Look Always Forward (Bellingwood Book 11)

by Diane Greenwood Muir

  "I'm not mad at all," Polly said. She kissed his cheek. "I just can't believe I finally have a truck again. Can we go for a ride?"

  "Sure. You have the keys. Let's go."

  Polly climbed in. The tan leather seat felt like butter and she ran her hands back and forth on the steering wheel while peering at the dash. "There's a lot more here than my last truck," she said.

  Henry reached into the glove compartment, took out the manual and held it up. "Bed time reading?"

  "I'd guess so." She popped the console open between them and looked into it. "This is clean. Everything is so clean."

  "I told you, he takes good care of his trucks. Are you sure it's okay?"

  Polly put the console lid back down and put her hand out, palm up. Henry took it in his. She smiled at him. "This was so unexpected. I'm sorry I didn't react well. I really was just surprised. All of my procrastinating and you took care of it. Thank you for fixing me."

  He opened the glove compartment again and took out her dad's work gloves. "I hoped you would like it. I already made the transfer."

  Her eyes filled with tears. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm always grateful."

  Henry handed her the gloves and she held them to her nose, inhaling their scent. "I'm such a dope, aren't I."

  "You're my dope. Now where shall we go?" he asked.

  She passed the gloves back to him and he returned them to the glove compartment, tucking them under the manual. Then she looked at the key ring. There was no key and for that matter, no place to put one - anywhere. "I'm confused?" she said.

  "Just push the button. As long as you have the fob, it will turn on."

  "Wow. Big time," she said with a laugh and pressed the ignition button. The truck came to life and she breathed deeply. "I'm free again," she said. "Thank you."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Reaching down absentmindedly, Polly scratched Obiwan's neck when he placed his head on her leg. They were in her office the next morning before anyone else arrived. Han spent more and more time with Henry during the weekdays. He'd turned into a great companion and loved spending time at job sites or the shop. Jessie's little girl was in love with the big, goofy dog who spent time keeping her corralled. Once she started crawling, Molly was unstoppable. Marie Sturtz was more than happy to watch the child during the day. She'd turned most of the business work over to Jessie, stepping in to help only when needed. Bill and Len Specek had put together a covered play area in the back yard where Marie could watch Molly and somehow, Marie and Bill's living room had turned into a child's playroom.

  Marie insisted that it took a village to raise a child and Jessie was helpless to stop the additional assistance she was receiving. It worked out wonderfully for her, but she confided in Polly that she felt guilty for accepting it all. Polly confided in Jessie that she was grateful Marie had a baby to play with because she wasn't planning to have one any time soon.

  Jessie had named her daughter after Marie and Polly, combining the names to honor the two women who changed her life. Jessie's own parents still had yet to see their grandchild, which didn't surprise Polly. Kelly Locke didn't have a relationship with any of her children other than her son, Ethan, who still lived at home. It broke Polly's heart, but at least Jessie had a safe place to work and was establishing a life for herself and her daughter.

  "Good morning," Jeff said. He came in to Polly's office and flopped down in a seat, dropping his messenger bag on the floor beside him.

  Obiwan wandered over to sniff the bag and then nudged Jeff's hand for attention.

  "I'm sorry for landing all of those people on you yesterday afternoon," Polly said. "How did the rest of your day go?"

  He nodded. "It was good. The two kids should work out fine for the coffee shop. In fact, I'm meeting them up there later this morning. They'll help with setup."

  "And Alistair Greyson?" Polly asked.

  Jeff pursed his lips and grinned at her. "He's a character. He'll tell you to call him Grey."

  "Grey Greyson?"

  "Yep. I like him." Jeff rested his hand on Obiwan's head, which was resting on his knee.

  "Cool," she said. "I told Ken we might hire him for a couple of weeks up at the coffee shop to help us get ready to open."

  He shrugged. "Sure. That would work. He's not in a hurry to leave Bellingwood. We might want to think about helping him find something more permanent."

  "What do you mean?" Polly creased her brow.

