“I’m having an opening-day sale on all my silver necklaces. Everything marked down twenty percent.”
The two women immediately crossed over to Linda’s booth. Jo stared at Linda, speechless, but Linda became instantly busy laying out several necklaces for the women to examine. Jo closed her mouth and completed her transaction with the amber customer, and thankfully became distracted by new browsers. The incident had nearly left her mind when it happened again. When Jo became occupied with one customer, Linda found a way of drawing other prospective customers over to her side of the aisle.
Jo soon realized that her own booth’s situation had the advantage of being next to Gabe Stubbins’s popular wooden toys. Women shoppers – mothers and grandmothers - tended to cross over to look at his booth, then remained on that side of the aisle as they moved along, stopping at her jewelry booth instead of Linda’s. It was a very slight advantage, which would likely change as the day wore on and more shopper’s entered from the other end of the building, which was closer to a food vendor’s tent. Coming in that way, shoppers would likely keep to the right – Linda’s side of the aisle.
Linda obviously couldn’t think that far ahead, though. All she saw were more people stopping at Jo’s booth and she couldn’t live with that. It was petty, and highly annoying, but outside of getting into an all-out tugging match over hapless customers, Jo didn’t know what she could do about it.
“Oh, there she is!”
Jo knew that voice. She brightened, and looked over to see Loralee Phillips making her way up the aisle, her large tote bag impeding her progress only slightly as she wound through the crowd. Loralee’s bags were nearly as big as she was, which wasn’t all that big as far as ladies go, but quite large as far as bags went. Jo wondered how she managed to carry them, filled as they always seemed to be with unexpectedly handy, but often heavy, items. Feeling peckish? Loralee could reach into her bag and offer you a fresh banana or granola bar. Have a sudden need for scissors, band-aids, or reading material? Loralee’s bag could likely help you out.
“Isn’t this wonderful!” Loralee came up to Jo’s booth, taking in the jewelry display with shining eyes. “Oh, and look at the beautiful tissue paper flowers up there! You’ve made your booth the prettiest one here.” She reached up to give Jo an affectionate hug. “This is so exciting! I could hardly wait to come see your things. I left Dulcie looking at pottery in building eight. She’ll catch up in a minute.”
Dulcie was Loralee’s daughter who had recently moved – much to Loralee’s joy – from faraway Seattle and into Loralee’s house with her husband and small children, while Loralee happily downsized into the newly built mother-in-law addition.
“And look who I ran into on the way over.” Loralee grabbed the sleeve of a plump woman of about Jo’s age and pulled her closer. “Jo, do you know Meg Boyer?”
Jo admitted that she didn’t, and Loralee introduced them. “Meg,” she said, “has started working at Bert and Ruthie’s Abbot’s Kitchen, haven’t you Meg?”
“Then we’ll probably see each other a lot,” Jo said. “I’m always popping in there at lunch time for one of Bert’s sandwiches when I’m at my craft shop. Are you new to Abbotsville?”
“No.” Meg pushed a limp strand of mousy brown hair from her face. “We’ve lived there at least five years, after we moved from the Midwest when my husband decided he could do better in Maryland. Kevin’s in sales.”
From the way she’d said it, Jo got the feeling Meg hadn’t taken much part – or joy - in Kevin’s decision, but she nodded agreeably. Linda’s voice interrupted them with a loud announcement that she was starting her demonstration on jewelry techniques. A large group of red-hatted women that had been heading for Jo’s booth, immediately veered toward hers.
“Oh, dear,” Loralee said. Meg simply stared, open-mouthed.
“She’s been doing things like that all morning,” Jo explained.
“It doesn’t seem quite nice, does it?” Loralee asked. “I mean, those women were clearly planning to come here. Shouldn’t she have waited?”
Jo was trying to think of an answer when two women entered on the right through the nearby entrance. Seeing the crowd blocking access to Linda’s booth, they crossed over to Jo’s. Jo greeted them, then shrugged toward Loralee, saying, “It probably balances out.”
