“Speaking of your min-i-scule mall,” Arthur said, finding himself very funny, “ya sure got old Sammie stirred up!”
“Sammie?” Katie asked as they all climbed out of the car, Josh running around the SUV to open Dorothy’s door for her.
“Sam Vitner. Swappin’ Sam’s.”
“What do you mean he’s stirred up?” Dorothy wanted to know.
“He showed up fer breakfast at Harry’s the other day yammerin’ on ’bout this and that. He thinks Miss Bossy Durbin here,” he said, winking at Katie as he stood back to allow her to enter Harley’s first, “is tryin’ ta run him outta business. Not only that, he’s lookin’ for somebody ta run against Gladys come the next election.”
“Run him out of business?” Dorothy asked. “I don’t understand.”
“He says yer gonna have an antiques store in yer mall,” Arthur said, studying Katie’s face as he spoke, testing the waters.
“Yes. That’s my plan for one of the stores,” Katie said as they moved toward the counter to read the board of the ice cream flavors for the day.
“Well, ol’ Sammie sees that as di-rect competition. Oh! And by golly if he didn’t try ta git Lester worked up about yer min-i-scule mall, too!”
“Lester?” Katie asked, her face showing surprise.
“Yup. Sammie told Lester yer fancy schmancy tea room idere could like ta cause him ta go belly up.”
“I’m going to have the Gallon Guzzler,” Josh said, a note of bitterness in his voice. They were supposed to be finding him a car, not talking about his mom’s mini-mall project. He was beginning to hate that place and it wasn’t even built yet.
“What did Lester say?” Katie wanted to know, feeling a twinge of nervousness.
“He said—and I do believe this is a di-rect quote—‘I got me a melon baller.’ ”
“What on earth is Sam Vitner thinking trying to stir up trouble, May Belle?”
After Katie had dropped Dorothy off at her house, Dorothy let Sheba out to do her business, then they both walked straight to May Belle’s, even though it was only thirty minutes until both of their bedtimes and Dorothy was still catching up on her sleep from the night before last. “Nobody can compete with Swappin’ Sam’s. I bet there’s not another thing like his place in the tri-county area. For goodness sakes!” Earl left the living room where they’d all gathered. Even though the tree was still on, it made him nervous to see his Dearest Dorothy upset. “Sam’s got salvage and parts and junk and interesting whatchajiggies and toilets and even that building with nicer stuff in it. To see a little antique store as competition is ridiculous! And carrying on about it at Harry’s, trying to get Lester excited. Shame on him! If he wasn’t so far on the edge of town I’d walk right over there first thing in the morning and give him a piece of my mind.”
“Now, Dorothy, I haven’t seen you take a nitroglycerin tablet for a while. You’re going to set your heart to misbehaving if you don’t calm down. You’re taking those other pills every day, aren’t you?” Dorothy nodded. Try as she might to fight her dependence on drugs, much to the satisfaction of the good Doc, she’d finally broken down and started listening to him. “Would you like a nice cup of chamomile tea?”
“No tea this late, thank you. I just downed every last slurp of a giant root beer float from Harley’s and if I had another drop to drink I’d be up and down to the bathroom all night. Besides, I’ve already tested the edge of my bladder’s elasticity enough for one day.” May Belle chuckled. “I tell you, I just cannot imagine what Sam’s thinking! Why, Katie is working so hard to do good for this town. She doesn’t need that kind of friction.”
“Were you this riled up in the car? Goodness me! What did Arthur say? Or Josh?”
“I bit my tongue and veered the conversation back to car hunting, which is probably why I’m so wound up now since I held it in for so long. I could see Josh was not taking it well when we were all carrying on about the mini mall. It was hard enough on him that he didn’t even get to drive one car this evening, but then to have the night end with all of this. His mom’s always pretty stoic, but once she started asking Arthur questions about who else he thought might be against the mini mall you could tell she was getting upset. And you know Arthur, he just loves to torment. I hope she knew he was kidding when he said just about everybody could find a reason to not like the idea if they set their minds to it. Oh! And then he went and mentioned he’d also heard some talk about her buying up other properties around town. He said somebody wondered if Partonville might soon become Durbinville! Now you know he made that up. As much as I love that man, honestly. . . .”
