“Sure,” I answered. What else could I say? I’d already told him I had the month covered, which was only a slight exaggeration.
Besides, it was my last free Saturday. With classes starting again my Tuesday evenings and Saturday mornings were booked for the next three months.
I hung up. So what would it be? Clean house? See what Carl could find for me at Homes for Hope? A long drive with the top down?
I glanced at the weather and rejected the idea of a drive in the toy. It sounded like a great idea, except for the strong threat of rain.
I stalled by hauling out my gi and going through a complete workout. It calmed my nerves and stretched my muscles at the same time, leaving me relaxed and centered.
I thought again about the vacant storefront on Main Street. It had been a dance studio when I was a kid, full of the kind of little girls my mother wanted me to be.
A few minutes later I was in the Beetle, heading for Main Street. I had no money and no idea how I’d get a sensei to teach, but I wanted to look at that space again.
I nearly chickened out. It meant going downtown—as much downtown as there was in Pine Ridge—and possibly seeing people I didn’t want to see. Still, it beat doing housework. My mother would be ashamed of me.
The sidewalk was empty when I parked the Beetle at the curb and climbed out. The brown paper was still taped over the front window, as it had been for months. One corner had come loose, and if I stood on tiptoe I could see into the dark interior.
There wasn’t a lot to see. A scarred-wood floor, bare walls with ballet barres along one side, and two doors at the back. As I recalled, one door led to a tiny kitchen space just big enough for a sink and a miniature refrigerator. The other opened to a locker room of sorts and a bathroom. There was no need for separate spaces for girls and boys; when I grew up in Pine Ridge boys did not take dance lessons.
There was a fading “For Rent” sign in the front window.
There was no way I could afford it. I took my PDA out of my purse and made a note of the phone number anyway. Something told me I would need it eventually.
Sure. Right about the time I got a flying car.
I was standing on tiptoe again, staring in the corner of the window, when my mother called my name.
I dropped down onto flat feet and whirled around. Of all the people I didn’t want to see, two of them were standing just a few feet away—Mother and Gregory. Where did they come from?
“Hello, Georgiana,” Mom said. She moved closer and stretched out to give me a peck on the cheek.
Her glance traveled down my outfit: plain blue T-shirt, a fleece jacket, jeans, and sneakers. She was wearing a smartly tailored suit and her trademark stilettos, even on a quiet Friday morning. Her expression made it clear my fashion choices did not meet with her approval.
“Working today?” she asked, looking me up and down again.
She knew I wore coveralls for work, but it was her way of expressing her disappointment with my wardrobe.
I bit back a snappish reply. I was standing here thinking about a martial arts studio, a place I went to learn control and serenity. Not the time or place for angry retorts.
“Day off,” I said. “Didn’t this used to be the dance studio?” As if I didn’t remember vividly the flocks of girls in their frilly dance costumes waiting for their mothers to pick them up after class.
“You know, I think you’re right.” As if she didn’t remember distinctly the arguments over whether or not I would enroll in one of the tap or ballet classes. “I think it closed a few years ago. Not enough parents willing to keep their children enrolled.”
Not enough parents able to afford it, more likely. But let her believe what she wanted. It wasn’t worth arguing over.
“We were just headed into Dee’s for a late breakfast when I saw you standing here,” Mom said, motioning toward Gregory. He had walked back down the street and waited by Dee’s door.
“Why don’t you join us—at least for a little while? I haven’t had a chance to talk to you in ages!”
I looked down the block to where Gregory waited. “Oh, Mom. You’ve already got company for breakfast. You don’t need me horning in.”
“Nonsense.” She linked her arm through mine as though I had accepted her invitation. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”
I bit back the impulse to ask her to define fun, because breakfast with her and Gregory did not fall into any definition I had ever encountered.
“Well,” I said hesitantly, “for a few minutes.”
I walked the short distance to Dee’s Lunch, arm in arm with my mother. She probably thought I’d run if she didn’t hang on to me. And she might have been right. The thought did cross my mind, but if I did there would be consequences. There were always consequences with my mother.
Gregory held the door for us. His expression was anything but welcoming, however. He looked grumpy, an expression that seldom creased his polished and controlled exterior. Gregory always wore his salesman face in public.
The booths were designed for two, but Gregory led us to the back where the last booth added a straight chair in the dead-end part of the aisle.
“You sit there, Sandy,” he said to my mother, waving at the marginally more comfortable-looking bench. “I’ll take the chair.”
I took the booth seat across from my mother, and Gregory pulled the chair up against the end of the table. I was effectively trapped in the booth.
For an instant I wondered how my mother had managed to come along at just the right moment to find me in the middle of Main Street, hijack me for breakfast, and trap me in a tiny booth in the back of Dee’s Lunch with her and Gregory.
I dismissed the idea with a mental shudder. I needed to limit the number of paranoid fantasies I entertained at any one time, and Blake’s death had already used up several weeks’ worth. This one was ridiculous.
