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Monday, April 22, 1996
Glaze and I managed to get some simple café curtains made for the office, but our hearts weren’t in the sewing, and we gave up after that. Her ankle had swollen quite a bit, and I finally talked her into letting me drive her over to Nathan’s office. I stuffed two of the loaves of bread into bags, one for Nathan and one for Polly, then got Glaze into the car. Before I pulled away from the curb, though, I saw Marmy dragging herself across the street toward me. I don’t think I’ve ever jumped out of a car faster than I did then. Thank goodness Sadie was nowhere around. By the time I reached Marmalade, she had collapsed in the middle of Beechnut Lane.
I was afraid to scoop her up, afraid even to touch her. “Poor sweetie! What happened to you?” Had she been in a fight?
Yes.
I bent down next to her and ran my hands gently over her, careful not to push too hard. She was breathing, but it seemed labored. Her ears were hot. That could be the weather. It could be that her blood pressure was up. Her whiskers looked wilty. I sure will be glad when Holly gets her degree and starts her clinic here. There didn’t seem to be any fur missing, so it probably wasn’t a cat fight. No blood, thank goodness. Her right rear leg was definitely hurting, though. When I touched it, her ears twitched and she shifted as if to move away from me. “Don’t worry, little one. I’ll be gentle.” I lifted her carefully. “Why can’t you tell me what went wrong, sweetheart?”
Try this: a big man with an ugly tattoo on his arm grabbed my leg and yanked really hard. I bit him first and shredded his leg some, so we are even. He will think twice about coming here again.
Her purr was weak, but she settled into my arms nestling her head into the crook of my elbow. I carried her to the car and placed her gently on Glaze’s lap.
By the time I drove the three and a half blocks to Doc’s office, Glaze had drops of sweat beading her forehead, and Marmalade looked awfully limp. I had to run inside and get Polly to come out and help me get the two of them up the walkway and straight into an examining room.
Nathan strode almost immediately into the attractive little room, and went straight to Marmy. I had laid her as gently as I could on the paper-lined examining table. “I know you’re not a vet,” I started to say, but Nathan hushed me with a wave of his hand.
He used a disposable dropper to place a few drops of a clear liquid into Marmy’s mouth. I recognized the brown bottle, but held my tongue as he put his stethoscope under Marmalade’s chest and listened carefully. “When I was in med school, I volunteered at the local animal shelter,” he said as he gently felt Marmalade’s back, neck, ears, legs, tail. “And I’ve been a fan of Marty Goldstein’s holistic approach to treating animals ever since I heard him speak at a conference last year.”
Glaze looked a little confused, so as Nathan continued with his exam, I told her that if she ever adopted a cat or dog, she had to get The Nature of Animal Healing.
Nathan straightened up and asked me to tell him what I knew of the injury. Which was precisely nothing, other than that I’d found her struggling to get across Beechnut. He asked me if I thought Marmalade would lie still for an X-ray.
Yes.
“Yes, I’m sure she will.” Polly helped Nathan transfer Marmalade onto a rolling cart they’d covered with a big soft white towel. Then Glaze and I had to just sit and wait. I scooted out to the car to retrieve the two loaves of bread, and returned just as Nathan reappeared with a very quiet Marmalade in his arms.
“I took two X-rays, and don’t see anything broken, but her right hip was dislocated badly. This is one brave, smart cat. I explained to her what I needed to do, and told her it would hurt, and I think she actually understood me ...”
Well, of course I did.
“... because she stayed perfectly still while I eased her hip back into position.”
Thank you. You have gentle strong good hands.
“There’s going to be some swelling and discomfort for a few days. If she didn’t have all this heavy fur, we’d probably be seeing a lot of bruising. The good news is there’s no external bleeding. I need to warn you, though; there may be some internal injuries that don’t show up on the X-ray. My best guess is that she was hit by a car.”
Bad guess.
“What else should I do for her?”
“Just try to keep her as quiet as possible. Put an icepack on her bed and let her lie against it.”
“Will she do that?”
Yes.
“I think she will. It’ll probably feel good to her. Cats are smart about tending their wounds. She’ll let you know when she’s ready to start moving around. Until then, just spoil her rotten.”
Good idea. How about some chicken?
