Hollyhock Ridge

by Pamela Grandstaff

  “I did,” Claire said. “Is Marigold telling people Kay had something to do with it?”

  “She’s not coming right out and saying it,” Ruthie said. “She’s just implying it; you know how folks like that are.”

  “I certainly do,” Claire said, waved good-bye, and headed off in the other direction.

  Claire went home to change clothes, and before she left again, she chugged a tall glass of water, took another couple aspirin, and put a sleeve of soda crackers in her purse for later.

  In front of Sean’s new family law office, up on Rose Hill Avenue next to the book store, Claire’s ex-husband, Pip Deacon, was sitting on the sidewalk, smoking a joint. He wore white painter overalls, work boots, and nothing else. With his long golden dreadlocks and tanned muscular arms, he looked and smelled the part of the beach bum pothead he had always aspired to be.

  “You’re late,” he said. “I’m charging Sean from the time I show up here.”

  “You’re not fooling anyone,” Claire said as she unlocked the door. “No one palms a tobacco cigarette and smokes it like that.”

  Pip just shrugged and followed her inside.

  Claire turned on the computer, checked Sean’s emails, and then checked the voicemail. There were no new emails or messages, so her work was now done. There was nothing left to do but babysit the quiet office. She sighed, and then made some coffee. Meanwhile, Pip got to work, and she was relieved that he didn’t try to chat her up while he did so.

  About an hour later, Ed came in.

  “Mr. Harrison,” she said. “How may I help you?”

  Ed sat down in the chair next to her desk.

  “Are you busy?” he asked.

  “Terribly,” she said, as she shuffled some papers.

  “I just wanted to apologize for you finding out about Eve the way you did,” he said. “I was as surprised as you were, just earlier in the day. I did try to reach you.”

  “So you hooked up in Atlanta this past March, and she’s just now letting you know she’s pregnant,” Claire said. “Any reason why she waited so long to tell you?”

  “She didn’t want to deal with it,” he said. “It was an accident; she thought the contraceptive she was on would prevent that. I guess nothing’s one hundred percent.”

  “And it’s for sure yours?”

  “She said it was, based on the timing,” Ed said, “and I believe her. She didn’t realize she was pregnant until she was too far along to do anything about it. She’s never wanted children, so it’s been traumatic for her.”

  “Poor lamb.”

  “I am sorry,” Ed said. “She’s asked me to stand by her and I said I would. I couldn’t do anything less.”

  “Of course not,” Claire said. “I wish you both well.”

  “We’re not getting back together,” Ed said. “We’re going to see this pregnancy through, and then after an appropriate amount of time passes, we’ll get divorced.”

  “Appropriate in what context?”

  “Eve’s getting more high profile assignments now that her career’s heating up,” Ed said. “She can’t afford a scandal right now. She doesn’t want it to be made into a tabloid thing, but she’s made enemies at just about every tabloid. I know it seems shallow and self-serving, but she’s worked so hard to build her career, and something like this, if spun the wrong way, could destroy everything.”

  “It may be better family values for the minivan demographic if she says it’s her husband’s child, but is it the truth?”

  “I’m choosing to believe her.”

  “And what about the kid? What about afterward?”

  “We haven’t discussed that yet.”

  “Hadn’t you better?”

  “I just found out yesterday, Claire. Today she’s working. I’m sure we’ll iron out all the details as we have time to do so.”

  Claire’s head still hurt and she was the grouchiest she’d felt in a long time.

  “All right,” she said. “Consider me informed.”

  “The timing could not be worse as far as you and I are concerned.”

  “We’re just friends,” Claire said. “Besides, you’re married to her.”

  “I heard you got a little drunk last night.”

  “Ix-nay on the ossip-gay,” Claire said. “If we are to remain friends, we must agree never to speak of last night.”

  “Fair enough,” Ed said. “I guess you heard about Diedre Delvecchio.”

  “I heard Marigold’s virtually accused Kay of murder.”

  “She better be careful,” Ed said. “That could backfire on her.”

  “Do you know anything about hoarding?”

  “No,” Ed said. “I’ve never been in their house, but I hear it’s bad.”

  After Ed left, Claire sent an email to a makeup artist who worked for one of the morning news shows in New York. Claire had helped her get started in the business so the woman owed her a favor. What Claire wanted was information, and she was pretty sure this woman could get it for her.

  After that she did some Internet research on hoarding. She also remembered what Pudge Postlethwaite had said about Diedre going to yard sales and flea markets. She made some notes in case she ran into Laurie later. Not that she planned to. But he might stop by. He would probably come around later, and tease her about the previous night. It would be embarrassing, and she’d have to put a stop to it.

  But he didn’t.

  At lunchtime Claire walked up to the city building, and glanced oh so casually into the police station as she passed it, but she didn’t see Laurie. Kay was in her office, but Laurie was not visiting.

  “Morning, Sunshine,” Kay said.

  Claire got Kay caught up on the events of the previous evening.

  “My Lord,” Kay said. “Your life is like a soap opera.”

  “I know, right?”

  “What are you going to do about Laurie?”

  “Not a blessed thing,” Claire said. “I need to stop worrying about romance and start focusing on my life.”

