Fool's Puzzle Earlene Fowler (microsoft ebook reader TXT) 📖

He grabbed his leather jacket from the oak coat rack in the corner and slipped it on. “I’d love to have dinner with you, except I have an interview in ten minutes. Want to come? We could eat afterwards.”

“Okay,” I said. “Who are you interviewing?”

“The professor who’s running against Dad for the city council seat.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Dad says he runs a fair paper. That his political ambitions shouldn’t bias the news. So we’re giving equal time to his opponent.”

“Are you going to be fair?”

He grinned at me, and for a moment, I could see just how appealing he could be to women. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m voting for him.”

“Does your dad know that?”

“After the article, he will. Let’s go.”

I linked arms with him as we walked out of the building. “Carl, you really need to let go of that adolescent rebellion someday.”

“Is that your subtle way of telling me to grow up?”

“Yes.”

He chucked me under the chin. “Now, what fun would that be? Do you want to ride with me or take your own car?” He patted the fender of his small green Triumph.

“I’ll take my own car. Where are we going?”

He paused before answering. “Sorry,” he said. “But I told the professor I’d meet him at Trigger’s. He’s trying to get a feel for his blue-collar constituency.”

I studied the tips of my navy pumps. No matter what I did, Trigger’s seemed to loom in front of me like a huge boulder in the middle of the road. Perhaps it was a sign that I needed to get past it, move on.

“That’s fine,” I said, looking up at Carl. “I’m kind of in the mood for one of their beef dips anyway.”

“You sure?” He laid a hand on my shoulder.

“Not entirely, but I’ll go anyway.” I ran my hand along the fender of the Triumph. Jack rebuilt the engine for him as a thirtieth birthday present, complaining the whole time that Carl should be driving an American car.

“That’s my girl.”

Trigger’s Monday night customers were a mellow and easygoing bunch compared to the crazed weekend crowd. Only one pool table was in action and the songs on the jukebox ran toward sad and bluesy Don Williams rather than the perky Saturday night sounds of Carlene Carter.

Carl’s tweedy professor candidate was waiting for him in a back booth, so I left them to their business and went over to the pool table to watch. After nodding to the two cowboys chalking their cues, I took a seat at a table close by. The door to the men’s room slammed open and Wade and another guy walked out. Wade was telling the man some joke about cattle prods and Congressmen.

“Catch you next game,” he told the guys when he saw me. He grabbed his beer and sat down across from me. “Never thought I’d see you here.”

“Having dinner with Carl.” I traced a name carved into the shellacked dark wood of the table. Tracy. I wondered where she was right now. What she did for a living. Did she find the love of her life here? I looked up at Wade. “He’s doing an interview first.”

He grunted, his tanned face wary.

“Look, Wade, I’m sorry about Saturday. Let’s call a truce, okay?” I touched the sleeve of his plaid shirt.

“None of it’s what you think.” He stared at the tabletop, not reacting to my contact. “You should stay out of what doesn’t concern you.”

“It’s not just what I think, Wade. The police know about you and Maria.”

He jerked his head up. “Did you ... ?”

“Would you give me some credit, Wade? I didn’t say anything, but apparently your relationship wasn’t much of a secret. Have they talked to you yet?”

“Yes, and I told them what I knew. Which is nothing. And I wasn’t the only one, you know. She got around.”

“I know. And the police know that too.”

He regarded me with twitchy, narrowed brown eyes, a familiar prelude to an explosion. “You seem to know an awful lot these days. You and that Mexican police chief are getting pretty chummy, I hear. Didn’t take long for you to get back in the saddle, did it?”

I yanked my hand back as if I’d been burned, wanting to smack his sullen face. “You’re an ass, Wade Harper.”

I stood up, stumbling against a chair in my haste to make it to the ladies’ room before the tears escaped. Standing in the dark tan, Lysol-scented room staring at my reflection in the chipped mirror, I wondered if anyone else was thinking what Wade had said. Why didn’t I just get out of this town? Go someplace where no one knew my name, my financial status, the last time I had sex.

“You okay in there?” A low, indistinct voice came through the door. It opened and Carl stuck his head in.

“You alone?” he asked, nodding toward the three stalls.

“Yes, but you can’t come in here.”

“Sure I can.” He stepped in and leaned against the far wall next to the tampon machine. “I saw you and Wade talking and then you ran off. I got worried.”

“I’m fine. He’s just being a jerk.” I ran some water in the rust-stained sink and splashed my face. Carl pulled a couple of paper towels from the dispenser and handed them to me.

“Thanks.” I patted my face with the rough sand-colored towels.

“What were you two arguing about?” he asked curiously.

“Nothing important. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Don’t let him bug you.” He took the paper towels from my hand and dabbed at my cheek. “Missed a spot. You know, Wade never did know his ass from a hole in the ground.” He tossed the towel in the overflowing trash can. “Forget him. Let’s eat.”

“Okay,” I said, sticking my head tentatively out the door.

“Don’t worry, he left.” He pointed me toward a booth where our beef dip sandwiches sat steaming on wide white plates. I picked at mine until he finally took it and ate