by Rula Sinara
The wait seemed endless, leaving her with nothing to do but replay the devastating events of the past hour. It was too much. Rose, her mother, Jack. Her sisters and father, who still didn’t know the truth.
Emily took out her phone and turned it on. Fourteen missed messages. She turned it off, leaving the messages unread, and shoved it back into her bag. She already knew who they were from and what they said. She couldn’t deal with any of them right now.
From inside the house, she heard a door open and close. Banjo barked and raced up the back stairs. The door opened, and Mrs. Potter stood in the doorway, beaming at Emily. If she was surprised to see Emily, she didn’t let on.
“Hello, dear. Isn’t this a lovely surprise?”
“Hi, Mrs. Potter. I dropped by for tea, but you weren’t home so I decided to wait. It’s so peaceful out here.”
At least it had been. Banjo grabbed the flamingo and raced a full circle around the backyard, then brought it back but refused to relinquish it.
“Oh, dear. Not another one. I don’t know where he finds these things,” Mrs. Potter said. “Would you like to stay for tea? I’ll put the kettle on. Banjo, you stay out here and keep the squirrels out of the yard.”
Having no place else to go and wanting to find a gentle way to broach the subject of the items she had found in the shed, Emily followed the woman inside.
“This is a lovely surprise.” Mrs. Potter filled the kettle and plugged it in. “Have a seat, dear. It’ll take me just a minute to make the tea. If I’d known you were coming, I would have baked you a red velvet cake.”
The way Emily was feeling right now, she could devour a whole cake all by herself. After tea, she would go out to the farm, she decided. She could gorge herself on Annie’s muffins, cookies and strudel, then haul herself up to her old room and curl up under the covers and succumb to a food coma.
“Your cake is always a treat, but tea will be fine.”
Mrs. Potter went through the ritual of readying the teapot, setting out cups and saucers, teaspoons and the sugar bowl. She filled the creamer. This time she left the sugar bowl on the table instead of putting it in the fridge. She picked up her purse, which she had set on the kitchen table when she came home, and moved it to the counter by the canisters.
“This is a lovely surprise,” she repeated. “It’s been ages since we’ve seen each other. You should come by more often.”
“I’ll try to do that,” Emily said. There was no point to reminding the woman it hadn’t been that long since her last visit.
The kettle whistled. Mrs. Potter filled the teapot and popped a faded tea cozy over it after setting it on the table.
“How’s your daughter?” Emily asked. “Is she planning another visit?” Her daughter, Libby, had followed in her mother’s footsteps and become a teacher, which meant she would soon be on summer vacation.
Mrs. Potter’s face darkened. “I don’t know. She might, but if that husband of hers has any say in the matter, she’ll try to put me in a home, and then they won’t have to bother with me anymore.”
“I’m sure she would never do that.” Although Emily suspected that may well be the plan.
Mrs. Potter poured the tea. Emily lifted the lid of the sugar bowl and quickly clamped it down again, startled to see a set of keys inside.
“Almost empty,” she said, getting up and moving to the counter, taking the sugar bowl with her. “I’ll refill it for you.” With her back to her host, she discreetly removed the keys and set them next to the woman’s purse, then went through the motions of opening a canister and scooping sugar into the bowl. “There we go,” she said, returning to the table. “So, I was wondering about something.”
“What’s that, dear?”
“I see Banjo came home with a lawn ornament. Actually, a number of people around town have reported things missing from their yards and gardens.”
The elderly woman didn’t say anything, but her expression spoke volumes.
“And I noticed you have all the same items in your shed.”
“Oh, my. I was hoping no one would find out.”
“You haven’t heard anyone talking about it? No one’s told you about my blog?”
Mrs. Potter looked confused. “What’s a blog?”
“Nothing, it’s not important. I just wondered how all those things ended up here. Is it Banjo?”
The woman sighed. “Yes, it’s that darn dog. Libby gave him to me so I would have some company, but he’s so full of beans. I don’t like to go out at night but I have to let him out, you know, to do his business before I go to bed. Sometimes I guess I forget to close the gate, and the rascal gets away. When that happens, he always comes home with something.”
Emily pressed her lips together to prevent her face from spreading into a smile. She hadn’t allowed herself to speculate on the identity of the garden-gnome thief but if she had, Mrs. Potter’s dog would not have come to mind.
“You won’t tell Libby, will you? She’ll put me in a home for sure if she finds out about this.”
Emily’s heart went out to the poor woman. She was confused, at least part of the time, and lonely all the time. As Emily formulated a plan to help the woman, she also knew she would have to contact Libby and have a talk with her about her mother. She was lucky to have a mother, so surely she would do the right thing. “I won’t breathe a word, I promise. If it’s okay with you, I will make sure everything is returned to its rightful owner, but you need to promise me something, too.”
“What’s that, dear?”
“That you will always check the gate before you let Banjo out at night.”
“Of course. I’m getting forgetful,” she confessed. “But I’ll do my best.”
