“Flabbergasted to see you out here. Is this where you live?”
“A friend of mine does. I come to read his books.”
“You bring your cat to the library?” Jack was trying to find a pattern in unrelated shreds of information.
“She’s not my cat, she’s a stray who wandered in here. I named her Karma; do you like it?” The long-haired black cat in Lila’s arms lifted her head and fixed Jack with blue-green eyes. “Edgar can’t keep her because he’s allergic to cats.”
“Edgar? Edgar Tilbury?”
“That’s right, do you know him?”
“I’d like to,” said Jack. “I’m looking for someone who can supply beeswax; I’m in the market for all I can get.”
“Then he’s your man; he has a field full of hives on the other side of the barn. Come to the house and you can talk to him about it. Do I tell him you’re a wholesaler?”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “What do I look like?”
She regarded him thoughtfully. “A pirate.”
* * *
“I can’t put my life together again, Mom!” Eleanor Bennett insisted. “Stop telling me to. It’s never going to be the way it was and … and I wouldn’t want it to be. But if you’re tired of having us living with you, just say so.”
Katharine Richmond looked offended. “I didn’t mean that, dear, you know I love having you here. All of you. I only meant it’s not healthy for you to keep on mourning Robert.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“Well, of course you are. In a way I’m still mourning your dad after all this time. But life goes on.”
Nell was exasperated. “Haven’t you noticed? Life isn’t ‘going on,’ it’s completely changed. The whole damned world’s changed.”
“There’s no need to swear.”
“There’s no need for clichés either.” Nell folded her arms across her chest. “Maybe we should start looking for a place of our own. Finbar feels certain the Nyeberger lawsuit will be hung up indefinitely, perhaps forever, so there’s no reason I shouldn’t access whatever funds I can.”
“Now, dear, don’t do anything drastic.”
“What’s happened to us has been drastic.” Nell knew there was no point in arguing with her mother, or even trying to explain. They lived in different realities. She went to the bedroom and began organizing her belongings.
Finding another home for herself and the children would not be easy. Rental property was scarce on the south side, which was solid homeowner territory. As Nell knew all too well the real estate business was moribund. In a time of such uncertainty people preferred to sit tight.
There was always the other side of the river, but Nell never considered it. She was not a snob, but she was a native southsider. She had never carried northside properties on her books. Without putting words to the thought, she knew where she belonged.
Until the Change.
When she tried sounding out her son and daughter about moving into another school district, they reacted as if she were suggesting going to Borneo. “Aren’t things bad enough?” Jessamyn wailed. “You want me to go to school with slutty girls who wear black nail polish?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jess. No one wears nail polish now because the polymers—”
“I know that. I was just using it as an example.”
* * *
At the veterinary clinic the oldest AllCom was still working, though not reliably. When Paige answered it a fuzzy image came up on the screen. “This is Eleanor Bennett,” said an equally fuzzy voice.
“Mrs. Bennett! What can we do for you? Is one of the dogs—”
“No, the setters are all right, and I want to thank you for rehoming Satan. When our housekeeper said she didn’t have enough room for him I was worried. Did he get a good home?”
“I took him myself,” said Paige. “I live alone and he’s my security blanket. I’ve renamed him Samson—I hope you don’t mind—and we’re great pals already. He sleeps at the foot of my bed. Did you know he snores?”
“You don’t happen to need two more, do you?” Nell inquired.
When Shay entered the clinic Paige told him about Nell’s call. “She wants to move out of her mother’s apartment and it’s hard to find a place for the two setters. I told her we could board them here for a while, just until she gets settled. Was that all right?”
“We really don’t have boarding facilities for dogs,” said Shay. Then he grinned. “But for Nell Bennett, sure.”
“What do you have for cats?” a voice asked.
Lila Ragland stood in the doorway of the clinic. Behind her was Jack Reece, carrying a large wicker hamper. From within the hamper came a scratching noise.