As I stood there holding Marmy and stroking her gently, Nathan turned to Glaze. “I wanted to meet this sister from Philadelphia, but I didn’t expect it to be under these circumstances.” He took her hand in a gentle handshake, raising his eyebrows at the bandaging.
“Car accident last week,” she said. “Someone ran a light and plowed into me. But that’s doing fine. It’s my ankle that brought me here today. I fell down the stairs this morning. Ice took care of it for a few hours, but now it’s swelling and hurting a lot more.”
“I put some arnica on it, too,” I said.
“Did you give her some of the Bach?”
“Of course. I keep that stuff handy all the time.”
“What does music have to do with all this?” Glaze asked through gritted teeth.
“Not Bach the composer. Bach the herbalist. Edward Bach was an English physician in the early part of this century, who discovered remedies made from flower essences. He invented a formula that can be used to lessen the effects of shock on the body.
“Dr. Bach,” he said as he made a few notes on a chart, “wrote that the main reason for the failure of modern medicine is that it deals with results and not with causes. That was 1931, but it’s still true today. That reminds me,” he said as he glanced up at me. “Keep treating Marmalade with the Bach remedy for a couple of days. I already put a few drops under her tongue to ease the shock.”
“Should I put some in her water, too?”
“If she’ll drink it. Try a little and see how she likes it.”
I like it. It feels right.
Nathan kept up a gentle banter as he removed my sister’s shoe and examined her foot and ankle. “This has been a busy day. You’re the second new out-of-town walk-in patient today. That’s something of a record around here.”
I was curious as to who the first one was ...
It was Tattooman. I can smell his stink in here even now.
... but didn’t ask because Nathan never talks about his patients, just one of the many things I admire about him.
“It looks like you’re going to be fine, but I think you’ve been overdoing it. I’m not trained in acupuncture yet, so we’ll have to rely on bandaging to give you a little more support. The icepack seems to have helped, and I’d like you to keep it iced as much as possible for the next twenty-four hours. Hopefully it’ll be good as new by the wedding.”
“I was a little worried about having to limp up the aisle.”
“I’m not saying you won’t be limping a bit,” Nathan said. “This is a usual medical disclaimer, you know.” He smiled. “But you should at least be able to walk.”
Once her ankle was securely bandaged, she could walk a bit more comfortably. We thanked Nathan for working us in, paid the bill, nodded at Polly’s reminder to keep a cold pack on both patients as much as possible, and left in considerably higher spirits. “What a pleasant man,” Glaze said. “I compliment you on your choice of doctors.”
Yes. So do I. Goodhands is his name.
“He may be the only doctor in town, but I’m convinced he’s one of the best anywhere.” I paused a moment, debating whether or not to tell the juicy tale. Oh, what the heck. “Do you remember Sadie Masters?”
“How could I forget? She’s the yellow Petunia who can’t drive straight.”
“That’s the one. She’s been trying for three years to fix our doctor up with her niece who lives in Memphis.”
“You’ve got to be kidding! Doesn’t she realize ...?”
“Obviously not.”
When we reached home, I looked around before I opened the passenger door. The only thing moving was – of course – Sadie’s yellow Chevy. She waved airily as she passed us, meandered more or less up the center of Beechnut Lane, turned right onto Third Street, running a back tire over the curb, and disappeared from view. I picked up Marmalade and held her as I helped Glaze up the walk. As we passed the mailbox, I noticed that it was completely lavender. When had Bob found the time to paint it? I love that guy! When we walked into the vestibule, I locked the door behind us.
Oh, I forgot to tell you – you need to move the little plant with the white bell flowers. It needs more light, especially since Tattooman stepped on it.
~~~~~
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 17, 1996
Garner Creek
Ben took a deep breath as he walked back through the First Community Bank lobby toward his office. 1996 was going to be a good year after all. Sarah had been so willing to help him when he’d called her last week. Having to do that had been infuriating. It was bad enough having Sid walk into his office on the first Friday of every month, close the door, and hold out his hand for the envelope of cash. He’d had to pay it. He couldn’t risk his wife thinking that he had cheated on her. It had been dumb to go to that motel, but he’d thought he was attracted to Sarah, and he’d been surprised when all he’d wanted to do was talk. Amazing. He’d even cried. Thank goodness they hadn’t been in the diner when that happened.
