T's Trial: A Bone Cold--Alive Novel (36 page)

“It’s a long season, Lyla,” one of them answered. “Anyway, my wife finds out I was here and left before the fireworks—” he let his voice trail off.

Arial came to stand beside Lyla. “Do you think you can duck out the back, warn them?”

“Hell, I’m not going to warn them. Not only did they bring this on themselves, they’ll pay for any damage at the house, here, or at Red’s. I guarantee it.”

The blonde was through the front door. Lyla thought she must be the one Red was talking about. A microphone in one hand, a man with a mini-cam in tow, she looked from Ari to Harrison to Lyla to Sally and back again. She scanned the men at the counter quickly. Every one stared back. Finally, her eyes settled on Sally. The cook grinned and pointed gleefully at Lyla. All heads turned and no one spoke a word.

Lyla noted the reporters, microphones, and cameras covering every inch of linoleum. From the corner of her eye, she watched Harrison crawl up on the counter Arial was commanding from the stool. The girl sat wide-eyed, finally reaching for the boy and pulling him into her lap.

Lyla stood her ground behind the counter. She rested one hand on the pie keeper and waited for the blonde to begin.
“You’re the owner of the—” she looked back through the front door, but all the commotion in the parking lot was obscuring the sign.

“Quik-Lee,” Lyla supplied. Might as well get it straight.

“You’re the owner?”

“Yes. And you are—?”

“Abby Sander. We’ve heard a rumor that Bone Cold—Alive’s lead singer and composer, Eddie T, has been recuperating up here in recent weeks. Reports of a mystery man in the Dallas paper would seem to substantiate this. Do you know of his whereabouts? Have you seen him?” She flashed a publicity still at Lyla, then passed it down the counter. “The man with him is the band’s manager, Levi Fletcher. Does he look familiar to anyone?”

She awaited Lyla’s answer. A well-measured ‘no’ was on the verge of leaving her lips—it wouldn’t, after all, be to their best advantage to reply too hastily—when the photograph reached Norm. “Well, well.”

Everyone’s attention immediately riveted on the old man. Microphones were thrust in his face. Lyla took a quick look at Sally who shrugged. Who ever knew what Norm would do? The rest of the counter had recognized Fletch, too, but they at least had the sense to be silent.

Norm flicked at the photo with his fingers. “Don’t recall the young one. But this other one, now,” he wrinkled his brow, drew his lips together, “I saw him over to Oklahoma buying booze just two days ago!”

“Booze?”

“We thought T was drying out!”

“Your name, sir?”

“Norm Hudson.”

“Where in Oklahoma, Mr. Hudson?” Lyla held her breath.

“Got a map, I’ll show you!” Three were produced. Norm made a show of opening one, smoothing it out on the counter. He studied it. “Got a pen?” One was thrust into his hand. He diligently drew a line from Jinks across the bridge at the dam and meandered through the Oklahoma county roads until he marked an X. “That’s the spot!”

Abby grabbed the map and ran for the door. The place was empty in half a minute.

Norm grinned up at Lyla. “What did you think I was going to do?”

Sally started. “Lord only—”

Lyla touched her hand, stopped her. “Thank you, Norm. I’d say you just earned your free lunch.”

“Just put it and breakfast on your new friend’s bill.” He grinned. “And don’t think they won’t be back! It’ll take ’em an hour or two to figure out that that’s the wrong spot and then they’ll be back here sure as shootin’!” He stood and pointed two arthritic fingers at her. “If I were you, Lyla, I’d get up there and get them out of my house before you have a real mess on your hands!”

“I’ll do my best, Norm. Thank you again.”

“Let’s see how much thanking you’ll be doing if they won’t go. Bertie’ll get her boat destroyed…” he grumbled as he reached over to the pie keeper and pulled out a cinnamon roll. “Need it for the road.” He sauntered out.

The rest of the counter looked at each other, then at Lyla. One by one, they paid and left. They were all gone when Dub and Tib pulled in at the same time.

Tib made a straight path to where she stood. “Lyla—” he began, but Harrison’s voice stopped him.

He had bent over to retrieve the photo from the floor where it’d been dropped. “Mama, it is Sam and Fletcher. Ari and Andi were right. He is Eddie T.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

T
  breathed deeply, steadily. He wanted the piano, could just hear that argument if he tried. The peace in the kitchen was uneasy enough as it was. The local news was covering the national. T shifted his gaze to Fletch who was slowly shaking his head. The attack was coming and the covered wagons were nowhere near prepared.

