Doubled Up (Imogene Museum Mystery #2) (7 page)

“
Good call. Hey, I met your friend Hamilton Wexler.”

I almost dropped the basket.

“I just finished fixing up the studio apartment upstairs, and he’s my first renter. He reserved it for a week, for the holiday. Said he was in town to visit you. He sure seems like a nice guy.”

I hadn
’t even known there was an apartment above the store. My mouth hung open. Gloria was fishing for gossip. She settled on her haunches, waiting for a juicy detail.

But my brain still hadn
’t kicked into gear. Why did Ham make me speechless? When I got angry at anyone else, my vocabulary exploded, but even the mention of his name had a horrible, stifling effect on me.

“
Uhh,” I said.

“
And you’re having Thanksgiving dinner with Pete Sills.” Gloria’s eyebrows arched.

Of course she knew
— everyone knew. Good grief. I was single-handedly providing soap-opera programming for the whole town. And it wasn’t even my fault.

Metal bells clanked against the glass door as someone barged inside.

“Gloria,” a voice called — Ham’s voice. “The light bulb over the dining table just burned out.” He came around the end of the aisle and halted.

“
Meredith! But of course we’d bump into each other, wouldn’t we — in a town this size. You’re buying food. How about dinner? I’m just whipping up a little stir-fry upstairs. Chop. Chop.” He aimed his fingers like pistols and jerked them, gunslinger style.

I had no idea what that had to do with chopping.

“What do you say?”

“
No,” I grunted.

“
Aw, come on. I’m a great cook. When we’re married, I’ll cook for you all the time, whatever you want.”

Gloria knocked over several soup cans and one kept rolling
— woowr, woowr down the aisle.

“
Married? I—”

I was cut off by the metal bells clanking violently, like someone whacking a wind chime with a baseball bat.

A petite blond stormed past the end of the aisle, skidded and turned back. A blur of flying pink and yellow and sparkles — glitter eye shadow, dangly earrings and rhinestones on flip flop straps. She was wearing flip flops in November? And fuchsia toenail polish.

“
You bastard! Do you think you can hide from me?” Miss Glitz screamed. Her hand closed around a can of chili. “Did you think I wouldn’t find you? Your little mid-life crisis in the parking lot was a dead giveaway. How dare you!”

“
Now, Val, I told you I needed a break. There’s no need to get excited.” Ham’s voice skipped up an octave.

Val slung the can sidearmed and nearly clocked Ham except he dodged at the last nanosecond. He seemed familiar with this kind of target practice.

The can sailed past my shoulder, and I hit the floor beside Gloria, sending a painful jolt through my ribs and collarbone. 

The next can plowed into a shelf above us, shattering a pickle jar.

Gloria’s brown eyes widened, and she started to rise. “Hey! Watch it! You can’t—”

I grabbed her and pulled her back down. A box of spaghetti broke overhead, and pasta sticks rained on us.

I felt for my phone in my jeans pocket, then realized I’d left it in the truck.

“
My store—” Gloria moaned. “Thanksgiving. What’ll I do?”

I squeezed her arm.
“Go the other way, toward the back. Scootch on your stomach.” I gave Gloria a shove to get her going. “Lock yourself in your office and call Sheriff Marge. Go!”

Gloria army-crawled down the littered aisle, through tomato sauce and mustard
— the colors of the USC Trojans. I always think the players look like picnic condiment sets when they take the field. I shook my head. Focus, I needed to focus.

When Gloria seemed safely out of reach, I followed, dragging the shopping basket with me. Val and Ham continued their shouting match, but my mind raced through options for putting a stop to it, safely.

Apparently, Ham’s smooth, lawyerly manner didn’t mollify some people. Val certainly had grit — she was no pushover. But she was also a really good pitcher, and somebody was going to get hurt. I had to catch Val from behind — that arm was a deadly weapon.

At the end of the aisle, I crawled to the next row
— the beer and soda pop aisle — and trotted to the front. I took a quick peek and saw Val’s skinny bottom stick out past the potato chip display as she bent to pick up another missile.

