Winter Winds (22 page)

“Your Mrs. Prescott?” Maureen was fascinated.

“She’s a very good screamer.” Phil started walking again. “She scared Midge and me half to death.”

“Poor Mrs. Prescott.” Maureen imagined that even as hearty an octogenarian as she would find such an experience upsetting.

“Oh, she was fine, tough old bird that she is. It’s more poor Mae. The store is the only source of income for her and her grandson, Ryan, who lives with her. It’ll be weeks before she’s out of rehab and back at work.”

“No workmen’s comp?”

“None, and minimal health coverage. Trev’s been working at getting the chapel to fill in a lot of the needs.”

Not a sign of a clever criminal at work
, Maureen thought, ever more convinced that Paul Trevelyan was just as he seemed, the pastor of a small Seaside church.

“Here we are.” Phil stopped in front of a hole-in-the-wall restaurant named Moe’s.

Maureen looked at Moe’s, then at him. “You’re sure we can trust the food in here?”

“The best seafood in town, I promise. This is where all the locals eat.”

“And how long have you been a local?”

“Two years.”

“Do you like it here?”

He reached around her for the door. “I do. But what I really like is having my own store. I worked for a couple of years for one of the chains, and I didn’t care for it. I enjoy being my own boss. I also like being part of the community, corny as that sounds.”

“That’s not corny. That’s nice.” Maureen was impressed in spite of herself.

They entered Moe’s, and the hostess lit up at the sight of Phil. “Hey, handsome. Your usual table?”

“Sure, Monica.” Phil didn’t seem to notice Monica’s obvious interest in him, a fascinating fact since she was a spectacular redhead. “Meet my good friend Maureen, as sweet an Irish rose as ever there was.”

Monica’s smile dimmed significantly as she nodded to Maureen who smiled warmly back.
Good
friend, huh? As sweet an Irish rose as ever there was? Even if Phil wasn’t as oblivious as he seemed and that was his way of defusing Monica, Maureen knew she’d warm herself by those words for many a cold winter’s night.

As they made their way to their seats, several waitresses called to Phil by name. He waved genially to all. Maureen shook her head. The man was a babe magnet.

“They all like you,” she said as they sat down.

“Who?” He seemed genuinely confused.

“The waitresses.”

“Oh.” He nodded. “I guess. What do you want to eat? Everything’s good.”

“You’re not interested in any of them?”
I hope not
“You’ve already got a girl?”

He looked vaguely around. “I’m not interested.” He turned to her. “I don’t have a girl, but I am looking.”

Maureen felt the heat rise. “Have you ever heard the word
subtlety
?”

“Believe me, Irish, compared to what I was in my BC days, I am the height of subtlety.”

“BC days?”

“Before Christ. You know, like in dates, calendar ones, not girl ones.”

She laughed. “It must have been interesting knowing you then.”

With a completely serious face, he said, “You wouldn’t have liked me.” He turned to their waitress and gave his order. Maureen did the same.

“Why wouldn’t I have liked you?”

“I was a wild man. Women and drink.” He studied his hands. “I look back and wonder what in the world I was thinking.”

It was obvious that the topic was painful to him, so she changed it. She needed current information anyway. “I’ve been wondering about Mae What’shername, the bookstore lady.”

“Harper.”

“Right. Where’s her grandson while she’s in the hospital and rehab?”

“He’s been living with my brother.”

“Really? With Paul?” Phonies didn’t take in stray grandsons, did they? Too much trouble. Another plus for Trevelyan.

Take that, Fleishman
.

Phil started to laugh as he reached for his coffee.

“What?” Maureen asked, enjoying the way he enjoyed life.

“I was just imagining what having a thirteen-year-old in the house is doing for Trev and Dori’s reunion!”

J
OANNE AND
V
INNIE STOOD
in front of the big brick house with the name Trevelyan on the mailbox. Even with the lawn frost-killed and the flower beds empty of everything but shriveled azaleas and rhododendrons with their leaves puckered shut, it was still a beautiful place.

“I always wanted to live in a house like this,” Joanne whispered. “It’s like a house someone on TV lives in. Not a dumpy little three-room apartment on the third floor of some shabby old boarding house but a real house with lots and lots of rooms.”

