Secrets in the Sand by Carolyn Brown

            The Jaguar took another sharp turn and sped down the road past a café on one side and a beer hall on the other. Then suddenly it stopped in front of him so fast that he almost slammed into the rear bumper. Before he could collect his wits, Angel had the door jerked open and was standing with her left hand on her hip, an angry look in her eye and a pistol in her right hand pointed right at his nose.

            “Why in the hell are you following me?” she demanded, then realized who was behind the wheel. “Clancy? What in the hell are you following me for?”

            “Well, I…I just…” he stammered. “Put that damn gun down, Angela. I’m not here to hurt you.”

            She lowered the weapon. “Just why the hell are you here?”

            “I just wanted to know where you lived. I asked around and no one knew,” he said honestly.

            “Oh, and why were you asking about me?”

            “Got a problem here, Miss Conrad?” A middle-aged policeman opened the door of the café.

            “Nope. I thought I did, but it turns out I know this man,” she told him.

            “Sure?” the policeman asked cautiously as he noticed the gun still in her hand.

            “Yes, I’m sure,” she said. “He’s an old classmate of mine. I’m fine, Bruce. Thanks for checking on me.”

            “Okay. I know you have a permit for that gun. But be careful who you point it at. If he really is an old classmate, I don’t know why you have it out of your purse,” the officer warned. He got into his black-and-white patrol car and drove away.

            “We need to talk,” Clancy demanded.

            “Oh, really?” Angel growled at him. “Well, darlin’, I wanted to talk about our future ten years ago. But you only gave me some unsolicited advice about marrying Billy Joe. So, what gives you the right to expect answers now?” Her hands shook so badly, she nearly dropped her pearl-handled .22 pistol. She couldn’t decide whether she wanted to kill him…or kiss him.

            “Maybe I don’t have any right to talk to you at all,” Clancy said. “I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want. I just wanted to satisfy my curiosity, I guess. I waited in the parking lot at that honky-tonk up in Davis and followed you. Do you work for that oil company or something?”

            “It’s none of your damned business where I work or what I do, and that’s called stalking. Go home to your small town, Clancy. I’m not a naive little girl anymore. And I’m sure as hell not impressed with you. You want to talk, just follow me.” She slammed the door to his car and stomped back to her vehicle.

            Clancy noticed a sign that said Muddy Creek Road when they turned right and suddenly his tires were crunching over gravel, but Angel didn’t slow down much. Just when he thought it was as bad as it could get, the road turned into little more than a pathway with tall weeds on either side towering over his vehicle. He’d need a machete to chop his way out of this mess if he ran out of gas. Grass grew at least knee-high in the middle of the two ruts, and he wondered if she was leading him out into the middle of someone’s farm pond to drown him.

            Then she whipped the Jaguar into a cemetery. She parked and got out of her car, crossed over to a grave, and dropped down on her knees in the fenced enclosure at the far east side of the little cemetery. He got out of his vehicle and followed her.

            “I didn’t want to come to a cemetery. I want to talk about what happened after that night after I left you at the creek,” he said. “Is this where your grandmother is buried?” He read the name on the center granite stone, DOROTHY JUNE CONRAD, then turned and read the one to her right, JOHN HERMAN CONRAD. Before he could look at the one to the left, Angel was standing in front of the tombstone, shielding it.

            “You don’t deserve this,” she declared.

            “What happened, Angel? Did you marry someone? Did you have our baby and give it away, or did you keep it? God, I thought you’d embarrass me and tell everyone in Tishomingo it was mine, but you didn’t. Then you were gone, and I was so relieved…but now—”

            “But now what?” She tried to will the tears to dry up, but they dripped down her cheeks.

            “I want to know what happened. Angel, give me some answers. What happened to our child?”