Wreath of Deception
Page 6
“Did any of these people realize he was, ah, studying them?”
“Probably not,” Ryan said. “He could be pretty smooth about it. But who knows?”
Indeed, Jo thought.
The phone rang. As Tracy reached for it, a player rushed in from the courts holding up a racquet with a broken string. Jo could see their discussion about Kyle was at an end, and she drew Charlie away from the desk and out the door.
They walked a few feet down the path before Jo turned to the teen. “What did you think?”
“About this guy Kyle?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Sounds like Ryan didn’t like him much.”
“I got that too. Did Ryan sound believable to you, or did he seem to be putting it on a little thick about what Kyle was doing around here?”
“I don’t know.” Charlie looked down at his shoes for a few moments. “That girl Tracy is pretty hot.” Charlie flashed an embarrassed grin. “Maybe Ryan was trying to impress her. Or maybe Kyle was always hitting on her and it ticked Ryan off.”
“Ah, I hadn’t thought of that. Some good points, Charlie.”
Charlie threw Jo a hint of a smile, then gazed back at his shoes, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “But I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe Kyle really was a jerk.”
Jo could confirm that part, at least from the way Kyle had behaved at her grand opening. But were his actions here at his job as over the top as Ryan claimed? And if so, who else might have noticed?
They reached the car, and Jo searched through her pockets for her keys. As she unlocked the passenger door, she noticed Charlie looking off toward a small group of grounds workers walking toward the golf course with a cart of tools, a couple of them probably high schoolers.
“Anybody you know?”
“Yeah.”
“Like to go over and talk to them?” she asked, feeling on a roll from the tennis shop and eager to keep it going.
Charlie shrugged. “Uh-uh,” and climbed into the car.
Jo looked back at the group longingly. She weighed her chances of success at strolling over, commenting on the weather, and casually turning the topic to Kyle Sandborn. The scale tipped heavily toward “not good.” She sighed and slid behind the wheel, deciding what she learned from Tracy and Ryan would have to do for now.
Chapter 7
Jo settled in the cubicle she called an office the next morning, eager to start working on the craft show while Carrie handled the customers. Bob Gordon had sent over a thick packet containing information on the club’s past craft shows. She started by calling Phyllis Lenske, head of the Ladies’ Sodality at St. Adelbert’s, who had hosted a high-grossing table last year.
“Another show? Oh, how nice,” Phyllis responded. But Jo’s hand, which had moved to pencil the group in, halted as Phyllis quickly qualified her interest, saying, “Let me check with Mary Louise, first. She’s having knee replacement surgery, but I really can’t remember if it’s this month or next. And we would definitely need Susan Crosby to pitch in, but I’ll have to find out when she and her husband are taking that cruise to the Bahamas,” as well as several other problems that stood in the way of a definite answer.
Jo got an enthusiastic response when she called the office of the Abbotsville United Methodist Church, but then she was given the numbers of several more women to call who “may or may not be available for the project. And thank you so much for thinking of us.”
Even the professional craftsmen she contacted left her hanging, some describing their schedules as in flux and saying they would therefore need to hold off on a definite answer for a bit, “but really, what a nice opportunity it sounds like.” Others responded only with messages on their answering machines that promised to get back to the caller “very soon.” It quickly became clear why Bob Gordon had been so happy to give her the job.
“Arrgh!” Jo cried after hanging up from possibly her twentieth unproductive call. “Herding cats is right. Gordon must be dancing in his office right now.”
“I thought the phrase was ‘herding chickens.’” Carrie looked over from the stamping section where she stood, filling out an order sheet.
“No, it has to be cats. A chicken might at least gift you with an egg for your efforts. Cats give you nothing, and the harder you try, the more they secretly laugh at you. These people are cats, and they’re all rubbing their paws beside their phones right now, saying, ‘Hee, hee, she thinks she’s actually going to get cooperation from us, snicker, snicker.’”
“Spoken as one who never owned a cat, of course.”
