The ringing doorbell cuts her off. I rush to see who came to my rescue, but wrinkle my nose when I spot the—suspicious— male on the front porch. “What brings you here?”
He seems clueless about the . . . um . . . lack of enthusiasm in my voice. “I knew the ladies were headed out for some R&R, and I thought you might like a ride to the studio.”
Uh-oh.
“I usually drive myself in to work. Aunt Weeby’s been letting me use her old VW Jetta.”
Max snaps his fingers. “That’s right. I’ve seen you. But wouldn’t you like to travel in style? And the company’s not so bad either.”
A date with Jack the Ripper. “Ah . . . well . . . I never thought about it.”
“Tell you what. How about you do something wild and crazy today and give it a try? Come with me. I promise not to sabotage you and your gem geekydom. You’ll be safe with me.”
Really?
“Okay.”
“Lighten up, Andie. I can’t find even a hint of humor in you.”
I don’t see the humor in a corpse in a vault.
But he can stand some surveilling. I grab my purse from the table in the foyer. “Okay, pal. I’m taking you up on your offer. And just so you know, my sense of humor’s just ducky, thank you very much.”
“Oh my!” Aunt Weeby says. “I don’t know what’d be more fun today. I love flea marketing, but refereeing these two could also be a barrel of fun.”
And I traded ulcers for this? “I’m outta here.” And outta my mind.
Max holds the door, and as I head for his SUV, he calls out, “Have a great time, ladies. I’ll take good care of her.”
My suspicion-o-meter starts beeping like a trash truck in reverse.
We get into his car and buckle up. “I’ll have you know I’m a perfectly capable adult, Max Matthews. There’s not gonna be any of that ‘taking care of Andie’ going on.”
“Let me worry about that.”
Fear waves hello, but then my conscience pipes in: Try more prayer.
I give it another whirl.
Lord? Can you make sure murder’s
not on his agenda? And while you’re at it, please send me
an extra dose of calm coolness in the face of . . . well, Max-ness.
We drive away in silence—a sticky, icky silence. What’s the deal with this guy?
After a few minutes, he says, “I’ve been playing around with an idea. Are you willing to listen?”
“I’m your captive audience, but that doesn’t mean I’ll take the bait.”
“Fair enough. Why don’t you check out the bag in the backseat?”
I give it a glance. The brown paper sack looks innocent enough. Will it blow up when I open it?
A peek at Max gains me nothing. Nothing but the reminder of how close we are. And that answers my question. I doubt he’d have a bomb in the bag. He doesn’t strike me as suicidal.
When I open the sack, I’m stumped. It contains nothing suspicious, just strange. I spread out on my lap a pair of plastic Groucho Marx glasses, a hot-pink ruler, an eight-inch-square blackboard, and an apple.
“What’s all this?”
“Where’s that sense of humor you told me about?”
“Right where it’s always been, but that doesn’t mean I get your shopping habits.”
“Let me spell it out for you. The reason you hate me is because I’m not gem savvy—”
“Wait! Wait, wait, wait. I don’t hate you. I just don’t think you’re the right man for the job.”
“All I want is for you to give me a chance—even though I’d much rather be selling sports equipment. That’s what this is all about,
Teach
.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yep.”
“Whatever happened to your old folks’ course in rocks?” “You’re never going to think I know anything unless you’re the one who does the teaching. So how about it? If you know as much about gems as you say you do, then go ahead and share. Teach me what you think I need to know.”
Talk about being between a rock and a hard place—pun totally intended. I don’t want to spend any more time with Max than I have to. He’s too attractive, even with all his flaws. Then there’s that coincidence that might not be so much coincidence.
I mean, really. What could be worse than— No. I’m not going there. Not while we’re in his car.
You have your own flaws, remember?
Figures my working-overtime conscience would kick in right about now. But flaws don’t compare with guilt. We’re talking murder here.
And maybe not.
On the other hand, Max does have a point. If he’s innocent, and if I’m going to be stuck with him, I would want to make sure he gets his facts straight. So maybe it’s not such a bad idea after all. “I guess we can give it a try. But if it doesn’t work out, then you’re off to sell sports junk.”
He lets out a sigh that tells me he hadn’t been sure of my answer. And he’d been sweating the wait for my decision. Why would he want to spend so much time with me, if he feels I hate him? Especially, if all he wants to do is sell sports stuff. I don’t do sports.
