LeGarde Mysteries Box Set Page 3
I leaned over and pulled a small Dixie cup from the water cooler dispenser. “Do you know his name?” I filled the cup and downed it in one gulp.
“Yeah,” she said, “I do. It was a funny name. Let me think for a second…” She scrunched her face and looked toward the ceiling. “Oh! I’ve got it! It’s Baxter. His name is Edward Baxter.”
Chapter 6
By five-thirty, the place was packed. Twelve church people whisked back and forth between the tables, stove, sink, and dining area. One crew dished out plates of food and the other waited tables. I glanced out the large window through which we passed dishes into the fellowship hall and whistled. The room was jammed.
“We need more potatoes out here!” Freddie shouted from behind the serving table.
Siegfried picked up two potholders, and lifted one of the stainless steel warming trays. He hurried toward Freddie and emptied the hot potatoes into the bin.
My stomach growled. The aroma of spicy barbecued pork ribs had tantalized me for the past few hours. I could hardly wait until the last customer was served. That’s when we'd all sit down and enjoy our own feast.
The crew who had worked so hard all afternoon—mostly elderly ladies who lost their husbands years ago—trotted from task to task.
Reverend Nahum Hardina poked his head into the kitchen. “We’ve already reached three hundred and fifty! Good job, people, good job.”
Our goal for the entire afternoon had been four hundred dinners. I looked nervously at the potatoes and hoped we’d have enough to last another hour and a half. Apparently the idea of a summer-like barbecue in winter hadn’t been so crazy after all.
A voice called out from the main hall. “We need some help with the pies! Can you spare anyone in there?”
I looked around at the ladies who were busily working. Siegfried and I had been sharing the duties of lifting the heavy pots. I turned to him. “Can you handle the workload in here, buddy?”
He nodded good-naturedly. “Ja, naturlich. Go. It is no problem for me.”
I squeezed through the crowd queuing in the main serving line and made my way to a long cafeteria table on the side of the room covered with colorful wedges of pies. Lucy Barrington looked flushed, taking orders from diners who had finished their meal and come back for dessert.
I slid behind the table and stood beside her. “How can I help, Lucy?”
She frowned at her watch. “Colton’s due at the airport in a half hour, Gus. I’m sorry, but I have to go and pick him up. I’m already late.”
A teenage boy was next in line. “What kinds do ya have?” He eyed the rows of homemade pastries with near-lust.
Lucy ran through the list. “Lemon meringue, pecan, apple, cherry, raspberry, chocolate mousse, peach, pineapple, blueberry, and custard.”
The boy chose apple and squeezed through the line to return to his seat. I shooed Lucy away and turned to handle the next customer in line.
“Well, well, well. Look who’s serving pies.”
I glanced up at the familiar voice. Madeleine, or Maddy as we called her, stood before me toying with a large gold medallion hanging from her neck. Encrusted with colored glass, it flashed against her silky dress that accentuated her full figure. The fabric—fluorescent lime and pink flowers on a black background—reminded me of a 1950s bathroom decor. She accessorized in pink. Dangly earrings, pumps, and clinking plastic bracelets completed the pink accents. She let the medallion go and ran her fingers through her short blond, wavy hair.
“Hey, Maddy. You made it.”
She winked at me. “Of course I made it; I told you I’d be here. You folks make the best food in all of western New York. Everyone knows that.” She smoothed her hands over her ample hips. “Besides, I have to keep up my girlish figure. Can’t get too scrawny, you know.”
I loved Maddy’s flamboyance. She’d been my first choice from the pool of applicants for secretary I interviewed over twenty years ago, when I accepted the position of music professor at Conaroga University. She’d kept me laughing ever since. In spite of her boisterous ways, she’d proven to be a skilled and industrious assistant.
I had just opened my mouth to list the pie varieties when I glanced up and noticed the woman who stood at her side. Maddy linked arms with her and dragged her forward. “Gus. This is my daughter, Camille. I don’t believe you two have met.”
She knew very well we hadn’t met. She’d been trying to set us up for the last three years. Camille had been divorced for at least that long, and I’d been avoiding the setup with all my might.
