False Impressions

by Terri Thayer

  April hadn’t expected that. It was so soon after J.B.’s death. And the news of his murder.

  Deana understood. “She wants to be around us. She wants to lose herself in stamping for a few hours with people who love her.”

  “I’ve already picked up Violet,” April said, stealing a glance at her passenger. She wasn’t paying attention to her call. “I promised to bring her. Besides, I have the stamps we’re going to be working on. Rocky will be without samples for the Ice Festival if I don’t show.”

  “I know. I just thought you’d want a heads-up.”

  “Thanks,” April said. Deana was always looking out for her.

  She drove to the end of Main Street, but instead of turning left toward Rocky’s, she kept going. Mary Lou was at stamping. Her husband was probably at the council work meeting. This was the perfect time to go by Mary Lou’s house and see if she could find out whether J.B. had left another message for Kit the night he died.

  She pulled up to the big two-story a few minutes later. Yards here were big, well over a half acre. The houses had been built for ultimate privacy, with few windows overlooking their neighbors. The house to the right had a tall wooden privacy fence surrounding it. She parked in the drive. The shed wasn’t visible.

  Violet roused herself. She looked out her window and said, “Is this it? The house is so dark. Are you sure this is where we’re supposed to be?”

  “Hmm,” April said. “I thought it was here. Let me go around the back and check. Maybe they’re in the basement. Stay in the car.”

  April turned the corner at the back of the house. Motion detection lights came on, startling her. She threw up her hand to shade her eyes. She glanced back to see if Violet had noticed. She couldn’t see the car from here so she presumed Violet couldn’t see her. She picked up her pace. She had to get in and out of the shed before Violet—or someone else—got suspicious.

  April walked toward the shed. She guessed this was where they stored the snowblower because the brick path leading to the little building was completely clear of snow.

  Still, she felt eyes on her. Probably just Violet. She tried to look as if she was on a mission. She rehearsed an excuse in case a nosy neighbor stopped her. She’d say Mary Lou had asked her to get something from the shed. Some kind of tool. An auger.

  What the heck was an auger? She had no idea.

  She got up to the outbuilding. It was big, at least ten by ten. It sat on its own concrete pad at the far end of the property, a couple of football fields away from the house.

  A big padlock sat on the hasp of the door. April blew on her hands. Mary Lou’s backyard was exposed to the wind, and she was getting cold fast. The lock was a combination style. She grabbed it, trying to remember Mary Lou’s birthday, hoping the combination was that easy.

  The lock opened in her hand. It hadn’t been closed.

  She let herself in. The space was full and had a chemical smell from the bags of fertilizer that were stored there. She picked her way past the snowblower and various shovels. The lawn mower was under a tarp.

  She saw the metal box right where Kit had said it would be. The kind that used to sit on porches in her mother’s youth, when milk delivery came with the territory. She opened it but could see nothing in the dim light coming from the one window. She reached her hand in, praying no spiders were living inside.

  “April?”

  April’s heart stuttered. The lid dropped on her hand, its edge sharp. She yelped and turned.

  Violet stood in the doorway. “What are you doing in here?”

  April tried to look casual. “I was looking for Mary Lou’s spare key. Sometimes she’s late to her own stamping. But I guess it’s not here. I’ll call Deana and see where we’re meeting. Let’s go.”

  Violet sighed but didn’t move. April let her fingers explore the inside of the box. She felt something plastic and pulled it out. It was a tiny cassette tape.

  J.B. had left behind another note of sorts.

  She stuffed it in her pocket and led Violet back to the car.

  Rocky’s studio was brightly lit. April opened the front door, knowing that Rocky left it unlocked on nights they stamped. She held it open for Violet, who was lagging behind, her feet shuffling on the cleared walk. She was so thin she had to be extra cold but she moved as though summer humidity had stolen her will.

  Violet felt like an extra appendage. But April had made a promise to her father, and Violet needed help today, not next week or next month. April believed in the power of art to heal. She knew that if Violet had a creative outlet, her life would improve. Whether or not it would keep her off drugs was something to be seen, but April knew it couldn’t hurt.

