His smile didn’t reach his
eyes. “Sure.” Climbing into his Honda hatchback, he waved as he drove out of
the lot.
A brisk wind kicked up and
I rubbed at the goose bumps on my bare arms.
Stupid me, I should have
never let him drive away.
I walked back inside and
scooped up Axton’s backpack, taking it into the kitchen with me. As I opened
the swinging door, the smoky tang of bacon grew stronger. My boss, Ray, scrubbed
the grill, and the dishwasher, Jorge, clinked plates as I moved past them into
the pantry. I dropped the bag at my feet. It weighed a ton.
I sat on my haunches and unzipped
it. So help me, if Ax stashed his pot in here, I was flushing it. But as I
dug into the pack, I found it drug free—unless you counted the flannel shirt
that almost gave me a contact high after one whiff. There was also a hardback
copy of
The Hobbit
, two tech magazines, a laptop, a small tool kit, and
a rectangular computer doodad the size of a deck of cards. Nothing unusual.
At least not for Axton. I wondered why he left this with me. What the hell
was going on?
I stuffed everything back
inside and took a case of syrup off the shelf. I removed the restaurant-sized
bottles of imitation maple goodness and stuck the backpack in the large box,
closed the lid, and hoisted it back in place. Then I made some room next to
the salsa and decided the condiments could play nice for a couple of days.
Roxy found me a minute
later, with my hands on my hips, staring at the syrup box. “You must be really
bored,” she said.
“Yep.” I followed her out
of the pantry and into the dining room.
“Do you want to do something
tonight or are you studying?” She walked over to the windows and pulled down
the shades.
“I’m going to study with
Janelle, go to bed, then get up and do it all over again. It’s glamorous, I
know.” I lifted a shoulder. “But that’s just how I roll, my friend.”
“Your life kinda sucks.”
Sadly, she was right. Truth
was, my life had become pretty predictable. My classes were beyond boring and
I spent weekends either drinking watered down beer with Roxy or watching sci-fi
movies with Ax. Sometimes when I got really wild, I did both at the same
time. Not exactly living on the edge.
My name is Rose
Strickland—Rosalyn to those who named me. I inherited my blue-green eyes from
my dad, my A-cup boobs from my mom, and my blonde hair from them both. Where I
got my wicked sense of humor and independent spirit was anyone’s guess, but the
last two traits pissed my parents off to no end.
When I was eighteen, they
shipped me off to the college they had chosen for me. A small, private,
all-girls-all-the-time school. I hated it. After my freshman year when I insisted
on changing schools, my parents insisted I leave their home and pay for college
myself.
Fast forward five years, and
I now was a student at Huntingford City College—not the most prestigious
college in Missouri, but nearly affordable on a waitress’s salary. I took a
class or two each semester in an effort to figure out what I wanted to do with
my life. This semester, I figured out I did not want a career in ethics or accounting.
I don’t know what a career in ethics would be anyway. Nun, maybe?
I was a twenty-four-year-old
former rich girl who didn’t know what she wanted to be when she grew up. But
for sure, it wasn’t a nun.
“Well, at least I have a
date with Scotty this afternoon. That’s something to look forward to.” I
untied and folded my apron before laying it on the counter. Scotty, my too
adorable, five-year-old nephew had challenged me to a game of Hungry Hippo.
Oh, the foolishness of youth.
Roxy popped her gum. “Why
was Axton acting all weird today?”
Good question. “I don’t
know. But he wanted me to keep his backpack for a couple of days.”
She raised a pale brow.
“Remind me again why you like that stoner so much.”
“Axton’s one of the good
guys. He was there for me when I needed him. He’s true blue.”
But he had been acting weird
today. I decided to call him later about this backpack business. He must have
had a good reason to give it to me. I just wanted to know what that reason
was.
Grabbing my purse, I poked
my head into the kitchen and said goodbye to the boys, then walked out to the
parking lot with Roxy. As I waved to her, I saw a black SUV with tinted windows
drive by. The back passenger window was down and I caught a glimpse of a man
staring out at me.
Roxy followed my gaze.
“Someone thinks you’re tasty.” She wagged a finger at me. “And remember,
don’t study too hard. Boys like girls with big tits, not big brains.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have
either.”
I hopped into my piece of
shit car and sped out of the lot.
Scotty waited for me at the
door of my sister’s mini-manse. By the time my feet hit the narrow porch, he
was out of the house and launching himself at me like a missile. I stumbled
back from the surprise attack, but kept upright as I bear hugged him.
“Hey, Sport, how are you?”
“Good. I want to go to the
park. Can we go to the park? Please, Aunt Rose, please?”
I looked down at the
tow-headed love of my life and smiled. “Sure. But you need a jacket.”
He flew back into the house
and I followed at a slower pace. My sister, Jacks, her blonde hair in a twist
and her pretty face makeup-free, stepped into the marbled foyer.
“Did he talk you into taking
him to the park?”
“Yep.”
“You’re such a softy, Rose.”
Rose Strickland, part-time
student, full-time softy. “How can you say no to that sweet, little face?”
“He sure has you fooled.”
Scotty, soccer ball in hand,
sped down the stairs as fast as his short legs could manage. “Got to go, Mom.
See ya.” Then he ran out the front door and I swear my hair blew back from the
breeze that kid created in his wake.
“See ya.” I gave my sister
a finger wave.
Scotty and I walked to the
park, which was a block away. The large houses in this neighborhood sat on
small lots, with the occasional tree dotting the yard. It was early October.
Only a few leaves had changed color, but the weather was in flux. Cold
mornings gave way to mostly warm afternoons. As the sun started to fall, so
did the temperatures.