“I’m sure it’ll all work out, dear. You’re fretting about too many things.”
“I wanted to talk to Arthur privately but Katie dropped me off first. Who knows what all he filled her head with. I’ll give him a call tomorrow, see what else he said and how much of it was true. See if he might want to take me over to Sam’s so I can have a word with him. Pure and simple, Arthur Landers was gossiping. Since when did he become a gossip?”
May Belle stared at her friend. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her this angry. “Dorothy Wetstra, this isn’t like you to be so upset over something like this. What’s going on?”
May Belle’s tone of voice caught Dorothy up short. Dorothy stared at her friend, then at her hands, then at May Belle’s beautiful Christmas tree, taking note of the pipe cleaner angel, an ornament she’d given May Belle when they were kids. “I think I’m just tired. You know how crabby I can be when I’m tired. And I’m not only physically tired, I think I’m emotionally worn down from the excitement of my boys being here for Thanksgiving, and Jacob getting to stay, and then Rick’s passing. Now I’m missing my boys and was up half the night the other night. I guess hearing Arthur carry on about Sam was just my last straw. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so out of sorts. You know I adore Sam Vitner and to be honest, I can’t even imagine him being an instigator. You’re right. It’s not fair to make judgments and work up a head of steam when I haven’t even talked to him myself.”
“Goodness, Dorothy, nobody would ever accuse you of being judgmental.”
“Well, I guess my own conscience just talked to me then, because I surely was.”
May Belle slowly stood up and smiled at her friend. “I don’t mean to chase you out, but I think we both need to go to bed.” She looked down the hallway and saw that Earl’s bedroom light was out. “Earl’s spent so many hours staring at the tree his eyes are probably crossed.” She shook her head and smiled warmly, her heart so filled with love for that child of hers.
“Thank you, May Belle. Thanks for listening and understanding and setting me straight. When Earl wakes up, tell him I didn’t mean to upset him.”
“You know Earl, Dorothy. He won’t remember anyway. And I doubt you could ever really upset that son of mine; he adores you. Your tone probably just took him by surprise. He was tired, too.”
“I’ll talk to you soon,” Dorothy said, leaning toward May Belle to give her a hug.
The women embraced and then stood in silence staring at the tree and May Belle’s small plastic nativity she always set up under it. “God bless us every one,” May Belle said. And those were the last perfect, poignant, quieting words that were spoken before Dorothy and Sheba headed down the street toward home, bed and a good night’s sleep with the full moon of a lamppost light glowing into her bedroom.
20
“You can believe it or not, Maggie Malone, but I’m telling you that Sam Vitner, Fred Hornsby,” (Cora had trotted straight from Harry’s to Hornsby’s Shoe Emporium right after Sam and Gladys had at it day before yesterday) “George Gustafson, the folks at the doughnut shop and who knows how many others are hopping mad about this mini mall threatening to destroy our town,” Cora said while Maggie washed her hair. Maggie had heard other murmurings in her shop the last couple days, but none on so large a scale. “To tell you the truth of the matter, Maggie” (Maggie had to stif
le a giant HA! Since when did Cora ever tell the whole truth?!), “I can’t blame them. That Katie Durbin is just a little too slick for her own britches, if you ask me. I mean, co-hosting the Hookers’ party—at least that’s what they’re calling it, co-hosting—just to get in good graces with the whole town? How dumb does she think we are?” Maggie bit her lip. “And now she and Gladys—a turncoat in our own community—are all buddy-buddy. It was nearly shameless the way that Durbin woman lured Gladys to her table, buttering her up one side and down the other. I tell you, that woman is not to be trusted. Neither of them are. Partonville’s acting Mayor McKern is acting more like a starstruck groupie than a leader. When she as much as tells people they should buy their shoes at the mall in Hethrow rather than from our very own hardworking Fred Hornsby and his poor wife, Frieda, it’s a sad, sad day for Partonville.”
“Now, Cora,” Maggie said, hoping the warm rinse running down the sides of Cora’s head would calm her, “I think you might be making a tad more of this than is actually true. For instance . . .”
