“Of course.”
If Tony only knew how much she managed to keep under her metaphorical headgear, he would have been amazed.
“Mrs.Bixby was kind of odd about her mail.”
“Odd? In what way?”
“Well, she never did give out her address, apparently. All of her mail came to the station addressed to the care of general delivery.”
“I didn’t know you could still do that.”
“Sure. Used to be more popular a long time ago, when people moved around more looking for work. Their letters would come to the town post office instead of a specific address, and they’d come here to pick up their mail. Not many people use it anymore. Mrs.Bixby, though, she was a funny one. Secretive-like.”
There went the hairs on the back of Kate’s neck again. “Really? What was she secretive about other than her address?”
“Well, I don’t know if she was that way about anything other than her mail. But it was peculiar, her using general delivery.” He paused. “You know, come to think of it, you’re not the first person in here asking about her.”
“I’m not?” Déjà vu all over again, Kate thought.
“No. Some young guy came in awhile back. He sure had a burr under his saddle. Said he was a relative, but he didn’t look anything like her. More like one of those punk rockers—all leather and pierced whatnots.”
“Do you know if he found her?”
Tony shook his head. “Not that I know of, but he never came back.” He paused. “Mrs.Hanlon, would you mind telling me why you’re looking for Mavis Bixby?”
Kate tugged the shoulder strap of her purse higher on her shoulder. “Just curious, I guess. Her house is next to the church, and it went up for sale recently. No one seems to know what happened to her, though.”
“Look,” Tony said, “I can check with the folks in the back, but I don’t think we’ve seen any mail for her in quite a while. Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”
“No, no. You’ve been very nice. Thank you for telling me what you could.”
“Anytime. Sure you don’t need stamps?”
“No, not today. But I’m sure I’ll be back soon.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” Tony winked at her. “Anything for the preacher’s wife.”
TIRED AS SHE WAS from her Saturday of investigating the missing Mavis Bixby, Kate decided to make one last stop before heading home. Cumberland Realty was located on a side street just off the town square. She and Paul hadn’t needed a real estate agent when they arrived in town, since they’d moved into the parsonage, so she’d never met Gail Carson, the agent who had the listing for Mavis’ house. Kate had seen Gail’s picture, though, on numerous advertisements around town. The woman was as plucked, polished, and poised as any Hollywood movie star.
Kate pulled into a parking space in front of the realty agency. As she exited the car, she fluffed her hair and brushed at the lapels of her jacket. Too late she realized she’d forgotten to reapply her lipstick. Oh well. Even on her best days, Kate could never compete with someone like Gail Carson.
A small bell jingled above Kate’s head when she entered the realty office. A young woman of not more than twenty sat behind the reception desk. Her bleached hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her heavily made-up eyes dominated her petite, heart-shaped face.
“Hello. Can I help you?”
“Hello. I’m Kate Hanlon. I’m looking for Gail Carson. Is she in today?”
The girl cast a glance over her shoulder. Beyond a glass wall, Kate could see Gail seated at her desk, cell phone pressed to her ear and both hands on the keyboard of her computer.
“What is this regarding?” the girl asked.
“I’m interested in some information on the Bixby house. The one out on Mountain Laurel Road next to Faith Briar Church.”
“Oh. We weren’t expecting much interest in that one.” And then she flushed, realizing that perhaps her words hadn’t been the best sales technique to use with a customer. “I have some information on the house here somewhere, if you’ll give me just a moment to look for it.” She started to riffle through the stacks of listing information and piles of photos on her desk. “I’m sure it’s here somewhere.”
“Actually,” Kate said, “I needed to find out some information about the owner. I wanted to contact Mrs.Bixby.”
The girl raised her wary gaze to Kate. “Are you a friend of hers?”
“Not exactly. But I’m trying to get in touch with her. I thought Mrs.Carson might help me.”
