Authors: Cynthia Hickey
Chapter Six
The
sounds in my head whirred to the buzz of the sewing machine. Voices spun, overlapping, tumbling, and weaving like tangle thread. Duane’s low rumble begged to be heard over Sharon’s shrieking. Lindsey’s teenage voice rose in confusion. I couldn’t make sense of any of the voices filtering through my mind.
As I sewed, t
he needle flashed in and out of the flowered fabric before snapping in two. I sighed and pushed back from my chair. “Mom, I’ll finish these seat cushions later. I’ve got to go and clear my head.”
“How can you clear something that’s already empty?” Her giggle reached me from the storeroom.
“Everyone’s a comedian.” Outside, I turned right and headed toward Sharon Weiss’s street. The way she accosted my child the night before still irked me. Maybe the two of us could sit down like civilized women and discuss things. I glanced at my watch. Nine A.M. Even a woman of leisure such as Sharon should be up by now.
The drone of a lawnmower
drew my attention. Melvin Brown, a familiar sight behind any landscaping tool on most of the town’s properties, mowed the lawn next door to Sharon’s. He tipped his grungy baseball hat in my direction. Trying to be neighborly, I stooped to pick up Sharon’s unclaimed newspaper before heading up the steps to her front door.
Westminster chimes rang when I p
ressed the doorbell. After a few seconds, I cupped my hands around my eyes and peered through the etched beveled glass. The house appeared dark. No human form approached. The shadow of a cat streaked past on highly polished wooden floors.
I tried the door handle. It
swung open at my touch. I glanced over my shoulder.
Melvin shut off the mower
and tipped his hat again. “I ain’t seen her all morning. Normally, she’s outside wearing that slinky housecoat and getting her paper. All dolled up like some movie star,” he called.
“New lawnmower?”
He grinned. “Second-hand. Get a new one soon. I’m getting closer to having a real business. Coming into some extra money, ya know?”
I waved and stepped inside. A cool, air-conditioned foyer greeted me. From a room down the hall came the muted sounds of a television.
“Sharon? The door’s open, can I come in?”
My footsteps thudded against the floor. “It’s me
—Marsha. I need to talk to you.” My voice echoed from the Spartan walls. A shiver ran up my spine, and I had the urge to turn around and forget speaking with her.
“Get out!” Like a phantom, Sharon
seemed to float into the hall, some kind of green paste spread across her face, her hair in skinny foam rollers. “Like mother, like daughter. Both sneaky. Both deceitful. Get out.” She advanced, her face contorted like something out of an alien nightmare.
Sharon brandish
ed a heavy silver candlestick like a weapon-wielding Medusa. I spun. My legs moved like a cartoon character, sliding on the polished floor surface, yet I couldn’t gain traction. I ran—going nowhere. Darn these new boots. My heart banged in my throat. My feet slipped, bringing me hard to my knees. In desperation, I crawled toward the safety of the front door. Glancing over my shoulder, I whimpered as she advanced.
Could she attack
me? I
was
in her house. Uninvited. Would it matter to the authorities that the door was unlocked?
After what seemed an eternity of breath-holding, heart-stopping
seconds, I made my way onto the front porch. I leapt to my feet, jumped the three stairs to the ground, and dashed down the street. Out of sight of Sharon’s house, I leaned against a tree. A fit of nervous giggles overtook me.
I glanced
around the corner to where Melvin trimmed bushes. No sign of his having seen anything. I thanked God no one had witnessed what guaranteed to be my most embarrassing moment of many embarrassing moments. Then to start laughing, even as tears sprang to my eyes, had to be the cherry on top of embarassment. Why did giggling when nervous or scared have to be in my DNA blue-print? I sighed and wiped my eyes.
I’d never seen Sharon without makeup and had never been
privy to what was obviously an elaborate routine to look her best before starting her day. She wouldn’t really have hit me with the candlestick, would she? Of course, the fact that I had seen her not fully made up might give her motive. I couldn’t remember having ever panicked before. It must have been the eeriness of the silent house. I shrugged. I’d better go tell Barney, I mean, Bruce, because Sharon was bound to call him.
