But Liam read the business card and carefully tucked it into his shirt pocket. “Thanks.”
They turned onto Main Street beside the barbershop.
“I think I’ll stop for a paper,” Jack said. He would play this cool and reel Liam in at the right moment. “Get food you like for dinner. If you have to work late, you should at least enjoy something about your evening. Listen to the voice of experience.”
Jack ducked into the barbershop, where he’d risked having his hair cut a few times, and waved at Henry Healy getting a trim in one of the three barber chairs.
Trace Hulett, the barber, made a couple of snips. “I’m getting ready to close up.”
“No problem. I just came in for a newspaper.” Jack picked up a copy of the Dispatch from the stack on the counter and left fifty cents.
Outside, he opened the paper, which he read more for amusement than information. The paper came out on Tuesdays but was printed on Monday nights. This edition had headlines about the failed banquet on Saturday night, the unknown driver of Quinn’s crashed car, and the vandalism and theft at the mayor’s bookshop. Marv Stanford was probably kicking rocks at the missed opportunity to cover the damage to Dani’s boat while it was fresh. It would be old news by next Tuesday.
It all would.
Jack leaned against the building, scanning the newspaper’s columns and finding nothing he hadn’t already heard by roaming the sidewalks. Voices approached, and Jack looked up to see Sylvia Alexander and Cooper Elliott, their arms full of food bags.
“Evening,” he said.
“Hello, Jack,” they said in unison. Both seemed equally surprised to see him there.
“Did Lauren tell you about Nicole’s ankle?” Jack said. “I took them to the hospital.”
“Yes,” Sylvia said. “We’re just heading up to Lauren’s with some food.”
“I haven’t forgotten about making those calls,” Jack said. “I’m still following up on a few things.”
“What calls?” Cooper held open the door to the hall leading to apartments above the barber and newspaper shops.
“Jack thought he might know some people who could help us.” Sylvia shifted the load in her arms.
“I see.” Cooper looked at Jack. “Our investigation is progressing satisfactorily, if not as rapidly as some might hope.”
Sylvia elbowed Cooper. “Jack’s only trying to help.”
“That’s right.” Jack folded the newspaper in half.
“Dani’s fine,” Sylvia said, “at least we think she is. We found someone who spoke to her this morning. She wasn’t in the boat when it went over the falls.”
“That’s good news.” Jack returned Cooper’s glare. “Do you have a suspect for that crime, or has it fallen into the same category as the others?”
Cooper cleared his throat. “As you know, the legal system runs on evidence. We’re not in the habit of making accusations prematurely.”
Jack stuck his tongue into a cheek.
“I’m sure you have matters in your own practice to attend to,” Cooper said. “You don’t have to feel any obligation to meddle in the sheriff’s affairs.”
Sylvia went through the door Cooper held open. Cooper followed without looking over his shoulder at Jack.
Meddle.
Jack wadded up the worthless newsprint people in Hidden Falls thought passed as a newspaper and stuffed it in a trash can.
7:32 p.m.
Sylvia lifted Nicole’s plate from the awkward lap that results from eating in an extended recliner.
“You didn’t eat much,” Sylvia said.
“Too much work.” Nicole put her head back. “I feel rubbery.”
“It’s the medication.”
“I know. But I still hate it.”
Sylvia handed Nicole a covered cup with a straw. “You should stay hydrated.”
“For a broken ankle?”
“In general. Water helps most everything.” Sylvia had the same conversation with her mother on a regular basis and wondered how much hydration accounted for the hours, or even days, when Emma seemed in good shape cognitively compared to the times when she seemed more confused.
Nicole took a long sip through the straw. “I can’t believe how one step changed everything.”
“Tomorrow will be better.” Sylvia stacked her own plate on top of Nicole’s. “Years ago I had surgery on one knee. I bet you didn’t know that.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“It hurt a lot, so I took the painkillers. Quinn was pushing water on me like he owned the utility company. Even in the hospital, he kept coming around with my favorite foods to make sure I ate.”
