Going Through the Notions (A Deadly Notions Mystery) (22 page)

“There’s also an open bottle of a rather nice Shiraz on the counter,” I said, and felt Joe’s chuckle rumble through his body.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that, wife.”

Sarah and Peter reappeared after a few minutes, and I hunted around for wineglasses and rinsed them out. Joe motioned for us to sit down at the butcher block table. Jasper picked a spot on the floor next to me and I stroked his head.

“He looks a lot calmer,” Peter commented. “I mean, I heard he ate the linoleum and all, but still . . .”

“He’s a good dog,” I said.

“Looks like you have quite the project going on here, sir,” Peter said, clearing his throat.

Joe’s dark eyes were full of his familiar good humor. “Call me Joe, please. And yes, it’s one of those mushroom endeavors.”

“Mushroom?”

“It starts off with, while I’m at it, I might as well . . .” He gestured to the bare walls. “And before you know it,
this
is where you end up.”

We all laughed.

“You didn’t want to restore the old floor?” Peter asked.

“I would have, but it was in such bad shape. And you know, it wasn’t original to the house anyway. In the days when these houses were built, the kitchens weren’t attached to the house for safety reasons. If the kitchen caught on fire, as they often did, it meant that the whole place didn’t go up. Where we’re sitting now used to be the walkway to the summer kitchen, which is long gone.”

I glanced down at the floor. It was lined with new plywood and dust-free. Joe had done a lot of work in a short period of time. Maybe there was a hint of light at the end of the tunnel that wasn’t an oncoming train.

And the fact that Peter was concerned about the historical preservation of the house made me like him all the more.

Joe leaned back in his chair, sipping appreciatively at his wine. “The cabinets were from the fifties. They weren’t worth refinishing either, although I saved what I could to use in the toolshed.”

I’d never liked the cabinets. I stroked Jasper’s head again. We even had room for an island in here, come to think of it, and perhaps some new lighting.

As Peter asked about the history of the house and Joe started on the long list of renovations we’d accomplished over the years, I watched Sarah as she listened to the conversation, never taking her eyes off Peter. He was almost a younger version of Joe, although I had to admit, even better looking. And I’d never seen her content not to be the star of the show with any guy she was dating. It couldn’t have been easy for him, coming here and facing all of us, but he was handling himself well and I gave him points for courage.

I murmured to her, “Should I ask Peter if he’d like to stay here tonight?” It was an offer I’d have naturally made to a guest, but I wasn’t about to put another foot wrong without checking first.

“Thanks, Mom,” she whispered back, “but he’s staying at the Four Foxes.”

I raised my eyebrows a fraction. The Four Foxes was not cheap, by any means. This young director must be doing all right for himself.

Peter whistled softly. “Sounds like you’ve done a lot of work here. But I warn you, sir—I mean, Joe—I’m no handyman.”

“Just an extra pair of hands is all I’m asking for.” Joe nodded at Sarah. “You can help, too, young lady.”

“Okay, Daddy.” Sarah smiled.

We chatted about the techniques of installing hardwood floors for a couple of minutes more before Joe finished the last of his wine and stood up. “Come on, Daisy. Time we left these young folks to talk.”

Joe and I went up to bed, hand in hand. We didn’t make love that night, but we slept together, and that was a start in the right direction.

*

“P
eter evidently wasn’t getting his money’s worth out of his suite at the Four Foxes, because he was already back at our house again early the next morning. When I came downstairs, he was sitting with Sarah in the library, and they were deep in conversation.

I said “hello” quickly before I hurried out on my way to pick up Betty.

As I walked down the hallway, I overhead Peter say, “Your mom works on a Saturday?”

“She works all the time,” Sarah replied.

“I thought they were retired.”

“That’s what Daddy thought, too.”

I shut the front door quietly behind me. Sometimes a Great Notion wasn’t open to customers on Saturdays, only by appointment, but I often went in to catch up on prep work. I hadn’t told Sarah about going to Martha’s today, but the end result was the same. I was leaving the house.

