Assault and Buttery

by Kristi Abbott

  I, on the other hand, am not sure I’d set out on the journey if I knew where it was going to end. “How should I know? I haven’t gotten there yet.”

  “You haven’t peeked?” He turned back to the dishes, towel slung over his shoulder.

  I was momentarily distracted by the view. Is there anything sexier than a man with the sleeves of a dress shirt rolled up doing housework? I honestly don’t think there is. They should totally make calendars.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “Huh?” I’d forgotten what we were discussing, what with the forearms and the dish-doing.

  “You haven’t looked at the ending? Maybe there’s a big fat clue there about who she was and why she’d hide her diary.” He dried the last plate and stacked it.

  “Then it will still be there when I get there.” I pulled the diary back toward me. “It’s been there for sixty years or so. It’ll wait.”

  He plucked it from my arms. “The ending will still be the same if I read it now or not.” He walked over to the sofa and plunked down with it. I harrumphed and went to let Sprocket out for his evening yard patrol.

  When I walked back into the room and unwrapped my scarf and took off my jacket, Garrett was sitting on the couch with a weird look on his face. “I think you should look at the last page,” he said.

  “You read it. Isn’t that enough?” Although part of me wanted to know what was there, another part of me didn’t.

  “I did. I think you should, too.” He held the diary out toward me.

  “Fine.” I guess that made the decision for me. I took the diary and flipped to the last page with writing on it. There were only two words on it.

  I’m frightened.

  Two

  Cathy got up and stretched. Then she dropped to the floor and did ten push-ups. Real push-ups. No bent knees. No butt sticking up in the air.

  “Impressive,” I said.

  “There’s not a lot else here to pass the time. I’m going to finally have those Michelle Obama arms I’ve always wanted. Too bad I won’t have a sleeveless dress to wear so people can admire them.” She picked at her jumpsuit. “Life is full of irony, isn’t it?”

  “Life is full of unfairness.” I was generally anti-exercise, but I watched Cathy with some interest. I wouldn’t mind having Michelle Obama arms. “Like me being here, for instance.”

  She finished a set and rolled over to sit on the floor. “Let me guess. You’re innocent of all charges.”

  “Of course I am.” I scratched behind Sprocket’s ears. He thumped his foot on the floor.

  “So whose justice were you supposedly obstructing? Where were you sticking your nose this time?” She extended her legs out in front of her and grabbed her toes to stretch. Not only was she going to have Michelle Obama arms, she was going to be crazy limber as well.

  “I wasn’t obstructing justice. I was seeking it.” People seemed not to understand the distinction. “My nose was in my own business. Nowhere else. Like it always is.”

  “Uh-huh. How’s that?” She made a face that clearly said she didn’t believe me.

  “It’s complicated.” It was, too. I wasn’t sure that I understood it at the moment.

  “I got time,” she said. Then she snorted. “In more ways than one.”

  Explaining it to her might let me make sense of it myself. I decided to lay it all out for her and see what she thought.

  • • •

  The words on the last page of the diary haunted me all night. Had something actually happened to this girl? Or had she gotten tired of keeping a diary and shoved it in the wall and forgotten about it? My desire to distract myself with the diary took on an added urgency.

  I read a little bit more of it as I drank my morning coffee to see if I could figure out what was frightening her. I hit an entry that froze me.

  Everybody saw the scene with CG and FW downtown. Everybody saw my mom’s epic slap. Everybody was talking about it at school. Everybody wanted to know what CG had meant when she’d called FW a monster. Even HH wanted to know. When he first sat down next to me in the cafeteria, I couldn’t believe it. He’s never sat with me. He’s never even talked to me except that one time when he wanted to borrow my history notes. But there he was. Sitting on the bench next to me. Blond hair flopping into his eyes. The leather of his letter jacket crinkling.

  I hadn’t explained anything to anybody. Mama and Papa had both told me to forget about it, that CG was nutso and I shouldn’t worry. And I hadn’t. But this was HH. And all he wanted to talk about was CG and FW. So I told him. I told him that CG said FW was a Nazi, that she’d seen him at a camp back in the old country during the war.

