Twice in a lifetime, p.26
Twice in a Lifetime, page 26
Clara put her hand on his knee. “It’s all right…” she said, recognizing the inevitable: Amos and his pursuers were going to get away.
“No, it isn’t,” he argued. Drake looked at her, his expression a mix of anger and worry. “Amos…” he began slowly, as if he couldn’t find the words. “He stole…all of my money…”
Clara was stunned. “But…but how?”
“It was in the bag he was carrying, my bag,” he explained. “It’s most everything I’ve saved. There’s a bit more in a bank in Illinois, but…”
Drake didn’t finish, but Clara knew what remained unspoken. The money in his duffel bag was the future they’d both been counting on; it was how they were going to keep Eddie from following through on his threat to take away her house. All of their hopes and dreams were in danger.
“They’re taking Baker’s Road out of town,” Tommy suddenly said.
“So?” Clara asked.
“It runs west along the river for a couple of miles, but then loops back toward town just before you reach Bill Shelton’s farm,” her son explained. “If we turn right after Walt Cornelius’s place, the back roads will lead us right to them. We might even reach the highway ahead of them.”
“Where’s the turn?” Drake asked.
Tommy showed him and the pickup roared around the corner, spraying gravel. Clara bounced on the seat as her son directed Drake past recently plowed fields, over rickety bridges, and through dense woods. As they crested a hill, the valley opened beneath them and her eyes scanned the length of road that threaded through it; her heart beat faster when she saw two cars headed their way.
“There they are!” Clara shouted as she pointed.
“We’re not going to get there in time,” Tommy said with a frown. “They’re moving too fast.”
“We’re sure as hell going to try,” Drake said as he floored the accelerator.
Even as they rocketed down the hill, the truck’s engine straining hard, Clara knew that Tommy was right; by the time they reached the highway, both cars would have already gone past. They were too late.
It would take a miracle to keep them from getting away…
Sweat dripped into Amos’s eyes, but he was so focused on the other car that he didn’t bother to wipe it away. Icy chills rippled across his skin, making him feel nauseous. His vision swam and his ears rang. He felt as if he was trapped in a nightmare from which he couldn’t wake.
Once again, Sweet Woods’s car rammed him; the jolt was jarring, hard enough to make his teeth chatter. This time, it caused the Plymouth to swerve wildly, forcing him to wrestle it back under control.
“Leave me alone!” he pleaded.
Amos glanced over his shoulder at Drake’s bag in the backseat. If he could just get away, if he could find somewhere to buy more morphine, if he could rent a room, get a fix, sleep for a few days, everything would be all right, he was sure of it.
Because he was distracted, thinking about the drugs and the money he had stolen and bracing himself for another hit from the Cadillac, Amos wasn’t paying attention to the road. He was driving fast, the Plymouth’s speedometer buried. So when the sudden, sharp turn arrived, he hadn’t seen it coming.
Even as Drake struggled to keep the pickup on the dirt road, he kept glancing at the two speeding cars. He could see that the Plymouth was going too fast as it approached the curve, the Cadillac right on its tail. He felt the sudden urge to cry out, to shout a warning to Amos, but it would have been futile. He was helpless to do anything but watch.
What happened next felt as if it occurred in slow motion.
Amos jammed down hard on the Plymouth’s brakes, as if he suddenly realized he was in grave danger. Smoke billowed off the pavement as the tires screamed. But it wasn’t enough. The car slid to the right, out of control, before flying off the road and over a steep incline. Incredibly, the Cadillac followed. Its driver had been too close, too intent on catching his quarry, and he hadn’t realized he was being blindly led to his doom.
“Oh my God!” Clara shouted.
