by Tim Myers
Since she wasn’t about to admit that she ever did anything to add to my weight gain, Mom changed the subject. “Have you learned anything new since the last time we talked?” she asked.
“Monique White was just attacked in her shop,” I said. “I’m the one who found her.” A look of concern swept over my mother’s face, so I hastily added, “Don’t worry, Molly said she’s going to be okay.”
“What is this world coming to? Was it because of what happened to Mr. Sanger?”
“I honestly don’t know, and if Molly suspects it, she’s not saying.”
Mom looked at me triumphantly. “Call her right now, Benjamin, she needs to be here. We can prove Louisa is innocent.”
“And just how are we going to do that?”
Mom said, “I know for a fact that your sister stayed with Kate all night, and she’s been here all morning. We can offer her a perfect alibi.”
I hated to wipe that happy expression off my mother’s face, but she couldn’t go around proclaiming Louisa’s alibi, particularly when she didn’t have one. “Mom, we don’t know when Monique was attacked,” I said. “And besides, she wasn’t at Kate’s the entire night.”
“What do you mean?” Mom asked sharply. I was on thin ice with her, but I didn’t want to betray my sister’s trust, either.
“No one was with her on her way to Kate’s house, and she left before Kate did this morning. I’m not sure how long ago Monique was attacked. I’m not even sure she knows herself.”
That got me a steady scowl. “Benjamin, your sister no more hurt that woman than she killed Mr. Sanger.”
“Hey, don’t take it out on me. I believe that, too,” I said.
“Then prove it, Benjamin.”
“I’m doing my best.” I glanced at the clock and said, “Sorry, I’ve got to go.”
“Following up another lead?” she asked.
“No, I’ve got the second session of my class to teach.”
Mom frowned, then said, “So let Cindy take it. She would love to start teaching, and it’s time we let her spread her wings a little.”
To the contrary, I knew that my youngest sister dreaded the prospect of standing up in front of a class more than anything in the world. Cindy had told me that herself when she’d pawned this class off on me, but she was afraid to tell Mom. I didn’t mind, since I enjoyed teaching, but it proved that my mother didn’t know everything her children were up to at all times. That was a good thing; it probably saved her a dozen heart attacks a year.
“No thanks, I want to teach it myself,” I said.
“You’re as stubborn as your father was,” Mom said.
I kissed her cheek. “That’s the nicest thing anybody’s said to me all day.”
“Go, teach your class. But when you’re finished, I expect you back on this, Benjamin.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” It was all I could do not to salute.
I headed for the classroom, wondering what I could do to investigate that I hadn’t already tried. Molly was ready to lock me up for meddling too much as it was, and Mom didn’t think I was doing enough. There was no way I was going to be able to please both of them, but I was going to have to try.
Herbert and Constance, my most vocal students, were already in the classroom when I walked in.
“You two are early,” I said as I started gathering materials for the day’s class.
Herbert said, “She wanted to come an hour ago. It was all I could do to keep her from standing in line before you opened up this morning.”
Constance said, “Herbert Winslow Wilson, you know full well you’re enjoying this every bit as much as I am.”
He winked at me out of her sight, then said, “Well, it’s better than that crocheting class you dragged me to last year.”
“You’re the one who made the afghan,” she said smugly.
Herbert’s ears reddened. “I had to do something with all that yarn you bought. There was enough to cover the Statue of Liberty.”
From the sound of it, I figured this could go on for hours, and I had a class to prepare for. “What have you got there?” I asked, pointing to a few soaps in front of them.
“We made these last night,” Constance said. “Only we had some problems.”
I picked up a bar and unwrapped it. The smell of lavender nearly knocked me over.
Constance said, “It’s too strong, isn’t it?”
I was choking on the fumes as I hurriedly wrapped the bar back up. “How much did you use?”
“The whole bottle,” Herbert said proudly. “My mother used to wash with lavender-scented soap. I think it’s just right.”