The store was mine to do with as I wished—without the constraints of a school system dictating lesson plans or schedules. Joe let me have free rein, of course, as he had done for all of our married life.

Like teaching, each day was full of surprises. The store usually energized me and I never minded the hours I put in. But did Joe? Had I mistaken calm acceptance for underlying dissatisfaction?

I stopped at the diner for coffee. The early breakfast rush was over and the trolley car was almost empty. Carla waited on me, and as I paid her, I wrestled with myself as to whether I should say something or not. I tried not to judge people anymore. I always figured you needed to walk a few miles in their shoes first. But I couldn’t help myself.

“Carla, I heard you were out partying last night. You shouldn’t be carrying on like that in your condition.”

“I know, Mrs. B.”

I shivered. It was a nickname from the past, and it spurred me into grabbing her shoulders. “I’m not kidding.” I resisted the urge to shake her. “You need to get it together now, today, Carla. Not tomorrow, not next week, not when the baby is born, but
now
, do you hear me?”

Carla stared at me, her kohled eyes wide. At least I had her attention. Some of my desperation must have gotten through to her.

“Okay, okay.” She glanced around the diner. Only one old man sat at the end of the counter, engrossed in his newspaper.

“Sorry,” I murmured, aware that I’d blurted out the fact that she was pregnant. I let go of her and stepped back.

“Actually I was drinking tonic water all night,” she said in a low voice. “I told the bartender when I got there that whenever I said ‘vodka tonic’ to skip the vodka part.” Carla glanced over at the lone customer again and leaned closer, talking under her breath.

“You’re the only person who knows right now. I’m not ready to tell everyone until I’ve figured things out. Me not drinking would have definitely tipped them off.”

I nodded, understanding. “Just take care of yourself, okay? Please?”

“I will.”

Deep in thought, I headed over to Sheepville to pick up Betty. At The Paddocks, several young girls were trotting around the ring, learning how to ride.

Here we were planning a charity event for the Kratz children, but what if Carla was carrying another one of Jimmy’s offspring?

I shook my head. We’d better raise a lot of money with this country fair.

Betty was walking much easier now and seemed excited at the prospect of an outing. She got into the Subaru without my help and chatted all the way to Millbury. When we pulled up outside Martha’s house, there were already a couple of cars in the driveway, in addition to the Lincoln. In my rearview mirror I saw Eleanor pull up behind me on her red Vespa.

Martha opened the wide front door and came out onto the porch to greet us. She brought us through to the dining room, where Liz Gallagher and Dottie Brown were already assembled.

Detailed leaded glass doors led into the room with its coffered ceiling and three arched stained glass windows. Bradbury and Bradbury wallpaper in a classic Victorian design decorated the walls between the cherry-paneled wainscoting and crown molding. A rosewood and walnut burl Edwardian sideboard stood along one wall.

The dining table was fourteen feet long and made of solid mahogany with carved, turned legs. A six-arm chandelier with etched swirl glass shades hung overhead. The table was laden now with thermal carafes of coffee, pitchers of iced water and juice, and towering plates of cranberry orange scones and date nut bread.

An easel was set up in one corner, with a rough sketch of the auction grounds.

As soon as the rest of the ladies arrived, and everyone was fed and watered, Martha called the meeting to order.

“Right. We have a lot to do today. Let’s get started.” She thrust a pad of paper and a pen at Betty. “You take the minutes.” Martha pointed a black marker at Liz Gallagher. “Liz, how are you making out?”

“Well, my neighbor is going to help run the lemonade stand with her kids and mine. Hubby offered to bring his prize antique tractors and put them on display. And I’ll set up the petting zoo with some of our farm animals. We have a couple of baby goats right now. Arthur the donkey will enjoy it, and the pigs won’t care what junk the kids feed them.”

