by Jade Wolfe
I was also itching to talk to Bess, one on one, but that didn’t seem like something that might happen anytime soon, if ever. I would most likely have to hunt her down, and I really didn’t have any excuse to do that.
As soon as breakfast was over and Dad was happily working in his workshop, I grabbed the keys to the carriage house from the hook beside the back door and headed out to take inventory.
The day was going to be gorgeous again - the air was brisk and the sun lit up the colorful trees. I jogged up the steps to the carriage house, let myself in, and went straight to the windows to open them wide and let in some fresh air.
The carriage house wasn’t completely full, but it would need some rearranging if I was going to work here. The first thing I had to do was take down my aunt’s big four-poster bed. Now that she didn’t need it anymore, it would go up for sale with the rest of the things in here. It just needed a polish.
The other stuff needed more. A curio cabinet from the 1800s sported a large scratch along one door, and the bookshelf I’d decided to work on first was going to have to be sanded down to the cherry wood and stained. Some people liked their antiques in original condition, whatever it was, but others just wanted things that looked nice, that were unique, and that they could show off to their friends. The latter folks were my customers. Well, my former customers.
Before I’d come back to Wilder, I had a few clients that I could always count on for a sale. I bought things with them in mind and learned what they liked. Now that I’d let the business slide, though, I wasn’t sure where I stood. Some research would be required, but first I had to get my inventory straightened out, and that started today.
First thing on my list was to pull down the horrible red curtains that cast the room in bloodshed-red. Before she died, Aunt Sage had used this room to entertain her many, uh, gentlemen friends, and it was decorated a lot like a boudoir - too much red, too much silk and velvet. The curtains came down, the bed was next. I stripped it and pulled away all the scarves that decorated the bed’s posters. Everything went into a pile to be thrown away. There wasn’t anything I could do about the scarlet carpet for now, so I didn’t bother worrying about it. It would most likely be ruined with sawdust and stain, anyway. I wasn’t even going to try to save it.
Now I could finally get the monstrous bed out of here. I grabbed the set of tools that I’d brought when I moved this stuff in and went to work, standing the thick mattresses up against the wall so I could get to the frame. The posters, bumpy with carved curlicues, were at least six feet tall, and I knew that if I wasn’t careful I’d end up smacking myself in the head with one of them.
In the back of my mind I wondered what was going on down at the police station, but then I pushed those thoughts away again and tried to concentrate. Downstairs, I could hear my dad messing around in the garage, probably working on that old car of his. Every once in a while, I thought I heard his voice murmuring, and wondered if he was talking to Mom. For all of his complaining, I knew he was happy about her presence. It would be hard to give someone up after so many years.
I was just happy to see him doing so well. The retirement home hadn’t been good for him. He needed to be home with family. If nothing else, I had Sage to thank for making that possible.
After a while, once the bed was apart and out of the way, I started to get bored. The furniture in the room was pushed out to the walls, leaving me a clear space in the middle to work now that the bed was gone. The room was just large and bright enough, and it would make a great work space for me. I liked that Dad was just downstairs, in case he needed me or I needed him.
I pulled a book case from the corner of the room and set about deciding what to do with it. It was a small but ornate case with three shelves, the kind that might sit in someone’s hall or at the corner of a desk. It had some interesting detail that I didn’t want to lose, but the edge of one of the shelves was slightly worn. I decided to sand it and then refinish the whole thing, just to give it that nice red mahogany gleam.
That meant I needed sandpaper, stain, and sealant.
I glanced at the clock. It was nearly one, after the busy lunch rush but before the afternoon traffic when the kids got out of school.
Perfect.
I closed up the carriage house and headed downstairs. Dad wasn’t in his workshop, and I realized with a groan that it was after lunchtime - my mother would have a few things to say about how I was letting him starve.
He was in the kitchen, munching on a sandwich and a bag of chips. Mom was nowhere to be found.
He caught me looking around and said, “She took off with Sage. Not sure where. You’re safe.”
I smiled. “Is it that obvious?”
“Just to me. Want a sandwich?”
I started to shake my head, then changed my mind and went to get ham, bread and mustard from the fridge. Dad watched me for a while, taking in my dusty old sweatshirt and jeans that were torn at one knee. When I brought my food back to the table he pushed out a chair for me with his foot. “Nobody watching you would ever guess that you could buy this whole town twice over if you wanted.”
I shrugged. “It’s not my money, so I don’t get credit for it. I kind of like keeping it quiet.”
“It’s a smart move.”
“I doubt anyone around here is fooled, though. They all knew Sage.”
“Well, they don’t have to know for sure.”
We were quiet while I finished my lunch. It was a companionable quiet, my dad and I had always enjoyed each other’s company without having to talk all the time, and I eventually spotted the book he’d been reading the other morning. “That’s Jasper Davenport’s book, isn’t it?” I asked.
He’s one of my favorites.” His light blue eyes lit up. “That guy can write a thriller like nobody’s business. I’ve got all of his books except for two early ones that are out of print and the newest.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yep.” His voice dropped. “I guess he won’t be writing anymore, huh?”
