Livvie's Song

by Sharlene MacLaren

  “Well, I’m headin’ back home,” Coot announced. “You comin’, Reg?”

  The dog didn’t even lift his head; he just lay there, looking up at Coot with his big, brown eyes.

  “Huh. Ain’t that somethin’?”

  “He can stay here and nap, if he wants,” Livvie offered.

  Coot scratched the top of his head and stared down at his companion. “All right, then. Guess I’ll leave ’im here. See you folks later.”

  As soon as Coot was gone, Will walked to the front door and turned the lock. “Walk with me to the post office, Liv.”

  “The post office? Do you have something to mail?”

  “Nope. I want to see if somebody there remembers who mailed that dress to you. I know it’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try. And I’d like your company.”

  “Well, seeing as the boys are at the park with Sally, I guess I could spare the time.”

  With a forefinger, he traced the outline of her jaw, and she didn’t protest. It was the first time he’d touched her since last Saturday night, when he’d barged into her apartment, swept her weightless figure into his arms, and shocked her with his eager kiss and then his profession of love. He’d vowed not to press her to return the endearment until she was ready, but he hadn’t promised not to woo her with tenderness. “Besides,” he said, “a little walk would do us good.”

  She smiled. “I just returned from a walk.”

  “With Reggie. Did you two have a lively conversation?”

  “Yes, we had quite a lengthy discussion about his views on Prohibition, dance halls, and harmonicas.”

  He threw back his head and gave a hearty chuckle. She, in turn, released a gentle ripple of laughter. Man, it felt good to share a moment of humor.

  As they prepared to set out, Reggie got up from the floor, his tail wagging. Evidently, he’d decided to join them. When they reached the post office, Reggie sat outside at attention, opting not to lie down. Will couldn’t figure him out. “Has that dog ever acted so protective of you before?”

  “Never,” Livvie replied. “I don’t understand why he refuses to leave my side all of a sudden.”

  “Maybe he’s got a sixth sense about something,” Will said, holding the door open for Livvie. “I’ve heard that dogs can often detect when trouble is brewing long before it shows up. My granddaddy once had a dog who pranced nervously and howled like a banshee before a storm, even when the skies were still blue and cloudless.”

  “Hm. Well, I hope you’re wrong about the possibility of trouble brewing,” she said as she stepped past him.

  A woman who looked haggard and spent but had warm, friendly eyes approached the counter. “What can I do for you?”

  Will pressed his palms onto the countertop. “Got a question for you, ma’am.”

  The door opened, and he glanced behind him. Two more customers breezed inside, one with a stack of envelopes, the other with a package. He would have to be brief.

  “A few weeks ago, someone came in here and mailed a good-sized package, and we were wondering if you might be able to recall his name.”

  “Well, what did he look like?”

  “I don’t know. That’s something I was hoping you could help us with.”

  “What kind of package was it?”

  “A box about this big”—he demonstrated the package dimensions with his hands—“addressed to Livvie’s Kitchen, attention Olivia Beckman, if that helps.”

  She gave him a blank stare. “Sorry, it doesn’t ring a bell. I’ll need a lot more than that to go on.”

  “Bud was the mail carrier who delivered the parcel,” Livvie put in.

  “That doesn’t help. Bud never waits on folks at the counter. It’s just me and Ruth, and sometimes Mr. Ewing, the postmaster. I can ask them later if they recall anything about it. I wouldn’t get my hopes up, though. We got lots of customers coming in here all day long.”

  Just then, someone behind them cleared his throat.

  “Well, I thank you for your time,” Will said, fighting down a swell of disappointment. “If you do happen to recall anything, would you kindly ring up Livvie’s Kitchen?”

  “I will.”

  They thanked her and were heading toward the door when she called after them, “Oh, and I’ve been hearing a good deal about that Family Feast you’ve been holding at your restaurant. I mean to come by one of these nights.”

  “You do that,” Will replied, holding the door for Livvie.

