by Amanda Tru
“You’re family. Besides, both Allie and Kara would love hearing from you,” Geneva said, immediately writing down an address. “I am here on a personal basis, not a professional one. Kara is my friend, and I know she would have no problem with giving you her contact information. And, yes, Allie loves mail! I also wrote down Kara’s phone number. I want you to call her tomorrow. I’ll let her know to expect your call.”
“Do you think she’d want to talk to me?” Arlene asked, a touch of awe in her voice. “I’m sure Jimmy treated her the same as he did me and never gave her any way of contacting me, the conniving scoundrel. After what Jimmy did to her, I wouldn’t blame her if she wanted nothing to do with me.”
Geneva adamantly shook her head. “I know Kara. She would want to talk to you and want Allie to know her great-grandma. I don’t think there is much time left, but there is time enough to say, ‘I love you.’”
Tears filled Mrs. Drew’s eyes once again, and she couldn’t seem to speak. Finally, with trembling lips, she managed, “I’d like that.”
“You ready?” Carter asked Geneva. “I’m starving. I could really go for some pie.”
Carter’s eyebrow lifted as if asking a question, and Geneva immediately got the hint.
As they stood and headed for the front door, Geneva casually asked, “Arlene, do you know Sam Rambo, the caretaker at the cemetery?”
Though she pretended to be uninterested, Geneva caught the slight change in Arlene’s face and saw her head tilt up in attention.
“Of course. Everyone knows Sam,” she replied, standing from her chair to walk them to the door. “Why do you ask?”
“We just ran into him at the cemetery,” Geneva explained easily. “He seems like a nice man and directed us here. He also happened to mention that he asked you out for some pie once upon a time, but you never responded.”
“That flirt!” Arlene snorted disdainfully. “I know his type! He’s a nice man for sure, but he thinks I’m a poor and lonely widow woman. He wants to take me out as a charity case.”
Geneva shook her head, trying to connect the first and the last part of Mrs. Drew’s statement. How exactly did asking a widow out as a ‘charity case’ make him a flirt?
“Does Mr. Rambo ask a lot of women out for charity?” Carter asked, his brow furrowed, having apparently fallen in the same boat of confusion as Geneva.
“No, I don’t think he’s seen many women since his wife passed,” Arlene admitted with some reluctance. “But, when he was young, that was a different story. We went to high school together, and he had a long string of girlfriends chasing after him. Not for me, that’s for sure!”
“How long ago did his wife die?” Geneva asked curiously.
Mrs. Drew pursed her lips, thinking. “Oh, it’s been twenty years if it’s been a day.”
“Twenty years!” Geneva and Carter both gasped. The man hadn’t dated in twenty years, and Arlene still referred to him as a flirt?
“That’s how he came to be caretaker at the cemetery.” Arlene spoke matter-of-factly, seeming completely clueless that her words may be anything less than the most sensible rationale in the world. “He was always out there taking care of his late wife’s grave, so he figured he might as well take care of everyone else’s, too. The county pays him, of course. But he’s retired and doesn’t really need the money. I guess he does it because he likes to.”
“I believe you may be mistaken, Mrs. Drew,” Carter said thoughtfully. “A man doesn’t ask a woman out for pie if he thinks she’s a charity case. He’ll take her to get a good meal or leave groceries on her front step. Pie is something that isn’t necessary. Pie is on a deeper level. It says he’s interested in something more than the ordinary.”
Arlene looked at Carter in awe as if he’d just revealed a strange invention she’d never encountered before. “You really think so?”
“I know so.” Carter returned her gaze with wide-eyed sincerity and spoke with confidence. “I’d only ask about pie if I was serious about a woman.”
Geneva found herself holding her breath, waiting for Arlene’s reaction. Would her icy attitude thaw and her grief soften with the knowledge that someone really did care for her?
The air split with the sudden ringing of bells and gongs as more than a dozen little cuckoos leaped from their hiding places to announce the stroke of the hour. Every surface in the room suddenly took to life with woodland creatures springing from their clock hideaways and dancing and singing in a tinny cacophony. Every perfectly tuned clock in the room rang out its celebration, and the rhythmic gongs counted out seven.
