Antique Blues

by Jane K. Cleland

  My eyes filled. I was as excited for Wes as if he’d been my brother for real. “Oh, Wes!”

  “Can you believe it? I’m going to be a father.”

  “You’ll be a wonderful father. How is Maggie feeling?”

  “Better than ever. She says she loves being pregnant. Don’t tell anyone, okay? She’s only three months along. She wants to hit four months before we spread the word.”

  “All right. Give her my love.”

  “Will do, and I’ll get you the skinny on the Colonial duo. Also, do you remember how you asked about Lydia, whether she’d been in touch with Cal? I don’t have any information—yet. As to Cal or Lydia withdrawing an out-of-whack amount of money, nope. And he doesn’t have any other accounts, not even a savings account. He’s always short, and she always has plenty of cash, with no unusual transactions between them. You got anything for me?”

  “No.”

  “Catch ya later.”

  After he hung up, I texted Ellis: Chester Randall at the Colonial Club knows Cal.

  I sat for a minute longer, then drove home.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Ty called while I was sitting in the living room, doing nothing. It was about ten.

  “I had a good day,” he said. “How about you?”

  His voice had pep in it, and a secret.

  “You sound very cheery. What’s going on?”

  “The powers that be asked me to head an ad hoc committee to begin to think about the new training strategies.”

  “Congratulations! Who’s on the committee?”

  “That’s the best part. I get to choose my own team, and our meetings will all be conducted via videoconference from my office in Rocky Point.”

  I pulled a creamy white wool afghan up over my thighs. My mother had crocheted it about a year before she died.

  “They’re letting you work on a national project from New Hampshire? No wonder you’re excited.”

  “Sean, you know, my boss’s boss, took me aside and said he was eager to see how it worked, that if there were no glitches or delays, it could help make the case for more remote assignments.”

  “Oh, Ty. This is such fabulous news! How will you decide who should be on your committee?”

  “A little of this and a little of that. I want representation from each geographic region and area of expertise. I’ll tell you more about it tomorrow. I should be home by noon.”

  * * *

  The next morning, I was up and out by six. I checked the thermostat I’d mounted outside my kitchen window. It was sunny, but only forty-two degrees. I put on my Thinsulate vest. I could see my breath as soon as I stepped onto the porch.

  I walked along the street for a quarter mile until I reached the spinney and turned in. A hundred yards down the path, I came to a fork. The right tine wended its way through the trees to the meadow beyond. The left tine swung hard for fifty feet to an old stone wall, then turned north and ran along it for two miles. I turned left.

  The path was thick with fallen leaves, and where the sun broke through the leafy canopy, deep shadows and bright swaths of light dappled the ground. I loved crunching through the woods in fall.

  I knew a few divorced couples who stayed in touch, but I knew more who didn’t. I had no idea where Steve and Mo fell on the spectrum of affinity. Mo seemed to think that the fire between them still smoldered, but I had no way of knowing if she’d been in dreamland on that front. From my brief conversation with Steve yesterday, I’d sensed genuine grief, but I might have misread his reaction. If their divorce had been as acrimonious as Lydia implied, there was no reason to think that Steve would be receptive to helping me with her eulogy. So my task was simple, though unpleasant: Before I did anything else, I needed to feel him out about Mo.

  I walked for more than a mile before turning back. I spent most of it thinking about Steve, wondering how Mo’s death was affecting him. He said that he still cared about her, and that made sense to me. Even after a breakup, if you’ve loved someone, her death had to hit you like the flu. If they were thinking about a do-over, it had to be worse, like something inside of you died, too.

  * * *

  When I arrived at Sweet Treats, at twenty minutes to seven, the takeout line stretched to the door, but three of the eight tables were empty. I grabbed one by the side wall. A moment later, Steve stepped inside, and I raised a hand to catch his attention.

  Noeleen, the owner, was working the front and stopped to greet us.

  She was short, about my height, and full-figured, and she was always cheerful and kind. Her hair was ash blond. Her eyes were dark blue.

