by Ellen, Tracy
“No, I don’t wait for an invitation.”
I sat down abruptly on my desk chair. My voice was soft. “I like that about you.”
“You don’t love it about me?” His voice was quiet still, but teasing.
“I’ll let you know next time we’re in bed together and you’re inside me.”
There was a beat of silence on the phone, and then low laughter. “I like that about you.”
We were quiet a second, but I felt a smile in the silence.
“Anabel, did you make out with Mike McClain last night?”
Thank heavens for friends and brothers because I did not pause in making my reply, “No, I did not.” After a beat, I added, “But he did kiss me.”
There was no smile in this silence.
“Why do you ask?” I ventured nervously.
“It’s good you’re honest,” Luke ignored my question and ended the call after saying, “but I’m disappointed in your answer, Anabel.”
I tossed my phone across my desk. “Dammit, Mike McClain!”
There was a light knock on my door.
“Come in,” I called out absently, jumping up and wanting to take some action but not knowing what would make things right. I told Luke all the truth, not impulsively, but so that it came from me. He wasn’t my exclusive boyfriend, but I also didn’t want him to erroneously think I was having sexual encounters with other men based on gossip or misdirection by troublemakers. I had no desire to make out with Mike last night, or I would have. Luke has my total interest captivated right now. Maybe I needed to tell him that. I was sure he wouldn’t like the idea of sloppy seconds or second string any more than I did. Then I frowned at his questioning of my actions.
‘Holy Hannah, I had no idea being sexually infatuated took up so much time and energy!’
The door opened wider. Larissa put her fluffy, golden-blonde head in my office and cautiously looked around. “Hi Bel, am I interrupting? I thought maybe you were in a meeting since I heard you talking.”
Opening my arms wide, I put my man troubles aside. “Larissa, it’s great to see you! No, it was just me yelling at myself for being stupid. Oh my, look at your hair. It’s darling!”
Larissa grinned and scooted in, saying, “You could never be stupid.”
Surprising me, she came forward and enfolded me in a tight embrace. Gently patting her thin back, I realized Wednesdays were one of her regular days on the schedule. Believing she’d need more recouping time, I hadn’t thought to see her back at work this quickly. We did speak on the phone, but this was the first I’d seen Larissa since her ex-husband’s kidnapping attempt on Saturday.
We swayed together for a moment. She released me and put her hands up for our traditional high-five. Laughing, we smacked hands.
Cheeks blushing, she touched her hair and asked anxiously, “Really, Bel, you like it?”
Larissa had cut off all her long, straight hair. It was now super short, but looked sassy on her. Her bone structure was so classically beautiful that even the worst haircut wouldn’t detract from her looks, but this truly was cute.
“I love it! You look adorable,” Smiling, I added, “like a feisty kitten.”
Giggling in her squeaky, high pitch, Larissa’s expression still wore a tiny, worried frown. “It’s okay that I came back to work, though?”
“Okay? It’s fantastic! I’ve missed your bat giggles.”
She giggled again, but her relief was evident as the tension left her face. I’d been observing her since she came into the office. Her big blue eyes were wide, but not with fright. In her position, trepidation and self-conscious determination were the normal expressions I’d expect to see on someone’s face after getting slapped around. Poor Larissa has suffered far worse for far longer. Physically, the only new mark marring her pale skin was a red scratch near her lip, and it would soon disappear. Mentally, I was monumentally relieved to see dealing with the rat bastard’s latest abusive attack hasn’t pushed her back into her pitiful shell. Larissa’s come a long way since I first interviewed her last summer.
“If you are positive you want to be back, Larissa, consider it a done deal. You’re such a brave girl and I’m very proud of you. Aren’t you proud of you, too, for getting your butt back to work?” She grinned and nodded shyly, her eyes shining. “Now, I want to be sure you’re prepared for the Nosy Nellie’s asking you questions,” I wrinkled my nose in distaste, “and guess what kind of questions they’ll probably be?”
Her narrow shoulders relaxed at my words, but she thought about it and answered seriously, “Umm, nosy, ding-dong questions?”
