No Mallets Intended

by Victoria Hamilton

  She took out her keys, mounted the steps to the front door and let herself in. Loud echoing footsteps upstairs set her heart to pounding, but then she heard a familiar voice, shouting, “Cynthia, not every room can be cottagey!”

  Another familiar voice said, more calmly, echoing down the stairs because of how empty the place was, “Jewel Dandridge, you know I said no such thing. It would look cute, though. Picture it . . . the walls could be pink and white candy stripes; it would be adorable!”

  Jaymie smiled. Cynthia Turbridge, who had opened the Cottage Shoppe just down from the Queensville Emporium, was there, and so was Jewel, the owner of Jewel’s Junk, situated between the Cottage Shoppe and the Emporium. The two were best friends and quarreled constantly. “Hello, ladies!” she called up the stairs, her voice echoing as she let Hoppy off his leash. He bounded about the house once, but then swiftly came back to the front hall, nose to the floor.

  It was funny that she hadn’t seen a car outside, but she supposed the two women could have walked from town, like she did. Both were fit fifty-somethings, slim and active. Or they may have parked behind the garage, which was what the heritage society preferred, stating that parking in the lane while the ground was wet just made it muddier. Jaymie headed down the hall, through the parlor and to the kitchen in back, where she turned on every light she could. Hoppy was on a mysterious errand and snuffled his way to the box of mallets and pestles. There he sat down and looked back at her.

  “Hey, you,” Cynthia said, bounding down the kitchen stairs with an elegant step. A yoga practitioner and instructor, as lithe and energetic as any college cheerleader, she gathered Jaymie into a quick hug. “You have got to come upstairs to look at what Jewel and I are up to.”

  “Arguing over color schemes, it sounds like!” Jaymie said. “I thought Jewel was doing the parlor.”

  “She is . . . we are. We decided to work on her room and my room together.”

  Recipe for disaster, Jaymie thought but did not say aloud. The two women could never agree on anything, and their aesthetic preferences were completely different, one reason why Jewel, with her sense of grand style and knowledge of historical architecture, had taken over the parlor, while Cynthia, who adored chintz and lace and everything pretty, was given a girl’s bedroom. “I look forward to the results.”

  “I’ve already got all the furniture, and no, it isn’t doll furnishing!” she stated. “What is Hoppy doing?”

  Jaymie looked over, and the Yorkie-Poo was still sitting in exactly the same spot, staring at a mallet, one in particular, a heavy, wedge-shaped piece. Jaymie went over and pulled out the correct one, and the dog barked and pranced around. That moment, the memory came back to her . . . she had seen this particular mallet, one with a unique shape, lying on the floor near her when she regained consciousness!

  It was the weapon used to knock her out.

  Three

  SHE TURNED THE mallet in to the police and thought no more of it. What could they do at this late date, after several people had handled it and who knew how many people had been tramping through the house?

  The days sped by, and the heritage committee meeting was almost there, the first one to be held in the house itself. But the evening before, she was going to have a quiet dinner at home with Daniel. They needed to talk. Sometimes it felt to Jaymie as if all they did was talk about their relationship: chat, plan, negotiate, explain, compromise. All well and good, except maybe they shouldn’t need to do quite so much of it. Some relationships just took more effort than others, her mother had told her, but that was no reason they couldn’t work.

  He arrived freshly shaved and carrying flowers again, more multicolored roses. She met him at the front door, and while Hoppy bounced around their feet, he kissed her gently and held her for a moment. It felt good; that much she admitted to herself. He was a really nice guy, and she must never forget all his good qualities, even when he was driving her nuts.

  She led him through to the kitchen, her favorite room in the house, and they sat at the old wood table surrounded by all her beloved vintage kitchenalia, as she called it, or “junk,” as her mom and Becca preferred to call it. The Hoosier was adorned with a glass rolling pin and some Pyrex refrigerator dishes in gorgeous colors, and the top held a decorative collection: an old colander on legs with a wooden pestle in it, some dried flowers and a few lovely old milk bottles and antique tins, as well as a set of scales out of the Queensville Emporium, from back in the days when the Klausners sold candy by the pound. She thought her kitchen was most beautiful this time of day, early evening, which in November meant the sun was down and the room was lit with pools of light cast by the pendant over the table and the task light over the porcelain Belfast sink.