Nicole drew the back of her hand across her forehead. “I miss Quinn.”
“So do I.” Sylvia picked up two more plates from the coffee table. “My point is that it’s all right for you to let people look after you.”
“I know. But how am I going to help look for Quinn laid up like this?”
Sylvia had no answer.
“I know Quinn would want to help you,” Sylvia said.
Lauren emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of bowls filled with generous portions of butter pecan ice cream and set it on the coffee table.
“Quinn’s favorite,” Nicole muttered.
Nicole was right. When Gavin asked what flavor of ice cream Sylvia wanted him to pack in with the food, she said the first flavor—the only one—that came to her mind. Quinn was there in her thoughts at every turn.
Ethan and Cooper came out of the kitchen with a coffeepot and mugs. When Ethan offered a cup to Sylvia, she accepted it. Normally she didn’t drink coffee past midafternoon, not even to be sociable. It kept her awake. But she suspected she would be awake tonight anyway, so she might as well feel alert enough to think rather than thrash in the bed to no avail.
Nicole dozed off. Sylvia couldn’t be sure Nicole was actually sleeping, but with her head back and eyes closed, she made no further effort to engage in conversation. While the others grasped ice cream bowls and murmured about the day’s event, Sylvia tapped her mother’s number in the favorites list of her cell phone. The busy signal, which she heard again now, had been steadfast for close to an hour. Emma was never one to stay on a call very long. Her phone must be off the hook.
“I should go,” Sylvia said. “I still want to run by my mother’s tonight. Tomorrow is sure to be busy.”
Cooper set down his bowl. “All right. I’ll walk you back to your car.”
Sylvia waved him off as she stood up. “It’s only three blocks. Stay and enjoy your dessert and some good company.”
He glanced at Lauren and settled into one end of the sofa.
Cooper deserved to avail himself of a few relaxing moments, Sylvia thought. If the last three days were any measure, there was no telling what the night or the next day would bring for the sheriff’s deputy. Sylvia made herself hope for good news. Besides, she saw the way Cooper followed Lauren’s movements all through dinner. When these compounding conundrums cleared up, maybe something would come of the two of them.
Lauren followed Sylvia to the door. “Aunt Sylvia,” she said half under her breath.
Sylvia turned and raised her eyebrows.
“You’re leaving Cooper Elliott here?” Lauren whispered.
“He might as well finish his dessert,” Sylvia said. “He’s a perfectly nice man, Lauren. We all want to find Quinn. Cooper is doing everything he can to help.”
“I know what his job is.” Lauren glanced toward the sofa.
Sylvia squelched a smile. “Relax, Lauren. It’s just ice cream and coffee with friends.”
She slipped out the door before Lauren could protest further. Lauren was a lovely young woman. She deserved to have someone look at her the way Cooper had in the last few days. Quinn looked at Sylvia that way in their early days. Sometimes he still did. And she always wanted him to. Sylvia would have married Quinn, and he knew it. On the brink of proposing, he backed away without explanation. Sylvia had trie
d to be angry, to be hurt, to be disappointed. Her friends said there were bigger fish in the sea.
The problem was that Sylvia couldn’t imagine her life without Quinn. Not then, and not now.
She walked down Main Street with the lump in her throat threatening to cut off her air. These last three days were the first time since meeting Quinn more than thirty years ago that Sylvia had gone so long without speaking to him at least on the telephone. Three days might have been thirty years for the ache they sent throbbing through her muscles.
Sylvia reached her car and slid into the driver’s seat. Before turning the ignition, she hunched over the steering wheel, eyes closed.
Quinn. Where are you? Come home.
God, keep him in Your care.
She sucked in a deep breath and drove the mile and a half to her mother’s house. From the driveway, Sylvia saw that nearly every light in the first story burned bright. She rapped on the front door and then turned the knob and went in.
