Hometown Hero (Locust Point Mystery Book 4)

by Libby Howard

  “Well, I’ve been going to the nursing home weekly to visit with Matt’s father. Maybe I’ll find some hot widower there on fried chicken day.”

  He laughed. “Kay, you’re not that old.”

  “It’s the perfect place to meet men,” I insisted, trying in vain to keep from laughing myself. “Everyone there already teases me about being Maurice’s girlfriend.”

  “They probably think you’re Matt’s girlfriend.” He shifted closer on the blanket and jostled my arm with his elbow. “You should date Matt.”

  The words felt like a blow to my middle. Matt was a good-looking guy, my age, long-divorced and stable. He was fun. I met him weekly to have lunch with his dad at the nursing home. I’d invited him to my neighborhood barbeque. He was a social guy, very active in community service projects and charities. He golfed with Judge Beck on occasion. He and I were friends and I’d finally gotten through to him that there wouldn’t be anything more between us. The girls and I were even going to the Fourth of July Bingo Fundraiser tonight that he’d organized at the VFW. I wasn’t going to date Matt. I didn’t want to date Matt.

  “No, I’m not ready. I buried my husband less than six months ago. I’m not ready for that.” It came out more raw that I’d intended, and the expression on Judge Beck’s face changed like lightning. He reached out and gripped my hand.

  “I’m sorry, Kay. I forget how soon it’s been. Please forgive me. I never should have suggested it.”

  “It’s okay. I know I don’t always act like the grieving widow.” I didn’t. And when I caught myself having a good time, not thinking about Eli, the guilt roared in along with the grief. But the grief now came in degrees, not the overwhelming tsunami it had been that first month. Sometimes the grief was a flood, and sometimes a gentle tide flowing in to shore then ebbing softly away, leaving guilt in its wake—guilt because it was far too soon for me to have a lessening of grief. It hadn’t even been six months yet. It should still be a tsunami, and every time it wasn’t I felt like perhaps I hadn’t loved Eli as much as I claimed.

  If I’d loved him I would still be paralyzed with the pain of his loss. If I’d loved him I would have made the effort every year to get him out to go see the fireworks. If I’d loved him, I would have noticed the signs of his stroke in time to get help and save his life. If I’d loved him, I wouldn’t be sitting here enjoying the way Judge Beck’s hand felt wrapped around mine.

  “If you acted like the grieving widow twenty-four-seven, then I’d be really worried.” He squeezed my hand reassuringly. “When my uncle died, my aunt went to Europe for three weeks to help herself cope. His death was devastating for her, and she needed distance and distraction to help her process it, or I think she would have gone crazy. Let your heart ache and heal the way it needs to.”

  The first test firework shot into the sky, an explosion of thin white sparks that lit and vanished in a blink. Light, and then darkness once more.

  “Kay, don’t begrudge yourself moments of joy. Don’t blame yourself for seeing the beauty in a sunset, or sharing laughter with friends, or feeling affection, even the stirrings of love, for another. I didn’t know Eli, but from what you’d told me, he wouldn’t want you to live the rest of your life in tears.”

  “I’m not going to get better, am I?” Eli’s voice had been monotone. He’d stared at the wall. It had been as if he were reciting IRS tax code. We’d just watched the last firework fade from the sky from the window of the parlor that had become my husband’s bedroom, his hand in mine.

  “You get better every day. Every day,” I had insisted. He did. It was just that those improvements had been miniscule, and often countered by lost ground in other areas.

  “Never better.” My eyes had widened as Eli’s voice rose with emotion. “My life, all it will be is notes to remember. Recordings to remember. Waking up and not knowing. Too much. Too much and not enough time.”

  Tears stung my eyes. He’d been frustrated, angry. Still, that anger and frustration had been so much better than the years of apathy that had followed.

  “Will I be a doctor again? Work again? Ever?”

  I’d sworn to always be honest with him, but if I had answered ‘no’, would I have been taking away the only thing that kept him trying, kept him moving forward? So instead I’d replied: “I don’t know.”

  He’d turned to me, his face once again impassive, gaze distant. “You will leave me.”

