Seeking Refuge

by Alana Terry

  “You want me to write, knowing it could mean—”

  Joe’s eyes widened. “Wow—that’s it. You need to write murder scenes that are hard to duplicate—something maybe not even plausible. The copycats try to do it, fail, and the people don’t die.”

  “I wonder,” she said thinking. “I wonder if we could mislead the press—make it seem like the person did die.”

  Joe pulled out his cellphone and punched a button. “Hey, Chief. You know that press conference I talked you out of? I think you should do it—today. Right now. Let’s get the information out there.” He listened, shaking his head. “No, no, I know what I said, but we can’t hide the information forever. We might as well control it by coming out with it first.”

  Something in Joe’s tones told Alexa what he hadn’t actually said. Joe had fought to keep the connection to her novel from the press to protect her. Now it was time to write something that would be hard to replicate. As he argued with the chief, Alexa flipped open her laptop, typed in her password, and opened her manuscript.

  HER FINGERS HOVERED over the keys. She typed a few words—sentences perhaps—highlighted them, and backspaced. Again, she typed a paragraph. Again, she erased it. Joe noticed a smile creep up her lips and reach her eyes. He watched, fascinated, as her fingers flew over the keyboard. Occasionally she deleted a few words and rewrote them, but the pace stayed nearly steady once her fingers found their cadence.

  After a few minutes, Joe moved to sit on the arm of the chair behind her. He read over her shoulder and attempted to stifle the snicker that attacked his vocal cords. “Ok, now that is just funny—death by fireplace shovel. I love how the tip fell off the poker, so she had to resort to the shovel.”

  Alexa glared at him before she continued writing. “Do you mind?”

  Her obvious irritation arrested his attention. Alexa’s amiable personality, literally covered by a predilection for clothing of a more sedate and gentle era, left an erroneous impression of imperturbability.

  It took a moment for Joe to realize that the thoughts she’d assembled so eloquently were actually typed specifically for him. He stood and moved toward the chair farthest from the computer screen but paused before he sat. A slow smile crept over his face, and he backtracked, reaching around her shoulders and assuming command of the keyboard.

  Thankful to discover that she was not the mealy-mouthed simpering simpleton that one could imagine of someone wearing a poodle skirt and neck scarf—not to mention ponytail—Joe retreated to a chair across the room and waited eagerly for permission to read the next great Alexa Hartfield novel.

  Alexa’s melodic laughter filled the room as she turned back to her screen, feverishly typing the rest of her scenario. Joe wondered about her voice. Didn’t she have a reputation for an off-key voice? With a laugh like that—almost like bells—she should have an incredible singing voice. He felt foolish just thinking about it.

  “Do you sing?”

  Alexa half-turned toward him, shrugging. “All the time.”

  “I’ll bet you’re good.”

  She didn’t miss a keystroke as she shook her head. “Um, no. You’ve heard me in church, haven’t you?”

  “Not really—tend to sit toward the back corner so I can escape quickly if I have to.”

  “Well, everyone says I’m tone-deaf.”

  “I’ll have to sit behind you in church tomorrow and see for myself. I don’t see how it’s possible with a laugh like yours.”

  She gave a non-committal shrug. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you’ll notice, few people sit near me. I think my voice annoys them.” He heard a catch in her voice before she added, “Oh, well. As I used to say to my perfect little sister, ‘God only requires a joyful noise. He didn’t say anything about a lovely tune.’”

  Joe mulled her statement as she continued to flood her computer screen with a grisly murder scene—he hoped. It hadn’t been a compliment-fishing expedition. Alexa seemed to care less if her family or anyone else could tolerate her singing. In his experience with people, it meant she was likely very good and just had a jealous family.

  His secret passion was music from the forties and fifties. He loved the voices of women like Jo Stafford, Judy Garland, and Mary Ford. If Alexa could sing like any of them...

  “Ok. Got it. It’s all yours.” She set the laptop on the couch and stood. “I’m going to go change for my date.”

  Joe tried to show nonchalance as he moved to her abandoned seat to read the scene on the screen. He wondered who she was going out with but resisted the urge to ask. The son of the owner at Bookends had a thing for her—something he’d discovered when he stopped in to inquire about her shopping habits.

