Fudge Brownies & Murder (19 page)

"I'm gonna get sick," Rayshelle announced as she lurched into the nearest stall. Amy bent to look for legs in the other stalls. Thankfully they were alone.

The sounds of puking made Amy's stomach churn with displeasure. Rayshelle backed away from the toilet. She flattened her back against the metal stall wall and slid to the floor. "I don't know what's wrong. I didn't take
any
kind of drugs, and I'm not drunk. I'm not stupid. I wouldn't go to work if I was messed up. I felt fine when I got here this morning."

"Maybe you have the flu," Amy said as she squatted down outside the open stall to get eye to eye with the stricken woman. "Sometimes viruses can hit like a freight train."

She shook her head and groaned.

Amy stood. "Okay. Whatever is going on, you can't stay on the floor here. But you'll freeze if you walk outside soaking wet. I have some extra clothes in my car. I'll be back in a few minutes."

She bolted from the bathroom. Several market maintenance workers were mopping up the sticky flood in the Southern Gals booth as Amy scooted behind the gawker traffic jam. She had planned on hitting Yoga For You after the market trip, so there was a duffel bag full of stretchy clothes in her car. The pants would probably be too short, but they would be better than the tea drenched, puke splattered ones Rayshelle was wearing.

The sounds of retching filled the restroom when Amy returned. She rounded the corner of the stalls and was greeted with a view of Rayshelle leaning over the toilet wearing only see-through black panties and a bra. The sign that the janitors used to let people know they were cleaning the restroom hung on a hook behind the entrance door. Amy dropped her duffel bag next to the pile of soggy shed clothes. She grabbed the tent sign, yanked open the door, and propped it up in the hallway. That should give them a bit of privacy.

The toilet flushed. When Amy came back around the corner, Rayshelle was standing as though she was going to start doing jumping jacks with her arms pressing against the stall walls and her legs spread apart. Something was seriously wrong.

Amy pulled a T-shirt from the bag and handed it to her. The movement of grabbing the garment threw off Rayshelle's precarious balance. She sat down on the toilet seat with a
thunk
. Amy still wasn't fond of the Mistress of Crankiness, but she couldn't help but feel sorry for her. "I'll take you home, but I don't think you should be alone. Is there anybody I can call for you? Or do you need to go to the emergency room? I can call an ambulance."

She shook her head then leaned sideways until the side of her face was resting on the wall. "No ambulance. I can't afford to go to the hospital, especially since LeighAnne just fired me. Can you call Shantelle?"

Maybe the sisters' relationship wasn't as rocky as it seemed. The whole "blood is thicker than water thing"—especially during a time of crisis. "I can do that," Amy pulled her phone out of her coat pocket. "What's her number?"

"I don't know." Rayshelle ran her fingers through her orange hair which left behind a trail of matted spikes on the side of her head. The sweet tea was drying, turning into a food-based styling gel. "Her number's on my phone. I left my purse in the booth."

"Pick your feet up," Amy instructed. She threaded each leg of the yoga pants over Rayshelle's black tennis shoes. It was sort of like dressing an adult-sized baby. Amy backed out of the stall and swung the door shut. "Finish getting dressed. I'll go get your purse."

Wet floor signs were set up in the aisle around Southern Gals. LeighAnne was scrubbing the tomato sauce stain on the divider wall while her remaining employee wiped down the Plexiglas hood of the steam table to remove the brown polka dots of tea that had splashed on it. Both women had every right to be furious with Rayshelle.

"Excuse me." Amy smiled at the dark haired helper. "Could I get Rayshelle's purse? I guess she left it here. I'm trying to get her out of the market so she can recover in private."

LeighAnne responded to the request. She pulled a key ring out of her jeans pocket and unlocked the drawer of a filing cabinet that sat under the table filled with containers. The small, black fabric cross-body bag that she pulled out wasn't what Amy had expected. It was so plain and understated. LeighAnne handed the purse to Amy. "I don't understand why you're helping her, but I can see she needs it. Esther Mae would appreciate what you're doing."

"That's because she always had a soft spot for her drug addict relatives."

