Brodie followed me into the kitchen, his nails clicking rhythmically on the wood floor. But we seemed to be out of the chunks of dark chocolate we bought on a regular basis at Trader Joe's. I rooted around in the cupboard and came up with a box of hot cocoa mix. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When it gives you a box of hot cocoa mix, make it triple strong and use half water, half coffee.
It only took two sips of that mixture before my brain kicked in. Two more swallows for fortitude, and I ran back out through the drizzle to my Toyota. My unlocked Toyota. The only time I ever locked it was when there was something to steal in it, and that was, well, pretty much never. It didn't even have a decent stereo.
The glove box was open.
FIVE
WHY DO THEY CALL them glove boxes, still? Did they ever hold gloves? I mean, really? Because all mine ever held was my car registration and insurance card and a pile of napkins and straws dutifully collected from my rare forays to fast food restaurants.
It was all still there, just as I'd arranged it.
I straightened up and rested my hand on top of the open door. Okay, I was stumped. How had Allen figured out my name? Had he read my registration or not? A thought made my breath catch in the back of my throat: could he have known it all along? Before he ever called the Helpline?
A flutter of white snagged my attention. I turned my head. A piece of paper was tucked into the steering wheel. With a bad feeling, I grabbed it.
Allen had left me a note.
Great.
The penmanship was atrocious, and I had a hard time making out what it said. But with a little squinting in the artificial twilight of the day I managed:
"Dear Sophie Mae. It was nice to talk to you on the phone. I'll call so we can do it again. I'm looking forward to that. We can have lots of conversations. About life. And about Death. I have a lot to say about Death. I want to hear more about what you think about it, too"
My head jerked up, and I scanned up and down the street. He'd been in my truck in the short time since I'd been home. Was that blue car across the street new to the neighborhood? The cocoa curdled in my stomach. I cursed myself for not paying closer attention to my surroundings.
I shook my head. "Get it together, Sophie Mae." The thought crossed my mind as I muttered that someone could be watching my strange performance. I didn't really care. Maybe Allen would think I was crazy and leave me alone. And the neighbors wouldn't be seeing anything they hadn't seen a dozen times before. You work alone enough, and you get in the habit of talking to yourself even when you're not alone.
But for some reason I didn't feel afraid anymore. What a little creep. I didn't like someone trying to scare me. It was beyond irritating, and not only about me. This spilled over into the lives of Meghan and Erin, too.
And it didn't look like this guy was going away any time soon.
I had managed to get things set up in my basement workroom for Kyla and Cyan to package the Saltea Bags when I heard a cupboard door bang in the kitchen. I clomped up the narrow steps and opened the door at the top.
"Hey. How was school?" I headed for the fruit bowl on the counter.
Erin sat at the big butcher block table, shoving a cookie into her face and reading ... what? I looked over her shoulder while peeling a banana.
"Odoriferous? Paleethnology? Quacksalver? What the heck is that?"
"That," she said, "is a spelling word."
"Well, duh. I kind of figured that out. But what does it mean?"
"I don't know. I just know how to spell it."
"But what good is that?"
"Ask me that after they give it to me in the spelling bee next week." She exuded smugness.
"Well, sure. But what's it worth if you don't know what it means? Isn't that what words are for, after all? To communicate?"
"God. You're so ... literal." The doorbell rang and she tossed back the last of her milk. "That's Jonathan. We're studying."
"Okay. Bring him in. I'd like to meet him."
She looked less than happy at this prospect, but dutifully brought in her visitor. He walked right up to me and stuck out his hand. "Hi. I'm Jonathan Bell."
He was a little shorter than Erin, which was saying something. Smooth brown hair, bright blue eyes. His expression was far more sardonic than any eleven-year-old has a right to. This kid was going to get his growth spurt any second and start breaking girls' hearts left and right.
"Hello, Jonathan. I'm Sophie Mae."
"Did you guys buy any Coke yet?"
