I decided to just keep my mouth shut while we were at Serena's. Let Viv get all kinds of encouraged. I would keep my mouth shut and my aura to myself.
“Look at you!” Serena said as soon as we came through the door.
I checked behind me, then sighed when I saw that, yep, she was talking to me.
“You opened the floodgates.”
This was too much. I jabbed a finger. “Yes, and it's your fault!”
She just kept up that annoying serene smile.
“Okay, it wasn't your fault, but it was a—a very bad idea!” I finally said. “I told you it was a bad idea, and it was.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Nothing is either good or bad. It simply is what it is.”
Remember how you were going to keep your mouth shut? I asked myself. I held my hand up like a traffic cop. “Stop.” I pointed to Viv. “Peddle it to her. Leave me out of it.”
She and Viv went off on an oohhing and aaahhing spree over chunks of crystal and CDs of whale noises. I stood by the window until I saw G-Ma going into one of the new shops—the coffee shop. I could use some coffee. More than I could use Serena making me feel lousy about my aura.
This turned out to be a very wise choice indeed, because the barista was trying out a new Chilean hot chocolate recipe. I figured since I'd passed up on cheesy tator tots, I had some virtue points in the bank.
The barista poured a mug for each of us, then dropped a nice dollop of whipped cream on top.
I sipped. Then I gasped.
“It's fantastic, isn't it?” G-Ma said as she sipped.
“This must be what heaven tastes like.” I took another sip. The chocolate was rich and creamy, and the chili powder gave it a kick.
“Your mother is driving me batty,” G-Ma announced. “I'll be glad when this wedding is over.”
I made a non-committal noise in my throat. I didn't want to think about my mother. Thinking about her made me think about Susan and her disgusting son and my fight with Tony. Serena could probably see the change in my aura from here.
“You're harshing my mellow,” I said. “Let's talk about something else.”
“Like what you two are doing at Serena's?” G-Ma asked, pointing toward the blue swirl on Serena's window. She had a whipped cream mustache.
I pulled a napkin from the dispenser on the counter and wiped her upper lip. “We're looking into this thing with Peter Browning.”
“I heard it was suicide,” G-Ma announced, as if that put an end to it. “He was wrestling with demons, you know.”
“Yes, I have heard that,” I said. “But nobody seems to know what kind of demons those were.”
“Serena will know.”
“Serena didn't know. All she would say is that he was wrestling with demons and that my aura is the wrong color.”
“There's no such thing as right or wrong, Salem. It simply is what it is.”
“Are you friggin' kidding me? You, too?”
She laughed. “No. That's hogwash. Take this hot chocolate, for instance. It's good. But still, Serena is very insightful. She told me the universe was telling me I had a gift for seeing the potential in every human and helping guide them into the fullness of their being.”
I sipped my hot chocolate and thought about that. I didn't want to sound negative, what with G-Ma finally being happy and all, but I could honestly say that was not a quality I had noticed in her before.
But I nodded like I was not dismissing the concept out of hand. Then, on the off chance this was true, I turned to her and said, “That is excellent news because I have been wondering what my gift is. Tell me.”
G-Ma frowned. “What do you mean, your gift?”
“Paul says everyone has gifts and they all work together. We're all part of the body, you know.”
“Paul who? Is he that Hispanic guy that lives next to you?”
“No, G-Ma, the Apostle Paul. From the Bible.”
“Oh. Him.” She pulled a slight grimace and sipped her chocolate.
G-Ma wasn't heavily into the Bible, but I had a feeling that, even if she was, she still would have grimaced at the mention of Paul. I was heavily into the Bible, and he and I didn't always get along.
“So, what's my potential?”
She studied me. “Well, of course, you must be good at what you do. You know, with the dogs and stuff.”
I nodded. Then I waited. “And?”
“Oh, you wanted more?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, you're a successful business owner here, and you always have been. But that's not the same as guiding someone into the fullness of their being, is it? That's more than just a job you're competent at. That's a gift.”
She smiled smugly. “It is, isn't it?”
“So, guide me! I want to be in the fullness of my being.”
