Starr Tree Farm

by Ellen Parker

  “No thanks.” She focused on her bologna and cheese on whole wheat. A memory from a long ago summer poked up. Her hand came up to hide her smile before it burst into a giggle. “Vacation Bible School. Lunch. Mustard.”

  “Give me a moment. It has to be something more fun than our daily memory work.”

  “I’m remembering a day we ate lunch inside.” She swallowed back bubbling laughter. “We sat across from each other. My sandwich … ”

  “Mustard. Your vocabulary surprised me.”

  “You traded with me. Without asking.”

  “I paid a steep price for that lunch.”

  “What do you mean?” Her stomach calmed until she glimpsed the amount of mischief in his eyes.

  “Nothing’s worse for an eight-year-old boy than to be seen kissing a girl. It breaks the code.”

  “Are we that bad?”

  “I survived. We all come around sooner or later.” He opened the final packet and ran a thick yellow bead across the warm sausage. “Still don’t like mustard?”

  “I’ll always be a ketchup and mayo sort of girl.”

  “Not the first descriptor I’d use. But it will do.” He took a swallow of Sprite. “So tell me. What does Laura Tanner do for fun?”

  Laura Tanner. Sunday evening he addressed his questions to Laura Starr. She searched for something recent, since Scott. “Four of us gathered for movie night at a friend’s place not long ago. Just girls, no men or children allowed,” she repeated their only unbreakable group rule. “After one scene — more suitable in a video sex manual — our hostess paused it. Not one of us could find words. We could have auditioned for a school of fish.”

  “Goldilocks at a loss for words? Has it ever happened before?” Brad lifted his drink.

  “More often than I’d like to remember.”

  “Do you expect me to believe that with all your inherited organizational skills and list making habits something can surprise you?”

  She polished her apple with a paper towel. “A number of things have startled me over the years.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Oh, where to begin.” She took a bite of fruit and chewed for a long moment. “Can you keep a confidence?”

  “Army granted me ‘Top Secret’ during my second deployment.”

  “Trouble with my marriage vows,” she stared at the floor. “We were in this really charming hotel wedding chapel in Vegas. Scott and I faced each other holding hands and all of sudden … the chaplain spoke with a thick British African accent … I couldn’t understand a word of it. All of us — Scott’s brother and his wife plus the chapel employees — stood in silence while I hunted for my voice. Scott mouthed something beyond my lip reading abilities. I’ll never remember exactly what I said. I know I started with our names — Laura Marie and Scott Wayne Tanner — but then I managed to put in a little of everything from each wedding I’d attended in my entire life.”

  “Laura, the nervous bride.”

  She toyed with her Sprite can and sighed.

  “I always imagined you’d go for a fancy, princess style church wedding.” He wiped the final drop of kraut juice from his lips.

  “Too expensive. Too complicated.”

  “Got a video?”

  A real laugh burst out of her. “We managed enough humor out of it without living color and stereo sound.” She calmed to almost normal and skimmed her gaze over his profile. “It’s your turn to share. I’m going to assume you have a nervous moment or two in memory.”

  “I’ve got a whole library shelf of them.” He shifted his feet, reached down, and adjusted a Velcro sneaker strap. “Graduation and commissioning all happened at once. Translate that into a group of very fresh second lieutenants wearing Army uniforms instead of a cap and gown. We looked sharp. Made our families proud.”

  They still are. I saw the photos on the wall the other night. “Sounds good so far.”

  “All these unfamiliar officers showed up at the commissioning. And we were the lowest of the low, greener than a John Deere. I started saluting everything in uniform. Caught myself with my arm two-thirds up at my buddy in his band gear. My face matched his bright red tunic before he stopped laughing.”

  “Was he a high ranking Badger?” She leaned away from him, certain the mischievous boy part of him would deliver a swat.

  “Negative. Typical middle of the rank trombonist. Lost track of him through the years. My fault as much as his. Like so many, I didn’t keep in touch like you promise that last day of college.” His voice tapered to a whisper.

  She rested her head against the smooth counter support while a list of good intentions not followed nudged into her consciousness. “It’s easy to rationalize busy. I didn’t even attend a Cardinals game with the kids next door this season. Only managed a few with co-workers.”

  “I noticed your shirt. Rumor says Cardinal fans are loyal.”

  “Absolutely. Speaking of shirts, I admired yours at the game Saturday. That was a good event. Is basketball first among sports in the valley?” It made sense that hoops, with smaller official teams and greater flexibility for pick-up games, would be more popular than other sports.

  “You play?”

  “High school. Guard on the bench.”

  “Ditto.” He pulled up his knees and rested his prosthesis across them. “Eric beats me these days. He’s getting good enough to make me feel like an old man on occasion.”

  “The fun’s gone. A summer of solo practice turned into work, darkened my attitude around the edges. Scott and I … how to say it? Evenly matched? We played HORSE for silly things.” She clutched the front of her sweatshirt and grasped the rings. “The last time, his car needed an oil change and I lost. Wasted an hour of a beautiful December Saturday smelling new tires and lubricants.”

