* * * *
Garry did call, once, to tell Wylie that the restaurant was so busy that he and his staff were run off their feet.
“You know how it is,” he said. “Bad news travels fast and everyone wants to be close to the source, in this case meaning where she worked. No, works. I’m not giving up hope that she’ll be found alive.”
“I hope to hell you’re right,” Wylie replied.
“But you don’t think I am.”
“It’s been three days since she disappeared. And you didn’t need me telling you that.”
“No, I don’t, but I know you’re right. I can still hope, though.”
“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”
After they hung up, Wylie realized it was late and he was hungry, so he fixed supper and then sat down with his book to wait from Garry to arrive.
He did, but only long enough to let Wylie know he was going home to crash. “I’m physically and emotionally drained, not to say brain dead, as well.”
“Then get some sleep. If you’re up to it before you go to work tomorrow, stop by. You can help me decide what to plant where, or something.”
Garry yawned deeply, promised he would, and left. Half an hour later, Wylie was in bed, sound asleep.
Chapter 7
Carl and his son showed up at eight Thursday morning with a power sander, a vacuum, and buckets of stain and varnish, as well as all the smaller tools they needed to deal with the floor in Wylie’s main room.
They put what they wouldn’t use immediately into the kitchen, at which point Carl shooed Wylie out of the house. “Get working on the garden, if that’s what you’re going to do, and stay out of our hair,” he said with a wide grin.
“Yes…Daddy,” Wylie quipped in reply before going into the back yard. He got out the plants he’d bought—tomatoes, broccoli, and bell peppers—and the packets of seeds for peas, cucumbers, green beans, and zucchini. He figured that would give him a good start. Later he could add other vegetables, once he knew these would make it.
At least I’ve got the right tools for this, thanks to Gramps.
He’d already decided to put the garden at the side of the yard, so he spent the first hour raking the dirt to loosen it and get rid of small rocks. He had barely started using the spade to make holes for the plants when Garry came around the side of the house.
“Started without me?” he said, feigning a pout.
“The easy part,” Wylie replied. “Now comes the planting.” He handed Garry the hoe. “According to the man at the garden center, you use the hoe to dig rows for the seeds.”
“I think I can handle that,” Garry said and started to work.
“It would be easier if you use the trowel to make the holes for the plants.”
Wylie turned to find out who was talking and saw Betty Harte standing at the back gate. Without asking, she opened it to come into the yard.
“Believe me; I’ve planted enough to know what I’m talking about.” She picked up the seed packets. “No corn? What’s a garden without corn?”
“Smaller,” Wylie replied with a smile. “Seems to me I remember it taking up a lot of room in Gramps’ garden.”
“But it’s so worth it.” She looked around then pointed. “You could put some in that corner.”
“Taking the day off?” Garry asked her, sitting back on his heels.
She sighed. “Not by choice, but the Smiths canceled the party they’d planned for this weekend and I can’t blame them. This whole thing with Nelly being missing has everyone upset.”
“Tell me about it,” Garry said under his breath.
“Oh dear, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…I mean with her working for you and all.”
“It’s okay.”
“When I first heard she was missing I so hoped she’d taken off to visit family or something but then, when they found the blood and…” She looked at Wylie. “That was you, they say.” He nodded. “You poor boy. How horrible.” She patted his arm. “I pray they catch whoever took her. I worry about Alicia, now, and all the other young women who live here. What if it was a serial killer?”
“I don’t think it is,” Wylie replied, more to calm her fears than anything else. He knew it was one option for what happened. A remote one, but still possible.
“Who else would do something like that? Everyone who lives here is so nice. Unless it was one of those back-to-nature people who camp up in the hills. I’ll have to ask the sheriff if he’s checked them out.” She nodded to herself then turned and briskly walked out of the yard, pausing to close the gate before disappearing down the alley.
“I wonder how many other people with theories like hers Kingman’s had to deal with. Almost makes me feel sorry for him,” Garry commented as he got back to work.
“At least he probably doesn’t have the crazies coming out of the woodwork to confess they took her, the way the cops do in large cities,” Wylie replied.
They continued to work on the planting until Garry had to leave to open the restaurant.
“Thanks for the help,” Wylie said as he accompanied him around to the front yard.
“My pleasure. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to play in the dirt. Takes me back to my childhood.”
“Uh-huh, if you say so.”
Garry grinned. “Are you doubting my word?”
“More like your sanity,” Wylie retorted. “Anyway, thanks for everything. With luck, I’ll be totally settled in by Monday, so if you’re free, I’ll fix you the dinner I promised.”
“You’re on. Prime rib with Hasselback potatoes and caprese salad sounds good,” Garry replied, straight-faced.
“Ri-i-i-ght. First off, I haven’t a clue what the last two are. Secondly I’m your basic down-home cook so expect pork chops, mashed potatoes, and a tossed salad, or maybe a pot roast.”
“Either one works perfectly. Around six?” When Wylie nodded, Garry said, “I’ll see you Monday evening.”
“And probably several times before then.”
