And then it struck me. She had a Smartphone. Why did she need me to get her a map of the funeral home? How hard was it for her to tap the address into her search box? Was there a logical explanation or was this subterfuge?
“Thank you so much!” she gushed, grabbing the printed map as it dropped into the paper tray. “This is so helpful.”
Did she not have phone coverage? I doubted that. Her conversation felt forced, like she wanted me to believe she was a really good girl, the perfect daughter. Anyone who tries that hard is lying. I know because I’m used to students trying to convince me that the reason their homework was missing was because the dog found it hidden under the pillow and tore it to shreds before burying it in the yard. I could recognize a piece of fiction from a mile off, and Gretchen was definitely trying to sell me her version of what the naughty dog did.
“Mother’s waiting for me in the hall. Is there any chance you can give me a hand?” Here was a woman used to moving her tiny mother on a routine basis, and yet she needed my assistance to get her into the car? Lonnie probably weighed ninety pounds soaking wet. How hard was it to ease her into the front seat? I had my suspicions and they only grew as we left the library.
Sure enough, the little old lady was parked in her wheelchair by the front door. She gave a little wave of her hand before grunting a greeting. Gretchen came along and took control of the wheelchair, steering it toward the door, her hands on the handle bars. I realized she hadn’t released the brake. Odd. As someone who was used to wheelchair safety protocols, I never left my mother in her chair without setting the brakes. It just wasn’t worth the risk. Was Gretchen just lax?
“I appreciate this, Scarlet,” said the caregiver with a big dose of sincerity. “I pulled my back the other day, so I’m still sore.”
“That’s too bad,” I sympathized. A logical explanation. Was I over-reacting? Of course there still was the matter of the Smartphone. Or was there also a reason why she didn’t use that to get directions?
Once I helped Gretchen get her mother into their accessible van, I headed back into the house and found my way to the kitchen. Dinner was grilled chicken with fresh mango salsa, wild rice, and ginger-glazed carrots. I got everything to the table in covered dishes before I went to summon folks to dinner. Mary Anne Turley and Paul Duchamps were already in the living room with my mother and cousin. Lacey had poured wine for the foursome, and they were discussing their choices for the Academy Awards. Bur showed up as we were sitting down to eat.
By the time I served the raspberry-and-chocolate trifle and decaffeinated coffee, it was a little after seven. Bur and I cleared the table while the rest of the group headed off to watch TV in the living room. My mother and her cousin usually watched “Jeopardy” and “Wheel of Fortune” before heading upstairs for the night. Tonight Bur would hang around and make sure my mother got upstairs safely. Lacey would help her get into bed.
“Hey,” said my brother as I put on my jacket and grabbed my keys. “Don’t say anything to Jeremiah about this stuff, okay?”
“Um, sure.” I don’t know why I hesitated. Maybe it was because I was about to argue, but thought better of it. Or maybe it was because I wanted to tell Bur that I was thinking of ending it with Jere.
“You okay, Scar?”
“Sure. Sure, sure,” I said again. I was on the verge of babbling.
“Trouble in Paradise?” He was watching me as he finished drying the grill pan.
“Ah...you know how it is. Sometimes you get into a rut.”
“Yes, as the twice-divorced brother, I do.” I saw that sly smile slip across his face. “But I wouldn’t have expected Jere to get bored with you, not with your vivacious personality.”
“Actually, I’m finding him a bit lacking, smart guy.”
“Mr. Community College Professor?”
“Hard to believe, I’m sure. It’s just that he’s...how can I put this nicely?”
“Boring?”
“I was going to say full of himself, but same difference,” I smiled.
“So, why not break it off? It’s not like the relationship is going anywhere.”
“I know I should. I’ve even thought about what to say. But it seems like I just can’t seem to get his attention long enough to get the words out. He lectures me on every date.”
“Sounds like fun. Does he also grade you?” I knew my brother meant it as a joke, and to tell you the truth, I found it funny. But then it struck me.
