Snowbound Snuggles

by T. F. Walsh

  “Fancy ring tone. Is it something from the army?”

  “Not exactly.” He continued to the back porch and began to dress for the cold. “My phone reflects my status as a loyal Badger alum. I use On Wisconsin for all but family.”

  “No wonder it seemed familiar. Does the high school still use it for their fight song?”

  “Absolutely.” He shrugged into the coveralls. “I meant the invitation for a supper. And unless you want pasta with sauce from a jar, I’ll let my mother do the cooking.”

  Laura leaned against the open kitchen door. “I’m sure it will be better than flaming potholder. I’m really sorry about the excitement and fright.”

  “Serve it with a sharp knife and call it Goldilocks’s revenge.”

  “With a rating of three campfires?” She toyed with the end of her single braid resting on her shoulder. “Tell me, Mr. Park Ranger, when did you name me Goldilocks?”

  He stood from the bench and pulled the ski mask out of his pocket.

  She thought he would ignore her foolish question, but halfway through the door he turned his head and tossed an answer over his shoulder.

  “Yesterday. Before that you were ‘summer girl.’”

  • • •

  Laura placed the fresh wiped dish on the shelf and closed the cabinet door. Barking dogs preceded the distinctive sound of an arriving vehicle and drew her attention to the window.

  A dark Jeep pulled straight in and stopped at the small walkway between the house and garage. The driver opened his door, ignored the circling collies, and approached the back porch. She moved to meet him.

  “Howdy. Registered letter for a Laura Tanner.” The mail carrier gripped a clipboard and several envelopes in his left hand.

  “That’s me.”

  “Sign the green card at the mark. Shaping up to be a fine day.” He stood still, allowing Taffy and Cocoa to inspect his legs. “Are you the niece?”

  She debated which of his comments needed a response. “No secrets in this town.”

  “I like to think we watch out for each other. You take care, now.” He started toward his car. “By the way, name’s Harold. I’m running a little late today. If you need to mail anything best to have it in the box half an hour ago.”

  “I’ll remember that.” She stood on the enclosed porch while he turned around and resumed his route on the road before reading the return address on the letter. Data Diagnostics. Why would her employer send a letter when she was on vacation?

  Formal, impersonal language blurred before Laura’s eyes. She sat stiff on the daybed for a full ten minutes reading and rereading a letter full of legal citations. The purpose stayed the same each time through. Data Diagnostics, the information technology service she’d worked at four years and ten months, was officially out of business. I should have seen it coming. What blinded me?

  She released the paper and let it drop to the carpet. Cheerful noon sunlight flooded in through the window mocking her fresh defeat.

  “No wonder it was easy to get time off.” The quiet house absorbed her words. She stood, scooped up the letter and put the entire handful of mail on the formal dining table for later. That door she’d just heard slam shut in her mind required physical activity.

  A little later, Laura stepped onto the snowshoes, dropped to one knee, and puzzled over the straps. Taffy poked her narrow nose at her hand, pleading for another bit of attention.

  “Patience, girl. I’m new at this. Best you stay back unless you know which one of these to fasten first.” She secured one snowshoe and started on the other. The nature videos made it look easy. If she could believe even half of the information, she’d be walking steady on top of the fresh snow within five minutes. Yeah. Sure.

  “Cocoa, bring that back. Here.” She pushed herself upright for the second time in a dozen awkward steps. One ski pole aided the process while the brown and white dog dragged the second pole to the edge of the narrow service road. “That’s not funny, girl. Do you want me to start subtracting kibble each time you steal from me?”

  The collie gave her a puzzled look for a few seconds then turned away to follow some critter trail.

  Laura squatted to carefully retrieve the abandoned pole before continuing down the snow-covered tractor width path to the end of the pumpkin patch. White pine marched parallel on her right in rows that stretched to the turn along the gulley. She’d walked in that field the other day. Today she maneuvered left into the smaller field of balsams chanting; lift, swing, forward. It almost kept her feet untangled. She’d only fallen twice—in less than ten minutes. Progress.