She got a decidedly panicked look in her eye and took a gulp of her hot chocolate. “Ouch. Gosh. That is hot. Maybe I should warn her not to make it so hot, do you think?”
“You're stalling. Come on. It doesn't have to be anything huge. Just, you know, what have you noticed that I'm good at?” I tried to remember the different things I'd read about. “There's stuff like discernment, speaking wisdom, speaking in tongues and prophesying. I think encouragement is in there...”
“Oh, you can be very encouraging. And you're good at finding bad guys.”
I nodded, but a sense of despair began to overtake me. G-Ma knew me probably better than anyone. She'd known me the longest, and even though she wasn't my mother, she had played a huge role in my upbringing and had certainly paid more attention while she was doing it than Mom had.
I tried to latch onto the “you can be very encouraging” bit. I mean, that was good, right? That was important. I could grow that.
I must have had a sour look on my face, though, because the panic on G-Ma's face turned somewhat desperate, and she stood. “Look, there's Serena. She'll know!”
Serena and Viv had walked out onto the sidewalk, chatting happily away like two people who were wallowing around in the fullness of their own being. “No, G-Ma, it’s okay. You don't—”
But it was too late. G-Ma was out the door and headed for them.
I sighed and stood. God, I prayed. Now would be a really good time to hear from you.
“Salem wants to know what her gift is,” G-Ma announced as she approached them.
“That is certainly important,” Serena said.
“That's what I told her.” G-Ma smiled and nodded at me.
I waited, looking back and forth between the two of them. Then, again, “Is that it?”
“It's important to know what your gifts are—what your identity is. Your identity informs every relationship you have, every decision you make.”
“I know,” I said, trying not to grit my teeth. “Jacob was called heel-grabber and look how he turned out.”
“Exactly,” Serena nodded. “He is one of the major patriarchs of the Old Testament.”
I shook my head. “How is that—never mind. I just want to know what my gift is. Like, you told G-Ma that she helped people recognize their potential and all that.”
Viv snorted. G-Ma glared at her.
Serena nodded and narrowed her eyes, staring at me. I held still, praying for her to say something good.
“What are you afraid of?” she finally asked.
I blinked. “What? Like...snakes?”
“No. I mean, what is your worst fear?”
“That I'll start drinking again.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Very good. Very good.”
“Is it?”
“She's afraid of Imogene Walker,” Viv chimed in. “And she is very afraid of snakes, I agree.”
“Who is Imogene Walker?” Serena asked.
I shook my head. “This is running off the rails. Imogene Walker has nothing to do with me.”
“Not true. We're all connected, Salem.”
“All connected,” G-Ma piped up. “Like waves in the ocean.”
I sighed.
“Why are you afraid of Imogene Walker?” Serena asked.
“Because she's scary,” I said. “And this is telling me nothing about my gift. Why is it very good that I'm afraid I'll start drinking again?”
“Well, if drinking turns out badly for you, it's a good thing to be afraid of. Hopefully that fear will help you steer clear.”
“Oh,” I said. This was so sensible that it bordered on disappointing.
“Look, I don't know your gifts except that you seem to be a strikingly honest person. Honest with others, but most importantly, honest with yourself. That last one might not be what you're looking for, but believe me, it's a frightfully rare gift.”
I blinked. I said again, “Oh.” It wasn't what I was looking for, but somehow it still made me feel a slight twinge of...hope, was it? “Why did you ask what I'm afraid of?”
“Because our greatest rewards lie on the other side of our deepest fears. Not just for you—for all of us. And what greater reward could there be than knowing your true identity?” She leaned in and looked deep into my eyes. “Don't be afraid to fight for what you need, Salem. If you have to wrestle all night, do it. It'll be worth it.”
––––––––
I lay awake for a solid hour, back in my bed in Trailertopia.
Our greatest rewards lie on the other side of our deepest fears.
I sat up and punched my pillow in frustration, then flopped onto my other side.
Stump opened one eye, glared at me, then burrowed her nose back under the covers.
Basically, I decided, Serena was full of bull poop. She was nothing but a sham built on pretty rocks, weird moaning music, and Internet positivity slogans.
