When she arrived on Greg's doorstep, he was waiting patiently at the door for her. She told him everything that had transpired. He agreed with her about Ms. Avery's place in all this. Like her, he did not believe in coincidences. No, it was too strange that she was in Saint Louis at the same time as Sylvia, that she ended up on the road the same time right behind her.
“How did you pick Ms. Avery as your agent?” Sylvia asked.
“A man gave me her card,” he said slowly, trying to bring back all the details. “A man that I met in the diner over in Stover. I had lost my job at Re-Wire It because I had taken too much time off. Rita was very sick. By that time, we knew that death was inevitable. I had found some work in Stover at the auto parts factory because I could work there at night while dad stayed with Rita. I had the day shift. She couldn't be left alone at all then. It wasn't even possible for her to get a drink of water by herself. We had to give her pain medication every hour, and she couldn't do it herself. Anyway, I was dead tired and went into the diner to fill up on some coffee before heading home. I had started doing that nearly every night. Even though I hated spending the money for something I could make myself cheaper at home, I needed it or I seriously risked falling asleep at the wheel. This man had never been there before, although most of the other faces were familiar by that time.”
He stopped, pausing thoughtfully.
“Are you thinking now that something was not right about the whole thing?”
“With all that's happened lately, maybe everything is starting to seem strange. I don't know,” Greg continued. “I just now remembered that I had been talking for weeks about needing to sell the lake property because of mounting bills. But, that night I hadn't said anything yet when a strange man came up and gave me this card. I was so nearly delirious with fatigue, stress, and worry, that I didn't question it at all. I just took the card; it was like I was waiting for an answer that had magically appeared before me.”
“Do you still have the card?” Sylvia asked.
“It's somewhere around here,” he said. And, the two of them began rustling through papers, opening cabinet doors, and then Greg found it in his wallet.
It read, “Dee Avery, licensed real estate agent, C & G Realty, Bolling Brook, Missouri,” and following after were her phone numbers. Bolling Brook is just on the other side of Pevely, Greg pointed out to Sylvia. It would not be unusual for her to sell property in this area, they both reasoned. But, why would a man in Stover, several counties away, have her card? They were both too tired to think anymore that night. Sylvia planned to do some Internet research the following day. She wanted to know if there really was a real estate convention in St. Louis.
Greg leaned forward to kiss her good-night. Sylvia opened up to him completely, and their kiss became almost like making love. It was that passionate, that frantically heated. She grabbed him hungrily, realizing that she wanted him more than she thought herself capable of wanting a man. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he forced them apart with regret.
“Dad is only a dozen feet away,” he whispered. “Do you want to slip into my room? As long as we don't make too much noise and don't fall asleep we just might get away with it.”
“It's not a good idea, Greg,” she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek. “I want our first time together to be special.” He agreed.
By morning, although Sylvia had a lot on her agenda for the day, she couldn't help but think about this newly forming relationship with Greg. It was good; it was right. She felt that strongly, but she also knew that she wanted to be married to him, not to have a fling with him. Did he feel the same way? They would have to find the time to discuss these things.
For now, she needed to go to Wal-Mart, get a device to connect her laptop to the internet wirelessly and then go to a McDonald’s, a coffee shop, or a library where she could find answers to a whole list of questions she and Greg had discussed the night before.
She fed Debbie her oatmeal and bananas because she wanted to and Mr. Devine knew she wanted to. The baby giggled so cutely, Sylvia could hardly bear to leave and attend to her errands. But, she did. It was a feeling that mothers must have when they needed to go to work and leave their child with a sitter. She now understood when her co-workers were pre-occupied with their children at home.
Once she became connected, surprisingly at Crystal's Cafe, of all places, she found that there actually had been a real estate convention in Saint Louis at the I-70 Holiday Inn. It had actually begun on Saturday, but that was the day she met with Ms. Avery at Indian Foot Lake. Perhaps that was why she had been rude and not so interested in making a sale. Her own preoccupation with nostalgic memories might have made her seem a little disinterested. Ms. Avery had even used the expression “wasting her time” so perhaps there were explanations for her strange behavior. She still seemed weird, but there's no crime against being weird—as long as it's not the kind that causes you to put notes under doors. And, no sooner than she had brought that incident to mind, Sheriff Caywood appeared as they had agreed to meet there.
Sylvia handed the note over to him, and placed it into a manila envelope. She shared with him some of the ideas she had discussed with Greg the night before. He agreed that it seemed Greg had been directed to Ms. Avery for some reason. It could be as simple as the man being a friend or relative hoping to turn a commission her way. Or, it could be more sinister. And, it could just as easily be that Ms. Avery was an innocent party being used as a pawn in this plot somehow.