When Paige Prentiss saw Jack she lifted her chin and tucked in her tummy.
Lila told Shay, “We’ve come to solve your pet shortage.”
It took him a moment to recall their last conversation. “I’m in and out all the time,” he said, disconcerted. “It wouldn’t be fair to a dog.”
“This isn’t a dog,” Lila said, “this is Karma.” Reaching into the hamper, she lifted out a big black cat and put her in Shay’s arms.
“What am I supposed to do with a cat?”
“Love her and feed her and keep her safe; she’s a precious gift. You aren’t one of those tiresome people who return gifts, are you?”
“No, I’m not one of those people.” He shifted his arms to snuggle the cat against his chest. Karma began to purr; a deep rhythmic buzz that made her whole body vibrate.
Shay grinned with pleasure. “Is this thing going to go off?”
“Not unless you’ve pulled the pin,” Lila retorted.
Watching the byplay between them, Paige said stiffly, “I don’t think jokes about bombs are very funny.”
Shay gestured toward the wicker hamper. “Where’d you get that? Our customers are asking for something to replace plastic pet crates.”
“I found this in Edgar Tilbury’s barn,” Lila told him. “I believe he’s done some work for you, a cart and a carriage? He never throws anything away, so why don’t you come and see what he has out there?”
Shay looked down into the triangular face turned up toward his. The aquamarine eyes were preternaturally wise. “Karma,” he said softly.
* * *
Nell Bennett was pleased about Satan’s—Samson’s—new home. If only all changes could be so easy. Her mother, whom she had expected to remain sympathetic, had chosen instead to play the martyr. Nell was dusting the living room when Katharine came up behind her to complain, “If you move out, how am I going to get around? I’m not as young as I used to be and I have all those doctors’ appointments. With my arthritis you can’t expect me to climb into a horse-drawn carriage.”
Nell put the dustcloth down on the end table. “There’s no guarantee my car will keep running. The GPS doesn’t work anymore and the steering wheel is starting to—”
“I’m not interested in your steering wheel, dear; I’m talking about safety. My safety. At my age it’s best not to live alone.”
Nell was amused. Her mother had always been fiercely independent. “You’re not that old, Mom, and you’re as spry as a cricket. Yesterday you were up on the stepladder cleaning out the kitchen cabinets.”
“Suppose I fall and nobody’s here?”
“Suppose I hire a live-in companion for you,” Nell countered. “Someone with a car, if possible.”
“I already have companions. I have you and the children.”
Nell had a sudden depressing vision of the future her mother anticipated. The young widow would remain with the older widow; constricted lives revolving around housewifely chores and repetitive chitchat; grocery shopping the high point of their week. Colin and Jess would grow up and embark on lives of their own while two doddering old dears in lockstep waited for the grave.
The arrangement of her mother’s living room had not changed in years. She knew every detail. The row of pottery ducks on the mantel
, a souvenir from her parents’ honeymoon in Mexico. The photograph of her father as a young man in his military uniform, immortalized in a silver frame. The symmetrical arrangement of floral watercolors above the sofa.
If she took the pictures down from the wall discolored squares would remain on the wallpaper.
Nell felt something snap inside herself. Actually felt it snap, like the last straw breaking. “I can’t please everybody all the time,” she announced abruptly. “Maybe I can’t please anybody anytime. But I have a lot of unlived life ahead of me, and if I’m going to enjoy it, I’ll have to leave my comfort zone.”
Before her startled mother could respond they heard the sound of sirens. The two women exchanged alarmed glances. Katharine put one hand over her mouth while Nell ran outside.
The man who lived in the apartment next door was hanging over the balcony, looking down the street. “I heard gunshots and no mistake. A rifle, I think. It’s somewhere in town, but I don’t know where. Go back inside, Nell, it may not be safe out here.”