  April felt her own step quicken, hearing the noise of her friends in the back of the house. She wasn’t looking forward to facing Mary Lou. She just hoped she wouldn’t make a scene. She pulled her cart behind her, letting it bump over the hardwood floor of the living room, leading Violet into the converted family room.

  She looked back to see Violet’s reaction as they entered. Rocky’s studio was a sight to behold. The entire back wall was covered with a mash of images, found objects and artwork. Rocky’s specialty was collage, and she treated her wall as a canvas. It was always evolving as Rocky swapped out pictures and hung up new treasures. April noticed a rusted farm tool, some kind of hook, had been mounted near the middle.

  Violet’s eyes had widened appreciatively.

  The other two walls were taken up with shelving, closed and open, and drawers to house Rocky’s raw materials. A long white marble countertop ran under the window. For their stamping nights, Rocky set up two plastic eight-foot tables in the middle of the room and brought in chairs from the dining room.

  Rocky was pouring wine. Deana, Suzi and Mary Lou were already seated and hard at work. The tables in front of them were scattered with inks, embossing crystals, paint and brushes. April dumped the new stamps she’d created in the middle of the table.

  They greeted April as she entered. “Hi, everyone,” April said. “Do you know Violet Wysocki? Deana, of course, you do.”

  Rocky and Suzi, being a year or two older, had been a different year in school and probably didn’t know Violet then. But everyone knew Dr. Wysocki. Including Mary Lou. Suzi said hello as Rocky sat Violet down next to Deana.

  “Welcome,” Rocky said.

  Violet gave a little wave, and Suzi smiled tentatively.

  “Violet’s never stamped before,” April said. “She’s been going through a bit of a rough patch. I thought she could use some ink stains on her fingers.”

  April tried to catch Mary Lou’s eye to greet her, but she kept her head down.

  “Like the rest of us,” Rocky said, splaying her fingers for Violet to see. The tips were layers of color. “This is how we can tell our kind,” she said, speaking in a robotic, alien voice. “We look for telltale markings.”

  Violet laughed, putting her hand over her open mouth.

  “You here to learn how to stamp?”

  Deana and April exchanged a glance. April hid a smile. Rocky saw a potential customer. Someone she could sell Stamping Sisters stamps to, or better yet, someone who could become a salesperson for her. April could see the wheels turning in Rocky’s brain.

  April spread out the prototype stamps she had carved for the Ice Festival. Bare tree branches, ice crystals, a background stamp with a freezing rain pattern. She was proud of what she’d done. Not cliché but still recognizable as winter.

  Rocky looked through the designs, nodding her head in approval. “This isn’t a typical stamping night for us, Violet. Usually we work on our own projects. Tonight, Deana and Suzi are helping me out. I need samples to display in a booth at the Ice Festival. Samples that show people how to use Stamping Sisters stamps.”

  As she was talking, Rocky stamped out the image of a tree branch. She went over it with the glue pen and dumped a pile of embossing powder on it. She brushed off the excess and showed Violet the result.
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br />   The tree looked etched onto the paper, the embossing playing up the delicate lines. Violet ran her finger over it.

  “Cool. That looked easy,” she said. She looked around at the table and picked up a stamp. Rocky pushed an ink pad toward her.

  “Just play with it. Have fun,” Rocky said. April smiled at Rocky, grateful to have her friend take Violet under her wing.

  Suzi grabbed the largest snowflake stamp. She took a red velvet scarf and she sprayed it with a fine mist of water. She laid it on a board and placed the stamp underneath. She stood up and applied a hot iron, leaning her whole body into it. Soon the image of the snowflake appeared in pink relief on the velvet. She repeated with smaller flakes and held up her finished piece.

  “That’s beautiful,” April said. She’d never burned out velvet with a stamp. She was going to have to try. The fabric looked exotic. She could see making a throw for her bed.

