Dinner at the steakhouse in Salisbury with Daniel, Mom, and Dad was surprisingly delightful. It felt like we’d turned a corner, like maybe my parents would be a part of my life in a more significant way.
When we got back to our house, Mom said, “It’s such a pretty night. Anyone up for a stroll?” Mayhem and Taco almost took her off her feet in their enthusiasm while we humans slipped on jackets and moved more calmly toward the door. As we walked, we talked about dogs since Mayhem and Taco were particularly insistent on sniffing and tripping us all up by wrapping us in their leashes again and again.
It turned out my parents were looking for a dog. “One that is small and that we can train to travel,” Dad said. “And that likes to lie around with other dogs.”
At first, I tried to talk them into a cat, pointing out that Aslan was a prime example of the self-sufficiency and lack of neediness that felines provided. I refrained from saying that my parents were really probably not up for a dog. But when Mom began a tirade about cat hair and litter boxes, I gave up that tack on the topic and grinned. “I could see you all with a French Bulldog.”
Mom laughed. “They look like giant bats, very cute giant bats. But we were thinking a dog from a local shelter. Maybe one who is a bit older. Is your local shelter open tomorrow?”
I looked at Daniel, and the surprise must have shown on my face because he smiled and said, “I think so. But if not, I know the animal control officer. I can get you in.”
“Great. Then in the morning, we’re going dog shopping.” She furrowed her brow. “Maybe it’s not appropriate to say you’re shopping for a living thing.” She glanced at Dad and gave a firm, single nod of her head. “We’re going to get our new family member.”
I am pretty sure I walked the rest of the way home with my mouth open. Who was this wonderful woman, and what had she done with my mother?
I woke up thinking about my parents as dog owners and settled down my hope, knowing that maybe it had been the wine talking. But when I got up, Mom had made steel cut oatmeal with strawberries, and she and Dad were ready to head out the door to the shelter so that they’d be there at ten, when they opened. I didn’t think the animal shelter was quite like a wedding dress sale at an exclusive boutique in New York City, but I didn’t want to damper their enthusiasm with tiny bits of reality.
“So you’re serious?” I asked between bites of the gooey, delicious oatmeal.
“Yep. It’s time we slowed down. Time we took stock of what matters.” She put her hand over mine and softened her voice the way she used to when she was about to tell me she and dad were going out of town and leaving me with my very kind, but very old, Aunt Louise. “Your dad and I want to run something by you.”
I pulled my hand back. Now, they weren’t talking about Aunt Louise anymore, God rest her soul, but this was usually the place in the visit where the conversation about my chosen career came up, and I really didn’t want to go there. “Maybe we can just focus on the dog this morning,” I said a little more sharply than I intended.
Mom shot Dad a look, and he gave her a quick nod. Something was going on, but I could wait to find out what. It wasn’t likely to be good news.
When my parents left to pick out their new pet, Stephen and Walter were still sleeping. They’d gotten in late after a night of celebration in Annapolis. Their offer had been accepted on the house. I was so excited that we were going to be neighbors that I left them a bottle of champagne right next to a fresh jar of orange juice that I squeezed myself.
Then, I finished getting ready and enjoyed the solitary walk into work with Mayhem. She was always a bit more subdued when it was just her and me, so we meandered our way through the streets of town and arrived at the shop just in time to see a silver pick-up pull away.
I ran the last block, hoping against hope that my shop windows weren’t broken and that I didn’t see fire blazing behind the glass. But everything looked fine. Still, to be cautious, I texted the sheriff to let him know I’d seen the truck again, and he said he’d be over shortly.
I let Daniel know, too, and asked Stephen and Walter to come in when they could. As I was finishing up my texts on the sidewalk, Rocky walked up, a plate of cinnamon rolls in her hand, and I let her know what had just happened.
“You haven’t gone in yet, right?”
“Nope. I didn’t want to go in alone, just in case.” I shrugged. “Feels a little silly.”
“Not silly at all.” She took a hard breath. “Okay, let’s go.”
I opened the door slowly, thinking of all those movies where bombs were triggered by trip wires and only took a breath again when the door was fully open and all three of us were inside without incident.
That’s when I saw the note on the floor, written in magazine letters like some ransom letter. “Stay away from Miranda Harris if you know what’s good for you.”
Then, I was very glad I’d asked the sheriff to come. A threatening note was not something I took lightly.
“What in the world?” Rocky said. “First they threaten you in their car and now they leave a note. Don’t threats usually escalate.” She gave me a small smile. “I mean at this point, a note is a little anticlimactic, don’t you think?”
“Good point. When I find out who is threatening me, I’ll remind him that he should be building the tension with his threats.” I gave her my most convincing “I’m not terrified” smile and told her I was fine waiting for the sheriff while she got the coffee going. “I’m going to need a very large latte though.”
