“Maybe Jake moved it. Maybe he changed his mind.”
“I don’t think so. We’ve got his keys.”
Berry felt her heart stutter. Jake’s expensive car was missing.
“There’s probably a simple explanation,” she said.
“Yup,” Mrs. Fitz said. “The explanation is simple all right. Someone stole Jake’s car.”
Berry staggered back into the store and deposited the pizza boxes on the counter. The car was stolen! She’d had possession of it exactly three and a half hours, and it now had gotten itself stolen. How was that possible? Why hadn’t they seen it happening?
“Jake’s not gonna be happy about this,” Mrs. Fitz said, shaking her head.
“One minute it was there, and then the next minute…poof!” Berry said.
“It was like aliens took it,” Mrs. Fitz said. “Like they just beamed it up. Right out from under our noses.” Mrs. Fitz dialed a number. “I’m calling a taxi so I can deliver the pizzas. You stay here and call the police. Maybe they’ll get the car back before Jake gets out of school.”
Berry’s face brightened. That was a hopeful thought. It wasn’t exactly run-of-the-mill. The police would probably have an easy time finding it.
Four hours later, Mrs. Fitz placed a plate of cookies and a glass of milk in front of Jake. “It’s not so bad. Nobody’s been hurt. You just lost your car for a while.”
Jake stared glassy-eyed at the cookies, mumbling things Berry couldn’t quite catch. Things that might sound like…I knew I was doomed the minute I saw her.
Mrs. Dugan patted his hand. “We filed a police report. The officers said they’d be sure to find an unusual car like that.”
“It’s unique. I had it specially restored. There’s not another one like it in the whole world.”
Be sympathetic, Berry thought. Remember how devastated you were when your car jumped off that cliff?
Yes, she answered herself, but I needed that car to exist. This car was a toy. And this car was insured.
Berry, Berry, Berry, she chanted. Men love their toys. And everyone knows there’s this whole complicated connection between men and their cars and their cock-a-doodle. Although from what she’d seen, Jake’s cock-a-doodle really didn’t need automotive fortification. Still, it was hard to be sympathetic when there was that business with him mumbling about being doomed. She suspected he was mumbling about her…as if she was a disaster or something.
She pounded pizza dough on the large wooden counter behind Jake. I am not a disaster, she thought. Okay, so I fell out of a tree. Big deal. It could happen to anyone. And then my Jeep committed suicide. I don’t really see where that was my fault. Finally, did I ask him to loan me his car? No! Did I tell him to park it on this street? No! And I didn’t ask him to kiss me, either!
Mrs. Fitz peered across the counter at Berry. “Good heavens, child, you’re just about beating that poor dough to death.”
Berry blew out a sigh. For a full year after her divorce she’d taken her frustrations out on pizza dough. If it hadn’t been for pizza dough she might have turned into a homicidal maniac. Then little by little her life had fallen into place, her sunny disposition had returned, peace and purpose had replaced the disorder of disillusionment.
Berry poked at the massacred lump. She’d known Jake Sawyer for less than twenty-four hours and here she was smashing innocent pizza dough again. The man was a threat to her sanity. He gave her an upset stomach. He made her act like a boob, blushing and stammering and falling out of trees.
You don’t need this, Berry thought, taking a vicious swipe at the dough with her wooden rolling pin. Someday she would be ready for another relationship—but not now. First, she had to get the Pizza Place on its feet. Second, she’d get her bachelor’s degree. Third…
Third was interrupted by the phone ringing. Mrs. Fitz answered and smiled. “It’s the police. They’ve found the car!”
Jake stared at the address Mrs. Fitz had written. “The corner of Grande and Seventeenth Street.”
Berry pulled her quilted vest over a gray hooded sweatshirt. “I know where that is. It’s less than half a mile from here. We can walk.”
Jake stood in the doorway, zipped his parka, and took a grim assessment. A cold mist drizzled down the grimy brick facades of nearby stores, and intermittent gusts of wind buffeted plate-glass windows. Sodden newspapers and assorted litter slapped against doorways and clogged gutters. This part of town wasn’t attractive, and it obviously wasn’t safe. And it was not the ideal neighborhood for a defenseless, pretty little blond and three little old ladies, Jake thought.