  “So good to see you, Josie! Steve! What can I bring you to drink?”

  “Tea, please. Irish Breakfast. With milk.”

  “Steve? Coffee?”

  “You better believe it. Thanks, Noeleen.”

  Steve swung his backpack to the side, tossed his coat on the back of the chair, and sat down.

  “You’re a regular here,” I said.

  “As is everyone who’s ever eaten Noeleen’s cinnamon buns.”

  “True. The doughnuts wipe me out, too. And her muffins.”

  Noeleen returned with our drinks, a mug of coffee for Steve, and a gilt-edged white porcelain teapot for me. The cup and saucer matched the teapot. We ordered food. Steve chose an egg-and-sausage scramble on a cinnamon bun. I went with an order of three honey-glazed doughnut holes and a fruit salad.

  I watched Noeleen chat her way to the back, then turned to Steve. “May I ask you something that’s totally none of my business?”

  He leaned back. “That’s a heck of a question to spring on a man before he’s finished his first cup of coffee.”

  I stirred some sugar into my tea.

  He drank some coffee, his eyes on my face. “What the heck. Shoot.”

  “Were you and Mo getting back together?”

  “Maybe. We were in touch. Why?”

  “As I told you, I’m giving one of the eulogies. I was hoping you might help me, but I need to know what I’m stepping into before I ask. I like you, Steve, and I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position. Who initiated getting back in touch?”

  “She did. I might have if she hadn’t.” He shook his head. “The breakup is all on me, and so is our not getting back together right away. You know that I’ve been living with a woman named Kimberly Larson?”

  “No, I didn’t. I heard you denied playing around.”

  “Any lies told in the course of divorce proceedings don’t count.”

  “Situational ethics.”

  “A branch of philosophy I know well.”

  “Was Kimberly the woman you got involved with while you were still married to Mo?”

  “Yes.”

  “I bet Kimberly has a seven-year-old son, a Cub Scout.”

  “Ryan. He’s a good kid, which makes the whole situation pretty much a nightmare.”

  Noeleen brought our food, and the sweet aroma of vanilla enveloped me. She refilled Steve’s coffee and asked if we needed anything else. We didn’t. I poured more tea and stirred a few drops of milk into the mahogany brew.

  “Mo wanted me to leave Kimberly before we got back together. I wanted to see if our reconciliation was for real first. Hedging my bets, I guess you could say. She didn’t want any part of that plan. She said she didn’t trust me, and if I wanted her to, I had to earn it. We were dickering over the terms when she died. We had plans to meet for dinner that night.”

  “Really? Do the police know?”

  “No, and I hope they never find out. I didn’t kill her. I didn’t see her. I don’t know anything.”

  “Where were you supposed to meet?”

  “Abitino’s. Do you know it?”

  “Yes. I love it. When did you make plans?”

  “That afternoon. I called her from the faculty lounge.”

  “So Kimberly wouldn’t see Mo’s number on your cell phone.”

  “Makes me sound like a jerk, doesn’t it?”
/>
  I smiled to take the sting out of my words. “Pretty much.”

  “It gets worse. I nearly got caught. Kimberly walked into the lounge just as I was hanging up. I had to lie about the call. I said I called the car dealership to schedule a tune-up.”

  “What did you say when she asked why you didn’t use your own phone?”

  “My cell was in my briefcase in my classroom, and I’m lazy. The phone was right there, so I used it.”

  “You’re quick on your feet.”

  “Liars have to be.”

  “You really do sound like a jerk, Steve. I wonder why I like you so much.”

  “I’m a lot of fun to be around, quick-witted, and I don’t lie to you.”

  I laughed. “I knew there was a reason. Now I see there are three. Did you get a tune-up?”

  “No, as I explained to Kimberly the next day, I got the date wrong. The car’s not due for service until December. Slick, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Super slick. What time were you supposed to meet Mo for dinner?”

