by Eve Fisher
Kate stood there wondering whether there had ever been a card. Was Amanda the thief? Not of Ada’s money, of course, but of all the knickknacks and jewelry that had disappeared? Or had Junius lied and pocketed the note so that no one would ever know that he had stolen Kate’s scarf and given it to Amanda? There was no way of knowing. For a moment Kate was tempted to search for Betty’s ring and that rhinestone brooch she’d heard about, but she stopped herself. She remembered Paul’s warning against making accusations. It wouldn’t be right, and she would never be able to look Amanda in the face again if she did that.
Kate shook her head, then picked up the mail in the entry way and left. Paul was going to see Amanda that night, so he could take the cards to her.
THE FOLLOWING DAY it rained, and Kate stayed home working on her stained glass all day, but Thursday morning was so beautiful that she just had to get out. She picked up Amanda’s mail—again resisting the temptation to search for jewelry—and headed over to the Country Diner to meet Paul for lunch. The sunlight was so dazzling that the diner seemed especially dark when she went inside, and it took her a moment to realize that she was alone. Not only were there no customers, LuAnne wasn’t there either.
Puzzled, Kate went over to the kitchen pass-through window and called out, “LuAnne? Loretta?”
“She’ll be back in a minute,” Loretta said, her head bobbing up in the window.
“I was just checking to make sure you hadn’t closed for some reason.”
“Not hardly,” Loretta said, her head disappearing. Then it bobbed back up again, and she said, “I made cinnamon rolls.”
“Thanks,” Kate said.
She sat down on a stool to wait, when LuAnne came in from the back. “Hi, LuAnne!” she said and then stopped. LuAnne’s eyes were red, as if she’d been crying. “LuAnne, what’s wrong?”
LuAnne bit her lip and then started crying. Kate got up off the stool, her purse and Amanda’s mail falling onto the floor as she put her arms around her friend. The two held each other for a few minutes—Kate was grateful that no one else came into the diner just then—and then LuAnne pulled back and wiped her eyes. She looked around for a handkerchief, and Kate handed her some napkins.
“Here, LuAnne,” she said. “What’s wrong? Is it...Nothing’s happened to Tom, has it?”
LuAnne blew her nose loudly, shaking her head. “No...”
Kate waited while LuAnne pulled herself together enough to be able to talk.
“I’m sorry,” LuAnne finally said.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s just that...” LuAnne looked around the diner helplessly. “It’s just I can’t believe what’s going on.”
“What is it?” Kate asked.
“It’s Tom,” LuAnne said. “Everybody’s talkin’...and he’s not a thief!”
Kate was aghast. Obviously word had gotten out about Emma’s suspicions. “Of course he’s not,” she said as soothingly as she could.
“And now I’ve been told that I’m not welcome in the Beauty Shop Quartet.” LuAnne blew her nose again.
“Who said that?” Kate asked.
“Renee,” LuAnne replied. Her chin was trembling, but Kate felt sure that now it was more from anger than grief. “How dare she accuse Tom of anything! He’s never broken the law in his life! And just because he’s always on the road...”
“I know,” Kate said.
“You’ve heard too?” LuAnne asked.
Kate nodded.
LuAnne’s tears had dried up, and a red flush now covered her face. “Gossip is just like wildfire in this town. And the worst bunch of gossipers is that group down at the beauty shop! How on earth can anybody believe such a thing? And there he is, over in North Carolina on his way down to Florida, and I’m here...Kate, you’ve got to help me. There’s got to be a way we can clear his name.”
Kate rested her hand on LuAnne’s arm and said, “There is. I’ve been looking into things—”
“You have?” LuAnne asked plaintively.
Kate nodded. “Yes, I have. And I can tell you right now, the thing that would help clear up everything would be a sample of Tom’s handwriting. His signature. Do you have one handy?”
LuAnne nodded. “Of course I do. Not here. But I’ve got piles of checks and everything at home. In fact, I’ll run right home and get it for you. Loretta!”
Loretta stuck her head out the kitchen window. “You go run along, LuAnne. Do what you need to do. I’ll tell folks to help themselves to coffee.”
