A Table By the Window (7 page)

“This is your grandmother,” Loretta said, tapping the glass over the more serious-looking woman.

“Really? And my Aunt Helen with her?”

“It is indeed.”

The framed portrait in the center was of an older man with strong chin and eyeglasses. “He must be my grandfather.”

“Hmm. Probably so.” Loretta took it from her and handed her the last frame. “Look at this one.”

Linda, smiling and beautiful, stood beside a mechanical horse as she held an unsure-looking red-haired child in the saddle. Tears stung Carley's eyes.

Loretta patted her shoulder. “This isn't the one Mrs. Walker brought to the office. Would you like me to help you look for more?”

As tempting as it was, Carley had a more pressing wish. “Thank you, but I've kept you here long enough. But do you think you could show me where to find my aunt before we go back for my car?”

“Why, of course,” Loretta said. “I have all the time in the world. That's the beauty of having your own husband for your boss.”

Auld Lang Syne Antiques sat shoulder to shoulder with The Katydid and Three Sisters Antiques, on the west side of Main Street between Second and Third Streets. A bell tinkled softly over the door as Carley followed Loretta inside. Shelves and glass-fronted cases displayed everything from ironware to wooden bowls, depression glass to pottery, toys to silverware. They gave off faintly musty aromas mingled, appropriately, with that of potpourri. At the counter, an angular-faced woman with chestnut hair was wrapping tissue around a bowl and pitcher for a woman wearing a cranberry-colored cloak.

“Pam Lipscomb,” Loretta whispered of the woman behind the counter. “Works for Mrs. Hudson. Her daughter's in Iraq, bless her heart.”

“Miss Helen?” Pam said over her shoulder.

A curtain moved to the side and a woman of about seventy came through a door carrying a box. “This should do it, Pam.”

“We have more customers.”

“Oh.” The woman handed her assistant the box, looked up, and went stone-still.

“Hi, Mrs. Hudson,” Loretta said, gently nudging Carley forward. “This is Carley.”

The customer turned with bemused expression as Carley's great-aunt hurried around the counter and opened her arms. “Oh, goodness, child!”

“It's good to meet you, Aunt Helen,” Carley said, caught off guard by the embrace.

“And it's wonderful to meet you.” Aunt Helen's silvery hair smelled of a fresh perm, her shoulders of Estée Lauder's White Linen. “What I wouldn't give to have Cordelia here!”

“I'm sorry I never…”

“Shush now. None of that.” She stepped back a bit, holding Carley at arm's length. She was full-figured, an inch or so taller than Carley, and wore a black wool sweater and gray skirt that stopped between calf and ankles. Below the tear-lustered hazel eyes, her soft cheeks were faintly rouged. Pearl earrings clasped her earlobes.

“Aren't you pretty as a picture!” she exclaimed. In spite of the “shush,” her voice bore no trace of a Southern accent. It had a strained texture that sometimes comes with age, but was nonetheless pleasing to the ears.

“Mr. Malone said you talked Grandmother into looking for me. Thank you for that.”

“Oh, but it didn't take much talking, child.”

It was as if a piece of the hodgepodge puzzle that had made up Carley's life so far snapped into place. She had a history extending beyond Linda. And perhaps it was a good history after all. Her happiness mingled with sadness…over what might have been. But this was not the time for rumination. Not with her aunt's arm around her shoulders.

“Will you be comfortable in the house?” Aunt Helen asked. “Because you're more than welcome to stay with us.”

Carley had to think about that one. The oddness of staying in an unfamiliar house where her grandmother had died, versus a home that would surely be as warm and hospitable as was her aunt. But for over a week?

She had only one experience as a houseguest. During her first year on staff at Sacramento High, co-worker Diane Paxton invited her to share Easter vacation in her parents' rustic cabin near Lake Tahoe. The Paxtons were lovely people, but the lone bathroom was an add-on—right off the living room, with a two-inch gap at the bottom of the door. Evenings trips to the bathroom were torture, with six people sitting about a Monopoly board and no TV set to provide background noise and at least the illusion of privacy.