Emily covered the woman’s hand with hers and gave it a squeeze. “That’s all anyone can ask.”
But as she stirred milk and sugar into her tea, her mind flitted from one thought to another. Her own mother, who was never coming home. Mrs. Potter’s daughter, who seldom visited hers. Jack, who had been keeping secrets from her. It wasn’t fair, none of it.
Emily slid her hand across her tummy. Right now, this little person seemed to be her one sure thing. I will always, always be here for you.
And there were a few things she needed to do for her old friend Mrs. Potter, too. No matter what Libby’s intentions were, she needed to know her mother was having memory problems, possibly showing early signs of dementia or Alzheimer’s, and should be checked out by a doctor. Libby didn’t need to know about her mother’s involvement in the case of the missing garden gnomes, though, and Emily knew exactly what she had to do to make sure no one found out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
AT DUSK, EMILY parked her car two blocks from her apartment, sauntered nonchalantly down the alley and up the back stairs and let herself into her kitchen. She groped in a drawer for a penlight, and was grateful the batteries had enough power to produce a narrow beam. She flicked it off and felt her way through the living room, pausing to turn on her laptop and toss a couple of nuts into Tadpole’s cage. Finally, Emily stumbled into her bedroom.
She closed the door, made sure the drapes were tightly drawn and switched the penlight back on. It provided just enough light to help her find the things she needed, but not enough to alert anyone who might be watching for her—particularly Jack, Fred or her sisters—that she had returned to the apartment. Not to be overly paranoid, she thought, but given that she now had more than twenty missed texts and a number of voice messages, someone was likely to be outside waiting for her to return.
She quickly shed her clothes and wriggled into a pair of black jeans—only managing to zip them up after she lay on her back on the bed—then pulled on a chunky black turtleneck pullover and shoved her feet into black ankle boots. Her reflection in the dimly lit full-length mirror showed she’d
achieved the exact effect she was after. On Riverton’s dimly lit residential streets, she would be all but invisible.
Since no one had thought to look for her at Mrs. Potter’s place, Emily had spent the afternoon there, silently hatching a plan to deal with the loot in the garden shed. She had been grateful for the reprieve from dealing with personal issues, and now it was time to put her plan into action.
She turned off the flashlight and tucked it into her back pocket. As she made her way back through the living room, she avoided the temptation to peek out the front window to see if anyone was waiting for her. Tadpole ran silently on her wheel, having apparently polished off the nuts. Emily quickly connected her laptop to the printer, hoping the light from the monitor wasn’t bright enough to illuminate the window. She was quite certain she remembered which item belonged to whom, but just to be sure, she printed the most recent map she’d posted on her blog, folded the printout and stuffed it into her back pocket with the flashlight. Then she slunk out the back door and within moments was behind the steering wheel of her car.
At the Potter place, she knocked on the front door. She was greeted by her friend, already dressed in a nightgown and housecoat, and a barking dog.
“Hi, Mrs. Potter. I’m here to collect the box of things I packed up and left in the shed this afternoon.”
“That’s fine, dear. You help yourself to whatever you need.” She sounded as though she had already forgotten which “things” they were talking about.
That’s all for the best, Emily assured herself.
“Good night, then. I’ll make sure the gate is latched so Banjo won’t take off when you let him out tonight.”
“Good idea. Good night, dear. Come for tea anytime you like.”
“I will. Thanks.”
From the backyard, Emily scooped up the box, then secured the gate and loaded everything into the hatchback of her car. Once again in the driver’s seat, she pulled out the map, unfolded it on the seat beside her and shone the flashlight on it. She hadn’t considered the thief might have been right in the middle of the nine-block area where things had gone missing, but it made sense now that she knew who it was.
She would start in one corner of the area and zigzag through until she had returned everything to its rightful owner. That made the most sense, and it was certainly the most efficient way to get the task done. Most importantly, poor old Mrs. Potter would save face.
Emily started with the weed-it-and-reap garden stake. She had no way of knowing which part of the yard it had disappeared from, so she simply stabbed it into the front flower bed and beat a hasty retreat to her car.
Next up was one of the garden gnomes, the one from old Mr. Jamieson’s. His had been the first to go missing, and he had been irate, accusing “all those young hooligans running around town” of the theft. He had described it as having a blue shirt and a white hat, which immediately made Emily picture a Smurf rather than a gnome. Luckily, only one of the pilfered gnomes had a white hat, and he was now safely settled with his cohorts in the circular bed in the middle of Mr. Jamieson’s front lawn.
This was going well, Emily congratulated herself. Easy-peasy. Piece of cake. She drove around the corner, past her next target, and parked several doors down. She was relieved to see the Browns’ porch light was off as the welcome mat was theirs. She had crept halfway up their front steps when the light turned on. Emily froze, listened and heard nothing. The light must have a motion sensor. She hastily slid the mat into place and fled.
