Authors: Karen McQuestion
Marnie hadn’t urinated outdoors since Girl Scout camp when she was twelve, but in retrospect she was grateful the scout leader had covered the subject. She walked far enough that she was certain she was out of view of the expressway, but she could still sort of see the car on the incline above by the glow of Jazzy’s phone in the front seat. Every now and then a car drove past. Should they be flagging one down? Maybe the rest of the group would figure out a solution in her absence.
She was more upset about the car problem than she let on. It seemed personal, this delay in the trip. Like the universe was conspiring against her. Or maybe it was Kimberly. She didn’t even know the woman, but over the years she’d given Kimberly a lot of power. Brian talked fondly of her and still sang her praises years after they’d been divorced. How often did you hear that from a divorced man? She always wondered if he secretly pined for Kimberly, if he’d take her back in a minute, tossing Marnie out to the curb without a second thought. Even though the idea was ridiculous, she felt like Kimberly chose to live in Las Vegas knowing full well that Marnie would never set foot on an airplane. It made Kimberly untouchable and unreachable for Marnie.
When Brian and Troy went to visit her, always flying, Marnie was left behind. Brian insisted it was just for Troy, that the boy should see his parents together. But why was it that Kimberly hardly ever came to Wisconsin? And when she did come to visit, why was it she never came to the house (which was probably just as well)? Instead, Troy and Brian met up with Kimberly at her hotel.
Marnie would have suspected that Brian was still romantically involved with Kimberly, if not for the fact that Troy was there. Nothing got past that boy. Brian always said that including Marnie would make Kimberly uncomfortable, something Marnie at first thought was flattering. Later she wondered, though. Was it that Kimberly felt replaced by Marnie, or that she just didn’t want to deal with her? She speculated that Kimberly, having moved to Las Vegas, now felt superior to her and the entire state as well. She probably told her new friends that Midwesterners were dull and shapeless. That all they ate was potato salad and bratwurst. That weekends were spent going to gun shows and monster truck rallies. Kimberly was all about glitz and glam. Marnie had never seen a bad photo of Kimberly, and she’d looked at all of them, trying to find one, just one, that was even a little bit unflattering. No luck. Brian took plenty of photos on their summer trips, and in every one—it didn’t matter if Kimberly was eating or talking or laughing—she looked beautiful. It was unnatural, really, for a woman to be that photogenic.
Marnie finished her business and then zipped her shorts and tossed the damp napkins off to the side into the tall grass. Biodegradable, thank God. No need to feel guilty about littering. She opened her purse and took out her antibacterial hand sanitizer and squirted some into her hand, then rubbed her palms together. Once she was done, Marnie walked slowly back to the car, feeling her way back so as to avoid the odd rock or bump in the ground, not wanting to add the tragedy of a fall on top of everything else. She had enough problems already, although it occurred to her that showing up in Las Vegas in a cast might be a dramatic way of illustrating her emotional pain.
She heard the rumble before she saw the lights; over the embankment and behind the car she saw a group of motorcycles, no, a gang of motorcycles pull up to Rita’s car. Marnie froze. There were four bikers, and now they were on both sides of the vehicle, two of them having pulled around to the front. Their machines were loud—
athumpa
,
athumpa
,
athumpa
. The smell of exhaust filled the air. A bug flew in front of her face and she swatted at it, suddenly aware that her legs had a few itchy spots.
The motorcyclists shut off their machines, and one of the men came around to the driver’s side. Marnie craned her neck. He was a big man with broad shoulders and a confident stride. He wore a dark-colored jacket and had a red bandanna wrapped around his head, his helmet tucked under his arm. He leaned against the car, his face aimed down at the window. She couldn’t make out the words, but his voice sounded more calm than threatening. She walked up the incline, the weight of her purse pulling at her shoulder. One of the men did a double take when he spotted her walk up over the berm. It must have looked like she’d appeared out of nowhere. Before she could get back into the car, Jazzy opened her door and came out the passenger side. “Hey, Marnie,” she called out, waving her arm. “Guess what? Help has arrived.”
The men got off their cycles and clustered around the front of the car. One of them turned on his bike’s headlights for illumination; another gestured to Rita to pop the hood. Jazzy stood next to the group, telling the story of the car failure with exaggerated gestures. She said, “And the next thing you know, we had no power and the car was dead by the side of the road. I mean, it was dead. Nothing worked. I think it’s the alternator.”
Laverne came out now, eager to see what was going on. She slammed the car door and came up to Marnie and grabbed her arm. “Isn’t this exciting?” she said. “I think they’re Hells Angels or something.”
