Winter Winds

by Gayle Roper

  Maureen wandered up and down the aisles, letting her flushed face cool. As she studied the shelves full of products, she suddenly found she needed lots of things. She had a collection of cosmetics, toiletries, and over-the-counter medications in her hands, everything from polish remover to sinus tablets, when Phil returned.

  He glanced at her full arms. “On the house.”

  “Oh, no,” Maureen began. Could this be construed—or misconstrued—as a bribe?

  “Oh, yes.” He began placing her purchases on the checkout counter. “Hand me a bag, Midge,” he asked the Reba McIntire look-alike manning the register.

  Maureen felt something close to low-grade panic. She couldn’t take these items as a gift. Even if she wasn’t a cop on the job, she couldn’t, but as a cop surveilling a suspect, she really couldn’t.

  “Phil, I’m serious. I want to pay.”

  “Nonsense,” he said, his arm extended to Midge for the bag.

  “Phil.”

  Something in her voice caught his attention, and he looked at her. “I like to give things. That’s all.”

  She nodded. “I appreciate that, and I like to receive. But not today. I’m paying.”

  He stepped back, clearly unhappy but acquiescing politely. As Maureen handed Midge her money, a woman who looked to be eighty if she was a day walked to the register, a bottle of over-the-counter pain medication in her hand.

  “Hi, Mrs. Prescott,” Phil said, pitching his voice several decibels louder. “How are you today?”

  “You don’t want to know, young man,” she said, her head shaking slightly on her thin neck.

  “What are you getting today?” Phil asked.

  She held up her bottle.

  “And what’s your prescription?”

  Reluctantly she held out the bag.

  Phil shook his head. “Mrs. Prescott, what am I going to do with you?”

  “You could mind your own business,” she answered tartly.

  Phil grinned. “And miss sparring with you? Never.” He became serious. “You know that this over-the-counter medicine isn’t to be used with your prescription. They react badly to each other.”

  “When I use them together, I never feel anything bad. In fact,” Mrs. Prescott stared him straight in the eye, “I always feel better.”

  “For the moment, maybe,” Phil said. “But terrible things are happening to your liver, and you won’t know it until the damage is done.”

  “Prove it,” the old lady challenged.

  Maureen watched, fascinated, as Phil thought for a minute.

  “Aha!” He grinned at Mrs. Prescott. “Now don’t you go anywhere, my lovely. I’ll be right back. And, Midge, whatever you do, don’t let her buy that pain med.”

  Mrs. Prescott folded her arms over her bony chest and watched Phil stride back up the aisle to the pharmacist’s working area. She gave a cackle of a laugh. “Ain’t he grand?” she asked Maureen. “Enough to get your blood pumping and your heart singing, no matter your age.”

  Maureen started to laugh.

  “But don’t tell him,” Mrs. Prescott ordered. “It’s too much fun fighting him.”

  Phil returned holding a small computer in his hand. “This contains information about every drug out there, and it’ll tell us if you’ve got a bad combination there.”

  “How do I know it’s not outdated information?” Mrs. Prescott demanded.

  “Because it’s updated weekly.” He pushed some buttons, screens flickered, and he said triumphantly, “There! See?”

  Mrs. Prescott squinted at the little machine. “Well, I’ll be. You’re right.”

  Phil took the over-the-counter medicine from her. “Let me get you the kind that won’t have any bad reactions.”

  As soon as he walked away, Mrs. Prescott looked at Maureen again. “Couldn’t see that blasted little print on that silly little machine if you paid me a million dollars. But don’t tell him. It makes him feel good thinking he’s got the upper hand.”

  Finally Mrs. Prescott was checked out, proper medicines in her bag. Just before she walked out the door, she leaned to Maureen. “He always makes my Sundays. He’s more fun than any of them preachers on TV” And she was gone, hobbling down the street toward her home.

  Midge looked at Phil from her station behind the cash register. “You were late today. She was getting tired of waiting.”

  Phil nodded. “Service went longer than usual. My brother had to introduce his wife to the congregation.”