Being a small town
of nosey neighbors, Oak Dale had few yards enclosed by fences. I cut behind several houses until I reached Main Street. I turned left fifty yards then stood in front of the small red brick building that housed River Valley’s finest in law enforcement: All three of them.
I straightened my shoulders to bolster my courage, and shoved inside. “Sorry.” An officer I knew
only by face, leapt to safety to avoid being hit by the swinging door. He scowled at me and slipped outside.
I made my way to Bruce’s office.
“Hey, Bruce.”
He sat in the back of the room, feet propped on his desk.
“Marsha.” Bruce let his feet fall with a bang to the floor. “I just got an interesting phone call.”
“I can explain.” I plopped into a plastic chair opposite him.
Folding my arms, I leaned back on two of the chair legs, and filled Bruce in on last night’s happenings. “Then, I went to her house to speak with her this morning. You know, to smooth things over. The door was unlocked and open, basically, so I went in. She chased me out waving a candlestick. She could’ve killed me. If anyone was in danger, it was me.”
“She’s threatening to press trespassing charges.”
“What?” I jerked. “Whoa.” My arms wind-milled as I fell back. I fell over with a thud. My legs flew over my head before hitting the floor. Ow. One more reason I rarely wore a dress. Flashing unmentionables during clumsy moments would’ve been hard to live down. “Can she do that?” I lay as still as possible to catch my breath.
Bruce rushed to my aid.
“Are you all right?” He held out a hand offering to help me up. “I talked her out of it, but she’s putting a restraining order against you and Lindsey. I’ll bring it by once the paperwork is complete.”
I waved his hand away
, and closed my eyes. Movement only promised to bring more pain. “After last night, I ought to put one against her.”
He bent over me. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”
“No. Just give me a minute. Once I die, I’ll feel better.” My mortification was complete. Within hours, possibly minutes, everyone in town would know Sharon considered me a threat. I’d better get up and face the music. I groaned and struggled to my feet. “Oh, well. We weren’t really friends anyway.”
Mom met me at the door of the store, hands on chubby hips. “You’ve been busy.
The phone’s been ringing off the hook. Seems I’m living with a dangerous criminal. What were you doing at Sharon’s? I’ll never be able to lift my head in this town again. Good thing is—the focus is off Lindsey and on you.”
“Please. Something else will happen and everyone will forget about this.” I shuffled inside and lowered my aching body behind the sewing machine.
I could really use some M&M’s about now. A tray that used to contain cookies, beckoned. One last cherry-chocolate chunk called my name. I shoved it into my mouth and sat down to begin work.
“Marsha!”
I jumped. “What? Did you want the last cookie?” I glanced around. The empty platter sat on the counter.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Mom glared at me from the other side of the sewing machine. “What, exactly are you doing with those cushions?”
“Sewing them?” I glanced at my work. They resembled nothing but a
lump of striped cloth. My gaze flew to the clock.
Forty minutes
, and I hadn’t sewn anything? I scratched my head. “Was I asleep?”
“No.
Your eyes were open.” Mom stepped behind the counter. “I came back from running errands to see you with your foot pressed to the pedal, the machine running about ninety miles an hour, and no cloth being moved through it. Are you daydreaming about breaking and entering into someone else’s home?”
“Um.” I chewed the inside of my cheek.
Didn’t we just talk about my visit to Sharon? Ten drummers played a heavy metal beat inside my head. I lowered my face to my hands.
“They aren’t going to sew themselves.” Mom patted my shoulder on her way to the storeroom.
I glanced at the clock again. Please, God, don’t tell me a customer came in and saw me sitting in La-La land. I studied the shelves. Nothing appeared out of place. The counter remained clear of notes. No messages waited on the answering machine. I shrugged and decided to do what I should have done in the first place.
It didn’t take long for the thread to break. Probably had something to do with forcing the fabric through too quickly. My hand shook, making it impossible for me to rethread. What was wrong with me? My temper rose.
My right eye twitched, and my head spun.
