by Lyn Cote
“Mother, most people don’t work here in Rushton.” Patience sat across from her at the small table. “They work at the packing plant in the next town or at the mall in Marion.”
Her mother made no reply.
Patience cast around trying to come up with a way to discourage her mother from getting settled in here. “I rented this apartment because I can walk to the downtown stores and to school. I don’t want the expense of a car this year. I’m trying to pay off my school loans as quickly as I can.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help pay for your education.” Her mother stared at her lap.
Patience stopped herself from making a comment about the high price tag on vodka. Why dredge up the past? What good would it do? And why try to fight her mother on this idea of getting a job? It wouldn’t work out. But let her mother find that out for herself.
“Well, I need to make some income and neither of us is driving,” her mother repeated. “That’s why I thought selling cosmetics door to door might be a good idea for me.”
A thought about the investigation started in Patience’s mind. Would that work?
“I’ve found out where the local AA meetings take place. I’m going to go tomorrow. It’s at the red brick church on the square. I can walk there. Would you like to come with me?” Martina hazarded a glance at Patience.
“Mother, I’m already in trouble with the local population. What would they think if I showed up in an AA meeting on the town square?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” Martina concentrated on her lap again.
Her mother’s beaten-down quality was wearing thin on Patience. AA notwithstanding, she couldn’t believe Martina wouldn’t start drinking again. Then there would be embarrassing and frustrating scenes where her mother would try to justify her erratic and self-destructive behavior, blaming it all on Patience. When that didn’t work, then she’d blow up and leave town. This had happened so many times. Patience could have written the script herself.
Then that thought about the case popped up again and Patience recalled Bertha Perkins’s address, Walnut Street, which was an easy walking distance from here. The neighbors had heard the argument between Dan and his mother. But maybe they had information that the police had ignored or the D.A. hadn’t bothered to present in his case. “Well, if you’re determined, I might go around with you, dropping off brochures.”
“That would be nice.” Her mother beamed. “How about this afternoon after school? We can hand out the brochures and introduce ourselves.”
Patience nodded. And if we go down Walnut Street, maybe someone will have something to say about the attack on Bertha Perkins. Events have proven that in this gossipy town, it won’t be hard to get people talking about it.
In the thin late-afternoon light two days before Thanksgiving, Patience looked up from her desk. Gil Montgomery—in an expensive khaki trench coat that made his hair look darker—stood in her classroom doorway. How could her spirits rise and fall in a split second? “Hello.”
“Good afternoon.” He entered and approached her desk.
Her senses went on high alert. Patience’s world was populated by kids and other women. Even the janitor at Oakdale was female. That must be what made her extra susceptible to men. Especially this man. Why did he have to look so good? “What can I do for you, Mr. Montgomery?”
In front of her desk, he stood looking down at her.
Was he finally here to ask advice on how to handle Darby? She refused to show any of her reaction to his presence or to rise to the bait. Let him make the first comment.
Gil knew what he wanted to say to this woman, staring up at him with her large brown eyes, brooding eyes. He needed her help and he needed her cooperation. Would he be able to get both or either? Their clash at parents’ night almost three weeks ago still left a bad taste in his mouth and he didn’t doubt she felt the same wariness. “May I sit down?”
She barely nodded toward an adult-size chair at the side of the room.
Her stiff reception only made him more determined. He dragged it over and sat down.
They stared at each other for several long moments.
“I’m sorry that you have forced me to come and speak to you.” Gil’s face froze in a grim expression that he wouldn’t soften.
She raised one cocky, perfect golden eyebrow.
“It’s come to my attention that you have been visiting Mrs. Perkins at the care center.” His jaw ached with tension.
“I volunteer at the care center.” She didn’t even look at him, but continued marking a student’s homework paper. “I visit several people while I’m there.”
“Yes, but what caused you to volunteer there?” How stupid do you think I am?
She shrugged her slender shoulders. “Aren’t I free to volunteer wherever I want?”