  “Sounds like my kind of guy.”

  Laura closed her eyes, pictured Scott making a free throw, and nodded.

  “Hey,” his voice caressed her ears as much as his finger rubbed against the back of her hand. “Sometimes we need to let go. Even if it hurts.”

  “I … I didn’t mean to get all weepy sentimental on you. You never even met the man.”

  “He demonstrated admirable taste when he married you.”

  She opened her grip, smoothed the shirt, and started to move her hand aside when he captured it. The back of her neck tingled in curiosity. Her face tipped up a few degrees, giving her a view of his intense hazel eyes. They asked a question she didn’t expect.

  In less than a heartbeat he closed the space between them. His lips pressed against hers. Gentle. Insistent.

  Her mouth quivered with warm surprise and pleasure. Comfort and joy bubbled in her chest screening out doubt and dull routine for a moment. How long since? Was it ever? But she didn’t care about the answers right now.

  Heat flowed to her fingertips and toes. She wanted to linger here, learn the man stirring up settled dust of emotions.

  He moved his fingers into the base of her braid, drawing her closer.

  She drifted for a moment. The rootlets from that seed that sprouted during their conversation the other night gripped tightly around a deep place within her.

  This is wrong. I’m married.

  Brad ended the kiss, pulled her face to his shoulder. “Shhhh.”

  Was she crying? No. Remembering too much of the wrong things. She lifted her head, pulled away, and whispered, “It’s not right. Too soon.”

  His hand cupped her chin and insisted she face him.

  “I’ve waited a long time to do that Goldilocks. I’d never hurt you.”

  “Not your fault. Nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do.” Her voice gained strength as she separated from him and stood. “I feel like a traitor. And don’t remind me that Scott died. I’m well aware of that.�
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  He pushed up to stand in front of her, picked up her right hand, and rested it across his hook. “You didn’t.”

  Two blinks and the world returned in focus. Where had her logic and loyalty spun off to? How dare an emotional flame emerge before she found justice for Scott’s death?

  “Stay in the world of the living, Laura. You deserve a few more good decades.”

  Laura gazed down at her fingers resting lightly on stainless steel. Neither of them could claim wholeness. Her mind failed to draw a direct comparison between his visible and her interior wounds. “Damaged. Not broken. That’s become one of my mother’s favorite reminders.”

  “Have you made any new friends since … ”

  She shook her head. “He’s still out there. Scott’s murderer. I put all sorts of faces on him — dangerous, evil eyes, or scars like a movie gangster. I can’t forget.”

  “I’m not asking you to. And if I had enough information, I’d seek him out and drag him to justice. Or would you want to deal with him in private first?”

  Is that what she wanted? Revenge sounded hard, with a shade of corruption all of its own. She talked of justice. Law enforcement and legal systems might solve the case but Scott remained dead.

  She gathered a deep breath, mixed it with a portion of the courage he must have transferred in the kiss, and lifted her gaze to his eyes. A trace of mischief twinkled back at her. “You’re the park ranger.”

  • • •

  “Latrine is clean.” Brad halted beside Laura’s ladder and snapped a salute.

  “Thank you, kind sir.”

  “Duty calls me to go wear another hat for the rest of the day. Are you going to be up on that ladder much longer?” He glanced again to check the lock on the braces.

  She broke off a piece of tape and reached forward. “Only the bottom left now.”

  “Would you like to show me those basketball skills of yours?”

  Her face stretched into a silent question as she descended and stepped away from the aluminum stepladder.

  “The high school opens the gym to the community for a couple of hours on January Wednesdays. On a good night you get your choice of volleyball or hoops.”

  “The idea has potential.”

  “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at nineteen hundred.”

  She smoothed her large “Opening Soon” sign and anchored a lower corner before turning her face to him. “I’m capable of driving into town on my own.”

  Bright blue letters on a white background announced Laura’s planned bookshop to the community. He figured she’d applied enough tape across the top and upper quarter that it would hold if blizzard winds got inside. “Didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I’ve got the notion independence and good manners can get along. Might save a drop or two of gas if we ride together.”

  “When you put it that way.” Her lips formed a brief smile.

  “We’re set then.” He controlled the slant of his mouth. It was a poor substitute for pulling the tape dispenser out of her hand and kissing those inviting lips until they were both out of breath. But the public sidewalk outside the window and the locksmith working down the hall encouraged him to practice impulse control. “Will you wear your hair down? Like it is today?”

  “Open gym sounds casual enough for that.”

  He left her with a nod and stepped into afternoon cold. Images of Laura and snatches of her soft Southern edge to certain words from her Missouri education chased each other around his brain during the two-block walk to the Springs Press building.

  He didn’t regret the kiss. Part of his mind admitted to looking for the opportunity. And he was not disappointed. He pressed his lips tight as if to reclaim at least a shadow of the pleasant sensation.

  Her words after breaking the kiss did surprise him. Deep down he’d expected the “too soon” comment. But what was the deal with labeling herself a traitor? Did she actually consider marriage vows binding in the territory between death and justice?

