How quickly did tetanus germs spread? Hopefully, she’d be alive for the meeting.
Emma lived, and on November fourth, she drove to the Heart Lake Grange Hall, hoping against hope that she’d see a parking lot full of cars. Or even half full. Okay, a third. She’d settle for that.
The trees parted to reveal the old log building that had been Heart Lake’s Grange Hall since the thirties, when much of the land had been taken up by strawberry and blueberry farms. Exactly two cars sat in its potholed parking lot. One she recognized as her mom’s. The other was Sarah’s. Where was everyone else? Where was the woman with the leg-eating dog? She should have at least come out of guilt.
Emma parked her car and checked her watch. Six fifty-five and the meeting was supposed to start at seven. She suddenly felt like she had a stone inside her, sinking fast from her heart to her stomach. They had failed.
The crunch of tires on gravel made her turn. Yay, another body. People would show. They were just running late. Jamie pulled up next to her. She sighed. Well, the organizers were here. And their mothers. She grabbed her platter of cookies from the front seat and got out.
“Big turnout,” Jamie said in disgust as she got out of her car.
“We still have five minutes,” Emma reminded her.
“Let’s hope that everyone in Heart Lake is running late,” said Jamie. She shook her head. “And after that great article in the paper—if this is all the turnout we get I’m going to be majorly pissed.”
You and me both, thought Emma. Except Emma wasn’t going to admit it.
They went inside to find Sarah had already decorated, hanging purple, pink, and red foiled hearts all over the walls. Emma’s mother hurried over to greet her daughter, trailed by Grandma Nordby. It wasn’t hard to tell the two women were related. Each one of them looked like Russian nesting dolls—with the same round face and body Emma had inherited. Mom’s strawberry-blond hair was now shot with gray, well on its way to Grandma Nordby’s solid white. Emma didn’t need a magic mirror to see her future. All she had to do was look at her grandma and mom.
“We’re so proud of you, dear,” said Grandma.
Emma frowned. “It’s not much of a turnout.”
Her mother looked at her watch. “It’s not seven yet. You still have four minutes.”
Four minutes. Anything could happen in four minutes. Emma set the platter of cookies she’d bought on the little table Sarah had covered with a tablecloth. It already held a flower arrangement courtesy of Hope Wells the florist and a plate of ginger cookies. Next to Sarah’s famous ginger cookies, Emma’s grocery-store offering didn’t look like much.
Sarah emerged from the kitchen, carrying two coffee carafes. “Are we all ready?” she greeted them.
Emma nodded. “I just hope more people come.”
Car tires crunched on the gravel. “They’ll be here,” Sarah assured her. “Sure you don’t want to do the talking? This was your idea.”
Talk in front of people? No, thanks. “You go ahead.”
At that moment Sarah’s husband, Sam, joined them. He was a big man, still buff and good-looking in spite of the growing bald spot on the top of his head. “Don’t forget to put this out,” he said, and laid the newspaper article on the table next to their cookies. “Pretty good publicity.”
It was. The headline read, Heart Lake Angels Work to Put Heart in Heart Lake, and in addition to the article, they’d gotten their pictures in the paper. It was the first time Emma had ever had her picture in the paper. She was going to frame it.
So, with all that great publicity, where was everyone?
The door opened and in walked Sarah’s friend Kizzy Maxwell with her husband, Lionel. She saw Sarah and Emma, waved at them and started their way, her husband in tow. “This is a great idea,” she said, giving Sarah a hug. “Was it yours?”
Jamie had joined them now. She pointed to Emma. “Hers.”
“Oprah would be proud,” said Kizzy. Her husband grabbed a cookie from the platter and she cocked an eyebrow at him. “Lionel Jefferson Maxwell.”
He frowned and said, “I’m just having one.”
“They’re free,” said Sam, digging in, “have two.”
“Good idea,” said Emma, and took two ginger cookies as consolation for their poor turnout.