That would probably not be a problem at Aunt Helen's. But what if her husband smoked? She could not afford to spend a couple of days in bed because of a migraine. And once she accepted, she would be locked in for the remainder of her visit. It seemed safer just to thank her and say, “I'll get more work done at the house if I just stay there.”

“I understand,” Aunt Helen said.

The bell jingled. Two women entered, chatting. Aunt Helen excused herself and went over to greet them. Loretta nodded at Carley as if to say,
Perhaps we should leave?

Carley nodded back. As the women started browsing shelves, Aunt Helen returned to invite her for supper the next day. “I wish we could tonight, but Patrick—our grandson—has an away game in Purvis. You're more than welcome to come with us.”

“Thank you, but tomorrow would be great,” Carley said. “I can take my time unpacking and make some plans.”

“Of course. I'll just come for you after I close up shop.”

“How about if I just drive myself? Then no one has to bring me home.”

Which meant she could leave as soon as politely possible if the evening proved a disappointment. But she hoped that would not happen.

Aunt Helen showed no offense, and took a business card and pen from the counter. “I'll write my address on the back.”

“Why don't I just show her?” Loretta offered. “I have to drive her over to the office anyway.”

“That's very kind of you,” Aunt Helen said, but still handed Carley the card. “Just in case you get lost, dear.”

A person would have to have no sense of direction whatsoever for that to happen in this town, but it was nice to be fussed over. Loretta drove back up to Fifth Street and took a left in front of an ice-cream-cone-shaped sign that read
The Sweet Tooth
in front of a white shop. Four houses down, Aunt Helen's was tan brick with white shutters and doors. A black Dodge Ram pickup truck occupied a space in the double carport.

“Mr. Hudson's home,” Loretta said, turning the Town Car into the driveway. “Would you like me to introduce you?”

“May we not?” Carley said. “I'd rather wait until Aunt Helen is here.”

“I understand.” As Loretta backed out the car and nosed it toward Main Street, a yellow sedan came from that direction. The woman behind the wheel and Loretta exchanged waves.

“Do you know everyone in town?” Carley asked.

“Just about.”

“That must be nice.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Loretta said, stopping at the stop sign and looking in both directions. A pickup truck advanced from the north, a red Volkswagen from the south, so she waited. “Most times it is. But with Stanley being the only attorney in town, that's not always nice. Shared inheritances sometimes bring out the worst in people.”

“Does he only handle wills and real estate closings?”

“Goodness no. He does it all, even criminal defense. Thankfully, we have so little crime that he hardly ever sees the courtroom.” She sighed. “But there are the few rotten apples. A few years ago a minister's wife, Gwen Stillman, who served on the Keep Tallulah Beautiful committee with me, was picking up litter in front of their church when someone in a car hit her and kept on going. Her baby girl was sitting in a stroller just a few feet away…”

Her voice trailed to silence as she pressed the gas pedal to cross Main Street.

“I saw the poster in Corner Diner,” Carley said.

“They're all over town. People take this very personally. After all this time, it doesn't look like even Dale will solve this one. It had to have been someone passing through, someone who knows to stay clear of here.”

Before Carley could ask, Loretta looked at her and said, “Forgive me. Dale Parker is our chief of police
and
statewide hero. He brought in the Highway 98 serial killer seven years ago. You're probably too young to remember, but it was all over the national news.”

“I'm afraid I didn't watch much news when I was younger.” At eighteen, schooling and work had dominated Carley's life.

“Warren Knap is his name.” Loretta pulled up in the driveway of the law office, switched off the key. “He was from Tylertown, mind you. Not here. And his
current
residence is Parchman Prison. He killed four women in five years; three in their houses after following them from businesses along the highway, and another in the woods after she ran out of gas. He left a McComb church secretary for dead with ten stab wounds, but she recovered after weeks in critical care.”

“How was he caught?” Carley asked.