Emma Alexander dozed in her favorite armchair with her feet on an ottoman while the television blared. Sylvia scanned the room. Emma ate her meals in the living room in front of the television, and Sylvia didn’t blame her mother for seeking a semblance of company. Not all the dishes found their way back to the kitchen, though. Sylvia picked up a plate of bread crusts piled on the remains of egg salad along with two bowls bearing evidence of chocolate pudding. Three cups of coffee were half drunk, and two glasses of water looked untouched.
Emma roused. “Oh, it’s you.”
Sylvia bent and kissed her mother’s dry cheek. “How was your day, Mom?”
“Dullsville. I haven’t been out of the house in two days.”
For now, Sylvia was content that Emma didn’t know the latest events rattling Hidden Falls. Soon enough someone would tell Emma the extent of the damage to Sylvia’s shop and Dani’s boat, if she hadn’t already heard.
“I tried to call,” Sylvia said. “I think your phone is off the hook.”
“I don’t know where I left it.”
Sylvia looked under a couple of throw pillows. It wouldn’t be the first time her mother’s phone, base and all, explored the depths of the couch, but it wasn’t there. She picked up a pile of newspapers from an end table and found the receiver with the TALK button still lit. Sylvia turned off the phone and returned the receiver to the base.
She picked up a soiled dish towel. “Maybe I’ll start a load of laundry for you while I’m here.”
“I’m perfectly capable of doing my laundry,” Emma snapped.
“I know. But you look so comfortable sitting there.”
“I am.”
“I’ll go get your hamper.”
Sylvia wasn’t surprised to find the hamper in Emma’s bedroom held only a few items, but that didn’t mean there were insufficient clothes for a load to wash. As she did every couple of weeks, Sylvia quickly pushed through the hangers in Emma’s closet to spot soiled clothing her mother had hung up. More and more of her shirts had food stains just below the second button as she ate more meals from her lap in front of the television. Sylvia grabbed four shirts, two pairs of pants, and a nightgown. In the bathroom across the hall, she took three towels. She carried the hamper, now full, to the laundry room at the back of the kitchen and started the load.
The front door opened. From the kitchen, Sylvia looked through the house and saw Sammie Dunavant enter.
“How’s my favorite neighbor?” Sammie said.
Emma’s face brightened. “That chili you brought over last night made a delicious lunch.”
“Great! I have a lot more if you want some.”
“I’d eat it if someone put it in front of me.”
Sammie laughed and swooped around the room, swiftly picking up newspapers, dishes, and two sweaters. She stacked the clutter on a long table behind the couch, folded two afghans, and tossed a pillow into the chair it matched. Within a couple of minutes, the room transformed. Sammie cleaned houses for a living, so it was no surprise to Sylvia that she could be efficient, but Sammie moved around the room with familiarity and intimacy, as if she knew what to expect. Abruptly, Sylvia realized Sammie did this often. She’d brought food just last night.
Sylvia stepped out of the kitchen. “Hello, Sammie.”
“Hey, Sylvia. Just checking on our Emma.”
Our Emma. It was the sort of phrase Sylvia expected to see in a British novel. The affection in Sammie’s face as she spoke it warmed Sylvia.
“Did Celia from across the street come over with the groceries?” Sammie asked Emma.
“I’ll get fat on all that food,” Emma said.
“It’s just a few extra things we thought you might enjoy. No point having that stuff kicking around our pantries if you can use it.”
Guilt and gratitude mingled in Sylvia’s chest. Did her mother need more attention than Sylvia realized? Perhaps. But if she did, she was getting it from people who cared about her and knew her well.
Sammie folded the sweaters she’d left on the long table and then picked up the dishes and newspapers and carried them into the kitchen.
“Thank you,” Sylvia said. “Mom hasn’t mentioned that you come over like this.”
“It’s nothing.” Sammie set dishes in the sink and dropped the newspapers in the recycling bin. “Just being neighborly.”
“I’m touched.”
“I’m very fond of Emma,” Sammie said. “And you must have enough on your mind to make your head explode.”
“I see you’re keeping up with local news.”
“We all just want to help.” Sammie opened the refrigerator, sniffed the milk, and returned it to the shelf. “I’m sure you know Emma does pretty well with a routine.”