As the minute hand inched toward seven, more people trickled in. There was Hope, and behind her Emma recognized Pastor Ed the gentle giant who gave pastors a good name; Kevin Dwyer, who ran the chamber of commerce; and Lezlie Hurst, the reporter from the Heart Lake Herald, who had done their story. Yay! Movers and shakers. And now here came . . .
“Oh, lucky us,” said Sarah next to her. “It’s the mighty Quinn. She looks happy.”
Mayor Melanie Quinn was dressed to the nines as always in a gray suit accessorized with a string of pink pearls. Her highlighted blond hair was freshly styled and her face was perfectly madeup. And her smile was totally phony. Her eyes looked like blue ice as she walked toward them.
“What’s she pissed about?” Jamie wondered.
“You can’t guess?” Sarah said in an undertone voice. “This wasn’t her idea. She can’t take credit for it. Melanie,” she greeted the mayor. “This is an honor.”
Melanie Quinn was a good enough politician to ignore Sarah’s sarcastic tone. “I’m glad to be here. Anything that involves Heart Lake involves me,” she added sweetly.
“How lucky for us.”
Sarah and the mayor had known each other for thirty years, but this was no time for old rivalries. “It’s great to have your blessing,” Emma gushed, trying to make up for Sarah’s unusual lack of manners.
“I just wish someone would have come to me with this idea,” said Mayor Quinn, still smiling. Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe I could have helped ensure a bigger turnout.”
“Heaven knows you’re good at manipulating numbers,” said Sarah. “How many recounts did we have to have last election?”
“Um, how about a cookie,” said Emma, grabbing the platter. “Fresh from the bakery.”
The mayor came as close to sneering as a public official who sensed the approach of the media could possibly come. “I’ll pass. After a certain age most of us have to watch our waistline.”
Now Sarah’s eyes narrowed.
“Mayor Quinn,” said Lezlie the reporter, pulling out her trusty camera. “How about a picture for the paper?”
“Of course,” said the mayor, slipping an arm around Sarah and Emma, and pulling Jamie in, too. “Sarah, you just get curvier all the time.”
“Still jealous?” Sarah shot back.
Mayor Quinn unhooked herself from them the moment the picture was snapped, saying, “If you ladies will excuse me, I need to speak with Kevin.”
“That woman,” Sarah growled as the mayor hurried across the room to network.
“Nice shindig,” said a voice at her elbow.
Emma took in the short man wearing black slacks and a shirt that looked like a leftover from one of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. The shirt was open to show off a chest bristling with gray hairs. To top off the ensemble, he had a gold chain dangling around his neck.
He was checking out Sarah the way Kizzy’s husband had looked at the ginger cookies. She did look cute in her jeans and V-necked black sweater. The V-neck stuff had become standard since Sarah heard the lines were better for middle-aged women, although Emma suspected the newcomer wasn’t so much admiring the flattering neckline on her sweater as he was the highlighted cleavage.
Sarah took the plate of cookies from Emma. “Cookie, Leo?”
“I love sweet things,” he said with a smile that made Emma think of the big, bad wolf.
“We should start,” said Sarah briskly. “Excuse me.” She moved up to the podium on the little stage. “If we could get you all to sit down,” she called, “we’ll begin our meeting.”
Everyone obediently found a seat among the folding chairs Sam had set up—a few bodies adrift in a sea of chairs. It was a pretty
unimpressive beginning, to say the least.
“Thanks for coming,” Sarah said once everyone was settled. “We know you’re all busy and we really appreciate you taking time to come out for this meeting tonight. I promise we’ll make it brief.”
“Don’t hurry on our account,” cracked her admirer. “We’re here as long as the cookies hold out.”
Sarah managed a polite smile. “I’m sure you all read the article in the paper,” she went on, “so you know how this idea started. We’re here because we love Heart Lake, and we want to keep it the great, friendly place it’s always been. That can be hard with so many new people moving in. You lose your sense of connection. Those of you who are here are the heartbeat of this town. And you care. We might start small, but we can make a big difference. We can keep the heart in Heart Lake.”
“Amen to that!” Pastor Ed called, and started clapping.
