“Does anyone else have a project they want help with?” Esther asked. When no one volunteered right away, she continued. “Then let’s turn our attention to new business and catch up on our members. Opal, how’s your colon?”
Opal was adjusting her pearls as she gazed out the window toward the forest on the other side of the highway. She looked so peaceful sitting there, and Patsy thought how comforting it might be to go deaf.
But Esther was clearly anxious for a report from Opal. Ashley Hanes tapped her shoulder, and Opal looked around in surprise.
“Your colon!” Ashley shouted. “Mrs. Moore wants to know how it’s getting along!”
“My colon? Well, mercy.” Opal narrowed her eyes at Esther for a moment; then she turned to the others. “If you must know, yesterday I ate some chocolate pie that my sister Mabel brought over. I’m not supposed to, but I did. Boy, oh boy, did I pay for it. You betcha. Besides that, I planted tomatoes again this year, and I’m going to eat ’em, too. I know I shouldn’t, but why not?”
“Because you had cancer,” Ashley reminded her loudly. “They took out most of your colon!”
“I know what they did. Good gravy.” For a moment, Opal pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. Then she spoke up again. “I hear tell somebody drowned in the cove. Who was it?”
At that, everyone turned and looked at Kim Finley. With all the attention suddenly focused on her once again, Kim shrank back into her chair. Patsy’s heart went out to her. Kim had been through a lot more than people knew.
Luke and Lydia had been the only bright spot in Kim’s desolate life until three years ago, when Officer Derek Finley of the Missouri Water Patrol walked into Dr. Groene’s office needing a root canal. Then he came in for a filling. And a good polishing. And some whitening. By the time his teeth were so shiny they could knock you over when he smiled, Derek had won Kim’s heart.
The little family was about as happy as they come, but this past spring the warmth of their love had been hit full force by Luke’s diabetes diagnosis. And now Kim’s mother-in-law had moved into the Finley household. Patsy was no psychologist, but it didn’t take much to figure out that could turn into a recipe for disaster.
“The drowning?” Kim asked, as if she wasn’t quite sure what Opal had been referring to. “I haven’t heard anything new. Derek is working on it, but he can’t say anything about an ongoing investigation.”
“An investigation!” Esther cried out, as though she had struck gold. “Does that mean there was some kind of crime?”
Kim shifted in her chair. “Most deaths call for an investigation. Accidental or not.”
“I haven’t read about the drowning in the local paper since the first mention of it,” Brenda said. “Do they have any idea who it was, Kim?”
“Yeah, who was it?” Ashley echoed. The young redhead wore a skinny tank top and a necklace of homemade beads. “Brad doesn’t like the idea of someone drowning so near us. He says Deepwater Cove is too quiet a part of the lake for people to go around drowning. It’s not like Party Cove or the main channel, where they’re always drinking and acting crazy. He thinks that because Derek is having to spend so much overtime looking into the death, the drowning might be a murder.”
“Murder?” Esther exclaimed. “Now, that doesn’t seem possible. Not around here. We’re so peaceful. Parents and neighbors are always out watching the kids swim. Kim, could it have been a murder?”
As she sat amid the busy, nosy flock of women, Kim Finley reminded Patsy of a lone, straight oak tree rising above the forest floor. Strong, quiet, faithful, she looked like someone you could rely on, a friend who would never betray or hurt you. But a blast of chilly wind had torn at her leaves, turning them from green and gold into brown, fragile wisps. She wouldn’t die, and she wouldn’t collapse. But she might be facing a winter that would threaten her to the core.
“Derek and I don’t discuss his work,” Kim told the women. She squared her shoulders and spoke almost defiantly. “If there’s a crime, the press will report it. There are confidentiality laws, of course, but that doesn’t stop the television crews and newspaper reporters. I doubt the drowning is anything unusual. Lake of the Ozarks is known for its troubled waters. Last year we had the most BWI arrests in the state. The Water Patrol worked more than a hundred and fifty boating accidents with nearly a dozen fatalities. Derek does his job, and he does it well. But the last thing he wants to talk about when he comes home is drunk boaters and drownings.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Esther said. She appeared slightly put out that Kim hadn’t succumbed to the group’s pleas for details. While canvassing the neighborhood in his golf cart, Esther’s husband usually picked up every snippet of local gossip to be had. Charlie related the news to Esther before he told anyone else, and the Moores took pride in knowing everything about everyone—or as they put it, having a deep concern for the welfare of the Deepwater Cove community.
