Heart of Gold (4 page)

“Hey back. Where are you heading?”

“Home.”

“Was real proud of you today.”

The praise made Zoey feel good inside. “Thanks. Has Ms. Bernadine heard anything yet?”

“Not that I know of.”

That was disappointing.

“I'm going to check on an old friend and drop him off some groceries. Do you want to go? I can take you home when we're done.”

“Sure!” She loved riding with Tamar. “Let me text Daddy Reg and Brain and Amari so they'll know where I am. The boys made me promise to let them know when I left the school. I had fish duty today.”

“Glad they're living up to what brothers are supposed to do. Put your bike in the back and let's get going.”

As they got under way and the open land of Henry Adams in autumn, with its spent fields of sunflowers and corn, rolled past Zoey's window, she thought about how much she liked her life. Back in Miami, she and her mom Bonnie had been homeless. Living on the streets and sleeping wherever they could had been difficult, and made even more so by Bonnie's addiction to drugs. Last night, when Crystal explained why she wanted to go back to her old life, she'd said living on the street had been sweet, but all Zoey remembered about those times was being hungry and sleeping on a smelly old mattress beneath the highway bridge. Nothing about it was sweet, especially not waking up the morning she found her mother dead, or the two nights after, when she was attacked by the rats.

Turning her mind away from that horror, she asked Tamar, “What's your friend's name?”

“Cephas Patterson.”

“That's a funny name. Do I know him?”

Tamar shook his head. “He's the town hermit.”

“Does he have any kids?”

“No kids or any other family, so I go out and check on him every so often to make sure he's okay. Ornery old cuss though.”

“That's what my mom Bonnie used to call Old Man Barker back in Miami. Every day he'd be on the street corner, yelling and shaking his fist at the cars going by. He didn't have any family either. Bonnie said he yelled at the people in the cars because he was lonely.”

“I imagine Cephas is lonely too, but he'll never admit it.”

“I wouldn't want to be a hermit.”

“Me neither.”

As Tamar took the curve on the road that led past Mr. Clay's place on what felt like two wheels, Zoey grinned. One of the reasons she liked driving with Tamar was because she drove really fast, and a race car driver like Danica Patrick was one of the many things Zoey wanted to be when she grew up. “Did you ever want to be a race car driver, Tamar?”

Tamar glanced over and laughed. “I'd've loved that, Zoey, but girls weren't allowed when I was growing up. Is that what you want to be?”

“Yep. And a singer like Mama Roni.”

“Sounds like you're going to be real busy.”

Tamar stopped Olivia beside a wire fence that hugged the edge of the road. There was an old weathered house set back a ways.

“Is that where your friend lives?”

“Yes, and he's kind of odd, so I need you to stay in the truck. Okay?”

Zoey had no idea what “kind of odd” meant and wanted to see for herself, but when she didn't readily agree, Tamar gave her a look.

“Did you hear me?”

Quelled, she responded, “Yes, ma'am.”

Tamar got out and grabbed a bag of groceries from the bed. Zoey watched her walk through the rusty gate. Almost immediately an old man holding a shotgun charged out onto the porch and yelled, “Go away!”

Zoey knew the town's matriarch was fearless and that nothing in the world ever got the best of her, but worry for her safety made Zoey disobey Tamar's edict and leave the truck. Bending low so she wouldn't be seen, she hunkered down next to the front tires to watch. If she needed to call 911 for help, she had her phone.

The old man yelled again, “Not telling you again! Get out of here, you old bat, before I shoot you for trespassing.”

Tamar called back, “You're not going to shoot me, Cephas, and we both know it. Be glad somebody comes out to make sure you're still alive.”

“You're just after my gold!”

“Nobody wants your old gold. Are you taking your medicine?”

“What's it to you?”

“Not a thing, but since I'm the one who'll be burying you when the time comes, I thought I'd ask.”

“Don't need your questions. Now git, 'fore I shoot you!”

To Zoey, Cephas looked like an old prospector from the westerns Mr. Bing, one of the town's senior citizens, liked to watch on the big screen at the rec center. Mr. Patterson was bald, had white whiskers, and was wearing a brown checked shirt and brown pants held up by worn suspenders. She didn't like the way he had the gun pointed at Tamar, though, and wondered if she should text her dad.

