The Christmas Clock and A Song For My Mother: A Kat Martin Duo

by Kat Martin

  “She doesn’t have much time to spend with her grandmother. It’ll have to be just the two of us.”

  Reed smiled. “I think I can handle that. How’s seven o’clock?”

  “Sounds good.”

  They finished the rest of their cake and then began the job of cleaning up. It had been a remarkably enjoyable evening. Worth the tense moments when Reed’s questions had pushed her into the painful past.

  But the sheriff wasn’t the sort to give up. He would want to know more and he wouldn’t quit pressing until he had the answers to his questions.

  In a town the size of Dreyerville, it wasn’t fair to her mother to divulge long-buried secrets. Long after Marly left, Winnie would be forced to deal with whatever her daughter revealed.

  Then again, since Marly had been living with the knowledge for years, maybe it was poetic justice.

  6

  An unexpected storm blew in the first of the week. It rained all night, mostly a light patter on the roof that Winnie always found comforting. The rain had stopped but the grass was wet this morning, little drops of water glittering in the sunshine that poked through the dissipating clouds.

  “What was Grandpa like?”

  The question took Winnie completely by surprise. She and Katie were sitting out in the screened-in porch that opened off the washroom, each of them peeling an apple. Winnie had promised to bake a pie if Katie would help her.

  A long strand of apple peel fell into the small tin bucket on the table in front of Winnie. “I guess the way your mama feels, you wouldn't know much about him.”

  Winnie flicked her granddaughter a sideways glance. Katie was wearing her pink knit cap the way she always did. Without hair, her features were more pronounced, the smooth, fair skin, the small, straight nose and bow-shaped lips.

  “I've never even seen a picture,” Katie said.

  “I suppose I could remedy that.” Sliding back her chair, Winnie stood up and stepped into the house, returning a few minutes later with a five-by-seven framed photo of her and Virgil on their wedding day. She handed it to Katie, sat down, and started back to work.

  “You can see how handsome he was In his day, he was one of the best looking men in the county. That's where you and your mama got your pretty blue eyes. From your Grandpa Virgil.”

  Katie studied the picture. “Mom said he was mean.”

  The apple peeler stilled in Winnie's hand. She took a deep breath and went to peeling again. “There was a time he was a real nice man, your grandpa, back when I first met him. He was a fireman, you know. Worked for the Dreyerville Fire Department. And oh, he loved his job.”

  “Mom never said he was a fireman.”

  “Well, he was, and a good one. I was just out of high school when we met. My folks’ old clapboard house at the edge of town caught fire and Virgil and his crew came to the rescue.” She smiled recalling that day and the handsome man who had swept into her bedroom, broken out the window, and helped her climb to safety. “I fell in love with him right then and there,” she said, “and he must have taken a fancy to me, too because a year later, we were married.”

  Katie stood the framed photo up on the table so she could still see it. “Then Mom was born.”

  “That's right. It didn't happen right away but a few years after we took our vows, your mother was born and Virgil was so happy. He was a good husband back then.”

  “Mom says he hit you.”

  Her chest clamped down. She didn't want to say bad things about Virgil even after all these years. But she wasn't going to lie for him, either.

  “Something happened at work. Your grandpa started drinking. He didn't do it that often but when he did, he got real mean.”

  “What happened at work?” Katie asked, the apple in her hand long forgotten.

  “There was a fire down at Tremont’s Antiques. Old Mrs. Tremont was caught upstairs in the third-floor attic. She was too old to jump out the window, so your grandpa went inside to save her. Only thing was, the fire got worse and the attic floor gave way and poor old Mrs. Tremont fell through and got killed.”

  “But Grandpa got out?”

  “Yes, he did, but he was hurt real bad. Your mama was about your age at the time but I don't think she ever really understood how badly her dad was injured. He had burns on his back and his legs. He never wore a pair of shorts or went without a shirt again.”

  “Was that the reason he got mean? Because he got hurt in the fire?”

