"Which way?" He was at the end of their lane.
"Oh. Turn right. The hotel is down this way." All of a sudden, none of it was important. She didn't care whether or not they went anywhere in town. It was her own bad attitude, but the excitement of being out and about had drained away. Bellingwood hadn't changed in the last week and it didn't make any difference whether she was stuck in her apartment or outside. She couldn't fix what Joey was doing. Henry was right. They should have just left town. If only Sarah weren't in her last weeks. But it wasn't her fault either. None of this was anyone's fault except Joey's. He was the one she wanted to yell at.
"Polly," Ray said quietly. "Are you okay?"
She looked up. He had pulled into the parking lot of Sycamore Inn and was looking at her with concern.
"We might as well just go home. This is ridiculous. I'm putting you in danger and nothing is going to change just because I'm finally outside. I'm sorry." Tears sprang to her eyes and she quickly turned to look out the window so Ray wouldn't see.
Jon leaned forward and put his hand on her shoulder. "Polly, this is why we're here. You aren't putting us in danger and we're here to give you more normalcy in your life. You shouldn't be stuck in your house."
"And I appreciate it. But I'm feeling sorry for myself. I've dealt with weird things since I came back to Iowa, but I can always do it face to face. I don't like to hide. But I don't want to put anyone else in danger." She smacked the dashboard. "I'm so damned mad at him. Why is he doing this to me?"
Polly glanced at the side mirror and shut her eyes. When Ray tried to speak, she put her hand up to stop him. He went silent.
"I saw him," she whispered. She opened her eyes and turned to face Ray. "I saw him! I know what he looks like!"
"The guy that's with Joey?"
"Yes! I know what he looks like. At least I think I do. I need to tell someone. Do you think Aaron has an artist? Or we could go to Beryl's house. She'd sketch what I tell her."
"Shut your eyes again," Ray said, motioning to Jon. "Keep trying to picture him. We're going to call Aaron and see if he can help us."
Jon leaned forward after a quick phone call. "They don't have anyone there right now. Do you think your friend can do this? She doesn't have any training."
"But she's amazing. She can probably get close. Let me call her," Polly said.
She swiped her phone to make the call.
"Hello sweet tooth, how are you?" Beryl said.
"I need you," Polly replied. "Do you think you could draw someone's face based on my description?"
The woman laughed out loud. "Like a police sketch artist? That's a new one for me."
"I'm serious. Do you think you can help?"
"Who do you want me to sketch?"
"I saw the man who kidnapped me in my side view mirror. My brain was so foggy that I forgot about it until just now. Can you?"
"Well, uhhh."
"Beryl, please. I'm so afraid I'll lose the image again."
"Fine. Come on over. I don't make any guarantees, but I'll see what I can do."
My bodyguards are with me."
"Those hot Italian boys? Everybody is talking about them. Do you mean I get to meet them before any of your other girlfriends?"
"Other than Sylvie, yes."
"She doesn't count. She gets to see everything that happens at Sycamore House. Bring 'em along. I might even have to make a quick sketch of their chests. Just for my own personal viewing."
"You're a sick woman."
"Come on over. I won't make any guarantees, but we'll give it a shot. I'll see you in a jiffy."
"She'll try," Polly said and gave Ray the address. "Now she's a little wild and will probably flirt with you shamelessly. No one in town quite knows what to do with her, except for the few people she calls friends."
"I think we'll be fine."
"Beryl," Jon said, musing. "Beryl Watson?"
"Yeah. Do you know her?"
He slapped Ray on the shoulder. "Didn't we get hired to do security at one of her shows? There were a whole bunch of Boston Brahmins and Hollywood elite there. Wasn't that the night that you thought Halle Berry was flirting with you?"
"She wasn't flirting with me." Ray shook his head in disgust. "We were having a conversation. No big deal."
"You guys did security for a show of Beryl's?"
"I think so. It was a few years ago. Before you moved out here."
Polly shook her head. "Little, tiny world we live in."
CHAPTER NINE
Curious as to how this was going to work out, Polly directed Ray to Beryl's house. When he pulled in, Beryl's front door opened and an index finger emerged, curling to beckon them in.