“On it,” she said as she and the cinnamon rolls head to the café.
While I waited for Sheriff Mason, I studied the note as it lay on the register counter. I couldn’t tell anything about what kind of magazines the letters came from. They looked pretty generic to me. But I did notice that the author called her Miranda Harris, not Miranda Harris-Lewis. I wasn’t sure that meant anything, but it was notable.
The sheriff arrived quickly, and I handed him the note that I’d picked up with a tissue. I always felt silly worrying about fingerprints and stuff, but too much TV had made me over-cautious.
He slipped the note into a baggy with a red top – just like on the shows, I noted – and I asked if he could speak to Rocky first since she looked to have her opening process well in hand and I hadn’t even started mine. “Totally fine, Harvey.”
I checked the floor and set up the register, turned on the neon sign, and just before ten the sheriff took my statement and then went to browse for a few minutes while I opened. We always had a few die-hards waiting to get in on Sunday – mostly for Phoebe Chevalier’s cinnamon rolls – and the sheriff was kind enough to try to blend in rather than cause a stir by being at the register, notebook in hand.
After the first customers came in and took to their seats or got their gooey goodness, the sheriff came back. He’d been totally focused on the note – where it was, what I saw about the truck, etc. – when we’d spoken a few minutes before, but now, his notebook was away, and he was giving me a good stare down. “Harvey, have you been snooping?”
“No.” I paused. “Not really. I mean it. Mom, Dad, and I were taking a walk yesterday, and we went down the driveway at the Harris place as we walked—“
“Past the locked gate, you mean?” He didn’t look happy.
“Yes.” I didn’t figure there was much reason to say more.
“Harvey, you were trespassing.”
I blushed. I hadn’t thought of it like that. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” I seemed to be saying that a lot lately. “I didn’t really think of it out that way.” I told him how we’d been out to see Stephen and Walter’s house and really had just gone for a walk.
“I hear you. I get that it wasn’t that you set out to do that, but still, you did it. Your intentions don’t really matter.”
“Am I in trouble?” I suddenly had images of big fines and being unable to contribute to the mortgage, of losing my store. I had to take deep breaths to keep the panic at bay.
He sighed. “No. Technically, it’s abandoned until Miranda decides what to do with it. So no harm done. But no more, Harvey. Stay away from everything to do with this case.” He practically wagged a finger in my face.
I nodded. “Sheriff, my mom pointed out something while we were there. I just remembered when you said the place was abandoned. She noticed that someone was watering the flowers on the front porch.”
“Hmm. I guess Homer could be doing that, or Miranda, although I’m not sure she has the energy to do much besides grieve and recover just now.”
“Something else, too. I think I heard a car start as we were leaving. I didn’t see a car, but then I didn’t look too hard. Just felt like someone was out there.” I thought about what Mom said about the housing feeling lived in. “Does Homer live there?”
The sheriff looked puzzled. “No. He used to, but Miranda asked that he move once her dad died. He goes out to check on the place each day, I think. Maybe it was him. I’ll ask.”
I nodded. “Cool.” I looked down at my Birkenstocks. “I really am sorry.”
“I know, Harvey.” He met my eyes when I looked up. “You’ve just got to think first. Take a moment. Make better choices.”
I knew he was right. I was really impulsive, and sometimes, that was downright dumb.
He hitched his belt up and said, “If you see this silver truck again, you call me on my cell. No matter what time.” He held up the note in the red-lined bag. “This is a serious threat, Harvey. You know that, right?”
I looked again at the note and shivered. “I do. Thanks, Sheriff.”
He gave Rocky a wave as he left, and I tried to put the threat out of my mind as I enjoyed my favorite day of the week in the bookstore.
Fortunately, we were slammed, and I didn’t have a minute to do much but answer questions, ring up purchases, and tidy shelves until late afternoon. Just this week, Marcus and I had agreed to try and take one weekend day a week off each, so I was covering Sundays, and I would get Saturdays off. But about noon, he came in anyway, saying he just wanted to read. But of course, he couldn’t resist helping out, and for once, I didn’t shoo him away. He was salaried, so I didn’t feel bad for having him work a few hours. But still, I snuck a minute to order him a leather-bound hardcover of American Pastoral, a book that was one of his favorites, as a small thanks for all the extra work he did.
Just around six, I looked out and saw Miranda Harris-Lewis and her daughters in the children’s section reading a book together. I watched casually until she looked over, and then I waved. She smiled and gave a small wave back. I sauntered over, wanting to be casual but also very much eager to hear how she and the girls were.