  “I suppose it was. After that day, Virgil was never the same. He was always taking something for the pain but the real damage was in his head. He never forgave himself for failing that old woman. He blamed himself and he believed the other firemen blamed him, too.”

  “Did they?”

  “I don't think so. It was just something that got stuck in his brain.”

  A noise sounded in the doorway. Winnie looked up to see Marly standing at the entrance to the porch. “A lot of people get hurt, Mother. It doesn't turn them into wife beaters.”

  “I don't suppose it does. But I couldn't leave him then . . . not when he was hurt.”

  “What about later? When he got worse? What about after he knocked you down and cracked your ribs? What about when he shoved you so hard you fell and broke your leg?”

  Winnie squeezed her eyes closed, fighting not to remember. “There were things about your father... things no one knew but me. I knew how much he needed me. I—”

  “I needed you, Mother. I was your daughter. I hated the way he treated you. I hated the fear we both felt whenever he came home drunk. I hated that there was nothing I could do to protect you.”

  But her brave daughter had tried. She had wound up with a black eye for her trouble and had to stay home from school. She had been too embarrassed to tell anyone what had happened.

  Winnie had left him then, packed a couple of suitcases, and moved with Marly into a motel on the other side of the county.

  But Virgil had found out where she was staying. He had come to the motel room, stood at the door and cried. He had begged her to forgive him, begged her to come back home. Winnie had never seen him cry, not ever, not even after the fire when he had suffered such incredible pain. Virgil swore he would never lay a hand on Marly again and he never broke his word.

  Instead, he managed to take out his hostility on his wife, mostly when Marly wasn't home.

  “I know the way you felt, dearest, but—”

  Marly threw up her hands and walked back inside the house.

  Katie didn't say a word, just focused her attention on peeling the apple in her hand.

  Winnie sighed. Maybe she shouldn't have said anything. Clearly, Marly hadn't told Katie much about Virgil, aside from what a terrible man he was.

  But he hadn't always been that way and those early years when they were together were what kept Winnie from leaving her husband when Marly had begged her to escape.

  That, and her pity.

  But those were secrets she had never revealed.

  Winnie wasn't sure she ever would.

  Emily scrubbed furiously at the crack between the countertop and the backsplash in the kitchen. Though she couldn't really see any dirt, she knew it was there, must have been there for years.

  She pinched the scouring pad into a thinner shape and kept scrubbing. Her fingers were aching when the doorbell rang. Releasing a sigh at the unwanted intrusion, she tossed the pad on the counter and hurried for the door.

  When she pulled it open, Patrick Murphy stood on the porch. “I thought I'd stop by. I didn't quite finish the flower beds when I was here yesterday.”

  “You've done more than enough, Pat. You don't have to feel obligated to come over here and weed just because you and Randy were friends.”

  “That isn't the reason. I mean, it's one of the reasons, but—” He broke off midsentence, his russet eyebrows drawing together as he noticed her hands. “You're bleeding. Your fingers... good God, Em, what happened?” She shoved her hands behind her back, mort
ified he should see her broken nails and red, roughened skin.

  Patrick reached out and caught her wrist, gently drew it toward him. She hadn't realized her cuticles were bleeding, the tips of her fingers rubbed raw.

  “What were you doing, Emily?”

  “I was cleaning. It's nothing.” She tried to ease her hand away but Patrick wouldn't let go.

  “Come on,” he said softly, “let's get this taken care of.” Leading her into the kitchen, he spotted the steel-wool pad lying on the counter and the blue sudsy foam in the crack where she had been scrubbing.

  Patrick didn't say a word. He just turned on the tap, took her hand, and eased it under the light stream of water.

  “Well, you probably don't have to worry about infection,” he finally said, examining the damaged area. “Not with all that soap.” He took her other hand, which was also raw and bleeding, and stuck it under the tap.

  “I told you I was cleaning,” she said. “I guess I was rubbing a little too hard.”