“That’s because your nose is as bad as your ears are.” She turned to me and said, “So what’s your expert opinion?”
I wasn’t about to dash Herbert’s first solo effort away from class, but I had to handle it carefully. “Whoever uses this won’t soon forget it was handmade.”
Herbert said, “There, you see? He agrees with me.”
“Are you daft, man? He said nothing of the kind.”
Before they could ask me anything else, the rest of the class came in. “Are we too early?” a lively older woman asked as she walked in. I searched for her name in my mind, but I didn’t have a clue. I could remember a face from a dozen years before, but names were always my downfall. That was why I insisted my class wear name tags. Louisa had designed a batch in the shapes of floral soaps, and most folks delighted in adorning and personalizing their tags. Thankfully, I said, “Come on in, Helen.” I’d spotted her name tag at the last second, and she looked pleased by the personal acknowledgment.
I knew Herbert was getting ready to continue our earlier discussion, so I said, “Excuse me, I need to get things ready now.”
He looked particularly displeased with me for dodging him, but I’d keep dancing as long as he pursued it. After all, I’d told them myself that soapmaking was highly personal. I just pitied the person who received one of Herbert’s soaps as a gift. It would take me a week to get the lavender scent off my hands, and I hadn’t even washed with it.
When I had everything ready and the seats were all filled, I said, “Okay, let’s get started. Yesterday we learned the basics of melt-and-pour. Today we’re going to play a little. We’ve got two basic forms of dye. There is the powdered type we add directly to the mix, and we also have color nuggets. The dye in the nuggets has been partially diluted, then added to a soap base.”
“What’s the difference?” Herbert asked.
I held up a baggie in one hand and a few colored nuggets in the other.
“This is the powder,” I said, shaking the bag. “And these are the color nuggets,” I added, gesturing to the other hand. The class tittered, and I added quickly, “But beyond that, there’s no real difference in how we use them. It’s more a matter of preference than anything else.”
Herbert wasn’t about to let it go. “Then which one is easier to use?”
“You can’t go wrong with color nuggets,” I said, and Herbert nodded his approval.
I continued, “We also have an array of choices for scents that can be added. Feel free to use the charts posted on this wall to get just the blend you want.” I gestured to the combinations Cindy had made up. She had the best nose for combining surprising ingredients to create a unique scent. “The bottles are all clearly marked, but remember, a little goes a long way.” I avoided Herbert’s gaze as I said, “These combinations have proved to be successful in the past, but feel free to make up your own.”
“How about layering and swirling?” Helen asked.
“Somebody’s been studying,” I said, and Helen grinned. “That’s where a lot of the fun begins.” I held up examples as I explained, “You can add a darker color and drag it through your initial melt with a toothpick or a fork. You can also pour a layer, play with it, then add another on top of it, changing things as you go. We’ve also got chilled cubes of different soaps you can add to yours to give it a really unusual look. We’l
l be covering those techniques more thoroughly in a later class, but if you feel like playing today, be my guest.”
“Why do the shapes have to be chilled?” Herbert asked.
“Remember, the soap base is hot when it’s melted down, and we don’t want to lose the shapes we’re adding. Chilling them helps keep their form.”
Herbert nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Another fun thing to do is to make a small layered shape by pouring some of a dark soap mix into a plastic pan, then embedding cookie cutters into the blend and letting them harden in the refrigerator. When they’re chilled, you can use them in your soaps as an embedded object. Kids particularly seem to love that.”
That got a good response. Did any kid ever wash up enough for their elders? My class was beginning to see some practical applications to their new hobby. I said, “Your only limit is your imagination. Now let’s have some fun.”
I roamed through the room as they worked on various projects, enjoying the infectious laughter my students shared as they worked. Even Herbert seemed to be having a good time, something I took as a very good sign. He might have been a curmudgeon on the outside, but it was obvious he enjoyed learning something new as much as the schoolkids I taught now and then.
