Chapter Thirteen

By the time Kate returned from Pine Ridge late that afternoon, dusk had settled over Copper Mill and was rapidly turning to darkness. Her frustration over the numerous dead ends she’d encountered during the past week, compounded by the dreary weather, had dampened her usually sunny spirits. When she saw Paul’s pickup truck parked in the garage, she sighed with relief. She was more than ready for some husbandly TLC.

“Honey? I’m home.” The increasingly familiar odor of frying beef and onions, mingled with the richer scent of chili powder, assailed her nostrils. Kate’s shoulders sank. Not again.

The kitchen was an even greater disaster area than it had been the last time Paul attempted to recreate his mother’s chili recipe.

“Hi, Kate. Do we have any cumin?” He barely glanced at her over his shoulder.

“It should be there on the spice rack.”

Paul had the stove so covered up that she wouldn’t even be able to put the kettle on for a cup of tea.

“Can you look? I’ve kind of got my hands full here.”

The electric can opener had broken the week before, so Kate had been relying on an old-fashioned hand-cranked one instead. Paul was twisting away at the device. Kate counted seven or eight already-opened cans lined up on the counter next to the stove.

“Sure.” She stepped around him to reach for the jar he’d requested. “Here it is.” She pulled the small container from the rack. “Is that your missing ingredient?”

Paul’s face darkened. “May I just have the cumin, please?”

Exhausted and stung by his snappy response, Kate bit back a sharp retort. “Here.” She brushed past him, headed for the door.

“Kate. Wait.”

But she couldn’t. She’d come home needing some comfort and coddling. Getting crosswise with Paul over the chili hadn’t been on her agenda.

Before she could leave the kitchen, the phone rang. They both reached for it, but Kate snagged the receiver first.

“Hello?” She really didn’t want to speak with anyone, but right now she’d rather talk to anyone besides Paul.

“I told you to mind your own beeswax,” the voice rasped. “Quit nosing around.”

“Who is this?” Kate had lost all patience with the kind of coward who would call a woman and threaten her like this. “How did you get this number?”

“If you keep this up, Mavis Bixby will get hurt.”

Static crackled across the line, making it difficult for Kate to hear. Beside her, Paul frowned and tried to take the receiver from her. She pulled back and turned away so that he couldn’t reach it.

“Who is this?” Kate asked again. “Tell me right now.”

“Remember . . . I warned you. Leave it alone.” With a click, the line went dead.

“Kate? Who was that?” Paul’s face was as lined with frustration as the angry, dark-haired young man’s face in the photograph had been lined with hatred.

She wondered if that wasn’t exactly who she’d just been talking to on the phone. How had he known of her visit to the courthouse, though? There must be someone there helping him. But who? She could hardly picture Mrs.Sedberry as the man’s coconspirator.

“A prank call.”

“It sounded more serious than that,” Paul said doubtfully.

Kate couldn’t quite look him in the eye. “Really, it’s nothing.”

“You’re sure?”

For a moment the tension between them flagged, and Kate was tempted to spill the whole story. But she knew what the result would be. Paul would tell her not to pursue the mystery of Mavis Bixby anymore, and she wouldn’t be able to agree with him.

“It’s nothing. I’ve already forgotten about it.”

She decided to change the subject. “Andrew called earlier. My Web site is up and running. People can order pieces directly from the site.”

“That’s great,” Paul said, forcing a smile

Paul’s eyes held hers for a long moment, though, and Kate had to make an effort not to squirm under his scrutiny. “You seemed upset when you came in.”

“Look, your chili’s boiling over.” A hiss from the stove behind him confirmed her statement.

“Rats.” Paul spun around and grabbed for a wooden spoon to stir the pot. “I set it too high.” He twisted the knob on the stove. “I know you said we didn’t have any more room in the freezer, but I needed to make another practice batch. It’s still not right.”

“I can take some to the fellows outside the Mercantile tomorrow. And maybe some to the Wilson brothers. Bachelors are always happy to have some home cooking.”

