Riding the Thunder (43 page)

Asha looked into Jago's beautiful face. “You lied to me.”

“Oh, shut up.” He laughed, then tears started falling again. “I don't understand why a madman would want to kill you—
kill you
, Asha.”

Thinking back on the dreams, she answered, “I do, I think—as much as anyone can understand a diseased
mind. He killed Laura and Tommy. They had so much to live for, their love was so special, and yet he robbed them of all of it. He was behind them when they crashed. Cruelly, deliberately, he shoved them into the path of the oncoming truck. He was jealous of what they shared. If he couldn't have it, then he'd destroy it. Like all bullies, he enjoyed crushing things of beauty.” She reached up and traced the outline of his sensual mouth. “They were there.”

“Who? Where?” he asked confused.

“In the diner. Laura and Tommy saved me. At one point, just before you arrived, they materialized in the shadows and distracted him, gave me time. Then they killed him—executed him.”

“Ghosts, haunted jukeboxes . . . you know something, Asha, my brothers would tell you I'm a rather logical man. Yet, here at The Windmill I find all things possible.” He squeezed her hand.“Only Faulkner was electrocuted by the Wurlitzer. A freak accident. It knocked you on your arse the other day—”

“The point being, it knocked me
back
. It took and held onto him.”

“He was standing with one foot in water—”

“I pushed that bucket out of the way. I kicked it earlier coming out of the kitchen. Yet it was right there again for Monty to step in.”

“Asha, please can we forget about this for now. It's too fresh. You have no idea how . . .
helpless
. . . I felt pounding on the glass door and couldn't reach you. Bloody safety glass! I cracked the one window, but it wouldn't shatter. I was forced to run around to get in through the damn motel entrance. Those seconds were the longest of my life.” He tried to smile. “Besides, I was supposed to rescue you. You handled it yourself, my brave warrior woman. I just picked up the pieces. I should've been there for you.”

“You were, when I needed you most. I couldn't have done one more thing.” She stroked his hand. “Have you checked on Delbert?”

“Sam said he's resting well. Due to his age they'll keep him another night, just to be on the safe side.” Jago gave a faint chuckle. “Colin said we should drive a stake through Monty's heart . . . just to make sure. I still don't get it, Asha. Why attack you? If he killed Tommy and Laura over forty years ago, why now?”

“He'd been away for a long time; most around Leesburg assumed he had moved. He only came back after his father died and he inherited the old estate. Mostly, he kept to himself, didn't come to The Windmill often. Then that night you were there and he saw you. He kept saying you had Tommy's eyes. Even Delbert saw the likeness.”

Jago exhaled in frustration. “The police said they're now looking into other unsolved crimes in the area for the past three years, wondering if he's done anything else since his return. The one detective handling the case told me that Monty was institutionalized for over ten years—his father's doing—some fancy country club-type sanitarium in Ohio. He was released when the money ran out after old man Faulkner died. I guess Monty played things pretty close to his chest since, fearing they might put him back in custody.”

“He'd only come into The Windmill a few times since I came back to take over the businesses. The night he complained about salt in his water—that was the trigger. He saw your eyes—so like Tommy's. Your coming here, the music playing reminded him of the accident, it all set everything off. After that, he'd fixed it in his mind I was a witch, that I had called you to The Windmill to seek vengeance for Tommy and Laura's death. He heard the place was going to be sold, then everyone in the county gossiped about me fighting to save it. I think if The Windmill had been sold, bulldozed for a shopping mall, then all the ghosts from his past would finally be laid to rest. He evidently started stalking us after the incident at the diner. Broke into your cabin to snoop. Stole the letter. He removed the screen from my window on Halloween, hoping
to get in that way to leave the letter, but I returned to the cabin and interrupted him.”

Jago added more details. “They believe he stole Colin's key ring to get into your bungalow to leave the letter. Colin thought he misplaced it, hunted all day for it, but then it turned up in the floorboard of his truck a few hours later. Everyone knows Colin leaves his truck keys there; he thought he'd put the other key ring there accidentally. My guess Monty had a copy made, then returned them hoping it wouldn't be noticed.”

“My Wurlitzer is dead?” she asked.

He nodded sadly. “Sorry. It's silent. Enough about enchanted music boxes and evil villains. We need to talk about this.” He opened the drawer on the nightstand and pulled out her EPT test. “We're going to have a baby?”

“No,
we
are not.
I'm
going to have one.”

“No,
we
.”

“Humph.”

“Humph all you want, but my baby needs a name.”

“Your baby? I thought it was our baby. Besides, names seem to have little or changeable value. Maybe we should let it grow up and then it can tell us its name like Clint did.”

“Silly woman, I love you.” His hand reached out and stroked her cheek.

“Actually, if I have a son we could call him Fitzgerald Mershan.” She sighed sleepily and slid down in the bed.

“Him? A little boy?” He grinned. “I could buy him a little leather jacket and teach him to ride the Harley. How about Colin Samuel Delbert Wurlitzer Mershan.”

“Wurlitzer?” She chuckled.

“I was stuck with Luxovius because my father was a history nut. At least, that's what mum told me.” He reached out and stroked her chin. “Forgive me, Asha?”

“In time,” she teased him, but then added, “but your brother Trevelyn is dead meat for hurting my sister.”

