Authors: Virginia Brown
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Mystery & Detective, #Sagas
“This is good,” Herky said as he ate the last bite of his burger. “I don’t eat out much.”
Chantry looked at him. Light from the outside pole lantern illuminated a small patch of tile and some night-blooming plants. They smelled sweet. “Are you the one who keeps all the grounds like this?”
Herky nodded. “Yeah. I like doin’ it.”
“How long have you worked for
. . .
Ridgeway Realty?” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say her name and felt stupid about that.
“Ever since Miss Cinda bought the company. It used to belong to Mr. Sewell. He moved a while back.”
“Mariah Sewell’s father?”
“Uh huh. You remember her?”
He did. He remembered her being furious with him over Cinda, too. Like he could have done anything else, done what he wanted to do instead of what he was forced to do.
“Does she still live in Cane Creek?”
“Naw. Moved off to N’orlins after she got married to some guy she met in college. She and Miss Cinda went to Ole Miss over in Oxford, used to come home on weekends. I’d see ’em ridin’ around in their cars and think how purty they were, all kinda fluffy lookin’, if you know what I mean.”
Herky sucked on his limeade while Chantry tried to picture Cinda riding around with her best friend, laughing and carefree. He smiled, and looked up to find Herky watching him with eyes that saw too much.
“Yeah,” he said then, “I know what you mean. She always made me think of cotton candy. Pink, fluffy, and sweet.”
“But iron underneath.” Herky nodded wisely. “Yeah, that’s Miss Cinda. She knows what she wants, don’t let nobody push her around too much.”
“That’s the Quinton in her.”
“Yep. Bound to be. I heard Mr. Ledbetter say she’s got more balls than Chris, but he don’t always talk real nice about the Quintons anyway.”
Maybe not, but it was probably true. He wanted to ask if Cinda was seeing anyone, if she had ever been married or close to it, and what she’d been doing for fourteen years, but couldn’t think of a way to bring it up without feeling intrusive and juvenile. Just like a kid asking about his old girlfriend, or someone he wanted to be his girlfriend. Hell, he was too old for this. It’d be better to just steer clear of the subject of Cinda altogether.
They sat in silence for a while longer, listening to crickets and bullfrogs, and off in the distance, classical music drifted on the breeze. It was pleasant. Peaceful. Almost enough to make him forget the friction of earlier. Almost.
Quinton had made his point with the police harassment. He’d have to watch his back every minute. Like he hadn’t already known that anyway. If the cops had found anything to charge him with, they’d have done it in a heartbeat. He knew that. He’d just have to walk a fine line to stay out of trouble. Not much different than he’d had to do when he was a kid.
Only now, it could be even more dangerous.
Tansy was back in Mississippi. Chantry found that out from Dempsey when he stopped by to see him one afternoon. The clinic had closed and he didn’t want to go home and read over the textbooks he knew he should, so he drove over to Liberty Road.
“Hey, son, glad you came by. I was just gettin’ ready to drive to Tunica. Want to come with me?”
“I’m not much into gambling,” Chantry said. “For money, anyway.”
Dempsey grinned. “I hear that. Not why I’m goin’, though. Tansy’s singin’ at one of the casinos this week.”
Tansy. Chantry had a flash of her as he’d last seen her, face pressed against the screen of his bedroom window, confusion and anguish in her eyes. He’d been so dumb. Why hadn’t he seen there was more to it than just the usual adolescent turmoil? He’d been so immersed in his own misery he hadn’t seen past it to what Tansy was feeling. It was one of his biggest regrets. Maybe he could have changed things. Maybe not. But he’d not been there for her when she needed him most.
“Sure. I’ll go. I’d like to see her.”
On the way, driving up 61 Highway past flat cotton fields and curtains of kudzu, he kept thinking that Tansy may not want to see him. It’d been so long, and he’d be a reminder of all that had happened. Of Chris. Damn. His hands tightened on the steering wheel.
“What casino is she singing at this week?”
Dempsey, sitting in the passenger seat of the Rover, looked over at him. “Not Quinton’s. I know what you’re thinkin’. She’d never get hired there, and wouldn’t go if she did.”
“I don’t know about Quinton not hiring her. Chris is in charge. He would. None of them would ever let personal preferences come before making money, and Tansy will bring in a lot of business. She’s local. People would come for that even if she wasn’t in the top Billboard artists.”
“Mebbe. Mebbe not. Don’t matter none anyway. She’s performin’ at The Grand Isle.”
He’d only been to Tunica once, and that’d been years before when his grandparents insisted on bringing him and Mikey down for a headliner show. He’d played a few slot machines before the show and a couple of hands of blackjack, but other than that, hadn’t found much to interest him. The food was excellent, Harvey Korman and Tim Conway funny and entertaining, but it wasn’t enough to bring him back for any reason. He already pretty much knew where he stood with Lady Luck, and there was no point in tempting fate.
Tunica always looked odd to him, smack in the middle of nowhere, fields all around it and the river nudging against chewed banks, while the tall hotels and elaborate casinos jutted up like incongruous reminders of human foibles. Elegantly-clad women stood next to pudgy housewives with bubble hair and sweat pants. Farmers in overalls placed bets beside businessmen in Armani suits. It was the epitome of kitsch and class. And a perfect breeding ground for men like Bert Quinton to flourish.
“Is she expecting you?” Chantry asked when they stood inside the lobby next to a fountain made to look like a mermaid.