  “How is business lately?” she asked. Daniel’s software company was headquartered in Phoenix, Arizona, and that was where his parents lived. They had bought a cottage on Heartbreak Island—a ten-minute ferry ride from town—just that summer and planned to fix it up. His mother had said, with a heavy undercurrent of censure, that if Daniel was going to be spending so much time in Queensville, then they wanted to be near him without living in the same house, though heaven knew there was more than enough room in Stowe House, Daniel’s historic Queensville home.

  “It’s okay. I need to get back there soon, though. Our HR director is going out on maternity leave, and she kind of keeps everyone sane, so I have to find a good temporary replacement, someone who can keep the staff focused like she does. It’s not easy managing from a distance. I really should be there more.”

  She sighed internally, hearing the reproach in his voice but at a loss how to handle it. She was not the one making him stay in Queensville. It was his choice, not hers. And yet every time the subject came up, the subtext was, she should want to marry him and move to Phoenix, at least part-time.

  But she didn’t want to; she was happy right where she was and could never imagine leaving her home for any length of time. Daniel had bought Stowe House, the oldest house in the town of Queensville, a few years before, but had just started spending so much time in it that spring, when he began dating Jaymie. Since then she had learned he owned houses in many towns spread across the country. She had an uneasy feeling that this was a troubling pattern, the tendency to purchase a house in a town, spend some time there, then move on. They needed to discuss such things, and his expectations down the road, if she was to consider committing to a real relationship.

  “You should go back and take care of business,” she said, keeping her tone as neutral as she could.

  She served up dinner—it was an experiment from her old recipes, a salmon loaf made with canned salmon, bread crumbs and seasonings—and they ate in silence. Daniel picked at his food while she plowed through hers. It was pretty good, and even better with the mushroom sauce she had made to drizzle over it.

  “Don’t you like it?” she asked, watching him, his glasses glinting in the pendant light over the table. “You can say if you don’t, you know. It won’t offend me.”

  He looked relieved and pushed it away, then shoved his glasses up his nose. “I’m not much of one for salmon. Mom never made stuff like that. We were always more of a steak or pork chops on the grill kind of family.”

  “Do you want something else? A sandwich?”

  “No. It’s okay.”

  “I’m done, too,” she said and cleared the table, piling the dishes in the sink until later. Something was in the air, and she needed to know what was up. “Let’s go into the parlor and light a fire.”

  That was one of her favorite things to do when the weather got too cold to sit outside. Living in Michigan meant four completely different seasons, and she loved each one, adjusting her life easily through the frozen winter, spring rains and wind, and languid summer to her favorite season, autumn, with chilly nights and brisk walks through drifts of fallen leaves. Her home décor reflected the seasonal patterns. Comfor
ting throws came out of storage to make curling up in an easy chair or on a sofa cozy. She collected autumn leaves in red and gold and ironed them between pieces of wax paper, just as she had when she was a kid. They were scattered over the dining room table in that seldom-used room.

  But her own decorating stamp was most visible—after the kitchen, of course—in the parlor. That room hadn’t been used much when she was a kid because they spent more time in the living room, where the TV was. But since she had taken over the house she’d had the fireplace and chimney swept and her dad had taught her how to start a fire and maintain the flue. She lit oil lamps on the mantel and had a red plaid throw to keep warm.

  A settee faced the fireplace, and Hoppy raced in and hurled himself up on it between them, rolling over awkwardly, then righting himself. Denver slunk in and took a spot on a folded blanket near the fire. He was getting more friendly, oddly enough, since Jaymie had discovered, in September, that one of the reasons he was so crabby was bad teeth. Ten extractions and nearly a thousand dollars later he was eating canned food and sleeping on her bed every night. He wasn’t exactly cuddling yet, but it could happen. Jaymie was optimistic.

