Reclaim My Life

by Cheryl Norman

  “Wilson says? My, my, you two have become chummy—”

  “Just diner talk. Nothing personal.”

  Kris gestured toward the street and the official county Jeep parked at the curb. “Look. Your sheriff has arrived, and he’s carrying pizza.”

  Elizabeth stood beside her at the window and gazed at Wilson. “How does he do that?”

  “Do what?” Kris asked.

  “Look as sharp and crisp in his uniform as he did at breakfast, and after working all day, too.”

  “Excuse me.” Kris poked her in the side with her elbow. “Was that a sigh of longing I heard?”

  “You know I always swoon over pizza.”

  “I don’t think it’s the pizza.”

  “Well, it sure isn’t the sheriff.” Elizabeth’s denial rang false even in her own ears. Perhaps she’d overestimated her skill at lying.

  Kris snorted. “Yeah, right. Whatever.”

  Yes, her lying skills definitely needed honing.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Wil hesitated at the curb, repositioning the stack of pizzas he carried. He’d gotten three specials, plus an extra supreme, from Vinnie’s Pizzeria. He figured his dad would enjoy the leftovers. Staring at the low ranch on Park Street, Wil realized Elizabeth Stevens lived in a suitable home. Sturdy and cozy, it was nice in its simplicity. The few adornments were serviceable: the colonial-style storm shutters decorated large windows and the wrought iron lantern that doubled as a security light. Settled beneath a sprawling oak, the house held its own in a neighborhood of higher-priced, roomier ranches.

  Just as Elizabeth held her own among skinny women in designer duds and glamorous makeup. No doubt about it, he had a thing for her. Her naturalness drew him, and he wasn’t about to fight the attraction. Was she ready to stop fighting it?

  When he reached the front door, ever-practical Elizabeth greeted him before he had to juggle the pizzas to ring the doorbell. “Thanks.” She and Kris Knight relieved him of the pizzas and ushered him inside the entry area, which was little more than a few squares of parquet separating the two front rooms.

  “We can eat in the dining room.” Elizabeth tugged him toward a ladder-back chair. “We have Bud, Bud Light, and Coke. Name your poison.”

  “Coke is great.” He may have imagined it, but Elizabeth seemed nervous.

  She rushed off to the kitchen for his Coke, then hurried back to ask if he preferred it in a glass.

  “No, the can is fine.”

  Kris busied herself opening the pizza boxes. “You must think we’re very hungry.”

  “I plan to take home any leftovers.”

  “Good plan.” Elizabeth handed him the can of Coca Cola. She’d already opened it. “Did you need a straw?”

  “No, thanks.” Yes, definitely nervous. He placed the can on the table. “I need to wash my hands. Where’s the bathroom?”

  “There’s one in the hall.” She pointed to the arched opening from the living room. “Straight ahead.”

  “Thanks.” He took his time walking through the living room, studying details of her furnishings, gathering impressions about the woman herself. The furniture was a hodgepodge of styles, as if she regularly shopped estate auctions and yard sales. New slipcovers matched curtains and pillows. Everything was tidy and spotless, almost sterile. What was wrong with this picture?

  Picture …

  It hit him. No photos or portraits hung from the walls or sat in frames. Even when he peeked into the bedrooms, he saw no pictures. Not that the walls were bare. Elizabeth’s decorating showed an eye for design, with fabric wall hangings, and plants. As many as a dozen plants—some real, some artificial—filled each room, arranged at varying heights. But not one single photograph.

  After visiting the bathroom, he rejoined the women in the dining room. Like the rest of the house, or what he’d seen of it, the dining room was furnished in old but sturdy wooden furniture that had been painted white. Paneling halfway up the wall to form a chair rail appeared to have been painted from the same can. Six ladder-back chairs with cane seats surrounded a plain rectangle table. Assorted sizes of candles on a mirror formed a centerpiece. No heirloom silver or china was displayed in the painted corner hutch, just everyday dishes.

