String of Lies
Page 2
Too many questions. Especially on an empty stomach. Jo reached for the half-forgotten bag of sandwiches, and opened it up. The best answer to almost everything, at least for the moment, was turkey and bacon with Bert’s special sauce. She unwrapped it and bit down, savoring the flavors that spread across her tongue, then groaned as yet another question popped up.
And if Bert decides to sell? What then?
By late afternoon, Jo had attempted to reach Max twice more without success, hanging up on the answering machine each time. She tried to take her mind off of it, telling herself the man was semiretired, after all, and wasn’t sitting at a desk all day, taking calls. But the little bit of stock tidying she busied herself with between customers wasn’t doing it for her. So when Carrie began to talk about Sylvia Ramirez and her tote bags, Jo welcomed the distraction.
“I told you about Xavier, didn’t I?” Carrie asked, and when Jo nodded, continued. “Dan’s been so glad to find him, says Xavier’s the best worker he’s had in ages, and so reliable. Anyway, Sylvia is Xavier’s wife, and they’re expecting their first baby soon, so she’s recently stopped working. But she’s been making these amazing handmade bags, quilted and beaded and such, for family and friends. I saw them the other night and thought how she could make a little money from them if she had the right outlet.”
Jo caught where Carrie was going. “The right outlet such as Jo’s Craft Corner?”
Carrie grinned. “Only if you like the idea, of course. Sylvia and Xavier have been having a tough time of things, ever since they lost everything in Hurricane Katrina. And I mean everything. They’re still struggling to get back on their feet. Dan isn’t able to pay Xavier very much yet, and they could probably use the extra income. But aside from that, the bags Sylvia makes are really quite beautiful. I think they’d be a terrific draw for customers.”
“Let’s ask her to bring some in, then,” Jo said.
“Really?” Carrie looked delighted. “I could probably get her in today, have her bring a couple samples for you to look over.”
“If you say they’re good, Carrie, I’m sure they are.” Jo thought it wouldn’t hurt to put a couple bags near the needlepoint kits, and who knows? Maybe someone would be attracted by their novelty and actually buy one. She could see how much this meant to Carrie, who cared as much about her friends’ well-being as her own. So Jo was happy to help Carrie assist Sylvia in this small way. At least, that is, as long as she had a shop to do it in.
Two customers walked in, and Jo took care of them while Carrie called Sylvia. The two had come mainly for scrapbooking supplies, and gathered a modest pile of purchases on the sales counter. But one, the slimmer of the two, hesitantly added a small kit Jo had packaged up for a bead-trimmed key ring as well.
“You shouldn’t have any trouble with this,” Jo assured her, “but come on back if you do, and I can help you out.”
The woman’s face brightened. “Oh, thank you!”
“Plus, we’ll be starting a few beading workshops soon if you’re interested in something a little more intricate.” Jo slipped a flyer printed with information on the workshops into the woman’s bag, and handed it over to her.
Carrie hung up the phone as the customers left and turned to Jo. “Sylvia said she can be here at four.”
“Terrific,” Jo said, taking in Carrie’s happy face. She hoped she herself would be as pleased by 4:30 or so.
Pleased was not the word for it. It was as though Sylvia Ramirez was pulling rabbits out of a hat. The “hat” was a simple, white plastic trash bag Sylvia had used to transport her quilted bags, and her modest demeanor displayed none of a magician’s flamboyance. But she might as well have cried “Abracadabra!” as she pulled out one handbag after another and placed them on Jo’s counter. Even though the basics of handles, pouch, and zippers were identical, each bag was so different from the others. The uniqueness came from the designs Sylvia had stitched into them with her quilting and trims. One had a delicate flower pattern, another took on a charming animal face, and a third simply swirled with rainbow colors.
“I love them,” Jo declared.
Sylvia, her dark hair pulled back and held simply with a white scrunchie, beamed, the smile rounding out her face to a near perfect circle.
“You think you can sell?” she asked.
“Definitely. How fast can you make them?”
Sylvia laughed, a light ripple that ran up half an octave. “Now, I have nothing else to do, mostly. I was cleaning houses, but with the baby coming, Xavier wants me to stay home. Our little place I can clean in two minutes. Rest of the time, I can make bags.”
“Perfect. Let’s figure out what a good price for them would be. What do your materials cost you, Sylvia?” Jo grabbed a clean sheet of paper and wrote down the figures the young woman pulled out of her head. Jo reached for her calculator to total the numbers up and work out percentages, and before long came up with a price that would give both the Craft Corner and Sylvia a reasonable profit.
“We’re going to start a fad right here in Abbotsville, mark my words,” Jo declared.
“A fad?” Sylvia looked puzzled. “What is a fad?”
“A ‘fad’ means every woman in town is going to want her own signature ‘Sylvia’ bag before long. They’ll be pounding at the doors, money clutched in their fists, waiting for our next shipment to come in.”
Sylvia spilled out her musical laugh. “No ships. I’ll carry them over myself.”