The unexpected voice, growling inches from her ear, sent a shot of ice into Amy's veins. Her fingernails dug into the fabric of the purse. She slowly turned her head. Buck stood just a few inches behind her, definitely an invasion of personal space. His eyes sparkled, but she couldn't tell if it was anger or glee causing the ocular fireworks. Or maybe, considering the earlier encounter, he was excited to get that close to her.
Ewwww!

Amy slowly released a breath that had been hanging out in her lungs for way too long. "And I have a soft spot for people who need help. A little kindness can go a long way in situations where it isn't expected."

The yoga philosophy lesson stunned Buck into silence. She imagined her words clanking around his testosterone-soaked mind.
Clink. Clank. Boom!
While he was busy pondering the statement, Amy took the chance to leave. When she made it back into the bathroom, Rayshelle had made a few improvements. She was completely dressed in Amy's clothes. The purple V-neck T-shirt and black pants actually fit her quite well. Hurray for stretchy clothes! Plus she was solidly standing in front of a sink using a wet paper towel to wipe off the mascara and lipstick streaks produced by the tea deluge and puke fest.

"Here's your purse," Amy said as she set it on the white, subway tile counter next to the sink. "I'll take you wherever you would like, as long as someone is there to help you."

Rayshelle tossed the colorful ball of paper toward the waste bin. It missed by two feet and rolled into the corner. She grabbed her purse with one hand and used the other to hold on to the counter for balance as she slowly inched toward the metal bench in the corner of the restroom. "Somebody put something in my food or coffee. I haven't gotten this stoned since my mom was sentenced to life in prison."

Amy grabbed Rayshelle's elbow to help her accomplish the tricky task of sitting. "You think you've been drugged, but you swear you didn't take anything?"

She nodded. On the upswing, the back of her head cracked the wall. "Ouch. Yup. No bout a-doubt it. I'm high."

It took several attempts for Rayshelle to get the passcode correct to unlock her phone. When she finally managed the task, Amy took over and arranged to meet a very surprised Shantelle at a nearby gas station. Instead of walking the unsteady, inebriated older sister through the crowded market, she led her out of the bathroom and straight through the door to the back room, which was thankfully at the end of the same hallway. After depositing her on an improvised milk crate stool near the loading dock doors, Amy instructed, "Stay here. I'll go get my car."

Amy worked up a sweat rushing through the market a second time. The collar of her long-sleeved T-shirt was damp when she walked out the sliding door. The blast of cold air turned the fabric band into an icicle necklace. When she pulled Mimi around to the loading docks, getting Rayshelle down the steps by the door then into the car was like wrangling Jell-O. The uncomfortable situation just kept getting more miserable.

The three-block drive to the gas station was quiet as Rayshelle rested her forehead on the side window and blankly stared at the buildings they passed by. Shantelle was standing by a pyramid of blue windshield washer fluid jugs, wearing the coat Amy had given her at the food giveaway. She yanked open the passenger door when Amy unlocked it. Rayshelle unlatched her seat belt but instead of getting out, leaned forward until her forehead rested on the dash.

"Please don't get sick in my car," Amy pleaded.

"Ain't anything left for me to puke. I just want off this freakin' Tilt-A-Whirl ride."

Shantelle leaned down to look at Amy over her sister's back. "Holy shit, she's trashed. Can you drive us to my apartment? It'll take me all night to try to walk her there."

She had obviously been way too optimistic to think that the reason they were meeting at a gas station was because Shantelle needed to put gas in her vehicle. "No problem. Get in and tell me how to get there."

The four-unit apartment building had peeling gray paint and multiple cracked windows repaired with duct tape. It took both of them to guide Rayshelle up to the second-floor apartment. When Shantelle opened the door, Harlan was sitting in a tattered, brown, plaid recliner on the far side of the living room. Through the dusty window beside him, Amy could see his truck parked on the street behind the building.

"What are you doing here?" Shantelle screeched. "I told you to stay away from me. Get out!"

Rayshelle's full weight lurched onto Amy when her sister let go of her arm. Amy instinctively shoved one hand in her purse as she struggled to keep Rayshelle upright with her other arm. Her fingers locked onto the pepper spray canister as Harlan stood. His brain tattoo appeared to be pulsing when he yelled. "I'll say when this relationship is over." He moved until he was inches away from Shantelle then bent until their noses were almost touching. "We ain't over."

