All morning long, she’d been sitting in her Chevy rental, parked in the minimall lot. With the video store, U- Pay-Less Shoes, Pizza Hut, Sheer Delight Hair Stylists, and the post office as its main attractions, the little mall did a brisk business. Avery still hadn’t shown up. Occasionally, Sean started up the car to get the heater going, or she’d step out to stretch her legs. Three times, she’d ducked into the post office to make certain Box 73 hadn’t been cleaned out, three false alarms.
The mailboxes in Opal’s post office were the old-fashioned kind, brass with numbers on little windows. Box 73 was crammed with several large manila envelopes—along with some bills. Anyone emerging from the post office with a bundle like that was an immediate suspect.
Sean drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. She watched the woman come out again with her kids—a thin, dark-haired, preteen boy, and a chubby little urchin with her blond hair in braids. The kids fought, not just pushing and shoving, but with fists swinging. Their poor mother tried to break it up without getting coldcocked. The sallow-looking blonde wore a pink down vest over her white turtleneck, and a pair of jeans that didn’t flatter her pear-shaped figure. She was screaming at her kids, and clutching a big bundle of mail—several manila envelopes and some bills.
Sean climbed out of her rental, and she could hear the woman: “I’ll tell Daddy about this when he comes back from California. You’ll be sorry. You know how he gets when he’s angry….” She prodded them toward a brand-new station wagon, which bore two bumper stickers: MY FAMILY, MY COUNTRY, MY GUN, and JESUS CHRIST: NOW MORE THAN EVER. The woman was still screaming and threatening her kids when Sean ducked into the post office.
Box 73 was empty.
Sean hurried back out the door, across the lot toward her rental. Suddenly, something came at her. Tires screeched. She spun around and almost collided with the from fender of an old-model blue Chrysler LeBaron. She reeled back, momentarily stunned.
Sean couldn’t see the driver past the sun’s glare on the windshield. But she noticed a pair of fuzzy dice dangling from the rearview mirror. Whoever sat behind the wheel didn’t yell or honk. Catching her breath, Sean waved at the driver and stepped aside.
She glanced over her shoulder at the mother. The frumpy blonde stood by her station wagon, staring back at her.
Sean quickly looked away, then walked up to a beige Tempo that wasn’t hers. She paused by the driver’s door, then pretended to search through her purse for the car keys. After a minute, the woman climbed into her station wagon, pulled out of her space, and started toward the lot exit. Sean ran back to her rental car, jumped inside, and gunned the engine.
She caught up with the station wagon at the stoplight by the mall exit. The woman swiveled around to swat at her kids in the back. When the light changed, she turned left. Sean followed, keeping about three car lengths behind her. They drove by a McDonald’s, then past Debbie’s Motor Inn, where Sean once again glimpsed the police tape in the parking lot. She checked her rearview mirror. An old lady in a Buick was behind her. Sean didn’t notice the next car back. She didn’t see the blue Chrysler LeBaron that had almost run into her a few minutes ago.
Somebody was coming, but at this distance, Avery couldn’t tell if it was a police car. He’d taken out the spare tire and leaned it against the fender to advertise his predicament. In the past forty minutes, only three people had driven by; and none of them had even slowed down for him.
The approaching vehicle came into view. Avery noticed the police lights on the hood. He stepped in front of his disabled rental and waved. The squad car slowed to a stop about a hundred yards in front of him. Avery couldn’t see what the cop inside was doing, but figured he’d better not move. He stood there for at least two or three minutes.
“Raise your hands above your head and turn toward your vehicle,” the cop announced over his speaker.
Avery nodded, then did what he was told. He thought about what had happened to Dayle’s chauffeur and her stand-in. He heard the car door open, then the patrolman approaching, pebbles crackling underfoot.
“I’ve been stranded here with a flat for an hour,” Avery called. “This is a rental car. They have a spare tire, but no jack.” He glanced over his shoulder. “This woman stopped earlier. I must have scared her. She might have called you. Anyway, I’m glad you showed up.”
“Oh, really?” the policeman finally replied. He sounded all congested. “This lady told us you didn’t want her calling the police.”
“I didn’t want her
“That sure looks like a flat to me. You can lower your arms, sir.”
“Thank you,” Avery sighed. Hesitating, he turned and managed to smile at the patrolman. He prayed the guy wouldn’t recognize him.
The officer tipped his hat, then pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. Avery guessed he was around thirty, and with a cold in full bloom. Against his pale complexion, his nose was almost as red as his neatly trimmed hair, and those blue eyes were bloodshot. He stood about six feet tall, and had a solid build. He sneezed loudly.
“God bless you,” Avery muttered.
“Thanks.” The cop moseyed over to the flat tire. “Where are you from?”
“California,” Avery said. “I’m headed for Opal, but I think I took a wrong turn. My aunt lives there. I’m spending Thanksgiving with her.”
“That’s nice.” He blew his nose again, then squinted at Avery. “Say, anyone ever tell you that you look like that movie star, Avery Cooper?”
Avery shrugged. “I don’t follow the movies much.”
The cop studied his face for another moment, then cleared his throat and spit. “Yeah, well, Opal’s about two hours from here. I have a map in my squad car. Sit tight for a second, and I’ll show you how to get there.”
Avery watched him start back toward the patrol car. “If you have a jack,” he called, “I could change this tire in no time….”
The policeman didn’t look back at him, but waved, then ducked into the front seat. Avery strained to catch a glimpse of him through the windshield’s glare. The guy must have had a hard time finding his road map, because he was in there at least five minutes. Finally, Avery started toward the patrol car. “Um, excuse me?” he called.
The cop climbed out of the front seat. He let out a guttural roar to clear his throat and spit once again. “I can’t find the stupid map anywhere.”
Avery smiled. “Hey, listen, it’s okay. I have a map in my car. If I head back to Highway 95, I should find Opal pretty easily.” He glanced over his shoulder at the lopsided Lincoln Town Car. “You know, if you have a jack I could borrow for a few minutes, I’d be on my way.”
The policeman took a deep breath that puffed out his chest. “No, I’ll tell you what you’re gonna do here. You’re gonna lean against this vehicle and put your hands behind your back.”
Bewildered, Avery stared at him. “What?”
“Do as I say, Mr. Cooper,” the patrolman replied, his hand poised by his gun belt. “Lean forward, hands behind you, legs apart.”
In a daze, Avery obeyed him. The once-friendly policemen tugged at his arms, then slapped a pair of cuffs around his wrists. At the same time, he felt the cop leaning up against him, and his mouth touched Avery’s ear. “You’re in a helluva lot of trouble,” he whispered. “You know that, mister big shot movie star?”
The following Internet conversation occurred at 1:42 P.M., on Monday, November 18, on the Recipe Hot- line:
HANNAH: The big difference is using beef stock instead of water. That’s what makes it so flavorful.
VICKI: Is it really rich? If it’s too rich, my husband won’t want it. Lyle has a delicate constitution.
PAT: Request private chat with Vicki.
