Gayle Trent (4 page)

The hostess greeted me as I walked in, and I told her I was meeting Jim Adams. She smiled. “Oh, yes! Mr. Adams is already here and is seated at his favorite table. Right this way.”

I followed her to Jim’s favorite table.

He stood and took my hand. “Myrtle, you look lovely as always.”

I smiled and thanked him. He looked nice, too. He was wearing brown slacks and a nice tweed sports jacket. The man had good taste; I had to give him that.

The hostess asked if she could get me anything to drink, and I asked for a sweetened ice tea. She left, and I sat down. “You must come here a lot . . . to have a favorite table and all.”

“I do enjoy coming here.” He winked. “It sure beats my T.V. dinners and bologna sandwiches.”

“I suppose it does.”

The waitress brought my tea. I thanked her and took a drink.

Jim was watching me. “Is it good?” he asked.

“Very,” I said. “So Flora was the cook in your family, huh?”

“Oh, yes, and a fine one, too.”

“What else did she do?”

“I beg your pardon?”

I shrugged. “Did she garden? Sew? Read?”

“She liked knitting and embroidery . . . things like that.”

“Did she ever work outside the home, or did she dedicate her life to home and family?”

Jim frowned a little. “She worked part-time at the library for last five years of her life. Mostly, she enjoyed taking care of her home and . . . her family.” He sipped his coffee. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I’ve always heard you can tell a lot about a man by the type of wife he chooses. I suppose I’m just trying to get to know you a little better.”

The waitress came to take our order then, so I was spared from coming up with any other reasons I was trying to find out more about Flora. I ordered a filet mignon, and Jim ordered a prime rib. He got the baked potato, and I got fries. I love Smiddy’s big ol’ steak fries.

I didn’t bring up Flora again. Then Jim and I talked about where we grew up, our childhoods . . . things like that. It was a lot of fun. Surely, a man who grew up with a dog named Biscuit couldn’t have killed his wife.

Jim had to go to the men’s room. While he was gone, the waitress stopped by and asked if I’d like some more tea.

“Thank you, dear, but I believe I’ve had plenty,” I said, with a smile. “The hostess mentioned that Jim—Mr. Adams—comes here often and that this is his favorite table.”

“That’s right,” the waitress said. “I’m glad it’s my table because he tips really well.”

“I’m glad, too. What about Flora, his wife? Was she nice?”

She cocked her head like a curious puppy. “Mr. Adams was married?”

“Yes. He’s a widower. Maybe he has only been coming in since her death.”

“That must be it!” She grinned. “He’s been coming in for nearly two years now, and we’ve never seen him with the same—” Her eyes widened, and that grin dropped right off her face.

“Same what, dear?”

“Uh . . . tie. Yeah, that’s right, we’ve never seen him wear the same tie twice.” That said, she scurried off to the kitchen.

Two years, hmm. And with a different . . . tie . . . every visit. Maybe a boy who’d grown up with a dog named Biscuit wouldn’t kill someone; but maybe the man that boy grew into would. After all, people change. Maybe his next dog was named Killer.

Jim returned to the table, and we said our good-byes.

“It’s the funniest thing,” I said, “the waitress stopped by and said that you’d been a regular customer for over two years but that she’d never seen you with the same tie on.”

He frowned. “I never realized anyone was paying so much attention to my wardrobe.”

“Yeah, well, you never know when that Mr. Blackwell might be lurking about, do you?”

“Who?”

“The guy who puts out the best and worst dressed lists.” I waved my hand. “Never mind. Is it hard for you to come here now without Flora?”

“Oh, uh, no . . . no, it brings me comfort to continue enjoying this restaurant.”

“Yes. I imagine it would at that.”

He paid the bill, gave me a peck on the lips, and we got in our cars and left.

As I drove home, it started to rain. I put the windshield wipers on pause and listened to the rhythmic swoosh-swoosh of the blades. I’d listened to Harry Connick, Jr., on the way up, but I wasn’t in the mood for music now. I wanted to find out more about Jim . . . and Flora . . . and her whereabouts. Were the police still looking for her? I’d ask Sunny to check the newspapers again. But, of course, if no family member was riding the authorities to find Flora—or, at least, her body—and bring her home, then why should they concentrate on a case filled with dead leads?

I could probably find out more at the library. In fact, I might be able to find out a lot of things at the library. After all, Flora worked at a library.

* * *

On Saturday, I got up, called Sunny and asked if she wanted to take a little trip with me. She was willing to go, provided I bought lunch somewhere along the way. “Somewhere” being a greasy spoon that served cheeseburgers and fries, I’m sure; but that’s okay. My cholesterol’s pretty good. I probably won’t have a heart attack and keel over at the table.

“Where are we going?” she asked when she got into the car.

I waved at Faye, standing on the porch. “The library.”

“The library?” She groaned. “Mimi, you said we were gonna do some detective work today.”

“You didn’t tell your Mama that, did you?”

“Well, duh. No. Good thing I didn’t. I’d have been lying.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. We’re goin’ to the library where Flora used to work.”

“Really?” she squealed.

“Maybe.”

She huffed.

“It’s the only library in the town where Jim lives. It’s got to be the right place. If not, maybe they’ll know her.”

“Have you heard from him since your date the other night?” she asked.

“Yeah. He called while I was at the grocery store and left a message on my machine. Said he’ll call again in a day or two.”

“So, how’d that go anyhow?”

“Well, it went all right up until I got to talkin’ to the waitress. She got me to thinkin’ that maybe Jim was two-timing Flora even before she died . . . or disappeared—”

“Or he killed her.”

“Yeah . . . or that.”

“What’d she say that made you think he was cheating on Flora?”

“She said she’d never seen him wear the same tie twice.”