As soon as the girls saw me, they jumped up and ambushed my legs with hugs. “Harvey, Harvey, you’re here!”
Miranda followed them over. “They were afraid you’d be gone for the day,” she said quietly. “They wanted to thank you.”
“Yes,” one of them said. “Thank you for saving us.”
For a moment, I was very puzzled and a bit alarmed that the girls might have thought I had killed their father. My anxiety must have shown on my face because Miranda said quickly, “For saving them on Wednesday when their dad came home early.”
“Oh,” I said, suddenly feeling both very vulnerable and very humble. “Glad I could help.” I tried to smile, but all of this felt very sad.
“Girls, why don’t you each go pick out a book? I need to talk to Harvey for a second.”
The girls gave each of my thighs another hug and then headed to the picture books.
“Miranda, I don’t really know what to say.” I looked her in the eyes and tried to communicate both my sadness and relief for her.
She put her hand on my arm and said, “It’s okay. I don’t either.” She sank into the chair behind her. “I’m glad it’s over. . . but I’m a widow now, too.”
I sat down in the chair beside her and took a deep breath. This woman was an entirely different one than the woman who was here just a few days ago accusing Marcus of murder. “I can’t imagine,” I said. “Do you all have everything you need? I could arrange a meal train or bring over some frozen dinners.”
She gave me a half-smile “Actually, we’re enjoying the chance to eat out a lot. We weren’t really allowed to do that before.” Her eyes fell to her lap. “He just couldn’t trust me. I don’t know why. He just couldn’t, and when I tried to figure out what had happened that made him that way . . .”
I reached over and took her hand. “Sometimes, I guess, the wounds people carry leave them only able to wound other people. Maybe he’s at peace now.”
She squeezed my fingers. “I hope so. I really do.”
We sat in silence for a few moments, but then, she looked over at the girls and smiled again. “Anyway, I wanted to thank you for that quick thinking about the modeling thing for the girls. That really did save us.” She met my gaze again. “I explained to the girls that this was just a thing to keep Daddy from getting mad, and they understand. We’re just so grateful for your kindness that day.”
“Hold on there. I may have made that up on the spot, but I honor my word. I really do want the girls to model for us, if that’s okay with you.” I’d been thinking about it a lot, about how I wanted to do it for the girls but also how their beautiful faces would really be perfect for our upcoming ad campaign.
“Really?” Her eyes were wide, and she glanced back at her daughters before looking back at me. “Really?”
“Really. I was thinking something with summer reading recommendations. We could have the staff and the girls pick their favorites and do a whole campaign around that. What do you think?”
“I can’t believe it. That would be amazing. Thank you!”
“Good. I’ll get the details pulled together with Mart, my quasi-marketing manager, and get back to you, if that’s okay.” I couldn’t wait to get the photographer with those two cuties, but I knew I needed to ask a question. “This is going to sound so rude, but can you tell me if there’s a trick to telling the girls apart?” I blushed.
“Oh goodness. Thank you for asking. So many people don’t even try. Yes, there is. Daisy has her ears pierced. Maisy doesn’t.”
“Perfect. And really easy, even if Daisy doesn’t have earrings in.”
Miranda nodded. “Yep, just look for the holes.” She looked over at her girls again. “They really are my everything. We have some big changes ahead, but I know life is going to be easier for us now.”
I smiled. “Forgive me if I’m being nosy, but what’s next? I mean, do you have a plan for what you and the girls are going to do? Not that you need a plan? I mean, you could just—“
She interrupted, thank goodness. “We’re going to move back to the farm. Beyond that, I’m not sure. But we need to be in a new place, get away from that house with all those awful memories. I know that much.”
“Your dad’s house is really nice. I bet the girls will love running around there.”
She brightened. “You’ve been there? It is amazing, huh?”
I suddenly felt a little sheepish. A little impulse in me told me to confess and share that I’d been snooping, but I suppressed that guilty voice, not out of guilt but because I didn’t want her to feel responsible for forgiving my bad choices. So I just left the why of how I’d been there out of things for now. “It is amazing.”
“And it’s home, you know. I think we’ll all like it there,” Miranda gazed out the window. “but I may take up the oil derricks, ask the men who bought the mineral rights to find a less intrusive way to get the oil. Not sure. I just don’t like all the noise they make, and they’re pretty ugly, too.” I nodded. “I’m not deciding anything right now though, that’s what Homer suggested.”
“That sounds like good advice to me. No decisions for a while. Just let the status quo ride.” That’s what people had told me when my marriage had fallen apart. I hadn’t heeded that wisdom, and it had turned out great for me. But still, I could see how it might be smarter to not make choices in the midst of a crisis.
