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A rippling of the housecoat hem heralded the appearance of two cats, one black and one calico. They peered at Regina curiously before the calico started winding between the woman's legs and her cane. The black one moved down several steps to sit and wash his paws.
"That's Orlando and this here is Patches," the woman said. "They're friendly. Even though they've never taken to Duncan. Give him a wide berth, and he seems almost afraid of them. Says he doesn't mind them, but I can tell they make him so uncomfortable."
She offered a grimace laced with fond puzzlement. "About the only thing I can't ask him to do is take care of them when I go see my brother up in Gainesville. He says, 'I'm so sorry, Miss Volula. I can't take care of pets. Ask me anything else to help out, and I will.' And he does, so that's a small thing. Long as he's not mean to them, and he never is. They just stay out of each other's way. It's odd. So many good things about that boy, except that."
As Regina came up the stairs, Orlando obligingly bumped her hand to be stroked by her long nails, then started winding around Regina's legs. "Ah, look at that. He took right to you. He's been neutered for a long time, but he still appreciates a fine-looking woman."
Volula laughed at her own joke before turning to spit an impressive stream of tobacco over the edge of the stoop and cough. She had a spit bottle in her hand, but Regina supposed she didn't think it necessary to use it outside. "It's about time for Judge Judy, honey. You need me to leave a message for Duncan? He doesn't have a phone."
"You can tell him Regina came looking for him, but I expect I'll find him before then."
"Hope you do. You seem nice. He deserves something nice, I think. Such a good boy. Awfully good body, too. Can keep even an old crone like me thinking sinful thoughts."
With another wink and cackle, Volula shuffled back into her house, Orlando trotting up the stairs and following her, slipping past the threshold a breath before she closed the door. Patches remained lying on the stoop, giving her an indifferent look before turning her face up to bask in the sun.
Smiling, Regina returned to the sidewalk. As she moved along it toward her car, she paused. There were several narrow windows that provided a view to the basement room. Taking the chance Miss Volula would wonder if she was snooping, Regina squatted next to one, peering inside since there were no curtains.
She saw a bed, a chair. An older model TV, not a flat screen. Some books piled up on the chair next to the bed. Small fridge and possibly a microwave in a kitchenette set-up, but that was about all she could discern through the dirty glass and security bars. She wondered what kind of books he read.
She wondered, period. A day of data gathering had resulted in more questions than answers.
Well, she knew who could answer them. It looked like she was going to Raiford next week.
Chapter Twelve
Sure enough, the address he'd left imprinted on her note pad was Florida State Prison. Since inmate visitation was approved by 30-day advance application, it left her wondering if she was wrong in thinking his father was an inmate. Marius wouldn't have invited her to visit his dad, only to have her wait in the parking lot. Maybe Marius's father worked for FSP.
But Marius didn't always do the socially appropriate thing. Maybe his father was a prisoner, and it was only when the words had left his mouth that he realized it wasn't the most optimal date. He hadn't asked her to join him for social reasons, though. All she had to do was remember that unusual amalgamation of emotions--desperation, anger, regret, retreat--to know that.
She could have used some of her former contacts in the correctional system to help her find out more than the online prison database could provide, but Marius had initially invited her to join him, opening this door. Digging deeper behind his back instead of simply broaching the topic with him didn't make sense, not if she wanted to build trust with him.
If she reached her destination and he'd changed the time he'd written down, she might be in for quite a wait. But she'd find his car, and pass the time working on her laptop. She had lectures to prepare for upcoming classes and two consulting projects requiring status reports and evaluations. She could stay busy.
If his car wasn't there...well, it was a nice day for a round-trip drive to the state's maximum-security prison.
Upon arrival, she entered the main parking lot near the multi-building complex. When she found Marius's car, next to a giant, shiny blue Hummer pimped out with lots of chrome, she pulled into a spot a few spaces down, backing in so she was looking at the rear of the Civic. When she'd passed, it looked like he was still in the vehicle. He'd written down two o'clock, and it was one-thirty.
She hadn't given much thought to her approach, because she'd decided it was best not to overthink it. Picking up the insulated tote she'd brought, she emerged from her Mercedes and locked it. For this outing, she'd chosen her block heeled boots, black leggings and a wine-colored tunic top with a slash neckline that revealed the red jasper stone pendant she wore, with matching gold and jasper bracelets and earrings. The right mix of business casual with hints of Mistress and sexy woman, all to telegraph a variety of necessary messages.
As she reached the rear of his car, she saw both driver and passenger side windows were down, so she chose the passenger side approach. She'd expected he'd hear her heels on the pavement, but when she reached the window, she realized why he hadn't moved. He was asleep, his head tilted to the right on the headrest, one hand on the wheel, the other on the console. He'd pushed the seat back so his legs were sprawled, stretched out.
She dropped to her heels, laying an arm on the window sill, and studied him. He wasn't a peaceful sleeper, his expression concentrated even in repose, as if he were solving problems or slogging through disturbing dreams. But as she quietly opened the door, his breathing didn't change. With a frown, she noticed fresh scrapes on his knuckles and the shadow of a bruise on his jaw. He'd been fighting again. That might explain him sleeping so soundly in public and broad daylight, since the fights went on into the early hours of the morning. He'd probably driven here shortly after that, though he looked as if he'd showered and shaved.
She slid into the seat and clicked the door shut. Putting the tote between her feet, she sat back and watched him some more. Indulging herself, she laid her hand on his on the console. Leaning in, she began to stroke his hair back from his brow. His forehead creased, but then relaxed, as did his mouth. He murmured something and settled into the seat more deeply, his legs adjusting.
Regina turned on her hip, propping her head on the headrest to look at him. Then jumped when his hand jerked out from beneath hers and clutched, fingers digging in. "No," he said. "No."
It was rage and resignation in a single syllable. But his grip conveyed the opposite, as if she were a lifeline of hope to which he was grimly clinging. She put her other hand over his and held on while she made quiet noises of comfort. His grip and expression eased, but he maintained the hold. She didn't pull away.
After a time, she reached down with her free hand and opened the tote, allowing the aromas contained within to escape. It amused her to see them penetrate his slumber minutes later. His nostrils flared and his dark-lashed eyes lifted, his gaze disoriented.
"I brought snacks," she said. "Or a late lunch, depending on how much you want to eat."
Marius sat up, disengaging his hand to run it over his face, comb it through his hair in a charmingly self-conscious way. "No drool," she informed him. "You're a very polite sleeper. You don't even snore."
He blinked at her. "I told you not to come."
"No. You said it was probably better if I didn't. That's different from saying you don't want me to be here. You invited me to visit your father. So I decided I wanted to be here."
