“Just what the hell are you talking about? Is this some kind of joke?” he demanded.
“No joke. I’m just telling you that I understand. I don’t want to make things any more difficult but—”
“You don’t have a clue how things are.”
“But the woman at the store who sold you Caramellie said—”
“Listen, I don’t have a daughter and I didn’t just lose my wife.”
“What?” Her mind was fighting to compute the level of anger that suddenly coursed through her.
“Stop putting your nose in my personal life. I’m not selling to you or anyone,” he barked.
“But it’s mine—”
“No, it’s mine. I don’t know what makes you so certain that you deserve it—that you’re entitled to having whatever you want—but I’m not selling.”
She stared at him for a second, watching him intently, trying to understand how someone could lie like he had and not even look guilty. “I can’t believe you!” she yelled, her voice echoing in her own ears. She couldn’t hold back her anger and no longer cared if he had the upper hand because the toy was in his possession. “You lied to that woman to get a toy on the cheap. What kind of person are you? You made up a family!” She couldn’t believe what he was willing to do to get a deal. And why did a grown man want the dollhouse anyway? Was he a perv? Was he going to use it to lure little girls into his house?
“I didn’t lie to anyone,” he said, gravely serious.
“Are you saying she made up that story about a grieving widower buying a toy for his little daughter?”
“I’m saying she misunderstood.”
“Just what did you say that could be misconstrued—”
“I’m just a simple guy trying to live a quiet life,” he cut in.
“Full of lies,” she pointed out.
“I’m living my life. I don’t really care what you think. I’m not getting in anyone’s way. I’m not trying to deceive anyone. You came to find me, remember? You’re the one who wove a sob story to get what you wanted. You insinuated yourself into my life—”
“Insinuated? Really? Is that what you’re going to call it?”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to call it. You’re here, on my front porch, asking to come inside.”
“I don’t want to come inside, Joel or Fynn or whoever you want to be today.”
He tossed the other half of his sandwich to Magnus who was patiently sitting nearby, expecting the gesture. “You can let yourself out, right?” He stood and turned to walk up the steps.
“So that’s it?”
“Yup,” he said over his shoulder.
“You’re going to walk away? You make up a dead wife and an imaginary daughter to get this toy—something that rightfully belongs to me—”
“First of all, I bought it,” he corrected, whirling around so she could see the ice in his eyes.
She pulled back and lowered her tone. “And I told you I would pay you for it. I’ll even replace it with an identical one. I just need the one you have.”
“Well I don’t have it.”
“Yeah, right,” she sniffed, looking to the trees for corroboration.
“Seriously. I don’t have it. And if I can only make one woman happy here, I guess you lose out.” Tears came to his eyes making them glisten in the sun. “You can leave now, thank you. This is private property. Next time I will call the authorities.”
-20-
“Now just what the hell is that supposed to mean?” she asked out loud, trying to stay focused on the road. Their little breakfast truce had been broken so quickly and Joel Trager had dismissed her abruptly yet again. He was so damn stubborn and totally aggravating… and he was a liar who’d made up a much worse story than she had to get Caramellie.
It had been a long and humiliating walk up the driveway to her car, grumbling all the way while her new best friend got tangled up in her feet every seventh step, trying to make her forget her mad. When she finally reached the gate, she had entertained the thought of kidnapping Magnus and holding him for ransom—one sundae-shaped dollhouse, please, if you ever want to see your precious pooch again. She wondered if she could boost him over the fence or shove him between the bars of the gate, or just tell him to come and Magnus would find his own way to the other side—he was obviously completely smitten with her. It could be her and Magnus against the world; him, honorable copilot in the passenger seat. But they would hardly be traveling inconspicuously and Trager seemed to be a stickler for the law.
God, he’s so infuriating!
Catherine felt like she’d been swindled. And to think she had gone out there this morning in good faith. She’d brought him breakfast, a breakfast that he’d half-fed to the dog, no offense to Magnus—she would have fed it all to him had she known the truth about his master. Now she was even worse off than before her act of kindness. Caramellie was slipping from her grasp.
She couldn’t believe she had been concerned about upsetting him in his delicate state, mourning his dead wife, and he didn’t even have one! He wasn’t a single parent. Hell, from his comment about making one woman happy, he wasn’t even single. His brusqueness and bristly exterior wasn’t armor for a wounded man; he was just an asshole—a total dick who would stand at nothing to keep her from the toy she loved, probably for no better reason than because he wanted to make her miserable. He probably did this stuff all the time, buying the last of something in town and making people grovel to get what they needed. Likely made a fortune in cash and jollies out of it. Well he isn’t going to get the better of me.
Her flight today was a mirage that was fading as each minute brought it closer. Now this was a matter of honor not merely a toy. She needed to redouble her efforts. She could push off her flight and beg to extend her rental. She laughed out loud maniacally at the thought—at this point even a bad idea was welcome.
