up.  He holds the bag up and looks at the contents.  "Sure looks like blood."
 
"Someone is trying awfully hard to make me look bad."
 
"Piss anybody off lately?" He looks at me with faintest hint of a smirk.  "Who would get mad at you?  You're so sweet and nice.  Nobody could get mad at you."
 
"I'm not finding any humor in this.  I've given you my statement.  Can I go?"
 
"I guess.  Just do me a favor."
 
"I know, I know.  Don't leave town."  I wave my hand as I start to walk away.
 
"That isn't exactly what I was going to say.  Meet me for coffee tomorrow.  Something's definitely up.  Maybe, between the two of us, we can figure out why someone is trying to frame you."
 
For the first time, in what feels like forever, I have a glimmer of hope.
 
 
                   *******************
 
 
I sit in my car listening to a song from my high school era.  I don't remember the name of the band or even what year it came out.  Just the song itself used to make me smile.   Reluctantly, I turn off the engine and open the door.
 
"You got a bad moon over you,"  a gravelly voice calls out.
 
"Thank you for noticing, Mrs. Fine," I call back.  "Have a nice day now."
 
I start towards the porch but she keeps talking.
 
"Had a nosy reporter here this morning.  Asking a lot of questions about you."
 
"And, of course, you told her all about me."
 
Mrs. Fine smiles.  Her tobacco stained teeth look like crooked fence pickets.  "If I don't tell 'em, they just make some crap up."
 
"Can't wait to see that article."  I look away from her.  She has this unique way of making you feel like a bug under a magnifying glass on a hot summer's day.
 
"You got trouble, miss.  Yep.  Who is after you?"
 
"I don't know, Mrs. Fine.  I honestly don't know.  But someone is one step ahead of me.  They know where I go, who I'm with, and what I'm gonna do before I do."
 
She reaches for a pack of cigarettes in the pocket of her house dress.  She taps one up and puts it between her thin fingers.  "Smoke?"
 
"No thanks, quit about fifteen years ago."
 
"Well, good for you."  The lack of sincerity in her voice is astounding.  It makes me laugh.  "Here's the thing you gotta think about.   Who has that much time on their hands to scope you out?  Who is suddenly around you a lot?"
 
"There are three people.  So, oh wise one, what the hell should I do?"
 
"Ever hear the phrase, keep your friends close, and keep your enemies closer?"
 
I meet her gaze.  Nodding, I look over at my trailer.  "If you're right about this, I'm gonna buy you some top shelf cigarettes.  The ones you're smoking smell like manure.  If you're gonna get cancer, at least, enjoy the ride."
 
"You always have been a smart ass, Miranda.   Oh, and tell that boy to stop giving me the finger when he walks by."  She chuckles to herself.
 
There are two messages on the answering machine when I get inside.  One is about my car's extended warranty.  The other is my mother telling me she's unplugging her phone because of all the phone calls about my discovery at Haynes Pond.  
 
Taking the thin phone book out of the junk drawer I look up a number.  I stare at the phone.  There is only one real enemy.  I carefully dial the number.
 
She answers on the fourth ring.  "Hello?"
 
"Missy, it's, um, it's me, Miranda.  The offer for the drink still good?"
 
I hear a squeal through the phone.
 
"I really just need a friend right now."  To my surprise, I hear the raw fear in my voice.  
 
I don't like being afraid.  People take advantage of fear.  This girl will not be taken advantage of.
 
"I knew you'd come around.  I'll be by around seven.  That sound good?"
 
I look out of the kitchen window to where Mrs. Fine still sits smoking.  You better be right about this, you old battleaxe.  "Sounds perfect."
 
 
To be continued ...

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 28
Wine on Tap (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   After finding what appears to be the weapon that killed Ed Preston, Miranda gets sent home from work.  She gets advice from an old woman in the trailer park and decides to face her demons.  So, she tells Missy that they can meet for a drink. ***
 
 
 
 
 
I haven't been to a bar with another female, well, ever.  I married Farley when I was nineteen.  Never got that whole best friend thing with another woman.  I'm actually a little bit excited.  It would be great except it's Missy Toblerone I'm meeting.
 
Digging through the back of my closet, I find a dark purple top that my mom gave me a few Christmases ago.  I wiggle into a pair of black jeans that are tight enough to cause organ failure, but they look good.  As long as I don't breathe for a couple of hours, I'll be fine.
 
I look into the mirror in the bathroom.  Rarely do I put makeup on.  I'll put a couple strokes of mascara on but other than that it isn't my thing.  I'm starting to look old.  Maybe not old old but I don't look twenty something anymore.  In the past year I've picked my share of gray hairs out of my head.  I squint, trying to ignore the laugh lines around my eyes.
 
My reflection is very busy pointing out the soft skin that hangs under my chin.  "Better start saving up for Botox in a few years," she says.
 
"Oh, shut up.  I don't look that bad."  My fingers run across the lines at the corners of my eyes.  "What's the harm in a few laugh lines?"
 
My reflection laughs loudly at that.  "Laugh lines?  Ain't nothing that damn funny."
 
"I'm done with you."  I turn out the light in the bathroom and leave.
 
Waylon should be getting home soon.  It's already after three.  I need to find out where Missy wants to go to have a drink.
 
I dial her number again and wait until she answers.  " Miranda, I'm in the middle of my workout, what's up," she say, sounding slightly out of breath.
 
"Just trying to firm up the time and place tonight."
 
"Oh, um, how about eight o'clock at The Sand Bar. You know where it is, right?"
 
"I'll find it."
 
"Just put it in your GPS."
 
I roll my eyes.  "Sure.  Good idea."
 
She's babbling on about how much fun we're going to have and how she's has found some old pictures of us from high school.   I cringe.  I'm hoping she doesn't think we are going to pick up where we left off in tenth grade.
 
Waylon walks in, dropping his backpack beside the television.  He stares at me, obviously confused as to why I'm home.
 
"Ok, well, I need to get going, Missy.  I'll see you at eight."
 
"I'm so glad you're giving our friendship another chance. You have no idea how happy this makes me."
 
I bite my tongue.  I don't want to give her the wrong impression but there isn't any sense in making her suspicious as to my motive.
 
Hanging up the phone, I turn to smile at Waylon.  "You didn't flip Mrs. Fine off when you walked by, did you?"
 
"Nah, she was too busy yakking with the mail carrier."
 
I nod.  "Well, don't be rude to her anymore, okay?"
 
"Me?  She's a mean old bat.  She watches me like I'm on America's Most Wanted."
 
"Well, she's old and cranky.  Just don't do it anymore."
 
He doesn't argue just gives a non-committal shrug. "Thought you had to work today."
 
"Something came up."
 
"Do you have a date or something?"
 
"What? No.  Why would you ask that?"
 
He waves his hand at me. "You're dressed weird."
 
"It's called dressing up.  I'm meeting a," I say, pausing because I was about to say friend, but that's not true.  "I'm meeting someone for a drink.  Not a man.  Not a date."
 
"Ok."
 
 
                 ***************
 
 
Waylon ended up looking up The Sand Bar on his phone and I wrote the directions on a piece of paper. 
 
I get there at seven fifty and sit in my car at the far end of the parking lot.   When Missy pulls in, I duck down.  
 
I watch her walk from her car to the door.  She walks like someone with money, tossing her bottle blonde hair from side to side.  She has the aire of someone who owns the world or someone who has gotten away with murder.
 
I straighten my shirt, finger brush my hair and head for the door.
 
I look around until I see her waving at me.   
 
"Here goes nothing," I mutter then put on an Oscar winning smile and walk over.
 
She throws her arms around me in a big bear hug.  She squeezes me tighter than my jeans are.
 
"Look at you, Miss Hottie," she says. 
 
"Miss Hottie's been gone for a few years.  The best I could do is Miss Lukewarm."
 
"Stop it.  You are still stunning, you know, for your age."
 
I continue to smile.  And so it begins.  The borage of back handed compliments have begun.  Just like in high school.  The only difference is that sneaky Missy from high school has upped her game.  She is my prime suspect in one alleged murder and one very real murder.
 
I will have to be very careful.  Because an angry Missy is dangerous.
 
To be continued ...

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 29
Flashed (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

*** So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   Sent home from work after finding the weapon used to kill Ed Preston, Miranda calls her nemesis, Missy Toblerone to meet for a drink. ***
 
 
                   **************
 
The Sand Bar is an upscale place.  As soon as I walk in I can see in wall aquariums on at least two sides.  The seats at the long sleek bar are white leather.  Apparently, rich people aren't at risk for damaging furniture.
 
Missy fits right in.  Her outfit is right out of a magazine.  Her shirt barely covers her naughty bits and I can tell from where I'm at she isn't wearing any underpants under her thin skirt.
 
"Look at you," I say, awkwardly trying to disengage from her hug.
 
"You have no idea how happy I am to see you.  For a while I thought you were going to never speak to me after high school.  I'm glad you finally let that whole silly homecoming mess go."
 
"Well, we're adults now," I say.
 
"Sit.  I want to catch up."  She pats the table top with her manicured hand.  "How've you been since Dougie left you?"
 
"Believe it or not, I'm doing okay."
 
"I don't understand how a woman like you keeps losing her man.  First Farley and then Dougie.  You need to get a ring on your finger, girl."
 
The girl wastes no time, just goes straight for the jugular.  "To be clear, I left Farley.  Not the other way around.  And Dougie, I guess he thought the grass was greener elsewhere."
 
"When you were married to Farley, I used to have to keep myself from telling you about all the times I'd see him with other women."
 
"Why didn't you?"
 
She frowns, obviously confused at my question. "Why didn't I what?"
 
"Tell me.  Why didn't you tell me about Farley?"
 
She shrugs.  "I figured you knew. I mean, hell.  Everybody in the county knew."
 
Even though it was years ago, I still get that terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach when I think about what a trusting fool I was.  Every one knew, no one bothered to tell me.  What are friends for?
 
She reaches into the purse on the empty seat beside her.  "Look what I found this afternoon."  She spreads about fifteen photos on the table.  Pictures of us from high school.  "This was sophomore year.  Mr. Soto's class."
 
Mr. Soto is the teacher who compared me to the plastic bag blowing across the parking lot.   He was the kind of teacher who thought he was one of us.  He was a creep, in my humble opinion.
 
"He was great," she says.
 
I pick up the photo.  There is something odd about it.  I don't look right.  Then I notice a miniscule detail.  My eyes have been whited out.  I pick up another.  Same thing.  Every picture she brought has my eyes whited out.
 
"Um, Missy, what's the deal with my eyes?"
 
She grins and shakes her head.  "I was mad at you.  You never did stuff like that?"
 
I shake my head.  "No.  I can honestly say I've never done that."
 
I place the photos back on the table.
 
The waiter approaches and offers a Hollywood ready smile.  "Hi there, I'm Austin and I'll be serving you ladies tonight."
 
Missy leans back making sure he notices her tourist attractions.  "What are your specials?"
 
Austin does take note and smiles a bit more.  "We have a robust Chateau Kristoff pinot noir for eighty-nine dollars a bottle.  The house wine is a St. Michele chardonnay. "
 
Missy licks her lips slowly.  "Yummy."
 
I look away.  This is embarrassing.  She should be embarrassed as well.  Not only is she, at a minimum, ten years older than him, but the whole "yummy" comment is gross.
 
It takes him a few seconds before he remembers I'm sitting here.  "And for you, ma'am?"
 
"Coors light."
 
He frowns.  "We have several IPAs."
 
"You don't just have plain old beer?"
 
"No.  I'm sorry."
 
"How about a rum and coke?"
 
He nods, relieved that he can turn his attention back to Missy.  "Any appetizers?"
 
"Surprise us," she says then winks.
 
I wait until he's several feet away before speaking.  "He's a little young, isn't he?"
 
"Yes, he is." She smiles.  
 
Tucking the pictures back in her purse, she stands up.  "I'm going to go to the ladies room. I'll be back in a few."
 
She leaves her purse.  I watch to make sure she's gone then reach over and pull it towards me.  Maybe there is something in there.  In a perfect world, there would be a hand written confession to Jason's murder folded up.
 
I pull her wallet out.  There are several pictures in there.  Most are of her but one or two are of other people.  Not a single one of Jason. 
 
I don't find a note or confession so I slide the wallet back in.  The waiter hasn't brought our drinks and Missy hasn't returned.  I look around.  I'm out of my element here.  I just want to go home and have a beer on my porch.
 
I decide to go find Missy, feign a migraine and get the hell out of Dodge.  Why did I think this was a good idea?
 
I check the bathroom but she isn't there.  I follow the hallway back towards the men's room.  I hear noises, not normal bathroom noises.  No, these are guttural noises.  Primal and sexual sounds.  
 
I tiptoe closer.  And all I can see is a tangle of legs and arms.  And though I can't see any faces, I do see one very distinct thin skirt draped over the bathroom stall.
 
I rush back to the table and write a hasty note on the napkin.  
 
"Sorry,
Sudden migraine.  Thanks for the invite.  Hope you understand.
Miranda."
 
Missy is still Missy.  People like that never really change.  They just up their game.
 
To be continued ...
 
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 30
Yoko Eating Oreos

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   She finds a dead body, meets her nemesis for a drink, sees more than she should and high tails it home.***
 
 
 
 
I keep checking my rearview mirror to make sure Missy isn't racing after me. My guess is she's probably still in the back hall making whoopee with Austin, the waiter.
 
Missy has always been a fast mover.  After I stopped hanging out with her, I had heard a rumor she hooked up with Mr. Soto.  I always figured it was just some made up story, but after seeing what I saw in the back hall bathroom at The Sand Bar, maybe it wasn't just a nasty rumor.
 
Never before has the sign to Garden of Eden Mobile Home Park looked so inviting.  I turn off my high beams and slow down to fifteen miles per hour.  
 
The park is different at night.  It's peaceful.  Since the county doesn't run street lights out this far, you can see the stars.  It's nice.  It's my little slice of heaven.
 
Pulling up to my place, I see Aaron and Waylon sitting on the porch.  They're an odd couple but seem to bring out the best in each other.  I know Waylon misses his dad and, I guess, in some ways, Aaron fills that void.
 
These stupid tight jeans might need to be surgically removed, but they will be removed.  Then I'm going to toss them in the trash, along with the notion that someone in their mid-thirties should be wearing them.
 
"Miranda," Aaron says as he lifts a mug to his lips.  "Where you been?"
 
"She met someone.  She said it wasn't a date," Waylon says.
 
"You were on a date?"
 
I shake my head.  "No.  I had a drink with someone.  I started to get a headache then came home.  What are you two doing?"
 
Aaron reaches beside him.  He lifts a tray of cookies up and tilts it so I can see more clearly.  "We are feasting on Oreos."
 
"You have milk?" I ask.
 
"We do."
 
I nod.  "I am going to extract myself from the vicelike grip of these jeans.  When I come back I would like some of those Oreos."
 
"Ok."
 
I get to the top of the steps and reach for the door handle.  "If you hear me screaming or crying, don't come inside.  It's just me trying to get these pants off."
 
Waylon giggles into the cup he's holding to his mouth.
 
The pants come off easier than anticipated but there is an angry red line around my waist.  This never used to happen.  Getting old sucks.  
 
I try not to make eye contact with my bitchy reflection.  She chimes in anyway.
 
"Maybe you should lay off the Oreos," she says.
 
"Maybe you should shut the hell up.  I've had a terrible day and night.  If I want cookies, I'm gonna eat cookies.  If I get chunky, there's more of me for you to make fun of."
 
"There's plenty now.  Remember when you weighed one hundred and twenty pounds?  What are you now?  One forty? One forty-five?  You don't even have the excuse of having kids."
 
"I still look pretty good."
 
"You've looked better."
 
"Men still look.  Make no mistake about it." I tug on the straps of my bra.
 
The me in the mirror looks at her nails casually.   "Your boobs can only take you so far, Miranda.  You should know that by now."
 
I look for something to throw.
 
"Go on.  Eat your Oreos.  Just remember, when you bought those jeans you were just wrestling with, they fit."
 
I pull the jeans out of the waste basket and toss them on my bed.  I pull on a pair of sweatpants and join them outside.
 
"Shove over, Waylon.  I'm gonna Yoko Ono my way in here."
 
Aaron laughs as he hands me the tray of delicious cookies.  "We're out of milk. I'll share mine with you, if you'd like."
 
I sit down and grab three cookies.  "How was your day, Aaron?"
 
He gets ready to answer but I cut him off.  
 
"My day sucked.  Matt told me to go home because, apparently, I'm a crime celebrity and a distraction.  Then, as I'm leaving via the back door, I kick a pair of scissors that look like they have blood on them.  So, we call the sheriff's office.  Guess who comes to answer the call?  Yep, good old Mitch."
 
"Well, it is kinda his job," Aaron says softly.
 
"I thought you didn't like him."
 
"He's a cop.  I don't like any cops.  But it is his job."
 
I angrily stuff an Oreo into my mouth.  "Geez, Aaron, pick a side.  You're either on my side or his side."
 
"Wait.  Side?  I didn't know there were sides."
 
"He thinks I killed Ed. I can see it in his eyes.  I did not kill him or anyone."
 
I grab some more Oreos.  "Do you think I did it?"
 
"No."
 
I turn quickly towards Waylon.   "How about you?  Do you think I could have killed him?"
 
He shakes his head rapidly, hesitantly reaching for another cookie.
 
"Then why is this happening to me?  Do either of you know why it's happening?  I just want my life back.  It wasn't great but it was good enough for me.  Why is this,"  I stop talking, put the uneaten cookies back in the tray. "I went to meet with Missy tonight.  I thought I'd be able to discover some weakness in her armor.   But she doesn't have any weaknesses.  She's rich.  She owns the world, and people like us."
 
Aaron takes the tray and puts it on the step beside him.  He moves closer and lays his arm across my shoulder.
 
"We all know you didn't do anything wrong.  We're here with you.  We got your back.  Right, Waylon?"
 
"Right."
 
For a few minutes, I don't feel so alone.  I hastily wipe my eyes before any tears might escape.  I reach one hand out for Waylon's hand and the other one for Aaron.
 
"Thanks."  I look down.  "Do y'all think I'm fat?"
 
Waylon pulls his hand away and struggles to get to his feet.  "I need to take a shower for school tomorrow.  See ya, Aaron."
 
Aaron looks like a deer in headlights.  "So, where did you go tonight?"
 
"Nice evasive tactic.  Where'd you learn that?"
 
He smiles.   "My dad told me never to answer that question if a woman asks it."
 
"Well, since you didn't say yes, pass me a couple more Oreos."
 
"Here you go.  And not that it matters, but I think you're one of the coolest, prettiest chicks I've ever seen."
 
I'm thankful for the dark because I can feel my cheeks flush.  "Not that it matters, but it means a lot."
 
 
 
 
To be continued ...
 
 
 
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 31
Subtle Warning (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   She finds a body then finds a murder weapon.  She is the prime suspect.  Instinct tells her an old high school friend, Missy Toblerone, is somehow involved.  But in order to investigate, Miranda has to let Missy back into her circle.  But, will doing so put the ones she loves at risk? ***
 
 
 
 
After gorging on those delicious Oreos, I sleep like a baby.  I wake, feeling better, and more at peace than I have in weeks.
 
I fix Waylon a quick breakfast, go to send him off with a warning not to give Mrs. Fine the finger.  
 
"Aaron wants to go back to the pond.  He's afraid to ask you.  This is something that means a lot to him.  Can we?  Please?" he asks, hoisting his backpack on one shoulder.
 
The mention of the pond sends a shiver through me.  There's a voice in my head telling me to just shut it down right now, but there is something in Waylon's voice that tells me it means more to him than he's willing to admit.  I think that Waylon sees Aaron as a surrogate father in some ways.  Of course, a coat rack could have replaced Dougie.  But Waylon needs Aaron.
 
"Can I give you an answer tonight?  Let me see how I feel after work?  Fair?"
 
He nods.  "Shit.  Bus is coming.  See ya tonight."  He takes off in a full sprint down the road.
 
I pour myself a cup of coffee.  After putting the cushions back on the couch, I sit down.  I should read more.  I used to read.  Murder mysteries were my favorite.  Dougie told me it was a turn off.  Said it made me suspicious.  Hell, I was born suspicious.  Those books just helped fine tune those suspicions.
 
I finish my coffee and take the cup to the sink.  I wash it and set it in the drain rack then look around.  My house needs a good cleaning.  I have two hours before I have to go in to work so I start with the kitchen.  
 
I'm making pretty good progress until the phone rings.
 
"Hello."
 
"What the hell happened to you last night?"  Missy says.  She sounds pissed.
 
"I left a note.  I was getting a migraine."
 
"Oh, bullshit, Miranda.  One of the bartenders said you were snooping through my purse.  What were you looking for?"
 
I press my lips together because there is a big part of me that is dying to blurt out, "I think you killed your husband, and I was looking for proof."  But I can't do that, now can I?  So, I scramble for a save.  "I was hoping you had some ibuprofen."
 
"Oh.  Well, you should have come told me or, at least, waited until I was finished using the bathroom."
 
I pinch the bridge of my nose.  "Well, I apologize, but you were gone an awfully long time."
 
"How about we meet tonight?"
 
"Oh, sorry but I have work."
 
She's silent for a few seconds.  "How's your boy toy?"
 
"Excuse me, what?"
 
"The Earl boy."
 
"Aaron?  He's my neighbor.  Nothing more."
 
"Rita thinks you're into him.  Is she wrong?"
 
"Yes.  Yes, she is wrong."
 
"You aren't still pining away for Dougie, are you?"
 
She's asking a lot of questions.  Like she's looking for my Achilles heel.  I've never been one to air my dirty laundry to those close to me.  I'm certainly not going to share with the likes of Missy Toblerone.
 
"He's not worth it, Miranda.  If he were to get hit by a bus today, there wouldn't be one person to miss him."
 
I think about Waylon.  He would.  I would, too.  Though he could be a jack ass, we both care about him.  "That's not exactly true.  His son would miss him."
 
"So you say.  But, in all honesty, some people are better off just disappearing.  They offer nothing to the world."
 
"Like Jason?"  Without thinking, the words tumble out of my mouth.
 
"Yes," she says.  "The Jason everyone else knew wasn't the one I was married to."
 
"So, who were you married to?"
 
"A monster.  He used to do horrible things to me.  Miranda, if he hadn't disappeared when he did, he may very well have killed me."  She sounds like she's crying. 
 
But it sounds forced. Or maybe I just want to believe it's put on.  
 
"Why didn't you go to the police?"
 
"I kept thinking I could change him."
 
"Why didn't you leave him?"
 
As sad as she sounded just seconds before, her voice suddenly sounds cold.  "I'm starting to think you don't believe me."
 
"I knew Jason, Missy.  He was arrogant, no doubt, but he never struck me as abusive."
 