  The scene was perfect. Though it is not impossible to kill someone with a single blow to the head with a fireplace shovel, the lack of weight behind such a weapon would make it very difficult. The scene was so well written that he had to remind himself that it was not supposed to be a part of the story. He hit the save button and closed the laptop.

  Before he could lower the window warmers and light the room, Alexa stepped from her room wearing an evening gown—stunning. Layers of fabric—the sheerest of fabrics he’d ever seen—swirled about her bare feet. A small fur cape in exactly the same strange shade of green hung over her shoulders. Beautiful—where could she be going in a dress like that?

  “Look! I had to show you before I got dressed to go.”

  “You’re not wearing it?” Joe felt both relieved and disappointed. Though he wondered at his reaction, he forced himself to put it out of his mind. The time for analyzing such things was not appropriate during an investigation.

  “Oh, no. I just had it lying on the bed—needs to be dry-cleaned. See the bottom of the skirt—filthy. I just had to put it on one more time. I love it.”

  Before he could answer, she dashed back to her room, presumably to change again. Convinced it would take her a long time, he almost left. The idea of leaving her alone didn’t seem right, though. There was still a car out there with two people he needed to talk to—two people who seemed fixated on her house.

  He put his feet up on the ottoman, his hands behind his head, eyes closed. That lasted for thirty-one point two seconds flat. The swish of stockings—she would still wear those; his sister would be appalled—and the delicate scent of Alexa’s perfume forced his eyes open.

  “That was fast—some dress. What era?”

  “The Age of Alexa?” She shrugged. “I had an idea and had Laidie make it.”

  “Laidie?”

  “Adelaide, my seamstress.” Alexa ran her hands over the skirt. “I wanted something warm and fun both.”

  Joe watched the fabric go from light to dark as she smoothed it. “Is that suede?”

  “It’s faux—same with the fur, if you’re curious.” She grinned. “James would have a fit if I used real fur—not politically correct. You don’t irritate the readers that way.”

  Joe wanted to keep her talking. Something about the way she described her clothes—he really needed to read more of her work. “So, where are you going?”

  “Taking Sarah out to dinner and a movie. Zach was invited to a slumber party, and Heather had a party of some kind, so...”

  “So, you invited Sarah to a ‘night on the town’ and what, a sleepover too?”

  She smiled, reaching for a boot he hadn’t even seen her carry in. “Well...”

  “You’re dressing up like that for dinner and a movie with a kid?”

  “It only took a minute. It doesn’t take any longer to put on a dress than it does jeans and a sweater. Why not dress up and make a little girl happy?”

  Though his head mentally shook as the fur-trimmed hem swirled around her calves, he had to admire the picture. If the little cape and hat on the back of the chair—was that a muff? “Are you all ready to go?” What else could she do?

  Alexa shook her head. “I’ll fix my makeup, and I have to put on my boots. She won’t be here for a while yet.
”

  “Where are you going to dinner?”

  “Well, Friday, I have reservations for two at Marcello’s.”

  “But this is Saturday.”

  “Of course, it is. And from what I understand, tomorrow is Sunday.”

  “What did you say about Friday then?” She made no sense.

  “I called you ‘Friday.’ It’s my new nickname for you.”

  “Why Friday?”

  Alexa sighed. “From Dragnet, Joe. Joe Friday? ‘Just the facts, ma’am?’” She must have anticipated his next question because she added, “That fits you so perfectly it almost isn’t funny. You’re always focused on the facts.”

  “I’ll be Friday as long as you assure me you’re not Crusoe.” Joe chuckled at the idea of him as Friday. A new idea hit him. “Hey, can I take you both? Would she like a ‘date’ with a local cop and the local celebrity?”

  The wicked grin she tossed him before she spoke should have warned him. “We’d be happy to have you on one condition.”

  Wary, Joe had to ask. “What’s that?”

  “You ask Sarah yourself. If she agrees and the restaurant can add you to the party, you’re welcome to come.” She hesitated and added with a wink, “But you have to change. We’re ladies and we don’t go to dinner with men who are not dressed for the occasion.”