“If your only goal is to volunteer—” he let his outrage seep into his tone “—and not to interfere with my investigation into a case.”
She folded her long graceful arms over each other, still holding a red pencil. “I’m just being a good citizen.”
He was struck by this woman’s cool, self-contained quality. It contrasted so with the casual, easy way his ex-wife had about her. “And is good citizenship the reason why you have been prowling around Mrs. Perkins’ neighborhood asking questions?”
“I have not been prowling around anywhere.” She tapped the desk top with the metal end of the red pencil. “I’ve been helping my mother hand out brochures. She’s selling cosmetics door to door.”
“Your mother?” No one had mentioned a mother to him. “Why is she here?”
“Maybe you should ask my mother.” Patience’s soft-looking lips thinned. “But certainly she has a right to make a living.”
“Why do I get the feeling you aren’t being candid with me?” He leaned his elbows on the front edge of her desk, refusing to lower his guard. Even as it irritated him, her refusal to give in attracted him. Miss Patience Andrews would never take the path of least resistance.
“The trial is over.” She pushed back her chair a few inches—away from him. “I’m not on your jury. The only topic we now have in common is your son. Do you want to discuss him? If not, I have work to do.”
He stared at her. “I’m not surprised, Miss Andrews, that you aren’t willing to talk to me about what you are up to. But I don’t want you messing around and ruining a second trial.”
“How could I do that?” Her eyes flickered over him and then dropped to the paper in front of her.
“By stirring up rumors—” he watched her, trying to guess what she would parry with “—and muddying testimony from people who may be called on to testify.”
“Mrs. Perkins is still unable to speak and probably won’t be able to testify any time soon. If the neighbors are that easy to sway, maybe their testimony wasn’t worth much to begin with.” Patience picked up another student paper and began reading it.
Don’t try to dismiss me. I’m not done with you. “I received calls about your visits to Mrs. Perkins’s neighbors. I’ve let them know that they can take legal action if you continue to harass them.”
Patience glared at him over the sheet of paper. “If they don’t want to order cosmetics, no one’s forcing them to. Did you have any questions for me about Darby now? Or perhaps I may take legal action because you are harassing me.”
“Why are you meddling?” Not an inch. She wouldn’t give an inch.
“I’m not meddling. I’m just trying to win back my reputation. Maybe you enjoy people gossiping about you, speaking ill of you. But I don’t. Don’t you realize the spot you’ve put me into—just because you insisted I neglect your son and take part on the jury? How much clearer could I have made it to you that day you questioned me in court?”
He stared at her. Her full lower lip pouted, snagging his attention. He wet his lips. “My only concern is that justice be done.”
“My only concern is that justice be done,” she repeated, pinning him bac
k with her gaze. “And not only to Dan Putnam, but to me. What have you done about trying to come up with some hard evidence? Or are you still sure that Dan will be prosecuted just because I won’t be on the jury this time?”
He glared at her.
“Now do you want to discuss your son? And let me say, we need to discuss him. He’s in a dreadful state of turmoil. Have you and your ex-wife been in conflict lately?”
“I hardly think that is any of your business,” Gil snapped.
“It is when it affects the way Darby behaves in class. The child needs calm in his life, not emotional scenes. Do you realize that?”
He stared at her, wishing she didn’t sound so right.
“If you’re not ready to discuss Darby—” she dismissed him with her eyes “—please leave. I have work to do.”
“I’m warning—” Gil’s cell phone rang. “Hello.”
“Gil, Coreena wouldn’t listen to me.” Bunny’s voice came out strained and breathless.
“What?” He stood, shoving the chair back.
“The Captain had to take care of something in Marion, so I came to his place to watch Darby after school. Coreena stopped by with that new boyfriend of hers…” Bunny paused and he could sense her swallowing a criticism of his ex-wife’s choice in men. “Anyway, he has a Harley and they wanted to take Darby with them for a ride. I tried to tell them that his bike helmet wasn’t adequate for use on a motorcycle, but off they went. I just wish the Captain had been here. Do you think they somehow knew he wasn’t?”