  "I don't know," Jeff said. "He just seems like someone I want to keep around."

  "How do you know he isn't leaving Bellingwood?"

  "Some things he said. If Denis Sutworth lives through this, it sounds like Grey wants to spend time with him. He says he's had experience with messed up kids."

  "Interesting," Polly said.

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because from what Ken tells me, the Sutworth kid is going to need a lot of help. He's been in and out of psychiatric situations, refuses to take his meds, and is basically a mess. Do you think this guy can help?"

  "I don't know," Jeff said. "Just wait until you meet him." He reached down and picked up his bag, then stood and stepped toward her office door. "He said he felt like he was here for a reason and that reason wrecked his truck the other day."

  "That's odd," Polly responded with a smile.

  "Yeah. You're right. It probably is." Jeff's shoulders dropped lower as he walked out of her office and turned into his own.

  Obiwan came back over and sat down beside Polly.

  "What do you think?" she asked the dog. He made a noise in his throat and lay down. Polly watched Stephanie and Kayla come in, Kayla heading for the stairs to go up to the apartment and Stephanie turning to come into the office. Right behind them were Sylvie and Andrew. He ran to catch up to Kayla and she heard Sylvie speaking to Stephanie before tapping on her door.

  Polly looked up and smiled. "Come on in. How are you this morning?"

  Sylvie shook her head. "Long morning already. Isn't it about time for the kids to go back to school?"

  "Just a couple of weeks. Which one today?" Polly asked.

  "No big deal. It was both of them. I had to pry Andrew off a stupid video game and Jason was grumpy for no good reason."

  "There's probably a reason," Polly said.

  Sylvie scowled at her. "I know. You're right. But I don't have time right now to get past his tight-lipped adolescent self. I have too much to do right now to put up with either of them and their bad behavior."

  "So you're grumpy, too," Polly said with a grin.

  "Don't start on me," Sylvie said, looking over the glasses she'd started wearing this summer. She still wasn't used to having them on her head, and more often than not, they were nowhere to be found when she tried to read small print. Her worries of getting old had almost turned into a crisis. A night of laughter and good food with Lydia, Beryl and Andy had reminded her that age didn't have to define her.

  Polly put her hands up defensively. "I'm not starting. I promise."

  "Did I hear you got a new vehicle?"

  "Henry found the perfect truck for me. And I'm free again," Polly said. "Now if I can just keep this one out of the hands of serial killers and away from insane kids who want to run me off the road, I'll be happy. It's red and has everything a girl could want."

  "I'm glad for you. I suspect Henry is glad, too."

  Polly laughed. "I think he might have been worried about his poor T-bird. I drive faster than he does."

  Sylvie stood up. "I have two events that I'm catering out at the winery. I'd better get busy."

