Vince continued talking as he started to cut her hair. "I'm glad you stopped by. I Wanted to ask you about double-dating with Abby and me on Wednesday."
"I don't know. She and I didn't get off to a very good start."
"Oh, I forgot. Did she give you the silent treatment?" Vince began snipping off pieces of hair.
"Yes. Why didn't you just tell me how you felt? I never knew you thought of me as Miss Perfect, until Abby explained about you feeling unsuccessful around me."
"It's not a big deal."
Skye looked him in the eye via the mirror. "It sure seemed like one to me. Can't we talk about it?"
Shrugging, Vince looked away. "There's nothing to talk about."
She sighed and changed the subject. "This is the longest you've dated anyone since that awful girl in high school. What was her name?"
"I don't remember."
"Are you serious about Abby?"
"Maybe, if other things work out." Vince finished cutting and took out the blow-dryer.
"I'm really happy for you. I'd sure like to start over with Abby, but who would make up the fourth in this little outing?" Skye gazed up at him warily.
"For crying out loud! It's only dinner and a movie in Joliet, not a lifetime commitment."
"True, but I still would like to know who I'll be sharing a backseat with."
"He's a good friend of mine. You probably remember him. Mike Young."
"I saw him at the chokeberry jelly judging last Saturday. He sure hates Chokeberry Days." Skye raised an eyebrow.
"Well, he's pretty religious now. Chokeberry Days probably reminds him of his wild youth."
She narrowed her eyes. "How interesting. He's your age, right?"
Vince nodded.
"Has he ever been married?"
Shaking his head, he switched off the dryer and picked up the curling iron.
Skye pounced. "What's wrong with him?"
"Nothing. Boy, try to do you a favor and this is the thanks I get." Vince shook his head in disgust. "You have such a suspicious mind."
"That's one drawback of being a psychologist," Skye conceded. "You're always looking for what's beneath the surface."
"So, are you going out with us or not?"
"Against my better judgment, I'll say yes. I've learned that anything or anyone that sounds too good to be true usually is."
"Mike's a great guy. He's good-looking, and he has his own business." Vince attempted to sound straightforward but failed.
"Look, I said I'd go out with him." Skye hesitated as an unwelcome thought occurred to her. "Have you asked him yet if he wants to go out with me?"
"Yep, it's all set. We'll swing by and pick up Mike first, then be at your place about six. That should give you plenty of time. You school people get off work around three, right?"
"Yeah, right," she said sarcastically. "I finally found all the files today. It looks like no one has done anything since the last psychologist left a year ago November. I'll be lucky to get out by five."
He finished curling Skye's hair, brushed her off, and folded the cape.
She jumped out of the chair and walked over to the nail polish display. "You should get a manicurist in here. I'd love to get my nails done."
"Not everyone can afford to indulge all their whims like you."
"Would I still be driving the Impala-from-Hell if I indulged my every whim?"
Vince busied himself sweeping up the curls of hair on the floor.
Skye made her selection, Springtime Lilac, and walked to the counter. "How much?"
Vince folded his arms. "I can't charge my sister."
"I won't come here if you don't let me pay. Besides, I cost you a customer."
He balked, then reluctantly keyed the cash register. "Nineteen ninety-eight."
Skye dug her wallet out of the bottom of her canvas tote. She gave him a twenty and joked, "Keep the change."
With a flourish Vince took two pennies from the cash register and put them in his pants pocket. "Gee, Sis, you're too generous."
"Any time. When's your next appointment?"
"In about five minutes. I try to book them as close together as possible without making people wait too long."
Skye paused with her hand on the door. "Is there anything wrong, Vince? I mean, I'm surprised you had to let
the receptionist and stylist go. I thought you did a pretty good business."
"There is something else I wanted to talk to you about, if you have a couple of minutes."
"Sure, let's sit down. You must be on your feet all day." She headed to the waiting area.
"Let's sit in the back by the shampoo bowls. It's kind of personal."
