by Josie Belle
“Charm me?” Max asked, as if he couldn’t even imagine such a thing.
“Maxwell!” Mrs. Bellini called him.
“Coming!” He left his books where they were and strode over to the counter, where Mrs. Bellini handed him a large, flat, white box and a smaller carryout container.
“Maggie, how are you?” Mrs. Bellini asked. She was from Florence, Italy, and had lived in St. Stanley for almost ten years. Her husband worked in the kitchen while she worked the front counter. They made good pizza, but their pasta was a showstopper.
“I’m fine, Mrs. Bellini. How are you?” Maggie asked.
“Good, good,” Mrs. Bellini said. “You know we put candles on the tables in the evening, and it makes it a very nice atmosphere in here.”
Maggie glanced around at the small tables and figured it would definitely be an intimate setting given the lack of space.
“I’ll bet it’s lovely,” Maggie said.
“It’d be a good place for your date to take you, no?” Mrs. Bellini asked. “We could play the soft music and fix a nice, romantic dinner.”
Maggie felt her face grow warm. How did Mrs. Bellini know about her date? Oh, good grief. Had Sam blabbed to everyone? Because he was the only one beside Pete and her who knew. That tore it. She was going to choke him the next time she saw him.
“Uh-huh,” Mrs. Bellini mistook Maggie’s look of alarm for a look of happy embarrassment. “You tell Pete. We’ll make it nice.”
Max took one look at Maggie’s face and quickly asked Mrs. Bellini, “So, where am I going with this?”
“Large extra cheese and twenty wings,” she said. “Same as always. It’s for Clay over at the post office.”
“On it,” Max said. He scooped up the pie, and said to Maggie, “This is walkable. Want to come with?”
“Sure,” she said. “Bye, Mrs. Bellini.”
“Don’t forget,” Mrs. Bellini called after her. “Romantic!”
Maggie fell into step beside Max. She knew she must look as horrified as she felt.
He waited until they were half a block away before he asked, “A date, huh?”
Maggie sighed. “With Pete Daniels—it’s just as friends.”
“Italian food and candles—I don’t generally eat with my friends under those types of conditions, but yeah, sure, I could see where you might.”
“Are you mocking me?” Maggie asked.
“Just a little,” he said.
Maggie shook her head. Maxwell Button, boy genius—well she supposed she could call him man genius now that he was within months of being legally able to pound back a beer with the big boys.
“It is just as friends.” She felt the need to reiterate her comment.
“Did he say that?” Max asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Did he say that while you were trying to come up with a polite way to decline?” he asked.
He turned the corner onto the small side street that housed the post office, and Maggie followed.
“No. Yes. Maybe,” she admitted. “I don’t know. He caught me off guard.”
“Then he may say it’s just as friends, but it isn’t just friends for him,” he said.
Maggie sighed. Deep down she knew that, had always known that, but it was just easier not to go there.
“How did you get so smart about this stuff?” she asked him as he pulled open the door to the post office. She held it open while he walked in, and she followed.
“I am a student of the human condition,” he said. “I spend a lot of time watching people.”
“You might consider going out on a date yourself,” Maggie said. “You know, and get a little fieldwork done.”
Max gave her a shocked look, as if she had blasphemed in a house of worship. He walked over to the counter and tapped the squatty silver bell, making it ring.
Clay Houseman appeared in the back door, carrying exact change. Since he ordered the exact same thing every Tuesday, it didn’t require any guesswork.
“She’s right, you know,” Clay said.
Clay had a head of thick silver hair and a goatee. He carried a noticeable amount of middle-age paunch around his belly but not so much that it looked as if he had his own flotation device strapped on.
“Best thing I ever did was marry my high school sweetheart. Betty and I are celebrating thirty-five years together next month.”
“That’s great,” Max said with a nervous swallow, as if even the thought of marriage made him get the pre-vomit drool going.
“Congratulations, Clay,” Maggie said. “And tell Betty I said so, too.”
Clay gave her a sad little smile. “You and Charlie would have made it, too. Charlie was crazy about you.”
“Thanks, Clay,” Maggie said. She turned to find that Max was already halfway out the door, and she hurried to catch him.
“What’s the rush?” she asked.
“Too much relationship talk,” Max said. “I don’t like that stuff. It makes me uncomfortable.”
He was quiet for a moment, and then he asked, “Doesn’t it bother you when people talk about your late husband?”
“Bother me how?” she asked.
“You know, like what could have or should have been?” he asked. “Doesn’t it make you sad?”
“It did at first,” Maggie said. “But then people stopped talking about it, and that made me even sadder. But time passes, and you adjust. You have to remember that was seventeen years ago. A part of me will always wonder what could have been, but I can’t live my life like that—
wondering.”
Max nodded as if he understood. He gestured to a vacant bench by the road. “I should have a few minutes before another delivery comes up. No one orders as early as Clay. If you’ve got a minute, I’d like to talk about Doc.”
“Okay, sure,” Maggie said, relieved to leave the relationship talk behind.
“I have to be honest, Maggie,” Max said. “I didn’t get much information out of him the other day.”
“What do you mean?”