I laughed at her using one of my expressions. “You got it, sister. You have my permission to tell nosy people to go straight to hell in a hand basket if they ask you any ding-dong personal questions in my store, Larissa.”
She put a hand to her mouth and giggled. “Anabel! I can’t tell a customer to go to…go there!” She added in a wondering voice, “Coming back here, I’m not scared. Last Saturday was real scary and I freaked out seeing my ex-husband. But I’d rather be here with all my friends at Bel’s than sitting at home.” Larissa shrugged and her expression was old beyond her years, but unexpectedly humorous. “After being married to Ron, I don’t care much what nosy people ask me.”
I grinned sympathetically. “Yeah, I bet you don’t, but you still don’t owe anybody any answers. Not even your friends, if it makes you uncomfortable, okay? I need a cross your heart promise to let me know if you feel crappy today for any reason, or let Stella or Billy know.” At her smiling nod, I waited and gave her a look. After a second, she giggled and drew a cross on her shirt over her heart while I smiled and nodded. “Cool, I’m glad to see you haven’t been spoiled rotten these last few days off work and can still mind your boss.” Waiting for her to stop laughing, I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Larissa, we know Ron Hansen’s butt is in jail. Since he violated parole, he’s not getting out again before he’s sentenced. Chief Jack will make sure of that.”
Her sweet, heart-shaped face went tight. She whispered, “I know it’s wrong to hate and against what Jesus teaches, but I hope he never gets out of prison, Bel.”
I vowed, “If Ron Hansen ever tries to hurt you again, he’ll be the one meeting Jesus. Those two can talk over those pesky details about wrong and right on his way to area code 666.” I released her hand with a final pat, “You hear what I’m saying, Ms. Butler?”
Larissa erupted into giggles and put her hands up to her flushed, pink cheeks. “Oh Bel, you say the funniest things. I’m not sure what that meant, but it made me feel better.”
“That makes two of us, but I’m glad you feel better.”
I tried to avoid ding-dong moves whenever possible, so I didn’t expound on my black thoughts. If the law failed to provide Larissa justice, I’d have to go vigilante on Ron Hansen’s ass somehow to protect us both. Hopefully, I have a few years to perfect this plan. In the meantime, it’s quietly simmering away on a back burner. With the increase of recipes for disasters in my life lately, I may need to upgrade to a six burner stovetop to keep up with all my cooking.
I felt a sudden, desperate urge to go earring shopping.
Larissa’s smile blinked uncertainly and she blushed again. “Umm…Billy visited me and he was so nice. He said if Ron ever looked at me again, even once cross-eyed, he’d kill him for me.”
She was looking a little confused, but hopeful after repeating the entire quote. Larissa takes most things literally and I knew a cross-eyed Ron Hansen was the least of her worries.
I laughingly said, “Don’t you love how I train my store managers? That Billy is such a nice boss to offer to kill for you. I bet if you ask her real nice, Stella will rob the First National Bank!” Giggling uncontrollably, Larissa begged me to stop teasing her before she wet her pants. “Okay then, let’s go out and see everyone before you have to be sent home to change clothes.” I smiled up at the tall, nervously grinning beauty as she slipped a trusting arm through
mine. “They’re all going to think it’s so cool you’re back today.”
For the next two hours the store was busy and I helped on the floor. I’d predicted correctly about the Nosy Nellie’s. Several gossipy people stopped in and made up for the lull I’d experienced the last couple of days due to bad weather. Some people were understandably curious and concerned about what had happened over the weekend. Keeping an eye on Larissa and my other employees, I encouraged all these people to be directed to me, especially when my fellow shopkeepers popped in to say hello. Instead of evading their questions like I normally would, I answered a few and chatted briefly. Then I set the seed by asking for their help.
It was Jamie Wade, a longtime bartender and manager at Rueb’s that first gave me the idea. She stopped in to talk to me, using the delivery of the lunch I had ordered for all the employees as an excuse. A day before a holiday was often too busy for long breaks in the store. It’s become my tradition to treat everyone and order lunch in from a local restaurant.
