Eighteen
Rough Day
Marilee just about put her eye out with her engagement ring the following morning, when she awoke and flopped her hand backward over her eyes to shield them from the fresh light of morning spilling through the windows. She had forgotten to pull the shades.
Extending her hand, she squinted at the ring. The diamond caught the light, blinding her further, and she dropped her hand to the bed, thinking, Ohmygod.
She had been stunned when Parker had produced the ring from his jacket pocket and proceeded to put it on her finger. It had been his mother’s. It looked like something his mother would wear. It slid all around on Marilee’s slender finger.
Pushing herself out of bed, she shuffled her way to the kitchen, where Corrine had a pot of coffee ready and waiting.
“Bless you, my child,” Marilee said, kissing Corrine, who sat at the table, already dressed and reading a book.
Marilee sipped the dark coffee from the mug she held with both hands. Where was Willie Lee?
“He’s out in the garden, moving worms,” Corrine informed her.
“Moving worms?”
Corrine nodded. “He wants to make certain there are lots of worms around his flowers.”
Marilee looked out the window to see her small son, his pale hair spiked in all directions—a haircut was in order—digging with a trowel in the garden, in a very concentrated manner. Munro lay beside him, his head upon his paws, watching.
Just then the front door opened. “Hey…anybody awake?”
Parker? Well, my goodness.
“In here.” Her voice came out a croak, as his footsteps came jogging through the house.
There he was, fully awake and jogging lightly into the room, wearing a muscle shirt that showed his tanned, hard frame, shorts and bright-white running shoes.
“Mornin’, beautiful.” He smiled and kissed her cheek, with barely a pause in jogging.
“Good morning.” Her voice was still croaking like a frog. She hated chipper people first thing in the morning. Hadn’t she told Parker that sometime in the past years? Surely he would have figured it out by now.
“Just thought I would drop by.” Obviously. He was jogging in place now. “What do you think about me and your aunt gettin’ married?” he said to Corrine.
Corrine’s eyes shifted uncertainly to Marilee.
“I haven’t talked to them about it yet, Parker. I just got up, and they were asleep when we came in last night.”
Parker’s jogging was causing the floor to vibrate. She had the sudden thought to grab the iron frying pan off the stove and smack him to get him to stop.
“Oh.” He kissed her cheek again. “I’ll call you later.” He turned and jogged away. Marilee’s eyes lingered on his hard-muscled back until he disappeared. His shoes thudded through the house, and then the front door shut with a near slam.
Marilee drank another good swallow of the thick black coffee, and then she showed Corrine her engagement ring. Corrine said it was pretty.
Marilee couldn’t figure out what else she could expect Corrine to say.
She poured her coffee cup full to the brim and took it into the bathroom and a shower. Peace and quiet and aloneness for twenty minutes.
Parker was a morning person and a jogger; she was not a morning person, and definitely not a jogger. They were going to have to make some ground rules first thing.
Tate, making a good pace up from Main Street, saw a jogger come from right on Porter Street. Lindsey…from the direction of Marilee’s cottage. Well now.
Tate slowed as he entered the intersection at the same time as the veterinarian.
“Stopped by to see Marilee this mornin’,” Lindsey told him.
The man had at last begun to protect his investment, Tate thought. Giving a nod, he kept going, jogging up the hill of Church Street. He had liked participating in the raising of the flags and thought he would keep it up.
Parker, who was mildly surprised to see the editor bypass his own house and head on up the curving hill of Church Street at a fair rate of speed, took note that thus far the road coming down was empty. Relief swept him, followed by determination that gave him a fresh burst of speed, sending him along Porter and in the direction of home. He had started out early in order to miss running into Leanne. He didn’t want to risk her catching up with him now.
They sat on the couch in a line: Corrine, Willie Lee and Munro. None of their feet touched the floor, and three pairs of eyes regarded Marilee, Willie Lee’s large and blue behind his thick glasses, Corrine’s black as drops of crude oil, and Munro’s the golden-brown of a fall leaf.
The children were obviously not surprised about her announcement of impending marriage to Parker. Marilee had not expected they would be, although one could never be certain of children’s thoughts, and she had been a little anxious about the matter.
Corrine appeared pleased—or as close as Corrine could ever get to pleased—but she still held her wariness, as usual. Willie Lee, quite reluctant to have been pulled away from his worm moving, had the only concern of being reassured that Munro would go with them to Parker’s house.
“Of course Munro comes. We are a family. Munro, too.” Munro looked relieved, and she smiled at him. “And you and Corrine will each have your own room. Parker’s house is a lot bigger than this one.”
She was very pleased to tell the children this fact. This marriage would be good for all of them, a bigger house, wider yard, greater financial security. She had made the right decision.
Willie Lee frowned. “I will need Mun-ro to sleep with me, if I have to sleep in my own room.” He made sleeping in his own room sound like a punishment. Tilting his head, he told Corrine, “Mun-ro can go sleep with you after I go to sleep, o-kay? O-kay, Mun-ro?”
Then it was, “Can I bring my worms with me to Parker’s house?”
Marilee, who was thinking of sleeping with Parker, said, “Honey, Parker’s yard will have worms in it.”