Other people were crowding onto the balcony. A middle-aged woman with an elderly AllCom pressed to the side of her head reported, “I’m talking to my son-in-law. There was a shooting right in front of Goettinger’s. He saw it all. A man was walking up the street with a rifle on his shoulder and this woman came out of the store and he shot her. For no reason! He just shot her!”
Eleanor Bennett felt as if her blood were congealing.
* * *
Sheriff Tyler Whittaker had been interrupted during his afternoon coffee break, which consisted of something more substantial in the home of a young woman named Lynnda Gibbs. He was not in a good mood by the time he reached Goettinger’s. What he found there did not improve his humor.
There was no automobile traffic on the street, but pedestrians were huddled at a distance from the department store, gawking.
Patricia Staunton Nyeberger lay face down on the sidewalk in front of the store. From inside terrified customers gazed out at her through the revolving doors. Her arms were outflung, one hand sparkling with rings still clutched a validated ticket for the store parking lot. Blood and blobs of brain matter were sprayed across the cement. A puddle of urine was seeping out between her sprawled legs.
There had been no time for her bowels to evacuate.
The top of her head had been blown off.
Whittaker regretted the chocolate cake he had eaten at Lynnda’s.
In the service alley beside the department store was a man wearing a khaki jacket and cargo pants. He was holding a rifle. “They ought to pin a medal on me!” he shouted, drawing the sheriff’s attention. “You hear me? They ought to pin a medal. She was passing our military secrets to the enemy, but I stopped her. Didn’t I stop her? Didn’t I? They ought to pin a medal!” For emphasis he raised the rifle and fired again.
The pedestrians screamed and scattered.
* * *
By evening the entire town knew what had happened without benefit of any form of electronic communication. The unidentified shooter was in jail, Tricia Nyeberger’s body was at Staunton Memorial awaiting postmortem and Sheriff Whittaker had performed the unenviable task of informing both her husband and her father. Old Man Staunton had taken the news with apparent stoicism. His son-in-law had gone in search of a weapon of his own, vowing to “restore justice.” Sheriff Whittaker interpreted this as a threat to enact vigilante law and sought a restraining order against Dwayne Nyeberger. From a civil court that had grown increasingly dysfunctional.
Staunton went to Bea Fontaine.
He found her at home, waiting for Jack to come back. When the news about the murder at Goettinger’s spread through town he had gone in search of more information, leaving his aunt to worry.
“Miz Bea?” said the stooped figure standing on her porch in the twilight. “Can I come in? I’ve got a favor to ask.”
She gave him a stiff brandy and her sympathy. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through, Oliver.”
“I can’t imagine it either. There are pictures in my head … you know I had to identify her body?”
“Don’t think about it.”
“I’ll never think about anything else. But I have to, for the sake of—”
“Your grandsons, of course! Do they know yet?”
“Unh-unh, they’re still recuperating and we don’t know how this will affect them. Right now my housekeeper’s with them at their house, but that’s not going to work out. If and when Dwayne shows up he’ll do what he always does, order Haydon around like she’s his slave. I need her in my house, damn it. Besides, she doesn’t even like children. I’ll have to find another solution, one that cuts Dwayne out of the picture and won’t involve making them wards of the court.”
He fixed his eyes on Bea’s. “You know I can’t take on five rambunctious boys, Miz Bea; the bank takes all my energy. You raised your nephew and did a damned good job, would you consider…”
She had seen this coming. She held out her hands, palms facing him, and shook her head. “I’m too old to cope with five little boys, Oliver. Don’t you have any relatives?”
“A couple of cousins in New Mexico and a few others in Canada; distant cousins, we’ve never even met. That’s how America is these days. The way things are, I can’t send my grandchildren hundreds of miles away to strangers.”
His lower lip was trembling.
19
Shay called from the back door of the vet clinic, “Hold this open for me, will you!”
Paige hurried to help. “What are you going to do with those boards?”