  Maureen noticed Phil didn’t say new wife.

  “So the rumors are true? Paul got married?” Midge leaned forward with interest.

  Phil nodded. “That he did.”

  “Poor Angie.”

  Phil rolled his eyes. “Any romance with my brother was all in Angle’s mind, believe me.”

  “Oh, I know that. Most people do.” Midge straightened the counter as she spoke.

  “Did Mrs. Prescott chew your ear off before we got here?” Phil asked.

  “No worse than usual. But I’ll need a raise if you’re late next week.”

  Maureen shook her head. “She thinks she’s pulling one over on you, but you’ve been onto her all along, haven’t you?” She buttoned her royal blue coat, the one that made her eyes more vivid than they were naturally.

  Phil shrugged as he led her outside. “That’s the fun of a small town pharmacy. You get to know your clients, even the nutty ones. Do you like seafood?”

  “Um, love it.”

  The air was damp and chill with just enough wind to rearrange her curls. She very much feared her nose was turning as red as Rudolph’s, not that it mattered, of course. She was merely conducting police business.

  “Let’s go get some, either a late lunch or an early dinner, however you want to look at it.”

  He took her Seaside Pharmacy bag from her and stopped to put it in his car. Then he took her hand and led her across Ninth Street. Maureen slowed and peered into the window of the store directly opposite Phil’s, a Christian bookstore named Harbor Lights. An old-fashioned children’s sleigh sat in the window, and colorful children’s books filled the sleigh, tumbling out onto the artificial snow to mingle with little mittens, boots, and hats. Maureen turned her head this way and that to read the titles and authors.

  “You like to read?” Phil asked.

  “Love it, especially fiction.” She turned to him and grinned. “It’s one of my biggest weaknesses. I can’t imagine a worse fate than having nothing to read.” She went back to the books, making a mental note of titles she wanted to remember for later purchase for her little nieces and nephews. “I stopped here several times last week because I wanted to get a new novel, but the store was always closed. I ended up at the library.”

  “It’s cheaper,” Phil said.

  “But you have to give the book back.”

  He laughed and squeezed her hand, but she was barely aware. She finally heard what she’d said. She just indicated she lived here in Seaside or at least shopped here. Ack. Ack. She froze, waiting for Phil’s reaction.

  He didn’t seem to notice her slip. He continued to peer in the window, shaking his head.

  “What?” she forced herself to say. “You don’t like books?” How could she ever like a man who didn’t like books?

  He shrugged. “I like them as well as the next man. I was thinking of Mae Harper, the lady who owns the store. She fell a couple of weeks ago right there behind that second shelf.” He pointed through the window, and Maureen squinted to see where he meant. “She was up on a ladder changing some lighting and boom! She did a real job on her hip and leg. I don’t know when she’ll be able to work again.”

  Maureen made a sympathetic noise.

  “She was alone at the time,” Phil continued. “No one, including Mae, is quite certain how long she lay there before old Mrs. Prescott walked in and found her.”

  “Your Mrs. Prescott?” Maureen was fascinated.

  “She’s a very good screamer.” Phil started wal
king again. “She scared Midge and me half to death.”

  “Poor Mrs. Prescott.” Maureen imagined that even as hearty an octogenarian as she would find such an experience upsetting.

  “Oh, she was fine, tough old bird that she is. It’s more poor Mae. The store is the only source of income for her and her grandson, Ryan, who lives with her. It’ll be weeks before she’s out of rehab and back at work.”

  “No workmen’s comp?”

  “None, and minimal health coverage. Trev’s been working at getting the chapel to fill in a lot of the needs.”

  Not a sign of a clever criminal at work, Maureen thought, ever more convinced that Paul Trevelyan was just as he seemed, the pastor of a small Seaside church.

  “Here we are.” Phil stopped in front of a hole-in-the-wall restaurant named Moe’s.

  Maureen looked at Moe’s, then at him. “You’re sure we can trust the food in here?”

  “The best seafood in town, I promise. This is where all the locals eat.”

  “And how long have you been a local?”

  “Two years.”