“Scoot over, lass. I need to hold you. I won't be able to sleep, but I want you in my arms, to know you're safe.”

She moved over and snuggled against him, feeling secure once more. Clint walked up her leg and then settled half on her, half on Jago.

Closing her eyes, she drifted. So tired. She feared sleep, thinking she might relive the nightmare of Monty again.

Instead, she drifted in fog.

In her dream, she walked to The Windmill. As she approached, the sounds of “Tell Laura I Love Her” floated through the strange sepia twilight that touched all. Everything glowed, almost as though kissed with faery dust.

She opened the door and paused.

Tommy and Laura sat in the big corner booth—their booth—sharing a milkshake. Laura and Tommy looked up and smiled.

“Can I look now?” Asha was antsy to know what was happening. Jago had blindfolded her and carried her out of the bungalow.

In the three weeks since Monty's attack, Jago had been busy spending money left and right to put The Windmill back into order. He'd made her rest and keep off her broken foot, while he handled all arrangements. Bothersome man, he wouldn't even let her see what they were doing to
her
restaurant. When the bills came in she nearly fainted at the costs. Jago said not to worry, Des was footing the bill as a wedding present. She grinned and said in that case Sam needed a new grill, she wanted her office expanded and the parking lot really needed paving.

Jago set her on her feet and removed the cloth from around her eyes. Delbert, Colin, Sam, Derek, Winnie, Netta and Liam, and many of the regulars were in the booths, waiting inside the restaurant.

She smiled in delight. Everything was new, but it was the same. They hadn't changed anything, just repaired, and replaced aging parts of her diner to where it now appeared as it must have back in 1964. Her eyes sadly went to where
the Wurlitzer had sat. From the shape under the gray cloth she knew it had to be a new jukebox.

She swallowed the tears. It wouldn't be the same.

Jago nudged Colin who moved to yank the cloth off, “TA DA!”

“But . . . that's our Wurlitzer.” She nearly cried, touching the nameplate that said The Windmill.

Jago draped an arm around her shoulder. “Colin, our resident genius, repaired it.”

“Yeah, had a good talking to the silly box. Same machine, just a little upgrading. It now plays MP3s. I think it likes the idea of being loaded with nearly ten thousand songs.” He reached over and punched some buttons; it lit up and began to play.

“Everyone's heard about the bird . . . bird, bird, bird. . . .”

Colin glared at it. “I didn't play that song.”

“Back to normal, eh?” Asha laughed, and rose up on tiptoes to kiss Jago's cheek. “Thank you. I love it. But I'm not naming my kid Wurlitzer.”

“You better. Or you might be listening to nothing but ‘Surfin' Bird' for weeks and I don't think either of us could stand that.”

“As long as I'm listening to it with you, Jago Luxovius
Fitzgerald
Mershan, I won't mind—too much.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “You're never going to let me hear the end of it, are you?”

Asha glanced to her ‘family,' then down the long aisle of the booths to the shadows in the far corner, where the foyer met the house. There she saw ghostly shapes. All, once again, right with their world. Her little world.

She smiled. “Nope. Never.”

“Come on. I
told
you I heard it.”

Jago tugged on her hand, pulling her toward the closedup restaurant. Looking bored, Clint waddled along behind them. As they neared the front, they paused to peek into
the small window that looked in behind the register. A night-light lent an orange glow, enough to see inside. The jukebox played, its colorful lights almost appearing festive in the darkness.

A man and a woman were over by the jukebox, slow-dancing as Gene Pitney crooned how true love never runs smooth, while the pair seemed lost in the music.

“I thought ghosts moved on after closure,” Jago commented.

“Finally bringing out the truth about Monty was done to protect us. They weren't
haunting
The Windmill, Jago, they choose to be here, where they are happy.”

“Your sanctuary for lost souls,” he chuckled.

“Not lost . . . my haven for
found
souls. Come on.” She took his hand, pulling him toward the front door.

Jago hesitated. “They'll just vanish if we go in, like they did before.”

She smiled. “Not this time. Come.”

Asha slid the key into the doorlock and then pushed it open, not bothering to flip on the overhead lights. The music stopped, but this time the couple didn't vanish. Instead the Wurlitzer clicked, still sounding like it was changing records even though it now played MP3s. She smiled as Mike Duncan's voice filled the diner.

If I only had the time,
If I could find just another line,
If I held you one more day,
Would I find just the things to say.

Smiling she stepped into Jago's arms and began slow-dancing to
their
song. Her head on Jago's shoulder, she sighed contentment, then she peeked over to see Tommy and Laura kissing.

Special thanks to Mike Duncan for permission to use his song as part of my books and for promotional purposes.

Lost for Words
(from Lord for Words CD)

If I only had the time,
If I could find just another line,
If I held you one more day,
Would I find just the things to say.

Chorus:
But I'm lost for words.
When I hold you close.
Because you take my breath
Away.

And if I only had a way,
You would know the things I pray.
And just because I know you're mine
I could kiss you one more time.

Chorus:

Bridge:
Because you hold me up
And you give me love.
And you take my breath.
Away.

If you could only read my mind,
I could tell you one more time,
That I miss you every day.
And all the things you used to say.

©
Mike Duncan, 2006, All Rights Reserved,
mike-duncan.org