“Bud doesn’t need my advice on how to take care of business. He knows enough about antiques. Maybe you’ll find yourself on the wrong end of a deal.”
He laughed softly, undisturbed. “Maybe I will. Why don’t we just agree that we have no part in each other. We’re free agents and come and go as we please. All right?”
Claudia fought back humiliation. But enough remnants of her fey mood were upon her that she asked, “Why did you ask me out in the first place?”
His eyes flickered away.
In another second, he’ll be looking at me with all sincerity straight in the eyes and lie to me. But Peter surprised her.
He took her hand and looked at it, then brought it to her face. She winced as both their fingers traced the line of the scar.
“Maybe it was this. You are so beautiful, so demure, and even though you’ve had this for years, you still carry yourself as a beautiful girl. You’re like a fine piece of furniture or a rare coin. Perfect in every way except some remarkable damage. Fascinating damage, like a perfectly intact George Washington uniform with an original bullet hole, or a lovely old table with initials carved by a young Mark Twain. It just adds to the value.”
Claudia stood dumbfounded and hoped she wouldn’t cry.
Peter pulled his hand off hers and stepped back into the room.
“But the fascination has worn off, and I’m ready to move on. I suggest you do, too.”
He shut the door in her face.
THIRTEEN
Claudia blundered away from the uncompromising door and headed for her room. Please, please, don’t let me meet anyone.
It was not to be. As she rounded the corner, the front door opened and a cheery group of weekend guests spilled into the foyer and blocked the way to the stairs. She turned to head to the kitchen, where she knew an old servants’ staircase led to the upper levels, and ran into Ann.
Her hostess looked at her reddened face and welling eyes and hissed, “The kitchen isn’t clear. My daughter decided to drop by. Wait in the parlor until I get this crew settled, and I’ll make sure to keep them out of there. As a matter of fact...” She reached into a small closet and pulled out the Hoover Claudia had met her first night at the Weary Traveler. “Take this with you and turn it on. You don’t have to vacuum. It’s just better than a plague warning to keep folks from coming in.”
She didn’t give Claudia time to thank her, but trotted into the foyer toward the crowd, fluffing her short curls as she went.
Claudia spent a smelly twenty minutes in the parlor alternately shoving or dragging the rumbling vacuum and raging at Peter, herself and fate in general. By the time Ann came in and detached the handle from her grip, the storm had passed. She unplugged the vacuum and wound the cord, trying to find words of thanks. She didn’t get the chance. Ann looked like Philip when he couldn’t wait to share news.
“Ezra just called to confirm he’ll pick you up at six. You have plenty of time for prettying up.”
“Yes, well, Ezra has now seen every outfit I own. Some, I’m sure, more than once. They’re all getting a bit ripe. Could I use your washer? Or would you rather I found a Laundromat?”
“I won’t dignify that with a response. And, in anticipation of your next inane offer, you can’t buy your own detergent. And to really heap burning coals on your head, I’m going to lead you to the family suite and my daughter Priscilla’s clothes. Did I tell you about Priscilla? The next one up from Philip. She’s a college junior and studying in the Ukraine of all places this year. I think you’re about the same size and her clothes may as well be used. Bud and I paid for them and we experience no satisfaction from our investments when they sit in the closet.”
Ann led her to the wing of the house opposite Peter’s room. This was the first time Claudia had seen the Gomer’s suite, running the entire length of the inn’s west side. A hallway gave access to each room in the suite, which bore no resemblance to the rest of the Weary Traveler. Everything was sleek and compact and modern, with bold colors, lots of clear wood and windows, and on every wall photos and more photos. Ann led a brisk pace past a living room to several doors beyond. She opened the second one, sidled in, and motioned Claudia to follow.
“You can see why we spend most of our time on the public side of the inn. There’s that little living room, a tiny kitchen, and the three bedrooms, just barely enough to fit our kids and us. And they are small rooms.”
