Halos

by Kristen Heitzmann

  Steve spread his hands. “He was looking strangely at Alessi, then he hid behind a shelf when she started toward him.” Steve knew how it sounded. “It’s nothing personal, Ben. I’m just curious.”

  Ben swallowed. “Pastor recommends courting, and only after eighteen. If Carl’s got a girlfriend, I sure don’t know it. He’s … really come along.”

  Yesterday Steve had noticed the kid’s polite behavior, his almost slick demeanor. He hadn’t looked that way today. There’d been something feral in his look. “It was pretty strange.”

  Ben scanned the store, then returned his gaze. “I thought your Christmas date was just to ward off the gals.”

  He had expected Ben would take it that way. “This isn’t about me, or our date, or anything like that. I’m just not sure …”

  Ben looked as though he didn’t really want to know.

  “I’m not sure all is right in paradise.”

  “Alessi’s fine. She’s got good sense, even if she did lose her car.”

  Steve closed his eyes and expelled his breath. “Listen to you, Ben. You won’t even consider the subject. Something’s wrong here.”

  “Carl’s had it pretty bad. I’d hate for people to start pointing fingers.”

  “Yeah. Maybe Dave pinched the Mustang. You know how he is with cars.”

  Ben frowned. “We don’t know anything for sure.”

  “I thought we did. I thought we believed Alessi’s story.”

  “Well, I do.” Ben ran a hand over his strands of hair.

  “Then someone took it, Ben.”

  Ben dangled his arms. “You think it’s Carl?”

  He hadn’t. He’d only wondered why Carl had acted so strangely. “I don’t know. I didn’t see it in their driveway.”

  Ben smiled. “No, I don’t suppose so. Pastor wouldn’t feel right in a sporty little number like that.”

  Steve returned the smile. “Wonder how Alessi likes my truck.” At Ben’s raised eyebrows, he explained her mission. “Think I’ll ever see it again?”

  “Yes, I do.” Staunch and steadfast.

  Steve’s concern eased. “I just wish we could figure it out.”

  “There’s an explanation, I’m sure. Maybe Cooper—”

  “If you say that one more time, I’m taking you down.” Steve glared.

  “You know I can.”

  “You think you can.”

  Actually, wrestling Ben was like tackling an octopus. “Cooper is not the answer. He’s an old man with a bad hip and less inclination than a sloth.”

  “Then you figure it out,” Ben said. “But watch that you don’t jump to conclusions.”

  Steve pictured Carl’s face again when he hadn’t known anyone was watching. Maybe it was the wrong conclusion, but he had to start somewhere. He went back to the store, unlocked a case that held valuable inventory and one thing that wasn’t for sale. He took out his father’s scrapbook.

  The pain was too sharp to start it at the beginning. But he opened to a place nearer to the end, then turned pages looking for anything to do with the pact. A newspaper clipping caught his eye, and a chill washed over him. Beth Hansen Missing.

  Steve stared at the picture and understanding flooded his mind. No wonder Carl had looked at Alessi that way.

  Alessi pulled the truck up to the back of the bookstore and parked. She had not been arrested or questioned or even looked at twice. Steve had forgotten to give her money for the purchase, but she’d had the wad of bills in her pocket since she was not about to leave it behind. She considered circling to the front but tried rapping on the back door first. Steve ought to hear it from his desk.

  The door opened a moment later. She handed him the paper with the package of candy on top. He took it with a strange look on his face. What now? He motioned her in and closed the door behind them. When they reached the desk, he said, “What was your mother’s name?”

  “Shannon.”

  “Your aunt?”

  “Carrie.”

  “Any other sisters?”

  What on earth? Alessi frowned. “No, why?”

  He shook his head and set the things on the desk. “I forgot to give you money.”

  She pulled out her bills. “I had it.”

  “That’s yours. Got the receipt?”

  She took that out and handed it over. He stooped to open the small safe under the desk, took out a cash box, and gave her the amount on the receipt.

  “It sure was different driving that big truck.”