  I think maybe Mama and Papa were right, though. I shouldn’t have said anything to anyone. When I got to my locker the next morning, I found this in it.

  Glued onto the page opposite the entry was a six-pointed yellow felt star. Written across it were the words “Keep your mouth shut.”

  I slammed the diary shut, sick to my stomach at the sight of that symbol of hatred and bigotry. Who would do such a thing? Who would threaten a young girl like that?

  Had there really been a Nazi in Grand Lake? Had he been intent enough on keeping that a secret to hurt someone?

  Sprocket and I headed over to City Hall with a new sense of purpose to our steps. We’d stepped out onto the stairs that led down out of my apartment over the garage and stopped for a second as the cold air nipped at both our noses.

  The scent of fall was gone. The crushed leaves had been raked into neat piles and picked up by the city. The sky wasn’t as gray, either. It had turned into that bright light blue that held a promise of snow in the future. I shivered, but I also grinned. I swear Sprocket smiled up at me. Our steps were light as we made our way into town. The cold chilled and thrilled me all at once. It had been ages since I’d lived in a place with snow.

  City Hall rose up before us, its solid granite exterior promising stability and order. It was a whole different story once you got inside. Expansion had not been on the minds of the architects when it was built back in the twenties. Or at least not the kind of expansion we’d experienced. Plus there was modernization. Telephones and computers and all that required an infrastructure that hadn’t been dreamed of. It always made me a little sad after we’d stepped through the carved lintels to hit the industrial-grade carpeting and drop ceiling.

  Sprocket had gotten a little confused when we turned left toward the city offices rather than right where Dan’s office was once we got into City Hall, stopping in the hallway and sitting down, head cocked to one side. Okay. Maybe not confused. Maybe blatantly skeptical of my ability to navigate my way through my own life.

  “I know where I’m going,” I said. “Trust me.”

  He hesitated, but got up and walked as I kept going. I sighed as I walked into the office. Trina was behind the counter at her desk. I’d been hoping Sally would be there.

  I knew she could see me. I also knew she was ignoring me and that she wanted me to know she was ignoring me. I considered ringing the little bell on the counter, but I doubted it would endear me to her. I doubted anything would endear me to her. Her sister, Megan, ran the diner, and I’d been stealing business from her from practically the first second I’d moved back to Grand Lake.

  First it had been breakfast with my popcorn breakfast bars and coffee. Then I’d started on the lunch crowd with my Bacon Pecan Popcorn. People flocked to my shop as an alternative to what they could get from the diner.

  Well, except for those few days whenever people thought I might be a murderer, and for now because some necessary renovations were going on at POPS after a fire nearly destroyed my beautiful kitchen.

  I was saved from the bell when Sally walked in. “Trina,” she said. “Can’t you see that Rebecca is waiting at the counter?”

  Trina looked up, eyes widened and mouth slig
htly open as if she was actually surprised. It wasn’t a good look on her. It wasn’t that Trina was unattractive. She really wasn’t. She had a decent figure and her blond hair was always shiny. She just also always looked a little like an embryo to me, like her features hadn’t quite finished forming yet. From her little blob of a nose to her squishy chin, she looked too much like uncooked bread dough. The open mouth didn’t help.

  “I’m so sorry. I was just so wrapped up in these requisition forms that I didn’t notice her. You should have rung the bell, Rebecca.”

  I reminded myself of my ultimate goal in this situation. Keep it in mind, Rebecca. What will take you closer to your goal and what won’t? I was pretty sure vaulting over the counter and dinging the bell against Trina’s ridiculously wide forehead would not get me closer to my goal, so instead I smiled and said, “My bad.”

