Pall in the Family

by Dawn Eastman

  “If it’s in that position that isn’t good, is it?”

  “It means that your fears are very strong, you’re afraid of some major change, and you are fighting it. The Tower in the ‘outcome’ position shows a big upheaval will result from all of this.”

  I almost choked on the rapid intake of dust when I heard that The Tower was part of the layout. I hated that card. Just looking at it gave me the creeps, and it had caused nightmares as a child. The picture alone was terrifying, a tall tower struck by lightning with people falling from the top. When I learned about fire safety in school, I was haunted by the image of people leaping from a burning building. The sky was black and fire shot out of the windows. Poor Tish. Something big had been going on with her, and the worst was yet to come.

  “It’s not good, is it?”

  “The cards aren’t good or bad.” This was my mother’s standard spiel to people who have a terrible-looking spread of cards. “They just point you in the right direction and help you make choices. These cards are saying you’ve made some bad choices recently, but maybe you can fix your situation. You have to trust yourself and your talents.”

  Mom didn’t like to give bad news and was unwilling to accept that her precious cards would ever put her in a position of having to do so.

  “Well, thanks for seeing me. I know things haven’t been great between us for a while. You’ll never know how much I regret the way I treated Sara over her certificate. I’m sorry it came between us.”

  I heard my mother sniffle.

  “You just let me know if I can do anything to help,” Mom said.

  They were wrapping things up. I had to get out of the attic.

  I turned and headed for the trapdoor, but swung my head into a low-lying beam first. After my vision cleared, I continued and nearly fell out of the door onto the step stool. I was starting to fold it up when the closet door hit me in the back as it swung closed, shutting out the light.

  “What are you doing out here, Vi?” I heard my mother through the door.

  “Oh, nothing. Just on my way to the kitchen to get Baxter a dog biscuit.”

  “I thought you kept those in your rooms.” My mother’s voice betrayed her skepticism.

  “Where’s Baxter?” Tish asked.

  “In my apartment. Why don’t you two go get him while I get his treat?” Vi said.

  Suddenly the closet door flew open. My mother stood there, hands on hips, glaring.

  “I thought so. You were quieter when you were little. Hear any good readings lately, Clytemnestra?” she asked.

  “Clyde? What are you doing in the closet?” Tish asked.

  “She’s just helping me store some winter coats,” Vi said. She tried to shut the door.

  “She’s ‘just’ spying on us.” My mother rounded on Vi, and grabbed my wrist at the same time.

  “You two should be ashamed of yourselves. Acting like children!” my mother said.

  “Why would you do that, Clyde?” Tish said in the smallest voice I had ever heard.

  16

  Tish and Baxter had stormed out. Even the dog managed a glare over his shoulder as he left. I tried to downplay the whole episode to Seth, but he was too clever for that. This was due partly to my mother’s reiterating her disappointment in my behavior and partly to Vi’s persistent questions about what I had heard.

  Seth and I finally left the house to visit our clients for the day. Tuffy joined us.

  “So it never ends, huh?” Seth asked. He clicked his seat belt and settled Tuffy on his lap.

  “What?”

  “Parents dragging you down.”

  “I guess it depends on the parents.” I hit the gas too hard and sprayed gravel as we pulled out of the driveway.

  Tuffy sighed loudly and looked from me to Seth and back again. I made a mental note to schedule a grooming appointment for him. He was starting to resemble a mistreated Barbie doll with ratted hair and a lopsided ponytail.

  For the next hour, I wrangled the boy and the dogs and argued with myself over what I should do. I felt horrible. I usually avoided Vi’s plots, but I had been so curious myself that I’d gone along with it. Now Tish was mad and hurt and I still didn’t know much more than I knew this morning. She had a secret, she was confused about what to do, and now she had animal psychics and ex-cops spying on her. Great.

  * * *

  That evening, I waited on the porch for Mac. I didn’t want to go through the whole chatting-with-the-family thing and figured he would be just as happy to avoid Vi’s questions. Of course, they weren’t subtle about the fact that they were watching from behind the curtains.