“
I even grew out my hair for you,” the girl screamed.

I had a feeling Val was beyond being pacified by diplomacy and negotiation. I glanced at the shopping basket in my hand
— too light and clumsy to throw accurately.  Instead, I plunked it on my head like a helmet and charged.

I meant to round the corner, tackle Val in a tight embrace and take her down, but a slick of something
— alfredo sauce? — turned the linoleum into a skating rink. I streaked past, behind an oblivious Val, and smacked into the sturdy, buffalo-plaid-jacketed Pete Sills who had just stepped through the front door. He caught me and kept me from a headlong slide into the checkout counter.

A wild pitch
— orange marmalade — took out a row of cereal boxes on the top shelf and splattered at our feet.

Pete dragged me outside and removed my headgear.

“Do those people need help?” he asked.

I felt my cheek. Grid marks from the shopping basket were imprinted in my skin from my collision with Pete. I was also sticky.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s better to let them have at it. I’m sure Ham deserves whatever he gets, and he can pay for the damage.”

“
Ham?”

“
Hamilton Wexler — my ex-fiancé.” I gulped, but it was too late to take the last part back. I hadn’t discussed much of my past with Pete, particularly not any previous romantic attachments. “We’re not — absolutely no way—” I shook my head. The right words wouldn’t come. “Never.”

“
Okay.” Pete pulled me against his chest.

I pressed my nose into the scratchy wool of his jacket and inhaled the scent of licorice and dusty wheat.

“You want to tell me about the shopping basket?” Pete’s low voice rumbled in my ear.

I scrunched up my face, glad he couldn
’t see. How mortifying. “I watch a lot of football. I needed protection,” I mumbled. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Pete
’s muscles quivered ever so slightly. He cleared his throat.

Gravel sprayed in all directions as the sheriff
’s Ford Explorer skidded into the parking lot.

Sheriff Marge popped out of the vehicle like a pinched watermelon seed.
“What’s going on?”

I reluctantly pulled away from Pete.
“A couple’s fight. From what I could gather, he jilted her, and she doesn’t appreciate it.”

Sheriff Marge moved toward the store.

“Watch out — she has a great throwing arm,” I called.

Sheriff Marge kicked the door open and bellowed,
“This is the sheriff. Hands where I can see them. Now!”

I moved to follow, but Pete held me back.

“Just give her a few minutes to do her job.” He wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on top of my head. “Besides, you’re still shivering.”

I closed my eyes and leaned into him. Were we actually cuddling? There might have been cuddling a couple months ago when he
’d carried me out of the cavern, but I’d been unconscious and missed out on how good it felt. Since then, we’d seen each other when he was in town, talked some but never touched — not even a handshake. Maybe I needed to throw myself at him more often. It seemed to produce good results.

“
Ready?” Pete said.

“
Huh?” I snapped out of my reverie.

“
I don’t hear any more yelling inside. But I did hear your stomach growl.”

CHAPTER 6

Ham and Val sat on the floor, propped against
opposite ends of the checkout counter with their hands behind their backs. Ham had the beginnings of a doozy of a shiner, and his face was already swollen around a small gash on his cheekbone. Mascara streaked Val’s cheeks, and her hair was disheveled. One flip flop was missing.

Ham opened his mouth to speak, but I glared at him. For once, it worked
— he stared at the floor.

I almost smiled and darted a quick look back at Val. I
’d been tempted to throw things at Ham a time or two (or three) myself. And Val’d done it. I admired her spirit, but she looked crushed at the moment.

Gloria, shaky but standing, arms clenched across her abdomen, nodded as Sheriff Marge gently asked questions and scribbled in her notebook. Gloria was a living Jackson Pollock painting
— discordant red and yellow smeared her turquoise shirt and khaki pants. I looked down to find I could pass for Gloria’s twin. I noticed for the first time that I reeked of dill pickle juice.

Pete placed a few dollars on the counter and led me to the hot foods display. He grabbed two shriveled corndogs off the rotisserie and handed one to me. I held it dumbly.

“Eat.”

I nibbled.