  Instead of impressing him again, the practicality worried him. Her informal and clean house was cold and impersonal, even more lonely than his own. But also a lot neater. Elizabeth would probably cringe at the chaos in which he lived. Not that he didn’t value order, but he had several home improvement projects in varying stages keeping his bungalow in upheaval.

  “Let’s eat.” Elizabeth sat at the end of the table, where she and Kris had two pizzas opened and waiting.

  He joined them in the chair opposite Kris and next to Elizabeth. “This Mexican pizza is Vinnie’s specialty.”

  “That’s what Elizabeth said. Is it spicy hot?”

  Elizabeth held up packets. “That’s what the dried jalapeño is for.”

  Following her example, Wil generously seasoned his pizza slices with the jalapeño. “I thought I was the only one who liked smokin’ hot Mexican food.”

  Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, spreading her arms to indicate her girth. “As you can see, I like all food.”

  Wil focused on her breasts—her very impressive breasts—poking through the material of her T-shirt. “Surely you aren’t implying that you’re fat,” he said.

  She gave him an eye roll. “Surely you aren’t implying I’m skinny.”

  “Actually, darlin’, I’m implying that you’re just right.”

  Kris gulped the rest of her beer. “I love this pizza, but I’m going to need more to drink.”

  Elizabeth pushed away from the table. “Beer or Coke?”

  “Relax. I can wait on myself.” Kris fled the room.

  Elizabeth abandoned her slice of pizza and glared at him. “Do you enjoy embarrassing me?”

  “It was a compliment.” He’d be damned if he apologized, even if she had turned all frosty again. “Why would that embarrass you?”

  Kris returned with a second Bud Light, preventing Elizabeth from answering. The three finished off two of the Mexican pizzas with minimal conversation. Since Kris was the one driving tonight, her two beers to every one of Elizabeth’s worried Wil.

  Elizabeth opened the third pizza and took out a slice. Kris reached for another slice, announcing it as her absolute last, and sprinkled it with the remaining dried jalapeño. By the time she’d finished her fourth Bud Light, Wil decided to risk asking her his question.

  “I hear you used to date our chief of police.”

  “We went out twice. Why?”

  “Just curious. My dad thought he saw the two of you canoeing the Suwannee one Sunday.”

  “Not canoeing. A couple weeks ago, we took a rowboat trip. We docked at White Springs, had dinner at the Telford, then struggled to get the thing back.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Kris smirked. “Have you seen the Suwannee lately? Hello. No rain, no water. We kept running aground, and Adam had to jump out in some spots to push us.”

  “So did you go out with him after that?”

  “Once. Why?”

  “Ordinarily your personal life would be none of my business, but I’m investigating a homicide.”

  “Yeah, so which one of us is the suspect—me or Adam?”

  “Neither, darlin’.”

  Elizabeth, bless her lovely heart, saved him. “I’m just curious, Kris, but why did you stop seeing Adam Gillespie?”

  Kris shrugged, apparently not offended by the question, at least when posed by her friend and not the sheriff. “He’s just too serious for my tastes. My mom would call him uptight if she met him.”

  “You mean he was possessive or controlling?”

  Shaking her head before he’d finished, she said, “Not at all. Just no fun. I’ve had serious once, and I’m not making that mistake again.”

  Elizabeth had told him about Kris being divorced, so he didn’t
press her for more. “You’ve given up on finding Mr. Right, eh?”

  “A long time ago. Now, does this conclude my interrogation, Sheriff?” She sounded so good-humored he couldn’t help but smile.

  “No more questions, and I apologize for prying.”

  She stood beside her chair, fluttering her hand. “No big deal. It’s just that I have to pee so bad I’m about to wet my britches.”

  Elizabeth laughed at her friend rushing from the room—a deep, hearty laugh. Genuine, like everything else about her. “She is so Southern.”

  “And you aren’t?”

  “You mean I drawl as much as she does?”

  “Almost, darlin’, but a sweet Southern drawl is not a bad thing.”

  Elizabeth’s smile collapsed. “She’s had a lot of beer. Do you think I should drive her home?”

  Wil appreciated her astuteness. Drinking drivers worried him, and for good reason. “Yes, I think it’d be wise. I’ll follow you and bring you back.”