  Sally came over to the counter. “What can we help you with, Rebecca?” She smiled at me. A real smile. One that showed her slightly crooked front tooth that I found inexplicably endearing. Maybe because otherwise she’d look like a supermodel. All high cheekbones and long legs. The cardigan draped over her shoulders put a bit of a dent in the supermodel look. As did the fact that she had apparently never heard of mascara or lipstick. I suspected she kept her hair in a close-cropped afro just so she wouldn’t have to brush it. Nothing could stop those luminous eyes and full lips, though.

  “I want to know who owned my shop during the 1950s.” I leaned my elbows on the counter like I was about to divulge a secret. “Carson and I found a diary and I want to know who wrote it.”

  “Where did you find the diary?” Sally leaned in, too.

  “In the wall.” The damage to the wall my stove was against had been pretty bad, bad enough that Carson felt it was better to take the whole thing out and start over.

  “Like hidden?” Sally’s eyes lit up. Who doesn’t like a hidden diary, after all?

  “Totally. It looks like whoever hid it put it in from the other side. It would have been a bedroom. I’m not sure exactly how. There are so many layers of paint and wallpaper on the wall it’s hard to figure out what was where when.” I had a vision of a teenage girl cutting a little flap into the wall behind her bed to slip her secret diary in. She would probably have had her hair up in foam rollers and been wearing floral pajamas with a Peter Pan collar.

  “What’s in the diary?” Sally whispered.

  “Mainly stuff about school and boys and movies and clothes, but look at this.” I reached into my bag and pulled the diary out and turned to the page about my grandmother. “Whoever wrote this knew my family, hung out with my grandmother, and now I’m running my shop from what was probably her bedroom. I want to know who it was and maybe find out where she is now. It would be awesome to reconnect with her.”

  Sprocket stood up on his hind legs and put his front paws on the counter. He gently nosed the diary toward Sally.

  Sally’s hand went to her heart. “Oh, Rebecca. What a crazy connection for you. When did you say the diary was written?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not sure. Sometime in the 1950s?” I hadn’t been able to nail down exactly when yet. I figured if I kept reading, my anonymous diary writer would mention a date or an event that I could look up or trace. So far it had been just generic enough that I couldn’t be certain.

  “Who were some of the boys?” she asked, turning the diary around so she could look at it herself.

  “I’m not sure. She uses a lot of initials and nicknames. I only guessed that Bubbles was my grandmother because of the swimming.” I gave Sprocket a look and he went back to all fours.

  “Well, let’s see what I’ve got in the records. It’ll take a while. The records from back then aren’t computerized yet.” Sally made a face.

  Trina snorted from behind her. “And won’t likely ever be.”

  Sally turned. “You don’t know that, Trina. The city could allocate funds to us at some point.”

  “Allocate funds for what?” I’d know that big booming baritone anywhere. The whole town would. Mayor Allen Thompson was in the house. He’d been the mayor since forever. Well, at least since I was a teenager.

  “Computerizing records.” Trina stood up and walked over to the counter.

  “Oh, that again.” Allen turned to me. “What are you and Sprocket doing here, Rebecca?” He gave Sprocket a scratch under his chin and got his hand licked in response.

  I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could get a word out Sheri Denton came racing in like her hair was on fire. Well, her braid. One long, thick, fat one that came down to her waist and was currently flying behind her like a honey-blond bullwhip. “Am I late? Did I make it?” She waved a sheaf of papers in the air.

  Sally looked at the clock. “You made it with five minutes to spare.”

  Sheri laughed and slammed the papers down on the counter. “Five minutes. Five days. Time is just a construct.”

  “In time for what?” I asked.

  Sheri turned and hugged me. I took a step back. I was still Midwestern enough to be a little uncomfortable with spontaneous hugging. All those years in California never changed that. “Filing to run for city council. You wouldn’t believe all the forms!”

  I’d braced myself for a nose full of patchouli. I couldn’t help it. It made me sneeze. But despite looking exactly like someone who should smell like patchouli, from her dream-catcher earrings to her Birkenstock sandals, Sheri smelled like maple syrup. I wondered if she’d been baking. My stomach growled.

  Sprocket whined and lifted a paw in the air as if he was knocking on an imaginary door. He wasn’t crazy about people touching me without his permission.

