Jones and I exchanged a look of utter dismay. One thing was abundantly clear— if Aunt Cecily's beloved recipe book was here, it was better hidden than the Ark of the Covenant.
Peter's face had turned beet red, and he mumbled something about getting us drinks. He was clearly embarrassed. I wasn't sure if the hoarding was his problem or his mother's, but no one should have to live like this.
"I think," Jones whispered in my ear, "that your grandfather dodged a bullet with Mavis Humphries."
"She was too young for him, anyway." There was something stuck to the bottom of my shoe. I cringed when I saw the footprint I'd left in what was either honey or syrup. "Good God, Jones, they've only been here six years. We took less stuff out of the Victorian, and that was Pop's home for more than half a century."
"Is it even worth looking?" Jones poked a stack of tissue boxes and recoiled as they toppled. "This is the proverbial needle in a haystack, and we're not even sure the book is here."
I scanned the topmost portions of the piles. "Um, I think we better switch strategies. Follow my lead."
"Oh, goody." Jones's tone was dry. I could tell he enjoyed the subterfuge as much as I did.
The kitchen wasn't any better, though it did appear clean under the clutter. No dirty dishes, or moldy food, just towering boxes of instant grits, Rice-A-Roni, and easy mac. Peter stood looking out the back window a couple of soda cans in his hands.
"So Peter," I said. He turned to face me, his bloodshot eyes weary. "You sure do have a lot of stuff. Where did you get it all?"
"Subtle," Jones murmured so only I could hear.
Peter offered us the sodas, but we waved them away, neither of us willing to ingest anything that came out of this place.
He set the sodas aside. "It's my mom's," he said at length.
"Oh." I tried to look surprised but couldn't feign it. "Has she been collecting a long time?"
Peter shot me a scathing look. "It's messed up. I know that. I stay with her to try to keep it from getting too out of hand, but there's only so much that I can do. She totally loses it when I throw stuff away." He made a helpless gesture.
I felt sick inside. "Maybe she needs professional help. There are people—"
But Peter was shaking his head. "She'll never go for it. She doesn't see anything wrong with it." There were tears in his eyes.
I put my hand on his arm. "You shouldn't have to live like this."
He shrugged me off. "I don't got a choice. You've done your looking—now leave."
I couldn't keep prying, not when he was so distressed over his mother's illness. We retraced our steps back to the vehicle.
"That," Jones said, "is one of the saddest things I've ever seen. What's his plan, to clean up after her the best he can until she dies?"
I shook my head. "I don't know. We have to do something though."
Jones grimaced. "That is an incredibly bad idea."
"Maybe, but do you really think walking away and trying to forget what we just saw is the right thing to do?"
He stared at me for a beat. "You're something else, Andrea Rosetti Buckland. You don't even like this woman."
I shrugged. "That's nothing new—I don't like anyone."
He pulled me close. "Except for me."
"Yeah, except for you."
* * *
The holiday celebration at the community center was in full swing by the time we arrived. I spied Aunt Cecily and Pops over by the rum punch and picked my way through the crowd.
Someone bumped me from behind. "Excuse me."
I looked down to see a pretty girl wearing jeans and a purple T-shirt with a hole in the hem. She was about sixteen, and her expression screamed overwhelmed. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," she muttered and stumbled back into the crowd.
Weird. Though I'd become reacquainted with a large portion of the town, I hardly knew every teenager. She'd looked so lost though. I almost went after her, but the sound of raised voices from my relatives stopped me in my tracks.
"Ma, che sei grullo?" Aunt Cecily snarled to Pops.
I rolled my eyes heavenward. Though she'd just basically asked him how stupid was he, I now recognized their scary verbal sparring for what it was—foreplay.
Ick ick ick. Not the mental image I wanted in my head, so I interrupted.
Aunt Cecily shifted her black scowl to me. "Did you find who took my recipes?"
"Not yet." I hugged Pops and whispered into his ear. "Don't let her give anyone the Evil Eye."