  Outside, Reggie gave Livvie a good sniffing up and down. “Reggie, stop that,” she ordered him.

  “He’s got some kind of love affair going on with you,” Will teased.

  “I’ll say he does.”

  He leaned closer and whispered, “And I don’t blame him one bit.”

  Livvie gave him a playful slap on the arm. He laughed and dared to take her hand for all of half a block, until the pedestrian traffic picked up. It was nice while it lasted.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?”—Jeremiah 17:9

  Friday morning found Clem sipping fresh-brewed coffee spiked with whiskey as he surveyed his comfy little abode from a wooden straight-back chair in the corner. Outside, crickets and birds sang a summer chorus as the day’s first rays of sun burst through the open window. He’d been extra careful yesterday in making sure no one followed him out here. Sure, he’d taken a chance by traveling in broad daylight, but he’d needed more than just candlelight to accomplish all that he’d wanted to do. To his relief, he’d located the well and an outhouse. Life couldn’t get much better. Why, this place was a regular paradise!

  A ways down the path, the horse nibbled on the grain Clem had bought and drank from the bucket of water he’d hauled out to him. The rig rental expired today, so he planned to return it tonight and then hitchhike his way back. By then, his woman would be well situated, probably tied to a chair, and they could hole up here for the next few weeks, at least, before he’d need to go back to town for more supplies. Of course, that would mean pulling off another heist in the meantime in order to afford them, but he had plenty of time. Beyond that, he had no plan; he’d simply take life as it came, which pretty much described the way he’d always lived.

  Surveying the space once more, he decided it looked downright inviting, from the table and two chairs in this corner to the mattress propped on the six-inch-high platform at the front and topped with a neat pile of pillows and blankets to the crates of food and supplies stacked against one wall. Shoot, he’d even found some framed artwork—a dusty old painting of Jesus—and had hung it on the wall. The discovery pretty much confirmed his suspicion that this building had been a church at one time. That ought to afford his new bride a sense of comfort. All right, so this wasn’t some luxury hotel. But it still beat his former apartment and the cost of rent. That had been expensive enough, and then Flo had almost always been tardy with the payments, which meant being charged more. Flo. For the briefest instant, he pictured her mangled body smeared across the railroad tracks and a bunch of folks gathered around to gawk at her. To blot out the image, he immediately dumped a few more drops of whiskey into his coffee and took a big gulp. Stupid woman, walking in front of a train. The idea made him eager to get on with his new life, to make his new wife his in every sense.

  Wouldn’t Taylor have a fit when she went missing? And, with Livvie out of the picture, the flamboyant Marva Dulane could have at him. Chortling to himself, he took out a cig and stuck it in his mouth. He struck a match, lit the end till it caught hold, inhaled the sweet smoke, and then blew it back out in two perfect rings.

  ***

  At a quarter past twelve, Livvie looked up from the table she was setting and saw Marva Dulane strut through the door, dressed like a flapper in a loose-fitting, sleeveless yellow dress with a low waistline and a plunging neckline. A strand of beads was wrapped three times around her neck, yet still hung down to her hips, and rayon stockings wi
th beige high heels accentuated her shapely legs. Blonde curls cascaded out from under the edges of her bell-shaped felt hat, the same creamy yellow as her dress.

  “Whew! Would you look what the cat dragged in,” Cora Mae muttered with a shudder, then went back to clearing the table next to Livvie’s.

  To say that heads turned when she walked in would be quite the understatement, based on the rubbernecking that occurred. The only people who seemed to have missed her grand entrance were Will and Gus, who stood at their posts in the kitchen. But the whispers that circulated the room would bring them up-to-date in no time, she supposed.

  Evidently, Cora Mae was not impressed. “Who does she think she is, waltzin’ in here like that?” she hissed through clenched teeth. “This isn’t a nightclub, for goodness’ sake.”