Mother and Gregory, despite their claims of going to breakfast, just ordered toast and coffee. I did the same in the hopes that signaled a brief stay.
Gregory carried the heavy china mugs from the counter and placed them ceremoniously on the table, as though he was presenting a fine wine.
Mom looked at him and said thanks, and I tried my best not to look at her. The goofy smile on her face gave me the oogies.
I had learned the hard way what happens when you trust a man with your finances and your heart, and I was afraid my mother was making the same mistake with Gregory. There was no way I could explain to her why I was worried, and no way she would believe me if I tried.
The conversation quickly went exactly where I didn’t want it to go—Blake Weston and his untimely death.
“Georgiana—” Gregory’s expression was somber. He looked like a mourner at a funeral for someone he didn’t really know. He was serious because he should be, but he wasn’t actually grieving.
“You knew the man that died out at the construction site, right? I heard he was from San Francisco. What was he doing out here in Pine Ridge?”
I took a deep breath. I remembered my morning workout and the sense of calm it had given me. I needed all the control I could get right now.
I turned to Gregory and spoke in a quiet voice. “I knew him several years ago, when I lived in the Bay Area. We worked together. I hadn’t seen him in years. He said he was here on a job, as security consultant for Chad McComb.”
He sipped his coffee, watching me over the rim of his mug. I held his gaze. I was not going to let Gregory Whitlock upset me again.
“Seems like a long way to come for a job. Aren’t there any security consultants around here? Or in Seattle?”
I smiled briefly, lifting the corners of my mouth in a meaningless gesture. “I don’t know why Chad hired him instead of getting someone local,” I replied. “But I do know he was one of the best. I suppose when you’re spending the kind of money McComb is, you get the best.”
“True.” Gregory paused as though he was considering my answer, but I had the distinct impres
sion he’d had his questions ready. “But he’s hired all local people for the rest of the project. Why bring in someone from out of town for this part?”
Annoyance overrode control for a second. “Computer security is a highly technical and difficult field. I’d expect Chad McComb to have equipment that goes beyond state-of-the-art to protect sensitive data.” I’d heard Chad still consulted for one of the big firms in Seattle. Sensitive didn’t begin to describe the data he might have access to.
I reined in my temper before I disclosed how much I really knew about security. No one needed to know, especially Gregory.
“I’m sure Chad still had connections in the industry. Someone probably recommended Blake Weston.”
I wondered if Gregory was really this ignorant, or if there was some other reason for his questions. I glanced at my mother, trying to figure out what her role in all this was.
“Have you heard anything, Mom?”
She shrugged, lifting her narrow shoulders a fraction of an inch. “No more than you have.” She turned to Gregory. “Did the sheriff say anything when you talked to him?”
I glanced quickly at Gregory. He’d talked to the sheriff?
“The sheriff talked to you about Blake’s death?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I stopped in to report some vandalism out at the Commons. Minor stuff, but I always have to make a police report for the insurance company.
“He was pretty closemouthed about the accident. Made me curious.”
I tried to accept his explanation at face value, although I wasn’t convinced. But if he wasn’t going to offer any other explanation, I would gladly let the subject drop.
chapter 16
We sat in silence for another minute or two, and I was about to ask Gregory to let me out when my mother spoke up.
“What were you looking for at the old dance studio, Georgiana? Maybe I can help you. We”—she waved her hand to include Gregory—“know the owners. It’s been empty for more than a year, so I might be able to get you a good deal.”
Her eyes sparkled, and she grew animated. “It would need some remodeling, I know. But you know the contractors now. I’m sure you could work something out.”
I shook my head, confused by her sudden enthusiasm. “Work something out for what?”
“For your office, or shop, or whatever you call it. You know, the computer business. It’s a wonderful idea!”
“Computer business?” I repeated. This was starting to feel like a conversation with Sue, and I clearly hadn’t had enough coffee to follow what she was saying.
“Of course. Isn’t that what you were looking at the space for? It’s a prime location, right on Main Street, with parking in front and the municipal lot one block over.
“Just think, Georgiana. Finally you could put that fancy degree to work!”
I squinted at her. She had jumped to several conclusions—all of them wrong—and gone into her sales pitch.
“Why would I want to start a computer business?” I asked.
Been there, done that, I added silently. Barely got out with the T-shirt on my back.
“You went to college for a lot of years, Georgiana. I would think you would want to use the knowledge you gained.”
She didn’t need to add the next sentence, the one I had heard all too often. The knowledge my father had paid all that money for. She conveniently forgot the jobs I’d held to help with expenses, and that I’d paid for grad school myself.
This was an argument that had been repeated so many times I could carry on both sides from memory.
She didn’t understand why I had to go away to college. I couldn’t wait to leave Pine Ridge. She thought Caltech was too expensive. I got grants and scholarships and loans to reduce the financial burden on her and Dad.
She thought I should find a good man and get married. I wanted an MS more than a Mrs.
The only thing worse than getting the fancy degrees was not using them to make money. Been there, done that, too. Saying it didn’t work out quite the way I’d hoped was the understatement of the century.
