Stolen Hearts

by Jane Tesh

  “Thanks very much.”

  As she took the can, our fingers touched. I felt a tingle down to my socks and was intrigued to see a faint blush on her cheeks. “How was your day?”

  “Pretty good. And yours?”

  Improving at a fantastic rate. “Not bad. I’ve got a couple of cases going.”

  Now there was definitely interest in her eyes. “Anything you can talk about?”

  “Sure. Have a seat.”

  We took seats in the rocking chairs on the porch. Kary put her book bag beside her chair. I noticed a little sparkly pinwheel, a roll of pink ribbon, and a bunch of artificial pink roses sticking out of the top of the bag.

  “Are you working on a class project?”

  She glanced down at her bag. “No, that’s for something else.”

  The way she said it made me feel that matter was closed, and the sudden stillness in her face made me wonder if I’d said something wrong. But I thought I recognized this stillness. It was something I knew, but couldn’t quite explain. Then her liveliness was back. Her smile was so radiant, I wasn’t sure I could breathe. Her brown eyes gazed at me warmly. “Tell me about yourself. Cam says you’re a detective and you might have your agency here.”

  I couldn’t believe I said no. She looked so interested. What would it be like to have her as a partner? To sit in the island with her every night and discuss all those fantastic cases I was certain to solve? “No, I don’t want to disturb the other boarders. I’m going to look for an office closer to downtown.”

  Dare I believe she seemed disappointed? “Oh, well, that’s understandable. Did you always want to be a detective?”

  “I thought I might own my own bar, like my dad, until I got tired of listening to everyone’s troubles.” Then I thought I’d be a father, and that didn’t work out.

  “You don’t have a southern accent. I’m guessing you’re not from here.”

  “Minnesota,” I said. “I grew up in a tiny little southwestern town called Elbert Falls, population six hundred and eighty-four, location: nowhere. Actually, it was next to nowhere. The nearest town was Pond, Minnesota, population two hundred and thirty. Pond existed solely to make Elbert Falls feel like a grand metropolis.”

  “So you don’t miss it.”

  “Not at all. It was cold. It was dull. It was eternally windy. I like that Parkland has four distinct seasons. Is Parkland your hometown?”

  I wanted to ask her why she lived here. I wanted to know why she’d been sick, and if she was all right. I wanted to know a lot of things that had to wait.

  “I grew up here.” She immediately turned the conversation back to me. “How did you end up in Parkland?”

  “I got a scholarship to the University of North Carolina, then decided to look into law enforcement and thought I’d be a private investigator. And you’ve always wanted to be a teacher?”

  “Yes, my plan is to finish school in another year and find a job here in town.”

  “Camden said you were working your way through school on pageant money.”

  “Pageants have been a good way to make money for school, but that’s all. You can only take so much parading around in your bathing suit.”

  An image that made me gulp for air.

  “And speaking of school, this is really nice, but I have a paper to write.” When she stood, her book bag fell over, spilling the contents. I hurried to help her pick things up and saw the Styrofoam circle down in the bag. I suddenly realized what the ribbon and roses and little pinwheel were for. Hadn’t I seen dozens of those at Lindsey’s grave? Kary was making a wreath. A wreath for a child. Now I knew why I’d recognized the stillness in her. I had it in me.

  It was grief.

  Our eyes met, and for a moment I thought, like Camden, she could see all the way into my soul. Then she smiled and said something that sounded like, “See you at dinner,” but I was hardly listening. I was back in the cemetery, staring at the wreaths, the bizarrely cheerful stuffed animals and toys, the pinwheels rattling softly in the breeze, the little mound of dirt.

  Lindsey, my precious little girl.

  I was never going to forgive myself.

  Chapter Four

  “The Restless Dead”

  The first thing I heard the next morning was Camden singing in the shower. This was a new song, some minor thing about a dead lover, faded flowers, broken promises. It fit my mood perfectly.