How could my greatest reward lie on the other side of my fear of drinking again? That didn't even make sense. If it did, that would mean I needed to start drinking again to find my reward. As much as part of me kind of wanted that to be true, I knew it wasn't.
I began to drift to sleep, satisfied that Serena was not something I needed to waste further mental energy on.
You did ask for a word.
I bolted awake. Was that God?
I listened intently but didn't hear anything else. Of course, I hadn't heard that. That had just been a thought that popped up in that in-between netherworld between wake and sleep.
I lay back down and took a deep breath. If that saying were truly from God, it would be in the Bible somewhere, and I was almost positive it wasn't. If it was, it would be printed on t-shirts and bumper stickers with the verse attributed. It was a positivity saying, basically devoid of any power, and that was it.
“Don't be afraid” is in the Bible more times than anything else. Gotta be some reason for that.
“Dadgummit!” I said out loud, sitting up and turning on the light.
I stared at my ceiling. “What? Are you talking to me or not?”
Silence. Of course.
Stump grumbled and burrowed deeper, getting away from the lamp light. I scooted down next to her and curled around her, getting comfortable once more. My eyes got heavy and I felt myself drifting off again.
Maybe drinking again isn't really your deepest fear.
“No!” I said. Kind of shouted, actually. “Right now my deepest fear is I'll never sleep again.”
Silence.
But I was awake now—it’s kind of hard to fall asleep when you're furious.
I sighed and picked up my phone, searching for the phrase Serena had told me that evening. Sure enough, it showed up in all kinds of beautiful Instagram-ready posts, in front of sunset beaches, in flourishing fonts imposed over snow-capped mountains, in stark black font on plain white backgrounds. Not a single one had a verse attached.
“Not from the Bible,” I said to the ceiling. “And now I'm awake and can't go back to sleep.”
With a sigh, I sat up and decided to go back through the videos Trisha had given us. Maybe I had missed something. I lay in bed and scrolled through my phone, but I didn't see anything I hadn't seen before.
I remembered that kid at the coffee shop who showed us how to reach the surveillance video history online. Maybe I could check some cameras around the TV station the night Browning disappeared. That could lead to something.
I typed in different addresses and dates, first on and around the days right before the disappearance, then further back.
I didn't see anyone I didn't recognize as working there, even if I didn't know all of them. But I supposed I could ask Trisha to take a look. Maybe she would notice something I didn't.
I checked the neighborhood around Browning's house, but I couldn't get much besides still photos, and there was no way of knowing how old those were.
For fun, I typed in the address for Trailertopia, but that only showed the entrance to the park, not down by my trailer.
I typed in Tony's address. The nearest camera was half a block down, but I could see his driveway and front porch.
I remembered the tortilla-making fiasco and thought about the date – two days after the Veterans Day service, so November 13. I typed in 13-11 and the year, but got an error message. I stared at the screen, annoyed, then realized I'd entered it backwards. There was no thirteenth month, of course. I'd entered it the way the British would with the date first. I'd have to let Viv know that her British invasion was working on me, too.
I corrected the dates and entered them, sliding the time line close to six o'clock. I watched as Tony's car pulled into the drive and he walked up the sidewalk.
My heart squeezed in my chest. I wanted to reach into the phone and latch onto him.
A second later, I watched him stand back out of the way as I came barreling through with a pan full of fire. Like a freak, I danced around on the sidewalk, looking for a place to set the pan.
Sitting in the safety of my bed, I actually felt my heart start to race and I worried for a second if I would actually do what I'd been afraid of last time—that I would set the entire neighborhood on fire.
Then, of course, it got through to my sleep-deprived brain that there was no this time and last time. It was all just one time.
I put the phone down, turned off the lamp, and slid down into bed beside Stump.
“No more mysterious revelations tonight, okay?” I told God. “Clearly, I need some sleep.”
––––––––
Around lunchtime the next day, Viv called me. “Well, you heard the woman. Our greatest rewards lie on the other side of our deepest fears.”
“Yeah?” Oh no. What did this mean?
“So I went to Goodwill. Got me a Miss Marple outfit.” She sounded thoroughly disgusted and resigned.