  When he pulled up in his pickup truck, I hopped off the porch and went to meet him.

  “Seems like old times,” he said as I buckled the seat belt. “You never could wait to get out of there.”

  “It’s better now, but only a little.”

  We chose safe topics of conversation on our way out of town. He told me about his time in Saginaw and the drug bust that had gone bad. He’d taken a bullet in his leg and was stuck with a cane until his strength improved. He wasn’t sure how long he would stay with the Ottawa County Sheriff’s Department but didn’t want to return to Saginaw. I kept quiet about my own troubles in Ann Arbor, saying only that I had six weeks left of my leave of absence. No talk of murder, séances, or psychics. As soon as we passed the city limits and headed north, I knew where he was taking me for dinner.

  Grand Haven was not far, and the Lighthouse Restaurant sat right on the beach. The food was good, but the view was the big attraction. I hadn’t been there since Mac and I broke up.

  It was obvious that things had changed when we pulled into the parking lot. The weather-beaten sign had been replaced with a carved wooden plaque, and the lot had been repaved and painted with marked parking spaces. As we approached the front door, I saw that the bright multicolored deck umbrellas had been changed for black shades and tables with real tablecloths. Mac and I exchanged a bewildered glance.

  Inside, the upscale transformation was even more apparent. We stood by the hostess station and I began to worry my jeans and short-sleeve blouse would be turned away. But this was still Michigan in the summer, and the hostess didn’t give us a second look as she led us to a table for two.

  We caught up on the past eight years over a bottle of wine and surf and turf. Mac was funnier than I remembered and more relaxed. The wine mellowed us both, and we had veered into remember-when territory. I reminded him of the time we were driving out near Greer’s Woods and Etta James’s “At Last” came on the oldies station. Mac had pulled off to the side of the road, turned up the music, and pulled me out of the car. We slow-danced in the woods with only the headlights and the moon to guide us. Mac reminded me of the time we had almost started a brawl in a Grand Rapids pool hall. It was the most I had laughed in a very long time.

  We reached for the wine bottle at the same time, and when his hand covered mine I caught my breath.

  “Well, I never thought I’d see this.”

  I turned to see Charla Roberts grinning and standing at our table. I jumped up to give her a hug and knocked my wineglass over in the process. Mac dealt with the mess and then offered Charla a chair.

  “Oh, I don’t want to interrupt,” Charla said. “I’m having dinner with Dean Junior and saw you from across the room.”

  “It’s great to see you, Charla,” I said. I secretly wished she’d waited a few more minutes. “I’m in town for the summer—we’ll have to get together.”

  “I’ve heard all about you and your summer plans. Tom Andrews talks about you all the time.” She cocked her thumb at Mac. “This one is a bit more secretive.”

  Mac cleared his throat and tried to gain control of the conversation.

  “I don’t have any secrets, Charla. I’m an open book.” He held his hands out to demonstra
te.

  Charla glanced at him. “Yes, I can see that.” She turned to me. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you two together. Before Dean died, he told me how glad he was that you had found each other.”

  She didn’t notice the shift in the atmosphere at the table. At the mention of Dean Roberts, Mac stiffened and his eyes lost their sparkle.

  “We’re just old friends out to dinner, Charla,” Mac said.

  “Okay, have your secrets.” She smiled at me. “I’ll leave you old friends to your wine.” Charla made her way back across the restaurant.

  The drive home was quiet, and there was no more reminiscing. We were lost in our own thoughts. I was ruminating about Tish and the debacle that afternoon, as well as trying to figure out where Mac and I had gone so wrong eight years ago. Mac was presumably remembering his reasons for leaving Crystal Haven. I was glad we had done this, even if nothing had changed. At least now I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable when we met. I knew where I stood.

  “Thanks, Mac,” I said when he pulled up to the house. “I had a really nice time.”

  I reached for the door handle and started to get out of the truck. Mac grabbed my other hand and held it.