Miranda stood and called to the girls, who dutifully put back their books and headed over. “Thanks again, Harvey,” she said as she put a soft hand on each of her daughters’ heads. “Oh, and I forgot. I heard about that truck that’s been harassing you. The sheriff asked me about it when I went to, um, when I stopped by his office earlier. You okay?”
I sighed. “I am. Not thrilled that someone is,” I looked at the girls, “trying to make me nervous, but I’m okay. You didn’t know the truck did you?”
Miranda shook her head. “My dad used to have an old silver pick-up back when I was a kid, but nothing since. Sorry.”
I gave her a quick hug. “No worries. I’m sure the sheriff will get it all sorted.” I walked them to the front door. “I’ll be in touch about the photo session date soon.”
“We’re going to do it? We’re going to be models,” Daisy said as the tiny blue gems sparkled in her ears.
“Are we, Mom?” Maisy shouted.
I knelt down and whispered, “My star models.”
They squealed and began talking excitedly about outfits as they left the store. Miranda threw me a smile over her shoulder, and I felt my soul lift. Things were looking up. Definitely looking up.
Right about closing time, Mom and Dad came back to the shop with their new dog. He was the spitting image of that 1980s canine Benji, and I just wanted to bury my face in his scruffy fur. Mom mentioned, though, that he’d a flea bath earlier that day, so I refrained.
They had named their new friend Sidecar, and my first thought was that Mom had named a dog after her favorite drink. But Dad quickly told me that they’d chosen the name – discarding the temporary nomenclature of “Beau” that the shelter had bestowed on him – because Dad thought Mom would look adorable on a scooter with the dog in her sidecar.
I had about a million questions about the scooter, Mom on it, the wisdom of a sidecar, and how a dog can be coaxed to stay in such a mode of transport, but I didn’t ask any of them because I couldn’t get over how cute the dog was and just wanted to snuggle him.
“He’s two or three,” Mom said, “and in great health. He’s had a full physical and all his shots are up to date. He weighs twenty-three pounds and stands seventeen-and-a-half inches high.” I’m not sure my mom knew how much I weighed or how long I was when I was born, but she was clearly smitten with this pup . . . and I couldn’t blame her.
“I can’t believe you got a dog,” I said as I rubbed this little guy’s belly for the fifth or sixth time. “But he suits you. I’m not sure I could say how, but he feels like a good fit.”
Mom beamed at me. “Oh, good. I’m glad you think so. I think he and Mayhem will be good friends.”
I laughed. “Oh yes, our girl here will love having him visit. Aslan, well, I’m not sure the feline queen of the house will agree, but she’ll survive.”
A look passed between Mom and Dad. “What? What did I say?” I asked.
Dad looked around the store that was almost empty of customers and said, “We have something to ask you, Harvey. It’s kind of a big conversation, though, and we don’t want to keep you from your work.”
I sighed. This couldn’t be good, and my tired, overtaxed mind flashed to the worst possibilities: cancer, a divorce, some terrible news about Dad’s business. “Are you guys okay? Just tell me that much.”
The bell over the door rang, and Daniel and Taco came in. I don’t know what my face telegraphed to Daniel, but he rushed over and asked, “Are you okay?”
“Um, I think so. Well, maybe. I’m not sure.” I looked at my parents again, and their faces were expectant. I couldn’t put this off again. “Can you keep an eye on things for just a minute? My parents have something to tell me.”
“Sure. Absolutely. Take your time.” He headed right to the register, and my parents and I went into the back room for a little privacy.
I was terrified, but I did my best to look excited, just in case my parents needed me to be strong. “So what’s up? You planning on moving to St. Marin’s, too?”
My dad’s mouth fell open. “How did you know?”
“Wait?! What?!” I sat down heavily on a box of books waiting to be unpacked and tried to get my brain to process what I’d just heard. “Are you serious?” I found myself smiling, even though I wasn’t sure what was going on. I felt a little light-headed.
Mom rushed over and hugged me. “So it’s okay with you, then? I mean we wouldn’t bother you or be in your hair or anything.”
I pulled back from Mom’s embrace. “You’re serious? You’re moving here? I’m so confused. What is happening?” I looked around the storeroom as if I might find clarity on the bare sheetrock walls.
Dad cleared his throat. “Harvey, if it’s okay with you, we’d like to move to St. Marin’s. We don’t want to crowd you or make you feel obligated to us in any way. It’s just that, well, we love this town.” He took a long, deep breath. “But even more, we love you, and we realize we haven’t been the most attentive parents to you. We’d like to change that.”
My dad rarely said much of anything that wasn’t a joke or a bit of intense commentary about the state of the world, but here he was saying what I had most wanted to hear my whole life. They were choosing me.