After they settled themselves, Vince hesitated.
In her best counselor mode, Skye leaned forward with her hands held loosely on her lap. "You can tell me anything. It won't go any farther than this room."
"I'm short on money this month. Some extra expenses came up that I wasn't expecting, and I'm not going to be able to make the mortgage. Could you lend me fifteen hundred dollars? I won't be able to pay it back for a while." Vince didn't pause for breath.
Before she could reply, Vince interrupted her thoughts. "You probably don't have much money right now, but I can't ask Mom and Dad. You know the answer I'd get from them."
She nodded. "How about Uncle Charlie?"
"He doesn't have the cash either. This hasn't been a good year for the motor court."
"That's odd. Even if the motor court isn't doing too well, I always had the impression that Uncle Charlie had money from other investments."
"Me, too. But when I asked, he said he couldn't help me, he didn't have that kind of cash. What was I going to do— call him a liar?" He slumped back in his chair.
"Gee, I'm sorry, Vince, but I'm broke. My salary last year barely covered my living expenses. Would I be back in Scumble River if I had any cash?"
They sat in silence for a while, each trying to figure a way to get the money.
Finally Skye stood up. "I have an idea, but I don't know if it will work and I really hate to do it."
Vince looked at her imploringly. "I'm going to lose the shop if I can't meet the mortgage."
"Well, the only thing I have that's really worth anything is Grandma Leofanti's emerald ring. I could try to get a loan with it as collateral."
He buried his head in his hands. His heavily muscled chest heaved as he took a deep breath. "I'm quite a big brother, aren't I? Maybe next time I'll try stealing candy from a baby."
"Don't ever be ashamed to ask for help," Skye rushed to reassure him. "I only wish I had it to give. I'll try to find out by Wednesday if I can get a loan. Will that be too late?"
"If the answer is yes, it will be just in time. If the answer is no, time doesn't matter."
CHAPTER 7
If You Could Read My Mind
It was nearly six that evening when Skye walked out of Vince's salon and headed toward her parents' house. She drove back down Maryland Street, and as she approached the Basin Street crossroad the signal turned red.
"The only stoplight in town, and I never manage to catch it on green," Skye grumbled to herself.
Looking down Scumble River's main drag, Skye noted an unfamiliar sign, Young at Heart Photography. She figured it must be Mike Young's studio—the one her aunt had mentioned Saturday.
Up and down the street were banners promoting the now-passed Chokeberry Days, but something had been added since they were originally hung. Each pennant had been hand-painted with a red circle and a line bisecting it, the international sign for no.
The light changed and she drove on, easing around the sharp curve after Webster Drive. She turned right onto County Line Road. Her parents' farm was about a mile east off the paved road.
Skye could hardly believe she was back. She had spent her whole adult life putting distance between herself and Scumble River. She went so far as to join the Peace Corps after graduating from college, and spen
t four years in Dominica, a tiny island in the Caribbean. But a single stubborn decision and all her plans were wiped out. It had taken only one long, emotional call home to get her
reestablished here in town. Mothers sometimes worked in mysterious ways.
Smiling ruefully, she mused, / was certainly eager enough to come home this time. Well, ready or not, I'm back where I started. At least my parents are happy I'm here.
The tires crunching the white pea gravel on her parents' well-tended lane interrupted her thoughts. Her father, Jed, was on his riding mower finishing up their acre of grass. When he spotted Skye he took off his blue-and-white polka-dotted cap and waved it in the air, revealing a steel-gray crew cut, faded brown eyes, and a tanned, leathery face.
On the step near the back patio, she noticed her mother's concrete goose dressed in a bikini with sunglasses perched on its beak and a bow on top of its head. It was usually attired in holiday garb, but with the Fourth of July long past and Halloween nearly two months away, this must have been the best her mom could do. Skye quickly checked out the trio of plaster deer to make sure they weren't similarly costumed.