“The whole issue revolves around the creepy guy in the van,” the sheriff continued. “And, it turns out that his last known address is in St. Louis, but he seems to have moved to some unknown location at this point in time. There is an APB out seeking him as a person of interest. We will question him as soon as we can find him.
“There is nothing we can actually do until we have access to this person. However, I would suggest that you go through your father's papers, Greg's documents related to his Indian Foot Lake acquisition, and I will run this note you gave me through some tests. Although I must advise you that technically, it should have been turned over to the St. Louis police. It really is their jurisdiction. If you prefer, I could send it to them. But then you would have to drive back there to answer their questions. I admit I'm guilty of telling you to bring it to me, but I was only thinking that there was a connection to the break-in at the cabin. I still feel strongly that there is, but there may not be. You might want to deal with the St. Louis police instead.”
“No. I want to deal with you, Sheriff Caywood,” she said sincerely. “I also think you're right about the connection. You are the one to handle this.”
“Well, here's what I think, Miss Marshall,” he whispered bending forward to assure that they wouldn't be overheard, I think our perpetrator has an accomplice.”
“Really?”
“Did anyone at all, think hard now—anyone—know you were coming to the lake except for the real estate agent?”
“No, I'm sure of that,” she said thoughtfully. “Not unless my apartment is bugged. I called from my home phone, made the appointment and left the next day.”
“Yet someone in St. Louis knew you had gone there and left a threatening note for you. It's most likely that someone here notified someone there that you were here. It is highly unlikely that someone here saw you, drove all the way back to St. Louis to sneak the note under your door. Why wouldn't he, or she, leave you a note on your car, at the Devines, or some other place where you were traipsing around? Why drive all the way back there just to leave a note? Someone is in St. Louis, someone is in this area. That's obvious.”
“You're a genius Sheriff Caywood,” she commented as if stating a fact. “That makes sense. I just realized that when I questioned my neighbors about the man who left the note, I didn't ask whether she saw him on Saturday or Sunday. That might make a difference. I am no Agatha Christy.”
“Agatha who?” asked Sheriff Caywood, wondering if that was the witness.
&
nbsp; “She's an author who writes about solving mysteries. There are a lot of books about her,” she answered. “My upstairs neighbor saw a creepy man in my building who did not belong there. We are pretty sure he was the one who left the note. I thought I told you that, but actually, it was Greg that I told about the note, and I hadn't talked to my neighbors yet. I hope I haven't forgotten anything else.”
“No problem. You never know what little piece of information might become a key to unlock the whole mystery. So just let me know of anything you find out.”
“I feel so much better, now that everything is in your hands, Sheriff,” she admitted quietly.
He nodded and smiled a little in acknowledgment of her vote of confidence, and then left to continue his duties as chief law enforcement officer in the area.
Crystal noticed Sylvia packing up her equipment and preparing to leave.
“Are you through doing your research for the day?” she asked. “Come back anytime. I'm glad to help any way I can.”
“Well, maybe you could answer a few more questions,” Sylvia hinted, not wanting to take time away from her business. Crystal stopped wiping the counter, grabbed her coffee cup, and headed over the table where Sylvia had plugged her computer's power supply into the wall socket.
“I tell you what,” she giggled, “let's play tit-for-tat. You ask me a question, and I ask you a question, okay?” Crystal was beaming, as if she had something terribly important to ask her.
“Okay, we can give that a try,” said Sylvia amused, but cautious. “I was wondering if you had a hint about any library jobs about to open up soon—perhaps an old librarian getting ready to retire or something like that.”
“Ahhhh,” Crystal screamed like she had just won the lottery. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it,” she cried, dancing around in a way that would have made a spectacle of herself except for the fact that no one else happened to be in the cafe at that point in time. Her waitress and her cook came out of the kitchen, but Crystal waved them back in. They nodded, acknowledging that it was just Crystal, and went back to whatever they were doing in the kitchen.
“So, do you know of anything like that?” asked Sylvia again.
“Honey, I think you just saved me from having to even ask my question. But, I will anyway. So, what's going on between you and Greg Devine? Are you planning on moving down here?”
“Wow,” Sylvia said shyly. “Does it show to everyone? Or, is it just you who can tell?”
“So, there is something going on then? Woo hoo,” she cheered.
“We don't really know ourselves, Crystal,” she said, trying to stop the rumors from flying, but it may have already gone past that stage. “We are just getting to know each other again. Don't read too much into it, please. I was thinking about moving here before I even met up with Greg. I came here interested in the lake, and I didn't even know he owned it.”