First she needed more clothes. Catherine drove back to town and pulled into Kohl’s. Yesterday’s outfit was still clean enough to wear again, but she wouldn’t wear the same thing three days in a row, so she needed to save it for tomorrow. She perused the racks of offerings, surprised at how many things she could imagine herself wearing and how much less expensive it all was. She had grown so accustomed to shopping the high-end boutiques that she hadn’t realized how trendy the more suburban stores had become. She had an armful of clothes to try on but assured herself that she only needed one outfit. She would definitely be leaving tomorrow.
As she continued to find more things to add to the growing pile of possibilities, she wondered if Kohl’s would frown upon her wearing a new outfit out of the store and carrying her coffee-stained clothing in the bag, like when she was a kid and they let her wear her new shoes out of Thom McAn and carry home a box with her worn and dilapidated shoes inside—
“Oh, hey there. How are you?”
She heard the pleasant voice and instinctually looked around to see where it originated. Catherine didn’t really think anyone could possibly be talking to her. No one knew her here in Nekoyah, especially no one pleasant. But across the way was the woman from the sidewalk outside the diner. The one with the gorgeous hair and face that belonged in any number of magazines or on billboards.
“Hi,” Catherine said, then focused quickly back on the racks. She wasn’t here to make friends and quite honestly she had gone from being appreciative of this stranger helping her out yesterday, to wondering why she hadn’t been warned about Fynn’s lack of charm and general bad attitude.
“I didn’t think I’d still see you around. I thought you were just passing through,” the woman said pleasantly, coming closer, obviously not getting the memo that Catherine wasn’t interested in anything beyond the pleasantry of a greeting.
“I was—I am. I just got waylaid a bit,” she said to a black and charcoal striped blouse that cost less than a cup of joe in the city.
“Oh. Well, I hope you found what you were looking for. Did I send you to the right place?”
“Yes, thank you.” She shifted the clothes in the crook of her arm, the dead weight beginning to cut the circulation off.
“Ooh, had a little accident, huh?”
Catherine pinked with embarrassment. “Let’s just say that I got mauled and ended up wearing my morning coffee.”
“Magnus?”
She looked closer at the woman, taking in the lab coat and the nametag. “Well, Drew, obviously you’ve met my latest boyfriend,” she said derisively.
“He’s a big lug. Can’t go at him without a free hand to protect yourself.”
She let down her guard slightly, wondering if this Drew person knew Joel or Fynn well enough to help her out. “By the way, my name is Catherine.”
“Oh, Drew.” She motioned at herself, touching the nametag. “But obviously you already figured that out.”
Catherine nodded her head slightly, distracted by the particular shade of blue in her eyes.
“I work at the pharmacy on Main Street… the original part of town. We mostly deal to the older residents, the ones who have been committed to us for their fix for years.” She laughed lightly but when Catherine didn’t join in she quickly added, “Anyway, I didn’t mean to interrupt your shopping.”
“Wait… can I ask you something?”
“Ask away.” Her hands were out wide, welcoming.
“I was wondering, you seem to know this Joel Trager guy. What’s his story?”
“Nothing much to tell. He keeps to himself; doesn’t get out much.”
“That’s obvious,” Catherine groused. “He seems etiquettely challenged.”
Drew chuckled softly.
“And he has a serious chip on his shoulder, that’s for sure.”
“Funny, he said the same thing about you,” she mumbled, just loud enough for Catherine to hear.
“What?” She was completely startled by the absurdity of the notion that he had any opinion of her whatsoever. He didn’t even know her; she kindly disregarded her own hasty judgment of him for what it was—the simple truth.
“I ran into him last night. He asked me if I knew what the hell the sanctimonious self-important stranger among us was doing gracing this town with her presence.”
“Well I never!”
“At least he’s thinking about you,” Drew said, putting a happy face on it.
“Huh?” Catherine was dazed and flustered.
“I said, at least he’s thinking about you. That’s something.”
That’s something all right.
*****
Catherine did leave the store with only one outfit—complete: bra, panties, jeans, top, socks. She’d had to remind herself that any more would require buying a second bag to get home, and checking it, and baggage claim on the other end—ugh! She didn’t even bother looking for pajamas, remembering how warm and comfy the giant union suit had been. She could even imagine breaking it out in the dead of winter back in New York—and certainly when visiting her parents in Wyoming for Christmas.
Back in the car, she opened her phone and dialed the number on her airline ticket. Thankfully she hadn’t turned in her key at the cabin yet and hopefully her benevolent landlord would be game for letting her stay another night. Her emergency was now bordering on an extended stay, but she was hoping for leniency. The operator answered on the other end and she read off the ticket information and canceled her reservation for this afternoon, receiving assurance that the flights out of Minneapolis-St. Paul tomorrow were not full. Thankfully her ticket was transferable, but the direct flights were limited from here to New York. She could fly out at almost a moment’s notice most of the day or evening if she was willing to spend upwards of ten hours or more going from one airport to another just to get home, but there were only a couple options for a four-hour trip (including the time change). Nekoyah, and Minnesota in general, was definitely preferable to layovers and missed connections.
