Outfoxed

CHAPTER 30

Along with the steady rain, charcoal clouds obscured the mountains, pressing down into the dark green pastures. The tops of ancient oaks, walnuts, and hickories were tangled in the low clouds. Overtop the rivers and creeks the mists hung thick but there the color was bright silver. Occasionally a patch of clearness would appear and the flash of red maple or orange oak was startling.

As Fontaine turned back toward town, his silver Jaguar, swallowed in the rain and mist, was almost invisible save for his headlights. He laughed to himself as he passed Crawford Howard on his way to Sister Jane’s. Crawford’s Mercedes, a metallic deep red, would be hard to miss even in the thickest fog. Crawford, hands gripping the wheel, eyes intent on his side of the road, neither waved nor acknowledged Fontaine, a breach of manners in the country.

Fontaine laughed to himself as he pulled over to the one-story white store at the crossroads. Low-pressure systems made him sleepy. If he ate chocolate or something loaded with sugar, he could usually keep from nodding out.

ROGER’S CORNER, a long rectangular sign proclaimed on top of the roof. Two lights aimed at the sign illuminated the rain and clouds more than the sign.

Fontaine liked Roger’s Corner, especially the worn wooden floors, the ornate black-and-gold cash register.

“Hey, bro,” Roger, amiable, called out from behind the counter. “Cuts to the bone, don’t it?”

“Makes me tired.” Fontaine scooped up Moon Pies, Yankee Doodles, and a small round coffee cake. “Your coffee potable today or do I need a sledgehammer to break it up?”

“Ha ha,” Roger dryly replied as he poured him a cup of strong, good coffee, not café au lait or anything fancy, just wake-you-up coffee.

Roger had inherited the store from Roger Senior. Both were attractive men, lean and long-jawed.

Fontaine drank the coffee as he leaned against the counter. The cellophane wrapper on the coffee cake crinkled as Fontaine opened it. “Every time I go to New York City I buy these coffee cakes made by Drake’s. Can’t get them down here. I mean these are okay but those little Drake’s things are the best. I love the crumbs on top.”

“Never been there.”

“Gotta go, buddy, gotta go.”

“If Yankees will stay on their side of the Mason-Dixon line, I’ll stay on mine,” Roger joked.

“There is that. Hey, Cody been by here?”

“No. Thought she was in rehab. Betty stopped by last week. Told me. Both kids.” He shook his head, for it was too confusing.

“People are gonna do what they’re gonna do.” He polished off the coffee cake. “Maybe those places give folks some understanding.” He beamed. “If it feels good, they’ll do it again.”

“That’s just it, though, isn’t it? Feels good when you’re doing it and feels bad when you’re not.”

“Life’s just one big hangover.” He held out his cup for a refill.

“Had a few of those.” Roger laughed.

“Coming to opening hunt?”

Roger, a foot follower, enthusiastically said, “Best breakfast of the year.”

“Muffin hound.”

“I do my share of running. Tell you who did blow through here . . . Crawford. Not twenty minutes ago. He asked me what my annual take was.” Roger laughed. “I said, ‘Why do you want to know?’ and he said, ‘I’d like to buy this place.’ I don’t know what to make of that guy.”

“Would you sell it?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Man’s gotta work at something.”

“If he gives you a fair price, you can work at something else. But that man’s a snake.”

“You know, he might be.” Roger, like a bartender, tried to stay out of other people’s disagreements and personality clashes. “When I first met him I thought he couldn’t pull piss out of a boot if the directions were on the heel. I was wrong. He’s smart enough but he’s not—what am I trying to say?”

“No practical knowledge. Couldn’t start up a chain saw if his life depended on it.”

“Kinda.”

The small pile of cellophane, white wrappers, and napkins diverted Fontaine’s attention. “Did I eat all that?”

“Yep.”

He sighed. “Better go straight to the gym. See you, bud.”

However, he didn’t head for the gym. He headed for Cody’s place, taking the precaution of parking his car behind old holly bushes.

He knocked on the door, rain funneling off his cowboy hat like a downspout.

Hairbrush in hand, she opened the door. “Fontaine, what are you doing here?”

He stepped inside. “You look as wet as I do.”

A towel wrapped around her head looked like a fuzzy turban. Her white bathrobe was worn thin at the elbows.

“I’ve got an appointment.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Fontaine didn’t unzip his raincoat.

“I needed time to think.”

“I thought that’s what you were doing in rehab.”

“I did. I needed time to think in my own place.” She stuffed her hairbrush in her pocket. “I need to change a lot of things, break a lot of habits.” She took a deep breath. “I can’t see you anymore. I guess this is as good a time as any to end it.”

“Why don’t you settle back in before you make sweeping decisions,” he smoothly replied, his voice pleasant, seductive.

“I need to be clear. Look, you’ll always have a mistress somewhere. It’s your nature. For all I know you’ve got two or three stashed in Richmond or Washington. I don’t know. You’re a player.”

“Only you,” he lied.

While he chased skirts with a kind of predictable boredom, he liked Cody. He liked any woman that could ride well, hold her liquor, and make love with abandon.

“I can’t do it.” Her lips compressed.

“Anyone else?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Yeah,” he said sarcastically.

“One other thing, Fontaine, and I mean this. You stay away from my sister.”

His eyes opened; he took a half step back involuntarily. “I resent that.”

“I know you.”

“Nobody knows anybody.” He turned on his heel and left, far more upset than he imagined he would be.

Cody locked the door behind him, sat on the edge of the twin bed that served as a sofa, pushed against the wall, embroidered pillows everywhere. Love didn’t enter into this decision. She’d never loved Fontaine. He was fun, spent money like water. His approach to life was “Do it now.” There was a kind of wisdom to that, since you only have the moment you’re in, but Fontaine never gave much thought to the future. Again, that was part of his charm.

Cody was realizing she had to think a great deal about her future. She’d seen too many human shipwrecks at forty and fifty and sixty in rehab. Seeing and hearing the old druggies and drunks knocked sense into her head far more than the counseling sessions with the doctors.

She had to get some training, find a decent job, and forget going out at night to the bars until she could handle it—or maybe forever. What was there about the soft wash of neon light over a polished bar that made her reach for a vodka martini or sneak into the back for a toot? Night seemed to absolve her of tomorrow but then tomorrow would come. Wasted, the sunrise rarely gave her hope. A panic would set in. She’d snort another line until there wasn’t anything left except the shakes and a black hole into which she’d tumble.

She wasn’t going down that rabbit hole again.

Tears ran down her face. She knew better than to take up with Fontaine in the first place. She thought she could forget Doug. She did for a while. Maybe she’d treated him badly last spring before he got fed up with her boozing and coking. That way she felt in control. Junk him before he’d junk her.

She’d thought a lot about him in rehab, too. She dreaded the apologies she needed to make. She knew her mother and father would forgive her. She knew Doug would forgive her, too. In his way, he already had but she had to sit down, face-to-face, and truly apologize. She thought after opening hunt she might have the courage.

She rubbed her hair with the towel, tossed it toward the bathroom, shook her head. She brushed out her long sable hair.

“Hell.” She reached for the phone, dialing Doug’s number. The answering machine came on. “Doug, I bet you’re at the stable. I know this is an intense week. Why don’t I take you to dinner after opening hunt? Bye.”