“There’s a good reason for that.” Jo got up from her chair and stretched her tired back. “And as soon as I think of it, I’ll let you know. What’s on our agenda for tonight?”
“The scrapbooking workshop. But you’re on your own for that. I’m going to ‘Parents’ Night’ at the school.”
“Oh, yeah. Guess I better bone up on scrapbooking some more. They never taught it at art school, you know, mostly because it didn’t exist at the time.”
“We all kept scrapbooks as kids. Mine were always a mess, though, just pages with everything I wanted to save thrown in—awards certificates, school pictures, dried corsages. This is a lot different, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely. This is a real art form, Carrie. Each page is decorated according to the theme of the entry, snapshots are trimmed to set off the subject, and everything is arranged on layers of beautiful papers. It can be quite elaborate. And the range of tools available,” Jo moved over to the scrapbooking section, pointing out the stock, “embossers, calligraphy pens, paper punchers, special paper trimmers—”
“Sounds like a great hobby to encourage,” Carrie said with a grin. “The more enthusiastic the scrapbooker, the better your business.”
“Right! Tonight’s workshop, though, is for beginners, of which I still consider myself one.”
“Oh, I know your wheels will start turning as they always do, as soon as you see those blank pages before you. Who’s signed up for it?”
Jo found the sign-up sheet and laughed. “Ina Mae, for one. She seems determined to learn everything our little Craft Corner can offer.”
“It’s the elementary school teacher in her. All those years of decorating bulletin boards. They can’t stop.”
“And Deirdre Patterson’s coming too. She signed up at the end of the wreath workshop.”
“Even after the glued fingers? You must have really stirred up the hobbyist in her. I never thought she’d be inclined toward arts and crafts, what with the damage that can do to one’s manicure.”
“I don’t know. She’s clearly never done much of it before. Maybe it’s the novelty, or she might just like the camaraderie. Could she be feeling lonely?”
“I wouldn’t think so. As Mrs. Alden Patterson, I’m sure her social calendar is well booked.”
“Well, whatever it is, I’m glad to have her. Maybe she’ll pull in a few of her many friends and acquaintances if she keeps it all up.”
That evening, after Carrie took off for a quick dinner with her family before Parents’ Night, Jo watched her scrapbooking students file in. Ina Mae was first, right on time, with white-haired Loralee Phillips trailing behind, carrying the large tote Jo had noticed the other night. Nearly half the size of the petite woman, it seemed to be her way of staying prepared for any and all things. The other night when Javonne mentioned having rushed over from the dental office for the wreath-making workshop without supper, Loralee had reached into her tote, pulled out a box of trail mix and a perfectly ripe banana, and passed it over without a word.
Jo had learned that both Ina Mae and Loralee were widows, but that’s where any similarity seemed to end, what with Ina Mae’s power walking and active volunteerism versus Loralee’s quieter interests. But Jo suspected Ina Mae’s strong personality complemented Loralee’s gentler one. Also, she remembered her Great-aunt Martha once explaining why she regularly lunched with a high-strung, chronically giggling neighbor. “I find,�
� she’d said, “the older I get, the less picky I am about my companions.” There was something to be said for that.
Mindy Blevins, who held the distinction of being Jo’s first customer ever, arrived next, carrying a box filled to overflowing with photos of her toddler twins. Jo speculated they would fill quite a hefty scrapbook if she intended to incorporate them all. The youngest of the group at about twenty-five or so, Mindy wore her medium brown hair pulled back in a time-saving pony-tail style. The oversize shirt she wore seemed designed to cover a few extra pregnancy pounds, which no doubt, with twins to chase after, she would eventually lose.
Deirdre Patterson brought up the rear, dressed more sensibly this time in dark T-shirt and jeans. She clutched a much smaller box than Mindy and wore an expression that struck Jo as more determined than eager. Deirdre clearly was still out of her element and would need help to discover that crafting could be relaxing and fun. She greeted Jo cordially, however, as well as her fellow students, as she joined them around the worktable.