I raised my eyebrows. "How about some orange juice?"
"Sorry, Jonathan." Erin sounded truly contrite that we didn't have any sugary soda to give this kid. Apparently, he'd already started in on the heart-breaking. I wasn't pleased to see him practice on Erin.
"That's okay," he said. "Juice's fine." He stood there while she took the pitcher out and poured him a glass. He smiled when she handed it to him. She smiled back.
I watched all this through narrowed eyes. He knew I was watching, and turned that charming smile my direction. Little scamp. I stuck with the narrowed eyes but allowed the corners of my mouth to turn up.
"We're gonna study for the spelling bee," Erin said, grabbing Jonathan's arm and pulling him into the living room.
"Right," I called after them. "I'll be down in my workroom. Yell if you need anything."
They fell to whispering. Despite my protestations to Meghan about the innocence of eleven-year-olds, I found myself curiously loathe to leave them alone.
I went back downstairs as my teen helpers arrived. They began filling oversized tea bags with the premixed herb and salt mixture. Then the Saltea Bags would be heat-sealed with an iron. While they worked, I finished packing the internet retail orders. By the end of two hours they had four piles of bath tea bags on the long table that ran down the middle of my workroom, and I had several boxes lined up along the wall, ready for UPS to pick up the next day.
Yet somehow I had managed to find an excuse to run back upstairs every ten minutes or so.
Man. Those teen years might be just as hard on me as they would be on Meghan.
"Is Barr going tonight?" Meghan asked.
"He said he was."
"Are we picking him up on the way over?"
I finished writing out a label for a jar of watermelon pickles and considered the pile of heavy canning jars we'd moved out of the pantry and stacked on the kitchen table. "I hadn't thought of that. It'd sure be nice if he'd come here first and help us carry all these preserves into the car."
Meghan smiled. "Good idea. You should get on that."
I rolled my eyes at her and went into the living room, snagging the phone off the table in the hall on my way. Barr answered his cell phone on the fifth ring as I was getting ready to leave him yet another voicemail.
"Did I catch you in the middle of something? I have a quick question," I said after we said hello. He sounded harried, and I decided my exciting morning at Heaven House could wait until we were face to face.
"I can talk for a sec."
"Meghan and I decided we'd welcome the aid of a muscle-y guy this evening. How would you like to come over before the preserves exchange and help us load up?"
"I'm not sure I can make it tonight, Sophie Mae."
I sighed. More work. Crap. I was developing a real dislike for Andrew Maher, the new Chief of Police, despite the fact that I'd barely spoken to the man.
"Listen. I'll do my best to be there. I will. But I'll have to meet you at eight. Sorry I can't come help you and Meghan before."
"Yes. Well, you do sound pretty busy."
"Sophie Mae..."
"I'll see you tonight. If you can manage to tear yourself away."
"Oh, now, c'mon-"
I hung up.
Meghan looked up when I walked back into the kitchen. "He coming early?"
I shook my head
. "He'll meet us there. He says. Maybe."
She set down the label she was holding. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Bull puckey."
"He works all the time."
"You knew that when you got involved with him."
"I guess I thought he'd make more time to spend with me."
"Oh, for heaven's sake. You know he's completely infatuated with you, don't you?"
I bit my lower lip. Infatuated? Infatuation was short-lived, by definition. We'd been seeing each other for a little over three months. If it was just infatuation, then the end might very well be near. Had I mistaken our entire relationship? I felt a strange combination of panic and embarrassment at the thought.
"Oh, it's fine," I said, forcing myself to shrug. "But we're on our own with all those jars."
"Maybe I could call someone else to come help," she said, still watching me. "A guy I know."
I smiled. It felt like I was baring my teeth at her. "We've always managed before on our own. Did you bring out all the pickled asparagus?"
"What? Oh, no, I started labeling the applesauce first."
"I'll get them." I hurried into the pantry and started taking jars off the shelf.