"Don't judge a book by it's cover.  That's what I told that reporter when she was asking about you.  Told her that we went way back.  You'd had run-ins with the law but I wouldn't ever suspect you of murder.  Least, not premeditated.  But then, you do have a temper.  Everybody around here knows that."
 
I feel my blood start to boil.  "Don't talk to that reporter about me.  Do you understand?"
 
"We're actually supposed to meet for coffee this afternoon.  I was gonna cancel if we had come to terms last night.  But, you got that headache, and went home."
 
"We aren't friends, Missy.  We haven't been in a very long time.  Nothing you say will have any relevance."
 
She giggles in the phone.  "I can be your best friend or your worst nightmare.  It's totally up to you."
 
"I can say the same."
 
"Ta-ta." The line goes dead.
 
  I've got to find out who's framing me and why.  This rabid reporter is willing to turn over any person from my past, in order to find some dirt on me.  And Missy is willing to provide as much as she can.  The sheriff thinks I'm hiding something.
 
I might not be Nancy Drew, but I better solve this mystery fast.
 
 
 
 
To be continued ...

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 32
The Sheriff (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   After finding the dead body of Ed Preston, then finding the murder weapon, Miranda feels she is being framed.  She doesn't know where to turn but gets an unexpected visit from the sheriff. ***
 
 
 
 
After that phone call, I lose interest in cleaning.  It looks better than it did.  And honestly, if I end up being wrongfully convicted of murdering Ed Preston, I have bigger things to worry about than a few drops of piss on the toilet seat.
 
I toy with the idea of calling out and running to my mom's house.  No matter what I face in life, she always has an answer.  But I'm an adult.  I just need to think.  Who the hell would benefit from framing me?  Why are they doing this?
 
There is only one person who is crazy enough to want to mess with me.  Missy.
 
I put the cleaning supplies back under the kitchen sink and go get ready for work.  
 
 
                    *************
 
Rita is knocking the spiderwebs from around the big glass windows.
 
"You certainly are inspired.  Must be something in the air.  I was cleaning before I came in."
 
Rita lowers the broom.  "Matt said there was blood on those scissors you found."
 
"There was something, and it looked like blood."
 
She props the broom against the window.  "What the hell is going on in this county?  It used to be so safe."
 
I shrug.  I can't even figure out what's going on around me.  I sure don't have time to worry about the whole county.  "Rita, can I ask you something?  And I want your real answer."
 
She nods but looks slightly afraid.  "Sure."
 
"Do you think I had anything to do with Ed Preston's death?"
 
"No.  Oh my gosh, no.  You are a very grounded person, Miranda.  People go to you because you can be counted on.  Your aura is one of balance."
 
I nod.  "I have no idea what you said, but I'll take it."
 
"I can generally read people.  You know, I can see their colors."
 
"What color am I?"
 
"A golden hue.  Warm and secure."
 
I smile at her and leave her to the spiderwebs as I go inside to clock in.
 
The store is unusually slow.  It's over an hour before someone pulls up.  Rita is in the back office eating her lunch.
 
Sheriff Mitch walks in.  "Well, well, Miss Miranda."
 
"Sheriff.  Miss me?"
 
He smiles and takes his hat off.  "I've got some good news.  It wasn't Ed Preston's blood on the scissors.  It was animal blood."
 
I frown.  "How is that good news?  Some poor animal got stabbed."
 
"It means the blood wasn't Ed's, and it wasn't the murder weapon."
 
"How was Ed Preston killed?"
 
Mitch looks around the store.  "He was bludgeoned to death.  Back of his skull was in pieces."
 
"Damn.  I wished I hadn't asked."
 
Mitch walks over to the glass case that holds the muffins and donuts.
 
"My daughter told me I need to lay off the sweets," he says, reaching for the handle.  "But, she's not here right now so ..."
 
I watch as he takes the tongs to pick up a cruller. 
 
He turns around and lifts it to his mouth.  He chews thoughtfully and looks around.
 
"Coffee?" I ask.
 
He nods, still chewing.
 
"Black? Or are you one of those guys who's intouch with his feminine side?"
 
He scowls. 
 
I go pour the coffee into a large cup, put the lid on it and carry it back to him.
 
"Miranda, listen, we're keeping how he died out of the papers.  I probably shouldn't have even told you, but I figured you deserved to know.  Don't tell anyone.  Got it?  Not your momma, not your preacher, not your boyfriend."
 
"My momma doesn't want to know stuff like that.  I don't go to church.  And my boyfriend had a change of heart and left me."
 
Mitch tilts his head. "I thought girls told their mommas everything.  And I pegged you as a Baptist.  That last part though, you are better off without him.  He must have been a very stupid man."
 
I look down, feeling my cheeks flushing.  "Sheriff, are you flirting with me?"
 
Mitch puts his hat back on and starts walking towards the exit.  "Maybe I was just making an observation," he says as he pushes the door open.  "Sure is a beautiful day."
 
Miranda, I think to myself, that sheriff is sweet on you.  Damned if Aaron wasn't right.
 
The rest of the day goes by quickly.  People come in, buy things, scratch off their lottery tickets, complain about the price of gas.  It's a regular day.  
 
And for the first time in a while, I feel like the old Miranda.  I don't keep looking over my shoulder.  I am in control.
 
Even cranky Matt, when he calls to check on the store, doesn't bother me.  
 
"Miranda, can you do me a favor?"
 
"Sure.  What do you need?"
 
"Teach Rita how to count.  She is still selling beer and cigarettes to minors.  I'm gonna lose my liquor license if she keeps doing it."
 
He keeps talking, mumbling about Rita, about the paperwork that's involved with the store.  The cost of operating The Little Eagle, payroll, blah, blah, blah.
 
And there are only two things I'm thinking about.  I wonder what color aura Matt has, and Sheriff Mitch was flirting with me.
 
 
To be continued ...
 
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 33
Shot in the Dark (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   Finding out that Rita, her friend and co-worker, believes in her innocence makes her feel a little better.  Now, she realizes that the Sheriff has a crush on her.  Things are starting to get better... or so she thinks. ***
 
 
 
The usual rush of people hits at five and doesn't let up until just after six-thirty.  Since I'm busy, the night goes quickly.  There's trash to be taken to the dumpster, the coffee pots need to be washed for the morning.  I have about ten things on a list that I regularly do.  I'm pretty methodical about it.  I know what needs to be done and I do it. 
 
But since all this nonsense started I have to admit I feel a little creeped out being here by myself.  The only people who stop in are underage kids who think I can't count backwards, like Rita.  Or they are truckers who see The Little Eagle Gas and Go's light from the highway and stop in.  
 
Tonight is different.  Tonight it is quiet.  Uncomfortably quiet.  Now, I have two choices.  Either watch the parking lot while my anxiety and paranoia meld together, or do something constructive to pass the last hour.  I opt for the second part.
 
I drag the black mat out to the parking lot and hoist it up.  I shake the heavy rug and turn my face away as a cloud of dirt and dust billow up.  I leave it there, go grab the broom and sweep the floor where it was.  No matter how hard I try, I can't sweep it over the threshold of the front door.  I scavenge the counter and find one of Rita's Cosmopolitan magazines.  I hope she doesn't get mad at me for using it as a dust pan.
 
I open up the magazine to the back cover and squat down to sweep the dirt and debris onto it.  
 
As I'm down there I hear an engine and the sound of it backfiring.  Two headlights are aimed at the store.  The vehicle is stopped at the edge of the parking lot.  They rev the engine.  Another pop sound.  
 
Only this time, the glass in the door crackles.  It sounds like ice splintering.
 
"What the hell?" I whisper.  When I look up I see the lights getting closer.  Another pop and the glass in the door explodes, showering down on me.
 
I scramble towards the door, pushing the broomstick through the handle.   I saw it on a movie once.  Even if the glass is gone in one of the doors, this might slow them down.  And sometimes survival comes down to seconds.
 
I run like hell to the back office and hit the lights.  The store plunges into darkness.  The cameras show only the tail lights of the retreating shooter.
 
Shakily, I pick up the phone and dial 911.  
 
"911.  What's your emergency?"
 
"Someone just shot at me.  I think they're gone."
 
"Are you hurt?"
 
"There's glass all over me.  The, uh, door exploded.  It's in my hair." I reach up and touch the pellets of glass that are on my scalp.
 
"What's your name, ma'am?"
 
"It's  Miranda."
 
"What's your address?"
 
"I'm at The Little Eagle Gas and Go.  The one on Route seventeen."
 
"Were you shot?"
 
"No."
 
"Can you see the shooter?"
 
I scan the camera monitors.  The parking lot is empty.  "No.  He left."
 
"Did you get a look at him?"
 
"No.  I just told you.  Can you just send someone? I'm freaking out.  I don't want to be here alone in case they come back."
 
"Sheriff's department is en route.  They should be there in about seven minutes."
 
"I'm scared."
 
"I'm going to stay on the line with you until they get there.  You're doing fine.  Just stay where you are."
 
I nod. " I'm not going anywhere."
 
Flashing lights appear on the monitor.  A uniformed Deputy gets out and aims his flashlight into the store.
 
"They're here.  I can see them on the monitor.  The cops are here." I tell the operator.  "Can I hang up?"
 
"Yes, Miranda.  You're gonna be fine now.  You did good."
 
For a moment, I'm a little girl basking in the praise of a beloved teacher.  "Thank you.  You weren't too shabby yourself."
 
Her professional golden laughter fills the phone.
 
I place the receiver back on the cradle and slowly open the door.
 
"Hello?" I call out.  "I'm going to turn the lights on, okay?"
 
"Please," he says.
 
I reach over and flip the three switches.  The overhead lights and satellite radio switch on.
 
"I'm Deputy Tyler Douglas, I'm here to," he says.
 
I look past him.  "Where's Mitch?"
 
"Mitch who?"
 
"The Sheriff.  Where is he?"
 
"He's off duty.  I'm here, though."
 
"Call him."
 
"Ma'am, I promise you I'm quite capable of taking your statement."
 
"He told me to call him anytime I needed him.  Please, Deputy Tyler Douglas, call him."
 
The look on his face is not what I'd call a happy one.  It was one of someone who would rather be sitting behind the wheel of his cruiser playing video games on his phone.  "Yes, ma'am."
 
He walks back to his cruiser and radios into station.  I see him making these little circles with his finger beside his temple. 
 
Sweetheart, I think, crazy doesn't begin to cover me today.  And, as capable as Deputy Douglas appears, I need Mitch.  He knows what's going on.  To Deputy Douglas, this is a random act of violence.  Mitch will understand, as I do, this was a warning.
 
He comes back inside and smiles at me.  It's the smile someone gets when trying to placate.  It goes no further than his face.  "He's on his way."
 
"Thank you, Deputy.  I'm sure you're very good."
 
He nods, lips pursed together.
 
"It's just he knows the score."
 
"The score?"
 
"Do people say that anymore?"
 
"Not really.  My mom and dad do, but they're, uh." He stops, frantically searching for a nice way to say old.
 
"What are you? Sixteen?"
 
"Twenty-five, ma'am."
 
I sigh.  I used to babysit when I was younger.  The name Douglas is ringing bells.  "I used to babysit some Douglases.  Caroline and Henry?"
 
He smiles.  "No shit," he says. "That's my older sister and brother."
 
"I don't remember you."
 
"My mom calls me her late in life baby."
 
I pinch the bridge of my nose.  The only thing that makes this less uncomfortable is the fact that I never changed Deputy Tyler Douglas's diaper.
 
 
To be continued ...
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 34
Mitch to the Rescue (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   Working alone at night, someone fires a shot through the door, shattering it.  Miranda calls for the police.  Was it random or is someone sending a message?***
 
 
 
Mitch pulls into the parking lot on two wheels less than fifteen minutes after Deputy Tyler calls.
 
"You okay?" He hustles towards me, slipping but catching his balance after stepping on the shattered glass pieces.
 
"I'm great. You?"  I try to keep my tough persona going but the quiver in my voice gives my true emotional state away.
 
"Tyler," Mitch calls over his shoulder. "Go take a drive around the building and a couple miles down the road.  See if anyone suspicious is hanging around."
 
Mitch reaches down and picks up my shaking hands.  "Dispatch said you handled yourself like a pro."
 
"They lied.  I was scared shitless."
 
He smiles. "They never said you weren't scared.  Only a fool isn't scared when a shot is fired."
 
"As scared as I was, they could have killed me ... but they didn't.  They waited until I stepped to the side and then shot."
 
"Who have you pissed off lately?"
 
"The shorter list would be who haven't I pissed off.  Now, Matt is going to be pissed because he has to replace the door."
 
"I'm sure he has insurance.  You didn't shoot it.  Why would he be angry with you?"
 
"You don't know Matt," I mumble.  "He came out of his mother bitching about something."
 
He nods and looks around.  "So where were you when the shot was fired?"
 
I walk over to where the little pile of dirt and sand are.  I can see it mixed in with the glass pellets. "I was kneeling down to sweep up the dirt.  The rug is still out there.  A truck pulled in and stopped back there.  They revved their engine.  I stood up to see if I recognized them.  I took a step back and pow.  They blew through the door.  Then they started driving closer.  That's when I ran back to the office and hit the lights.  Then I called 911."
 
Mitch looks around.  "They could have walked in and taken the money from the register.  So, it appears they weren't trying to rob you. And you feel like if they had wanted you dead, they had the opportunity to kill you.  It sounds to me like redneck mischief to me."
 
I feel a little miffed that he is downplaying tonight's events.  "So, this was just mischief?  Unfucking believable.  I'm sorry for wasting your time, Sheriff."
 
"Calm down, Miranda.  It was scary.  I know it was.  You've been through a lot.  You found Ed Preston's body, found what you thought was the murder weapon.   Now this."
 
His words do little to disarm me.  "Will you call Matt or should I?"
 
"I'll call him.  I'm going to have Tyler stay until he can get here.  I'm going to follow you home.  Would that be alright with you?"
 
I shrug. It doesn't really matter what I say.  Mitch is going to do what he wants.
 
                    **************
 
Aaron is in my yard when I get home.  He and Waylon are tossing a nerf football to each other under the glow of the porch light.
 
Both stop and stare as Mitch pulls in behind me.  He's in his own car, a shiny, new, black Honda Accord  My ugly but faithful cobalt blue compact looks like it's from another era.
 
"Evening," Mitch says, coming to stand by me.  "Tossing the football around?"
 
Aaron nudges Waylon.  "Thats a very astute observation, Officer."
 
I wait for some sort of reaction from Mitch but he laughs.  "I'm off duty.  I don't make astute observations off the clock."
 
Both Aaron and Mitch seem to relax.
 
"Well, thank you for making sure I got home safely.  Unless, since you're off duty, you'd like to sit on the porch and have a beer."
 
"Domestic, right?  None of that IPA swill."
 
"I think you'll fit in nicely around here." I tease.
 
Aaron and Waylon go back to tossing the football and I rejoin Mitch with a bottle of beer for each of us.
 
He looks up at the sky.  "You do this often?"
 
"What part? Get shot at? Get escorted home by the police?  Invite the cops to have a beer with me?"
 
"Sit outside and look at the stars."
 
I look up.  "Almost every night.  This is cheap therapy."
 
"It sure is nice.  Pretty back here.  You got trees all around.  Each mobile home has a yard.  It's real nice."
 
"I've got people asking me why I live in a trailer.  But it's mine.  I might have bought it with Farley, but when he left, I took over the payments, added this little porch."
 
"What do you mean, you added it?"
 
"Called my dad asked him to figure out what supplies I needed for an eight by eight porch.  Then he talked me through construction."
 
"My gosh.  You're a little DIY queen, aren't you?"
 
"You sound surprised.   I'm not afraid of a little manual labor."
 
"You're not as tough as you want everyone to think.  You forget, I've seen you cry," he whispers as he leans in close to my ear.
 
"You tell anyone and I'll have to kill you."
 
"It's a secret I'll take to my grave."
 
I finish my beer and carry my bottle back into the kitchen.  I look around.  The trailer is pretty neat. Thankfully, I was almost finished cleaning when Missy called.  
 
"Mitch, you can come inside, if you'd like."
 
No response.  I walk back to the door and I see Aaron, Waylon and Mitch throwing the red, white and blue nerf football to each other.
 
Once again, proving that men are just larger versions of little boys.  And boys like their toys.
 
 
To be continued ...

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 35
Damn Reporters (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   She has found a dead body, been shot at and flirted with.  Interesting turn of events.  But she's not ready for a pushy reporter to show up at work. ***
 
 
 
Mitch never makes it inside my home.  He, Aaron and Waylon spend the better part of an hour throwing the dumb football back and forth, and then talking about football.   I've never seen Waylon so much as look at a football game on television but he sure was spouting off names and statistics.  
 
Aaron spends most of his time talking about the cheerleaders and their outfits.  
 
When Mitch said his goodbyes, he shakes Aaron's hand then Waylon's.  He nods his goodbye to me.  Did I misread him?  I know I'm not the best judge of men but flirting is flirting.  It was like he was saying goodbye to one of the guys.  Maybe it's a good thing he didn't make it inside the trailer.  I could have made a fool of myself.
 
I sit on the porch for twenty more minutes, watching Aaron and Waylon toss the football back and forth before I remind Waylon he needs to shower and get ready for bed.
 
He heads one way and Aaron heads towards his own place.  As Waylon passes me, he pauses.  
 
"I like him.  He's okay."
 
"Who are you talking about?  Aaron?"
 
"Your new boyfriend."
 
"I don't have a new boyfriend."
 
He cocks his eyebrow.  "Whatever."
 
I wait until he's in the bathroom taking his shower before I go inside.  It's almost midnight but I'm sure Matt is still awake dealing with the door.  I dial his cell phone.
 
He picks up on the second ring.
 
"Yeah."
 
"They working on the door?"
 
"Glass repair guys will be here first thing in the morning.  I got my cousin to help me put some plywood up."
 
"Be honest, Matt.  You want me to take a leave of absence?"
 
"This wasn't about you, Miranda.  Cop just said four vehicles had their windows shot out and two other businesses at the south end of Iverton were shot up.  So, no, I need all of  my employees to show up tomorrow. "
 
A wave of giddy relief washes over me.  They weren't shooting at me.  It was random.  Mitch was right.  It was redneck mischief.
 
"Okay.  Hope you get some sleep tonight,"  I say.
 
"Not much chance of that.  I'm going to be sleeping here tonight."
 
"Sorry.  That has to suck."
 
Matt has this dry, raspy laugh.  It's rare that he does laugh, but despite all that's gone on lately, he graces my ears with it tonight.
 
"My wife is PMSing this week.  This is like a get out of jail free card."
 
 
                 ***************
 
 
 
I help Rita get our soft drink order together and then I inventory the beer cooler.  It's a busy enough morning but slowly slacks off around two in the afternoon. 
 
The glass company replaces the glass in the door.  It looks starkly new.  No stickers or scratches mar the surface.  
 
Every so often I will spot a stray nugget of glass on the floor.  I will probably be finding them for weeks to come.  
 
When Rita goes to the back office for her lunch break, I pull the stool up and plop myself down behind the counter.  I shoot the shit with some tourists, help an old man pick out a card for his wife's birthday, and scan a People magazine that Rita brought in several months ago.
 
"Hi," I say in my fake but convincing friendly voice as a chunky young woman walks directly to the counter.  "Can I help you with something?" I ask.  All the while, my brain is pleading, "No.  Please just grab a Snickers bar and leave."
 
"Would you be Miranda Buckley?"
 
Her voice is familiar but I can't place it.  I'm not sure whether to run or fight.
 
"Well, that all depends on who you are and why you want to know."
 
She stares at me with steely blue-gray eyes.  She isn't challenging me but she isn't timid either.
 
"I'm Colleen Weaver, from the Gazette.  We spoke on the phone a couple of weeks ago."
 
"Ah, yes.  We did, didn't we?  And I think I told you to leave me alone."
 
She doesn't so much as bat an eyelash.  "No, you told me not to call you at home again.  So, I respected your wishes. That's why I'm here."
 
If there's one thing I hate, it's people who use technicalities to get around things.  Politicians and cheating partners are very adept at this sort of thing.
 
"Ms. Weaver, did you go to college?"
 
"Yes.  University of North Carolina.  The one in Wilmington."  Her smile reveals her pride in saying this to me.
 
And I know that all she sees is a thirty-something woman who seems to have peaked with being head cashier at The Little Eagle Gas and Go.  If she's a reporter, she's done her research and knows I didn't go to school.  She knows I have a failed marriage and that I got dumped by my last boyfriend.  That, plus the information that Missy told her when they met for coffee, means Ms. Weaver thinks she knows all about me.
 
But that's where she's wrong.  I am a very different person today.  I am not the sum of my past and my mistakes.  Oh, I'll own them.  Hell yes.  But I am not the Miranda Buckley she's researched.  Nope.  I am the new and improved Miranda.
 
"I just want to hear from you about your dealing with the late Ed Preston," she says. "I have interviews with people who know you.  I'll be honest, there's a deadlock of those who like you and those who don't.   But everything I've got is hearsay."
 
"Didn't Missy Toblerone give you the goods on me?"
 
"Yes.  She wasn't your biggest supporter."
 
"What happens if I don't talk to you?"
 
"My editor will have me use what I've got and I'll put in a line about how you refused to comment."
 
I sigh.  If I don't defend myself, who will?
 
"I'll talk to you ... on one condition."
 
"Which is what?" she says. 
 
"Look into the disappearance of Jason Toblerone."
 
Colleen pulls out her phone and types something into it.  "Jason Toblerone.  When did he go missing?"
 
"Almost three years ago."
 
She types a little more then puts her phone away.  She holds out her hand.  "Okay.  It's a deal.  When do you want to talk?"
 
"I can meet you tomorrow morning.  Or you can come to my house.  I really don't want people eavesdropping."
 
"Text me your address."
 
I don't bother telling her my stand against cell phones, just write my address on a piece of paper and hand it to her.   "Nine-thirty?"
 
"Sounds good.  And, Mrs. Buckley, you won't regret this."
 
I smile silently at her as she heads for the spotless new door.
 
"I already do, Colleen," I whisper as she steps outside.  "I already do."
 
 
 
To be continued ...

Author Notes This is a part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 36
My Eyes Are Up Here

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   She has threatened a man, found his dead body, been shot at, and has formed an unlikely friendship with the sheriff and her spiritual, stoner neighbor.  Now, she has to talk to a reporter about her encounter with the dead man, Ed Preston. ***
 
 
 
 
 
I ran out to grab some muffins before Colleen Weaver was set to arrive. 
 
I'm not known for my hostessing abilities.  The handful of times my ex-in-laws came over, I could feel Elaine's eyes lighting on every surface.  She sat on the edge of the sofa with her purse in her lap.  It was like she was ready to spring up and out of the door if the opportunity presented itself.  She inspected the glass of tea I handed her like she was in an episode of CSI: Patterson County.
 
"It's a clean glass, Elaine."
 
She nodded, forcing that acidic smile she has.
 