“Mom?” I called over my shoulder. “I’m
walking home. I don’t feel well.”
Chapter Seven
I stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk, almost falling to my knees.
My hands grasped a fence post to keep me upright. My head ached and my legs seemed to be the consistency of jelly. A truck stopped on the street beside me, and I lifted my head.
“Marsha?” Duane slid from behind the wheel. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I feel weak.” My knees buckled.
He lifted me and carried me to the passenger side of his truck. “Do you need
to see a doctor?”
“No. Just take me home.”
I rested my head against the back of the seat. Having skipped lunch in my quest to resolve things with Sharon left my stomach angry with me. Could the lack of food cause me to feel this way? I’d have a handful of M&M’s first thing when I got home.
Duane cast several glances my way as he sped toward
my house. If he asked me one more time if I was all right, I’d slug him. Did I look all right? The comfort of the sofa beckoned.
He pulled the truck into the driveway, cut the engine, then rushed to help me inside. “Upstairs?”
“Heavens, no. Mom will kill me if you take me to my room. That’s off-limits to males. Always has been, always will.” I could hear her voice as if she stood next to me. “The sofa’s fine.”
“Can I get you anything?” If he didn’t wipe the concerned look of
f his face, I might start to show him how I really felt about him. Keeping Duane at arm’s length became more difficult with each passing day. How would he react if I threw myself at him and planted a big kiss on those delicious looking lips? I’d have to try it sometime when craziness completely took over.
“A glass of water and my bag of candy. It’s in the cupboard beside the sink.” I sank onto the sofa with a sigh, and pulled a crocheted afghan over me. My eyes closed.
Mom shook me awake. “What are you doing in the house alone with Duane Steele?”
I sat up. “He’s still here? How long have I been sleeping?”
“About an hour.” Duane leaned against the door frame. A grin spread across his face. “Did you know you snore?”
“I do not.”
The events of the day were fuzzy. I remembered being chased by a green-faced Sharon, and visiting Bruce, but after that, the day’s events vanished. Until now. Did I have some kind of a virus? “Where’s Lindsey?”
“Hasn’t come home yet.” Mom folded the afghan and placed it along the back of the sofa. “Are you sick? You left the store acting funny.”
“I don’t know. I feel fine now.”
Mom placed a hand against my forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”
“I saw her wobbling down the sidewalk.” Duane moved to sit in the recliner like he’d been invited to stay. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she’d been drinking.”
“Hmmph. I’ll fix her some tea.
And some for myself. What a day.” Mom bustled to the kitchen to brew what she considered her miracle drug.
“I don’t drink.” I hugged a sofa pillow to my stomach. “I remember sewing cushions, t
hen eating a cookie, but that’s it until mom woke me. Did you carry me into the house?”
Please say no
. The poor man could’ve broken his back.
“Yep.” He winked. “You felt good in my arms.”
Right. All one hundred and twenty-five pounds of me. “Sharon put a restraining order against me and Lindsey. Well, she’s going to.”
“Why?”
I explained my wanting to speak with her, then added, “Doesn’t that seem a bit harsh?”
“You were in her house.” Duane leaned forward. “Why does this bother you? The two of you
aren’t exactly friends. Something is obviously going on in Sharon’s life. Give her space. She’ll work it out.”
A glass shattered in the kitchen. Duane and I dashed from the living room
and into the kitchen. Mom leaned against the counter, staring into the sink.
“Mom?”
She sighed. “I’m fine. Wet hands and a glass don’t mix. Especially when you’re distracted.” She turned to face us and crossed her arms. “Did you take money from the cash register today?”
“No, why?”
“We’re short almost two hundred dollars. Did you wait on any customers this afternoon?”
I chewed my lip. Had I? A chunk of the day seemed non-existent. “I don’t think so.”
“Did Lindsey come in?” Mom’s face reddened.
I fell into a chair. “What are you saying?”