Marnie took a closer look at the men, their heads bent over the engine conferring among themselves. It was true their bikes were huge—Harley-Davidsons if she had to guess—but nothing about them said they were part of a gang. Three of them looked to be in their forties or fifties. Only one wore a leather jacket. The youngest of the group, a man of about twenty-five, wore a T-shirt under a tattered denim vest with khaki shorts. His right forearm sported a prominent skull tattoo, but it looked more cartoony than menacing. He looked up at Marnie and smiled as if he knew she’d been sizing him up. “It’s a good thing our dart tournament was tonight or we wouldn’t have been out this way.”
“Good thing,” Marnie said, not entirely convinced.
“Don’t worry, ma’am,” he said. “My dad knows all about cars.” He gestured to the big guy, who had his head ducked down under the hood.
“Glad to hear it,” she said, giving him the thumbs-up. Marnie leaned down and whispered to Laverne, “I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t think they’re Hells Angels.”
Laverne craned her neck to see. “They look like Hells Angels to me.”
The big man shut the hood of the car and said, “I think you’re right in saying it’s the alternator, although we won’t know for sure until morning.” Now Rita got out of the car to talk to the men. She waved Marnie and Laverne over to join the conversation. All for one and one for all.
“Thank you for taking a look,” Rita said. “Are you familiar with the area? Is there a mechanic shop we can call for a tow?”
“You’re not going to get anyone to come out here tonight, ma’am,” said the younger man. “It’s late and there’s nothing open at this time.”
“How about a hotel?” Marnie asked. “We’d pay for a cab, if we could get one.”
Another man, a bald-headed guy with a goatee, said, “We live in the area, and I can tell you there’s no hotel and no cabs.”
“Well isn’t this a fine how-do-you-do,” Laverne said.
“I’ve got a thought,” said the big guy. “My wife and I live fifteen minutes away, and we have plenty of room. If you ladies would like to be our guests, you’re welcome to stay overnight and we can take care of the car in the morning.” Seeing their hesitation, he added, “I’m Mike Kent, by the way, and this is my son Carson.” The other two men—Bob and Charlie—gave their names too. It was good to know who these men were, but that didn’t mean they could be trusted. Even serial killers had names, after all. Mike Kent said, “It’s entirely up to you. I know my wife wouldn’t mind having you ladies stay over at our house.”
Just as Marnie was about to say they couldn’t possibly accept his invitation, Jazzy said, “Thanks so much, we’d love to.”
Sitting on the back of the motorcycle, her arms wrapped around a strange man’s waist, Laverne thought she’d never been so terrified or so exhilarated. Her heart pounded as all of her senses peaked beyond anything she’d ever experienced. The vibration of the bike, the smell of exhaust, the ear-splitting thrum of the engine, the feel of the wind whipping against her face, the sensation of hurtling at top speed with nothing between her and the road but two wheels and a place to sit. That’s how it felt, anyway. One of her sons had a motorcycle, but he’d never offered her a ride and she wouldn’t have thought to ask. Too dangerous. And now she was on one, hanging onto a complete stranger. Her kids would have thought she was a complete birdbrain, if they knew. But maybe she wouldn’t tell them. At least she had a helmet—each of the men had insisted the women use theirs, something about it being state law for passengers.
The men had suggested they give them a ride to Mike’s house, each lady getting a ride with one of the men, and then they’d come back later with a truck for the suitcases. Rita had been reluctant; Laverne could tell by the way she clutched her purse tightly to her side and kept coming up with different ideas of things they could do.
None of her ideas was workable, that was the problem. No taxis, no mechanic, no hotels in the area. They’d landed in the boonies and everything was closed for the night.
“Maybe we could call the highway patrol?” Rita said.
“You can do that ma’am,” said one of the men, “but you’ll have quite a wait, and I think they’ll just tell you the same things we did.” Rita looked a little frantic then, and Marnie had patted her arm and whispered something to her. The expressway looked like it stretched endlessly on, just the pavement and them.
They’d probably still be standing there debating their options if Jazzy hadn’t charged over and climbed onto the back of Carson’s bike, gesturing to the others to do the same. “Come on, it’s going to be fine. This is all good.”
Rita went up to her and said something Laverne didn’t catch, but she heard Jazzy’s reply. “Trust me; this is the way it’s supposed to be. I’m getting that this is absolutely okay.” Her tone was positive and firm. Lately it seemed like Jazzy was the default setting for the group. Her cheerfulness gave everyone a lift; backing her decisions was now a given.
Rita and Marnie must have felt the same way, because Laverne saw them consider it for a moment before exchanging shrugs of resignation. The next thing she knew, they’d locked up the car and each of them was on the back of a motorcycle roaring down the road. It occurred to her that these men might be leading them to some kind of lair, an underground pit where they robbed and killed trusting women, but this thought came to her only after she was already on the bike. Luckily, her purse, which was draped around her neck and pressed to her front, contained the handgun still in its secret compartment.