But, today, I will show little Miss Colleen Weaver that I am a polite and genuine member of society.  No matter how much it kills me.
 
I fluff the pillows, toss the teal colored throw over the arm of the couch and straighten Waylon's nook.  Then I bring out the big guns, a Bath and Body works candle that my momma gave me for my birthday, and a copy of this week's Gazette.   I open it up, bending  a few pages, trying to make it look read.  If this doesn't give off the aura of an intellectual, I give up.
 
The coffee is just finishing brewing when she pulls up to the trailer.  She snaps a few pics with her phone.
 
I'm not gonna wait for her to knock.  All this pretending is making me anxious.  
 
"Hey, I see you found it," I say, opening the door wide enough for her to come inside.
 
"Yes, it's a nice drive out here.  How long have you lived here?"
 
"A little over twelve years."
 
She looks around.  Her eyes land on the stupid Mustang picture behind the couch. 
 
"Don't ask," I say.
 
"So, where do you want to sit?"
 
I wave my hand toward the table.  "I made coffee and bought some muffins."
 
Colleen smiles and pulls out her chair.  "Thank God, you didn't tell me you made these.  People are always trying to pretend to be something they aren't.   I write feature articles.  I want real people.  I want to see you, warts and all."
 
My eyes flicker to the Gazette on the coffee table.  "Yeah, I hate that, too."
 
"I have a list of questions I can ask or you can just tell me about the day you had your run in with Ed Preston," she says, pulling a notebook out of her bag.
 
I walk over to the cabinet and pull down two coffee mugs.  One is a promotional mug from one of the food vendors in town and the other is a mug I bought from the Dollar General a while back.  I dont have anything that matches.  Pouring the coffee into the cups, I wonder if she'll want creamer.  I hope not, 'cause I don't have any.
 
"Reporters drink black coffee, right?"
 
"Sure," she says as I set the steaming cup in front of her. 
 
"First off, Ed Preston had been in our store several times.  He was a pervert.  Always touching himself inappropriately.  Rita, the other cashier, she isn't confrontational."
 
"But you are?"
 
"I don't run from it, if that's what you're asking.  I never have.  Running from anything doesn't resolve a damn thing."
 
"So, Ed was in there, and he was doing these inappropriate things?"
 
I nod.  "Yes.  He most definitely was.  I happened to have some scissors in my hand and I implied that I might use them on him."
 
"What did he say?"
 
Shrugging, I look into the vapors rising from my full cup.  " I really don't remember but he was pissed.  I think I might have mentioned Lorena Bobbit.  Yes, I definitely referred to her."
 
"Did you assault him?"
 
"I kinda poked him."
 
"With the scissors you just happened to have."
 
"Look, it sounds worse than it was.  I wasn't going to actually hurt him.  He was just so gross.  He got off doing deviant things in front of innocent people.  I'm not going to apologize for stepping in and confronting him.  But I didn't hurt him.  Okay, maybe the initial poke hurt but I didn't kill him."
 
"I have a couple of more questions.  Is that okay?"
 
"Sure, why not."
 
"What makes you suspect foul play in Jason Toblerone's disappearance? "
 
"Missy says he was abusive.  But he used to come fill up his truck at my station.  He was always sporting a busted lip or a bruised cheek."
 
"You think she's lying?"
 
"I know Missy.  She is a born liar."
 
"She said you were trying to discredit her reputation because you're jealous of her success in life."
 
"Of course she did."
 
"I'm going to be honest with you.  She does seem a bit unhinged, but that doesn't make her a murderer.  But, if you truly believe she had something to do with his disappearance, I'll start digging.  If this is a vendetta because she beat you out of homecoming queen, don't waste my time."
 
"It was homecoming princess and that happened a long, long time ago.  It just opened my eyes to the kind of person she is."
 
Colleen finishes her coffee and closes her notebook.  "If I have anymore questions, can I call you?"
 
"Sure."
 
She goes to the door and I stop her. 
 
"Colleen, what made you say she seemed unhinged?"
 
Colleen doesn't answer right away, maybe trying to decide if she should divulge it to me.
 
"She was obsessed with talking about one thing."
 
"What was that?"
 
"You."
 
My knees went weak.  Colleen smiles sympathetically.  "To her, you seem larger than life.  She wants to bring you to your knees.  I couldn't use anything she told me.  I'm just going on my gut reaction, but you need to be very careful with that one."
 
I wait until she's backing out of the drive to pick up the phone.   It rings twice before she answers.
 
"Hello?"
 
"Hey, Momma.  Can I come over?"
 
Sometimes you just need your mom.  And right now is one of those times.
 
 
 
To be continued ...

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 37
What Was That? (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   She has become friends with the sheriff, her stoner neighbor, and now thinks she has an accomplice in proving Missy Toblerone killed her husband.  ***
 
 
 
 
"Miranda, I need you to promise me you're going to be careful.  If that reporter is right about Missy, you're in danger," Momma says as she salts her scrambled eggs.
 
Scrambled eggs make everything better.  When I was younger, if I had a bad day at school, my momma would make scrambled eggs for dinner.  She used to tell me they were magical.  Then as I got older, I realized it was her way of dealing with stress or anxiety.  Scrambled eggs were her comfort food.  Then they became my comfort food.
 
"I never did care for that girl," she continues.  "She was a manipulator from day one.  Used to make me so mad when she'd try and use you to get what she wanted.  She dug into your confidence until you hardly had any left."
 
I look up, surprised at what she's saying.  "I'm pretty confident."
 
"Really?  Explain your choice in men."
 
I feel the burn of her words as if she just slapped me.  "Damn.  Don't hold back, Momma."
 
"You had a crush on that nice football player, oh, what was his name.  She told you he was out of your league."
 
"I don't remember that."
 
"I sure do.  I was listening at your door.   She was always telling you that kind of bullshit.  And you bought it.  Oh, Miranda, you don't have any rhythm, you shouldn't try out for cheering.  I'm just being honest.  You shouldn't wear that color, it makes your skin look gray. I'm just being honest."
 
I can't help but laugh.  My momma was always as nice to Missy as possible.  I never had so much as a clue that she didn't like her.
 
"Well, she and I were only friends for a couple of years.  So, live and learn."
 
"You still need to be careful.  People who have more money than sense are a dangerous lot."
 
I shovel in the last few bites of my eggs then take my plate, along with hers, to the sink.  I wet the sponge and put a few drops of dish soap on it.  After I rinse them clean I reach for the pan.
 
"Just leave that," she says.  "You know I love you and I'm proud of you.  I don't think there's anything you can't do.  Okay?  But, you aren't invincible.   Stay alert.  Not everyone who smiles at you, is your friend."
 
I lean down and put my arms around her shoulders.   "I love you."
 
 
                    **************
 
 
Matt has left me a nice long list of things that need to be done.  It's time for the annual health inspection.  Since we have some limited food items, alcoholic beverages and a public bathroom, we have more things to clean, straighten and organize.  
 
Rita peeks over my shoulder and makes a small noise in my ear.  "How come he didn't leave me a list?"
 
"I'll happily share this one.  We can probably knock out half of these this afternoon."
 
"Let's start tomorrow.  I'm tired.  My boys were up half the night coughing."
 
"A spoonful of whiskey and honey will nip that."  I wouldn't really do that to a child.  I just enjoy the panic that comes to a parent's face when I say it.
 
"That's terrible, Miranda."
 
"You thought I meant for the kid?  No, it's for you."  I wink at her.
 
Rita giggles but stops as she looks past me.  "Shit.  Missy's heading this way." Her voice is soft but hurried.
 
"Rita!"  Missy calls out loudly.  "I need your help."
 
I slip past Rita to head to the coolers.  
 
"How can I help you," Rita says.
 
"I'm wondering which wine to take to Ed Preston's sister.  I need to offer my condolences.  What says I'm sorry your disgusting brother was knocked in the head and murdered?  Red or white?"
 
I step into the cooler, watching through the rows of bottles as Missy chats happily with Rita.  She leans into Rita, invading her personal space.  She's dominating her.  She used to do that to me.  But Rita just keeps shrinking further and further into herself.
 
Missy looks around.  She's looking for me.  I'm pretty darned sure she is.  She takes the bottle of wine from Rita and turns towards the coolers.  Each door she looks through.  Her eyes surveying slowly and thoroughly.  I step to the side then duck down.  
 
I'm not going to engage today.  Missy came looking for me but she's going to leave disappointed.
 
She finally gives up and makes her way to the checkout counter.  Rita puts the bottle in a bag.  Just before Missy leaves, she turns around and waves at the cooler.  Her mouth moves like she's speaking to someone, but between the motors of the refrigerators and the glass doors I can't hear anything.
 
I wait a few minutes before leaving the frosty cooler.
 
"She's gone," Rita says as I walk up the aisle, casting hesitant looks around.
 
"That's pretty tacky.  Taking wine to his sister.  How does she even know them?"
 
Rita shrugs.  "Maybe she's just trying to be nice.  Not likely, but maybe."
 
"Missy is only nice when it benefits her.  Never forget that."
 
"I think she was looking for you.  Did you hear what she said before she left?"
 
I shake my head.  "What?"
 
"She called out, I'll catch you later, Miranda."
 
I wrinkle my nose. " Not if I can help it."
 
I go back to the office.  Something about Missy's visit has me feeling off.  I'm not quite able to put my finger on it but it will come to me.  
 
There is a knock on the office door.
 
"Rita, you don't have to knock," I call out.
 
The door swings open and there stands Dougie Wilcox, in the flesh.
 
He grins like a possum.  "Hey, Baby."
 
I put my head in my hands and can't help but mutter, "You have got to be kidding me."
 
 
***To be continued...

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 38
Not So Happy (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   Life has been a series of one surprise after another.  This last surprise is the return of her ex-lover, Dougie Wilcox. ***
 
 
 
 
He stands there, just a foot away from the open door to the office.  A big, clueless smile plastered on his face.  He puts his hands on his hips and plants his feet far enough apart to show off his non-negotiable confidence. 
 
"What the hell are you doing here?" I say, once the shock has worn off and I'm able to control what will come out of my mouth.
 
"Aren't you gonna give me a hug?"
 
I squint, shaking my head.  "What did you just say?"
 
He grins and cocks his eyebrow.  "I asked why you won't give me a hug."
 
If I found any humor in his question, I'd laugh.  But I don't and I don't have the energy to be very nice at all.
 
"Why would I give you a hug, Dougie?  If I hug you, you might think it means I'm happy to see you.   And, well, I'll just come right out and say it.  I'm not happy to see you.  Not in the least."
 
He shrugs, looks away and laughs. "You are still as mean as a snake. "
 
"What are you here for?  You run out of money?  Come back for more of your shit?"
 
"I missed you." He tilted his head and smiled that lethal smile of his.
 
This might have worked several months ago.   He had this uncanny ability to make me feel like I was his one and only.  But those moments usually didn't last more than the ten minutes of slap and tickle, then it was back to me being the old ball and chain.
 
"Are you back for Waylon?" I feel this unsettling whirl go through my insides.
 
"Oh, uh no.  Not yet.  I have big news."
 
"News too big for the phone?"
 
"There's this guy who wants me to be his partner in an up and coming construction company."
 
I sigh.  I already know where this is going.  
 
"And you need money."
 
He holds up both hands. "It's an investment, Randa.  You could double your money in probably less than six months."
 
"No.  No thank you."
 
"Come on.  I'm giving you the first opportunity at this.  Ten grand and you can have a piece of the pie."
 
"I said no."
 
He stares down at the floor like the kid who gets picked last in gym class.  "At least, let me take you to dinner."
 
"I work until after 9.  Then I go home to make sure your son has done his homework and showered."
 
Never the quitter, Dougie reaches in his pocket and pulls out a hotel key.  "Why don't you swing by the Iverton Inn after you get off.  Room 307."
 
"Don't wait up for me," I say.
 
Maybe he hears me, maybe not.  I don't know and I surely don't care.  All I know is I feel this huge weight go lifting off of my shoulders when he turns to walk away.
 
Dougie Wilcox has no power over me.  For the first time since I was fifteen years old, I am not worried about some damn man.  And it feels exhilarating. 
 
 
 
                   ************
 
I call to check on Waylon around eight.  I can't directly ask him if he's heard from or seen his father.  He doesn't mention anything about Dougie.  So, I'm left to believe that son of a bitch, didn't come to town to see his own flesh and blood.  He came for money.
 
The store is pretty busy tonight and that is a good thing.  With people all around, the night passes quickly.  
 
I lock up and start the trek home.  The Iverton Inn is just a couple of miles down from the exit I take.  But, you know what, I drive right home.  
 
In my head I can see Dougie all bare chested, the sheet draped over his naked body as he leans against the headboard.   So confident that simple Miranda can't resist a romp in the bed with him.  I smile as I see him checking the clock.  No Miranda.  Poor guy, he never sees this coming 
 
I pull up to the trailer and turn off my car.  The glow of the television is the only light coming from inside.  I climb the steps and see something by the door.  A vase with flowers. 
 
"Geez, Dougie.  This is a new tactic,"  I mutter.  I reach down to pick it up but pull my hand back. The flowers are all dead.  A ribbon is draped around the vase.  I see the faded words 'deepest sympathy'.
 
I kick the vase to the side and quickly unlock the door.
 
"Did someone come to the door?"
 
Waylon looks up from the television.  "Not that I know of. Why?"
 
"Just wondering.  You didn't steal any flowers arrangements from the cemetery, did you?"
 
"Uh, no.  I have a life."
 
"Ok.  Someone's fucking with me."
 
Waylon smiles suddenly.  "Are you gonna call the sheriff?" he teases.
 
"Nope.  Unless you want him to come over for a play date with you and Aaron."
 
He laughs.  "Dad called.  Said he might come see me tomorrow."
 
I nod, pretend to be surprised, and lock the door.  "That's nice. He's in town?"
 
"He told me he already saw you.  You don't have to pretend.  I figured he would come see you first."
 
"Just for money.  That's all he wanted from me."
 
Waylon picks up the remote and offers it to me.  "Want to watch a movie?"
 
"Sure."
 
And though I may have passed up a night, or more realistically fifteen solid minutes, of passion, I had a good night.  Watching an old movie with a kid who is really starting to grow on me.
 
 
***To be continued ...

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 39
Truth Be Told (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.  Every day something happens that further convinces her, Missy Toblerone, her former friend from high school, is a dangerous person.  Dougie Wilcox is back and asking for money.  Her neighbor, Aaron is still trying to get her to help him find his great uncle's submerged car in Haynes Pond.  
 
 
                     *************
 
Fifteen minutes into the movie, there's a knock on my door.  Waylon pauses the movie, and I peek through the blinds on the kitchen window.  There stands Aaron Earl.
 
"It's after ten o'clock," I say as I open the door.  "What's so important?"
 
He looks past me and says hey to Waylon.   "Can I come in? "
 
I shrug, step aside and he breezes past me.  "Oh, y'all watching a movie.  What movie? "
 
"Aaron.  Focus.  Why did you come over?"
 
"It's about my great uncle's car.  Have you given any more thought to going back?"
 
I had hoped that with everything going on right now, Aaron would just forget about it.  No such luck.
 
"My friend, Guy, said we can use his gear this weekend.  This might be my last opportunity to bring peace and closure to my family."
 
He stands there looking like some baby-faced man-child.  I know it means a lot to him.  We've been with him since the first day he and Waylon found the car.  He wants us there with him at the finish line, so to speak.  I get it.  But Haynes Pond is also where I found Ed Preston's body.   For me, Haynes Pond isn't a place of adventure,  it's a place where a nightmare started for me.
 
"Let me think about it. "
 
He looks a little disappointed. "That's what you said two weeks ago."
 
I cock one eyebrow and place my hands on my hips.  "And, I'm saying it again."
 
Aaron bites his bottom lip, and nods. "This is really important to me."
 
"I know, Aaron," I say as gently as I can.  "But it's dangerous and I'm really not sure I'm ready to go back."
 
He says goodnight and I stand at the door watching him walk home.  Once he's safely inside his house, I turn off the porch light, close and lock the door.
 
Waylon is looking at me.  He doesn't unpause the movie.  He's got something on his mind.
 
"Yes?"  I say, turning to face him as I sit on the couch.
 
"Were you glad to see my dad today?"
 
I should lie.  A polite little lie that would make Waylon feel okay and make me look like the bigger person.  Forgiveness is divine.  But I am not a good liar.
 
"Not really."
 
"Is he back?"
 
"I really don't know, Waylon.  He stopped by the store and tried to borrow some money.  Did he indicate to you that he was coming back?"
 
Waylon fiddles with the remote.  There is something else on his mind.  
 
"Spill it.  You want to say something."
 
He won't look me in the eye.  He's afraid.
 
"Are you scared I won't take him back or that I will take him back?" I ask.
 
He looks up, briefly, but I can see the fear in his eyes.  "It's just, well, I just like it here."
 
"You think I'm gonna make him take you with him?  Oh, no.  No, no, no.  You can stay with me for as long as you want, kiddo.  We're a good team, you and me."
 
Relief in the form of a smile comes to his face.  "I'm the brawn and you're the brains." 
 
Before I get caught up in the moment and start tearing up, I change the subject.  "So, about Haynes Pond, you want to go back?"
 
He nods vigorously.   "Yes!"
 
"I'm gonna talk to the sheriff about it.  Better to find out what's involved before we go messing around there."
 
Waylon frowns.  "You're gonna narc on Aaron?"
 
"It's not narcing.  I'm pretty sure messing with dead bodies is a crime.  Besides, cars aren't normally ten feet underwater.  It could be his great uncle.  It could be an unsolved disappearance from years ago.  I don't know, you don't know and I know damn well, Aaron doesn't know.  Sheriff Mitch will be our best asset."
 
"Or he'll shut us down."
 
"Whoever is down there will be recovered.  If it's Aaron's great uncle, his family will get closure.  And Aaron will get the credit for finding him."
 
Waylon leans over and hugs me, puts the remote on the coffee table.  "We can finish the movie tomorrow night.  I'm tired."
 
He pulls the cushions off the couch after I get up and starts setting up his bed.
 
"Night, kid."
 
"Night, Miranda. "
 
 
 
                    **************
 
 
Mitch is at the Little Eagle when I get there in the morning.  He tips his hat as I walk past his car.
 
"Sheriff, you back for a free muffin?" 
 
"Now, that does sound good, but no.  Just out here patrolling the back roads of Patterson County.  You know, risking my life to keep these streets safe."
 
"Why, sounds like you're about to run for office."
 
"Just doing my job.  My thankless, dangerous job.  Not that I want a fuss made over me, mind you."
 
"Okay.  Have it your way. "  I adjust the shoulder strap of my purse and pull open the door.  I want to turn around and see his face but I don't want to laugh.
 
"That's cold, Miranda," he calls as I step inside.
 
I drop my purse behind the counter, go grab an apple fritter, and carry it back outside.
 
"Here you go."
 
"Thank you." He looks the pastry over with unbridled lust in his eyes.
 
"I have a question for you."
 
"Shoot."
 
"Not a smart choice of words for a cop to say."
 
"Ask."
 
"First, are you a cop, right now?"
 
"Of course."
 
"Then nevermind.  I need to speak with a regular guy.  The regular guy who was tossing the football around the other night."
 
"You're scaring me." He tugs a piece of the fried goodie free and pops it in his mouth.  
 
"Hypothetically, if you found a dead body ... or two, and you don't notify the police, is that a crime?"
 
His head jerks up and his eyes narrow.  "What kind of hypothetical question is that?"
 
"Nevermind, I can see this is getting you upset."  I back away, inching towards the door.
 
"Stop right there.  Miranda, I swear to God, if you tell me you found another body...," he says through gritted teeth. "Is this hypothetical or not?"
 
"Can you come to my house tonight after I get off?"
 
"Are you asking me out, like on a date?"
 
"Not really, but sure. I need to ask you some questions and I think it will be better if you're relaxed and have a beer in your hand."
 
He slides the unfinished fritter into the wax paper sleeve.  He removes his hat and his aviator glasses.  "I guess I have no choice, now do I?"
 
"There's always a choice."
 
At this, he laughs.  "You are an amazing woman," he says.  "What time?"
 
"Nine-thirty."
 
He starts his car, and after a moment, he checks the rear view mirror.  "I'll see you at nine-thirty."
 
My first date with a nice guy.  Too bad it's going to be a double date with Waylon and Aaron.
 
To be continued ...
 
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 40
Sort of Date

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   She doesn't want to return to Haynes Pond, but her neighbor, Aaron Earl, is obsessed with bring closure to his family over a missing relative.  So, Miranda invites the sheriff over to talk about it. ***
 
 
                ****************
 
 
As soon as I get home from work, I send Waylon over to get Aaron.
 
"If he's been drinking, or smoking weed, leave him home.  I don't need Mitch thinking I'm friends with a degenerate."
 
Waylon is tugging his shoes on, but he smiles mischievously. 
 
"What's that smirk for?"
 
"You really like him."
 
I wave my hand dismissively at him.  "Hurry up and get your damn shoes on."
 
He finally gets his feet in them and hurries out the door.  
 
Am I that obvious?  A clueless thirteen year old can see it.  I honestly don't know how I feel about him.  I mean, he's pretty handsome.  Not in a classic way.  Not a Hollywood handsome.  His nose is bent more to one side, definitely been broken a time or two.  He has nice, kind eyes, even when he's aggravated with me.   
 
I feel like an idiot teenager.  Snap out of it, Miranda.  You can't be trusted to pick out men.  I fluff the pillows on the couch and refold the throw.  
 
I try to think about any red flags.  I am notorious for seeing red flags as fixable obstacles.  Or, worse, for not seeing them at all.
 
Waylon comes back in the trailer.  "He's coming over.  He was reading."
 
"He's not drunk or high?"
 
"Didn't seem like it.  He was eating Oreos. "
 
"Ok."
 
I walk over to check the bathroom.  Wouldn't want anything embarrassing on the sink or hanging in the shower.  I purposely ignore my smart mouth reflection.   But she sees me.
 
"Hey.  What do you think is going to happen tonight?  Mitch is a real catch, girlie.  He's gonna come over here, see you and your merry band of men, and high tail it out of here. You and he have nothing in common.  Don't get your hopes up.  He's way out of your league."
 
I look up and study my face.  Maybe the Miranda in the mirror is right.  Maybe he is out of my league.  But there is a connection there.  I feel it.  I just hope I'm not the only one.
 
 
                   ************
 
Aaron groans softly as I step to the side to let Mitch in the trailer.  He's in jeans and a pale blue polo shirt.  His aftershave smells clean and crisp as he steps inside.  He's holding flowers.
 
He looks past me and sees Waylon, still with that devilish smirk on his face, and Aaron who has the black crumbs of his Oreos in the corners of his mouth.
 
"I'm thinking I might have misread this," Mitch says, turning to look at me.
 
"This concerns all of us."  I see the blank look on Mitch's face as I say it.  I regroup.  "It concerns the three of us. "  I point to Aaron, Waylon and myself.
 