  After she lit the fire, she gently moved Hoppy over to a corner so she could sit next to Daniel. He put his arm around her shoulders. They sat in silence for a few minutes, but she couldn’t relax. She turned and sat facing him, one knee up on the settee. “Daniel, we need to talk.”

  “I know.” He looked in her eyes, searching them, it seemed.

  At least this time he had not cringed when she said that. It was progress, she supposed. Jaymie was uncertain how to continue, afraid that what he wanted to talk about would not be what she wanted to talk about.

  “I’ll be going back to Phoenix for a few weeks,” he said. “And I think, if you don’t mind, I’ll spend Thanksgiving with my folks.”

  “That’s okay. We already did Canadian Thanksgiving with my parents and grandmother.” Her grandma Leighton, in London, Ontario, had liked Daniel very much, but she hadn’t gone ahead and said, “Marry him,” like she had to Becca about her beau, Kevin Brevard. When Jaymie asked why, her grandmother had said, with a serious look in her pale blue-gray eyes, that she just wasn’t sure Jaymie was ready. Jaymie’s mom had shushed her mother-in-law, saying, “Mama Lucy, don’t say that! Jaymie’s my only hope for grandchildren.”

  “What will you do for Thanksgiving?” he asked.

  “I have a standing invitation to Valetta’s for every special occasion, if I can stand Brock and the evil twins.”

  “They’re not such bad kids, just high-spirited,” Daniel said. He stared at her for a long moment, then said, “Do you want children, Jaymie?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, honestly. They had talked about it before, and the answer was still the same.

  He paused, but then said, his tone exasperated, “How can you not know? I mean, either you do or you don’t!”

  Carefully, she answered, “No, that’s not true. Especially not for a woman. Let’s not have this discussion right now. It’s kind of early on to be talking about kids.”

  “I think it would help if we knew ahead of time that our goals are aligned,” he said, stubbornly clinging to the subject. “I made that mistake once, and I won’t do it again.”

  Jaymie knew he was talking about a relationship in his past; he had invested a lot of time and energy into it, only to find that she didn’t really ever want children, nor did she truly love him. Trish Brandon had hurt him deeply.

  He screwed his mouth into a grimace and stared into the fireplace. “Okay, we’ll talk about it another time.” He sighed and squinted. “I talked to Haskell Lockland, the head of your heritage society, and he okayed me going ahead with the security consultant as long as I’m footing the bill.”

  “That’s generous of you,” Jaymie said. She felt like they were tiptoeing around things, but she just wasn’t ready for a full-blown conversation on their relationship status. She had told him Christmas, and he had agreed.

  “Are you really okay after that attack?” he asked, concern in his brown eyes as he watched her. He touched her hair, which she had worn down because she knew he liked it that way.

  “I am,” she said, taking his hand, liking the bony feel to it. He squeezed, and she made a vow to keep focusing on all his good qualities.

  “But regardless,” he said, in a stern fatherly tone, “I don’t want you back in that house alone until we have the security system in place.”

  She pulled her hand away. Darn him! Why did he keep trying to control her? She knew it was genuine concern, but she was an adult woman, not a kid, and not his property. She took a deep, cleansing breath, trying to be reasonable. “I still have a lot to do, Daniel. I can’t guarantee I’ll never be there alone.”

  “Jaymie—”

  “Stop! Let’s not talk about that right now, either,” she said. “We’ll just end up arguing.”

  “We’re going to run out of things to talk about, if we worry about arguing over stuff,” he joked, but there was an edge to his tone.

  He was so right, but Jaymie didn’t have anything else to say. Every topic seemed to be barred from discussion for fear it would lead to a conflict, and that was no way to carry on. So she would go back to a topic they had dismissed; one she wanted him to understand. “You’re right,” she said, hand on his arm. “We need to be able to talk if we’re going to be together. Okay, then . . . Daniel, I don’t know if I want children because I’m just starting to actually figure out who I am. I’m now getting to a point where I feel like I’m doing what I want in life. Maybe I’m a late bloomer, but that’s the way it is.” She shrugged. “I can’t help it.”

