“I said that I’ve done pretty well for myself. And, to be honest with you—”
Footsteps from behind us interrupted. I turned, happy to see whoever it was. I mean, it could have been Jack the Ripper, and I would have leaped into his arms, singing “Glory, hallelujah!” at the top of my lungs. But when I turned, I saw Donna approaching. “
Hey, Burnett,” she called out. “Banking day, eh?”
“Deputy,” Bob returned. “Looks like you’re heading out somewhere.”
It was then I noticed that she wasn’t in uniform and had a tote bag in her hand. “Where are you going?”
She gave me one of her “eat dirt and die” looks. “Not that it’s any of your concern, Evangeline, but what I have here is my workout clothes.”
“Oh,” I said.
“You look all dressed up. Where are you going?”
I had taken some extra time this morning with my choice of outfit before seeing Vernon, pulling on a new denim patchwork jacket with appliquéd autumn leaves in celebration of the upcoming holiday.
I ignored the question. Donna knew good and well where I was going. Sensing my determination not to answer, she then peered at my covered cake plate. “Looks like you’ve got something sweet there.”
I smiled. “It’s for your father.”
Donna smirked. “I figured. Apparently you’re unaware of his high cholesterol.”
Bob chuckled again. Good heavens, that man must have one fine-tuned sense of humor. “Oh, so that’s for Vernon, is it?” Bob asked. For a moment I could have sworn there was a hint of disappointment in his voice.
“Yes.” I turned my gaze toward the building but kept my feet planted firmly in place. If Donna and Bob were going to keep talking, I wanted to make sure I didn’t become the subject matter of their conversation.
“Hey, Donna,” Bob said, turning his attention back to Donna. “I’ve got a question for you. Have you met the new gal down at the tavern?”
“I haven’t met her exactly, but I know who you’re talking about. In fact, I see her just about every day over at the café.”
I broke in. “There’s someone new in town?” My next thought was of Lisa Leann and how she’d swooped into town and tried to butt in on my position as president of the Potluck.
Donna nodded. “Name’s Dee Dee.”
“McGurk,” Bob supplied the last name. “Not a bad little number.”
Donna screwed up her face. “If you don’t mind the washed-up type. That woman’s got more lines on her face than a map,” she said. “She might have been pretty once, but who can tell? Keeps her head down most of the time. I suspect she’s been abused, the way she acts. Burnett, don’t tell me you’re interested.”
Bob straightened his belt, readjusting it to his hips. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” he answered, winking at me. A wink that unfortunately didn’t escape Donna’s eagle eyes.
I decided I’d had enough of this banter. “Er, is he … your father … is he inside?”
“He is,” she said, then patted her bag. “I’d best be going. Good to see you again, Burnett.” She looked at me and forced a smile. “You be careful around that old lady Dee Dee. You never know what trouble she might stir up.”
I hurried into the county building and headed straight for the sheriff ’s office, which is really just a square room with a lot of desks, filing cabinets, and a smaller office jutting off the back wall just for Vernon. Not that it’s top-notch on privacy. The door is half glass, and the walls on either side are glassed from about the waistline of a normal adult on up. In a way, this is nice because it allows anyone who comes in to see straight through to the walls behind Vernon’s desk, where a real man’s man exhibit is displayed. Awards, plaques, framed newspaper articles, a gun rack stacked with rifles, and—Vernon’s prize—a personally autographed, framed glossy photo of himself and President George W. Bush.
“W” is Vernon’s hero.
As soon as I slipped into the main office, I had a clear view of Vernon sitting at his desk, looking intently at something he held in his hands. I couldn’t tell what; Vernon has such stacks of papers and files on his desk, it’s hard to sort one thing from another. I offered to organize it for him once, and he said if I touched a thing he’d shoot me with one of the guns off the rack. I don’t think he was serious, but with a man like Vernon you can never be sure. He did, however, allow me to dust the plaques and awards … and the old framed photo of him and Donna, taken when she was about four or five years old. About the time Doreen took off.