In his many years racing cars, Drake had seen plenty of crashes, but this was one of the worst. The Plymouth sailed through the air, landing on its undercarriage hard enough to blow out a couple of tires before bouncing toward a copse of trees. It rammed nose-first into a thick elm, its front end crumpling as if it was made out of paper; metal and glass flew everywhere. A heartbeat later, the Cadillac rammed it from behind, flipping over the Plymouth’s roof to smash into the same tree. After all their furious racing, whipping down the backcountry roads, both cars fell silent and still.
Drake skidded to a stop at the bottom of the hill, a couple hundred feet from the crash. His heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest.
“Stay here!” he shouted at Clara and Tommy before leaping out and running toward the wreck. He’d gone only a couple of steps before a fire erupted to life; Drake had no idea which of the car’s gas tanks had ruptured, though it hardly mattered. In seconds, the flames grew, hungry, spreading until both vehicles were burning, sending black, acrid smoke billowing skyward. Drake had to shield his face, the intense heat like a wall. He peered into the fire, searching the cars for something, movement, a cry for help, but there was nothing.
“Amos!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, but he knew it was pointless; his friend was dead. No one could have survived that crash.
But then, just as he was about to give up hope, Drake saw the tall grass thirty feet from the wreckage begin to move. Without any consideration for his own safety, he ran to it, silently praying that he was wrong, that Amos had miraculously survived. Sure enough, someone was trying to crawl away, both battered and bloodied, his clothes singed as well as torn.
“I’m here, Amos!” Drake shouted. “I’ve got you!”
However, when he turned the wounded man over, Drake discovered that it wasn’t the mechanic after all; it was the silent, dangerous-looking thug from the hotel. The man’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. In his eyes, Drake saw no trace of viciousness, only confusion and fear. Even though the stranger had threatened to do him and Amos harm, Drake grabbed his arms and dragged him away from the fire. By the time he lay the thug down, the man was unconscious; a quick check revealed he was still alive.
Drake wiped his brow and stared at the blaze. Amos was dead. The Plymouth was wrecked. Everything he had spent years saving, almost all his money, was now nothing but ash. He glanced up at the truck; Clara and Tommy stood beside it, mesmerized by the fire. What was he going to tell her? Without his money, how were they going to build a future together? What hope did they have of getting rid of Eddie now?
Try as he might, Drake couldn’t come up with a single answer.
Clara shivered in the wind, rubbing her hands on her bare arms, but she had no desire to get back in the truck. Dusk was fast approaching, the sun slowly settling for the night. Smoke still drifted lazily toward the sky, the sharp smell burning her nose. The fire department had long since come and gone, leaving behind two charred wrecks that had once been cars. The only survivor of the crash had been rushed to town in an ambulance; she didn’t know what would happen to the remains of Amos and the other men. Right then, she couldn’t bring herself to care.
All that mattered was Drake.
He stood with Sheriff Oglesby, talking about the crash. Clara was too far away to hear what was being said, but she guessed that Drake was telling the lawman the truth: that he didn’t know why the men had been after Amos, not exactly, only that the mechanic had been accused of stealing something. Drake’s expression was calm, he was nodding a lot, but Clara expected that he was torn up on the inside; even if Amos had robbed him of his money, they had spent years together traveling from race to race, under the Plymouth’s hood, building a friendship as close as family. She worried how he would react to such a huge loss. Clara imagined that the worst part was that Drake would never have the chance to talk to Amos about his betrayal. He would die a thief.
And he took the money with him when he went…
Earlier, Clara had watched Drake walk the tall grass around the wrecks, hoping that his bag had been ejected as the survivor had, but he’d come up empty. Left with nothing but ash, she couldn’t help but think of Eddie. How could they fend him off now? If the banker went through with his threat, then in addition to losing the Plymouth, Amos, and all of Drake’s money, her home would be taken away. Once, she’d considered surrendering to Eddie’s demands; now her love for Drake made it impossible. But what else could they do?
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Clara jumped at the sound of Tommy’s voice. She had been so preoccupied that she hadn’t heard him approach. He hadn’t said much since the crash, wandering up and down the ditches, watching from a distance.
