by June Shaw
So many choices. I wanted them all.
“I’ll try strawberry and banana,” I told the girl taking orders.
“Yes, ma’am, and would you like chocolate with that?” She must have noticed my indecision. “I’ll put in a little bit, okay?”
“Sure, why not?”
I sat at a table away from other people in case the Parfait man from The Quitters Group was here and I’d get to talk to him. If he wasn’t here, I’d have beautiful scenery through the window. Thriving trees and rolling hills made me think of Our Lady of Hope Church. Why would Father Paul Edward laugh at someone who hung an inflatable woman from his rafters?
“I hope you like it,” the girl who’d taken my order said. She placed a heavenly concoction in front of me. A large cherry topped the swirled whipped cream.
“I’ll blame you if my clothes don’t fit anymore, okay?” I asked her, and she nodded. “Oh, sweetie, is the owner here? And is he a Parfait?”
“Yeah, he’s here. And his name is Parfait. Isn’t that cute?”
“Adorable. Do you think I could talk to him?”
“I’ll check.”
I dug into my parfait. Yum. Sweet layers of red and yellow and white and brown soon lowered in my tall glass.
I was stuffed, but almost half of my parfait remained.
A man walked out from behind the work area. The first thing I noticed was his neat appearance. His extra-wide shoulders looked nice in his knit shirt, and his slacks fit well with no wrinkles. His shoes were highly polished. As he neared my table, I noticed his baby-smooth complexion. He probably didn’t eat the rich treats here.
“I’m Kern Parfait. You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, hi. I’m Cealie Gunther. We met at your quitters’ group,” I said, and he looked curious. “I’m Stevie Midnight’s cousin, in town for a visit.”
“Ah, yes.”
“Would you join me a little while?” I waved to an empty chair.
“I’m kind of busy.” But he took a chair across from me.
“This is terrific.” I took another bite of parfait.
“Thank you.” He leaned forward, apparently wanting to return to whatever he was doing.
“You could have called this placed Parfait’s Parfaits,” I said. “That would have been cute. But then you’d have had to put an apostrophe in front of the s on the first Parfait but not the second one.”
He blinked a couple of times. I couldn’t tell whether he got it. I decided to hurry and get to what I wanted.
“That was so sad about the man from your group dying,” I said.
He nodded, his gaze leveled at me. “It was.”
“I never met him,” I said, and then thought maybe that wasn’t true. I’d found him under my legs. Surely that didn’t really count as a meeting.
Parfait watched me, waiting for my purpose. Which was…?
“Do you have any idea what happened to Pierce Trottier?” I asked. “Or why anybody would want to kill him?”
He leaned closer. “What’s your connection to Pierce? Are you a detective? Journalist?”
A nosy woman. “He died in my cousin’s yard. I found him.”
This seemed to spark his interest. “Really?” He leaned back. “What did you want to know?”
“What can you tell me about the man? I find myself needing to know about him.”
“He wanted to quit smoking.”
“And did he?”
A corner of Parfait’s lips twitched like he wanted to grin. “Before he died? I don’t know. He didn’t come to the class after we were supposed to quit. I think that’s the day you showed up.”
“I arrived on your group’s quit day. Maybe somebody from the group got so angry after they quit that he or she wanted to kill someone and saw Pierce. Then he became the victim of stop-smoking rage.”
Parfait stared at my face. He did not find any humor in this.
Neither did I. “Please,” I said. “I need all the information I can get about him.”
“He and your cousin never came to class on the same nights.”
“How do you know that? How could you remember who attended each meeting?”
“We’ve been meeting once a week. I always set up the chairs. I open the exact number we’ll need. We’ve always had one extra. Twice, Pierce was absent. Twice, it was your cousin.”
I sighed. “Stevie told me she never met him.”
“And you didn’t believe her?”
“You believe all of your relatives?”
He grimaced. “My uncle’s been locked up for twenty-five years for a murder he told us he didn’t commit.”
