you? Like if we're married, I'll suddenly become this meek little wife who'll never cause you any grief? Surely, after all these years you know me better than that, don't you?"
He was silent for a moment, then he cleared his throat and said, "I didn't do this right, I know. Work has been hectic and we've both been too busy to really spend any time together this summer, and I thought I'd take you out to dinner, give you a little black velvet box…."
"Have you got the box?"
"What?"
"You heard me, bozo, you haven't got a little velvet box with a ring in it, do you? You just now thought of this brilliant plan. All of which means, this was completely off the top of your pointy li'l head."
I opened the door and got out. "She called me, Caleb! And I wouldn't marry you, Caleb Stone, if you had Rock Star printed on your forehead. If you were the last man on earth!"
I shouldn't have shouted—it was drawing attention away from the search for Miss Cook, but I was steemed. I slammed the door and flounced back to my Caddy. By the time I got the keys out and started it, I was shaking with rage.
Caleb reached in and put a restraining hand on the wheel. "Lalla. Don't leave like this."
I felt my heart sink. Our first fight, and I felt sick about it. I was close to crying, though I wasn't about to let him see it.
"I mean it, Lalla. Rodney's on his way, and he insists he be here to take your statement."
So, that was it? He wasn't here to beg my forgiveness for the faux pas he'd just committed? He was only trying to restrain the suspect should she try to escape?
"Get your damn hands off my steering wheel," I said, doing my best to sear him with the heat of my fury. "Admit it, Caleb, you were told to keep an eye on the little woman, weren't you?"
He flushed red under the deep tan. "Mad at me isn't going to work, Lalla. Come on now, turn off the engine."
"I'm not mad Caleb, I'm done. Detective Rodney knows where to find me." I punched the gas pedal and the car bucked into forward; then I remembered to release the brake, and hitting the gas, burned rubber for half a block before I thought to look into my rearview mirror.
My future coulda been, shoulda been, was standing in the middle of the street, arms crossed, feet spread—as if braced for the impact should I care to back up and run him over.
Chapter nine:
I took the freeway and cruised towards town while I sorted through what I knew was fact—as opposed to my hurt feelings. It didn't matter to Caleb that I'd been invited to Miss Cook's house for coffee and cookies. And who but Caleb would come up with a marriage proposal at a potential crime scene? What a doofus! Did he really think I was going to fall for that bit of subterfuge? I tried to contact him, didn't I? Was it my fault he didn't answer his phone? It would've been a nice, quiet chat with coffee and cookies if some crankster hadn't decided to call the police, identify my vintage red caddy and mention gun-fire. Where, oh where was Miss Cook? And, why did she feel the need to call and send me a letter, if she was only going to disappear before I got there? The chances that this was simply a coincidence of letter, phone call, and the police showing up all at the same time was beginning to look like another set-up.
I felt the nervous tension of my dust up with Caleb slowly seeping out until I was no longer angry, only puzzled about the whole episode. Sweeping aside my annoyed and disappointed feelings, I decided to do something that would give me some answers.
Exiting the freeway onto Kansas Street to 9th Street. I parked in front of Mr. Kim's Chinese Restaurant and thought about Mr. Kim's daughter, Grace. In high school, we quickly appraised each other's faux Goth look and decided what we both knew to be true: we were simply a couple of deeply inhibited loners. And thereafter, whenever we saw each other, we crossed to the opposite side of the street.
Ignoring warning signals now blinking like an unanswered message
He was silent for a moment, then he cleared his throat and said, "I didn't do this right, I know. Work has been hectic and we've both been too busy to really spend any time together this summer, and I thought I'd take you out to dinner, give you a little black velvet box…."
"Have you got the box?"
"What?"
"You heard me, bozo, you haven't got a little velvet box with a ring in it, do you? You just now thought of this brilliant plan. All of which means, this was completely off the top of your pointy li'l head."
I opened the door and got out. "She called me, Caleb! And I wouldn't marry you, Caleb Stone, if you had Rock Star printed on your forehead. If you were the last man on earth!"
I shouldn't have shouted—it was drawing attention away from the search for Miss Cook, but I was steemed. I slammed the door and flounced back to my Caddy. By the time I got the keys out and started it, I was shaking with rage.
Caleb reached in and put a restraining hand on the wheel. "Lalla. Don't leave like this."
I felt my heart sink. Our first fight, and I felt sick about it. I was close to crying, though I wasn't about to let him see it.
"I mean it, Lalla. Rodney's on his way, and he insists he be here to take your statement."
So, that was it? He wasn't here to beg my forgiveness for the faux pas he'd just committed? He was only trying to restrain the suspect should she try to escape?
"Get your damn hands off my steering wheel," I said, doing my best to sear him with the heat of my fury. "Admit it, Caleb, you were told to keep an eye on the little woman, weren't you?"
He flushed red under the deep tan. "Mad at me isn't going to work, Lalla. Come on now, turn off the engine."
"I'm not mad Caleb, I'm done. Detective Rodney knows where to find me." I punched the gas pedal and the car bucked into forward; then I remembered to release the brake, and hitting the gas, burned rubber for half a block before I thought to look into my rearview mirror.
My future coulda been, shoulda been, was standing in the middle of the street, arms crossed, feet spread—as if braced for the impact should I care to back up and run him over.
Chapter nine:
I took the freeway and cruised towards town while I sorted through what I knew was fact—as opposed to my hurt feelings. It didn't matter to Caleb that I'd been invited to Miss Cook's house for coffee and cookies. And who but Caleb would come up with a marriage proposal at a potential crime scene? What a doofus! Did he really think I was going to fall for that bit of subterfuge? I tried to contact him, didn't I? Was it my fault he didn't answer his phone? It would've been a nice, quiet chat with coffee and cookies if some crankster hadn't decided to call the police, identify my vintage red caddy and mention gun-fire. Where, oh where was Miss Cook? And, why did she feel the need to call and send me a letter, if she was only going to disappear before I got there? The chances that this was simply a coincidence of letter, phone call, and the police showing up all at the same time was beginning to look like another set-up.
I felt the nervous tension of my dust up with Caleb slowly seeping out until I was no longer angry, only puzzled about the whole episode. Sweeping aside my annoyed and disappointed feelings, I decided to do something that would give me some answers.
Exiting the freeway onto Kansas Street to 9th Street. I parked in front of Mr. Kim's Chinese Restaurant and thought about Mr. Kim's daughter, Grace. In high school, we quickly appraised each other's faux Goth look and decided what we both knew to be true: we were simply a couple of deeply inhibited loners. And thereafter, whenever we saw each other, we crossed to the opposite side of the street.
Ignoring warning signals now blinking like an unanswered message
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