"Like I could stop her?" Pops snorted. "What's wrong, Andy-girl? You look all done in."
"Rough day." It had been too. My feet were killing me, and I wanted nothing more than to go back home and have a long soak in the tub. Unfortunately as a prominent business owner, I needed to oversee this very important community event, no matter that I didn't feel like celebrating.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I grinned to see Donna and her husband, Steven. After exchanging pleasantries I pulled Donna aside. "I'll have her back to you in a jiff, Steve,"
"Take your time." He flinched as Donna swatted him on the arm.
I pulled her with me through the opening into the kitchen. Two teenagers had been hired to help Mimi with service tonight, and I felt sure that everything was under control. There was a small office for clerical work on the far side of the kitchen where we could have some privacy.
The door had barely clicked shut when Donna turned to me and squealed. "I want all the details."
"What?" I frowned at her as she made a grab for my left hand.
"Was it romantic? Did he get down on one knee?" She stared down at my unadorned hand with a frown. "Where is it?"
"Where's what?" I asked. "Donna what the hell are you nattering on about?"
Her gaze locked on mine, filled with confusion. "The ring Jones bought."
"Ring?" I said flatly. "What ring?"
"Missy Taylor saw him going into the Emerald Isle jewelry store. She was at the little boutique across the way, picking up her dress for tonight. She said Jones came out pocketing a ring box. When I ran into her at the grocery store she told me all about it, and I just assumed he was going to propose to you. When you hauled me back here I thought that's what you were going to tell me."
"Propose?" The idea was so foreign that I couldn't get my head to accept it. "No, no way."
Donna clapped a hand over her mouth like she could call the words back. "Oh, nuts. Andy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin the surprise."
"Surprise?" Apparently I'd lost the ability to say more than one word at a time.
"Yeah." Donna smacked herself on the forehead. "I'm such an idiot! You know what? I bet he's planning to give it to you on Christmas! It all makes sense now, why he wanted Lizzy there so badly. He's going to propose in front of both your families!"
"Propose?" I latched on to that one word as the room spun around me.
"Oh, honey, here. Sit down." Donna yanked me over to a folding metal chair. "Here, put your head between your knees."
And kiss my sorry butt goodbye. Jones couldn't propose to me. He couldn't. It would ruin everything we'd built, put a label on it, and make it official. No more hot lusty exchanges. No more wine and pillow talk. Just marriage and obligation. Permanence. How could he even think that proposing was a good idea and in front of our families? I'd say no, and then they'd all give me the third degree. And he'd hate me!
"What's the matter, Andy? Aren't you happy?" Donna was crouched beside me and fanning me with a sheaf of papers someone had left on the desk.
"No," I croaked. I still thought of him by his last name for crying out loud!
Tiny lines formed between Donna's eyebrows. "No? You mean you don't love him?"
Love. Criminy, how was I supposed to know that?
"Oh, Andy." Donna's face fell. "Hasn't he told you he's in love with you?"
Slowly I managed to shake my head. "No. It's never come up."
"You two have been together for months now,
day and night. I just assumed."
"You know what they say about people who assume, don't you?"
Donna grimaced. "It makes an ass out of you and me. Yeah, oldest joke in the book. But seriously, you guys haven't talked about the future at all?"
I leaned back in my chair. "The present has been sort of demanding."
Donna patted my arm in sympathy. "Okay, but you do love him. I know you do."
"That," I said, "makes one of us."
"So, why did you haul my cookies all the way back here?"
A change of subject was just what the doctor ordered. I wanted her take on what Jones and I had unearthed. "What do you know about hoarding?"
Donna made a face. "It's bad from a Realtor's perspective. Hoarding can cause infestations of all sorts of bugs, which can be costly to treat, and sometimes the structure needs to be condemned. Why do you ask?"
I told her about Mavis Humphries's house and Peter. "I want to help, but I'm not sure how to go about it."
Like Jones, Donna didn't look happy with my intentions. "If Mavis doesn't want help, you can't just force her to get it. Her own son hasn't been able to get through to her. What makes you think you can?"