“All he would tell me was the same thing he told the police, that he was called into his office to see a patient, he assumed it was one of the patients he’d been monitoring, and when he got there no one was there. Then he made a call to find out who the patient was and heard someone in his waiting room. When he came out, he found Vera on the floor, dead, with the syringe lying next to her.”
“And that’s all he said?” Maggie asked. “Nothing else?”
“Nothing. He says he doesn’t know why she was there or why he was called or anything.”
“Do you think he’s holding back?” Maggie asked.
“Yes,” Max said. “And if he doesn’t tell me what’s really going on, I can’t help him.”
Maggie fretted her lower lip between her teeth. She shifted on her seat as the hard wooden bench was cold, and she could feel it cooling the back of her legs.
The leaves on the dogwoods were beginning to fall, and the grass had yellowed. It wouldn’t be long before they got their first killing frost and then some snow.
“Maggie, Doc will talk to you,” Max said.
“Oh no, not you, too,” Maggie said.
“Sam has asked you to talk to him, too,” Max guessed.
Maggie nodded.
“Well, it’s not like I want to be in agreement with the person who interrogated my client,” Max said. “But he’s right.”
“What do you want me to do?” she asked.
“Try to get him to tell you what he isn’t telling me,” Max said. “There was a reason Vera was at his office that morning, and we need to know what it was.”
Maggie nodded. She really didn’t want to pressure Doc, but there was no getting around it: If they were going to help him, they had to know what exactly had been going on between him and Vera.
Chapter 18
Maggie spent the next morning in her shop. Wednesday was usually her day off from Dr. Franklin’s, and she was happy to watch Josh
so that Sandy could go to class and then meet with her study group.
Josh enjoyed Maggie’s shop, and while she cleaned and arranged and sorted, he set up his trains on a short table in the corner. Maggie watched him for a few moments. She hadn’t really planned what to do with this space, but now an idea was forming.
She remembered shopping with Laura when she was a toddler. A climber, Laura had considered the tall shoe racks ladders made for touching the ceiling and the circular steel racks at the store were for playing hide-and-seek in—unless, of course, they spun, and then it was merry-go-round time. Maggie had left many a store with nothing because Laura had worn out their welcome.
The area Josh was in now could alleviate that problem. She could put low shelves with blocks and puzzles. A chalkboard for drawing on and a train table with the tracks glued down so they couldn’t go missing.
“Josh, I do believe I have an idea,” she said as she crouched down next to him and put an arm around him to give him a quick hug.
“So does James,” Josh informed her as he hugged her back. He had a very serious look on his face. “James no like bees.”
Josh pushed James the red train into the roundhouse and shut the door. Maggie smiled. Obviously, Josh was keeping his train friend safe.
She heard the door to the shop open and glanced up to see Doc Franklin come in.
Normally she could tell what time of day it was by the state of Doc’s hair. He went from smooth and neatly parted to wild in an eight-hour day like some people went from neatly pressed to rumpled.
It was only just past lunchtime, but his thick white mane was already at full Einstein, letting Maggie know that he was definitely feeling stressed. She had called the office and asked him to stop by the shop during lunch, thinking they could talk in private.
He had sounded happy to do so, and she wondered if it was because being in the office was too much of a reminder of what had just happened there.
“How is my favorite young engineer?” Doc asked as he crossed the room to join them.
Josh glanced up at him and broke into a smile. Doc was one of his favorite people.
“See? I go to the quarry, Doc,” Josh said and he made a train whistle sound and went back to work.
Doc smiled at Maggie. “I like his concentration. That’s a real gift in one so young.”
“He’ll make a fine engineer one day,” she agreed. “Can I get you some coffee?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Doc said. He took off his coat and draped it on a chair. “This place is really coming along. It’s going to be a terrific shop. It has your detail-oriented stamp on it already.”
“Thanks,” Maggie said.
She felt her throat get tight, and she swallowed hard. Why she would get emotional about praise from Doc, she couldn’t imagine. He had always been supportive of her. This was nothing new. Perhaps with everything that was going on, however, she felt his kindness more acutely.
She shook her head and slipped into the break room to fetch the coffee. She came back with two mugs. Doc’s had no sugar and a dribble of milk, just as he liked it.
“Thanks,” he said. He pursed his lips and took a sip. “Ah, that will chase the chill out of your bones.”
“Have a seat,” Maggie said.
Doc sat in one of the two matching armchairs that had been left by the previous owner. Maggie hadn’t yet decided if she would keep them or sell them. She liked the idea of selling everything in the shop, as it would force her to have a continuously changing look, but then again, she didn’t want to get caught without furniture.
The chairs were upholstered in a peach-colored velvet and looked to have been made in the fifties. She liked their rounded lines and had put them by the window with a glass coffee table. The only items missing to make it a truly vintage sitting area were a bar cart, an ashtray and some Better Homes and Gardens magazines.
Maggie took the seat beside Doc, where she had a clear view of Josh busily conducting his trains.
“Maggie, I know why you’ve called me in here,” he said. He took a long sip on his coffee, as if to fortify himself. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“You’re not?” she asked.