"Ok.  I got you these."  He hands the small grocery store bouquet to me.
 
"Aw, so pretty."
 
I lean down to smell them.  I've never had a man give me flowers for absolutely no reason.  I got them quite often from Farley.  They were his "it'll never happen again/give me another chance" flowers.  And I Dougie never gave me real flowers.   He did give me a glass rose that he bought from a convenience store just outside of Raleigh.  Nothing says white trash love quite like a gift from a convenience store.
 
"Since this isn't a date, can you tell me what I'm doing here?" Mitch asks.
 
"Aaron, don't get mad," I say, looking over at him.
 
I motion for Mitch to join us at the table.
 
"Is this an intervention?" Aaron asks.
 
Shaking my head, I try not to look at Mitch.  "Aaron, do you think you need an intervention?"
 
"Well, no."
 
"Good.  Now I asked Mitch to swing by so we could talk about Haynes Pond."
 
"What about Haynes Pond?" Mitch says.  "Why do we need to talk about Haynes Pond?"
 
"When we found Ed Preston that day, Aaron and Waylon were diving and they found two sunken cars."
 
Mitch scratches his jaw methodically.  "Uh huh."
 
"And there were bodies in them."
 
His jaw tightens.  "Uh huh."
 
"We would like to go back there and retrieve those bodies.  Aaron believes that one is his great uncle."
 
"Absolutely not.  That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard anyone say.  And, believe me, I have heard some doosies."
 
Aaron cuts his eyes at me, making me feel like a traitor.  "This is family."
 
"Son, I don't care.  You can show me where these bodies are submerged and the proper authorities will take care of it."
 
"What happens if I don't show you?" Aaron asks, his voice holding more than a hint of challenge in it.
 
"Then you will be arrested." Mitch says, calmly. "If you decide to remove them yourself."
 
I nudge Mitch and smile.  "Can I see you outside?"
 
He gets up, steps out on the porch and I follow, pulling the door closed behind me.
 
"Dont be like this, Mitch.  Aaron is hell bent on proving something to his family.  Have a  heart."
 
"He's an idiot, Miranda.  Do you have any idea what happens to the human body when it's left under water?"
 
I hold up my hand.  "Stop.  Don't call my friend an idiot.  Misguided, naive, sure.  But Aaron is a good guy.  And so are you.  I asked you to come here because I trust you.  I didn't think you'd go all cop crazy on me."
 
Mitch looks around like he's searching for something.  "Miranda, I'm sorry.  But I am a cop.  I can't turn and look the other way if I know someone is doing something illegal, and especially if I know they are doing it intentionally."
 
I rub my hands over my upper arms.  The season is changing.  Summer is dancing slowly offstage, making way for autumn.
 
"You're a puzzle, you know that?"
 
I look into his eyes.  "What does that mean?"
 
"It means right now, you don't make sense, but I can't walk away.  I'm trying to fit one piece with another and then another.  You are aggravating but I can't walk away."
 
He steps over closer and I can smell his aftershave again.   I feel a little wobbly.
 
"Would it be alright if I kissed you?" His voice is little more than a whisper as he moves closer.
 
I can only nod, as my voice fails me.
 
 
 
 
To be continued ...
 
 
 
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 41
The Mediator (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   She is falling for the sheriff.  Sheriff Mitch thinks her friend and neighbor Aaron Earl is an idiot.  She wants everyone to be happy so she comes up with a plan.
 
 
 
                  ***************
After a kiss that seemed all too brief, I return to find Aaron and Waylon still sitting at the table.  
 
Aaron has a sour look on his face.  And I can't say that I blame him.  He's built up this scenario in his head.  He's going to carry his great- uncle's remains to his daddy.  I don't know too much about Aaron's dad, but I know when a boy longs for a parent's approval.  And Aaron could be the poster child for that.
 
"Stop pouting, Aaron," I say before he can call me out for spilling the tea to Mitch.
 
"Stop pouting?  Are you for real, Miranda?  He said he was gonna arrest me."
 
I wave his comment off.  "He's not gonna arrest you."
 
"Why did you tell him?"
 
I sit down across from them.  I need to make them both understand why I did what it did.  I'm sure Waylon is upset as well but he isn't as pouty as Aaron.
 
"Aaron, I'm not saying this to hurt your feelings, but you don't have a clue what seeing a dead body is like.  It's not like what you see in the movies.  I wake up sometimes, seeing Ed Preston's pale face, those eyes staring ...".  I can't finish.  "It's going to take this wonderful moment of closure for your family, and turn it into a trauma for you."
 
"I'm not a powder puff," he mumbles.
 
"I'm not either.  This is not something you can unsee."
 
He stands up, pushing his chair back with a tad more force than necessary.   "Guess it doesn't matter.  Your cop boyfriend said no."
 
"Aaron, wait."
 
He pauses before going out.  "I can't believe you sold me out."
 
I watch as he closes the door, then look over at Waylon.
 
"Guess you're mad at me too."
 
Waylon shrugs.  "Why did you tell the sheriff?"
 
"Because, messing with a dead body is illegal.  And it's immoral.  Think about it, Waylon.  Suppose you and Aaron manage to retrieve whoever is in those cars.  Are y'all gonna throw them in the back of his pick-up?  That's assuming the body doesn't fall apart while you're swimming to shore."
 
"I get it.  But Aaron just wants to be a part of it." Waylon says.
 
I have a brilliantly bright light bulb go on in my head.
 
"Kid, you're a genius."
 
Waylon looks over, surprised at my statement.  "Tell that to my teachers."
 
"I'm going to make a quick call.  Go take your shower, okay?"
 
He nods and heads to the bathroom.
 
I pick up the phone and dial Mitch's number.  He may not even be home yet.  
 
"Hello?"
 
I have a pleasant flashback to the kiss we shared but shake it off.  I have a proposition for him.  And if he's as smart as I think he is, he'll agree with me it's a good idea.
 
"Hey.  I, uh, hope it's not too late to call."
 
"I'll let it slide.  What's going on?"
 
"First, promise me that you'll hear me out."
 
"Sure."
 
"If Aaron shows you where those cars are in Haynes Pond, will you let him assist in the retrieval of them?"
 
"Geez, Miranda.  I don't know.  I know he's your friend but he's a little odd."
 
"What does that have to do with the price of eggs?"
 
"Are you going to be there, too?" Mitch asks.
 
"He wants us to see this through with him." I say.  
 
He's quiet.  Probably regretting his decision to answer my call.  After several seconds, he speaks.  "It's gonna take a couple of days to get the dive team ready.  I'll see what they say.  If you think your buddy can stay out of the way, then I'll vouch for him."
 
I feel a flicker of hope building.
 
"Thanks, Mitch.  If you were here, I'd kiss you."
 
"If I was there, I just might let you.  Night, Miranda."
 
I hang up and head straight over to Aaron's. 
 
He's reluctant or still just pissed, because I feel like I stand out on his deck, in the dark for longer than need be, before he opens the door.
 
"You can stop pouting now.  I talked to Mitch about assisting the dive team with the retrieval.  But you've got to swear you won't get in their way or do anything stupid."
 
He frowns.  "I guess that's better than nothing."
 
"You bet your ass it's better than nothing.  You can show them where the cars are, go down there with them.  You just can't touch anything."
 
"Thanks," he mumbles.  He still doesn't look too happy.  So, I know something else is bothering him.
 
"Well, what's wrong now?"
 
The look in his eyes tells me everything I need to know.  He's hurt I went behind his back to pull Mitch in on this.
 
"Why didn't you tell me you were going to call in your boyfriend?  You blindsided me, Miranda."
 
"You wouldn't have let me call him in."
 
He nods, puts his hand on the edge of the door.  "Doesn't make it okay.  I'd like to say it's okay, but I never would have done that to you. "
 
I can't say anything.  It's true.  Aaron would have been a faithful friend, following blindly to the end.  But sometimes good friends, trusted friends, make bad mistakes.  Don't they say that the road to hell is paved with good intentions?
 
 
To be continued ...
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 42
Goosebumps and Stuff (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   She has just sweet talked Mitch into letting Aaron assist the dive team to pull bodies from the submerged cars in Haynes Pond.  She gets a piece of mystery mail and a visit from Missy.
 
 
 
                 ****************
 
I don't sleep well, waking up every couple of hours.  I know Aaron is mad with me.  I feel like everything I do hurts one person or another.  I keep seeing Ed Preston under the couch.  There's something about his death that fills me with guilt.  A hundred people had tossed him out of their stores, nothing happened to him.  I kick him out, and two days later he's found dead ... by me, no less.  Everything that's been happening feels like it's aimed at me.
 
I make up my bed, then go to the kitchen to make coffee.  Its early, like the sun is teasing the horizon.  
 
Waylon's phone alarm goes off and he fumbles for it.
 
"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," I call out.
 
He stretches as he slowly opens his eyes.
 
"Why are you up?  You're never awake when I get up."
 
"Couldn't sleep.  Did you sleep okay?"
 
He pulls himself into a sitting position.  "Yeah, I guess.  I might go to dinner with my dad.  Is that okay?"
 
"Yes.  Of course it is."
 
I turn back to check the progress of the coffee.  I reach for the blinds on the window over the kitchen sink.  The tiniest sliver of light comes peeking through.  Something is blocking the light coming in.  I raise the blinds all the way up.  What I see leaves me speechless.
 
A photocopy of Ed Preston's picture is taped to the outside of the window.
 
Written in red magic marker are three words.  JUSTICE FOR ED.
 
I glance over at Waylon.  He doesn't need to see this.  Quickly, I lower the blinds.  The picture and what's written on it don't scare me.  It's the thought that someone was creeping around my house in the middle of the night.
 
 
 
                *****************
 
I spot Missy's car when I get to work.  I can see her, inside, chatting up Rita, from where I sit in my car.  I'm a few minutes early so I'm in no hurry to go in and be subjected to her mind games.  But it's not fair for Rita to have to deal with her alone.
 
"Deep breath," I think as I lock my car and head inside.  "She's just a person.  Just like you."
 
But then, that's not really true.  Missy Toblerone has "allegedly" killed her husband and I suspect she will kill again.  
 
"Mornin', Rita," I say as I round the corner of the counter.  "Missy."
 
"I see that Dougie is back in town.  That must make you feel better.  Now he can take that fugly kid of his with him." Missy grins, wickedly.
 
"Missy, do you ever think before you open your mouth and that diarrhea of thoughtlessness comes shooting out."
 
"He came to see me yesterday.  Some get rich quick scheme he needed money for."
 
I feel my pulse quicken.  "Dougie came to see you?"
 
"Yes.  We were friends long before you and him got together.  I gave him some money.  Not as much as he was asking for."
 
"Well, now, wasn't that nice of you," I say with a fake smile curling my lips.
 
"When was the last time y'all talked?  He had no idea about that whole mess with Ed Preston.  He said the funniest thing," she laughs and fiddles with her hair.  "He said he'd seen you mad enough to kill someone but he never thought you'd actually do it."
 
"You should hear what he used to say about you."
 
Missy smiles.  It's a slow calculated smile.  It's enough to make the Devil himself wet his pants.  I swear there isn't anything behind those eyes.
 
"Get lost, Rita," she says.
 
Rita doesn't have to be told twice.  She steps away quickly.
 
"Miranda, I would choose my words carefully.  You do not want to piss me off."
 
"What are you gonna do?  Kill me?"
 
"My gracious,  I would never do that.  But I might enjoy watching you lose one person, then another, then another ... am I making myself clear?"
 
"You're a fucking psychopath."
 
"Am I? "
 
"Where is Jason?" I whisper.  "Did he piss you off?"
 
She reaches over and runs one of her fake nails across my forearm.  "What's that damn saying you always say?  Oh, yes, I remember.  It'll all come out in the wash."
 
"Son of a bitch, you killed him.  You really killed him, didn't you?"
 
She straightens up and pulls her purse strap up onto her shoulder. She's tired of playing this game.  Maybe she felt she was slipping into full psycho mode and had to pull it back a notch or two.  She checks her wristwatch and let's out this little gasp. "Oh my gosh, look at the time.  I'll see you around.  Tell Rita I said bye."
 
When she gets to the double doors leading out, she turns to look back at me.  Then she blows me a kiss.
 
There are two things I know.  Missy Toblerone killed her husband, Jason.  And the second thing, she is dying to tell me all about it.
 
 
To be continued ***
 
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 43
No Thanks (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   She found a dead body, thinks her high school friend killed one person, possibly more.  Now, she's going with her neighbor to be with him as he helps remove two sunken cars from the bottom of Haynes Pond.***
 
 
 
                  ***************
 
 
Matt agrees to cover my shift on Friday so I can fulfill my promise to Aaron.  Now, he can assist the divers with the retrieval, with our "gang" as his witness.
 
He still hasn't completely forgiven me for calling in Mitch but, he's so excited he keeps talking to me.
 
"Should I call and tell my dad or make it a surprise?" He picks up his cell phone and touches the screen.
 
"I think you should wait.  No sense in telling him until it's done.  No matter what, he's going to be proud of you."
 
He looks up, eyes bright.  "It'll be the first time.  No matter what I do, it's always sub par."
 
"Then why are you doing this?"
 
Aaron shrugs.  "One last ditch effort to make him like me, I guess."
 
"I'm sure he likes you, Aaron," I laugh.
 
"He loves me.  That doesn't mean he likes me.  He likes my brother.  Me?  Not so much."
 
I reach across and squeeze his hand.  "Then he doesn't know what he's missing."
 
One of the police divers walks over.  "Mr. Earl, I just need to borrow you for a minute."
 
I walk back and lean against Aaron's truck where Waylon is.
 
"Man, I wish I could go back down there." 
 
I nod.  "I know you do.  But Mitch went out on a limb getting permission for Aaron.  It's bad enough I'm letting you skip school.  This could be dangerous."
 
A big tow truck pulls down the road and passes us where we stand.  It goes down onto the mud, the wheels rolling over the thicket I usually cut through.
 
"Can we go down there?  I might as well be in school, if I've gotta stay back here." Waylon stretches on his tiptoes to see what's going on.
 
"I guess.  Just stay out of the way, got it?"
 
We walk down there, close enough to see the divers checking oxygen tanks, going over plans.  Calling out instructions to the tow truck driver.  
 
Aaron stands in the midst of them, listening intently, pointing to where they should focus their attention.  He looks towards us and spots Waylon.  His face breaks into a smile and he sends him a thumbs up.
 
Mitch walks over.  He must have just arrived on the scene.  His hair is poking out from under a baseball cap, and he's in jeans and a striped t-shirt. 
 
"Off duty or is it casual Friday at the station?" I ask.
 
"Today is my day off.  I wouldn't miss this for the world.  You think your friend, Aaron, is prepared for what's about to come to the surface?"
 
"I doubt any of us is prepared for this."
 
Mitch looks at Waylon.  "School holiday?"
 
Waylon grins but doesn't answer.
 
"Smart kid," Mitch says, looking at me.  "Knows better than to incriminate himself."
 
We turn as the three divers and Aaron start walking into the water.
 
"Gosh, I hope there aren't real bodies in those cars," I whisper.
 
Both Waylon and Mitch look over at me.  "No way,  I hope it's his uncle," Waylon says, stepping closer to get a clearer view.
 
Mitch takes the opportunity to step a little closer to me. His bare forearm brushes against mine, sending a wonderful shiver down my spine.
 
"Considering you work almost every night, can I take this chance to ask you out to lunch?"
 
I tell myself to play it cool.  Less is more.  But that goes right out the window when I look in his eyes.
 
"A girl's gotta eat."
 
"That she does," he says, his hand searching for mine.
 
I feel like I did in high school. Butterflies, sweaty palms, and all that's missing is some romantic ballad playing in the background.
 
 
 
                      ************
 
It's nearly three-thirty when the second car is dragged out of the muck.  It's another five or ten minutes before the dark brown muddy water stops pouring out of it.
 
Mitch and Waylon start walking towards the two cars.  I hang back.  
 
"Cool," Waylon says as the door is pried open. More water gushes out, along with a water snake.  
 
"I only see the one body in this one," one of the divers calls out to Mitch.  "Two are in the other one."
 
"Coroner is on the way." Mitch walks down to where everyone is clustered.  "Sheldon, call and get a flatbed to take these cars in.  They been down there so long, pieces of them are going to be falling off on the road if you tow them behind you."
 
Every once in a while, they move and I get a glimpse of the body pressed up against the steering wheel.  I can't help but wonder if Aaron's great uncle was running hooch, trying to get his own father to like him.  It makes me wonder how a parent can't just accept their kid for what they are.  Whatever, that kid paid the ultimate price for approval.
 
They pop open the trunk and I hear the clinking of glass. 
 
"Lotta booze in here.  This woulda put him away for a long time."
 
I search until I find Aaron.  He's down on one knee in the mud, head bowed.
 
I close my eyes and join him in prayer.  A quick prayer for Aaron's great uncle, him, Waylon and all the other kids who just want their parents to like them.
 
 
To be continued ...

Author Notes This is part of a larger story.


Chapter 44
Dirty Diner (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   She just got done watching two cars from the early 1930s get pulled from the bottom of Haynes Pond.   Now, she is heading out for a lunch date with the sheriff.
 
 
 
                 ****************
 
I wander back to Aaron's truck when the coroner's van shows up.  The last thing I want to see is them pulling three decomposed bodies out.  
 
Of course, Waylon bolts down the road to get as close as he can.  Maybe, if I was a thirteen year old boy, I'd be all about it, but not now.  I wonder how Aaron is holding up.  He's heard about this great uncle of his most of his life.  Even though they never met, family is family.
 
I think about going to sit in Aaron's truck but I'll go stir crazy if I do.  I could use a little exercise, to be honest.   It's approximately a half mile to the turn off at the main road.  Once up and back and hopefully they'll be done.  
 
To be totally honest, I'm a little nervous about having lunch with Mitch.  He's a nice guy.  He has a steady job, well spoken, knows how to dress.  Hell, he's good looking in his unique way.  So, I've got to wonder.  What does he see in me? I work at a convenience store, live in a trailer, am divorced, barely made it out of high school.  Shoot, I'm raising my ex-boyfiend's child.  It can't be my ta-tas because I haven't caught him stealing any glances.  
 
If it was my boobs or any part of my body that garnered his attention, it might be better.  I'm used to that.   I know how to deal with the ones who just want the pleasure of scaling Mt. Booby.   But he isn't showing any signs of that.  I know he's heterosexual, I mean, a girl can tell that kind of thing.  But when he talks to me, he does something I'm not used to.  He looks me in the eye.
 
I walk to the sign at the end of the road.  It's nailed to a tree.  
 
     HAYNES POND
      BOAT LAUNCH
      NO FISHING
 
There are flyers stapled and tacked all over it.  Most are bleached out by the sun, the pictures and words faded.  One is for the ninth annual rubber duck race in Patterson Proper.  Another for a missing cat.  Then fluttering near the top is one that catches my attention. 
 
    Missing:  Jason Alexander Toblerone.  31 years old.  Last seen April 19th.  
 
250,000 dollar reward.
 
I tug the paper free from the board.  He looks so young in the picture.  It's sad to think about being so desperate to find someone, you put flyers around.  Even sadder that the flyers are still up.  Like the questions his parents are left with.  Where is he?  What happened to our son?  
 
I step to the side when the coroner's van passes me.  They must be done so I fold up the paper and slip it into my back pocket.  
 
Just thinking about Jason's poor parents puts my lunch date nerves in perspective.  
 
When I finally get back to the pond, Aaron is telling Waylon all about his experience. He leaves no detail to the imagination.  
 
"Miranda, the guys and me are going to Patterson Deli.  You want to join us?" Aaron says.  He motions towards the divers.  "They're gonna tell stories about some of their dives."
 
"Oh, no, thank you.  That sounds fascinating but I've already made plans.  You go and have fun."
 
He looks towards Waylon.  "Can he come with us?"
 
"That's up to him."
 
"Told you she'd be cool with it," Aaron says to Waylon.  He turns his attention back to me.  " I'll drop him off at home afterwards."
 
I watch as my two boys follow like puppies after the dive team.  When they all pull out and leave, I look around for Mitch.
 
He's down near where I found Ed Preston.  I walk over to him.  
 
"You know, this place used to be a popular place when I was a kid," he says.  "My parents used to bring us here.  We'd pack a lunch, play here at the waters edge.  Now look at it.   Dead bodies, shit, someone thought it'd be a good idea to dump a washer here."
 
"We used to have parties here, when I was in high school.  There used to be burn barrels right there," I say, pointing to the clearing between the clustered live oak trees.
 
"It's so overgrown and has become such a dump, you can't even get back to the boat launch anymore."
 
"I never knew there was a boat launch."
 
He walks toward the taped up washer.  "Why would you tape it shut?"
 
"So, stupid people don't get trapped inside."  I volunteer.  "That's my guess."
 
"Smart."  He taps his finger to the side of his head.  "Come on, let's go get something to eat."  He holds out his hand.  
 
"That sounds good,"  I say, trying my best to play it cool.  
 
"Your friend did okay down there."
 
"Well, thank you for pulling some strings and arranging it so he could help."
 
"No problem.  Besides, those guys love the attention.  They invited Aaron to join them for lunch.  Probably to tell him crazy stories about their adventures."
 
"That's what he said."
 
"Ten percent fact and ninety percent bullshit."  He laughs.  "But we're lucky to have them in the county."
 
I can't take it anymore.  I have to know why he's interested in me.
 
"Before we go, I need you to level with me."
 
He cocks an eyebrow. "Level with you?  About what?"
 
"Why are you interested in me?  I'm not rich, I'm not successful, I'm not even interesting.  So why?"
 
I hear him laugh.  "I don't need your money, I don't care if you're a success, and you are very interesting.  But, if you must know,  I just am.  I like you.  I don't like playing games and I get the feeling that you don't either."
 
"No.  I don't."
 
"And, like I said before, you're a puzzle.  Everytime I think I have you figured out, I find something new about you.  You're a puzzle.  And I really, really like puzzles."
 
The next thing I know, he's kissing me like he's Clarke Gable and I'm Vivien Leigh.  Maybe Atlanta wasn't burning but I'm willing to bet our little corner of Haynes Pond was about to go up in flames.

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 45
Just the Facts (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   She and Mitch exchange a proper kiss after she asks him why he's interested in her.  Now they go to a diner to have lunch and talk.
 
 
 
 
                   **************
 
Maybe I don't have a lot to compare Mitch's kiss to, but I can tell you one thing.  If his kiss was a casserole, I'd definitely go back for seconds.  
 
I kissed a few boys in high school and they were, well, high school boy kisses.  The kind where they either had too much saliva or they hesitantly darted their nervous little tongues in and out of my mouth like they were afraid I was gonna bite them.
 
Farley kissed for one reason, and one reason only.  It was foreplay.  Unless he thought we were going to have sex, he guarded his lip locks like they were gold.
 