Dempsey looked mesmerized by his surroundings as he nodded. Lights flashed, bells rang, conversation was a muted roar. Carpets were dark green and gold, and a full size replica of a pirate ship bobbed in a bay of water meant to simulate a tropical harbor. A bare-breasted mermaid figurehead adorned the prow. The older man stared at it with something like skeptical amusement.
“She said go to the front desk and ask for her and she’d come out to get me,” he said. “I reckon she’ll be surprised to see you, too.”
That would be an understatement. It’d been nearly fifteen years. God, it didn’t seem that long. And yet it seemed an eternity since he’d last seen her.
They waited for another few minutes, watching people come and go, listening to the loud chink of coins going into and coming out of the slot machines that lined almost the entire floor in between displays of pirate-oriented decoration. Chantry glanced toward the bank of elevators just as one of them opened, and saw Tansy.
He didn’t know what he’d expected. For her to look a lot older, maybe. Or to look like the publicity photos he’d seen in magazines, with hair all loose and flowing around her shoulders, short denim skirts and midriff baring tops, the ultimate rock star. This Tansy looked fifteen. No makeup. No short skirts. A loose sweat suit and her hair pulled back in a ponytail.
She saw him and faltered, eyes getting big and her mouth opening. Then she ran toward him, arms outstretched, and leaped on him. He opened his arms just in time to catch her, pleased and embarrassed at the same time to be engulfed in enthusiasm and sharpshooter questions.
“Chantry Callahan, is it really you? Where the hell have you been? What have you been doing? And why did you wait so long to see me?”
Half-laughing, he gave her back a fierce hug, aware that Dempsey was smiling and people were staring. “Hey, Tansy.”
“Talkative as always, I see.” She pulled back slightly to peer into his face, gold eyes searching, her arms still around his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist. “Damn, you grew up fine. All sharp angles and muscles. I always knew you would. Put me down and we’ll go to my suite.”
She gave Dempsey a hug and held on to his arm, looped her other arm around Chantry, and they took the elevator to the top floor and a corner suite that looked out over the river.
“Nice, huh,” Tansy said, and gave them a smug smile. She stood with both hands on her hips, looking from one to the other. “Okay, so tell me what’s up.”
Chantry sprawled on a deep leather couch, just watching Tansy, trying to figure out just how she could still be the same after so long and so much had happened. He’d never asked, didn’t know what she’d done with the baby or if she’d even had it. It’d never seemed right to ask, and he had always thought it must be something too painful for Dempsey to discuss since he’d never said anything about it.
“Nothing much,” he said when she gave him a pointed look, and shrugged. “Only back for a little while to do my preceptorship with Doc.”
“Pre what?”
“Intern as a vet.”
She grinned. “Whatever happened to Shadow?”
“He’s with Mikey.”
“Still alive? You gotta be kidding me. That’d make him—what?”
“Sixteen. Pretty old for a big dog. So what have you been up to? Besides getting famous and rich.”
“Oh no, I’m not that easily distracted. You owe me some answers. What are you really doing back in Cane Creek? And remember who you’re talking to. You could do that vet stuff anywhere you wanted. Don’t think I’ll buy a load of crap, either.”
“I liked you better when you weren’t as mouthy.”
“Yeah? Well, I liked you better when you at least knew what you really wanted and went after it.”
That surprised him. He stared at her, then glanced at Dempsey who stared at a wall. Oh yeah. They’d been talking.
“I don’t know what it is you think I want,” he said after a minute, and she laughed at him.
“Oh yes, you do. But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine with me. I talk enough for both of us.”
“That much hasn’t changed.” He grinned when she made a face at him.
“So,” she said, moving to the wet bar to get Dempsey a soft drink, “what can I get you? I think there’s a little bit of everything in here. Here, Daddy. I know you like your Coke.”
“I’m good,” Chantry said, and watched as Tansy went through the hostess ritual that women used when stalling for time, putting ice in a glass, pouring in a Coke, wiping off counters and generally doing the domestic thing. Her sweat shirt slipped off her shoulder a bit so that the strap to a sports bra showed, and she shrugged it back up when she turned around to look at him again.
“So I’m here for a couple of weeks. Long engagement. My manager said it’s one of those deals I couldn’t refuse. Got a concert up in Memphis, gigs here on the weekends, a few shows during the week. Pretty lucrative, and I’m between recording sessions. Thought I’d go to Ardent Studio while I’m here, lay down some tracks with the Memphis blues sound.” She flicked a glance at Dempsey. “Maybe even do some gospel.”
Dempsey looked up with a pleased smile. “You really gonna do that, baby?”
“As if you haven’t been nagging me to death about it. Yeah. Thought I would. Does that make you happy?”
“Baby, you just don’t know how happy. It’d be like hearin’ your mama sing again. You’ve got that God-given talent. A shame to let it go to waste.”
“Waste?” She put her hands on her hips. “Three of my CDs went platinum.”
“More to life than money.”
Tansy rolled her eyes. “Right. So, do you want to order room service?”
“No, I want the buffet. No point in payin’ too much money just to have somebody carry food on a tray.” Dempsey shrugged. “‘Sides, you two got some talkin’ to do without me in the way. You’ll be here a while, baby girl. We got lots of time. Stay here with Chantry. I’m gonna eat my way along two or three tables downstairs.”