“Sounds good.” Martha was busy at the easel, sketching out the location of everything Liz had mentioned.

“I asked the school nurse to run the first aid booth. I thought we’d have a Lost and Found there, too, including for lost children!”

“Good idea,” I said.

“Oh, and Henry Moyer said he could run the tractor pulls.” Liz frowned. “I still have to organize the flea market, though. I’ve asked the PTA moms to give me stuff, but I need more.”

“I can help you with that,” I said. “I have lots of stuff to get rid of in my basement. Sarah can help me clean it out.”

Half of it was hers anyway. Too bad Sarah’s shoes were too big for me. Most of them were barely worn.

There was that feeling again—like déjà vu—or a ghost of a dream that you struggle to remember when you wake up but it drifts away.

Dottie Brown choked down a bite of date nut bread as Martha swung around to her. “I’ve asked the sheep farm where I get my handspun yarn to do a sheep-shearing demonstration. And my knitting class ladies have made three baby blankets and four scarves so far.”

Across the table from me, I watched in fascination as Eleanor slathered two hefty slices of bread with a half-inch layer of butter and took a cranberry orange scone, which she wedged onto the side of her plate.

“Ruth, you’re up!” I think we all jumped as Martha rapped on the easel with her marker.

Unperturbed, Ruth consulted some notes in a cream leather binder she’d brought with her. “Let’s see, my friend who owns the stables will be providing two ponies for pony rides. I have a roster of judges lined up, and some angel sponsors will provide the prizes for the flower, fruit, vegetable, baking, needlework, and junior art competitions. I’ve convinced Precision Rentals to supply tents, tables, and an admission booth.” She frowned as she peered at her notes. “Oh, and Tony Z will provide haircuts for free, but we’ll ask people to make a donation.”

“Excellent, excellent!” Martha beamed at her as she strode back and forth. Her gaze landed on me. “Daisy?”

“Um, I thought we could do a farm stand.” I was improvising as I’d only come up with this idea last night. I hadn’t had much time to devote to the fair preparations until now. “Ellen at the lavender farm has promised to donate honey, and Annie from the herb shop will give us soaps and candles. Flutter Gifts in Sheepville is donating ten homemade birdhouses, and Fresh and Fancy will give us fruit butter, chutney, pickles, and homemade jellies. Joe and I have lots of fresh vegetables in our garden, too, and I bet I can find others willing to spare some extra produce.”

“Very nice. Good idea.” Martha blocked out a farm stand not far from the entrance to the auction grounds.

“Sarah has some walkie-talkies for the parking attendants to use, and it turns out that Chris Paxson knows the band that played at the Sheepville Pub on Friday night. They’ve offered to play for free.”

“Wow! That should bring in some people,” Patsy said. “They were awesome!”

“And Chris offered to help with parking or wherever we need him.”

Patsy waved a hand in the air. “I’m here to volunteer, too. Use me and abuse me as you need.”

Debby and Cee Cee nodded. “Us, too,” Debby said. “We’re not on a committee, but we’d like to help.”

Martha smiled. “We’re going to need lots of publicity for this thing. Feet on the street, handing out flyers, and asking merchants to post a notice in their windows.”

Patsy raised her hand as if she were still in school.

Martha pointed the marker at her.

“I know the deejay on WSEP. I bet I can get him to do an announcement on the air.”

“Fabulous.”

Betty cleared her throat. “I can open the auction building so people can use the restrooms. We can also use the snack bar for water and ice and to store food.”

“That’s great,” Eleanor said. “Although it brings up another question. What about insurance?” Eleanor had volunteered to be treasurer. “I’ll look into that. And how about an admission fee of five dollars per person?”

“That sounds good,” Martha said.

“And what are you doing, madam?”

“I’m
organizing
. Plus I’ll be running the baking competition.”

“Of course.” Eleanor gathered up the last crumbs of her scone with her pale pink painted fingernails.