3

 

The little two-bedroom bungalow I bought in Apple Grove was perfect for me. I had gotten most of the money back from reserving the reception hall, and even took my wedding dress back, so I’d had some money I could use for a down payment. I owned a home! There was a sweet little living room and kitchen on the ground floor, besides the tiny bedrooms, and a finished room at the top of the stairs—like a garret. I wished I were an artist of some kind.

It took Mem four days after the move to get used to our new digs. For the first time, he could wander in a yard with a real lawn and trees, and the old boy was living it up, discovering green grass and all kinds of new scents.

The tech and personal computer business, or maybe it was me, was a novelty in Apple Grove. Although folks remained somewhat cool, things picked up once they realized the benefits and saw my advertising. I suspected that was natural in a small town. At least they were willing to pay me to keep other people from knowing their personal computing issues.

People who were away, busy, didn’t like or trust technology, or just preferred to keep a personal touch to update their home equipment or websites used a service like mine. I made house calls. It was more common than people thought. I never wore pearls, or dressed in polka dots, well, almost never—about the pearls, that is—but I did use several incoming telephone and dedicated electronic mail lines. Faxes, too. Amazing how few people faxed from home. Once a customer punched in the code, I could have anything he directed sent through my system. I kept electronic mailboxes from becoming too full, a feature customers loved, and I wished more would use.

I managed to make stiff acquaintance with Yolanda Toynsbee, the publisher of the local twice-weekly newspaper, the Apple Grove Gazette. I did not know enough other people to declare her the crotchetiest citizen of Apple Grove, but right now she topped my list.

When I sailed through the Gazette’s front door on Thursday afternoon, she barely glanced up, half-glasses perched on her knobby nose. I needed to update my ad and I was determined to keep the newspaper in my favor. I stood in front of the desk, staring past Yolanda’s hunched shoulders and gray mop to the big clock on the wall.

She made me wait for two minutes and twelve seconds. She slashed at something with her blue pencil then reluctantly gave me her attention. “Yes? Miss Preston? What do you need today?”

Three questions. I breathed in through my nose first. “Right, it’s me, Ivy.” I had tried to get her to call me by my first name since day one, but she never bought it. “And I’d like to update my ad, please.” There, polite enough and offering to provide food for her table.

She reached under the counter and pulled out a manila folder, seemingly by touch. She set it between us and flipped it open, all the while staring at me.

I tried to smile, but my lips trembled.

She was the least nosy newspaper person I had ever come across. I tried to engage her in conversation. “I suppose it seems strange that my last name is Preston and my business is McTeague,” I said and leaned over the tear sheet of my last design.

Yolanda sniffed. “None of my concern.”

My next comment was interrupted by a crash somewhere down the hall.

Yolanda’s face changed expression, then she turned to rush toward the sound. “Jennifer, Jennifer Jean, what are you up to?”

Unburdened by a lack of curiosity, I followed.

A tiny girl with curls almost as wild as mine lay tangled in a folding chair she had apparently tried to pull to the water fountain located near the back door. She appeared to be debating whether or not to cry.

“There, there, Jenny Jean, Gramma’s got you.” She bent to pull the little girl’s pink sandals from under the rungs and seemed grateful when I gently tugged on the other side.

Jenny took several wobbly breaths and stuck her forefinger in her mouth while giving me a doubtful look.

“Hi, there. You must be Jennifer. I’m Ivy.” I put on my sunniest smile.

Jennifer rolled her face into her grandmother’s stomach. Yolanda patted her shoulder. Jenny peeked out with a shy giggle.

“Thank you,” Yolanda told me. She escorted the child into the office and then brought her a paper cup half full of water. “Gramma’s got a little more work to do, then we can go home. Be good for a little longer, Jennifer. Can you make another picture for me?”

“I’d like one, if you please,” I put my two cents in.

“OK. I got a giraffe in me,” Jennifer said. She got on her knees on the seat of the desk chair and went to work.

Yolanda led me back to the main room. As I rounded the big desk, she seemed to consider whether I was worthy of her confidence. Apparently, I passed the test. “My son’s child.” She sighed, squared my ad copy with both of her hands while staring at it absently.

“Jennifer seems like a sweetheart. Not in school yet, apparently?”

“Mornings with early kindergarten,” Yolanda said. “But out for summer as of next week.”