I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. "I can't explain it, but I have to at least try."
Donna shook her head. "Because you don't have enough to deal with?"
"Because," I said, matter-of-factly, "sometimes people need help but don't know how to ask for it."
"Just promise me if she tells you to bugger off, you won't fight her on it."
"Deal." I rose and checked my reflection in the mirror. My hair was fighting to come out of the bun I'd put it in, and my face was flushed from Donna's shocking announcement.
"Donna," I asked hesitantly. "What do I do if he does propose? How can I say no? He'll hate me."
Donna licked her lips. "Andy, if you say no, I'm more worried you'll end up hating yourself."
CHAPTER FOUR
The pasta shop was closed the next two days for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. It had been an executive decision on my part. Yes, we could have used the holiday rush for extra income, but as it was the last year to really do Christmas up right on Grove Street, I felt the need to take the time and be with my family.
I woke at my usual time of the plumber's butt crack of dawn and stumbled out of Jones's bed toward the holy land, a.k.a. the coffee pot. I had a million things to do in the next two days, and needed massive doses of caffeine to kick my brain into high gear.
"Morning." Jones, looking sleep-rumpled and oh, so appealing in only a pair of black boxer shorts, scratched at his morning stubble.
I shivered and pulled my bathrobe cinch even tighter. "Aren't you cold?"
He shook his head. "This is balmy."
I smiled into my coffee cup. This was a familiar conversation. I felt like an ice cube if the temperature dipped below sixty, whereas Jones seemed to be part polar bear and reveled in the chilly weather. Next up, he'd volunteer to keep me warm. I could see the sparkle of intent in his bright blue eyes, and my breath caught as my heart rate picked up speed. I was ready to say the heck with the holidays and spend the next two days in bed, but the doorbell rang.
Roofus, Pops' geriatric beagle I'd inherited when Pops and Aunt Cecily had moved to the assisted living facility, lifted his head and gave a half-hearted woof as I trotted past. He spent most of his day looking for places to sleep where Jones or I would be sure to trip over him, except for meal times when he was as lively as a pup.
"Don't let us interrupt your beauty sleep," I said to the dog on the way to the door. Roofus put his head back down and stared at me with rheumy eyes.
"One masterful guard dog," Jones said. Roofus growled.
"Play nice boys. Jones, go get dressed."
He flashed me a grin. "I love it when you're bossy."
"This is why our relationship works." I smiled at him like an idiot. Donna must have been mistaken. Jones wasn't going to mess everything up by proposing to me now. We'd hit our relationship stride. We had fun and passion—who'd take the wrecking ball of commitment to such a great start?
I waited until I heard the bedroom door shut before I opened the front door. A gust of cold winter wind blew up under my bathrobe, and I shivered even before I recognized our visitor.
"Mavis!" I blinked and shifted back. "What are you—?"
She pushed past me, her face beet red, fists clenched in fury. "How dare you go to my home and lie to my son behind my back!"
"I didn't—" I stopped myself because of course I had. Retrenching, I shut the door and held out my hands in classic hold-up-a minute body language. "I can explain."
But Mavis was madder than a rabid badger with a toothache. "Andy Buckland, you better not go telling the whole town what you saw."
Didn't it figure that the biggest gossip monger in town was worried about being the subject of the next scandal. "I promise—I'm not going to tell anyone else."
"Else?" Mavis paled. "Who've you told?"
"Just Donna Muller and only because—"
"The Realtor!" Mavis's tone was shrill. "She'll tell every one of my neighbors."
She was far too worked up, and I didn't like her color at all. "Mavis, calm down. I swear, Donna won' tell a soul. Please, come and sit down. I wanted to talk to you about your problem."
"I don't have a problem," Mavis gritted through clenched teeth. She pointed an accusing finger in my face. "You're the one who—"
She stopped mid-sentence, eyes bulging, and staggered toward me. I grabbed for her, but she was too heavy, and we both went down.
