Then she looked at me, and the wonderment in her eyes changed to uneasiness, and I knew what she was thinking. This was nice, but the last thing either of us needed was publicity, not with a vindictive Boone Morrison on our trail. Yet I didn’t want that worry to spoil her joy in this.
I squeezed her arm. “It’ll be fine. I doubt the newspaper’s circulation goes beyond the outskirts of Hello.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Kelli said. “It got written up in some tourist publication last year, and orders for subscriptions poured in from all over the country. I guess people like all the folksy stuff. How many newspapers report ‘news’ such as Maude Evans chasing a skunk through her laundry hanging on the line, getting tangled in a sheet, and calls coming in to the police about a ghost running through the neighborhood?”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I repeated to Abilene.
Kelli gave us an odd look as if she wondered what that was all about, but I didn’t enlighten her.
Abilene set dishes with big scoops of ice cream for each of us on the card table, along with a plate of Twix, and I poured coffee. The card table had numerous circular burned spots in the center. Hiram apparently didn’t bother with such niceties as protective hot pads.
“Ummm, good,” I said after letting a creamy spoonful melt in my mouth.
“I’m kind of a closet ice cream eater,” Kelli confessed. “Chris won’t eat dessert, unless it’s fresh fruit, and he doesn’t think I should either.”
Commendable, I suppose, but somehow not a trait I found endearing. My friend Mac eagerly chows down on everything from my peach cobbler to jelly beans to anything chocolate. However, this was a nice opening. “Tell us about Chris,” I suggested. “He seemed quite thoughtful and concerned about you.”
“Oh, he is, a very thoughtful man. He was born and has always lived right here in Hello, except for the years he went away to law school.”
“He’s also a lawyer?” I don’t know why I should be surprised, but I was. I guess I have to admit I’ve always had a cold spot in my heart for lawyers, ever since a frivolous lawsuit about a pill-bottle lid was filed against Harley and his pharmacy back in Missouri.
“He and two other men are partners in the biggest law firm here in town. He handled all of Uncle Hiram’s legal affairs before I came.” She laughed at something in my expression. “So Chris should be furious because I stole his important client, right? He should be resentful, and we should be meeting at high noon, legal briefs drawn and subpoenas loaded, for a shootout on Main Street?”
“That would seem likely.”
“Well, actually, it kind of started out that way. Things were pretty tense the first few days when Chris was transferring everything over to me. But after we’d spent some time together and talked and got to know each other, we both realized there was an attraction between us that was more important than rivalry.”
“Is this a relationship that’s going somewhere?”
“I think so.” She smiled. “If it were up to Chris, we’d elope right now. He keeps suggesting it.”
“Wouldn’t you prefer a nice church wedding?”
“Not necessarily.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Well, maybe. But either way, I’m inclined to take things more slowly than Chris is. I love him, but I want to be sure it’s going to last a lifetime before I jump in with both feet. I don’t want to wind up with a track record like Uncle Hiram’s.”
Good thinking. Unexpectedly, the doorbell chimed again.
“Would you like me to get it?” Kelli asked.
“It must be someone looking for you. We certainly don’t know anyone here.”
8
Kelli disappeared through the swinging door and returned a couple of minutes later with a trim, petite lady with curly gray hair, bright hazel eyes, raspberry colored sweats, and Nikes. She walked with a jaunty bounce, and cheerful laugh lines bracketed her mouth. Kelli made introductions and explained our presence.
“I’m so glad to meet you.” Lucinda O’Mallory reached out and clasped my hand and then Abilene’s in friendly handshakes. “The old house needs someone living in it. Your bad luck in being stuck here in Hello looks like Kelli’s good luck.”
Lucinda O’Mallory had probably never been a great beauty. Her skin was ruddy, her features ordinary, and wrinkle cream would surely find her face a challenge. But sharp intelligence and good humor gleamed in her hazel eyes, and I had the feeling Lucinda was the kind of woman you quickly forgot wasn’t all that beautiful, because her energy and the charm of her personality bubbled through. She seemed to be coping well with the loss of her fiancé.