“So when will Steele be here?” T asked.

“Moot point,” Ian stated as he twirled the empty yogurt cup around and around on his fingertips. “We will be history in, oh,” he shook his watch around so he could see it better, “two, three hours. The hounds have the scent, Fletch.”

“I know that.”

“Cannot believe you let this get past you,” Bo commented. “Getting soft in the head. Your inner peace must have clouded your outer judgment.”

“Oh, shut up.” Fletch poured boiling water from the kettle over a fresh tea bag. “I’m working on a resolution. Our problem is too many cooks in the kitchen.”

T clenched his teeth, made his jaw relax. He wanted Lyla, but she’d have to come to him. So where was she?

*  *  *

“Who owns a Jeep?” C stood at the living room window beside the piano and yelled out the question.

T continued to ignore him as he crossed the distance between the kitchen and the front door in record time. He opened it as Lyla reached the top step and met her on the porch, closing the door behind him, barring her entry.

“’Fraid to let me in?”

“Lyla, now listen to me first.”

“The whole group here? I sure hope so. I wouldn’t want any one of them to miss out on all the fun that’s headed this way. You should have seen the near-riot in the Quik-Lee! I hear Red’s place is a shambles! A shambles! Now who’s going to pay for that?”

“Send the bill to Fletch.” Trying to placate her, he reached to touch her. She pulled away and backed down one step.

“I’d like to see my house.”

“Your house is fine. Calm down, Lyla.”

“The chopper—was that your brother?”

“Yes. Grand entrance and all. He’s been doing it for years.”

“You do it, too.”

“I did it, too. Past tense. Lyla, what if Fletch came out here to talk to you?”

“I want them off my property, Sam. I didn’t bargain for this.”

“None of us did. Perhaps it was foolish of Fletch to think we could—” he watched her facial expression “—okay, no perhaps about it. It was foolish of Fletch to think we could all get together anywhere and not cause a little problem.”

“Little!
Little?
” She pointed toward the water. “Norm threw them off the scent, sent them to Oklahoma. That’s not going to last long. They’ll be here by boat!” She turned back to him and pointed behind herself at the line of red cars. “Get them out!”

The front door opened and the occupants of the house streamed out, C in the lead, Fletcher closely behind him, trying to snatch at his arm.

“I’m no child to be kept in after school!” C swaggered up to his brother.

“You guys go back in, okay? Fletch and I’ll clear this up.”

“Really?” C came to the edge of the porch, extended his hand. “Edward Charles Samuels, at your service. And you are?” The smile was T’s smile, but there the resemblance ended. His hair straggled down his back. His body was slimmer, harder, had a more used look to it. Probably the way his twin had looked six months ago.

“Lyla Lee.” She ignored his hand, instead glared at Fletch over T’s head. She put her hands on her hips and came up to him on the porch. “Mr. Fletcher, I’m fixing to tell you just what I told Sam!”

“Sam?” C echoed.

“They,” she indicated everyone else on the porch, “have got to go! I didn’t bargain for this. Now. They go now!”

“Sam? Who’s Sam? Hey, Edwin Thomas is that you? Hiding under another name?” C leered. “Well, I wonder if…”

Fletch sent him a “shut up” look. “Lyla,” Fletch started, “we’re going to work all this out. Now if you’ll just…”

“Lyla Lee and Sam,” C mused, apparently playing with the possibilities. “I wonder if you’re the piece ol’ T here bedded to get the church an organ. Huh? What do you say to that?”

T grimaced. The answer was all over his face even if Lyla hadn’t heard the comment, but she had. She slowly turned to C. “What did you say?” She waved T off as he approached her.

“Well, that got her attention.” He cast a lurid grin toward his male audience. “I said, Fletch and T here have had a little bet. Seems there was this piece,” he made quotation marks with his hand, “Sam here was to get into bed and then Fletch was going to buy some little hick church an organ. That sound like you and your church?” He folded his hands in front of himself.

Lyla’s mouth dropped open and she turned to T. She didn’t have to ask if the details were true. His face told it all. “I,” her voice broke, scratched, she started again, “I want
all
of you out of here. Now. Today. You have until ten this morning, Mr. Fletcher.” She backed down the steps, turned toward the Jeep, turned back to them. “I’ll send your refund to you. After all, you don’t need to sink any more into the community than you can reasonably get your money’s worth for.” She was at the Jeep before T recovered sufficiently to follow.