  “Eight. She was doing some baking for her mother first. I waited until eight thirty, then called her from the restaurant phone. I told the hostess I forgot my cell. I didn’t leave a message. I figured I’d see her at school the next day and find out what went wrong.”

  “I’m surprised the police haven’t asked you about it.”

  “Why? The restaurant was packed, the hostess was a high-school kid who was just trying to keep up, and I made the reservation using the name Baker.”

  “Why Baker?”

  “It’s easy to spell, easy to remember, and common.”

  “What did Mo think about your using a made-up name?”

  “She didn’t know. I made a point to always get there first.”

  “What did you tell Kimberly about where you were going?”

  “To a Cub Scout training session.”

  “Was there one scheduled?”

  “Yup. And my buddy Don promised to cover for me.”

  “Oh, what tangled webs we weave…”

  “No joke, Josie. It was a mess and getting messier by the day. The only good news is that almost no one knows Kimberly and I are involved. I insisted on that. Talk about awkward. My ex-wife teaches in the classroom next to my current girlfriend, the ‘other woman’ who broke up my marriage, and she doesn’t know we’re living together.”

  “And Kimberly is putting pressure on you to marry her.”

  “Like a vise.”

  Hearing so many sordid details, I was almost sorry I’d asked Steve for help. I was glad he was only a casual friend. “What are you going to do?”

  “Punt.”

  The attractive redhead I’d seen organizing croquet with Ty, standing with the book club members, and walking with Steve in the school parking lot entered the shop, glanced around, and beelined for our table, brushing past people waiting for takeout. She was even prettier close up under Sweet Treats’s golden recessed lighting than she’d been in harsh sunlight or fading twilight, or under a cheerless gray sky. She looked less chunky and more like an athlete, big-boned and curvy, but sinewy and powerful, too. Her hair was a rich coppery red warmed with glints of gold. Her eyes were green, more olive than Gretchen’s startlingly bright emerald.

  “I thought I’d find you here!”

  Steve lumbered to his feet. “Kimberly!” He kissed her cheek. “Josie, this is Kimberly Larson. Kimberly, this is Josie Prescott, an old friend.”

  I smiled. “Hi.”

  She smiled, too, but hers seemed pasted on. “It’s so nice to meet you. Steve loves this place for breakfast.”

  I smiled some more, aware of her unspoken message: She was alerting me that she knew Steve’s preferences, and that I’d better not encroach.

  I felt like waving my engagement ring under her nose but settled for a verbal cue instead. “I saw you at Mo’s party. My fiancé helped you carry the croquet set. Ty.”

  “I thought you looked familiar!” Her stiffness relaxed a notch. “Ty was a doll to do the heavy lifting for me.” She turned to Steve. “Can I join you for a quick cup of coffee? I know we don’t have much time.”

  Steve squeezed her shoulder. “Josie and I were in the middle of something. I’ll catch up with you at school, okay?”

  Kimberly’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, sure. Sorry.”

  She left without a final glance at me. I wasn’t her issue; Steve was. I watched to see which way she turned once she hit the sidewalk. She walked diagonally across the street and entered the central parking garage.

  I looked back at Steve as he sat down again. “She didn’t just happen to be walking by. She parked in the garage.”

  “She tried to get me to tell her why I was leaving so early this morning. She must have followed me. Jeez … I don’t have a girlfriend, I have a stalker.”

  “Given your track record, who can blame her?”

  “Touché. One way or the other, I expect I’ll get an earful later. I need to go in a minute. School bells stop for no man. You said you were going to ask for my help with the eulogy. Specifically, what can I do for you?”

  “I’d love an anecdote … something that explains Mo’s specialness. I feel as if all I have at hand is a collection of banal generalities.”

  I’d always heard that eyes are windows to the soul, but Steve’s weren’t. His revealed nothing. He could have been deciding whether he wanted a refill on his coffee.

  “You’re doing this for me, to give me a chance to grieve, to share how much I loved her.”

  “For both of us. And for Mo.”