“No, I’ve been wondering how long it would be before we had to have this conversation,” he said. “I guess I was hoping for later, much later.”
“Me, too,” Maggie said. Somehow it made it so much worse to be asking Doc about his personal life while he was being so agreeable about it. She had really expected him to put up more of a mind-your-own-business shield. Now she wasn’t sure how to ask what she had to ask.
“So, will you be giving me two weeks’ notice today or is this just to warn that it’s coming?” he asked. “Alice told me it wouldn’t be long now, but I didn’t listen to her.”
“Huh?” Maggie asked.
“Well, two weeks is customary,” he said. “And I was hoping you’d be available to train whoever I hire to replace you, although you’re leaving some very big shoes to fill.”
“Doc, what are you talking about?”
“Didn’t you call me here to tell me that you’re resigning as my bookkeeper?” he asked.
“No!” Maggie said. “I need my job. I haven’t even opened this place yet, and what if it bombs, and I discover that I can’t run a store, and I lose everything? If I lose my job with you, I’ll be doomed. You’re not going to fire me, are you?”
“Heck, no!” he said.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Maggie said. Her heart was knocking around in her chest so hard, she was surprised it wasn’t audible.
“I’d never fire you,” Doc assured her. “You’re the best bookkeeper I’ve ever had.”
Maggie blew out a breath. She wanted to believe him, but she’d opened her Pandora’s box of worries, and there was no stuffing them back in now. She needed Doc to understand how fragile her situation was.
“I mean, look at this place,” she said. Suddenly, she felt as queasy as she did the day she’d arrived with the mortgage papers in her hand. “It needs paint and merchandise, and somehow I’m supposed to market it, and what if I open and no one comes in? What if Summer and her lame shop across the street drive my customers away?”
“Maggie, breathe,” Doc said in his ever-patient voice.
“I can’t!” she wailed. “What have I done? I can’t do this! I must have been out of my mind. I’m doomed, I tell you. Doomed!”
“Okay, then you’re having some panic. That’s not completely unexpected. Down you go. Head between the knees,” Doc instructed as he took the coffee cup out of her hand and put it on the coffee table. Then he gently eased her forward.
“Ugh,” Maggie grunted, and did as she was told. “I feel nauseous.”
“Maggie, you’re going to be fine,” he said. “You have excellent business sense, and after tracking down all of the money owed to my office by the various insurance companies, you’d have to, wouldn’t you?”
“But that’s different,” Maggie said. “I’m just really good at nagging them.”
“No, you’re good with people,” he said. “They like you and trust you. And you are a bargain magnet. Alice still talks about that fancy designer dress you managed to find for her at ninety percent off.”
Maggie hung her head lower. Here she was supposed to be talking to Doc about what he wasn’t telling Max, and instead she was having a full-on panic attack about her shop. It was ridiculous. She needed to get her priorities straight.
She blew out a breath and slowly raised herself back up to a sitting position. Doc was watching her with a kindly expression of concern mingled with understanding.
“Better now?” he asked.
“Yes and no,” she said. “The shop only panics me when I think about it.”
“Then don’t think about it,” he teased, and Maggie smiled.
“Doc, I’m not quitting my part-time job at your office,” she said. “I can’t. I’m just not ready on so many levels.”
“Well, I’m v
ery glad to hear that,” he said. “Of course, it is a completely self-interested reaction, but I can live with that.”
Maggie took a long sip of her coffee and braced herself to say what she had to say next. There was no way to sugarcoat it. If Max was going to help Doc, they needed to know the truth.
“Doc, why was Vera at the office that morning?” she asked.
Doc looked at her, and his face went from teasing to somber as swiftly as if Maggie had pulled down a window shade and blocked the light.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” he said. He was staring into his coffee cup, obviously avoiding her gaze.
“Max thinks you’re not telling him everything. Is he right?”
Maggie could swear that, without his even touching it, Doc’s hair rose another half inch up in the air. He looked up at her with wide eyes.
“Why would you think…?” He trailed off, as if he was incapable of finishing his question.
Maggie figured she had offended him, but the flash she saw in his pale blue eyes was not outrage. It was guilt. She went for a full-court press.
“Doc, St. Stanley is not that big,” Maggie said. “Whatever you’re trying to keep quiet is going to come out.”
“I know,” he said. “It’s just that this, having everyone talking about us, is going to kill Alice.”
He looked stricken, and Maggie felt terrible. She didn’t like being the one who was pushing him, but until the circumstances of Vera’s death were resolved, the questions would not stop.
“Doc, I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t like this situation any more than you do, but if you know why Vera was in your office that day, you have to tell. If not me, then Max.”
“I just don’t see what it has to do with anything,” Doc said. “No good can come from digging up the past.”
Maggie glanced at him, and he glanced away, as if he couldn’t meet her gaze. As if he was ashamed. Maggie got a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach that everything she knew about Doc was about to change.
Selfishly, she almost told him to forget it. She wanted to protect the sacred image she’d had of him for the past twenty-four years. But then she looked at him, really looked at him. She noted the laugh lines around his eyes, his sagging jowls and the worry lines that creased his forehead and puckered the skin by his mouth.