The girl looked back toward the plate-glass window and then at Kate once more. “Let me just check and see if Mrs.Carson’s available,” the receptionist said with an air of self-importance that Kate suspected was derived, in part, from her attempts to imitate her boss.
Kate smiled her thanks and settled into one of the utilitarian chairs in the waiting area. The girl’s manner had changed at the mention of Mavis Bixby’s name, but after an entire day of questioning the citizens of Copper Mill about the missing woman’s whereabouts, Kate didn’t know whether she was reading too much into the girl’s response. Perhaps Paul was right, and she was seeing a mystery where none existed.
She watched as the young woman knocked on the door and then waited for several long moments before she was given permission to enter. The interaction between the two was like watching a mime act. The glass wall kept Kate from hearing their words, but she could guess what they were saying. The girl gestured toward Kate in the waiting room, and Gail’s eyes followed the motion, landing on Kate. Apparently neither woman remembered that the wall dividing them from Kate was entirely transparent.
Gail Carson shook her head, and the receptionist implored her with another gesture toward Kate. Finally Gail relented and rose from her desk, following the girl back into the reception area. Kate rose from her chair as they approached.
“Mrs.Hanlon. How do you do?” Gail Carson extended her well-manicured hand toward Kate. Her handshake was almost mannish in its ferocity. “I understand you’re interested in the Bixby house.”
“Well, yes. Sort of. Although mainly I’m trying to get in contact with Mavis Bixby.”
Gail Carson’s eyes narrowed, and her brick red lips pursed. “I’m afraid that’s not something I can help you with. But if you’re interested in seeing the house . . .” She trailed off.
Kate started to decline and then stopped herself. What could it hurt? And she was interested in the house, even if the church’s purchase of the property was little more than a pipe dream. They’d never thought they could raise the money to rebuild the sanctuary either.
“I’d like that. Would Monday be all right with you?” By now Paul would be wondering where she’d gotten to, and she didn’t want to be rushed when she looked at Mavis’ home.
“Fine. One o’clock?” The Realtor’s eyes narrowed. “I assume you’re interested in purchasing the property.” She didn’t need to say the unspoken words—that her time was valuable, and Kate shouldn’t waste it.
“Oh, I’m very interested,” Kate answered truthfully. “Shall I meet you there?”
“That would work well for my schedule.” Gail whipped out a PDA and began poking the screen with a stylus. “I have another appointment at two o’clock though.”
Kate couldn’t imagine there were that many real estate transactions in Copper Mill, but she played along. “No problem. It’s very kind of you to squeeze me in.”
“I’d be glad to walk you through the house,” she said, although her expression suggested she’d just as soon eat a bowl of nails for breakfast.
“You’re the only person who’s shown any interest,” the young receptionist chirped. “I thought for sure that the ad in the Chronicle would spark some traffic.”
The older woman laid a hand on the girl’s arm, but Kate could tell Gail would rather have used it to cover the receptionist’s mouth.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to anyone,” Kate said. “You know how the rumor mill
can be around here.”
Gail Carson nodded sagely, and Kate could only hope the woman would be as good as her word.
“Certainly. You can count on our discretion.” Gail extended her hand again, and Kate bid her good-bye.
As Kate left the office, she heard the receptionist say to Gail, “Another looky-loo?”
Kate had heard the expression from her own Realtor back in San Antonio when they’d sold their house before moving to Copper Mill. Looky-loos were people who came to open houses merely to gawk rather than to buy, and had thus earned the moniker from real estate folks.
“Maybe so, Tracy,” Gail said. “But she’s a minister’s wife, and I need to stay on God’s good side.”
Kate smothered a laugh as she headed back toward her car. If only more people felt that way.
Chapter Four
When Kate returned home late in the afternoon, she was ready to enjoy a cup of tea and a few minutes alone with her thoughts. She entered the house expecting to smell the pungent aromas of onion and chili powder, but the only scents in the air were the normal ones—furniture polish and coffee.
