A Life for a Life - Lynda McDaniel (whitelam books TXT) 📗
- Author: Lynda McDaniel
- Performer: -
Book online «A Life for a Life - Lynda McDaniel (whitelam books TXT) 📗». Author Lynda McDaniel
Dammit. I kept hearing all this racket downstairs, with cars driving up and driving off, sometimes grinding in the gravel driveway, digging for traction to get out fast. Where were they when I was open? I sat there stewing for a while and got myself so worked up, I actually called Janice Dockery, the realtor I’d bought the store through. When her answering service picked up, I hung up. But, by God, I’d try her again later.
I went back to bed; I was so tired I just wanted to sleep. Then I heard tapping. I tried to ignore it, but it tugged at me. I had to admit that I’d missed the big galoot. I felt sad thinking about how much he’d miss the store once I sold it, but maybe the new owner would keep him on. For Sale: Country Store with Live Griffon.
I’d stopped drinking after Cleva left in such a huff, and my appetite was coming back. Trouble was, I didn’t have anything left to eat in the apartment. I didn’t want to go downstairs, but I wasn’t about to wait until dark to sneak into my own store. I washed my face, combed my hair, and put on jeans and a t-shirt. As I headed downstairs, Jake bounded past me, more than ready to get out of that apartment. When he flew around the corner, I heard Abit’s chair hit the wall, hard.
Abit had Jake by the collar, and he looked up at me with a funny expression, an odd mix of fear and excitement. Then I saw why. I just stood there, not sure what to say.
The benches next to his chair were spilling over. Jars of blackberries and tomatoes and homemade vegetable soup. Small containers of jams and relishes and honey. All kinds of baked goods, including some of Mrs. Parker’s cinnamon rolls. There were a couple of pots of herbs—parsley and rosemary—and one of pansies. And the closed sign I’d put on the door had an added message. Below my words, bright purple letters read: “Get well soon.”
Cleva. Had Cleva written all over it.
Della was back. She musta been hungry, because when I knocked on the door, she waved me inside, and I could see she was eating stuff right out of jars. I asked if she wanted me to bring in anything from outside, and she said not yet. “But could you please take down the closed sign and bring it to me?” I handed it to her, and she looked at it like it were a piece of art.
She told me about Alex and that woman Kitt, and I could tell she was really sad. When I asked her if that meant we’d never go back to the Inn at Jonas Mountain, her face fell. “I’m sorry. That was stupid,” I said, real quick-like. “I just had such a good time that evening.”
She kinda smiled, a weak one, and added, “I did too.” That was all she said for what felt like forever. Then she asked me to leave.
That had never happened before, and I didn’t know whether to go back to my chair or go home. I figured the easiest thing would be to go home. But something told me to hang out for a while. Like sitting with a friend who didn’t feel good, not saying anything. Just being there.
I didn’t tap or nothin’, though I nearabout fell off my chair when Alex drove up.
I was getting ready to take my gifts upstairs—a few more arrived while I was inside, not exactly hiding, but sitting in the semi-dark with no lights on. Then I heard that goddam car of Alex’s drive up. In a panic, I thought about locking the door and going into the backroom. But I’d just be trapped. Besides, Jake was going crazy at the sound of that car. Traitor.
The door opened, and Alex said, “Hi hon, I’ve found out some interesting things.”
I picked up the closest object, which lucky for him was only a half-eaten baguette, and threw it at him.
“Hey, sorry I haven’t called for a few days, but I’ve been busy.” He looked closer at me and added, “Good God, what’s happened to you?”
“You, you asshole.”
“Whoa. Back up. What in the hell are you talking about?”
“Well, for starters, how’d you like your dinner with Kitt?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, that damn grapevine. Can’t even bump into someone in this county without everyone gossiping about it.”
“Really? That’s all you can say about that?”
He looked so confused, I didn’t know what to say next. But he did.
“She told me who killed Lucy. I’m not sure how, yet, but we’re going to solve this mess, once and for all.”
Man, I couldn’t believe Alex had the nerve to show up, but I was glad to see him. I was hoping he could talk some sense into Della. And I was bustin’ to show him the hubcap I found down the road after the fire, but I wasn’t about to stick my head in that store now, not even if you paid me. Besides, I was real clear where my loyalties laid.