  My love was true, my love was fair,

  My love had lovely golden hair,

  But now down in the earth she sleeps,

  While flowers bend their heads and weep.

  What a cheery little number. It took every effort to roll out of bed and into my own shower. Maybe Kary would change her mind. Maybe Donnie would be hit by a meteor.

  Maybe I’d just give up.

  You have a case, I reminded myself. An honest to God paying client. Get to work.

  When I came down to the kitchen, Rufus Jackson was sitting at the counter, wolfing down some fluorescent cereal and milk, his thick shoulders straining against his faded tee shirt. Think professional wrestler having a bad hair day and you’ve got a good picture of Rufus. He’s about six six, two hundred and eighty pounds, all muscle, including some places that weren’t meant to be muscle. Before I moved south, I thought everyone in North Carolina was like Rufus and his pal, Buddy, overweight ignorant rednecks who ran around dirt roads in old pickup trucks, tossing Mountain Dew cans overboard and shooting holes in mailboxes. Rufus actually likes to do this, but Buddy’s a serious stamp collector and a damn good woodcarver. And, to be perfectly honest, there are rednecks in Minnesota, too. It’s a worldwide phenomenon.

  His shrewd little eyes watched me as I stumbled around, cursing as the hard butter crumbled the toast in my hand.

  “What’s your problem, Randall? You look like death eating a cracker.”

  I no longer try to fathom these Southernisms, although this was a new one and screamed for interpretation.

  “Nothing.”

  Rufus munched another mouthful. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with Kary, would it?”

  Living in this house must make everyone psychic. “What’s it to you?” I hacked at the butter. Did someone leave it in the freezer overnight?

  He shrugged. “I didn’t think she’d go for Donnie Taylor, either. He must have one hell of a personality.”

  “You think she’ll marry him?”

  His snort sent stray cereal bits across the counter. “You ever know a woman to pass up a wedding?”

  Since I’d been married twice myself, I had to agree. I gave up on the butter and ate my toast straight, parking myself on a stool. “What about her teaching degree? She ought to finish that first.”

  “You sound like her old man.” He laughed.

  “It’s only six years. Get over it.”

  He laughed again and slurped up the milk in his cereal bowl. He poured another bowlful, still chuckling. He was enjoying his joke so much, I didn’t want to argue. I changed the subject. “Rufus, do you know why her parents don’t want to have anything to do with her?”

  “Guess you don’t watch much Bible TV.”

  “I don’t watch any Bible TV.”

  “Then you hadn’t heard of the Ingrams.” He crunched a mouthful of cereal. “One of them screechin’, better give us money or you’re goin’ to hell preachers, him and his wife both. Got a program on one of the local access channels. Life Eternal or Eternal Life. Something like that.”

  I’d actually come across a program like this while channel surfing. Sometimes you can’t avoid them. “Kary’s parents are televangelists?”

  “Yep.”

  “Did they kick their daughter out? What did she do, play cards on Sunday?”

  “I don’t know. Not something s
he talks about.”

  Maybe Kary, like Camden, was reluctant to play a part on TV. Maybe I’d find a tactful way to ask her. Maybe it was none of my business. “What about Albert Bennett? You know anything about the Bennett family?”

  His brow furrowed, and he was off into the realms of arcane family knowledge that southerners relish. “Let’s see now, Bennett. I knew a Stephanie and Ralph from over Torren way. No, wait, I’m thinking of Bertie and Ralph, not Stephanie. They’ve been dead for a coon’s age. Bertie’s wooden leg come off when she was trying to catch that pig, and she broke her neck, and Ralph, he wrapped his truck around a tree down by the highway. And then there was some Bonnetts over past Celosia. There was Sophie and Cletus and Bonnie.” He gave a snort of laughter. “Heh. Bonnie Bonnett. Always did like saying that.”