He had never admitted to Sarah that her husband was blackmailing him. It didn’t seem the right thing to do, to worry her about something like that. Anyway, it was embarrassing.
But Sid had told him two weeks ago, that first Friday in April, that the negatives were ‘right under your nose, Mr. Bigshot, and whaddya think about that?’ He had asked for more money, too. Well, that was just too much. That was why Ben had called Sarah at work the next Monday and asked for her help.
He hadn’t talked with her in such a long time, so he’d wondered if she’d be willing to help him. After all, she’d been the one to stop their weekly meetings. He smiled as he remembered how solemn she had been. How fortunate he was that they had remained friends. She always said hello when she came in to cash a check, but they hadn’t talked in over a year. Until he asked her to get the key. She’d been furious to hear about the blackmail. Somehow she thought that she was responsible for getting him into all this, and she’d apologized again and again. It wasn’t her fault, but why on earth had a nice person like Sarah married a creep like Sid anyway?
It took her eight days to find where Sid had hidden the key, but she’d called Ben this morning and made an appointment with him at 1:45 to get into her safety deposit box.
He was so glad Sarah had found the spare key somehow. Just now, during her lunch hour, he had escorted her back to the vault, where she had opened her deposit box. That was legal. She was, after all, one of the signatories. Now he had the negatives, which had been in a plain envelope marked with his initials. It had been tucked underneath a roll of film.
“Film?” Sarah had said when she noticed it. “That’s funny. This key was hidden in Sid’s big toolbox underneath a camera. I wonder if the two are connected?”
While they had the box open, after she’d given Ben the negatives, Sarah had slipped a ring out of one of the envelopes. “Now,” she said, “all I have to do is get the key back into the tool box, before Sid gets home from work.”
Yes, this was going to be a better year from here on. Ben and his wife were getting along well now, and their first baby was due in a few weeks, so he was relieved to have the negatives. He felt very grateful for the sweet friendship of such an understanding woman as Sarah, who had helped him see how he could save his marriage.
Ben smiled, remembering how Sarah had whispered to him a few minutes ago, as they were closing the box in the vault, that she’d arranged to go visit her aunt in North Carolina for a couple of weeks. She was thinking that she just wouldn’t come back after that. “I can’t live with a sleazy blackmailer,” she said. They had shaken hands before she left the bank. She had to hurry to get the key home and get back to work before two-thirty.
‘Sarah may be little,’ Ben thought, ‘but she has guts.’
~~~~~
MONDAY, APRIL 22, 1996
Martinsville
About six o’clock, Glaze sat in the kitchen with the icepack on her ankle, while I put together a simple meal. “Soup?” she asked.
“My own chicken noodle soup, of course,” I replied as I walked over to the cushion where Marmalade was lying up against an ice pack, and handed her a bit of the chicken. “It’s good for healing.”
Thank you.
“Is that why you’re giving some to the cat?”
“Well, it can’t hurt, and it might help. I’m adding some leeks and a few mushrooms to the soup for us people. I hope you like it. And we’ll have a side salad with the radish sprouts on it.”
Even though Glaze said, “That should wake me up,” by the end of the meal we headed upstairs, and when Bob arrived about 8:30 to stay for the night, we were ready for bed. This time, though, I helped him make out the sofa bed, kissed him a fond goodnight, and carried Marmalade upstairs while he headed into the kitchen to make himself a snack. I warned him about the fridge light being out. “I flat forgot about getting a replacement bulb, “ I said. “What with Glaze’s ankle and Marmalade’s hurt leg, I just never thought about it.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he volunteered. “I’ll pick one up tomorrow.”
I love that guy. Maybe just one more quick kiss ...
He is nice to take such good care of you.
Later, as Glaze and I settled in for the night, she turned to me and said, “You had your soup today. I wish I’d had a milkshake!”
“Go to sleep, silly. I’ll get you a milkshake tomorrow.”
~~~~~
MY Gratitude List – Monday
1. Bob, for painting my mailbox lavender
2. Soup and salad and sprouts
3. Dr. Nathan
4. Polly
5. Radiant good health for all of us, including Marmalade
a successful attack
tombstones to hide behind
Widelap and Goodhands
not having to catch my own food
chicken
~~~~~
MARMALADE WOKE ME TWICE during the early part of the night. She seemed restless, and I hoped her leg wasn’t hurting her too much. “Poor honey,” I murmured to her, as I looked at the clock. Eleven-thirty-six. “Go back to sleep.” I heard a car headed up the street. Maybe that was what had woken her.