I heard Della in there, her voice loud—not yelling, but plenty mad. Nothin’ was smashing or anything like that, so I guessed they were talking things out. When Alex came out, he looked fine, maybe a little wore out, but nothin’ bad. I decided I’d tell him then about the hubcap. After I did, he told me that was important and to hang on to it.
“Oh, and thanks, pal, for saving the store.”
“Well, it were me and Daddy.”
“Was.”
“Yep, it was me and Daddy.”
“I’ll thank him too, but for now, I’m thanking you.” At first I thought he was doing one of those picky things he does about saying things just right, but then he smiled, and we shook hands. It wasn’t until he turned to get things out of his car that he noticed all the stuff on the benches. He looked confused.
“Did somebody die?”
“Not hardly. More like somebody came back to life.”
“Well, you’ve certainly been blazing up and down the highways,” I said to Alex, as I dried my hair with a towel. I’d taken my first shower in five days and was starting to feel human again.
I’d decided to believe his story. It was too convoluted to be fabricated. Alex explained that he’d found out some details he wanted to share in person—though I think this place was growing on him—and to offer moral support after the fire. He couldn’t get out of D.C. until early afternoon, so on the way down, he stopped at the Inn at Jonas Mountain because he was starving. And about to fall asleep at the wheel. At the bar, where he’d ordered a cup of coffee while he waited for a table, Kitt Scanlon sidled up next to him. She told him she was waiting on a table, too, so why didn’t they sit together?
“Okay, sounds plausible,” I said. “And even you aren’t that good of an actor—or that much of a cad—that you could’ve put on such a show of innocence when you arrived today.” I picked up the hairdryer and turned it on. Then turned it off almost immediately. “Wait a minute,” I said. “That happened five days ago—when I went to dinner at the inn, trying to cheer myself up. Sure didn’t work out that way.”
“Well, I’m sorry about that, but I wish you’d come over and spoken to us.”
“Yeah, right. But what did you and Kitt do for the next four days?”
“I don’t know what Kitt did, because I got called back to D.C.” Something Kitt had shared triggered a new avenue to pursue, so he called his assistant, Devlin, to ask him to start researching it. But Devlin interrupted to tell Alex his best client—the publisher of a prestigious D.C.-based political magazine—had an emergency that he needed to deal with. Too important to dismiss, he said, so Alex turned around and headed back up Interstate 81 to D.C. It took him three days to resolve, after which he drove back down.
“What a mess. I can’t believe you made that drive three times in five days.”
“Yeah,” he said, “but you’ve got to admit it was worth it.”
It was. We’d put all his files in a couple of storage boxes, and as soon as I got dressed, we planned to take them to Brower’s office. While I finished up (I had some catching up to do with my personal grooming), Alex anxiously paced around the apartment.
“Let’s get going,” he said. “I want to get that sheriff off his fat ass. He won’t be able to sweep this under the rug.”
“Ah, nothing like a good cliché from a Pulitzer winner!” I shouted from the bedroom.
“Yeah, and a stitch in time, saves nine, so hurry up. I can’t wait to see Brower’s face, which by the way, is a face only a mother could love. But if he has any smarts, he’ll realize he’s going to look great, even though he can’t see the forest for the trees. Which, come to think of it, makes me madder than a wet hen.”
“Oh, stop it,” I said, laughing at his wordplay. I grabbed my purse and keys. “I don’t care who gets the credit. I just want it over.”
––––––––
I felt wiped out when we got back from Brower’s, so I lay down for a few minutes. By the time I woke up, I was starving. My appetite had come back with a vengeance. I’d promised Abit that we’d take him to dinner—just to Geri Cantwell’s (I hadn’t been back since The Day), but by the look on his face, you’d have thought it were La Taberna. He’d already eaten supper with his family, but he was happy to eat again.
It was my turn to hurry Alex along, but he insisted he needed a drink first. After making himself a gin and tonic, we sat together and talked about what we’d just done. Lonnie had made a low whistle when he read one report, and Brower bowled us both over by admitting it was good investigative work. I was glad it was out of my hands now, though I wasn’t completely out of the action. I still
Comments (0)