  “But having kids isn’t the end to life,” he said.

  “It is if you do it right,” she joked.

  He smiled. “Okay. I’m glad you told me that. Just think about it; that’s all I ask.”

  She relaxed.

  “Now, on the other thing . . . really, Jaymie,” he said earnestly, putting one hand over hers, “I don’t want you going to that house alone until I get the alarm system put in. Why take risks? You’ve been in a lot of trouble in the last few months, and it’s just dumb to take chances.”

  Her spine stiffened and Hoppy, behind her, gave a little wuffle of inquiry. She heard a car door slam and then a key in the front door.

  “Who could that be?” she said and got up. She hopped out to the hallway just as Becca came in with an overnight bag and box, struggling to carry both, plus her purse.

  “Becca!” Jaymie said. “Let me get the box.” She took it and headed upstairs.

  As she came back down, Daniel came out into the hallway from the parlor, where Becca was still organizing herself.

  “Daniel!” Becca said. “Didn’t know you were here. I’ll go on upstairs and leave you two alone.” Becca bent to grab the overnight bag, which she had plunked down on the floor as she stuffed her keys in her purse.

  When Jaymie saw the troubled expression on Becca’s round face, she knew something was wrong. “Come and join us,” she said. “We’re just talking in the parlor. You’re not interrupting anything.”

  Daniel shot her a look, but sister troubles trumped boyfriend discussions. “Look, Jaymie’s right. Clearly, we were not talking about anything important. Nothing at all.”

  Whoops . . . he was ticked off. She grimaced.

  But he sounded a little calmer as he went on. “I have to get going early in the morning. Brock is driving me to Detroit and I’m flying back to Phoenix for a couple of weeks.” He turned to Jaymie. “I’ll call you while I’m there. Or you can text me. You do know how to text, don’t you?”

  That was not a stupid nor insulting question, since she had not yet used her new cell phone for texting. Why should she, when no one else she knew texted? “I’ll try it out,” she said. He was still irritated, and she hated for h
im to leave that way, but she was anxious for him to go. It did not bode well for their relationship that in the middle of a polite disagreement she would rather he leave so she could talk to her sister.

  A brief hug and kiss, and he was gone. She turned to Becca, who watched with concern.

  “I interrupted something, didn’t I?” she said. “Honey, you didn’t have to send him away.”

  “In the words of a Regency damsel, Daniel was being ever so tiresome!” Jaymie smiled at her sister. “Now, you can come and sit by the fire and tell me what’s up.”

  “What’s up? I’ll tell you what’s up.” Her face screwed into an ugly cry as she wailed, “I can’t marry Kevin . . . I just can’t!”

  Four

  “WHAT’S WRONG, SIS?” Jaymie asked, leading her into the parlor. It was highly unusual for her to be the comforter in their relationship. When Jaymie was a child and their mom and dad were going through a rough patch, Becca, at nineteen, was like a second mother to her. “Why can’t you marry Kevin? Did you have a fight?”

  They sat down on the settee. Hoppy wiggled over to Becca for his share of the love. She picked him up and held him tight, burying her face in his neck. That, too, was unusual, since she wasn’t much of an animal lover. Denver opened one eye and glared up at them, then curled up tighter in a ball, sighed and went back to sleep.

  Becca wasn’t talking, so Jaymie said, “What do you want to drink? Coffee, tea, cocoa? Wine? I have a bottle of Canadian wine from Thanksgiving.”

  “Wine.” She sighed. “I could use a glass. Is it red?”

  “No, white. A Riesling.”

  “It’ll do. Before you go . . .” She grabbed her younger sister’s arm. “I’ve been worrying about you, Jaymie. Are you all right? Valetta said you were, but I wanted to be sure myself. The bump on the head didn’t have any repercussions?”

  “Like a concussion repercussion,” Jaymie joked.