by Lisa Lickel
“How’s Tut these days?” I asked, testing her out on a whim.
“Tut? Oh—fine, just fine.”
Mmhmm. “Mem’s just fine, too.”
“Mem? Memo? I don’t underst—” She glanced over my shoulder. “Oh, ah, good to know. Excuse me while I, ah…”
I followed her line of sight to see Letty in the doorway, frowning, while her left hand came to rest on her folded elbow. We locked stares. Her brown irises had weird little gold flecks in them. She blinked first. She went back to her desk.
Margaret pushed forward, forcing me to move to the door. “Thank you. If you’ll excuse me, we have a great deal of work. Good-bye, now. Take care.”
I nodded to Letty on my way out. I got turned around in the maze of staircases and hallways and ended up leaving city hall by the back door. In my muse I dodged a dark-colored delivery van squealing right up to the exit before I found the walk that went around to the side parking lot where I’d left my car. What on earth would Mrs. Bader-Conklin do in her husband’s office? Especially if he was in town and getting ready for the conference? But if he was getting ready why did he need me to register for him?
How I got home, I’m not sure. I don’t think I ran into anyone on the way. I paced my tiny kitchen, three steps forward and back, as the evening wore on, deciding how much further to get involved in this business.
Judging by the officer’s response to my initial phone call, I wondered if I would ever rate any respect for my theory that the mayor needed help. I needed to find a better way to explain my dilemma to the police if I had the urge to call again.
I could talk to someone else. Of course! Someone else. Adam! He’d know what to do. How could I have left out Adam Truegood Thompson, Donald’s other pet project. I grinned. Adam had moved to Apple Grove a week after I did. Mea Cuppa, his little bookshop and fancy coffee joint, needed more prep time than my machines, so he’d only recently opened. I spent an odd hour or two helping him sort merchandise and stock shelves.
I drove through downtown, chased by an occasional scrap of newspaper or leaf swirling in the spring breeze riffling up from the river through alleys. I knocked on the front door of the closed coffee shop. I didn’t think Adam heard me at first, as he took some time coming down from his apartment.
“Ivy. What’s wrong? Come on in. Sit down.”
A solid comfort, Adam. I babbled. “I don’t know where else to turn. Will you hear me out?”
“Of course, I will.”
I glanced around, feeling vulnerable through the huge plate glass window. Anyone passing by could see us clearly. “Not here.”
He seemed unfazed. “OK. Come on up. I wasn’t exactly expecting visitors, though.”
And clearly, he wasn’t. He tossed aside a pile of towels and picture hangers and bade me sit on his recliner while he went to fix tea. I grew antsy. There was little room to pace with the floor covered with boxes and bubble wrap. I could barely tell the color of the carpet.
He smiled and put a steaming cup of ginger tea in my hand. “I told you it was a mess.”
Ginger-mint. I inhaled. “Thank you.”
He surveyed the room and grimaced. “Let’s go in the kitchen, shall we?”
His kitchen was a different world. Neat and cozy. I could see where Adam felt most comfortable. We sat. I sipped while appreciating his patience. I mulled over a couple of ways to tell my tale and decided direct was best.
“Donald’s missing. I think he’s in trouble.” I stopped and took a deep whimpering breath.
Adam put one of his gigantic warm hands over mine and anchored me with his calming gray stare.
I had no idea what he thought, but I trusted him.
“Ivy. Donald told us that he would be coming and going while he courted more businesses.”
“This is different. His wife is running his office.”
Adam’s eyebrows went up with a comforting incredulity. He shook his head, his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
I twisted my mouth and jiggled my foot. “Um, well. If there’s an emergency, doesn’t the city council president take over? But Margaret didn’t say anything about an emergency. She said he was here—well, in town. And Donald hasn’t registered for CAT yet. He planned to go, so I tried his personal number. Three times. To remind him. He didn’t answer. Then, later, I received this strange, garbled call—I could only make out what sounded like ‘Don,’ and ‘get’ from some number in Chicago—it must have been Donald asking me to get help.”
Adam sat back, not saying anything. Finally, he got up and walked over to the sink.
I admired his height and flexed back muscles, the efficiency of movement, but also his deliberation of thought before speaking. He was older than me—I’m almost thirty-two and single, thanks to my ex-fiancé Stanley—but I wasn’t sure how much older he was. His wavy black hair was slightly salted at the temples, and his nose looked as if it had been broken at one time and fixed, but best of all, he wasn’t married.
The tone of his voice led me to believe he wanted to take me seriously but was finding it difficult. “Donald’s scheduled business trip yesterday wasn’t to Chicago. What do you think might be going on?”
“I don’t know. Donald is our friend. If he’s in trouble, I want to help.”
Adam’s mouth twitched. “What kind of help?”