And, lastly, Dougie Wilcox.  He could kiss but it was odd.  Deep down, I always felt like his kisses were staged.  Like he was acting.
 
Mitch's kiss made my knees weak.  He gently touched my cheek while our lips touched.  He didn't grope me, press against me, or cop a feel.  It was the best kiss I've ever had.
 
His face is a very pleasant shade of pink.  He grins sheepishly.  "I probably should have asked first."
 
"Well, that was something.  It certainly was."
 
"Let's go to lunch."  He holds out his hand and waits for me to take it.
 
"Where did you have in mind?" I ask.
 
"Ever heard of Uncle Frank's Barbeque Pit?"
 
"That place out past Iverton?"
 
He nods.  "Not much atmosphere, but the best barbeque in North Carolina.  You do like barbeque, don't you?"
 
"Do I look like a communist?"
 
He laughs. "I'll take that as a yes."
 
 
                    ***************
 
To say that Uncle Frank's is a dive, would be a compliment.  It looks to be right out the 1960s.  Cracked red vinyl booths with wood slab table tops.  A dispenser of white paper napkins and a table top juke box.  
 
I flip through the music and laugh.  "The most current song is Achy, Breaky Heart."
 
"Want a quarter?" Mitch reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of change.  He let's it out on the table.  "There's got to be something good. Go on and pick something."
 
I settle on an older beach tune.   He nods his head.  "Never pegged you for a beach music kind of girl."
 
"What kind of music did you think I liked?"
 
"Hair bands.  Glam rock.  Cinderella, Bon Jovi, maybe Metallica. "
 
I wrinkle my nose.  "I honestly like this stuff, older Motown.  Don't listen to the radio much anymore.  At work it's soft rock so I tune it out."
 
"I like Marvin Gaye.  Would that be considered Motown?"
 
"Soul."  I lift the plastic coated menu up and pretend to study it.  I have a very important question to ask.  And, whether or not we proceed from that most wonderful kiss, will depend on his answer. "So, are you still married or what?"
 
"Divorced.  Going on three years.  Why?"
 
"Because you were right.  I don't like playing games.  And falling for a married man is one very dangerous game."
 
"We split within six months of my becoming sheriff.  I spent too much time away from home."
 
"She said that?"
 
Mitch looks down at the tabletop.  "She did, but it was true.  I wanted to be the best sheriff the county has ever had.  I put my career before my family.   And it cost me."
 
"Your daughters live with your wife?"
 
"Ex-wife.  And they bounce back and forth.  We're friends, Sherri and I.   We've made peace."
 
"It's none of my business, but if you made peace, why didn't y'all try again? "
 
He shrugs.  "Sometimes it's better to move forward than to go back and try to fix things.  Too much time had passed."
 
"Any questions for me?"
 
"Ever been married?"
 
"When I was nineteen, I married a guy I was dating.  Lasted about 9 years."
 
"That's a pretty long time.  You guys just grow apart?"
 
"He cheated on me ... repeatedly."
 
"Sorry."
 
"First time was at his bachelor party.  Then it was like there were babies being born all over this county that looked just like him.  He was like Johnny Appleseed, except he wasn't scattering apple seeds."
 
"He sounds like a prince."
 
"I would probably still be with him, but my mom sat me down and said, Miranda Lynne Jessup, he does not deserve you.  Pack his belongings and send him back to his momma."
 
"We all need our mommas sometime, don't we?" he says.  "After Sherri and I split, I went to my mom's and stayed in my childhood bedroom for three months, until I found a house to rent."
 
"I was thankful she made the decision for me.  I was under the assumption that being cheated on was part of that for better or worse bullshit in the vows."
 
The waitress saunters over.  Her pink uniform faded from years of being laundered.  The yellowed plastic name tag read Liz.  She looked about as interested in us as a blindman at a nude beach.
 
"Y'all want anything to drink?"
 
Mitch glances at the beer selection. "Budweiser in a bottle.  Miranda?"
 
"Same."
 
"I'll be right back for your order."
 
"She looks happy," I say under my breath.
 
"I came here when I was a teenager.  She's been here since then.  Her demeanor hasn't changed.  I always thought she was Frank's wife but apparently not."
 
"I shouldn't laugh," I say, sighing.  "That's gonna be me at The Little Eagle, one day."
 
I glance toward where Liz pops the tops off of our frosty bottles.  She's just going through the motions.  There's no smile on her face, not really any emotion whatsoever.
 
"Hey," Mitch says.  "That's not you.  And it never will be ... if I can help it."
 
I've been promised a lot of things over the course of my lifetime, and ninety percent of those promises get broken.  I hope this promise makes it into the ten percent of unbroken ones.
 
 
To be continued ...
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 46
He's Back (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   She is quickly falling for Mitch, the sheriff.  After a romantic lunch together, Mitch brings her home.
 
 
 
                   *************
 
 
After leaving Liz a big, fat tip and getting my leftovers to go, Mitch opens the car door for me to drive me home.
 
"Thank you.  That was the best barbeque I've ever had."
 
"I knew you'd like it," he says, after closing my door and walking around to the other side.  "You buckled?"
 
"Yes, Dad," I say.
 
He's very good at balancing small talk and silence.   I'm not one for talking just for the sake of talking.  I'm comfortable with silence.  I'm not afraid to be alone with my thoughts.  Never have been.
 
"I realize this wasn't the kind of date that gets written up in a diary, but would it be okay if I asked you out again.  Like, maybe the kind of date where we both shower, dress up and use utensils."
 
"That sounds like something I can probably manage, you know, with enough advance notice."
 
"Would Sunday be enough notice?"
 
I can feel my cheeks burning.  Farley never asked me to dress up, nor did Dougie.  And if we did get a little more dolled up than usual, Dougie couldn't take his eyes off his own reflection to notice me.  
 
I wondered if I had anything nice enough in my closet.   I might have to go raid my mommas closet.  That woman has some clothes.
 
As we pull into the trailer park, I see Mrs. Fine sitting on her deck.  A small brown cigarette hanging from her lips.
 
"Geez, is that your neighborhood watch?" Mitch says as we pass by.
 
"Yep.  She doesn't miss a thing that goes on."
 
He walks around to open my car door after we pull up to my house.  "I guess this is goodbye," he says, awkwardly shoving his hands into his jean pockets.
 
"Thanks, again.  I had a wonderful time."  I take a step towards the stairs to my deck but stop when I feel his hand on my arm.
 
One more kiss.  One for me, one for him, and one big, fat one for Mrs. Fine's afternoon entertainment.
 
"Get a room," she yells from her perch across the road.
 
Mitch takes a step back, a suspicious smile on his face.  "You are something else."
 
"I'm that and more."
 
One of the toughest things I know I must do, is to say goodbye and walk inside ... alone.  But I have to.  Something this good can't be rushed.  Rushing through things means you oftentimes miss the good stuff.
 
 
                   ***************
 
Aaron dropped Waylon off just after seven.  I heat up my leftovers and plate it up for him.  Waylon chatters non-stop while he eats.  He is now undecided on whether he wants to be a marine biologist or a recovery diver.  But at thirteen, who really knows what they want?
 
"Any idea when they'll identify the bodies?" I ask.
 
"Shouldn't be too long for the single body in the car.  It fits the make of the car Aaron's great uncle was driving when he disappeared.  And they can get DNA samples from the family.  Couple of weeks at the most.  The others, they're gonna have to do some research and see if anyone is missing from around that time."
 
"Wow.  You sure know a lot."
 
"I watch a lot of television.  But there were a couple of guns in the car with two bodies.  I'll bet they were cops."
 
"Maybe."
 
Waylon licks his fingers.  "Oh, almost forgot.  My dad has been blowing up my phone.  Wants you to text him back as soon as you get home."
 
"Why doesn't he call the house?"
 
Waylon shrugs and pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket, places it on the table and pushes it over.  "You do know how to text, don't you?"
 
"I think I can figure it out."  I pick up the phone and bring up Dougie's contact.  
 
       It's me, Miranda.  What do you 
       want? 
 
A few seconds later, the phone dings.
 
      Need to see you.
 
       Why?
 
       You were right.  About Missy 
 
       What?
 
        She did it.  Meet me at 
        midnight.  Come alone.
        She is looking for me.
 
        Where?
 
         Text later.
 
I look over at Waylon who is picking up the hunks of barbeque that has fallen off the bun.  He looks over at me curiously.
 
"Well?"
 
"He wants to meet me at midnight."
 
"Weird.  Why?"
 
"That I don't really know."
 
"He's not usually a late owl."
 
It's true.  He was usually asleep before I got home.  And why not call the cops?  Unless, this has nothing to do with Missy.  Could just be a ruse to try and get back in my good graces.  
 
"I know this is asking a lot, but would you like to be my wingman tonight?"
 
His eyes light up.  "What do I gotta do?"
 
"Just ride with me.  That's all."
 
"Sure.  And I'll jump out of the car if he goes to kiss you."  He jumps up from his chair, flailing his arms.  "Hey, dad,  gotta kiss for me?"
 
"Go take a shower." I take the plate that he's all but licked clean over to the sink.
 
I wash the dishes and straighten up the living room.  It's eight fifteen.  It's going to be a long night.  I should just text Dougie back and tell him come over here and tell me what he knows.   But, do I really want him back here.  No.  The answer to that is a resounding no. 
 
Waylon dozes off around nine.  I lean back on the couch and close my eyes shortly after that.
 
The ding of his phone wakes me.
 
          Midnight. Behind the 
           Piggly Wiggly.  Come
           alone. 
 
I nudge Waylon gently.  "You still up for this?"
 
He squints and wipes his eyes.  "Yeah;" he says.  "Let me go pee."
 
My gut says forget it.   Go with your gut, Miranda.  He's using this as a way to get to me.  He sees I'm happy ... without him.  He just wants to mess with my head.  But what if he's really found something?  
 
I hear the toilet flush and look up to see Waylon slipping his arms into his jacket.  "Ready?"
 
I grab my jean jacket off the hook by the door and get my keys.  
 
"Let's get this over with."
 
To be continued ...

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 47
Change of Plans (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   After a pleasant lunch date with Mitch, she gets an onimous text from her ex-lover.  He wants to meet at midnight to disclose what he knows about Missy Toblerone.  But something tells Miranda this might be a ploy.
 
 
 
             ********************
 
I grip the steering wheel of my car tightly.  Both hands suddenly clammy.  What am I thinking?  Dragging a kid with me like he's going to protect me.  I should be protecting him.  
 
But, after we both buckle up, I back out of my yard and head down to the main road.  
 
If it's Dougie's truck in the lot behind the Piggly Wiggly, I'll get out of the car and talk to him.  It makes me wonder what he knows and how he happened upon this information.  As far as I know, he visited her and hit her up for some money for that get rich quick scheme.  
 
I shudder to think of the two of them "negotiating".  I've seen her in action.  And it ain't pretty.
 
I can see the lights of the town just up ahead, but no cars are to be seen.  The town pretty much shuts down after ten at night.  All but Llarado's Gentlemen's Club.  
 
"What do you think Dad wants?"
 
"No idea.  Said he had some information for me," I say, leaving out the part where he feared for his safety.
 
Waylon turns to look out of his window.  "His texts were kinda weird."
 
"Oh yeah?  How so?"
 
"Well, he spelled my name wrong.  He said "Waylin, this is your dad.  Where is Miranda?  I need to talk to her."
 
"Do me a favor and look back from the beginning of this stream of contact.  Did he ever ask how you were?"
 
Waylon's profile glows in the blue light of his phone.  He shakes his head.  "No."
 
"Doesn't he usually?"
 
"Yeah.  He usually asks me about the girls I go to school with.  Like if I say one is hot, he'll ask if she has an older sister."  Waylon smiles.
 
I look away so he can't see my lip curling.  "Of course he does."
 
The sign for the Piggly Wiggly comes into view.  My stomach tightens and I clench the steering wheel tighter.  
 
This is a set up, or maybe an ambush.  I can't go back there.  Not with Waylon in the car.  
 
"There it is," Waylon says as I drive by.
 
"I don't think it was your dad texting you.  I've got a bad feeling about this."
 
He looks over, and I sense his disappointment.  He was looking forward to seeing his dad.
 
"I'm sorry, kid, but my gut is telling me to get us the hell out of here."
 
I turn down a side street and make a u-turn to head home.  
 
"It's my dad texting."  He holds up the phone to show me.
 
"Tell him to call you."
 
Waylon types into his phone.  He waits.  No call comes through only the texting notification sounds.
 
"He wants to know where you are?"
 
I certainly don't want whoever this is to know I'm tooling around town.  But I don't want anyone waiting for us when we get home.
I have one place I can go and we'll be safe.
 
"Text back that we're home."
 
"But we aren't.   Suppose Dad needs us?"
 
"He's a grown man.  He'll be fine."
 
I pass the trailer park and hop onto the bypass.  I hope Momma is still awake.  
 
I can see the lights in the den through the window as I pull to a stop in front of my childhood home.
 
"Where are we?" Waylon sits up in his seat and studies the small brick rancher.  
 
"This is where I grew up.  We are going to take refuge here for the night.  That cool? You can meet my momma.  You'll like her."
 
He unbuckles his seatbelt and grunts.
 
"Is she gonna pinch my cheeks?"
 
"Only if you want her to."
 
I'm about to knock when the porch light pops on.  She sure doesn't miss anything.
 
"Well, Miranda Lynn, what are you doing out this late at night?"
 
I lean in and kiss her cheek.  "Are you up for a sleepover?"
 
Her eyes settles on Waylon.  "Dating 'em a little young, are we?"
 
I know his cheeks are crimson without having to look at him.  "This is Dougie's boy, Waylon."
 
"You have school tomorrow? " she asks, herding us into the house.  "Go lie down on that couch and pull that afghan off the back of it.  I'll go find you a pillow."
 
After we get Waylon settled, I follow momma into the kitchen.  She puts water on for tea, then turns and waits for an explanation.   "What's going on?  You look scared."
 
"I'm not scared.  I'm being cautious."
 
"Of what?"
 
"I don't want to alarm you.  I might be overreacting."
 
Momma rolls her eyes and let's go a little huff.  "Shit, Miranda, you and a child show up at close to one a.m. and you don't want to alarm me.  Too late for that.  What's going on?"
 
"I think I might be in danger."
 
"From who?"
 
"Missy."
 
She narrows her eyes.  "Nothing good comes from tangling with that girl."
 
I look around.  I know I've probably compromised my mother's safety just by showing up here.  But I had no other choice.  I think Waylon and I would be sitting ducks if we went back to the trailer.
 
The kettle whistles on the stove, and as my momma goes to move it off the burner, I hear Waylon call my name.
 
He runs into the kitchen.  "Okay, this definitely isn't my dad."  He hands over the phone.  It's open to Dougie's last text.
 
          No one's home you lying 
           bitch.
 
 
To be continued ....
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 48
Trailer With a Title (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   After dodging whoever was texting from Dougie's phone, she and Waylon take refuge at her momma's house overnight.  She takes Waylon to school and has to see Elaine, her former mother-in-law, again.
 
 
 
                   ***************
 
Waylon hops in the shower while Momma makes breakfast.  She has cut up fruit, waffles and bacon waiting when I come down the hall.
 
"You ever gonna take that shrine that was once my bedroom, and use it for something else "
 
She pours me a cup of coffee and slides it towards me.  "What's the rush?"
 
"You told me you were gonna make it a sewing room.  What happened to that plan?"
 
She laughs one of those shameless laughs that let you know she thinks  you're an idiot.  "Please.  You and I both know I can't sew.  Nor do I have any intention of learning."
 
"Ok, so why tell me that?"
 
"It's a way of letting the world know you aren't just a mother.  When you're no longer needed as a parent, you fool others by acting like you can't wait for free time.  Mainly, you say it to fool yourself."
 
"I guess that makes sense."  I take my coffee to the table and sit.  I never thought about my momma having an identity crisis.  Very rarely does she let her guard down.  This was uncharacteristic for her.
 
"Anything else bothering you?"
 
She sits across from me, idly stirring her coffee.  "I'm worried about you, Miranda.  You've got a lot going on in your life right now.  And, well, if I'm being brutally honest, none of it seems very good."
 
Her words settle on me like a wool blanket in July.  "I've got a lot of good stuff in my life."
 
She looks over, waiting for me to continue.
 
"I got my job back.  Got a raise.  I've got Waylon."
 
She looks towards the door. "Why exactly do you still have Dougie's child?  I know you, Miranda.  You are gonna get your heart ripped out when Dougie finally comes to collect him."
 
"I know he's not my kid, but I'm actually pretty good at this.  And, I like it.  I like having him there."
 
"Of course you're good at it.  Look who raised you."  She winks.
 
I try to steer the conversation away from Waylon.  "Guess what."
 
"It's six forty-five, do I really have to play a guessing game?"
 
"I've met someone."
 
She groans.  Hand to God, she let out a groan so mournful, you'd think I told her I have cancer.
 
"You just got rid of the last one."
 
"It's the sherrif."
 
A pleasant smile turns the corners of her mouth.  "Really?  He isn't married, is he?"
 
"Divorced."
 
Waylon comes into the kitchen.  His eyes light up when he sees the spread of food.  "I could get used to this," he says.
 
I reach over and muss his wet hair. "I wouldn't if I were you.  It's back to pop tarts when we go home."
 
He shovels the waffles in his mouth.  
 
Momma grins.  "You want me to fix you a lunch?"
 
"Yes, ma'am."
 
It takes some coaxing but I finally get him to back away from the table and we are on our way to school.
 
 
                   ***************
 
I pull into the visitors space and swallow that tinge of bile as I prepare for what I know I have to do.
 
"You coming in?" Waylon asks, with his hand on the door handle.
 
"Yes.  You go on so you don't get counted as tardy.  I'll be along in a second."
 
"You afraid of the dragon lady?"
 
"No.  And don't call your principal a dragon lady."  I proudly keep several other, more fitting names, to myself.
 
The doors are open since it's early and I make a beeline for the office.  Of course, who's the first person I see?  Deputy Fife.
 
"Well, well, well.  Good morning, officer."
 
He squints, then looks like he just took a bite of a lemon when he recognizes me.
 
"Is Elaine here?" I ask.
 
"Principal Buckley? Is that who you're referring to?"
 
"Elaine, my former monster-in-law.  Principal Buckley.  Tomato, tomoto."
 
He points to a chair. "I'll see if she has time for you."
 
"Thank you, darling.  And thank you for your service." I say loudly.
 
Five minutes go by.  The first bell rings then three minutes later a second bell rings.  The lobby thins and the din of teenager noise goes quiet.
 
"Miranda.  To what do I owe this pleasure?"
 
"I need to speak to you," I look past her to Deputy Fife.  "Privately."
 
She leads me into her office.  It's tastefully decorated.  Educational decor with just enough personal items to fool the general public that Elaine Buckley is a warm hearted human being and not the spawn of Satan.  But I know better.
 
"Waylon might be in danger."
 
She raises one penciled eyebrow. "How so?"
 
"Someone is after me."
 
She says nothing.  "Why would he be in danger?"
 
"They might try to get to me through him."  My mind goes back to Missy that last time I saw her.  Her threats to take away the people I care about.
 
"We lock the doors at eight fifteen and don't unlock them until three o'clock.  No one can get in here.  He's safe here.  What happens after he gets off the bus, is out of our hands."
 
"Under no circumstances let him leave with anyone."
 
"What about his father?"
 
"Absolutely not."
 
"Miranda, I can't keep his father from getting him.  Unless you have court documents, I could get in a lot of trouble."
 
"Believe me, trouble with the law would be child's play if someone gets to him. You know me, Elaine.  I don't make empty promises."
 
"Fine.  But, remember, he's only my responsibility until he gets off the bus."
 
I nod and step out of her office, pulling the door closed behind me.
 
Deputy Fife, looks me over with unconcealed contempt.
 
"Bye-bye, Barney."
 
 
                    ***************
 
I pull into the Garden of Eden Mobile Home Park and get close to my trailer.  There are a lot of folks out and about this morning.  
 
Mrs. Fine is off her porch and pacing back and forth while talking on her phone.  She stares at me when I pass by.
 
When I pull up, I see why everyone is out.  They are looking at my trailer.
 
"Oh, no.  No, no, no."  I say.  
 
My pristine white trailer has one word spray painted across it.
 
            WHORE
 
I can't stop the tears that roll down my cheeks.  There's no need to stop them.  Nothing will ever be the same.  My little slice of heaven is gone.
 
 
 
 
To be continued ...

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 49
Kicking the Beehive (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   She returns from dropping Waylon off at school to find a naughty word spray painted on her trailer.
 
 
 
                 ****************
 
The tears quickly turn to anger as I read the word written, in red spray paint, across the front of my trailer.
 
I take the key out of the ignition and pocket it as I get out of my car.
 
People look at the word, look at me, then whisper.  This is what living in a small town is like.  Half these people have known me forever, the other half thinks they know me.  I've been judged and sentenced.  
 
Aaron rushes over.  "Who did this?  Where were you last night?"
 
"Missy did this.  Don't ask me how I can be sure, and don't you dare defend her.  That girl is a nutcase who needs to be lobotomized."
 
He frowns.  "You saw her?"
 
"I didn't have to see her.  She's been playing a game with me.  But she's getting angry now."
 
"Why's she angry?"
 
I close my eyes thinking about how she was almost hunting for me when I hid in the cooler at work.  Then her whispering how she wanted to take away the people I care about.  One by one.  
 
"Miranda, hey, you need to sit down?"
 
"I'm close to figuring something out about her.  She's scared."
 
Aaron puts his arm around my shoulder and squeezes me gently.  "I think old lady Fine called the cops.  Let me go inside and make sure they didn't break in."
 
"No.  I'm fine.  I'll call for you if I need you."
 
I go up the steps and unlock the front door.  Everything is exactly as we left it last night.
 
First thing I need to do is call Rita to let her know I might be late.  Then I need to figure out how to clean the paint off the siding.
 
I call out for Aaron.  He bounds up the steps and pokes his head around the open door.  "Everything okay in here?"
 
I flop down on the couch.  "Any idea how to get the paint off my trailer?"
 
He nods his head.  "I'm gonna take care of this.  I can get some of my crew over here.  We have a sprayer and some left over paint from a job."
 
"I can't afford that, Aaron."
 
He wrinkles his nose and laughs.  "I'm not gonna charge you, goofball.  I said I was gonna take care of this."
 
"Thanks, Aaron."
 
"Hey, what are friends for?"
 
 
                    *************
 
Deputy Tyler, baby brother to kids I used to babysit, pulls up to the trailer.
 
"Whoa."  He takes off his hat and scratches his scalp.  "Someone doesn't like you."
 
I fight the urge to smack him and say "Thank you, Captain Obvious." Instead I ball up my fists and shove them in my pocket.  "So, I'm not taking this the wrong way?  Whore isn't one of those words that can be misconstrued.   You know like fat and phatt or thick and thic."
 