“I’m sure. I like hanging out with you, and—” Garry looked directly at him, smiling, “—there’s damned few people I can say that about.”
Wylie’s pulse quickened before he cautioned himself that there was probably nothing behind that statement other than the fact they were friends. Still, he couldn’t resist replying, “I feel the same.”
“I hoped you would.” For a second their gazes locked. Then, Garry broke it, saying, “If I don’t get moving…”
“Your employees will wonder where the hell you are.”
“Got it in one. Laters.”
“Laters.”
Wylie watched him walk away and pondered the idea that, maybe, they were slowly moving to something more than friendship. I won’t count on it, but if it happens, I won’t fight it, either.
He started up the stairs to the front door, realized he probably shouldn’t go into the house that way, because Carl and Owen were still working on the floor, and headed around to the back door, instead. When he opened it, the odor of whatever they were using to stain the floor assailed him. He crossed the kitchen and stood in the archway to the main room, checking out what they had accomplished.
“It looks fantastic,” he said once he caught their attention.
“We’re almost finished with the staining,” Carl replied. “We won’t varnish until tomorrow, to give it time to dry.”
Wylie grinned. “Meaning I get to spend another day in the garden?”
Owen laughed. “That or work on mine. I’ve been so busy I haven’t done more than get it ready for planting.”
“I think I’ll pass. Once I’ve finished with mine I’ll be gardened out. If push comes to shove, I’ll go into town to buy a couple more paintings.”
“This is going to be a great home by the time you’re finished,” Owen replied.
“I hope, because I’m not planning on moving any time soon; or forever, when it comes down to it.”
Carl smirked. “And
another victim joins the Earlston cult.”
Wylie shook his head in amusement before fixing a sandwich, which he took with him when he returned to the garden to finish the planting. An hour later, Carl came out to tell him they were leaving for the day.
“We set up a couple of fans, to speed up the drying, but don’t walk on the floor for at least another hour, and then in your stocking feet.”
“I won’t,” Wylie promised.
By late afternoon he had done all he could in the back yard, including preparing another area across from the vegetable garden for flowers, as well as a second one next to the front porch. After putting the tools back in the shed, he went into the kitchen, took a frozen dinner from the fridge, popped it in the microwave, and made coffee while he waited for it to cook. When everything was ready, he took off his shoes and carried them, and his meal, on tiptoe across the main room to the stairs, checking behind him to make certain he didn’t leave any footprints—which he hadn’t.
He ate his supper in his office, and then turned on his laptop to check his email. There were two, a chatty one from Mrs. James—which he replied to in kind, telling her how his house renovations were going—and a second one from John.
I hear you’ve gotten involved in a crime, according to something I saw online, John wrote. Thought you were giving up detective work. He followed that with a smiley to let Wylie know he was kidding. He then went on to tell Wylie how things were progressing with the new man he’d hired—apparently very well from the sound of it.
Should I be jealous? Wylie emailed back, followed by, I am not involved, as you put it. I found evidence the woman was probably abducted but that’s as far as it goes. He gave John the bare bones of the case, including the fact that the sheriff had as much as told him to keep his nose out of it, Which I am. I’ve got enough going on fixing up the house. I’ll let you know how that’s going in my next email. He sent it, got offline, and then brought up a game he sometimes played as he wasn’t in the mood to read. After going up two levels, he saved, shut off the laptop, and headed to bed.
* * * *
One look out his bedroom window Friday morning and Wylie had the feeling he wouldn’t be working on his garden. The sky was dark and gloomy, with heavy clouds portending rain. Guess I’ll spend the day in town, like it or not.
He didn’t really mind and told Carl as much when the handyman and his son arrived to varnish the main room floor. Carl cautioned him not to return until late afternoon unless he wanted to spend his time in the kitchen or the basement. “We’ll be finished well before noon. However, in spite of the fact it’s a fast-drying varnish, it still needs a few hours to dry enough for you to walk across it. And do not put the furniture back until tomorrow.”
“I won’t, I promise,” Wylie replied.
He made certain he had everything he needed, including his waterproof jacket as he didn’t own an umbrella, and took off for town. By the time he got there and found a parking space it was drizzling rain. “Don’t get any worse,” he implored, looking up. He had the feeling it was a vain wish.
Crossing the street, he entered Roger and Emma’s shop. There were several customers there already, tourists from the look of them, which didn’t surprise him considering the weather. Roger appeared somewhat harried as he tried answering questions from two people at once.
Wylie walked to the wall where Emma’s drawings were displayed; debating whether to purchase another one or move on to other shops along the street that he hadn’t visited his first time around to see if they had anything that might interest him. Glancing around, he saw that Roger was now behind the sales counter taking payment for one of his smaller paintings. Wylie went over, waited until Roger had finished, and then asked, “Where’s your better half?” as, so far, he hadn’t seen Emma anywhere in the shop.
“My cousin,” Roger stressed the word, “felt sick so I sent her home.”
Wylie grimaced and apologized for his error, saying, “I’m sorry. I thought she was your wife. That’s what happens when I jump to conclusions.”