“You know what, Bur? You just put your finger on the problem. That son of a computer sensor is treating me like I’m one of his students and he’s gracing me with his presence when we go out. Why would a guy do that?”
“Because he’s a shallow, self-serving jerk who thinks you should offer him more admiration than he offers you?”
“Sounds like you don’t have much respect for Jere. Is this a new development?”
“Hell, no,” he fired back. “I’ve just been waiting for you to come to your senses, and it sounds like you finally did. Are you breaking it off with the professor tonight?”
“Only if I can get a word in edgewise.”
“What kind of attitude is that? Whatever happened to my sister? This sounds like CCPS, better known as ‘community college professor syndrome’. The guy’s got a ready-made audience every time he lectures his class, and the ladies probably fawn all over the jerk.”
Chapter Six --
“Could be. Thanks.” I gave my brother a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, then opened the back door on my way to the garage. Maybe it was true. Jere constantly needed stroking for that big, fat ego of his. He had come a long way since his days teaching at Cheswick High. Now that he was no longer pushing the AV cart down the hallowed hallways, he was constantly talking about his role in teaching computer science to adults and how vital his role was in educating business people to successfully navigate the Internet. Bulldocky.
I backed my Ford Focus out of my garage bay and gave it a few minutes to warm up in the driveway. By the time my fanny was toasty in the heated seat, the car was ready to hit the road. Not a spectacular chariot, but a functional and fun one.
Once I finally agreed to become proprietor of the inn and took on my new role, I was forced to admit my royal blue Mazda Miata convertible was hardly the right vehicle for ferrying passengers around town and picking up supplies. The nearly non-existent trunk could hardly handle all the groceries from my weekly trips to the store, let alone guest luggage on the occasions I retrieved visitors at the airport. It killed me to trade that little blue streak in for something more practical, so I treated myself to the luxury five-door Focus model, complete with heated leather seats, moon roof, killer sound system, and even heated side mirrors. In silver, the sporty hatchback made a decent enough statement, although it wasn’t nearly as sexy as the sports convertible that got away. With the Four Acorns logo emblazoned on the sides, it was certainly more cost-effective to drive, and that mattered after we lost our investments.
Surprisingly, my mother was both sad to say goodbye to the Miata that had taken us all over New England in style over the years and happy that the new inn-owned vehicle was easier to climb into, especially as her hip was given her more of a challenge these days. She also loved the heated seats.
“Oh, my fanny feels good!” she crowed, as we navigated the snowy roads.
It took me exactly eight minutes to drive to the pub, park in a spot just outside the front door, and enter the softly lit space. I gazed around, but Jere was nowhere to be seen. There was a quiet table in the corner, just the perfect spot for having a “this isn’t working for me” conversation. I slipped into the seat facing the bar. Tony gave me a friendly wave as he poured a brew. I saw three customers huddled over their glasses. One looked like the man from Wallace’s house. I found that oddly disconcerting.
Twenty-five minutes later, the door opened and Jere strutted in. Better late than never. At least he showed up. His gray hair played across his forehead in boyish bangs. I
noticed he was letting it grow in the back. And there was a faint gray caterpillar crawling above his upper lip. This was the first time we had gotten together in two weeks. It was if I was seeing Jere for the first time without my blinders on.
“Hey, thanks for meeting me,” he said, slipping into the seat beside me and signaling to Tony that we needed a couple of drinks. “I just have time for a quick one.”
No apology for being late. No explanation for keeping me waiting. Tony brought us two Chardonnays and placed them on paper cocktail napkins. Jere pulled out his credit card and handed it to him.
“Thanks. Can you ring me up now, Tone? I can’t stay.” Jere was already taking a big gulp of his drink. As the bartender walked away, my boyfriend got to the point. “I asked you here to tell you something important.”
“Well, I actually have something to tell you, too,” I replied, hoping I could go first. “I think we need to....”
“There’s no easy way for me to say this, Scarlet.”