At one-fifteen, she woke me up again, stepping on my neck and tickling my face with her whiskers. Not content with waking just one person, she proceeded to walk across Glaze’s face, too.
“Are you awake, Biscuit?”
“Yes. Marmalade took care of that. She must be feeling better.”
No, I am not, but you need to go downstairs.
“As long as we’re awake, could we make some hot chocolate?”
“You can’t walk!” I was trying to keep my voice at a whisper.
“Yes I can,” she whispered back at me. “My ankle feels a lot better with this bandage on it.”
Well, a cup of cocoa did sound like a good idea. I supposed we could sneak down quietly without waking up Bob. “It’s a deal, but only if your ankle feels all right when you try to stand on it.” The night air was chilly coming in through the open window, so I pulled the two bathrobes out of the closet and held one of them for her to put on. She managed a pretty fair imitation of a normal walk, so I picked up Marmalade. I figured I might as well give her a little more chicken. We crept quietly from the bedroom and tiptoed down the stairs. I couldn’t believe that we hadn’t woken Bob. Maybe he was just pretending to stay asleep so he wouldn’t interrupt our shenanigans.
There was enough moonlight outside that, even with the chintz on the windows, we could see vague outlines of everything in the kitchen. I put Marmy down in her basket by the side counter, settled Glaze into a chair by the bay window nook, and crept around getting together the saucepan, cocoa, cinnamon and some extra sugar. Might as well live it up. The dark refrigerator gave up the carton of goat’s-milk. Luckily I remembered right where it was in the door. I started the milk heating on the stove, and went to sit down next to Glaze for a minute.
“How’s your ankle holding out?” I whispered.
“It’s doing fine,” she whispered back. “I’ll be good as gold by tomorrow. Well, maybe by Wednesday. In the meantime, I’m hungry. How about a sandwich?”
“At this hour of the night?”
“Yes. If I’m hungry, I’m hungry. It doesn’t depend that much on the clock. Anyway, I was hurting too much to eat a full dinner.”
“Okay. What do you want? I’ll get it out.”
Still whispering, she decided on a sandwich of peanut butter, ketchup, mayo, and radish sprouts on pumpernickel. “You have to be kidding,” I gasped in a strangled whisper. “That sounds awful!”
It sure does.
“No, it’s really good. You bring me the stuff and I’ll make the sandwiches, a big one for me and a little one for you.”
“Maybe I can just try a tiny bite of yours.”
I would rather have chicken.
“Fraidy cat,” she whispered at my back as I rose to rummage through the darkened fridge to find the ketchup. While I was at it, I pulled out a little bite of leftover chicken for Marmalade.
Thank you.
I couldn’t find the mayo. How on earth was Bob sleeping through all this? We were being quiet, but surely he must have heard us by now. I put a plate, a knife and the heavy glass ketchup bottle in front of Glaze and turned to find the bread and peanut butter, but before I had reached the cabinet, I heard Glaze’s quiet “Shhh!” It didn’t sound like a joke. I froze in place and turned my head just enough so I could see Glaze outlined vaguely against the light yellow chintz on the bay window and could tell from the angle of her head that she had heard something on the verandah outside the other window.
She sat there, not moving. There were quiet footsteps creaking across the verandah. Those boards had been squeaky ever since I’d moved in – and probably for years before that. Now someone was inching his way across the porch, toward the long yellow-curtained window that was directly behind Glaze. I could see her lift a hand to her lips. She stood up slowly, swaying a bit as she tried not to place her weight on the damaged ankle. I barely heard her as she whispered, “It must be Jeff!”
As we watched in horrified fascination, there was a sharp cracking of glass, and the curtains billowed out as someone stepped over the low sill of the tall window. I could see where his head was pushing against the fabric, obviously looking for a way around or through it. I suppose I should have screamed or something, but the whole night went into slow motion. I saw Glaze reach behind her, pick up the ketchup, and smash it onto the bulge in the chintz where Jeff’s head was. As he crashed to the floor, his body tangled in the curtain, I stepped across the kitchen and flipped up the light switch, calling Bob’s name as I did so.
