“Morning, Coot.” Livvie leaned forward and kissed his weathered cheek.
Without a word, he handed her a Mason jar filled with an array of beautiful wildflowers.
“Are these for me?”
“I’m expectin’ so,” he said as he stepped inside. “Or, might be they’re for Cora Mae or Georgia. There’s a note tucked down inside, but I didn’t look at it. Found ’em right here by the door, sittin’ all pretty-like.”
“Oh, drat! I thought they were from you,” she lamented with a touch of sarcasm.
“I told you when you got that dress, I don’t know nothin’ about givin’ women gifts.”
“It’s okay, Coot. I’ll forgive you this time.” She laughed, carrying the jar of flowers toward the kitchen. “Take your usual table. I’ll get your coffee.”
“I’ll get it for him,” Will said, lifting the coffeepot from the burner and winking at her. “Mmm, you smell good.” She felt herself blush from the neck up and turned to look at him, but he’d already sailed past her to serve Coot.
Since uttering those three special words on Saturday night, he’d made no mention of them. That was not to say that he hadn’t had plenty of opportunities to do so. He’d walked with her to church on Sunday, as usual, but kept quiet about it, and he hadn’t even made a move to sit next to her in the pew; the boys had sat between them, as usual. After the service, while Alex and Nathan joined in a game of tag in the churchyard, folks had greeted them in the friendliest ways, discussing the fine weather, the brush fire out behind Zeke Barlow’s barn on Friday night, and the new Silver Flag Service Station on the corner of Maple and Fall, where the prices already seemed cheaper than those at the Red Top. Helen Brent had approached the group clustered around Will and Livvie and asked them if they planned to attend the annual church picnic in a few weeks. Livvie hadn’t known how to respond, so Will had answered on her behalf. “Well, it sounds like a grand time. Not sure I can speak for Livvie and her boys, but I’ll make every effort to attend.” Had that been his subtle way of dismissing any suspicions that they were a couple?
Since neither Cora Mae nor Georgia had arrived at the restaurant yet, Livvie took the liberty of reaching into the bouquet and pulling out the folded piece of paper tucked among the stems. Her heart thumped lightly against her chest to think that Will might have gone out early to pick the flowers. Eagerly, she unfolded the paper. To her dismay, the handwriting matched that of the scrawled note she’d received with the blue dress.
Livvie,
You looked perty in the dress. I wached you from afar. I emagined myself holding your hand and walking right down Market Street. But that will come. Enjoy these flowers picked jest for you.
Who was this person who’d been watching her? And why didn’t he just come forward?
Uneasiness crawled across her skin as she refolded the note and jammed it inside her skirt pocket.
Will let out an exaggerated sigh on his way back to the kitchen. “Ah, you still smell nice. Pretty flowers. Whose are they?”
“Mine, I guess.”
The back door opened, and Cora Mae and Georgia both entered. Distraction kept Livvie from fully acknowledging them.
“What do you mean, you guess? Who’re they from?” He came to a standstill before her, coffeepot in hand.
She gave him a hard, sober stare. “You didn’t send me that dress, did you? Be honest.”
His forehead furrowed. “That blue dotted dress? No, sorry, I didn’t. Why do you ask?”
“Well, someone sent it to me, and I want to know who!” she blurted out.
“Morning, everybody. What’s going on?” Cora Mae snatched her apron from its hook by the door and tied it around her waist, secured her hairnet, and then turned and glanced at the bar. “Ooh, pretty flowers! Did you pick ’em, Liv?”
Gus came in through the front door, along with two customers, Walter and Minnie Ballard, giving her a moment to think up a response. This was no time to get worked up, not when she had customers coming in and Coot sitting there, listening to the exchange.
“No, I didn’t. Somebody gave them to me.” She forced a fresh smile. “Wasn’t that nice?”
“Humph. I’ll say,” Cora Mae mumbled. “Can’t remember the last time somebody gave me flowers. Let’s see…in fourth grade, maybe. Herbert Jenkins picked me three droopy dandelions during recess.” She shook her head in dismay. “Yep, that was the last time.”