  He glanced up. “Does that mean you backed into something?”

  “You’re a very suspicious sort.”

  “Well?”

  She opened the package of candies and refilled the bowl. “No, I didn’t back it into anything.”

  “Good.” He lifted a large album and locked it into a glass case.

  She patted the candies into an even mound. “Did you do much business?”

  “Not much.”

  “That’s good.”

  He turned from the case. “Why?”

  She held up the register key dangling from her wrist. “You’d have had a hard time ringing up the sales.”

  He looked from the key to her face. “I stepped out for a while.” So that explained it. “Didn’t want me here, robbing you blind?”

  “What?”

  “I wondered why you sent me out when there’s most of a ream there under the printer and no one eating the candy but you.” Why did it hurt every time she saw what someone thought of her? She should be used to it. Especially from him.

  He balked. “No, I … If I thought you’d steal something I would hardly have handed over my truck.”

  She swallowed. That was a good point. But he’d definitely made up some silly excuse to get rid of her. A thought dropped like a coin in a slot machine. “Do you know something? Did they find my car?”

  Steve shook his head. “No.” He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. No car, but there was something he wasn’t telling.

  Frustration crawled her throat. “What’s going on?” He glared. “I was worried.”

  She stared into his face. “About me?”

  “Yes. Sort of.”

  She scanned the store, confused.

  “It doesn’t matter; I figured it out.” He circled the desk and sat down.

  Figured what out? She stood her fingers on the desk. “You know something.”

  “No, I don’t. I was on the wrong track.” He looked up. “I read it wrong and reacted.”

  Her fingers softened. He’d been afraid for her. He had protected her. Never mind that he’d been mistaken. Warmth poured over her like molasses. “Well … thanks.”

  He bushed his hair up like a shaggy hedgehog and started typing.

  With Alessi busy at the front of the store, Steve accessed the library files of the Chambers City Chronicle dating over five years ago. There was the article his father had clipped noting the disappearance of one of Charity’s citizens. Beth Hansen was reported missing by her husband, Duke. A search had been organized but proved unsuccessful.

  Steve studied the enlarged photograph on his screen. The similarity was less in features than in type: blond curling hair, thin neck, and something vulnerable in the expression. It had been a lot of years since he’d seen Beth in person, and he hadn’t paid much attention since she’d been older and married. He hardly remembered her, but what he recalled was the sense of someone waiting for calamity.

  A subsequent article was only a couple of paragraphs. They had found a letter stating Beth’s decision to leave Charity and her husband, Duke. The search had been discontinued.

  Steve leaned back in the chair, his chest constricting, though not by memories anymore. He couldn’t access the loss he’d felt when his mother left. It was more the lingering questions, the anger, the sense that he was in some way deficient. No wonder Carl had stared at Alessi with a look of hunger and disdain. He’d been seeing his mother’s face.

  It must have been a jolt.
Steve rubbed his hand over his eyes. How many times had he imagined his own mother’s return? He’d looked for her in every new face, wondering. Carl had eleven years of recognition to draw on. He could not have missed the likeness between Alessi and his mother. Even the obvious age difference might not have registered, since Carl’s memories would be years old. No surprise that he’d frozen and hid. Steve wished he could have talked to him, but what would he have said?

  He got up and watched Alessi working on a shelf he rarely bothered with. The books there were in poor condition, not worth much. But she was taking each one, wiping it clean of dust and cobwebs, and carefully replacing it as though they were all priceless. He supposed she couldn’t tell the difference.

  She took one out and started to wipe it, then paused, running her finger over something on the cover. Curious, he approached her. The book was Religious Art of the Renaissance, the cover Filippo Lippi’s Adoration. Alessi was tracing the halo around the Madonna’s head.

  Steve leaned over her. “Is that what you see?”

  She shook her head, glancing up. “No. I just see light.” He nodded. “Those are symbolic. A halo motif.”

