by A. Gardner
"Essie, dear." Martha was looking me straight in the eyes.
"Not now, Martha," I replied. "I have something I need to do."
"I understand," she whispered. "But before you go I just wanted to say to you…" She glanced over her shoulder at her husband who was completely engrossed in Lila's story about how she once attended three different after parties simultaneously. "Stay out of my business."
"What business?" I asked.
"A little squirrel told me that you've been nosing around, and asking questions about how I spend my free time." Her polite smile turned to a mischievous glare. "I'm warning you now. Leave it alone or I will make sure you never book a client in this town ever, ever again. Got it?"
Her threat was accompanied by a proper one-armed hug. I stood there speechless as Martha waltzed back to her seat like she was on cloud nine. In a moment of desperation, Martha Millbreck had revealed her true colors. Not only was she an avid gossiper. She was also a plotter. I was certain that she'd already put a great amount of thought into how she would ruin my career if I told anyone about her and the black BMW. But would she have gone as far as killing me to keep me silent, perhaps with my own gym equipment?
That little squirrel needed to be shot.
Mr. Kentworth bumped my elbow as I slipped into the hallway. He studied my expression and looked at his watch.
"This is just appalling," he commented. He was a tall, thin man with a dark brown suit and black-framed glasses. He reminded me of a vanilla bean. "Your sister is on thin ice."
"Please, Mr. Kentworth," I begged him. "If my sister is late it's because something is wrong. Maybe she got into a car accident on the way here?"
"You better hope so," he said under his breath. "Because nothing short of a trip to the hospital will be enough to save her now. This wedding was her big chance and she blew it."
"Look around you," I blurted out, against my better judgment. "Those people in there had an amazing dinner in an amazing room. Joy has thought of every detail, and I didn't hear Lila complain once about anything. She never misses a chance to complain. Joy did a brilliant job, and she deserves that promotion."
Mr. Kentworth looked at me in awe. He took a minute to examine each guest's expression while pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. He used it to clean the lenses of his glasses though they were already spotless. He held the glasses up to the light and inspected his handiwork before putting them back on.
"Find your sister, Miss Stratter, and bring her here. I will accept her apology, but just this once."
"Thank you," I gleefully responded. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, Mr. Kentworth."
"Your sister, Miss Stratter," he reminded me, pointing to his watch. "The evening is almost over."
"I'll find her," I agreed. Mr. Kentworth rubbed the bridge of his nose as he walked away.
"Find who?" A light breeze blew through the hallway and filled my nose with the familiar scent of cinnamon and pine. Patrick gently touched my forearm.
"Joy." I turned around. Patrick anxiously looked at me.
"She still hasn't turned up?"
"I'm worried, Patrick."
"Let me help," he replied. "Where's the last place you saw her?"
"My apartment." I glanced behind him where Bebe was sampling a selection of gourmet truffles with Anne. Lila and Franco were studying the state of the silver as if it hadn't been polished correctly. "But I'll be fine. You should stay here."
"And leave you to search for her by yourself?" He shook his head. "After what happened this morning? No, I'm coming with you."
"You can't leave Lila," I protested.
"She said she was going to turn in early and have her dessert sent up to her suite anyway," he informed me. "She won't mind."
"She probably only said that to test you," I teased him.
"Test me how?"
"To see if you would try and convince her to stay." I watched Lila and Franco move towards the windows to chat some more with Patrick's parents.
"As always, you are probably right." He grinned. "I don't mean that sarcastically."
"I'll let you know when I find her," I reassured him.
"You won't have to." He stepped past me and headed for the exit. He wasn't going to take no for an answer. I wasn't sure if I should have scolded him and forced him to stay behind with his fiancé or if I should just play along.
I followed Patrick down the hallway and towards the front of the hotel. The sun had gone down, leaving a royal blue felt-looking sky with holes poked through it for stars. The snow was still falling, but lightly. A fresh powder was on the front lawn and throughout the parking lot. I ran when I stepped outside, putting as much distance in between me and the building as I could. Patrick chuckled, but I didn't care.