Once they settled down, Jo went over the basic idea of scrapbooking with the group and then displayed the various tools available. “You don’t need a lot of these at first, and if you have basic things like a pair of sharp scissors you’ll have a good start. But these tools can help with wonderful special effects as you progress, like crimping and embossing. The first thing you need to do now, though, is decide on a theme for your scrapbook, or perhaps a separate theme for each page.”
“I can’t decide if I should do a separate book for each twin, or keep them together,” Mindy said.
“Oh, keep them together,” Loralee cried. “I’ve always loved to see identical twins in their matching outfits.”
“Separate books,” Ina Mae countered, in a firm teacher-to-parent tone. “Each child should retain his own identity.”
“You have so many photos,” Jo said, “you could probably do both. One for each of the twins and one focusing on their twin-ness.”
“Oh, I like that!” Mindy upended her box, creating a huge mound of photos. “I’ll get started on sorting them out.”
“My goodness, you do have a lot,” Deirdre said, the expression on her face saying, “Far better you than I.”
“What kind of scrapbook are you going to do?” Loralee asked Deirdre.
“I want to put together a book for Alden, to record his career in the state senate. I plan to surprise him with it for his birthday.”
“How nice.” Loralee smiled sweetly but said no more, leading Jo to wonder if her vote during the last election might have been for Alden Patterson’s opponent.
The ladies got busy, and Jo wandered around, offering a suggestion here and there. Ina Mae, she saw, planned to do scrapbooks on her vacations, starting with a recent one to the Southwest. When Jo eventually returned to her own station, Ina Mae, barely glancing up from her work, asked, “So, what have you learned about Kyle so far?”
All the heads around the table popped up, faces full of interest. Jo wasn’t sure if she should feel touched or pressured. Either way, they were obviously not going to let her off the hook.
Loralee explained to Mindy, who had not been at the wreath workshop, “We’ve encouraged Jo to do a little side-investigating, to supplement what the police might be doing.”
A diplomatic way of putting it, Jo thought, since what they had really hinted was that she needed to save her own skin.
“Well, I did talk to two of Kyle’s coworkers at the tennis desk,” Jo said.
“And?” Deirdre asked.
“And, neither seemed to find Kyle very likable, which was pretty much my own opinion, though I thought he might just have been having a bad day.”
“Coworkers often have the clearest view of a person,” said Ina Mae. “The best and worst of one’s character come out at the workplace.”
“Oh, I agree,” Mindy jumped in. The sorting of her photos was going slowly, as Mindy couldn’t seem to handle any snapshot without taking a long, loving gaze at it. “I once took a job working for a friend of mine in a bridal shop, more as a favor to her than anything else. Whooo, was that a mistake. I saw a side of her I never knew before. Talk about ‘bride-zillas,’ she was definitely boss-zilla. When she—”
“What,” Ina Mae interrupted, “exactly did Kyle’s coworkers say about him?”
“They claimed he spent more time spying on the clientele than working, and turned every situation into a soap opera. He apparently felt his job there was beneath him and that he was just marking time until his acting career took off.”
“That must have annoyed them. Do you trust their judgment?”
“I’d like to talk to a few more people at the country club and see if I get similar stories.”
“Good idea,” Deirdre piped up. She had edged away from Mindy and her spreading project. “But since Kyle was so interested in acting, I’d check with the group at the playhouse too.”
Mindy agreed, nodding. “I know they were starting work on their next production at the playhouse, some kind of fairy-tale story, I heard. Kyle must have been part of it. I bet you’d get a lot of dirt on him there.”
“Absolutely,” Deirdre said. “And,” she added, as if anticipating Jo’s question of how to approach the playhouse group, “you could offer to do a little set designing, or costume accessorizing, or something as a way in.”
“Wonderful idea, Deirdre.” Loralee fairly bounced on her seat with approval.
Jo looked at the group, dryly noting how ready they were to send her off on more expeditions with no thought as to how she was going to fit this all into her already bulging schedule. Between minding the store, craft classes, and now the craft show to set up at the country club, Jo barely had time left, lately, to eat and sleep. But then, she reasoned, if she didn’t find a way to stretch her time now, she might have nothing to fill it with later on.