“They aren’t boards, they’re planks. And two-by-fours and … never mind, help me get them inside. We’re going to start boarding up our windows.”
“Do you really think we need to?”
“We keep drugs in here, Paige, but more than that, there are kooks in town who are beginning to go off the rails. I got these supplies from the lumberyard and brought them back in Evan’s cart. A lot of people are starting to buy timber.”
As Paige watched him carry an armload of two-by-fours inside, she said, “I think I’ll keep Samson with me all the time from now on.”
* * *
Bill Burdick was not boarding up anything. Bill’s Bar and Grill remained defiantly in business, though Bill was keeping a couple of guns under the bar.
Business was brisk. The usual regulars were always present, their number increasingly augmented by others in search of sanctuary.
“The good old days were good,” Hooper Watson intoned, “because folks didn’t know how bad they were. They lived their lives and just got on with it…”
“Listen to the philosopher of Bill’s Bar and Grill,” said Morris Saddlethwaite.
Watson in full flow was not to be interrupted. “… and just got on with it. They didn’t know where the Ukraine was or what was happening in Korea and they didn’t want to know, nothin’ to do with them. Then along came the internet and instant communication and we were run over with information. Knocked down flat in the street and run over.”
“Don’t be such a Luddite,” said Bill Burdick.
“A wha’?”
“Someone who hates technology.”
“I don’t hate it,” Watson rejoined, “I’m as modern as you are. But I’ve seen the damage it can do. My wife, Nadine, just went on a shopping spree on the internet and ran up bills I’ll never be able to pay off. Then she took off with some salesman she’d met on social media and left all her debts in my lap.”
“Has she come back yet?”
“Naah, why’d you think I’m in here drinking in the afternoon? Speaking of drinking, how long has it been since you refilled this glass?”
“Your daughter was in here only yesterday asking me not to let you get loop-legged again. Angela’s a good girl, Hoop, she’s trying to look after you.”
“She should mind her own business.”
There were days when Watson irritated Bill Burdick. A man behind a bar should be sympa
thetic, but he might also have his own problems and be sick to the back teeth with hearing about someone else’s. “She doesn’t have much business to mind since you scared her boyfriend away,” he told Watson.
“I didn’t do that! Sunnavabitch is a two-timing liar and she caught on to him, that’s all. If he ever comes around her again I’ll put a bomb down his britches.”
“Plastic explosive, maybe?” Burdick asked sarcastically.
“You know what I mean.”
“I know that kind of talk is dangerous, Hoop. People are hair-trigger enough as it is. The town’s been hemorrhaging jobs since the Change began, and now people are taking the law into their own hands. They say the Nyeberger murder proves we don’t have enough law enforcement.”
“That’s the bloody truth,” a customer interjected. “Hey, Jack!” he called to a man who was just entering. “You think we got enough law in this town?”
Jack Reece sat down at the bar and nodded a greeting to Burdick. “Is this an argument I should get into, Bill?” he asked in a low voice.
“It’s harmless, they’re just blowing off steam.” Burdick cast a glance around the room. “With the exception of you and me there’s not a person in here who still gets a salary, thanks to the Change.”
“I work for myself,” said Jack. “Which reminds me—I’ve taken on another sideline.”
“In addition to tires, you mean?”
“Premium-quality tires are gone anyway, but this is one you’ll appreciate. Beeswax candles. You’re using candles in here already; let me put you on my list.”
Burdick chuckled. “You have a finger in every pie, don’t you?”
“Just the ones that are likely to remain profitable. Banking and IT are seriously crippled and so is retailing. About the only business with a future is war.”
“That’s a grim thought.”
“But a realistic one, Bill. War’s been the biggest business on earth since the Middle Ages, and big business has to be preserved by whatever means possible. It’s in our genes.”
The man who had mentioned law enforcement only overheard a portion of this conversation, but he agreed enthusiastically. “I’ve got plenty of guns!”
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