Something might have fallen from the sky.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"Prepare for the worst," I said as I unlocked the door to my apartment. There had been no sign of Joy on our drive into town. There were no signs of any accidents either. Patrick and I were surprised to see that Mrs. Tankle's lights were still on in The Painted Deer Bookshop.
"What do you mean?" Patrick asked.
"Oh there you are. Finally!" Mrs. Tankle hustled out of her shop at just the right moment.
"Mrs. Tankle," Patrick said, taking her arm. "You shouldn't be running around like that when there's ice all over the place. You might slip and fall."
"Well, I didn't," she barked at him. "I still have some fight left in me." Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me. "Go on and open the door, Essie. I heard those two yelling and screaming. I called the sheriff but he hasn't shown yet. I warned you about letting that bum Wade Porter into your apartment."
"Yes, I know, Mrs. Tankle." I nodded apologetically. "I am so sorry."
"Don't make it a habit," she scolded me. "I could have lost business because of it. Lots of my customers like to stay and do some reading after they make their purchases, especially the ones on couples' retreats who are looking for an hour alone in peace and quiet."
"Doesn't that defeat the whole purpose of a couples' retreat?" Patrick chuckled. I immediately shook my head.
"What was that?" Mrs. Tankle asked snidely.
"Nothing," he lied. "I mean, I too am very sorry for the noise."
"Well…" She took a deep breath as if accepting our apologies. "It's not your fault, Patrick." She looked at me. "Or yours, Essie."
"Let's sort this whole thing out, shall we?" Patrick gestured towards the door, and I quickly pushed it open. What I found looked like a crime scene.
The coffee table was overturned and all the sofa cushions were on the floor. Some even looked like they had been tossed at the television. The kitchen was a mess. Food was all over the counters and a couple of empty water bottles were on the kitchen floor. Mrs. Tankle jumped when a loud bang came from one of the bedrooms.
"That's it!" she shouted. "I have had it!"
Patrick and I looked at each other as more noises came from Joy's bedroom. My eyes darted from the empty liquor bottle in the kitchen to the trail of clothes leading towards the door where Mrs. Tankle was standing.
A pair of jeans.
A skirt.
A blouse tangled with a lacy push-up bra.
"Mrs. Tankle," I shouted. "Mrs. Tankle, don't!"
But I'd yelled my warning too late.
Naively, Mrs. Tankle pushed open the bedroom door ready to give my sister a piece of her mind. What Mrs. Tankle saw was enough to give her a heart attack instead. The noises grew louder and Mrs. Tankle clutched her chest, letting out a blood-curdling scream. My eyes went wide enough to pop out of my head. Joy and Wade were intertwined so tightly on her bed I couldn't tell what belonged to who. Joy's bare skin looked tan compared to Wade's nude complexion.
"Mrs. Tankle," I gasped as she fell to the floor. As I ran to her aid, Joy jerked herself away from her ex-husband and covered herself with a sheet. Wade, who had no shame that he had been caught in the act or in his nude appearance, rush
ed to her side. His abs contracted as he tried to catch his breath.
"Mrs. Tankle, are you okay?" Wade said loudly as if she was deaf. He knelt closer to her. Mrs. Tankle's eyes were closed, but her chest was rising up and down. She must have just fainted. I confirmed that she still had a pulse and cringed when I happened to look in the wrong direction at the wrong time.
"Wade," I said through my teeth, shying away from his exposed crotch. "Put that thing away! You're only making it worse."
"If you say so." He smirked and stood up. I would have been more upset with him if this hadn't already happened to me before. During the times when Joy and Wade were together, I would often have to remind him that he needed to be fully dressed when I was around.
"And you," I said, glaring at my little sister. The look on her face was more of what I expected in this situation. She was shocked, ashamed, and strategically hiding herself behind a dresser in embarrassment. "You are minutes away from losing that promotion and maybe even your job."
"Oh crap," she muttered to herself, grabbing her clothes that were strewn across the front room. "Essie, I am so so so so—"
"Later," I interrupted her. Mrs. Tankle blinked. "Your boss is looking for you."