“Well, at least they’re light. I wouldn’t want you to overburden yourself.” Jo looked at Sylvia’s rounded middle. “When is the baby due?”
Sylvia smiled, and ran a hand over her belly. “Two months. March fifth. But he is big already. Maybe he comes sooner.”
Jo nodded, happy for Sylvia’s expected joy, but at the same time selfishly hoping Baby Ramirez wouldn’t rush to make his appearance. Jo wanted as many of Sylvia’s bags as she could get, and she knew designer bags would be pushed aside once diaper bags came on the scene. Then she thought about Parker Holt, and her satisfaction in the moment faded away.
“Something wrong?” Sylvia asked. “You change your mind?”
“No, no,” Jo reassured her. “Everything’s fine. I just remembered something I have to take care of.” Like making sure I have a business long enough to sell these bags for Sylvia, as well as support myself. Why isn’t Max calling back?
The phone rang, and Jo heard Carrie take it in the back. She waited, but when Carrie didn’t call out, she turned her attention back to Sylvia, chatting until the young woman, bubbling her thanks, took her leave. Jo watched her buoyant exit, which, at this point in her pregnancy, was not exactly light-footed, but hadn’t reached the dreaded “waddle” stage yet, either.
“Carrie,” Jo called as she searched through a drawer for price tags to attach to the bags Sylvia left with her, “I’m so glad you—” A swooshing sound caused Jo to turn, and she saw Carrie pulling on her nylon parka in a hurry.
“You’re going out?”
“That phone call—it was from the Abbotsville Playhouse.” Carrie’s face was white. “Charlie was working there during rehearsals after school, and he’s taken a fall. They’re taking him to the hospital.”
“Oh, no!”
“I don’t know how bad it is, but I’m meeting them in the ER.” Carrie was zipping up and pulling on gloves hurriedly as she headed to the door. “I couldn’t get through to Dan. He’s probably at the Holt house. Would you keep trying and tell him I’ll call as soon as I know anything? And I’ll call you too.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll get Dan.” Jo couldn’t get more out before Carrie was gone. She stared after her dazedly, thinking, Charlie’s hurt? Her godson and most favorite fifteen-year-old in the world. How could it be? As alarmed as she was, though, she knew Carrie must feel ten times worse. This was Carrie’s child, her firstborn, her son. But it was pretty awful for Jo to handle too.
“Mike,” Jo silently said, speaking as she often did to her late
husband, who, she was convinced, watched over her from his own particular heavenly spot. “How can this be? Bad things shouldn’t happen to Carrie’s family. I love them.”
But you loved me, Jo, she seemed to hear, and look what happened.
“Exactly my point, Mike. Wasn’t that enough?”
Mike didn’t answer.
Chapter 2
The next couple of hours were a blur of hasty, worry-filled phone calls, and anxious pacing for Jo, all while handling the ongoing business of her craft shop. At Jo’s suggestion, Carrie sent her eleven-year-old, Amanda, to the shop, leaving her one less thing to think about, and Jo had Amanda’s favorite sausage and mushroom pizza delivered for their dinner. Instead of it being a fun treat, though, the pizza was nibbled at solemnly as each tried to put on a brave face for the other, with neither succeeding.
“When did Mom say she’d call?” Amanda asked, pushing a cooling, cheese-topped triangle around her plate.
“As soon as she’s talked to the doctor who has looked at all the X-rays and test results. Honey, those emergency rooms can be a madhouse, believe me. I remember. Nurses and doctors are taking care of dozens of patients at a time. All anyone can do is wait for them to get to you.”
“But why can’t they just take care of Charlie first and then take care of the other people?”
“I know, we all wish that. Those other patients are wishing it too, you can bet on it. But the hospital people have to do what they call a triage.”
Amanda wrinkled her nose and Jo explained. “That means a kind of filtering, or sorting through the situation. The nurses and doctors do a quick check of everyone who comes in, then take care of the worst cases first, the ones that really can’t wait.”
“So maybe it’s a good sign that Charlie’s waiting?”
“I think it’s a very good sign. Even though it’s hard on the rest of us.”
Amanda took a bite of her pizza. “It’s yucky.”
“The pizza?”
“No, the waiting.”
Jo smiled at the girl who she remembered once insisting that Charlie was the most disgusting brother in the world because he had burped loudly at the table when Amanda’s best friend Lindsey stayed over for dinner.
The Craft Corner’s door opened, and Jo looked over to see Ina Mae Kepner coming in. “Any word yet?” Ina Mae asked.
“Not yet, but Amanda and I are taking that as a good sign.”
The older woman looked over at Amanda and nodded. “Probably so.” Ina Mae had seen Carrie drive off in a rush and rightly took it as an indication that not all was well. Though she’d been heading for the bank, she stepped into the Craft Corner and got an explanation from Jo.
For the few months Jo had known her, Ina Mae had been a rock of common sense, and Jo was always glad to share as much as she knew with her, unlike certain other individuals, such as gossipy Alexis Wigsley. Besides, as a retired elementary schoolteacher, Ina Mae still had an air about her that sometimes made Jo feel as though all that is wrong would be made right because Mrs. Kepner is here, and Jo was grateful for it, unrealistic though it may be.
