Clair picked up her handbag and phone. “Talk to you later, girls. I have a woman to see.”
She tipped her head toward me. “My friend Irma does the filing at the police station. Bye, ladies.”
Clair turned on her heel and strode toward the door.
Chapter Ten
C rumpled pages littered the sofa. I threw my pen across the room after scratching out yet another idea praising Hoosier snow. It was impossible to work up excitement for a story of an Indiana winter, something I remembered well, frigid temperatures, slippery roads, and shoveling snow.
A knock at the door was a welcome intrusion saving me from further frustration. I retrieved the pen on the way to answer it.
Clair stood on the porch, talking to the cat. “Hi, Clair. This is a nice surprise.” She gave the cat a pat on the head and turned to come in. I let my friend pass before I stuck out my foot to block the furry tag-a-long. He sat back on his haunches and glared at me when his nose bumped the side of my shoe.
As I closed the door, Clair turned weary eyes to me and exhaled. “Coffee?”
“Of course. Have a seat in the dining room, and I’ll join you for a cup. What’s up?”
She was uncharacteristically quiet as I filled two mugs. I delivered hers, and sat across from her with mine. “Are you okay?”
Clair leaned in with her elbows on the table. “I’m fine. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop in to remind you about tonight.”
“Tonight?”
Crap. How easily I’d put it out of my mind, again.
“We’re having cocktails and snacks at Wild Olive. This is the reunion warm-up for anyone who may be in town early, before the dinner tomorrow.” Clair paused long enough to take a big drink of her coffee, and then pointed an index finger at me. “Seven o’clock, in the party room. I’ve already made your name tag.”
Visions of a quiet evening in front of the television came to mind, so I put on my tired face. “I’ve been so busy, I thought I’d skip it. I’m on a deadline for a magazine article that’s giving me fits and—“
Clair shook her head. “Uh-uh. Lauren, no excuses. You have to go. This is for your own good. Get out and mingle, make new friends.”
She gripped the mug with both hands and lowered her voice. “Move on. That’s what I’m doing.”
Ha. I knew something had been troubling her. “What is it, Clair? You know everyone in town. What’s going on?”
“Oh….” Clair’s shoulders drooped a little and she suddenly became interested in a spot on the table. “I think it’s over with Phillip.”
“Over? Didn’t we just talk about him yesterday?”
“Yeah, I know. I suspected it then but didn’t want to say anything.”
Clair breathed in and straightened her shoulders. “When we first met, Philip wanted to be with me every day. He was almost possessive. Sent flowers, declared his love for me. The man couldn’t stand the thought of us being apart. I felt like a queen.”
She gave a sad laugh. “I let myself fall for him, and now for the last week, he’s suddenly too busy for me. There must be another woman.”
I put down my coffee in order to grasp her hand. “Clair, I’m so sorry. Are you sure? Maybe he has something going on at work.”
She shook her head. “It isn’t work. Every time I call him, he’s very short with me. And yesterday, after I left Ava’s, I saw him on the street. He was about a block away and I waved. He turned around and went the other way.”
“Clair, I bet there’s some other explanation.”
“No. I called him. When he didn’t pick up, I sent him a text. Later, he texted back claiming he hadn’t seen me. Trust me, he did. I know it’s over.”
She took another deep breath and patted her perfect hair. “Another one bites the dust. More fish in the sea, as my mother said many times. So anyway, come to the party tonight. Do this for me because I need my best friends with me.”
Okay. Okay. I could get over my aversion to crowds for my friend.
“Of course, I’ll come.”
Clair smiled and squeezed my hand. “Great, I’m so grateful. And you’ll have fun, wait and see.” She relaxed back in her chair. “I’m on my way home to change clothes. I have to be there early to finish setting up. See you about seven?”
“Sure, seven.” I watched as she downed her coffee and pushed away from the table, and then walked with her to the door.
