Once Tootie was out of sight, Vena shoved back her own chair and untangled her foot from around the straight wooden leg. Her outstretched hand was just inches from the back door knob when she heard Tootie’s sing-song call. “Don’t go anywhere, Elvena Larke Fenton. I’m dying to hear the rest of your story.”
Jeez, the lady must have x-ray vision. Guilt, plus a healthy dose of respect for Tootie, made Vena retreat to her chair. She grabbed another cookie and broke it onto her saucer, scattering crumbs over the tablecloth.
A murmur of voices floated in from the direction of the front room. Vena’s thoughts centered on devising a story to satisfy Tootie’s curiosity, as well as keep Finn’s career from sinking before it officially launched. Overhearing her name and the speaker’s shocked tone, Vena crept to the doorway and eavesdropped.
Shoot. She couldn’t hear anything. She tiptoed toward the canning pantry at the other end of the room and slowly eased open the door. Through the crack, she spotted Tootie standing in the open front doorway talking with…who? Vena mumbled a curse. The door blocked the visitor, but now she could hear what was being said.
“—and she scared off sweet little Donny Taylor.” Tootie’s stage whisper held pity. “Talking about trash cans in guard uniforms and secret passwords. That poor child couldn’t have run away any faster. I brought her inside for some tea and my lemon sugar cookies. Hits the spot every time.”
“What do you think she meant about the trash cans?” An older woman’s voice quivered. “Is that a California thing that’s spreading to Montana?”
Chapter Nine
VENA SAGGED AGAINST THE doorjamb. Great, now she’d be accused of spreading fear of the common garbage can. She pictured the editorial in the next Mountain Gazette issue. “California Gal Predicts Invasion from Alien Trash Cans.” She peeked through the crack in the door.
“No, Blanche, you don’t need to worry. I think she stood in the sun too long. You saw how pale and thin she is.” Tootie stepped forward and cupped a hand alongside her mouth. “Now, I’m not one to spread rumors, but you do know she’s here to rest. Following doctor’s orders.”
“Do you think I should buy a different kind of can?” Blanche’s voice rose.
“I told you not to worry. Didn’t you hear me?”
“I did, but these days a body can’t be too careful about out-of-towners.”
“Nonsense, Blanche—”
“I watch the talk shows. They’re full of these people with their crazy problems. You know, Tootie, those shows all come from California. I ought to call my nephew.”
“I just told you—she had a touch of sunstroke, that’s all. Don’t call in the deputy over this.”
“Better safe than sorry.” The woman’s voice grew louder. “The more I think about this trash can thing, the more I’m convinced there’s something to it. What about her mention of secret passwords? That could definitely be important.” She sucked in a loud breath. “What if it’s spy code?”
“You’re overreacting again, Blanche.” Tootie’s voice took on a coaxing tone. “Now, dear, don’t go rushing off. This is not as serious as the last time.”
What last time? Vena tensed, clapping a hand over her gaping mouth. What was she being compared to? All she’d wanted was to hide away in an historic place and write a couple of vignettes. Instead, she’d become entangled in a no-win situation.
“Dwayne was always so good with this kind of thing in school,” Blanche rambled on, her voice fading as she moved away from the front door. “My sister, Bernice, says he’s overdue for a promotion. This could be just the thing to help his career.”
With the click of the closing door, Vena slunk back to the table and brushed the scattered cookie crumbs onto her saucer just as Tootie shoved open the swinging door. She thought she heard the older woman mutter “busybody” under her breath. Vena pasted on a wide smile. “Everything okay?”
Tootie grabbed the teakettle and wrenched up the faucet handle. Water splashed off the kettle and onto the floor before the neck was centered under the steady stream. “Fussy old butinsky,” she mumbled, clanging the filled kettle down on the burner.
“I’d love some more tea, Tootie, but I really must be—”
The peal of the telephone interrupted her exit speech.
Tootie held up a finger. “Hold that thought. We’re not through.” She moved to the counter, leaned a broad hip against it, and then picked up the wall phone. “Hello! Sorry for the tone. I’m peeved at somebody at the moment. Okay, so tell me your news…” She quickly glanced at Vena and turned to lean her elbows on the counter, lowering her voice. “Well, um, now is not a good time.”