Tyler looks at me with more than a hint of confusion.  "You want me to call the Sheriff? Would that make you feel better?"
 
"No.  I don't need you to call the sheriff.  I have his number, thank you.  What I want is for you to stop acting like this is your first crime scene and look around for clues.  Ask questions.  Did anyone see anything?  Do I have any enemies?"
 
He nods, but looks like a scolded school boy.  Thirteen or so people are clustered nearby, watching us.  "Uh, excuse me, folks, but did any of you happen to see anything?  Hear anything?"
 
Mumbles come from them but no one has a clue.
 
"That was helpful," Tyler says.  He looks at me.  "Any idea who might have done this?"
 
"As a matter of fact, yes.  Missy Toblerone."
 
Tyler scowls.  "That rich lady?  For real?"
 
"Yes.  Are you going to write that down?"
 
Begrudgingly, he pulls a small spiral notebook out of his pocket and taps the pen to his tongue.  He says her name out loud as he writes it.  "You know how to spell Toblerone?"
 
"Same as the candy bar."
 
He smiles sheepishly. "Oh, my parents didn't allow us to have sweets when we're growing up."
 
"Geez, Tyler,  no wonder you became a cop."
 
"Why would she do this? You messing with her husband or something?"
 
"She killed her husband a couple of years ago."
 
I feel bad as Tyler goes pale.  "How'd she do that?"
 
"No idea.  But I must be pretty close to discovering something."
 
"Miss Miranda, are you on medication of any sort?  Have you been drinking?  I have to ask. You understand, right?"
 
I step closer to Deputy Tyler.  "I remember smacking your brothers tail because he wouldn't stop yelling 'Hey, Poo poo face', at your neighbors, the Willoughbys.  Asking me if I'm whacked out on medications might warrant the same punishment."
 
Tyler's eye widen.  "Yes, ma'am."
 
"Find out where she was last night.  My bet is she was waiting for me behind the Piggly Wiggly and when I didn't show up ... well, she got pissed."
 
"I'll check it out."  Tyler puts his hat back on and starts walking around my yard looking for clues.
 
"And, Tyler, I'm sorry I threatened to whoop your tail. I'm just upset."
 
"Yes, ma'am."
 
I go inside, lock the door and turn on the shower.  My reflection shakes her head at me.  "You've kicked the beehive this time, girl."
 
"I know.  But she wants to tell me.  She wants to brag about Jason.  If I get stung once or twice, I'll deal with it."
 
My reflection, oh so wise, stops smiling.  "It might not just be you who gets stung, Miranda."
 
 
To be continued ...

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 50
Under Watchful Eyes

By GWHARGIS

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.  Her trailer has been vandalized and now, she fears that this little game of cat and mouse might put her loved ones in danger.
 
 
 
                     **************
 
Through the kitchen window I watch as Deputy Tyler Douglas  walks the perimeter of my yard.  He moves leaves and debris with his foot, occasionally bending down to check something out.  
 
Rita didn't press me for details when I called to tell her I might be late.  She sounded distracted.  Said the customers have been a nightmare.
 
I tug the comb through my hair before turning on the hair dryer.   I close my eyes and try to relax.  I know it's just paint.  No one was hurt.   Words are only hurtful if you give them the power to hurt.  
 
But someone came to my house in the dead of night and did this.  It was a message.  Translated it was loud and clear.  Back off.
 
The warm air of the dryer was nice.  It eased the tight, stressed muscles in my neck.
 
I need to call my momma and ask her if she will come stay with Waylon for a couple of hours after he gets off the school bus.  Once Aaron gets home from work, I'm sure Waylon can go hang out with him.
 
For the first time in months, I put on makeup.  Anything to camouflage the puffy eyes from crying.  Then I brush my hair one final time before grabbing my car keys and heading out the door.
 
Tyler looks over as I come down the steps.
 
"Find anything?" I ask.
 
"No.  You got a real crabgrass problem on the side though.  My dad puts down something from the hardware store.   Clears it up real fast."
 
"Thanks.  I'll pass that along to my gardener."
 
"Are you okay, Miss Miranda?  I know this must have been a shock to come home to."
 
I look over at him.  He's a handsome kid, trying to make a difference in the world and all I've done is berate him and be snarky.
 
"Thank you,  Deputy.  It's nice of you to care.  But I'm fine.  I know who did this and I'll deal with it.  You have a nice day."
 
The gawkers have dwindled to just a few and they move to the side as I back out and drive off.
 
 
 
                  **************
 
All but three of the twelve pumps are being used, and a chartered tour bus is parked in the lot of The Little Eagle.  It's usually busy like this during the height of tourist season, never in the off-season.  I feel certain that Rita is about to lose her mind.  She doesn't do well with crowds even when I'm there.
 
"Has it been like this all morning?" I ask as I drop my bag and snatch the vest off the counter behind me.  "I'll help the next person in line," I call out loudly.
 
She grimaces. "Yes.  There were people here before I could unlock the door.  Some kind of construction on the bypass has  everybody being detoured to this exit."
 
"You call Matt?"
 
She shrugs.  "He told me to handle it.  I'm starting to think he doesn't like me.  What do you think?"
 
I scan some candy bars and a glow in the dark phone charger.  I don't think he likes her, but what good would it do to tell her.  Hell, I don't know if he really likes me.  "Oh, it's just Matt."
 
"I guess.  Can you imagine being married to that grumpy old thing?"
 
"No.  And I'm not going to waste anytime on it."
 
The lines never seem to shorten for the next hour.  I need to pee, but I'm pretty sure, if I try to make a run for the restroom, this crowd will chase me down and they will be lead by Rita.
 
As I'm finishing up one of the tour bus people, I see Mitch, in uniform, come through the door.  He cuts in front of the next customer.
 
"May I speak with you, please?"
 
"You may, but you will have to wait in line.  You cannot cut in front of a paying customer."
 
I can tell by the look on his face, he's going to give me a lecture.  Most likely because I didn't call him when I arrived at my house.
 
Four customers later, he is standing in front of me.
 
"How can I help you?" I say with my best professional smile plastered on my made up face.
 
"Why didn't you call me?"
 
"Someone else called the cops, not me."
 
"Called the law or the police or the sheriff's department.  Stop saying cops.  You have my number.  Why didn't you use it?"
 
"I'm a big girl.  It's fine."
 
"Tyler said you were crying.  Doesn't sound like something a big girl would do.  Does it?"
 
"Don't take this the wrong way, I don't want to be that girl.  The kind that calls you every time I get spooked."
 
"My God, Miranda.  Stop being so stubborn.  My job is to protect and serve.  Let me do my job."
 
"Ok, officer.  Next time someone spray paints an obscenity on my door, I'll call you right away."  I walk my fingers across the counter and lightly run my thumb across his knuckles.  "Go get yourself an apple fritter and a cup of coffee.  My treat."
 
He doesn't return my flirtatious smile.   Instead, he heads for the front door.  He stops and turns around.
 
"Expect to have company this afternoon."
 
I frown, confused by his statement.  "What company?"
 
"Just look for a uniform."  With that, he's out the door.
 
"Be right back," I say to the next person in line.
 
I chase after him.  "Mitch, what does that mean?"
 
He opens his car door and gets in.  Slowly, he rolls down the window.
 
"Mitch.  What do you mean?"
 
"I'm putting one of my guys in this parking lot and he's gonna follow you home."
 
"That's ridiculous.  Aren't there other pressing things for the sheriff's department to do?"
 
"Someone is after you.  You are my priority.  As long as I'm the sheriff of this county, I'm gonna keep you safe.  Now, go back inside and wait on your customers."
 
I turn away and start my trek back to the door.  
 
"Miranda," he calls.
 
"Yes?"
 
"I'm gonna keep you safe whether you like it or not."
 
Each of us has our pride.  I don't want to be a helpless, crybaby.  He wants to take care of me.  Why is this so hard to sort out?
 
 
 
To be continued ...

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 51
Shadowed

By GWHARGIS

So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   Mitch took exception to being left out of the loop when Miranda's  trailer is vandalized.  So he delegates an officer to stay with her.
 
 
                     *************
 
 
It is Rita who first notices the deputy's car in the parking lot.  Whoever it is, just sits there, staring at the building.
 
It's creepy.  I didn't feel like a sitting duck until now.  
 
"This is just silly," I say, as both of us stand at the glass door and spy on him.  "I'm gonna go call Mitch and tell him to send this poor guy home."
 
Rita grabs my arm.  "No.  It's the first time I've felt safe since that person shot through the door."
 
There's a part of me that feels bad.  I hadn't really thought about Rita.  I've been so focused on my own chaos that I didn't even think how she or Matt were affected.  Despite being completely against a uniformed babysitter watching me, I can't be selfish.  If Rita wants him to stay, then he stays.
 
"I think Mitch really likes you."
 
I glance over at her. "Maybe."
 
"He looked real worried about you when he was in here earlier."
 
"He was pissed I didn't go running to him."
 
"What happened?"
 
"Some joker spray painted a dirty word on my trailer."
 
"Was it the F blank blank K word?"
 
I suppress my laugh.  Rita doesn't cuss.  Never met anyone like her. She says dang it and shoot and fudgecicles when she gets upset.  I, on the other hand, just let colorful words fly.  "No.  Just whore."
 
She folds her arms across her middle.  "That's disgusting.  Why would somebody do something like that?"
 
"Beats me."
 
"I'm gonna go sit in the office and eat my sandwich," Rita says, turning to go towards the back.
 
"That's fine.  I think I'll take something out to our babysitter."
 
Grabbing an ice cold drink from the cooler, and a bag of chips, I head out to the poor, bored deputy.
 
He rolls the window down just enough to reveal his mirror aviator glasses and not much else.
 
"Brought you a snack." I hold the bottle in one hand and the chips in the other.
 
"Thank you, ma'am."
 
"Feel free to come in the store and use the rest room.  Or to take a quick drive if you're bored."
 
He nods, reaches for the bounty I'm holding, and without hesitation he says, "Yeah, the sheriff said you were gonna try to run me off."
 
I press my lips together.   "I'm not doing that at all.  As a matter of fact, you can tell the sheriff that I'm very thankful you're here.  Both Rita and I feel quite safe."
 
He regards me silently.
 
"So, thank you, you know, for your service.  And for being here."
 
Whoever he is, he has the personality of a stump.  I hear him closing the window as I walk back to the store.
 
 
                   ***************
 
By the time I take my lunch, I've accepted the presence of the deputy.  He came in once to use the bathroom, skirted the perimeter of the store, said nothing then returned to his car.
 
"He's not real friendly," Rita says, after her genuine smile went either unnoticed or just not returned.
 
Not smiling back at Rita is like walking past a crate full of puppies without so much as a glance.  It's not natural to ignore it.
 
I call Momma to ask her about running to my house to stay with Waylon.  I'm hoping that Aaron has been able to take care of the graffiti.   I can only imagine how Momma will react if she saw that written on my siding.
 
"Everything okay?"
 
"Yes.  Some kid spray painted my trailer."  I say it as non-chalantly as possible.  
 
"Whose kids are these?"  
 
"There's a one in five chance they're Farley's."
 
We both laugh.  If I say who I really think it is, she will just worry.
 
"My neighbor, Aaron, said he'd take care of it for me.  Which is good because I can't afford to get the whole thing repainted."
 
"I'll fix dinner for Waylon.   Does he like lasagna?"
 
"There isn't much he doesn't eat.  Thanks, Momma.  I appreciate you doing this for me. "
 
"Has Dougie sent anymore threatening texts?'
 
"No.  At least, not since last night.  And, I swear I don't think those were from Dougie."
 
"I certainly hope not.  Even though I wasn't a big fan of Dougie's, he was always polite.  Those texts seemed very out of character for him."
 
I glance at the clock.  Lunchtime is over.  "I'll talk to you later, okay?  And, thanks again."
 
I hang up and sit back in the chair.  Today has been a roller-coaster.   Don't get me wrong, I love a good roller-coaster.   Love the feeling of free fall on the tallest hills.  Love the whips and turns.  But I know it's an adrenaline rush that will last for about two minutes.  I'm strapped in safe and sound and there are always others around me.
 
Today I feel like I'm trapped on the ride.  The attendant has walked off and left me.  I keep hitting the same hills but I can't help but notice bolts and bits of track are separating. How long before the car I'm sitting in goes over the edge.
 
I look at the monitor and watch the deputy's car.  I know I should feel safe.
 
But I don't. 
 
 
To be continued ...
 
 
 
 
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 52
Second Guessing

By GWHARGIS

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   Mitch has a patrol car parked in the lot of The Little Eagle to watch over Miranda.  Deputy Tyler Douglas shows up before closing time to show Miranda what he found in her yard.
 
 
                  ****************
 
Rita clocked out and stood by the door for a couple extra minutes.  " I sure do feel better leaving you alone tonight, knowing that guy is right there."
 
"Oh, you mean Officer Personality?"
 
"He's got a gun.  He doesn't need personality," Rita says.  "I'll see you tomorrow."
 
I watch her get into her car, and smile as she fluffs her blonde hair in the rear view mirror before reaching for her seatbelt.
 
I do a candy order, sweep and clean both bathrooms.  Anything I can do to pass the night quickly and to keep from looking at the cop on wheels in the lot.
 
A few customers ask about him.  Not sure what to tell them, so I say what sounds plausible.
 
"Speed trap, I reckon," I say with a shrug of my shoulders.
 
"But he ain't even facing the road," one trucker says as I bag his Mountain Dew and Redman chewing tobacco.
 
"That's how he gets ya.  Acts like he's not even paying attention.  Then those blue lights come on.  You're done for."  I wink at him so he knows I'm kidding.
 
"Well, anywho, I bet you feel safe."
 
"Words can't describe how I feel right now."  I keep that work with the public smile planted firmly on my face.  "You have a good night."
 
Around eight-thirty, I start replenishing the drink and beer cooler.  
 
Normally, I'm pretty good about being aware when someone comes in the store.  So, imagine my surprise when I turn around and see a tall blonde man standing at the counter.
 
"I'm sorry.  Have you been waiting long?" I ask, rushing towards the counter.
 
He turns around.  It's Deputy Tyler, in jeans and a t-shirt.
 
"Tyler?  What are you doing here?"
 
"Had to get gas, but, oh, I found something," he says as he digs in the pocket of his jeans.   He opens his hand.  There in his palm is an earring.  It's a diamond.  I know it's a diamond because I've had rhinestone, cut glass, synthetic, and cubic zirconia.  And none of them sparkled like this.
 
"Wow."
 
"Is this yours?  I mean did you lose it?"
 
"Tyler, if I lost something like that, I would have devoted my life to finding it."
 
He grins and puts it back in his pocket.  "I have to turn it in, but if after sixty days, no one claims it, you can have it."
 
"I'll try to remember that," I say. 
 
Tyler glances out towards the other deputy.  "Man, the sheriff sure wants to make sure you're safe."
 
"That he does, young Tyler, that he does."
 
Tyler reaches down and grabs a pack of gum.  It's like he's stalling.   
 
I look towards the door.  The deputy's car is gone.  "He must have gotten bored," I mutter.
 
"I told him I'd wait while you close up.  I kinda want to ask you about something you said."
 
I ring out the drawer and go lock it in the safe back in the office.  Once I hit the lights and lock the office up I walk over to him.
 
"Whatcha want to ask?"
 
He glances towards the door.
 
"Tyler, are you looking for somebody?"
 
"That rich lady.  You said she killed her husband.  Why do you think that?"
 
"Missy?  I think she killed him because she's a psychopath.  Her husband disappears without a trace.  Doesn't contact his wife or his family.  Leaves a fortune behind?  I don't think so.  Besides, not once did she so much as put up a flyer asking for information.  His parents did."
 
Tyler frowns.  "But you don't have any real proof."
 
"I listen to my gut.  If she didn't kill him, she knows what happened to him and she had something to do with it."
 
"Shit.  We gotta get you out of here," he says.
 
"Why?  What's going on, Tyler?"
 
He grabs my elbow and starts herding me towards the door.
 
My heart is hammering in my chest and quickly moving into my throat.
 
I hardly get the key in the outside lock before he's half dragging me towards his car.  "Miss Miranda, I gotta get you someplace safe.  She's been lying to me.  All this time,  she said she was trying to rekindle your friendship.  She knew what was spray painted on your trailer. I never told her.  Just that it was a bad word. This is her earring.  Only a rich lady would have a diamond this size.  Oh, God, what have I done?"
 
Missy steps around one of the pumps.  "Now, now, Tyler.  Are you speaking ill of me?"  Her crazy smile glows under the yellowy lights above the pump.  She looks like something out of  a horror movie.
 
"Jesus," he says, then steps in front of me.  "Missy, you need to rethink this.  Miss Miranda, she doesn't want to be your friend anymore.  So, you just need to move on with your life."
 
Missy grins.  "Shut up, you stupid bumpkin.  This is between Miranda and me."  She peeks around him and smiles sweetly.  "Let's go for a little ride."
 
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
 
She sighs heavily as she looks up at the sky.  "I knew you'd say that.  That's why I brought along a persuader."  She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a gun.  It's tiny but there is no doubt in my mind that it's real.
 
"You're gonna have to shoot me, cause I'm not going anywhere with you."  My stomach is churning.  She's crazy.  She just might take me up on that offer.
 
"Once again, I had a feeling you were going to say that.  And you know what?  I'm pretty sure you would rather take a bullet than do what I ask. So, I bet I can get you to come with me, without saying another word."
 
Dread moves through me as she looks over at Tyler.  She smiles flirtatiously at him.  "Baby, help me convince Miranda to come with me."
 
I hear the pop of the gun and see Tyler topple over, hitting the hood of his car.
 
"My leg," he cries.  "Oh, God, it hurts."
 
Miranda doesn't blink just looks from him to me.  "See?"
 
"Tyler, I'm gonna get you some," I say, but I'm unable to finish.
 
"Let's go," she says.
 
"I'm not gonna leave him, not like this."
 
Tyler is writhing on the ground.
 
"Whatever.  Come on, Tyler."
 
The weird thing is, she sounds bored.  Like we're being dramatic for the sake of being dramatic.
 
"I can't walk," he moans
 
"Well, you better figure out some way or I'll shoot your other leg."
 
Reaching down I grab his arm and put it over my shoulder.   "I got you.  Put your weight on me.  We're going to get some help for you."
 
He looks at me with tear filled eyes.  "I'm sorry.  I'm so, so sorry."
 
 
To be continued ...

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 53
Cat and Mouse

By GWHARGIS

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   Missy shows up to the Little Eagle at closing time.  Deputy Tyler Douglas realizes his mistake, on trusting Missy, too late.  Knowing Miranda won't leave the wounded officer behind, Missy takes both Miranda and Tyler to a secluded spot.
 
 
                 ***************
 
Tyler can hardly walk, and as he leans on me for support, I glance at his leg.  The stain is about six inches in width.  It would look like nothing more than a water stain, if you didn't see the bullet hole.
 
"Why'd you do that, Missy?" He sounds like a child.  The wound in his leg pales to what his trusting heart is going through.
 
"Shut up," she says.  She playfully kicks at him from behind.
 
The brunt of his weight almost takes me down.  "Look, you crazy bitch, if I fall we'll never get very far."
 
"You're in no position to boss me around."  
 
She might not like having me say it, but she realizes I'm right and stops.  We walk across the parking lot to the empty lot next door.  It used to be a burger joint but after repeatedly failing health inspections, it closed.  Nothing came in to replace it, so nature is slowly taking the lot back.  There on the side of the building with no lights, is Missy's BMW.  
 
"He's gonna get your car all dirty," I say.  "You wouldn't happen to have any paper napkins with you, would you?"
 
"No.  I do not.  I'm not some hillbilly who rides around with napkins from Burger King in my glove box."
 
"Might be hillbilly, but it'd save your upholstery."
 
"I'll get it detailed."
 
I laugh, despite the tense and dangerous situation.  Like some guy isn't going to ask about a huge bloodstain in her backseat.
 
"I'll tell them someone got their period," she snaps.
 
"Oh, sure.  That'll work."
 
"Why wouldn't it?"
 
"Not the same kind of blood."  Now I'm totally bullshitting.  I have no idea if that's true or not.  But I have to have time to think.
 
"I doubt if the guy at Dream Detailing is a fucking CSI investigator." Her voice is shrill.  She's getting rattled.  Whether that's a good thing or a bad thing, I don't know yet.  She taps Tyler on the shoulder and practically hisses in his ear.  "You tell your mouthy crutch there, if she doesn't shut up, I'm gonna shoot you again."
 
Tyler moans.  He looks into my eyes helplessly.  "Please stop talking."
 
I have no other choice.  I have to switch gears. I have to put the spotlight back on the star.
 
"So, I kind of feel like you've been planning this little get-together.  Any special reason?"
 
She perks up.  I've just given the stage to the attention seeking lunatic.   
 
"Oh, my dear, sweet Miranda, I've had this thing going since we ran into each other at the Dollar General.  You remember, shortly after that idiot, Dougie, left you."
 
I look up sharply.  "Where is Dougie?  What did you do with him?"
 
"How the hell should I know where he is?  I haven't seen him since he tried to sweet talk me into investing in that scam company of his."
 
"You have his phone.  He wouldn't have just given it to you."
 
She giggles.  "It must have slipped out of his pocket.  I found it wedged in between the cushions on the couch.  I thought it might come in handy, and I was right."
 
"So, you didn't kill him?"
 
Missy rolls her eyes.  "I don't kill for fun.  If I've done anything, it was for others.  You owe me a huge thank you, Miss Holier-than-thou. "
 
"Oh, really.  You kill Jason because he didn't say thank you when I spotted him a nickle at The Little Eagle, or something?"
 
"Stop asking about Jason.  Jesus, you're like a damn dog with a bone.  No.  I took care of a bigger problem for you."
 
"I haven't had any problems, so try again."
 
She unlocks the car and opens the back door for me to help lower Tyler in.  Once he's settled in, she closes the car door and grabs my arm, making sure I see the gun is pointing at Tyler.  "Remember Ed Preston," she says softly.
 
"You did that?  Why?  What possible reason would I have had for you to kill him on my behalf?"
 
"Quit acting like I killed an upstanding member of society.  He was a disgusting weirdo.  Shit, this county owes me a debt of gratitude."
 
"There are a lot of weirdos, what gave you the right to kill him?"
 
"He was going to press charges against you.  He was madder than a hornet when he found out the sheriff let you off with a talking to."
 
My stomach recoils as I think about Ed's milky, lifeless eyes, staring into nothingness.  "He didn't have a case," I mutter.  I reach for the doorhandle on the passenger side.
 
"Um, no.  You're driving.  I'll sit in the backseat with him."
 
She follows me around the side of the car and waits until I get in, then she gets settled and hands me the keys.  "Be careful.  This is my baby," she says.
 