I, however, was relieved. I had thought for an insane moment that she was talking about my fears.
“How does it look?”
“I don't even want to talk about it. This had better work.”
“What's the plan?”
“Just...be here by 3:00.”
Stump and I did as we were told, but I thought I was going to have to drag Viv out of her room.
“I might change my mind,” she called through the locked bedroom door.
I set Stump down to sniff around Viv's kitchen for crumbs. “Let's just look. It might not be that bad.”
“Oh, it's that bad all right. It's worse.”
“Let's just see.”
After a second, I heard the lock turn. “If you laugh, I will shoot you,” she promised. “I mean it.”
“Of course, I won't laugh,” I said.
I didn't laugh. It took everything I had not to gasp, though.
She wore a white blouse with a lace collar, buttoned to the throat, and a maroon cardigan over it. A blue skirt with tiny white flowers hung to just above her feet—clad in the most sensible shoes I'd ever seen—and what showed of her calves was covered by baggy tan stockings.
Her silver hair—her one normal concession to her age—was covered in a burgundy cloche hat, with a sprig of holly attached at the band.
Stump took one look at her and growled.
I waved a hand toward Stump to shush her. “Viv! You look amazing!”
“Amazingly awful?” She frowned and turned to study her reflection in the hall mirror.
“No, amazingly...sweet.”
“Matronly.”
“Comforting.”
“Like an old sock.” She sighed and checked her butt, which was hidden under the voluminous folds of skirt. “This shows absolutely none of my pizazz.”
“That is not true. Look at the twinkle in your eye. The spring in your step.”
She trudged a short pace before me. “There is no such thing as spring in these things. I swear I feel like my heels are dragging the ground in these.”
Viv always wore, at minimum, a two-inch heel.
She took a few more steps, watching her feet glumly. “I don't know how you people walk in these things.” She sighed and turned back to the mirror. “Nope. I can't do it. I can't let him see me like this.” She reached to pull the pin from her hat.
“You know who you kind of look like? Anne.”
At the sudden flare of her nostrils, I said, “I mean, like Anne's younger sister. Or daughter.”
She cocked her head.
“I'm just saying, if Nigel is into the demure type—”
“Demure, but with hidden treasures only he can see.”
“Right, hidden treasures only he can see—then you've nailed it. One hundred percent.” I stood behind her in the mirror. “See, it's all about the hidden mystery, right? The enticing temptress under the angel facade.”
She studied her reflection some more. “Enticing,” she said. She tucked her chin and gave herself come hither eyes.
“Exactly.”
She took a deep breath, then sighed and picked up a big tapestry bag with two knitting needles sticking out of it. “Okay, fine. It's worth a shot. Nigel and Anne play miniature golf out on the east side of the campus. Let's just take a walk out there and run this up the flagpole. See if he has anything left to salute.”
We made for the door before she froze and said, “Wait!” She fished through the bag—which had no yarn for knitting, I noticed—and found a lipstick. “There's no sense in going completely mad.” She applied the lipstick, made a duck face in the mirror, and then slipped the lipstick into her cardigan pocket. She checked her watch. “Crikey! Okay, let's move. I want to be in place before they come by.”
I tagged along after her. “So, what are we doing now, anyway? Are we impressing him with your miniature golf skills?”
Viv looked at me like I was an idiot. “No. They have to pass the Baucum Local Hero memorial thingamajig, so we're going to be standing there, pensively studying the names when they walk by. Then I'm going to work in a little factoid I learned last night while I was doing research for this getup.”
I raised an eyebrow as the elevator dinged. “What factoid?”
“One of the honorees after Baucum was a WASP pilot! Can you believe that?”
I shook my head. “I have no idea how shocked I'm supposed to be at this. What's a WASP pilot?”
“Women's Airforce Service Pilots. They flew the planes to the service men during World War II. One of them moved here after the war and became a Baucum Local Hero.” Viv clapped her hands together. “What a stroke of luck for me! Now I can impress Nigel with my patriotic knowledge. England had their own branch called the WAAFs. Don't tell him I said this, but this is one time when the American word is better than the British word.”