Berry knew what Jake was seeing. He was seeing bars at first-floor windows installed to prevent burglaries. He was seeing the empty beer cans and wine bottles that hadn’t made it into trash cans. He was imagining thugs lurking in the alleys, and poverty hiding behind closed doors.
“It’s not all that bad,” Berry said to Jake. “You see that cheery yellow light in the window above Giovanni’s Grocery? That’s Mrs. Giovanni making supper. In the summer she hangs window boxes from her kitchen window and fills them with red geraniums. The apartment building next to me houses four generations of Lings. Last year Charlie Ling won first prize at his school science fair.”
“So you really like this neighborhood?”
Berry shrugged. “It’s okay. I’d rather look out my window and see a meadow or a mountain, but instead I have Mrs. Giovanni’s bold red geraniums. I try to make the best of it.”
Jake smiled down at her. Damned if she wasn’t getting to him. He added loyal and positive to his earlier assessments of kind to old ladies, resilient, and slightly daffy.
Nice smile, Berry thought, but she was pretty sure she didn’t want to know what was going on inside his head. He looked like the wolf that wanted to eat Red Riding Hood’s grandma.
“This way,” Berry said, heading for Grande.
Jake snagged her arm. “Hold it, Goldilocks, where’s your umbrella?”
“I don’t own an umbrella.”
“Then at least put your hood up.”
“I hate wearing hoods.”
“Mrs. Dugan would take her wooden spoon to you if she caught you out in the rain like this without a hat.”
“Back off!” Berry said.
Jake Sawyer mentally checked off the boxes labeled temper and stubborn. And then he decided it was all adorable on her, so he kissed her.
“Good grief,” Berry said.
Jake rocked back on his heels and smiled. He was infatuated.
“I have to admit, it’s a little unnerving knowing you’ve seen me naked,” he said to Berry. Actually, unnerving wasn’t precisely correct, Jake thought. A better word might be erotic.
“I didn’t see you naked. I fell out of the tree before you got to the really good stuff.”
Jake was glad she thought he had good stuff, but he was sort of disappointed she hadn’t seen it. He’d had a really good fantasy going for a while there.
He pulled her hood over her head and tied the drawstring securely into a bow in his best first-grade-teacher fashion. Without saying another word he took her hand and pulled her along beside him.
As they approached Grande Street Berry felt his grip tighten. Big, strong Jake Sawyer was nervous. He really did like his flashy car. Berry didn’t know much about cars, but she knew about losing things you love. She knew about the pain and anxiety such a loss produced. Berry felt an overwhelming urge to rush out and buy Jake Sawyer a pint of his favorite ice cream. Instead she squeezed his hand and sent him her most comforting smile.
He glanced down at her. “I’m kind of nervous.”
“I guessed.”
“Probably it’s okay.”
“Probably,” Berry said, not entirely believing it. With the way her luck had been running, the car would be picked cleaner than a turkey carcass the day after Thanksgiving.
They turned the corner and found several officers standing hands on hips by a black-and-white squad car, in
specting an article at curbside. It took several seconds before Jake and Berry recognized the object of their curiosity. At first glance it seemed to be a piece of scrap metal resting on four cinder blocks.
Jake expelled a well-chosen expletive that caused the officers to turn in his direction.
“Is that my car?” Jake asked.
“If you’re Jake Sawyer, that’s your car. What’s left of it,” one of the cops said.
Jake stretched his hands out in despair. “What the…oh…man! Look at this. How could this happen so fast?”
“Modern technology,” one of the cops said.
Jake kicked at the cinder block and swore some more.
Berry trotted beside him as he paced back and forth the length of the car carcass. “It’s not so bad. The insurance will buy you a new one. You do have insurance, don’t you?”
“Of course I have insurance. Who cares about insurance? This car was irreplaceable.”
“Nonsense. There must be parts somewhere. Just put it back together.”
