CHAPTER 2
The next couple of hours were a blur of hasty, worry-filled phone calls, and anxious pacing for Jo, all while handling the on-going business of her craft shop. At Jo’s suggestion, Carrie sent her eleven year-old, Amanda, to the shop, leaving her one less thing to think about, and Jo had Amanda’s favorite sausage and mushroom pizza delivered for their dinner. Instead of it being a fun treat, though, the pizza was nibbled at solemnly as each tried to put on a brave face for the other, with neither succeeding.
“When did Mom say she’d call?” Amanda asked, pushing a cooling, cheese-topped triangle about her plate.
“As soon as she’s talked to the doctor after he’s looked at all the X-rays and test results. Honey, those emergency rooms can be a madhouse, believe me. I remember. Nurses and doctors are taking care of dozens of patients at a time. All anyone can do is wait for them to get to you.”
“But why can’t they just take care of Charlie first, and then take care of the other people?”
“I know, we all wish that. Those other patients are wishing it too, you can bet on it. But the hospital people have to do what they call a triage.”
Amanda wrinkled her nose and Jo explained. “That means a kind of filtering, or sorting through the situation. The nurses and doctors do a quick check of everyone who comes in, then take care of the worst cases first, the ones that really can’t wait.”
“So maybe it’s a good sign that Charlie’s waiting?”
“I think it’s a very good sign. Even though it’s hard on the rest of us.”
Amanda took a bite of her pizza. “It’s yucky.”
“The pizza?”
“No, the waiting.”
Jo smiled at the girl who she remembered once insisting that Charlie was the most disgusting brother in the world because he had burped loudly at the table when Amanda’s best friend Lindsey stayed over for dinner.
The Craft Corner’s door opened, and Jo looked over to see Ina Mae Kepner coming in. “Any word yet?” Ina Mae asked.
“Not yet, but Amanda and I are taking that as a good sign.”
The older woman looked over at Amanda and nodded. “Probably so.” Ina Mae had seen Carrie drive off in a rush and rightly took it as an indication that not all was well. Though she’d been heading for the bank, she stepped into the Craft Corner and got an explanation from Jo.
For the few months Jo had known her, Ina Mae had been a rock of common sense, and Jo was always glad to share as much as she knew with her, unlike with certain individuals, such as gossipy Alexis Wigsley. Besides, as a retired elementary school teacher, Ina Mae still had an air about her that sometimes made Jo feel as though all that is wrong would be made right because Mrs. Kepner is here, and Jo was grateful for it, unrealistic though it may be.
“What exactly happened?” Ina Mae asked.
“Carrie said he had gone out on the stage to check on the sound system when he got distracted, wandered too close to the edge, and fell into the pit. You know how those rehearsals can be. A million things going on at one time.”
Ina Mae tsked. She was never one to approve of disorganization. But she managed to say, “Well, at least there were plenty of people there to help.”
The phone rang, and Jo grabbed for it eagerly, but it turned out to be only a customer checking on Jo’s closing time.
Ina Mae soothed, “You’ll hear from Carrie soon. It can’t be too bad, from what you said.”
“I know, and I do expect good news.” Jo sank onto her stool. “But I’m ashamed to say I’m also anxious to hear from Max McGee. I’ve been trying to get him all day.”
“Your landlord? What on earth for?” Ina Mae glanced around as if looking for signs of a leaky roof or scuttling mice.
“To find out if he’s selling this place out from under me, or not.” Jo dolefully told Ina Mae what she had learned that morning, and the tall, white-haired woman’s lips pressed tightly as she listened.
“That man! It’s bad enough Parker Holt is putting up an ugly office building where our beautiful old library used to be. What does he want? To turn this row of character-filled shops into some kind of T-shirt mall?”
“I don’t know.”
“If you can’t reach Max – and who knows, he may be off on another one of those abominable cruises they love to take – your best bet is to go right to Holt and ask him.”
“You’re right, I hadn’t thought of that – that Max might ultimately be unreachable. But Parker Holt is certainly right here in town. There’s nothing to stop me from finding Holt and demanding a straight answer from him, is there?”
“Nothing at all,” Ina Mae agreed. “Of course the man, from what I hear, is a master of evasion, so it might not be all that easy. But you’re a capable woman,” Ina Mae declared, looking Jo firmly in the eye. “You’ll find a way.”
The shop door opened, and the late-shopping customer who had called came rushing in. “Quick, I need a craft project for our Brownie meeting tomorrow. What do you have that will keep ten eight year-olds occupied for half an hour?”
Ina Mae sniffed, and Jo led the woman to a few possibilities in the beading area. The phone rang, and Jo heard Amanda pick it up. She listened with one ear as her customer groaned into the other about the difficulties of handling a Brownie troop.
Amanda finally called out, “Charlie’s got a cracked rib! But it’s gonna be okay, and that’s all that’s wrong with him.”
“That’s fantastic honey!” Jo called back.
“I imagine it’ll be the last time he doesn’t look where he’s going,” Ina Mae said, but Jo saw a little smile spread across her face.
“Tell your mom you can stay with me tonight, Amanda,” Jo said.
“Yipee!”
“Do you have anything a little less expensive?” the Brownie mother asked doubtfully, oblivious to the excitement around her.
“Ma’am,” Jo said, smiling widely, “I’ve just this moment discounted those beaded bracelet kits by 50 percent. Tell your Brownies ‘Happy New Year from Jo!’”
The woman blinked as Amanda ran over to give Jo a happy hug.
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The next morning Jo dropped Amanda off at Abbotsville Middle School. She watched the girl hail her friends and smiled at her eagerness to share the excitement of Charlie’s accident, now that he wasn’t too badly off. Jo was relieved and happy about Charlie too, but she still had that other major concern hanging around ominously. She pulled out her cell phone and called Parker Holt’s office number.
“Mr. Holt isn’t in yet,” was the cool answer she got to her inquiry.
“When do you expect him?”
“I really can’t say. May I have your number and he can get back to you?”
Jo had had enough of leaving her number in the black hole of answering machines lately. “Perhaps I could just stop over. I only need a minute of his time.”
“I can’t guarantee when Mr. Holt will be in. He has several projects he’s overseeing.”
“I’d be happy to run over to one of those projects to see him. Can you tell me where he’ll be?”
“May I have your number, and he can get back to you?”
Jo sighed, and gave in, giving both her cell and store numbers. “Please tell him it’s urgent, and I promise to be brief.”
“Thank you for calling,” the cool voice said, and hung up.
Jo grumped, and drove on to her shop, determined to keep on trying. However, as the day progressed and each call got her no further than that chilly, stonewalling voice, her frustration grew, and she began to picture the voice as coming from a thickly padded, robotic hockey goalie, poised to block any and all attempts by callers to score a point for their side.
“Parker Holt, please?” Jo would politely ask.
Zing, block, puck sent off.
“Is Mr. Holt in?”
Block, slap, smash.
“May I – ”
Zip, slam!
Parker Holt had clearly trained his office staff well in the art of courteous but effective obstruction. It grew increasingly exasperating, but Jo was determined to get around such slipperiness. After all, she had dealt with masters up in New York when working to place her hand-wrought jewelry for consignment, and here in Abbotsville she had teammates to bring in. With their help she could surely work out a circumventing screen shot. All those hours of watching Wayne Gretzky surely should be worth something.
Never mind that she’d always been lousy on skates.