  I cut in quickly before I was subjected to the entire Bonnett family history. “That’s great, Rufus, thanks. I don’t think that’s who I’m looking for.”

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What you doing here, anyway? Thrown out again?”

  “Yes, not that it’s any of your business.”

  Another snort.

  “Speaking of TV,” I said, “what’s the deal with Ellin Belton?”

  “Now that is one fierce little gal.” He shook more cereal into his bowl. “They met at that Psychic Service, only now Cam’s quit, and she don’t believe him. She’s over here all the time pestering him to do stuff he don’t want to do. I don’t know how he attracts all these women, anyway, the little squirt.” He raised his head from the trough as Camden came in. “What the hell was that mournful song you were singing? Gave me the shakes.”

  Camden was tying his one and only tie. “What mournful song?”

  “The one you were bellowing in the shower. Dead girls ain’t no fun, something like that.”

  “I don’t know. It just came to me. That bad, huh?”

  “Naw, the melody was okay, but it sure was sorrowful.”

  Camden reached in the kitchen cabinet for a box of brown sugar Pop-Tarts. He was dressed for work, which explained the shirt and tie, but he was still barefooted. “Can you give me a lift to Tamara’s, Randall?”

  “Sure.”

  “Working today, Rufe?”

  “If it don’t rain. Looks kinda gloomy out. Buddy might come by later. I’m helping him get ready for the festival. He’s got a boatload of ducks and fish he’s carved.”

  “Tell him he can store some things here if he wants,” Camden said. “Did he get a place on Main Street?”

  Rufus nodded and slurped up bowl number three.

  “Oh, that reminds me,” I said to Camden. “Lily left you a box of crystals to feel.”

  He didn’t even blink. “Okay.” He put two Pop-Tarts in the toaster.

  “Are you supposed to get some deep important messages?”

  “She just likes me to check and make sure none of them belonged to mass murderers. Bad vibes, you know.”

  “Do you ever get anything from those rocks?”

  “Not really.” Cindy came in and wound about his legs. He picked her up and rubbed her behind the ears until his breakfast popped up. Then he set her down and put the Pop-Tarts on a plate.

  “Ellin still bugging you about being on the show?”

  He went to the fridge for a Coke. “She never lets up.”

  “Have you ever considered dropping her? Find somebody a little more agreeable? Lily, for instance, or Tamara, or perhaps any one of the ten thousand available women in this town. You’re going to end up back in the Psychic Service, and you know what fun that was.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  Rufus and I exchanged a look. “Stubborn as hell,” Rufus said. “It’s a perfect match.”

  Camden brought his Pop-Tarts and Coke to the counter, took another stool, and opened the box of crystals. When he touched the light yellow crystal, he frowned slightly.

  “Uh-oh.” I’d put the yellow crystal back in the box. “That one’s mine.”

  “It’s okay. Just a slight tremor.”

  “Let me guess. The previous owner died of a broken heart.”

  He put it back in the box. “It’s nothing, really. I caught a glimpse of a young woman.”

  “Hope she was good-looking.”

  He took out another crystal. “She had to make a hard decision. Nothing life threatening, but it meant giving up her jewelry, including the crystal. It was a good luck charm, that’s all.” His eyes briefly glazed over as he felt the sharp edges of the next crystal. I wondered how it must be to see the past float up like faded photographs or old movies.

  “As good luck charms go, it hasn’t done much for me, either.”

  “Didn’t you get your new client?”

  “Yep, but her case is going to be tricky. I can’t time travel as well as you. This happened years ago.”

  Rufus raised his head once more. “Speaking of time travel, Cam, that movie’s on this afternoon. The Time Machine. Saw it in the TV Guide.”

  “If I’m not back, Rufe, would you record it?”

  He shoved himself up from the counter. “I’ll go set the DVR right now before I forget.”

  I showed Camden the article in the paper about the murder at the Smithsonian. “Some very strange things regarding music have been happening.”