“Back in a minute,” LuAnne said and hurried out the front door straight into Renee Lambert. Kate could tell LuAnne was choking back tears as she ran to her truck.
“Well, I never...What in the world is the matter with her?” Renee asked. “And where on earth is she going?”
Kate couldn’t remember the last time she had been so angry. “Renee, did you tell LuAnne that she had to drop out of the Beauty Shop Quartet?”
Renee hitched her shoulder bag higher on her shoulder, bouncing Kisses, who sneezed. “I most certainly did not,” she stated. “I simply suggested that she consider it.”
“Renee!” Kate was almost ready to cry herself. “How could you?”
“How could I what? I’m not the one who’s done anything wrong! I simply let LuAnne know what was being said so that she could prepare herself. I didn’t say a word to anyone else. But I felt that it was my Christian duty to talk to LuAnne.”
Kate groaned.
“If Tom was arrested and LuAnne didn’t know a thing about it beforehand, it would likely kill the poor woman.”
“But Tom isn’t going to be arrested,” Kate said.
“Are you sure?” Renee said with intense interest. “What have you found out?”
Kate rolled her eyes and bent over to pick up her purse and Amanda’s mail. When she rose back up, Renee was standing right next to her. “Well?”
“Well, Renee,” Kate said, “I’m waiting on some long-distance phone calls that might clear up the whole thing.”
Kate had called the three numbers for Jordan Harnett every day, each time leaving a message on the one with the answering machine, and she was hoping, no praying, that at some point she’d get a response.
“Tom’s employer?” Renee asked.
“No,” Kate said shortly.
“Now, Kate,” Renee said, sitting down on a stool and putting her shoulder bag on the counter, “you know you can tell me.”
Instead of answering, Kate asked, “Did you know Amanda’s coming home tomorrow?”
“Is she well enough?” Renee asked.
“The doctors think so,” Kate replied. “I’ve been up to see her almost every day.”
“Well, that’s sweet of you,” Renee said. “I went up myself yesterday.”
“You did?” Kate tried to hide her surprise.
“Yes, with Betty Anderson.” Renee toyed with Kisses’ ears. “Amanda showed us a scarf she got. From a secret admirer.”
“Yes, I know,” Kate said.
“She thinks Junius gave it to her!” Renee hissed, her face flushed. Her voice rose steadily as she said, “I don’t believe that for a minute. And why wouldn’t he just come right out and say it if he had, instead of all that nonsense?”
“That’s what Junius—” Kate tried to interrupt, but Renee went on like a steamroller.
“The only reason she thinks anything of the kind is because she’s the type who thinks every man is dangling after her! Always has been. A man’s polite, and she thinks he’s in love with her. Junius, indeed. I don’t know where that scarf came from, but I’m sure he would never make such a juvenile gesture.”
Kate finally got up the voice to interrupt. “Renee, listen to me.”
Renee became still and silent, blinking rapidly as she looked at Kate.
“I have a secret to tell you.”
That got Renee’s full attention, as Kate knew it would. “There’s a problem with the scarf.” Kate leaned over and whispered, “It’s really m
ine. It was stolen.”
“No!” Renee gasped. “Stolen?”
“Shh.” Kate put a finger to her lips. “It was taken from the Bixby house. I’m keeping it a secret until I can find out who sent it to Amanda.”
Renee digested that tidbit for a moment, then said, as Kate had expected, “Maybe Amanda stole it and claimed someone sent it to her.”
“I don’t think so,” Kate said. “She seemed genuinely surprised.”
Renee gazed at the coffee urn behind the counter, an odd look in her eyes.
“Renee, have you received any presents from a secret admirer? Or from a not-so-secret admirer? Like Junius?”
Renee’s eyes flickered back to Kate, and she stammered, “N-n-no. Of course not. He and I are just...we’re just friends.”
“I was just wondering,” Kate said, fairly certain that Renee wasn’t telling the exact truth. “Because it seemed to me that the two of you were getting along pretty well at the dance a couple of weeks ago.”