“You hate corndogs, don’t you?”

I nodded.

He squirted mustard on a paper tray. “Have some. It helps.”

“
I’m wearing enough to slather a hundred corndogs.”

“
This is clean.” He thrust the tray toward me, and I dipped.

“
Mmmm.” I dipped again.

“
What’d I tell you?”

But all I could think about was that I was double-dipping with Pete.

Sheriff Marge joined us. “Alright. Fill me in.” She looked haggard, more wrinkled than yesterday. Her gray eyes were tired. But she held her stubby fingers poised, ready to take notes.

I kept it short and left out the part about my attempted tackle. I figured Sheriff Marge only wanted to know what Val and Ham had done.

“You know Val—” Sheriff Marge checked her notes, “—Valerie Brown?”

“
Never seen her before. I’m a little surprised. She doesn’t seem like Ham’s type.”

“
Which is?”

“
Uh — classier?” I glanced at Pete, but his deadpan face didn’t offer any encouragement. “I mean — well, it’s just that Ham’s a lawyer, and he’s sort of picky about his image. He usually dates women who enhance his reputation.”

“
I understand he dated you.”

“
Yeah, but that was before — and anyway, I dumped him.”

“
Uh-huh.”

“
He was two-timing, three-timing — I don’t know how many of us he had going. I got out as fast as I could when I figured that out.”

“
Know why he’s here?”

“
He stopped by the museum today and talked for a while. Honestly, I didn’t listen very much — you know, with everything else that’s been going on.”

“
Did you know he was coming to see you?”

“
No. And I really wish he hadn’t.”

Sheriff Marge pushed up her Stratton hat brim and tucked the notebook back into her chest pocket.
“Okay. That’s enough for now.”

“
What about the incident at the Randalls’?” I asked.

Sheriff Marge exhaled.
“My deputies are wrapping up the scene.”

“
What does that mean?”

“
It means, fortunately, we didn’t have to shoot him. In the end, he did it himself.”

I wanted to fling my arms around Sheriff Marge and squeeze. No wonder she seemed zapped of her usual vitality. She must live with a load of heartache for the people she protects. But she
’s not the type of woman you hug.

“
And his wife?”

“
Hysterical. But she’ll get over it. Doesn’t take long to figure out life is better when you’re not married to a man like that.” Sheriff Marge rubbed her forehead. “Back to the matter at hand, I’m arresting Ms. Brown for assault and battery and destruction of property. Mr. Wexler is free to go and seek medical attention if he wants. I had to cuff them both since I’m dealing with this incident by myself and couldn’t trust them to leave each other alone.” She sighed. “I hate domestic disturbances.”

“
Would you like to come for Thanksgiving dinner?” Pete asked.

My heart swelled at his thoughtfulness, although I thought his timing could have been a little better. Sheriff Marge is a widow, and her grown sons are scattered across the country
— too far away to come for weekend holidays.

“
That’s kind of you. But I think I’ll be doing paperwork tomorrow.” Sheriff Marge shrugged and turned toward her prisoner.

o0o

The next day, Tuppence and I strolled around the campground while the yams baked. I assumed Pete’s oven would be full, so I wanted to have all my assigned dishes ready to serve when I arrived. And it didn’t hurt to get in a little exercise before the big meal.

Dark clouds hung low, their bottoms dropping away in filmy mist layers. I shivered and hunched into my coat. Usually thick clouds offered protection from extreme temperatures, but it was bitingly cold. The weather was about to change, for the worse.

Tuppence felt it too. She sniffed with her nose high in the air and stuck close to my leg.

I caught a whiff of smoke
— campfire smoke. A thin plume rose above the Russian olive grove where the unimproved tent sites are. Tenting in winter in the Columbia Gorge meant the camper was either a diehard with all the necessary equipment or dangerously ignorant.

I strode through the wet grass with Tuppence on my heels. Spots of pale blue and old lumber appeared between the olive trees
’ low branches. I squinted and sped up.

“
Haloo,” I called before pushing through the brush into the clearing. I didn’t want to startle the occupant.

