There was the sound of the lock turning, and then the door opened just enough for Emily Sutton’s face and a length of her body to appear.
“Yes?” she said, as if she’d never seen Zoe before.
Zoe cleared her throat. “I’m here for the grocery list.”
“Oh.” The door opened wider. Emily’s face settled into an embarrassed smile. She bit at her bottom lip while her huge eyes stayed wide open. “Of course. I wrote it out then forget to put it in the door. I’ve been so busy . . .”
She stood with her head tipped to one side, looking sad or silly. It was something Zoe recognized: the tip of the head to signal she wasn’t threatening, couldn’t hurt anybody.
Emily wore a printed cotton dress this morning. Wrinkled, as if it never saw an iron. The dress fell almost to the floor, stopping just above a pair of dirty bare feet. Her oddly colored red hair was pulled back into a messy bun and wrapped with a blue ribbon tied into a bow. A sad bow. The kind a neglected kid would tie for herself.
Emily Sutton stuck a finger in the air and stepped back into the house, closing the door behind her. As the door closed, Zoe thought she heard a sound inside. It was the kind of sound you sometimes heard under other sounds. She thought it might be Emily Sutton talking to herself or singing.
She concentrated on being grateful that she hadn’t been invited in. She imagined cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, portraits with eyes that followed her, insects scurrying along the molding. She snickered at her overheated imagination and put a finger to her lips.
Emily Sutton was back, this time stepping out to the porch and pulling the door closed behind her. She handed a folded piece of paper to Zoe, along with an envelope.
“The money’s in the envelope,” Emily said, one hand to her pale cheek. “I hope it’s enough. I have very little experience with such things. Lorna used to take care of us. Then our dear cousin Althea. How I wish she were still around.” She sighed and patted her own cheek. “It’s terribly lonely, you know. Now that they’ve all gone.”
“I thought I heard someone inside with you.”
Emily’s eyes flew wide, almost terror-stricken. “No. No one.” She shook her head again and again. “There is only me. Oh.” She put a finger into the air. “I have the radio on in the kitchen. I forgot. The quiet can sometimes be oppressive.”
She smiled and drew her fists together at her chest then bent forward as if to bow. “I’ll see you this afternoon?”
“Probably first thing in the morning. It’s getting late and I’m meeting someone . . .”
“But I’d hoped for today.” The pout on Emily’s face wasn’t pretty.
Zoe dug her heels in, feeling she’d better stop this trick right here. “Can’t. Has to be tomorrow.”
“Well, if that’s the best you can do.” Emily stepped back inside the house. “Please leave the things on the porch, right here.” She pointed to a particular spot that didn’t look any different from any other spot on the porch. “I’m often busy with my work. I don’t like to be disturbed.”
Zoe started to protest that the weather was too warm for food to be left outside. But Emily was gone. The door closed behind her.
Chapter 7
Jenny called Tony in the afternoon, but he didn’t answer. She called a half hour later, figuring by then he’d realized he didn’t have his cell on. And then she called again until she decided she was going a little nuts about this whole thing. Just another guy. What she needed, she decided, looking directly at her cell phone, was to get back to Chicago and kick-start her new life.
She spent the next couple of hours calling friends who might know of a law firm looking for a paralegal. The voices were familiar, as happy to hear from her as she was to talk to them. Women from Ronald’s old firm said they would call as soon as they heard of an opening. A couple of them knew Ronald was trying to get back into business. One almost whispered that the word going around Chicago law circles was that nobody who knew Ronald Korman would work for him.
“He’s having a tough go of it, Jenny,” Carol, who’d been his secretary and Jenny’s friend, said. “Old clients he dropped when he went to Guatemala say they wished now that they’d sued him. Most are saying he should go back to Guatemala—or maybe North Korea, where he’d fit right in. If you talk to him, you might tell him to try some other state.”
There’d been a catch of laughter in her voice as they said good-bye and Jenny whispered, “Or some other planet.”