But enough about her. I set the cake plate on the nearest desk to the door, then crept up, ready to surprise him with my presence.
“Hello, Mr. Law Enforcement,” I called out as I reached the opened door.
Vernon looked up as if he’d been shot, then dropped what he’d had in his hand, which by now I could make out was an old brass frame. Probably the one around the picture of him and Donna, I figured. “Evie,” he said a bit too gruffly. “You scared me.” He stood so quickly his chair rolled backward, stopping only when it hit the wall behind him.
I looked toward the desk and the piles of papers and stacks of files to where Vernon had dropped the frame. My mouth fell open and formed a silent O.
“Evie—it’s not what you think.”
“It’s exactly what I think! Why are you looking at an old picture of Doreen Roberts?” I asked. But before he could answer I turned on my heel and headed for the door. “No, never mind. I don’t think I want to know.” I stopped at the desk, where my cake sat on top, and whirled back to face Vernon. He hadn’t moved from behind his desk. “Here’s the cake you wanted. I hope you choke on it!”
I turned again and headed out the door.
“Evie, wait!” he called out, but I kept walking, slamming the door on my way to the parking lot, where once again I saw Bob Burnett. This time, though, he was headed away from the bank.
“Evie, you all right?” he asked.
“I’m just fine, thank you very much,” I said, not so much as stopping. Mainly for fear that Vernon would come out the door and make a scene in the middle of town. A quick look over my shoulder, however, told me that he had made no such move.
“Trouble in paradise?” Bob asked.
I stopped and glared at him. “Paradise, Bob Burnett, is a fairy tale made up by people too silly to grow up and face the realities of life.”
Bob laughed loudly. “I don’t have a clue as to what you’re talking about, but if you and Vernon are having a little tiff—and I suspect you are—then this is my lucky day. I wanted to ask you earlier if you’d like to go to a movie or to dinner or something … but then Donna interrupted me and—”
“Do you mean like on a date?”
Bob shrugged. “If you want to call it that. If you don’t, we can just say we’re two old friends having dinner … or going to a movie …”
“But we’re not old friends. We’ve hardly been friends at all.”
“We’ve known each other our whole entire lives, Evangeline. Sure we’re friends.”
“Why me, Bob Burnett? I’d have thought you’d be calling … what was her name? Dee Dee?”
Bob grinned at me. “Jealous?”
From the corner of my eye I saw the front door of the county building opening and then Vernon stepping out. “Evangeline!” he called, but I ignored him.
Bob chuckled again. “If this were paradise,” he said, reverting to the old subject at hand, “I’d say the snake has just crawled in, and Eve’s got a decision to make. You gonna eat from the tree or not, milady?”
I looked from Bob to Vernon (who had come to a stop between us and the building, I suppose trying to figure out what was going on) and back to Bob again.
Bob Burnett. He’d always been a weasely man in my opinion, but I guess not altogether distasteful. At least he didn’t have Doreen Roberts in his background, clouding up what could have been and should have been the bright spot of my entire lifetime.
I turned towa
rd my car, took a few steps, then turned back and said, “Tonight. Pick me up at 7:00, and we’ll go get something to eat.” I was just loud enough for Vernon to hear me, and I glanced his way to make double sure he had. From the look on his face, my fiery dart had hit the mark. I looked back to Bob. “And don’t be late.”
13
Between a Rock and a Hard Place
If he hadn’t been hot on the trail of another story, Clay would have missed what was surely something he needed to look into a bit further. Evangeline Benson, frozen between Bob Burnett and Sheriff Vesey.
He rolled his jeep to a slow stop near the side entrance of the county building, then leaned over and rolled the passenger’s side window down just enough to hear the confrontation.
Evie Benson and Bob Burnett? Going out on a date?
Well, this should make Donna happy, if nothing else. He pondered whether or not to call her. She’d be getting ready to head to L.A. Maybe, if he caught her off guard, he could find out who she was going with and if she were meeting Harris there for a … fling.
He closed his eyes against the thought, then jerked straight when Sheriff Vesey spoke from the opened window. “Get what you came for, Clay?”