“We’ve focused too long on our stuff, Harvey. We want to spend the last years of our lives close to you, trying to make up for the time we threw away.” My mom’s voice was shaky with emotion, and I could see the plea in her eyes.
I stared at my parents and could not find a single word to say.
Mom and Dad looked at each other and then at me. “But if you don’t want us to come, that is totally fine. We don’t want to intrude or crowd you.” Mom sighed and sat down on a box before patting it to ask me to sit next to her. “We know this is sudden, but when we were here earlier in the week, we both loved the town. It’s a good size for us, and it has all the things we’ve been considering for a place to retire.”
I switched to the box next to her, and she scooted closer and slipped her arm around my waist. “But really, it was you, Harvey. You and your shop, the friends you have here, Daniel. You’ve built an entire live in just a few months, and we were not a part of it.”
I started to protest, to tell them that I had never meant to shut them out, but I stopped because the truth was I had shut them out. I had because it was the only way to deal with them not choosing me. Now, though, they were here and choosing me in the biggest way possible.
Mom continued, “So if this is too much, you just say the word. We’ll go right back to Baltimore—”
“Please come.” My voice was quiet and wobbly, but it was the most heartfelt request I’d made from them in decades. “Please. Please come.”
I had no memory of ever seeing my mother cry. Be upset, yes. But never shed tears, so when I saw a single tear slide down her cheek, I couldn’t hold back and started to weep. Dad sat beside me, and the three of us cried together for a few moments.
Then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit me. “The dog. Sidecar. He’s going to be living here . . . with you . . . in a house . . . here.”
Dad rubbed my neck and stood up. “That’s the plan,” he said as he helped Mom up from the box.
“Wait, does that mean you’re actually going to get a scooter?”
“Sure does. A mint-green Vespa. I’ve always wanted one.” Mom’s voice was light, playful.
“Your business, though, Dad? And Mom, your volunteer work?” My parents weren’t the kind of wealthy elite who attended society gatherings in Baltimore museums or anything, but my dad did have a successful accounting firm and Mom did serve on the board for a local animal welfare organization and coached women about interviews at the YWCA.
“I’ve sold the business, Harvey. Two of the younger partners made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, and your mother,” he smiled at her tenderly, “she can do her good works here.”
Mom pulled me to stand beside them. “That’s right. Plus, I’d like to have some time to help my daughter with her business,” she squeezed my hands firmly, “in whatever ways would be helpful.”
I let out a sigh of relief when she pulled back on her offer a bit. For a second there, I had been picturing a full redesign of my shop in Laura Ashley fabrics. My mother was all florals and pearls. I was not.
“Well, then, I guess you’re all set.” I tried to keep the hurt out of my voice. After all, we’d just had the most special moment of my forty-three years, but the fact that they’d been planning on all this, that Dad had sold his business without telling me, that hurt.
But then, I had kind of kept them in the dark about my plans to move back to the East Coast. Clearly, we had some work to do on openness in our family . . . and with them here, that would be all the easier. I decided to try and let my hurt go.
“Does this mean you’ll be buying a big waterfront house, too? Maybe you can move in next to Stephen and Walter, and I can come over for dinner at your place and then dessert at theirs.” I laughed. “I’ll never have to cook again.”
Mom snickered. “That would work, but we’re not sure yet. We haven’t even put our house in Baltimore on the market yet.” She took my hand again. “We didn’t want to do anything until we’d talked to you.”
I squeezed her fingers. “Thanks, Mom.” I grabbed them both in a clumsy hug before I mentioned that I needed to get back to work.
“Mind if we hang out and walk you home?” Dad said.
“Sure.” I paused as I went to open the storeroom door. “What if we had a big cook-out at our place tonight? Dad, you can be the grill master, and we’ll go simple – sausages and grilled veggies. What do you think?”
“Depends. Do you have any more wine from Mart’s winery?”
“I’ll be sure she brings some home.” I smiled as I left them in my storeroom.
I felt a little stunned and fuzzy-headed after all this news. It was good news, at least I was pretty sure it was, but it was all a lot . . . and after this week . . . I just walked right into Daniel’s chest and let him hug me.
“You okay?” he said into my hair.
“Yes, I’m good, I think. I’ll catch you up in a bit. For now, could you text everybody and ask them to a barbeque at my house? We have lots of things to celebrate.”
He raised an eyebrow, but nodded and got out his phone.
By the time we were closing up the shop, everyone we knew was on the way to our house with side dishes and desserts. Mart was bringing a few bottles of wine, as Mom had requested, and I had enlisted Woody’s help in getting enough sausages and buns for us all. It was time for a party.