  Patrick tore off a paper towel and carefully dried both her hands. His gaze went around the kitchen and then he surveyed the living room. “Your house is spotless, Em. There isn't a speck of dirt anywhere.”

  “There's always dirt. It's a never-ending job.”

  “Only if you make it one.” He tipped his head toward the bathroom. “You got any Band-Aids?”

  “I don't need a Band-Aid. I'm fine.”

  He pinned her with a look.

  “All right. They're in the bathroom. But try to be quiet or you'll wake up Timmy. He’s down for his afternoon nap.”

  Patrick made his way down the hall, walking quietly for a man of his size. He was only a little bigger than average, except for his hands and feet. She almost smiled. Every woman knew what they said about a man with big hands and feet.

  Her smile slipped away. Dear God, she had only been a widow for six months! She was still in mourning. A good wife wouldn't be thinking those kinds of thoughts about another man, even if it was only an instant of humor.

  Patrick returned with the box of bandages, stripped the wrappers off a couple, and wrapped them around the ends of her injured fingers.

  “They'll just get wet when I wash the dishes,'' she said.

  Patrick looked her in the face. “I don’t know what's going on with you, Em. I know something is. Have you given any thought to going back to work?”

  She stared at him in horror.

  “You used to love your job down at Suzy's. My cousin said you had a real knack for the business. Said the ladies came in especially to get your help in selecting an outfit.”

  Susan Norfolk, Patrick's cousin, was the owner of the shop. In Dreyerville, everyone knew someone who knew something about you.

  “I’m a single mother now, Patrick. I can't go back to work.”

  “I realize you get an income from Randy's pension. That doesn't mean you can't have a job, too. Lots of women work and raise a family. There's no reason you can't be one of them.”

  She only shook her head.

  Patrick sighed. “Promise me you'll think about it, okay?”

  Oh, she would think about it. A dozen times a day she thought about the job she had loved. But she had responsibilities. She had a job to do at home as Randy had pointed out. She wasn't a wife anymore but she was still a mother.

  And no matter how hard it was, she was determined to be the best mother a woman could possibly be.

  It was nearly the end of the day when Reed finally had a chance to pull the file on Virgil Maddox. Marly hadn't come right out and said so but some sort of paternal abuse seemed a likely cause for the rift between mother and daughter.

  The manila folder he pulled from the drawer held a mug shot of Virgil from an arrest nearly sixteen years ago. Marly would have been twelve years old. Virgil had been taken into custody for disturbing the peace but the charges were dropped.

  There was a family disturbance call a year later, phoned in by Nancy Cassidy, the neighbor who had lived in the house Reed now owned, but again, no formal arrest was made. Another couple of calls were resolved on site.

  Virgil's occupation was listed as firefighter with the Dreyerville Fire Department. Local deputies worked closely with the firefighters and there was a lot of mutual respect. The officers would have gone out of their way to help Virgil, though Reed didn't think they would have ignored a clear case of spousal abuse if they had happened upon it.

  Which meant Winnie had covered for her husband. She had somehow convinced the police that no abuse had taken place.

  He didn't see any reference to Marly, which he hoped meant Virgil had never taken his bad temper out on his daughter. It still wasn't clear to him why Winnie and Marly had parted twelve years ago.

  Maybe he would find out tonight.

  He thought of the pretty little blonde who was visiting next door and found himself smiling. He was going out on a date. A real first date with a very attractive, very sexy young woman, the kind of date he hadn’t had since he had met Carol.

  Reed had fallen in love with his future wife the first time they had gone out, the night he had taken her to see An Officer and a Gentleman at the Arlington Theater downtown. At the end of the movie, when Richard Gere swung Debra Winger up in his arms and carried her off with him, Carol had cried. Reed knew then and there that she was the one. Attracted to her romantic nature and quiet intelligence, he had recognized the perfect fit they made.

  And he had been right. Carol Constable was exactly the woman for him.