Paul frowned. “I don’t know if I’d go so far as to give it that compliment. It’s better than canned, I suppose.” He slipped off his glasses and used the tail of his shirt, which was normally tucked neatly in the waistband of his slacks, to clean the lenses.

“I’m sure it’s great.” Kate wished she could put a little more enthusiasm into her words. “Did you pick up any more plastic containers?”

Paul’s blank look told her the answer to that question.

“I’ll run into town and get some.”

“You don’t need to do that. It’s getting dark. I can go.”

“No, I don’t mind. Really.”

When had she developed this habit of not being forthright with Paul? She’d thought that moving to a small town, starting again with a small church, would make communication much easier. But in some ways, their isolation had just the opposite effect. She was finding it harder to talk to him than she had during some of their most difficult years of marriage. None of it made sense. Not his obsession with the chili cook-off. Not Mavis Bixby. And certainly not this newfound tension in their relationship.

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong? Did you find out what you needed to know at the courthouse?”

Kate flushed. Before she’d left, she’d said something vague about genealogical research on his side of the family. Of course, she hadn’t outright lied to him. No, she’d simply allowed him to hang on to his incorrect assumptions.

“The information was incomplete.”

“You’re sure you don’t mind picking up the extra containers?”

Kate could think of a million things she’d rather do than put her coat back on and drive back out into the darkening evening, but she didn’t tell her husband that. “It’s fine. Maybe I’ll stop at the gift shop before it closes and drop off my portfolio.”

“That might cheer you up.” He strained for a smile, and Kate knew he was feeling their unusual estrangement as much as she was. But something kept her from broaching the subject directly.

“Maybe it will help.” She leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“I’ll try to have the kitchen cleaned up so you can cook dinner.”

Kate bit back a sigh. Once, he would have noticed her emotional turmoil and suggested dinner out. Not today, though.

“How does meatloaf sound?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I’ve seen enough ground beef to last me a lifetime.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll pick something else up at the Mercantile. Sam keeps saying he’s going to give me a Frequent Shopper card.”

“Thanks, honey.”

Kate retraced her steps toward the garage, donning her coat and scooping up her car keys once again. This time, though, as she pulled out of the driveway, her eyes darted around the yard. If the angry caller knew her phone number, he more than likely knew her address.

She didn’t feel like she was in any immediate danger, but she didn’t care for even the remote possibility. She was always warning her younger daughter, Rebecca, to be careful on the streets of New York City, where she lived. She’d shared all the tips she’d learned in self-defense class with Rebecca. Kate had never dreamed that she might need to put any of that information to use in Copper Mill.

“HELLO, KATE.” Sam Gorman looked up from what he was doing and laid down the pencil he’d been using to scribble on a piece of paper. “It’s always good to see you.”

“You too, Sam. How’s business today?”

“About the same as when you were in here yesterday.” He chuckled. “Corn pads for Mrs.Johnson. A side of beef for Bob Hendrix’s family of ten.” He laughed. “If Peggy Hendrix is carrying twins this time, they’re going to have to start ordering the whole cow.”

Kate was glad to smile and forget about Mavis Bixby and the tension between her and Paul. “Now I know what I should do with all this extra chili we’ve got. Take a big pot by the Hendrix house.”

Sam’s smile slipped away, and his expression sobered. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Bob hasn’t been getting enough hours at the plant, and I think they’re stretched pretty tight.”

“We need a secret stash,” Kate said. “Somewhere to put all the extra food folks make so we could pull out pots of chili and big casseroles when someone really needs it.”

Sam’s gaze did a quick loop around the crowded Mercantile. “I wish I had room in my freezer here, but what with trying to stock a little of everything that anyone could possibly need . . .”

“Doesn’t leave much space for a communal stash.” Kate nodded. “I understand.” And while she did understand that Sam didn’t have room for any extras, the idea of a place to keep some reserves for folks in need was too intriguing to relinquish immediately.

“I did have a stranger in here today,” Sam said with a wink. “Those geezers on the front porch tried to give him the third degree, but he was pretty good at not giving anything away.”