I paused a moment, waiting for Bob, but he didn’t appear. Jeff was starting to thrash around. “Help me with this,” Glaze called, and I quickly realized that she was trying to roll him up in the curtain like a paper towel tube. Fine with me. Marmalade tried to help by balancing on top of the heaving pile of fabric and angry man. I grabbed his legs, not an easy task since he was kicking like crazy. Together we rolled him two full turns. Luckily his arms were trapped. Otherwise we might not have succeeded. Once he was thoroughly trussed up, Glaze sat down on him with a resounding thump. “Serves him right,” she crowed.
This was when I noticed a note propped up in the middle of the big table. I unfolded the single sheet of paper and read, “Biscuit, I got a page at 11:24. Melissa reported a prowler over at Doc’s. I’m headed there now. I have my pager on me – silent operation. Buzz me when you get this note if I’m not back already. Keep the doors locked!”
Great. So much for police protection. I read the note to Glaze, who was still sitting on Jeff. By this time he had started to holler. I could tell Glaze was considering hitting him again, but I warned her that killing him after he was already trapped in the curtain might be frowned on by the authorities. Instead, she leaned closer to the head-end of the bundle, and said, slowly and loudly, “I’ve got a gun, and I’ll use it if you don’t shut up right now!”
Silence. Good. “Now, what do we do with him?”
“I don’t mind sitting here until Bob comes.”
“Since we worked so hard to make the tie-backs, we might as well use them,” I said, pulling several of them from their hooks on the window molding. One around his ankles, two looped together to reach around his midsection. We had to push him around a bit to accomplish that, and the shouting was muffled but thoroughly indignant and mostly profane.
Then, there didn’t seem to be anything left to do. I congratulated Glaze on not having broken the jar. “I didn’t know those bottles were so sturdy. We should write the company with a testimonial.” Ketchup would have ruined the curtains. As it was, we’d probably have to press them before Saturday, but that would be a breeze.
“Aren’t these bottles usually plastic?” Glaze asked me as she sat back down again, rubbing her ankle. It must have started hurting again. If Nathan thought she’d been overdoing it before, he should have seen her rolling Jeff up in the chintz.
“Tom gave me this one from the restaurant.” I moved over to the phone and paged Bob, leaving a message that said, “Glaze and I are up. Give us a call.” By now it was after 2:00. I poured two mugs of cocoa, and handed one to my still sitting sister. The phone rang almost immediately. “What are you two doing up?” he asked without preamble.
“We’re drinking hot chocolate.”
“Well, save me some. I’m on my way. I have some good news for you and your sister.”
A few more threats from Glaze kept Jeff quiet as we waited for Bob to arrive. When he walked into the kitchen, I lunged into his arms. He seemed surprised, but cooperated efficiently. Obviously he didn’t see Glaze right away, since she and Jeff were tucked in the little alcove behind the counter where the sink is. And since his face was buried in my hair. “I have some great news for you,” he said, as I finally let go. “Melissa saw a prowler at the clinic, and I got there in time to catch him red-handed. On my way there I called out Tom to be my unofficial deputy sheriff, since he was close at hand, and we nailed the guy.” He moved over to sit down at the big table, pulling my chair out for me first. “Before we got there he’d trashed the place, but we’ve got enough fingerprint material to put him away for quite a while, especially since his pockets were stuffed with stolen narcotics.”
“Who was it?” I asked.
Bob seemed to notice for the first time that Glaze wasn’t right there with me. “Your sister will be delighted. It was Jeff Winslow. It’ll be a long time before he bothers her again.”
Glaze’s stunned voice issued from behind Bob, causing him to turn around suddenly, looking for her. “If you’ve got Jeff Winslow locked up, then who am I sitting on?” It took a fair amount of explaining about the cocoa and the fridge light and the whispering and the footsteps and the shattered window and the ketchup bottle, but between the two of us we managed a relatively coherent story. Meanwhile there was some man rolled up in the chintz curtains, tied up with matching, piped tiebacks.
Bob helped us untie and unroll the man, who sputtered up into the light to look straight into Bob’s gun barrel. I hadn’t realized he still had his gun with him, but I was glad when I saw how quiet it made the man. Being tied up in a curtain must be a difficult experience. He was looking pretty sickly, whoever he was.