  “But you are attracted to him.”

  “Laurie’s a mess right now. He would just be the next in my long line of terrible romantic mistakes. Remember, I am very firmly taking myself by the hand and walking away from the man.”

  “Only when sober, apparently.”

  “I want my life to be able to pass the Bechdel test.”

  “What’s that?”

  “There’s this really talented cartoonist named Alison Bechdel. One of the characters in her comic strip says she only goes to see films where two female characters talk to each other about something other than some man. That’s the Bechdel test,” Claire said. “I want there to be more important things in my life than worrying about romance.”

  “Relationships are important,” Kay said. “It would be a sad, lonely world if no one cared about romance.”

  “What about work? What about doing something meaningful for other people? I’ve led a selfish, self-indulgent life up to now, and I’m ashamed of myself. There has to be something more worthwhile I could spend my time doing.”

  “If you’re serious, I can probably find you something meaningful to do,” Kay said. “Just remember it’s not healthy to make work your only reason for living. You’re liable to end up a lonely old lady.”

  “I do get lonely, and I do miss the affection, certainly the sex, but dammit, I’m tired of worrying about it all the time. It’s mentally and emotionally exhausting, and I’m tired of being disappointed.”

  “I blame Pip,” Kay said. “He soured you on relationships, I think.”

  “That was my fault for trying to turn a bad dating accident into a marriage. If it hadn’t been me it would have been the next random teenage girl with low self-esteem and poor decision making skills. Pip just needs to be with somebody, anybody. He’s a master at acting helpless, which is just the good-looking version of bone-idle-lazy. Women love to rescue Pip, and he can be very obliging when he wants to be.”

  “Hav
en’t you ever dated someone you thought could be the one?”

  “I fell for a struggling actor once, and then proceeded to fall for every line he fed me. It was spellbinding the way that panty-dropper could manipulate me; all he had to do was smile and I’d reach for my credit card. He was a master of the big romantic gestures. I finally had to physically remove myself from his zip code because he was such heroin to my romance addiction.”

  “Good for you for rescuing yourself.”

  “Oh no, out of the frying pan into the fire, that’s my motto. Next there was this Indy film director I called ‘the pale poet.’ His emotional development was arrested in high school. Being a director finally gave him power over the cheerleaders.”

  “What about the Scottish actor? What was his name?’

  “Carlysle was a drama teacher; Maggie says that one’s my fault for ignoring the accuracy of his position description. He was funny and clever and had the sexiest accent. He laughed me right into bed. Turns out, he was more ambitious than in love; come to think of it, they all were.”

  “Which is the opposite of Pip.”

  “You’re right; I never thought of it that way.”

  “Ed’s a good person in a bad situation.”

  “Ed doesn’t even know me, and I think when he finally does he won’t be so interested. Plus, he has his hands full now with Eve and the baby. They have history and she’s vulnerable right now in an attractive way. He’s trying to save her, I think.”

  “You think it’s his?”

  “I don’t know,” Claire said. “But I do know some people that work in her world who will find out.”

  “What if you found out it wasn’t?” Kay asked. “Would you tell him?”

  “No,” said Claire. “I’d find some way to make her tell him.”

  “Be careful,” Kay said.

  “Hey,” Claire said. “There’s some scurrilous gossip going around about you concerning Diedre’s disappearance.”

  “Ruthie called me last night,” Kay said. “There’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “We could find her,” Claire said. “Or find out what happened to her.”

  “How?”

  “Pudge said Diedre liked to shop yard sales and flea markets. Let’s look at what ones were advertised the other morning when you saw her. Then we can ask those people if she was there. Maybe we can find out where she went and who saw her last.”

  “I’ve got this week’s papers here in the recycling,” Kay said. “But I can’t go around asking about Diedre. Think of how that would look.”

  “But I can,” Claire said.

  CHAPTER 4

  Claire was walking back down Rose Hill Avenue, and had just crossed Peony Street, when she smelled a familiar Pip-like smell. A van with a Colorado license plate was parked out in front of the Rose and Thorn. The back end was covered in bumper stickers urging the legalization of marijuana and memorializing Bob Marley. There were also multiple, blue marijuana-leaf-shaped stickers with the words “Smoked Grass” on them. The windows of the van were partially down and smoke was rolling out as thick as if the interior were on fire.

  Laurie was standing outside the Thorn, leaning back against the brick façade next to the entryway.

  “Who are they?” she asked, gesturing toward the van.

  “Tonight’s entertainment, I gather,” he said. “According to your cousin Patrick, they are a bluegrass ska fusion band.”

  “Lemme guess,” she said. “Smoked Grass.”

  “Uh huh,” he said.

  “Are you going to arrest them?”

  “I haven’t decided,” Laurie said. “On the one hand they aren’t actually harming anyone but themselves, they aren’t driving under the influence, they aren’t selling it, and they are technically partaking inside their own private property.”

  “But …”

  “It’s still illegal in this state,” Laurie said. “If they were knocking back beers I could arrest them for having open containers, but I probably wouldn’t as long as they didn’t then attempt to drive. It’s not for me to decide what’s legal, because the law is clear, but the real question is why do I even care?”