“I didn’t mean to intrude. I just happened to see the lights on and thought I should investigate.” To me she added, “Someone broke in once, as Kelli probably told you. But don’t let that scare you! Everyone knew about all that tequila Hiram kept on hand, and we figure it was just some kids looking for it.”
“Not that they had any chance of finding it.” Kelli and Lucinda exchanged conspiratorial smiles.
“You removed it?” I asked.
“We … ah … disposed of it.” Lucinda stuck out a hand, squinted one eye, and cocked a finger. “Pow! Pow! Pow!”
They both giggled, and I looked at them, amazed, as I realized what Lucinda was saying. These two ladies, one young, one old, had dismantled Hiram’s liquor collection by using the filled bottles for target practice. I’ve never done any shooting, but with these two I could probably learn to enjoy it.
Kelli primly swallowed her giggle. “Lucinda’s house is on the hill on the opposite side of town. It sits at an angle, so even if only the kitchen lights are on here, you can see them from her living room.” To Lucinda she added, “I should have called and told you Ivy and Abilene had moved in. But you shouldn’t be running over here just because you see lights,” she scolded. “What if you ran into a burglary or wild teenage party in progress?”
“Then maybe I’d get to try out some of these karate moves I’m learning.” Lucinda punched the air with her right fist and followed with a thigh-high kick with her left foot. The fuzzy pink balls on the end of her shoelaces snapped briskly. Somehow, in spite of the huge difference in their ages, something about Lucinda’s vitality reminded me of my grandniece Sandy, who is given to exuberant backflips now and then. “I told you I’d started karate lessons at the health club, didn’t I? That’s where I’m headed now. How are things going with Hiram’s estate?”
“Slowly. Very slowly.”
I thought I detected something in that uninformative answer, although I couldn’t decide what. Kelli certainly wasn’t hinting to Lucinda that Hiram’s estate was none of her business, but neither was she actually telling her anything. Kelli had, I realized now, given Chris’s question about Hiram’s affairs a similar detour.
“Well, it’s nice meeting you two,” Lucinda said to Abilene and me. “I’m glad you aren’t letting what happened here disturb you. It’s ridiculous, the way so many people are acting as if the place has suddenly turned into a House of Horrors.”
She spotted Koop on the rug and went over to kneel beside him. Koop’s only reaction was a lazy opening of his one good eye. A good recommendation. She gave him the kind of petting he likes, long swoops from head to tail. A few orange hairs clung to her raspberry colored sweats when she stood up, and she didn’t make some fussy attempt to brush them off. I liked that.
“Oh, hey, I know who you are!” she said suddenly, a raspberry-tipped forefinger targeting Abilene. “You’re the one who saved Edie Carchoun’s cat with CPR! I saw your picture in the Telegraph. Such a wonderful thing to do.”
Abilene is so modest that she flushed at the unexpected compliment. “I’m working for Dr. Sugarman now.”
“He’s lucky to have you,” Lucinda declared. “How many people could or would do CPR on a cat?” She pushed back her sleeve and looked at her watch. “Okay, time to get to my class. Oh, I almost forgot. Victoria said to tell you that they’ll be sending a truck to pick u
p Hiram’s books within the next day or two.”
“What are they going to do, just dump them on the floor in that new room and hope the book fairy comes to straighten them out?” Kelli inquired in a tone that matched her facetious words.
“It seems there’s some money in an emergency fund that most of the Society members didn’t know about. Doris Hammerstone was hoarding it. Anyway, they’re going to dig into that to hire someone who knows how to organize books and catalog them on the computer. Although how they’re going to find anyone who knows anything and is willing to work for the pittance they want to pay beats me.”
My ears perked up. “I was a librarian back in Missouri for some thirty years. I’m not an expert on the computer, but I know a little. I’m looking for a local position, and I’d be willing to work very reasonably.”
“A real live book fairy!” Lucinda clapped her hands. “Could you go down to the Historical Society building and talk to Victoria Halburton tomorrow morning?”
“You’re a member?” I asked.
She touched her chest, looked down at me from her superior height of an inch or so over my five-foot-one, and in an exaggerated voice of hauteur said, “My dear, everyone who is anyone in Hello belongs to the Historical Society.”