She shook her head. “I’m just tired,” she answered, then nodded toward the wrecked cars. “It’s been a long day.”
Tommy was silent for a bit, kicking rocks at his feet. “I’ve been thinking about something,” he finally said. “What was in Drake’s bag? Must have been important, as mad as he was that his friend took it.”
Clara considered lying, but when she saw the way her son was looking at her, when she thought about their recent reconciliation, she couldn’t.
Isn’t his life in as much trouble as mine?
She took a deep breath. “There’s something you should know…” she began.
By the time she’d finished, Clara had told Tommy everything. She explained that Drake had intended to help them, but that plan was now in jeopardy.
“It isn’t fair,” Tommy spat angrily.
“You’ll find out that plenty in life isn’t,” Clara answered. “Sometimes, there isn’t anything you can do about it.”
“But he’s blackmailing you!”
“Eddie doesn’t see it that way,” she explained. “He’s in love with me and means to have me whether I want to be his wife or not.”
Tommy balled his fists in anger. Clara was reminded of Joe; he would often rail away against things he found unjust, furious at a newspaper article or a radio program. Life father, like son, she supposed. But just like then, when Joe complained about there not being enough jobs to go around, the price of a pound of flour, or even about Hitler’s march into Czechoslovakia, there was nothing that could be done. They were helpless.
“I’ve got an idea.”
Clara turned to look at Tommy; for a moment, she thought she’d misheard. “There’s nothing we can do now,” she told him. “The money’s gone.”
Her son shook his head. “If my idea worked, we wouldn’t need it.” From the look in Tommy’s eyes, Clara could see he believed what he was saying.
“It’s too late. We don’t have—”
“Just hear me out and then decide,” Tommy interrupted, his excitement showing. “Besides, what do we have to lose?”
Clara knew the answer: nothing. Amos’s thievery and death had placed their backs against the wall. At this point any idea, no matter how odd or impractical, should be considered. After all, they needed a miracle…
“All right,” she said. “Let’s go talk to Drake.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
EDDIE STOOD IN FRONT of the large picture window and frowned. It looked miserable outside, the sky full of clouds the color of dishwater. This time of year depressed him. It was always raining and the mornings were cold enough to hint at the winter to come. Occasionally, he fantasized about moving someplace warm, somewhere like Florida, though he knew he would never leave Sunset; this was his home, where he and Clara would raise their family. He was lost in those thoughts, drinking a cup of coffee, when the telephone rang. Surprised, he looked at the clock; it wasn’t even eight. Who could be calling at such an hour?
“Hello?” he asked tentatively.
“We need to talk.” Immediately, Eddie recognized the voice on the other end of the line. It was Drake McCoy. His hand tightened on the receiver.
“What can I do for you?” he said.
“Cut the crap,” McCoy replied. “You know why I’m calling.”
“You’ve come to a decision…”
There was a moment of silence. “I have,” the race car driver answered. “But that all depends on if your offer still stands.”
“It does. The same as before.”
“That’s not good enough anymore. I want double.”
Eddie nodded to himself; ever since the two men had met, he had been considering this possibility. “I already tried to give it to you.”
“Not double that,” McCoy said. “Twice the second amount.”
“Four times the original offer?” he blurted.
“If that’s too much…”
Eddie swallowed hard. He wasn’t against paying such a hefty amount—he would’ve given most everything he owned to have Clara—but he was surprised that the driver was being so greedy. McCoy had flaunted his principles when they first met; Eddie wondered if something had happened with Clara to change his mind.
“All right,” he eventually agreed. “Come down to the bank this afternoon and I’ll get you your money.”
“Not there.”
Eddie frowned. “Why not?”
“Because Clara’s working today, and even though I don’t expect you to understand, I don’t want to hurt her any more than necessary,” McCoy explained. “She doesn’t need to know what’s happened until I’m long gone.”