The park was a hotbed of
elementary action—swings, jungle gyms, those little cartoon characters on
springs—all teeming with screaming kids. More nannies than moms stood off to
the side and sat on benches, watching the mayhem.
Scotty ran ahead. “Let’s
go.”
I ran after him to a
relatively clear spot on the edge of a wooded area. We spent half an hour
kicking the ball back and forth, until I kicked it too far, and it whizzed past
Scotty into the woods.
“I’ll get it, Sport. You
stay right here.”
I trotted off, my eyes
scanning the ground for a sign of the white and black ball. I finally spied it
wedged against a sapling. I picked it up, and when I straightened there was a
man in a dark suit standing a few yards in front of me.
I gasped and dropped the
ball. It rolled toward him, hitting his shoe. He did some fancy maneuver with
his foot and suddenly the ball was in his hands. With long fingers he twirled
it in the air. “Tell your friend Axton I’m looking for him. Tell him I want
what’s mine.” His voice was deep—smooth and polished. The afternoon sun at
his back made it impossible to see his face clearly.
My heart started to pound,
and despite the fact my legs felt wobbly, I walked toward him. “Who the hell
are you?”
“He’ll know.” He threw the
ball at me and I caught it without thinking.
“Aunt Rose?”
I spun and saw Scotty a few
feet behind me. When I turned back toward the mystery man, he was gone. I
searched the trees for any sign of movement, but he’d disappeared.
I didn’t know what Axton had
gotten mixed up in, but you could bet your ass I was going to find out.
Whatever it was, it involved strange men lurking in the woods. I’d read enough
fairytales to know that was never a good sign.
I slapped on a smile and
walked toward Scotty. “It’s time to go home, Sport.” The stranger had me
spooked, but I didn’t want to freak the little guy out, I just wanted to get
him safely home.
“But I still want to play.”
There was a hint of whine in his voice.
I took off running. “Bet I
can beat you,” I yelled over my shoulder. I let him catch up and win the race
back to the house. As I ran on shaky legs, my eyes continuously scanned the
area looking for the stranger in the suit.
I called Ax, but kept
getting his voicemail—which consisted of Ax quoting the opening lines to the
original
Star Trek
in a horrible William Shatner voice
—
and I
wound up leaving him a dozen messages.
I knew if I sat around my
apartment I’d brood, so I decided to stick to my schedule. And most Monday
nights you could find me studying at Janelle Johnson’s house.
In her mid-thirties, Janelle
had smooth, dark brown skin, an enormous, gravity-defying rack, and long, thin
braids that skimmed her ample butt. We bonded over fetal pigs in biology class
last semester. She had gone back to school after her husband cheated with a
woman he picked up at Kentucky Fried Chicken. Janelle came home early from her
afternoon shift at the Quickie Mart and found them eating fried chicken—and
each other—in Janelle’s bed.
We lounged at her dining
room table, studying for an ethics test. And by studying, I mean gossiping and
eating.
I’d told Janelle about
Axton, the club, the backpack, and the strange man.
“That Axton’s always been a
little squirrelly.”
“No, he’s a sweetie. But
something was up with him today. And the guy with the suit? Creepy.”
“Ask him about it.” She
handed me a bag of pretzels.
“Oh, believe me, I will.”
If I ever got a hold of him.
“So, Asshat has the kids
tonight,” Janelle said.
I nodded, making an effort
to get my mind off of Axton and the strange man and focus on her story. But I
kept peeking at my phone, willing it to ring.
“Chicken Licker told my
daughter,” she poked herself in the chest with a long, blue acrylic nail, “
my
daughter, she could get her ears pierced this weekend. Oh hell no. Over my
dead sexy body.” Asshat was of course her ex-husband and Chicken Licker his
Kentucky Fried girlfriend.
“What did Asshat have to say
about that?”
She rolled her eyes. “What
does he ever say? Nothin’. I told Chicken Licker if she got her bony ass
anywhere near my child’s ears, I would make my foot a permanent part of her
anatomy.”
I munched on a pretzel. “I
wouldn’t want her bony ass near my ears either.” Just then my phone rang. I
recognized the number and quickly answered.
“Rose, it’s the Axman.”
“Thank God, I’ve tried
calling you a million times. There was a strange man looking for you.”
“Listen—”
“I can barely hear you.” I
put a finger over my left ear and held the phone closer to my right.
“Can you come and get me?”
“Ax, what is going—”
“I need a ride, man. Can
you come or what?” Something about his tone sent chills up my spine. “Aw,
shit. Rose…” I heard clattering, like something hit the phone.
I sat up straight.
“Axton? Where are you? What’s—”
His phone cut out before I
finished the question.
I looked at Janelle.
“Something’s not right.”
“See? Squirrelly.” She sipped
her Coke. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know. Can I use
your phone to call him back? My battery’s almost out.”
Janelle waved vaguely at the
phone on the counter. I dialed Axton’s number, but my call went straight to
voice mail. Dread swept over me. “He’s not answering.”
I walked back to the table, closed
my books, and shoved them in my backpack. “I need to look for him.”
“You want me to go with
you?”
I zipped my bag. “No. I’ll
drive around, see if I can find him. He’s probably fine.” I tried to reassure
myself, but even as I said it, I didn’t believe it.
Axton Graystone was in
trouble.
I drove toward Axton’s
house, way south of Apple Tree Boulevard. The Boulevard—mysteriously named as
it was devoid of apple trees—was the dividing line in Huntingford. To the
north, subdivisions with names like Stony Gates, The Cottages, and Crabapple
Estates surrounded manicured golf courses or large man-made lakes. South of
Apple Tree contained the historic district of Huntingford. Or as most people
called it, the crappy side of town.