He leapt out of his lawn chair anyway and crouched slightly. His right hand slid inside the open front of his down vest, his lips pressed into a tight line.

I held out my empty hands instinctively. My heart thumped fast. The driver of the Datsun pickup who had tailgated me on the way to the hospital. Was it coincidence to encounter him twice in as many days?

“
Sorry to startle you. There just aren’t that many campers here in November, so I thought I’d say hi.”

The man glared at me, but slowly straightened.

“I’m Meredith and I live here year-round.” I was about to introduce Tuppence when I noticed she had made a circle around the campsite and stretched in from behind the man to sniff his pant leg. I shifted my gaze quickly back to the man’s face. He seemed the type who might give an inquisitive dog a swift kick. “Are you visiting friends or family in the area?”

“
Looking for work,” the man grunted. “Wind farm.”

“
Oh yeah. I've heard it’s hard work — lots of climbing towers while hauling heavy parts.” Probably not the right thing to say, but it was too late to retreat. I could play a ditsy female if I needed to. He didn’t have a tent set up. “Do you have a way to heat that?” I pointed to the plywood canopy over the pickup’s bed.

“
I’ll be fine.” He scratched his chest and pulled his hand back out of his vest. He looked like any other laborer — plaid shirt under the vest, jeans, boots. The baseball cap shadowed his face. I could only tell that he was swarthy, with dark eyes like holes and a small nose — what you’d call a button nose on a kid, but it wasn’t cute on this guy.

Tuppence moved on to inspect the Datsun
’s rear tires. The man didn’t seem to have any camping equipment other than the lawn chair — unless he hadn’t unpacked yet.

“
Good luck with your job search.” I forced a cheery smile.

He shrugged.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

“
Ferris.”

First name or last name? I didn
’t dare ask. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

I hightailed out of the clearing, willing Tuppence to come without being called. The hound caught up to me within a few yards.

“Does he make you nervous, too?” I asked in a low voice.

Tuppence snorted.

I knelt outside my RV and tousled Tuppence’s ears. “Want to come to Thanksgiving dinner with me? I don’t think Pete’ll mind. Anyway, he’d better not.”

o0o

Tuppence and I walked down the slippery dock to Pete’s tug. It was tied in one of the wide berths at the Port of Platts Landing and exhibited the only signs of life in the vicinity. Golden light from its windows reflected on the wet planks. Everything else was a shade of gray in the early dusk created by the overhanging cloud layer.

Pete opened the door, took my heavy basket, and held my hand as I stepped over the high threshold. Tuppence clambered after me and followed her nose directly to Pastor Mort Levine
’s ankles. He bent to scratch the dog’s back.

“
I hope it’s okay that I brought Tuppence,” I said.

“
She’s as welcome as you are.” Pete’s crinkle-cornered blue eyes just about did me in.

Sally Levine greeted me with a quick hug.
“Smells delicious. What’d you bring?”

“
Yams, salad, pecan pie.” I sniffed appreciatively. “I was going to say the same, though. Have you been cooking all afternoon?”

“
No. Yes.” Sally and Mort said in unison.

“
Well, it doesn’t feel like it,” Sally explained. “Pete did the big stuff — the turkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes.”

“
Where are your kids?” I asked, looking around.

“
The youth group had a chance to help feed the homeless in Portland today,” Mort said. “They were excited to go, and it’ll be a good experience for them.”

“
You ready to answer their questions when they get back?”

“
I’m old enough to know I don’t have all the answers.” Mort chuckled. “And I think my kids have figured that out too.”

I settled on a built-in bench across the table from Mort and watched Pete and Sally work around each other in the tiny galley. The appliances and fixtures were strictly utilitarian and compact, but it also looked as though Pete had everything he needed. It was a couple steps up from a typical bachelor pad. Probably on par with my trailer, if I wanted to be honest. And cozy.

“Where’s your crew, Pete?” I asked.

“
Carlos and Al hitched a ride with a cousin to their mom’s place in Twin Falls. Bert’s sister lives in Vancouver, so I dropped him off there Tuesday night.”