“Lyla,” he pleaded as he hung onto the door and she started the engine. “Listen to me! Why should you believe him? He’d do anything to hurt me, make himself the center of attention!”

“Must be a family trait.” The engine roared.

“I love you.”

“There wasn’t a bet?” His face faltered. “Look at me and tell me there was never a bet like this.”

“If I did, I’d lie.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “And I’m past that, Lyla. No lies, no deception. I’m a stranger to these people now. They’re strangers to me. Please, please, believe me. It may have started as a bet, but it didn’t end that way!” Desperation crept into his voice.

She put the Jeep in gear. “Ten. You have until ten. Now get out of my way, Sam, T, whoever you are. Talk about lies!” She whirled around him and disappeared up the drive.

As the dust settled from Lyla’s trail, a familiarly marked mini-van appeared in the drive, closely followed by Bertie’s ancient Oldsmobile. It stopped in front of BCA and two men got out. Bertie emerged from hers. “Look who I caught spying from the top of the drive,” she announced to them all. The news crew didn’t look particularly contrite. Instead, they looked as if they smelled first-on-the-scene and exclusive.

Bertie went over to where T stood. “I don’t suppose there’s an explanation for Lyla’s cloud-of-dust disappearance.”

“There is. But you don’t want to hear it.” T squared his shoulders and left Bertie. He approached the newsmen, hand outstretched. “Edwin Thomas Samuels, gentlemen. I’ve always admired people who get there first.” Putting his arm around the shoulder of the driver, he led them onto the porch. “We’ll have to make this quick. We’ve just been evicted!”

*  *  *

T and Bertie sat side by side on Lyla’s bed. He had granted the interview for one reason only—to vex C and get even. Maybe he wasn’t as changed as he thought, especially when he realized how much pleasure he was getting out of hearing Abby Sander wail her dissatisfaction with him to his brother. He’d caught a quick look at her as she and her cameramen had straggled up the steps after the boat they’d hired to ferry them in from Oklahoma had unceremoniously dropped them at the Osprey. Abby, buff and beautiful, was windblown and wet.

Then he’d found contrition by taking Bertie by the arm and propelling her down the hall while the rest of BCA made nice with the reporter. Fletch was packing up their things. T figured the manager owed him this last moment alone, and if it couldn’t be with Lyla, he’d take the next thing to her.

“How bad is it?” Bertie lifted sad eyes to his. “This smells like a disaster, my boy. I’ve seen my share, so don’t go trying to spare me the details. You can be sure I’ll get them out of her. I won’t even have to try.”

T nodded and swallowed hard. “I am ashamed of myself.”

“Fine. Now what did you do?”

“Other than wreak havoc?”

“Sam. Eddie T, whatever you want to be called…”

“Call me Sam, Bertie.” He turned to her, clasped her old hands in his young strong ones. “Right after we met her, Fletch and I made a very crude bet. I told him I could get a date with her. That wasn’t enough. So we went double or nothing that I could get her into bed. The price was an organ for your church.”

“Oh, Sam,” Bertie breathed out the words slowly. “Tell me this isn’t happening.”

“I wish I could, but I can’t. Halfway through, Fletch wanted to call it off. I didn’t. I told him if I had to pay ten thousand for a ticket to that museum show, he could just very well put up ten for the organ. No matter what. And he said he would. And I fell in love and we fell into bed and when I made him order the organ, he joked with the bank and the office and C stopped by headquarters and you get the idea and it’s not pretty.”

“So how did Lyla find out?”

“You’ve met C?”

She nodded slowly. “Of course, there wasn’t time to explain all this.”

“You think she’s going to believe me?”

“It’s a stretch even for me.”

“Bertie, I love her, I swear. I’ll give this up. All of this! I told her I would. I meant it.”

“She told me.” Bertie looked around the room. “This organ business, this can never get out.”

“It won’t. C’s lips are sealed.”

“How did you do that?”

“I’m a full-fledged Bone Cold—Alive member again. No quibbles. The tour starts at Thanksgiving. I’ll be on the keyboard.”

“He wouldn’t like all this glory for himself?”

“Probably would, but we’ll work it out. I’ve got to spare Lyla my lifestyle and my brother.”