I sighed, thinking how ludicrous my actions had been and not ready to admit the call to the police. “Yeah. So, I thought I’d just go over to city hall and visit Margaret. You know, just ask if she’d heard from Donald. So, I did. But Margaret wasn’t talking. Marion wasn’t even there.”
“She might not spend all day in the office if Donald is out,” Adam reminded me.
I took another deep breath. “She said he was all right. But there was someone else there. Someone I didn’t recognize, sitting at Marion’s desk.”
“Ivy, you wouldn’t know many people here, anyway, remember? We just moved.”
I liked the “we” part of his comment. “Right. But did you know that Margaret’s allergic to cats? I thought she just hated them.”
“That’s one of the reasons Donald was so interested in that new company he hopes to bring to Apple Grove. Happy Hearts Bioengineering. They’re working to produce a hypoallergenic breed of animal.”
“I thought he was…well, maybe I hadn’t been paying attention. I thought he was going after a pet food company. Fel-feli—”
“Feli-Mix. He told me they’d signed an ‘intent to build’ contract based on getting the zoning approval.”
“Oh. Good.” I scratched my ear. Isis wandered in from a dark hallway to curl around Adam’s ankles. Adam’s Mau smoke female was daintier in appearance than disposition. My Mem had been at the receiving end of her ferocity since they’d been introduced two years ago at a convention. Poor Mem had only tried to be polite.
Adam nudged me back to the present topic at hand. “What did Margaret say?”
“She wouldn’t talk to me.”
He wiped a hand over his face.
“I didn’t think I was nosy. She asked me to get Donald signed up for the convention and send her the bill.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t you think that’s a little odd?”
“It’s unusual, but she could have just been trying to help Donald if he’s distracted with town business.” He smiled gently. “You’re still worried.”
“Yes, about him and Tut. I wish now I hadn’t called the police.”
He raised his brows and took a deep breath. “What exactly did you say to them?”
I grimaced. “That I wanted to report a…a kidnapping.” My voice dropped to a too-low whisper on the last word. I sounded perfectly ridiculous.
“Based on a phone call you couldn’t understand? And after the police officer stopped laughing?”
“He didn’t laugh at all! He sent a lady cop to check on me.”
“And?”
“She said she’d file a report.”
Ad
am uncrossed his arms and got up from the table. He gently removed the mug from my hands and raised me to my feet. I liked the feel of those hands. I liked the confidence he exuded even more. “Ivy, I can tell you’re concerned about this. Why don’t you let me go talk to Margaret tomorrow, see what I think. OK? I’m not dismissing you, but I have to think about this.”
I nodded. “It sounds wild. I need to do something, but I’m not sure what.”
Adam walked me to the door and down the steps. The moccasins he wore silenced his path across the floor of the shop. “You drove. You want me to take you home?”
I appreciated his thoughtfulness. “I’m all right.” I caught my reflection in the window of the door. My corkscrew hair flew in all directions—I looked like a nutcase. No wonder he had been concerned I couldn’t drive. I stopped and turned. The top of my head came to his shoulder, giving me a good view of his throat. His turtleneck shirt hid most of the scar that snaked around his neck and across his right shoulder. I never asked about it and I was too shy around him yet to pry, but I hoped that would change in the near future. “Thank you for listening. I hope it’s just some kind of mental lapse on my part.”
“We both care about Donald. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He flashed a grin and closed the door behind me, staying at the window to watch until I sat safely in my car.
I did not expect to sleep much, so after checking my client list and the current work orders in my office, I settled on the couch with my pet, Memnet, nearby, and popped a movie into my player.
Mau owners often give their friends names popular in ancient Egypt for obvious reasons. Mem was a beautiful, black-spotted, registered silver male running past middle age. We garnered tons of compliments for his personality and outstanding looks, and he was as devoted to me as I was to him. He had been a staunch friend when Stanley decided he did not want to marry me—after we’d ordered the invitations and my dress, rented the hall, and the organist.
Memnet’s scratching woke me sometime later.
Cold and stiff, I came to my senses abruptly when I heard a loud crack and tinkling sound from the kitchen.
Mem was not as cautious and streaked toward the sound, a silver shadow in the blue glow of the television screen. His screech was primeval.
My hand shook as I dialed the number of the police department with a legitimate complaint this time. After being assured they would send someone immediately, I peered into the kitchen to see the broken window panel of the door and the swinging chain.
Mem sat guard, his tail twitching and ears forward, his paw resting on top of a stone with something tied to it.
“What have you got, Mem?” I crouched, wary of glass. With a low growl pulsing from his furry throat, he reluctantly let me examine the rock. I supposed it was evidence, but it was in my house. And Ripple had laughed at me earlier, after all. With one eye watching for the police car, I hurriedly untied the string and read the attached note.
“Busy-body’s don’t belong in our town.”
I hated misused apostrophes…
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