Loralee shook her head, still amazed at Linda’s action, but moved to give Jo’s new customers space as well as examine a few things herself. “I want to find something for Dulcie for her birthday before she gets here,” she explained, picking up and setting down various items, oohing and aahing as she did.
The other two women hadn’t asked for Jo’s help yet, and Meg stepped closer to speak to Jo in a lowered voice.
“I know that woman,” she said, tilting her head toward Linda.
“You do?”
“It took me a minute. Her hair’s lighter than when I knew her. Linda Boeckman. I went to high school with her.”
“Really? I know her as Linda Weeks, which must be her married name, though she’s been divorced for a while.”
Meg nodded. “I’m not surprised. She might have changed since I knew her, but it doesn’t look like it. I’d be careful, if I were you.”
“How much is this bracelet?” one of the newly arrived women asked Jo.
Jo left Meg and stepped over to answer her customer. After she’d finished with her, her companion wanted attention. Then Loralee had made her choice for Dulcie – a delicate opal piece - and needed Jo to package it up quickly before Dulcie showed up. By this time Meg had moved on, saying she wanted to check out a quilt booth in the next building. But her words of warning lingered in Jo’s mind. Be careful.
Jo looked over at Linda, still dealing with the red-hatted ladies, and nodded. She planned to be.
<><><>
“Hi Aunt Jo.”
Jo glanced up to see her relief man, Carrie’s fifteen-year-old, grinning at her across her counter. She checked her watch. It was, indeed, five-thirty, a fact she’d have trouble believing if her aching muscles didn’t confirm it.
“Charlie. You’re a sight for these tired eyes.”
“They been keeping you busy?”
“Oh, yes! Ina Mae Kepner stopped by and gave me a break around lunchtime, which was great. But I don’t think I’ve sat down for more than a few seconds since then. How did you get here, by the way, and how long can you stay?”
“My friend Tony dropped me off,” Charlie said, adding with a wistful look, “he got his license in January.” Jo smiled, knowing how Charlie was champing at the bit to turn sixteen himself and gain driving privileges. “Anyway, Tony’s gonna hang out with some buddies for a while, but he wants to swing by here again around six-thirty to pick me up.”
“Okay, I’ll watch my time. Things have calmed down quite a bit right now, probably because it’s dinner time, so you shouldn’t have too much to do.” Jo showed Charlie how to write up any sale he might make, with added tax, and how best to package the item for the customer.
“If anyone asks a question you can’t answer, just say I’ll be back in a few minutes. At this point, weary as I am, I’m not awfully concerned about losing any sales. Just mainly try to keep anyone from walking off with the merchandise. Shall I pick up something for you to eat?”
“No, that’s all right. I grabbed a sandwich at home before I left. I wouldn’t mind a Coke or something for the ride home, though.”
“You got it.” Jo picked up her purse and stepped out of the booth, thinking that her first stop would be at the nearest rest room. Manning a booth all day by one’s self, she was finding, had its definite challenges.
A few minutes later Jo was munching on a delicious barbequed beef sandwich as she sat on a tree-shaded bench, her feet propped up on a convenient nearby rock. Sitting there, she became just one of the festival’s crowd, and she felt the fatigue accumulated from constantly having to be “on” for the steady stream of shoppers slowly leave her. Jo watched the peop
le passing by, and listened idly to the bits of conversations that floated her way, things like, “I wonder if I can bargain down the price on that table a little,” and “Where’s Harvey? He promised he’d meet us back here in half an hour.”
Jo was licking the final bits of barbeque from her fingers when she caught a conversation of a different type: “Did you see that Weeks woman is back again?” Jo looked over to see a tall woman in an ankle-length skirt and a loosely belted top facing a balding, cowboy-booted man. The woman fiddled idly with her thick braid as she spoke.
“Yeah, I did,” the man answered. “Amazing. I’m starting to wonder if those rumors are true.” The cowboy’s accent sounded to Jo’s ears more Brooklyn than Austin, but her ears perked up at what he said rather than how he said it.
“I don’t care who’s sleeping with who,” the woman said, “or what kind of favoritism it gets them. That kind of thing never lasts long. But Bill Ewing’s gonna bust a blood vessel when he sees her, after what happened in Morgantown.”