  The thought made his smile slip away. He hadn't had a date since Carol had died. Not a real one. The kind where he anticipated the evening. The kind where he thought about the kiss he might get at the end of the night. Thought about what it might be like to take the lady to bed.

  Thinking of Marly's slender, shapely figure set his blood pumping, reminding him that he was a man and that he had ignored the fact since he had lost Carol.

  But he was coming back to life. Meeting Marly Hanson had somehow stirred the embers that had just began to flicker inside him, made him realize that life went on and that a man had no choice but to live it.

  The smile returned as he glanced at the clock on the wall and the office manager walked up to his desk. “I gotta get going,'' he said to Millie. “I've got a date.''

  Her eyes widened. “A date? Really? Who is she?''

  “You wouldn't know her. She’s new in town. Well, actually, she moved away a while back, but she's home for a visit.”

  “That so?”

  He didn't say more, though clearly, her curiosity was piqued. Everyone knew everyone in Dreyerville.

  He wasn't ready for half the town to be discussing his business.

  “Well, whoever she is,'' Millie said, “it's time you started getting out again.”

  And it was, he knew. After four years, it was way past time.

  On the other hand, getting involved with a woman who would soon be leaving was probably not the best idea he ever had.

  Of course, there was always a chance that Marly Hanson would decide to stay.

  A notion that in some ways disturbed him even more.

  7

  Katie walked down the sidewalk next to Ham, Rufus sniffing the ground as he trailed along behind them. Ham had come over to the house after he got out of school. Grandma had dug out an old Scrabble game, and they had played out in the screened-in porch for a while. Ham was pretty good but Katie had the advantage since she and her mother played word games all the time.

  Besides, it was such a nice day, it seemed a waste to be inside.

  “You want to see my tree house?” Ham had asked as the game came to a close.

  “I’d love that.”

  He stood up from the table and reached for her hand. “Okay, come on.”

  Ham led her through the house, pausing long enough for Katie to tell her grandma where she was going and they headed down the street. Ham told her that a couple of his friends had built the tree house up in an old sycamore i
n an empty lot at the end of the block.

  “It’s kind of our clubhouse, you know,” Ham said. “Just me and Ben and Freddie. But sometimes we let in visitors.”

  “A clubhouse. I've never been in a clubhouse. It sounds really neat.”

  They reached the base of the big, sprawling tree that seemed to soar up into the sky. Though the branches were still bare, even when Katie craned her neck, the top was too high to see. Instead, she spotted the enclosed wooden platform the boys had built in the hollow where the branches fanned out. A sign on the side that read Private Property, No Trespassing, marked the spot.

  “Can I go up?” she asked.

  “Sure. But I have to go first and let down the ladder.”

  She stared back up at the tree. The trunk was bare, not even a branch for at least six feet. “How will you get up there?”

  “It’s kind of tricky. I’ll show you.” Taking a little jump, Ham stuck his fingers into a hole she hadn't noticed in the trunk above his head. He pulled himself up and then found a toehold nearby. The path up the tree was well worn, she realized, as Ham found a handhold here and foothold there, scrambling like a monkey up to the first branch, then on up from there. Opening the makeshift wooden door, he scrambled inside and came back out holding on to a long rope ladder.

  “Stand back so I can throw it down.”

  Katie stepped out of the way but as she did, she collided with a boy who had walked up behind her.

  “Sorry,” she said, her hand automatically raising to hold on to her pink knit cap.

  “Look at this.” The kid spun her around toward a second boy standing a few feet away. “Wonder what it is? A girl or a boy?”

  The ladder came hurling down. “Leave her alone, Willie! You, too, Milo.” Willie was pudgy and needed a haircut, his yellow T-shirt food-stained. Milo was skinny as a bone with a pushed-in face that made Rufus look handsome. Rufus barked as if he agreed.

  Milo reached over and jerked off her pink knit cap. “It’s a boy,” he said, laughing.