  “Oh.” She opened the book and paged slowly through the fragile leaves. The binding was all but shot, though the pages were in fair condition. She turned to The Madonna of the Rocks by da Vinci and paused.

  Steve waited curiously to see if she would pick up on the accepted halo elements in the work, the diffused light around the Madonna’s head, her cupped hand suspended over the infant Jesus.

  She studied it a long time, then turned the page.

  He said, “I guess you’re not alone in your angel sightings.”

  She balanced the barely hinged book across her knees. “I don’t see angels—just halos and the good that comes after.”

  Steve rolled her words over in his mind. Definitely not the language of a T-shirt mongering beach babe, yet there was a lack of sophistication, almost ignorance, in spite of her knowledge of stories. Maybe gaps in her education, like migrant workers’ kids. She was a study in contradictions—either the most real person he’d met or the con of all cons.

  As it was, the last few days had been interesting to say the least. Certainly distracting and not unenjoyable, which was saying a lot since the grief of Dad’s passing pressed in. It was also the first Christmas without Barb, but he didn’t miss her. He did, in dark moments, hope she was shivering in some shack, but he doubted it. The poor sod she chose had probably taken her out of Alaska to the big city, where he carried her design books and took pictures of her events.

  More power to you. My blessing on you both. And my deepest thanks for returning my sanity. He squatted next to Alessi and flicked the book’s flimsy spine. “I ought to have that bound. Dad used to do the repairs himself, but I never learned how.”

  “Things get lost between generations.”

  He looked into her face. “What did you lose?”

  “Family.”

  Nineteen

  ALESSI APPROACHED BEN AT THE COUNTER as he closed out the register for the day. He looked up. “Hey, Alessi.”

  “Hi, Ben.” The picture of Clark Gable as Rhett Butler lay on tissue at the counter. “What’s this for?”

  “Mary’s Christmas present. She won’t say it, but I know she likes that piece of my collection best.” He formed a wry smile. “Most gals would, I guess.”

  “That’s really nice.”

  “She’s got one of those Barbie dolls dressed up as Scarlet. So I think she could hang this near the doll.”

  Alessi nodded. “That’d be great. Sort of like he’s the big dream in her mind.” She had loved Gone With the Wind. Scarlett’s “Tomorrow is another day” had resonated somewhere deep inside her. No matter the obstacle, the setback, she could dig down and face another day. That was when she learned to stand up straight and stop hunching her shoulders.

  “Ben, I was hoping you could do me a favor.”

  “Sure.”

  She laughed. “You haven’t heard it yet.”

  He gathered the picture with the tissue and tucked it all under the counter. “What is it?”

  “Would you drive me around to find my car? I’ve gone about as far as I can on foot.”

  “You want to look in the dark?” He glanced out the station windows.

  “Steve doesn’t close until after the sun’s down, but I have been searching in the morning before he opens.”

  Ben frowned. “By yourself?”

  She sighed. “I hope I’m not the only one looking, but I’m not too confident Sheriff Roehr is putting out his best effort.”

  Ben took his keys and headed her toward the door. “I’ll drive you around some.”

  The gasoline-scented air bit when they stepped out, and Alessi pulled her collar close. After Ben locked the station, she climbed into his Jeep Cherokee. She might not be able to see much in the dark, but she’d at least get a feel for the area and where she could look in the daylight. Then again, she might actually see the Mustang. You never knew if you didn’t try.

  Ben’s radio played “Sultans of Swing,” then Roy Orbison’s “Crying,” followed by the Beach Boys and Kansas, as he drove slowly around the outlying areas. She breathed the lingering aroma of coffee and French fries. Ben’s car wasn’t too tidy. But she noticed a kid’s-meal box and guessed part of the clutter was Cait’s and Lyn’s. Ben’s stomach growled.

  She turned from the window. “You’re hungry.”

  He tipped his chin. “I can’t say no when my stomach just said yes.”

  “Let’s go back. I’ll look again tomorrow.”

  Ben brought the car around and drove them to the house. “Sure am sorry about your car.”