We were all ready to sing the same song, about the millionth verse, but there was really no sense in having the discussion again. Nothing would change, and all we would gain was hurt feelings—hers and mine.
Better to let her keep her illusions for a while longer. Especially with my finances. About the only thing I could afford to start was an argument.
“We’ll see,” I said, unconsciously echoing her standard answer when she didn’t want to say no. “It’s just an idea right now, until I’m in a little better financial shape.”
I grinned at her, hoping she would let it go for now. “But when I’m ready I’ll be sure to give you a call.”
I glanced at my watch—the good gold one today, since I wasn’t working—and made a shocked face. “I had no idea it was getting so late! Gregory, could you let me out, please? I have some errands I need to take care of this morning, and I’ve dawdled here far too long already.”
For one long moment I thought he was going to say no. He didn’t move for several seconds. He finally relaxed, though it appeared to take an effort, and slid the chair aside.
“I already took care of it,” he said, as I pulled some bills from my pocket.
“Thanks. Next time will be on me.” I suppose I meant it. I just hoped there wouldn’t be a next time. Fat chance.
I hadn’t lied to Mom and Gregory. I did have several errands, although I didn’t have to do them today.
I’d promised myself I would improve my cooking habits. The first step was a trip to the supermarket. I drove the mile or so to the local market and went to work on my new plan to cook dinner at home—at least a couple nights a week.
I stocked up on canned soup and packaged meal makers. It wasn’t gourmet fare by any stretch of the imagination, but at least I was making an effort.
The refrigerator was empty, so I added some staples like eggs and milk and butter. Some cheese—the individually wrapped slices we’d called shingles in college—peanut butter and jelly, and a fresh jar of marmalade.
I got dog food and paper towels.
A real Susie Homemaker. I blame it on spending the morning with my mother.
I felt all warm and cozy taking my bags out to the Beetle and stowing them in the front-end trunk. I had taken my time, but I was settling into my new role as a small-town single.
Talking with Sue had been a good idea. I was more relaxed and felt more connected than I had since I returned from San Francisco.
Pine Ridge was a small town, but it was my small town.
Which was what I thought until my cell phone rang as I was climbing into the driver’s seat.
I glanced at the caller ID, having had enough of my mother for one morning. It was the number for the library.
“Hi, Paula.” I put the key in the ignition but I waited to start the car. I didn’t have a hands-free phone, so I usually didn’t talk while I was driving.
“Georgie? Hi. Where are you?”
“I went to the grocery store, but I was just getting in the car to go home. What do you need?”
“It’s not me, actually, it’s Barry. He’s here. He went by your house but the Beetle was gone, and he asked me to call you. Can you stop by on your way home?”
“I guess so. Can’t stay long. I have a trunk full of food that needs to get in the refrigerator.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in a few.”
I hung up and started the engine. Paula had sounded strained, not her usual sunny self. And she wanted me to stop by right now, even though my trunk was full of groceries.
I concentrated on not thinking about what Barry wanted. If he was looking for me like this, it couldn’t be good.
I thought about Paula instead. We had known each other in school, though she was a few years older, and we’d become friends in the months since I’d moved back to Pine Ridge. I wondered why she’d kept her maiden name and one of these days I was going to ask her abo
ut it.
Knowing Paula, there was a story attached. There was always a story with Paula. She loved telling stories and her favorites were of the touching love-story variety. Her life with Barry seemed to fit right in.
Barry’s pickup was parked in front of the library, so I pulled around the corner and parked in the lot. The small clapboard building sat on the corner of the high school, and from across the parking lot I could see a crowd of teenagers milling around and calling to each other. Must be lunchtime.
I locked the Beetle, grateful for the cool weather. The milk, cheese, and butter would be okay for a little while.
Inside, the library looked like it always did, except for the bulky man in the heavy boots behind the counter. He looked very much out of place.
“Hi, Georgie. Thanks for stopping by.” Barry picked up a mug off the desk, and gave Paula’s shoulder a squeeze. “Come on back and have a cup of coffee.”
It occurred to me that Barry could have just called me to the office, but had chosen to track me down instead. It was looking worse with each passing minute. I mentally started calculating whether I could live on unemployment benefits. Maybe Mom was right, I should start doing computer work. At least it would keep the dogs fed.
I followed Barry into the tiny kitchen in the back, and poured myself a cup from Paula’s never-empty coffee pot.
Barry set his cup down and leaned against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest.
I stood near the back door, even though it was never opened and couldn’t really provide an escape. I held my mug with both hands, my cold hands drawing warmth from the hot liquid.
“I need to talk to you, Georgie.”
“I figured that, Bear.” I used his nickname, and hoped this could be one of those “big brother” moments.
“If you have to lay me off I’ll understand. Honest.”
“Lay you off? Whatever gave you that crazy idea?”
“I know you’re short of work with the sheriff keeping the McComb site shut down.” I swallowed hard. “Has he given you any idea when we can get back to work?”
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