"Change of plans. Let's try somewhere else to hang out." Even Amy could hear the fear in her own voice. "We all need to go. Now."

"Can I lay down now?" Rayshelle slurred.

"No. Run!"

Amy pushed her toward the still open door while Shantelle lunged to the right to avoid a left hook thrown by Harlan. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Rayshelle stagger out the doorway as the pepper spray filled his ear. Amy kept her finger on the canister's trigger. The stream of red liquid traced across his face as he turned toward Amy. Bulls-eye in his eye. He covered his face with his hands and yowled. Shantelle scurried past him with a dingy gray tote bag clutched in her hand. She skidded to a stop and turned back toward the stricken man. The silver-tipped toe of the pointiest pair of cowboy boots Amy had ever seen connected with his crotch. Shantelle may have been tiny, but she knew how to fight dirty. Harlan crumpled to the floor in a moaning, groaning heap.

They bolted out the door and caught up with Rayshelle, who had made it to the downstairs landing all on her own. A task she couldn't have accomplished five minutes earlier. Danger had amazing sobering properties. "We have to hurry," Amy said. She caught Rayshelle by the elbow and pulled her outside. "Into the car, before he recovers."

The steering wheel slammed into Amy's hip when she dropped into the driver's seat. She started the Mini. As soon as the other women scrambled in, she slammed the car into reverse. In the rear view mirror she could see Rayshelle crumpled across the back seat.

"Where are you taking us?" Shantelle asked as she stuffed the tote bag into the footwell between her legs. "He's going to come looking for me."

"There's a women's shelter in town. It's very safe."

"It won't be safe enough."

Amy glanced sideways at her passenger. Gray streaks of mascara traced over her cheeks—a river tributary map rendered in makeup and anguish. "He won't hurt you if he's back in jail. I can make a phone call… I know a police officer. I'm willing to bet those nice, stainless steel appliances that are in the bed of Harlan's truck don't belong to him."

The heavy shopping bag thumped against Amy's thigh as she walked around the corner and was greeted by a face full of wind that felt as though it had come to Kellerton via the North Pole. She didn't realize it was that windy while walking along Main Street. The buildings had provided excellent protection from the elements. Tears ran down her cheeks as she faced the gale and made her way back to the Quantum Media building. She and Alex were going out for an early dinner—or late lunch, but he had needed to check on something at his business first. Since it was right around the corner from the Cookbook Nook, Amy decided to do some baby shower shopping. The book on making homemade baby food was adorable, filled with smiling babies gobbling up colorful vegetable purees and detailed recipes that even novice cooks could follow. There was never a wrong time to give a cookbook as a gift, in her opinion.

Since Quantum was closed on the weekend, Amy had to trek around to the employee entrance at the back of the building, which Alex had left unlocked for her. The dinner out was a peace-making mission. Ever since she freaked out about having a baby, things had been a bit chilled between her and her husband. Her reaction had taken both of them by surprise. So they mutually decided to get back on track by spending some quality time with each other and good food.

Amy slipped into the sleek building and took the stairs up to the second story. The door was open to Alex's office. She knocked quietly on the wall beside the door frame as she slipped into the room. "I'm ready to go whenever you are."

He flipped the screen of his laptop down. "Perfect timing." He motioned for her to come closer. "I'm all done, but I thought maybe we could have some fun before we hit the restaurant. I didn't make reservations, so we don't have to worry about the time."

She tossed the shopping bag on the credenza where he kept his files and perched on the corner of Alex's desk. "What kind of fun are you talking about?"

Alex nodded his head toward the sleek black leather couch that sat against the sidewall of his office. "I just got that, and I have to say, it's really comfortable.
Lots
of room. I took a nap on it a few days ago after I had to come in early." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "I figure if it's comfy for a solo nap, it would be fine for other horizontal activities involving two people."

Amy looked at the couch. Then she looked at the window behind Alex. She could see curtains and potted plants in the windows of several apartments located above the Main Street businesses. It was a dark, gray day and lamplight illuminated several of the residences. "I like your proposal, but your giant window might cause a problem. Since it's still daylight, I can't exactly shut the lights off to give us some privacy like I did in the kitchen."