In the afternoon, Jenny pushed her dark hair back behind her ears as she checked the sweet potatoes in the oven. Her big surprise for dinner: a cold sweet potato soup she’d found on the Internet. She’d been home since June and had barely helped out beyond a little garden work and house cleaning. Guilt drove her to promise Mom that she’d fix dinner at least three nights a week, though her cooking skills were limited and her interest in cooking almost nil.
The growing heat in the room made her think it was dumb to warm up the kitchen to make a cold soup. Too late now. Cold sweet potato soup it would have to be. She closed the oven as Dora walked in the back door followed by Her Grand Eminence of Bear Falls: Abigail Cane.
Abigail was in full swing about something. None of the usual “How are you” or “Warm day” or “Looks like rain.” Abigail barely nodded to Jenny as she took a seat, her back as straight as a tree trunk, and thumped both fists on the table.
“I’m telling you, Dora, I was shocked. You could have knocked me over with a feather.”
“Really?” Dora peeled dirt-covered garden gloves from her hands and headed to the sink to wash. “Minnie Moon called you?”
Jenny noted the irritation in Dora’s voice. So much for running interference for Minnie.
“I barely know the woman, and here she is, calling me with news of Emily Sutton.”
“What news is that, Abigail?”
“She says Emily’s coming out of her house and even writing new poetry. She says Emily left some of her poems in that Little Library box of yours. Is all of this true? Minnie seems to have intimate knowledge of everything.”
Dora hesitated. “Well, yes. It was Minnie who found the poems. And the woman has . . .”
Abigail prompted, “Has what?”
“Well, Emily did come down to see me.”
“You have got to be kidding! You mean like paying a neighborly call?”
“Not quite.”
“Then what in heaven’s name are you talking about?”
“Emily came over.”
“Tell me all about it. You know I’ve been planning an event to honor her. I was thinking of the day my father’s statue comes down. You know, lose one town figure, gain another. I thought we’d read her poems—one after the other until we’ve read them all. Maybe a picnic in the park to follow. Do you think she’d like that? Wouldn’t it be amazing?”
Dora went to the fridge, took out a pitcher of iced tea, and filled glasses for all three of them. As she sat down, she turned to frown at Jenny.
“You have the oven on, dear?”
“Making a cold soup for dinner.”
“Roasting tomatoes?”
Jenny shook her head. “Sweet potatoes.”
“Oh.” Dora turned back to Abigail. “Why don’t we go out to the front porch? Be cooler there.”
Jenny followed along behind, still listening for the phone to ring, and then telling herself she wouldn’t answer if Tony called. He’d made her wait too long.
Settled in a porch rocker, sweating glass in her hands, Abigail quickly went back to why she’d come to visit.
“The thing is, Dora, I would like you to speak to her and tell her my plans. I’ll be very happy to meet her, if she says that’s all right. Or I was thinking of getting an even bigger event going. Maybe form a committee to look into an evening at the opera house in Traverse City. Actually, Minnie mentioned it. I might have misjudged the woman. Anyway, if Emily has new work, she can read and answer questions. Or read her old work.” She frowned, planni
ng hard. “I’ll bet we can make it a fundraiser for the National Poetry Society in Traverse. Just imagine, that woman hasn’t been out in public for twenty-five years. Think of the splash news of her reemergence will make across the country?”
“The only reason she’s out is because her sister, Lorna, up and left home,” Dora said quickly. “Then she had a cousin doing the shopping, and now that woman’s stopped coming. She’s asking for help, Abigail, not notoriety.”
Abigail set her empty glass on the wicker table beside her and waved a hand. “If she’s come out like this, I’ll bet anything she’s ready to make her poetry known to the world again.” Abigail nodded to herself a few times. “Are you helping her with the shopping and such? If not, I can hire someone to do it.”
“Our neighbor, Zoe Zola. She’ll see to things for Emily.”
Abigail’s face lit up. “Now there’s a one. I’ll bet anything she’ll get after Emily to publish her poetry. Your Zoe is getting famous in her own right, I understand. You know how we Bear Fallsians like to celebrate our own. We’ll have to talk about doing something with Zoe soon, but as for now . . . I’m absolutely stunned at the news. You should have called me immediately.”