Gil felt like cursing. “I’ll be right home.”
Chapter Five
A frosty November wind blowing down the neck of his jacket, Gil paced the deck overlooking his backyard. He’d decided to wait here rather than at his mother’s. Coreena would bring Darby back here since she’d expect Gil to be home by now. He checked his watch again. Nearly seven o’clock. Lord, help me handle this with calmness, not anger. Darby is the important one here. Miss Andrews got that much through to me today.
His agitation had forced him out of his warm kitchen into the chilly afternoon. He shoved his ungloved fists into his pockets and headed down the length of the deck one more time.
He cracked his knuckles savagely. I can’t blame anybody else. The worst mistake of my life was marrying that woman. Why couldn’t I really see her, see that her careless ways wouldn’t fit mine? But I can’t let Darby continue to pay the price for my lack of judgment.
From the alley, the rumble of a motorcycle halted him in his tracks. He turned and watched as Coreena, her boyfriend and Darby pulled in the drive at the rear of the lot.
Dressed all in black leather, Coreena slid off the cycle from behind her boyfriend. With a flourish, she swung off her helmet and helped Darby down from the circle of the boyfriend’s arms. She took Darby’s hand and sauntered through the back gate and into the yard with an exaggerated feminine swing to her body. You’re not trying to get my attention with that, Coreena. That’s for your new boyfriend.
Pink-faced from the cold, Darby bounced at her side. “Dad! Dad! I got to ride on Blaine’s Harley. It’s so cool.” His boy charged up the steps to Gil and wrapped his small arms around Gil’s thighs.
Gil sucked in the angry words that had been roiling through his mind for the past hour and patted his son on the head. “That sounds exciting, son.” The approving words chafed his throat.
“It was great.” Giving a jump, Darby pumped his hand in the air and then pivoted toward the burly man still straddling his bike. Darby waved. “Thanks again, Blaine!”
“No problem, munchkin.” The large man’s gruff voice rumbled over the yard, like a warning, a challenge.
Miss Andrews’s words, “Darby needs calm in his life,” replaying in his mind, Gil pushed down his churning outrage. How did the teacher know we’ve enacted too many emotional scenes in front of Darby? Way too many.
Gil carefully chose a neutral tone of voice. “Coreena, if you’re going to take Darby on that…motorcycle again, he’ll need a motorcycle helmet.” Wintry wind gusted around them, billowing Coreena’s big hair.
“I’m kind of short of cash right now.” She brushed strands away from her mouth. “These leathers cost me a bundle.” Acting impervious to the elements, she lounged against the deck railing, taunting him, confident that she still could turn any man’s head.
But not mine. Not ever again. “I’ll buy the helmet.” Gil made himself focus on her conniving eyes. In a flash, again he saw Patience Andrews, so genuine and earnest, sitting at her desk, a red pencil in her hand. What a contrast. “Just make sure in the future that our son has it on when he’s on that…bike.”
“Okay. Blaine was really careful today. He doesn’t want anything to happen to my kid, you know.” She swung around, flipping her mane of gold-and-brown hair toward him, and danced down the steps.
“I’m glad to hear that.” Gil stared after her. He finally admitted to himself that all those years ago, her attraction had been mainly physical.
“Hey, Dad,” Darby called from the back door. “Can we have hot dogs for supper?”
Gil nodded. At least I’m the only one too upset to eat. Gil wished that Patience Andrews had been here to see the harm her words had prevented. He owed her thanks for avoiding another destructive scene. I need help understanding my son, Lord. But I’m only human and I wish I didn’t have to take it from that woman.