Patrick knelt down beside me and helped my landlady sit up. She looked drowsy, squinting in order to see like her eyelids were fitted with tiny hand weights. She yawned like she was just waking up from an afternoon nap. Wade took a step closer to us, but I waved at him to stay back.
"Mrs. Tankle," I said softly. "Are you feeling alright?"
Patrick leapt to his feet and filled an empty glass with water. He carefully walked back from the kitchen and gently handed it to her. She accepted his offering and took a sip. I brushed a strand of gray hair from her face, and assisted her with standing. She was wobbly on her feet at first, but Patrick helped steady her.
"Oh my," she breathed. "What happened, dear?"
Joy, now fully clothed, took Mrs. Tankle by the arm to apologize.
"I believe you fainted when you saw me and—"
"Wade," I butted in. The sight of him made Mrs. Tankle red in the face. She rubbed her forehead and teetered backwards.
"Come on, man," Patrick said calmly. "I think Mrs. Tankle has seen enough of you for one night?"
"Right." Wade grabbed his coat and nodded as if tipping his hat goodbye. "Essie. Patrick, good to see you again. Mrs. Tankle, I'm very sorry about the noise." He shut the door behind him and loudly trotted down the staircase. I rolled my eyes.
"That man is the Devil," Mrs. Tankle said under her breath. She took another sip of water. "I am going to report him to Sheriff Williams."
"For what?" Patrick asked. I quickly nudged his shoulder. "I mean, that won't be necessary. I think Essie can get him the message that you don't want to see him anywhere near your shop, right?"
"Absolutely," I agreed, helping her to the door.
Mrs. Tankle still looked flustered as Patrick and I led her to the doorstep, leaving Joy to prepare for her big apology to Mr. Kentworth. I closed and locked the apartment door, and cautiously walked with her back to The Painted Deer Bookshop. More snowflakes flew through the night and landed gracefully on the sidewalk. Mrs. Tankle opened the door to her store and Patrick escorted her inside where she'd been reading one of her mystery novels on the sofa. The Painted Deer was a calm and cozy sort of place with bookshelves that reached the ceiling and a display table near the front showcasing local arts and crafts. There were a couple of colorful quilts displayed on the walls. Mrs. Tankle quilted in her spare time and used her finished products to brighten up the place.
"Do you need us to help you get home?" Patrick asked.
"Oh no," she insisted. "I'm fine." She looked at the two of us and sighed. "You know it's a pity you couldn't find a nice girl here in town to marry. Then Bison Creek wouldn't have to deal with all the publicity."
"What?" My jaw hung open. Patrick's secret was out. He was getting married to Lila Clemton tomorrow at the Pinecliffe Mountain Resort, and the news had spread as far as Mrs. Tankle. "How do you know about the wedding?"
"Don't be silly," she said casually. "The whole town knows."
"It must have been my mother," Patrick commented.
"No dear, your mother has kept quiet and I have no idea how. When my little Kristen got married, I couldn't keep my mouth shut about it."
"Well," Patrick confessed. "I asked Mom not to tell anyone." He glanced at me for brief second.
"So it must have been someone else," I added. "Who else knew about the wedding besides our parents and…?” I stopped when I realized exactly who had blabbed. It was the same person had who had threatened me. "Of course. Martha Millbreck."
"The mayor’s wife?" Patrick asked.
"Knowing her, you can expect a full blown caravan of paparazzi tomorrow."
Patrick looked down as he shook his head. He slumped his shoulders and paused to stare at a tiny crack in the wooden floor Mrs. Tankle couldn't afford to have refinished. Patrick looked defeated. I placed my hands on his tense shoulders, feeling his deltoids contract from the stress. They were rock solid.
"Lila won't mind if there is a press invasion," he confessed in a low voice. Mrs. Tankle and I leaned in closer so we could hear him clearly. "She wanted the cameras, the camera crew, and the A-list guest list. The quiet mountain ceremony with no publicity was my idea."