  “Thank you. I’ve never seen her guzzle beer like tonight. I think we’ve both been on edge and down in the dumps about Cathleen’s murder. As I told you, we aren’t exactly party animals. I usually stop at one beer, and this is my second.”

  Elizabeth had sipped while Kris gulped, though. He wasn’t worried about Elizabeth’s driving. He helped her box up the remaining Mexican pizza. “You two seem like good friends.”

  “We get along. Plus, we both teach English.” She interrupted herself to grab the trashcan from the kitchen. “We have a lot of the same interests.”

  “Books, you mean?” He crushed the empty boxes until they fit inside the trash bin.

  “Oh, lots of things. She’s amazing with crafts. She helped me papier-mâché an old lamp to look like a new plaster one. And did you notice the marble pillars in the living room window, the ones displaying my silk flowers?”

  He glanced into the living room. “What about them?”

  “Kris helped me make those. They’re actually cardboard boxes covered with Con-Tact Paper. From a distance, they look convincing.”

  Stuffing the rest of the garbage into the bin, he stepped into the living room for a closer look. “Impressive.”

  “Just don’t look too closely.” She cellophane wrapped the box of leftover Mexican pizza. “Sunday she’s taking me to a craft demo at Stephen Foster Folk Cultural Center over in White Springs.”

  “Did you know the state originally looked at Drake Springs for that park? But the Foster County commissioners were opposed.”

  “Why? I would’ve thought the center belonged in the county named for Foster.”

  He wasn’t going to mention his father’s part in Foster County’s anti-growth campaign. “The state wouldn’t commit enough funding for improving roads and signage, and the county wasn’t equipped to handle heavy tourist traffic.”

  “In that case, I don’t blame them.” She moved the trash bin back into the kitchen. “By the way, you were right about the Mexican pizza. Outstanding.”

  Wil liked helping her clean up from dinner. The domestic scene played out in his imagination until he pictured them married, tidying his remodeled kitchen after a meal. He reined in his thoughts before he made a fool of himself. He still had to pinch himself to believe he’d been invited to her home to share pizza. His patience rewarded at last, he wouldn’t rush things now.

  He picked up the remaining box of pizza. “The supreme hasn’t been touched. You want me to leave it?”

  “Didn’t you say you deliberately bought extra? Take the leftovers and reheat them later.”

  “I’ll take them to my dad’s. He’ll enjoy pizza for a change.”

  Kris reentered the room. “Don’t you live at your dad’s place?”

  “Sort of. Same property, different house.”

  “The day I went boating with Adam, he pointed out your house. It’s almost exactly across the river from his family’s land.”

  “You and Chief Gillespie are neighbors?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Not really. I don’t think he lives there.”

  “He told me he has a place in town,” Kris added, checking her watch. “Oops. It’s after seven. I need to get home. You aren’t going to follow me and cite me for DUI, are you, Sheriff?”

  Again, Elizabeth rescued him. “No, because I’m driving you home. The keys?”

  Kris stared at Elizabeth’s outstretched hand. “Hell’s bells, I live around the corner—”

  “The keys?”

  Grumbling, Kris dug out her car keys from her purse and dropped them in Elizabeth’s hand. The three filed out the front door, which Elizabeth then locked. Wil noted that she had solid double deadbolts installed. Sensible lady.

  He followed the Mazda half a mile—a tad more than around the corner to his way of thinking—to the other side of Main Street near the Methodist Church. Idling at the curb, he waited for Elizabeth to park. Kris lived on Third Street in one of a row of frame duplexes that had been built fifty years ago, right after his grandparents had opened the college and triggered a growth in Foster County’s housing market.

  Elizabeth jumped into the passenger seat of his Jeep, crowding his on-dash laptop. “What’s this? A computer?”

  He pulled onto Main Street. “Don’t sound so surprised. Foster County may be Florida’s smallest county, but we’re hip.”

  She laughed at that, again with hearty, genuine laughter he loved to hear.

  “Did you learn anything from tonight’s conversation with Kris?” she asked.

  “She’s good-natured, creative, and open.”