Except, she thought wryly, making license plates.
The group made a good start on their scrapbooks and were packing up their materials for the night, when Jo heard Deirdre cry out in exasperation, “Shoot!”
“What’s wrong?”
“My bracelet. I took it off tonight so it wouldn’t get in my way, and now, when I tried to put it back on, I see the clasp is broken. Darn! I wanted to wear it to a lunch tomorrow.”
“Oh, what a shame,” Mindy said.
“Let me see,” Jo said, reaching for it and looking it over. “I can fix that if you like. But my jewelry tools are at home. If you want to follow me there, I can have it done in two minutes.”
“That would be so nice! Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. Just give me a minute to close up the shop.”
The others said their good nights, and Deirdre helped Jo do a final straightening up before turning out her lights and locking up. When they left, Jo pointed out her Toyota, then led the way to the house, waving Deirdre, once she’d parked her Mercedes, into the garage.
“I’ve set up my jewelry bench in this little built-in workroom,” she explained, pulling out her keys and unlocking its door. “I think one of the owners used it for a photography darkroom. It has good lighting and a lock, so I feel safe leaving my things in it.”
“How very handy. What a cute little place you have here,” Deirdre said, referring to Jo’s house.
Jo smiled, aware of her house’s shortcomings but satisfied with the rent. “It’s comfortable,” she said. She took Deirdre’s bracelet out and got to work, removing the broken clasp and replacing it with a new one. As promised, she finished the job quickly.
“Wonderful!” Deirdre cried when Jo handed it back to her. “What do I owe you for this?”
“Never mind,” Jo said. “It was my pleasure.”
Deirdre protested, but Jo waved it away. “Just bring a few friends to the craft show if you like. I want Bob Gordon to be happy with the turnout.”
“I surely will, then.” Deirdre paused, looking around. Jo got the feeling she hoped to be invited into the hou
se.
“Like to stay for a minute, for coffee perhaps?”
Deirdre lit up. “Maybe just a minute, if it’s not too late for you?”
It had been a long day, and Jo was feeling tired. But it wouldn’t kill her, she thought, to be a little hospitable. “We can go in through here.” Jo indicated the connecting door between the garage and her kitchen. Deirdre followed as Jo flipped on lights.
“What a charming place,” Deirdre said, and Jo smiled once again, this time at the word “charming.” By now she was familiar with the buzzwords real estate people used for various properties. “Cozy fixer-upper” often translated as “run-down shack,” and “charming,” Jo thought, was code for “cheap but livable.” She hadn’t seen Deirdre’s house but could imagine something worthy of hiring a full-time housekeeper to manage. Jo made no apologies for her own living situation, though. It was within her means, it kept her out of the rain and cold, and, hopefully, it was temporary.
“Regular or decaf?” Jo asked, going to her coffee cupboard.
“You know, if you have something cold, that would be great.”
“Sure.” Jo pulled open her refrigerator and looked in. “Iced tea?”
“Great. Mind if I look around? I love old places like this.”
“Not at all.” Jo poured out two glasses of tea and handed one to Deirdre. She led her to the living room.
“Oh,” Deirdre cried, “you’re making a new wreath.” Jo had left her work-in-progress on the coffee table, her supplies scattered on the floor about it.
“I’m working on a prototype for the next wreath-making class. This one’s a spring wreath, and I’ll probably hang it on the Craft Corner’s front door next March or so, to freshen up the seasonal look of the store.”
“Wonderful idea. And I love what you’ve done so far with those pretty flowers—you’re so creative! I’ll have to sign up for that class, definitely.”
Jo walked her about the rest of the house, and they chatted about some of the interesting features—at least Deirdre seemed to find them interesting—of the small house, such as the built-in bookcases in the living room, still mostly bare, and the stained-glass window in the powder room. Jo did like that but would have traded it in a flash for a rust-free sink.