"Maybe nothing will happen?" I suggested. But I knew I was only dreaming. Lila Clemton was a tabloid regular. The papers loved her and they hated her. Anyone who missed out on the opportunity to film or snap pictures of her secret wedding to the pro snowboarder Patrick Jaye would surely be fired.
"It's bound to happen." He finally looked up and smiled at Mrs. Tankle. "Good to see you again, Mrs. Tankle." He pushed open the shop door, letting in a rough breeze. "I should head back to the resort." He stepped onto the sidewalk and shoved his hands in his pockets as he made his way back towards Pinecliffe Mountain. The resort was within walking distance, but it wasn't a walk anybody made late at night and in the snow.
"Bye, Mrs. Tankle." I opened the door to follow him down the street. "And sorry again."
I jogged to catch up to Patrick.
"Patrick," I said.
He kept walking.
"I don't know what I'm doing anymore, Essie," he quietly replied. Patrick wasn't the kind of man who gave up easily. That was obvious from the moment he moved here and set foot on a snowboard for the first time in his life. He knew what it took to continually fail, and then pick yourself back up again. Seeing him this way hurt.
"It's okay." I offered words of encouragement, but I had no idea what was the right thing to say. "Things will work themselves out."
"I don't know." When he exhaled, his breath lingered in the air. The snow started falling even heavier until I glanced behind us and could no longer see our footprints. "No matter what happens tomorrow, someone is going to end up hurt."
"Huh?" My heart dropped.
"Essie, I have a confession to make."
"Okay." I gulped, knowing that any sentence starting out that way wasn't going to end well. I stopped under a street lamp and casually looked into the light at the flittering flurries above our heads.
"Throughout my career," he said. "I always meant to visit Bison Creek more often than I did, and now that I'm retiring and moving back I find myself in the same predicament that I can't seem to overcome. Do you get what I'm saying?"
"Not really." I folded my arms and rubbed my hands against my coat for warmth.
"I love it here but…" He sniffled and dug the heel of his boot into the snow. "It's too hard. I thought that getting married would make things different, but it has only made everything worse."
"Patrick, you're not making any sense."
"Essie, I know I can trust you," he continued. "I've always trusted you." He paused and grinned. "Since the time you lied to my mom about that stray coyote in our backyard that I tried to make my pet, I knew I could trust you."
"Yeah well…" He raised his eyebrows and paused to laugh with me. His face went straight again and this time before he spoke, he looked at me. His eyes were glassy. "My mom is sick. She's been seeing a specialist in Denver, but she doesn't have much time left."
"Cancer?" The street fell peacefully silent. Patrick nodded. As he did a snowflake rested gently on his cheek and dissolved into a bead of water against his warm face. "I'm sorry, Patrick."
"She been fighting for years, but she's exhausted. It has been too hard to see her this way so … I've been avoiding it altogether. Does that make me a terrible son?"
"No." I shook my head and instinctively wrapped my arm around his shoulders. "I think that just makes you human."
Patrick did something he had never done before. He pulled me close to him and held me tight. His sharp chin rested on my shoulder and his muscles move as he squeezed me tighter. At first, he took me by surprise. I slowly placed my hands on his back and let him find comfort he needed. I couldn't put myself in his shoes, but I did understand how it felt to feel so confused about life that you think you'll never find clarity. I love my mom and I was lucky that she adopted me when I was a baby, but some days I can't help but wonder about my birth mother. Where she is. What she's doing. If I should keep searching for her. The whole situation makes my life feel more complicated than it probably is.
I slowly rubbed the middle of his back and gently squeezed his shoulders. The warmth from his core was now radiating through me. My chest felt like a fire being kindled until it was ready to roar from the fireplace. I pulled myself away from Patrick and let the freezing wind cool me off.
Our eyes connected again and it was like time had rewound and left me staring at Patrick, the boy down the street. I couldn't look away, no matter how hard I tried. A part of me had wanted this for far too long. The street was still silent and all that could be heard were the distant trees rustling in the wind. Entranced by the look on my face, Patrick closed the gap between us. He brushed the side of my cheek with his hand and moved closer. His lips pressed against mine, and mine against his.