Cora sat straight up in the chair, mindless of the streams of water that began to run down her face and into her mouth. She squeegeed the water out of her face with the heels of her hands, mascara now streaking clear to her ears. “Maggie Malone! I am a paying customer and I deserve to be treated with more respect than to be accused of lying right here in your chair!”
Maggie handed Cora a towel to wipe her face and grabbed another to dab at her wagging head. “Now, Cora, settle down. I accused you of no such things. I have no reason to think you are lying. I just think there might be another side to the . . .”
“Think what you want, Maggie,” Cora yelped, cutting right into her sentence. “Just know your thinking is very clouded if you do not believe there’s going to be a fight—maybe even picketing!—over this mini mall.” She dropped the towel she’d used to wipe her face into her lap and batted Maggie away from her head. She began patting a spot over her right ear. “Honestly, Maggie! You didn’t rinse this side of my head! Can you hear those bubbles popping? I can hear them in my ear. Is this how you treat people who don’t agree with you?”
“You’re the one who sat up while I was rinsing, Cora.”
Cora would hear none of it. “How about you just stick to business and finish the job right.” Cora leaned back and settled her neck in the sink’s neck cradle.
Maggie put her hands on her hips and sighed. She’d been taught that when you were a business owner, the customer was always right. When your business depended upon repeat customers—and Cora had a standing weekly appointment—you needed to go the extra mile to be nice, she reminded herself. She drew a deep breath and held it a moment. In spite of all she knew to be true, she was fighting the urge to pick up the sprayer and give Cora a wet what’s-for. How dare she talk to me like that! The old gossip deserves a . . .
“And you are waiting for what?” Cora asked, never once opening her eyes.
Maggie picked up the sprayer, making sure she held it down in the sink while adjusting the water lest it shoot up out of the sink and dowse both of them. She turned the faucet to as cold as it would go while she argued with herself. Now, Maggie, you are above doing what you’re thinking. BAD ANGEL: Wanna bet? GOOD ANGEL: Angels do not engage in betting, Maggie. You know that. We spend our time nurturing, guiding, making life beautiful—same as you. You make people beautiful, remember? You do not spray cold water up their noses. You beautify. BAD ANGEL: Cora has it coming. GOOD ANGEL: Perhaps, but you also want her to keep coming to your shop. Now turn that faucet to warm, Maggie, and take care of your client. BAD ANGEL: Soak it to her, Mags!
With each argument, Maggie steered her faucet as though it was the rudder of a speed boat running an obstacle course. From right to left and back again it went until she finally got a hold of herself. “How’s the temperature, Cora?” she asked as she set the spray to Cora’s head.
“Fine.”
“Good,” Maggie replied through gritted teeth. “Now let’s get you good and rinsed, dried, curled and ready to carry on with your day.” You old gossip!
The BAD ANGEL just had to have the last word, didn’t she? Maggie thought while she kept her lip zipped and set her heart back to beautifying.
Edward Showalter simply could not believe his good fortune. He looked into Kornflake’s rust-colored eyes and felt a swell of gratitude so powerful it almost made him cry. He’d had his new dog for less than twenty-four hours and already he felt like he’d known him his entire life. There was just something about this gangly pooch that extracted a very high “awwwww” factor, even from the likes of Edward Showalter. Kornflake could sit, stay (better than any other dog he’d owned), fetch, drop (well, most of the time) and shake (either paw you pointed to) with the best of the Good Dogs. He was housebroken and at least thus far he hadn’t chewed on a single thing that wasn’t one of the dog toys Edward Showalter had bought at Wal-Mart on his way home. He’d also picked up dog food, treats, two toys and a collar—camouflage to match his camy-van, of course. And Kornflake wasn’t even a yapper. When he did bark—which he’d only done once when somebody rang the doorbell—he only let out two low, hound-sounding Woof!s, then he’d looked at Edward Showalter as if to say, “Do we care about the guy at the door or can I go off duty?” Edward had looked out his window, saw Rooney standing there and said, “It’s okay, boy,” and that was that.
“Awwwww, ya gotcha a new dog, Edward Showalter,” Rooney said as he scratched Kornflake behind the ears. “It’s about time.”