  “My father often said it’s not always black and white.”

  “I’ve been in charge here for three weeks and so far I haven’t arrested anyone,” Laurie said. “I’ve only got a few more days to go. The real questions are do I want to inconvenience these young people, deprive the Thorn of its musical entertainment, and then do paperwork all afternoon?”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “You could politely point out the proximity of law enforcement, and encourage them to extinguish their potent potables.”

  Claire walked around to the driver’s side of the van and greeted the dread-locked occupant. He smiled a stoned grin as he lowered the window the rest of the way down. His eyes were red and glassy. Before he even spoke he offered her a hit off the water pipe he was holding.

  “No thanks,” Claire said, and then coughed.

  “What’s shaking, Mamacita?”

  “I just wanted to warn you that there’s a policeman nearby,” she said. “You might want to stop smoking that right here on the main drag.”

  Mr. Dreadlocks reached over to the dashboard and then handed Claire a card that proclaimed he was legally prescribed medical marijuana.

  “You all have these?” she asked.

  He nodded, waggled his eyebrows, and then winked.

  “Carry on, then,” she said. “Godspeed.”

  The occupants of the van all giggled like schoolboys as she walked back around to where Laurie was standing. She reported her discovery.

  Laurie shook his head.

  “I had more respect for them before I knew that,” he said. “Now I want to hassle them just for being so crafty.”

  “You’re a strange man,” Claire said.

  “I’m also a gentleman,” he said. “But then, you already knew that.”

  “I know you are,” she said, “and a gracious host.”

  “It will be our secret,” Laurie said. “Just two ships that got drunk, took off their clothes, and passed out in the night. Well, technically your ship was the one that got drunk, naked, and then passed out. I was more like the lonely lighthouse of frustration.”

  “It’s complicated,” she said.

  “Not at all; it’s quite simple,” he said. “Soon I’ll be off to woo the beautiful daughters of the former police chiefs of Pendleton. I only hope they are half as charming and entertaining as you are.”

  “See, when you talk like that I begin to question my resolve.”

  “Have dinner with me this evening. We will soberly explore ways to remove the remaining barriers to the fulfillment of your deepest desires.”

  “I’m kinda sorta committed to an evening of watching television with my dad,” she said. “I feel bad about abandoning him last night.”

  “How can I argue with that?”

  “Thanks for the offer.”

  “It stands,” he said. “Keep that in mind if anything changes.”

  “I will.”

  “It’s not that far to Pendleton.”

  “I know.”

  “Ah, fair Claire, just when I thought it was impossible to break such small pieces as remained of my heart,” he said.

  “Bye, Laurie,” she said.

  “I am taking myself firmly by the hand,” she quietly said to herself as she walked away. “I am walking away from trouble.”

  “There’s a full moon this week,” he called after her. “I’ll be thinking of you.”

  As Claire walked past the tea room, a movement inside caught her eye. She looked in but didn’t see anyone, and the “Closed” sign was still on the door. She decided it must have been a reflection in the window from a car driving past.

  Back at Sean’s office, Pip was not waiting to be let in. Claire wondered if he had skipped out on this job, as he had so many others.

  When the phone rang, Claire ans
wered it, “Fitzpatrick Family Law office.”

  “Fancy,” her cousin Hannah said. “I’ll be sure and tell Sean you showed up for work.”

  “Hey, how’s the beach?”

  “Wonderful,” Hannah said. “I’d be happy to stay here and never come back.”

  “Your husband might not like that.”

  “It might do him good to miss us a little,” Hannah said. “Right now he’s probably basking in the lack of Sammy-related chaos.”

  “What about your campaign for City Council?”

  “That’s a lock,” Hannah said. “I’m kind of a super hero in Rose Hill, you know; the Masked Muttcatcher, fighting the forces of evil and rescuing kittens from telephone poles.”

  “Your posters are funny.”

  “My computer genius husband helped me do that,” she said. “He thinks it’s hilarious that I might actually be elected to help govern our bug-sized burg.”

  “You’ve got my vote,” Claire said. “How’s everybody?”

  “The old men are fishing, the old ladies are shopping at the outlet mall, and Sammy’s out here on the beach with me, feeding popcorn to seagulls,” she said. “Maggie, that lily-white, freckled freak, is lubed up in SPF ten thousand, hiding out with a book on the condo balcony.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “We heard Diedre disappeared. What’s up with that?”

  Claire told her all she knew.

  “You need to get on that,” Hannah said. “Find out where she went and who she talked to.”

  “I was thinking about it.”

  “Listen, you amateur, me and Maggie would’ve cracked this case by now. Get up off your ass and investigate ... what? No, Sammy, that was not swearing; your Aunt Claire is riding a donkey ... I don’t know its name; Claire, what’s your donkey’s name? She says its name is Baron Von Stinkle …. Yes, you can ride it when we get home, but only if you take a bath first. Lord, save me from my son, the swearing police. Listen, Claire. Go see Diedre’s sister at the post office. They hate each other but I bet Sadie knows something. She hears everything down there.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll get right on it,” Claire said. “You can’t see it but I’m saluting.”