And tried not to think about whether this was the beginning of the end of my new relationship.
"Can we stop by Beans R Us on the way?" I asked.
"Why didn't you grab a cup of coffee at home?" Meghan sounded as tired and cranky as I did.
"Didn't have time to make any before we had to leave."
What a day. I'd worked in the morning, gone to see Philip in hopes of heading off a stalker, witnessed his collapse, covered the phones until Ruth could get there, worked my butt off when I got home, watched and worried about Erin and Jonathan, and then spent two hours getting our contributions ready for the preserves exchange. Meghan threw together a quick chicken quesadilla while I hauled the boxes out to the trunk of her old Volvo, and we rushed through dinner.
The food had helped, but I needed caffeine if I planned on getting through this evening without falling asleep on my feet.
"There'll be coffee there," Meghan said, and turned the opposite direction from Beans R Us.
Which was true; Heaven House always had a big pot of coffee going. Still, I felt a flash of irritation. Over-brewed and perpetually stale, the coffee at HH was egregious. I had to dress it up with cream and sugar, and I wouldn't normally mar any decent cup of coffee that way.
Meghan knew this. She just didn't want to make the detour. And since she was driving, she got to make that call.
Definitely irritating.
Then she sighed, low so Erin couldn't hear her in the back seat. She'd had a long day, too. My irritation instantly morphed into guilt.
"How many people do you think will show up?" I asked.
She shook her head. "Hard to tell. When we all met to set it up everyone was excited. But now, with Philip in the hospital, some people might not come. I know I'd rather have put if off altogether."
"Couldn't. Not everyone knows what happened."
Her brief glance held exasperation. "Exactly."
Okay. So I'd stated the obvious. Sue me.
SIX
QUIET MURMURS AND THE smell of wet paint greeted us as we walked into Heaven House laden with boxes of asparagus and watermelon pickles. Erin staggered under the weight of hers, and once we were inside she immediately dropped it to the floor. The jars jostled together with a loud crystalline rattle. I put my box down on the first of three long tables arranged in the middle of the room and went back to make sure nothing had broken. Erin had made a beeline for the game room, where the sole attraction was a pinball machine. Erin had never seen one before her mom began spending time at HH, a fact that had initially surprised me.
Once Erin went back to pour a handful of quarters into Nardella's Treasures, I began unpacking our goodies. After tossing the third empty carton under the table and straightening the lowhanging cloth to hide it, I stood up and looked around for Meghan.
Instead, I saw Maryjake, which surprised me more than a little. I had been sure she'd pass on the evening's festivities. Huge dark circles underscored her pale eyes, and her hangdog demeanor was completely out of character. Her husband, James Dreggle, stood nearby but not too close, watching her every move as she arranged a precise pyramid of pint jars filled with bright yellow corn and attractive green beans. His thick, dark beard cloaked his expression. Maryjake finished stacking her veggies, then turned to the room and snapped her fingers, one of her standard attention getting maneuvers, but even that came across as desultory.
"Everyone, we're going to start the exchange soon, so please finish up your displays in the next few minutes."
Displays? I eyed the hodgepodge of jars I'd unloaded on the table and looked around again for my housemate.
Ruth Black, full of energy after her afternoon at Heaven House, assisted her Uncle Thaddeus with the dark jars of blueberry conserve I'd been hoping for. They were gorgeous next to the deep purple-maroon beets and brilliant orange pickled carrots. Thaddeus Black, pushing ninety with good-natured verve, leaned on his gnarled cane and directed her efforts. Next to them stood tall, lean Bette, a potter and friend who lived down the block from us. She had a deep voice, didn't seem to own any clothing that had escaped the clay spatter of her trade, and made a mean batch of bread and butter pickles. Our neighbor across the alley, Mavis Gray, had brought brownie, cookie and biscuit mixes, the dry ingredients layered like geological strata visible through the clear jars; homemade convenience food, at your fingertips.