Everyone but Will and Livvie set off in various directions to tackle the day. Gus fired up the stove and oven, Georgia waited on Coot, and Cora Mae greeted the Ballards and led them to a corner table.
“Let me see the note, Liv,” Will insisted. “I saw you tuck it in your pocket.”
Without argument, she brought it out and handed it to him. He perused it in silence, perhaps reading it more than once. “He thinks he’s going to be walking down Market Street with you? Hand in hand?” He frowned. “Who is this character? Did you keep the other note you got with the dress?”
“Yes, why?”
“Where is it?”
“In my dresser drawer.”
He pressed the note into her palm and folded her fingers over it. “Put this one with it. We might need to pay a visit to the sheriff.”
***
Later that afternoon, after the lunch hour had passed, Will stood outside J. C. Penney and studied the skinny mannequin wearing the infamous blue dotted dress in the window display. He decided that it looked much better on Livvie than on the plaster model, but he detested it just the same, all because of the notion that someone—a man, judging from the sloppy handwriting—had given it to her. Moments later, he pulled open the heavy door. If he’d ever stepped inside a department store, he couldn’t recall it, but here he was, standing amid racks of dresses, skirts, and fancy blouses.
“May I help you, sir?”
He pivoted on his heel and faced a middle-aged clerk with graying hair and a pleasant smile. “Yes, I was wondering about that dress in your display window.”
“Ah, the blue dotted Swiss. Shopping for your wife, are you?”
“What? Uh, no, just…shopping,” came his feeble reply.
She frowned. “Your girlfriend, then?”
“No, I just have a question about the dress. That’s all.”
“Oh.” Her darkish eyebrows rose with the single word. “What would you like to know?”
“Well, this will probably sound utterly strange, but, a few weeks ago, I’m not sure of the date, somebody, probably a man, came into your store to buy a dress identical to that one.” Already, she gave her head an adamant shake. “And I was wondering if you might remember who bought it.” Her head didn’t stop moving from side to side, and her lips were tightly pursed. “Or, if you can’t recall, would you happen to know if another clerk—?”
“Sir, no one bought that dress,” she interrupted him.
“I believe you’re wrong. Someone I know received that very dress, and I’m—we’re—trying to determine who—?”
“A dress like that was stolen from our rack. It was the only one we had in stock, besides the one you see on the mannequin. Can you tell me who has it now?”
***
On Thursday morning, after a breakfast he’d washed down with a few swigs of whiskey, Clem leaned against the cold brick wall of the train station and pressed the public phone to his ear, awaiting his wife’s croaky voice. “Come on, come on, pick up the blasted phone,” he mumbled, turning his back to the folks coming and going. He knew no more than a handful of people in Wabash and had given his own name to only one person, Marva Dulane, so he had no worries about being recognized. He just didn’t like standing in a public building in broad daylight. He was used to skulking in the shadows by day and sneaking around in the glow of the moon by night. A train whistle sounded in the distance. He slammed down the receiver, hearing the nickel jingle in the metal coin return. Then, he yanked a tattered piece of paper from his pocket and smoothed it out as best he could to read the numbers. H
e detested his mother-in-law, but, since Flo basically lived at her house, he figured that was where he’d find her. So, he rattled off the phone number to the operator on the other end, reinserted the nickel, and waited.
On the fourth ring, he shifted his weight in irritation. Finally, a puny-sounding female voice answered. “Hello?”
“Flo?”
“This isn’t Flo. Who’s this?”
“Who’s this?” He wasn’t about to reveal himself to a complete stranger. “Where’s Flo? I been trying to reach her. Is this Nettie O’Dell’s house?”
“Yes. Clem? This is Pearl.”
Pearl was Florence’s sister from New Jersey. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d actually spoken to her, but he did recognize her voice, now that she’d said a few words. “Where’s Flo?”
“She’s…not here.”
“Well, when’ll she be back? I need to talk to her. She tol’ me before I left she wanted a divorce, and I’m ready t’ give it to her.”
“Where are you, anyway? Ma tried to contact you. Flo never did tell her where you went, not that it makes much difference now. The authorities will find you when they want you. Some friends of yours, Hank Swain and Rudy something or other, got thrown in jail, but maybe you already knew that. They got caught red-handed breaking into a service station. Now, the police are holding them for questioning on several other crimes. Rumor has it they’re naming you as an accomplice.