“Can I say something first?” Suddenly, I really had a need to get the words out. Maybe it was that he was shutting me off yet again. Maybe it was that I finally got the gumption. I just wanted to tell him it was over. And then he dropped his bombshell.
“I’m getting married.”
“Excuse me?” I looked at that smug face and suddenly understood why I had been pulling away from the bastard over the last few months. Somewhere deep inside me, I must have known he was cheating on me. It all made sense now. The more he talked at me, the more he held me at arm’s length, the less I liked him because I knew somewhere inside me that he was a two-timing, low-life, rat-faced bastard.
“Please don’t make a scene. It’s not that I don’t have feelings for you, Scarlet. I will always treasure the time we spent together.”
I looked at this pompous horse’s arse and plopped my head into my folded arms on the table. My shoulders shook as the raw emotion took over. I couldn’t help it. I completely lost it. I started laughing and I couldn’t stop.
“Oh, that’s rich. That’s just so rich. You actually have the audacity to think that I’m upset that you’re breaking up with me?” By this time, I was howling with laughter and the eyes of the room were upon me. “Tonight was the night I was going to tell you it’s over.”
“Scarlet, don’t do this. It makes you seem pathetic.”
“Pathetic? You think I’m pathetic?” I gasped. This cheese weasel cut me off at the moment I was trying to dump him and he was suggesting I was pathetic? Now my blood was boiling. “Good heavens, man, have you ever listened to yourself? You’re a complete bore. I’ve been trying to break it off with you for quite awhile now, but you never shut up long enough for me to tell you. Wow, what an ego!”
“Scarlet, I understand that you are in shock. After all, we’ve been dating for several months now and....”
“Shock? Buddy, I’m relieved! Do you have any idea of what it is like to sit with you and hear you droning on and on about your inflated sense of self? My God. There were nights I thought my head was going to explode while I listened to you!”
“Now, really! Just because you’re upset, I don’t think that’s any reason to be verbally abusive to me,” he retorted.
“Good night, Jere. Have a nice life,” I said cheerfully as I stood up, put on my coat, grabbed my purse, and walked toward the door. And even as I was making my way across the room, this idiot was explaining to the crowd that I was just upset because he had announced his plan to marry someone else. Most women would probably have dropped their shoulders, tucked their heads like tormented turtles, and pulled their shells a little tighter. Not me. I turned and faced that conniving cheater.
“Let me make something perfectly clear here. You, sir, are no gentleman. Obviously you feel the need to let everyone in the world know that you are dumping me. But the world needs to know what a superficial, shallow cad you really are. I have been trying to end our relationship for some time now, but I at least had the decency to actually refrain from publicly humiliating you. That’s the difference between us. From where I stand, you are nothing but a blathering idiot with an inflated sense of his own self-importance, and as far as I am concerned, I couldn’t give a rat’s patootie that you’re getting married. My condolences to the bride!”
“This is why I picked someone else to marry!” he bellowed across the room. “You are one crazy....”
Those were fighting words. I whirled around and headed back to the table, my eyes blazing. “One crazy what?”
“I think this conversation is over, Scarlet,” said the pseudo-intellectual college professor, patting his breast pocket as if he was searching for his pouch of tobacco.
“The conversation is over when I say it’s over, Jere! You may be in charge of your classroom of computer nerds, but you sure as hell aren’t in charge of me!”
For one moment, I saw a flicker of alarm in Jere’s eyes, as the sudden realization that he had gone too far, crossed that line, and was in danger of toddling off the public cliff of respectability hit him. The pub crowd was listening to every word of our conversation. The last thing he wanted was for word to get back to his colleagues about the public scene with me. I had spent the last eight months attending local events on his arm, so I knew a lot of his peers. He was casting me aside and that made him the villain.
“I...uh...well....” As he stuttered, I stepped closer and poked him in the chest with my index finger.