Renee looked around uncomfortably and fluttered her fingers. “I-I just remembered I have an appointment,” she stammered again, then leaped to her feet, knocking Amanda’s cards onto the floor, and almost ran out of the diner.
“Well, whatever you said certainly got her up and out of here in a hurry,” Loretta called from the kitchen window.
“I think I may have asked her a question she didn’t like.” Kate chuckled, bending down to pick up the cards again.
“There’s a lot of those,” Loretta said grimly. “Renee likes to ask the questions, not answer them. You want to order something?”
“I’ll wait till LuAnne gets back.”
“Suit yourself. You missed one under the table, behind you.”
Kate picked up the card and stuffed it with the rest in her bulging purse as LuAnne came back in.
“I remembered when I got about halfway home,” LuAnne said, out of breath. “The truck registration!”
She handed the document to Kate, who looked at the signature. “Tom Matthews” was written in a masculine handwriting that slanted to the left. Kate remembered the copy of the check that was back in the folder in her studio.
“Well?” LuAnne asked.
“Honestly, LuAnne, I need something I can take with me. I don’t have the check—” Kate stopped, remembering that Emma had the rest at her shop. “Can I borrow your telephone to call Emma?”
“Emma’s gone to Pine Ridge,” LuAnne said, flushing so much that Kate didn’t dare ask how she knew.
“Okay,” Kate said. “Listen, I’m going to run home and get something to compare this to. If Paul comes in, would you tell him I’ll be right back?”
“I sure will.”
“I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
THE COPPER MILL PLAYERS had continued to practice in the mornings, but Paul’s heart wasn’t really in it anymore. Nor was Sam’s.
“I’d rather be fishing,” Paul whispered to Sam as he packed up his guitar.
“So would I,” Sam agreed. “Listen, I’ve gotten some new lures in. Come on by the Mercantile, and I’ll show them to you.”
“Sounds good,” Paul replied. “I’m meeting Kate down at the diner for lunch, so I’ll swing by on my way.”
Sam nodded and headed out, taking Skip with him. Paul was walking off the stage when Joe, who’d ridden out with him that day, came up to him with Bo Twist by his side. “Hey, Paul. You got a minute?”
“Sure,” Paul said.
“Bo’s truck broke down, and he needs a couple of things from the store. Would you mind giving him a ride into town as well as me? I can give him a ride back. My truck’s supposed to be out of the shop this afternoon.”
“Sorry to cause you trouble,” Bo apologized. “It’s just I’ve got to stop by the pharmacy and pick up a prescription. You can just drop me off there.”
“No problem,” Paul said.
The three walked outside, and Paul drifted back a bit, pulling Joe aside. “Is there room for the three of us?” he asked in a low voice.
Joe chuckled. “I’ll ride in the back,” he replied.
He climbed in the back of Paul’s pickup truck, saying, “I can take the air!”
“It’s the jolts I’d worry about,” Paul called up to him.
“I can use my stick as a brace!” Joe said.
Paul got in the cab. When Bo climbed in beside him, the truck sagged to the right. Paul put the truck in gear, and it bounced over the railroad tracks as he pulled onto Barnhill Street.
“Thanks so much,” Bo said, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief. “I need my asthma medication. I’m a martyr to my allergies.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, well, I could move to the southwest where the air is clear, but then I’d miss all this.” Bo waved his hand at the mountain landscape all around them. “I couldn’t stand a desert.”
Paul smiled. “You’ve lived here all your life?”
“Most of it. There was a time...Well, my mother ran off from my daddy and took me with her.”
“I’m sorry.” Paul watched Bo out of the corner of his eye as the truck turned right onto Smith Street.
Bo shrugged. “I couldn’t blame her. My daddy was a hard-drinkin’ man, and he was somethin’ fierce. Scary. That’s why Mama ran off. He owned the Dew Drop Inn, you know, and a roadhouse isn’t the best thing for a drinkin’ man to own. That’s one thing I didn’t inherit from him, praise be.” Bo sighed as Paul turned left onto Ashland. “Mama and I, we moved down to Mississippi. Hated it. Hot, humid...But don’t get me wrong; it wasn’t a bad life. When I was twelve, Mama married Vern Twist, and he adopted me. Then when my daddy died, I inherited the roadhouse. I’ll tell you what, I couldn’t wait to get back up here to God’s country. Been here ever since. Thirty years this summer.”