The loss of Elsbeth four years earlier had shattered me. I’d been alone since her death, and couldn’t picture dating anyone. I just wasn’t ready.
I controlled my exasperation and glanced up. Maddy nudged her daughter with an elbow. “Isn’t he cute? I told you he was cute.”
I studied the halo of dark tendrils that escaped her messy ponytail. She had clear, expressive eyes and high cheekbones that heralded a wide smile. Petite and about five-two, she wore no makeup, old jeans, a pale salmon-colored flannel shirt, and snow boots.
Time stopped. I stared into her chestnut eyes.
“Well for Heaven’s sakes, Gus. Say hello to my little girl.”
I reached forward to take her hand in mine. Her fingers were small and warm.
She looked down briefly, her cheeks washed with pink.
“Nice to meet you, Camille.”
“Same here.” She laughed with a lovely tinkling sound, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Sorry about this. Mother is always doing this to me.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. Having a matchmaker for a mother must be hell.
Several people had lined up behind Maddy and Camille and were craning their heads to look at the pies.
I released her hand slowly. “Well, guess I’d better get your pie. The crowd’s getting restless.”
Camille chose blueberry and Maddy took pecan. While I dished up wedges of pie for the next hour, I found myself stealing glances at Camille. Somehow I’d envisioned Maddy’s daughter as a younger version of her mother. I’d pictured fingers bejeweled with rings; eyebrows carefully penciled into thin arches, loud floral print dresses, and brightly colored stiletto heels. I smiled to myself, realizing my vision of Camille had been seriously flawed.
Chapter 7
The kitchen clean up went quickly and most of the crew left by seven forty-five. Outside in the biting cold air of the parking area, I slid behind the wheel of my trusty brown Volvo sedan, bone-weary. The car had served me well since I’d bought it used fifteen years ago. I refused to care that it was over two decades old, in spite of the fact that I was constantly urged to spring for a new vehicle by friends and family.
The pork ribs and potatoes sat heavy in my stomach. And I seriously regretted having that second piece of lemon meringue pie.
I turned the key in the ignition, welcoming the reliable purr of the engine. Freddie tapped on the window. I rolled it down and she leaned into the car. “I’m going over to pick up Johnny at Oscar and Millie’s and then I’ll meet you at home. Okay, Dad?”
I flipped on the windshield wipers. They slowly swished away the light snow that had blown onto the windshield. Siegfried emerged from the building and headed over to Freddie’s minivan, his arms loaded with leftover pies.
“Okay, sweetheart. But I’m making a quick stop at the Hatfields’ place first. There was something that bothered me this morning.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Like what?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Just a weird feeling I had.”
“Aren’t you too tired to worry about this, Dad?”
When I didn’t answer, she rolled her eyes, waving to Siegfried to indicate she’d be right over. “Okay. But don’t be
late. See you in about a half hour, then?”
I patted her hand. “Don’t worry so much, sweetie.”
Freddie leaned over and pecked my cheek. “You know I can’t help it, Dad.” She turned and jogged to the van.
The roads were clear except for isolated drifts that had blown across from the wide-open fields. I slowed and pushed through a particularly bad one, sending the sugary snow scattering in clouds. In seconds, I turned down Lewis Road and finally reached the ramshackle house.
Baxter’s car was still parked in the only clear section of the driveway. I pulled in beside the mailbox on the side of the road and switched off the engine. The car door swung shut with a satisfying thump. Straightening, I pulled a ten out of my wallet, stuffing it in my coat pocket. The front door opened before I reached it.
Baxter glowered in the entrance, his bulk silhouetted by the flickering blue light of the television. A cigarette dangled from his thick lips. He wore the same bathrobe, long johns, and wool socks from the morning.
“What now? You wanna use my bathroom?”
I took a deep breath. “Baxter. I’m not here to ask another favor. I’m here to pay up.” I figured I could use the money as an excuse. Why else would I be back there?
His expression softened ever so slightly. He looked sideways at me as if doubting my intentions. “Ten bucks?”