Others passed between Jo and the pair, covering over the rest of the words with their own chatter, and the two moved on, leaving Jo thirsting for more. Realizing, however, that the only thirst she could slake was the one in her throat, Jo stirred herself from her bench and went in search of two large Cokes, one for herself along with the one she’d promised Charlie. It was getting time to send him off.
Jo backed through the hanging plastic at the entrance closest to her booth, her hands gripping the two large drink cups, and called, “I’m back, Charlie. How did it…?” Jo stopped as she saw the agonized look on Charlie’s face.
“It just happened,” he said, his hands gesturing helplessly. “I was at the other end over there, giving someone change, when I heard the splash.”
“What is it?” Jo managed to croak as she stepped closer. A pool of brown liquid covered the top of her counter, oozing among a display of rings and pins and dripping through the seams of the Plexiglas into her collection of fine necklaces below.
“Coffee. There was this blonde woman – I think she worked in the booth across there – ”
Linda Weeks! Jo turned to Linda’s booth but saw only a frightened looking teenaged girl standing behind the counter. “Where is she?”
“She said something about getting paper towels and took off. She apologized a lot, but she didn’t look all that sorry to me.”
Jo closed her eyes. Linda had done this on purpose, of that she was sure. When she re-opened them, she saw Charlie dabbing at the mess with one of Jo’s polishing cloths. “Wait, Charlie, maybe I can get some towels.”
“Will this help?” Gabe Stubbins appeared at her side holding out a bunch of flannel rags. Jo set down her drinks and took them gratefully. “I didn’t see it happen,” he said, “but I noticed her sliding over there. She must have waited for this young man to get distracted.”
Jo felt pressure rising inside of her and struggled to control it.
“I’m so sorry, Aunt Jo. I should have watched out better.”
“Charlie, this is absolutely not your fault. Believe me. No one could have prevented it. Here, help me move these things out of the mess, then I’ll take care of the rest later. It’s almost time for your ride to come.”
“I can st---” Charlie began to offer, but Jo stopped him.
“It’s okay, Charlie. Really. It’s better that I take care of the jewelry cleaning myself.”
Charlie, still looking wretched, helped her move the jewelry, and Jo continued to reassure him while dealing with growing murderous thoughts toward Linda. She then shooed him off with a quick hug and watched as he headed off with some reluctance before taking a quick glance at his watch and picking up speed. She turned back to her clean-up work.
“Oh, good, you got some rags. Well, I guess you won’t be needing these, then.”
Linda Weeks stood just inside the nearby entrance holding two paper towels and wearing the most odious look of “oops, my bad” that Jo had ever seen. It tipped Jo over the edge. She had had it. The steam that had been building finally blew.
“Don’t even try,” Jo said, her tone low, but rapidly rising, “Don’t even pretend this was an accident, Linda. You’ve been working up to this all day, just waiting for your chance. I don’t know why you think you have to behave like such a slimeball, but you do.”
“Oh, really?” Linda dropped the smirk and her eyes flashed. “So suddenly you’re Little Miss Perfect with the right to call names? I wonder what people would call you if they knew what you’re really like – the ones who think you’re such a fabulous designer, but don’t know where you really get some of those designs.”
“I suppose you’d like to claim I stole them from you?”
“You know what you’ve done. I don’t have to spell it out.”
“Linda, if I were the least inclined to copy anyone’s ideas, which I’m not, you would be the last person in the world I’d ever want to copy. How you made it as far as you have is beyond me. Your unbelievably low level of creativity is matched only by that of your ethics and I regret every minute I wasted in New York trying to be nice to you.”
Linda stood stonily staring at Jo, two small spots of red forming on her cheeks. Jo hoped that would be the end of it, that Linda would simply storm off in a huff. She was aware that nearby vendors had begun staring, taking in every word being spat out.
But Linda wasn’t about to leave. That, of course, would have been too much to hope for. Someone like Linda always had to have the last word, and hers, it turned out, were particularly venomous.
