The Wrong Drawers

by Misty Simon

  Shaking myself out of the foul mood, I dressed, barely noticing the underwear I put on was brown. I’d brought it home from the back room of the shop two days ago without a thought about the color. I yanked a shirt out of the closet at random and jerked it over my head. Black slacks were next, and then I slipped my feet into flats and considered myself done. I wasn’t going to go through the trouble of makeup today.

  I stepped out of my room and ran smack into my dad. Disappointment flooded me again over my complete lack of spine last night, so I was terse. “What do you want?”

  “And good morning to you, too.”

  “It’s not a good morning.” I might as well have harrumphed and pulled my eyebrows together. Sheesh. Guess I hadn’t shaken the mood well enough. I tried again. “I’m going to throw some laundry in the washer. Do you have anything you want in there?” This reminded me so much of my old life I wanted to curl up on the floor and bawl. Of course, my dad was completely oblivious. And why shouldn’t he be, when I’d been a slowly shrinking violet from the second he arrived?

  “Oh, thanks. Let me go get my things. Should I leave them in the living room?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  ****

  As I folded the first load of clean laundry and then took my dad’s stack into his room, I wondered again about what I’d say to Bella this evening. I’d have the whole day to think on it at work.

  Entering the Masked Shoppe a half hour later, I checked the merchandise again to make sure nothing was missing. Everything appeared to be in order, so I had no idea what the mystery man who was here last night had been looking for. My registers both sat in their usual places, one in the front and one in the boudoir, the drawers secure. My safe, situated in the floor of my tiny office and covered with an ancient area rug, showed no sign of being disturbed. It was another puzzle I could add to all the others tangling up my life. What I wouldn’t give for a quiet day.

  No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than the door opened and a flood of people came in. A rash of holiday parties were coming up, and people came in to order or buy costumes. I sold several fur muffs and big, velvet Victorian dresses with hats. A couple of old men came in for fedoras and one Speedo bathing suit we won’t discuss. I also processed two orders for Santa suits.

  One thought kept circling my busy brain. Well, actually, two. The main one regarded thankfulness over the continued business. I’d had horrible visions of standing behind the counter all day and not seeing a single customer.

  The second had to do with the possibility of hiring a helper, because I’d lost my former one. She’d been invaluable as an assistant, even if she had been plotting to kill me the whole time. I needed another assistant, hold the homicidal rage.

  The bell tinkled above the door while I lit pumpkin candles on the long windowsill beside the fountain. I decided to treat myself to some relaxing scents in the lull between customers. This was the first time today I had been alone. “I’ll be right with you.”

  “No need to hurry.”

  I almost burnt myself with the match by jumping around. A subdued Bella stood in front of the closed glass-and-wood door. Dressed all in black, she still radiated style, but her hair was too tame and, with her hands tucked into her pockets, she looked too unusual.

  She was a hand talker like me—incapable of speaking without expressing herself by punctuating each phrase with a gesture.

  She seemed even farther away at this moment, and I hadn’t thought that was possible. “Hello.”

  “Ivy.” After the one word, she stood there, staring. Light filtered through the front door’s glass, outlining her svelte figure.

  “What can I do for you?” I finally said. What else was I supposed to do? It didn’t look like she was going to say anything else, and that would make this whole thing even more awkward.

  “I stopped by to let you know this evening won’t be convenient for me. I’ll call you again when I have another time you can come by.”

  “Okay.” No, it wasn’t okay, but what else could I say?

  “I’d bring your stuff here, but I’m not entirely sure what all you have there.”

  “I don’t mind, Bella. It shouldn’t take me long to collect everything. I can probably be in and out in ten minutes.”

  Her eyes didn’t meet mine, but seemed to focus on my shoulder. I looked over and saw what had caught her attention. The collar of my shirt had slipped down a bit and my brown bra strap was visible. I quickly tugged up the shirt, and her eyes snapped back to meet mine. The expression on her face softened, the hard line between her eyes smoothing out as sympathy, or something like it, flashed across her face. I thought she was about to finally say something personal, maybe unbend enough for us to talk and be friends again.

