“No, not even a Coke,” she said, forlornly remembering the brown-eyed man who hadn’t made it back to her in time. She was so thirsty, starting a brawl was almost as much exertion as dancing.
He braced one arm on the top of the open door and the other on car’s roof, leaning down to study her in the glare of the dome light. “You’ve been sandbagging,” he finally said, his eyes narrowed again. He seemed to be studying the open collar of her shirt. “Hiding under those god-awful granny clothes you usually wear.”
Even the chief of police had noticed how unstylish her clothes were, Daisy thought. How humiliating. “I’m turning over a new leaf,” she explained.
He grunted and straightened, stepping back so she could close the door. She started the car, hesitated, then lowered the window. “Thank you for getting me out of there,” she said.
“It seemed the smart thing to do. The way you were going, that poor guy was looking at dismemberment.” He lifted his head, listening intently. “I think I hear sirens. Go home before the deputies get here.”
Still she hesitated. “What about you?”
“I’ll help them sort things out.”
That’s right; he didn’t have to worry about being arrested. She started to ask him to keep quiet about her being there, but realized she had just as much right to go to a nightclub as he did. Besides, maybe she wanted people to know she’d been at the Buffalo Club. That would certainly change the way people saw her. She wanted men to think of her as approachable and available, and just improving her appearance wouldn’t accomplish that.
“Will I have to give a statement?” she asked.
Exasperated, he snapped, “Not unless you keep hanging around. Now get your ass out of here while you still can.”
Well! Without another word, Daisy stomped on the gas pedal, slinging gravel and making her tires squall as she fishtailed out of the parking lot. Startled, she fought the steering wheel for a panicked moment before she remembered to take her foot off the gas. The tires stopped squalling as they gripped the road, and much more sedately, she continued down the road. She had never made her tires squall before in her life. Oh, my goodness, what if the chief had been hit by some of the gravel? She started to go back and apologize, but flashing lights appeared in her rearview mirror and she decided it would be best to get her ass out of there, just as he had said.
NINE
It wasn’t everyone who could go out for a night of honky-tonking, dance until she was ready to drop, start a brawl, and be home by nine o’clock, Daisy told herself the next morning. So the night hadn’t been an unqualified success; the first part of it had been very successful. What’s more, she’d had fun and she was going to do it again. Not the brawl part—at least, she hoped not—but definitely the dancing and attracting men part.
After church, where she endured the blatant curiosity of all her fellow churchgoers—people who should have known better than to stare at someone—she ate a quick lunch and changed into one of her new pairs of jeans, intending to drive over to Lassiter Avenue to see how Buck Latham had progressed on painting her house. Now that she was well and truly launched on her new path, she was eager to move out on her own. As she walked out on the porch with her purse and car keys in hand, however, a white Crown Victoria pulled to the curb in front of the house.
Her heart sank as she watched Chief Russo unfold his big frame from the driver’s seat. She had glossed over the previous night’s episode to her mother, thinking it best not to let on that she’d smashed a man’s testicles. She suspected Chief Russo was here to spill the beans and read her the riot act, as if he had any room to talk, because he certainly hadn’t been at the Buffalo Club in any official capacity. He’d been out trolling, the same as she, but at least her intentions were honorable.
He was dressed in jeans, too, and a black T-shirt that clung to his broad, sloping shoulders. He looked more like a weight lifter than ever, she thought with a sniff. Remembering how easily, with one arm, he had carried her out of the Buffalo Club last night, she knew she had accurately pegged him.
“Going somewhere?” he asked, standing on their short, flower-lined sidewalk and looking up at her as she stood on the shady porch.
“Yes,” she said baldly. Good manners dictated she should say something like, Oh, I was just going to run to the supermarket for a minute, but that can wait. Why don’t you come in and have coffee? She limited her reply to that one word. There was just something about him that made her forget her raising.
“Aren’t you going to ask me in?” he asked, eyes glinting in a way that said he was more amused than put out.
“No.”
He jerked his head toward the car. “Then come for a ride with me. I don’t think you want to have this discussion outside where all your neighbors can listen in.”
Her heart lurched. “Oh, my God, are you taking me downtown?” She hurried down the steps as a horrible thought occurred to her. “That man last night—he didn’t die, did he? It was an accident! And even if he did, wouldn’t that be justifiable homicide?”
He scrubbed a hand down his face, and she stared suspiciously at him. It looked as if he’d been hiding a grin. For goodness’ sake, this was nothing to laugh about!
“As far as I know, your boyfriend is all right; probably sore and walking a little funny, but alive.”
She blew out a big breath. “Well, that’s a relief. Then why are you taking me downtown?”
He did that face-rubbing thing again. No doubt about it, this time: he was laughing at her. Well!