  Deana gave her a smile and showed her the epoxy necklace she planned. She’d stamped out an image that would be made into a pendant. April smiled back. She was feeling good. If her friends produced these beautiful items from her stamps, Rocky would be able to drum up some interest at the Ice Festival. People would want one of each, she hoped.

  Small talk prevailed as the group got used to their guest. Violet put her head down and experimented with what Rocky had given her. After a few minutes, her fingers were flying. April felt a bit of relief. Maybe the old doc had been right. This was just what Violet needed. Stamping could make her re-entrance into a normal life easier.

  Rocky and Suzi asked about Violet’s life. Violet talked about going to college at Villanova and living in Philadelphia. She skirted the last couple of years, but only April seemed to notice.

  April found the brightly colored paper that she’d picked up at Kit’s house in her stamping bag. She brought it over to Rocky.

  “What is it?” Rocky asked, holding the circular paper up to the light. The color was a deep teal blue.

  “Don’t know exactly. I just figured you could use it somewhere. The color and texture are amazing.”

  Rocky stood and went over to her wall. She pinned the gaily colored paper just over her head, right next to a California fruit crate label that April had given her a few months ago. April walked back to her seat. Violet looked up as she sat down and caught sight of Rocky’s addition. She took in a breath.

  April ventured a momentary look toward Mary Lou. The shadow of J.B.’s death was etched on Mary Lou’s face. She was trying to lose herself in the stamping. Her fingers flew as she turned out card after card. She was ignoring April’s stamps and working with her own. Silently, without so much as a glance in April’s direction.

  The cassette tape in her coat, direct from Mary Lou’s shed, weighed on April’s mind. What would she find on it? She realized she didn’t have a tape recorder that size. It was a microcassette. Kind of old-school technology. J.B. must have had one. April made a mental note to ask Tina.

  Mary Lou was right. April was messing in her life. But Kit deserved answers. Answers to questions that Mary Lou seemed hell-bent to ignore.

  Conversation stalled. Every topic seemed fraught. Their usual fare, the recounting of a run-in with the produce man at the IGA who insisted on singing the Chiquita Banana song if you put bananas in your basket, or an account of an argument with Claire the postmistress who periodically “lost” a bag of mail in her tiny post office, seemed inappropriate. Usual opportunities for much imitation and dissection, tempered with plenty of laughs, now felt hollow.

  Complaining about the inequities of life seemed petty compared to what Mary Lou was going through. And while a different death might have brought out a run of fond memories or funny anecdotes, J.B.’s led to nothing but pain.

  Violet was oblivious to the undercurrents. She took to stamping like a kid with her first set of finger paints, happily creating colorful images. Her cards had a cartoonish character with an underlying sweetness.

  April considered calling it a night. It was early, but Dr. Wysocki couldn’t complain. She’d had Violet out for nearly two hours. She was clearly enjoying herself. He’d be happy about that.

  She just had one more stamp to finish carving. April looked over to Deana and signaled with her head that she’d be leaving soon.

  Mary Lou looked up, perhaps sensing April’s decision. She turned her attention to Violet. “Aren’t you one of Yost’s girls?” Mary Lou asked.

  April was surprised. She’d thought Mary Lou had decided to ignore them both.

  Violet started, her blue eyes widening. As devastated as her face was, her eyes took up most of the real estate there. She was a living rendition of one of those waif paintings sold in front of the IGA, if the waif had a hand in front of her mouth to avoid showing her broken teeth.

  “Yost?” April asked. “What’s a Yost girl?” Why would anyone want to be a Yost girl?

  “Henry leads a program for . . .” Mary Lou stopped and looked at Violet. “At-risk women.”

  “It’s a recovery program,” Violet said. She sounded defensive. “Not just women.”

  Mary Lou said, “You heard him talking about it at my house. The Anvil. Isn’t that what he calls it?”

  Violet looked down at the card she’d just made. The reminder that she was different from them seemed to take the steam out of her. She laid her stamp down and scrubbed at the ink on her fingertips. She pushed the card away and sat back.