Clair came to an abrupt stop and turned to me. “Oh hey, I found out who that tall dark stranger is. You know, the guy at Ava’s Java? Jack Spencer. Nobody seems to know much about him, except he’s some kind of investigator, FBI, CIA, NCIS, ATF, or whatever. At last, a little excitement in E-town.”
“Is he?” Law enforcement. Why are men in authority, in uniform—so to speak—so interesting? Too much television. In my experience, they haven’t all been heroes.
“I don’t know why he’s in town. Irma, at the police department, said he was talking to Melvin, the police chief. They kept the door closed, and Melvin wouldn’t tell her anything, so the info is all office gossip—but reliable.”
“Fascinating. What would he have to investigate here in Evelynton?”
Clair chuckled. “Not much. Maybe he’s lost. But I hope he sticks around.”
She opened the door and stepped out. “What a pretty cat. Looks like she’s wearing a little tuxedo. What’s her name?”
“I don’t know. It isn’t my cat.”
Clair tilted her head and wrinkled her brow. “She’s not yours? Why does she have this little house?”
I sighed. “The cat was sitting out there in the rain, and I gave it the box to crawl into. But it’s not my cat.”
“Huh,” Clair gave the cat a pat on the head and said good-bye to it. Then she waved at me and skipped down the steps.
“I’ll see you later.” I glanced at Wallace’s before I shut the door. No black SUV, no car at all.
Back at my desk, plagued with poor concentration and non-existent creativity, I shut down my computer, and promised myself I’d write all day Saturday. I went to the bedroom, hoping my closet held something cute to wear.
By the time I’d showered, dressed, and finished drying my hair, it was seven o’clock. I was late, and I hate being late. I wanted to get to the restaurant, and find a secluded table before it got crowded.
In my rush out the door, I tripped over the feline, who still squatted on my porch. The cat hissed and skittered away in a mad dash for the bushes. Meanwhile, my arms flailed in many directions, in hopes my hands would land on something to break my fall. I finally found the railing and latched on, saving me from a tumble down the steps. Straightening, I pushed my hair out of my face and muttered a few words that would have shocked Aunt Ruth.
Chapter Eleven
D eep cleansing breaths. In. And out. In. And out.
I smoothed my hair and tried to appear calm and collected—as if I hadn’t just done a sprint through the Wild Olive parking lot. I entered the room quietly, remaining inconspicuous and unnoticed, until Clair spotted me.
“Lauren, I’m so glad you came! Look at you. So glamorous.” She couldn’t have attracted more attention if she’d sounded a trumpet and held up a sign.
The mob closed in, hugging, offering greetings, making introductions.
I barely remember these people. Why are they so happy to see me?
Too many people, too fast. My chest constricted and I took a couple of steps back, struggling to inhale. But I maintained a thin smile and returned salutations, while I peeked between shoulders, in search of my escape route.
My gaze fell on my friend sitting alone, picking at a plate of chicken wings.
I looked sincerely into the eyes of a blond, a cheerleader if I recall. “It’s great to see you, but would you excuse me? There’s Anita, I have to give her a message before I forget.” I struggled through the group, excusing myself at every step, and ultimately claimed a chair against the wall. My heart rate began to settle to
a normal rate.
“Help. I’m not sure I can handle all these gushing people. I don’t even remember who they are.”
Anita licked the tips of her fingers and wiped them on a napkin, before sliding a book toward me. “Here’s the yearbook. Leaf through it to remind yourself of names and faces. Works for me.”
“Great idea.” I paged through to find the senior class, flipping first to our portraits. “Look how young we were. Oh, my hair was really fluffy. Why did I think that was attractive?”
Anita laughed. “Can you believe I wore all that eye makeup? Blue shadow, for goodness sake.”
From the sanctuary of the table, I monitored the room as it continued to fill, attempting to match each arrival with a senior portrait.
Clair emerged from the crowd and placed a glass of wine in front of me. “You’ve been sitting ten minutes. Take this and go mingle. It’s easier with something in your hand.”