After the last echo finally dropped away and the last little brightly painted cuckoo bird slipped back into hiding to await the next hour, Geneva felt the urge to clap at the performance.
Imagine living in a house where every lonely hour of the day is ushered in with such pomp and circumstance! Poor Arlene has definitely earned the right to be eccentric!
“Well, Carter, we’d better get you something to eat,” Geneva announced, knowing that the tension of the moment had passed with the chiming of the hour. “You won’t last with all this talk of pie, and I’m not sure how long Betsy’s Diner is open.”
“Betsy’s Diner. That’s where you’re going for supper?” Arlene’s gaze darted back and forth between Carter and Geneva.
“Yes, ma’am. Sam recommended it,” Carter replied. Then, rather pointedly, he added, “Sam goes there every Saturday night for Betsy’s pie. He said she makes the best pies.”
“Oh, that Betsy Bates is a hussy!” Arlene fumed, her hands lit on her hips, and her eyes flashed. “Thinks she can worm her way into the hearts of every man in Charula with her pie just because she won a blue ribbon at the state fair one year!”
“Must be some pretty good pie,” Carter remarked dryly.
“Not good enough to make Sam stop wishing Arlene would come join him,” Geneva pointed out helpfully, watching Arlene out of the corner of her eye.
Arlene’s flame of jealousy cooled, and her gaze turned thoughtful. “You said he goes every Saturday night?”
“That’s what he said,” Geneva confirmed. Then, longing to make one last attempt, she asked, “Do you want us to say ‘hi’ if we see him tonight?”
“Oh, goodness, no!” Arlene said hastily, backing up. “I’m sure I’ll see him tomorrow at church.”
Geneva’s last flicker of hope slipped, and she chastised herself for pushing too hard. “Alright. Well, thank you for your help, Arlene,” she said lightly. “Remember to call Kara and Allie tomorrow.”
Carter opened the door for Geneva and then turned back to Arlene. “By the way, does Sam have children?”
“Oh, he has a truckload of them. At least eight, I think. Not a wandering bone in any of them. Last I heard, they all lived in the area, bless their hearts.”
Carter nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. “Good to know.”
Night had fallen, and Arlene’s feeble porch light barely illuminated the sidewalk to their car. Geneva walked close to Carter and asked teasingly, “Dare I presume that Dr. Solomon is playing matchmaker?”
Carter shrugged innocently. “Not sure what you’re accusing me of now.”
Geneva copied his shrug. “Nothing really. I just found your pie analysis to be very educational. ‘A man invites a woman to eat pie if he’s serious about her.’ Do you have any scientific evidence to back that hypothesis, or is it pure conjecture at this point?”
“When the woman being asked to pie has no one and the man doing the asking has a bunch of love and kids to share, I may skip the trials and go right to a publishable theory.” As quickly as Carter’s grin flashed, it faded to a frown. “I’m just not sure our matchmaking efforts worked.”
Geneva sighed. “Maybe not. But maybe we planted a seed. We never know if it will grow later. Though Arlene may be reticent now, a man offering pie is awfully tempting. She’s obviously still dealing with a lot of grief. I just hope Sam waits a little longer for
her.”
“He might. It’s not every day a man finds a woman worth having pie with.”
Feeling the sting, Geneva bit back a bitter reply and turned to watch the passing sidewalks as the car made the short drive to the diner. While very possible that Carter didn’t intend for his words to hurt, Geneva automatically heard what went unsaid, and it really had nothing to do with Sam and Arlene.
Obviously, she wasn’t the kind of woman Carter judged worthy of having pie with.
“Find anything?” Carter asked, propping his head on his hand as he tiredly watched Geneva from across the booth.
Geneva frowned. “Do you have any idea how many James Drews there are in California? That’s not counting Jim and Jimmy.”
“Don’t want to know,” Carter groaned. “It’s an impossible task, and right now, I just want food.”
“So that’s it then? We’re just going to give up?” Geneva said, her frustration directing in irritation toward the man across from her.
