by Terri Thayer
“I’ve downloaded this software that allows me to send out a tweet every sixty seconds. I’m going to blast my followers with notices about the special prize basket.”
“You can’t reveal that you’re the shop until the hour starts.”
“I know, I know. I promise not to do anything until the clock strikes the top of the hour. It’ll be like Easter morning, waiting for the okay to start looking for eggs. No early birds allowed.”
We were on the downslope of the mountain. The road widened and straightened. My heart rate returned to normal. I wanted to go back to San Jose and do it again.
“I’m not going to be happy until there are two hundred people in my shop.”
Every available inch of floor space in Freddy’s store was taken up with merchandise. “Two hundred? Twenty people would be crowded in your place.”
“I figured that out, too,” he said. “You know I’ve got a big parking lot out front. I’m going to rope it off and keep the folks contained. My buddy is coming to make balloon animals and Inez will play the accordion.”
I had to laugh. “Party at Freddy’s,” I said. The man knew how to make a spectacle.
“You got it,” he said. “Too bad you’re going to miss it.”
“Yes, well, I do have my own shop to tend to.”
Freddy turned south on Route 1 and set the cruise control at 80 mph. The nav adjusted our estimated time to 10:45. Freddy was doing the impossible, making time fly.
I caught my breath when the Pacific Ocean came into view as we hurtled down Highway One. The clouds thinned out and the blue sky lost its intensity, diluted by wisps of fog. The air coming in was cold and wet but felt restorative. I breathed deep.
Forty-five minutes later, the nav told us we were arriving at our destination. On right. On right.
“Hustle,” Freddy said. “Hustle.”
I grabbed a basket and a book. “All right,” I said. “I’ll run in and drop these off.”
I ran inside, but was quickly stymied. The sole employee was with a customer and wouldn’t let me interrupt. She ignored my attempts to break into their conversation. I unloaded my burden on the long counter near the cash register.
I looked for a piece of paper. I’d leave a note for the owner.
I grabbed a pen from a mug and a yellow flyer and turned it over to the blank side.
“Twitter promotion basket,” I wrote. “Thx.” I added “XXXOOO” to help mitigate the abruptness.
Freddy had turned the car around and was entering the info for the next place, in Monterey, ten minutes away. I flung open the door.
He threw the car in first and roared away from the curb. I was thrown back against the seat and scrambled for my seat belt.
We arrived at the second shop seven minutes later.
“Ha!” Freddy said. “Take that, nav. You’re not as smart as you think. Beat you by two minutes.”
The handoff went smoother that time, with the owner being not only present but grateful. I got back into Freddy’s car. This time I got my seat belt connected before he took off. Cookie’s shop was forty minutes away, heading north again.
“Yikes. I forgot to call Lark to let her know the books got here in time,” I said.
Freddy turned off his satellite radio. “Use my phone and put her on speaker.” He leaned into his dash. “Call Lark,” he yelled.
“Hey Lark,” I said when she answered. “It’s Dewey and Freddy, flying down the highway.”
Lark laughed. “That’s a bad road movie waiting to be made. Pellicano and Roman on the Road to Mandalay.”
“Technically, we’re on the road from Monterey,” Freddy said.
I talked to the display. “Actually, it’s more like Bonnie and Clyde. If you ever want to rob a bank, I can recommend Freddy. He drives a mean getaway car.”
“I would say I’d like to be with you two, but I remember how that movie ends. Try not to get shot,” Lark said.
“As long as Barb V is unarmed, we’re safe,” I said.
I told Lark that the books had arrived and thanked her for saving my life. When I disconnected by yelling, “Hang up” six times, Freddy was quiet.
“What’s up? Lark say something?”
“You had to bring up Barb V. That bitch …”
“That’s not news.”
“Wait till I tell you the latest,” he said. “I got a call from my shop when you were inside.”
Freddy’s eyes were slits as he avoided a minivan that pulled from a fruit stand onto the highway without looking. The Jaguar seemed to slide around the bulky van onto the shoulder and back into traffic before I had a chance to notice.