She came out of her thoughts enough to see her son regarding her very seriously from behind his thick glasses. He said, “Yes…but I want my own worms.”
“You can bring your worms, honey.”
Her mind was not on worms, but on wondering how she would handle sleeping with a man, after so many years alone. This concern mounted with lightning speed. It had been many years since she had shared a mattress and covers with another adult. What if Parker snored? She did not know this about him.
There would be many adjustments to getting married. She had known this, but she had obviously not known it in the same capacity with which the knowledge now came to her on a rising tide of revelation.
She supposed they were all going to be bringing worms, of a sort, with them into this union.
As she made up her bed, she wondered if Parker liked his sheets folded over the mattress in hospital corners, or if he preferred them loose, so he could stick his feet out. He had a king-size bed, and she would like that. There would be plenty of room for Willie Lee or Corrine, if they needed to sleep with her because of a nightmare or sickness or thunderstorm.
Parker might not like the children to sleep with them.
As she got a glass from the kitchen cabinet and poured herself some cold tea from Tate’s round pitcher, she thought of Parker’s cabinets full of dishes. All mismatched.
She loved her dishes, which were heavily accented with cobalt blue. Hopefully Parker would be agreeable to pitching his dishes in the trash and using hers.
She would be asking Parker to make a lot of changes.
The ring would have to be sized down for her. She had said she would take care of it, and now she was vexed at herself for taking on the responsibility. Shouldn’t Parker have said he would do it? It was, though, her finger that would have to be present. They should make plans to do it together. That was probably going to be one of their major adjustments, learning to do things together after each of them had lived so many years alone.
The setting on
the engagement ring would also need to be worked on. It snagged in her hair, and on the rough fabric of the desk chair, and on the kitchen hand towel.
Finally she took the ring off and laid it in the little dish of paper clips on her desk. Wearing it would take some getting used to.
Just then the telephone rang. Marilee reached out to answer and then withdrew her hand.
The phone rang again, and then again, while Marilee sat there, gazing at it.
At the third ring, Corrine came in from the bedroom.
“We’ll let the answerin’ machine pick up this morning,” Marilee told her. “I have things to do and don’t want to be distracted. Unless it’s Parker,” she added hurriedly, as the answering machine clicked on.
Her mother’s voice came through the speaker. “Just checking to see if my eldest daughter is still among the living,” her mother said. “I haven’t heard from you. I wanted to let you know that Carl and I are going away to a sales conference in Las Vegas this weekend. We’re flying out Friday afternoon. Well…I guess that’s it.”
Marilee felt guilt wash over her for not picking up the phone. She felt more guilty because Corrine had witnessed her avoidance of speaking to her mother.
In the following moments of reflection, however, Marilee decided that she was perhaps glad to have displayed for Corrine her choice to have quiet time for herself. She had made a great leap by engaging herself to Parker. She had to catch her breath.
Parker stopped by at just after noon to give Munro his shots. Marilee had to quickly run to her desk and get the ring, then slip it on her finger, before he noticed she didn’t have it on.
He shoved his chair away from his desk, refraining from putting his fist through his computer screen.
Why could he not come up with an editorial that pleased him? Where had all his brains gone?
Stalking from his office, Tate went to the coffee station to find that the coffeepot was empty, and so was the coffee can. Why hadn’t someone thrown it out? Silly to have an empty can sitting in the cabinet. He tossed it into the trash and looked through the cabinets for a new can, slamming doors with increasing annoyance when he found no coffee.
When Charlotte ignored his slamming doors, he called to her, “We are all out of coffee.”
“Yes?” she called back. Her brown eyes regarded him in an unconcerned manner that annoyed him.
“Who is responsible for maintaining the coffee?”
“Whoever is drinking it. Today that is you. A lot.”
Tate sighed. “We need to keep coffee ready to offer to visitors.” He didn’t want his office to seem skimpy on anything. And doggonit, he wanted a cup of coffee.
Charlotte simply looked at him.
At the moment, the only other person in the offices was June, who proceeded to keep her head down and to scribble on paper. Tate contained himself. He had learned not to raise his voice to June. She got teary.
He glanced at the closed door of their comptroller’s office. Zona had her own coffeemaker, and the absurdity of his employee having her own coffeemaker and him not having one struck him. He could go in and request a cup from her, but he would have to knock on the door and wait for her to unlock it. This was definitely a deterrent.
“I appoint you in charge of purchasing coffee supplies,” he said to Charlotte, as he strode back past her desk. “I want you to make certain we have cans of coffee, filters, cups, anything else we need.”
Maybe he would get his own coffeemaker. He should do that as the editor-publisher. But then he would be the only one to make it, and he liked other people to make the coffee. He got tired of getting his own food all the time, which was the bane of being single.
“Who’s going to brew it?” She rose and reached for her purse.
“I’ll be in charge of brewing it.” Since he apparently could not get anyone else to do it. “We’ll rotate the weeks of who will brew it.” The idea came to him, and he liked it! With rotation, he would only have to do it every six weeks or so. “But you will be fully in charge of stocking it.” There, that settled it.