  But it was all in my own little fanciful head because, without another look, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the shop. Now I had to wait even longer to get a look inside her house.

  ****

  Since I had nothing else to do after closing the store, and Ben was out on assignment for the night, I decided to clean at home. Collecting my rags and chemicals from the pantry, I snapped on my yellow latex gloves and attacked the house to burn off my considerable mad.

  How dare the police not look for the real murderer, I thought, stabbing the bristled brush into the blue water in the toilet. I swore when it splashed out on the floor.

  “Language,” Dad said from two rooms away.

  “I’ll give you language,” I muttered. It was my damn house and I could say whatever I wanted—only inside my head, apparently. I cursed silently while cleaning the sink and gathering the dirty towels for one last load of laundry.

  My room wasn’t nearly as messy, but I spent considerable time folding all the clothes strewn about. Sweaters were folded, skirts and pants hung in coordinating sets in the armoire. The scarves (a new fad I loved) littering the oversized chair in the corner I left for last. I gathered them up and folded each into a neat square. Only one remained, but it was stuck under my butt. When I tugged on it, it wouldn’t budge. I pulled harder, and the freaking thing tore in half like paper.

  No use crying over ripped silk—I carried them in the Masked Shoppe and could easily get another—but it pissed me off. I placed my surviving scarves in the oak chest of drawers. The comforter got a firm tug to pull it into place, and I ran an eye over the rest of the room, looking for anything else that needed doing.

  As I walked to my bedroom door, mentally preparing myself to deal with Dad, it hit me. The freaking scarf had ripped like a piece of paper.

  Chapter Nine

  Candles glowed softly on windowsills, the table, and other available flat surfaces. Wax pooled on the pieces of tin foil under the candles, making pretty, fragrant puddles. I sat in a chair in Ben’s apartment, soft music playing from a little portable radio. The power had gone with the last boom of thunder; rain bulleted against the windows.

  Ben tried to strangle me again and ripped another scarf I’d retrieved from the store before sneaking over here. I should have been outraged the things were so weak, because I’d paid a pretty penny for them. Instead, I was grateful I had evidence, no matter how flimsy (ha, ha) it was. The scarf around Tarrin’s neck couldn’t have been the murder weapon.

  I’d already had my turn attempting to strangle Ben, and it hadn’t worked then, either. I didn’t know how we were going to go about explaining our little experiment to the police, but that was the least of my problems. I also had to figure out what to do with all the cheap scarves I’d bought in bulk. Then again, not many ladies would be using the material so brutally. Unless they were tying up their lover, but I didn’t think we needed to go there. Ahem.

  “It’s not possible,” I said gleefully. “Yay!”

  “Good thing, too,” Ben said, tossing the blue-and-white scarf onto our ever-growing pile. “But if she wasn’t strangled with your scarf, then what else could it have been? Dennis at the police department said there was bruising but no blo
od, so I doubt it was wire or anything else as strong.”

  “Aren’t you just full of sexy conversation tonight?” I turned to him and put myself eyeball to delicious chest with him. I loved the T-shirts he wore. Not only were they soft, but they stretched so enticingly over his yummy body. This particular one was green and matched his awesome eyes.

  “I would be if I could convince you to go right on into the next room and let me get my hands on you for something other than pretend strangling.” He leered at me and, may I say, it turned my knees weak. Thank goodness I was sitting down.

  “We need to concentrate and don’t have time to mess around. Now get your mind off the bedroom and back onto what we’re doing.”

  His sigh sounded longsuffering, and I understood—he wasn’t the only one with unfulfilled needs. But as I’d thought earlier today, time was running out, and we had to come up with something before I spent some time looking out at the world from behind bars.