“Put it back together? Berry, this isn’t a fruitcake we’re talking about. This was an exquisitely tuned, handcrafted piece of machinery. This was a part of history.” Jake stopped pacing and plunged his hands into his pockets. “Anyway, this was my Gunk car. It was special,” he added quietly.
Berry was beginning to understand why he loved the flashy car so much. He’d given himself a present. It wasn’t just a car, it represented a new life. No more fluorescent lights. No more boring glue. She thought maybe squandering all his money on a house and a car had been an act of confidence for Jake Sawyer. It was a way of saying, It’s okay to spend all the Gunk money, because I’m going to be a success at my new career. I’m going to make a lot more money. And now he’d lost his Gunk car, and maybe he was a little afraid he’d never be able to replace it.
Jake turned to the officer. “Do you know who did this?”
“We’ll ask around. Sometimes we get lucky and come up with a name.”
Jake stared morosely at his car. “This is damn depressing.”
Berry linked her arm through his and narrowed her eyes in mock annoyance. “This will never do, Sawyer,” she said. “You’re an inventor. You’re supposed to be happy.”
“Yeah, but this sad hunk of scrap metal was my toy.”
“Don’t you have any other toys?”
He shook his head. “I’m really a very dull person. Work, work, work.”
“That was back in your glue days. Now you’re an inventor. Now it’s play, play, play.”
He studied her for a moment. She was trying to cheer him up. And she was doing a halfway okay job of it.
“Are you sure you didn’t see me naked?” he asked her.
Berry opened one eye and grimaced. Six o’clock in the morning and Mrs. Fitz was making tea.
“Mrs. Fitz, don’t you ever sleep?” Berry asked.
“Old people don’t need so much sleep. Anyway, it isn’t any fun sleeping with those two. They snore.” Mrs. Fitz added a dollop of honey to her tea. “Now, if I had a man in my bed, well, that’d be something different.”
Berry straightened her flannel nightie and swung her legs over the side of the couch. The large front room of her apartment served as living room, dining room, and efficiency kitchen. The other smaller room, her bedroom, had been turned into a dormitory for the ladies. She liked the ladies and enjoyed their company, but she dearly missed the comfort of her nice, big bed. She rubbed a sore spot on her back and slid her feet into a pair of slippers that looked like raccoons.
“Maybe you should remarry,” Berry said. “Have you ever thought about finding a husband?”
“I’ve been looking around, but I haven’t seen anything I like yet. Now if I was younger I’d go for that Jake Sawyer.”
Berry filled the coffeemaker with water, added a couple scoops of coffee, and punched the go button. She had an economics quiz later that morning that she’d totally forgotten about. Twenty-four hours of Jake Sawyer and already she was neglecting her studies. She opened the refrigerator and rattled a bunch of jars around.
“What are you looking for?” Mrs. Fitz asked.
“My coffee mug.”
“Lordy, child, you aren’t going to find it in there.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Damn, she thought, this is what a sleepless night does to you. How could anyone get to sleep with visions of Jake Sawyer dancing in her head? Jake Sawyer in his one-of-a-kind car. Jake Sawyer in her kitchen. Jake Sawyer in his underwear. And she could swear he seemed disappointed that she hadn’t seen him naked. The man was downright disturbing. She found her coffee mug and filled it with prune juice.
Mrs. Fitz raised her eyebrows. “I hope you’re planning on staying close to home today. That’s a lot of prune juice.”
Berry peered into her mug and wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. What is this?”
Mrs. Fitz rolled her eyes, dumped the juice down the drain, and rinsed out Berry’s mug. She filled the mug with coffee and handed it to Berry. “When you fell out of that tree, did you land on your head?”
“No. I landed on my pizza.”
Mrs. Fitz looked at her shrewdly. “You’re kind of stuck on that Sawyer guy.”
“More like he’s stuck in my head. Isn’t that the pits?”
Mrs. Fitz looked disgusted. “Good heavens you’re a ninny.”
Mrs. Dugan padded into the kitchen area. “Who’s a ninny?”
“Lingonberry here. She thinks love’s a waste of time.”
“Humph. Sometimes it is. Remember William Criswald? The old coot. I fancied that man for seven years and just when I was about to reel him in, he died. The nerve. You can’t count on men over seventy-five. You never know how long they’re gonna last.”