Clay stared into the steely eyes of the sheriff. “Ah …” he stammered, then flushed. “Just dropping by to check the arrest sheet.”
“Arrest sheet, my eye,” Vernon retorted. “Go on, now. Get off government property before I make you a permanent resident.”
Flustered, Clay forgot about his reporting assignment and headed back toward his one comfort in life: Higher Grounds Café.
14
Rye Getaway
I had spent a busy morning running errands around town. Now, I walked down to the bus stop, located only a few hundred yards down the mountain from my bungalow, pulling a piece of Lisa Leann’s red designer luggage behind me. The suitcase left a trail of grooves in the layer of fresh snow.
The noontime sun warmed my face as the frigid air frosted my breath. As I walked, I reviewed my and Vonnie’s bold escape plan to slip out of Summit View for a mad-dash weekend trip to Los Angeles. I felt a shiver of excitement as I sat down on the bench and swung my large canvas bag beside me.
“Besides the suitcases you’ll need a tote bag,” Lisa Leann had informed me. “For the personal things you want to take on the plane, including your purse, a water bottle, a good book or magazine, and food. That is, unless you want to pay ten bucks for a greasy, oversized hamburger at the gate.”
As an inexperienced traveler, I had taken Lisa Leann’s advice, borrowing a tote bag from my dad before packing it with a couple of Reuben sandwiches for Vonnie and me.
Beneath the startling blue sky, I inhaled the cold air into my lungs and looked down the mountain into the town spread before me in Rye Getaway miniature. From my vantage point, I could watch the progress of the town’s shuttle creeping up the grade toward me and belching puffs of bus exhaust.
As I surveyed the town, I could see the “Potluck Players” were moving into place.
Fred’s truck was pulling out of his neighborhood toward town. And Goldie’s car was already in front of the Higher Grounds Café, parked next to a blue jeep. Lucky for us, Goldie had the afternoon off because her boss was entertaining an old friend. I had called her at her daughter’s home the night before. She’d been rather enthusiastic. “You got it, girlfriend! I’d love to help Vonnie by playing a decoy and driving the two of you to DIA. Sign me up!”
Even now, she was probably sitting in the café, watching Clay watch her. I could just imagine him sipping his coffee and jotting notes on the fact that Goldie’s car displayed a bit of luggage protruding out of the backseat (my own, but he would never guess that).
My bus pulled up to the stop, and the double doors opened. I nodded at the driver and took my seat. The bus turned around at the end of the cul-de-sac across from my log bungalow, then headed back toward town.
It was a beautiful day. The pines were iced with snow while the aspens lifted their now sleeveless arms into the clear, cold sky. A warm feeling of satisfaction engulfed me. All was ready. This would be a good day to outwit Clay Whitefield. Let the games begin.
It was, in fact, Clay who opened the door to the café for me as I struggled to roll my luggage through. It was just my carry-on, but he had no way of knowing that. In fact, my whole rendezvous with Goldie at the café was a ruse to point suspicion in Goldie’s direction, without having to lie.
“Here, let me help you.”
Clay’s eyes were shining bright with anticipation. “Looks like you’re heading out for a trip.”
I shrugged. “Looks that way.”
He followed me to Goldie’s table. She looked radiant with her new haircut, but the glow on her face, well, even Lisa Leann’s high-powered blush couldn’t have painted that. It had to be from the anticipation of our “great escape,” I decided. I sat down across from her. “Looks like I have time for the ham quiche special and a cup of coffee,” I said. Even as I spoke, Sal was on the job, pouring a cup.
“The quiche,” she said, having overheard me.
I nodded, and she disappeared.
I looked up at Clay, who still stood at our table. “You’re staring, Clay.”
“Well, I’m curious. Where are the two of you going?”
Wade Gage undraped himself off a nearby stool at the counter and joined Clay.
“Morning, Wade.” I turned back to Clay. “The two of us?”
Clay indicated Goldie’s car with a nod of his head. “You’re not the only one with luggage I see.”