  He blew out a stream of air and watched the vapor cloud vanish as he stepped forward. During the years since Laura’s final summer visit he’d pursued a few girls. He accepted a little competition for their affection with other students or soldiers as normal. Going up against a memory put him in new territory.

  Twenty minutes later, he grinned at the computer screen. One of the Social Security numbers he’d fed into the program this morning hit on activity. James Carlstead’s deceased college roommate collected a paycheck last week in Rochester, Minnesota. He picked up his phone and tapped in a text to Daryl. “Info on Carlstead.”

  Daryl and a bundle of winter air entered from the alley entrance before five minutes passed. “This better be good. You cut short organ practice on a tricky prelude.”

  “I believe so. But then, I’m conceited, prejudiced, and generally full of it.”

  Daryl responded with a laugh to go with his uneven smile.

  “This is what I’ve done so far.” Brad directed his boss’s attention to a list of contacts.

  Both men set to work sending emails and making phone calls to authorities in both states. Their low voices in short phrases filled the tidy office with an electric tension.

  • • •

  “Jason Young lives at seven fifteen Franklin.” The dark haired man repeated the address on his fresh set of identification. He ticked off items on a mental checklist of steps to give his new persona a recent, credible history. This very afternoon he’d rented a mailbox, opened a bank account in a Minneapolis suburb, and made a credit card purchase. Several more transactions in the next week and Mr. Young would be an upstanding citizen of the Twin Cities.

  He shifted in his seat, the comfort from the new identity eluding him. How soon would Big Eddie get word of this? Harvey had his own reasons to keep quiet. And no one else suspected. Did they?

  His stomach simmered, reminding him that he’d mistreated it with too much coffee again. He ran his tongue across his upper lip and realized he needed to buy more antacids before the end of the day.

  With another glance at the map on the GPS, he left his parking space. One appointment, with a young farmer on the hill southwest of town, and his public business day would be over. He crunched his second to last Tums and started down the street. A block later, he slowed his Jeep to a crawl.

  A large, blue and white sign in the window announced a new business in the former senior center. “Opening Soon. Tanner’s Pages Plus.”

  “She’s moving too fast. Why did she have to go and make it official? She’s complicating the entire situation.” If only things had gone well in St. Louis a year ago. He wasn’t proud of that encounter in the café last week either. If he’d paid a little more attention to chatter in the village instead of focusing totally on his own project during December, he may have been able to turn the initial meeting to his advantage.

  Well, since then he’d come to his senses and taken control of the situation. The sign slapped him to the next level of alertness and prodded him to become less subtle. These modern, independent women were nothing but trouble.

  What should he do next? He wanted to find a complication for her that was more severe than yesterday’s theft but with a low probability of official questions in his direction. He shuddered at his pre-lunch idea. The license plate had been easy to steal, more difficult to dispose of. He’d cut it into several pieces of course; the tin snips in his tool bag made short work of that. Then he made the rounds of recycling centers and visited three before he’d found one without potential witnesses.

  She had to leave. Turning back the clock less than a week would make life better for the pair of them. Women. They were clueless creatures leaving a wake of confusion and difficulties behind them. And this one — the community’s size made it impossible to co-exist. He intended to claim seniority.

  He
completed the three-mile drive to his meeting pondering which step to take next. Certainly another nudge or two and she’d abandon the idea. His stomach squeezed with bitterness.

  He pulled into a farmyard and more than a dozen cats scattered from a sunny patch in front of the open garage. A sleek yellow feline stretched then paraded off in imitation of a queen. A plan gathered as sure as the local rodent control patrol congregated outside the milking parlor. He still needed to work out details. With his skill and a tiny amount of luck the young woman would be frightened out of her wits. And more importantly, out of the village.

  Three hours later, he washed his hands with extra care. Cat managed a bit of revenge. No matter. She’s settled now. He rinsed all the way up to his elbows, examined the fresh scratches, and skipped the antibiotic cream.

  With the last of a roll of Tums in his mouth, he prepared a sandwich for supper and set it within easy reach of the computer. He took one bite and hoped the websites showed good news, in the form of no unexpected developments, tonight.

  The newspaper reports satisfied him. The Kenosha News ran a full obituary including a listing of visitation and funeral service. No mention of the real estate developer in the other sections. He relaxed a bit and called up the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. A smile formed, lingered, and turned into relief when his search by name, partner’s name, and business failed to show recent activity.

  With a click of the mouse he moved to the next task — entering and lurking email accounts of friends and relatives close to the deceased. The first search opened easily. Messages of sympathy, travel plans, regrets at not being able to attend mingled with general statements of surprise at his brother’s death.

  Will I get lucky tonight? He tapped in the name of a neighbor. Last night he’d felt close to success and he intended to build off it. His fingers worked without a break in rhythm, putting in an address and following up with their dog’s moniker and house number. Oh, sweet. The principle did have another acquaintance that didn’t bother with the computer safety layered into less trusting accounts. It was about time he caught an unsecured door. When the receptionist retired, he’d lost a stream of useful facts among the chatter.