“I don’t care if Barb V doesn’t like me personally. That doesn’t give her the right to go after my business.”
“What is she doing?”
“Remember the trouble I had with those bad CDs a couple of years ago?”
Did I remember? I’d thought Freddy had committed murder over those embroidery discs. He had purchased a huge amount of CDs used in high-end sewing machines. Turned out the foreign discs were cheap for a reason, and wouldn’t work in American machines. Freddy had spent thousands on useless bootlegs.
“She’s telling everyone that the CDs I sell now are knockoffs. That my CDs are no good. Rebekah said a customer came in, complaining that her eight-thousand-dollar machine would be ruined if she used a design disc she bought at my place.”
“That’s terrible.” Reputation was key to any business, but a sewing machine store didn’t have much else. The machines were the same wherever you bought them. My mother had always told her customers that you bought the dealer, not the machine.
If Barb V managed to trash Freddy’s rep, he’d be out of business.
“How do you know it’s her?” I asked. Even Barb V deserved a fair trial.
“One of the machine company representatives told me. They nearly believed her. The company was getting ready to pull their brand from my store. When I grilled her, she said she heard it from Barb V.”
We turned off onto the Aptos exit and entered the darling downtown that sat on the cusp of the forest and the ocean. Freddy slotted the car neatly into a parking spot right in front of the store. Even the good parking karma didn’t improve his mood.
Before I got out of the car, I said, “We’ve got to stop her.”
“Believe me, I will make sure of that,” Freddy said.
Twenty minutes later, we arrived at Quilts Up, in Santa Cruz, our fourth stop in less than two hours. Summer greeted us as she bounded out of the shop, her braids bouncing on her chest and her long skirt nearly tripping her.
“Dudes!” she said.
She hugged me around the neck. “You’re the best. This is going to be so much fun. I can hardly wait until tomorrow.”
Summer’s enthusiasm was infectious. Freddy and I both cheered up. It looked like we might make it to all the shops before they closed.
Barb the Damp’s shop in Fremont was next to last on our list. We pulled up into the parking lot as two women were pulling the front door shut. The shorter of the two had her keys in her hand when I raced up with the basket in hand.
“Excuse me, I’m with the Quilters Crawl. This is your basket for tomorrow. Can you put it inside?”
The two women looked at each other.
“Where’s Barb?” I asked. I looked into the store. The lights were out. “Is she working tonight?”
“No, she didn’t come in today,” the woman with the key said. “She’s under the weather.”
The other woman raspberried her lips. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
The key woman shot her a look and grabbed the basket from me. She opened the door and turned on a light. She marched into the depths.
“Thanks,” I said. I was happy to get away from that atmosphere.
I got back into the car. Freddy was fiddling with his radio. “Last but not least, Barb V.”
Ten
Freddy and I got back to QP aroun
d seven. Buster’s big truck was parked out front. Freddy pulled in front of it and put his car in neutral.
“I won’t come in if that’s okay with you. No sense incurring the big man’s wrath.”
“You must be tired,” I said. “Pissing off Buster is one of your favorite pastimes.”
He laughed.
I patted his hand that rested on the wooden gearshift. “No matter. We’re off to the hospital to see Vangie anyhow.”
———
Vangie was sitting up when we got to her room. She smiled at the sight of Buster and waved us over. Since last night, she’d gotten a roommate, a thin older woman who barely looked at us, despite Buster giving her his best smile.
“How’s the noggin?” Buster asked. We gave Vangie a kiss on opposite cheeks.
“Hurts,” she said. She frowned. She looked far healthier than last night. The bandage on her head was much smaller. Her complexion was not as sallow and her eyes had some of the spark back in them.
I gave her hand a squeeze and she smiled at me.
Buster rubbed her back vigorously. “You resisted, didn’t you? How many times have I told you not to fight back? Hand over the damn backpack or whatever they want. It’s not worth it.”