Returning to the car this time, her heart was beating a little faster, but it was an adrenaline rush. And it felt good. She was energized, like a superhero. She chuckled. How completely ridiculous. She was the least heroic person she knew. Annie was the one who saved the world, or at least everyone in her world. CJ took the world by storm. Emily used her books and journals to escape from the world. Already she was excitedly drafting her next blog post, how an anonymous tip had led to the discovery of the stolen items. In her mind, she could see a few holes in the story, but she could fix those. For now, she was happy to focus on her mission as it meant not having to acknowledge Rose’s appearance in Riverton, the shocking reality of her mother’s death and Jack’s deception.
Emily flicked on her flashlight and studied the map. Her next stop was to return the rubber boots. She started the car and drove a block and a half. The boots had been swiped from the Redfords’ backyard, but after the close call with the Browns’ automatic porch light, she wasn’t sure it was a good idea to venture that far. She couldn’t remember whether or not the Redfords had a dog, but why take a chance?
She climbed out of the car, quickly and quietly clicking the door shut so the interior light turned off. She opened the hatchback and was lifting out the boots as a police cruiser came around the corner, illuminating her with its headlights. The cruiser pulled up behind her and cut its engine, but the headlights stayed on. Blinded by the light, she froze for a moment before her instincts kicked in and she slammed the hatchback shut.
Someone stepped out of the car and shone a flashlight beam directly into her face. “Evening, ma’am.” A male voice.
“Um, hello?”
“I’m Officer Gable with the Riverton PD. We’ve had a report of a possible prowler in the area. Have you seen anything or anyone out of the ordinary?”
Uh-oh. Busted.
“N-no. Nothing, officer, sir.” She knew everyone in the police department except Lonnie Gable, who was a young new recruit. Just her rotten luck.
“What’s your name?”
“Emily Finnegan.”
“Interesting. Those your boots, Emily?”
“Oh, um, no.” They were huge—at least a man’s size twelve—so she couldn’t very well say they were.
“What else have you got back there?”
Emily was suddenly light-headed. “Nothing.”
“Open the back of your car, please.”
Her only choice was to do as he asked.
He directed the beam of his flashlight at the contents of the box. “Do these belong to you?”
“No, but I can explain.”
“You can save that till we get to the station.”
“What? No, really, I can explain everything. This is just a misunderstanding. I didn’t take these things. I’m returning them.”
He shook his head in a way that suggested he had finally heard everything.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me, Ms. Finnegan.” He moved to the side of the cruiser, opened the back door.
“Am I under arrest?”
“Not yet,” he said, implying she might be if she didn’t comply. “The chief told us we were to bring in the garden-gnome bandit if we spotted him. Or her,” he added.
This was ridiculous. However, as much as she did not want to see Jack right now, at least he would hear her out, which left her with no choice but to slide into the backseat and watch while Officer Gable transferred the box from the back of her car to the trunk of his cruiser.
And once Jack heard her out, he had some explaining of his own to do.
* * *
AFTER A FUTILE afternoon and evening spent searching for Emily, Jack sat at the island in Annie’s kitchen with a cup of coffee. He had called her after Emily confronted him and stormed out of the station, and he’d had no choice but to tell her everything. She was upset, of course, and she’d decided it best not to say anything to her father or CJ until they tracked down Emily and made sure she was okay. Luckily, Thomas was out for the evening, CJ was spending the night in the stable nursing a rescued mare she had taken in, and Isaac was asleep, giving Jack and Annie the freedom to talk.
Together they had called Fred, because if she turned to anyone at a time like this, it would be him. That irked Jack more than he cared to admit, but he was also grateful the guy was staked out at
the barbershop and would call the minute Emily returned to her apartment.
“I’m sorry you had to find out about your mother this way,” Jack said for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I’ve had my suspicions for a while, but I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure and I only just found out myself.”
“Jack, you don’t have to keep apologizing. To be honest, I developed a soft spot for Rose while she was staying here, and I think it’s good she’s back in town. Especially now that I know she’s family. However, who our mother was and how she died has nothing to do with you. It’s heartbreaking, and I understand why Emily is so upset, but she’ll come around.”
He wished he could believe that. “She was devastated. The thing is, I was going to tell her, but I wanted to wait till the time was right.” Preferably after she said “I do.”
“Has my sister told you much about our mother?”
“She said she’s always clung to the secret hope that your mother would come home someday.”
Annie wrapped her hands around her coffee mug as though she was seeking comfort. “I have better memories of our mother than either of my sisters. Looking back, I think she had some serious mental health issues. I didn’t realize it at the time but as an adult, it’s easier to put those memories into perspective.”
“Does Emily know that?”
“If she does, she didn’t hear it from me. I know she’s dreamed about a reunion someday, but for a long time I’ve known and accepted that it was never going to happen.”
It killed Jack to think the woman he loved was hurting like this, and having her turn away from his support hurt even more. “I think those feelings have intensified now that she’s pregnant. Emily said she’s not sure she’ll be a good mother because she’d never had role model.”
Annie sighed. “The truth is, Emily is going to be an amazing mom. Your kid will be reading Tolstoy by the time he or she starts school.”
