String of Lies

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  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 wasn’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, turned her attention back to Sylvia, chatting until the young woman, bubbling her thanks, took her leave. Jo watched her buoyant exit, which, at her point of 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 on-going 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 about her plate.

  “As soon as she’s talked to the doctor after he’s 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 with certain individuals, such as gossipy Alexis Wigsley. Besides, as a retired elementary school teacher, 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 turned out to be 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, or not.” 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 they love 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 Br
ownie 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 he can 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 hand-wrought jewelry for consignment, and here in Abbotsville she had teammates 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.

  Never mind that she’d always been lousy on skates.

  CHAPTER 3

  Jo waited until her latest customer left, happily clutching a bag of newly-purchased beading supplies, then picked up the phone and speed-dialed.

  “Carrie, it’s me. How’s Charlie doing?”

  “Fine, though he’s pretty sore, pain pills or not. He’s sleeping most of the time, and really doesn’t need me here. I could easily come in to the shop for a couple hours.”

  “Don’t even think of it. That isn’t why I’m calling at all. But tell Charlie when he wakes up that I’ll come visit as soon as he’s up to it, and I’ll bring something special.”

  “Oh, Jo, don’t ---”

  “Carrie,” Jo interrupted firmly, “he is my godson. But don’t worry, I’ll try to make it educational. Maybe a book on Theatrical Sound Boards?”

  “How about,” Carrie’s voice turned wry, “How to Ogle Pretty Girls and Not Kill Yourself at the Same Time?”

  “Oh ho, so it wasn’t just the sound system at the playhouse! He was checking out a few other things of interest as well?”

  “Sometimes pain pills make you babble, say things you wouldn’t normally mention to your mother.”

  “Let’s hope for his sake that little revelation disappears into the amnesia of pain control. Carrie, is Dan back working at the Holt house today?”

  “Yes, he went over with Xavier this morning.”

  “Great. Do you think he’d mind me calling him there?”

  “If he answers his phone, it’s because he can talk for a minute. What’s up?”

  “I’m having trouble catching hold of Parker Holt. I thought, control freak that he is, that he might call Dan to check on things there, and Dan could let me know where he is. Or better yet, he might stop at the house.”

  “You’d close up the shop to run over?”

  “I’m getting desperate, Carrie. It’s becoming clear that the only way to talk to the man is to do a screen shot.”

  “A what?”

  “You know, that sneaky thing they do in ice hockey. An ambush.”

  “You’ve been watching too much late-night T.V. But good luck. I only hope if you catch up with Holt you’re not unhappy with what he’ll have to tell you.”

  “Me too, Carrie. Me too.”

  Dan answered on the first ring, and promised to do what he could to connect Jo with Parker Holt. “Have your running shoes on, though. The man doesn’t stand still for two seconds, and has his cell phone to his ear the same time he’s talking to you face to face.”

  “I’ll be prepared. How’s the work going there?”

  “Not bad. Carrie probably told you we’re redoing his basement into a game room/party room. We put the wet bar in place yesterday – luckily finishing before I got the call about Charlie - and today we’re framing up the bathroom.”

  “Sounds like a big job. Carrie said you’re really happy to have Xavier working with you.”

  “Yeah, it makes a big difference to have a good worker like him. Only thing,” Dan’s voice dropped slightly, “he seems really bugged by Holt, whenever the guy stops by to check up on things.”

  “Oh? Is Holt that abrasive?”

  “No, mostly just annoying, poking into everything we’ve done as though we need close watching. But as I see it, he has the right. He’s writing the check. But Xavier really, well, never mind. He’ll be okay. I hear you’ve worked out something with his wife.”

  “Yes. She’s a real sweetheart, and her bags are already flying off the shelves.”

  “That’s great. I’ll pass that on to Xavier. It should cheer him up. And I’ll call you about Holt.”

  “Great. Thanks, Dan.”

  Jo was replacing her phone, when Ina Mae popped in, on her way, she explained to the senior center.

  “How’s Carrie’s boy doing?”

  “He’s home, taped up, and resting under his mother’s care.”

  “Good.” Ina Mae said. “Let’s hope he doesn’t miss too much school.”

  Jo smiled. The woman may have left the classroom, but the classroom had never left Ina Mae.

  “How about that other problem of yours. Hear from Max yet?”

  “No, and you’re right about Parker Holt. He’s proving to be about as hard to pin down as a,” Jo, paused, thinking Ina Mae probably wasn’t much into ice hockey, “as a school board member with budget cuts in mind.”

  “Hmph.

  “But I’m working on it. However, since troubles, as they say, always come in threes, I’ve discovered another problem. This one, though is very minor compared to the other two. ”

  Ina Mae’s eyebrows moved upwards, waiting.

  “The last time I went into my storeroom, I noticed one of the shelves is seriously buckling. I wouldn’t dream of asking Dan to take care of it for me now, what with Charlie’s accident an
d probably getting behind on his own work. But I’ll have to unload everything from that shelf before it breaks, which will make it difficult to get around the storeroom until the shelf is fixed.”

  Ina Mae thought a minute. “You could try Randy Truitt.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “He does odd jobs about the town. Fixed up Patsy Holcomb’s back porch after a big tree branch fell on it last summer, and she was happy with his work. If the job’s not too involved or time consuming, he’s good for it, I’d say.”

  “What is he, a retiree, filling in his time?”

  “No, Randy’s a young man, or relatively so. Couldn’t be more than forty, I imagine. I used to buy fresh eggs from his folks, Bill and Myrtle Truitt, when they had their farm out along Route 23. They’re gone – dead, I mean – and the farm’s gone too. Randy,” Ina Mae paused, frowning, “never seemed able to quite pull things together for himself. At least not yet. There’s always hope. If you like, I could get his number for you from Patsy.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “By the way, I heard you’re handling that young Ramirez woman’s handmade bags on consignment.”

  “You did? We only arranged that yesterday.”

  Ina Mae smiled, as if to say Jo still had a lot to learn about how quickly news traveled in a town like Abbotsville.

  “As a matter of fact,” Jo proudly added, “I sold all three bags she left with me, this morning.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. For her, but not for myself. My daughter-in-law’s birthday is coming up, and I’d hoped to pick one up. Let me know when she brings more in.” Ina Mae began pulling her gloves back on. “Well, I’ll head on to the senior center. It’s quite possible I’ll run into Patsy there, in which case I’ll get Randy Truitt’s number for you. But I also intend to sign up for that next yoga session.”

  The older woman briskly exited, and Jo watched, impressed once again with her level of energy – both mental and physical. In addition to all her other activities, Ina Mae was one of Jo’s most constant craft workshop members. She’d retired, but obviously never slowed down. Jo began to wonder what she would be at that age. Then it occurred to her if she didn’t get some straight answers soon regarding the future of her craft shop, she just might, at age thirty-six, find herself retired and living on the kindness of strangers.