Our backyard was simple – a lawn, a small patio, a tall wooden fence hung with Edison bulbs that made it all seem more quaint than just a regular backyard – but when all of the people you love in the world are in a space, it always feels magical. Cate and Lucas came with some sort of shrimp spread and crackers that the fish eaters devoured, and Stephen and Walter, riding high from the acceptance of their offer on that gorgeous house, contributed a cheese plate “from that little fromagerie” over in Annapolis. They said it like I made my way to Annapolis to shop every day, but I was grateful. I’d never met a cheese I didn’t like.
Marcus and Josie brought green salad with the best dressing I’ve ever had – tart and sweet. Josie promised me the recipe. Elle made roasted beets, and for the first time, I didn’t find the vegetable appalling. Luisa brought homemade enchiladas that the sheriff carried in on a ceramic platter the size of my torso, and Rocky and Phoebe came in with chocolate pecan pie for everyone. Daniel grabbed a case of beer at the corner store as we walked home, and with the wine Mart brought in, we had us a good, good party.
I spent most of the night tucked into a chair in the corner of the yard watching. I’d had a lot of people time this week, and it was nice to just observe and sit back. Daniel, always a little reserved in crowds himself, sat beside me, getting me more wine or cheese as I needed it and then dressing a sausage just the way I liked it when Dad declared them ready.
Mom moved through the crowd with a grace I could never muster. She spoke with everyone, and sometimes, I could hear her explaining their decision to move to town. Mart and Cate both gave me surreptitious glances of mock horror when she told them, but I tried to allay their concerns with a hearty thumbs up and a genuine smile.
I watched Rocky and Marcus flirt casually – a hand on her back as he passed, a quick wink when she caught his eye. I wondered if they’d do a mother introduction and thought about facilitating that until I saw that Josie and Phoebe had taken up their own corner and were laughing to beat the band. Looked like things were great.
Stephen and Walter pulled up chairs by Daniel and me after we had all eaten and told us that their offer – just below asking – had been accepted in minutes, and because both they and the sellers were eager to close, they’d be moving in three weeks. “We’re flying out Monday to put our house on the market, but our agent has already had two private offers at full asking. It’s going to be fun to watch a bidding war.” Stephen had a disturbingly gleeful expression as he talked about the delight of getting more money out of everyone, and I was glad to see that Walter was more interested in finding the right people for their gorgeous house. “Money matters, of course,” he said, “but people matter more.” Stephen patted his husband’s knee as if to say, “Sure. Sure,” and I laughed.
About eleven, I could feel the activity of the last few days catching up to me. I kept nodding off in my chair, so I asked Daniel if he wanted to join me and the dogs for a quick walk around the block. He nodded, and I said, “Let me just tell my mom.” I didn’t want her looking for me and worrying.
She gave me an all-too-knowing smile and winked as Daniel opened the back gate, and we slipped onto the street beside our house. “My mom really likes you,” I said as we rounded the corner and headed toward the river.
“I like her, too. Especially now that it seems things are better between you two.” He paused then said, “They are better, right?”
I smiled. “Yes, better. Not perfect. That’s going to take some time. But better. Definitely better.” We walked a few steps, and then I said, “But you handled her, well, her and I, very well. I always need to know you’re on my side, but I also need you to love my mom.”
“I can love people and still know they do crappy things. And I will always, always be on your side. Always.” He bent down and kissed me on the cheek.
I felt tears welling again and decided I needed to lighten the mood. “You met Sidecar, right?”
“You mean the dog that looks freakishly like Benji? Yep, I met him. Does your mother really intend to make that dog ride around with her on a scooter?”
“Yes, I do believe she does. But if that’s happening, you better believe I’m taking advantage of that for some advertising. I’ll get an ad for the shop to put on Sidecar’s, er, sidecar, and offer people five percent off their purchase if they can tell me where they spotted that pair.”
Daniel guffawed. “That is perfect, Harvey, and you know, I think your mother might love that idea.”
“I think she just might.” I whistled. “What in the world is happening?”
Just then, I heard a car engine coming toward us and stepped instinctively away from the road, pulling Mayhem with me. Daniel always walked on the roadside of the sidewalk, a tiny bit of chivalry that made me feel safe. As the car got closer, the lights got brighter, and all the sudden, Daniel shoved hard away from the road with his body, dragging Taco behind him like an anchor.
The silver pick-up missed us by inches.
I sat up on the sidewalk and dug my phone quickly out of my pocket and commanded the operating system to call Sheriff Tucker. We were only on the backside of our block, so he was there in seconds. “That way.” I pointed up the street. “He turned left at the next block.”
The sheriff had his phone out already. “Harriet, tell everyone to be on the look-out for a silver pick-up.” He looked down at Daniel.
“A 73 Chevy C-10 with dual exhaust.”
I looked at Daniel as the sheriff relayed the make and model. “You got all that so quickly?”