“I don’t care if the Sopranos themselves live here. You just get that suitcase, idiot girl.”

“Not the Sopranos.” Joanne shook her head. “The good guys. The Nick at Nite guys. They all live in real nice houses just like this one.”

The yearning for the better life that came with the big house filled Joanne. She knew that people in these big houses loved each other and helped each other. Just look at the Brady Bunch, though she had to admit she didn’t have as much need for a celebrity to sing at her prom as Marcia Brady did, especially since she quit school and never went to a prom. Still, their lives always worked out. Hers never did, no matter how hard she tried.

Except maybe for Vinnie.

“Like you think TV’s real?” Vinnie straightened his leather coat, twisting his neck like his tie was too tight, except he wasn’t wearing a tie. He was wearing a snug blue sweater that showed off his hard abs. Eye candy. “You think they actually live in those houses you see shots of? They’re just front walls, not real houses.”

“They are not!” She stamped her stiletto-booted foot. “They’re real!”

“Sometimes you’re so dumb it scares me.”

“Dumb! I am not. What about when you see them in their living room, huh? Or their kitchen? That’s real, Vinnie. They have such pretty kitchens.” Joanne sighed, then continued in her feathery whisper. “And I’d have my own pretty bedroom and a bed with a canopy thing over it.”

Vinnie threw her another of his scornful looks. “Why do you want a stupid canopy? It just collects dust. And who do you think you are? Some prissy little princess?”

“Just because I want the better things in life doesn’t mean you can mock me,” she hissed. Sometimes he made her so mad! “So just shut up, Vinnie.”

He scowled at her for a minute, his eyes real narrow and mean, and she knew she’d better watch it. He didn’t like it when she spoke like that to him.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s what they all say.” He wasn’t convinced.

“I am. Really Really, really.” She put as much sincerity as she could behind her whisper.

“What’s with all the whispering anyway?” Vinnie asked.

“Shh! Mind your manners. I don’t want they should get a bad impression of us.”

He just stared. “Like they’re watching us out their window.” His voice dripped scorn.

Joanne jabbed him in the ribs.

He grunted and glared at her. “You got sharp elbows, idiot girl.”

“Like you actually felt that through your coat.” Joanne glared back. “You think they got a pool out back?”

“What?” Vinnie scowled. “Who?”

“The however-you-pronounce-its.” She gestured to the brick house. “These guys.”

His lip curled. “When we go to the front door, idiot girl, why don’t you ask them?”

“Are you scared?” Joanne whispered, studying his face.

“Scared? Me?” He wouldn’t look at her. “I’m never scared.”

“Whenever you’re scared, you get snippy and mean. Like you’re acting now.”

He held out a clenched fist. “You get up to that door, Jo, or I’ll show you what mean really is.”

Joanne rang the doorbell with a shaking finger. Talking face-to-face with people was so much harder than asking questions over the phone, and that was hard enough. Yesterday afternoon after Vinnie had called Dori McAllister’s house and gotten the number for Small Treasures, he’d made her make that call. Her palms had been so sweaty she could hardly hold the phone.

A lady answered with the words, “Small Treasures. May I help you?”

“Is Dori there?” Jo asked in a small voice. Her throat seemed to have closed off, and forcing words out was very difficult.

“I’m sorry. She’s not here now. May I take a message?”

“Yeah. See, I got her suitcase by mistake at the airport and she got mine.”

“In Philadelphia?”

Jo nodded, then remembered the Small Treasures lady couldn’t see her. “Yeah.”

“Oh, dear. As if her grandfather’s illness wasn’t bad enough.”

“Yeah. So do you know how I can find her?”

“I do. She’s visiting her family because her grandfather is very ill.”

“Oh. Um, that’s too bad.” That was probably why she was so rude-like at the airport. “Well, I won’t bother her. I just need my things, and she must want her stuff.”

“I’m sure she does. Just a minute while I look up the address and phone number of the Trevelyans.”

“Thank you so much,” Jo said and wrote very carefully. She even read the numbers back to the nice lady.

“Tell Dori that Meg sends her love,” the lady said and hung up.

When Joanne handed the address and phone number to
Vinnie, he smiled at her, his deep brown eyes crinkling at the edges. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. Jo’s heart sang. He really did love her.