"I told you," Polly said. "She's a wild woman."
"What is she doing?" Ray asked.
"Who knows? She probably has some crazy reason for it. We should find out. I'm sure it will make you laugh."
Polly reached for her car door and Ray put his hand on her arm. "Let Jon. Please."
"I'm trying not to argue with you about it, I really am..." Polly started.
"Thank you," he said and got out.
Jon was standing beside her door, grinning. He opened the door and put his hand out as she stepped on to the running board.
"I know, I know," she said. "Chivalry and all that."
"Exactly, ma'am." Jon bent at the waist and backed up to let her go first.
She led them to the front door and reached up to ring the doorbell, but before she could, the door swung open and Beryl grabbed her by the arm, pulling her inside. Then, Beryl looked at the two men with Polly and stepped back, put her hand on her chest and said, "Be still, my heart. Where have you been hiding these two gorgeous hunks of flesh?"
Ray shut the door and smiled.
"These are my friend Drea's brothers from Boston. Ray," Polly touched his arm. "And Jon."
"Polly told me about you, but I never dreamed that two such fine young specimens of manhood would ever be in my home. I might swoon." She winked at Polly and said in a stage whisper. "Would they catch me if I did? Because I'll do it, just to see."
"Go ahead," Polly said with a laugh. "I warned them about you."
"What did she say?" Beryl asked, hooking her arm through Jon's to lead him into the living room. Did she tell you that I'm the most exciting person she's ever met in her life? Did she tell you that I'm a honey pot for the Russians? Maybe she told you that I've been involved with every president since Eisenhower."
"All of that and more," he said, putting his hand over hers. "And we believe everything she's told us."
"Oh, Polly," Beryl said, turning to look over her shoulder. "He's perfect. Can I keep him?"
Polly looked up at Ray. "I have no words."
He just chuckled.
Beryl had brought her pencils and a sketch pad into the front room. She stroked Jon's bicep twice and made a sound much like a purr before letting go. "You're a very, very pretty boy. You and I could make beautiful ... ummm ... artwork together."
"Beryl Watson," Polly said. "Do I need to call Lydia?"
"Don't worry. I already have. She'll be here in a half hour or so. I wanted her to wait until you and I had a chance to start on the sketch. This makes me nervous. I've never done anything like it."
"I've seen your portraits," Polly said. "You're amazing."
"But that's when I know what I'm looking at. I've never done a sketch based on a description."
Polly pursed her lips. "And I don't even know how great my description will be. I only saw him in a side mirror and even then, it was just before I got a happy drug that knocked me out."
Beryl picked up a pencil and sketch pad and sat down, motioning for Polly to sit across from her. "Start with a basic description, but I don't want you to watch what I'm doing. After you've seen it all in your mind's eye, we'll let you see my sketch and go from there. This could go very well or very badly."
"Where should I start?" Polly asked.
"Let's start w
ith his face. Was he lean or overweight? Was it a long face or squat and wide?"
Polly shut her eyes and began to speak. "He had a wide face. It made me think of a wrestler. He also had a thick neck. His hair was short and kind of spikey. No. Wait. Yes, it was short. But not like a crew cut or anything. Okay. Spikey."
"What about his ears. Were they close to the head or sticking out? Did his hair cover the ears?”
"No, it didn't cover them. They weren't very big, I guess." Polly reached up to touch her own ear. "Close to the head." She opened her eyes. "And he had a little stud in the left ear. That's weird. I can't believe I remembered that."
"Go on," Beryl said. "What about his chin. Did it have a cleft or a divot? Was he freshly shaved? What about a mustache?"
"He had stubble, like a Van Dyke." Polly touched her upper lip and chin. "Just around his mouth. I don't know what that's called. It wasn't very thick. His hair was sandy brown. There wasn't any kind of divot in his chin. It was just round like a normal chin."
Beryl's pencil was flying across the pad as she listened. "Think about his cheekbones. Were they pronounced?"