He rubbed his left shoulder where he’d slammed into the pavement. “It’s just instinctual. I see a vehicle, and I automatically ID the kind it is. You do the same with books, right? Someone mentions a title, and you immediately think of the author.”
“Yeah, I guess so. But wow, Daniel, thank you.” I helped him off the pavement and checked on the dogs. Mayhem was fine, a little scared but fine. Taco, however, wouldn’t get up. Daniel tugged his leash and nothing. I knelt down beside the Basset, afraid that he might have gotten hit . . . only to see his tail wagging. He’d gotten an extra chance to lie down, and he’d taken it. “Taco, you are ridiculous,” I groaned as I hefted his giant body off the ground.
We all walked back to the house, where everyone was waiting for us after having seen the sheriff sprint out the back gate. I told everyone what had happened and watched all the color fade out of my mom’s face.
“We’re okay, Mom.”
She pulled me to her and then grabbed Daniel with her other arm. “This has to end,” she whispered to me. “Tomorrow, you and I go sleuthing.”
The next morning I woke with a start to find my mother standing over me. That alone was a surprise, but when my eyes finally focused and I saw that she was dressed completely in black with a knit cap on her perfectly styled hair, I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep and pretend this was a dream.
No such luck. Mom was up and ready to “look for clues” as she said, and I had to really restrain myself from saying, “Get a clue, Mom.” Instead, I sat up, forced a smile, and said, “Okay, give me a minute to get dressed.”
My hope was that when I came out in my usual jeans and a blouse, she’d take the hint and adjust her outfit, but no such luck. When it was time for us to go – an hour earlier than usual for our apparent “sleuthing escapade” – she was still dressed like a diamond thief from a 1940s classic film.
I decided I needed to pick my battles, and since I was already breaking my word to the sheriff, Daniel, and Mart in order to get a little mother-daughter bonding time in, I wasn’t sure that my mother’s sleuthing attire was the best use of my energy. I needed to reserve my strength to talk her out of this expedition at all.
Mom wanted to drive, insisting we’d need a getaway car that wasn’t as easily recognizable as my bumper-stickered Subaru. As I climbed into the passenger seat to try and explain why I couldn’t go sleuthing with her, I was trying to find the right words. I gazed out the window down the street to gather my thoughts when the silver pick-up that had been stalking us pulled out from the curb just up my street. They had been watching us.
I shivered, decided to not scare my mom with the news, and convinced myself that Mom was right – this had to stop – all in the time it took Mom to back out of my driveway. This person was determined to terrify me, and I was determined that they would not. Mom and I were going sleuthing.
I pointed up in the direction the truck had just gone and told Mom to head that way. “I have an idea,” I said.
“Ooh, this is so fun,” she squealed as she, quite literally, peeled out in her Volvo station wagon. Despite my brief desire for vigilante justice, I was regretting my decision to go along with this escapade by the time we reached the edge of town. I found myself kind of hoping that Marcus would call in sick so I’d have an excuse to go into the store and, thus, avoid hurting my mom’s feelings and breaking my promise – again – to my friends.. Alas, from his texts about setting up a new front table display for a National Mental Health Awareness month, Marcus seemed to be quite well and managing the store just fine without me.
As we cruised south on 33, Mom asked me again about clues, and I said with a fair amount of exasperation in my voice, “This isn’t the Pink Panther, Mom. We probably aren’t going to find a torn receipt or a misplaced hair to lead us to the killer.”
She rolled her eyes as she punched the gas and left the town limits. “Of course not. When Jessica Fletcher solves a murder, it’s always about a confrontation. We’re going to find out who is stalking you and give them a good talking to.”
I started giggling at the idea of my mother, in her current attire, confronting a potential murderer. She’d lecture them into a confession. I could see it – her finger in front of their face, her precise pronunciation and discussion of morals, her appeal to their human dignity – and the vision absolutely cracked me up. I couldn’t stop laughing, and I doubled over in the passenger seat as my stomach ached.
Mom asked, “What is so funny?” and that set me off even harder. Eventually, I had to roll down the window and gulp in cool air just to get my breath.
“Harvey, really, what is going on? We are trying to figure out who is threatening you, and you are over there cackling like a witch at her cauldron.”
I almost let my mind slide back to a vision of my mother in her black stocking cap with her reading glasses around her neck, but I stopped myself before I got going again. I took a few deep breaths and said, “Mom, we’re not confronting anyone. In fact, I’m not even sure what we’re doing.”
Mom looked at me out of the corner of her eye and then put on her turn signal and pulled off the road. “Well, you pointed this way, so I thought we were coming here again.”