He looked genuinely sad.
“I guess not,” I answered, deciding right then that I would definitely go back to get the one I’d found - I wouldn’t even bother to haggle with Bagly over it, as much fun as that was sometimes.
“Did you know I always wanted to write a book like that?” He looked away as he said it, like the admission embarrassed him. “I bought a typewriter and everything. It was an enormous blue thing.”
My eyes locked on him. “No - I didn’t know that,” I answered, staring. My dad loved to read, but he’d never mentioned writing before. “Why haven’t you?”
He shrugged and wiped the crumbs from the table into his hand. “I never thought I’d be any good at it, and I never really had time to try.”
“You have time now,” I reminded him quietly. “And you’ll never know until you try. Think about it.”
He nodded. “I will.”
“It could be a whole new career,” I said. I grabbed his hand and squeezed it, grateful that I got to be near him again. I’d missed him a lot in the five years I’d spent in Nashville, and I knew that I would put up with anything this town threw at me for the chance to know him better. “What did you do with the typewriter?”
“I sold it to Bagly when I moved out of the house.” He shrugged. “It took up too much space.”
Just then Jason came sidling into the room. “Clover, can I talk to you?”
I glanced at Dad, but he just shrugged and started straightening the already clean kitchen.
“Sure.” I turned to Jason. “What do you need?”
He jerked his head toward the living room. “In here.”
I followed him.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he said. His eyes were pinched, like he thought he might get into trouble. “Well, actually, I want to ask a favor.”
“You’ve already given him his allowance for the week,” Aunt Sage said. She was so close that I gasped when she spoke. Then I glared
at her. “I know, Aunt Sage. Let him talk.”
She sniffed and poofed away. She was really getting good at popping in and out like that. Mom always appeared more slowly, fading into the room like a Polaroid exposure.
Jason frowned and looked around. “Is she here?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Nope - gone now. Just making sure we all get her two cents’ worth.”
He chuckled and ran a hand over his bald head. He’d recently shaved his shaggy locks and traded in his baggy hoodies for jeans and lean t-shirts. It was a huge improvement. “I need you to talk to Dante for me,” he said.
“Um, OK. About what?” I was curious. Dante and Jason were on friendly terms. Why would he need me to intervene?
He pulled himself up straighter and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I want to join the police academy, and it would be really cool if Dante helped me train and study for the tests.”
That stopped me. “Uh, Okay... Wow, Jason, this is a big deal. When did this happen?”
He looked embarrassed. “Dante’s got a pretty cool job, and you guys are always having some sort of adventure...”
I made a face. Lucky me.
“...And I think that’s what I want to do.” He shuffled his foot. “I think I could be good at it.”
This was a delicate moment, but my heart was pattering happily and I couldn’t resist the big smile that broke across my face. We had all been so worried about him for a while there that it was great to see him making plans for the future.
I pulled back the smile. On the one hand, I was proud of Jason for choosing such a noble and fulfilling career. On the other...well, this would be a big test. Could he commit to the training and study it would take to get into the academy? “I think that’s fantastic, Jason,” I said slowly. “Are you sure, though? It’s a lot of hard work.”
“Plus he’ll get shot. I don’t want him getting shot, Clover. Talk him out of it.” Sage popped back in to add.
“Would you stop doing that?” I asked, trying to focus on her translucent form.
“No.”
Jason’s brow furrowed. “Is that Grandma?” he asked.
“Yes. Don’t worry about it. If you’re sure you want this, I’ll talk to Dante.”
It would take a lot of work on my friend Dante’s part, too. The police academy was a two-year program, and from what I understood, it was pretty intense. I could only imagine the studying and testing and training that Jason would have to do. But his excitement lit up his whole face, and who could say no to that? He even hugged me. “Thanks, Clover. I owe you big time.”
“He hasn’t said yes yet,” I reminded him.
“He will. He’s got the hots for you,” Jason teased.
I had no idea if Dante had the hots for me or not, but if it would give Jason a goal and a plan, I’d try it, even if I had to beg the man.
“When?” Jason asked.
“Tonight, maybe? He’s supposed to come over for supper, so we can sit down and talk to him together.”
He leaned forward and gave me a hard, quick hug. “Thanks, Clover.”
Chapter Five
Town was busier than I’d guessed it would be, mostly on this side of the river. I realized that a lot of it was concentrated in the municipal parking lot.
Then I realized that I could hear music floating by on the cool air. Happy music. I frowned and followed it.
Dwayne hadn’t let the death of his star author put a damper on his book fair, it seemed. There was a small carnival set up on the front lawn of the library and it spilled over into the corner of the parking lot. There was even a petting zoo. I parked my truck and wandered that way, looking around as I went.
Yep. I was looking for Lavinia, and even though I wouldn’t have admitted it for anything, I knew it.
If Pete was telling the truth, Lavinia had a great motive for killing her husband. Yesterday, watching her cry her eyes out, it hadn’t seemed possible, but if she was a skilled actress she could have been playing me. In any case, I wanted another chance to talk to her.