While Eddie would have enjoyed the triumphant feeling of watching Clara’s face collapse as the race car driver walked out of her life forever, a part of him admired McCoy for wanting to avoid a scene. “If not the bank, then where?”
“The hotel. I’ll be in the parlor at noon.”
Before Eddie could say anything else, the phone line went dead.
Picking up his coffee, he took a drink but then spat it back out; while he’d been talking to McCoy, it had gone cold. But rather than refill it from the pot, Eddie chose something stronger, something fit for a celebration. With a glass of bourbon, he went back to the window. Suddenly, things didn’t seem quite so gloomy. By the time night came, nothing would stand in the way of his life with Clara Sinclair.
She would be his, forever and always.
When Drake hung up the phone, Clara began to breathe again; the whole time she’d been in the kitchen, listening to his conversation with Eddie, her heart had raced.
“Do you think this is going to work?” she asked.
Drake nodded. “I do,” he answered, though she wondered if he wasn’t trying to convince himself as much as her.
Tommy’s plan had surprised them both with its ingenuity; listening to him as he spelled it all out, Clara had wondered if spending so much time with a delinquent like Naomi had rubbed off on him. After that, Drake had made suggestions and they had stayed up most of the night finalizing what they would do. None of them had slept more than an hour or two.
But now, with a phone call, the ball had started rolling.
“What if something goes wrong?” Clara pressed, unable to stop agonizing over it. “What if he realizes we’re up to something?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Drake answered. “Even if Eddie manages to sniff out our plan, then we’re back where we started, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Tommy’s right about one thing: we don’t have anything to lose.” Gently, he took her hand. “Just stick to what we talked about and it will all work out.” He smiled. “Trust me.”
Clara wrapped her arms around Drake’s waist and held tight. She pressed her head to his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart. Touching him like this, it was hard to believe all they had been through.
“I’m sorry about Amos,” she told him.
Ever since the crash, Drake hadn’t said a word about his friend, although it had been obvious he’d been thinking about the mechanic, wondering what had gone so wrong. All morning, his attention had wandered, no doubt replaying over and over again what they’d witnessed. After they’d decided on their plan to deal with Eddie, Drake had gone out onto the porch alone and sat on the steps, staring up at the cloudy sky. Clara imagined he was remembering races they’d run, conversations shared down country roads, laughs over beers; she’d watched from the window, but hadn’t joined him, and eventually he’d come back inside.
“Me, too,” he said. “But now isn’t the time for mourning.” Drake tipped her chin up until she was looking in his eyes. “What matters is you.”
Clara rose on her tiptoes to kiss him tenderly, their lips barely brushing; if this worked, they could have a more passionate celebration later.
“You need to get ready for work,” he told her.
She shook her head. “I can’t believe I have to spend the morning with Eddie, acting like I have no idea what’s going on.”
“It’s all part of the plan,” Drake said. “Besides, I need to get going. I have things to take care of before the meeting at the hotel.”
“Can I come with you?”
Both of them turned to see Tommy leaning against the doorway. There had been a time when Clara would’ve been horrified if her son found her standing in a man’s arms, but not now; with all they had talked about, she knew Tommy understood what they could lose, as well as what they wished to gain.
Drake nodded. “Sure,” he said. “I’d like that.”
Watching them back the truck down the driveway, Clara thought that no matter what, one way or the other, things were about to change.
Forever.
Clara stood on the porch, finishing a cup of coffee. A steady rain had begun to fall, drumming on the roof above her head. In the distance, a deep roll of thunder rumbled. The weather matched her mood.
After Drake and Tommy left, she’d taken a shower, gotten dressed, put on a touch of makeup, and tried to ready herself to go to the bank. She still couldn’t believe she was going to stand at her teller window, smile at customers, and pretend that she didn’t know what was about to happen. She knew Drake was right, understood that it was part of their plan, but it made her sick to her stomach nevertheless. But she would go through with it, for all their sakes.