“Sid Borden?” exclaimed Glaze as his head came into full view. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“You know this guy?” Bob asked.
“Of course. I bought my green Honda from him. He sells cars over in Hastings. He’s Sarah’s husband.”
~~~~~
TUESDAY, APRIL 23, 1996
Word travels fast. Melissa Tarkington showed up about 8:30 on Tuesday, bringing breakfast with her. She’d heard about the break-in from Hubbard Martin’s wife, who had apparently called everybody in town. Since I hadn’t had a chance to take Glaze over to the bed and breakfast yet – things had just been too busy – we sat and chatted for an hour or so, reliving the excitement of the night before, and giving two of my favorite women a chance to get to know each other a little better. Glaze is the sister I was raised with. Melissa is the sister I chose.
An hour later, Melissa was walking out the front door as the phone rang. It was Sarah Borden. She had driven home from her aunt’s that morning, planning to move some of her things out of the house while Sid was at work. She heard the message on the answering machine, erased it, and called us to find out what was going on.
When Glaze told her on the phone that Sid had been arrested for breaking and entering, but that we were all okay, she asked if she could drive down and explain what had been happening on her end. Of course, we took her up on the offer. Anyway, I figured Bob would want to hear her side of the story.
I invited her to come for lunch, cold cucumber soup and a big salad from the garden, then called Bob at the station and told him what was going on. “Let me know when she gets there, and I’ll stop by. We found some physical evidence that’s very interesting.”
“What is it?”
“Can’t say, but you’ll find out eventually.”
~~~~~
FRIDAY, APRIL 28, 1995
Garner Creek
“Can I buy you lunch? I’ve got another job for you.” Sid had walked up beside Harlan as he waited at the corner for cars to pass.
“Sorry. Can’t do it,” Harlan said, looking from side to side, waiting for a break in the unusually busy traffic. “I just got a call from Buddy, my friend in Martinsville. His dad’s out of town, and he’s been called out on the road, so they need somebody to feed the parakeet. I’ll be gone a day or two, and then I may take a few extra days off to go camping. Business has been slow here.”
“That’s for sure. Well, we’ll take a rain check on lunch. Maybe when you get back from your camp-out.”
“Yeah, maybe.” The traffic flow opened up, and Sid turned away as Harlan crossed the street. No sense in wasting lunchtime if he couldn’t get any work out of the guy. This particular job could wait. It was just a minor case, but it might pan out. You never knew with this kind of work. At 5:15 Harlan was putting away his tools, when Tony stopped him. “Would you tell your mom that me and Arlene can’t make it to dinner tomorrow?” Arlene had been Tony’s girlfriend for fifteen years. She’d been introducing him as ‘my fiancé’ for the past eleven years. Neither one of them seemed inclined to change the status quo, though. She kept wearing the ring, and seemed happy enough with the situation. Tony must have been getting what he wanted out of it. That seemed kind of sad to Harlan. As much as he wanted to date Miranda, she was still just too young. Of course, she’d be out of high school in a couple of months. Time enough.
“Can’t do it, Tony. I’m on my way out of town right now. Heading over to Buddy’s to house-sit for a couple of days while he’s out of town.”
“I thought he lived with his dad,” Tony said as they walked out to the parking lot. “He does, but his dad’s in Ohio, and won’t be back for a couple of days. Then, if it’s okay with you, I thought I’d head up into the woods for four or five days. We’re pretty well caught up in back, and business has been slow.”
“Yeah. Maybe I should run the ad before the 11:00 news, too; I need to drum up some more business. Yeah, good idea, maybe I should re-do the ad. Use a drum instead of a hatchet.”
“Whatever you think, Tony. You’re the boss.” Harlan noticed an auburn-haired woman getting out of her car in front of the dealership. He recognized the way her hair waved across her forehead.
“Go ahead and take off,” Tony said. “I’ll call your mother myself.”
“Tony, do you know who that woman is?” he asked, gesturing to her as she walked across toward the door, just as Sid Borden came through it from inside the showroom.
Tony glanced up, nodded, and said, “Sure, that’s Sid’s wife. Don’t see her around here very often. I wonder what’s up?” He raised his voice and called, “Howdy, Sarah! How’s it going?”