  To April’s surprise, Violet looked Mary Lou in the eye. “It’s true. I’m a former crystal user. I’m trying to stay clean any way I can.”

  She stood and asked Rocky where the bathroom was. She left the table, her head held high.

  April turned to Mary Lou. “I understand you’re mad at me, but do you have to pick on Violet?”

  Mary Lou threw her stamp down in disgust. “What were you thinking, bringing a girl like that here?”

  “A girl like what?” April looked directly at Mary Lou. “She’s Dr. Wysocki’s daughter. You must know her parents. I think they might even go to your church.”

  April spat out the word “church” as though it were a place for brewing batches of eye-of-newt stew. Rocky hid a smile.

  Suzi chimed in, “April, I can see the girl needs a lot of help, but we’re not drug counselors. What if we say the wrong thing? Besides, don’t you think some of us have been through this enough with our own families? That we’ve had enough rehab and addicts to last us a lifetime?”

  Suzi was looking at Mary Lou when she spoke and tears were forming in her eyes. April realized Mary Lou had never been confronted by the results of her brother’s actions so tangibly.

  “Sorry, her father asked me to help her.”

  “My dad?” Violet was in the doorway. “I thought you wanted me to come.”

  “I did,” April stuttered. “I do.”

  “I’d rather not be in the presence of someone who uses meth,” Mary Lou said. Her voice was imperious, cutting through all the chatter.

  Violet ran from the room. April wheeled to face Mary Lou. “That was not necessary. She’s turning her life around.”

  “Something my brother never got to do.”

  CHAPTER 13

  They drove in silence, tires occasionally bumping over lumps of snow. Even though it was early, the town was quiet. Winter evenings were spent inside. April could see TVs on in all the houses they passed. What did folks around here do in January before television? Those had to be long nights.

  “What’s up with that Mary Ellen?” Violet asked.

  “Mary Lou? I’m sorry that she was rude to you. She’s just found out her brother was murdered.”

  “Not that. I know about her brother and that sucks. Still.”

  April turned in her seat. Violet was staring straight ahead, her fingers picking at a scab on her elbow. “Did you know her brother?”

  “What? You think all addicts know each other?”

  April struggled to explain. “No. Aldenville’s a small town. I tho
ught maybe . . .”

  Violet opened the car door. “You thought maybe I bought my meth from his gang.”

  April leaned over to stop her, but Violet was quick. The seat belt buckle flew back with a thunk. “I didn’t mean . . .”

  Violet climbed out and stuck her head back through the open door. “My father had no right to ask you to babysit me.”

  “No, Violet, it wasn’t like that.”

  “And for your information, Henry Yost saved my life.”

  An old yellow car with black racing stripes was parked in front of the Wysocki’s house, illuminated by floodlights over the detached garage. April recognized it as a Ford Torino, seventies’ version.

  “That’s a cool car,” April said. “That your boyfriend’s?”

  “Just a friend.”

  April said, “Okay,” and laughed, but Violet didn’t join in. “I hope you’ll think about stamping with us again,” April said. “Just because your father thought it was a good idea, doesn’t mean it’s not.”

  Violet didn’t answer. Her eyes were on the house. Would she confront her father? April didn’t think he deserved her ire.

  “Give us another chance. It’s usually a lot more fun. And it can be very gratifying. Spiritual, even.”

  “Sure. Fine.”

  Violet’s attention was on the front door. She was eager to get inside. She seemed a little nervous leaving her friend alone with her parents. Maybe Dr. Wysocki didn’t like him.

  April let herself into Mitch’s with the key he’d given her.

  “You’re early,” he called. Mitch was working at his dining room table on his latest design for his next Hope House. He’d built one home for a low-income family and was planning three more.

  She kissed the top of his head. “Stamping was a bust,” she said.

  His attention had slipped back to the project. She could see she had interrupted his flow. She looked over his shoulder. This one was a four-square with two master suites on the upper floor. He was designing the bathroom, playing with cutouts of bathtubs and sinks.

  “Go back to work,” she said.