“He wasn’t a tourist who wandered off the beaten path?”

Copper Mill had begun to see more out-of-town visitors with the opening of the Hamilton Springs Hotel next to the church. The bed-and-breakfast crowd had begun to discover the hotel’s hospitality as well as the charms of the small town.

“Didn’t seem too interested in local color or history.”

“Maybe he’s in town visiting someone. Maybe he has family here.”

“Told the fellows that he didn’t. Played it pretty close to the vest.”

Sam was teasing her. Kate knew that by the twinkle in his eye. He was playing on her newfound reputation for getting tangled up in mysteries. Little did he know that his teasing was causing her stomach to twist with uneasiness.

“It wasn’t anyone you’d seen before?” She kept her question casual, not looking Sam directly in the eye as she asked.

“No. Clean-cut-looking fellow. Tall. Dark-haired. Carried himself well, like he was used to being in charge.”

Kate knew she couldn’t keep reacting like a deer caught in the headlights every time a stranger passed through Copper Mill. Not every unknown person who passed through the door of the Mercantile had some connection to Mavis Bixby.

“What did he buy?” Kate knew she was stooping to gossip, the Mercantile version of a beauty shop tale, but she couldn’t help it. And it was for a good cause.

“Nothing much. A few snacks. Some bottled water.”

“Oh.” Kate didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved at the mundane purchases. At least this stranger hadn’t been purchasing a knife like the last one had.

“What did you need tonight?” Sam stepped from behind the counter. “Didn’t mean to keep you here gossiping like an old woman.” He stopped, frowned, and then laughed. “I meant that I was the old woman. Not you.”

“Thanks a lot, Sam. I appreciate that.” She chuckled. “I need some chicken. And those small disposable containers for Paul’s extra chili.”

“You’d be surprised how many other wives have been in this week wanting those containers. Let’s see if I have any left.”

By the time Kate said good-bye to Sam, darkness had fully covered Copper Mill. The clock tower in the town square was about to ring out six o’clock. Kate shivered at the chill of the spring evening, clutched her purse and grocery bag close to her body, and made her way to her car. Maybe by the time the warm summer evenings came, she’d know what had happened to Mavis Bixby.

KATE DASHED across the street to the door of the gift shop where she saw Steve Smith standing outside on the sidewalk, locking up for the night. She’d stashed her purchases from the Mercantile in her car and grabbed her three-ring binder from the passenger seat. Thank heavens for digital cameras, she thought as she clutched the portfolio to her chest.

Steve must have heard her footsteps behind him. He turned and looked over his shoulder. “Evening, Kate.” He pocketed his keys. “Always good to see you.”

“You too, Steve.” She paused, suddenly nervous.

Her stained glass had always been a private hobby, one that brought her much pleasure and the admiration of friends and family. But asking Steve to look at the portfolio, well, that was another matter entirely. She was competing with professional artists now, and Kate wasn’t certain how her work would be received.

“Did you need to pick up something?” Steve asked, his friendly eyes curious. “I can open the store back up if you need something.”

“Oh no. I don’t need to buy anything. I just wanted to bring you this.” She held the portfolio out to him.

“Your stained glass? Terrific.” He took the notebook. “I’ll take it home and look it over.”

Kate knew he couldn’t look at it right there on the sidewalk of the town square—and in the dark to boot—but part of her was disappointed. And worried. She’d rather know immediately, one way or another, whether he had any interest in carrying her pieces in his shop.

“Okay. Sure. My son built me a Web site where you can see more if you want. The site address is in the binder.” She attempted to smile. “Thanks again for considering me.”

“I’ll call you when I’ve had a chance to decide.”

Steve must have been used to dealing with nervous artists, because he patted her shoulder. “I’m sure they’re terrific.”

“Thanks.” Kate took one reluctant step back and then another. “Just let me know.”

And then she turned and hustled to her car, wishing she didn’t care so much about someone else’s opinion but knowing that there wasn’t much she could do to change her feelings.