“It was a reflex,” she said. “My whole life is in that pack. My schoolbooks. I can’t afford to replace them.”
Vangie moved away from his touch. He was a bit too zealous. I got between them.
“Hey,” I said with pseudo cheer. “Speaking of books, Lark’s books finally arrived.”
“Was that just yesterday that we were tracking them down? Feels like a month ago to me,” Vangie said.
“Me, too,” I agreed.
I filled her in on my road trip with Freddy. She laughed when I told her about chasing down Jimmy, the UPS guy. “In the end, we made it to all eleven stores.”
“CHP must have been on vacation,” Buster said. “Freddy had to have been over the speed limit ninety percent of the time.”
“Seventy-five,” I said. Buster gave me a baleful look. “Okay, maybe eighty.”
“Next time, give me a heads up. I’ll make sure Freddy has a little company on his ride.” He winked at Vangie, who laughed. She knew how he felt about Freddy.
Buster’s phone buzzed and he looked at the readout. “I’ve got to take this,” he said.
“You won’t get reception. You’ll have to go outside,” I said.
“Thank you, Officer Cell Police.” He kissed Vangie on the cheek again. “Get better soon. It’s your move in Scrabble.”
He tried to kiss me too but I dodged him. He’d pay for the cell police crack and he knew it.
Vangie and I watched him go. She laid her head against the pillow.
“Hey, you’re in your street clothes,” I said. The top she was wearing wasn’t her pajamas, it was a blue Henley T-shirt. “You going home?”
She nodded. “As soon as the hospitalist gets here to sign off. His office said he had an emergency but promised he’d be in tonight. I can’t sleep another night in this hospital.”
She leaned over and whispered. “They brought her in at two in the morning. She snores, and if she’s not snoring, she’s crying. I’ve got to get home.”
I looked out the window and saw Buster on the sidewalk. One hand held the phone up to his ear, the other kept pace with his stride. He didn’t look happy.
“I bet he’s going to have to go back to work,” I said. “Dang it.”
Vangie made a commiserating noise. I settled into a chair at Vangie’s side, glancing up to see what was on the TV. The woman in the next bed startled when the Jeopardy music morphed into people yelling, “Wheel … of … Fortune.”
Was Vangie up for the heart-to-heart we needed to have? I snuck a peek at her profile.
I started to speak but she interrupted, “Dewey …”
Vangie picked at a thread that was loose in the blanket. “I hope you don’t mind, I told my mother that you would bring me home.”
I hadn’t told her I was coming to visit her tonight. I didn’t know myself I was going to make it until Freddy and I hit remarkably light traffic coming down from Fremont.
She took my silence as a plea for more information. “My mother had to make dinner for the little kids, and Grandma was napping …”
“Hey, it’s no problem. You know you can count on me,” I said.
“I just did,” she said. Pat Sajak was smarming his way into a commercial break.
I gave her a questioning look.
“I just counted on you. And you were here.”
Vangie smiled her broadest smile, the one that made her eyes crinkle up. Pearl had warned her against grinning, said she’d regret the wrinkles later, but Vangie didn’t listen, thankfully. Her smile went straight through to my heart.
There would be time to talk tomorrow.
We watched the next segment of Wheel, both of us guessing “Saddam Hussein” before the contestant. Buster still wasn’t back.
I got up, stretched, and went to the window again. Buster’s hands were at his sides. No phone in sight. He was talking to someone standing in front of him. That person was smaller than he was, and shorter. I only caught a glimpse of a leg and a man’s dress shoe.
Buster threw up his hands and took a step away. I could see who he was talking to now. Anton Zorn. Uh-oh.“Vangie,” I cried. “You feeling okay? For real?”
“Fine,” she said. “The doctor said there was no reason I couldn’t go home. He just needed to see me one more time …”
“Then come on, let’s go.”
I pulled back the closet door. “Do you have anything in here?”
“Mom took everything home earlier. Except the hand lotion,” she said, reaching for the drawer next to the bed.