Edward Showalter gave Rooney the whole story, from Johnny’s sign sighting to the way Kornflake (“Never thought to ask him why they’d named him such a goofy thing, but it just kinda suits him.”) had jumped right into his van right up into the passenger seat where he sat “as big as you please,” to the way he’d curled up and laid down in the back when Edward Showalter went into Wal-Mart (“Waited so patiently, didn’t ya, boy?”) and then curled up on the throw rug next to his bed when it was time for light’s out. “Slept like a baby. Didn’t get up till I did. Ate a good breakfast and hasn’t once tormented the kitties.”
“Kitties?”
“Look at this,” Edward Showalter said, motioning Rooney to follow him to the bathroom. Curled up together in a box were one pure white kitten, a boy, and one jet black furball, a girl. They were so wound around each other they looked like a skein of angora yarn.
“Where’d ya get them?” Rooney, a giant of a man, asked as he adjusted his red bandana a little higher on his forehead, his bleach-blond curly locks spilling over the top.
“Same place as Kornflake. After Kornflake jumped into the passenger seat the guy said, ‘Hey! Want a couple kittens for the road?’ I said sure. The guy took off running toward his front screen porch yelling, ‘HONEY! HE’S GONNA TAKE THE KITTENS, TOO!’ Before he could pass through the porch to get into his house his wife opened the front door and handed him a paper grocery bag folded down at the top. The bag was rockin’ and rollin’, I tell you. I set it down behind Kornflake’s seat and started my engine. Before I had it in reverse, out the door the wife came runnin’ to the van. She had another big brown grocery bag in her hand. I was half afraid to ask what was in this one.”
“Don’t tell me ya got ya another pet someplace!”
“Matter of fact,” Edward Showalter said, and that’s all he said.
“No!”
“No. I was just pullin’ your leg,” he said, slapping his knee. “Three’s enough for now. She’d packed up one dented can of cat food along with a catnip toy that was so dirty it looked like a real dead mouse. To be honest, looking at the dog’s ribcage, I don’t know that any of them have had much to eat for a couple days. Hard story, really. They’ve been renting that property the last couple years, until he got laid off from the mines and couldn’t find another job. They’re fixin’ to move to Kentucky to live with his brother’s family.”
“Dog doesn’t look to be that old. What were they thinking gettin’ a dog whe
n they were in financial straits?” Rooney picked up one of the kittens and snuggled it under his chin next to the dagger tattoo on his neck. Kornflake was leaning into Edward Showalter’s leg while he held a kitty to his chest with one hand and scratched Kornflake with the other.
“The guy said one morning he got up and there was Kornflake rolled up in a tight little ball at the base of a big tree in their backyard. Due to his red color and the fact he was half coated with mud, at first the guy thought he was a fawn. But then Kornflake stood up and wagged his long tail. Guy said he looked half starved so he gave him a few scraps. His wife was fit to be tied since they didn’t have scraps to spare. Had four kids, ya know.” Rooney shook his head as he gently set the kitty back in the box. “She told her husband he should shoot the dog but he said he just couldn’t bring himself to do it since Kornflake had such pleading eyes. Thank goodness, ’cause you were meant for me, weren’tcha guy?” Edward Showalter said to Kornflake whose whole body started its wonderful agitating. “Then this pregnant cat showed up and delivered on their front porch. Got in through a hole in the screen, he said. Momma disappeared one night and left her kittens. His wife said that was the last straw. She’s the one who made the sign.”
“Must have torn the guy up to see such a good dog go.”
“Actually, he was relieved and very grateful. It made him happy to know Kornflake was going to a good home. Said these animals weren’t long for this world. Couldn’t even look me in the eye when he said it.”
“Edward Showalter, animal rescue man!” Rooney teased. “But enough of the animal stories. What’d ya want to talk to me about?”
“I’m putting a construction crew together—already got Smackman, J.R. and Sherlock—and I only want the best guys I know, guys who aren’t afraid to work overtime.” Rooney smiled and nodded his head. “Guys who want the job done right. Guys who can work for a woman.” Rooney raised his eyebrows. “You’re one of the best blueprint readers and carpenters in the area and I’m hoping you’re available for kind of an undetermined amount of time. The one thing I can guarantee you is good money.”
Dearest Dorothy, Merry Everything! Page 18