“Dale was just a rookie policeman in Hattiesburg—it's a college town thirty miles southeast of here. He recognized the suspect in Shoney's, even though the composite sketches weren't all that detailed,
and
the man was wearing a toupee. Anyway, after Dale brought him in, he could have been elected governor of Mississippi. He was given the Police Medal of Honor and thirty-thousand dollars in award money. Our chief of police was retiring, and so our Board of Aldermen offered him the position.”

Carley thought of the uniformed men in Corner Diner. She spoke of the older one, of course.

“He made
Newsweek
after that,” Loretta went on. “They said he was the youngest chief of police in the country. Only twenty-two years old at the time.”

But then again, he could have been the one with the sack lunch.

Or neither. It really did not matter, although Carley was glad to hear of a monster being put away. But she found herself saying, “There were two police officers in the diner.”

“Well, we only have three on the force, and one's a woman. Did one of the men have blonde hair and blue eyes?”

“I think so,” Carley said, irritated at herself for being so vague when she knew full well that he did. She thought,
What are you, in the sixth grade? Afraid someone will think you're interested in a boy?

“That would have been him.” Loretta pulled the key from the ignition. “And Stanley heard at the courthouse last week that Dale and his debutante girlfriend in Atlanta had a parting of the ways. I guess it was just too hard, long-distance courting. I'm sure the news has already spread like measles among every eligible woman in the county.”

She gave Carley a little smile. “It's a shame you're going back to California. I could introduce you. I just love playing matchmaker.”

Carley smiled back. “I wouldn't want all those women mad at me anyway.”

As impulsive as the act of flying to Mississippi on practically the spur of the moment was, Carley was an almost obsessive believer in making lists. Seeing her responsibilities in print gave her a measure of feeling in control of her own life. She supposed even some good habits could be gleaned from the flotsam and jetsam of a turbulent childhood.

And so before looking for more photographs and possibly other family mementos, she brought pen and notebook from her purse to the table. As the list grew, she wondered if it could all be done in ten days. Eight, actually, minus travel. She needed to unpack, dust furniture, meet with the real estate agent, find a source for boxes and cartons to pack whatever she decided to ship home, arrange for that shipping, figure out what to do with the rest, and visit the bank to transfer her inheritance to Bank of California.

Shop,
she wrote. She could do this tomorrow. This was definitely soup weather, and a big pot of minestrone would last for days. Within her main list, she began a grocery list.

canned tomatoes

onions

dried lima beans

The doorbell interrupted. A slender woman with shoulder-length dark ash-blonde hair introduced herself as Gayle Payne, and held out a dark plastic-wrapped loaf.

“It's zucchini bread. I chaperoned the third grade field trip to the Mennonite bakery today.”

“How thoughtful.” Carley took the loaf. “Won't you come in?”

“Thank you, but I have to cook supper.” She wore a blue denim jacket, white turtleneck, and brown skirt. High cheekbones narrowed her hazel eyes into horizontal crescents, and she had a slight overbite, but nonetheless she was very pretty.

As gracious as her visitor was, Carley felt relieved when she declined her invitation. She did want to finish her list and look for photographs. “I appreciate your looking after the house.”

“We were happy to. I'm so sorry about Mrs. Walker. She was a sweet lady.”

“Thank you. I'm glad she had good neighbors.”

“Oh,
she
was the best neighbor. She didn't fuss about the children's noise, and even let them climb her fig tree. Dean—my husband—wrapped the trunk with an old blanket when the cold snap hit, by the way. And he cut back the muscadine vines after Christmas.”

“Muscadine?”

Gayle smiled. “Purple grapes with thick skins. Most people make jelly from them, but they're good for snacking too.”

Carley assumed both fig tree and grapevines were in the backyard, which she had yet to explore.
Thank you
seemed suddenly inadequate. “I'd like to cook something for your family one evening and bring it over.”

Gayle protested, but feebly, and ended up saying, “I'm sure everyone would love a change from my cooking.” She smiled again. “
I
would love a change from my cooking.”

“Do you like chicken cacciatore?”

“I'm not sure we've ever had it. So that will make it a double treat.”