Dora looked to Jenny for help. Jenny rolled her eyes and bit her lip. She had her own problems, and whether Emily Sutton read her poems anywhere—or didn’t—wasn’t high on her list of things to worry about. Though, she had to admit, Emily certainly was big news in town.
Jenny took a swipe at the sweat on her forehead. She scratched at a place low on her back where a mosquito bit her. She got up when she thought the phone was ringing, stood in the doorway to listen, but heard nothing other than lawn sprinklers whirling and kids ringing their bicycle bells.
“I didn’t want to betray her,” Dora, seeing she was going to get no help from Jenny, was saying. “She’s a fragile person. It might not be a good thing for her . . .”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll bet she’ll be happy to know we want to laud her, alert everyone to the kind of people we have living here in town. The more I think about it, you really must introduce me. I would be so honored. And it must be soon. I mean today or tomorrow. Oh, and Dora, I hate to ask you this, but I must. Would you see to it that any more poems Emily puts into your library box be taken out and given to me? We don’t want her thunder diminished by familiarity now, do we?”
“They aren’t mine to . . .”
“Did you by any chance mention that I was planning a reading of her work?”
Dora nodded. “She seemed to know something of it. Maybe her cousin heard.”
“And what did she say?” Abigail’s voice trembled.
“As well as I can remember, she said she would love to be a fly on the wall at the occasion.”
“‘A fly on the wall’! That’s amazing. We must begin. And how I shall love working with the real Emily Sutton. Oh dear, her words: ‘A reef, a rocky shoal, a whirlpool. / A ship within the eye. / No greater tragedy than a friend gone missing.’ How I look forward to our meeting. I’ll plan a luncheon.”
“Please, Abigail. I don’t know if I can arrange what you want. I’ll ask Zoe to talk to her but I can’t promise . . .”
“Of course you can, Dora. I’ll be waiting to hear. And don’t forget about those new poems. Get them to me as soon as you can. New work! The literary world will be aghast. People will come from everywhere for this astounding event. The world press . . .”
“Now, Abigail.”
But Abigail was on to something else. Nose up, she sniffed again and again. “I smell something burning,” she said, looking directly at Jenny, who hopped out of her chair and ran back to the kitchen to grab her blackened and withered sweet potatoes from the smoking oven.
* * *
With no cold soup for dinner, Jenny and Dora, along with Zoe, climbed into Jenny’s car and headed for Myrtle’s. It was too hot, even at eight o’clock, to think about food, but Zoe was too angry with Emily Sutton to stay home and do nothing. Dora was upset about Abigail Cane’s uproar. And Jenny, while living down the ruined soup, got a call from Tony that she’d been happy about at first, then mad as hell about when he’d acted distracted, said he was calling about a missing blueprint and wondered if she had it.
That was it.
“No, I don’t have it.”
“Oh, sorry, thought you did.”
When he hesitated to hang up, she dared to ask why he hadn’t called lately and got the old, “Sorry. Busy.”
* * *
The restaurant was almost empty. The early diners had already been in to deplete the meatloaf with hamburger gravy and mashed potatoes—Myrtle’s year-round signature dish.
Jenny ordered an iced tea, thinking how she wished it was a shot of bourbon, which she’d missed since coming home. Wine and beer—that’s all the people of Bear Falls seemed to drink. But bourbon was what people drank while blowing off steam in cities. She’d blown off a lot of steam over Ronald.
“Who was on the phone earlier?” Dora asked, smiling across at Jenny as they waited for Delaware Hopkins to come take their orders.
“Nobody,” she mumbled.
“I thought maybe it was Tony,” Dora said. “He hasn’t been around in a while. I don’t know what’s happened. Probably busy.”
Jenny shrugged.
Dora looked closer at her daughter. “Was it Tony?” she asked, this time in a quieter voice.
Dora gave up waiting for an answer and said she was ordering the potpie. They all agreed that was probably best since the meatloaf was gone. Delaware Hopkins, seeing them put down their menus, hurried over, squeaking across the tile floor.