“Sorry. What else can you tell me about Mr. Trottier?”
“Else?” His expression blanked. “I didn’t really know him.”
“Did other people from your group know him well?”
“I have no idea. We weren’t a social gathering.” He glanced at the front entrance, where the woman and kids went out. A group of teens headed inside. “I need to go,” he said.
“Thank you for talking to me.”
“I don’t know much to tell you.” He accepted my hand. His grip was firm, as I’d expected. Parfait went off behind the counter. The teens reached it and gave their orders to the young people working there.
I checked the concoction in my dish. The ice cream had melted. My slim lines of colors blended together. I took a bite. Liquid banana split. My stomach had time to know it was extra full. I’d avoided fatty foods like banana splits ever since I’d gotten older and put on weight. For some reason, my height did not continue to expand like my width. I stepped away from the table and stumbled as pain shot across my shins.
I grabbed a tabletop to stop my fall.
Teens looked concerned about me. I shrugged, smiled, and walked out.
The ache will go away. Cealie, you’re okay.
I was normally a positive person. I was positive now that I needed to discover what had happened to the man who’d lain dead under my legs.
Another possibility besides phantom pain came. Maybe when I fell over him, I chipped a bone. That would explain why my shins hurt and I’d almost fallen. I smiled. A bone would heal, and then the ache would go away.
But two bones? Both shins?
I drove, trying not to think of my legs. I considered the quitters’ meetings. What Kern Parfait told me ruled him out as a killer. The night Trottier died, I’d attended their meeting. Two extra chairs were open in their semicircle when my cousin and I went in. She sat in one chair and I took the other, the one Kern Parfait had expected their other member to sit in.
That would have been a first. The first time every member attended at the same time.
There was one other person in The Quitters Group I hadn’t spoken to outside of their meeting. Jenna Griggs. I knew she hadn’t quit smoking on stop-smoking day and she’d walked out of the meeting. I’d spoken to her briefly at Gil’s restaurant, and she wasn’t too pleasant.
Also, she was Pierce Trottier’s cousin. And the phone book didn’t list her number or address.
Trottier had many more contacts than those in his stop-smoking group, but I didn’t know them. I needed to keep myself busy, feeling like I was accomplishing something meaningful during the time I felt forced to stay here.
A school bus crossed the intersection in front of me. Stevie might be home from school. I returned to her house to wait. She might know where Jenna lived.
Parking in front, I walked up the steps, gripping the rail to stop my fall. My shins burned.
This was too much. I needed to do something about my legs.
Taking my time to get inside, I limped around the house. I grabbed the phone book and dropped to a kitchen chair. I needed a doctor.
I checked the yellow pages for physicians. On my laptop I pulled up a map of Gatlinburg, the nearest fairly large city, so I could get directions to an office once I made an appointment. I called a few doctors’ offices, telling them my name and that I’d prefer to come in today if possible,
and no, I wasn’t already a patient.
One secretary after another told me their patient list was full today and tomorrow. Most said if I had a problem that couldn’t wait, I should get to a hospital’s emergency room.
Emergency? An emergency room was where you went when you couldn’t breathe or experienced a major ache in your chest. Or your child got real croupy during the night. Would I go into one and say, “I feel a man pressed against my legs. Do you see any sign of him?”
Enough silly thoughts. I needed to know if he’d left any damage that might be permanent. A broken bone would not be permanent.
I was running out of doctors in the area when I lucked out.
“Doctor Wallo just had a cancellation for this afternoon. Can you be here in twenty minutes?”
“Absolutely.” I glanced at Minnie. “Dr. Wallo will see me today.” I punched in addresses on my computer for Stevie’s house and the doctor’s office, considering his name. “Pigs wallow in mud. So how do you think he’s going to look, eh?” I said to Minnie. An indenture between two of the tufts on her pink head appeared new, almost like a grin.
Directions from here to the doctor’s office popped on my screen.
