Gone South (43 page)

“Oh, so you want to be on the road
longer
?”

Tish checked her speed. Forty. Maybe there was some wisdom in shaving a few minutes off their time. She’d already decided against taking the back
roads, in the interest of time. On this side of town, at this hour, even the main roads were empty of traffic.

“We’re nearly there,” she said to reassure herself as much as Mel.

Then they would have a long walk home. At least Mel was dressed for it. Tish sure wasn’t.

“I’d better call George,” she said, digging in the pocket of her bathrobe.

“Why? So he can turn us in?”

Tish called his number but got his voice mail. “Good morning,” she said after the beep. “You like honest people, right? Let me be perfectly honest. I’m doing a stupid, stupid thing.” Her voice cracked. “If you want to give a couple of felons a ride, we’ll be walking home from Dunc’s house in a few minutes if the police don’t nab us.” She sniffled. “Look on the bright side. I won’t need a job if I’m in prison.” She put her phone back in her pocket.

“Prison? No!”

“It’s about time you thought about the consequences of your actions.”

The sky had barely lightened in the east. Mel said Dunc was an early riser, though.

Letting up on the gas, Tish downshifted and made the turn onto Rock Glen Drive. The thunder of the car seemed even louder now, and the speed bumps were murder on the stiff suspension. No wonder Dunc had campaigned against them.

If Farris went for a run and saw her at the wheel of the Corvette … so what? He’d already decided against hiring her. If anyone at the construction company in Muldro heard about it, though, that job was toast. She couldn’t in a million years justify her behavior—except it might keep the fresh-air kid out of prison.

She’d thought nothing could feel more dangerous than that short stretch on Main, but Rock Glen was worse. One by one, the darkened houses slipped
past. Nothing but thin panes of glass stood between the noisy car and the neighbors’ ears.

“Slow down, we’re almost there,” Mel said.

“I see it.”

Tish slowed to a crawl. She pulled into the Hamiltons’ driveway and killed the engine. The sudden quiet was eerie. The sun was behind them, its earliest light glinting on the front windows of the house, competing with the white security lights.

“Think your dad is up by now?” she asked.

“Probably.”

“Get it over with, then.”

“Come with me,” Mel begged. “Please.”

They climbed out. Tish shut her door first, the sound like a gunshot to her hypersensitive ears. Mel’s door was the second gunshot, and then they walked to the front door.

Mel stood motionless, not lifting a finger.

“Ring the doorbell,” Tish said.

Like an obedient child, Mel did as she was told.

Tish pressed the car key into the girl’s hand. “When he opens the door, tell him you’re sorry and give him the key.”

Mel nodded woodenly.

There were soft noises somewhere inside, and then the rattle of a deadbolt. The door swung open, and Dunc Hamilton stood there in sweats and a snug white T-shirt.

“Well, well.” He looked past them to the car. “I thought I heard something.” Ignoring Tish, he studied Mel. “You have something to say to me?”

“Yes sir.” Her voice was emotionless. “I’m sorry.”

She held out the key. He took it.

“It’s about time.” He met Tish’s eyes. “Thank you, Miss McComb, for returning my property.”

“What about your daughter?”

His eyes flickered over Mel and back to Tish. “She made her choices. She can live with ’em.” He shut the door and locked it.

Tish’s hand shot out to pound on the door and hot words danced on her tongue, but some vestige of common sense saved her. She took a deep breath and backed away.

“Let’s go.” She tugged Mel into a turn. “Even if he won’t let you in, there’s a place for you. There will always be a place for you. God isn’t like Dunc Hamilton.”

“Good thing.” As they passed the Corvette, Mel trailed a shaking hand along the rear fender, but she kept moving.

She was still wearing those red gloves, but fingerprints didn’t matter now. Dunc knew his culprits.

The sky was lighter now. Birds were chirping. People would be up. Pouring their morning coffee, looking out their windows, walking their dogs.

On their fifteen-minute drive, Tish had hardly been aware of ditches, uneven pavement, barking dogs. Now, on foot, she noticed everything. And she was working up a sweat in her thick robe and flannel pajamas.

Mel sniffled at regular intervals and sometimes gave in to soft sobs. Glancing over at her, Tish wondered what she could do for a girl whose family wouldn’t have her. She needed a new family.

Calv, a surrogate grandpa. George, the big brother. She, Tish, the big sister. An unemployed sister, of course, because word of this escapade would spread fast.

She wasn’t the kind of employee a business would want. Not now. And she wasn’t the kind of woman George would want. Compared to this, George’s
ex-girlfriend’s wrongs were meager, wimpy little sins. Shoplifting? Ha! Boring.

Years from now, he might tell some other woman,
Then there was the one who swiped a car. Morally challenged. Reckless. Irresponsible
.

She should have looked for another option. A sane option. She could have called Stu and begged him to come get the car—and to keep his mouth shut for his sister’s sake—but it was too late.

Mel burst out with a groan. “He probably turned us in already.”

“Probably.”

“We’re dead ducks. Dead. Ducks.”

“I’ve got the right pajamas on,” Tish said. “With duckies.”

“Huh? Oh.” Mel laughed, just for a second.

They reached the main road and turned left, walking on the shoulder against traffic. Fortunately, there was very little of it.

Her heart hammered her ribs when she recognized the sound of the Chevelle, far down the road. “Here comes George.”

“No way. Oh no. You’re right.”

The headlights approached slowly. George must have been afraid he wouldn’t see them in the dim light. As he came closer, Tish waved.

He pulled over on the shoulder, leaving the engine running. The headlights made Tish think of prison spotlights.

George got out with his phone to his ear. “Right,” he said to someone. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Oh boy,” Mel whispered.

He lowered the phone and walked around the car. Nobody spoke.

