Chapter Five
Even after several days, Daisy still beat Lars to the front door in her eagerness to get to Jessamyn Carroll’s house. “What’s the rush?” he asked, taking a firm hold on her hand before she could dash outside.
“I wanna see if Jack’s grown any,” she explained. “He might be bigger.”
He buckled her into her car seat. “Babies grow slowly, Dais. You probably won’t see much difference.”
She gave that observation the contempt she obviously felt it deserved. He wondered how long this particular fad would last before she moved on to her next obsession. After all, last week it had been stuffed turtles.
At the B and B, Jess gave him a quick smile before shooing Daisy into the house. “Has she had breakfast?” she called over her shoulder.
Lars felt a quick pinch of irritation. “Of course.”
Jess nodded. “Good. She can help me feed Jack. C’mon Daisy, he’s waiting.” And the door swung shut behind her.
He trudged back to his car, feeling oddly depressed about going to his office alone.
Midway through the morning, between appointments with a realtor who wanted some (preferably cheap) tax help and a prospective fruit stand owner who wanted a business plan, Mrs. Suarez leaned in his door. “Do you have time for a walk-in?”
Lars shrugged. “I guess so. The next client isn’t due for another forty minutes. Send him in.”
The man who stepped into his office a moment later looked to be in his late forties. His blue suit was a little tight for his slightly pudgy frame, and he wore a bolo tie with a large silver longhorn at the top. When he removed his tan Stetson, his graying hair ringed a significant bald spot, with a few strands brushed across for effect. His chin bulged over his collar, not quite to double but no longer exactly single.
Lars disliked him on sight.
“Mr. Toleffson,” he boomed, “I’m Lorne Haggedorn. Down from Oklahoma City. Pleased to meet you, sir.”
Lars shook the man’s extended hand dutifully. Haggedorn wore a gold pinkie ring with a dull green stone. “What can I do for you, Mr. Haggedorn?”
Haggedorn settled into the chair opposite the desk, then rested his ankle on his knee so that Lars could see his elaborately embroidered cowboy boots. The toes were so sharply pointed he almost winced.
“I’m checking out some possibilities here in Konigsburg.” Haggedorn leaned back into his chair. “Looks like a pretty successful little town.”
Lars nodded. “Generally, yeah. The Merchants Association can give you more information about that.”
Haggedorn’s eyes narrowed. “I wanted to check the place out for myself. See what kind of services the town had. I may want to move some business down here.”
“What kind of business are you in, Mr. Haggedorn?” Lars tried to sound like he really cared.
“Land development.” Haggedorn waved a hand in the general direction of Main. “Understand that’s big around here. Lots of opportunities.”
Lars nodded. “Also lots of people already involved. It’s a very competitive market.”
Haggedorn shrugged. “Always is. So how do you like the town, Mr. Toleffson?”
“Fine. It’s a good place to live.” Lars considered giving Haggedorn the standard Konigsburg pitch, then decided to leave it to the Merchants Association.
Haggedorn’s expression sharpened. “How’s the accounting business?”
“No complaints.” Lars wondered idly if Haggedorn was a potential competitor trying to size him up.
“So you have a wife? Kids? What’s this place like for families?”
Lars took a breath. “I have family here, yes. So far as I know the schools are good.”
“What about child care? Any daycare centers around?”
“There’s a daycare center near the highway. Wee Care.” Haggedorn looked too old to have kids in daycare, but maybe he had a young trophy wife. Sort of like Sherice. Lars managed not to grimace.
Haggedorn nodded. “That where you’ve got your kids?”
Lars felt a prickling up his spine for no reason he could exactly identify. “I looked into it, yes.”
“Young kids then?” Haggedorn’s lips spread in a grin that didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “Boys or girls?”
“I have a daughter.”
“And this daycare place is good?”
“It looked good to me.” Lars ignored the slight stiffness in his shoulders. “You should talk to them directly, though. I’m sure they’d show you around. Are you also looking for accounting services, Mr. Haggedorn?”
He’d seldom seen a client he wanted less than Lorne Haggedorn. But discussing business felt better than discussing Daisy.
“I might. If I decide to move down here, that is.” Haggedorn fiddled with his bolo tie, staring out the window behind Lars’s desk.
“What kind of service would you be looking for? Business plan? Taxes? Financial planning?”
Haggedorn shrugged. “All of that, I imagine. Haven’t decided yet. You do mainly business accounting, right?”