The other attendees joined suit, and suddenly Emma didn’t see a small turnout for a big job. She saw a real movie moment. She smiled and wiped tears from the corners of her eyes.
“So how does this work exactly?” asked Hope after the applause died down.
“As simply as possible,” replied Sarah. “Like Oprah’s Angel Network, only without Oprah,” she added with a smile.
She brought Jamie up to share how she and Emma had created their goody jars. “You don’t even have to do that,” Jamie concluded. ‘You could let someone go in front of you in line at Safeway or at the four-way stop.”
“We don’t want to make this complicated,” Sarah said as Jamie sat down. “Just do a good deed and tell the person you helped to pass it on. It won’t work unless we talk it up. And, speaking of talking it up, we thought it would be good to get T-shirts made. If you’re all willing to buy one and wear it that will help build interest. And we can donate the proceeds to the food bank.”
“Great idea,” approved Pastor Ed.
“We could sell them at the chamber,” offered Kevin.
“I can sell them at Changing Seasons, too,” Hope said.
“Heck, let’s all sell them,” said Emma. This could catch on. It really could.
Sarah nodded. “Good idea.”
“You need a headquarters,” said Madam Mayor, “someplace central to coordinate this.”
Not hard to tell whom the good mayor envisioned at the center of the project.
“I’m not sure we need a central office for good deeds,” said Sarah.
“Well, if you do, we’ll give you a corner of our office,” Kevin offered.
“Great,” said Sarah in a voice that settled it.
The mayor pressed her lips firmly together and crossed her arms.
“I think that basically covers it,” said Sarah.
“Do we want to meet again?” suggested Pastor Ed. “Share some of our experiences?”
“Oh, good idea,” seconded Emma. “Let’s meet next month.”
“How about January?” Sarah countered. “People get pretty busy during the holidays.”
“We’ll all be busy being angels,” said Emma, beaming.
“Speak for yourself,” cracked Sarah’s admirer.
“January sounds good,” said Kevin.
“All in favor?” asked Sarah, and everyone said, “Aye.”
“The ayes have it. Thanks for coming, everyone. Now, let’s go start putting the heart back in Heart Lake.”
“And if something extraordinary or heartwarming happens, call me,” added Lezlie. “We’ll put it in the paper.”
After a word with Lezlie, the mayor exited. Emma barely had time to thank Hope for the flower arrangement before she followed suit, probably anxious to get home to her new husband. The others stayed and chatted for a while. Good energy, thought Emma, watching them.
Leo Steele was the last to leave, only taking the hint when Sam said, “Okay, ladies, time to lock up.”
“I wish more people had come,” said Jamie as Sam turned out the lights. “We only had thirteen here.”
“That’s my lucky number,” Emma said, determined to stay positive. “Anyway, look what Jesus did with just twelve disciples. And we have thirteen, a baker’s dozen.”
“I didn’t see Jesus here tonight,” Jamie said grumpily.
“I did,” said Sarah. “And I think He’s pretty happy about this.” She gave Emma a hug. “It was an inspired idea. Good things are going to come of this. You wait and see.”
“Yeah, for everybody but your poor, ignored husband,” cracked Sam, coming up behind her.
Sarah ignored him. “If nothing else, we’ll all be better people,” she told Emma. “And that’s worth something.”
Of course, she was right, but Emma wanted more than that. She wanted everyone in Heart Lake to become better people, not just them. This had to work. They’d make it work.
Hopefully.
“All right,” Sarah said as she and Sam drove out of the Grange Hall parking lot, “what did you mean by that remark?”
“What remark?”
“You know, the one about the poor ignored husband.”
“Oh, that. I was just being a smart-ass.”
Okay, good.
“But you do have this way of getting involved with projects,” he added.
She frowned. “The kids are grown. What am I supposed to do when you’re off at the station for days at a time, sit on my hands? I have to do something.”
“I know.”
And she knew that tone of voice. “But what?” She could already predict what was coming.
“It’s just that I have a feeling I’m going to drop to the bottom of the priority list. Again.”