“My lips are sealed,” I promised. “Is that what she got the award for, being a WASP?”
“No, it was...” She flapped a hand. “Teaching poor kids to read, or feeding homeless people. Cleaning up a park, maybe. One of those selfless things.”
“Those are all kind of different selfless things,” I pointed out.
The elevator stopped, and the door slid open. Viv strolled out. “Well, I read a bunch of profiles last night and they all kind of ran together after a while.” She checked her lipstick and the sprig of holly on her hat as we walked by the big mirror near the back door. She hitched up her skirt and adjusted the lace collar.
I was glad to get the chance to see the Memorial up close. I had seen it from the parking lot—which is to say not very well—and it looked charming. A low stone wall surrounded a brick courtyard with a small fountain in the center. Benches sat along the edge of the circle, and baskets of flowers hung around the outside of the circle. “It's so cute. I thought it was just, you know, a place to sit.”
We entered the circle, and I saw that some of the brick pavers had names on them. “These are the heroes?” I asked.
“Indeed, they are. Okay, help me look for...hang on.” She dug in her cardigan pocket and drew out a slip of paper. “JoAnn Pepper.” She held the paper up. “JoAnn Pepper. Sounds like someone who would be a WASP, doesn't she?”
I walked slowly around the circle, reading the names. “What year was it?”
Viv didn't answer. I looked up. Dang it. She was too busy looking for Nigel to pay attention to what we were doing.
Anne and Nigel came around the corner, her hand on his arm. He held their little miniature golf clubs in his other hand.
“Would you look at that!” Viv muttered. “She's dressed like a blasted teenager.”
Anne wore jeans and tennis shoes with a blue and white striped zip-up hoodie. She looked adorable.
“You look great,” I said under my breath. “Give him an enticing look.”
Anne beamed when she saw us. “Viola! Don't you look lovely this afternoon.”
“Viola?” Viv said. She scowled at Anne's hand on Nigel's arm, then forced a laugh. “You silly old nutter, you.”
Anne laughed and shook her head. “I know, I'm terrible with names. What are you two up to?”
“We're actually out looking for one of the Local Heroes I read about last night. A fascinating individual named JoAnn Pepper. She was—”
Anne gave a little gasp and clapped her hands together. “Oh, I knew JoAnn! She was a WASP!”
The smile slid from Viv's face. “Yes. She was.”
Anne put her hand back on Nigel's arm. “Did I tell you about JoAnn Pepper? We were in a Bible study together years ago. She was the most amazing woman I ever met.” She tilted her head back as if remembering, a wide smile on her face. “She drove the most beautiful powder blue Thunderbird convertible. She called it Piston-Packin' Mama! Her nickname when she was a WASP was Pistol-Packin' Mama, so...” She laughed again, clearly transported back in time.
“Right.” Viv said.
“I remember when she won the Baucum Local Hero award. No one more deserving, if you ask me.”
Viv frowned and chewed her lip. “Right, it was...teaching kids to read?”
“Not just read! She started an entire Saturday morning program for kids, so they could come get a hot meal, play games, read books. She said she talked to a friend of her son's one Monday morning and realized he hadn't had a thing to eat all weekend. The only meals he got were at school. So she started a Saturday morning program where the kids could come to the community center, get a muffin and a banana for breakfast, a hot lunch, and a sandwich sack lunch to take home for the next day. I'll bet she had every person in this town volunteering for something in that program at one time or another. Making sandwiches or calling bingo or washing apples or something. Everybody was in on it.”
“Yes, well...” Viv didn't appear to know what to say to that. “That does sound like an awful lot of carbs, but...”
I gave her a look.
“But, yes, a very impressive accomplishment.” She tugged at the lace collar around her neck.
“Highly commendable,” I said.
Viv gave me a look.
“But you should see Viv do yoga,” I said. “Like nobody's business.”
Nigel blinked. Anne's smile faltered a bit. No one seemed to know what to say to that.
“Nobody's,” Viv confirmed.
I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to smile at the couple walking toward us. I didn't recognize the old woman in the velour track suit, but—and I realized this with a gasp of dread—I certainly recognized the guy with her.