  “Do you like it here?”

  He reached around her for the door. “I do. But what I really like is having my own store. I worked for a couple of years for one of the chains, and I didn’t care for it. I enjoy being my own boss. I also like being part of the community, corny as that sounds.”

  “That’s not corny. That’s nice.” Maureen was impressed in spite of herself.

  They entered Moe’s, and the hostess lit up at the sight of Phil. “Hey, handsome. Your usual table?”

  “Sure, Monica.” Phil didn’t seem to notice Monica’s obvious interest in him, a fascinating fact since she was a spectacular redhead. “Meet my good friend Maureen, as sweet an Irish rose as ever there was.”

  Monica’s smile dimmed significantly as she nodded to Maureen who smiled warmly back. Good friend, huh? As sweet an Irish rose as ever there was? Even if Phil wasn’t as oblivious as he seemed and that was his way of defusing Monica, Maureen knew she’d warm herself by those words for many a cold winter’s night.

  As they made their way to their seats, several waitresses called to Phil by name. He waved genially to all. Maureen shook her head. The man was a babe magnet.

  “They all like you,” she said as they sat down.

  “Who?” He seemed genuinely confused.

  “The waitresses.”

  “Oh.” He nodded. “I guess. What do you want to eat? Everything’s good.”

  “You’re not interested in any of them?” I hope not “You’ve already got a girl?”

  He looked vaguely around. “I’m not interested.” He turned to her. “I don’t have a girl, but I am looking.”

  Maureen felt the heat rise. “Have you ever heard the word subtlety?”

  “Believe me, Irish, compared to what I was in my BC days, I am the height of subtlety.”

  “BC days?”

  “Before Christ. You know, like in dates, calendar ones, not girl ones.”

  She laughed. “It must have been interesting knowing you then.”

  With a completely serious face, he said, “You wouldn’t have liked me.” He turned to their waitress and gave his order. Maureen did the same.

  “Why wouldn’t I have liked you?”

  “I was a wild man. Women and drink.” He studied his hands. “I look back and wonder what in the world I was thinking.”

  It was obvious that the topic was painful to him, so she changed it. She needed current information anyway. “I’ve been wondering about Mae What’shername, the bookstore lady.”

  “Harper.”

  “Right. Where’s her grandson while she’s in the hospital and rehab?”

  “He’s been living with my brother.”

  “Really? With Paul?” Phonies didn’t take in stray grandsons, did they? Too much trouble. Another plus for Trevelyan.

  Take that, Fleishman.

  Phil started to laugh as he reached for his coffee.

  “What?” Maureen asked, enjoying the way he enjoyed life.

  “I was just imagining what having a thirteen-year-old in the house is doing for Trev and Dori’s reunion!”

  Eighteen

  JOANNE AND VINNIE STOOD in front of the big brick house with the name Trevelyan on the mailbox. Even with the lawn frost-killed and the flower beds empty of everything but shriveled azaleas and rhododendrons with their leaves puckered shut, it was still a beautiful place.

  “I always wanted to live in a house like this,” Joanne whispered. “It’s like a house someone on TV lives in. Not a dumpy little three-room apartment on the third floor of some shabby old boarding house but a real house with lots and lots of rooms.”

  “I don’t care if the Sopranos themselves live here. You just get that suitcase, idiot girl.”

  “Not the Sopranos.” Joanne shook her head. “The good guys. The Nick at Nite guys. They all live in real nice houses just like this one.”

  The yearning for the better life that came with the big house filled Joanne. She knew that people in these big houses loved each other and helped each other. Just look at the Brady Bunch, though she had to admit she didn’t have as much need for a celebrity to sing at her prom as Marcia Brady did, especially since she quit school and never went to a prom. Still, their lives always worked out. Hers never did, no matter how hard she tried.

  Except maybe for Vinnie.

  “Like you think TV’s real?” Vinnie straightened his leather coat, twisting his neck like his tie was too tight, except he wasn’t wearing a tie. He was wearing a snug blue sweater that showed off his hard abs. Eye candy. “You think they actually live in those houses you see shots of? They’re just front walls, not real houses.”