“Now it’s over!” I announced triumphantly. When I got to the door, I turned around, gave a deep curtsey, and waved to the pub regulars. “Ta-ta, everybody! Cheerio! Pip-pip, wot. Perhaps Professor Higgins can instruct you on the rain in Spain. As for me, I’m going back to my slovenly street urchin ways!”
Bobby Rylander, a guy from the neighborhood, got to his feet and starting clapping, a wide grin on his face. He was joined by several other pub regulars. Even as the cheers rose, Jere’s face grew redder and redder. He headed in my direction, and I wasn’t sure if he was coming to throttle me or just wanted to get out the door, but Tony stopped him.
“Hey, professor,” said the big man wearing the apron. “Don’t go anywhere until you sign the bill!”
That was my cue to scoot out the door. Even as I unlocked the car with my electronic fob and slipped behind the wheel, I was laughing. I know I should have been embarrassed, but I felt such relief that it was finally over. No more dread or uncertainty. I had kicked the dead weight to the curb.
As I flipped on the headlights and pulled out of the parking space, I saw the intruder from Wallace’s house emerging from the pub. He walked toward me. Don’t ask me why, but I flicked the door lock switch and gave the car some gas. He seemed to start, as if I had spoiled his plans. For one brief second, I wondered if he thought I was so distraught that he could take advantage of me in my vulnerable state. By that time, I was driving down the street, headed back to the inn. Boy, did I have a story to tell Bur.
As soon as I pulled into the driveway, I could see Bur’s bedroom light on in the upstairs window of the carriage house. I put the car away for the night and climbed the stairs to his apartment. I rapped on the door and waited.
“Hey,” said my brother, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt. “How did it go?”
“Wait till I tell you what that jerk did,” I announced. Fifteen minutes later, a glass of white wine consumed, I stood up to go. “Oh, by the way, the guy from Wallace’s house was at the pub.”
“Really?”
“He sat at the bar, and when I left, he left. For a moment, I almost wondered if he was following me.”
“Maybe he was,” my brother agreed.
“Gee,” I sighed. “I was kind of hoping you were going to tell me that I was being overly concerned.”
“I can’t afford to do that, Scar. The truth is I saw something in his eyes when we were up at Wallace’s house, something in the way he looked at you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“
I can’t put my finger on it, but let’s just say I’m starting to wonder if that note on the post was meant for you.”
“For me? Why would it be for me?”
“Ever since the Jordans disappeared, you’ve been the one asking questions, trying to get information. Maybe someone wants him to shut you up.”
Get out now, before I am forced to act!
I thought about the note, now safely tucked into Bur’s freezer. Was it for me? A chilling idea suddenly filled my head. What if our conversations were being monitored in the house? I had discussed going out to the bird garden when we were at breakfast. And I had also mentioned I had a date at the pub. If the eavesdropper was an inn guest, there was one possibility. Mary Anne Turley had been there for both conversations. She might be the culprit. Then again, if someone had planted some kind of electronic equipment in the house, Mary Anne might not be a part of the plot. I shared my concerns with my brother.
“Let’s give Kenny a chance to work his magic, sis. He’ll be here tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, let’s be careful about what we say and do.”
“Right. I should get going.” I took my glass to his sink and placed it there. “Good night, Bur.”
“Sleep tight, Scar.” My brother saw me to the door and I heard him push the dead bolt in place behind me. Even as I descended the stairs, I found myself worrying about crossing from the safety of the carriage house to the main house. As I stepped out onto the driveway, I heard a noise from above. My big brother was out on his balcony, making sure I reached the house in one piece. As I reached the back porch, I gave him a wave.
Huckleberry and January greeted me at the door. I grabbed their halters and leashes. Once the little dogs were fastened securely, we stepped back outside. I kept an eye out for coyotes. They like to hunt together, tag team-style. Whenever you see one, expect two, with the second one bringing up the rear. They try to separate their prey, isolate their next meal from its protectors. I wasn’t about to sacrifice either little pooch to the primeval predators.
Miz Scarlet and the Imposing Imposter Page 5