"No," Polly said. "Kind of round. In fact, make his jowls thicker. Like he has an extra twenty pounds on him. He wasn't lean at all."
"What about his nose. Describe what you see there."
"I could see his nostrils, so it was turned up in front. Not very big. But, oh," she said, opening her eyes again. "I'll bet it was broken sometime. It had a turn to the..." she shut her eyes and ran her index finger down her own nose, angling to each side. "Turn to the left. Not very much, but I'll bet that's why."
"Okay," Beryl said. "Before we get to the eyes, I want you to look at his forehead. Was it long or short? Did his spikey hair go up from the top or was there any that came down below the hair line?"
"Do you know the pastor over at the Christian church?" Polly asked.
"Sure, I've seen him."
"That's kind of like his hair. But not quite as neat and tidy."
"Got it." Beryl erased and then the sound of her pencil scratching on the pad resumed.
Polly kept her eyes closed, waiting for Beryl to tell her to go on. She didn't want to lose this image.
"I'm ready," Beryl said. "Let's talk about the brow ridge. Was it thick and heavy or delicate?"
"Wow," Polly said. "I hadn't thought about that." She drew her hand across her eyebrows. "It was thick and pronounced. And he had bushy eyebrows too. They weren't really dark, but there was a lot of hair on them and it was darker than the hair on his head. Not quite a unibrow, but thick."
"Now we have to talk about his eyes. Tell me what you can."
"They were normal spaced. Not little or beady or anything. They were just normal eyes."
"Okay, a couple of other things just occurred to me," Beryl said. "What about his skin. Was it smooth or pockmarked like with acne. Did he have any scars or anything?"
Polly touched her right cheek. "There was a scar here, but yeah. It was like an acne scar, not like he'd been cut or hit or anything." Then she touched the corner of her left eye. "And another one here. I can't believe I noticed that." She looked up. "I hope it wasn't because there was a raindrop on my mirror."
"You're doing well," Ray said.
Polly nodded and tilted her head, while still keeping her eyes closed. "He had a chain around his neck, but I didn't see if there was anything on it. That was under his t-shirt."
She opened her eyes. "Is that enough?"
"Give me a few more minutes," Beryl said. "Why don't you show these young men around the place. There's tea in the refrigerator. Give me peace and quiet while I flesh this out. I'll let you know when I'm ready."
"Are you sure?"
"Go away. This is on me now."
Polly stood up and beckoned for Jon and Ray to follow her into the front room of the house. It fascinated her every time she was here and she finally had time to sit down in a chair and take in the entirety of the room.
"She's quite the woman," Ray said quietly.
Polly nodded. "Beryl puts on this crazy mask for the world, but she is truly amazing." She pointed at the paintings on the wall. "I mean, look at this. She sees things and then turns them into beauty. I'm always amazed by her."
"Did she do that painting at Sycamore House?"
"The one with the tree? Yeah. That's hers."
Jon dropped into one of the chairs and picked up a book sitting next to it. "She is the woman whose show we covered. I remember her now."
"She didn't act like she remembered you."
"That was because she was busy and we were in the background. But you know, she's a pretty big deal in Boston. Her art hangs in places you can't imagine."
Polly smiled and shook her head. "Of course it does. No one but Lydia, Aaron Merritt's wife, even knows that about her. I mean, look at this place. She lives in Bellingwood in relative obscurity. She annoys her neighbors and torments shop owners in town. We have no idea."
"This would be a great place to live if you didn't want to deal with the insanity of big city life. If you were an artist like her, maybe it's the best place to live."
"She gets to be eccentric and people accept it," Polly said. "But in Boston or Chicago or even Kansas City, she'd be like so many others."
"Drea told me that it was quiet here in Bellingwood," Ray said. "I don't think I realized what that meant. This is so different than living in the city. I haven't heard a single siren since I've been in town and since we've been here this morning, I haven't even heard a car drive by. You can hear dogs barking and birds chirping, but not much else."
"That's why I love it," Polly said. "I'll never move back to a city again. I like being close to Boone and Ames and even Des Moines so I can get fast food every once in a while, but I think my entire system took a breath and slowed down when I moved to Bellingwood."