We reviewed my ad copy while I told her what I wanted to change. We discussed pricing and size for a minute, and then I ordered small posters, too. She tallied my bill. While I ripped out the check, I happened to notice the blue-penciled article Yolanda had been working on when I first came in. The picture showed Margaret Bader-Conklin shaking hands with somebody. The caption read “Mrs. Conklin greets representatives of MerriFood, the pet food company.”

“Yolanda, is this an article for the next edition?” I asked her.

She nodded, peering at me over her half-glasses.

“May I?” I indicated the article. She didn’t say anything but turned away. I got the impression that she wanted my opinion but couldn’t bring herself to break the code of revealing the news before it went to print. I scanned the text and took one more glance at the picture. “Yolanda, you know that Mayor Conklin invited Feli-Mix to move here and signed contracts. You broke the story after the talk about incubator businesses and the special loan funds. It doesn’t say in the article, but is there any chance MerriFood is the parent company to Feli-Mix?”

“I don’t believe so,” she said, her back still turned.

“Is there enough room in Apple Grove for both companies?”

“I can’t imagine how that would work. The employment base is non-existent as it is.”

“Was Donald aware of this, Yolanda?”

“This article was faxed over from Mrs. Conklin this morning, with instructions to publish it in the next edition of the Gazette.”

“Well, don’t you need the other side? Feli-Mix’s side? And Donald’s side?”

Yolanda faced me. “We have a strict policy to publish fair and unbiased information in the Gazette. And this article will not be published until we can gather the correct information from all parties involved.”

I smiled. “That sounds like the Gazette I’ve come to love.” I glanced around the room, then lowered my voice. “Yolanda, what do you really think is going on?”

Jennifer came into the main room, clutching two pictures. “Gramma, can we go yet? I’m all done with my drawings.”

Yolanda picked the child up. Jenny thrust one wrinkled piece of paper at me. “Here, Ivy. I made a kitty picture for you. I just knew you liked kitties.”

A number of snappy cat comments came to my mind regarding Yolanda Toynsbee’s expression. All of them involved satisfaction.

“Thank you, Jennifer. I’ll stop at the store on the way home and get some refrigerator magnets, so I can put your picture up in my kitchen. And yes, I do have a nice kitty named Memnet. I hope your grandma will bring you to meet him soon.”

Jennifer nodded her curly head up and down with enthusiasm and sent a pleading look at Yolanda. I suspected Yolanda needed an excuse to visit me.

I went out onto the sidewalk, the jingle of the door clashing with the striking chorus of my own cell phone. I was naturally a techno-geek. When people found out, they either start talking jargon a mile a minute as if they were afraid I’d vanish or gave me that look of feigned sympathy as if I’d sprouted gills or a third eye.

My mother, Geneva McTeague Preston, taught me to appreciate electronics. She raised me on her own after Dad died when I was six—not much older than Jennifer back there. Whenever Mom visited she somehow got hold of my phone and programmed a new personal ring tone for when she called. I used separate tones for my customers—repeats, urgents, faxes coming in at home. She liked to know she was more important than business. The tinny rendition of the “Hallelujah Chorus” she’d somehow found was teeth-gritting. A couple of passers-by stared at me as I ducked into a shadowy entry to answer.

“Mother. Hello. Honestly, I’ll have to change that chorus. People are staring.”

“Sweetheart, I have been so worried. I nearly called that mayor’s office myself. You didn’t answer my e-mail yesterday or today.”

“I saw it late last night and I’ve been a little busy this morning, Mom. How are you?”

“Now, dear, it’s not me we should be worrying about. You’re sure you’re safe? People don’t realize that small towns can harbor such villains. Villains.” The last word was said with a sinister hiss.

“You should know.” My mother, who appeared as fragile as a mayfly, could talk villains with the best of them in her criminology courses, so I wasn’t being facetious. But I did regret making my present situation sound so melodramatic.

“I have all the details worked out on my end. Sophie’s taking care of things at the condo, and the class lists are in and the labs arranged, so I have a week free.”

“That’s good. I have your bedroom all ready.”

“I can’t wait to see your new place. And you’re sure you’re all right, now?”

“Yes, Mom. Day after tomorrow. You have the directions? We’ll go to church on Sunday.”

“Good, dear. Of course, I don’t want to interrupt any plans you may have already made.”

I grinned. “I understand. You won’t. I’ll see you Saturday. Love you.”

“I love you, too, darling.”

