As I watched him go, I wondered again about the surprise he mentioned. What would I say if he pulled a small box from his pocket the next time we were together? How would I respond? For a moment, I tried to envision it, to create a scenario in which I could make both of us happy. But we’d only been together for six months.
With a weary sigh, I slipped off the counsel table. I really did need to hit the john. I didn’t have time to plot out the rest of my life, but it didn’t really matter. Because when the time came, I knew just what I’d do.
Follow my gut.
Chapter 54
AT FIVE THIRTY on Tuesday evening, I locked up the office and headed to my car. Cary Reynolds was waiting for me at his used-car lot in Vicksburg.
And my used car was waiting for me on the town square. As I approached my old Nissan, something looked off: the rear passenger tire was low. Too low to ignore.
Crouching on the pavement, I prodded it with a finger, thinking. It would be reckless to drive on the highway with a tire in that condition. I couldn’t take a chance on being stranded in Vicksburg; I had to be in court at nine the next morning.
Fortunately, I had a friend in the business of car maintenance. I made a quick call, and ten minutes later I pulled into Roy’s shop. Oscar Summers stood beside the gas pumps, waiting for me.
He beamed as I emerged from the car. Extending a calloused hand, he said, “Ruby, I’m glad to see you. Darrien’s always asking after you.”
I squeezed his hand and gave him a quick hug, breathing in his workingman’s scent of motor oil. “How’s Darrien doing? Is he all settled in at Ole Miss?”
“Yes, ma’am. I talked to him on Sunday. Sounds mighty happy. He’s in a criminal procedure class. Says he raises his hand so much, he’s afraid he’s wearing the teacher out.”
I smiled; Oscar’s good spirits were contagious. “Darrien’s going to set the bar over there, Oscar.”
His eyes misted. “You tell Miss Greene how much we appreciate her getting that foundation scholarship for him.”
“Yes, sir, I will.”
Turning to the car, Oscar squatted on his haunches beside my back tire. He frowned at it. “I don’t like the looks of this, Ruby.”
I didn’t much like it either. I watched with trepidation as Oscar stood and prowled around my vehicle, inspecting all four tires with a deepening scowl.
“What’s the verdict, Oscar?”
He shook his head. “Ruby, you’ve got four bald tires. I can see the radials.”
I could feel a lecture coming on, and I didn’t have the time to hear it. “Can you patch the back tire up for me? So I can get going?”
“You need a new set.”
“Yes, but Oscar, I’ve got someplace I gotta be. Can you patch it? Please?”
He gave me a stern look. “I’ll give it a temporary plug, but it’s only a Band-Aid. Are you just driving it around town?”
A convenient lie almost spilled out, but something about Oscar’s grave face made me swallow it. “I’ve got to drive to Vicksburg tonight. To see a witness.”
He slid into the driver’s seat. “This won’t take long. Wait inside the station. Tell Roy to give you a bottle of pop.”
Inside the station, I found an extensive selection of tobacco products for sale—including nicotine gum. By the time my car was ready, I was chewing a wad of Nicorette, riding a nicotine high. So much for my resolution.
When Oscar pulled my Nissan out of the body shop, I ran to meet him.
“What do I owe you?”
“Nothing, no charge. Don’t even ask.”
I didn’t dare argue. As I slipped behind the wheel, I said, “Oscar, you’re a lifesaver. Looks like my old car is going to make it to Cary’s Used Cars and Trux.”
Oscar’s eyes pinned me. Though I tried to shut the driver’s door, he held it open with an iron grip. “What’s that you say?”
“I’m meeting Cary Reynolds. He’s in the car business; do you know him?”
He began to speak, then stopped mid-sentence, as if choosing his words carefully. But he just shut the car door and bent to look through the window.
“Be careful,” he said.
Chapter 55
THE OCTOBER SUN was setting as I reached the Vicksburg city limits.
I followed the GPS route, but when the directions led me to Cary Reynolds’s business—Cary’s Used Cars & Trux—I worried that, in spite of Reynolds’s assurances to me over the phone, it might not be open. Though twilight approached, his sign wasn’t lit.
The only structure on the car lot was a converted mobile home with a sign above the door identifying it as the office. The businesses nearby were run-down: a payday loan operation to the left, a pawnshop on the right that had bars on its windows, as did Cary’s office. Seemed like a dicey neighborhood. I remembered Oscar’s warning.
I stepped out of my vehicle and took a look around. Though the lot itself was trashy, Cary had some fancy cars parked near the office. A Mercedes convertible, a Jaguar, a Hummer. From the condition of the lot, I would have expected Cary’s inventory to be broken-down junkers.
As I approached the office, I saw the shadowy figure of a man in uniform in the parking lot. I called out: “Hey! Is Cary inside?”
The uniformed man didn’t turn around to answer but sidled around the side of the building, out of view.
Fortunately, the office door opened when I turned the knob. The office was lit by a single lamp overhanging a desk where a man sat with his cowboy boots propped up on the desktop. He looked up. “Yeah?”
“Mr. Reynolds?”
“That’s me.”
I extended my right hand. “So nice to finally meet in person. I’m Ruby Bozarth.”
He set his boots on the floor and rose to meet my handshake. Like the high-end merchandise on the lot, Cary Reynolds was flashy. Tinted blond hair spiked with gel, a spray-tanned face, fancy alligator boots. Once I’d identified myself, he was all smiles.
“Now, don’t you be calling me Mr. Reynolds; that’s my daddy. You just call me Cary.” He pulled a white plastic patio chair away from the wall and placed it in front of the metal desk. “Please sit on down, Ruby.”
As I pulled out a legal pad, I said, “I thought I saw a cop on the lot when I pulled in. Is everything okay?”
He spoke in a confiding tone. “I hire a security guard to keep an eye on the cars at night. Don’t want anyone taking a joyride.”
Considering the neighborhood, his security measures made sense—but I didn’t want to offend by saying so. I balanced my pad of paper on my knees and said, “Cary, I need for you to tell me everything you remember about the evening when you and Lee were together in Vicksburg.”
“Haven’t we gone through all this before?”
“I know,” I said. I crossed my legs, trying to get comfortable in the patio chair. “But I need to be fresh on all the details.”
He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and propped the boots on the desk again. “All right, then. All right all right all right.” He winked. “Matthew McConaughey.”
He seemed to be waiting for me to say something, so I obliged. “Love him.”
“Yeah, Matt’s cool. But about Lee—me and Lee were buddies at Ole Miss, frat brothers.”
“And had you remained in touch?”
“Oh, not that much. He’s busy, I’m busy. But I followed him on social media. He does a lot of Facebook and Instagram.”
I kept a poker face. Lee Greene loved nothing better than posting selfies.
“So I knew Lee was coming to Vicksburg on business. I got in touch, said let me show you my town. We’ll knock back some drinks, get dinner. For old times’ sake.”
I’d been scrawling down his answers, but I looked up and said, “Lee told me that your meeting was about business.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah. Lee said you wanted to hire him to do a start-up, to make your business a corporation, and that you wanted to talk about hiring him to file the paperwork and explain all the government regulations.” I needed to make certain that their versions of events were consistent.