Returning her father's wave, she went in the back door of the red-brick ranch-style house. The large kitchen was bisected by a counter edged with two stools. Its pristine celery-colored walls looked as if they'd been painted just that morning, and the matching linoleum glistened with a fresh coat of wax.
Her mother, May, stood at the sink, cleaning sweet com. First she tore off the outer husks, then scrubbed the corn silk away with a vegetable brush. Despite her fifty-five years and short stature, May's athletic build reminded Skye of the cheerleader her mother once was. The few pounds she had gained since high school did not detract from this image.
The first words out of her mother's mouth were, "Hope you're hungry: Supper's almost ready." To May, food
equaled love, and no further words of affection needed to be spoken.
Skye noted the time on the green-and-white-flowered wall clock—five minutes after six. "Isn't it a little late for you guys to be eating dinner?"
"Dad's been up since five-thirty. He's already cut Grandma Leofanti's grass, put new seat covers on the pickup, and will be finishing our lawn in a few minutes. I dispatched from eleven to seven last night at the police station, then walked my three miles with Hester and Maggie, cleaned up the house, put up twelve quarts of corn, and slept this afternoon. You know we're busy in the summer. We hardly have time to eat."
Skye knew better than to prolong this conversation. She'd had the same one too many times before. If it went any farther, her mom would start asking what Skye had accomplished that day—merely going to work would not have met with approval.
Instead, Skye started to set the table. The plates, glasses, and flatware were in the same place they had been for as long as she could remember. She moved the salt and pepper shakers and the napkin holder from the counter to the table.
"What are we having?" Skye asked, peering into the refrigerator.
"Fried chicken, com on the cob—it's the last of the season—Grandma Denison's rolls, mashed potatoes, and stewed tomatoes."
Skye grimaced. Stewed tomatoes, the soul food of Scumble River. "It's hard to believe Grandma is still making rolls from scratch at eighty-one. I stopped over there last Friday after school and she was making pies for the Lions Club to sell at Chokeberry Days."
May stopped stirring long enough to give Skye a sharp look. "Hard work keeps us all going."
Seeing that Skye was holding a brown plastic tub, she added, "Make sure you put out the real butter for Dad. He
won't touch that Country Crock stuff I use for my cholesterol." May paused and gave Skye another sharp look. "You better use the Country Crock too, since you're still carrying around all that weight you gained last year."
Before Skye could respond, the back door slammed. Jed detoured into the tiny half bath off the utility room in order to wash his hands, and came out still carrying the towel. His jeans hung low, accommodating his belly, and his navy T-shirt was sweat-soaked and torn, evidence of his hard day of work.
"Ma, I think this one's had it. You can see right through it, and it won't dry my hands no more."
Jed held the threadbare towel up to the light.
"Maybe Vince could use it at his shop. I hate to just throw it away." May walked over and examined the towel critically.
"How many times do I have to tell you? We aren't giving him a thing 'til he gets over this notion of being a hairdresser. No son of mine is going to do ladies' hair for a living. I've got three hundred acres to farm, and my son won't even help me."
May started to reply but seemed to think better of it and turned back to the stove to remove ears of sweet corn from boiling water. Jed stomped to his chair. Skye finished putting the food out and joined him at the table. May, carrying an enormous platter of chicken, was the last to sit.
They ate silently. Skye brooded, upset because her father still hadn't accepted her brother's choice of occupation and her mother was still nagging her about her weight. It was no use trying to change their minds, and she was tired of arguing with them.
Near the end of the meal, Skye's thoughts turned to the murder. "So, Mom, any news at the police station about Mrs. Gumtree?"
Nodding, May took a sip of her iced tea. "Yeah, but they're all acting really secretive. I tried to pump Roy last
night, and he just said the chief would have his hide if he blabbed anything."
"Maybe what they're trying to hide is that they're clueless. That new coroner didn't seem too impressive."
"Sounds like you and Simon didn't hit it off," Jed said as he slathered butter on his third roll.