  “How do we go about presenting our new evidence to the police, though?” I worried my lips with my teeth, then caught Ben zeroing in on the action. A shiver went up my spine, and I hoped it would always be the same. The look in his eyes was enough to melt the clothes right off my body. Even ignoring everything else, now wasn’t the time, since I hadn’t shaved my legs in three days and they’d feel like a cactus patch up close and personal. Shoot.

  I promised myself I’d shave tonight, then got back on track. “Pay attention.”

  “Hmm? Oh, yes, okay. What was the question?”

  I snickered, and not in a very nice way. This at least was one area where I still had some confidence. I may not have been sure of Ben’s heart and didn’t know if we would last after we made love the first time, but I did have him on a string now. “The question was, how do we give the police our evidence?”

  “I’ll call Dennis and see if he can come over, but you’d better go home first. I don’t think anyone at the station will appreciate us digging our noses in where they don’t belong, but it will look less suspicious if I hand it over myself.”

  “You’re not going to try to block me out of this, are you? Because last time I had to put my foot down, literally, and I will not be a happy camper if you try to cut me out now.”

  “Would I do that?”

  Yes, he would. And, knowing that, I’d have to keep an especially careful eye on him and his “protective” instincts. Hadn’t we already had this conversation?

  As I pulled on my jacket, the pocket started shrieking. I still hadn’t managed to change the ring tone on my cell, and it drove me crazy. Bella had put James Brown’s “I Feel Good” on it, but I didn’t know how to get a different sound. The display screen said “Dad” and I sighed. His sin radar had to go. If he thought he was catching me in some compromising situation, he was sorely mistaken.

  But he didn’t have to know that. Insert evil grin here. “Hello?” I said, breathlessly. I giggled a little but in a very sexy way.

  “Ivy? What are you doing?”

  The giggle popped out again. “Why, answering the phone, Dad. What can I do for you? I’m a little busy right now.” I could imagine his eyeballs almost popping out from under his bushy gray eyebrows.

  Some general sputtering with a few curse words thrown in sounded along the connection.

  “Language, Dad.”

  “I’ll give you language, young lady. What in the blazing hell are you doing? And don’t give me some flip answer.”

  Jeez. “I was getting ready to come home, but if the mood you’re in is any indication, I might be better off going to a bar.”

  “That’s no way to talk to your father.”

  “It is when you bite my head off.” Woo-hoo! I actually said that out loud and it felt great. The first vertebra in my metaphorical spine was tingling.

  A tense silence filled the line. I was determined not to be the first one to speak. He was still my father, but he had no right to treat me like a child. I lived on my own now, or would if he’d get his ass on a plane. I didn’t have to put up with his attitude and high-handed manner. This was an uncomfortable place for both of us, and I understood. He wanted the old Ivy back and I wanted the new one to shine through. We had to compromise at some point. This place seemed as good as any to start.

  “I’ll be home in a few minutes, and then I’d like to talk with you. I think we’re overdue,” I said finally.

  “Sounds fine. I’ll put a pot of coffee on.” His tone belied his friendly words.

  After hanging up and kissing Ben goodbye with all I had, I jumped into the car and left him wanting. The drive was a short one, and I didn’t bother to spend it rehearsing any speech. I’d done okay without one before and could do so again. I didn’t know where my courage had fled, but I felt as if I might be getting a glimmer of it back.

  ****

  I parked my car in the small driveway to the left of my house and stared for a moment at the cozy sight. Lights burned through the pretty windows and cast shadows on my sleeping lawn. It was still funny to me to not have sprinklers whirling at least three times a day, but my checking account appreciated the difference in the water bill. All the flowers were drowsing in their beds, and I looked forward to spring when I could see exactly what lived there. Ben had made some comments about getting his hands on my garden, and I’d originally thought it was some kind of euphemism about sex. Turned out I was wrong. My Ben (and didn’t that have a nice ring to it) was a closet gardener.

  Walking over to the front door, I gave the thought a little time and decided I’d like to get into the dirt with him and see what we could build together.