“Nothing. It’s just that, well, I heard the bell over the door a couple of times today when you were working up front, then when I came back from running errands, you’re in a daze behind the sewing machine. And, well, I’m not saying anything really.” Mom pulled up a chair opposite me. The sadness in her eyes almost made me forget she basically accused her granddaughter of stealing. “The cash register receipt says we should have a hundred and ninety-five dollars more than we do. According to the records, we sold a wooden rocking chair, and we
are
minus one.”
“I remember now. I sold one this morning.” To a young couple just starting a family. I knew I’d put the money in the register. I leaned my chin on my hand, mentally picturing the four fifty-dollar
bills and handing the customer back a five. I’d even checked to make sure the money was legit. “Something fishy is going on here.”
“Y’all want me to call Bruce?”
I glanced at Mom. I’d forgotten for a moment that Duane stood behind me.
Mom nodded.
“I’ll finish making that tea while you do.” She turned back to the counter, and Duane’s footsteps rasped against the linoleum floor as he moved to the phone on the wall.
Duane’s low murmur failed to penetrate the fog in my mind. Not being able to account for a chunk of my time today, bothered and baffled me. I might b
e hyper and ditzy, but my memory had never failed before. Not to this degree.
“He’s on his way.” Duane pulled out a chair and straddled it, folding his arms across the back. His midnight eyes caressed my face. “Are you sure you don’t need to go to the doctor?”
“Positive.” I reached up and removed the hair tie from my hair, letting my tresses fall to my shoulders.
Duane’s eyes glowed. “You still have the most beautiful hair.
Like someone’s shining a light from within and the rays shoot from the ends of each strand.”
“
Uh, thanks.” The man might be gorgeous, but he definitely was no poet. Why was he working so hard to get back into my good graces? Despite my determined attempts to stand my ground, Duane’s flattery slowly but surely nicked away at my defenses. I didn’t want to be vulnerable to him again. My heart wouldn’t stand it.
The doorbell rang, yanking me from my thoughts. Duane stood. “I’ll get it.”
Mom turned back to me, a smirk on her face. “That boy has it hard for you. When are you going to let bygones be bygones and let him have a chance? You’ve been mad at everyone since Robert died.”
“Mom, don’t. . .”
My cheeks burned. I wasn’t mad at everyone, was I? Just the world in general. I sighed.
Bruce marched into the kitchen, followed closely by Duane who resumed his seat. Bruce straightened his shoulders and whipped out a notepad. Pencil poised over the paper, he turned to Mom. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
I choked back a snort. The man cracked me up when he tried to look official. The skinny mustache, bowed legs, and tiny frame belied the impression he tried to give of a tough cop.
“There isn’t a whole lot to tell you.” Mom set out four porcelain mugs and poured tea. “We were robbed of some money. Marsha doesn’t remember who might have come into the store and taken it. I was gone.
It’s missing. That’s about it.”
Bruce looked disappointed. “That doesn’t give me much to go on.”
Mom shrugged. “Maybe not, but now the police report will be filed. Why don’t you take off your cop hat and have some tea. I made cookies yesterday. Chocolate chip.”
Bruce reached
to doff his hat before realizing Mom spoke figuratively. “Don’t mind if I do. I’m off duty in fifteen minutes. Do you think I should wait until then?”
A smile tweaked the corners of Mom’s mouth. “I think you’ll be all right.” She set a plate of cookies in the center of the table.
After grabbing a cookie, Bruce bit into it. “Marsha wouldn’t be covering up for anyone, would she? I wouldn’t want these cookies to be construed as a bribe.” Crumbs dropped down the front of his shirt.
“Come on.” I slouched in my seat.
“You know me better than that.”
“Well, you’ve been in a lot of trouble lately. You and your daughter.” He brushed his shirt with his hand. “How can you not remember what went on in your store today?
Have you started drinking?”
“Apparently, I was sleeping.” The nerve of the man. We’ve known each other since grade school. How dare he question my integrity?
Duane sat back with a grin on his face. The big oaf.
“Is everything okay?” Lindsey barged into the room, backpack slinging, and shoes squeaking. “I saw a police car out front.”
My gaze fell to her feet.
She wore a brand new pair of expensive gym shoes.