  He nodded. “Thank you for asking. I’d like to help. Very much.”

  I dug around in my tote bag for my card case and handed over a business card.

  He stood and slipped the card into his shirt pocket. “I’ll email you today, or tomorrow at the latest.” He glanced around, caught Noeleen’s eye, and scribbled in the air.

  “This is on me,” I said.

  He grinned, and the boyish charm I remembered was writ large upon his face. He was cute as a bug.

  “Thanks.”

  “One last question: What do you think about Lydia?”

  He reached for his backpack. “From the top of Lydia’s world-class brain to the bottom of her empty heart, she is certain she knows what’s best for everyone, in every case, all the time.” He slung the backpack over his shoulder. “That kind of arrogance really doesn’t work for me. We butted heads a lot.”

  “I appreciate your candor, Steve.”

  Noeleen brought the check and thanked us for coming.

  I left the tip on the table and walked Steve to the door before joining the line at the cash register. He repeated his promise to be in touch soon, then left, heading away from the garage. Evidently he’d found on-street parking. His gait as he walked away didn’t match his nonchalance. He’d seemed weighed down, maybe from guilt, or possibly because his lies had finally caught up with him.

  I could see why Mo wanted to get back with him, though. He was smart and quick, up to her intellectual weight. He had an unusual magnetism, too. When he talked to you, his focus was white-hot, and Mo would have melted under the heat of his attention.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  I switched gears. Lydia was in line waiting to order. I hadn’t seen her arrive. Her shoulders drooped. She had new wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. She’d ditched the sunglasses, and her makeup did a good job of covering whatever remnants of the bruise remained.

  “Lydia. How are you doing?”

  “It’s tough. My mother does nothing but cry. My father paces around like a big cat in a small cage. And Cal is still missing.” She moved forward one step. “I’ve been locked up at home … Have you heard anything?”

  “No.”

  The line crept forward again.

  “I saw you with Stevie just now. Giving comfort to the enemy?”

  “Why is he the enemy?”

  “That’s good. If you don’t want to answer a qu
estion, ask one instead.”

  Lydia was exhausting. “I wasn’t avoiding the question. Even though Mo and Steve were divorced, I thought he might be upset, and I wanted to offer my condolences. I like him. I always have, so naturally I don’t consider him an enemy, but I was curious why you did. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine.”

  The line edged ahead. In another minute, it would be her turn.

  Lydia kept her eyes on the man in front of her. “Is he all broken up about Mo’s death?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yeah, right. I hear from Mo’s lawyer that she donated that Japanese woodblock print to New Hampshire Children First! What do you think they’ll do with it? Sell it? Or make it the centerpiece of a shrine for Mo?”

  I told myself that Lydia must be awash in a sea of misery, that no one could possibly be so mean-spirited unless they themselves were suffering unendurable pain. These rational musings didn’t affect my emotional reaction, though. I fought an instinct to flee without speaking another word, to escape the bitterness that seemed to envelop her like a shroud.

  “I don’t think they’ve decided yet. I’ll see you on Tuesday, Lydia. Again, my condolences.”

  I walked to the cash register and paid the bill, relieved to get away.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Davy Morse’s vintage Mustang swung into our lot about ten fifteen. Davy was around sixty. He was shorter than most men, about five-four, and thin, with a full head of close-cut gray hair. He wore a blue baseball cap backward with some writing stitched on it. I couldn’t make out the words. He spotted me looking out the window and waved. I waved back and opened the front door.

  “Hey, Davy! Long time, no see.”

  He spread his arms wide. “You sure called me up here at the right time of year. These colors are bitchin’. You hear about the foliage, but man, this is something.”

  “When I first moved here, I thought it looked like a tapestry.” I took a step toward him. “It’s good to see you, Davy. How’s Ruby?”

  “Good, good. She sends regards. What’s it been since I looked at that mandolin for you? Three years? Four? It was winter, I remember that. Ruby was with me, and she still talks about freezing her bippy off.”