When it was time to wrap things up, I said, “Again, feel free to shop around the store now that we’re finished. Before you go, make sure your creations are clearly marked so I’ll know which soaps belong to you. Thanks again for coming. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
They were all well pleased with themselves as they headed into the boutique, and I took a second to walk around to see what they’d done. There were some wonderful pieces there, along with some that wouldn’t pass a kindergartner’s inspection, but the important thing was that they had all had enjoyed creating their masterpieces. That, more than any finished product, was the barometer I always used for success.
As I walked out of the classroom, Cindy rushed up to me. “I was just about to interrupt your class. There’s an urgent call for you, Ben.”
“Who is it?”
She shook her head. “All I know is that it’s from the hospital.”
I picked up the telephone and identified myself.
A pleasant contralto voice said, “Mr. Perkins, my name’s Stacey Vance. One of my patients is pretty adamant about seeing you immediately. Is there any way you could come by the hospital?”
“Who’s the patient?” I asked, though I suspected I knew.
“Sorry, I should have mentioned that. Her name is Monique White. She’s pretty agitated, and to be honest with you, all the floor nurses would really appreciate it if you could come by.”
“Hang on a second, Stacey,” I said.
I covered the receiver, then said, “Cindy, I know how much you hate messing with a class, but is there any way you could wrap up their soaps and distribute them after the soaps harden?”
“Why? What’s going on? Who’s in the hospital?”
“It’s Monique White, and I think she might be ready to tell me something about what happened to her.”
She nodded. “Go, Ben, I’ll handle things here.”
“Just wait half an hour, wrap their soaps up, and turn them all loose. Thanks, Sis.”
“No problem. I just hope Monique knows something to help you. We all want you to get Louisa out of this, Ben. You realize that, don’t you?”
I patted my youngest sister on the shoulder. “I do now, knowing you’re even willing to take my class for me.”
She stuck her tongue out at me, and I winked in return. ‘Tell Mom where I went, would you?”
“Just go,” she said. Cindy was the youngest of our brood, just out of high school. She still wasn’t sure soapmaking was what she wanted to do with her life, but she’d decided to give it a year to see how she liked it. Mom was pushing her to go to college so she could get a degree in accounting to help out with the books, but Cindy had other ideas. I’d back her in whatever she decided. Since Dad died, she’d looked to me for support, and I always did my best to deliver.
I grabbed my keys on the way out, but not before announcing to my class milling about, “My sister Cindy will take care of your creations and dismiss you. It was a great class today.”
As I hurried to the hospital, I wondered what kind of bombshell Monique was going to drop in my lap.
The nurses were certainly thrilled to see me when I walked onto the hospital floor and identified myself. I hadn’t had that kind of reception since I’d hit a grand slam in Little League baseball. I knocked on Monique’s door, and I heard a subdued command to enter from inside.
She certainly looked a great deal better than she had when I’d found her that morning. The blood had been cleaned from her face, and her hair had been combed down to cover as much of the bandage as possible, though I could still see the bruise starting to color up below it. Monique’s wrist was in a cast, but other than that, she looked fine. Her hair was brushed and she’d even managed to apply her makeup before my arrival.
Her smile was warm and inviting when she saw me, and I could feel the power of her attention directed fully onto me. “Ben, thank you so much for coming.”
I saw flowers on her nightstand and on the windowsill, then I realized I shouldn’t have come empty-handed. “Sorry I didn’t bring you anything.”
“Nonsense,” she said, “your presence is all I need. Please, sit down.”
I sat beside her bed and said, “I must say, you’re looking well.”
“You’re kind to say so,” she said as she primped at her hair with her good hand, “but I know how ghastly I must appear. You’re too kind to say otherwise.”
We sat there another thirty seconds in silence, then I asked, “The nurses said you wanted to see me?”