Vena closed her eyes and let her head sag until her chin hit her chest. Dread clamped her chest and held tight. Word had spread to Lottie’s Coffee Shop. Three cheers for the town’s gossip circle—what it lacked in accuracy, it made up in speed.
Suddenly, the room closed in. She shoved back her chair and stood. Vena hugged the older woman’s unsuspecting shoulders from behind and lightly kissed her soft cheek. “See you later, Auntie.”
Without a backward glance, Vena walked out the door, through the garden, under the arch, and to the alley. Should she tell Finn the latest development? Ever the optimist, she hoped the rumor would be dead by the time she returned from a walk. Make that a long walk.
Although the late afternoon air was still, she detected a heaviness against her skin. Maybe another thunderstorm was building. Contemplating the latest mishap, she paid little attention to the turns she made.
How could she distance Finn from the controversy she’d spawned? Maybe if she ignored it and stayed at The Shamrocks, no more fuel would be added to the speculation about her mental stability. Then, this whole episode would be forgotten in a few days.
Right, Vena, and the stork really does fly down from the sky to deliver babies. How naive can you be? From behind, the crunch of tires on gravel surprised her. Fixating on finding a solution, she stepped to the side of the alley.
But the car didn’t drive past, it steadily crept along. She sped up her steps and the crunching sound kept pace. Great, she’d never had any trouble in California on her daily walks. She had to be the one person who came to small-town America to get mugged. Vena squatted and pretended to tie her shoes while shooting a sideways glance over her shoulder.
Relief flooded her body and she let out a sigh. Only a patrol car, black and white with the words “Sheriff’s Department” painted on the side door. She stood, waved at the officer, and then continued down the alley.
The car gained speed, traveled to the end of the alley, and then started to turn right.
Vena went back to her musing. What could she possibly tell Finn? If another rumor about her started, she wasn’t keeping her promise of maintaining a low profile. Forget about her promise that he’d never even know she was there. That one was busted.
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
At the deep voice, she stopped and looked up. The cruiser, with overhead lights flashing, had parked sideways, blocking the end of the alley a few feet away. Dressed in a khaki uniform, an officer leaned against the back of the car, both arms folded across his chest.
What now? “Y-yes, officer?”
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am.” His voice was deep and commanding. “Could you show me some identification, please?”
“Identification?” She stiffened. “Why? I’m just taking a walk.”
“I can see that, ma’am. We got a call at the station from a concerned citizen. I’m here to follow up.” He pushed away from the car. “May I see your driver’s license?”
“I don’t have it, Officer—” Remembering Finn’s success at the café with making the conversation friendlier, she stepped closer to read his name badge.
His stance went rigid, and he glared in warning.
Vena’s eyes widened as she read the badge—Dwayne Mullen. This couldn’t be. Blanche must have called her nephew and now he was investigating the ‘crazy
’ woman from California. This was Dwayne the Pain, the nerdy kid from the old neighborhood. Who would have believed Dwayne would become a cop?
“Officer Mullen. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I am only out for a relaxing walk. I’m a law-abiding citizen, just minding my own business. I know for a fact I haven’t trespassed on anyone’s property. So, if you’ll excuse me.” She headed off in her original direction.
“Are you refusing to comply with my request?”
The commanding note in his tone froze her steps. An exasperated sigh escaped. “Look, Deputy. Nothing in this hand, nothing in the other hand.” She shoved out her arms, pantomimed pushing motions up both arms, and spun in a slow circle. “And nothing up my sleeves. I don’t normally take my wallet and driver’s license when I go for a walk. Last time I checked, walking meant using your own two feet, not a car.”
“Watch your tone, ma’am. You are speaking to an officer of the court.” He squared his shoulders and tapped the toe of his polished shoe. “So, you have nothing to prove who you are. What’s the address of where you’re staying?”