I turn the key and hear the engine purr smoothly.  The minute we pull out of this parking lot, all bets are off.  Now, driving her car, to wherever she wants me to go, I've lost all leverage.   
 
It's her game now, and she can change the rules whenever she wants. 
 
"Where are we going?"
 
"Just turn left out of the parking lot and drive straight. I'll tell you when to turn."
 
I look into the rearview mirror.  She's looking at Tyler, a seductive smile places on her face.  "You did good, baby," she says.
 
Tyler looks like he's going to cry.  He leans away.  "You shot me."
 
She smiles.  Like a cat who holds a mouse by its tail.  She's playing.  Her claws are barely out.  But, I know the cat never let's the mouse go free.  It's just a matter of time before she'll get bored and that mouse will die.  
 
I need to think.  And I don't have much time.  I can't let anything happen to Tyler.  What kind of babysitter would I be, if I let that crazy cat hurt him again?
 
 
To be continued ...

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 54
Dead Air Space

By GWHARGIS

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   Now, Miranda is in the driver's seat of Missy's car, while Missy sits with wounded Tyler Douglas.   She knows, as long as Missy is the center of attention, they have a little time to make a plan for escape.
 
 
          *********************
 
I don't pass another car for four miles.  We pass the exit to the highway, and the shortcut to the bypass.  We continue past the turn to her long driveway.
 
"We're gonna run out of road in a couple of miles," I say.  This road ends up forking at the end.   Left fork will take you down the back roads to Norfolk, Virginia.  The right fork takes you into what locals call "no man's land".  It's mainly swamp land.  Full of snakes, deer, and black bears.  
 
Missy catches my eye in the rearview mirror.  "Turn off at Haynes Pond."  She leans forward, her fingers snagging my hair.  "You know where that is right "
 
"I think I can find it."
 
My hands tighten around the stirring wheel.  This isn't good.  You can't see from the main road.  I don't want to die, but I damn sure don't want to die at Haynes Pond.
 
"I've got a question for you."
 
"Ask," she says.  
 
"How did you know Ed Preston was gonna press charges against me?"
 
"He came to me, demanding I hire a lawyer for him.  Said you had humiliated him and caused personal injury. "
 
It doesn't make any sense.   Why would he go to her?  "Why did he think you'd hire a lawyer for him?"
 
She heaves a big sigh. "He said I owed it to him."
 
"Maybe I'm missing something.  What connection did the two of you have?"  I steal a glance at Tyler.  He looks pale. "You hanging in there, Tyler?"
 
He looks up weakly and nods.
 
Missy clears her throat.  She needs to have my attention back.  "About four years ago, Ed's sister came to me and asked me to give Ed a job.  Handyman crap, ya know.  Cut the grass, clean the pool, menial stuff.  So I did."  
 
"Yeah,"  I say.  "Did you not pay him?  Is that why he thought you owed him?"
 
Missy taps my shoulder with her gun.  "Here, slow down so you don't miss the turn."
 
"I know where the damn turn off is.  Go on with your story."
 
She settles back.  "Damn it.  Tyler you got blood on my clothes."
 
"Bet you wish you had those hillbilly napkins right about now, don't ya?" I say more to myself than to her.
 
"Anyhow, I paid him weekly, in cash, mind you.  I'd see him riding on the lawnmower, playing tiddly winks with himself.  I'd even let him see me watching sometimes."
 
I shudder.  This was one twisted chick.
 
"And, you still haven't said why he thought you owed him."  I put on the turn signal, only to have her abruptly reach over my shoulder to turn it off.
 
  "There's no one around.  You don't need the stupid turn signal."
 
"It's habit.  You probably won't understand this, but I'm a law abiding citizen.  Using the turn signal to indicate you're turning is the law."
 
We pull down the narrow gravel road.  "Stop here," she says.  "Ok.  We're going to go on from here on foot."  She glances from me to Tyler.  "You ready, baby?"
 
He struggles to open his eyes, moans weakly.  He's going into shock or worse.
 
"He's too weak," I say.
 
"He'll be fine."
 
"Can you carry him, cause I can't.   Just leave him.  You only wanted me.  He can't run from you, doesn't have his weapon or his phone with him.  He's not exactly a threat."
 
For a moment, Missy regards him studiously.  Satisfied that everything I have said checks out, she leans towards him and presses her lips to his pale cheek.  "Don't worry, baby.  I'll be back in a few minutes."
 
She opens her door and slides out.  I unbuckle my seat belt and without turning around I whisper one last wish to him.  "Please tell me you have your cell phone."  I steal a look at him.
 
He briefly opens his eyes.  Then he winks.
 
I feel a glimmer of hope start to bubble up inside of me.  I just hope he has the strength to use it.
 
I remove the keys, toss them on the console, and slide out.  "Drives nice.  Does it get good gas mileage?"
 
Missy laughs.  "Why?  You thinking about getting one?"
 
"Circumstances change sometimes."
 
"Walk." She pokes the gun into my back.  "Now, what were we talking about?"
 
"Ed Preston working for you."
 
"Oh, anyhow he helped me one time and has tried to hold it over my head forever."
 
I stumble on a rock.  It's so dark and there's no moon visible.  I pray I don't step on a snake.  Then I revise that prayer and pray Missy Toblerone does.  "He help you get rid of Jason after you killed him?"
 
"I told you I didn't kill him.  Damn it.  Stop saying it."
 
"You know what happened to him.  Did you get Ed to kill him?  Is that it?"
 
She lets this primal screech out.  "No one killed him.  Okay?  Not me, not Ed."  She is out of breath, both from this walk and her speech.
 
"Can we stop here.  I've got pebbles and sand all in my shoes." I say.  I don't want to go to the water.  There's no place to run down there.  Not that I can see where to run here.
 
"Dump your shoes.  Hurry up."
 
"Tell me what happened to Jason?  You owe me that."
 
I hear her sigh.  "He used to workout in the garage.  Don't ask me why, he looked like the Pillsbury Dough boy, no matter what he did. Anyhow, I came out to tell him something and he was on the floor.  Kinda twitching.  Like he was having a stroke or something.  So, I ran back inside to get the phone.  You know, to call 911.  But, I didn't.  I made a sandwich and took it back out to the garage and sat down on the steps to eat it."
 
"You sat there and watched him dying?"
 
She snorts in disgust. "When you say it like that, I sound like a monster.  But I hated him.  I could have killed him, but God intervened."
 
"Don't you dare blame God for this."
 
"It was fine.  I was just gonna wait until he was good and dead, then call the ambulance.  It was perfect.  Until I looked up and saw Ed Preston looking through one of the windows."
 
I wonder if Tyler has called for back up.  I hope so, because now that I know all of this, I've put my own murder into overdrive.
 
 
 
To be continued ...
 
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 55
Please, Tell Me More

By GWHARGIS

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   Missy has kidnapped her and a wounded Deputy.  Now, she is telling Miranda what happened to Jason.  
 
 
                  ****************
 
All I can hear is the crunch of gravel and sand under my feet as we walk down the road towards the pond.   Think, Miranda, think.  Keep her talking.  
 
"Remember that time you spent the night and we snuck out?  That senior boy picked us up.  What was his name?"
 
"Jesse Stillwater.  He was in love with me," she says.
 
I roll my eyes.  If he was in love with you, why did he call me every night straight for three weeks?  She has changed the memory to fit her own ego.  "Yep, he was crazy about you.  What ever happened to him?"
 
"How the hell should I know?  Probably has two kids, a fat wife, a truck and a John Deere.  Just like everyone else in this God forsaken county."
 
"Why did you hate Jason?"  I take a different route.  "What did he do to you?"
 
"Oh, Miranda, he was a horrible person.  He made my life a living hell for the three and a half years we were married."
 
I can tell by the change in her voice, she wants to talk.  I may have just bought myself more time.
 
"Was he abusive?  Did he hit you?  No court in the country would convict you if he was abusive."
 
"He never gave me any money.  Said I went through money like other people go through toilet paper."  She sniffles.  "I had to get permission to buy things.  He treated me like I worked for him.  I begged for a new car for years.  He'd say "Missy, there ain't nothing wrong with what you're driving now.  You don't need a new car, you're just spoiled and want a new car."
 
She's getting wound up.  I can hear the pitch of her voice changing.  I have to make her think I believe her.  I have to make sure she thinks I see her as the victim, not a killer.
 
"A new car doesn't seem unreasonable," I say.  "To a guy like that, a new car is pocket change."
 
"Thank you.  It wasn't just the car.  He put a cap on my credit cards.  Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be told your card has been denied at the club?"
 
"I once had to put some things back at the Piggly Wiggly.  That was embarrassing," I say.  It's all I've got.
 
"What happened to you, Miranda?  It's like you just gave up after high school.   You married that joke, Farley.  You know how many times I had to turn that loser away?"
 
"I guess I should thank you," I say.
 
Missy laughs.  "I didn't do it for you.  You treated me like shit after we had that little misunderstanding.  I thought about it, but there wasn't really anything other than sex in it for me.  I have my standards, you know."
 
"About that misunderstanding, did you know they were going to do locker checks that day, or was it just a happy coincidence?"
 
"My goodness, Miranda, that was so long ago.  Who remembers, and honestly, who cares?"
 
I stop walking.  I care.  Out of all of her confessions and tainted stories, that is the one thing I want an answer to.  "Damn it.  Just answer me."
 
"Keep walking.  Who cares?  You were suspended.  Big deal."
 
"I'm not taking another step until you answer me."
 
"You would be wise not to piss me off.  Or did you forget I'm the one holding the gun?"
 
"Shoot me.  Just go ahead and shoot me.  I'm done jumping through your hoops.  If you're gonna kill me, do it right here and right now."
 
"Walk," she says with more than a hint of anger in her voice.  "Don't piss me off."
 
That's when I hear it.  The soft purr of an engine.  "Oh no."
 
"What?"
 
"Listen."
 
"Listen to what?" she snaps.
 
"That sounds like your baby.  I think someone is stealing your baby.  But there was blood all inside, so it probably was ruined anyway."
 
Something unintelligible comes from her.  Panic, and anger, mixes with the troubling decision she has to make now.  Force me to the water or try to stop whoever is taking her car.
 
"But, you've got the keys," she says.  
 
"Nope.  I left them on the console."
 
"You stupid cow."
 
I don't wait.  She's distracted and I have about five seconds to put as much real estate between her and me as I can.  
 
I can see her, looking back down the road, her eyes are off of me.  It's now or never.  If I'm gonna go down, then I'm gonna go down swinging.  
 
One, two, three.  I lunge at her, my hands landing squarely on her boyish boobs.  As she goes tumbling backwards, I take off running.  
 
I have only one place to take cover.  Behind the old washing machine.  I can hide behind it and even if she shoots, the bullets will ricochet off.
 
"I'm gonna kill you,"  she screeches. 
 
I run, my feet sliding on rocks.  And I can hear her in hot pursuit.  She's grunting like a wild animal somewhere behind me.  
 
"You can't hide from me.  You've sealed your fate, you stupid bitch."
 
I get to the thicket. It's easy to pass through since they towed those cars from the bottom of the pond.   I'm praying she won't know that.  I duck behind the washer.  I put my hand over my own mouth to muffle the sound of my heavy breathing.
 
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," she says. "Actually, you don't have to.  There's only one place you can be.  Miranda, are you hiding behind my old washer?"
 
I close my eyes.  Why would she dump her washer here when she could have paid someone fifty bucks to carry it to the dump.  Unless, this was Ed's favor. There's something in this washer.  Something she tried to get rid of.
 
"I'm gonna shoot you in your stomach.  I hear that's one of the most painful ways to die."
 
The blast of the gun makes me jump.  That's two bullets gone.  I put my hand down searching the ground for something, anything to throw.  I pull a rock from the mud and throw it towards the bushes.
 
She shoots again.  That's bullet number three.  The less bullets she has left in her gun, the higher my chance for survival.
 
I find another rock.  I peek around the washer.   I can barely see her.   I need to get her to come closer.  
 
"Okay.  I give up.  Don't Shoot me, please.   I, I don't want to die."
 
I put the rock to my lips and kiss it.  Right between the eyes, baby.  If she gets too close, I'm done for.  It's now or never.
 
I pop up and throw that rock as hard as I can.  
 
"Oooowww,"  she cries.  Two bullets hiss by me.  
 
Now there is one ... or two.  Damn it.  How many bullets are in a gun?
 
"That's it.  I'm done hiding.  We're gonna finish this.  Now.  One of us is gonna walk out of here," I growl.  
 
I might be a lot of things, but I'm no coward.
 
 
To be continued ...

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 56
And You're Funny Looking

By GWHARGIS

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   After being forced by Missy to go to Haynes Pond, Miranda is done hiding.  She's ready to fight.
 
 
              *******************
 
I dig my hand down into the damp sand and mud and fling it at her.  I know how she hates getting dirty.  And this stuff stinks.
 
"Stop that," she says.  "I'm gonna put a bullet right between your eyes.  Even your momma won't be able to look at you when I'm done with you."
 
She fires again.  If her gun isn't empty, there can only be one bullet left.  And, I'm not gonna wait for her to reload.
 
I run at her.  She never sees it coming.  I land on top of her, my chin hits her collar bone, making my teeth rattle.
 
"Get off of me, you cow." Her nails dig into my neck. 
 
"Thought you were gonna kill me, Missy.  You gotta do better than that."
 
Unfortunately, she does.  Even though the gun is empty, she cracks me across the nose.  Pain like I've never felt before hits me.  
 
She pushes me off, then scrambles to her feet.  Her foot connects with my ribs, my hip.  No matter which way I move, her foot lands its blow.
 
"You've always been jealous of me," she says.
 
"Jealous?  Why would I be jealous of someone like you?  You've got no soul.  You're built like a twelve year old."  I can taste the blood as it drips down from my nose and into my mouth.
 
"Oh, bullshit.  You wanted every guy I ever dated.  Poor Miranda.  All you had were those tits.  Even those were old news by high school."
 
I swipe at the blood.  "Jesse Stillwater called me every night for weeks.  People laughed at you behind your back.  They called you the pipe cleaner because you were skinny and a slut."
 
I wish I could see her face.  It's too dark and I can feel my eyes swelling.  "Betcha didn't know that.  Did ya?  All those boys that asked you out, knew they could sleep with you.  Cause Missy never met a dick she didn't want to ride."
 
"You take that back, you cow."
 
"Not on your life."
 
She swings at me with the gun again, but this time I'm ready.  I karate chop her wrist and I hear the gun hit the ground.
 
"Now it's a fair fight," I say.  I wrap my arms around her in the tightest bear hug I can.  If all else fails, I'll use my "old news" tits like they're my super power.
 
"I was beautiful.  You hated me for that!  Every girl at school was jealous of me."
 
"Your eyes are too close together and your teeth look like Chicklets."  I tighten my grip on her until I can feel her struggling to breathe.
 
I could kill her.  There's no one here.  No witnesses.  I have every right to end her.  Nausea hits me.  If I do that, I will become like her.  I have to trust that karma will find her and she will get what's coming to her.
 
Through the roar of adrenaline  and rage, I hear her.  Gasping for air.  I see a girl standing in front of the mirror, gripping a hairbrush like a microphone, singing "Like a Virgin" by Madonna.  She's young and eager to take on the world.  She's me.  If I kill Missy, I kill that young girl in the mirror.
 
I let go.  Missy slumps to the ground.  
 
"I think you broke my ribs," she says, winded and weak.
 
"Be thankful I didn't break your neck."
 
She doesn't try to run from me or hit at me.  The fight has gone out of her.
 
And I don't have anymore left in me.
 
I see a white light bouncing across the ground, getting closer and closer.
 
"Miranda," Mitch calls.  "Where are you?"  
 
"Here," I call.  My voice is hoarse.
 
"Is Missy with you?  Does she have a weapon?"
 
"No.  She, uh, she did.  It's on the ground somewhere.  Mitch, she killed Ed Preston."
 
"Ok.  Are you okay?"
 
"Been better," I call.
 
"Missy, stand up and put your hands out where I can see them."
 
"She can't, Mitch.  I think I broke her ribs."
 
To my amazement, Mitch laughs.  "Of course you did.  I'm not sure why I even bothered to show up.  Can you walk over here?"
 
"I'm coming,"  I say.  As I take a step, I look down at her.
 
"What happened to us," she whispers.  "We were supposed to be best friends forever."
 
"You don't know how to be a friend, Missy.  You never have and I don't think you ever will."
 
The walk to Mitch is the longest walk I've ever taken.  I just want him to hold me.  I want him to tell me it's over.  I need to hear him say this nightmare is over.
 
"There's something in the washer.  Ed helped her get rid of Jason's body."  The words come tumbling out.  Then the tears.
 
"Shhh.  I got you, Miranda.  You're good.  Everything is okay."  He puts his arms around me and I fall against him.  
 
"What about Tyler?  Is he okay?"
 
"He'll be fine.  The bullet passed through his thigh.  Paramedics are with him.  Now, I need you to do something for me.  I gotta go get Missy.  You hold this flashlight and I'll be right back."
 
He leans forward and kisses my forehead.  Then he starts going toward where Missy was, still on the ground.  "Missy, I'm coming to get you.  Don't do anything stupid, I don't really want to shoot you.  Is that agreeable to you?"
 
If she answers him, I don't hear her.  
 
We walk back up the road and there are lights strobing in red, blue and yellow.  Tyler is on a gurney,  he's looking at me, speaking to me.  I can't hear him.  I can't hear any noise at all, except the roar in my head.
 
Someone guides me over to an ambulance.  Lips moving, but the roar is louder now, like Niagra Falls.  Fingertips gently brush across my nose and white lights blind me.
 
One blink, two blinks and then I'm gone.
 
To be continued ...
 
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 57
Heaven?

By GWHARGIS

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   After fighting for her life against a crazed Missy, she comes to in a hospital room.
 
 
 
                  ***************
 
I can hear voices, floating through the darkness that envelopes me.  Am I dead?  Is this how souls transition, in a warm cocoon of blessed darkness.
 
"... and I didn't think it was going to even go down, so I flushed again, but the water was rising," one voice says.
 
"Dang, you need to stop eating so much junk food,"  another voice says.
 
"Probably.  But I kept thinking that if my turd clogs the toilet and it floods the school, I'm done for.  Dragon Lady would call Miranda into the office.  That time your knife was in my backpack, geez.  Miranda almost had a nervous breakdown in the car."
 
I try to speak, but my mouth is so dry.  All I can do is raise my hand a little and I try again.  This pathetic noise comes out.  "This better not be heaven," I say.
 
"Miranda!  You're awake."  It's Aaron.  
 
"Man, you should see your face."  That voice can only belong to Waylon.
 
"Shh,"  Aaron says.  "He didn't mean nothing by that."
 
As soon as I hear Waylon, and process his statement, the pain hits.  It feels like someone drove a semi up my nostrils and parked it right under the bridge of my nose.
 
"You want me to call the nurse?  Your face is getting red."  
 
"Call the driver of the truck that's parked in my nose, and ask him to please move it." My words are slurring, so I'm guessing I've already been given pain meds.  I realize that it's pressure and not pain I'm feeling.  My mind tries to figure out why my nose hurts and why both Aaron and Waylon are in my room talking about clogging the school toilet.  Fragments come through.  Tyler's leg bleeding.  Mitch was there, his arms holding on to me.  That should have been nice but I was scared.  
 
Like a lightening bolt I spring upright.  That was a mistake because a pain, so ungodly, sends me back down flat on the bed.  "Missy.  Where is she?  She shot him.  She was trying to kill me."
 
Aaron reaches over and brushes my hair out of my face.  "You got her, Miranda.  You got her good."
 
"I, I got her?  She was shooting at me.  She hit me.  That's why my fucking nose hurts so bad."
 
"You cracked three of her ribs.  You're a beast,"  Waylon says.  There is pride in his voice.  I can hear it. 
 
Later, I'll tell him violence isn't always the answer, but for now I'll just enjoy knowing he's proud of me. 
 
"Is my momma alright?"
 
"She's on her way here.  She was here all last night.  I think you woke up once but your mom said you were saying some crazy stuff.  Anyway, we came up to give her a little break so she could go home to shower and rest."
 
My vision is blurry, be it from the meds or swollen eyes.  I look from side to side, slowly so my face doesn't hurt this time.  "Is Mitch here?"
 
"He had to take Missy in.  He said to tell you he'd be here as soon as he could."
 
I close my eyes.  My tongue darts out over my dry lips.  "Can you get me some water?"
 
"You bet," Waylon says.  I hear the squeak of his tennis shoes as he darts out of the hospital room.
 
"Aaron, is he gone?"
 
"Yes."
 
"Has anyone heard from Dougie?"
 
"Not that I know of."
 
I feel that thing in the pit of my stomach.  When there are too many questions and too many heinous scenarios to trust things are good.
 
"You think she did something to him?"  Aaron asks.  
 
"I hope not.  But she is crazier than a bed bug."
 
"Did you know that Aaron painted your trailer?" Waylon says, breathless from his trek to get me some water.  
 
Aaron reaches over and gently squeezes my arm.  "Dang it, Waylon, it was supposed to be a surprise."
 
"Oh.  You could have told me that," Waylon mutters.
 
I smile as best I can.  "Well, thank you, Aaron.  That was very nice of you."  Thankfully, Waylon didn't see the filth scrawled across my trailer.  Aaron spared him and my mother that shock.
 
"Knock, knock," Mitch says.  "I hear the hero is awake now."
 
"Hero?  Not hardly.  I was only trying to save my own ass."
 
"You may well have solved the Ed Preston murder case, and the Jason Toblerone missing person case."
 
"So, like, Waylon and I are going to go on down to the cafeteria to grab something to eat.  We'll be back later."
 
Mitch perches on the edge of the bed, then leans down to kiss my forehead.  "You had me worried ... again."
 
"Sorry.  But I didn't go looking for trouble this time.  Trouble came looking for me.  Hey, hows Tyler?"
 
"Lucky for him, the bullet went through the fleshy part of his upper leg.  He's going to be out of commission for several weeks, but we have to check out his story anyway."
 
"Mitch, he had no idea what she was capable of.  He was just a young guy who got manipulated.  There isn't a mean bone in that kid's body."
 
Mitch lifts my hand and brings it to his lips.  "Do you think you're ever gonna trust me enough to let me take care of you?"
 
"I do trust you.  I really do.  But I've always had to rely on myself.  Farley never looked after me.  And Dougie, shit, he can't look after his own self."
 
"You do realize I'm nothing like those other two?  I'm crazy about you.  If you were uncertain before, I'm clarifying it now.  I like you. A lot.  No, actually, more than a lot."
 
"I like you, too."
 
He barely touches my lips with his.  "Did I hurt you?"
 
"No.  How bad is my face?"
 
"Did you ever see Raging Bull?"
 
I groan.
 
"But I still want to take you to dinner."
 
I sigh.  Despite the pressure in my nose, the horror of last night, I feel good.  Probably better than I have a right to.
 