“Well, she isn’t in love with an old goat like Criswald. She’s in love with Jake Sawyer.”
Berry slammed her coffee mug down on the counter, slopping hot coffee over her hand. “Ow! Dammit. I’m not in love with Jake Sawyer.”
Mrs. Dugan and Mrs. Fitz exchanged glances and smiled slyly.
“I find him attractive, and I like him…usually,” Berry said.
“She’s in love with him, all right,” Mrs. Fitz whispered to Mrs. Dugan.
Berry took a cautious sip of coffee and gathered her books together. “I can’t be in love with someone I’ve only known for twenty-four hours.”
“What about love at first sight?”
“It’s a load of baloney. And besides, I refuse to be in love. I have other priorities, like taking an economics test that I’m totally unprepared for.” She glanced at her watch and winced. She had no car, and she was late. “I have to run. I want to go to the library and try to get some studying in before my exam. Send the lunch contracts out by taxi again. I’ll be back at three-thirty. Can you guys handle things?”
“Piece of cake.”
Berry bolted down the stairs, only to be called back by Mrs. Fitz.
“Lingonberry,” Mrs. Fitz shouted, “you’re gonna look awful silly going to class in them raccoon slippers and your nightgown.”
Berry crossed her fingers as she bounded down the stairs ten minutes later. Please God, no more disasters. She closed the door behind her and took a deep breath of cold crisp air. The rain had stopped during the night, and the neighborhood looked freshly washed and waiting for spring. Berry’s mood was starting to improve with the promise of the new day.
She walked quickly, and two blocks later she found herself approaching the Willard Street Elementary School. Jake’s school. She smiled at the old two-story, redbrick building. It brought back memories of her own school days in McMinneville, when each morning she would set off along quiet, tree-lined streets with her little sister, Katie.
It was a childhood of few surprises. Tuna fish or peanut butter and jelly in her lunch box. Hot oatmeal in the morning, homemade butterscotch pudding in the afternoon, and piano lessons every Thursday. The Knudsen household was middle-of-the-road and casually practical.
Berry and Katie had worn sneakers and jeans and hand-embroidered shirts and hand-knit sweaters to school. They had a dress for church and they wore the dress with sturdy buckle shoes. No sneakers on Sunday.
Berry realized she’d been trying to reconstruct the stability of her childhood, with little success. Her mother had been a master of order and routine. Each mitten had its proper place, dinner was served promptly at five-thirty, the bathroom was always miraculously stocked with freshly laundered towels. It hadn’t been a household of strict routine and unbending discipline. It had been a household of dull predictability and comfortable emotions.
My life is chaos, Berry groaned to herself. The harder I try, the worse it gets. I wash the towels, but I never get around to folding them. I lose mittens before I can find a proper place for them, and dinner consists of staring into the refrigerator at six-thirty and wondering what the devil I can eat in a hurry. Now I have three old ladies living with me and my refrigerator is filled with prune juice and blood pressure medicine. Berry shook her finger at the Willard School. And if that isn’t bad enough I’ve got Jake Sawyer complicating things. Now not only are all my efforts at organization a total loss, but that rotten Jake Sawyer is destroying whatever emotional comfort I’ve managed to reinstate into my life.
“Why? Why me?” Berry pleaded out loud.
She quickly glanced around to make sure no one had noticed her talking to a school, glanced at her watch, and hurriedly moved on. She couldn’t blame Jake and the school too much. Part of her problem was that days were too short. Twenty-four hours is simply not enough, she thought. If I had twenty-six I might have a chance to make butterscotch pudding once in a while.
Chapter 3
Berry saw the strange little puff of black smoke two and a half blocks away, but her mind was on other things—like her recent economics test and Jake Sawyer’s smile. It wasn’t until she turned the corner and saw the fire trucks that her mind contemplated disaster. Her heart skipped a beat and then felt as if it had stopped altogether. The trucks were in front of the Pizza Place. Fire hoses snaked across the sidewalk. Soot blackened the second-floor windows.
The Grand Finale Page 3