She spoke truly. The room they entered had a set of bunk beds crammed up against a wall, two dressers stacked on top of one another, and on the facing wall a single bed pressed along a window. Claudia and Ann had only enough space to huddle in front of a closet opposite the dressers. Ann looked over her shoulder with satisfaction.
“The size of these rooms drove all my kids, even those who weren’t scholars, to go to college. The thought of coming back home after graduation didn’t sound nearly as enticing as finding a good mate and marrying early. We like to keep people moving in the Gomer family.”
A creak sounded beyond the far wall, followed by a thud and emphatic footsteps. Philip poked his head in the door.
“Isn’t this the epitome of cubbyhole torture? When nobody is booked I get to sleep in any guest room I choose. But one guest—even one guest!—and I’m back in confinement.”
“Quiet,” Ann grimaced at him. “You are the only one living here besides us. Your siblings hate you for all the space you have. And you’re abominably rude. Get lost.”
“I was just going. Time for the recital. The show can’t go on without me. Besides, Claudia knows I’m kidding. We’re simpatico.” Philip clattered back into the torment of his own cubicle.
Ann rubbed her forehead. “Every gray hair I’ve got came from Philip. Please accept my apologies on his behalf. I’m at least fifty percent responsible for the monster we’ve created.”
“I refuse to accept the apology. Would that all monsters were that endearing. Besides,” Claudia added, “Philip and I are simpatico.”
“Enough of my offspring. Things are about to get complicated,” Ann told her. “These closet doors open outward. Shortsighted of us. To open the door we need to stand on the bed. Once it’s open we can climb back down and see what’s available.”
Claudia checked to make sure Ann was serious. She hoisted herself onto the bed with a groan. Quite serious. Claudia followed suit and balanced herself while Ann pulled open the closet door and returned to floor level with an equally heartfelt groan.
“My joints are not what they used to be. OK, now tuck yourself in here behind me and let’s see what we shall see.”
Ann contorted herself to reach into the dark space. She rooted behind the clothes, and tugged. A light came on and simultaneously she exclaimed in exasperation. Mumbling something Claudia couldn’t hear, she dropped to her knees and scrabbled on the floor.
“One of these days we’ll have a real switch in here instead of a chain that always falls apart. Probably the day before we sell the place. Ha! Found it!” She performed some complex operation that Claudia assumed was the reassembly of the light bulb chain, and seconds later, clothing erupted from the closet and landed on the bed next to Claudia.
“Not this. Or that. I like those pants but they’re too summery. Her slacks should fit you. I can’t imagine where she got her long legs. Mine just barely reach past my knees. How about this?”
She held up a pair of black, tailored wool slacks and, stretching into the mouth of the closet again, snagged a turquoise jacket, cropped and fitted.
“If you wear this with”—she rummaged on the bed—“this white blouse you’ll look pretty enough to not be insulting but not so overdressed as to intimate desperation. What do you think?”
She stood, clothes draped over her arms and beaming. Overwhelmed, Claudia hugged Ann and, on impulse, kissed her cheek.
“Thank you, Ann. And thank Priscilla. I’ll try not to spill catsup.”
Ann shook out the clothes Claudia had rumpled in the embrace but she
looked pleased. “Go make yourself pretty. You don’t mind seeing your own way out, do you? I need to get these clothes back on hangers or I’ll forget, and Philip will tattle on me next time he talks to his sister.”
The clouds thickened, darkened, and hovered outside Claudia’s bedroom window. She turned on every lamp and the fireplace switch. The little yellow room reflected a glow like gold and Claudia’s heart leapt in response. This feels like joy. She collapsed on the settee and stared at the fake glowing log as this all-but-forgotten emotion grew.
She remembered joy. Especially as a little girl, joy had arrived at unexpected times. Sometimes it overcame her as she strapped on skis, but just as often it would hit while she rode her bike past home, sat down to Sunday dinner, walked into the library. Her heart would tingle and close behind it came that whelming flood of joy. That had always been her name for an emotion that linked her soul and mind and spirit. Joy arrived unbidden and unpredicted to pour from heart to fingertips to toes. She held her breath, every time, to preserve and examine it but it forever danced just out of her grasp and slipped away.