I looked ahead of us to see the gates of the Harris farm. “What?! No. I was just—“ Again, omitting the truth was getting me in trouble. “I told us to go this way because I saw that silver pick-up back at the house, and it headed this direction.”
“What?! That truck was at your house again. The nerve.” She paused and squinted through the driveway. “Good instincts because isn’t that it pulling into that shed thing.”
I peered through the bars on the massive gate, and sure enough, that Chevy C-10 was just sliding into the wagon shed beside the house. “I’ll be—“
“Harvey Beckett, watch your language.” My mother could lie her way out of every parking ticket, weasel a bargain out of an unexpecting sales person, and convince the stodgiest millionaire to donate to the children’s hospital, but she could not tolerate swearing. It was crass and uncultured, in her opinion. In fact, her staunch position on this issue was so engrained in me that I almost never swore simply because I hadn’t practiced enough when I was young. The words always felt forced, performative, when I said them.
“I was going to say, ‘gobsmacked,’ Mom,” I lied. It had felt like an appropriate time for a mild swear, but this was a battle for another day.
“We have to go see who was driving.” Mom was out the door and through the gate before I could even answer.
“Mom,” I whisper-shouted, but it did no good. She was off and slinking her way along a culvert beside the driveway. Blind goats could see her from the other side of the highway in her outfit, but she seemed to be having fun . . . and I figured if we were quiet enough we might just be able to get the license plate off the truck and give it to Sheriff Tucker. I winced as I remembered I’d promised him, just the day before, that I’d text him if I even saw the truck again.
We eased our way along the driveway until we were just a few hundred feet from the shed. “This way,” I hissed and pointed into the field of winter wheat. “We can sneak around the back, just in case whoever it is went in the house or is in one of the other buildings. No windows on this side.” The wheat came up to our waists and was scratchy. The smell reminded me of a box of cereal, and I suddenly realized I hadn’t eaten breakfast. I was seriously craving Honey Nut Cheerios.
Mom dropped to her hands and knees, and I stopped to watch her crawl through the field. I had never in my life seen my mother crawl, not even to pick up toys or rescue something from under the sofa. So this was a sight, and I had to resist the urge to take a picture for blackmail purposes later.
I was not about to crawl, so I just bent at the waist to keep low, and we made our way around the small garage-sized building to the far side. There, we plastered ourselves against the back wall and took a breath.
“I’m going to go in. You stay here,” I said directly in my mother’s ear.
She swatted me away. “No way. We do this together.” She had this glint in her eye that made me think she might say something about a mother-daughter duo, so I got moving.
I peered in the window around the far side of the barn and saw the truck inside. I couldn’t make out the license plate, so I crept to the front of the building and made sure no one was nearby.
I didn’t see anyone, so I waved Mom around, and we slid open the old, swinging door and slipped inside. The windows were really grimy, so all the light was a little dim. But I got down close and copied down the license plate number from the antique tag. Mom snapped a photo, too, which, I had to admit, was a pretty smart idea, and texted it to Dad with a note that said, “I’ll explain later. Just keep this handy.”
We slid back out the front door and around to the side closest to the road. The jog across the small strip of lawn to the wheat field was easy, and I was feeling pretty confident when we got back into the wheat. I thought it was probably our best bet to stay partially under cover, even though Mom’s black outfit probably made it look like a small bear was in the wheat field. I’m not sure my red poppy blouse was much better. But at least we weren’t out in the wide open.
About halfway back to the road, I thought I heard an engine and assumed it was a tractor trailer going back out on 33. We kept walking, but soon it became clear that the sound was getting louder and much, much closer. A few more feet, and we saw it – a huge tractor coming our way through the field.
At first, I thought that they must have just been planning to get up the wheat today. I didn’t know much about farming, but I remembered what Dad had said about this field being ready to harvest so it made sense that a tractor would be in the field . . . until I realized the machine was cutting right through the middle of the wheat, and even I knew that made no sense. Someone harvesting would be moving through the field systematically. This tractor was aiming right for us.
Mom looked at me, and I saw not the slightest flicker of fear. Instead, board chair Sharon came to life and took my hand. “Run!” she said, and we took off as fast as we could. For a brief moment, I felt like I was in one of those horror movies where the unidentified thing is chasing the helpless victims through a field and was grateful at least I knew it was a tractor. But then, it hit me that it was gaining on us.
Mom tugged my arm hard, leading us to the driveway. I picked up speed, and she did, too, and just before the combine’s blades reached our legs, we hit the driveway and broke into a dead sprint for the gate, about twenty feet away. We would have reached it, too, if I hadn’t made the classic chase-scene mistake. I looked back, and when I did, I tripped. Mom came back to help me up, and the last thing I saw was a pair of work boots jump out of the tractor cab.