Yes, I was eagerly anticipating my mother’s visit. She had a strange kind of trimester schedule that had a spring, summer, and fall sessions, with fieldwork requirements. The local police stations all shuddered when it came time for student field placement, for it meant an interruption in their routines so they could show students how to work crime scenes and put an investigation together. In return, though, it meant more college-trained police officers and detectives, if the students decided to go into that area of study. All the cop shows on TV kept her courses filled.

Anyway, I wanted to put our heads together about this issue with the mayor and my break-in with the ungrammatical note. I almost convinced myself I was just making things up—until I saw that unpublished article from Margaret about MerriFoods on Yolanda’s desk. There must be some connection. I had only been half kidding when I’d told Adam I couldn’t run an investigation because I had nowhere to start.

Adam was setting out his “Open” sandwich board sign across the street. He gave me the smile that meant he was in business mode.

I waved and sauntered over. I waited in line for a mocha latte and was truly glad to see him attract so much business, even if it was curiosity-seekers checking out the new store. Framed stills of Isis decorated the brick wall by the couple of glass-topped tables set on the wood floor near the big front window. I listened idly while he explained about her to the two young women who were ahead of me.

“Oh, I’ve had Isis about six years, now,” he said.

That surprised me, since he had only been part of CAT for the last two.

“A fire,” Adam said patiently, and then wished them a pleasant day. “Next.”

That was me. They had asked him about his scars. I met his steady gaze with a sympathetic twist to my lips. “I suppose you get that a lot,” I murmured.

He grinned back. “Yes, people ask about Isis all the time,” he said. “Cup of coffee?”

I surely did not need the extra calories of the mocha latte and agreed to the plain coffee. “Thanks.” I took my wide blue pottery mug to one of the stuffed loungers he had placed around a low table and sipped cautiously. He added the creamer I liked, and I was grateful for small favors. Fire. I shivered. He’d had Isis for six years. He was not married or dating. He’d apparently had a daughter. Where was she now?

I picked up the county shopping paper to distract myself. Adam Truegood Thompson’s personal life was not my concern, much as I wished that someday it would involve me. I saw my old ad for McTeague’s Technical Services in the shopper and realized I needed to change that, too. Mom and I could go for a drive to the small office of the County Shopping News in Colby next week. She would like that. After I finished my coffee the place was quiet again.

Adam sat in his open-door office at his computer.

I perused the old books section and found a classic I always meant to read but just never got around to. He met me at the register when I walked up. “And are you willing to put up advertisements?” I asked, showing him a copy of the poster I was having printed.

“Sure.” He indicated a bulletin board by the door after he rang up my book, giving me a healthy discount. “You can also put your business card in the fishbowl here for a chance drawing on Mondays. Winner gets a free daily coffee for the week.”

“Good deal.” I dropped in my card and leaned across the counter. “I need to tell you something else I saw at the newspaper office.”

He cocked his head while waiting for me to explain.

“Yolanda Toynsbee showed me an article that had been faxed to the office. The article is about Mrs. Conklin inviting a competitor to Feli-Mix to build in Apple Grove. Complete with picture.”

“Do you think Donald knew about this?”

“I asked. Yolanda didn’t know. I can’t imagine how he wouldn’t. Feli-Mix was already awarded a building permit and a tax grant.”

The door chimed as an elderly couple came in.

“Hello, there,” Adam called to them. “Let me know if you need anything.” They waved and headed for the travel section.

“I have to get back to work,” I said. “My mother’s coming to visit.” I cleared my throat. “Would you like to have dinner with us one night?”

It was a tough decision for him, I could tell by his hesitation.

I decided to rescue him. “Of course, you’re busy. Things are different now that the store is open. That’s all right, I understand.”

Lines crinkled around his eyes as he smiled. “Seeing as I’m hiring help, that won’t be a problem for me, Ivy. I’d love to have dinner with you and your mother. Just tell me when.”

“OK.” I did not realize I was holding my breath until I was out on the sidewalk. Well, well, Ivy Amanda McTeague Preston. If you didn’t think you were nuts before, you certainly are now. Asking a man to dinner. With your mother. I walked the few blocks home thinking about Stanley and the distant memory he had become. I had never been so straightforward, asking a man to dinner. Then I groaned and smacked my forehead. With my mother! I let myself in the side door. “Hello, there, my Memnet. Did you miss me?”