“Uh, sure, Mimi, that sounds like a cheater to me.”

“Well, it’s not what she said—it’s how she said it. She said, ‘He’s been coming here for over two years and I’ve never seen him with—’ and then she broke off, looked kinda sick, and said ‘tie.’ I figure she was about to say she’d never seen him with the same woman twice, but stopped herself because I was the lady of the evening. Well, not the lady of the evening, of course, but—”

“I know, Mimi. I know what you meant.”

Fortunately, we were at the library by then. The library looked like you’d expect a library to look, except it wasn’t very big as far as libraries go. But the customary red bricks and little white columns were in place, and there were a couple of benches outside in case you wanted to sit out there during the summer and read. That’d be loads of fun—sweatin’ like a hog and gettin’ eat up by mosquitoes and gettin’ that West Nile stuff—but I reckon some of the teeny-boppers might enjoy it.

Sunny ran up and held the door for me. She’s as polite as the day is long. Faye’s done a real good job of practically raising the child by herself.

I went inside and immediately caught a whiff of that unique library odor—old books and well-trod carpet. Don’t know where the carpet figures into the equation, but it’s there. I wouldn’t say it’s a good smell, but there’s something . . . I don’t know, comforting about it, I guess. Sunny caught sight of the aquarium, squealed “cool,” and raced over to it for a closer look. I approached the circulation desk because I had bigger fish to fry. Get it? Sometimes I can be witty as all get out.

A woman with gray-streaked hair and old-timey cat’s-eye glasses was behind the desk. I didn’t even know they made those things anymore. “May I help you find something?” she asked.

“I certainly hope so,” I said with a smile. “I’m looking for Flora Adams.”

“I’m sorry,” the woman said, looking down at the desk. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“Doesn’t Flora work here?”

“She did.” She chewed her bottom lip. “But she disappeared.”

“Disappeared? You mean, she left town?”

She shook her head and came to stand closer to me. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “She was here one Friday, and it was business as usual, but on Sunday it was in the paper that Flora had disappeared.” She frowned. “Are you a cop or something?”

“I’m investigating the case, yes. What can you tell me about Flora?”

The woman shrugged. “She was always nice to me.”

“You said Friday was ‘business as usual.’ ” I did those little finger quote things at her. “What was ‘business as usual’ for Flora?”

A young man came up to check out a book.

“Excuse me,” the librarian said.

While she greeted the man and scanned the necessary information to allow him to check out his Regan biography, I wandered over to the aquarium.

“Look, Mimi,” Sunny said, “they have a clown fish just like Nemo.”

“Did I ever tell you I speak whale?”

She giggled. “Are you having any luck?”

“I was doin’ pretty good ’til the little lobbyist came up. I’ll mosey back over there as soon as he’s done.”

“Okay. I’ll be over at the magazines, all right?”

“Gotcha.”

Little Senator Wannabe left, so I went back to resume my conversation with the librarian. “You were about to tell me what ‘business as usual’ consisted of for Flora Adams.”

The woman let out a breath. “I don’t know. She shelved books and helped people find things and stuff, same as the rest of us.”

“Did she have a good marriage? Did she ever talk about any marital problems?”

“No, but then, Flora wasn’t one to socialize much. She was a good person; she just kept to herself and kept her mouth shut. She even read while she ate her lunch.”

“What types of books did she enjoy reading?”

“Mysteries, mainly. She especially liked that Agatha Christie.”

“If she kept to herself and didn’t say much, how do you know she was a good person?”

“Well, for one thing,” said the librarian leaning in closer, “she always kept ham in the fridge for the dogs.”

“She fed her dogs ham?”

“Not her dogs. The dogs at the pound. Every Friday, she took them ham.”

“Wow, that was nice.”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I asked her about it one time. She said she couldn’t save ’em all, but maybe she could make ’em all a little happier.”

“How odd that she would just up and disappear. Do you think she got ill?”

“We don’t know what to think.”

“Where’s this dog pound she used to visit?”

“Right up the street behind this building.”

“Thank you.” I turned to go get Sunny.

“I hope you find her,” the librarian called.

“So do I,” I answered.

Sunny was thrilled we were going to the dog pound. She loves animals and would have a zoo if she could, but Faye has always been allergic to cats and dogs . . . and even rabbits. I got Sunny a little rabbit for Easter one year, and Faye sneezed her head half off. She gave it to one of the children in the neighborhood and tried to console Sunny by telling the child she could still visit the rabbit and play with it and everything; but, of course, it wasn’t the same.

So, I knew going in how much Sunny loves animals. I just didn’t figure on the trip being such an ordeal for me.

I’d told Sunny in the car that we’d play it real cool . . . pretend we were looking for a dog to adopt. Then we’d casually mention Flora Adams. That was the plan.

When we stepped inside, all you could hear was barking galore. It was enough to give you a migraine and make you give up the notion of ever wanting a dog, even if you really wanted one, which I did not. But, then we actually stepped into the kennels and saw those dogs. Oh, my goodness. Have you ever been to a dog pound and looked at all those faces . . . looked into all those expressive eyes? Why, you wanna take every one of those precious things home.

But, hey, I’m realistic, too. I’m too old to train a puppy. And I really don’t need anything else to take care of. My budget’s pretty much strapped as it is. Besides, I’m a free spirit—when I wanna go somewhere or do something, I don’t want some blasted dog I have to think about first.

And yet . . . . There he stood . . . a Chocolate Lab . . . staring at me with these amber eyes that seemed to see into my very soul.

Sunny had done passed him by and was cooing at some puppies. “Ooooh, Mimi, look!” I heard her say.

I tried to look . . . tried to walk away from that amber gaze . . . but I just couldn’t do it.