But Tamar didn't seem worried. “Do you have enough food?”

“Got enough of everything!”

Tamar set the big bag of groceries on the ground at her feet. “There's meat in here, so don't let it sit out and spoil.”

Zoey's mom often left food for Old Man Barker in the spot where he slept behind an abandoned gas station. He'd never thanked her, but it was always gone when she and her mom went to check on him the next day.

“Okay, Cephas. I'm going. I'll be back to check next month.”

“Don't need you and your spies checking on me. The gold is mine!”

“What spies?”

He pointed with the gun. “That one hiding by the truck.”

Zoey gulped, and on the heels of that heard Tamar call angrily, “Zoey!”

Chagrined, she stood and showed herself. Tamar didn't look happy. “Get over here.”

Brimming with guilt, she walked over.

Cephas yelled, “You after my gold too, little girl?”

“No, sir.”

“What's your name, so I'll know who you are if I have to shoot you?”

“Zoey Raymond Garland.”

“Raymond? What kind of name is that for a female?”

Zoey opened her mouth to explain but closed it instantly in response to the flare in Tamar's eyes. Zoey wondered if she'd be painting Ms. Marie's fence for her disobedience.

“Get back in the truck,” Tamar instructed coolly.

Zoey complied instantly and, listening from inside, heard Tamar say, “Take care of yourself, you old mule. I'll be back.”

“If you do, I'll shoot you.”

Tamar shook her head and walked away. As she started up Olivia and headed back to town she asked, “What did I tell you to do?”

“Stay in the truck.”

“Just wanted to make sure you haven't gone deaf.”

“I was worried he was going to shoot you.”

“I appreciate that, but next time I expect you to do as you're told.”

“Yes, ma'am.” After a few more moments of silence, she asked, “Why doesn't he have any kids or family?”

“He never married. His father died when we were in grade school, and years later his mother was in a car accident that left her paralyzed. He took care of her for the rest of her life.”

Zoey found that sad. “Does anybody else come out to check on him besides you?”

“Trent, Mal, and Bing.”

“Does he really have gold in his house?”

“He says he does.”

“Did he tell you where he got it?”

“No. Some folks believe the outlaw Griffin Blake buried a bag of railroad gold near Henry Adams. Maybe Cephas found it. Who knows. Personally, I think the story's just an old myth.” She gave Zoey a pointed look. “And if I catch you or the boys out here looking for it, you'll paint the fence every day from now until the snow falls—if Cephas doesn't shoot you first.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Tamar's voice gentled. “Sometimes Cephas knows what's going on around him, and sometimes he doesn't. I don't want you hurt, okay?”

Zoey nodded. She didn't care about the gold. She was more worried that Cephas, like Old Man Barker, was lonely, especially living in that raggedy old house by himself. She knew better than to voice that, though, so she kept it to herself.

Crestfallen by Crystal's nonresponse to her text, Bernadine drove away from the Dog. Diane sat silent. Bernadine was pretty sure that being smacked with the truth about her foreclosed home had a lot to do with it, but Diane's feelings were the least of her concerns. Why hadn't Crystal responded? Bernadine was relieved to know the girl was alive, but that was all she knew.

Once they were back at the house, Diane said haughtily, “It was a long flight. I think I'd like to lie down.”

No argument there. After helping her carry her luggage into the room, Bernadine watched and waited as Diane viewed the room's interior with a critical eye. “Do you need anything?” She hoped her sister had the sense not to complain about the placement of the furnishings or try to move stuff around.

“No.”

“Have a good nap.” Bernadine hadn't expected a thank-you for giving Diane a place to stay, and she didn't get one.

Even though she'd made a vow not to work on weekends unless it was absolutely necessary, she needed something to distract her from her worries, so she sat at the kitchen table and booted up her laptop. In her in-box were a few e-mails from Gary Clark. The new grocery store he'd be managing would have its grand opening next week. His e-mails assured her that all last-minute details like signage and painting were on schedule. Because of his focus and diligence, he'd proven to be a great choice to ride point on the town's newest business, and she was excited about the venture. The next e-mail was from her lawyers, giving her an update on the trial date for murderer and arsonist Odessa Stillwell, whose anger at Bernadine had resulted in a terrible fire that past summer. Two innocent people had lost their lives. She had no desire to ever see Odessa again, but would be testifying for the prosecution. She glanced at a few more e-mails, but thoughts of Crystal soon had her staring into space. Taking out her phone, she reread the short text. Still no reply. Shaking her head sadly, she went back to the laptop.

