Are You Haunted (part seven)

Are You Haunted

(part seven)

It was foolish, and dangerous, maybe, to hide. Guy had the girl…and she’d shut him up, whatever she said back when he raised his voice to her. She didn’t look to Powell like she cared whether Guy tried to run her off.

He made an easier target…no place to stay, no employment, and why?

Because he shucked the work he was given.

“There’s Mr. Kenzie. Takin a nap in that shed, must of been. I want you both in the car.”

Powell studied the dust his fingertips gathered from the windowsill. Their booth was Isobel’s choice, where they could see the street. The café’s interior looked last-century old, its surfaces waxed and scrubbed hard, the booth’s varnish brittled.

He could not touch the back without flakes chipping loose. Pendant lights ran in working-bulb, burnt-out bulb order, down the center aisle. The window blind sat crooked, flies piling at the corner.

The tiny bodies, so arranged, teased at his mind. He made himself listen to Isobel.

“Dennis Tovey, I ought to tell you.”

“Who.”

“My husband.”

The Crown got cleaned, it seemed, from the lunch counter outwards. Would they take a little help, change a few days’ sweeping and window-washing into a couple meals? He had planned on wandering the main drag, panhandling, stopping at the Wesleyan Chapel basement.

Isobel had grabbed his arm. He had stood too long leaving Guy’s Ford, looking for a place just like the Crown Café, where his lone nickel might buy coffee. The Big Chief tapped the horn, shot Isobel a glance. “Son, you got plenty time to catch the noon bus out of town.”

“C’mon. We’ll eat, and maybe take a drive. Does that sound like fun?”

To this idiot? But Isobel Gilshannon’s clothes were clean, she was better class than himself, and her pity held a certain enchantment for Powell.

He heard the door sign jangle and bang. Dennis Tovey was what Powell’s mother called a banty little man, short and wiry, black hair pomaded tight to his head.

He bowed, pouched his eyes and peered under a placemat, imitating Charlie Chan. “I see no food on table.” He pushed in beside Isobel. “Who’s this bum, by the way?”

“We’ve only been here a minute. Did you get the car?”

Tovey sprang up, crossed to slap his hand on the counter. “Hey, folks! Service out here.”

Powell whispered, “They don’t start lunch til eleven. That’s what the sign says.”

It was around ten thirty.

“Dennis,” Isobel whispered back, “has been to see Mrs. Drybrook.”

A waitress followed Tovey. “Three of you?”

“Thanks, I can’t.”

Isobel’s hand covered Powell’s. “Never mind. I was telling you, wasn’t I? Dennis will have some money.”

7

Haunted
Are You Haunted (part eight)

(2019, Stephanie Foster)