“Which means I don’t,” Kelli muttered.
“They invited you when you first came.”
“And then made it plain that I was uninvited after my remarks about the Lucky Queen at their big meeting.”
“Um, well, yes, that’s true,” Lucinda agreed. “And just for your information, we do know that you call us the Ladies Hysterical Society.” Her tone was severe, but her hazel eyes twinkled with good humor. Ah-ha! So I wasn’t mistaken when I thought I’d heard Kelli use that term earlier.
“Oh dear.” Kelli put on a mournful face. “If they know that, I’ll never win the Miss Popularity contest. And I was so counting on it.”
They looked at each other and grinned. Then Lucinda turned back to me. “Yes, I’m a member, but I don’t care for the CT & G sessions, which are the mainstay of the group—”
“CT & G?” I interrupted.
“Coffee, Tea, and Gossip, which is really what the Ladies Hysterical Society is all about. But I’ve helped get a couple of historical booklets together, and I’ve more or less managed the Roaring ’20s Revue for years. Although this may be our last year. We’ve always had it on the stage in the old Hello Hotel, but the place is about to collapse. Hiram was going to buy the old place and fix it up for us, but that isn’t going to happen now, of course.”
“Sounds as if Hiram was indeed a generous man,” I commented.
“Can you spell b-r-i-b-e?” Kelli said.
“Bribe?” I repeated with interest.
“Now, Kelli,” Lucinda said, her tone reproachful. “Hiram had a strong sense of civic responsibility and was always concerned about the welfare of the town.”
“Okay, okay,” Kelli muttered. “The saint with a cigar.”
No one seemed inclined to enlighten me, but now Lucinda looked me over appraisingly. “Would you like to be in the Revue? We have a full lineup of sixteen for the chorus line at the moment, but someone always has to drop out. We’re into rehearsals now, but Sophia Ledger is already saying her arthritis is never going to last through those high kicks.”
There was that chorus line again. “Thanks, but I don’t think so.”
“The costumes are very modest, if that concerns you.”
I couldn’t see myself kicking up my heels in a costume of any sort, but … “Maybe there’s something else I could do, something behind the scenes?”
“Could be. It’s always tough finding people for the behind-the-scenes work, so I’ll keep you in mind. Anyway, be at the Historical Society building tomorrow morning. It opens at ten o’clock. Oh, by the way, Kelli, I took daisies to Hiram’s grave this morning, and we should see about getting the hinge on that gate fixed.”
“He’d appreciate the daisies. They were his favorite flower, weren’t they? I’ll see about the hinge.”
“Is he buried in High Cemetery?” I asked.
“No, he’s in Low.” Lucinda looked a bit surprised that I knew about the cemetery division. “The old family plot is there, with all the old rascals tucked inside a wrought-iron fence.”
Impulsively I sneaked in another question. “Was Hiram planning to move those carousel horses over to your place after you married?”
“I have no idea where those carousel horses came from, or what Hiram planned to do with them.” Lucinda shook her head. “There’s no place in my house where they’d fit. They’re a mystery to me.”
Odd.
“What do you think of Lucinda?” Kelli asked after Lucinda was gone. “Isn’t she a doll? It’s too bad things didn’t work out for her and Hiram years ago. Both Hiram and this old house would probably be in better shape if he’d had Lucinda all that time.”
A little warily, because I didn’t want it to sound like criticism, and I surely didn’t mean it as such, I said, “She seems to be holding up well, under the circumstances.”
“You mean because she laughs, and she’s out shooting up Hiram’s tequila bottles instead of making some sentimental monument out of them?”
“Something like that, I guess.”
“Lucinda’s a survivor,” Kelli said almost fiercely. “One of the strongest people I know. She lost her husband five or six years ago, and then a couple years later, one of her two sons was killed in an avalanche on a ski slope up north. She lost a baby daughter to polio years ago, just before the vaccine became available. She managed to keep going through all those terrible times, and she’s done the same after losing Hiram. She grieves him, very much so. But she isn’t going to do it by taking to her bed and covering her head and crying all day.”