“Eddie’s fine, in case you wanted to know, but then, you never did care much about that sweet little boy, did you? Probably ’cause he isn’t yours. Ma’s taking full custody of him. He’ll be in good hands with her, mark my word.”
His head felt like mush. “What are you—? Just hold it a second, okay?” He cursed. “Slow down and stick to one subject. First, I got to know what’s goin’ on with Flo. And that other stuff…tell it to me one at a time, would you?”
“I’ll give it to you straight, then. Clem, Florence is dead. She ran out in front of a train in Harlem a week ago. Some say it looked like she did it on purpose, but I can hardly believe she’d do that to herself, with the way she loved Eddie an’ all. But Eddie’s daddy, Florence’s no-good lover? She started up with him again, but he found himself another woman, which broke my sister’s heart, so I suppose it’s possible she killed herself on purpose. I won’t believe it, though. I think she just got all distracted, what with Eddie’s daddy running off on her.
“Anyway, the funeral was two days ago. Like I said, we tried to locate you, but nobody knew where you were. Of course, I’m sure those Hank and Rudy fellows would’ve known, but Ma wouldn’t even try to find them. Then, we found out they were both in jail. Won’t be long, and you’ll be joining them. Can’t say it’ll make me sad, or anybody else, for that matter.”
He’d heard enough. He slammed the receiver back on the hook and slowly turned, fearing that if he moved too fast, his breakfast and the whiskey would all spill out in a smelly mess on the cement floor. Dazed and dizzy, he pulled a dirty handkerchief out of his front pocket and mopped his face, which was drenched with sweat. Through clouded-over eyes, he made out the figures of people passing by, then spotted the door. Air. He needed air. On his way to the exit, he bumped into several people. “Hey, watch it!” one fellow growled.
Flo’s dead. Got to get my bearings. Flo’s dead. He staggered out of the station and stumbled blindly up the street, his ears buzzing like two bumblebees in a singing contest, as he tried to process the news. When he reached the corner, he turned left onto Huntington and headed south toward Fulton. If he remembered correctly, Fulton was a short, quiet street by the river. With a little luck, he’d be able to stay there while he sorted through his jumbled thoughts and figured out his next move. Hiding out was his first priority, especially in light of what he’d learned about Hank and Rudy. That, and having a warm body by his side to soothe his cares. He’d have to put his plan in motion even sooner than he’d thought.
***
Livvie marched up Market Street at two o’clock sharp, her arm draped with the blue dress, which was freshly laundered and pressed. Coot’s dog, Reggie, followed on her heels. He never left the restaurant while Coot was inside, and she liked to think that he felt it his duty to escort her to J. C. Penney and protect her as she returned the merchandise.
Mercy, how humiliating to think she’d worn a stolen dress! When Will had reported his findings to her last night, she’d hardly believed it. And now, she couldn’t wait to get the thing off her hands.
Just outside the entrance to the store, she turned and pointed at the dog. “Wait here, Reggie,” she ordered him. The mutt looked up, whined, and then sat back on his heels in what seemed to be a begrudging manner. She smiled down at him. “Don’t worry; I’ll be no more than a minute.” With that, she pulled open the door and approached the first clerk she laid eyes on.
***
Watching from a dark alley, Clem seethed with anger when he saw Livvie heading up the street carrying the blue dress. Hadn’t she admired it in the window for days before he’d finally found the perfect opportunity to snatch it off the rack and then gone through the fuss of wrapping it up and mailing it to her? Typical woman, she didn’t appreciate a gift when it was handed to her on a platter. Made him wonder what she’d done with the flowers he’d picked for her out in front of their new house.
“Soon, my dear, soon,” he muttered under his breath, “I’ll shower you with gifts you wouldn’t dream o’ givin’ back.”