  She stopped in front of Stephanie's desk to let her know people would be coming in for interviews. Good, she was finally taking this expansion thing seriously.

  ~~~

  Jeff tapped on Polly's door. "I'm going to the coffee shop. Can you hold down the fort?"

  "Sure?" Polly was perplexed. "Are you expecting something to happen while you're gone?"

  He laughed. "No. I
t's fine. I just wanted you to know where I was."

  "I'll be up later with the kids. They're shelving books. Surely Stephanie can keep an eye on things here."

  "Of course she can." Jeff glanced at her desk. "I'll see you later."

  Polly looked back down at the paperwork in front of her. From bills to contracts, it never ended. She was ready for the coffee shop to open and things to settle down again. That familiar itch was starting to happen in the back of her mind. She hadn't yet identified what was on her radar, but it was time to be creative again. One thing that hadn't taken off in Sycamore House was artisan crafts. She'd originally had a vision of a place where artists and crafters could have classes and sell their wares. There were a few classes happening in the space across the hall, but she was located too far off the beaten path. Whatever her dream was would have to take place downtown where people could drop in without making an appointment.

  Only in small town Iowa could four blocks be considered off the beaten path. There were open spaces downtown that would work. Bellingwood wouldn't know what to do with some of the bohemian artists she'd known in Boston. The only person she could imagine who would know what she was looking for was Beryl and that woman did her level best to stay under the radar.

  Polly's eyes snapped open from her daydreams. Bellingwood needed an art gallery. Here they had a well-known artist living right in their midst and no one was showing her work. That was insane. How many other people like that lived in Iowa, hiding from the world that knew who they were? Henry had a friend who designed toys for a large firm in Chicago. He lived in Iowa so he could raise his family on a farm. She'd met a young couple earlier this summer at a wedding who were part of a wave of programmers and web designers that didn't want to live in Silicon Valley and were making an impact from the Heartland. So much was starting to happen here.

  She wondered what Beryl would say to hanging her work in a Bellingwood gallery. Would the woman be able to say no to Polly? She chuckled. Beryl wouldn't have a problem saying no.

  "Ms. Giller?" a man's voice roused her from her daydreams. She looked up to see Alistair Greyson standing in her doorway. His face had been banged up. One eye was black and blue and a bandage covered his chin.

  "Mr. Greyson," she said, standing up. "Come in and have a seat. How are you doing today?"

  He limped in, favoring his right leg, shook her hand, and sat down across from her. Obiwan ran right to him and after sniffing his hand, nuzzled his face under it for attention.

  "I'm better than I expected," he said. "This is a beautiful dog."

  "That's Obiwan. It looks as if he likes you."

  Greyson bent over and rubbed the top of Obiwan's head with his cheek, a move that surprised Polly. "I'm quite fond of animals. This one has a heart that is true."

  Polly had thought when she first saw him, that Greyson was ordinary looking. But in the time since the accident, he'd cleaned up, trimming his hair and his beard. The beard had much more gray in it than the hair on top of his head and it gave him a distinguished look. He had laugh lines around his eyes and an easy smile.

  "Obiwan is a wonderful dog," Polly said. "He always knows what I need."

  He nodded, taking her office and all of its contents in.

  "Is there anything I can help you with this morning?" she asked. "Is your room okay? Do you need anything?"

  "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I was wondering if you could help me find my truck. I'd like to retrieve a few items before it is sent to its final resting place."

  "Of course," she said. "Let me call the police station and ask where they've taken it. I guess I'm surprised they didn't get your luggage out of it."

  "They most certainly did. But there are often treasures that don't appear to be so to those who are unaware of their nature."

  "I see." Polly swiped her phone open and dialed a familiar number. Even after three years, it still surprised her that she had a close relationship with not one, but two local law enforcement agencies.

  "Bellingwood Police," a voice said.

  "Hi. This is Polly Giller and I have Alistair Greyson here asking about his truck. There are a few items he would like to retrieve."

  "Hi there, Polly. Sure. The truck is over at the city yard. If you want to take him over there, I'll call down and they'll let you in. No problem. Ken wasn't sure if he'd gotten everything out of it."

  "Thank you," Polly said. "We'll head over in a few minutes."

  "No problem. I'll tell Ken you called."

  Polly laughed when she hung up. "This is what's wonderful about small towns," she said to Mr. Greyson. "A quick call and we can get to your truck. Would you like to go now? They'll be ready any time for us."

  He nodded. "Thank you very much. I didn't expect such an immediate response."

