Going Through the Notions (A Deadly Notions Mystery) (25 page)

Typical of Joe’s thoughtfulness that he’d chosen something to honor my past career.

“Did you see the sink?” Joe asked, almost hopping from one foot to another like a kid on Christmas morning. “I found it at Cyril’s salvage yard.”

“It’s amazing.” I admired the burnished copper apron front sink propped up against one wall, waiting to be installed.

“Sarah cleaned it while Peter and I hung the lights. She did a real good job.” He rubbed a hand across one of the cabinets. “See this raw cherry wood? It’ll deepen in color over time. The cabinets will only get more beautiful as they age. Kind of like you.”

“Aw, jeez. Flattery will get you everywhere, mister.”

We laughed.

Joe pulled me into his arms and I willingly leaned into him. As his mouth met mine, my eyes closed, and the years spun away. I was back in the arms of that hot young guy with the hard body I’d fallen for so long ago. The kiss deepened and my pulse raced, my hands sliding up his back, touching him eagerly.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a brat lately,” I murmured against his mouth. “I wanted to do the kitchen together, I suppose, like we’ve done everything else around here.”

I remembered the countless hours of scraping paint, steaming off wallpaper, refinishing woodwork with me acting as Joe’s assistant. I’d missed the whole process this time.

“Well, I still need to pick out some knobs for the cabinets. Maybe we could do that together?”

“That would be great.” I smiled at him.

“And here’s a sample of the granite countertop. But you can pick out something else if you don’t like it.” He held out a piece of the black and beige speckled stone.

“No, I love it. Really. And I’m sorry about the dinner, too.”

“I don’t care about dinner, but I
do
care about you.” He pulled back a fraction and looked deep into my eyes. “Now, Daisy . . .”

Uh-oh, here it comes.

“I held back from giving you a hard time at the store, but tonight was a warning. It might not even be from the guys who were gambling. It might be from whoever was involved in Jimmy’s murder who feels like you’re becoming a threat with your snooping around. You need to let the police handle things from now on.”

I sucked in a breath. I wasn’t sure I liked being referred to as a snoop.

“Daisy! I’m serious.” Joe gave my shoulders a tiny shake. “You need to let this go. Angus was a good friend to us, I know, but there’s nothing more you can do for him now.”

I winced as I buried my face in his shoulder. Joe smelled of paint and wood shavings, and maybe faintly of dog. Like the scent of home.

“You could have been killed tonight,” he whispered into my hair. “That scared the hell out of me.”

Me, too.

“I’ll be fine.” I looked up and forced a smile for him. “You know what, Joe, you worry too much.”

“Very funny, Daisy. But I’m not kidding. Enough is enough.”

Joe never insisted on anything, usually letting me have my own way, so I knew when he was rattled or angry, it was time to pay attention. When Sarah was a child, I could scream and yell at her all day long, but if Joe so much as raised his voice one iota above its usual calm level, she’d burst into tears.

“Promise me?”

I took a deep breath, feeling my heart twist at the thought of abandoning Angus to his fate. The only bright spot was that Detective Serrano seemed as though he was capable of taking care of things the right way.

“Promise,” I mumbled.

“Good. Now let’s celebrate the fact that you’re still in one piece.” Joe’s voice was a tad husky. He pulled a bottle of champagne out of the refrigerator, and as I watched him open the top carefully, I looked around the kitchen again, admiring all he had done.

“Hey, Joe. Do you think we have room for an island in here?”

“Sure. I was thinking that myself. Easy enough if we don’t add any plumbing. Some more prep space would be nice, and maybe some shelves at the ends for cookbooks?”

The champagne popped open, fizzed over the top, and a couple of drops landed on the floor. Jasper licked them up before either of us could move.

“Clean up on aisle three.” I shook my head in despair. I hoped a small amount of champagne wouldn’t hurt him. Jasper caught my eye and waved his tail slowly. He looked beat. He must have been charging around the whole day, getting in everyone’s way.

“I suppose I should thank you, you little monster,” I said to him. “I wanted new hardwood floors forever and never got them, but now I have.”

I clinked glasses with my husband. “And thank
you
, Joe. Everything you’ve picked is just right for our kitchen and the house. I can’t believe you got so much done already.”

“Peter was a big help. Sarah, too.”

“I like him so much, Joe. I think he might be The One.”

“Don’t go jumping the gun now.”

We both winced at the same time.

“Sorry,” Joe said. “Speaking of Peter and Sarah, where are they?”

“They were going to grab a late dinner, and then Sarah’s staying at the Four Foxes with him tonight.”

Joe frowned. “Overnight? I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

“Joe!” I chuckled. “She’s twenty-six! Besides, it means we have the house to ourselves.”

I slid my arms around his neck. I watched his eyes darken as I pressed closer to fit even more intimately against his body. “I need to take a shower first,” I whispered.

“I’ll help,” he offered.

A few minutes later, I was standing under warm, healing water, the stress and anxiety of the night washing away, feeling Joe’s hands slowly caress my wet skin.

Suddenly I wasn’t tired at all.

*

“T
he next morning, after a lazy hour in bed talking and reading the paper, we took Jasper for a walk and then decided to go for a bike ride and stop by the house auction on Swamp Pike. I’d have to skip going to the prison today. Joe and I were finally connecting again, and I knew there was no way I could suggest it without him going ballistic.

