“If you keep this up, Mavis Bixby will get hurt.”
Static crackled across the line, making it difficult for Kate to hear. Beside her, Paul frowned and tried to take the receiver from her. She pulled back and turned away so that he couldn’t reach it.
“Who is this?” Kate asked again. “Tell me right now.”
“Remember . . . I warned you. Leave it alone.” With a click, the line went dead.
“Kate? Who was that?” Paul’s face was as lined with frustration as the angry, dark-haired young man’s face in the photograph had been lined with hatred.
She wondered if that wasn’t exactly who she’d just been talking to on the phone. How had he known of her visit to the courthouse, though? There must be someone there helping him. But who? She could hardly picture Mrs.Sedberry as the man’s coconspirator.
“A prank call.”
“It sounded more serious than that,” Paul said doubtfully.
Kate couldn’t quite look him in the eye. “Really, it’s nothing.”
“You’re sure?”
For a moment the tension between them flagged, and Kate was tempted to spill the whole story. But she knew what the result would be. Paul would tell her not to pursue the mystery of Mavis Bixby anymore, and she wouldn’t be able to agree with him.
“It’s nothing. I’ve already forgotten about it.”
She decided to change the subject. “Andrew called earlier. My Web site is up and running. People can order pieces directly from the site.”
“That’s great,” Paul said, forcing a smile
Paul’s eyes held hers for a long moment, though, and Kate had to make an effort not to squirm under his scrutiny. “You seemed upset when you came in.”
“Look, your chili’s boiling over.” A hiss from the stove behind him confirmed her statement.
“Rats.” Paul spun around and grabbed for a wooden spoon to stir the pot. “I set it too high.” He twisted the knob on the stove. “I know you said we didn’t have any more room in the freezer, but I needed to make another practice batch. It’s still not right.”
“I can take some to the fellows outside the Mercantile tomorrow. And maybe some to the Wilson brothers. Bachelors are always happy to have some home cooking.”
Paul frowned. “I don’t know if I’d go so far as to give it that compliment. It’s better than canned, I suppose.” He slipped off his glasses and used the tail of his shirt, which was normally tucked neatly in the waistband of his slacks, to clean the lenses.
“I’m sure it’s great.” Kate wished she could put a little more enthusiasm into her words. “Did you pick up any more plastic containers?”
Paul’s blank look told her the answer to that question.
“I’ll run into town and get some.”
“You don’t need to do that. It’s getting dark. I can go.”
“No, I don’t mind. Really.”
When had she developed this habit of not being forthright with Paul? She’d thought that moving to a small town, starting again with a small church, would make communication much easier. But in some ways, their isolation had just the opposite effect. She was finding it harder to talk to him than she had during some of their most difficult years of marriage. None of it made sense. Not his obsession with the chili cook-off. Not Mavis Bixby. And certainly not this newfound tension in their relationship.
“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong? Did you find out what you needed to know at the courthouse?”
Kate flushed. Before she’d left, she’d said something vague about genealogical research on his side of the family. Of course, she hadn’t outright lied to him. No, she’d simply allowed him to hang on to his incorrect assumptions.
“The information was incomplete.”
“You’re sure you don’t mind picking up the extra containers?”
Kate could think of a million things she’d rather do than put her coat back on and drive back out into the darkening evening, but she didn’t tell her husband that. “It’s fine. Maybe I’ll stop at the gift shop before it closes and drop off my portfolio.”
“That might cheer you up.” He strained for a smile, and Kate knew he was feeling their unusual estrangement as much as she was. But something kept her from broaching the subject directly.
“Maybe it will help.” She leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“I’ll try to have the kitchen cleaned up so you can cook dinner.”
Kate bit back a sigh. Once, he would have noticed her emotional turmoil and suggested dinner out. Not today, though.
“How does meatloaf sound?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I’ve seen enough ground beef to last me a lifetime.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll pick something else up at the Mercantile. Sam keeps saying he’s going to give me a Frequent Shopper card.”
