Love Mercy Part 20

"Try."

"Wouldn't think of it." He cut the truck's engine. The houses on both sides of hers were dark.

"I'll walk you in," he said, opening his door.

"No, thanks," she said, climbing out of the truck and walking slowly toward her front door. She stubbed her toe on the small front step of her porch. She cursed and lifted her other foot high to avoid repeating her move. Her foot came down hard, causing her to bite her tongue. She cursed again and started patting her coat pockets for her house keys.

"I have them right-" Hud's voice was right behind her.

"Leave . . . me . . . alone." Without turning around, she swatted at him like she was being attacked by horseflies.

Hud reached around and unlocked the front door. "Would you like me to make some coffee?"

"No."

He stood in the open doorway, her car and house keys in his hand. In the dim illumination of the entryway's night-light, in her half-drunken state, he sort of reminded her of Sean. A strangled noise came from the back of her throat.

"Hey," he said. "Someone left you a note." He bent down to pick up the half-folded page lying facedown on the hardwood floor. It had obviously been thrust through the mail slot. He unfolded it and started reading.

"Do you mind?" she said, grabbing the sheet of paper.

"What does that mean?" he asked. "I want the money. Are you in trouble, Mel? Do you owe someone money? Is there anything I can do to help?"

His face looked so kind, the expression so much like one Cy would have had. It wasn't fair that he died. Cy would have helped her. Cy would have known what to do. He would have . . .

"Mel . . ." Hud started, reaching out to her.

She pushed his hand away and stumbled into the living room, clutching the paper. "You can't help me. No one can."

"Sit," he said, gesturing to her chair. "Let me fix you something to eat."

Too tired and sad to protest, she sat down hard in her plaid easy chair. In a few moments, she blacked out, only to be wakened by Hud what seemed like hours later.

"What time is it?" She jumped up when he touched her forearm.

"Time to eat something," he said. He handed her a plate with a peanut b.u.t.ter and jelly sandwich. "Your cupboards are pretty bare, Ms. LeBlanc."

"I eat out." She looked down at the plate, her eyes trying to focus on the sandwich.

"Eat a few bites," he said, sitting down on the sofa opposite her. "Won't really sober you up, but at least your stomach won't be screaming in protest."

She took a bite, then set the plate aside. "Thanks, but I'm fine. You can go now."

"Who do you owe money to?"

She looked away. "I don't owe anyone money."

"The note."

"That's my business."

"Mel, whatever it is, I a.s.sure you I've been there before. You look like you-"

"Shut up," she said, clutching her stomach, willing herself not to puke all over his boots. "You don't have any right to tell me what I look like, what I need or what you think I need."

He sat down on the sofa and crossed his arms over his chest. "I want to help."

She sat forward in her chair, her stomach careening in protest. "Leave."

"No."

She stared at him in disbelief. Was he serious? Did he really think that if he sat here long enough she'd pour out her whole life story to him? She'd never be that drunk. Never.

"Mel," Hud said. "I knew Cy a long time. He was a true friend to a good many people, including me. He'd want you to tell me what's wrong."

She stood up and pointed a shaky finger at him. "Don't you dare tell me what Cy would want. You don't know. No one does. He's dead. So no one could say what he wants. Not you. Not me. No one. He's dead. He's dead."

Then, to her utter humiliation, she burst into tears.

TWENTY-TWO.

Mel I'm sorry," Hud said. He appeared to be floating underwater.

"Go away," she said, resisting the urge to wipe the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. Acknowledging them seemed weak.

"I can help," he said, not moving from the sofa.

"Why?" she burst out. "Why would you want to help someone you don't even know?" She sat back down hard, jarring her back teeth. "People don't do things for no reason. Why would you want to help me?"

"I know what it's like to be desperate."

She gave a cynical laugh, not believing him. "My dad's a magician. He could make you disappear. But he's better at making himself disappear." She pressed her lips together, horrified at her words. What possessed her to say that?

"Trust me, my father has your father beat in being the biggest jacka.s.s in the country," Hud said. "Not that it's a contest or anything. And it sounds like your dad is still alive, so he would have the edge. My dear daddy pa.s.sed on to that great golf course down below many years ago."

"I don't owe anyone money," she said, sorry she'd brought up fathers. "It's just some guy who thinks . . ." She stopped, not wanting to reveal more. "I can handle him. It's just a misunderstanding."

He sat forward on the sofa. In the amber light of her single living room lamp, she caught a glimpse of what he must have looked like as a younger man, before time and sun had textured his face. He was still a handsome man.

"Look," he said. "Sometimes a person who barely knows you can see a situation more clearly. Like telling your problems to someone on a plane, someone you'll never see again. They don't actually help you solve anything, they're just a sounding board."

"But you're not an anonymous person on a plane."

"True, but you and I are not actually friends. My opinion would be purely objective. I'm a.s.suming it has something to do with your life back in Las Vegas. Something or someone that has come up from there." He waited a moment. "You know, we're both Cajuns, so we're kind of like family."

She stared at him. "How do you know I'm Cajun? I could be Canadian. I could be from France."

"I just know. We can't hide from each other. My mama's side is Cajun, by the way. My daddy's side is moral misfits."

She closed her eyes, remembering her grand-mere Suzette. "Say something in Cajun."

"I want to help. We're pareil comme deux gouttes d'eau."

The silky, familiar sound of the Cajun French made her think of her grandmother. And her father. Where was Varise LeBlanc? Would she ever see him again? Did she want to?