  Before Joe could answer, the doorbell rang. By the look on Alexa’s face, if it was Sarah, she was early. She opened the door, ushering Sarah and her mother into the room. “Come on in.”

  Heather seemed impatient to go again. She handed Alexa an overnight bag and a small, clumsily wrapped gift. “She insisted on wrapping it herself. We’re leaving for my grandparents’ in the morning, so—Oh! I put everything in there that you said you’d need.”

  Alexa murmured her thanks and turned to Sarah. “Would you like to open that long, silver package with the purple bow—on the right side. No—not that one, yes!”

  She turned to Heather as the woman backed toward the door again. “Do you have time to see—”

  “No, I’m already late. Hunter is at my house waiting for me. I’ll see it after Christmas. Thanks.”

  Joe watched, stunned as Heather rushed out the door, down the steps, and half-slid home along the icy sidewalk before Alexa could recover from the shock, and shut the door. She quickly grabbed a camera from her purse and snapped pictures as Sarah tore the wrapping paper from the box. He knelt beside the girl and with the flick of his pocketknife, slit the tape around the edges of the box.

  Alexa’s camera flashed. He tossed her a not-so-amused expression to which she said, “It was too cute to pass up.”

  While he held the top of the box for her, Sarah peeled back the layers of tissue. “Oh!”

  Joe raised his eyes to meet Alexa’s, admiration filling him. “Impressive,” he mouthed.

  Sarah jumped to her feet holding a miniature green version of Alexa’s dress to her chin, twirling. “Miss Lexie, it’s just like yours! Did you know green is my favorite color?”

  Joe nudged the girl’s elbow. “Sarah, how would you feel if I took you and Miss Lexie to dinner?”

  “In your uniform? Though she seemed pleased at the idea, the dress in her hand looked incongruous next to his black jacket, blue uniform, and gun belt.

  “If you accept, I’ll run home and change...”

  “Miss Lexie?” He heard the hope in her voice and wondered at the relief he felt.

  Alexa nodded. “We’ll be ready in twenty minutes. Can you be back by then?”

  As he closed the door behind him he called, “Be back before you’re ready.”

  Sarah beamed, her eyes looking a little too dreamy for Alexa’s taste. “It’s like a movie. The guy takes us to dinner and I have a dress like yours to dress up in. It’s so cool! Mom just has to let us stay for church in the morning. I want to wear it and show Cadence.”

  Alexa pulled tights, dress shoes, a slip, and a hairbrush from Sarah’s bag. She pushed Sarah toward the guest room. “Go put that thing on! We can’t make Joe wait. He’ll tease us. When you’re done, I’ll brush your hair.”

  While Sarah dressed, Alexa touched up her makeup, brushed her hair, and hurried to get her perfume. She eyed herself critically. Sarah’s voice in the doorway startled her as the girl murmured, “Ohhh... you’re beautiful!”

  “I think you look amazing yourself! Did you see yourself in the mirror?”

  Sarah blushed. “I was spinning in there—my dress spins out and kind of waves all around the bottom.”

  They discussed the food choices they’d have at the restaurant while Alexa brushed Sarah’s hair. With a few practiced flicks of the wrist, a barrette, and a touch of hairspray, Sarah looked fit to grace the cover of any catalog or magazine. Alexa dabbed a little perfume behind Sarah’s ears and smiled.

  “There. Every well-dressed lady should smell as beautiful as she looks.”

  “I can’t smell it.”

  “If you can, it’s too much.”

  The doorbell rang just as Alexa zipped up her boots. Sarah opened the door for Joe while Alexa slipped on gloves and adjusted her hat on her head. As she turned to ask him a question—what she couldn’t remember—her jaw drooped in an incredibly unladylike manner.

  Joe smiled at them, holding two corsages in one hand and his other hand twirling a charcoal fedora. “Are we ready, ladies?”

  Some people try to deny that “the clothes make the man,” but Alexa thought Joe was a perfect example of the belief that a suit, tie, and hat can turn a woman’s head like nothing else—save perhaps a tux—ever could. Joe seemed a little taller, his shoulders a little broader, and the dark gray of his suit accented his green eyes. Shockingly handsome. It wasn’t that she didn’t consider him reasonably good-looking, but she had just never considered him anything exceptional. The suit made all the difference.