“Paul? Are you here?” she called, walking through the living room to the kitchen.
The countertops were as pristine as when she’d left that morning. The pies still sat in a row across the spotless, chipped Formica. Obviously no one had been cooking in the Hanlon kitchen that day.
Curious, she crossed back through the living room, walked down the hallway, and peeked into their bedroom, to no avail. Finally she opened the door to the guest bedroom that doubled as Paul’s study. “Honey?”
Her husband sat behind his desk, lines of dejection framing his mouth. His hair was slightly mussed, and he’d pushed his reading glasses up on his forehead. “I can’t find it.”
“Can’t find what?”
“My mother’s recipe. I’ve looked for it on and off all day. It’s gone.”
Kate suppressed the “Hallelujah” that rose spontaneously to her lips and crossed the room, past the sleeper sofa that provided room for guests as well as Paul’s occasional nap, to stand beside her husband. “It wasn’t in your desk?”
“Not that I can find. I must have stuck it in a book somewhere.” He waved his hand toward the wall of shelves he’d installed shortly after they came to Copper Mill. Bible commentaries, preaching manuals, ministry how-to books, and even volumes of poetry stretched from one side of the room to the other, filling the wall from floor to ceiling. “I’ll never find it in there.”
Kate patted his shoulder, sympathetic to his loss despite her feelings about his mother’s cooking. “Could you reconstruct it from memory?”
Paul frowned. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“I’d be happy to help.”
He reached up to pat her hand where it rested on his shoulder. “I know. Thanks.” He heaved a sigh. “I guess I’m just disappointed . . . How was your day?”
Kate laughed. “Well, according to Clifton Beasley, my pies might possibly cure bursitis.”
Paul chuckled, and Kate was glad for the smile that spread across his face. “I didn’t think you’d delivered the ones you made this morning yet.”
“I haven’t. But Clifton has great faith in the restorative powers of my baking.”
“As do I, Mrs.Hanlon.” Paul looked up at her with his twinkling eyes. “I’m pretty sure some of your pie would cure my disappointment.”
“How am I supposed to resist that?” Kate mussed his hair. “All right. But only one piece. Which one will it be?”
“Hmm . . . Not sure. Let’s go look them over.” He stood up and caught Kate around the waist. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into the pie-sampler platter?”
“Don’t push your luck, Reverend Hanlon,” she warned with a grin.
“Yes, ma’am.” He kissed her cheek. “You’re a woman in a million.”
“Ten million, at least,” Kate teased. “Come on. Let’s get you some pie. And then I’ll help you look for the recipe.”
Hand in hand they headed for the kitchen, and Kate let the matter of Mavis Bixby slip away for the moment.
“SO, WHAT HAVE YOU been up to?” Paul asked after he’d dug into his chocolate-fudge pie. “I expected you home sooner.”
Kate hesitated. She wasn’t sure she wanted Paul to know how easily she’d gotten herself involved in the case of the missing Mavis Bixby. Perhaps he would think she was just being a busybody, but Kate could honestly say that for her the matter was much more than curiosity. She’d begun to have a bad feeling about Mavis’ sudden departure from Copper Mill.
“I found myself caught up in something.”
Paul set his cup down on the kitchen table. “Another mystery?” His tone was light, but there was concern in his eyes.
“Nothing dangerous,” Kate assured him, patting his hand. “And I’m not even sure it’s a mystery. But I can’t ignore this,” she said, patting her midsection.
“A gut feeling, huh?” Paul asked, and then he smiled. “Much as I hate to admit it, you seem to have discovered a talent for that sort of thing since we moved here.”
“Believe me, honey, I don’t go looking for mysteries.”
“But somehow they always seem to find you?”
Relieved, Kate took his friendly tone as an entrée for asking his advice. “Yes, they do. And this one about Mavis Bixby has me stumped.”
“But she’s been gone for over a year,” Paul said. “I still don’t see how that could be a mystery.”