“Thanks, honey.”
Kate retraced her steps toward the garage, donning her coat and scooping up her car keys once again. This time, though, as she pulled out of the driveway, her eyes darted around the yard. If the angry caller knew her phone number, he more than likely knew her address.
She didn’t feel like she was in any immediate danger, but she didn’t care for even the remote possibility. She was always warning her younger daughter, Rebecca, to be careful on the streets of New York City, where she lived. She’d shared all the tips she’d learned in self-defense class with Rebecca. Kate had never dreamed that she might need to put any of that information to use in Copper Mill.
“HELLO, KATE.” Sam Gorman looked up from what he was doing and laid down the pencil he’d been using to scribble on a piece of paper. “It’s always good to see you.”
“You too, Sam. How’s business today?”
“About the same as when you were in here yesterday.” He chuckled. “Corn pads for Mrs.Johnson. A side of beef for Bob Hendrix’s family of ten.” He laughed. “If Peggy Hendrix is carrying twins this time, they’re going to have to start ordering the whole cow.”
Kate was glad to smile and forget about Mavis Bixby and the tension between her and Paul. “Now I know what I should do with all this extra chili we’ve got. Take a big pot by the Hendrix house.”
Sam’s smile slipped away, and his expression sobered. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Bob hasn’t been getting enough hours at the plant, and I think they’re stretched pretty tight.”
“We need a secret stash,” Kate said. “Somewhere to put all the extra food folks make so we could pull out pots of chili and big casseroles when someone really needs it.”
Sam’s gaze did a quick loop around the crowded Mercantile. “I wish I had room in my freezer here, but what with trying to stock a little of everything that anyone could possibly need . . .”
“Doesn’t leave much space for a communal stash.” Kate nodded. “I understand.” And while she did understand that Sam didn’t have room for any extras, the idea of a place to keep some reserves for folks in need was too intriguing to relinquish immediately.
“I did have a stranger in here today,” Sam said with a wink. “Those geezers on the front porch tried to give him the third degree, but he was pretty good at not giving anything away.”
“He wasn’t a tourist who wandered off the beaten path?”
Copper Mill had begun to see more out-of-town visitors with the opening of the Hamilton Springs Hotel next to the church. The bed-and-breakfast crowd had begun to discover the hotel’s hospitality as well as the charms of the small town.
“Didn’t seem too interested in local color or history.”
“Maybe he’s in town visiting someone. Maybe he has family here.”
“Told the fellows that he didn’t. Played it pretty close to the vest.”
Sam was teasing her. Kate knew that by the twinkle in his eye. He was playing on her newfound reputation for getting tangled up in mysteries. Little did he know that his teasing was causing her stomach to twist with uneasiness.
&n
bsp; “It wasn’t anyone you’d seen before?” She kept her question casual, not looking Sam directly in the eye as she asked.
“No. Clean-cut-looking fellow. Tall. Dark-haired. Carried himself well, like he was used to being in charge.”
Kate knew she couldn’t keep reacting like a deer caught in the headlights every time a stranger passed through Copper Mill. Not every unknown person who passed through the door of the Mercantile had some connection to Mavis Bixby.
“What did he buy?” Kate knew she was stooping to gossip, the Mercantile version of a beauty shop tale, but she couldn’t help it. And it was for a good cause.
“Nothing much. A few snacks. Some bottled water.”
“Oh.” Kate didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved at the mundane purchases. At least this stranger hadn’t been purchasing a knife like the last one had.
“What did you need tonight?” Sam stepped from behind the counter. “Didn’t mean to keep you here gossiping like an old woman.” He stopped, frowned, and then laughed. “I meant that I was the old woman. Not you.”
“Thanks a lot, Sam. I appreciate that.” She chuckled. “I need some chicken. And those small disposable containers for Paul’s extra chili.”