“Yes. Geneva. Yes. I am officially giving up. That’s why I’m sitting in a diner in Charula, Kentucky across the table from you. This is me giving up.” Her surprise at the frustration in his voice must have been obvious because he softened his tone. “I am starving and I can’t think straight. I need to inhale at least a thousand calories before we discuss giving up.”
Geneva shot him a glare and turned back to scrolling through her phone as she researched through the haystack of California to find Allie’s dad. Since they’d been seated at the booth in the diner, she’d barely looked up long enough to distractedly give her order when the waitress came by.
“Geneva, come on. Put the phone down,” Carter urged. “There’s absolutely nothing you can do right now, and you’re so out of it, you can’t appreciate this place or even so much as notice the other patrons.” He pointedly nodded his head to a booth near the window.
Still irritated, Geneva’s gaze involuntarily shot for a split second over to the window. Then her eyes widened. “That’s Sam!”
Carter nodded. “Saturday night pie. Right where he said he’d be. Just like clockwork.”
“‘Clockwork,’ huh?” Geneva asked, noticing the twinkling-eyed reference to Arlene and her clocks.
“Order’s up!” came the friendly, robust greeting as their waitress brought their plates heaping with food. “Bacon burger with all the trimmings for you, young man. And a taco salad for the lady.”
“Thank you,” Carter said, practically drooling over the huge creation with a sidekick of fries set before him. However, instead of immediately shoving it into his mouth, he turned back to the woman. “By any chance, are you Betsy Bates, the diner owner?”
“Guilty!” Betsy said brightly. “But any complaints don’t go to me. There’s a special bin over there for them. Don’t let the sign labeled ‘trash’ fool you!”
Geneva looked at the woman with new interest, wondering if all of Charula was populated by eccentric old ladies. While Betsy seemed very different than Arlene, she was obviously not your run-of-mill waitress, nor was she the “hussy” Arlene had rather comically described. The tall, skinny woman’s friendly face boasted plentiful wrinkles in a topography map telling the story of a woman accustomed to hard work from a young age. Her short hair was dyed a mottled brown, likely from a bottle on sale at the local grocery store, and she wore a faded gingham shirt and jeans. Though there was nothing overly appealing about her physical appearance, she glowed with an energy and friendliness that immediately traversed the usual distance at which one normally kept a stranger. Five minutes after meeting her, it almost seemed as if Betsy had known you your whole life and already knew all your secrets.
Carter laughed. “No complaints here. This looks delicious.” Then he looked at Betsy thoughtfully. “If you own this diner, then you probably know everyone here in Charula. What about Jimmy Drew—the younger one? We spoke to Arlene Drew, but she hasn’t heard from him in a long time. Any chance Jimmy ate here before he left town and mentioned where he was headed?”
Betsy’s gaze grew slightly wary. “The boy ain’t in trouble, is he?”
Geneva understood what Betsy was thinking, and she liked her all the more for it. This was a small town, and they obviously took care of their own. If she and Carter meant trouble for Jimmy, then Arlene wouldn’t be sharing any information or even a whisper of any rumors.
“No, Jimmy isn’t in trouble,” Geneva assured hurriedly. “But his daughter is. She’s very ill. Her situation is grave. She asked us to find her daddy before she passes away.”
Betsy’s face blanched white under her liberally-applied makeup. She turned around, yanked one of the red, vinyl-upholstered chairs from a nearby table, and pulled it up to Carter and Geneva’s table.
She plopped herself down on it and announced, “Spaghetti. That boy loves spaghetti. That was always his usual when he came in.”
She stopped and looked from Carter to Geneva. “Go on, eat before it shrivels up in front of you. I’ll just keep talking. No sense in you waiting. The way I go on, you might be waiting to eat clear till the good Lord shows his face, and what kind of diner owner would I be if He found you hungry!”
Not wanting to attempt to argue with that logic, Carter quickly bowed his head and prayed a blessing over the food. Then he eagerly brought his burger to his mouth, and Geneva took up her fork for her salad.