  “Hush before someone hears you,” Livvie said. The sight of Marva sashaying through her door had annoyed her plenty, but her whispered prayer for staying power kept her from expressing it. The Lord had done some serious housecleaning in her heart lately. Yes, it was awfully audacious of Marva to make such a show in her establishment, but she had to trust that God was in control and would grant her whatever it took to deal with this woman’s presence. She quickly prayed the same for Will.

  “You don’t have to put up with her paradin’, do you? Look how everyone’s watchin’ her.”

  Livvie stepped back from the table. “Yes, Cora, I see that.”

  “Well, are you going to do anything about it?”

  “Yes, I’m going to ask her if she’d like some lunch.”

  “What?”

  “Cora Mae, close your mouth, would you?”

  Seated at a nearby table, Coot had kept his mouth shut through their entire exchange. Now, he grinned and rubbed his whiskery chin. “It appears Olivia is showin’ some goodwill, Cora Mae. Might be, you could learn from her.”

  Cora Mae stepped closer to his table and tapped his bony shoulder. “Oh, hush up, old man.”

  At that, he gave a loud hoot.

  On Livvie’s approach, Marva put on a glossy smile. “Well, Livvie Beckman, don’t you look pretty today,” she cooed.

  Livvie glanced down at her well-worn, practical shirtwaist of blue gingham, knowing full well that Marva’s compliment was artificial. But she wouldn’t let that deter her from killing the woman with kindness. “I was about to say the same of you, Marva. Do you want me to show you to a table? We have some delicious vegetable soup simmering on the stove. Or, what about a cold sandwich? Sliced turkey, chicken, roast beef—”

  “I’ll have to think about it.” She looked past Livvie to the kitchen, where Will steadily worked. A mixture of steam and smoke rose around him as steaks and hamburgers sizzled on the griddle, and his unbroken focus indicated that he was still unaware of Marva’s presence.

  The clatter of forks and knives signified that folks had gone back to their lunches, but the atmosphere remained charged with curiosity. There was Nancy Alberts, leaning across the table to speak to her husband while casting a suspicious eye in Marva’s direction, and Harriet Mitchell whispered something in Frieda Carter’s ear in between bites of potato salad. All around the room, the patrons pretended to focus intently on their meals, but Livvie knew better. Marva Dulane fascinated the lot of them.

  Outside, Reggie gave an unusually sharp bark, then pressed his nose to the screen and peered inside. Livvie glared at him and pointed a finger, which was all it took for him to move away from the door and lie down again.

  “You know,” said Marva, bending toward Livvie, for she was four or five inches taller in her spikes, “I have a mad crush on your cook.”

  “Is that right?” Lord, give me patience and self-restraint.

  Marva nodded. “He is by far the best-looking man in town. Oops! You’re probably blind to that, being a widow and all. Surely, you pine for Frank on a daily basis. By the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you for some time now: I was looking through a box of old photographs a month or so ago, and I came across a wonderful picture of the two of you. It was taken at a Fourth of July picnic, or some such event. There you were, sitting all close and cozy, smiling for the camera.”

  Livvie’s mind reeled. She couldn’t remember attending any community picnic with Frank, much less one where Marva had snapped their picture. They’d always been so busy in the restaurant. Could it have been a church potluck? Maybe, but—

  “I think I’ll take one of those bar stools,” Marva said, pointing a red-painted fingernail straight ahead.

  When she set off across the room, Livvie hastened along behind her. “This picture you say you have…I don’t understand.”

  “I’ll bring it to you.”

  “You will?”

  “Of course. I have no need for it.”

  She had too few photos of Frank. The thought of obtaining another, especially if it had them together, excited her.

  Marva slid onto a bar stool next to Quinn Baxter, and the fellow turned a wary eye on her. “Hiya, Marva.”

  “Hello, Quinn. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

  Will spun around, spatula in hand. Hot grease still dripped off of the utensil, making splotches on the linoleum. If looks could shoot daggers, Livvie was certain that Marva would be lying flat on the floor.