A replay of their conversation after the fiasco with Finn’s backers echoed through her mind. She certainly didn’t want to involve him in this new problem. “I don’t recall the number, Officer Mullen.” She smiled her best ‘public relations’ smile and extended her hand. “Dwayne.” After several beats when he didn’t return the courtesy, she dropped her hand to her side. “Surely, you remember who I am. It’s me, Vena Fenton, and I’m just visiting for a few days.”
She watched his face, hoping for any sign of flexibility. “Then maybe you remember my family. Gwen and Daryl Fenton were my grandparents. We used to live over on Cottonwood Street in the old Grady Place. You know, two streets over from your family’s place on Aspen.”
“Grady Place was torn down five years ago.” His lips pressed into a thin line.
The censure in his tone angered her. This was ridiculous. Why was she explaining anything to this man? How dare he stop her just for walking, based on some convoluted report from his nosy aunt. “You know what? Doesn’t matter if the house is dust or not. I haven’t done anything wrong. I’d like to be left alone and continue with my walk.”
Imitating his rigid posture, she raised her right hand. “I hereby solemnly promise not to jaywalk, or step on a single blade of anyone’s grass. Most importantly, I promise not to step on the cracks in the sidewalks. Wouldn’t want to break my mother’s back, you know. That must be a crime in someone’s book.” This time, she strode toward the vehicle across the alleyway.
The officer stepped to his left to block her.
She shouldered her way past him and kept walking until she heard a metallic click.
“Freeze. Put your hands in the air, and turn around.”
Chapter Ten
FOR THE TENTH TIME in the last few minutes, Finn scowled at the kitchen clock. Where was Vena? After finishing the phone conversation with his ma, he’d returned to Vena’s room to continue their costumed rehearsal. And to better explain his faulty memory of which Fenton sister he’d acted with in high school. The hurt in her eyes had gone straight to his heart. He felt compelled to do what he could to take away the pain.
Vena had just about fried his brain with that sexy come-on as Lola. Her touch had his skin shivering with goose flesh, and women never affected him like that. He was always the pursuer, the one to set the pace. Her sweet act that turned sensual had caught him off guard. Seeing her eyes smolder with desire was an experience he wouldn’t mind repeating—especially when he could return an appropriate response.
At the discovery of her empty room, he figured she was visiting with an old friend or checking references at the library or the museum. By now, those businesses were closed, and most folks were home having supper. At least, the ones who weren’t worried about a friend’s disappearance. He grabbed his mug, sipped cold coffee, and grimaced.
The phone rang. He jumped across the room and grabbed it on the second ring. “The Shamrocks. Thank God, Vena, it’s you. Where the hell are you? What? I can’t understand you.” He pulled the receiver away from his ear and shook his head. “Speak slower… Calm down, Elfie. Just hold on, I’ll be right there.”
Slamming down the phone, he scanned the kitchen counter for his truck keys. In his hurry, he tossed several pieces of mail to the floor and swept aside a small flower arrangement. By force of habit, he locked the back door before jogging toward the front of the house.
The doorbell rang. What now?
He opened the door to find a wild-eyed Tootie leaning one hand against the house, the other patting her chest as if to force in more air.
“Oh, Finn—it’s…aw-ful. Vena’s…in…j-a-i-l.” She punctuated the last word with a big whoosh of air.
“I heard. Are you okay, Tootie?” He guided her to a nearby porch chair, masking his irritation at the delay. “Sit here and catch your breath.”
As she sagged into the wicker chair, she gulped in huge lungfuls of air. Her hand, still resting above her breast, rose and fell with each deep breath she took.
“You look flushed. Can I get you some water?” Finn glanced at his watch, muscles twitching to be on his way.
“No, no.” She waved her hands in the air. “I’m just a bit winded. Shouldn’t have dashed over so quickly. Oh, Finnian dear, you’ve got to help our Elfie. Hazel Sims called me just now. She was out watering her roses.” Eyes narrowed, she leaned forward in the chair. “Personally, I think those flowers are just her convenient excuse to snoop on the comings and goings next door at the station house.”