Sitting in the Kansas City airport, Roni Garland listened to the announcement updating her delayed flight. Sighing with disappointment, she called her husband, Reggie. “Hey, baby. How are you?”

“Doing okay. Where are you?”

Overlooking his slight accusatory tone, she explained, “Stuck in the Kansas City airport. The plane's having some kind of mechanical issues, so they're trying to find us another one. Zoey doing okay?”

“Yeah. She's been out on her bike most of the day, but she's up in her room now, watching NASCAR.”

Roni chuckled. “That girl is something.” When silence greeted that remark, she continued, “Um, it may be kind of late when I get in.”

“That's okay. We'll be here.”

“I've missed you.”

“Same here,” he said in a tone that lacked the love it used to hold.

She concentrated on keeping her voice light. “Okay. See you when I get there. Love you.”

“Me, too.”

The call ended, she slumped back against her seat. There were serious problems going on with her and Reggie. Although he wouldn't admit it, he was having difficulties with her career. She'd tried to fix things by commissioning an architect to build a state-of-the-art recording studio in town so she'd be nearer, but apparently that wasn't enough. He didn't like her being there any more than he liked her touring. This was his first taste of being married to a music woman, and although she'd anticipated having to make some adjustments in their life, she hadn't anticipated he'd not be supportive. Talking with him about it hadn't solved anything either. He kept trying to convince her that Zoey was the one suffering from her absence, refusing to own up to the reality that the problem was his and his alone. She sensed that his ideal solution would be for her to drop the music and be content with her former role of wife and mom, but he didn't have the balls to say it out loud for fear of her nuclear reaction. And deservedly so. She wasn't asking him to give up medicine and be with her twenty-four/seven. She hoped he wouldn't draw a line in the sand and demand she make a choice because everyone was going to be unhappy with the outcome. She loved her husband madly, and would walk through hell for him, but she wasn't going to toss aside her God-given gift just so he'd stop pouting.

When his call from Roni ended, Reggie placed the phone on the arm of the couch. The television was on, but he stared at it unseeingly. So Roni was finally on the way home. One would think that, having spent the better part of the month of August hunkered down in the studio, she could've passed on this five-day concert tour out west to spend some consistent time with her family. The CD was done, all the musicians she'd flown in were gone, and yet he could count on one hand the times they'd had dinner as a family since then. He missed his wife. He missed waking up beside her; missed her laugh, missed her smile, missed the way she snuggled next to him` in bed. Hell, he missed everything about her that he'd come to love since they met at the hospital she was taken to the night a psycho gunned down one of her backup singers during a concert. Due to the trauma, she'd given up singing, and in the years that followed they'd married and been inseparable. But now, after they'd adopted Zoey, her musical flame had been relit, her career was on jam again, and he rarely saw her—at least that's how it felt. He had no idea how he was supposed to deal as a result. Yes, she'd had the studio built so she'd be closer to home, but it didn't make him feel any better—she was still gone. Granted, after the shooting he'd strongly encouraged her to get back into the studio, and now that she had . . . To her credit, she'd tried to get them to talk things out, but he'd rebuffed her efforts rather than confess to being insecure and unsure about his role. Another component of that insecurity was something else he didn't want to admit. Suppose, as a result of her resurgent fame, she no longer wanted to be married to a short, funny-looking, glasses-wearing nerd? To be honest, he'd never understood why she was attracted to someone like him in the first place. In his mind she was better suited for a man like her manager, Jason West, with his killer dreds, six-foot-plus height, and features that landed him on a list of the nation's finest men. Even though Roni had never given him any reason to believe she'd be unfaithful, the face he saw in the mirror each morning wouldn't make anyone's finest list. He sighed audibly. This was a mess, and so was he.