  “I know. But I’ll find it.” It was getting harder to sound confident. But tomorrow was another day.

  Steve drew the fry basket out and tipped the crisp, battered fish and chips onto the paper towels. He glanced up when Ben and Alessi walked in together. She had slipped out from the store without his noticing, and it irked him now to see her with Ben. He ought to be glad she hadn’t gone off alone in the dark as he’d thought. But she had snuck out without a word. Weren’t women supposed to be the great communicators?

  Alessi went into the bathroom, and Steve accosted Ben. “Where were you?” He had checked the station and found it locked up.

  Ben whispered, “She wanted to look for her car. I drove her around.”

  Steve frowned. “Where?”

  “South side mainly.”

  She could have asked him. Maybe it was just that he was occupied. Or she didn’t trust him to help. “Did you see anything?”

  Ben shook his head. “It was pretty dark. And I doubt it’s here.”

  Steve rumpled his hair. Alessi hadn’t chased it in the street lately. Maybe she had been mistaken the other night. Maybe the car was miles away. He almost hoped so.

  Alessi came into the kitchen. “Sure smells good.”

  Was there any food she didn’t like? “It’s not bikini food. Except the salad.” He pointed to the chopped tomato and cucumber in vinaigrette.

  Dave came in and washed up at the sink with his green bar of Lava soap. “Smells like fish.”

  Steve had to admit this meal would be with them for a while, but sometimes on a cold night there was nothing like the crisp, greasy taste of battered cod and fries. And on his night it was his choice. Alessi pitched in by setting the table, and he carried the platter of fried food. They gathered and Ben said a blessing. Alessi murmured a caveat to help her find her car. Maybe that was the answer: God.

  Dave might not appreciate the smell, but he dug into the meal. Steve watched Alessi as they ate. She seemed subdued, probably from her fruitless search. He had a sudden urge to drive her around himself. Not with any expectation of finding it, but just to show he was willing to try. Why had she gone to Ben instead?

  Dave wiped his mouth. “Diana’s coming over to play dictionary.”

  Steve shared a glance with
Ben. Not exactly his plan for the evening, though he wasn’t sure what he’d do instead. Probably go back to the store and work. Except that was Alessi’s space after hours. She’d probably play the game, though.

  “Karen’s coming, too, Steve.”

  He jerked up his head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “We’ll be outnumbered if you run off.”

  He frowned. “You won’t beat them anyway.”

  “We might.”

  Alessi laid down her fork. “What’s dictionary?”

  Dave pushed his plate aside. “We make two teams, guys and gals. One team chooses a word from the dictionary and writes out its definition. Then they make up three more. The other team has to guess the right one.”

  She nodded. “Sounds like fun. Why don’t you like it, Steve?”

  “No one said I didn’t.” He looked at the guys. “I just have work to do.”

  Ben sighed. “You’re worse than Dave on an engine. At least he knows when to quit.”

  Steve dragged his last bite of fish through the malt vinegar on his plate. It hadn’t always been this way. He had never been one to sit around, nor was he plagued with tunnel vision. Only since Dad’s death and Barb’s desertion had he learned to hibernate.

  Okay, maybe he wasn’t the most gregarious man by nature. Barb had driven him crazy with her constant social needs. Companionship was fine, but did everything have to be a party? He met Alessi’s gaze. “I’ll play.” She might guess him incapable of fun, but he was good with words and conniving. Nowhere near Karen’s proficiency, but no matter.

  He had barely finished cleaning up the kitchen when the women arrived, Karen bearing her two-volume Webster’s tome. That was another inequity. She probably studied the thing at night like a Bible, so she’d know where to look for the most insidious words. They clustered in their teams, and he noted again how Alessi had connected with the two women. No doubt all of Charity would have embraced her—if it weren’t for the car.

  In his visits he’d sensed almost a resentment of Alessi for accusing Charity of something impossible. Or at the least for bringing temptation in the form of her shiny red car. He wished she’d never lost it. Did he wish she’d never come?