“You’d be surprised how many other wives have been in this week wanting those containers. Let’s see if I have any left.”
By the time Kate said good-bye to Sam, darkness had fully covered Copper Mill. The clock tower in the town square was about to ring out six o’clock. Kate shivered at the chill of the spring evening, clutched her purse and grocery bag close to her body, and made her way to her car. Maybe by the time the warm summer evenings came, she’d know what had happened to Mavis Bixby.
KATE DASHED across the street to the door of the gift shop where she saw Steve Smith standing outside on the sidewalk, locking up for the night. She’d stashed her purchases from the Mercantile in her car and grabbed her three-ring binder from the passenger seat. Thank heavens for digital cameras, she thought as she clutched the portfolio to her chest.
Steve must have heard her footsteps behind him. He turned and looked over his shoulder. “Evening, Kate.” He pocketed his keys. “Always good to see you.”
“You too, Steve.” She paused, suddenly nervous.
Her stained glass had always been a private hobby, one that brought her much pleasure and the admiration of friends and family. But asking Steve to look at the portfolio, well, that was another matter entirely. She was competing with professional artists now, and Kate wasn’t certain how her work would be received.
“Did you need to pick up something?” Steve asked, his friendly eyes curious. “I can open the store back up if you need something.”
“Oh no. I don’t need to buy anything. I just wanted to bring you this.” She held the portfolio out to him.
“Your stained glass? Terrific.” He took the notebook. “I’ll take it home and look it over.”
Kate knew he couldn’t look at it right there on the sidewalk of the town square—and in the dark to boot—but part of her was disappointed. And worried. She’d rather know immediately, one way or another, whether he had any interest in carrying her pieces in his shop.
“Okay. Sure. My son built me a Web site where you can see more if you want. The site address is in the binder.” She attempted to smile. “Thanks again for considering me.”
“I’ll call you when I’ve had a chance to decide.”
Steve must have been used to dealing with nervous artists, because he patted her shoulder. “I’m sure they’re terrific.”
“Thanks.” Kate took one reluctant step back and then another. “Just let me know.”
And then she turned and hustled to her car, wishing she didn’t care so much about someone else’s opinion but knowing that there wasn’t much she could do to change her feelings.
Chapter Fourteen
Kate normally went several weeks between visits to Betty’s Beauty Parlor, especially when Betty gave her as generous a haircut as she had the last time. Yet only two weeks after her previous visit, she made her way back to the shop. More than a week had passed since the second harassing phone call, and Kate and Paul had gotten back on their normal easy terms, mostly because Kate had given up trying to help him with his chili, and he’d stopped asking about the true nature of that disturbing phone conversation.
He’d left the day before on a minister’s retreat, so Kate was on her own for the weekend. As before, the town square bustled with Saturday morning traffic, but at least today some weak sunshine muscled past the high clouds, providing hope for the usual spring warmth later in the day.
Kate didn’t intend to linger in front of the Mercantile with the men, but when she stepped out of her car and shut the door, she saw an unusual sight across the street. On one of the benches along the town square in the shadow of the clock tower, Renee Lambert sat with a man Kate had never seen before. He was about Paul’s age and probably about his height as well, although Kate couldn’t tell exactly, since the man was seated. He and Renee both looked very intent on whatever they were discussing. Kisses, in a purple fluffy sweater that matched Renee’s puffy coat, sat between them in his customary designer bag.
Renee saw Kate looking at them, but she didn’t acknowledge Kate with so much as a wave. Usually, if Renee found herself in the company of a handsome man of any age, she made certain that people were aware of it. Kate wondered who the man might be that Renee didn’t want to show him off. With a shrug, Kate turned away and headed for the beauty shop. She didn’t get far, though, before Clifton Beasley hailed her from his rocking chair in front of the Mercantile.
“Morning, Mrs.Hanlon. I’m still waiting for that pie.”
Kate took his good-natured ribbing in the spirit in which it was intended. “It still won’t cure your bursitis, I’m afraid.”