  The collies returned from their side trips by the time she halted two rows into the field. She dug into her pockets to toss them each a dog biscuit, and found energy to laugh as they boggled the catch and ended up to their ears in snow.

  Find something good in the day. Ever the list maker, she voiced one recent negative thing and tromped around in the field until she recalled a positive to balance it.

  “My safety net of a job with some telecommuting during the next few months has vanished.” A few paces later she told the nearest balsam, “Monday we meet with Mrs. Schmitt.”

  Difficult tasks like preparing her house for sale balanced with free room and board at the farm. Myles Wilcox drifted into her mind and sent a shiver under her layered clothing. Brad’s smile as he said “Goldilocks” settled in like a blue-sky afternoon.

  Bam!

  Her foot stalled in the middle of a “swing.” Gunshot. Her heart shifted into double time as she concentrated on moving her feet in careful, steady arcs toward the service road. “This is rural Wisconsin. All sorts of people set up targets and practice.”

  Chapter Five

  “I apologize again for keeping you past closing.” Laura extended her hand to Marge, the Crystal Springs librarian. What she’d envisioned as a short, get-acquainted visit had expanded into two hours of facility tour, village history lesson, and discussion of the various bestseller lists.

  “Not a problem. Since my hubby retired last year, Friday isn’t my night to cook.” Marge selected a key from her bright-coiled bracelet to lock the front entrance. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

  “Same here,” Laura stepped into darkness with soft streetlight punctuation. “I’ll be trying Jack’s Village Tavern for my own supper.”

  “Good choice. Their Friday fish fry draws a crowd from the entire area.”

  Laura gave the older lady a wave as she unlocked her car. This spur-of-the-moment visit to the library answered several of her questions. The emails they’d exchanged during the previous two months contained such formal language, she’d feared the village librarian was the stereotypical nineteenth century ogre. Instead, Marge proved to be open and friendly under a thin coating of old-fashioned manners. The lady was also overwhelmed with the response to an adult reading challenge issued for the new year.

  A few minutes later, she pulled open the door of Jack’s. Warm noise wrapped around her in invitation. A few round, tall tables clustered near the end of the long bar where half a dozen taps speared the air. A chalkboard covered with daily food specials dominated the space behind the polished barrier. The remainder of the dining area featured square tables with simple wooden chairs. She chose to claim a space under a large window with a gaudy beer sign and view of Front Street.

  Muted light escaped from the upper windows of one twenty-four Front Street. Downstairs a single fixture glowed near the door. She made a mental note to check about timers for security lights if she got the lease. A lot depended on the commercial space in her view.

  Monday morning. She and Brad would be meeting at the landlady’s home in Wagoner to discuss details of the lease. The weekend remained to meet other people and learn nuances of local business customs.

  “Evening. What would you like to drink?”

  Laura pulled her thoughts away from business dreams. “What goes good with the fish fry?”

  The twenty-something server pulled
a cardboard coaster from her apron pocket and emitted a mixture of laughter and sigh. “We carry six beers on tap, another twenty in bottles, Coke products, and Bear Country Root Beer. Then we have the fixings for cocktails and several nice California wines. Am I hitting any possibilities here?”

  Laura exposed her palms to the waitress as if to halt the onslaught of beverages. “Bring me the root beer. And I’ll have the regular size fish dinner with slaw and fries.”

  “Coming right up. Name’s Tiffany if you need to give a holler.” She scribbled on her order pad and moved on to a table of new arrivals, her auburn ponytail waving with every step.

  Now what word in Jack’s Village Tavern missed my brain? She glanced out the window again and this time took note of the red and white beer sign above her head. With deliberate motions, she shed her coat and gathered her nerves closer together. The longer she studied the room, the more comfortable the mixture of voices and scent of deep fried fish became. The atmosphere fell somewhere between family dining and rowdy sports bar.