Noise from the garage startled me. Stevie came in from there, huffing. She lugged her purse and a bulky book bag. “You didn’t hear me hitting on the door for you to open it?” she snarled.
“No, I didn’t.” Maybe my hearing had worsened while I was busy growing a mustache. I helped her slide all the things off her arms to the countertop.
“I used my elbow,” Stevie said, hair falling on her face. She glanced at the table. “What did you do all day? Play Solitaire?”
“I don’t like your attitude. I didn’t play a thing.”
Her gaze hung on my open computer. “Looks like you did.”
I reeled in my anger. It wouldn’t do any good. I replaced it with positive imagery. Acapulco’s tropical beaches I would soon lie on. Stretching on a towel on warm sand. A breeze filtering the air fluttering over me. I’d listen to waves lapping while I luxuriated in a novel. Sea birds would sing and swoop for meals. Mine would get delivered to me. It would come with a tall glass, a little umbrella on top. Why not add a hunky guy in a swimsuit leaning over me with a smile as he handed the drink to me?
Stevie released a bloodcurdling scream. “What happened to my stove?”
“Oh that.” I moved closer. The stove’s top was crimped with potholes. “It looks worse now than when it happened. I’m sorry. I’ll get you a new one.”
“You did this?”
“Accidentally.” I gave a quick explanation. “I’ll buy you another stove.” But I’d wait till I was ready to leave town. That way she wouldn’t cook so much while I remained, and we wouldn’t have all those fattening meals and pots to wash. We could eat something light and quick and toss our paper plates.
Stevie stared aghast at her appliance. She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, took a deep breath, then swigged water. “I called the police before I left school.”
“What did they tell you?”
She sucked in an audible breath. “Nothing.”
“Stevie, are you okay? You seem short of breath.”
“I’m fine.” She was pale. “But you took away one of the three pillars of my life.”
“What? Your stove held you up?” How foolish was that?
“Feng Shui, cousin, or aren’t you familiar with the ancient Chinese art of improving your life through your environment? I’ve arranged my home to enrich my life with Feng Shui principles.”
“And that’s why you have all those stones and crystals and the altar?”
Her cheeks colored. “Some of those are for totally different things. I’m not really proficient at any of them.”
“What do you do in that room with the altar?”
“I’m trying to learn what happened to Pierce Trottier.” She gazed at the floor. “I haven’t discovered a thing.”
She looked so embarrassed, I patted her on the back. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it. You’ll figure things out.”
Stevie stared at me. She stared at her dented stove. “In Feng Shui there are three life pillars—the front door, the master bed, and the stove. You destroyed one of mine.”
“I’ll take care of it. Soon. I promise. And you’ll want this mirror on the new one?” I pointed to the mirror standing behind the burners.
“Yes. It faces the kitchen and doubles prosperity.”
I held back my grin. Indicating the map’s directions on my laptop, I asked, “How long will it take me to get to that area? I have an appointment in about ten minutes. I’m seeing a doctor about my legs. They still hurt from the fall in your yard.”
“So sue me.” She said it without sarcasm and checked my screen. “Are you going to Dr. Wallo’s office?”
“Yes, like wallow in problems or mud.” I couldn’t stop my grin.
“He’s my doctor. He’s great.” She checked her watch. “Pooh, I’ll have to drive so you can get there in time.”
She yanked her shoulder bag off the counter, knocking Minnie’s pot over with it.
“Watch that. You hit Minnie.” I straightened her pot. A pinch of dirt had fallen out. I returned it to her pot.
“How silly,” Stevie said. “Talking like a cactus was a person. Come on, let’s go.”
“’Bye, I hope you’re okay,” I told Minnie.
Stevie grimaced. She grabbed her school bag. “I’ll bring this so I can get some work done while I wait.”
Waiting wasn’t what I wanted her to do at a doctor’s office. She needed to be checked.
I trotted to her Jeep. “The Mexican Hat Dance” played. I pulled out my phone. “Hello.”
