"Well, hurry up," Darlene said as she left. "Karaoke starts in five minutes."
Gee, I can hardly wait.
"He's here," Michelle said, before the bathroom door had even swung shut. "You have to go."
"Who's here?" I turned to face her, doing my best to control a shudder of distaste. Michelle looked different every time I saw her, but this time was definitely the worst.
She looked…well…dead. Really dead. As in several days dead.
"When I saw him, I remembered," Michelle said, twisting her hands together nervously. The memory obviously upset her. "He followed me from the restaurant after the fight I had with Debbie—he must've seen me in the parking lot or something. I should never have pulled over."
"Who followed you?"
Michelle kept glancing toward the door as if she was afraid whoever she was talking about was going to walk in any minute.
"Randy. It was Randy—he was waving and flashing his lights—I thought there was something wrong. When I pulled over he got out of his car and told me my rear tire was almost flat. Offered to fix it for me." Michelle was shaking now, very agitated. "I was so stupid; I should've known better than to trust him. I thought since he was a friend of Dale's it'd be okay."
The bathroom door swung open to the sound of giggles and the blare of country music. Three women I didn't know spilled into the room, laughing at something someone had just said.
"Ew," said one. "It smells like somebody died in here."
"Yeah," said one of the others, wrinkling her nose, "and watch out—there's a puddle of water on the floor. Don't they ever clean this place?"
Michelle's face twisted, and she started crying, tears lost on her already wet cheeks. She faded away to nothing as I watched, powerless to say or do anything to stop her.
"You two go ahead," said the third girl, stepping gingerly toward the sink. There were only two stalls in the ladies room, and not much room at the sink, either.
Since I didn't feel like standing there like an idiot, I snatched up my purse and left the bathroom.
"Fire on the mountain; run, boys, run; the devil's in the house of the rising sun." Charlie Daniels singing about how the devil came down to Georgia sounded weirdly appropriate at the moment, and the urgency of the song fit my mood.
I needed to get the hell out of the Long Branch Saloon, for more reasons than I cared to think about.
Unfortunately for me, Debbie and her sisters had other ideas. I had to sit through an excruciating round of karaoke music, which included a very tipsy Debbie mangling Madonna's "Like A Virgin," and a tone-deaf Diane singing "Hey, Good-Lookin'" to the guys playing pool.
Luckily, Randy and Dale were nowhere to be seen, and I could only assume they'd moved on to do their drinking elsewhere. The whole time my ears were being assaulted, my brain was working—how could I accuse some guy I just met of murdering somebody? Where was Michelle's body? Where was my proof?
Darlene did a passable version of Shania Twain's "I Feel Like A Woman," but by the time Gina got up to sing "I Will Survive," I'd had enough, and pulled the old fake phone call routine, scrabbling in my purse for a phone that wasn't ringing.
"Hello?" I put a finger in my ear like I was having trouble hearing the person on the other end. "The store alarm?" I glanced at my watch, pretending to care what time it was. "No, it's after closing. Nobody should be there at this hour. Okay, Evan, I'll meet you there." Darlene gave me a sour look across the table, which told me she wasn't buying it, but Debbie was working on her fifth beer and singing along with Gina, so she wasn't paying attention anyway.
"That was my partner, Evan," I said to Darlene. "There's an emergency at the store. I gotta go."
Darlene merely shrugged and took another sip of beer, but as soon as I stood up, Debbie grabbed my arm. "Where ya goin', Nicki?" Her voice was definitely slurred, but her face was flushed and happy. "The party's just getting started."
I looked down at her, knowing why her friend Michelle wanted me to keep quiet until after the wedding, but not liking it. Still, I knew she was right—Debbie deserved to have a little fun before she married Dale and gave birth to a litter of little rednecks.
And there was no saving Michelle, because what happened to her had already happened.
"I'm sorry, Debbie, but the alarm's going off at the store. I have to go."
She looked disappointed, but a wild whoop from the direction of the stage distracted her long enough not to argue. Instead, she rose to her feet and threw her arms around my neck in a farewell hug. "Bye! See you at the church on Saturday!"
"Hoo-ee," somebody shouted, "girl-on-girl action! When's the wet t-shirt contest?"
"In your dreams, buddy," I muttered, returning Debbie's overenthusiastic squeeze. Then I waved a good-bye to the rest of my cousins and headed toward the door.
Chapter 4
The parking lot was full, and so was the moon. It hung low in the sky, reminding me that the evening was still young. If I drove fast, Joe and I would have plenty of time to rustle up some real fun when I got home.
I'd just slid my key into the door of my car when I heard a man's voice say, "Mmm, mmm, mmm."
I whirled, gasping, and saw a shadow disengage itself from a pickup truck parked nearby.
"You are one fine-lookin' woman." The shadow raised a hand, and I saw it was clutching a bottle—too big to be a beer bottle. "Ready for that drink yet?"
The man took a step forward, while I shrank closer to my car. The moonlight gleamed on a big, shiny belt buckle.
Randy.
I took refuge in bravado, though my heart was pounding so hard I was afraid he'd hear it. "What the hell are you doing out here? You scared me shitless!"
"I've been waiting for you, baby." Randy took another step toward me. "No need to play hard to get—ain't nobody here to see. Just you and me and the moon." Waving the bottle toward the sky, Randy threw back his head and howled drunkenly, like the beast he was.
If Michelle was telling the truth—and I had no reason to believe she wasn't—this guy was a murderer. And he was here, alone with me, in a dark parking lot.
"You're drunk," I said flatly. "Leave me alone."
"Hell, yeah, I'm drunk," he said, grinning widely. "Drunk on loooove, baby. Don't you feel it?"
I fumbled with my car keys, twisting then pulling as I tugged on the door handle.
Randy came up behind me so fast I couldn't avoid him. In two seconds he had me pushed up against the car, his body pressed hard against me, pinning me in place. "I said, don't you feel it?"
Problem was, I did. His erection pressed against my hip, frightening me more than I cared to admit.
Without thinking, I elbowed him, hard.
His breath left him with a whoosh, drowning me in the sour smell of whisky. He stumbled back, but not far enough. There was a sloshy thud as the bottle he'd been holding hit the ground.
I barely managed to get the car door cracked open before he slammed me against it again.
"Oh, you're gonna pay for that, bitch." His breath made me want to retch, and this time he wrapped his arms around me, tight. "Think you're too good for old Randy, don'tcha?"
I squirmed and twisted, trying to break free, but I had no room to maneuver. One short squeal was all I managed before Randy's hand clamped over my mouth. The scent of oil and gasoline rose from his skin.
"Uh, uh, uh," he said, breath rasping in my ear. "You city bitches are all alike." Then he laughed, and my blood ran cold. "But you're all the same under them fancy panties."
"Let her go!" Another man's voice, saying words I'd never been so glad to hear in my entire life.