  ***

  When would that infuriating woman get it through her head that he had no interest in her? This obsession she had with him wore mightily on his nerves, and he’d about reached the point of making a proclamation to everyone within hearing range about her irrational behavior. Somehow, though, he knew that wouldn’t solve a thing. She had the advantage in that she knew his history, and humiliating her in a public forum would only impel her to reveal it. Of course, he had a little inside information on her, as well, which he planned to convey to her at his first opportunity. In the meantime, she kept up a steady flow of conversation pertaining to her own interests with anyone who’d listen, no doubt believing they all hung on her every word.

  Some certainly seemed to, especially Charley Arnold and Roy Scott, who’d plopped themselves down on either side of her once Quinn Baxter had paid his bill and left. Ever since Will had laid down the law with them about not smoking inside the four walls of Livvie’s Kitchen, they’d dutifully complied, and he’d even struck up an unlikely friendship with them. But now, he wished they’d head back to their daytime jobs.

  When they finally did, and there was a lull in food orders, Will took a damp cloth and wiped the counter under Marva’s nose. She’d finished her lunch long ago and was now sipping the last of her Coca-Cola.

  “What are you doing here, Marva?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

  Her long eyelashes batted three times. “I came to see you, of course. Since you never visit me, you leave me no choice but to take the initiative. I told you I love a challenge.” She touched his sleeve, but he jerked his arm away.

  He felt the veins in his neck bulge as he held his breath and mentally counted to ten before speaking again. “Marva, you should know I’ve learned a thing or two about you.”

  She took a swig of her soda, then set the glass down and smiled. “Is that so? I’m a pretty open book, Will. Not much folks in this town don’t know about me.”

  “That may be so, but I bet the authorities don’t know about your involvement with Orville Dotson and his still.” Her smile vanished like a breeze. “And, by ‘authorities,’ I’m not referring to Buford Morris,” he added.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Mmm-hmm. Then, you won’t mind if I pay a visit to the BIR?”

  “What’s that?”

  “The Bureau of Internal Revenue. They employ Prohibition agents who come down mighty hard on folks participating in underground activities.”

  She shook her blonde head and gave the brim of her stylish hat a nervous little tug. “Will, Will. Has it really come down to this? Threatening me?” She slid off the stool and gave him a cold, hard-eyed smile. “I don’t like the direction our friendshi
p is going.”

  His lips curled. “You started it.” He watched a flash of apprehension move across her face and envisioned raw nerves gnawing at her confidence. Good. Maybe that would get her off his back for the time being. He could only pray it would.

  After Marva stalked out, Livvie wandered over to the bar. “Did you tell her you knew about her work with Dotson?”

  “Sure did, and she wasn’t too happy about it.”

  “I hope the whole thing doesn’t blow up in your face. How do we know that she won’t walk straight over to the Daily Plain Dealer office and give them an earful?”

  He shrugged. “If she does, I’ll deal with it.” Then, grinning, he reached across the counter to push several loose strands of hair out of her eyes. He didn’t care who saw him do it. “Did Marva have anything to say to you?”

  “Um, not much,” she said, then gave her wristwatch a hurried glance. “I’d better go tend to my customers. I’m taking the boys down to the river after closing time today. I told them they could wade in the shallow part.”

  “Am I invited?”

  She gave a light laugh. “Only if you promise to bring your harmonica.”

  He patted his hip pocket. “I never go anywhere without it.”

  ***

  The river seemed to hum along with Will as he made delightful music with his ten-hole mouth harp. He moved with ease from one tune to the next, and the sound, combined with the gentle breezes coming off the Wabash River, was a regular balm for the soul.

  Livvie had spread out a large quilt in the shade of a tree, and she lounged there with Will, who reclined on his side, propped up on his elbow. Alex and Nate played on the riverbank, collecting stones and almost anything else that would fit in their pockets. They’d already waded a bit, with Will close by, and she’d instructed them not to go back in the water again without supervision.