“Yes, sir. But I think in your mood the last thing you need is some more caffeine.” With that, she whipped open the door and strode out in her long-legged fashion.
He was in a mood. A rare one for him, but he was in it, by golly, and that was it. He did not think having coffee was too much to ask to console him in such a mood.
The door had not fully closed behind Charlotte when Sheriff Oakes appeared through it. Tate was still standing there just outside his office door, dealing with his confusion between being in a bad mood and feeling guilty for not being able to correct himself.
“Just passed Charlotte. She said you were in, but that you were in a wicked mood.”
That washed away his guilt and shoved him completely into his mood. “It’s a rough day,” he said, more sharply than he had intended.
“Yep. For me, too.” The sheriff’s drawn expression caught Tate’s attention. “I came over to fill you in about these Tell-In Technologies folks.”
“Come on in.” Tate waved toward his office. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you any coffee. I got an Orange Crush, in a can. It’s hot, though.” He had not gotten the six-pack into the refrigerator. What he needed was a good private assistant.
The sheriff, wisely declining the warm Orange Crush, lowered himself into the leather chair across the desk from Tate. He produced a toothpick from his breast pocket, stuck it in his mouth, wet it well and then began. “I got those Tell-In folks buggin’ me from one side, and my wife chewin’ at me from the other.”
“Oh?” Curiosity swept Tate, improving his mood.
“Here it is from the start. What these Tell-In folks put forth is that this Dan Kaplan stole a computer chip he had invented for them. Something for increasing memory…I don’t understand all this computer stuff. Anyway, he turned around and sold it to some Japanese outfit, and that’s where the money comes from. Those Tell-In folks therefore claim that the money is theirs.”
“That seems to be reaching a bit far.” Tate found himself rather fascinated by Neville’s use of a toothpick, which he chewed on even when speaking, whipping it from one side of his mouth to the other, as if to emphasize certain points.
“That’s pretty much my opinion.” He shifted the toothpick again and chewed rapidly. “What they’re also claimin’ is that this chip, or plans for it, or what-have-you, was in Dan Kaplan’s possession and could still be in his things.”
“I imagine it’s small and hidden,” Tate offered. Watching the sheriff’s mouth maneuver the toothpick, he tensed, ready for action, in case the man choked. He was not certain what he would do, though; likely normal procedures would be ineffective with a toothpick that might have to be surgically removed if stuck.
“So they say. What I gather is that they had some sort of informant who leads them to believe…hope is probably a better word…that Kaplan had only partially been paid and was in the process of deliverin’ the chip and full plans, at which time he would receive the final payment. Fayrene does say that Kaplan told her that he was supposed to meet some people in Dallas, that he was headin’ there, and was stoppin’ here on his way down, and wantin’ Fayrene to go down with him to Dallas.” He slid the toothpick to the left.
“Anyway, to my mind, just because the chip once belonged to these Tell-In folks—and they haven’t really proved that part, yet—I don’t see how they can lay claim to the money. And I’m sure not givin’ it over to these two yahoos on just their say-so, nor am I givin’ over Dan Kaplan’s stuff. That’s what I told ’em, too.”
“I imagine they were not too happy about that.”
“No…no, they weren’t.” The toothpick went back and forth at a rapid rate. “That woman offered me five hundred dollars, if I’d give over the case and the money.”
“Huh.” Now here was a story stirring.
“Yep, and when I turned that down, she offered me a thousand.”
Tate, who was not surpr
ised, shook his head. The big man shifted in his chair, broke the toothpick in half with his tongue and spat it out.
“I just about threw her butt in jail, but I didn’t have a witness…and besides, I wanted rid of them.
“I’ll tell you what…those people do not understand that money doesn’t call the shots around here. Justice and legality call the shots, and I uphold them, as is my sworn duty. The money and the briefcase and all of Dan Kaplan’s effects are evidence in my jurisdiction, and until this is all sorted out, and with them producing some proof of their claims, what I got is a man who died clean of a heart attack, no report of theft from anywhere, besides what these Tell-In people are sayin’, and everything paid up and no relatives, so his ex-wife has right to inherit by virtue of she was his only wife, and he left some letters stating plainly his intention to legally marry her again.”
“Will that stand up in court?”
“Well, I don’t know. But that’s how I see it, and I figure until some judge tells me different, I’m in charge. My sworn duty is to protect and serve the people of this town, and that means Fayrene, not some strangers from outta state.”
Tate nodded. They didn’t make a lot of dedicated sheriffs like the one sitting before him.
The next instant the big man’s shoulders slumped. “My wife isn’t happy about any of this.”
“She isn’t?” Another wrinkle.
The sheriff shook his head and, in an obviously nervous habit, brought another toothpick from his breast pocket, as he said, “Maybe I am goin’ out on a limb for Fayrene, but she’s a good friend. When I was just a kid, seventeen, Fayrene sixteen years older, she and I…well, she showed a boy a big part about bein’ a man.” A softness came over his face. “Man, I was scared for my first time, and she showed me all about it. I guess she was my first love, but there wasn’t anything either of us could do about it—you know, another time, another place, maybe.”
Cold Tea on a Hot Day Page 24