  I inhaled deeply before opening the front door. Here goes. But the scent of freshly baked bread hit me square between the eyes and had me floating into the kitchen like the old cartoons with the smoky hand pulling me along by the nose. If I wasn’t mistaken we were talking really fresh bread, like newly-out-of-the-oven bread. Yum.

  “Can you close the door, Ivy?”

  Oh, um, yeah, better shut the door. I turned on my floaty toes and made quick work of the three locks on the door. Most people around here still left their doors unlocked, but I was a Californian, born and bred, and with all the trouble we’d had from the moment I’d moved here, I wasn’t quite ready to take that step of trust. Plus, even my sturdy locks at the Masked Shoppe hadn’t kept some guy out of the store. Speaking of which, I still had to figure that out, too. Phew, the life of a rural sleuth was no easy task.

  Dad sat at the kitchen table, mug in hand and a serious expression on his face. It occurred to me I hadn’t seen him laugh in days, and I missed the sound. Even when I’d lived at home with him, we had still laughed a lot, and he was the one who had gotten me started on the big word thing. It was a game for us, and one I missed. We’d always tried to outdo each other. A part of me mourned the loss of the easy camaraderie I didn’t have by trying to assert myself. But why couldn’t I have it all? Why did it have to be either/or?

  I sat down across from the man I’d always loved. My eyes took in his thinning hair and skinny frame. I’d do everything in my power to get some of our old relationship back and looked at this as the first step back to myself—the one I wanted to be again. Compromise time.

  I looked Dad right in his blue eyes and prepared to have a conversation we should have had two, maybe even five years ago. I pasted on my best smile and hoped at some point in our conversation it would become the real thing.

  “Let me start,” he said before I could get a word out. Well, I’d have to wait and see where he went with this before I thought up a counter argument. “First, I really appreciate you putting up with me for as long as you have.”

  He took the wind right out of my sails. “It hasn’t been a problem.” Don’t back down, don’t back down. “Actually, Dad, it hasn’t been all roses for me.” I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for being so blunt, but it’s the truth.”

  “Well, see, now, that’s part of what’s wrong, I think.”

  �
��What? It hasn’t been roses, or my bluntness?”

  He scratched his head, mussing his careful comb-over, and drummed his fingers on the table. “The blunt way you speak, mostly. I’ve always thought of you as my little girl, and now you’re this woman—a woman I don’t seem to know anymore. And the harder I try to shove you back into the old mold, I think the harder you fight me. So where does that leave us?”

  No hemming and hawing this time, huh? All right, he wanted straight out, I’d give him straight out. “Dad, you have to understand I haven’t been a little girl for years, in fact not since you sent me to Nana’s for the summer and she fed me mashed potatoes for three months. I came home thirty pounds heavier and only two inches taller.”

  This got only a small laugh out of him, but I was encouraged enough to continue. “I want us to go back to the way we used to be. I simply want a few changes.”

  “We’ll get to that in a minute. I have one more thing I need to throw on the table, and that’s Ben.”

  I’d like to throw him on the table, too. Meow! No, no, no. Do not think these things while seated across from Dad. Okay, think of things in the shop to clear the mind. Rapiers, scarves, handcuffs, blindfolds… That was so not working. I closed my eyes for a second. Dad must have mistaken the gesture for regret or threatening tears because he laid his hand on top of mine and made quiet shushing sounds like he used to after Mom died.

  I popped my eyes open when I felt good and ready. “I love you, Dad, I really do. But I need to be my own person. I found out in the last month who Ivy really is outside the pink room, and I like her. I like me. Life was certainly easier at home with you, but easy isn’t enough anymore. I loved having you here before you started interfering in things that aren’t, and weren’t, your business.” Go, Ivy! Sorry, internal cheerleading moment. “I love having you be involved in my life, but you have to know you raised me right, and I’m perfectly capable of sorting out my life on my own. You need to trust me to do it by myself, too. I’m the only one who will learn from my mistakes, and I’m the only one who will be hurt by my mistakes.” I twitched in my chair, hoping against hope I hadn’t gone too far.