With a chortling Mem on my lap in my upstairs office, I got to work, sorting through the incoming, outgoing, and junk electronic and voicemail. One of the new orders for web redesign service was from city hall. Again. I called Marion to confirm and got official voice mail. I debated three seconds whether to call her at home to find out what was going on. I dialed her number thinking I could always pretend this was just a friendly chat. “Hi, Marion. It’s Ivy—Ivy Preston.”

“Hi. You got the work order, right? To redo the city website? You can work from home, can’t you? Margaret says she and the mayor will be out of town. And the council said I only needed to go in once a day to check on things, like the regular mail and any other business. My family will appreciate that. You can reroute the email, too? How does that work?”

I thought a dam had burst as she pattered, asking questions and not waiting for me to answer. Or she was nervous about something. “So, Marion, how about Mrs. Conklin? Does she usually take over when the mayor’s away? The atmosphere was like a lull before the storm.”

“What do you mean?”

I chewed my lip. I couldn’t tell her how I found out, but I sure wanted to talk about Margaret and MerriFood. “With the new pet food business starting up, I just thought things would be busy.”

“Oh, so you heard,” she said. “Cat’s out of the bag, then.”

I groaned dutifully.

She giggled. “Yes, Feli-Mix is moving in,” Marion confirmed. “They’ll be renovating part of the old feed mill and adding on. Those plans have been in the works for a while. But I thought you were aware of that.”

“I am, Marion. But I thought there was another company coming, too, with a different name.”

“If you mean Happy Hearts, you know that’s not pet food.”

“Right.” I felt confused enough myself by that time and decided to drop the matter of Margaret and MerriFood. “Well, enough about business. My mom’s coming to visit. Do you have any thoughts about what to do with her for a week?”

Marion named a few local events and places she knew about. I thanked her after a few minutes and hung up.

MeriFood, Feli-Mix, Happy Hearts…happily-ever-after. Until the next edition of the Gazette came out and spoiled the Feli-Mix plan.

 

~*~

 

Mom came in time for lunch on Saturday. The past couple of days had been rainy, so I was glad the afternoon was nice. School was winding down. I had enjoyed seeing the yellow school buses and the kids who walked. Several young families lived on my block, and we were slowly getting acquainted.

After the grand tour of my cottage, which took about three minutes, she unpacked her cases in the guest room. I had the other downstairs bedroom, having decided to take over the upstairs room for the office. I figured going up and down the stairs would be good exercise.

I started to fix lunch when Mom joined me. People probably wouldn’t guess my mom’s age from her appearance. She kept her short hair dyed pale gold. She’d had laser surgery on her eyes and only used glasses at night. I hoped I would be as trim when I got to be her age.

She perched on a chair, watching me. “So, are you happy to be in Apple Grove?”

Direct as usual. I did not have to think about it. “I am, Mom. There are nice people. Business is picking up. I think things will be all right.”

“Did you tell Stanley you were moving?”

“Why? He’s history.” I brought our sandwich plates to the table and opened the fridge for the pitcher of iced tea I had made earlier.

Mem wandered in and sniffed at Mom’s leg. She put her hand down and he rubbed against it. Then he sat in a pool of light and began a bath.

“And you? How do you feel about that?”

I put her off with a little meal time prayer and took a bite. Washing down the turkey salad with tea, I took my time. “I’m surprised at how easily I’ve moved on. Everything in that other life feels as though it never happened. I hardly even think about him. Or us.”

Mom put a hand over mine. “Enough of that. Do the police have any idea who tried to break into your house? What’s the latest?”

I was glad she didn’t want to waste any more time on Stanley. “I haven’t heard any news about the case, Mom. It will be a while before they can analyze the blood, let alone find out if it matches any criminals in the police database.”

She sighed. “Backup is such a problem everywhere. So many criminals, so few good folks to catch them. Do you feel safe?”

“Everyone asks that. But yes, I think we’re OK. Once the neighbors heard about the break-in, they re-formed a neighborhood watch group they had started years ago and never needed. We’re all keeping an eye out for each other. I don’t think the guy would get away with something like this again. At least not around here.”

I was wrong.

While my mother and I visited Colby the next afternoon, someone who was apparently more careful than the first crook, who obviously knew my house better and who definitely had more thievery skills, managed to cut the glass to the downstairs window, sneak up the steps, smash my computers and take my router, along with my temporary lock box with the new hard drives. Those external hard drives had all the backups of work I had done and had in progress since moving to Apple Grove.

Memnet was stuffed in a burlap sack, drugged, and tossed under the stairs.