"Oh, we checked on the dryer.  There were body parts in there.  Sealed in plastic but stuck inside.  Forensics has them but pretty sure it's Jason.  You were right."
 
"Right usually feels better than this," I say.  I think of his parents.  Holding onto some sort of hope all this time.  Now, if it is Jason, they start to grieve.
 
 
To be continued ...
 
 
 
 

Author Notes Part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 58
Surprise ... Kind of

By GWHARGIS

So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   She fought off Missy and landed in the hospital.  
 
Now, she gets more news than she bargained for.
 
 
 
               *****************
 
My momma gets to the hospital just as Mitch is leaving.  She doesn't wait to be introduced.  No sir, she plops her purse down on the foot of my bed and sticks out her hand.  "You must be the policeman, my daughter has told me about."
 
"And you must be her mother.   I see the resemblance."
 
"Please tell me you've locked that bat shit crazy girl up."
 
Mitch grins and looks over at me.  "Are you referring to Missy Toblerone or your daughter?"
 
"I can hear you," I say.
 
My mother doesn't miss a beat.  "I'm talking about the one with an actively changing body count."
 
"Yes, ma'am."
 
Momma reaches over and pats my calf.  "You and I can go over what to do about this one another day."
 
Mitch walks back over to my bedside and kisses my forehead.  "I'll see you later, Tiger."
 
After Mitch leaves, Momma drags a chair closer.  "I swung by your house. Got some clothes and some toiletries together for you.  When they release you tomorrow, you're coming home with me.   I don't want any argument about it."
 
"I wasn't going to argue.  But you're going to have to get Waylon to and from school for a couple of days."
 
"That's no big deal," she says.  Abruptly, she looks away and I can see her chin quivering.  "I almost lost you.  I don't know if I could have gone on.  That woman tried to hurt my precious girl."
 
Even without a mirror, I know looking at me must be a vivid reminder of how things could have turned out.  "She didn't, though."
 
"Only because you were smarter than her."
 
"Smart?  Never been described that way before."
 
"Oh, hush up.  There's book smart and street smart.  Book smart is over rated, if you ask me."
 
There's a knock at the door.  Momma tenses.  "Can I help you?"
 
"Hi.  My name is Colleen Weaver from the Gazette.'
 
"She is not up for an interview.  Go peddle your sensational news, some place else."
 
"It's okay.  Come on in, Colleen."
 
"I'm not here for a story.  Maybe later, when you're feeling better.  I just came to check on you.  I heard about it on the police scanner.  You're quite the hero."
 
"Funny how people keep tossing that word around."
 
"So far, Mrs. Buckley, you've uncovered a mystery from nearly a hundred years ago.  Found out who murdered Ed Preston. And possibly solved Jason Toblerone's missing persons case.  I think hero is exactly the right word."
 
"Well, thank you, Colleen.  I appreciate it and I appreciate you coming by."
 
She starts to leave but stops in the doorway.   "Oh my gosh, I almost forgot.  You get the reward money."
 
"What?"  Momma says.
 
"There was a reward for helping solve the Toblerone case.  Once they confirm the body parts do, indeed, belong to Jason, the reward is yours."
 
I wish I could say I don't want the reward, but I can use that money.  I can try to make arrangements to get custody of Waylon.  I doubt Dougie will fight me.  He's never really been interested in being the kid's father.  And I think Waylon needs some stability in his life. 
 
"A friend of mine down at the station said that Missy isn't talking.  Said she wouldn't talk until you were in the room."
 
"That's not gonna happen,"  my momma says.  
 
"If it'll get her to confess, I'll go to that interrogation room with a g-string and tassels."
 
Colleen covers her mouth.  "They may give you a call.  Depends on if her lawyer can't talk some sense into her."
 
I nod slowly, so as not to, jar my nose.
 
"Glad you're okay," Colleen says, then steps out into the hall.
 
"Wonder how big your reward is?"
 
I shrug.  "We need to find Dougie."
 
"He'll turn up."
 
I lie back on the pillow and close my eyes.  So much to take in.  It's exhausting and I'm hurt.  I just need to sleep.
 
 
 
                 ***************
 
"Miranda, sweetie, your boss and co-worker are here to see you."  Momma gently shakes my arm.  
 
I blink a couple of times, Rita's face is there in front of me.  Her eyes are wide.  "Oh, poor Miranda.   Does it hurt?"
 
"Yep.  A little bit."
 
Matt leans around her.  He looks awkward and scared.  "You okay?"
 
I smile, at least, I think I'm smiling.  "I might not be in tomorrow for my shift."
 
He laughs, but I can see two tears rolling down his chubby face.  "Game time decision, huh?"
 
Holding out my hand, he puts his hand in mine.  "Matt, are you crying?"
 
"No.  Why would I cry?  You're fine."  He wipes his forearm across his face.
 
Rita hooks her arm through his.  "We don't want to wear you out.  Let's go, Matt."
 
He pulls his hand away slowly.  Almost looks reluctant to do so.
 
"You're a bad ass, Miranda," he says, wriggling himself free of Rita's arm.
 
                   **************
 
Just before seven, Aaron comes back.  "Took Waylon to your mom's house.  I just figured you might not want to be alone."
 
"You're right.  But, I'm thinking that might not be the only reason you came back."
 
"See, you're smart.  They found out that one of the bodies we pulled up, is my great-uncle.  They also think the other two were revenuers.  Two agents went missing.  No trace of them anywhere.  Can you imagine disappearing and your family, friends never find out what happened to you."  Aaron looks down, pausing before he continues. "I been thinking.  I think I'd like to go into the ministry.  Please, don't laugh.  I think I'd be really good."
 
"I have no doubt you'd be good."
 
"Are you joking or being serious right now?" he asks.
 
"I'm dead serious.  But you know you'll have to give up smoking marijuana."
 
"Shoot.  I only do that because I get bored.  That's easy enough to stop."
 
"If you become a preacher, I'll start going to church on a regular basis."
 
"Phew.  I thought you'd be laughing your ass of when I told you.  Now, the hard part comes.  I gotta run it by my dad."
 
"Aaron, you're a grown up.  Stop looking to your parents for permission and approval.  Just tell them."
 
"They're gonna think I've lost my mind," he says, a tinge of nervousness in his tone.
 
"You've got to show them you're a man.  That's the only way they're gonna respect you."
 
Aaron sighs and stands up.  "Go on and get some rest.  I'll be back tomorrow."
 
The nurse comes in with a small white paper cup and a pain pill.  "I'll be back to check on you in a little while."
 
I swallow the pill and chase it with a sip of water.
 
Reverend Aaron.  It has a nice ring to it.  I just hope his parents don't make a fuss about his decision.  
 
 
 
To be continued ...
 
 
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 59
Nerves of Steel (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   Finally released from the hospital, she goes home to her momma's house with Waylon in tow.  She waits on news about Waylon's dad, who is still missing.
 
 
 
                 ******************
 
My momma is in her glory taking care of both me and Waylon. Every night she makes one of Waylon's favorite meals.  Even has him in the kitchen with her, measuring out flour and chopping vegetables.   They both seem to really enjoy each other's company.
 
I ask Mitch to let me know if they get any word on Dougie's wherabouts.  He promises me he will but it's been several days since I asked him and there's been nothing.
 
"I'm gonna go sit out on the porch.  Y'all call when dinner's ready."  I pull my sweater off the coat hook by the front door and step outside.
 
The temperature is changing.  It's subtle.  That's how fall sneaks in here in North Carolina, at least these parts.  No grand trees ablaze in orange and red.  Just the grass getting a little duller and the sea oats changing from a mild green to a more golden blush.
 
I lean back on the porch swing and listen to the distant honking of some Canadian geese that fly somewhere beyond the tree line.
 
Mitch pulls up, in his squad car.  It's after five,  he's usually off by now.  He's still in uniform.
 
"You get the short straw?  That why you're still on duty?"
 
He smiles but it seems forced. "Has, uh, Waylon heard from his daddy?"
 
The hair on the back of my neck stands up. "Not that I know of. Why?"
 
He steps up on the porch and glances inside. "We found his truck.  It was out in No man's land.  Down one of those roads that lead to God knows where."
 
"And?"
 
He shrugs his shoulders.  "There was some blood.  Not much.  It could have been old.  He did construction.  Haven't known a guy who did construction that hasn't bled all over his vehicle at one time or another."  He motions for me to slide over and he joins me on the swing. "I know it's wrong to ask you this, but Missy is refusing to cooperate with us ... unless," he looks into my eyes.  "Unless you come talk to her in the jail.  This may be our only hope of getting  a confession from her.  Her lawyer is preparing to ask for a low bond.  It wouldn't surprise me if she got released and just took off."
 
"I'll do it.  Hell, I gotta follow this through.  She loves bragging to me."
 
He slips his arm around my shoulder. "There's nobody quite like you, you know that?"  Very gently, he kisses me.  "How's your shnoz today?"
 
"Getting there.  Still can't sneeze or blow my nose but the swelling is going down and the bruises have a very festive yellow tint now."
 
"You look good in yellow," he teases. "But, there ain't much you can't pull off.  That fetching red vest you wear at work, for instance.  Takes convenience store to a whole new level."
 
I know he's trying to get my mind off of the double whammy he just served up.  "How'd yall find the truck?  Who found it?"
 
"Some wildlife photographer.  Said she saw it two weeks ago when she was out there taking pictures.  Thought it was odd that it was still there."
 
"Did anybody check the area? "
 
"Miranda, yes.  We searched there for a few hours.  It's mainly swamp and marsh.  I find it hard to believe that Missy could overpower him and haul him into the swamp by herself."
 
"She watched her husband die, while eating her sandwich on the steps not ten feet away.  She lured Ed Preston down to Haynes Pond then cracked the back of his head open.  Do you honestly think she would have a problem with Dougie?"
 
"I don't guess so."
 
"Maybe she had an accomplice.  Some boy toy who," I say then stop.  "She could have tricked someone into helping her like she did with Tyler."
 
Mitch closed his eyes.  "Maybe she will tell you when you meet with her."
 
The door opens and Waylon peeks out.  "Sheriff, are you here for dinner?"
 
"No.  I'm taking Tyler's shift one night per week.  Just came over to make sure Miranda was behaving." He winks at me.
 
"Well, dinner's ready." Waylon looks at me then steps back inside.
 
"I better go in.  That boy has an appetite and if you aren't faster than he is, well, you just might miss out on a meal."
 
Mitch stands, then holds out his hand to me.  "Go in and eat, Tiger.  I'll call you tomorrow and we can set up a time for you to come in."
 
I nod.  "Mitch,  don't stop looking for Dougie.  If not for me, do it for that kid."
 
"We're going to find him.  I promise you that."
 
I stand at the door long after he drives away.  I know he will keep looking.  He's never asked me if I'm still in love with Dougie.  And if he did, honestly, I'm not sure I could answer him.  I do still love Dougie, but I'm not in love with him.  Not sure I ever was.  But I love that kid in the kitchen.  I want Dougie found.  If he isn't alive, at least give Waylon closure.  
 
"Come on, Miranda.  It's getting cold," Momma calls from the doorway to the kitchen.
 
I put a smile on before joining them.  I can tell Waylon is waiting for me to say something.  His eyes dart from the dish on the table to me then to my momma.
 
"Is that a homemade potpie?"
 
He grins.  "Chicken potpie."
 
"This little chef added bacon to it. Been cooking this for forty years and never once thought about adding bacon to it.  Culinary genius."
 
I pull out my chair and put my napkin in my lap.  "Well, hurry up and put some on my plate.  I'm starving."
 
We eat.  Scrape every morsel of food from the baking dish that we can.  I live in this moment, careful to keep the what ifs out of my head.  
 
Tomorrow, I'll think about Missy and Dougie.  Tomorrow, is another day, after all. 
 
 
To be continued ...
 
 

Author Notes This is part of a larger body of work.


Chapter 60
Exit Stage Left

By GWHARGIS

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   She exposed Missy Toblerone for the cold blooded killer she is.  But Miranda has to face her again, to get Missy to cooperate with police.
 
 
 
 
 
 
             *********************
 
By the fourth day out of the hospital, I am pronounced fit to return to work.  The nurse who is filling out the discharge papers even goes so far as to give me makeup tips to help cover the purple and yellow remnants of bruising.
 
Momma drives me to the Little Eagle so I can give Matt the good news.  She pulls up to the door, let's me out,then backs out of her spot to go park in the shade.
 
I can't help but look around.  I've really never been scared here.  Even those late nights working by myself, I rarely got my hackles up.
 
Rita squeals before I even get the door open all the way.
 
"Yay.  You're back.  Are you here, I mean for the day?"
 
"Not today, but I am going to tell Matt to put me back on the schedule."
 
Rita looks towards the back of the store.  "Don't tell him I told you, but Matt cried like a baby after we left the hospital."
 
"That secret is safe with me."
 
I let her hug me before I walk to the office.
 
My hand is hovering over the door  but it opens before I can follow through with a knock.
 
Matt stands up and ushers me in. "Saw you on the cameras.  You coming to put in your notice?"
 
"Actually, I was coming to tell you to put me back on the schedule."
 
He studies me.  "You aren't afraid to come back?"
 
"They got her, Matt.  I'm okay."
 
"I'll put you on ...starting Monday.  And, I've hired my daughter's boyfriend to work a few nights a week.  I figure it won't hurt to have an extra employee around."
 
"You haven't been being mean to Rita, have you?"
 
"Nooo.  I've been taking my wife's Xanax.  That stuff works like a charm."
 
Matt looks at the monitor.  "Your number one fan is here."  He points to the monitor.  
 
Mitch has pulled into the parking lot, one space from my momma.
 
"Let me get out there before those two start talking about me."
 
                   *****************
 
"Are you following me?" I call as I get close to where they are parked.
 
"Looking for you.  First, how was your checkup?"
 
"I'm good to go."
 
"Second, are you up for coming to the station and talking to Missy?"
 
I look over at Momma.  She knows better than to try and tell me what to do, but she's a lot like me.  She can't disguise what her face is saying.  And, her face is saying, "Don't, you've done your part."
 
"Can I ride with you?"
 
"Certainly," Mitch says.  He looks over at my momma.  "I'm sorry, but your daughter might be our only shot."
 
She doesn't smile or even nod.  She starts her car and stares straight ahead.  "Anything happens to Miranda, and I'm holding you responsible."
 
 
               ********************
 
The drive to the station is quiet.  He pulls up in front and turns to me.  "Ready?"
 
"I'd like to say I was born ready, but I don't guess anyone is born ready for this."
 
I'm seated at a table in a large room.  There are bars on the door and clear windows sandwiched between sheets of plexiglass.
 
"I didn't think you'd come."  Missy shuffles into the room, guided by a female deputy.  Her wrists are cuffed and a chain goes from there to her ankles.  She has no makeup on, her hair lies lifeless on her head.  She looks like a blank canvas.
 
"I did."
 
She sits across from me, smiling like we're meeting for coffee.  "Wow.  I did a number on your face."
 
"Where's Dougie?"
 
"He's around."
 
"Where is he?"
 
She smiles, eyes twinkling like she knows the answer to a riddle.  "I wasn't going to kill you that night.  You're my friend.  Friends don't kill each other."
 
"I would have killed you,"  I say.  "I wouldn't have hesitated a second."
 
"No.  You wouldn't have.  You are a healer, Miranda.  People go to you because you give them hope and grace.  I always envied you because of that."
 
"Right."
 
"I did you a favor.  Ed was going to make trouble for you.  I just couldn't let that happen.  I told him to let it go.  You know what that vile man did?  He tried to blackmail me.  Told me to meet him at Haynes Pond.  Asked me to hire some fancy lawyer so he could sue you, and when I said no, thats when he told me the washing machine was down there.  He was supposed to get rid of it.  Toss it in the swamp.  But, no,  that bastard put it there.  Out where anyone could find it.  Said it was his insurance policy "
 
"So, you killed him."
 
"Damn right I did."  She smiles proudly.  
 
"What about Tyler?"
 
"He was so gullible.   I do like a young stupid man.  After I shot at the store that night, the sheriff made you his number one priority.   I needed someone on the inside.  He's a very sweet guy.  Easy to play with, if you know what I mean.  I told him all about your little vendetta against me.  He ate that shit up."  Missy laughs.  "I told him I just wanted to talk to you, clear up any misunderstanding we had.  But, just like always, he took your side."
 
I think about his stunned look after she shot him.  
 
"I'm gonna go, Missy.  Cause that's what a free woman can do."
 
"You can't leave.  I'm not done."
 
"Where is Dougie?" I ask, sliding my chair backwards from the table.
 
"What do you care?  He dumped you.  Don't you have any pride?"
 
"Goodbye, Missy.   Have fun making friends in prison."
 
"Sit down.  You can't just leave."
 
"A decent person would tell where Dougie is, or at least if he's alive or dead.  But we both know, there is nothing decent about you."
 
She flings herself forward, slamming her forehead on the table.  "You'll never find him.  If you leave now, I'll take that info to the grave.  And that kid you love so much, he'll always wonder.  It'll keep you up at night.  Knowing you could have found out.  That's on you, Miranda."
 
I stand up.  Silently, I walk to the door.
 
"I'm done." 
 
The deputy, unlocks the door.
 
"When I get out of here, there'll be payback "  Missy hollers after me as I walk down the hall.  "I'll get off.  Pretty girls always go free.  I'll come after your momma first.  I'll hunt down everyone that you love."
 
Her words echo after me.  She wasn't going to tell me where Dougie is.  It's her last piece of leverage.  But I'm done playing games with her.  
 
Where she's going, she's going to have to learn a new game.
 
Mitch pulls me into his arms.  "You did good, Tiger.  I know it wasn't easy."
 
"It's never easy to stand up to the devil."  I shiver.  "Take me home.  I just want to go home."
 
If there's one thing I've learned through all of this,  it's that sometimes not all your questions get answered.   Sometimes the loose ends don't get all tied up nicely in a big bow.  But, life goes on despite the unanswered questions.  And I have to wonder, if I'm really supposed to know the answers.
 
 
The End

Author Notes This is the end. Leaving a few things open, in case I want to revisit Miranda on the future. Thank you to all who have read, critiqued, applauded and enjoyed Miranda and her friends.


Chapter 61
Aaron's New Wheels (Miranda)

By GWHARGIS

***So far, in the Miranda Chronicals, Miranda has lost her job, her boyfriend and is now the temporary mom to ex-boyfriend's teenage son.  She just got her job back and is still trying to cope with a kid who really doesn't want to be around her.***
 
 
 
So, it's Saturday morning and I'm just out of the shower when there's a knock on the door to my trailer.   I don't have many visitors.  It's usually some neighbor wanting to borrow something or needing a ride into town.  But, standing here naked, clad only in a towel, I'm not in the mood for favors.  The knock is louder the second time.
 
"Hold on," I shout.
 
Waylon sits up on the couch, rubbing his eyes.  "Go on.  I got it."
 
I hustle back to my room to get dressed.  Just in case it's not a nice visitor I need to be dressed because it's hard to kick ass and be a force to be reckoned with when you're clutching a towel over your tits.
 
I pop into my jeans and am listening intently for sounds of trouble when I hear Waylon tell this person to come in.  The thought that it might be Dougie Wilcox, hat in hand, coming to beg forgiveness crosses my mind.  But guys like Dougie don't beg for forgiveness.  No, they come back assuming you were never mad in the first place.
 
I pull the curtain back to find Aaron Earl standing there. 
 
"What the hell, Aaron?  It's eight thirty on a Saturday morning.  If your trailer isn't on fire or there isn't some emergency, I might just be pissed."
 
Aaron grins. "You're funny, Miranda.  No, listen,  I got big news."
 
"Ok."
 
"I got a new truck."
 
"Are you going around to every person in the park to tell them, too, or am I just the lucky one?"
 
He laughs.  There are times when Aaron reminds me of Shaggy from the cartoon Scooby-Doo.  He's tall and lanky, hasn't seen a barber in over a decade because he still let's his momma cut his hair on the front porch.  And he's a pot head.  
 
"I came to tell you because I need a favor."
 
And there you have it. The knock followed by small talk and then the dreaded favor.
 
"What?"
 
"I said that I needed to ask a favor."
 
"Aaron, I heard what you said.  What favor?"
 
"I need you to ride with me to get my old truck and drive it back here."
 
Of all the things I don't want to do today that is officially at the top of the list.  I'm trying my best to figure out a plausible excuse because men have a tendency to take the word NO so personally.  I look over at Waylon who is still in that stage of stupor before your feet hit the floor in the morning.
 
"Waylon, you have any special plans for today?"
 
He squints a painful looking squint that means he's thinking.  He shakes his head.  "I just gotta get some samples of natural water from some places around here."
 
I look over at Aaron to see if he knew what Waylon was talking about. But he looked just as clueless as I felt.
 
"For my Marine Biology class."
 
Aaron nods his head. "We can stop by Haynes Pond."
 
"Ew.  Bring a strainer with you. That place is full of used condoms," I say.
 
Both of them look at me.
 
"At least, that's what I've heard," I mutter.
 
"So, you'll help me out?   I'll buy y'all lunch."
 
Waylon shrugs and stretches.  "I need to shower."
 
"I'd hold off on that," Aaron says. "It's pretty muddy there.  You're not gonna come out of there clean.  Just go brush your teeth and splash some water on your face."
 
"Give us about thirty minutes," I say as I usher Aaron to the door. 
 
"Ok, thanks, Miranda."
 
When I hear Waylon close the bathroom door I walk over to where his phone is charging.  I'm surprised it isn't locked.  And even though I know it's a violation of his privacy, I do what every other mother does, I check his messages.  One person in particular.  There are thirteen unanswered texts to his Dad.  I look towards the bathroom door as I put his phone down.  Dougie has no plans of coming back for Waylon.   And seeing as how the last text Waylon sent was two days ago, I think Waylon realizes this as well.
 
I fold up his blanket and the sheet and set them on the back of the couch.
 
There is the tiniest room on the opposite side of the trailer.   I use it as a storage area but I think with some cleaning out, it just might make a nice little bedroom for him.  I mean, he can't sleep on the couch forever.  I know that if he agrees to it, he's accepted the fact that Dougie isn't coming back.
 
"I'm ready," he says.  He grabs his backpack off the floor by the door and pulls his books out.  There are four glass bottles with blank labels on them.  He starts writing.   "What's the name of that place we're going to? Condom lake?"
 
"No," I say frantically then I notice the tiniest smirk.  "Oh, good one kid."
 
He puts the bottle gingerly into the empty backpack.  "I'm ready."
 
I grab my keys, a baseball cap and my sunglasses and stop. "You want to take your phone?"
 
Waylon shrugs. "Nah, nobody's gonna call me anyway."
 
"Ok."
 
He steps out onto the porch and I glance once more at his phone.  "Dougie, for once, do the right thing.  Call your kid."  I think as I slide his phone into my back pocket.
 
 
To be continued...

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