Delaware leaned close to Dora’s ear. “Minnie was in a while ago.” Her voice went down to a secret, gossip level. “Said that famous poet of ours paid you a call. That true? Think she’ll be coming out of her house for good soon? We’re all just dying to meet her.”
“Minnie talks too much.” Dora frowned as hard as her companions were frowning.
“Do you blame her? Biggest news she’s had to spread in years.” Delaware flounced around, looking hard from face to face.
She turned to Zoe. “You in a better mood than your buddy here?” She pointed her pencil at Jenny.
“What do you mean?” Jenny sat up straight, ready for battle. “I’m fine.”
“Yup. Don’t say hello when you come in. Sit down like you’re here for a hanging. I’d say you’re all in moods tonight so I’ll just get your orders in and mind my own business.”
Jenny almost laughed. The two of them, Delaware and the other waitress, Delaware’s mom, Demeter, were the town criers. The pair knew everything, heard everything, told everything, though they were known for spreading censored news so as not to hurt people too badly. Jenny figured it wasn’t a good thing to do, making Delaware Hopkins worry about them. If they weren’t careful, Delaware would be seeing to casseroles coming to the house, then anonymous people would be sending them happy cards meant to cheer up poor, miserable souls. They’d be writing thank you notes until their fingers fell off. Too much stress to take, making Delaware and Demeter worry about you.
They ordered their potpies and small salads, which didn’t fit into Delaware’s idea of what people should be eating that time of night. She mumbled that they were going to have bad dreams, with chickens chasing them, unless they switched to maybe just a bowl of soup and half a cheese sandwich. With nobody changing their order, she was off to deliver the news to Myrtle, out in the kitchen, that there were potpies to ready, which would heat up the kitchen all over again. “Guess I don’t get out of here early,” Delaware yelled from the kitchen door, turning to smile at the women’s table.
When she was gone, Zoe reached across the table and tapped Jenny’s arm. “Why did you let me offer to get that woman food?”
“Huh?”
“You should have seen the size of the list Emily gave me.” Zoe didn’t look happy. “First of all she forgot to leave it stuck in the door the way she was supposed to. T
hen she was angry because I dared knock on her door. Then she had the nerve to get upset when I said it was too late to shop today and that I would get the groceries back to her in the morning. Honestly, Jen. That woman is a diva. She made me feel like a lackey, there to wait on her.”
Jenny made a face. “A poet. What did you expect?”
“I expect manners. A little gratitude.”
“Look at this.” Zoe pulled Emily’s list from the pocket of her flowered top. “Two pounds of butter. Hmmm, one chicken—dead I suppose. Chickpeas. Coffee. Ipana toothpaste.” She looked up at Jenny. “Do they make that anymore?”
Jenny shrugged.
“I’ll just get her any old toothpaste.” She made a note and finished reading the list. “Toilet paper. Well, I would hope so. Oatmeal. A half-pound of sugar. Plain cookies . . . hmmm . . . some other stuff. A light pink lipstick. Oh ho! Red hair dye. Well, I guess we know how she keeps that hair of hers so red.”
“Did she give you money?” Dora leaned forward to ask.
Zoe shook the envelope at her.
“How much?”
Zoe opened the envelope, then counted the money. “Fifteen dollars.”
“For all those groceries?” Jenny laughed.
Zoe moaned. “It’ll be a lot more than that. What do I tell her?”
“Tell her she owes you.”
“I won’t see her. She said to leave the groceries on the porch.”
“Days are too warm for that,” Dora joined in. “Just keep knocking until she answers the door. If you have to leave things out there, why, I’d leave her a note saying you won’t set the groceries out like that next time because you don’t want to poison her. Make sure you tell her in the note how much she owes you.”
“You think I’m going to be doing this forever?” Zoe’s eyes shot wide open.
“If you’re going to be such a complainer, you shouldn’t have offered in the first place,” Jenny said, too filled with her own misery to worry about Zoe.
“I thought I’d like her. Is it my fault that I don’t?”
She Stopped for Death Page 6