A smile split his face. “Well, now, we don’t know that for sure, do we? ’Cause we ain’t tried the cure yet. You should just let me be the judge of that.”
Kate’s mood lifted at his teasing. “Okay, okay, Clifton. You win. But I don’t expect to be making any more pies for a while.”
The wizened man shook his head. “That’s a shame, ma’am.”
“I’m afraid the preacher has commandeered the kitchen.” Kate spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “There’s nothing I can do until after the chili cook-off.”
“Then you need another kitchen.” He took a swig from the blue enamel coffee cup in his hand. “But I expect all the women in Copper Mill have that same problem this time of year.”
“Yes. Too bad we don’t have a test kitchen where we can send all these menfolk,” Kate teased.
“Now that’s not a bad idea.” He scratched his ear. “But it still doesn’t get me any closer to that pie.”
Kate edged toward the door of Betty’s Beauty Parlor. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Renee now standing beside the bench across the street and shaking hands with the stranger.
“Clifton, as soon as I’m allowed back in my own kitchen, I’ll bake you that pie.”
“I don’t know if I can wait much longer.” He rubbed his shoulder in mock pain. “I’m hurting pretty powerful.”
“Well, I’m sure Sam Gorman would sell you some ibuprofen if you step inside the Mercantile there.”
“All right, all right. You’re not easily swayed, are you, ma’am?” He sank back into his chair and winked at her. “I like that in a woman.”
“Thanks, Clifton.” Kate waved good-bye as she reached the door of the beauty shop and disappeared inside. With a chuckle, she wondered how many pies Clifton managed to finagle out of Betty’s clientele in the course of a week.
“JUST A STYLE TODAY,” Kate told Betty, who nodded and led her toward the shampoo room. She settled into a vinyl chair the color of canned salmon.
The usual suspects, so to speak, were scattered around the shop, on the padded benches at the front or under the hair dryer. The sunshine coming through the smudged pla
te-glass windows of the shop did nothing to hide the flaws of the place or its customers. Martha Sinclair was in Ronda’s chair, getting one last coat of hair spray on her set and style. Kate wondered if she’d been right to hope that spending some time at the shop would give her any more information about Mavis Bixby.
When Kate returned from the shampoo room in the back with Betty, Renee had replaced Martha in Ronda’s chair.
“Hello, Kate.” Renee stroked Kisses as he snored like a buzz saw in her lap. “What a surprise to see you here. Are you getting your highlights touched up? It’s probably time. I noticed that when you were outside in the sunlight earlier.”
Kate gritted her teeth for a moment. There was no purpose in pointing out to Renee that her hair color was her own, exactly what nature had given her.
“It’s good to see you too, Renee. I hope you were enjoying the sunshine. It’s pretty cool to be sitting outside, though. Did you take a chill?” Kate could slop sugar with the best of them.
Renee sniffed. “I never catch colds,” she said with all the authority of a woman who refused to admit whatever she preferred to deny. “But you’re sweet to worry about an old woman like me.”
When it came to Renee Lambert, Kate knew better than to fall for her old-woman-like-me routine.
“Kate,” Martha Sinclair interrupted from her new perch on one of the benches. She ignored Renee’s withering stare. “I forgot to thank you for filling in at the bridge club. We always hate to have a partial table.”
“I was glad to do it.” She winced as Betty’s comb hit a snag in her hair. “Call me anytime.”
“We rarely have openings,” Renee said darkly. “Mostly in the event of illness. Or death.”
Kate wondered what had gotten into Renee today, because she was being even more, well, Renee-like than usual. “I understand. My mah-jongg group in San Antonio was like that.”
But she didn’t understand, really. Renee seemed to bounce back and forth between befriending Kate and alienating her, with little rhyme or reason.
“So, who was the cutie you were with outside?” Ronda, the young stylist, teased Renee. “He was a hottie.”
Beauty Shop Tales Page 12