“That’s quite a story,” Paul said, stopping outside the pharmacy across from Willy’s Bait and Tackle.
Bo got out of the truck with a series of heaves and grunts, then he waved as he walked inside. A few minutes later, he came back out, huffing and puffing, and climbed back inside the truck. Paul made a U-turn and drove back to Smith Street, then parked in front of the Mercantile. He went around the back of the truck to help Joe get down from the flatbed.
“You blown away yet?” Paul asked.
“Nah,” Joe said. “I’m just fine.”
The three went into the Mercantile. Sam and Skip had already arrived, and Sam was helping Arlene Jacobs, one of his part-time checkers, redecorate the camping equipment display. Skip, who was obviously not in a hurry to get to his shift, was looking at a duck call. As Joe and Paul came up, Skip put the duck call to his lips and blew in it. The loud, flat quack made them all jump.
“Kind of a merganser sound, don’t you think?” Skip commented.
“What do you know about mergansers?” Joe asked.
“Just that there are some,” Skip admitted. He blew the device again and said, “I think it sounds kind of like a kazoo.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Sam said, shaking his head.
“Well, of course, not exactly,” Skip snapped. “You can only get one sound out of this. A kazoo’s different. You got any here?” he asked Sam.
“Over in the toy section.”
Skip was back in a minute with a blue kazoo. He put it to his lips and blew a loud, flat quack. Everyone chuckled, and he turned it into a quacking march that sounded vaguely familiar.
“‘Stars and Stripes Forever!’” Paul called.
Skip grinned.
“I want to try that,” Joe said. He ran over to the toy rack and got three more kazoos. He handed one to Paul, who took it and blew into it experimentally, and one to Sam, who shook his head.
“I’m not playing a kazoo,” Sam said.
“Ah, don’t be such a stuffed shirt,” Joe said, quacking at him. “Live a little!”
“Don’t blow,” Skip said to Paul. “You hum into them.”
“That’s right,”
Paul said. “I always forget.” He tried again and did better.
“I can’t sell these after y’all have had your mouths all over them, you know!” Sam snapped.
Joe reached in his wallet and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, which he slapped down on the counter. “Now play!”
Sam glared, but as the other three started playing the Sousa march, he caught their enthusiasm and joined in. Next they kazooed the famous “Marines’ Hymn,” humming the well-known lyrics “From the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli,” and by the time they started in on a kazoo version of “Anchors Aweigh,” all of the customers, including Bo Twist, were gathered around, listening and laughing. When they stopped, it was only because the players themselves were all laughing too hard to continue.
“That’s about the most fun I’ve had in ages,” Joe said, trying to catch his breath. He looked out at the small crowd that had gathered and asked, “Y’all enjoy that?”
“Yes!” the audience cheered. “You bet!”
“Mama, mama!” cried a young boy. “Can I have one of them things?”
“I don’t know...” his mother said.
“Oh, please. Please?” he begged. “Please?”
“Oh, I suppose.” She finally gave in. “What your father will think, I don’t know. And you’re not to play it in the house!” she called after him as he raced to the toy section.
“You know what we ought to do?” Paul turned to his fellow players.
“What?” Sam asked.
“We ought to take these up to the hospital and play for the patients. Might cheer them up.”
“Or kill them,” Sam said.
Skip, who was still playing his kazoo, nodded and segued into “I’ll Fly Away.”
“And the hospital might object,” Sam pointed out.
“That’s true,” Joe said. “But I think I got a better idea.”
“What?” Sam asked, cautiously.
“I’ll tell you tomorrow when we practice.” Joe whispered in Paul’s ear.
Paul nodded, the smile on his face getting wider and wider all the time.
“See?” Joe pointed to Paul. “He agrees with me.”