"Polly? Come here and help me make changes," Beryl called.
"Here we go," Polly said. "Let's see if she and I made any sense." She pulled herself up out of the comfortable chair and walked back into the living room.
"Sit here beside me," Beryl said, patting the couch. The pad was turned upside down on her lap.
"I'm going to turn this over and I want you to take a quick look at it. Tell me yes or absolutely no. If it is yes with caveats, we'll work those out."
"Okay. I'm ready."
Beryl turned the pad over and Polly gasped. "That's close. You understood what I said."
"I did?"
Polly looked into Beryl's face. The woman was nervous! "You really did."
"But I need to make changes, right?"
The two worked on the sketch, reducing the brow ridge and opening the space between the eyes and the bridge of the man's nose. Polly had Beryl add length to his hair and smooth out his jowls.
Then Polly pulled herself back to get distance from the sketch. "That's him," she said and turned to Ray. "What do you think?"
He shrugged. "If you're happy with it, it's perfect. You should call your sheriff friend. He'll want to get this out."
Ray took out his phone and snapped a few pictures of the sketch Beryl had made. "Just for insurance purposes," he said. "Call the Sheriff."
"Okay," Polly said. "I can't believe this worked."
Beryl gave her a wry grin. "I can't either."
"Whatever," Polly said, swatting at Beryl's leg. "Apparently, you're a hot commodity on the east coast. Some kind of star out there."
"Honey, I'm a star everywhere I go. Puhleeze. I'm Beryl Watson." Beryl stood up. "I'm going to the kitchen to make lemonade. Because I'm such a star. Who wants some?"
The doorbell caught everyone's attention, making Polly jump.
"It's Lydia," Beryl said. "I can't believe she didn't just walk in."
Ray strode toward the door. "I locked it. Habit."
"Oh," Beryl said, her mouth very round. "You're being all protective and shit. I get it. And just when I think you brought me a present, Miss Polly. Now I find out tha
t they're your bodyguards."
The doorbell rang again. It sounded insistent.
"I'm calling Aaron," Polly said. "Someone needs to let Lydia in or she'll think there's a problem."
"Go ahead," Jon said, gesturing to the hallway. "I'm right behind you."
Beryl winked at Polly. "I could get used to this."
Polly shook her head and swiped her phone to call Aaron.
"What's up?" he asked.
"I'm not sure whether I'm happy or sad that you hear from me so often nowadays that you know it's not a dead body."
"I'd hate to disappoint you. I'll work on that."
"Beryl did a sketch of the guy. It's very good. What do you want us to do with it?"
He chuckled. "She did? It worked?"
"She's pretty amazing."
"I know that, but I didn't know what to expect. Can you send a photograph of it from your phone? Tell her I'll stop by to pick up the original later on."
"Sure, I can do that."
"How's my..." Lydia stopped talking when she saw that Polly was on the phone.
Polly mouthed, "It's your husband."
"Is that my wife there?" Aaron asked.
"She just got here."
"Send the sketch with her." He paused and then said. "No, on second thought, I'll pick it up. I do not need her anywhere near this investigation. Don't even let her see it. I have this terrible image of her recognizing the man, making a scene and getting herself and everyone around her in trouble."
"I thought it was just me who did crazy things like that." Polly attempted to nonchalantly flip the cover closed on the sketch pad. Fortunately Lydia was handing off a basket and a bulging paper bag to Jon and Ray.
"You are a terrible influence on her."
"That's what I hear. Ray already took a picture of it. I'll have him send it to you."
"Thank you. How does it feel to be out and about?"
"It's okay. Not as great as I'd hoped, but I'm just feeling sorry for myself. You guys haven't found anything? Not my truck, not the girl, not anything?"
"I'm sorry, Polly."
"No. I get it. It's nobody's fault. I just hate this."
"I do too. Stay safe today, okay?"
"I'm working on it."
Lydia, Jon and Beryl had gone into the kitchen.
The River Rolls On (Bellingwood Book 10) Page 9