  I shivered with sudden cold at the memory of his words. It wasn’t that I hadn’t thought about it. I’d feared that I would spend the rest of my life caring for him—a man that most of the time I didn’t recognize. Was it wrong if there were fleeting moments where I wanted out, fleeting moments where I thought of putting him in a care facility and trying to go on with my life? He hadn’t been the only one who’d lost everything in that accident. It had all felt so terribly unfair.

  Poor me. Poor little me.

  “No. I won’t leave you.” I’d reached out and smoothed his hair, receiving no reaction at all from him. “For better or for worse. In sickness and in health. I vowed before God, Eli, and I won’t break that promise.”

  His gaze had focused, and for a brief moment I’d glimpsed the man I’d said those vows to at the altar. “Well, you should. You should leave me. You don’t deserve this…burden.”

  No, Eli wouldn’t have wanted me to spend the rest of my life in tears, eaten away by sorrow. He would have wanted me to catch my breath at a beautiful sunset, to go to late-night bingo with my friends, to laugh…and love. Eventually love. When I was ready.

  A dozen fireworks shot into the sky, colors spreading like streaks of spilled paint as the crowd cheered. The red, green, and white twinkled then vanished, a skeleton of gold dust remaining briefly in the sky before the next round hid it from view. I made the appropriate ‘ooo’ noise, and lost myself in the beauty of it all, aware that throughout it all, Judge Beck made no move to let go of my hand.

  Chapter 9

  “Wait, did he say B12?” Kat waved her stamper frantically scanning her six cards. I’d abandoned Judge Beck with his hoard of teenagers and gone out with my girlfriends to the late-night bingo at the VFW. It was from ten until midnight—far later than most of our bedtimes. If they hadn’t been serving coffee, I would have been face-down on my bingo sheets.

  “G46.”

  “No! Slow down I haven’t finished looking for B12 yet.” Kat made a T with her hands. “Time out. I’m calling time-out.”

  “There are no time-outs in Bingo, girl.” Olive chuckled.

  “Here. Stamp here.” Daisy pointed to one of Kat’s cards only to have Suzette slap her hand away.

  “No helping. I’m gonna win this Bakery Madness basket. It’s mine, mine, mine. Come on N35. Come on.” Suzette clasped her hands together as if in prayer.

  “You gonna share that Bakery Madness basket?” Olive asked, grinning.

  “Everything but the sand tarts. I love me some sand tarts. My grandmother used to make them so thin that they made an audible ‘snap’ when you bit into them. With a little, blanched, half almond in the middle. Mmm.”

  Sand tarts. They weren’t actually tarts, but cookies, like ginger snaps only buttery with a hint of an almond and vanilla flavor. I had an old recipe for those somewhere. If I could find it, I’d make a batch for Suzette.

  Or she could just win the basket.

  “Was that G46 or G56?” Kat lifted a hand to run through her hair. Unfortunately, that hand had the stamper and she now had a streak of red in her dark curls. “I don’t want to screw up because if I yell ‘bingo’, and I read off my card and I’ve got something wrong, the scorn of every man and woman in this VFW hall will be on my head.”

  “Did someone say ‘bingo’?” The announcer asked.

  Kat’s eyes widened, and her lips clamped shut. It was suddenly so quiet in the VFW that I swear I heard a gnat fly by.

  “N36,” the announcer continued.

  “Oh, come on!” Suzette threw her hands
heavenward.

  “Bingo,” Olive announced.

  Suzette shot her a narrowed glance that made Olive laugh. “Oh, don’t worry honey. Those sand tarts are all yours.”

  “Yes!” Suzette did a fist pump, then listened intently as Olive read off her card.

  “How is that a win?” she demanded.

  “Inside corners,” Olive told her. “There’s seven patterns to win, unless it’s a Blackout game, then you have to fill your whole card.”

  “Dang,” Kat muttered looking down at her cards. “I was so close. One more and I would have had that basket.”

  “Me too.” Daisy practically had a table all to herself with dozen cards around her.

  “Well, not me.” I waved at my cards with their scattered stamp marks. “Lady Luck is not my friend tonight.”