“Mainly.”
The prickling up Lars’s spine was more persistent. Something felt profoundly wrong about Lorne Haggedorn, beyond the bad combover and the gaudy boots. “When you do decide what you’re looking for, I’ll be glad to give you an idea of what the costs would be. Let me know when you’re ready.”
Haggedorn’s eyes narrowed again, making him look a little like a life-size Pillsbury Doughboy. “I’ll do that. Any other information you can give me about the town?”
Lars leaned back in his chair. “I like it, but it’s not for everybody. People do keep track of each other in small towns. It wouldn’t be a good place for anybody who wanted privacy. Or who didn’t like other people poking into his business.”
For a moment he and Haggedorn stared at each other in silence. Then Haggedorn’s lips slid into another sour grin. “I’ll keep that in mind, then. Nice talking to you.”
Lars stood, but managed not to shake Haggedorn’s hand. “Stop by again. Let me know if you decide to stay.”
“Oh, I’ll be staying.” Haggedorn turned toward the door. “You can be sure of that.”
Lars watched him walk past Mrs. Suarez’s desk, wondering what exactly Haggedorn would be staying for.
By the beginning of their second week together, Jess had figured out how to get Daisy to cooperate—use Jack shamelessly.
Daisy had taken him over as her consort and her partner in crime, although those crimes were at a pretty rudimentary level, given that he could only crawl. With Jack’s limited mobility, Jess wasn’t overly worried about Daisy’s plots, but she didn’t leave them alone together for more than a few minutes at most.
Now Daisy sat next to Jack’s playpen, in the middle of the guest cabin’s living room. She wiggled her fingers through the mesh, grinning while Jack giggled helplessly.
“Great audience, kid,” Jess muttered. “Who knew you were this easy to please?” She gave one last swipe of her sponge over the sink, then rinsed again.
“Are we done?” Daisy piped.
“Almost. I’ve got to run the sweeper and then we can go back home.” Fortunately, the couple who’d had the cabin at the beginning of the week had looked to be in their late sixties, which may have limited any tendencies toward carousing and thus cut back on the need for cleaning.
Daisy’s brow furrowed. “Jack doesn’t like the sweeper. It’s too noisy.”
“Do you want to sit with him?” Jess cocked an eyebrow in Daisy’s direction. This was a new thing—Daisy sitting in Jack’s playpen like a miniature convict.
“Perhaps that would be best,” Daisy intoned, then pulled herself to her feet.
Jess blinked at her. Sometimes the kid seemed like two going on forty. However, since she apparently spent most of her time around adults, except for Jack, Jess figured she had a right to some weird speech patterns.
“Okay, in you go.” Jess slid her hands under Daisy’s arms and lifted her in with Jack. He immediately grabbed a couple of handfuls of her hair, crowing in delight.
Daisy freed herself by pushing his hands away. “Not now, Jack. Maybe later.”
Jess bit her lip, telling herself that Daisy hadn’t necessarily heard that phrase before her parents’ divorce. Still, it seemed appropriate.
Or not. One thing Jess had had to accept over the past two weeks—Lars Toleffson was one good-looking man. She was reminded of that fact every time he dropped Daisy off or picked her up. He was impossibly broad-shouldered, even in the business suits he usually wore. His hair was the color of strong coffee, and his eyes were like molasses. Just looking at him made her feel hungry.
But looking was all she was doing. She was definitely not in the market for any kind of hook-up, even the very temporary kind. And a temporary hook-up with the man who was paying her to look after his daughter didn’t seem like a smart thing to do. Not to mention that Lars Toleffson hadn’t seemed even slightly interested in her in a carnal way.
Probably too tired. Lord knew she was, and Jack wasn’t even walking yet. Jess switched on the vacuum sweeper, then checked him to see if it inspired any panic. Jack, busy handing his blocks to Daisy, seemed not to notice.
“We could get Jack a dog,” Daisy chirped over the noise of the sweeper. “From my Uncle Cal.”
“Your Uncle Cal?” Jess was vaguely aware that there were other Toleffsons in town, but she hadn’t met any of them. She hadn’t met much of anybody beyond Mrs. Carmody, the owner of the Lone Oak. Not that she wanted to meet people. It was best not to draw any more attention to the two of them than she had to. “What does your Uncle Cal do?”
“He’s a veteran,” Daisy explained. “He fixes sick dogs.”