"Jones!" I shouted, struggling to roll Mavis off of me, onto her back. "Help!"
Barefoot with his shirt unbuttoned, Jones was beside me in seconds. His fingers flew to Mavis's beefy neck as he leaned down to check her breathing. "She's not breathing, and there's no pulse." He started chest compressions.
"What can I do?" I whispered, feeling helpless.
"Call 9-1-1. Now! Tell them we have a seventy-year-old woman in cardiac arrest," he instructed before starting chest compressions.
I ran for my cell and dialed the emergency number, praying all the while.
Jones was checking for a pulse when I returned to the great room. "I got her heart started, but she's still not breathing on her own." He raised his voice so the operator could hear him.
"An ambulance is on the way. Please stay on the line," the operator told me.
I was barely listening to her, too stunned by what had happened. Oh, God, if Mavis died it would be all my fault. Why hadn't I minded my own business like Donna and Jones had advised?
Sirens sounded in the distance. Jones was still working on Mavis, the 9-1-1 operator spoke, her tone reassuring, but I was lost in my private prayer. Please let her be all right, please let her be all right.
The paramedics arrived and shoved me out of the way. Jones only stopped breathing for her when the EMT fitted an oxygen mask around her face. I recognized her, Jody Whittaker. She'd graduated a year ahead of me.
"You did well," she told Jones.
"Will she be all right?" I asked, feeling like I was going to throw up.
Jody shrugged, non-committal. "Too soon to tell. We can take one of you to the hospital with us."
"You go." I said to Jones before he could speak. "I'll call her son and meet you over there."
His gaze searched my face. "Are you sure?"
I forced a smile so he wouldn't see how close I was to my breaking point. "Yeah. I'm not even dressed yet. I'll be there in a few."
He nodded, slipped into boots sans socks, and followed the gurney loaded with Mavis Humphries into the ambulance.
I watched them drive off, too numb to feel the cold anymore.
What had I done?
* * *
Peter had refused my offer to drive him to the hospital, as well as my apologies. Instead of driving straight for the hospital, I sped toward the Bowtie Angel on a mission. Aunt Cecily's missing recipe book
had started all this, and damn it, I was going to find it if I had to tear the entire pasta shop apart in the process.
I started in the main room, crawling around on the black and white floor, checking the creases of the red vinyl booths and came up empty. Frustrated, I headed toward the kitchen and pulled pots off of shelves, moved our industrial mixer, the fridge, the stove. My searching grew more frenetic and louder as I came up empty.
A loud rapping on the back door made me jump. "We're closed!" I shouted irritably.
"It's me!" Kyle's voice carried through the door. "Let me in, Andy—it's freezing out here."
I stomped to the door and yanked it open. "I'm a little busy at the moment."
The way Kyle's eyes widened, I knew I must look like hell. My curls tended to grow in volume with my agitation. And even a casual observer could tell I was thoroughly agitated. He was gentleman enough not to say it out loud though.
"In or out," I snapped.
Kyle crossed the threshold, shutting the door behind him. "Jones called me. He told me what happened this morning."
Turning my back on him, I headed for the pantry. A casual search revealed bupkis, so I started removing items from shelves. "How's Mavis?"
"Too soon to tell." Kyle followed me into the small space, removing his hat as he went. "Andy, what's going on?"
"I'm looking for Aunt Cecily's blasted recipe book." I dragged a sack of flour out from its shelf.
"It's Christmas Eve. Don't you have anything else to do?"
"Don't you have anything better to do, Sherriff?" I countered tartly. "Like go make up with your fiancée?"
Kyle gave an audible sigh. "She's just as mad at me as you are."
"Oh, I'm not mad." I said, displacing several tins of olive oil. "I'm flipping furious. Isn't it enough that you ruined my life? Now you have to screw up our daughter's life too?"
Kyle said nothing. The silence gave me a minute to hear the harsh words I'd uttered. Closing my eyes, I muttered a very unladylike oath then turned to face the music. "Kyle—"
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