“Well,” she said,” her eyes steely, “aren’t we the two-faced one? Sweet as pie on the outside but full of all kinds of nastiness deep down. I guess I can finally understand why Mike committed suicide, now, can’t I?”
She turned around and pushed through the plastic curtains before Jo could respond, though Jo, her mouth working soundlessly, couldn’t have answered that comment if she’d tried.
CHAPTER 4
Jo dragged herself out of bed the next morning, dreading the day that lay ahead. How would she be able to function as she needed while constantly aware of Linda’s presence so nearby? The answer, of course, was she would have to, though it wouldn’t be easy, especially after the rotten night’s sleep she’d just had, Linda’s final barb pricking with every toss and turn. Bringing Mike’s death into their argument had been a low blow, but throwing in the word suicide ---
Jo stopped herself. There was no use going over and over it. It was typical Linda, and that was that. Jo rubbed at her tired eyes and grumpily suspected her nemesis had slept like a baby. The woman seemed to thrive on conflict and was likely bouncing with energy as she planned out fresh misery to inflict across the aisle.
Jo downed her first cup of coffee, letting the caffeine do its work, then braced herself up. Darned if she was going to let Linda Weeks get to her anymore. She might not be able to control what Linda said or did, but Jo was certainly in charge of her own actions – and re-actions. Not rising to the bait would be the best revenge. Plus it would save a lot of wasted energy, best spent on her own concerns and that of her jewelry booth, which, she reminded herself, still had a long way to go to earn back the cost of being at Michicomi.
Feeling better with a plan of action, or rather non-action, in hand, she added a bowl of energizing cereal to her breakfast, showered, then gathered her things before checking door and window locks on her modest two-bedroom rental house. As she breezed past her jewelry workshop in the small garage to jump into her Toyota, Jo felt her focus had moved from the negative of facing Linda Weeks to the positive of welcoming the fresh stream of Michicomi patrons who might come to her today for that special piece of jewelry.
Thirty minutes later, as Jo made her way through building ten toward her booth, though, she noticed fewer friendly greetings and more than one uncomfortable look-away. She was sure she knew why, and wished she could meet with each person who had overheard yesterday’s exchange between Linda and her and
explain exactly what had led up to it, but knew that would be both impractical and fruitless. Gabe Stubbins’s welcoming smile as she approached, therefore, was wonderful to see. He beckoned her near to tell her – sotto voce, and with an impish wink – that she could count on him to ring the alarm bell from one of his wooden fire trucks if Linda came too near.
Jo laughed, and remarked, just as slyly, “Wouldn’t it be great if those little fire hoses worked as well?” She continued on to her own booth, feeling cheerier.
A pink-wrapped package sat on top of the tarp covering her counter, and Jo picked it up, curious as to what it could be. A quick scan showed it to be addressed to Linda, however, not Jo, and that it had come from Kitty’s Kandy, a gourmet candy shop with franchises scattered about Maryland. Jo looked over toward Linda’s stall and saw the back of her blonde head as she worked at adjusting her computer monitor. An evil impulse pulled Jo’s glance downward, toward her trash basket. Dump it, the fork-waving creature on her shoulder urged. Pretend it never arrived.
Jo shook her head, tempting though it was. Still, she couldn’t quite bear the thought of carrying it over to hand to Linda. Then a woman came up to Linda’s booth and began engaging her in conversation, and Jo saw her opportunity. She quickly crossed the aisle with the package.
“This is yours,” she said, setting it on an empty spot on Linda’s countertop, and did a quick reverse back to her own booth.
“Well, well,” Linda’s voice sailed over, “looks like Jack Guilfoil remembered my sweet tooth.”
Jack Guilfoil. That name rang a bell. Obviously Linda wanted her to know where the candy gift had come from. Then it clicked. Jack Guilfoil was one of the organizers of Michicomi. The brief conversation Jo had overheard during her dinner break the day before came to mind, with its hints of favoritism. Jo hadn’t seen any sender’s name on the box, but if Linda wanted to assume Guilfoil was who the box was from, that was up to her. Jo had her own business to attend to and she got down to it, readying her booth for customers, which was a good thing since before long the sound of approaching hordes reached her ears.
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