CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“How are we going to approach Hope?” I asked Abby. “I’m sure she’ll be on her guard after our last encounter.”
“Why don’t you call her? Tell her we had a falling-out. Make it seem like juicy gossip. Maybe she’ll be more willing to talk.”
“I can do that.”
Case pointed to his phone on the dashboard. “I have her number saved.”
I looked up her number as Case pulled onto the state road leading back to town. The warm summer wind started to rush through the doorless Jeep, blowing my hair in all directions, making it impossible to see. “How am I supposed to call her now?”
He pulled off at a side road and the let engine idle.
I turned around, apologizing for the wind, but Abby’s hair was pulled up tightly behind her head. She smiled. “I’m always prepared.”
In a moment, Hope answered. I put my phone on speaker mode so everyone in the Jeep could hear. “Hi, Hope, this is Athena Spencer.”
“Oh, hi,” she said with reluctance. “What can I do for you?”
“I want to apologize for the way we left things.”
“Is that all?” she asked curtly.
“Well,” I said, trying to think of something gossipy to say about Abby while she was sitting right behind me. “I’m sorry that Abby came on so strong. She and I haven’t really been seeing eye to eye lately.”
“Is that so?”
I could immediately hear a change in Hope’s voice, so I continued. “Yes, we had a bad fight, and she left, so now I’m trying to pick up the pieces.”
“What was the fight about?” Hope asked eagerly.
“It was about you, actually. I don’t think you had anything to do with Carly’s death, and Abby was just adamant.”
“Can you believe her?” Hope agreed. “And what’s with that horribly gaudy convertible she drives? Yellow is definitely not her color.”
At that, Abby shot forward, reaching for the phone. I pulled it away just before she could grab it. “Also,” I said, “I have a few more questions I’d like to ask you. Is it okay if I drop by after school tomorrow?”
There was a pause. “Just you?”
“Yes,” I answered. “Just me.”
It sounded like she put her hand over her phone to talk to someone in the background. Then she said, “Why don’t I come down to your office after school?”
“That would be fine,” I said. “Five thirty-five Greene Street, upstairs.”
“I’ll see you then,” she said and ended the call.
I looked at Abby in the rearview. “Well, that was easy.”
“You did a good job,” Abby said. “I just hope you can get some information out of her.”
“Won’t you be there?”
She shook her head. “I’ll go down to the plaza or something. I doubt she’ll talk if I’m there. You and Case can handle that one.”
“Um,” Case said slowly, “I might’ve forgotten to mention that I’m working in Saugatuck all day tomorrow. I won’t be around.”
“Well, that’s not good,” I said to Case, trying to hide my disappointment. “I don’t feel comfortable talking to Hope alone.”
“I’ll stay out of sight in Case’s office,” Abby said. “I don’t think you should talk to her alone, either.”
“Then it’s settled,” Case said as he pulled back onto the road. “Good luck tomorrow, ladies, and good work tonight.”
* * *
Later that night, I thought about what Donald Blackburn had said about Hope’s retaliations, remembering that Eleni Sloan had also brought it up. Clearly, any mention of Hope’s son ignited her temper, but why? Could it be she was afraid the stories about the boy were true?
And that got me to thinking about tempers, so I did some research and came up with a blog topic. Anger.
IT’S ALL GREEK TO ME
Blog by Goddess Anon
Time to Put Out the Fire
I recently had a confrontation with a neighbor over her teenage son, who was bullying someone close to me. Rather than being concerned that the bullying was true, this neighbor’s temper flared to such a degree that she became a bully, too. Why did she have such an extreme reaction? Was she being overprotective, or did she fear the accusation was true? And what could I have done about it?
According to the website Reachout.com, “Anger usually occurs when there’s something going on in life that makes you feel upset, frustrated, hurt, or bored. Sometimes anger is an immediate response to a specific event, while at other times it builds up over time. Whatever the reason, feeling angry or seeing someone else become angry should alert you that something isn’t right.”
Oh, boy, did that hit the nail on the head. But now, what to do about it? Any suggestions?
This is Goddess Anon bidding you Antio Sas.
Friday
“Thenie doesn’t have a temper problem,” Maia said as Nicholas and I joined my sisters at our booth at the diner the next morning. “She’s always in control.”
“Unlike some people we could mention,” Selene said, casting her gaze toward our mother, who was pouring coffee for the Red Hat ladies across the aisle.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Goddess Anon’s blog this morning,” Maia explained. “It was about anger, a subject we all know too well.”
“Dealing with anger is easy,” Selene bragged. “Just count to ten.”
Maia shook her head. “I’ve tried it. Doesn’t work.”
“My mom stands me in the corner when I have a temper tantrum,” Nicholas said.
“Sweet little Niko?” Selene asked. “I’ve never seen you have a tantrum.”
Nicholas shrugged. “I’m all grown up now.”