“Veterinarian,” Jess corrected absently.
“And Uncle Pete puts bad people in jail,” Daisy continued. “And Aunt Docia and Aunt Janie have books.”
“What kind of books?” Jess ran the sweeper around the couch.
Daisy shrugged. “All kinds. In the shop.”
Okay. Bookshop.
She’d seen a bookshop on Main—maybe that was the one. “Do you have any other uncles and aunts here in town?”
“Well…” Daisy’s brow furrowed. “Uncle Erik, but he doesn’t come to dinner.”
“He doesn’t?” Jess turned off the sweeper, wrapping the cord back around the handle again. “Why’s that?”
“’Cause he’s real busy, Daddy says.”
“What does he do?” She began to gather up the cleaning supplies again, sliding the vacuum sweeper back into the closet.
“He’s a policeman. He’s got a gun. He’d show it to Jack.”
Jess wasn’t sure exactly what to say about that, since
not in this lifetime
didn’t seem polite. “Maybe when he’s older. Are you ready to go back home now?”
“Yes ma’am.” Daisy stood and lifted her arms.
Jess scooped her up high in the air, then let her down gently. “There you go! Air Daisy, in for a landing.”
Daisy giggled, then picked up the tote bag of sponges and dust cloths, while Jess lifted Jack into the backpack, fastening the strap around his waist.
“Can I ride in the cart?” Daisy bounced toward the front door.
“If there’s room.” Jess folded the playpen one-handed, then carried it outside to the large yellow wagon she used to tote cleaning supplies. She suspected the wagon was the true attraction for Daisy in their morning cleaning excursions—that and Jack, of course.
Now she helped Daisy climb inside, then settled the backpack more comfortably onto her own shoulders.
“Can Jack ride with me?”
Jess shook her head. “Not enough room. He squirms around.”
“I’d hold him.”
“I know.” Jess piled playpen, tote bags and miscellaneous dust cloths behind and around Daisy, then picked up the wagon handle. “Maybe sometime when we don’t have so much to carry.”
Daisy looked like she might try the pooling eyes thing, but once Jess turned toward the road and began pulling the wagon, she settled back against the wagon rail, half-singing one of her songs.
Jess trudged up the dirt road that led from the guest cabin to her home, listening to Daisy’s variations on Old MacDonald that seemed to include an improbable assortment of animals and animal sounds, although the unicorn sounded a lot like a donkey. Somewhere a cardinal chirped in the pecan trees, as the wind rattled the leaves around them.
Surprisingly cool for early November. Jess resolved to put a sweater on Jack next time they came to the cabin and to ask Lars Toleffson to bring a heavier jacket for Daisy tomorrow. She glanced up at her cabin and stopped short.
A man was walking across her front porch, peering in the front windows.
Jess stood frozen at the point where the road branched off to the guest cabin. Her heart hammered. She could turn around. Clearly the man hadn’t heard them yet.
“I need to go,” Daisy demanded, her voice piping across the open meadow.
The man looked up, then stared straight at them.
Jess took a deep breath. Too late to run, and where would she run to, anyway? She raised her head, straightening her spine, and resumed her trudge toward the front porch.
“Mrs. Carroll?” the man called when she still was a few feet up the road.
She stopped again. “I’m Jessamyn Carroll.”
The man’s smile broadened and he stepped off the porch, walking toward her. “Lorne Barrymore. Glad to meet you.”
Jess watched him approach. He was maybe forty-five or so, slightly paunchy, collar too tight around his chin. His hair had receded to a graying ring around the outside of his bald spot, but he’d combed a few strands across.
Lorne Barrymore extended his hand. He wore a gold ring with a green stone on his puffy little finger. After a moment, Jess lifted her hand to shake his.
“Glad I caught you.” Barrymore grinned again. “Thought maybe you were out.”
“No, I’m here.” Jess wondered if there was any way she could get by him and get the children into the house. She could turn and run back to the cabin with Jack, but not with Daisy. And what good would it do to hide there when he’d already discovered where she was?
“Who are you?” Daisy’s face slid into a modified scowl.
“Well, hello there.” Barrymore turned toward her. “What’s your name, little girl?”
Daisy pushed her lips together in a tight line, regarding Barrymore with narrowed eyes. “I’m not little.”
“What can I do for you, Mr. Barrymore?” Jess leaned down and helped Daisy out of the cart, then slipped an arm around her shoulders to keep her close.