Charlie, a retired mail carrier, had once told Patsy his intuition was so finely tuned that he could tell what was in a letter just by lifting the envelope. The mere sight of stilted writing on an address or a stamp stuck on sideways had taught him trouble was headed for the recipient. Charlie had six senses, he liked to tell people: sight, smell, hearing, taste, touch … and mail. The last, he insisted, was the most dependable. He could read the mood of a family by the glint in their dog’s eyes. He knew what was happening in a household by the way the curtains were drawn, the grass mowed, or the sprinklers set. A neighborhood kept no secrets when Charlie Moore was on his rounds. And even though he had retired, Deepwater Cove still benefited from the daily patrols he took in his golf cart.
But Patsy was proud of Kim for sticking to her guns. If Derek wasn’t supposed to discuss his work, then so be it. Patsy had done her share of trying to pry information about the drowning out of Officer Finley, and she felt pretty bad about it.
As Kim was obviously not going to say another word, Esther wrote something in her notebook of meeting minutes. “Thank you for that report, Kim,” she said. “And now I’d like to find out more about the new shop moving into Tranquility. Brenda, we hear it’s a restaurant.”
“Was it a man or a woman?” Cody asked in a loud voice before Brenda could respond. “The dead person in the water—was it a him or a her? Because if it was a him, then maybe nobody would come looking. My daddy told me that hims can disappear off the face of the earth and nobody might miss them. But people would look for a her. She might be a mother or daughter or sister, and that means someone loves her and wants her to come home. That’s how it is with women, but a man could run off and even take his son with him. And if that man was not someone’s favorite person in the world, and if the son didn’t know but to do as he was told, then the two of them could leave forever. That’s how it could be.”
The hush in the tea area was broken only by the whine of a blow-dryer over in the salon. Was that what had happened to Cody? Patsy had heard that a letter found in the young man’s pants pocket told how he came to be wandering around the lake homeless, filthy, and hungry. Cody’s father wrote that his wife had died. Was that true? Or was it possible that the man had run off with Cody when he was just a little boy? Had no one ever gone looking for the two of them? Could there be a woman somewhere—an aunt, a sister, or even a mother—who might want to know what had happened to that child?
Patsy glanced at Brenda, who had gone pale as a sheet. Then Patsy looked at Esther, whose mouth hung so far open it looked like her teeth might drop into the teacup. Last, Patsy focused on Kim, who wasn’t moving a muscle.
She had the most awful feeling that no one would say anything, and then Cody might blurt out something even more shocking.
But Kim, bless her heart, chose that moment to stand up and settle her purse strap on her shoulder. “I don’t know if the person who drowned was a man or a woman, Cody,” she said. “But I do know that we would all miss you very much if you suddenly disappeared.”
Cody beamed. “That’s because I’m in the club. And I work hard to keep everything span. And I take showers and wear clean clothes.” His face sobered. “Swimming is not for me, though. I am not a fish.”
“I won’t go near the water either, Cody,” Esther sang out as she put her notebook away. “No one cares about that, honey. We love you just the way you are. Say, did you eat all the chocolate cake, Cody? I noticed it was cut into squares, the way I like it.”
“Me too! I’ll get you a piece, Mrs. Moore. There’s lots left.”
Cody leaped up and headed for the dessert counter as the women broke into relieved chatter. Patsy leaned back in her chair and watched as Kim Finley crossed the salon and disappeared through the front door.
K
im didn’t know when she had ever looked forward to a weekend so much. Or dreaded one so intensely. As she gathered up her purse and car keys in the staff room at Dr. Groene’s office, she heaved a deep sigh.
“Everything all right?” The dentist’s gentle voice drifted in from the doorway. “I hope I haven’t overloaded you this first week back in the office, Kim. We had a few cases I just couldn’t put off any longer. Old Abe is about to lose his teeth. If we don’t take some action, he’s going to lose every last one of them.”
Kim reflected on the shabbily dressed and slightly odorous man who had come into the office several times lately. Dr. Groene was doing his best to preserve the fellow’s few remaining teeth, but one of his molars was just begging to be pulled.