“Sam Goodwin, for such a generous man you sure have a big selfish streak.”
“Only where you’re concerned.” He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. “Sometimes I just think I come in last, that’s all.”
“Well, you don’t,” she assured him, and laid a hand on his thigh.
He let the subject drop, but she kept stewing over it the rest of the night. Okay, sometimes she was either too busy or too tired or too . . . not interested when he wanted to do something, especially when he wanted to do something naked. What did he expect? She hardly had a hormone left in her body, and, anyway, their sex life had become as routine as the rest of their life. And she had a business to run. And they had children, and responsibilities. You couldn’t stay newlyweds forever. Anyway, Sam should have been happy that she was finding a way to salve her hurting grandmother’s heart. She’d tell him that, first thing in the morning.
Except first thing in the morning she had to get to the bakery, and he was busy at the station. Well, she’d tell him . . . when she got time.
NINE
Selena Morrison, one of Emma’s favorite customers, came into the shop on Thursday, bearing a small gift bag and wearing a large gauze bandage on her index finger. She held it up. “You should have warned me that quilting could be hazardous to my health.”
“What happened?”
“I was cutting along the edge of my ruler and the blade slipped and went over my finger.” Selena shook her head. “I should have been paying closer attention to what I was doing. But that’s not why I’m here.” She nudged the little gift bag across the counter. “You’re my good deed for today.”
Someone was already doing good deeds, and for her? “Really?”
“Absolutely. You go above and beyond for your customers, and I wanted you to know how much I appreciate it.”
Emma reached inside the bag and pulled out a gift certificate for Eagle Harbor Books. “Aw, Selena. That’s really sweet.”
“You deserve it. By the way, the quilt you donated for the fund-raiser for the new church kitchen went for two hundred dollars. You really are an angel. Keep up the good work. I love this idea and I hope it catches on big-time.”
“Me, too,” said Emma.
Wow. A gift. Out of nowhere. It was such a movie moment that even though nobody else came into the shop, Emma felt good all the rest
of the day. Still infused with good vibrations, she stopped by the Safeway on the way home and stocked up on canned cat food. By the time she pulled up in front of her little duplex, it was raining cats and dogs. Had the storm deposited a certain cat by her doorstep?
Yes, there it was. Its pitiful yowl greeted her as she hurried up the walk. “Hang in there,” she told it as she fumbled for her keys. “I’ve got something for you.”
It poked its black head out from under the juniper bush and gave her an angry meow that probably translated into, Hurry up, will ya?
She had barely opened the door when a four-legged, wet black body raced in past her. “Well, come on in. Make yourself at home,” she called after the animal as it darted down the hall to the living room.
She caught a glimpse of a wet cat bottom disappearing under the crazy quilt she had draped over the couch. The poor thing was probably freezing.
“I’ll turn up the heat,” she offered. She cranked up the thermostat, then went to the kitchen and pulled one of the cans of cat food from her grocery bag. “Since you’re now officially a guest I guess we’d better put this in a bowl,” she said, taking a dessert bowl from her cupboard. The sound of the lid popping open brought her visitor back, and it wound around her legs in anticipation. That was when she noticed the flea collar. No regular collar, though. No tag of any sort to tell her anything about the cat. “Did someone dump you?” she asked it.
The cat rubbed against her calf.
“Maybe you’re lost.”
The cat meowed.
“You poor thing,” she cooed. “You’re not a bad kitty, are you? You’re just alone in the world and scared.”
She set the little bowl on the floor and the cat hunkered down in front of it and began to eat like Emma’s offering was its last meal.
“I know how you feel,” she said, watching it. “Not that I’m really alone. I’ve got my parents and my grandma. But sometimes . . . well, never mind about that. And I do feel scared a little. About the shop. I’m not exactly making money hand over fist. If this shop tanks . . .” She sat back on her heels, suddenly disgusted with herself. “I’m telling my life story to a cat.” Next she’d be talking to her plants. She had to get a grip.
Angel Lane Page 8