  Sheri released me and crouched down. “No problem, Sprocket. I know she’s yours. I’m just so excited I had to let my happiness out somewhere.”

  He licked her nose.

  She laughed. “You’ve got a beautiful aura, Sprocket. Just beautiful. Sort of an aqua color. Very cool.” She stood back up and brushed off her hands. “Now what?”

  Allen glanced up at the clock. “We’ve got three more minutes to wait.”

  “Rebecca, you should ask Sheri about the diary. She did some local history research when she was writing about her grandfather,” Sally said. “Edwin was alive in the 1950s. He was one of the most prominent citizens in town.”

  Everyone in Grand Lake knew about Edwin Vincent. His name was on park benches, water fountains, cornerstones. You name it. He’d been a huge philanthropist and, if I remembered correctly, a city council member like Sheri apparently wanted to be. Public service as a family trait. Nice.

  “What diary?” Sheri asked.

  “This diary I found at my shop during our repairs.” I tapped it where it lay on the counter. “It’s from the 1950s and there’s some great stuff in it. I’d love to find the person who wrote it and find out more about some of what she talks about. She accused someone of being a secret Nazi! Then the diary ends really abruptly. It’s like finding out the last chapter of a mystery novel’s been ripped out of the book. I want to know how it ends.”

  Sheri picked the diary up and riffled through it. “Fascinating. There’s nothing better than primary sources. Any chance I might borrow it? I’d love to add it to my history of Grand Lake.”

  Justin Cruz sauntered in. Dude had swagger. You couldn’t deny that. He’d been a couple of years behind me in school. He’d stood out then in part because Grand Lake was even whiter when I was a teenager than it was now, and that’s saying something. He’d also stood out because he was smart. Not so much ace-your-SATs smart. Smart about how things worked, about how people thought, about how to get things done. Okay. He was also cute. He had this dimple. I’m a sucker for dimples. Now he ran a landscaping business that took care of mostly commercial properties. Based on the watch he was wearing, it was doing okay.

  He nodded to Allen. “Mayor.” Then gave the
rest of us a little wave. “Ladies.” Then he nodded at the diary. “What do you have there, Sheri?”

  “An old diary Rebecca found in her shop.” She closed it and held it to her chest.

  “It was hidden in a wall. I think there’s something in there about my grandmother,” I added.

  He took a few steps forward, hand outstretched. “Can I see?”

  Geraldine Richards came in, looking as always like she was stopping by here on her way to somewhere much classier. Put together was the term that came to mind. Her hair and skirt always looked freshly ironed. There were never food stains on her blouse or runs in her stockings. Plus, she actually wore stockings. I didn’t think I’d worn a pair of pantyhose since I left Grand Lake the first time. “Are we all here yet?” she asked, glancing at her watch.

  Justin still had his hand out for the diary. “I’d like to take a look at it after Sheri, if I could. It’d be so interesting to read about what was happening in Grand Lake on the down low back in the day.”

  Sheri made a little noise. I looked over at her. “You know, on second thought, maybe we should leave it be. Whoever wrote it intended it to be private. We should respect that,” she said.

  “Whoever wrote it might not even still be alive,” Justin said.

  Sheri ignored him and looked straight at me. “How would you like your private teenage thoughts being pored over by strangers?”

  Horrified was my unequivocal answer. “You have a point.” I looked down at the diary. It had been so fascinating and there was something so exciting about finding something old and hidden like that.

  Taylor Barrington came in looking like a poster for wholesome living. Rosy of cheek, smooth of skin, shiny of hair. “Are we ready?” she asked, looking around.

  “Just waiting on Chris Tranhorn.” Allen looked at his watch.

  As if on cue, Chris strolled in and nodded to everyone.

  “What’s going on?” I whispered to Sally.

  “It’s a little tradition that Allen started a few years ago. At the deadline for filing to run for city council, all the candidates meet for a photo and for Allen to welcome them to the political process.” Her voice wavered a second.