Not that I thought she would show up at the fair. I really hoped that I would catch her heading for the diner, or maybe even Bagly’s to buy Jasper’s book.
Speaking of which...
After making a slow round of the block, I turned and walked through town to the old man’s antique store. When I let myself in through the glass door, the place was deserted except for some noise near the back of the store.
Otherwise, the quiet was odd. Bill Bagly, I knew, considered it a badge of honor to personally greet every person who came into his shop. The fact that he hadn’t said anything yet made the back of my neck tingle.
“Bill?” I called, standing about halfway down the center aisle.
More rustling sounds, but no answer. I kept walking.
The back wall of the small store was divided by a service door in the center. There were large pieces on the left side of the door, and bookshelves holding his most unusual finds on the right. The service door was closed.
I stood in front of it, not sure whether to go in or stay put. Under normal circumstances it wouldn’t be a question, but Bill might think I was just trying to snoop through his inventory. After all, we were business rivals. Or we would be, as soon as I got my own inventory in order. “Bill?”
I settled on knocking.
Something knocked back, much harder. I let out a little scream and jumped back a foot. “Bill?”
The first thought in my mind was of a movie screen monster, waiting for dumb little me to open up so that it could gnaw on me. The second thing I considered was that Bill had seen me coming and decided to play a joke. He wasn’t always a playful kind of guy, but occasionally he got in a mood and pulled a good one on some unsuspecting patron. Like the time he told Mrs. Porter that he’d found lots of money in the old coats when he hung them for sale and she spent the next three days going through his inventory for him - for free.
She found a dollar and twenty-six cents. They both laughed about it for weeks.
This didn’t feel like that. “Bill?” My voice had a tremble.
I stared at the door, wondering if I should call Dante. If Bill was hurt back there he might need more help than I could give him.
If he wasn’t he’d get mad at all the fuss. He might even accuse me of trying to make his establishment look bad.
If he was hurt badly enough, he might not live to get mad.
That thought settled it, and I pushed the door open with its cold steel bar.
The back room was a mess. I stopped just inside the door, but it was hard to even make out individual items because it was all jumbled together in heaps on the floor. My heart rate ratcheted up a notch. This was absolutely not like Bill. Not at all.
I started wading through the mess, kicking aside a pile of shoes.
Then I screamed when one of the shoes kicked back.
As soon as the shoe groaned, I knew I’d found Bill. He was just under a lot of stuff. I started digging.
It took a couple of minutes to find his face, using the shoe as a relative landmark. When I finally did, he was beet red and barely moving, but at least he was breathing and his eyes were open. He looked up at me, and the look on his face was a mixture of sadness and fear. “Bill, can you talk?”
I found an arm and tried to pull him up. His hand was freezing. How long had he been back here?
He shook his head, just a little, but even that tiny movement made him wince. When he did, I saw that there was a giant knot forming just above his right ear. It was turning black, too. “Bill, you’ve been hurt. I’m going to call an ambulance, all right?” I said, speaking as clearly as I could and trying not to panic. I could see the life fading from his eyes as I dug my cell phone out of my purse and dialed May Marie instead of 911. Force of habit.
She answered on the second ring. “Clover! I was just thinking about calling you. You want to grab some -?”
I cut her off. “May, I’m at Bill Bagly’s antique sto
re. He needs some help out here. Send an ambulance.”
“Bill?”
“Yes.” I glanced at the old man. His lump was growing. “He’s got some kind of head injury. I think he fell.”
“More like something fell on him,” May Marie said. “Have you seen that place?”
“May, we need an ambulance, hon.”
“It’s already on the way.”
How had she managed that? Was there a button under her desk or something?
“Is he conscious?” she asked, and now I could hear ticking as she typed something into a computer. “No, but he’s close. He’s got a really big spot of swelling on his head and his eyes keep swimming out of focus.” I squeezed Bagly’s hand and tried to smile at him. “His skin is freezing cold.”
Bill opened his mouth. I leaned in close, in case he needed something. But he didn’t seem interested in his own injuries. All he said was, “Redhead.” Then he was out.
I laid him down on a pile of old clothes and then went back to the front of the store when I heard the ambulance sirens. Relief washed through me. Help was on the way. Bagly was one of the orneriest old men I knew, and a nearly permanent fixture in this town. He was one of those people who drove you a little crazy, but you’d still miss them if they weren’t around. I hated the thought of something bad happening to him.
I propped open the door between the two rooms and went back to him. His eyes were open again, and his mouth was moving as if he were trying to tell me something. I knelt down on the floor beside his head.
“Look,” he whispered.
I looked around and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. “Look at what?”
He tapped my knee with a shaky hand. “Ook.” This time he managed to point a finger in the general direction of the counter. I realized what he was saying.
“Oh, Bill. We’ll worry about the book later. We need to make sure you’re all right.” I smiled at him and mentally willed him to stay calm before he hurt himself worse.
He shook his head and looked green for a moment. “Ook. Redhead.”
I blinked down at him. Was he losing his marbles? Or was I losing mine?