“Well, the mysterious part is that no one seems to know where she’s gone.”
He looked thoughtful. “People move out of town all the time, and they don’t always keep in touch.”
“It’s more than that. Don’t you think it’s odd that in a town like Copper Mill, nobody seems to know what state she moved to, much less what town?”
“Maybe she wasn’t the social type.”
“But people knew her. She was a substitute in Renee Lambert’s bridge club. And she had her hair done at Betty’s Beauty Parlor.”
“Renee doesn’t know where she went?”
“If she does, she’s not saying. She acted strangely when I asked her about Mavis.”
“Strangely . . . How?”
“Well, she didn’t want to tell me anything she knew about Mavis. It didn’t sound like she and Mavis Bixby had been especially close, but . . .”
“But what?”
“Well, believe it or not, I got the feeling that Renee was hiding something.”
They were both silent for a moment at the prospect of that improbability.
“I wouldn’t believe Renee was able to keep anything to herself,” Paul said. “And I don’t mean that uncharitably. Just as an observation.”
“I know what you mean.” Kate knew her husband well enough to understand that while he was generally frank about people’s strengths and weaknesses, he was never judgmental about their flaws. “Which makes it all the more strange for Renee to be less than forthcoming.”
“Who else did you talk with?”
Kate recounted her conversations with LuAnne Matthews at the diner and Sam Gorman at the Mercantile.
“That stranger sounds a little on the rough side,” Paul said, his brow furrowing with concern.
“Well, he’s long gone by now,” Kate replied. “And Sheriff Roberts assured me that I didn’t need to worry about Mavis.”
“Then why are you?” Paul asked, not unkindly. “What’s bothering you so much about her?”
“Something just doesn’t seem right, Paul. Copper Mill is a small town. If someone leaves, people usually take more notice.”
She told him what her new friend, Tony, at the post office had shared with her.
“General delivery? I didn’t know you could still do that,” Paul said.
“Apparently so.”
He smiled. “I really do think you’re worrying about nothing, Kate. Although it’s too bad Mavis Bixby’s not here to share some of this pie.” He took th
e last bite of his treat and chewed it with relish.
Kate carried their dishes to the sink and rinsed them. Something had been bothering her, niggling at the back of her mind. As the water ran over the plates, she realized the source of her disquiet. She turned toward her husband.
“Mavis is a lost sheep,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Like in the parable. I realized it just now. That’s what’s been bothering me. The ninety-nine sheep are all still here in Copper Mill, so to speak. But Mavis . . . well, she’s that one-in-a-hundred lost lamb.”
Paul was quiet for a moment. “But do we know that Mavis Bixby is truly lost?”
Kate considered his question. “I don’t know for sure, Paul. I only know that I’d rather go looking for a sheep that wasn’t lost after all than to leave someone scared and in danger.”
Paul stood up and took Kate in his arms. “Well, you’re certainly the best-looking shepherd I ever met.” He kissed her cheek. “Just remember the first rule of shepherding.”
“And that would be?”
“Don’t let the wolf get between you and the fold.”
Kate grinned. “Is that what they taught you in seminary?”
Paul chuckled. “No, my dear. I learned that one the hard way—from experience.”
“Well, that’s one lesson I’d be happy to take your word for.” Kate hugged him. “Now that you’re full of pie, maybe we’d better get started looking for your mother’s chili recipe. After all, my sleuthing instincts are on high alert.”
“I wouldn’t want those to go to waste,” Paul teased, and they headed back to his study to begin their search.
ON MONDAY MORNING Kate rose early, as was her habit, and quietly made coffee as she listened to the spring wind whistle outside the house. She peered out the kitchen window into the morning and said a quick prayer of thanks for the beauty of the day.
She settled into her favorite chair in the living room, one that gave her a view out the cloudy sliding-glass door so she could watch the birds at their feeders. She opened her Bible and read from the Psalms.
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