Amhearst, Pennsylvania. Vinnie had to go out and buy a Pennsylvania map before they knew exactly where Amhearst was.

“We’ll drive up there tomorrow,” Vinnie said. “It’s only about two hours. Then we’ll call when we’re almost there to be sure someone’s home, and bingo-bango, we get the paintings. Mr. J will never know there was a problem.”

“Don’t you want me to call to be sure the suitcase is there?” Jo asked.

“Like where else could it be? We know it’s not at the airport.”

“But what if we get there and no one’s home?”

“She’s visiting her sick grandfather. They’re not going to the mall.”

“I was thinking the hospital.”

“Then we wait until someone comes home.”

In spite of Joanne’s misgivings, they followed Vinnie’s plan, leaving at ten in the morning and calling the Trevelyans as they neared the house. They got a busy signal.

“Good,” Vinnie said. “Someone’s home. That’s all we need to know.”

It wasn’t all they needed to know, Joanne thought. They needed to know where the house was. “Stop and ask directions. Please.”

Vinnie waved away her suggestions. “I can find it myself.”

By the time they finally located the house, it was midafternoon. All Joanne wanted was something to eat, but she didn’t dare suggest it. Vinnie was way too surly and mean from driving all the twisty country roads.

Now they stood on the front porch of the big brick house waiting for someone to answer the doorbell. Dori MacAllister’s suitcase rested at their feet.

A
S THEY WAITED FOR THEIR MEALS
, Maureen looked around Moe’s with its menus on the place mats, its sodas served in red plastic tumblers with red and white straws sticking out at a jaunty angle, its flatware wrapped in large white napkins, its scuffed dark red linoleum floor, and its flaking white paint on several of the mismatched chairs at the motley collection of tables.

“Very posh.” She grinned at Phil. “I’m impressed.”

“Never say I don’t take a girl to the very best places.” He leaned toward her. “Just wait til you see where I take you next time.”

Her grin broadened. “My heart goes pitter-pat with anticipation.” He didn’t need to know that there was truth in her comment. She waved her arm to indicate the chaos that was Moe’s. “But to better this place—I don’t know. It’ll take some doing. I don’t think there’s another place like it within miles, at least not that I’ve been to.”

Maureen froze. What had she just said? Surely he’d realize she’d once again shown knowledge of Seaside and its surrounds. Greg would kill her if she blew this assignment, especially since she’d lost the pastor and wife on Friday. Sure, she’d found them again, but that didn’t stop Fleishman from commenting and Greg from speculating.

And she had to keep reminding herself that it was an assignment, not a date.

Phil nodded, accepting her words at face value. “This is my favorite restaurant in town, but I usually don’t look forward to the meal as much as today. I mean, who wants to eat alone in a lovely place like this?” His hand indicated the stained ceiling tiles and the tattered posters on the wall. “This is where a guy brings a favorite girl.”

Favorite girl, huh? This guy could really lay it on. Usually flirts made her very uncomfortable, but there was something about Phil that made his outrageous statements charming instead of repulsive. Maybe it was because for a very long time no one except her father had indicated in any way, shape, or form that she might be a favorite girl, and her father didn’t count. He was supposed to feel that way. Whatever the reason, she soaked up Phil’s comments like a neglected piece of furniture soaked up wax.

Did that make her pathetic or what?

As she straightened her place mat over the cracked Formica of their table rather than look at Phil and risk seeing that his comment meant something—or worse yet, nothing—she realized that she had held the world, especially the male half, at arm’s length since Adam’s death. No involvement, no pain. No relationships, no danger. But she liked this man with his over-the-top humor and kind streak. And he took notes on his brother’s sermon!

She took a deep breath to steady herself and said lightly, “You expect me to believe that you eat alone all the time?” With women like Monica eyeing him as a fox eyes a plump chicken, it was impossible to believe he didn’t have a harem following him around.

“Eat alone. Live alone.” He tried to look woebegone. “My life is a sad, sad thing.”

She laughed. “I am not convinced.”

For a few seconds he looked at her, suddenly serious. “Will you answer a question truthfully?”

She blinked. “Sure.”

“What does a good girl like you think of a guy like me?”