  He scanned the article. “That’s an odd coincidence.”

  “This PBS documentary that’s coming to town, the show your sweetie wants you to be in. Same type of music. Why don’t you ask her about it?”

  “Why don’t you ask her? I’m staying as far away as possible.”

  “Okay, I will, and I’m thinking Ms. Gentry’s case may have a connection to the murder of Albert Bennett.”

  “Are you on the Bennett case?”

  “Not yet.”

  When he put the paper back on the counter, it flopped open to the Apartments For Rent section. He glanced at this. “You can stay here as long as you like, Randall.”

  “At the Chateau des Rejects? No, thanks.”

  “French. That’s impressive. A little harsh, but impressive.”

  “Okay, I wouldn’t ever call Kary a reject, but you have to admit Fred looks like something out of a trashcan.”

  “Fred’s had a hard life. His daughter didn’t want to look after him, and he didn’t have any money for a retirement home.”

  “I guess he’s lucky he landed here.”

  Camden gave me a look. “You’re lucky you landed here.”

  “It’s just temporary until I find my own place.”

  I could tell he didn’t believe me. “Okay.”

  “Use your vast psychic skills and find me an apartment, preferably in a building full of attractive single women.”

  Camden finished feeling the crystals, ate his Pop-Tarts, and announced he was ready to go when my phone rang.

  “Hold that thought.” I answered the phone. A woman’s voice said, “David Randall? I’m Pamela Vincent. A friend of mine says you’re very good at finding lost articles. Could you help me out?”

  Two clients in two days. Not bad. “I’d be glad to, Ms. Vincent. What have you lost?”

  I could hear the smile in her voice. “My heart.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “No, really, it’s a gold heart-shaped locket my husband gave me. I’m very fond of it. I’ve looked everywhere, and I’m afraid it’s been stolen. Would you have a chance to come see what you could do? I live in Greenleaf Forest just outside town.”

  “I could stop by this afternoon.”

  “Thanks very much.”

  Pamela Vincent gave me her address and I hung up. “The Randall Detective Agency has taken a definite upswing. Dead songwriters and lost lockets. Can’t beat that.”
<
br />   I left a message on Byron Ashford’s machine, asking him to call me, and then I called Harmon Lassiter again. He was home. In a rusty voice that reminded me of my granddad gargling, he said he’d be glad to talk with me tomorrow around noon.

  As I drove Camden to Tamara’s, he started another tear-jerking song, something about a maiden and a hangman.

  “Good God,” I said. “Can’t you sing something more upbeat?”

  “Upbeat?”

  “‘My dying wish another look from your eyes, oh, hangman, don’t hang me now’? Where are you getting this stuff?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, shut up.”

  Camden’s always singing. Usually it’s something he’s practicing for church or for a wedding, but these dismal dirges were new. We got as far as Surry Street when he tuned up again.

  Oh, bring my flowers to the grave, to the grave,

  Mother, don’t weep for me now,

  And bury me deep in my bridal gown,

  For my lover has betrayed me.

  “Damn it,” I said. “If you can’t sing something cheerful, I’m putting you out on the curb and you can thumb your way to the shopping center.”

  “What is it with you?” he said. “It’s just a couple of folk songs.”

  “Then sing ‘If I Had a Hammer’ or something. Anything but this dreck about dead brides.”

  “Oh.” His tone meant I See All and Understand. “This is about Kary.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him if I had a future with Kary, but I was afraid to know. If he told me she would live happily ever after with this Donnie Taylor and grow old and fat with kids hanging all over her, I wouldn’t be able to stand the news. But maybe it wasn’t Donnie. Maybe there was hope for me. “Care to give me a preview of coming attractions?”

  Camden was looking out the window and humming another damn minor song.

  “Camden,” I said to get his attention. He swung his power gaze back to me.

  “I see two hearts singing,” he said in that cryptic way that drives me and everyone who knows him crazy.