Jude shuffled from table to table and then seemed to settle in next to his own arrangement of red, orange, amber and green jellies lit from behind by a string of tiny white Christmas lights. They were quite beautiful, and I found myself smiling. His eyes flicked up to meet mine for a split second, and he smiled briefly in response before returning to an examination of the floor someplace in front of his shoes.
He was a rather good-looking guy, with thick blonde hair, green eyes and a round face. His light tan accented noticeably nice skin. Still, he always came across as painfully shy and awkward. He was supposed to be in charge of the preserves exchange, but it looked like Maryjake had steamrolled right over him. I resolved to spend some time coaxing him out of his shell this evening.
I was surprised to see Luke Chase walk out of one of the empty rooms at the rear of the building. Philip had made some noises about making it into a small daycare area, but like the meeting room it had no furniture and no real purpose as of yet. Evidently, from Luke's telltale paint-spattered T-shirt, it now had gray-blue paint on the walls. That was a start-though the start of what, I had no idea.
Luke walked over and spoke to Maryjake, who responded in a distracted manner. He seemed to repeat something, and this time she turned on him and pointed to the door. Seemed an odd thank you for painting well into the evening like that, especially as I knew he and Seth had been working on our chicken coop most of the day before coming over here. Of course, Maryjake was obviously still upset about what had happened that afternoon with Philip, so I needed to cut her a break. I considered going over and rescuing Luke from her mood, but then Seth came out, lugging a big plastic bucket of painting equipment in one hand and a can of paint in the other. He joined his brother, and together they pushed out of the swinging glass door to the sidewalk out front.
Ah-there was Meghan. Standing by the back door with a guy I'd never seen before. I waved in her direction, but she didn't notice. All her attention was focused on the man next to her. He was about seven inches taller than her five-foot frame, with longish black hair and an olive complexion. He looked older than Meghan, perhaps in his early forties.
I remembered her hesitant question about whether I'd seen someone this morning. And her offhand comment when she'd learned Barr couldn't-or wouldn'
t-help with loading up the jars of preserves. Something about calling someone else to come help. Was this the guy she'd had in mind?
Erin had forsaken Nardella and her Treasures for the time being and wandered around looking bored. I caught her eye and waved her over.
"Who's that? The guy your mom's talking to?"
"That's Kelly. They're going to the movies on Friday."
"They are?"
"I heard them talking. They've been getting around to it for a while."
I examined the child's pixie face, full of unspoken wry commentary on her mother's love life. But I believed her. How could I not have known about Meghan's burgeoning interest in this guy? I felt totally out of the loop.
But instead of asking Erin that question, I asked, "You okay with that?"
She shrugged. "Sure."
"Yeah" I nodded. "Why not?" Then why did I feel so uncomfortable about this stranger chatting up my best friend?
I thought of Meghan's ex-husband, Richard. He'd been good looking, too, but in a pretty-boy kind of way. This guy looked rugged and maybe a little worn and ... solid. Richard was far out of the picture by now, living in California and more or less banished from Meghan and Erin's life. But he'd always been a problem, cheating on her and burdening their lives with a serious gambling problem. It wasn't until they'd split and she'd nearly lost the house we lived in now that I'd moved in with her and Erin. Newly widowed at the time, I'd needed their support as much as they needed mine.
But maybe this new guy she was interested in-finally interested in-would be good for her... ? There was no reason on earth I shouldn't like him.
Was there?
I shook myself. "Do me a favor. Try to arrange these jars a little better. Make them look nice. We're supposed to have some kind of display."
"Urn. Okay." Erin started shoving jars around.
I hurried back out to the car for the carton of wine jelly still remaining in the trunk, keeping an eye on the fringes of the parking lot for shady-looking characters lurking behind bushes.
Heaven Preserve Us: A Home Crafting Mystery (A Home Crafting Mystery) Page 4