  “Next time,” Daisy promised me. Then we all fell silent as Matt delivered the Bakery Madness basket to Olive as if he were presenting Excalibur to King Arthur. We all regarded the basket with an admiring moment of silence, then tore into it like a pack of starving wolves. Olive handed over the sand tarts to Suzette with a warm smile. I got the chocolate peanut butter no-bake cookies, and bit into one, feeling the sugar race through my veins. Between these and the coffee I’d probably be up all night, which meant I’d be exhausted at work tomorrow. The prospect was kind of exciting, like a return to my youth when bleary-eyed mornings were the norm. I hadn’t stayed up late partying in a long time, and those parties of my youth hadn’t been in a VFW bingo hall, fueled by coffee and baked goods.

  “Here. You need to try one of these.” I handed a no-bake cookie to Matt. After his solemn delivery he’d begun selling cards for the next round.

  “Thanks.” He grinned and popped it in his mouth, waving the cards at me as he chewed.

  “Six,” I told him, handing him a ten. In spite of this being the Fourth of July and after the fireworks, the hall was packed. I hoped he was making his goal for the Serenity Park Playground Equipment Fund.

  “Mrf,” he replied, exchanging the cards for my cash. Many women, including Daisy, carefully selected which cards they wanted. I, on the other hand, preferred to let fate do the work for me. So far this evening, fate was being uncooperative. I hadn’t won a thing.

  An elderly lady in a wheelchair with two helpers won the Choco-love Basket, much to Kat’s dismay. Daisy finally scored with the Popcorn-and-a-Movie basket, and I won the last basket of the evening—Gaming-Fun. It included an old-fashioned Parcheesi set, a deck of Uno cards, and Yahtzee. It also included a bag of gummy bears that we quickly devoured.

  It was midnight. People were starting to file out of the hall, happily content with their winnings, or optimistic that next time they’d be the lucky ones. This had been fun. Matt organized these monthly, each night benefiting a different local charity. I really wanted to make this a regular thing for me and my friends, and maybe give Matt a hand in soliciting for the gift baskets. He’d been hard at work all night, but clearly enjoying himself just as much as those of us who were happily stamping their cards. I honestly didn’t know when the guy slept between all his volunteer work and visiting his father. I got tired just watching him sometimes.

  But not tonight. I was wide awake tonight. And it was midnight.

  “Who wants to go to Mick’s?” Olive asked.

  Olive, the woman who had to put on a suit and go to an accounting job in about six hours, wanted to go to a bar.

  “I do! I do!” Suzette waved her hand in the air and laughed. She was flushed and giddy. I’d never seen her so happy. It made me wonder what had been in those sand tarts.

  “I’m game,” Daisy announced. Kat didn’t take much convincing, and I decided I might as well join them. It wasn’t like I’d be able to go to sleep for another three or four hours anyway with all the coffee I’d been drinking.

  I went over to say goodbye to Matt, and tell him how much fun I’d had this evening. He was packing away bingo supplies, talking cheerfully with the announcer.

  “We raised over eight hundred by my estimate,” he told me. “That’s sixteen hundred with the matching funds from Sentry Bank and Trust.”

  I knew from previous conversations that sixteen hundred wouldn’t buy a lot in the way of playground equipment, but it all added up. Matt was the very embodiment of patience, chipping away at his charity goals slowly and steadily.

  “Well, I had a wonderful time and I think you have a new bingo convert in Suzette. She’ll be here every month as long as you’ve got a bakery basket as a prize.”

  He laughed. “It’s from Patents in Milford. Tell her they donate one each month.”

  “She’ll be happy to hear it.” I motioned toward the door. “We’re heading over to Mick’s. Do you want to join us when you’re done here? We’ll probably be sipping seltzer water and coming down off of our caffeine and sugar high until they close.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows. “The only guy surrounded by five gorgeous women? I wish I could, but this is going to take a while, and I want to get all the accounting and reports done tonight, too. Next month I’ll make Rich do it for me and join you ladies.”

  “I don’t know if I can do this sort of thing every month,” I laughed. “We old gals are usually in bed by ten, not out playing bingo and shutting down the local pub.”

  “This month is the only Moonlight Bingo. Usually we start at six and finish up at nine. Next month we could grab a nightcap after and still have you to bed before midnight.”