I nodded and stood still for a moment, waiting to see if he’d invite me in out of the frigid night air. But he stood his ground, staring at me expectantly.
“I know it was only a local call, but I did disturb your peace this morning, so I wanted to make good on my promise.”
He rolled his eyes and held out his hand. “So. Pay up.”
I pretended to fumble in my coat pocket. “So, Baxter, I hear you were in the police force? Oregon, wasn’t it?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Who told you that?”
“Just the locals.”
I looked past him into the living room. Something flitted across the room behind him. The blur moved quickly, making no sound. Baxter shifted his body closer to me, blocking my view entirely.
He clenched and unclenched his hands around a roll of duct tape. “Well, yeah. I was on the force in Portland. Injured in the line of duty. Retired now.”
He shifted from one foot to the other. I studied his small gray eyes and got the distinct impression he was lying.
“So, is there a Mrs. Baxter?”
His face darkened. “No. I came out here to be alone, goddamn it. Why do you think I chose this backwoods hellhole?” He repeatedly stabbed his thick forefinger into my chest.
I backed away with my hands spread. “Hey, man. No harm intended.” I pulled out the ten. “I didn’t mean to—”
Before I could finish my sentence, a loud crash sounded behind me. Baxter’s face transformed to a mask of fury. “Stupid cat!”
I craned my neck to see behind him. “You’ve got a cat?”
“Yes, I’ve got a cat, you nosy son of a bitch.”
Abruptly, Baxter plucked the money from my hand and slammed the door in my face. I heard his muffled comment. “And don’t come back!”
My eyes widened. After a few seconds, I stuffed my hands in my parka pockets and walked back to the car, wondering if his cat wore little red sneakers.
Chapter 8
When I returned home, it was nearly eight-thirty. Upstairs, Freddie sat on the edge of the tub watching Johnny play with his flotilla of foam toys and plastic men.
He squealed and jumped up when I sat down on the chair that propped open the door. “Opa!”
“Hey, buddy. Better sit down there. You gettin’ nice and clean?”
He nodded, wet hair tightly plastered to his head. “Yup!” He laughed and splashed, making the toys bobble in the suds.
I touched Freddie’s sleeve. “Harold’s not home yet?”
Her lips tightened. “No. He’s still at work.” She leaned over to dab around Johnny’s face to remove the suds that had splashed near his eyes.
A twinge of empathy ran through me. How did she stand it? “I’m sorry, honey.”
She smiled and blew a loose strand of hair from her cheek. I was sure she knew I meant I was sorry about much more than Harold’s late return. The whole marriage had been a mistake. Freddie had struggled to make it work for the last three years in spite of Harold’s apparent lack of interest.
“It’s okay, Dad. It’s just that this case is taking a lot out of him. We really don’t get to see much of him anymore, and when we do, he’s—well—”
Johnny raised suddenly somber eyes to mine. “Mean. Daddy’s mean to Mommy.”
Freddie’s face worked with emotion for a brief moment, and she loosed a brittle laugh. “Oh Johnny, Daddy’s not mean. He’s just been grumpy ‘cause he’s so tired. Speaking of Grumpy, can you name all of the Seven Dwarfs, little man?”
The fact that Harold had not returned was not surprising. He spent as little time as possible with his family, habitually blaming the situation on whatever case he was working at the moment. The Delano and Perkins law firm had not been thriving, and had recently welcomed a high profile defense case for a drug dealer who had purposefully mowed down a police officer. Harold thought the case would throw the firm into the limelight. I grimaced and walked down the wide pine board hallway.
“Grumpy, Happy, Dopey, Bashful, Doc, Sneezy—Sneezy—Sneezy—” Freddie and Johnny sang out the names, but got stuck on the last one.
Just before I reached my bedroom, I spun around and called out, “Sleepy.”
I flopped onto the white chenille bedspread. In four long years, I still couldn’t get used to sleeping without Elsbeth, although Max had tried hard to comfort me and had gradually crept from the foot of the bed up to Elsbeth’s place over the last year. I really didn’t mind. The pooch was one of my best friends. Sad, but true.