“Hello.”
The rumble of Gil’s voice stopped me. I leaned on the garage wall, letting sensual tension fill me. I was woman. I liked being with a man who turned me on.
“Hi,” I told Gil. “Good to hear from you.” Especially as my mind started to replay scenes of me and him close together.
“I’d like to talk to you, Cealie. You were supposed to be in Mexico by now, and I’m glad you aren’t. But you didn’t tell me why you came to Tennessee instead.”
“Nope, sure didn’t.” And I felt like a fool and didn’t want to tell him I’d arrived here and then realized my cousin had convinced me to come because of whatever she’d imagined from her stupid candles or cards or stones. Or maybe her stove.
The sensual moment passed. I considered those precious stones Stevie kept in her kitchen. She thought Minnie was stupid? Suppose I took one of her stones? Would she miss it?
I grinned—until the Jeep’s horn blasted.
“What was that?” Gil asked.
“Sorry. My cousin thinks she’s funny.”
“Cealie, could I come over and see both of you? I’m free now. I’d bring food. Oh, the restaurant reopened.”
“Thanks, but I’m full. And we’re leaving.”
“Then I won’t keep you.”
“Okay, ’bye,” I said and dashed for the Jeep Stevie had revving.
Chapter 17
I hopped in the Jeep, and we raced toward town. The doctor’s office was near a touristy area downtown, where traffic crawled. Stevie growled, took loud breaths, and eventually found a place to park.
We went inside. She chatted with the secretary, and I filled in a new-patient form. The place was clean, its rustic décor in keeping with the rest of the area. No other patients waited.
“You can come in now,” the secretary told me. “Stevie, do you want to come back here, too? I’m sure Dr. Wallo would enjoy seeing you.”
“I’d planned to do some paperwork,” she said.
“Come with me,” I urged, not telling my motive. “We probably won’t be long, and you don’t have time to get started with all those papers.”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing him.”
We went to the rear. A nurse met us, told Stevie hi, and asked me to step on a scale.
The nurse’s lips thinned. She remained near the scale.
I set down my purse and took off my shoes. If I wore a watch, I would have removed that, too. I stepped on the scale and stared at the paisley-printed wallpaper. Maybe they needed to know my current weight. I did not.
“Pretty good for a woman your age,” the nurse said and wrote on her folder.
“Really?” I stepped down, loving the part about a good weight. Not so thrilled about for a woman your age.
“Yeah, Cealie’s always been in great shape,” Stevie told her.
Me? My cousin was saying this about me? The nurse measured my height, and I knew I was standing much taller than my five feet two.
The nurse led us into a room. “You can remove your clothes and slip on this paper gown,” she told me. “Then sit up here.” She pointed to the paper-covered bed.
“I won’t need all my clothes off. I’m only here to see about my shins.”
“That’s up to you. The doctor will be with you shortly.”
I sat on a chair next to Stevie. She frowned at me like I had done something wrong. I imagined she was still mad at me for ruining her “life pillar.”
The nurse went out. Quiet minutes passed. The urge came to ask Stevie what her doctor wallowed in, but I kept my thoughts in tow.
Until the nurse returned, followed by Dr. Wallo.
Yummy hit my brain and almost came out my mouth.
Distinguished. Oozing sex appeal, the man stood about six four. His eyes were the softest blue I’d ever seen. His black hair was threaded with gray, pure white at the temples.
“This is my cousin,” Stevie said after she and the doctor greeted each other. Old friends. Patient and doctor—who had seen all of her body? Why hadn’t I hopped up there on that paper sheet and stripped all my clothes off, as the nurse had told me? Maybe I could do it now.
I smiled at Dr. Wallo, my smile fading as I considered the cellulite and drooping body parts he’d see if I took off my clothes. It was bad enough that nothing would hide the wrinkles on my face or neck. They weren’t all that bad, but at the moment I wanted to look especially good. Ugh, and was I growing a mustache?