“I needed to talk to you, Ben.” She reached out her good arm toward me and offered her hand. I took it, though it made me feel slightly uncomfortable. Monique and I had always had a rather sharp relationship, and I couldn’t help wondering what had suddenly softened her up, unless that blow to her head had done more than the doctors knew.
“Ben, thank you for saving my life.”
I protested, “Come on, I didn’t do a thing. I just dialed 911 and the doctors did the rest.” I pulled my hand away, hoping it wasn’t too abrupt an act. If she minded, she didn’t say.
Monique wouldn’t hear of my denial. “Don’t be so humble. If you hadn’t come along when you did, who knows what might have happened to me?”
“What exactly did happen?” I asked. Hopefully Monique was feeling generous enough to tell me the truth. It would certainly help my standing with Molly if I could actually report something back to her.
Monique said, “The police have been determined to find that out for themselves. Believe me, no one is sorrier than I am that I couldn’t help them.”
I sat on the edge of my chair. “You don’t remember anything that happened?”
She shrugged, then winced slightly as she accidentally moved her broken wrist. “As I told them, I opened the shop earlier than usual this morning since there were a few things I wanted to get accomplished before my clientele started to arrive. I went to the mailbox to put some bills out, and someone must have slipped inside when my back was turned. In seconds I felt the shelf crash down on me, and the next thing I knew, you were ministering to me.”
There had to be more to it than that. It was time to push a little harder. “What could they have been after? Do you have any idea?”
“I honestly have no idea. I make my deposits every night, and I keep just enough cash on hand during the day to make change. Believe me, it’s no fortune.” She gestured to her arm and forehead. “If they’d wanted my meager funds so badly, I would have gladly handed everything over to them.”
“So you believe it was an attempted robbery?”
She looked startled by my suggestion that it could have been anything else. “What other reason could it possibly have been? I haven’t made an enemy in my life, at le
ast not that I’m aware of. Why do you ask?”
It was time to say what I’d been thinking since I’d found her pinned under that bookcase. “I was just wondering if this had anything to do with Jerry Sanger’s murder.”
She said, “Do you honestly believe that someone’s killing soapmakers and their suppliers? I can’t fathom that happening.”
“Monique, maybe you know something you don’t realize is significant. Could you be a threat to the murderer in any way?”
She paled at the theory. “I don’t see how.”
“Think about it. It’s worth considering.”
She lay back on her pillow and said, “Ben, I’m afraid the strain of your visit has been too much for me. Do you mind leaving me now?”
I stood and said, “Not at all. Listen, if you do think of anything, call the police. They might be able to help.”
“And deal with that insufferable woman again? She’s unbearable. I won’t stand for her snide tone of voice, do you hear me?”
“Then call me and I’ll tell them.” I could let Molly know myself, though I knew she wouldn’t enjoy hearing something about the case secondhand. Still, finding a lead would make up for it. I hoped.
“Promise me you’ll call if you think of anything,” I said.
“For you, I will. Good-bye, Ben. Thank you for coming.”
I was outside her room when one of the nurses approached me. I saw by her name tag that she was Stacey, the nurse I’d spoken to on the phone.
“You’re leaving so soon?” Stacey asked.
“She decided she wasn’t up to visitors,” I said. “Has she been a real pain?”
The light over Monique’s door came on, and I could hear a buzz at the nurse’s station nearby. Stacey just shook her head as she said, “I’d better get that. Come back any time.”
I saw Stacey bite her lip before going into the room. It appeared that Monique hadn’t gone out of her way to make any new friends during her stay at the hospital. So why had she really summoned me to her bedside? I had a feeling there had been something she’d wanted to tell me when she’d called. I wondered what had changed her mind in the time it took me to get there. I still wanted to know what she’d been babbling about the night before when she’d been drinking, but she’d thrown me out before I’d had the chance to ask that. I’d pushed a little too hard, and I’d been tossed out on my ear for my trouble.