  “I mean to help you solve Cathleen’s murder case.”

  He shook his head. “I won’t know that for awhile. Right now I’m just gathering all the pieces of information I can.”

  “Like a puzzle, I guess.” They turned onto Park Street. “If you’re not in a hurry, I can offer you another Coke.”

  “No, thanks. I need to check on Dad.”

  “Oh, that’s right. He’s had a stroke,” she said, sympathy in her voice. “Does he stay alone?”

  “Just at night. I make sure he has what he needs at bedtime, and a visiting nurse gets him up in the morning. He wears a monitor so he can push the button for help in an emergency.” He pulled into the driveway and parked behind her truck.

  “Those emergency monitors are great. Grandma has—I mean, had one.” The sorrow in her voice revealed the deep grief for the family she’d lost, and he longed to take her in his arms to offer comfort. Before he acted on his impulse, she opened the Jeep’s door and got out. “I’ll get your pizza.”

  Wil watched her disappear into the carport and mentally beat his head against the steering wheel. “Idiot! Fool! She invited you inside.” On the one hand, he didn’t want to scare her by rushing things. On the other hand, she had made a move, inviting him for pizza tonight. What if he’d missed a hidden cue and blown it? He scooted out of the Jeep to follow her, then hesitated. What if he’d misread her, and she’d offered the soft drink out of politeness? No, Elizabeth didn’t strike him as a woman who played games.

  From the carport, she called to him. “Did you change your mind about that Coke?”

  “If that’s allowed.” He sauntered up to the side door with a fake casualness. “I thought it was later than it is.”

  “Changing your mind is allowed.” She held the screen door wide until he reached the threshold. “Kris left on the early side, but she wanted to be home before dark.”

  He followed her through a small utility room into her kitchen. “I hope I didn’t intrude on your girl’s night—”

  “I invited you. Besides, I figured you really accepted so you could ask Kris about dating the police chief.”

  “Partly true, and I thank you for helping me out with that.”

  Pulling two cans of Coke from the fridge, she handed him one. “Look, I want Cathleen’s murder solved as much as you do. I’ll help however I can.”

  He popped the tab on his Coke. “I also came over b
ecause I like you, Elizabeth. I had fun tonight.”

  “Me, too.” She gestured toward the door to the dining room. “Let’s sit in there.”

  He followed her, assuming she meant the dining room, but she continued through to the living room. She plopped down in a side chair, leaving him the sofa. He expected to sink into a giant fluffy cushion, but the seat was firm. He nodded toward the corner, where her television dominated the top of a steamer trunk. A stack of DVDs beside it reached almost to the top. “You meant it when you said you like movies.”

  “Yes. I watch them all the time, some over and over. Next to curling up with a good book, watching DVDs is my favorite thing.”

  “I have satellite TV with lots of movie channels I rarely have time to enjoy.” He paused for another swig of his cola. “Sometimes at night I’ll sit with Dad and catch a movie. He watches a lot of TV. I guess it keeps him company.”

  “I can relate. When I first moved here and didn’t know a soul, I held movie marathons each weekend. It’s dangerously addictive, all that buttered popcorn and wadded-up tissues from tearjerkers. But I have it under control now. I’m down to maybe one movie per evening.”

  “Ah, but what about the buttered popcorn?”

  “Hey, one addiction at a time.” She smiled again. “So what kind of movies do you and your father enjoy?”

  “Mostly older films. Westerns, mysteries, baseball movies—you name it.”

  “Chick flicks?”

  “Sure. Like The Hallelujah Trail and The Natural?”

  She shook her head. “I was thinking Kate and Leopold or Return to Me.”

  “Nope, neither one.” For the life of him, he couldn’t remember ever seeing either movie title, but he wouldn’t admit it. He made a mental note to check them out, though. He strolled over to her movie stack. “Let’s see what you have here.”

  “I have a bit of everything. I buy older titles when the prices are reduced.”

  Squatting beside the television, he read through the DVD jackets. “Seabiscuit, The Horse Whisperer, Hidalgo … I’m seeing a theme here.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Horses.”