  “Where on earth did you find a hat—and corsages? You’ve only been gone twenty-five minutes.”

  Joe grinned. “I asked my neighbor if I could borrow one of his hats and an overcoat.”

  “Your neighbor wears fedoras?”

  “He did—back when he owned a men’s store in the fifties—you know, where the kid’s boutique is next to The Grind?”

  Alexa tried to raise one eyebrow as she accepted her corsage and pinned it in place. “And these?”

  Joe fumbled with Sara’s until Alexa took pity on the terrified child and pulled the dagger-like pin from Joe’s shaking hand. “The corsages?” she asked again.

  “In my fridge. I was bringing them to church for a couple of the older ladies.”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t—”

  “It’s fine. Wayne at The Pettler is letting me stop by for replacements on the way to the movie.”

  Alexa watched Joe as he helped Sarah put on her coat, opened the door for her, helped remove her coat at the restaurant, and held her chair with just the slightest hint of chivalry. It was enough to make the girl feel special without overdoing it. He clearly loved children. He’d be a wonderful father someday—the kind of father Sarah and Zach needed.

  Her eyes slid to Sarah and watched as the girl almost blossomed under the little attention he gave her. Heather’s taste in men, thus far, had been less than inspiring. She still squirmed at the idea of Hunter and Heather. The names sounded like trendy options from a baby name book.

  As they perused their menus, she glanced over the top of hers, watching the scene as if outside herself. In Rockland, anyone would have assumed that the three of them were a family. Alexa knew that she and Joe made a handsome couple, and Sarah in her matching dress could easily be mistaken for their daughter. It was a scene she had never imagined for herself—one that came with the merest hint of loss before she brushed it aside.

  They dined at a table overlooking the skating rink. That rink had been one of the things she loved about the town—that old-fashioned habit of flooding part of a park in winter. Where families picnicked on lazy summer evenings, on winter afternoons, people
skated. It was just one more way that Fairbury held to the past without ignoring the present.

  As though hired to be their personal entertainment, a lone skater practice on the ice. Sarah watched, enraptured, at the jumps and spins made by a little girl not much older than she. On a nearby bench, a father watched his daughter skate to an unheard melody.

  She knew Joe watched her, but she chose not to acknowledge it. Instead, she enjoyed Sarah’s delight with the restaurant, with her new dress, and with the attention she seemed to crave. The dress had been a gamble. The girl might wish for something elegant and unique, but wishes were often best kept in the imagination. From the way Sarah stroked the fur and checked a dozen times to see if her muff still hung from the chair and the way her eyes sparkled, she obviously felt like a princess.

  THEY CHOSE TO WALK the two blocks to the old Fox Theater. Frosty air stung their noses as they ambled along the street, peering into windows and commenting on the merchandise. As they passed The Pettler, Joe led them inside to pick up his corsages.

  Alexa and Sarah admired floral arrangements in the cold cases as Joe paid for his flowers. While Alexa taught Sarah to recognize orchids and amaryllis, Wayne fussed about the cold destroying his flowers. Sounding clearly exasperated, Joe reluctantly agreed to allow Wayne to bring them to church for him.

  They entered the lobby of the theater, grateful for warm air on their faces. Joe helped Sarah out of her coat before turning to take Alexa’s cape from her. With arms full of outerwear, Joe struggled to reach his wallet to pay for drinks and snacks. Alexa and Sarah, giggling at the sight of his acrobatics, stood aside and waited for their refreshments.

  “Would you like me to take the popcorn, Friday?”

  Sarah, taking her cue from Alexa, added, “I’ll carry the candy if you want.”

  Joe’s eyes narrowed as he shook his head. “So thoughtful of you. Why, I shouldn’t have any trouble at all carrying coats and a tray of drinks and still manage to open the door—not at all.”

  Somehow, Joe did manage to carry the coats and drinks, open the large door to the correct cinema, and get his “dates” seated. With Sarah sandwiched between them, Joe and Alexa adjusted their seats in the almost empty room. “I guess everyone is either gone for Christmas or is seeing the new dragon movie.”