Suspicious, don’t you think?
I slant him a glance and notice his smile, no smirk in sight. In spite of everything and with no effort on his part, his easy good looks hit me in a way I don’t really want to be hit. At least, not by him, and especially not now that Peggy’s got me to thinking.
Focus, Andie, focus.
“When do you want to start?”
Max the Magnificent jumps on that. “How about tonight? After work. We can grab something to eat, and then you can knock yourself out throwing gem basics at me.”
Beep, beep, beep.
My suspicion-o-meter’s on double-time. His cozy little gem lesson could be construed—
mis
construed—as a date. Or something more sinister.
Since I don’t want to give him any crazy ideas of either kind, I let the thought slide into oblivion, where it belongs. And will stay. I hope.
My nerves do a jitterbug in my gut. “Where do you want to go?”
“D’you like Chinese?”
“Love it!”
“See? We have something in common.”
“Oh, and last time I looked, you walk upright. That makes two.”
He chuckles. “One can work wonders with a lot less than that.”
Before a comeback can roll off my tongue, my cell phone does Beethoven’s Fifth. “Hello?”
“Miss Andie?” Chief Clark says.
Those nasty nerves of mine kick up another fuss and my heart beats a triple-time cadence. “Yes. What’s wrong? Why would you be calling me?”
“I’m afraid I do have some bad news for you. There’s been an accident.”
Try talking when your heart’s imitating a jackhammer. “Who?”
“I’m sorry, but your aunt and Miss Mona took off going east, east of I-65, that is, down by where there’s them hills by the farms?”
Sorry? Then he rambles?
“Get to the point, please!”
His sniff comes across the line. “Well, Miss Andie, it looks like the brakes in Miss Mona’s fancy car—that Jag thing— gave way. They musta been faulty, ’cause that car’s pretty new. Can’t have wore out or anything like that so fast.”
“So far you’ve told me there was a crash, but you haven’t said a word about what really matters. How are my aunt and Miss Mona?”
Max pulls the SUV to the berm, watches me, but keeps silent.
The chief goes on. “It’s like this, Miss Andie. They’re on their way to the hospital right as we speak. Once they get them there, and the emergency folks do what they need to, then you and I, we’ll both know more. I do know Miss Mona weren’t conscious when the EMTs got to her.”
I totally free-fall inside. “Uh . . . thanks. I appreciate the call. And I’m on my way . . . to the hospital—Oh! Which one? Where’d they go?”
“Baptist East. It’s the biggest and closest to the accident.” “I’ll be there.”
When I close my phone, my hands are shaking and I feel like I’m about to throw up. I’m chilled. Everything around me feels unreal, hazy, and fragile.
“Andie,” Max says, his voice caring and gentle. “Tell me where we’re going. We don’t want to waste time.”
That unexpected gentleness of his again touches me, and I smile. “Thanks, Max. We need to get to Baptist East as soon as we can. Miss Mona’s Jag seems to have had some kind of brake failure, and they crashed.”
“Hang on. I’ll get us there.” He turns the key in the ignition, then gives me a wry grin. “But I’m going to need directions. I’m new in town, remember?”
As we hurry to the hospital, I notice how sure he is at the wheel of the SUV, how steady his actions. I take comfort in his strength, and turn, as always, to prayer.
By the time we reach the hospital, even though my stomach’s knotted and my shoulders are tight, I’m in a more peaceful place thanks to my faith in God’s mercy and the power of prayer. I’m also thankful for Max’s surprising sensitivity.
“Hey,” I say softly. “I guess you’re not a three-headed monster with a glowing green halo, after all. Thanks again.”
“I told you I’m human.” He turns off the car. “How boring of me.”
“Ya think?”
“I think you really get something out of arguing with me, but I don’t really know what. Or why.” At my sputter, he puts a hand on my arm. “Wait! I’m not done. I just want to put you on notice, Teach. I intend to find out why you’re so prickly around me. And you also need to know I’m a pretty determined guy.”
I read between his words, and come up with—I think, I hope—the right conclusion. He wants his job, and he’s going to fight to keep it, even though what he really wants is a sports spot. He’s also going to knock down the wall I’ve built up between us.
I hope there’s not another murder in his plans.