“Viv!” I hissed. “Look!”
It was the construction company guy, the one who had almost run over Viv after the Veterans Day ceremony. The one we'd made complete fools of ourselves in front of later that same day.
He recognized us, too—I could tell by the way he stopped dead in his tracks the moment he saw my face. The woman with him kept shuffling along toward the stone circle, though, and he had little choice but to continue toward us. He passed a wary look from me to Viv. He probably expected to get another bizarre third-degree interrogation right here.
I tried to give him a reassuring smile, but the truth was, I couldn't make any promises where Viv was concerned. I wanted to hightail it out of there, but Viv seemed locked into her plan to impress Nigel, come heck or high water.
“But unlike the rest of these people, JoAnn Pepper wasn't just a local hero,” Viv said, stepping closer to Nigel. “She was a war hero, too. Like you.” She batted her eyelashes.
Poor Nigel. He just gave a noncommittal smile and nodded.
“Indeed!” Anne said, not the least concerned that Viv was one step removed from a cat rubbing up against a man's leg with a soft purr. “JoAnn came all the way from Sioux Falls, South Dakota, when she was only twenty years old to train at the airfield in Sweetwater. That's a town south of here,” she beamed at Nigel. “Over a thousand women trained to fly military planes so they could ferry them to the air bases for the men in combat. Such brave women! Of course, they weren't allowed to fly combat missions, but they freed up the servicemen so they could. In a lot of cases, they were the first ones to fly those planes, straight out of the factory. Can you imagine? How terrifying!”
“What are you, Wikipedia?” Viv groused.
“My father was a war hero,” the woman in the track suit said.
The young guy drew his head back, scowling. He looked at the woman—his mother, presumably; he'd said his mother was here in the Alzheimer's unit—then to the rest of us.
“Is that right, dear?” Anne said. “Bless him.”
The guy gave her a wry smile, then shook his head the slightest bit. Then he shrugged.
The woman didn't say anything else. She moved, slowly and silently, to the other edge of the circle and sat on the stone bench. She looked at the basket of flowers opposite her.
The young guy gave us another look, then moved closer to his mother without a word.
Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, Viv was too preoccupied with Nigel to give this guy any time. She looked around at the names on the circle. Her spine stiffened, and I saw the tell-tale signs of her thinking up another tactic.
“It's a shame they weren't able to give out the Baucum Local Hero award this year,” Viv said. “My contact at Channel 11 said they just gave that story about the weather to hide the fact that they weren't prepared to give an award this year.”
“Is that right, dear?” Anne said. “Well...”
“I have contacts at Channel 11,” Viv repeated, leaning in a bit to gauge how impressed Nigel was.
He nodded and smiled.
Viv frowned. “With all the brouhaha over the Baucum Engineering thing, nobody thought to issue a call for nominations until it was too late.”
Nigel nodded and made a noise in his throat.
Anne gave a sad smile and tilted her head. “Is that right, dear? Well...”
I liked Anne—I liked her a lot. She was a sweet lady. But I didn't care for the way it seemed she was being dismissive of Viv. Maybe she was more offended by Viv flirting with her boyfriend than I originally thought—and who could blame her if she was? Still, I felt the need to stand in Viv's corner somehow.
“That is what the reporter from Channel 11 said when Viv interviewed her,” I said. “That Baucum Engineering always handled the nominations and awards, but when they went out of business, no one thought to take it up until it was too late.” I twisted my lip. Hmmm...that didn't seem quite as strongly in Viv's corner as I wanted. So I flat-out lied. “I had heard rumors that someone was going to nominate Viv, for her...contributions to crime solving in the community.”
Anne beamed once again. “Yes! Yes, she's certainly deserving. Well, perhaps someone will be more prepared to take up the mantle next year, and you'll have another shot.”
Viv gave a beneficent nod. “Perhaps.”
“Unless you plan to retire between now and then,” Nigel said.
“Are you barmy?” Viv looked at him with mock outrage. “A woman in the prime of her life, retiring? Don't let these sensible shoes fool you. Believe me, I have scads of baddie take-downs in me yet.”
“Scads,” I echoed.