  One closed captioned large screen showed sports highlights from the week. A pair of men at the single pool table seemed practiced at ignoring advice from half a dozen onlookers. On the other side of the entrance, two women tended four small children.

  Her hand went to the hidden rings as she tried to picture Scott across the table. The image didn’t clarify. A city man, he’d be restless, unable to adjust to the slower pace.

  Yet, she imagined him in the shop across the street. During her actual inspection and almost on demand, she could call up his lean body reaching for a book on a high shelf or resting his arm on that former serving counter discussing the merits of various biographies with a customer. The space suited their business model better than any of the vacancies they’d considered a year ago last November.

  Yes, Scott would enjoy a visit. Living here? He’d feel confined and would soon be uneasy. A person didn’t just drop into Wal-Mart in the wee hours on impulse when a thirty-mile drive was involved. She smiled at the memory of one of their visits he’d prompted. It was so natural and comfortable to stand side-by-side, reading food labels and exchanging comments. Scott was unique—a relationship to be savored.

  She took her first sip of rich root beer and considered the positive side of things. Memories of Scott should be rare here. They’d only visited once, at the height of the fall colors three years ago. Three years. Daryl still worked for the Secret Service then. Roger was struggling with a new crop management computer program. And Brad, he was taking orders in the army with both arms intact.

  “Are you the Starr girl?”

  Laura looked up from her hot fish fillets into the weathered face of a man with sparse gray hair. “Guilty. My father was Richard.”

  “Pegged you right off. You favor him. I rode the school bus with both of those boys way back when. It was a sad day when Roger told me he’d died. Cancer?”

  She nodded. “Leukemia.”

  “Well, you hang in there, young lady. I got to go. We’ve got the grandson with us tonight and he’s in a hurry for his fish. You tell Roger that Lloyd Carlstead is alive and well.”

  “I’ll do that.” She repeated his name, wiped her fingers, and went digging in her coat pocket for pen and pad.

  Three out of four tables were occupied and the sounds of conversation, laughter, and snap of play at the pool table hummed in the room by the time Laura finished eating and stood to put on her coat.

  “Allow me, ma’am.”

  She sealed her lips before an exclamation escaped. Myles Wilcox worked and lived in the community. It should be no surprise he patronized a local business. She slipped one arm into her parka and then the other. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “Did you enjoy your supper?” He stood on the edge of her personal space between her and the exit.

  “Excellent. I recommend the beer battered fish.” She forced her gaze to sweep over him without turning away in rudeness. His fresh haircut matched Scott’s favorite and forced her breathing to pause. A slow parade of melted ice slid down her spine.

  “Spoken like a native.”

  She reached back and lifted her single, long braid free of her collar. “I’ve a long way to go before I’ll attempt that claim. But I do have ties to the area. I’m thinking the grapevine has kept you well informed.”

  “I’m not a gossip. You should tell me your story one of these days.”

  “Not tonight.” She took a small step toward the door, paused when he touched her arm and spoke low near her ear.

  “You have beautiful eyes, Mrs. Tanner.”

  Chapter Six

  Laura parked next to Brad’s Chevy Silverado Saturday morning. Her toes did a little warm tingle at the possibility he might also be in the café. Then in the next breath she reminded herself it didn’t matter how well he’d grown up or the amount of patient kindness she’d seen evidence of in the past few days. Her love and loyalty remained with Scott. She’d not allow her heart to be distracted until her husband’s killer was brought to justice.

  A few moments later, she peered into the window of Springs Press. Uncle Daryl had told her he ran his low profile detective agency from the building. She briefly considered trying the door and examining the intriguing old store from the inside but she did have a breakfast appointment. She gazed in at a small, tidy, almost bare space. A tall counter dominated the room. A person had to look carefully to see a hinged section permitting access. Bookshelves behind the counter hosted half a row of binders plus a few shorter books on a second level. Not a photo on a wall or even a tired potted plant softened the abandoned impression.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Tanner.”