Jamie’s a vivaciously cute, petite redhead in her mid-fifties. She tends bar a few shifts a week over the lunch hour, and a couple shifts at night. Jamie’s involved in everything going on in Northfield, serves on every town and county committee, and knows everybody alive within a twenty mile radius of the epicenter of her base; a grand old house on Third Street. If she liked you, there wasn’t a better person to have on your side. If she didn’t like you, look out. Nothing was sacred because the woman’s plugged-in and the biggest gossip I’ve ever known. Jamie wields her power with the skill of a seasoned politician glad-handing and trading favors on the Hill.
Jamie was also my mom’s best friend from kindergarten up until the day my parents died in the plane crash. She’s my self-appointed Godmother. Out of the five Axelrod kids, I was special to Jamie because she was present at my actual birth.
Being special to Jamie has its downside, but I guess a girl could have a worse Fake Godmother. At least she worked in a place where I could order some hand-cut french fries while I sat at the bar and got lectured for skipping school in the third grade. Jamie made a mean kiddie cocktail, too. The kind where the entire sword stick was stuck full of maraschino cherries. I’d sip my cocktail slowly and suck the flavor right out of those bright-red balls of fruit while I was told how my incorrigible behavior would break my poor mother’s heart.
I taught myself how to tie the maraschino cherry stems into a knot using only my tongue while courteously listening to my godmother’s scolding lecture for not joining her Girl Scout troop in the fourth grade. I learned my poor mother’s heart would also be broken that her number three daughter wasn’t earning badges by learning to cook and sew under Jamie’s tutelage.
The occasional lectures from my godmother have never really ended, but along with Hostess pies, I could no longer eat those maraschino cherries. Stella posted them on my No-Can-Do list. I didn’t know about Jamie or my poor dead mom, but that knowledge broke my heart.
Was nothing I ate as a child allowed to be held sacred and cherished as a guilt-free memory? Or was my sadistic niece determined to keep my well-preserved carcass alive to babysit her future brood of one-timers, the first of which was smugly gestating as we speak?
Ha! That’s what I think, too.
Turning away from gazing across the room at Miss Sadistic assisting an elderly couple lift a heavy box of books, I shared with Godmother Jamie how I needed her help.
Using Ron Hansen’s prison cult following as the reason, I concocted a story that it was highly possible someone could be out for revenge that a girl kicked Ron’s ass and put him back in jail, plus co-killed his pal. They could be looking to hurt me, or my family, or Luke. I asked Jamie to be particularly alert for any strangers interested in shooting the breeze at the bar with regulars or with her.
Jamie’s eyes sharpened at the mention of Luke’s name. She smiled knowingly and leaned forward, “So, you’ve got yourself a boyfriend, Anabel?” She patted my arm, her many rings sparkling and flashing under the lights. I was mesmerized, especially by the largest; a round blue topaz encircled by glittering diamonds in a silver setting. It’s a design from the forties and I coveted it. “Good. Your mother would be happy to hear that, and happy he is so manly.”
Jamie winked and laughed bawdily. I wasn’t surprised she knew what Luke looked like since he’s been at Rueb’s. She undoubtedly knew his…shoe size, as well.
“You know what else would make my poor mother happy, Fake Godmother?” I tapped the beautiful ring on her finger. “You giving this ring to your favorite goddaughter to wear since her life could be snuffed out at any moment.”
Jamie laughed even louder and held her hand up in admiration. “This one is a beauty, you have extremely good taste.” Sighing, she patted my cheek next. “You know it’s yours when I pass on. For damn sure, the woman my son married isn’t getting any of my jewelry. She’d pawn it before I was cold in my grave.”
“Yes, she would. She’s a greedy, untrustworthy little pawner,” I agreed wholeheartedly. I added helpfully, “Don’t forget what she’d do to all your china and sterling silver, too. And to your stocks and bonds.”
We laughed merrily together at our long-running joke of poking fun at her long-suffering daughter-in-law.
Jamie put her arm around my shoulders. “Seriously, Anabel? This Ron Hansen sounds something like a Charles Manson, and you’re worried about his bad guys coming after you?”