Hearing all that, I felt an instant bond with Lucinda. I too had lost both a husband and son. I wondered if it was faith that had carried her through, as it had me.
Kelli smiled, a reminiscent look in her eyes. “You probably wouldn’t know it to look at her, but Lucinda can have quite a temper. Uncle Hiram was rather casual about time, and when he was late for dinner at her place for about the umpteenth time, she went down to the tavern and rounded up a couple of ratty old guys she knew from when she interviewed old miners for a Historical Society booklet. So when Hiram finally arrived, he found these whiskered old guys eating up the last of his favorite tamale pie, and all that was left for him was a cup of cold coffee, an empty plate, and an icy stare from Lucinda. I don’t believe he was ever late again.” Kelli nodded with satisfaction. “She’d have kept Hiram in line.”
“She isn’t a smoker.” Koop’s reaction to her told me that, although her health-conscious exercise regime also suggested it. “What about Hiram’s smoking? Was he going to give it up?”
“No, but they’d already settled that he could smoke only on the back porch at her place. Though she did say she was going to have it glassed in for him.”
Kelli told me how to find the Historical Society building in the morning, and then we agreed that she’d pick me up at the house at 1:00 for the trip out to the mine. She left a few minutes later, and Abilene, eager to start work at Dr. Sugarman’s in the morning, showered and was in bed by 10:00. The master bedroom had a private bath, quite an elaborate one, modernized with lots of gold fixtures and white tile veined with gold. There were too many mirrors for my taste. I’m not fond of seeing my sags and bags from all angles. But I enjoyed a leisurely bath with passionflower-scented bubbles, courtesy of my grandniece Sandy.
Sandy is always giving me little things I’d never buy for myself, things that usually startle me. She sends them first class to the mail-forwarding outfit in Arkansas, and they send them on to me when I call and give them an address. A toe ring. Fake fingernails. Skimpy Victoria’s Secret nightwear. A perfume called “Catch Your Man.” Sandy thinks I should catch Mac before someone else does.
I hadn’t really intended to call Mac, but, t
hinking about Lucinda and her latest loss, I felt an unexpected surge of gratitude that Mac was alive and I could call him.
Mac MacPherson and I don’t share the kind of relationship Lucinda and Hiram had; we certainly aren’t into marriage plans. There’s something between us, although it’s about as substantial as a puff of hair spray. But it’s there. The thing is, we never seem to be in the same place at the same time in our lives, and I mean that in more than physical location. Yes, our physical locations are often far apart. Mac has been traveling all over the country in his motor home doing articles about places and events for various travel magazines for several years now, and I never know where my efforts to dodge Braxtons may take me.
But the real difference in “place” has more to do with where we are in our outlook on life at any given moment. If I’m thinking commitment might be the way to go, Mac is in a don’t-fence-me-in stage. If he’s in a settling-down mood, I’m backing off, thinking it’s too late in life for this.
And, of course, the Braxtons and Boone Morrison are a constant factor. A few months ago, Abilene and I had intended to spend some time in the town where Mac was recuperating from a yak attack (and don’t you have to love a man who could get attacked by a yak?), but that was when we had to take off and run from Boone, and I haven’t seen Mac since.
So our relationship is definitely indefinite. But there’s enough to it that I felt a real longing to connect with him tonight. I got the cell phone out of my purse, looked up his cell phone number on the menu, and punched the call button. I was pleased that I wasn’t getting the “no signal” message here in town.
But I was also getting no answer to the ring, and for the first time the dismaying thought occurred to me, What if a woman answered? He could have up and married someone, just like Sandy, and my good friend Magnolia Margollin, warned he might do.
Then his voice, muffled and grumpy. “Hello? Hello. Is someone there? I thought I’d turned this blasted thing off for the night—”
“Mac? It’s Ivy. Did I wake you?” I hadn’t considered that my 10:45 p.m. call might reach him well after midnight if he happened to be on the East Coast. He wasn’t usually an early-to-bed person, but you could never tell where Mac might be. “Where are you?”
Stranded Page 7