“I’ve learned how to deal with anger,” Maia said. “I go to my zen place.”
Selene rolled her eyes and looked at Nicholas. “Little Maia is all grown up, too.”
“Oh, please. You don’t even know what a zen place is,” Maia countered.
“Coffee?” my mother asked me even as she proceeded to pour. She glanced at Selene. “Why are you counting?”
“Counting is my zen place,” Selene answered dryly.
“It’s what Selene does when she gets angry,” I added.
“Oh, just do what I do,” Mama said. “Smile. It makes all your troubles melt away. I don’t even remember the last time I was angry.”
The three of us looked at each other and burst out laughing. “Mama,” Maia said, “you have a terrible temper!”
My mother started to disagree, then thought better of it. Instead, she gave Maia a forced smile. She held her hand out for Nicholas. “Come with me, glykó mou agóri.” My sweet boy. “Your yiayiá has a special treat for you in the kitchen.”
After they’d left, Selene leaned toward me. “Athena, Mama is driving me crazy! She’s trying to set me up with someone, and she won’t let up.”
“You can’t fight her,” I said. “Just go out once and tell Mama it didn’t work out.”
“I just can’t do it,” Selene said. She glanced around to be sure no one else was listening, then said in a hushed voice, “He’s a pig farmer, Athena. From Kalamazoo! And he’s coming to the Greek tent at the fair this evening to meet me! And Mama will be there. You have to come, Thenie. You have to help me out.”
“Help out with what?” my mother asked, joining us again.
“With the baklava,” Maia said quickly, covering for Selene.
“I was just going to ask you, Athena,” Mama said. “Your sisters and I are working the St. Jacob’s tent at the fair tonight. Why don’t you stop by and have some dessert? Bring Niko and Case. Make a night of it. Have some fun.”
“I can’t,” I said. “I’m doing investigative work this evening.”
“More work,” Mama huffed. “Look at those bags under your eyes. You need a break from work. I’m surprised you even have time for breakfast.”
“I’ll take a break when the case is over,” I reminded her.
“Well, it’s a shame. You won’t have a chance to meet Thomas Pappas,” Mama said. “Tom’s a nice Greek boy who wants to meet Selene.”
“He’s not a boy,” Selene said, “and I’m not interested.”
“You haven’t even met him,” Mama said. “At least give him a chance.”
Selene put her head in her hands. “Okay.”
Mama patted her on the shoulder. “That’s my girl.”
When our overbearing mother had stepped away, Maia reached her arm around Selene to comfort her. She leaned in close to say, “Just count to ten.”
* * *
Sitting at the computer at the garden center later that morning, I received a text message from Abby stating that she was going to head down to our office to do some research. Since my morning work was finished, I decided to join her there.
The sun was hot and the sky cloudless as I headed down Greene Street. Dodging tourists on the sidewalk, I passed an ice cream shop and breathed in the aroma of freshly baked waffle cones. I adjusted the strap of my purse over the shoulder of my short-sleeved blue shirt, glad I’d chosen to wear a pair of white capri pants instead of long pants.
As I approached the Greene Street building, I stopped to wave at Gracie, the owner of the deli, through the window. Having just opened our detective office on the floor above the deli, I hadn’t had a chance to get to know Gracie personally, but we’d ordered enough food recently to be preferred customers. Next to the deli was the door to our stairwell.
As I reached for the handle, the door was flung open violently, slamming my hand into my chest and knocking me backward off my feet and onto the cement sidewalk. I sat up, stunned, already feeling a throbbing bruise forming on my backside and pain radiating from my wrist. I watched as the door to our stairwell closed slowly, revealing a large man in a black trench coat and black baseball cap lumbering swiftly in the opposite direction. Before I could make out any identification, the owner of the deli came rushing out.
Gracie held out her hands to help me up. “What happened, hon?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, easing my way to my feet.
“One minute you’re giving me a wave and the next minute you’re falling backward onto your rear end. Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m okay, Gracie. Really. Just a bit confused. Thank you for helping me.”
I kept my eyes on the corner of Greene Street, wondering who could’ve been so inconsiderate as to knock me down and rush away. Surely, the man would’ve known that he’d opened the door on someone. Could it have been one of the apartment residents?
“You might want to get that hand looked at,” Gracie said, eyeing the nasty scratches on my right palm. “You might have a fracture.”
I opened and closed my hand, flinching slightly. “I think it’ll be okay.”
“Listen, you come back at lunchtime, and I’ll have a sandwich ready for you. On the house.”
I thanked her and opened the stairwell door. Up the stairs on the right was our office, followed by several apartments down both sides of the hallway.
I could see the glass pane of our door as I climbed and noticed the light inside was off. Abby hadn’t yet arrived. I slowly unlocked the office door and stepped inside, almost missing the piece of yellow paper on the floor. I picked it up and opened it. Inside, printed in block letters it read: Leave the investigation to the police.