  “Let’s do this again, okay?” His eyes were intense, and I realized I had misinterpreted the situation—again.

  My stomach flipped. My hands shook as I pulled the door latch. I nodded and went into the house.

  17

  When I woke, still grinning, on Friday morning, I decided the only thing to do was track Tish down as quickly as possible and apologize. Even though after the apology I intended to grill her for information on why she went to Sara’s daughter and what was going on with my mother, I still felt much better about myself.

  After the morning doggy rounds, we parked in town and gave Tuffy a drink. I told Seth to wait by the car while I checked the Reading Room for Tish. Friday wasn’t her usual day, but she might be found there seeing walk-ins.

  Several people blasted out the door just as I reached for it. They hurried past, mumbling “excuse me” and continued down the street. It took only a moment to realize what the fuss was about. Tish’s voice was loud and clear, and an angry male voice tried to shout over it. I stepped cautiously inside, and Harriet flapped over to me, her cardigan sleeves straining to stay tied at her neck.

  “Clytemnestra, do something! I think they’re going to tear the place apart.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Gary gestured wildly, strands of his thinning hair standing on end. Tish pointed a shaky finger at him. Phrases like “none of your business” and “liar” filled the air.

  “Gary came in a few minutes ago. He accused Tish of getting him arrested.”

  “How did he get out of jail?” The two were so wrapped up in their argument that they hadn’t noticed me.

  I waited for Harriet to reply, but a gruff voice surprised me. “Gary finally gave us his alibi, and we didn’t have enough evidence to hold him,” Mac said from the door. “You have a knack for finding trouble, Clyde.”

  “Oh, Detective McKenzie. Thank goodness you’re here,” said Harriet. Her adoring glance made it clear some people in town were glad Mac was back.

  Gary and Tish had stopped arguing long enough to notice Mac at the door. Mac stomped over to them, his cane telegraphing his annoyance with aggressive thumps, and offered a choice of calming down versus taking the whole argument to the police station. I decided this was a good time to retreat. I wasn’t going to get any information out of Tish with her aura in an uproar. Maybe I could find out how Gary got out of jail while Mac was busy breaking up the fight.

  “Hey, did Detective McKenzie find you?” Seth asked when I got to the car.

  “Well, I saw him. Was he looking for me?”

  “I think so. He stopped to pet Tuffy and asked where you were. I told him I thought you went into the Reading Room to talk to Tish. Sorry if it was supposed to be a secret.” Seth hung his head.

  “No, it’s fine. Tish was . . . busy. Mac had some other things to do, so I didn’t really get to talk to him. Why don’t I bring you and Tuffy back home for lunch?”

  * * *

  I drove back to town after dropping Seth off at home. Tom was not at the police station, and Mac had gotten to Lisa. Despite my attempts at drawing out the story, she remained tight-lipped on the subject of Gary and how he had gotten out of jail. She was willing to tell me that Tom had gone a few blocks down the street to investigate a report of vagrancy at Millie’s Book Nook.

  Headed that way, I hoped Tom would be finished before I got there. Millie’s was the “regular” bookstore in town. Besides Diana’s store, there was one other, but it only sold psychic and spiritualist titles. Millie’s sold all of the new releases in fiction and nonfiction and boasted a great selection of mysteries and biographies. Millie was at least ninety years old and was in a constant feud with her “good for nothing” third husband, Howard. They had been married for thirty years. He was only eighty, and according to Millie he didn’t pull his weight around the store. Millie had been my first employer—paying me to come after school and stock the shelves with new books. Most of my earnings were funneled directly back to the store to feed my fiction habit.

  A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. I caught a glimpse of Tom in the middle of the throng. Knowing I would regret it, I walked right up to the small, wiry nonagenarian who was pushing Tom backward with the sheer force of her pointing finger.

  “Now, Mrs. Fessler, Howard is not a vagrant. He says he fell asleep while doing inventory,” Tom said. He held his hands up as if she were pointing a gun and not a crooked digit at him.