“Not a problem. Most people do at first. Are you going to get another one of her drawings?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
Roger smiled knowingly. “But first you have to check out all the other shops, just in case.”
“Honestly, yes.”
With a grin, Roger said, “Go for it. When you see what’s there you’ll be back.”
Wylie laughed and agreed he probably would be, before taking off to find out what the other shops and galleries had to offer. It was pouring rain at that point so, like the few tourists he saw, he raced from one shop to another in an attempt to keep from getting thoroughly soaked. In the end, he did return to purchase the companion piece to the painting he’d bought a few days earlier, telling Roger he’d be back to pick it up after he ate lunch.
Since the rain was only a light drizzle again, he walked down to a small restaurant at the opposite end of the street from The Parish Garage to see what it had to offer. It was called Eric’s Café, so he was surprised to find out it had Thai and Chinese food. Not that he minded, as he had been partial to a Thai restaurant back in the city. After due consideration, and his waiter’s recommendation, he ordered the red curry with shrimp. It turned out to be as good as the waiter had said, so Wylie added the restaurant to his mental list of places to eat when he didn’t want to cook—right under The Parish Garage.
The rain had stopped completely by the time he left so he strolled back to Noble Art to pick up the painting he’d bought. Roger looked somewhat less frazzled, undoubtedly because the tourists weren’t using the shop as a place to get out of the rain. Wylie asked if Emma was feeling any better, which rated him a shrug and the comment that Roger had been too busy to call and find out. Leaving it at that, Wylie returned to his car, put the wrapped painting in the back seat, and headed home.
When he arrived, he found a note on the front door from Carl reminding him that he shouldn’t walk on the floor of the main room until early evening. Not that he’d forgotten, but he had the feeling that reiterating it was just Carl’s way. Getting the painting from the car, he went around to the back door, let himself in, and put the painting on the kitchen counter before taking a look at the finished floor in the main room. “You did an outstanding job,” he said under his breath. “It’s a whole new room. Gramps would have loved it.” He chuckled. Except for the fact he’d have had to move all the furniture, first, and then couldn’t have used the room while the work was being done. Undoubtedly why he left things the way they were. That and habit.
With nothing he could do in the house, and no seeds to plant in the flower beds he’d created, he decided to take a hike. The sky was clear and sunny, finally, and the day had turned warm. He did take the precaution of changing from his shoes into the boots he’d left by the back door, knowing that the paths through the woods wouldn’t have dried yet. Leaving by the back gate, he walked down the alley to the side street and headed north.
For the next two hours he wandered the paths he knew well from time spent with his grandfather. He came across several patches of wild flowers large enough that he didn’t feel as if he was despoiling them by pulling a few, roots and all, from the wet earth so he could replant them in his yard. By the time he headed home he’d taken off his jacket, using it to carry all the plants he’d collected.
The sun was low on the horizon when he arrived at his back gate. Entering the yard, he put the plants next to what would be his flower bed before going inside. One look at his mud-smeared jacket and he took it down to the basement and tossed it in the washer, which he turned on after adding soap. Then he went back outside to plant the flowers, hoping they’d survive. They’re wild, they should, he decided. When he finished, he took off his muddy boots, leaving them by the back door.
Supper came next—another frozen dinner that he heated in the microwave. He stood at the counter to eat it before going into the main room. Before he stepped on the floor, he k
nelt to touch it. The varnish felt dry, to his relief, so he crossed the room and headed upstairs to shower. When he finished, he put on a pair of sweatpants and settled in his office to continue the game he’d been playing the previous evening. Around nine, he quit, shut off the laptop, and went to bed.
Chapter 8
As soon as he’d eaten breakfast Saturday morning, Wylie started to put the furniture back in the main room. He managed to get the sofa and dining table in place but was afraid that dragging the credenza over the new floor would mar it.
Taking out his phone, he called Garry.
“Did I wake you?” he asked as soon as his friend answered.
“It’s after nine, so not even,” Garry replied, amusement in his voice.
“Good. Do you have a few minutes to help me with something?”
“Sure do. I’ll be there in ten.”
Wylie smiled after they hung up. Now that’s a good friend. No questions about what. For all he knows I want to bury a body under the flowerbed.
The doorbell rang a few minutes later. As soon as Wylie let him in, Garry looked around and whistled. “This is fantastic. I think I’m jealous.”
“Why? You’ve got a great living room.”
“Yeah, but…Okay, what needs my strong back to get moved in here? Let me guess, that credenza.”
“Yes. The thing weighs a ton.”
“You moved it out,” Garry said.
“Dragged, and I don’t want to do that, now, and scratch the floor.”
“Good point.”
It took a few minutes but in the end they had placed it against the wall at the bottom of the staircase, where Wylie planned on hanging the paintings he had bought from Noble Art.
“Where are the chairs?” Garry asked.
“Upstairs, along with the coffee table.”
They got them, setting them in place, and then, with Garry standing back to check that they were straight and balanced, Wylie hung the two landscapes.
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