Next she called TruAuto and reached the same bubbly chick who had rented to her in the first place. “And what is your rental for?” she asked. “The Smart-ass car,” Catherine quipped. “Oh, certainly ma’am.” Catherine cringed at that word again—polite or not, it cut deep. “That will be no problem. How long will you be needing it?” Even with all the events that had people commandeering all other rental options, it seemed that nobody in Minnesota had any need or interest in Catherine’s Smart car—she could have an open-ended rental. At least that meant that she didn’t have to go on the lamb with it. Even though it had no trunk space or passenger space or ass in it (other than the “big-pain-in-the” kind), it probably had lo-jack. Knowing my luck I would have to escape to Canada to evade the police and end up trapped on that side of the border permanently, forced to take my rightful place as a Canuck—and a shamed one at that, for living illegally in America all these years just to avoid my true citizenship. She’d had a sneaking suspicion ever since her brother had found a Canadian flag hidden in their parents’ closet while he was looking for Christmas presents. Nobody randomly collected the Canadian flag—only Canucks had them.
By the time she got back to the cabin and changed out of her coffee-stained clothes, shoving them in an old plastic laundry bag from the Sheraton that had been folded in one of her carry-on’s pockets, it was after noon. She had lost a few hours to the fitting room and the shoe department (had to pry some adorable platform sandals out of her own clutches). Suddenly her mother’s fixation with Kohl’s made sense.
She had no plans for her immediate future at all, just a general notion that she needed to find some way to get through to Joel Trager; either that or she needed to find an army surplus store and stock up on some essentials for a stealth attack in the dark of night tonight. But what about the gun threat? Or the authorities? Or Magnus, the guard dog trained to hug and lick intruders into submission or possibly to death? The risks were plain. She had to steel herself for another visit and hope reason would prevail. And since he had home-field advantage, she had to make sure to put Joel Trager back on his heels and catch him off-guard. He would never expect her to come and visit him again, not after this morning. And if she waited all the way until evening and then went banging on his door when he imagined she’d already given up and left town—if he imagined her at all—she would have the upper hand. So what if he called the police. What would the cops really do anyway when they found the trespasser was just little old her in her tiny clown car? Laugh? Cart her off to the pokey? Besides, maybe it was an idle threat. Maybe even Joel Trager would value her persistence… or else become so annoyed with her antics that he gave in just so she would finally leave him alone. Either way the “Dogged Offensive” would be a success—obstinacy would be her path to victory.
Now she just had to kill all those pesky hours in between. She looked around the cabin for something to do, tried the TV but only got colored fuzz and garbled speech. No books to read. No food on the premises….
-21-
It was a beautiful afternoon and she was on a lake that supposedly drew tourists in the summer. She grabbed her key to the cabin and her phone and headed out toward the water, intent on forcing herself to face any demons she might find there. If she could do this, she could definitely handle a grouch like Joel Trager.
When she reached the water’s edge, she found a trail skirting the rim and took it to the right. The cabins were stationed on a cove and she could see that the water opened up wide in this direction, where she could just make out small light-colored spots that were houses amidst the trees on the opposite bank.
Her family had been to a lake like this one summer with Josephine, the last summer with Josey. It had only been a couple hours’ drive deeper into western Pennsylvania, a man-made lake that was purposely flooded to create a water reservoir. She didn’t know what had created this one, but it was beautiful. She remembered canoeing and fishing on that trip. How they had cooked the fish they caught and she’d been so disappointed because it tasted nothing like fish sticks. She remembered swimming in the cool
lake, much cooler than their neighborhood pool at home. It was a perfect summer. Their last perfect summer.
Catherine wondered how she had pushed the memories of her sister aside for so long. The fears she had kept—of drowning or disappearing—but the memories…. She had allowed her adult life to push away the sadness as well as the happiness—every vestige of her sister’s existence. It wasn’t right. Maybe seeking out this toy was absolutely ridiculous, but it felt like a connection to her sister and to her younger self who had made the promise never to forget Josey. She reached up and grabbed the ring around her neck, moving it back and forth along the chain.
Up ahead she saw a large flat rock jutting out over the water and she climbed up on it; there she sat and watched, mesmerized, as tiny bubbles popped on the shiny surface wherever little fish came up from the other side and nibbled at unseen food. And just a few feet off the shore, there was a log mostly submerged in the water and a turtle sunning itself on top. It was all so peaceful. The only signs of humanity were a few picnic tables across the cove, a small dock, the houses that looked like mere playhouses across the way, and a lone motor boat at rest in the water with a statuesque fisherman aboard.
She shifted to pull her phone out of her pocket, crossed her legs and held her lifeline in her hands. She thought about what she wanted to say. Today was important, and Georgia knew it. Her friend had been there for her and with her for every birthday since they first met in college. They were roommates by chance; friends—no, sisters—by choice. But now here it was… the day that should have been Josey’s 29th birthday, and they were miles apart. And she wouldn’t be making it back. Catherine let her fingers skim the buttons lightly, wishing she didn’t have to make the call, hoping she would get voice mail and a free pass for being a shitty friend. Pressing the button, she held the phone to her ear.
“You’ve reached Georgia. By now you should know what to do,” her friend’s voice chirped cheerily.
2 Days 'Til Sundae (2 'Til Series Book 1) Page 14