"He seems a little arrogant and conceited." Skye studied her plate and carefully speared a tiny bit of stewed tomato.
May tilted her head. "Seems to me that's the pot calling the kettle black."
Skye pushed back her plate. "What? Are you saying you think I'm arrogant and conceited?"
"I wouldn't say arrogant and conceited exactly." May jumped up and brought over strawberry shortcake, dishing it out without asking who wanted some. Refusing food was not an option in May's kitchen. It never seemed to occur to May that she sent mixed messages—lose weight, but be sure to clear your plate first.
Skye's mother continued, "But you are a little snobbish and sort of vain. I mean, look at what you said in your valedictorian speech at school."
Skye pushed her dessert plate away. One mistake, twelve years ago, and not even her own mother ever let her forget. "You just don't understand the difference between self-esteem and egotism," Skye said.
"Maybe not." May finished her cake and began to collect the dirty dishes. "But I do know what the Bible says: 'Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.'"
No one spoke as the two women finished clearing the table.
Finally Jed got up and headed toward the back door. "So how's the car running?"
Skye faked a smile. "Fine. It never breaks down, that's for sure."
"That car will last forever if you take care of it the right
way. If you're going to be here a while, how about I change the oil?"
Skye hid her true feelings about the car. "That would be great, Dad. I'm going to help Mom with the dishes, so you'll have plenty of time." She went to the sink and shook out the dishcloth. "If you get a chance, take a look and see if you can figure out why the seat belt on the passenger side won't unfasten."
"Will do. I'll probably need to order some parts," Jed said as he left for the garage.
May took the dishcloth out of Skye's hands and replaced it with a towel. "Why don't you talk to Vince? Maybe if he helped in the field, your dad could forget the other." Obviously May had decided the subject of Skye's pride was closed.
Skye carefully dried the dish she was holding and tried to form an acceptable answer. Finally she equivocated, "Remember, I'm Vince's little sister. I'd be the
last one he'd go to for advice."
"He'd listen to you if you explained about Dad." May rinsed the soap off the plate Skye was about to dry.
"Vince has had the shop for almost ten years now. He has real talent. He's happy doing what he's doing. He hated farming. He hated the hours, the uncertainty, and the dirt. It's time for Dad to give it up."
May stopped scrubbing the big black cast-iron frying pan that Skye's grandmother had also used to fry chicken when May was a little girl. "Maybe if you married someone who would help your dad in the fields ..."
"Mom, that isn't going to happen either. You and Dad have already tried to fix me up with every guy whose father owns land anywhere near ours." She twirled a lock of her hair. "Let's see, there were the two pig farmers to the south, the four Piket brothers to the west, Zeke Zadock to the north, and the triplets to the east. Presumably at least some of those eligible bachelors are married by now."
"What did we do wrong? It's not natural that neither of my children is married. What about our marriage scared you so much?"
Skye muttered, "You don't really want to know. Maybe I should tell you just for spite."
Her mother was a social butterfly, wanting to be out doing something or going somewhere all the time. Her dad, on the other hand, was a homebody, content to putter in his yard and garage. It seemed to Skye that her parents rarely agreed on anything.
Withdrawing her head and upper torso from the cupboard, where she'd been putting pans away, May gave Skye a hard look. "What's that? What did you say?"
"Nothing, Mother, talking to myself. How do you like dispatching? I was surprised at Christmas when you told me you were taking a job—especially that one."
"A little extra money is always good. Besides, it's been pretty lonely here with you gone and your brother on his own." May looked sideways at Skye. "So, I took the first job Charlie could get me."
"Did Charlie help Vince too? It looks as if everyone but Dad owes Charlie their job."
"Well, in a way. You can never tell your dad this, but he co-signed Vince's loan for me shop."
"Mmmm, I always wondered how Vince got the money. I knew Dad didn't give it to him, so I thought maybe you had managed to slip it to him somehow."
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