Claudia stayed still, focusing, her heart ready to burst. At the last crucial second joy seeped through cracks and crevices of her being until her every extremity and pore rejoiced before the evaporation worked backwards and she sat in the afterglow.
She didn’t move for a time. When she finally rose, she showered, twisted her hair into a smooth knot low on her neck, and pulled her makeup bag toward her. She took out the thick cream used to minimize the scar and threw it in the trash.
An hour later she went down to wait for Ezra in the parlor but saw it filled with the weekend guests. She turned to go sit in the foyer when one of them hailed her. Two men and two women, all of whom appeared to be about her parent’s age, sat around the coffee table looking at a laptop computer.
“Don’t let us scare you away!” The man who had addressed her motioned her in. “We’ve been talking about this murder. Our little group has been coming up to Barley for almost ten years and this is the first we’ve ever heard about any major crime.”
Claudia assumed no one ever clued them in on the exploits of Bernice, and she wondered how they had learned of Roi Lily’s demise. One of the women on the sofa scooted over to make room and Claudia sat next to her. She looked curiously at the scar for a split second. Remarkably, Claudia didn’t redden. The woman smiled and held out her hand.
“I’m Jo, this is my husband Jim, his brother Tim and Tim’s wife Deb. We aren’t ghouls, really we aren’t, but this does have us a little shook.”
After shaking hands all around, Claudia murmured that she understood. “How did you hear?”
Jo motioned toward the laptop. Tabitha must update the weekly paper online. A bold heading announced “Local Man Killed, Another Held for Questioning.” Claudia had to admit that it wasn’t particularly sensational. She glanced at the photo of a trailer with a porch dangling in the vicinity of a front door. The caption read “Bernice Ebenezer Residence. Body discovered in driveway.” Claudia skimmed the story but before she learned anything new the screen turned blue. Jim shut down the laptop with a sigh. “The only thing Barley lacks is reliable Internet access.”
“Unreliable access is what Deb and I love about Barley. Keeps our husbands from pouring over stock market reports and sports scores,” Jo said and leaned toward Claudia. “Philip tells us you’ve been here several days. Do you know anything more about this?” Instead of waiting for an answer, she shook her head. “It’s strange, because we know both Roi and Felix.”
Tim nodded. “We come up summers too. Charter a boat from Roi. And Debbie here”—he indicated the woman sitting across from Claudia—“knows Felix’s grandma.”
Debbie said, “She sold braided rugs at one of the craft stores, and they were so beautiful I had to meet her. I started buying them as gifts for family, friends, whoever, and often I would ask Mrs. Rich to make them in specific colors. We got to be friendly in that way you get with people you only see a couple of times a year. You know how it is.”
Claudia nodded. Her family built friendships with the people who ran the ski resort they went to every winter. They enjoyed each other’s company but probably wouldn’t know what to say if they met in neutral territory.
“She told me when Felix got early release from prison. She had no illusions about his character. She said he was lazy and rude and bad-tempered, but she didn’t worry about him hurting anyone, including children. She kept him under her thumb mostly because that’s what she promised the community she would do. I met him a few times when I went to visit her. He just doesn’t seem like a killer.”
Her husband laughed uncomfortably. “Honey, how many killers are that obvious? Anyone can kill under the right circumstances. At least that’s what I’ve heard. And Roi Lily was a guy who would do his darndest to make the circumstances right. I never fully trusted him.”
“Careful, Tim,” his brother said, “or the young lady here will start thinking you finished off Roi.”
“If I finished off Roi I’d make sure to get the keys to his boat,” Tim responded. “It’s a beauty.” He peered at his watch. “Six o’clock! We better get to Blossom’s before the regulars take our favorite table.”
The group bustled toward the door, expressing pleasure at having met Claudia, and bumped into Ezra. They greeted him like an old friend.
“What are you doing here? Getting into the inn business to supplement your other ventures?”
“Jim, dear,” Jo answered, “I think he came for Claudia.”