Tonight he lifted his head from Elsbeth’s pillow and looked at me with half-closed, drowsy eyes, thumping his tail on the bedspread. I ran my hands along his soft ears. He moved languorously toward me, stretched, and then inched himself up onto my stomach, laying his head down on my chest.
I stroked his sides. “What a good dog. You tired, buddy?” I turned my head a little when he scooched up to my face and started to clean me up. I didn’t know if he thought I was extra dirty or if he smelled remnants of the church dinner. I imagined he got a good whiff of eau de barbecued pork.
After a few moments of paying attention to Max, I got undressed in the adjoining bathroom. I pulled on flannel pajamas and brushed my teeth, staring for a minute at my reflection in the mirror. Bits of silver had just started to populate my wavy black hair. Hazel eyes stared back at me. The faint smudges beneath them were a reflection of the long, remarkable day. I yawned and stretched both arms above my head. Time for bed.
As I walked back into the bedroom, I stopped at the mantle, kissed my fingertips, and touched them to the silver frame that held Elsbeth’s photograph. She stared at me with her beautiful, dark brooding eyes. For the first time in four years, I felt a twinge of guilt. I’d been undeniably attracted to Maddy’s daughter, in spite of the promise I’d made to myself to remain faithful to Elsbeth’s memory. I’d vowed I’d never love another woman. Ever.
How could I? How could anyone replace a lifetime soul mate? Elsbeth and I had known each other since I was five and she and Sig were four. We'd been close friends in our youth, and had married when she’d turned eighteen. It had seemed out of the question that any other woman could fill my life the way she had.
And yet…there had been a certain pull when I met Camille today. An undeniable pull.
I sighed and got into my side of the empty bed. A melancholy mood enveloped me. I looked longingly at my copy of John D. McDonald’s The Empty Copper Sea, and sighed. Too tired to read.
Switching off Elsbeth’s mother’s antique cranberry glass lamp, I settled back against the pillows, wishing I could talk to her as I had done late at night for over two decades in this v
ery same bed.
Flitting visions of Baxter, Maddy, the church kitchen, the golden retriever, and Camille flickered across my pre-sleep vision. I finally drifted off into a fitful slumber, wondering idly about the roll of duct tape that Baxter had clutched in his hand.
Chapter 9
Elsbeth filled my dreams in the pre-dawn hours. It was summer: sun-bleached, blazing summer. We lay on a lavender blanket, deep in a field of wildflowers. Thousands of blue lupines nodded their heads in unison in a meadow of ubiquitous buttercups. It was clear Elsbeth was content. Her radiant smile spread and grew in warmth until I felt cocooned in her love. I reached up and plucked a luscious, ripe peach from a groaning branch hanging heavy with fruit above our heads. Peach-fuzz tickled my lips and sugary juices ran down my chin when I bit into the tangy-honeyed flesh.
I returned her smile, leaned back, and lay my head on her lap, gazing up at her. She ran her fingers through my hair in the comforting motion I’d grown to love. I felt enfolded in her essence and certain of her love. The sunlight glistened through her dark curls and they danced above me with a musical, wind-chime sound.
A mahogany sideboard, laden with delicacies, stood next to a black locust tree. Groaning with gourmet dishes of gargantuan proportions, it stood in the field of flowers and winked at me. Almost time for dinner, I thought in the self-satisfied understanding of the dreamer.
I stirred under the thick down comforter. Shafts of light poured into the room and thawed the frosty air. Max licked my cheek one more time and whined softly.
I mumbled to Max and stretched my limbs.
Filled with a sweet sense of warmth and delicious anticipation, I rolled back over and snuggled into my pillow. I lay there, toasty warm, eyes closed. A faint memory tickled at the back of my semi-consciousness.
Elsbeth. I’d dreamed of Elsbeth when I most needed her comforting touch. I yearned to return to the dream and tried to wish myself back to the field of flowers. My brain functioned slowly, and I wondered if this visit with Elsbeth had been some form of ghostly contact, or my own feeble attempt at self-comfort. I half-smiled with my eyes closed, wistfully hoping it had been the former.