Laverne closed her eyes at first, but after a minute or two, curiosity got the best of her and she lifted her head to see where they were going. The moon and the headlights did a fairly good job illuminating the other vehicles, and she could see Marnie and Rita on motorcycles ahead of her. After a minute or two her fear turned to pleasure. She didn’t feel like she was going to fall off at all, which was odd. She felt fairly secure. Who knew riding on a motorcycle could be this much fun?
Another motorcycle pulled up in the lane next to them—Jazzy and Carson. Laverne snuck a glance in their direction, and what she saw made her grin. Jazzy had her head resting against Carson’s back. Her long hair rose out of the bottom of the helmet, swaying and twisting in the wind.
Laverne was almost disappointed when they exited the expressway and slowed down to turn onto a country road. Her driver, a man of about forty, turned slightly and said something she thought was, “We’re almost there.” Sure enough, a minute later they slowed and turned into a long driveway. At the end of the drive was a two-story farmhouse with a wide porch. Lights dotted the ground leading from the driveway to the house. Shining light fixtures on either side of the door cast a clear view of the porch with its wicker furniture and potted flowers. The whole setup reminded her of something she’d see in
Country Living
magazine.
The motorcycles came to a halt. With the engines off it was eerily quiet. “Nice house,” Laverne said.
Jazzy got off the bike, removed her helmet, and smoothed her tangled hair. Carson hopped off the bike and propped it up, then faced her, his thumbs in his belt loops. “I hope the ride was smooth enough,” he said, almost shyly. “I tried to avoid the bumps.”
Jazzy tucked her hair behind her ears. She’d done the best she could without a comb. Good enough for now. “It was great,” she said. “Really great, thanks so much.” She gave Carson a long look, trying to size him up. On the motorcycle ride, resting against him, she’d tapped into something profound. He was an interesting guy, this Carson who rode a Harley, lived in the country, and who, at the age of twenty-five, enjoyed hanging out with his dad and his dad’s friends. He was good-looking in a rugged way, like a cowboy in an old movie. He loved animals and small children, and read good books. Every day, he tried to do at least one nice thing for someone else, a habit he’d started in college. He felt that if everyone did it, the world would be a better place and that he was obligated to lead by example. Carson never told anyone about this particular belief of his, but Jazzy picked up on it. She got all that and more in the fifteen minutes they’d been on the bike together. As usual, she had no idea why some spirits felt compelled to share this information with her, or what she was supposed to do with it.
Around Jazzy and Carson, the rest of the group dismounted their respective motorcycles and pulled themselves together, adjusting their clothing and smoothing their hair. Rita straightened the front of her shirt, while Marnie nervously glanced around. Only Laverne appeared completely at ease. Delight bubbled out of her. “Woo hoo, that was one heckuva ride,” she said, lightly punching the arm of the bald-headed man who’d driven her. “I mighta missed having that kind of adventure completely, if not for you all.”
“Glad you liked it,” her driver said.
“Mike?” The screen door opened, and a woman dressed in jeans and a T-shirt stepped out. She was slim, with dark hair pulled up in a bun. Not the stereotypical biker babe shown in the movies. More like a mom who did Pilates. “Oh, hello.” She came down the steps, seemingly unfazed by a gaggle of women in her front yard.
“I brought us some overnight guests, honey,” Mike said. “These ladies were stranded on the expressway.”
“Oh, you poor things,” she said, striding forward and extending her hand to Rita. “I’m Beth, Mike’s wife.” She shot her husband a chastising look.
“Sorry, hon.” He turned to the others. “I’m always forgetting to introduce my wife.”
“Twenty-seven years he’s been forgetting,” she said. “I’m starting to take it personally.”
Mike explained about the alternator and his invitation to stay overnight at their house. Beth didn’t seem the least bit disconcerted that her husband and his friends had brought home four strange women. As soon as he was done telling the story, Mike got the car keys from Rita, explaining that they would put the motorcycles in the barn, and then he and his son would take their truck to get the ladies’ luggage from the stranded car.
After all the men left, the group of women followed Beth into the house. She led them past the front entryway into what Jazzy supposed was the living room, a welcoming space softly lit by Tiffany-style lamps. The tan couch and two matching chairs were plump and inviting. After they exchanged names and settled into their seats, Beth said. “So where are you all from?”
“We’re from Wisconsin,” Laverne said, and then, as a preemptively defensive measure, added, “It’s a really great state.”
Beth said, “Oh, we’ve been to Wisconsin many times. I have a cousin who lives in Lake Geneva. It’s gorgeous there.” She gestured for them to sit.
“We’re from north of there,” Marnie said.
Beth stood up suddenly. “Oh, please excuse my manners. I haven’t even offered you something to drink.”