“Why, you dog!” Jim hooted, punching Ezra in the arm and grinning at Claudia, who this time turned rosy.
The couples exited, chattering, and Ezra sat next to Claudia. Once again her face was scrutinized. “I like it.”
“What?”
“I guess I should clarify. I like the uncovered scar. You did a good job with whatever goop you used, but you have such great color in your cheeks—”
“That’s because I’m always blushing.”
“And your skin has fine texture. It was hard to tell under the makeup.”
“I’m glad you approve. I threw the tube away, and since I am currently unemployed and must owe the Gomers at least my first-born child by now, I can’t afford to buy any more.”
Ezra continued beaming at her until she didn’t know where to look. She could have kissed Philip when he popped his snow-covered head in the room.
“Guess what? Rachel’s dance teacher had a surprise! She just announced at intermission that Rachel got accepted at Juilliard!”
He radiated pride and excitement.
Ezra responded cheerfully, “Great! When does she move to New York?”
Philip looked as though he’d been hit in the stomach. Without responding, he turned and stalked from the room. The front door slammed behind him.
“Poor guy. I guess he overlooked the fact that Rachel can’t commute from Barley to New York City on a regular basis. Are you coming, Miss Alexander?”
“Coming, Mr. Prosper.”
They walked arm-in-arm out into the falling snow.
Ezra drove a panel van. It looked old and, like many vehicles she’d seen in Barley, rusty around the bottom. He opened her door and helped her in. A sturdy mesh screen separated the front seats from the open back of the van, and several metal crates were stacked along the sides. While obviously for animal transportation, it was vacuumed, the well-worn seats looked clean, and it didn’t smell like animal.
“Lavender.” Claudia sniffed experimentally as Ezra climbed behind the wheel. “It smells like lavender in here.”
Wordlessly he pulled out a sachet from under his seat to waft beneath her nose.
“Nice touch,” she told him. “It looks homemade.”
“Of course it’s homemade. I mean ‘handcrafted.’ My mother is merciless about getting me to buy local. Heaven forbid that I ever get caught with one of those evergreen trees dangling from the rearview mirror. Whoa! Hang on!”<
br />
They slid right through an intersection. A Jeep with the right of way to the east honked and slammed the brakes until they screeched.
Ezra kept going. His hands gripped the steering wheel and his foot stayed off both gas and brake. The road inclined upward slightly, and the van slowed enough for Ezra to execute a full stop by the next intersection.
For several seconds he sat drumming the wheel and frowning at a Toyota idling on the intersecting street. “Why doesn’t he go?”
“Maybe because he has a stop sign and you don’t?”
“I didn’t work the brake this hard just to start right up again.” Ezra waved his arm wildly out the window, beckoning the Toyota to move. It crept through the intersection, and once safely on the other side, gunned it.
“This isn’t your usual snow transportation?” Claudia asked once they headed out of town and away from the treachery of stop signs and icy intersections.
“No, I usually take the snowmobile. In summer I use my motorcycle. Seems silly to have another car or truck on top of this one. The county paid for it, and they cover insurance and major repairs. I do the general maintenance and keep the gas tank filled. I didn’t really want to pick you up in a snowmobile, and my brother wouldn’t let me borrow the sheriff’s car, so I took the death trap.” He looked at her with anxiety. “You weren’t scared, were you?”
Claudia decided not to share how her heart was still pumping madly directly beneath her tonsils. “Heavens no. Remember, I ski down mountains.”
Satisfied, he accelerated only slightly as they headed north on the highway. Claudia began to think their entire date would be spent in the front seat of an animal control van. She grinned at the acknowledgement that it was, indeed, a date.
They reached Ezra’s home and pulled into the driveway. Ezra parked, opened the door of the detached garage, and eased in next to a flatbed trailer. Claudia let herself out and, hearing a yelp, hastened around the back of the van. Ezra was gripping his shin and balancing on one leg. He pointed at the trailer hitch protruding from the back of the van.
Winter Watch Page 13