Finn squatted next to Tootie’s chair and placed a hand over hers on the chair arm. Using his most patient tone, he asked, “What does this have to do with Vena?”
“I’m getting to that part, if you’ll let me finish. You young folks are so impatient.” She raised a hand and brushed her curls off her forehead. “Where was I?”
Finn bit back a groan. “Hazel Sims’ roses…”
“Oh, yes. Well, she saw something that appeared odd, even to her.” She shook her head. “Frankly, I didn’t think that was possible. But, anyways, she called me.” Tootie leaned back and crossed her hands over her ample middle, a wide smile spreading her lips.
He wanted to yell, What? But experience had taught him to bide his time and let Tootie tell things in her own way. If he didn’t, she’d lose her place and start all over.
She put a hand to her cheek and her eyes widened. “Hazel said about an hour ago, a patrol car screeched up to the station, and Blanche’s nephew Dwayne hauled a woman—”
Finn froze and took a deep breath before interrupting. “Hazel used that word? She said he ‘hauled’ her out?”
“Yes, that’s what she said. Like most folks, I enjoy a good story, but you know I’m not one to embellish.” She smiled, and then tapped a finger to her chin. “Now, where was I? Somehow, I knew that Blanche would blow this incident with Vena and the trash cans all out of proportion.”
Finn struggled to follow what she was saying. Her embellishments of everyday events in Dry Creek were the main reason she was still going strong at her age. Normally, he would have listened to her whole story, but he was too worried about Vena. She’d sounded so upset, her voice on the phone was barely recognizable. “Tootie, I’d love to hear the rest of your story, but I’m headed to the police station. Vena just called, and I need to straighten out this mess.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so, dear boy?” Tootie popped up, grabbed him by the arm, and propelled him toward the porch steps. “Don’t let me cause her to stay in jail one minute longer than necessary.” She grabbed his hand and peered up at his face, her voice hushed. “What do you think she did to get herself arrested? I know she scared off that little Donny Taylor earlier, but that was just too much sun. Did she really go bonkers?”
As Finn patted her hand, he stepped down to the first step, wondering if all this sweet woman’s conversations were delivered in this scattered manne
r. “I don’t think so, although she was hard to understand. After I get downtown and learn the details, I’ll call you.”
“Go on with you.” She made shooing motions with both hands. “Do what you have to, just bring the poor girl home quickly.”
He ran down the remaining steps and called back over his shoulder, “Tootie, would you please lock the front door? The spare key’s under the pot of petunias. Just put it back when you’re done.”
“Sure thing, Finnian. Oh, maybe I should make some coffee and sandwiches.”
He jogged down the walkway and waved a hand over his head. “Thanks.”
“I heard the sheriff’s new wife refuses to cook for the prisoners.” Tootie’s voice carried on the quiet night air. “Everyone knows jail food is horrible anyway.”
Finn barely heard her last statement as he started the engine and gunned the motor, backing out of the driveway. Putting the truck in gear, he looked over his shoulder at The Shamrocks.
The forlorn woman stood on the porch, fluttering a white hanky in his direction.
What could Vena have done to get herself arrested? This town was normally quiet and peaceful to the point of boredom. She hadn’t been gone more than a couple hours, or was it longer? When he worked on the house, he lost track of time. Her rental car was still parked in the driveway, so the arrest wasn’t a driving incident.
As he maneuvered through the streets, he heard Tootie’s words repeating in his head, haunting him. Dwayne hauled a woman. Hauled. From what he remembered, Dwayne Mullen had been a prankster. Already in high school, Finn hadn’t paid much attention to the friends of his youngest brother, Shea. Within the last few months, he’d heard more than one comment from his parents that Dwayne had never outgrown the super-achiever cadet stage.
Blood pounded in his eardrums. If Vena were hurt in any way, he’d see how much of a man Dwayne was. Idling at a red light, Finn caught a glimpse of his expression in the side-view mirror. Busting into the sheriff’s station with a full head of steam would help nobody. Now was the time to use his practiced, placating tone—the one that got results when he spoke to congressional committees. Moments later, he pulled into the visitor lot at the station.
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