“Oh,” Crystal said, slightly disappointed. “I didn't realize that. I'm sorry I made the assumption that he was the reason you were interested in the lake. I got it reversed. But, you are getting to know each other? That sounds promising, right?” She pleaded for confirmation.
“Promising, just promising, that's all for now, okay,” Sylvia told her in a very serious tone.
Crystal promised to give her a call on her cell phone or at the Devines if she noticed anything, overheard anything, or remembered anything that might pertain to Indian Foot Lake or the vandalism that occurred there years ago. She vowed to be their fly on the wall.
When Sylvia arrived home at the Devine abode, she was immediately surprised to see a new couch sitting in the living room.
“You bought a new sofa?” she asked Mr. Devine. “Does Greg know? He'll have a fit. You needn't have done that on my account. Can we return it?”
“Hold your horses, Missy,” Mr. Devine said, patting her on the back as if to calm her down. “It's not new, and it didn't cost a dime.”
“What? You have a sofa angel watching out for us somewhere?” She laughed while going over to examine the merchandise.
“It's a sofa from one of the cabins. I swapped it for ours. All it needed was a little cleaning. So I vacuumed it real good then used that spray shampoo stuff that only cost three dollars,” he explained proudly. “It might be a little damp yet, but I'm sure it will be okay by tonight.”
“Mr. Devine, how did you manage getting it here, much less handle the baby during all of this activity?” Sylvia asked, more amazed than puzzled.
“I called a couple of friends who I helped out plenty when I was younger. Luckily, all of them had sons with strong backs. I did the cleaning while Debbie played happily in her jump chair thing,” he informed her simply.
It was a velvety dark green corduroy with a high back, and the cushions were in excellent shape. People usually put used furniture in their cabins, but this one looked to be in near perfect condition. It made her feel welcome that Mr. Devine had gone to so much trouble just out of consideration of her comfort. He didn't have to do that, she thought. She remembered that he must have seen her kissing Greg in the field the other day. The fact that he had done all of this now, meant he must approve of what was happening—of what might be happening—between them.
Her plan was to start looking through the papers in her trunk, but she heard Debbie waking up and ran to pick her up instead. Mr. Devine was smiling at the kitchen sink as she whizzed by. She changed the baby, and then brought her into the kitchen.
“Is it time for anything? Like a bottle or a meal?” she asked. “I can fix it for her. Or would you rather I start cooking supper? I don't want you to think of me as a guest, you know.”
“I always thought of you as some kind of family,” Mr. Devine said. “I just didn't know what kind. Now I do.”
“You do?” she was almost afraid to ask.
“You are a future daughter-in-law,” he stated simply as if it were a simple fact.
“Oh, that's what I am?” she laughed. “And, how do you know this, when I don't?”
“Not yet, maybe,” he insisted. “But you will. I know my son, and I think I know you, too.”
Than after an awkward silence that ensued because Sylvia was stumped for an answer at this point, Mr. Devine added, “You wouldn't turn him down, would you? When he asks you to marry him?”
“How do you know he will?” she asked.
“Would you? Turn him down?” he repeated.
“No, I wouldn't,” she admitted. “I would say “yes” even if he changed his mind.”
“I knew it!” he exclaimed, pounding his fist on the table. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it.”
“Mr. Devine, you are sounding more and more like Crystal. We are going to have to keep you away from her coffee from now on,” she laughed.
“Here,” he said handing her a sack of potatoes. “You can start peeling those for supper. I've already got a pot roast in the crock pot. And don't worry about the cost. I got that free, too.”
When a very tired-looking Greg Devine appeared through the front screen door, he stood for moments just staring at the scene before him. His Sylvie and his dad bustling in the kitchen, little Debbie attached to Sylvie's bosom with a sling, and freshly baked rolls in a basket on the table. He was in love with this girl more than ever now.
“I could never figure out how to get that sling-thing on,” he said, announcing his arrival to a crowd that appeared too busy to notice him. “The straps were too small or something.”
“It's like a backwards backpack, really,” Sylvia answered. “The hardest part was getting the baby in it. Definitely a two-person feat, right Mr. Devine?”
He stopped abruptly in the middle of the kitchen floor, placed his arms akimbo, and made himself heard, “This has got to stop, right now!”
Sylvia and Greg stared at him in silence.
“What's this Mister stuff? When you were a kid, I thought you were being properly respectful calling me Mr. Devine. But now? I just can't tolerate it anymore,” he insisted.
“We've got to come up with something else you can call me.”
“All right,” she said, playing cautious fear of his playful display of anger. “We'll think of something while we eat. Okay?”
The bustling activity went back to normal as they continued putting food on the table, and Greg went to wash his hands and change into his Casey's uniform to go to his second job later.
Indian Foot Lake Love Story Page 7