“I don’t need anything to drink,” Laverne said. “But I would like to use your bathroom.”
Here we go again with the bathroom,
Jazzy thought. Next it would be Rita, if the pattern held true.
“Of course,” Beth said, getting up to direct her down a hallway.
While they were out of earshot, Rita leaned forward and hissed at Jazzy, “What were you thinking, getting on that motorcycle and making the decision for all of us? I can’t believe you. This is insane.”
To Jazzy the words were static in the background. She was focused on a different kind of communication, a voice in her head demanding attention. She held up a hand, but Rita, not understanding her signal, continued. “We have to figure something out. I’m not comfortable staying here overnight.”
Marnie murmured something that Jazzy didn’t catch, but it was clear she was trying to smooth things over. Marnie didn’t like conflict of any kind.
“Jazzy? Did you hear what I said?” Rita said, waving her arm.
“Well, why did you get on the back of the motorcycle, then?” Marnie said to Rita. “I took that as a sign you were fine with it.”
Rita gestured at Jazzy. “I couldn’t just let her go off with a group of strange men. I had to make a split-second decision. I figured there was safety in numbers.”
Beth came out from the hallway. They hadn’t heard her coming, but the look on her face said she had heard plenty. “Is there a problem?” she asked in a kind way.
“No,” said Jazzy. “Everything’s fine.”
“Actually there is a problem,” said Rita, with a forced smile. “While I appreciate your hospitality, you have to understand that I’m not completely comfortable accepting your offer.”
Marnie interjected, “It’s not that we don’t appreciate—”
Rita continued, steamrolling right past Marnie’s attempts to make nice. “I’m sure you know what I mean when I say that although you seem like lovely people, you don’t know us and we don’t know you. For us to sleep here would be awkward. If there’s some way we could call a cab to take us to a hotel, even if the cost is great, or the wait is long, I think—”
Jazzy couldn’t hold back any longer. She’d finally interpreted what the voice was trying to tell her. Now it all made sense. She leaped to her feet, startling everyone in the room. “No, Rita, no,” she said firmly. “We have to stay here. I have it on very good authority that we’re supposed to stay here.” She emphasized the words
on good authority
hoping Rita would get it, but she clearly didn’t since she just looked bewildered.
“What are you talking about?” Rita asked, irritated.
“It’s the message from Melinda,” Jazzy said. “This is where we’re supposed to stop.” She turned to Beth. “Have you ever heard of Preston Place?’
Beth gave her a bemused smile. “Well, of course.”
Rita sat up straight, the blood draining from her face. “Where is it? Where is Preston Place? Is it far?”
“No, it’s not far. It’s right in town on the main drag. Next to the hardware store and across from the gas station,” Beth said, as if that would make it clearer. “You can’t miss it.”
“But what is it, exactly?” Jazzy asked. “What is Preston Place?”
“It’s the name of the restaurant Mike and I own.”
“You own a restaurant called Preston Place?” Rita’s tone was incredulous.
“Yep.”
“An actual business?” Rita said.
“We think it’s an actual business,” Beth said, amused. “It’s my pie shop, but we serve soup and sandwiches too.”
“Why doesn’t it come up on Google?”
Beth looked sheepish. “It’s only been open for about six months. We’ve been meaning to get a website going, but it’s one of those things we haven’t gotten to yet. Most of our customers are local, so it’s not a huge priority.”
Marnie said, “I feel like I walked into a movie halfway through. Will someone please tell me what this all about?”
“I was wondering the same thing,” Beth said. “How do you know about Preston Place?”
Rita said, “Jazzy got some messages—”
Jazzy interrupted, not wanting to explain the whole psychic thing. “I overheard some people talking about it when we stopped for gas the last time. Preston Place in Colorado.”
“Must be us,” Beth said. “As far as I know, we’re the only Preston Place in Colorado.”
“In Colorado?” Laverne said, walking in on the conversation.
“We’re in Colorado,” Jazzy said. “Didn’t you know that?”
“Right now we’re in Colorado?” Laverne pointed to the floor.
“Yes,” Rita said. “We drove over the state line an hour ago.”
“Shoot, I can’t believe I missed the end of Nebraska. You gals shoulda woke me up.”
Jazzy said, “You’ll see it on the way back.”
Beth said, “So are you staying here tonight or are you thinking you might not be staying? Because if you want to go to a hotel we’re talking fifty miles away and it’s going to take some doing to get you there.”
“No, we’re staying,” Rita said. “That is, if the offer still stands, we’d appreciate the hospitality. And tomorrow, after we figure out what to do with the car, we’d like to see your restaurant, if that’s possible.”
Beth said, “We’re open for lunch at eleven thirty, and we always welcome out-of-state customers. Or any customers, for that matter.”