Thanksgiving Day at Bunny’s should have been pleasant for Patience. She sincerely liked her landlady. And in spite of everything, she’d looked forward to the start of the holiday season. But that was before Bunny had informed her, on Thanksgiving morning, that in addition to Dottie, she’d invited Gil’s father, Captain Montgomery, Darby and Gil.
Gil Montgomery. Why did he have to be here? And why had Bunny placed them right next to each other? Every time Patience looked up, she sensed Gil’s blue eyes studying her profile.
Gil tried not to stare at Patience. Why does she have to look so good?
Darby’s teacher wore a soft golden-yellow cashmere sweater and a matching wool skirt. A string of pearls and matching earrings gave her a delicate fairy-tale-princess look.
“This is good turkey,” Darby announced.
“Thank you.” Bunny smiled at Darby and then the Captain. “You be sure to eat enough. This is the first year in a long time that I was able to buy a really big one.”
“How big?” his son asked from his place on the other side of Patience.
“Twenty-five pounds of bird.”
“Wow.” Darby sounded awed.
“It’s wonderful.” The frail woman who’d been introduced to Gil as Martina, Patience’s mother, looked up for a fraction of a second and then back down at her plate.
Gil had tried to put Patience and her mother together, but they didn’t look anything alike. Martina wore a shabby sweater, a man’s shirt and blue jeans. Patience’s complexion was peaches and cream, a phrase he recalled his mother using to describe a girl he’d once dated. In contrast, Martina was sallow and drawn.
Maybe he wasn’t the only one who didn’t look anything like his child.
Patience’s linen napkin slid off her lap.
Gil bent to retrieve it at the same moment Patience did.
Their heads nearly brushed each other. “Stop staring at me,” she whispered in an irritated tone. “And eat your dinner.”
His face burned. I don’t like this woman. He straightened up. But I can’t take my eyes off her.
“Darby, I think you should move your milk glass up a little,” Patience murmured. “You don’t want to bump it with your arm.”
The words were barely out of the woman’s mouth, when Darby reached for the glass and managed to spill it.
Patience leaped up as milk flowed over her skirt.
“Darby!” the Captain bellowed.
“Don’t yell at him,” Gil snapped. “It’s just an accident.”
Crestfallen, Darby jumped up and ran through the door to the kitchen.
Patience hurried after him.
Wanting to follow but forced to use several napkins tossed to him by the other diners, Gil staunched the flow of milk.
“Captain, Gil’s right,” Bunny said. “It’s just an accident. My linens are all washable. No big deal.”
The Captain’s face had reddened with embarrassment.
He’s my son, Dad, so you don’t have to be embarrassed. Darby’s behavior is my responsibility. And Bunny sounded sincere. She wasn’t upset over the episode.
“Gil,” Bunny said, “why don’t you go out to the kitchen and bring back some moist and some dry paper towels. We’ll clean up this mess in no time.”
Gil nodded and left carrying the milk-soaked linen. He found Patience sitting in a kitchen chair with Darby standing in front of her. She was talking softly to his son. “Now here’s your dad. I bet you anything he isn’t mad at you. Accidents happen.” She implored Gil with a glance.
He read the request and made his voice light. Her concern for his son touched him, but at the same time, her assumption that he’d come out to scold Darby griped him. “That’s right. No harm done.”
He tossed the wet napkins into the sink and went to wash his hands. “Mrs. Honeycutt just wants us to bring out some wet and some dry paper towels. We’ll have this cleaned up in a jiffy.”
“Really?” Darby leaned against Patience’s shoulder.
“Really.” Gil dried his hands with a paper towel from the holder next to the sink. “Now let’s go out and clean up the spill and then we can get back to that twenty-five-pound turkey.”
Finally, Darby grinned and accepted a bunch of dry paper towels from Gil.
“I’ll just slip upstairs and put on slacks,” Patience said and walked through the door to the hall.
Gil watched her go. The milk had probably ruined an expensive skirt, but she’d still spoken gently to his son. This made the decision for him. “Now I know what I have to do.”