What would I do without friends to coach me on social skills? I took the glass and obediently mingled. I smiled at everyone’s wonderful life, gushed at pictures of beautiful kids, and acted suitably impressed at their stories of a prosperous career. I noticed that although people said they wanted to reconnect, they mainly talked about themselves. Easier for me.
When the subject of Marc’s death came up, condolences were short, and my classmates wandered away to find someone less depressing.
It took no thought, or scanning of the yearbook, to recognize Perry Sizemore as he made his entrance. Never a thin person, he was now a formidable presence. He glad-handed his way around the room and left each cluster of classmates laughing.
I stepped close to Clair. “Is Perry in politics?”
“No. Real estate. He’s my competition. Look out, he’s coming this way.” Clair slipped away, leaving me stranded in his path. I felt like a steak sandwich under Perry’s glassy-eyed gaze. Fortunately, at the last minute, a new arrival diverted his attention.
Perry executed a sharp left turn toward the door. “Hey Paul. You made it after all.”
Perry threw his arm around the tanned, lean, man and guided him to the bar. The newcomer wasn’t a classmate, nor was he a stranger. It was the runner I’d almost flattened with the van. A thought crossed my mind to give him a taste of my anger at his carelessness. I decided against it and scanned the room, wondering which woman had almost lost her husband that day.
Clair skipped to the runner—almost roadkill—and attached a name tag to his shirt. I edged forward and strained my eyes to decipher the name. Paul Cooper? A classmate. I recalled the name but failed to place the face.
I stood back trying to picture him as a teen, without success. Anita edged up beside me and pulled me into the group where Perry was keeping everyone entertained. Nestled in behind Anita, I peered over her shoulder and searched Paul Cooper’s facial features. I was baffled and then embarrassed because Paul caught me staring—twice.
“Sorry, Paul, I’m trying to remember everyone from high-school.” I shook my head. “My memory. Guess I’m getting old.”
Paul’s gaze darted to my name tag and, just as quickly, returned to Perry.
Backing out of the group, I meandered to the yearbook and read names. Cameron, Causely, Chapman, Cooper. There he was, but I saw no resemblance between the seventeen-year-old and the adult Paul Cooper. Where was the innocent smile? And the straight nose?
Could it have been broken?
Clair startled me when she came up from behind. She set her drink down and leaned heavily on the table. “Whew. I have to take a break. How’s it going?”
“It’s going alright. I’m glad you convinced me to come.”
I nodded in Paul’s direction. “Paul Cooper should get some kind of prize. He’s the most changed. I didn’t recognize him, at all.”
“Really? I thought you’d remember all the good looking men.” She glanced over at him. “Although, he’s more attractive now than in school.”
“Honestly Clair, he could be a completely different person. It’s as if I’m looking at a stranger.” I tapped his picture with my index finger. “It’s this Paul Cooper, right?”
“Yeah. That’s the only one we have.” She laughed—loudly. I knew I shouldn’t have brought it up. Should have taken note of her alcohol consumption.
Clair made little quotation marks with her fingers. “It’s the Mystery Woman.” Another loud laugh. “You haven’t changed a bit. You were the only kid in school who watched the evening news for fun. Always looking for clues.”
Clair retrieved her glass, causing the liquid to swirl and barely stay within the rim. “Maybe he’s an impostor, or could it be that it’s really Paul, but he’s had facial reconstruction. He probably committed a crime and doesn’t want to be recognized. Not sure why he’d show up here and wear a name-tag, though.” She laughed at her joke.
“Very funny, Clair. That doesn’t even make sense.”
I put my hands up in surrender. “I only said he should get the prize for most changed in appearance.”
Clair lost interest in our conversation and pointed to the other side of the room. “I need to make sure they replenish the chicken wings. Talk to you later, Mystery Woman.” She made a beeline for the food table exercising the strut of a runway model.
Anita soon filled the chair next to me and placed a plate of crackers and cheese dip on the table. “Having fun Lauren? You know more people than you thought, don’t you?”