She opened her eyes. "What did you say?"

"We're alike as two peas in a pod." He smiled at her. "My grand-papa Iry used to call me T-Hud." His eyes turned down when his smile faded. "Man, I miss him."

Maybe it was the liquor still coursing through her veins like liquid truth serum or maybe it was Cy's spirit telling her to trust this guy. Or maybe she just didn't care about what he thought. Maybe if he saw who she really was, maybe he'd figure she was too much trouble and leave. Without looking at him once, she haltingly started to talk, telling him about Sean, about finding the money, about the investigation, what her fellow officers believed about her. She didn't mention her father. Or her mother. Or the reason she came to Morro Bay. She told him about Patrick and his accusations. All of the information came out disjointed and out of order, mimicking her life.

"Cy gave me a job," she said, winding down, wishing now she'd kept her mouth shut. "He never knew any of this." Not until the end, anyway. But she wouldn't tell Hud that. "Love doesn't know. I don't want her to know."

"She wouldn't feel any different about you. She's not a judgmental person. And she's your friend."

She looked at him grimly. "If you tell her, I'll-" She almost said kill you. But she knew that was just a phony threat. "I'll leave Morro Bay."

"I won't tell her. I can talk to this Patrick. Man-to-man."

She glared at him.

"Sorry," he said, holding up his hands. "That was a stupid, s.e.xist remark. I meant I . . . shoot howdy, I don't know what I mean."

For a moment she was silent, then she gave a small laugh. "That's the most honest thing you've said in three hours."

"Tell me how I can help."

She sighed. "You can't. This is between me and Patrick. I can handle it. I don't need some man rushing in on a white stallion."

"Chestnut."

"What?" He was making no sense.

"My horse, Brandy. She's a chestnut quarter horse. And she's a mare."

She stood up, one hand still on the chair arm. "Look, I appreciate you listening to my tale of woe. But I'll deal with Patrick. Thanks for the ride home."

He stood up. "Okay, I can take a hint." He pulled a card out of his back pocket and laid it on the coffee table. "In case you misplaced my other one. Home phone and cell phone is on the back. Call any time."

"Thanks." She would toss this one out too, after he left. "Have a merry Christmas."

He walked toward the front door, turning to face her before he opened it. "You too, Melina. Don't be afraid."

"I'm not," she said, suddenly angry.

"Call me if you need me." He left, closing the door softly behind him.

"Never gonna happen, buddy," she said to the wooden door. She went over and locked it, turning the dead bolt with more force than necessary.

TWENTY-THREE.

Love Mercy It was a little past noon, and Love had already put in a four-hour shift at the cafe. One of their new waitresses, a Cal Poly girl, had just up and quit without so much as a how-do-you-do. Oh, well, one less salary to pay, she thought, trying to look on the bright side.

"What is wrong with kids these days?" Magnolia grumbled while they refilled creamers. "Hey, how do you like that new creamer over on table six? Got it on eBay." It was the head of a collie dog.

"We'll have to watch that one," Love said. "It's so cute, it might just up and walk its way out of here." They'd had trouble before with their creamers being stolen. Now that made Love wonder what was wrong with people more than fickle college kids who quit without warning. Honestly, people who would break a commandment for a gewgaw. Crazy.

Love had brought home some clam chowder and sourdough rolls, and she and Rett had just sat down to eat lunch when the always dependable corgi doorbell told them that someone was parking in front of the house.

"It better not be another pound of fudge," she said to Rett. "I know people want to celebrate this time of year by reaching out to their neighbors, but I've already got four pounds of the stuff."

"I'll take it," Rett said, smiling. "I love fudge."

When Love opened the front door, her heart started pounding. It was Dale. Sensing her agitation, Ace started growling until she stooped down and rested her hand on the back of his neck.

"It's okay, Ace." She stood back up. "What are you doing here? I thought you and the judge had a deal." Love kept her voice low, hoping Rett wouldn't come out of the kitchen to see who it was.

Today he wore a pair of tight black jeans, a black T-shirt with Hank Williams's face printed in silver, and those heavy black Redwing work boots that were once worn only by men for whom work meant dirt-encrusted nails and banged-up thumbs.

His face held a forced Elvis sneer. "Tell that friend of yours, that judge dude, that I thought about it and changed my mind. I don't have time to hang around this lame-a.s.s town. The band is leaving two days after Christmas, and I have to go with them. I want my banjo."

"Well, now," she said, trying to buy some time. "Let's not-"

"Tell Rett I need . . ." The sneer faded, too difficult to maintain for longer than a minute. He swallowed hard, reminding her of a child. "I want to talk to her. To explain."

She peered at him through the screen door. Though Love wanted to spare Rett the pain, there was no way she could keep her from eventually talking to this man. And Love had always believed you might as well get bad stuff over with right off, just take it on the chin and move on. So she grabbed Ace's collar and opened the screen door. "She's in the kitchen eating lunch. You may as well join us." She stroked the dog's head. "Ace, this boy's a . . . friend." She almost choked on the word. "No bite."

Ace gave Dale a suspicious look, then ran to the kitchen. Rett's head was bent over petting him when Dale walked into the room. Love stood back, wondering if she should leave these two alone yet not trusting this young man enough to do that.

"Rett, baby," he said, his voice husky in a way that told Love more than she wanted to know about their relationship.

Her head popped up, and a small animal sound escaped from the back of her throat. The stricken look on her face made Love wonder if she'd made the right decision. Then, like a lamp clicking off, Rett's expression turned hard.