  “They are not!” She stamped her stiletto-booted foot. “They’re real!”

  “Sometimes you’re so dumb it scares me.”

  “Dumb! I am not. What about when you see them in their living room, huh? Or their kitchen? That’s real, Vinnie. They have such pretty kitchens.” Joanne sighed, then continued in her feathery whisper. “And I’d have my own pretty bedroom and a bed with a canopy thing over it.”

  Vinnie threw her another of his scornful looks. “Why do you want a stupid canopy? It just collects dust. And who do you think you are? Some prissy little princess?”

  “Just because I want the better things in life doesn’t mean you can mock me,” she hissed. Sometimes he made her so mad! “So just shut up, Vinnie.”

  He scowled at her for a minute, his eyes real narrow and mean, and she knew she’d better watch it. He didn’t like it when she spoke like that to him.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Yeah, yeah. That’s what they all say.” He wasn’t convinced.

  “I am. Really Really, really.” She put as much sincerity as she could behind her whisper.

  “What’s with all the whispering anyway?” Vinnie asked.

  “Shh! Mind your manners. I don’t want they should get a bad impression of us.”

  He just stared. “Like they’re watching us out their window.” His voice dripped scorn.

  Joanne jabbed him in the ribs.

  He grunted and glared at her. “You got sharp elbows, idiot girl.”

  “Like you actually felt that through your coat.” Joanne glared back. “You think they got a pool out back?”

  “What?” Vinnie scowled. “Who?”

  “The however-you-pronounce-its.” She gestured to the brick house. “These guys.”

  His lip curled. “When we go to the front door, idiot girl, why don’t you ask them?”

  “Are you scared?” Joanne whispered, studying his face.

  “Scared? Me?” He wouldn’t look at her. “I’m never scared.”

  “Whenever you’re scared, you get snippy and mean. Like you’re acting now.”

  He held out a clenched fist. “You get up to that door, Jo, or I’ll show you what mean really is.”

  Joanne rang the doorbell with a shaking finge
r. Talking face-to-face with people was so much harder than asking questions over the phone, and that was hard enough. Yesterday afternoon after Vinnie had called Dori McAllister’s house and gotten the number for Small Treasures, he’d made her make that call. Her palms had been so sweaty she could hardly hold the phone.

  A lady answered with the words, “Small Treasures. May I help you?”

  “Is Dori there?” Jo asked in a small voice. Her throat seemed to have closed off, and forcing words out was very difficult.

  “I’m sorry. She’s not here now. May I take a message?”

  “Yeah. See, I got her suitcase by mistake at the airport and she got mine.”

  “In Philadelphia?”

  Jo nodded, then remembered the Small Treasures lady couldn’t see her. “Yeah.”

  “Oh, dear. As if her grandfather’s illness wasn’t bad enough.”

  “Yeah. So do you know how I can find her?”

  “I do. She’s visiting her family because her grandfather is very ill.”

  “Oh. Um, that’s too bad.” That was probably why she was so rude-like at the airport. “Well, I won’t bother her. I just need my things, and she must want her stuff.”

  “I’m sure she does. Just a minute while I look up the address and phone number of the Trevelyans.”

  “Thank you so much,” Jo said and wrote very carefully. She even read the numbers back to the nice lady.

  “Tell Dori that Meg sends her love,” the lady said and hung up.

  When Joanne handed the address and phone number to Vinnie, he smiled at her, his deep brown eyes crinkling at the edges. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. Jo’s heart sang. He really did love her.

  Amhearst, Pennsylvania. Vinnie had to go out and buy a Pennsylvania map before they knew exactly where Amhearst was.

  “We’ll drive up there tomorrow,” Vinnie said. “It’s only about two hours. Then we’ll call when we’re almost there to be sure someone’s home, and bingo-bango, we get the paintings. Mr. J will never know there was a problem.”

  “Don’t you want me to call to be sure the suitcase is there?” Jo asked.

  “Like where else could it be? We know it’s not at the airport.”