  She looked away from speculating on the number of computers and phones behind the plain door to the back room and straight at Myles Wilcox. “And a fine Saturday to you.”

  “It’s looking good from where I stand.”

  A warm blush pooled on the back of her neck. A blink and a quick breath reminded her that she was not speaking to a full size, living poster of Scott. She adjusted her shoulders and started to walk to the café on the corner. Her mind hunted for a topic other than weather as he remained within an arm’s length. As they neared his office a sparkle caught her attention. “Are the trophies yours?”

  “Yes. I’ve nine so far. I’m going for a dozen. Do you shoot?”

  Shoot? Guns? She worked a cold lump of fear and surprise down her throat and took a closer look at the statuettes. The small figures held tiny metal rifles aimed into the street. The bowling balls or softball bats she’d expected turned into symbols of death and violence. “No. I’m not much for guns.”

  “No problem.” He pushed his hands into both pockets of his leather coat and fell into step beside her. “I’m on my way to coffee. May I treat you?”

  “Another time. I’ve got a business meeting.” One quick glance of his profile convinced her to keep her gaze away. Where she’d always found Scott’s presence inviting and comfortable, this mirror image urged formal distance.

  “I’ll remember that.” He opened the first door and invited her to brush past.

  The sleigh bell still jingled when Laura spotted Kathy Miller in the first booth and she seized control of the situation. “I see my appointment waiting,” she said and headed toward the end of the table.

  “Morning, Mayor Miller.” Myles gave a casual wave to the lady in the booth.

  “Nice to see your sidewalk cleared promptly this time around.”

  “Give a man a break, Mayor. First snow came early this winter and caught me unaware.” Myles shook his head with a smile before continuing across the room and claiming a stool at the counter.

  “Laura Tanner.” She offered her hand.

  “Please, call me Kathy.” The mayor grasped Laura’s hand and made brief, direct, eye contact before waving her to sit down.

  “My compliments on your village website. You’ve chosen very nice photos. Including your own,” said Laura.

  “I’ll fo
rward your kind words to my daughter. I twist her arm with pumpernickel when the site needs an update.” Kathy gave a smile identical to her pose on the web.

  “May I tempt you with breakfast, ladies?” Amy set down water for Laura and filled both coffee cups. “Dare I ask if my brother behaved himself the other day?”

  “He acted the gentleman the entire time.”

  “It’s a miracle. Best you mark that in your calendar.”

  Laura studied the laughter reaching Amy’s eyes. Scott and his brother often bantered with affection. Past tense. She swallowed down the realization that in addition to everything else, she’d never witness another round of teasing between the Tanner brothers. As an only child she learned early that even the best of friends shared a different bond from siblings. “The morning contained its share of memorable moments. I’ll have the sunrise special with the eggs scrambled.”

  “Same for me,” Kathy reached for her mug.

  “Have it up in a jiffy.”

  “Now,” Kathy pulled her laptop away from the window and opened it. “This is the mayor’s office, portable style. What’s the first burning question on your mind today?”

  Laura reached into her coat pocket for her small notebook. Her fingers closed around the smooth, distinct shape of her business card case. Thought I’d lost that. How did it get into the opposite pocket? She glanced toward the counter. Myles appeared to be interested in his coffee as he added a little pancake syrup. An instant later, she chilled at the memory of his closeness last night at Jack’s and moments ago on the sidewalk.

  Without warning Myles stared in her direction a heartbeat longer than friendly. Laura lowered her gaze, reluctant to label him a flirty, well-dressed pickpocket. A moment later, her fingers calmed enough to turn to a fresh page of paper and write the date bold. “Let’s start with the mundane, shall we? What’s the garbage collection schedule?”

  One topic led to another in their semi-formal meeting. They slowed, but did not abandon their conversation when breakfast arrived.

  “I’m feeling more fortunate by the moment that you had this morning available.” Laura opened a jam packet. “Does everyone have more than one job around here or have I just stumbled across a select group?