Blinded by tears, I stumble into Aunt Weeby’s room. Under the covers, she looks tiny, worn out, and for the first time ever, her age is a sobering reality. I can’t stop the sob that slips through my lips, but for her sake, I get a grip right away. “It’s so good to see you!”
“Aw, sugarplum. I’m so sorry to worry you like this. It’s not what we were wanting, you know.”
“Of course I know. Nobody wants to crash their car.”
“It was really strange.” Her voice can’t hide her exhaustion, or maybe it’s pain I hear. “We were riding along just fine, but then when Mona tried to slow down to make a turn, nothing happened. She couldn’t get that crazy car a’ hers to slow or stop. We were going down this small hill, a bitty thing, you know. It shouldn’t’ve done much to speed us up, but the problem was them brakes. They just wouldn’t grab, so Mona couldn’t get the car to stop.”
I reach for her hand. “I can imagine how scared you must have been.”
“And Mona.” A tear rolls down her pale cheek. “I feel right awful about all this. I’m the one who came up with the idea for that safari today. We should’ve just stayed put. She wouldn’t be so bad off if she’d gone ahead to the studio like she planned to do.”
“How is she?”
“They told me she’s in critical condition.”
“That’s what they told me too.”
“But, Andie? I didn’t need any one a’ them to tell me anything. I couldn’t wake her after we hit that light post. She . . . she hadn’t come to, even when we got here.”
“Hey! You’re the one who always tells me to hang on to my faith. Where’s yours hiding out today?”
She draws a shuddery breath. “You didn’t see her yet, did you?”
“What’s that got to do with God?”
“She looked . . . she looked dead.”
“Don’t think about that, Miss Weeby,” Max says from the doorway. All of a sudden I realize how quietly he walks. Hmm . . .
Oblivious to my suspicions, he goes on. “I just checked with the nurses, and they say she’s in critical but stable condition. She hit her head, so they have her sedated. They want to make sure there’s no hemorrhage around the brain.”
“Oh, that sounds awful. Poor Miss Mona.” I reach a hand out to my aunt. “Let’s pray.”
We bow our heads, and, as we’ve done so many times, we turn to our Lord, lift Miss Mona’s condition to him, pray for his blessing upon her, for guidance and wisdom for her doctors. As always, Aunt Weeby ends by saying, “Your will, Father, yours and not ours. Amen.”
The deep, masculine “amen” catches me by surprise. “You were praying too?”
“What?” He looks uncomfortable and defensive. “Are you the resident expert on that too? Or can mere mortals reach out to God for the sake of a nice lady who’s badly hurt?”
That really zings me. “Sorry, Max. I keep forgetting how stupid it is to assume stuff about people.”
“I have gone to church since I was a kid.”
“That’s not the same thing—”
“Miz Weeby!” Chief Clark tumbles through the door and comes to the side of the bed, leans over, and my aunt wraps her arms around his neck. “How’re you doing? You did give us one awful big scare.”
“I’m fine.” Her voice cracks just a bit. “But Mona’s not. They still have her out . . . and she’s still in critical condition.”
I glance at the doorway, and sure enough, his shadow’s hanging there. Who
is
that guy?
But before I get a chance to ask, the chief says, “Now, you know these doctor types really know a lot. I’m sure they won’t let anything go wrong with her.”
“It’s in God’s hands,” she murmurs with more resignation than hope.
Not good.
Then she adds, “What brings you here, Donald? I already told that other officer all he wanted to know about the crash. There’s not a whole lot I remember. It all happened too fast.”
He drags off his hat. “I saw all that in the witness report, so you don’t need to go over it again and again. You’re pretty clear on what happened, and there’s no need to doubt you.”
Wish he’d go that easy on me.
“Then what’d you come over here for? It isn’t the most cheery place to spend a day, you know.”
“I do know, and that’s what makes coming here worse. I . . . I have something to show you.”
He reaches into his uniform pocket and pulls out a ziplock baggie with a folded piece of paper inside. “The investigating guys gave me this. I thought you should see it, and maybe you might could give me an idea who’s done this.”
“I’ll give it a try.” She lifts her head just a little bit. “Let me tell you, Donald, I can’t wait until you get your hands on the little creep what did this to us.”
The chief pulls out a pair of latex gloves from his other pocket, slips them on, and then opens the bag. He unfolds the paper so he can hold it out for Aunt Weeby to read.