Sarah turned, smiled briefly in Tony’s direction, then paused as she recognized the young man with the aristocratic nose. She’d seen him in the diner a couple of times. She waved, but Sid suddenly stepped forward and took her arm, pulling her into the showroom.
“I wonder what that was about?” Tony mused. “Beats me,” said Harlan, turning to walk away.
At his apartment, he quickly packed a small backpack, then cleaned up and changed out of his Cherokee Motors overalls, making sure that his medicine pouch was tucked in his shirt. His camping gear always stayed stowed in his car, so he was ready for a trip at any moment. He wouldn’t have time to eat at the deli. It would be closed by the time he got there, but he could call Miranda at work. She always left late. Maybe they could meet later this evening for a cup of coffee or something. It would be nice to see her. He opened the top drawer of the little table where the phone sat and lifted out a napkin that had the deli’s phone number on it. The last time he’d been there, a couple of weeks ago, Miranda had given him the number in case he was in town and needed to order a sandwich. The phone rang four times before she picked it up. She sounded out of breath, as if she’d been lifting the heavy trays out of the commercial dishwasher.
“DeliSchuss, Miranda speaking.”
“Hey, Miranda. It’s Harlan.” He hated it when people said ‘it’s me’ on the phone, as if they expected you to know their voice. Several times he’d talked to people thinking they were someone else. He always identified himself. Seemed like good manners. Maybe he was old-fashioned that way. “I’m headed out to house-sit for Buddy and his dad. I thought maybe we could get together for some coffee. Will you still be at the deli for a while?”
“I can’t do it, Harlan. I’m running so late today.” He thought he heard real regret in her voice, but maybe he was only imagining it. “We had a bunch of last-minute delivery orders come in, and I’m trying to get them packed and clean up this place so I can deliver before I go home.”
“Can’t you get Cory to do the deliveries?”
“No. He’s not here, and Mama is expecting me to cook dinner with her tonight, too. Her brother’s in town, and we’re having a family get-together.”
Harlan took a deep breath. Was she putting him off for a reason? He’d never know if he didn’t try. “I’d really like to see you. Could we meet somewhere after you have your dinner? Maybe I could pick you up and we could come back to Mr. Olsen’s.”
“Are you kidding? Mama would kill me if she found out. You know how proper she is.” There was a long pause. Harlan wasn’t sure how to proceed. He didn’t want to push her, but he didn’t want to give up either. “Maybe,” she said at last, “I could sort of leave the house late and we could meet somewhere. I’d have to sneak out. How about 11:30 or so? Is that too late?”
There was another long pause. Harlan’s head told him yes, it was too late. But everything else told him that he was tired of waiting. “No. That’s not too late. Where do you want to meet?”
Miranda picked up a towel and began to polish the already gleaming surface of the coffee maker. “How about the library?” she asked.
“Won’t it be closed?”
“Yes, but there’s a back door that doesn’t have a lock. Everybody in town knows about it, but nobody ever uses it. It’s behind a great big bush. You just walk around the left side of the building and duck behind the bush and feel for the doorknob.”
“I’ll be there early, and I’ll wait for you.”
Harlan turned away from the phone and pulled his deerskin vest from the closet. ‘I might as well wear this for good luck,’ he said to himself. Then he lifted the medicine pouch out into view. It went well with the vest, and he thought Miranda would like seeing it.
~~~~~
FROM THE STATEMENT of Miranda Schuss to the Georgia Bureau of Investigation
Yes, sir. I was home all evening. My uncle was here visiting, and I helped cook a big dinner ... The last time I saw him? It was on a ... Saturday two or three weeks ago. He and Buddy stopped in ... at the deli. ... Yes, sir. They ... they came in a lot ... Sandwiches and coffee, usually ... Yes, thank you. I do need a tissue ... Well, I remember it because ... because Harlan said he had gotten some ... some really great pictures that morning out in the hills west of town. He told me he thought I’d ... he thought I’d like one of them. It was of a couple of fawns ... No sir, that’s not unusual. He’s given pictures to lots of people in town ... No, sir. I never saw the picture of the fawns.
... What? ... Five or six. It depends on the style ... Yes, sir. I considered him ... a very ... good friend. ... The library? No, I don’t know why he was in the library.