“Leave it,” I said. “I’ll buy you a new one. Follow me.”
I glanced out the window. Judging by his body language, Buster was reading Zorn the riot act. Thank you, Buster.
“What’s going on?” Vangie asked. She climbed off the bed.
I pulled back the curtain so she could see.
“Zorn.”
Vangie’s eyes grew wide. “Is he going to arrest me?”
“Not if he can’t find you,” I said.
I opened the door to the hall. The lone nurse at the desk looked up. Her phone rang and she turned away. We did a speed walk toward the elevator. My car was parked in the back lot. Luckily, Buster and Zorn were out front.
“Hurry.”
We ran down the hall.
I had no idea if Zorn was on his way himself, or if he’d sent patrol officers to pick Vangie up. A blue shirt with epaulets gave me a skipped heartbeat. Turned out to be a teenager in faux military garb.
Vangie put her hand in mine. It was slippery with sweat. Hair was plastered to her forehead.
“Are you okay?” I asking, squeezing her hand.
She nodded, then put a hand up to steady her head as if she was a bobble head about to go out of control. “Get me out of here.”
“Through here.”
We went past the gift shop and out a door. I glanced around the corner but didn’t see Buster or Zorn. I pushed Vangie in the direction of my car. I pulled through the doctor’s lot and a gas station on the corner, bumping into the side street, scraping the bottom of my car.
Vangie lurched in the seat next to me. “Hang on,” I said a little late.
I glanced at her head, half expecting to see blood. Nothing yet.
A few blocks from the hospital, we were stopped by a red light. I glanced in my rear view for the hundredth time. Nothing.
“We’re okay,” I said. Vangie grabbed the dashboard and blew out a breath.
“Thanks,” she said. “I really don’t want to talk to him.”
“You can’t go home,” I said. “He’ll find you there. I can’t even take you to QP. He’s been there, he knows you work with me.”
“Where am I going to go?” Vangie cried. She cracked her knuckles loudly. I grabb
ed her hand.
“I’ve got an idea.”
A few minutes later, we parked in front of Pearl’s. The lights were on in the living room, and I could see Pearl seated in front of the TV. Wheel of Fortune was still on. That seemed impossible.
“What do you think? Can you hole up here? We’ll stash you at Pearl’s and call your attorney. Zorn can talk to Larry the Lip.”
Vangie looked at me questioningly. “Larry the what?”
“Don’t ask,” I said. “Let’s go tell Pearl she has another roommate.”
I knocked gently on the door. Pearl answered, carrying a small quilt, Wheel of Fortune theme music playing behind her.
She clicked the TV off when we came into the small living room. The magazines were gone from the coffee table and someone had recently dusted. Pearl looked good, too. She was wearing a clean pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt from QP’s twentieth anniversary sale.
“Sit,” she said, taking her place in the small recliner. The bigger chair—Hiro’s—had a sci-fi novel cracked over the arm. Ross had made himself at home.
Vangie and I sat side by side on the couch. Vangie leaned back and closed her eyes.
“What’s wrong? You two look like someone died,” Pearl said, stabbing her needle into a saucer full of beads.
I cringed at her choice of words.
“We were hoping you could put Vangie up for a couple of days.”
Vangie’s breath steadied. I patted her knee and she made a murmur that let me know she was okay, but out of juice. The escape from Zorn had taken its toll on her.
Why was Pearl hesitating? She and Vangie were as close as two unrelated people could be.
“Ross is in the spare room,” Pearl said, her little chin coming up defiantly.
So that was it. I’d forgotten. I was the bad guy when it came to Sir Ross. “I’m not here to kick Ross out,” I said. “You can make your own decision about him.”
I gave Pearl a look that I hoped conveyed how I felt about the idea that she would choose a total stranger over Vangie. Pearl stabbed the needle into the quilt, affixing an azure blue bead in place.
I decided to appeal to her renegade side. “The police want to talk to her. She doesn’t want to talk to them.”
