Deadline. Metsy Hingle

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СКАЧАТЬ fresh-faced young man who’d waited on her had come out from behind the counter. Although the boy was only of average height, he was built like a football player and had placed himself between the disheveled-looking guy and her.

      Tess didn’t feel in any real danger and didn’t know what to make of the man’s outburst. She’d watched him exit the beat-up pickup truck that nearly hit her when she’d exited the interstate. When she’d spotted him at the back of the store eyeing the beer in the cooler she decided not to bother confronting him. Last year she had done a feature for the news station on alcoholism and the senior citizen. So she recognized the signs. The unsteady hands, the restlessness, the total focus on that next drink. She knew from her interviews that the urge for a drink was a daily battle, one that never went away. Judging by the man’s demeanor, she assumed that he had been struck by that urge tonight. And given his appearance, she’d concluded that he’d either just come off a drinking binge or was about to start one.

      Seeing him up close now only reaffirmed her suspicions. The stench of beer and perspiration on him was strong. He was dressed in a set of standard garage-issue workman’s clothes that she suspected had once been navy, but were now faded with wear, axle grease and sweat. The beer he’d spilled left a new set of stains to compete with the engine grime on his clothes. His black work boots were scuffed and dull, stained with what she assumed was engine oil. The man’s hair was mostly gray and looked as if it hadn’t been shampooed or combed in days. His face was thin, his lips chapped, his skin pasty. Surprisingly, his teeth were white. Several days’ growth of salt-and-pepper whiskers covered a weak chin line and a jaw that had gone soft. But it was the man’s bloodshot brown eyes that surprised her most. She’d expected to see despair, hopelessness, maybe even regret. Instead, what she saw was fear.

      “I mean it. I don’t know why you come back, but you stay away from me,” the man yelled at her. “Stay away,” he shouted again, staggering backward as though terrified, until he crashed into a display of two-liter sodas. The plastic bottles went tumbling to the ground.

      “Look out,” the clerk warned and grabbed the man by the arm to stop him from falling to the floor.

      One of the two-liter bottles came barreling toward her like a bowling pin hit by a ball and Tess jumped, dropping her purse and keys in the process.

      “Are you all right, ma’am?” the boy asked, glancing back in her direction.

      “I’m fine,” Tess assured him as she stooped down and retrieved her purse and keys. She still didn’t know what to make of the man’s reaction to her. Was it possible that he thought she was her mother? From old family pictures Tess knew that she resembled her mother. She had the same almond-shaped gray eyes, the same strong cheekbones and pointed jaw. But she had her father’s straight dark hair, not her mother’s honey-blond curls. And her lips were fuller, her nose a shade longer. Still she supposed it was possible that the man had mistaken her for her mother.

      “You okay now, Mr. Lester?” the clerk asked, having turned his attention back to the older man he was holding upright.

      But Lester didn’t respond. He simply continued to stare at her face through dark, terror-filled eyes.

      “Mr. Lester?” the boy repeated. “Are you all right?”

      Finally, he jerked his gaze back to the young man. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Let go of me,” he said, shrugging off the boy’s hold.

      “You don’t look okay to me,” the young man insisted. “You want me to call Doc Howell for you?”

      “I said I’m okay, you little twerp,” Lester spat out. He looked around as though only now realizing the mess he had made. “I didn’t mean to knock over the sodas.”

      “Don’t worry about it,” the clerk told him. “Maybe you should just go on home now.”

      “I need to get my beer first,” Lester told him and, stooping down, he began gathering up the fallen beer cans.

      “Maybe you should just forget about that beer,” the boy said.

      Lester glared up at the young man from his position on the floor, where he had three cans of beer gathered against his chest. “I ain’t leaving here without my beer.”

      The young man hesitated. He looked over at Tess for a second as though he was unsure whether or not to challenge Lester. Tess shook her head, not wanting the younger man to get into a situation with someone who didn’t seem stable.

      “I tell you what,” the boy said as he picked up the bag of chips. “I need to clean up that beer that spilled and pick up those drink bottles before somebody comes in here and slips and hurts themselves. So why don’t you just take your beer and chips and go on home now. You can pay for them the next time you come in the store.”

      “Suit yourself.” Lester grabbed the bag of chips from him, hugged them to his chest with the beer, then scrambled toward the exit. When he reached the door, he paused and looked over at her once more, holding her gaze for long seconds.

      And there it was again, Tess thought. The terror. The man was terrified of her.

      Then he shoved through the door, sending the overhead bells clanging in the silence as he disappeared outside into the night.

      “I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know what got into old Lester tonight. He drinks some, but he’s usually harmless. That’s the first time I ever saw him get all crazy like that. I guess he’d had one too many for him to go off on you like that.”

      “Don’t worry about it. There was no harm done,” Tess assured him. She picked up the plastic bottle that had fallen closest to her. Walking over, she handed it to the young man who was restacking the soda display.

      “Thanks,” he said.

      “Just out of curiosity, who is he?”

      “His name’s Lester De Roach. He works off and on as a mechanic at a garage in town. According to my grandpa, Lester really knows his way around a car’s engine when he isn’t drinking.” The young man, who had continued to restructure the display of bottles, paused and scratched his head, ruffling the thick brown hair. “Funny thing is, I didn’t think he was drunk when he came in here. I mean, he looked like he was hungover, but not drunk. Otherwise, I would have sent him on his way and not let him get anywhere near the beer case.”

      Sure, he had smelled of beer, but when he’d looked at her, his eyes had been as clear as glass—not dulled by the effects of alcohol. No, for some reason, she had spooked him. And the only thing she could think of was that he had thought she was her mother—Melanie Burns. She could understand his being shocked, even a little frightened at the prospect of seeing someone he thought was dead. But terrified? It didn’t make sense. “He seemed more scared than drunk to me,” she told him.

      “He did, didn’t he?”

      “Either way, I’m not sure he should be behind the wheel of a vehicle. You might want to alert the local police that his driving might be impaired. I would hate to see him cause an accident.” Like the one she’d almost had with him, she added silently.

      “It’s sheriff in these parts, ma’am,” he corrected. “And I’ll give him a call. Sorry again about him carrying on like that.”

      “As I said, no harm done.”

      “Thanks for being so understanding,” СКАЧАТЬ