George shook his head. His dark eyes were hard to read, especially in the half light of early morning.

He opened his mouth to speak.

“You traitor,” Mel said, her voice shaking. “You called the cops!”

“No, I called your brother.”

“I don’t have no stinkin’ brother!”

“Get in,” George said. “Both of you.”

He opened the passenger door and tipped the front seat forward. “Melanie,” he said. “Back seat.”

She shot him a murderous look but climbed in.

George returned the front seat to its position and met Tish’s eyes. “I was almost home from the car show when I found I had an interesting message from you.”

“Honestly, I don’t even remember what I said. It has been a rough morning.”

“This isn’t the way I’d pictured your first ride in my project car.”

For a moment, she thought he might smile. He might tell her everything was going to be fine. He might even kiss her by the side of the road, ducky pajamas and all.

No. The lights had flickered out. Power failure.

She climbed in, shaking, then had to act fast to keep George from catching the hem of her bathrobe in the door.

She’d gone from being overheated to freezing. The hems of her pajama pants were wet with dew. She wanted to ask him to turn on the heat, but … no. She wouldn’t ask anything more of him. Giving them a ride was enough.

He sat behind the wheel. “Anybody want to explain?”

“No sir,” Mel said politely. Two seconds later, she was bawling.

“The Corvette is back where it belongs,” Tish said. “Please don’t ask questions.”

He put the car in gear and pulled onto the road. “One thing I’ll say for you, Tish. You hoped people would remember you? I will remember you.”

She couldn’t tell if he meant it as a farewell or as encouragement.

He shifted gears, and the Chevelle answered with a surge of speed. Tish closed her eyes, afraid she’d see flashing blue lights.

When George shifted into high gear, the car seemed to settle into some kind of mechanical contentment. A plateau of speed. The car sailed along, needing nothing from its driver but a hand on the wheel and a foot on the gas.

“Let’s go back to your place, and I’ll make breakfast,” he said.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she said. “I can’t think about food.”

“I’ll cook. You just sit back and relax.”

“Relax? You’re insane.”

“Not as insane as you are,” he said mildly. “But I guess I’m an accessory to the crime now.”

Mel entered into a new spate of tears, but Tish only closed her eyes and released a deep sigh. If George crashed the Chevelle into a tree and killed them all … well, she would wake in heaven—which might be preferable to going to prison—but she wasn’t sure about Mel.

George’s hand wrapped hers and squeezed. “We’re in this together, y’all.”

Ever so slightly consoled, she squeezed back.

George shut the oven door on the breakfast casserole, a rough approximation of the one his mother used to make in that very oven. Daisy went into her Sphinx position on the floor mat by the sink, keeping her hungry gaze on the door.

“And now we wait,” he said.

Tish, seated at her kitchen table, regarded him with bleary and skeptical eyes. She’d ditched the bathrobe and pajamas in favor of jeans and a U of M sweatshirt, but she’d left her hair wild. Just the way he liked it.

“Today’s the day I’m supposed to find out about the job,” she said. “I’m supposed to sit down with the owner and do my best to impress her. If I’m not in jail.”

“Everything’s going to be all right.”

“Do you know a good lawyer?” she asked.

“Maybe we won’t need one.”

“Huh. Optimist.” She put her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “I can’t afford an attorney. And I won’t get the job now.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t let you starve.”

“They don’t let you starve in prison either, I guess. How am I going to explain this to my mother?”

“Not knowing your mother, I have no idea.” He checked the time on his phone. “Excuse me, I need to make a call.”

The sun was shining when he stepped onto the porch, the wet street sending up a mist that reminded him of a malignant vapor in a scene from Tolkien. There were no orcs or dwarves, though. There weren’t even any neighbors out and about.

Mel’s sobbing caught his ear, just on the other side of the window. She’d holed up in her room with the dog. Poor kid. She’d brought it on herself, though.

About to call Calv and ask him to take charge of the shop for the day, George remembered Calv was on the road, returning from that wedding in Florida. He wouldn’t be home until the day was over.

By then, Dunc might have made a decision. Stu might have too. Awakened by George’s call, Stu had remained groggy throughout their conversation. Even if he’d fully comprehended the situation, he wouldn’t necessarily buck Dunc.

The door’s hinges creaked as Tish joined George on the porch. “Anything new?” she asked.

“No.” He put his arms around her.

She leaned against him, talking into his chest, her voice muffled. “I’m glad I made her take the car back, but I wish I’d handled it better.”

“At least you did something.”

“Something that’s going to bring the law down on our heads. You’d think we would have had a visit from the police by now, though.”

“It could take a little time to file a report.”

She raised her head and met his eyes. “What could they write on the report? ‘Perpetrators returned stolen car to rightful owner,’ maybe?”

Unwilling to contemplate the possibilities, George shook his head. “We’ll soon know.”

“Will they be any easier on us if we go to the station and turn ourselves in?”

“Possibly, but we’re not doing that without an attorney.”

“You said we don’t need an attorney.”

“I said
maybe
we won’t need one.”

“I shouldn’t have done it,” she said. “It was a lapse in judgment. A terrible lapse.”

“What’s done is done.”

“Yes, George. I realize that. That’s the whole problem.” Her voice broke. “I am Tish McComb, and I can’t change who I am.”

A funny thing to say, but perfectly true. “Good,” he said. “God made you to be Tish McComb, and I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

She let out a laugh that had tears behind it. “Not even my budding police record?”

“Not even that, if it comes to that.” Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against hers.

The ordinary sounds of morning sifted through the air. Birds sang. A dog barked. Inside the house, Daisy barked back. A vehicle passed the house.

He could smell the casserole baking. Sausage, eggs, cheese.

Another vehicle … was slowing in front of the house.