Beside the woman in the track suit, the construction guy shifted and frowned in our general direction. He said something to her, too low for me to overhear, and then bent and took her elbow.
She stood, slowly, and they made their way carefully back down the sidewalk. His Eagle Construction pickup waited in the parking lot, and he helped her into the passenger seat. As Viv went on in a monologue about our crime-solving exploits that made us sound much more capable than we actually were, I watched the pickup—full of boxes, I noticed once he’d turned it toward the exit – pull out and drive away.
I turned back to the group. Viv was prattling on, and it appeared that Nigel was doing his best to look attentive, but shifted from one foot to the other, looking down the path we blocked, to the door of Belle Court and his apparent safety.
Anne, though...Anne's gaze was focused in the direction the construction guy and his mother had just left. She looked suddenly unbearably sad.
––––––––
Back at Viv's apartment, I tried to cheer her up. “Well, I think that went well,” I said.
She scowled, but didn't say anything. She pulled the pin from her hat and tossed it on the sofa.
“Seriously. He's intrigued, I can tell. He probably just didn't want to hurt Anne's feelings.”
Viv dropped to the sofa and put her feet up on the coffee table. “Anne! Anne would be just fine, I guarantee you. Anne is the type to always look on the sunny side, no matter what happens.” She unlaced her shoes and toed them off. They fell to the floor with a clunk and Stump immediately went to sniff them.
I remembered the sad look on her face. “No reason to be cruel to her, though. Did she seem sad to you? Maybe she knew that woman who was with the construction guy.”
Viv was too busy scowling at her feet to give it much thought. She shrugged.
“She's the one with Alzheimer's, I guess.” I sat in the comfy chair across from Viv. “Remember, he told us his mother was in the Alzheimer's unit here.” I cocked my head, realizing something. “Is it usual for them to leave like that?”
“Like what?”
“The guy put her in his pickup and drove off with her.”
“This is not a prison, Salem. I leave all the time, don't I?”
“Yes, but you don't have Alzheimer's. And she was confused. She said her father was a war hero, when clearly he wasn't.” The guy's very slight head shake and shrug. Poor guy. “There were a bunch of boxes in the back of his pickup. Do you think he was moving her?” That didn't seem right, though. Moving someone with Alzheimer's would be very traumatic to them, wouldn't it? Wouldn't they need structure and a familiar routine?
“I really don't know how all that works,” Viv said. “I have other things to worry about.”
I nodded. I'd learned long ago that Viv lived in a reality of her own making. In her mind, she and I were roughly the same age. The only reason she lived at Belle Court was because her fifth and last husband had set her up there before he died. I think her working hypothesis was that she lived in a very fancy full-service hotel, and it just happened to be filled with old people—asi de from herself, of course.
I had no problem with going along with this at all. I wasn't above playing fast and loose with reality sometimes myself. Where was the harm?
I hated seeing her look so frustrated, though. Reality wasn't cooperating with her fantasy at the moment.
“Do you want to drive over and see if Serena has had any more visions, or whatever they are?”
But she shook her head. “No. I think I'll stay in and watch some BBC.”
“More Miss Marple?”
“Ugh. No.” She frowned and looked at the baggy toes of her brown tights. “I'm going to have to let that one do him for a while. Blimey.” She groaned and leaned her head back on the sofa.
I nodded and stood, trying not to look too relieved. I didn't want to go to Serena's and have her say something like “Look, I see by your aura that your greatest fear is dying broke and alone!” with that serene smile.
Actually, I just wanted to get home and cuddle with Stump, maybe watch a sitcom on TV so I could forget everything sad for a while. I made my goodbyes to Viv and promised to be ready on a moment's notice when her next plan was ready to execute.
I drove the Monster Carlo out of Belle Court and pointed it for home. I wanted—wanted very badly—to swing by Tony's house, just to say hi.
He needed time. Just a few days.
I do love you, Salem, but...
I had run the words over and over in my head so many times, I honestly couldn't remember if he'd said the 'but' or not. On one hand, I knew he hadn't. On the other...it sounded so real in my head.
I sighed and pressed the pedal down toward Trailertopia.
Chapter Thirteen