Goldie beamed. “I’m not going anywhere but to drop Donna off at DIA. That’s her luggage I picked up earlier.”
Wade folded his arms, a look of suspicion etched on his face. He turned to Clay. “I can tell you where Donna’s going,” he said. “Wasn’t it just a month ago when she took up with her new Hollywood boyfriend, David-what’s-his-name?” He frowned. “She’s going to see him.”
Wade’s twist to my carefully created intrigue was one I hadn’t thought of, but it only added to my ruse. I gave the boys the protest they expected, careful not to deny or confirm their conclusion about my destination. “David Harris is not my boyfriend.”
Clay turned and looked at me, contemplating this new idea. “Wade, that’s something to consider.”
Again, I repeated myself, this time with irritated emphasis. “David Harris is not my boyfriend.”
Wade turned back to Clay, who said, “The lady doth protest too much.”
Wade followed with, “Definitely a cover-up.”
I rolled my eyes. “Wade, even if Dave Harris and I were, ah, close, it’d be none of your business.” I turned my attention back to Clay. “Or yours.”
Clay asked, “But you are going to L.A., right?”
“If you must know, an old friend is in the hospital. Goldie’s dropping me off at DIA.” I finished my coffee and stood up, walking to the counter, where Sally was waiting. “Give me the quiche to go,” I said. “I’m out of time, and I’ve still gotta swing by the bank.”
Moments later, as Goldie and I put my suitcase in the backseat of her car, Clay and Wade stepped out onto the sidewalk to watch our departure.
“Have a nice trip, ladies,” Clay said. “I want a full report on how David Harris is doing when you get back.”
Wade pulled his denim baseball cap lower over his eyes. “Well, now, that makes two of us.”
Before Clay could get in his jeep to follow us out of town, Lisa Leann called to him from her shop, right on cue. “Clay!”
She darted across the street. “You’re just the man I wanted to see.” She turned to Goldie and me as we climbed into the car. “Pardon me, ladies, Clay and I have some unfinished business.” She winked at me, then put her arm through Clay’s and led him back to the restaurant door. She said, “Now, the next edition of the paper comes out on, what day did you say, this Monday—or is it Wednesday?”
Clay looked back over his shoulder, an
d I waved to him. For a moment he looked confused, but before he could react, Lisa had pulled him through the door, leaving only Wade to stare at our departure.
Goldie giggled. “That was the most fun I’ve had in ages,” she said, pulling into the bank parking lot. “Honey, I had no idea you had so many beaus.”
“Those two knuckleheads?” I asked. “No thanks to either one of them.”
She pulled to the back of the bank, next to Fred and Vonnie’s pickup truck. Even if Clay had his nose pressed to the Higher Grounds window, he would never be able to see our little gathering.
As I was getting out of Goldie’s Crown Victoria, Evie popped her head out of the bank and glared. Oh boy. She must have somehow found out about our secret mission to L.A. If so, she’d be especially steamed because she would know I had rather intentionally neglected to mention it when I saw her down at the county building earlier.
“Donna Vesey, what kind of stunt do you think you’re pulling? Did you think I wouldn’t find out about these shenanigans?”
“Good afternoon to you too, Evie. What stunt are you referring to?”
“Now, I’m not saying that what you’re doing isn’t right. I mean, we’ve got to get Vonnie to L.A, and behind Clay Whitefield’s back too.”
I studied her. Evie was once again wearing new clothes, a cute denim appliquéd jacket, new jeans, and kicky black boots with heels. What a difference from the Evie of a month ago who looked like she’d been stored in mothballs in the back of her closet. I blinked. Why, she even appeared to have a dash of Lisa Leann’s lipstick splashed across her prim mouth. Hopefully she wasn’t planning on kissing my dad with those painted lips.
I took a deep breath. Be nice, I told myself. Don’t show her a spark of your outrage. I kept my voice even, though my hands were perched on my hips. “So, Evie, what’s the problem?”
“The problem is you’ve tried to leave me out of one of the biggest coups the Potluck’s ever pulled.”
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