“It’s pretty obvious that Abe Fugal hasn’t ever been to a doctor—or a dentist, for that matter,” Kim agreed. At some point in life, the fellow had broken several fingers, and the bones had fused in such a way as to render his left hand almost useless. His eyesight was poor, and he blinked repeatedly as he asked about the sterilized tools spread out on the tray next to his chair. And as for his mouth … well, it was safe to say those teeth hadn’t seen a toothbrush in many a long year. “You know,” Kim continued, “even though we didn’t need to use gas today, I was concerned about him driving. Doesn’t he usually have a woman here with him?”
“Yes, June Bixby—long gray hair and brown eyes. She’s been here a few times. I was hoping to get a look at her teeth one of these days too.” Dr. Groene tugged off his white coat and dropped it into the laundry bin. “Well, anyway, I hope it hasn’t been too much for you this week.”
Though they worked closely together, Kim rarely spoke to the dentist at any length. She viewed her role as one of support and assistance. Occasionally he chose to consult with her about a perplexing situation, but usually he chatted with the patient and ignored Kim almost completely. She didn’t mind. Ben Groene had an excellent reputation in the area, and his office was filled with patients from the moment Kim arrived in the morning until she left each evening. He paid her well, provided excellent health and retirement benefits, and treated her with respect.
“The extra hours are fine,” she assured him. “I appreciate your willingness to let me take so much time off for Luke.”
“Not a problem,” he said. “Seems like one of my six is always into some kind of trouble—a broken arm, a fever, a loose tooth, a skinned knee. The older ones run my poor wife around the bend with their hormone surges. If they aren’t in love, they’re sobbing their eyes out in the bathroom. The dramatics would do Shakespeare proud.”
Kim laughed. “Lydia is almost eleven, and I’m starting to see some of that. She constantly challenges our rules.”
“Eleven’s about the right age for the rebellion to start. My wife taught me the secret to good discipline. If anyone knows how to manage kids, it’s my Mary. When they’re little, the occasional time-out or a single swat on the backside will do the trick. About the time the pimples start, be ready to ground them when they misbehave. No TV, movies, time with friends—that kind of thing. When they hit fifteen, you’ve
really
got the keys to good behavior.”
With a sly grin, he pulled a key ring from his pocket and jangled it to emphasize his point. “Threaten to take away the car keys, and they’ll do anything you want,” he declared. “You see these? They’re Jordan’s. He’s eighteen and thinks he rules the world. But Dad owns the car. And when Jordan misses his curfew by an hour, Dad takes the keys. You can bet that kid will come home on time from here on out.”
Recalling the night Lydia had screamed and Luke had knocked the spoon from his frantic sister’s hand, Kim wondered if Dr. Groene’s parenting technique was really that simple. And it didn’t take into account the fact that her own family now had another authority figure living with them.
What would make Grandma Finley a help rather than a hindrance?
“I guess Luke is getting along pretty well these days,” Dr. Groene commented as he took a bottle of cold water from the refrigerator and twisted the cap until the seal broke. “Good thing Derek’s mother was able to come down from St. Louis and help out for a while. It shouldn’t be long before your boy gets his routine figured out.”
“He’s managing, but … it’s hard to be away from him. Even when I’m deep in the middle of a procedure, I realize I’m worrying about Luke.”
Dr. Groene nodded. “Yes, I can imagine.” He eyed her as he took a sip from his water bottle. “I remember how my wife worried the first few months after I was diagnosed.”
“You? Are you … are
you
a diabetic?” Kim stammered.
He smiled. “You make it sound like you just found out I’m an alien. Diabetics are not as rare as you think. I was nineteen when my doctor diagnosed me with type 1. Mary and I had been married less than a month.”
“I never knew. All these years.”
“I don’t let the disease own me. I like to be the boss, you know.” He winked as he stepped toward the door. “Here’s my motto: If you’ve got to be a diabetic, be a good one. Be disciplined. Monitor yourself.
Get a buddy to keep an eye on you for signs of trouble. Mary knows that if I start acting odd, she needs to take charge right away. When my blood sugar gets low, I dislike being compliant, and sometimes I’m even a little combative. But years ago we made a pact, and I’ve learned to obey my wife. The kids have known about my diabetes all their lives, and we’re used to it. In fact, I don’t even bother to look for a private room to give myself insulin. We can be watching TV or fooling around in the backyard, and I’ll whip out the ol’ kit.”