I nodded and shuddered. “Yes, that’s what I’ve heard. He’s very Helter-Skelter. I’m particularly worried about Luke. Now that he’s my boyfriend,” I choked out the word and was proud I’d barely stuttered, “Luke could be in more danger if someone wanted to get back at me over Larissa or Gustav Hammerschmidt, you know?” I started walking with Jamie towards the door, giving her further details in a low voice, “If you should notice anything weird, whatever you do, don’t say anything to the stranger. No matter how innocent this person may look, they are a cold-blooded killer. Go call me or text me.” At Jamie’s fervent nodding and avid eyes, I went on, “Please, quietly tell everybody you know to be on the lookout. I would not doubt if these bad guys could be smart enough to throw people off the scent and ask about…oh, say tall Russian women or short Arab men. I have no idea if this will happen and I hope it won’t but,” I gave her shoulder a nudge with mine, “my godmama didn’t raise no fools, right?”
Jamie snickered, “Except my son.” Laughing, I kissed her freckled cheek. She slung the emptied insulated lunch bag over her shoulder with renewed vigor. “I understand what you want us to do, honey. The more people that are aware someone could be hunting you, or that hunky man of yours, the better our chance to get them first.” She hugged me with one arm. “Try not to worry and you keep your eyes peeled, too, Anabel.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Jamie gave me a final pat and a wink on her way out.
Knowing I’d set into motion the most powerful and efficient motion detector to find any stranger poking around in our town, I wasn’t too ashamed at my fudging of the truth. I’d lie, cheat, and steal the shirt off Mother Teresa’s Nobel Peace Prize winning dead back to protect my family and friends. I surveyed the store one final time. Seeing all was well, I needed to put a dent in some paperwork.
Nearing my office, I heard myself hailed and saw Mr. Charles Barkley coming towards me. Handsomely spry as always, he looked splendid in a double-breasted coat and fedora.
Politely removing his hat, Mr. Barkley’s freshly barbered silvery hair shined and his eyes twinkled brightly with intelligence and good cheer. He carried a black duffle bag at his side. The dear man received my message this morning and acted promptly.
I smiled up at him in greeting and hooked my hand through his extended arm. I breathed in his lovely scent. His subtle aftershave was crisp and expensive; the perfect smell for a prosperous, retired bank president.
“Why, good afternoon, Mr. Barkley.”
Bowing his head with a smile, Mr. Barkley waved me a
head into my office and closed the door behind us. “Miss Axelrod, you look charming today in your black boots.” The twinkle more pronounced, his whisper was conspiratorial, “Would these be the infamous black boots I’ve been hearing about?”
I giggled and offered him a comfortable chair near mine. Taking the bag with a grateful nod of thanks, I placed it on the corner of my desk. “Well sir, I guess that depends on what you’ve heard these boots have been up to.”
We shared a fond smile. This was another person who has known me since birth, although he was not in the delivery room. That would be improper. He was entertaining NanaBel in the waiting room.
He hasn’t ever felt the need to lecture me, but I would willingly sit at his knee and listen to endless lectures on his favorite subjects, finance and world politics. Not because these subjects are so endlessly fascinating to me, even though they can be, but due to the respect and admiration I have for Mr. Barkley. He’s an awesome man.
He nodded towards the black duffle. “Everything you may need should be in the bag; per your instructions.”
Excited to see what was in the bag, I reined in my gun lust and thanked him again.
“You’re joining us for Thanksgiving tomorrow?”
“Yes, my dear, nothing could keep me away. If it’s no problem, I won’t be arriving until closer to four for the meal.” He shrugged in apology and admitted, “I’m slowing down, Anabel. It’s taking me longer to get going and I can’t tolerate loud crowds for long without getting irritated.”
“I’m glad you’re coming, but you are not slowing down. You’re still running circles around men half your age.” I grinned. “Trust me, I know.”
He demurred with a rueful smile, “Not that I ever argue with a lady, but half my age?”
With a sidelong glance sweep of my lashes, I replied, “Your right, Mr. Dos Equis Man, I really meant one third your age.” While he chuckled and shook a finger warningly at me, I reassured him, “Well, you come over anytime you’d like tomorrow. Hey, I have an idea. Mac is coming over around four as well, so why don’t I ask her to swing by your place on her way?”