“What exactly happened?” Ina Mae asked.
“Carrie said he had gone out on the stage to check on the sound system when he got distracted, wandered too close to the edge, and fell into the pit. You know how those rehearsals can be. A million things going on at one time.”
Ina Mae tsked. She was never one to approve of disorganization. But she managed to say, “Well, at least there were plenty of people there to help.”
The phone rang, and Jo grabbed for it eagerly, but it was only a customer checking on Jo’s closing time.
Ina Mae soothed, “You’ll hear from Carrie soon. It can’t be too bad, from what you said.”
“I know, and I do expect good news.” Jo sank onto her stool. “But I’m ashamed to say I’m also anxious to hear from Max McGee. I’ve been trying to get him all day.”
“Your landlord? What on earth for?” Ina Mae glanced around as if looking for signs of a leaky roof or scuttling mice.
“To find out if he’s selling this place out from under me.” Jo dolefully told Ina Mae what she had learned that morning, and the tall, white-haired woman’s lips pressed tightly as she listened.
“That man! It’s bad enough Parker Holt is putting up an ugly office building where our beautiful old library used to be. What does he want? To turn this row of character-filled shops into some kind of T-shirt mall?”
“I don’t know.”
“If you can’t reach Max—and who knows, he may be off on another one of those abominable cruises he loves to take—your best bet is to go right to Holt and ask him.”
“You’re right, I hadn’t thought of that—that Max might ultimately be unreachable. But Parker Holt is certainly right here in town. There’s nothing to stop me from finding Holt and demanding a straight answer from him, is there?”
“Nothing at all,” Ina Mae agreed. “Of course, the man, from what I hear, is a master of evasion, so it might not be all that easy. But you’re a capable woman,” Ina Mae declared, looking Jo firmly in the eye. “You’ll find a way.”
The shop door opened, and the late-shopping customer who had called came rushing in. “Quick, I need a craft project for our Brownie meeting tomorrow. What do you have that will keep ten eight-year-olds occupied for half an hour?”
Ina Mae sniffed, and Jo led the woman to a few possibilities in the beading area. The phone rang, and Jo heard Amanda pick it up. She listened with one ear as her customer groaned into the other about the difficulties of handling a Brownie troop.
Amanda finally called out, “Charlie’s got a cracked rib! But it’s gonna be okay, and that’s all that’s wrong with him.”
“That’s fantastic, honey!” Jo called back.
“I imagine it’ll be the last time he doesn’t look where he’s going,” Ina Mae said, but Jo saw a little smile spread across her face.
“Tell your mom you can stay with me tonight, Amanda,” Jo said.
“Yipee!”
“Do you have anything a little less expensive?” the Brownie mother asked doubtfully, oblivious to the excitement around her.
“Ma’am,” Jo said, smiling widely, “I’ve just this moment discounted those beaded bracelet kits by 50 percent. Tell your Brownies, ‘Happy New Year from Jo!’ ”
The woman blinked as Amanda ran over to give Jo a happy hug.
The next morning Jo dropped Amanda off at Abbotsville Middle School. She watched the girl hail her friends and smiled at her eagerness to share the excitement of Charlie’s accident, now that he wasn’t too badly off. Jo was relieved and happy about Charlie too, but she still had that other major concern hanging around ominously. She pulled out her cell phone and called Parker Holt’s office number.
“Mr. Holt isn’t in yet” was the cool answer she got to her inquiry.
“When do you expect him?”
“I really can’t say. May I have your number and have him get back to you?”
Jo had had enough of leaving her number in the black hole of answering machines lately. “Perhaps I could just stop over. I only need a minute of his time.”
“I can’t guarantee when Mr. Holt will be in. He has several projects he’s overseeing.”
“I’d be happy to run over to one of those projects to see him. Can you tell me where he’ll be?”
“May I have your number, and he can get back to you?”
Jo sighed and gave in, giving both her cell and store numbers. “Please tell him it’s urgent, and I promise to be brief.”
“Thank you for calling,” the cool voice said, and hung up.
Jo grumped, and drove on to her shop, determined to keep on trying. However, as the day progressed and each call got her no further than that chilly, stonewalling voice, her frustration grew, and she began to picture the voice as coming from a thickly padded, robotic hockey goalie, poised to block any and all attempts by callers to score a point for their side.
“Parker Holt, please?” Jo would politely ask.
Zing, block, puck sent off.
“Is Mr. Holt in?”
Block, slap, smash.
“May I—”
Zip, slam!
Parker Holt had clearly trained his office staff well in the art of courteous but effective obstruction. It grew increasingly exasperating, but Jo was determined to get around such slipperiness. After all, she had dealt with masters up in New York when working to place her handwrought jewelry for consignment, and here in Abbotsville she had team-mates to bring in. With their help she could surely work out a circumventing screen shot. All those hours of watching Wayne Gretzky surely should be worth something.