  “When I turn into a pumpkin.” I smiled. “Next time, then.”

  As I turned to leave, I heard him call after me.

  “Next time.” And then, “Kay? Be careful driving home, okay? It’s the Fourth, and late. Might be some drunks on the road tonight.”

  Chapter 10

  We were all rowdy and riding a sugar high from a combination of the contents of the Bakery Madness Basket and my gummy bears as we took over Mick’s Bar and Grill. Each of us nursed a bottle of domestic beer and played the most horrendous dart games ever.

  We shut the place down. At two o’clock in the morning I stood in the parking lot, waving goodbye to my friends and climbing into my car. I felt like I was in my twenties again, partying it up until the wee hours at a bar. The only difference was that I was stone sober after only having one beer all night, and I was coming off of a sugar high. And my back was killing me from those horrible chairs at bingo. I didn’t remember my back hurting from chairs when I was twenty. I could sit on boulders for hours, sleep crooked in the passenger seat of a car, or camp out with only my rucksack for a pillow and wake up refreshed and ready to go. Now I slept on my high-quality mattress with my ergonomic pillow and often woke up feeling like I’d spent the night on the floor.

  In spite of it being July, I turned the seat heater on in my car to try to help relieve my back, and headed home. A few blocks from the bar I was regretting my late night impulse. The sugar was wearing off and I felt exhausted. Taking the back roads would shave ten minutes off my trip, and right now ten minutes closer to my bed sounded amazing.

  There was only one problem. The shortcut took me down a familiar road, one that had me gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands at the thought. I hadn’t been down this road in ten years. This was the road Eli always took to get to the hospital faster, or to get home to me faster. He’d traveled it in the pre-dawn hours, or after sunset, or even in the middle of the day when his overnight shift at the hospital spilled far past the morning.

  Memories flooded me of that morning. I remembered the feel of the mattress shifting as he got up in the dark, the soft noise of dresser drawers and clothing being put on, the kiss he gave me before he left.

  “Love you. See you soon,” he’d said. And then I felt his lips on my temple, felt the brush of his smooth, freshly shaven skin, smelled his aftershave.

  “When?” I had mumbled, trying to remember his schedule for the week.

  “Late tonight if everything goes well. Tomorrow morning if it
doesn’t. Don’t expect me for dinner.”

  I always hated his surgeon’s hours, and for a brief second I’d lain there in bed resenting his job, wishing that he was home more. But Eli’s work was his passion, and I knew he wouldn’t be happy doing anything else. I’d heard the ‘snick’ of the door closing, heard the faint noise of his car starting up, then had gone back to sleep. The phone call had woken me.

  Driving to the hospital with my heart in my throat, I’d realized that I hadn’t replied to Eli that morning, hadn’t told him that I loved him too. Yes, he knew it, but I was so afraid that I’d never get the chance to say that to him again, so afraid of what the doctors weren’t telling me over the phone.

  That morning I’d taken the short cut, driven past the scene of the accident and nearly had to pull off the road. Somehow I’d forced down the panic attack at the broken trees, torn-up dirt, glass and metal still all over the asphalt. I never went back. It had been ten years since I’d been down that road.

  Ten years. It was time for me to face the past, stare down my fear, and take the short cut.

  It was dark on that unlit country road—two lanes with barely enough along the side to be called a shoulder. Steep banks and ditches were on the other sides of that poor excuse for a shoulder, and beyond that nothing but trees. I knew there were houses back there somewhere, that farms lay beyond those woods, but as I made my way down the road, it seemed as if I were the only soul for miles.

  Well, me and a pickup truck that came up from behind and passed at a speed I would never have attempted on this road. I remembered Matt’s comments about drunks, and hoped that whoever it was in the truck made it home safely.

  Rounding the curve where Route 2 intersected Jones Road, I saw the backend of the pickup swing out, then jerk suddenly into the other lane. Headlights lit the road from the opposite direction, and the driver ahead of me overcorrected and lost control. There was a blinding flash of light as the oncoming car came around the corner. The pickup skidded, rocking wildly as it careened back into my lane. I slammed on the brakes, steering through the antilock controls, blinded by the sudden difference in the dark overcast night and the headlights boring into my eyes.