I examined my glass, wondering whether I should get a refill. “I do. I remember most of them.” I hesitated. Maybe it would be best to let it go. But not yet. “You know, I can’t remember Paul Cooper. I mean, I remember a Paul Cooper from school but in my memory, he doesn’t resemble this guy.” I peered at the crowd where Paul was standing, just as he looked my way. I jerked my eyes back to Anita.
“You’ve been away and it’s natural to forget some people. Not many of us look like we did twenty-five years ago.” She finished her cracker and reached up to pat her hair. “Some of us have adopted a few pounds and grown some gray hair.”
I picked up a cracker and put it back on the plate. “But there are always traces.” I pulled the yearbook over, still open to Paul’s picture. “Look at him. Do you see any resemblance?”
“Sure.” Anita leaned in for a better look. “Well, no. He has changed a lot.” She pulled the book closer. “A lot. I have to admit he’s held up better than most of the men here.”
I popped the cracker in my mouth, sat back, and determined to forget about Paul Cooper.
Clair drifted by, leaving a trail of alcohol droplets in her wake. Anita waved at her. “Come and sit for a while. We have a question for you.”
Clair made her way to the table and eased into the chair. “What is it, ladies?”
“Do you think Paul Cooper resembles his yearbook picture?” Anita pushed the book toward her.
“You too, Anita?” Clair once again erupted in laughter. She brought the picture very close to her face and giggled. “You’re right.” She pushed the book away and opened her eyes wide. “What if he’s a spy? Right here in Evelynton, Indiana.” She leaned toward us and whispered. “Maybe I should contact Mr. Beautiful—Jack Spencer, the FBI guy.”
She straightened, lifted her chin, and looked down her nose at us. “No, I’m in charge here. I’ll go right up and ask Paul who he really is. If he’s an impostor, he doesn’t have any right to be at our reunion.” Clair pushed her chair out.
She began to rise, and I grabbed her arm. “Oh no. We were having fun, but I don’t want to embarrass Paul by letting him know we’re talking about him.” In Clair’s condition, everyone would know.
“Okay, girls. I’ll keep your secret. Got to run to the little girl’s room.” Clair rushed off, her walk still impressively steady.
Anita tipped her head toward me. “That was close.”
“No kidding.” I wanted to let it go, but couldn’t. “Did Paul stay in town after high-school?”
“No. He moved away right
after graduation and came back five or six years ago. I think he worked in New York City.” Anita yawned and shifted to a more comfortable position. “He quit that job, and now sells real estate with Perry. I’m surprised he showed up tonight. He and his wife, Missy, don’t socialize much. She’s not even here.”
“Missy? Do I know her?” I extracted my attention from Paul, at the other side of the room.
Anita shook her head. “No, Missy moved to town a few years ago. She met Paul and they hit it off right away. Got married about two months later.”
I turned in my chair to face Anita. “Two months? Wow. Love at first sight.”
Anita put her elbows on the table and rested her chin on one hand. “I know. Isn’t it sweet?”
Paul wasn’t in sight when I turned to scan the room. “It just seems odd that he looks like a stranger.”
Anita patted my shoulder. “You were always the one to solve mysteries. If there was an inconsistency anywhere, you would find it. But I think you’re obsessing about this one.”
“I guess you’re right.”
My energy had faded. “I think I’m ready to call it a night.”
“Me too. You and I were much better partyers in high-school.”
“Fond memories, but now, crowds wear me out. Besides, I have work to do—a deadline to meet.”
“Too bad I can’t leave until everybody else does. I have to settle up with the restaurant, and drive Clair home.”
“I wish I had your excuse. What are you writing?”
“An article for Midwestern Life.”
Anita’s eyebrows shot up. “Midwestern Life? That’s so exciting.”
“Not to me. Exciting would be a serious news article or a True Crime novel.”
Maybe something about identity theft?
Time to call it a night. Paul Cooper, or whoever he was, had left the room.
Heart Strings Page 5