“She’s always been that way,” Sylvia said.
“I’ll just say good night and be on my way.” Sammie ran some water on the dishes in the sink. “She’s probably had her evening snooze, and now she’ll be ready to go to bed.”
Sammie touched Emma’s shoulder, leaned over, and said something that made the older woman laugh. Watching, Sylvia smiled. It was almost eight thirty, which had long been Emma’s cue to take a book and go to bed. Sammie wiggled the fingers of one hand as she went out the front door. She had been in and out of the house in less than ten minutes, but her presence lingered in Emma’s grin and Sylvia’s gratitude.
“Well, it’s time for me to go to bed.” Emma stood and picked up a book from the end table.
“I’ll stay long enough to get the laundry in the dryer,” Sylvia said.
“Don’t do that,” Emma said. “That old machine takes forever to wash a load. I’ll do it in the morning. But leave me a note on the kitchen table or I’m liable to forget.”
Emma spoke truth. The washer was old and inefficient. And—at the moment—Emma seemed aware of her limitations and had a strategy to compensate.
Anyone could forget to move a load of laundry. Sylvia did it all the time.
“You might as well go,” Emma said. “I’m headed for bed, anyway.”
“If you’re sure you don’t need anything.” Sylvia followed her mother down the hall.
“I’ve been going to bed all my life,” Emma said. “I’m pretty sure I know how to do it.”
Sylvia laughed. “Good night, Mom.”
“Lock up, please. I’ll call you in the morning.”
Emma shuffled into her bedroom, the room that had been Sylvia’s father’s den until he died and Emma decided she’d rather live entirely on the main floor. Sylvia leaned against a wall in the hallway and considered the array of photos documenting her family’s life—her grandparents, her parents’ wedding photo, childhood portraits of Sylvia and her sister and brother, favorite family vacation photos, Lauren and her cousins on Whisper Lake and in Christmas jammies. Sylvia was so used to the arrangement that she rarely saw individual images anymore.
It was a beautiful life. Emma Alexander loved well and was well loved.
We all just want to help, Sammie ha
d said, and so had the shop clerk in the alley.
Hidden Falls was that kind of town. The frustrations of the day—the constant queue of people hovering for Sylvia’s attention, the undercurrent of concern about the unusual events since Saturday, the determination of citizens to do something. They all just wanted to help. The town came together to look after their own, whether Ted Quinn or Emma Alexander or Dani Roose.
Life was exquisite. Sylvia relished every moment just as it was. People sometimes pitied her for never marrying, but love was wondrous in any form.
Now if they could just get Quinn home.
9:04 p.m.
Liam Elliott went out of his way to the gas station on the highway east of downtown. The price per gallon was not less than anywhere else. The pumps were not more modern, and access was not easier. It was the opposite direction out of town from where he lived.
But from this station, Liam could see the square brick building of eight apartments where Jessica lived on the third floor in the front unit.
They hadn’t spoken in twenty-four hours, not since he dropped Jessica off at her building the previous evening. She hadn’t called him, and Liam hadn’t reached out to her. He didn’t know what to say.
I’m sorry I disappointed you. Again.
If you think we should get married in April, we’ll get married in April.
I think there’s something you’re not telling me.
I know there’s something I’m not telling you.
I don’t want to believe it, but I think I have to.
Give me a little more time, and we’ll have a great life together.
All day long, Liam had turned the options over in his mind. Some of them rang truer than others, but all of them asked for compromise. Or downright deceit.
Liam wasn’t opposed to compromise. One slippery millimeter at a time, compromise was what got him in this predicament in the first place. The world ran on compromise, it seemed to him. How would people, much less nations, ever get along without give-and-take? But in his current circumstances, Liam would have liked his options to be a little more clear-cut. His brother, Cooper, worked in law enforcement and believed in rules and boundaries. Their cousin, Dani, was a free spirit who didn’t care what people thought about how she lived. Liam was squished somewhere in between, like the third child sitting in the middle of the backseat in a car. No one ever chose to be in the middle. They just got stuck there.
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