  She asked. "How did you get here this morning?"

  "I walked. My knee was giving me trouble earlier. I'm afraid the accident aggravated an old injury. But it isn't far and the exercise is good for me."

  "We do have you out on the edge of town. I'm sorry about that." She glanced at the time. "Maybe after we pick up your things, I could take you to lunch."

  He stood and stepped back, gesturing for Polly to precede him, "If you will allow me," he said with a bow, "I would like to take you to lunch."

  Obiwan followed Polly out of the office and stopped beside her when she turned to Stephanie. "We're going to run a couple of errands. I'll be back later."

  "No problem," Stephanie said. "I might not be here, but I'll have the phone. I need to run out to the hotel and help some people check in."

  "Thanks," Polly said. Finding a manager for the hotel frustrated her. No one was right for the job. They had hired housekeepers - a woman and her daughter, Barb and Cindy Evering. But those who applied for the reception job stayed for a week or less and moved on. Polly's employees always became part of the family and sometimes people just weren't cut out to be responsible to a large number of odd family members.

  "This is quite a facility you have here," Alistair said as they passed through the main foyer.

  "It's ..." Polly wasn't quite sure what to say. Most words seemed trite in comparison to the depth of feeling she had for Sycamore House. "It's a wonderful place."

  "If you are in charge, it must be," he said. Stopping in front of the door to the auditorium, he asked, "May I?"

  She nodded and opened the door. He stepped in to the empty room, his eyes resting on the stage. He caught sight of the display cases.

  "A fascinating collection of pop culture," he said.

  "We discovered crates in the basement the first few months we were here - things that students had lost while the school was open. A custodian kept everything together year after year."

  "A person could get lost in memories," he said, reaching up to touch the glass in front of a pair of black and white saddle shoes.

  "We've offered to let people come in and take back any of their personal items, but not many have claimed them," Polly said. "I think they like knowing this piece of history is here."

  He shook himself from his reverie. "Perhaps it is time to move on." He pointed to the back of the building and said, "To your trusty steed?"

  Polly chuckled. "Let's go through the kitchen so I can introduce you to a couple of my friends."

  "You are a woman who has many friends, aren't you, Ms. Giller," he said.

  "I suppose I am." She led him through the auditorium and opened the door in front of the kitchen. They stopped at the counter and Sylvie glanced up from an oven.

  "Hello there," Sylvie said. Her hair was pulled back and yet a few tendrils fell in front of her face. Her cheeks were red from exertion and the front of her apron looked as if something had exploded.

  "You are a vision of perfection," Alistair gasped.

  Sylvie looked down at herself, glanced at Polly and then at Rachel and said, "Who, me?"

  "Your natural beauty shines through the work that you do." He turned to Polly. "Have you ever seen
anyone so lovely?"

  Polly shrugged. "He's right, you know. You are quite lovely in that getup. Sylvie Donovan, this is Alistair Greyson. He's staying at the Inn."

  Sylvie stepped forward and put her hand out. Polly wasn't at all surprised when he turned it to kiss the back of her hand.

  "Oh," Sylvie said. It shouldn't have been possible, but her cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red.

  "Might I inquire as to whether you are free this evening?" Alistair asked. "I know it's short notice, but I don't feel that I can go another day without learning more about you. You are exquisite."

  "I. Don't. Think. So," Sylvie said evenly.

  "I apologize," he said. "I've pressed too quickly. But I've never..." He stopped and said again, "I apologize. Ms. Giller, shall we leave now?" His confidence was gone and he stammered out, "It was nice to meet you."

  Rather than taking him through the kitchen, Polly pointed to the auditorium door. He went through it without waiting for her. She shrugged at Sylvie and followed.

  "I do apologize," he said. "I've never met anyone so lovely. Please express to her that I did not mean to frighten or startle her." He quietly spoke to himself. "Sylvie Donovan. 'Tis a beautiful name."

  "I'll let her know," Polly responded. "My truck is right through here." She led him into the storage room and out into the garage. It felt wonderful to be able to have her own vehicle.

  Greyson walked into the garage and stopped in front of Henry's Thunderbird. "It seems that I am to be exposed to great beauty today," he said. "My mother told the story that my father married her for her T-Bird. This is very nice."

  "It's my husband's. I've been driving it for the last few months, but we got my new truck just yesterday."

  He trailed his fingers across the hood of the T-Bird as he walked around it and then turned his attention to the truck, climbing up into the passenger seat.

  Polly opened her door and let Obiwan jump up and in. He leapt to the back seat before she had her seatbelt buckled.

  "It's just a short drive to the city yard," Polly said.