“Now, where was I?” Betsy asked as she watched them enjoy their food. “Spaghetti. What people like to eat says a whole lot about them. When you walked in the door, I knew you were a burger guy. And before this young lady even ordered, I knew she would choose a salad. Jimmy is all spaghetti. Rich, messy, and full-of flavor, and very likely to give you indigestion if you don’t have the stomach for Italian food. Jimmy always lived life at full throttle. I’ve known him since he was born, and he’s only ever ordered spaghetti. Every new venture, every mess of trouble, he’d land right in the middle. He wasn’t a bad kid or anything, but he’s a firecracker. He burns hot and high, and then fizzles out quick.”
“Did he mention anything about what new venture caught his attention in California?” Geneva asked hopefully.
Betsy shook her head. “Jimmy was different when he came back. Always before he’d spin fantastic yarns of his adventures and new schemes to make him rich. If he was in the dumps, he never minded spilling his guts over a plate full of comfort food. When he first came back, I thought he was at a loss without his grandpa, Big Jim. But Big Jim had been gone over a decade then, and I’m sure Jimmy had more on his mind. He never would say, though, no matter how much I coaxed and refilled his plate of spaghetti. He always ate quietly and alone. One day, he paid for his meal, thanked me, and said he’d got a job in Cali. I made some remark about hoping his ship would finally come in and meet him at the beach there. He just said, ‘That’s the idea.’ But he didn’t smile. He left out those doors, and I haven’t seen him since.”
Geneva sighed, suddenly losing interest in her salad. She set her fork down and idly reached across the table, swiped one of Carter’s fries, and munched it in the corner of her mouth.
“Thanks for your insight, Ms. Bates,” Carter said sincerely. “I guess we just keep looking for him.”
“You can leave Ms. Bates at the door. I’m Betsy. I’m sorry I can’t be more help, but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll ask around a little and let you know if I hear anything about Jimmy. He still has friends in town, and maybe one of my regulars has heard from him in the time since he left.”
Geneva reached into her purse for a card with her phone number.
A young boy’s voice fell on her ears. “You have shiny teeth. If you filed them to have grooves, they would make great Viking teeth.”
Startled, Geneva looked up to see a young boy standing beside Betsy and staring intently at Carter.
Betsy gazed at the boy in delight. “Why, Noah! Thank you for joining us!” Turning to Carter and Geneva, she introduced. “This special young man is one of my very best f
riends. His name is Noah, and he knows everything there is to know about Vikings!”
The boy looked to be around eight years old. He had light brown hair and warm brown gaze that remained steadily affixed to Carter.
Carter returned Noah’s serious study. “What kind of grooves would I need? Viking teeth sound pretty awesome!”
“The grooves need to be horizontal on the front of the teeth,” Noah replied, his tone precise. “It might take a while to file them down. When you’re done, you can bare your teeth and scare your enemies, just like the Vikings!” As if to demonstrate, Noah raised his hands up in claws and bared his teeth in an expression somewhere in-between a grin and a grimace.
“I’m so sorry!” A woman with long, dark hair and cute glasses perched on her nose appeared beside Noah. “Noah slipped off before I realized he wanted to say ‘hi’ to Betsy. He didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation.”
“Actually, Gloria, you just may be exactly who these people need to speak to!” Turning to Carter and Geneva, she introduced. “This is Noah’s mom, Gloria Sutton. Gloria went to high school with Jimmy.”
“Jimmy Drew?” Gloria asked, looking back and forth between Geneva and Carter.
“Yes,” Betsy confirmed. “Jimmy’s little girl is gravely ill and won’t be long to this world. They are trying to find Jimmy so she can say goodbye.”
“Oh, no! What a sad situation!” Gloria’s hand came to her heart as if she felt the impact of the news deeply. Then her expression changed just slightly. “I assume Jimmy took off and doesn’t want to be found?”
Geneva looked at the pretty brunette in surprise. “How did you know?”
Gloria’s lips curved up in a sad smile. “Because I know Jimmy. In high school, he almost didn’t pass Biology because he refused to do any of the dissection labs. It wasn’t because it grossed him out. Even though the worms and frogs were thoroughly dead, I don’t think he could take the suffering he imagined for them. I finally offered to be his lab partner and got him through it, but I did all the work while Jimmy plotted his escape routes.”