  “I want him arrested.” She poked Tom with her finger. He mouthed the word “ow” and rubbed his chest. Tom tried to take a step back and almost lost his footing on the steps of the store. While he struggled to keep his balance, Millie continued. “He’s a lazy fool, and now he’s sleeping on the job. If I found anyone else sleeping in my reading area, you’d come and cart them off to the lockup.” She glanced at the crowd, assessing the need for arrests.

  Howard stood in the doorway, his few wisps of white hair askew. He blinked at the crowd through his glasses and scowled at Millie.

  This had the potential to go on for hours, or at least until Millie got tired. I decided to rescue Tom.

  “Hi, Mrs. Fessler.” I tapped Millie on the shoulder.

  She swung around, finger at the ready. Her frown broke into a huge grin when she saw me.

  “Well, Clytemnestra. How are you?” She clutched my hand in hers.

  “I’m fine. What seems to be the trouble here?”

  “It’s Howard, sleeping on the job again. He never used to do that when you were here with us. I hear you’re a policeman now.”

  “I—yes, I am.”

  “What do you call yourself now? Cletus? Clover?”

  “Clyde, Mrs. Fessler. It’s always been Clyde.” I smiled down at her. She didn’t top five feet, even with her chunky orthopedic shoes.

  “That was my first husband’s name. He was a mechanic. Nice man, but he had no stamina, if you know what I mean.” She nudged me with her bony elbow.

  “You’ve mentioned him before.” I didn’t want to wander memory lane with Millie.

  “Is this your new boyfriend?” She hooked a thumb in Tom’s direction.

  Red blotches rose to his cheeks. I was momentarily speechless.

  “You always had a thing for policemen,” she said.

  “No! We’re . . . friends. Mrs. Fessler, maybe you and Howard could go back inside and work this out.”

  She looked up at Howard, who was still standing in the door. He smiled at her as if she was the most beautiful woman on the planet.

  “Oh, fine. I’ll give him one more chance.” She waved her hand at the crowd to get them to move out of her way.

  She w
ent inside with Howard, and most of the bystanders followed them. I’d often wondered if she staged these little one-act plays when business got slow.

  “I need to talk to you,” I said when Tom and I were alone.

  “Yeah, I need to talk to you, too.” He smoothed his uniform and brushed off his hat.

  We scanned the street, looking for a place to meet where we wouldn’t be seen by Mac or by anyone who might tell Mac. Then I remembered the Memorial Garden.

  “Meet me in the garden in three minutes,” I said, and walked away without looking back.

  The garden took up a corner lot right in the middle of the commercial section of town. The restaurant that had stood there for half a century burned one September evening twenty years earlier, and the owner’s widow had decided to plant a garden rather than rebuild. She took the insurance money off to Chicago and returned once a year to visit the site.

  I used to go there every day in the summer, wandering the pathways while eating my ice cream or talking to Diana or Alex about some teenage crisis. The gates were closed at night, and only the bravest of the teenage crowd hopped the fence to enter. It was said to be haunted by the man who had died in the fire.

  I entered through the gate and breathed in the scent of roses, lavender, and lilacs. A small bench sat at the back, hidden from street view.

  I didn’t have to wait long before I saw Tom come through the gate and look quickly around. I stood on the bench and waved, and he made his way over to me.

  “Thanks for helping out with Millie back there,” Tom said.

  “No problem. We go way back.”

  “I have some interesting news.” He sat next to me on the bench and glanced around to be sure we couldn’t be seen. “Gary is out of jail.”

  I told him about seeing Gary and Tish fighting at the Reading Room.

  “This is not good.” Tom shook his head.

  “How did Gary get out? Mac said he had an alibi?”

  Tom nodded.

  “He didn’t want to tell us at first, which is why he got his daughter to lie for him. He was at an illegal poker game in Grand Rapids. I had heard rumors when he and Sara divorced, but he confirmed them today. He’s in debt to several bookies and one very bad loan shark. He was at the poker game trying to ‘earn’ enough to pay the debt.”