It had taken him all morning to adjust to the idea of Flo’s being gone, and, by now, he had come to think of her death as a sort of sign. No Flo meant no wife. No wife meant no divorce. It also meant he had the freedom to do as he pleased. In the back of his rented wagon, he’d stashed at least a month’s worth of supplies from the general store, the hardware store, and the market: candles, matches, a hammer and nails, cigarettes, potatoes, bread, carrots, jerky and other dried meats, apples, raisins, jars of olives and pickles, baked beans, canned fruit, a can opener, mouse traps, and a mishmash of other items. He’d stolen only a portion of the goods, though, knowing he couldn’t haul away so much stuff without being spotted. Back at the house, he already had a good stash of Dotson’s whiskey, so he was set in terms of booze. From the Salvation Army store, he’d bought a lumpy mattress, two pillows, two blankets, a kerosene lamp, soap and towels, some plates and silverware, and some rope—plenty of rope. Unfortunately, until his lady grew accustomed to the way he ran things, he figured he’d have to tie her up. It wouldn’t be long, though, till he had her eating out of his hand.
“Yes, siree. Soon, my dear—maybe as early as tomorrow, if me ’n’ that crazy Marva lady play our cards right.”
***
“Where’d Livvie go?” Will asked. He’d just come in the back door after dumping a load of garbage in the barrel and standing there awhile to watch it burn, making sure no sparks ignited the nearby tree branches.
“I saw her head out the front door a few minutes ago,” Georgia said. “Which is where I’m going now. I’ll see you back here around five.”
“Did Cora Mae go with her?” he asked, but the door closed before he finished his sentence.
“One of Cora Mae’s friends stopped by in her car some time ago. Guess they went down to the river.”
Will turned on his heel. “I didn’t know you were still here, Coot.”
“Waitin’ for my dog,” he said. “Dumb brute insisted on goin’ with Livvie on her walk.”
“I gave her strict orders not to go off by herself.”
“Guess she don’t like bein’ told what to do. Always was an independent little thing, even when Frank was around. Anyway, she ain’t alone. She’s with Reg. That dog won’t let a flea come near her. Best ol’ hound dog in the State of Indiana, my Reggie. Great protector.”
With the kitchen clean and everything in order for the evening meal, Will released a long breath and came to sit down at Coot’s table. “I suspect she took that dress ba
ck to the store. Ever since I told her someone had stolen it, she couldn’t wait to return it.”
“Don’t blame her none for that. Some sick fool thought he could impress her with it. Wonder if he’ll ever come forward.”
“He’d better not,” Will stated. “I’ll wring his ever-lovin’ neck.”
Coot chuckled. “I’d like to watch you do that.” He quickly sobered. “You ain’t seriously worried ’bout this mystery fella, are you?”
Will ran a hand down the back of his head and massaged his neck. “Don’t know that I’d call it worried. Concerned, maybe, and annoyed. I know it’s probably nothing. Shoot, it could be some rascally teenage boy. It’s the fact that the dress was stolen that irks me, though. That’s serious business.”
“Have you tried goin’ to the post office to see if you can figure out who mailed the thing?”
Will grinned. “You old sage. You sure know how to read a fellow’s mind.”
“It’s one o’ them skills that comes in mighty handy.”
“You want to come with me?”
“To the post office? Naw, me ’n’ Reggie got to get back to the apartment for our afternoon nap, soon’s he ’n’ Livvie get back here. Want to be all rested up for tonight’s Family Feast. What’re we havin’, by the way?”
“Meat loaf and mashed potatoes. Fannie Parker’s recipe.”
“Mmm-mm. That’s bound to be mighty fine. Haven’t had meat loaf since…since….”
“Last week, when I served it up to you, Will Taylor style.”
“Oh, yeah. I’m sure Fannie’s version won’t come close to competin’ with yours.”
A few minutes later, the door opened, and Livvie walked in, Reggie on her heels. Rather than lope over to his master like a loyal dog, though, he stayed by her side.
“I thought I told you not to go off by yourself,” Will said, trying to sound calm.
“It’s broad daylight, Will. What’s going to happen to me? I wanted to take that dress back to the store. Everyone else had other things to do, so I set off on my own.” Reggie whined. “Well, with Reggie at my side, that is.” As if satisfied by the recognition, the dog lay down in the center of the room, beneath a whirring ceiling fan, which created a comfortable draft.
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