I’d have to see Angus on Wednesday, the next visiting day. I sighed as I buckled my helmet. He’d think I’d deserted him, just like everyone else.

We rode down to the end of Main Street, past the bicycle shop, which was already doing a booming business. I waved to Chris Paxson, who was outside adjusting the seat on a new mountain bike for a prospective customer. Sweet Mabel’s, the ice cream shop housed in a Victorian confection with gingerbread trim painted a happy teal, purple, and yellow, was also packed. People were sitting at the tables outside or wandering up Main Street licking at overflowing cones. It was going to be another hot one today. The temperature already felt like it was in the high eighties.

We took a left up Grist Mill Road, past the little bridge, and then pedaled off the road, bumping over a well-worn trail that led to the old canal towpath. We rode for a couple of miles, enjoying the cool shade of the trees and the silence only interspersed by the gurgling splash of the water over brown gleaming rocks, the rapping of a woodpecker against the trunk of a tree, or the call of a yellow warbler.
Sweet, sweet, I’m so sweet.
The canal path veered away from River Road, and we’d passed the point where it would intersect with Sheepville Pike.

Finally we rode back onto River Road at the Bridgewater Inn, where the veranda was full of people enjoying brunch. We took a right to head south on Swamp Pike, bounded by acres of golden corn shimmering in the heat.

Once in a while, there was a clearing between the cornfields with a brick Cape Cod and a wishing well on the front lawn, or a farmhouse where somehow the owner had managed to find the time to plant a few marigolds as well as attend to all their farm chores. A red and gold painted sign advertising custom furniture, millwork, and cabinetry stood at the end of a winding drive. Outside an old hotel that was now a bar, a sign hung saying
, BIKERS WELCOME
. From the Harleys and Schwinns outside, it obviously catered to both the motorized and the manpowered varieties.

Here and there I saw signs for the country fair tacked to a telephone pole or a building. Cee Cee had done a great job on the design, and Martha’s marketing committee had been busy. When we passed a nursery displaying a bounty of summer vegetables and flowers, I finally remembered to tell Joe about our part in the fair.

“Oh, by the way, Joe, I volunteered you to supply vegetables for a farm stand at the benefit for the Kratz children. Sorry I didn’t mention it before.”

“That’s okay,” Joe gasped as we headed up a slight hill. “I’ve got more rhubarb than I have recipes for, and there’s plenty of spinach, cabbage, and scallions coming up. Think there’s still some snap beans, peas, and strawberries, too.”

I didn’t know the exact address of the auction, but it was easy enough to spot. Cars were parked along both sides of the road, and a crowd had gathered on the grass in front of the white ranch house on its large corner lot. Also it would have been tough to miss Patsy’s voice coming over loud and clear on the microphone. It was a sure bet that no one in this neighborhood was sleeping in.

I grinned at Joe, and he smiled back, in the tender way of men and women who have just spent a passion-filled night together. I got off my bike slowly.
Ow.
Whose idea was it to ride bikes today?

Patsy and Betty looked like they were working well as a team. There was a break in the action as a couple of guys brought a mahogany tilt-top pedestal table up to the front. Patsy leaned down and gave me a high five. She clicked the off switch on the microphone. “Glad you’re okay, Daisy. Heard about what happened at the store.”

“Thanks.” I turned to Betty. “Hey, Betty, did you hear there’s a new detective on the case now? Maybe it’s good news for Angus?”

Betty made some sort of murmured agreement and then turned away to direct the men where to put the table. I couldn’t decide if she was distracted or simply not interested.

Seeing as the auction had started at 10 a.m., Joe and I had missed the preview, so we took a quick walk through the rows of tables set up under the attached carport to check out the remaining merchandise. Betty had lucked out with this house by not having to bring in tents to provide relief from the sun blazing overhead.

It was obviously an estate sale by the age of the furniture and the kitchen utensils, which must have been purchased when the person got married in the fifties. A hint of mothballs still clung to some of the fabrics, even out in the fresh air. Items were displayed on trays with a number attached to each one. Joe was intrigued with an antique coffee grinder from Brussels, until I reminded him we were riding our bikes.

The relatives were chatting with one another, and helping out with the auction by carrying sold furniture to people’s trucks. Even in their grief, you could sense the love, the connection, the great joy they’d shared with the person who had died. I knew there was a good foundation that would see them through the dark days ahead. That was the legacy the loved one left behind.

Not so with the Perkins boys.

Eleanor was right. That grandmother must have been a real harridan, no matter how accomplished a quilt maker.

Suddenly I became aware that people were staring at us, in particular a group of elderly women in the next row. We didn’t look that bad, did we? A little sweaty, and our hair might be messed up from the helmets, but bicyclists weren’t that unusual a sight around here.

Joe moved on to another table, but one woman was still staring at me, as if she could bore holes right through my cycling tank top. She looked vaguely familiar. I caught snatches of their voices under Patsy’s chanting. Not that they were bothering to keep their conversation private.

There’s that busybody teacher who trespasses on people’s private property.

She should mind her own business, instead of poking her nose where it’s not wanted.

I was ready to grab Joe and leave when I saw Liz Gallagher walking across the grass with two of her five children in tow.

“Liz!”

“Hi, Daisy. I heard about the shooting. Are you okay?”

News traveled fast in a small town.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“I heard all those guys made bail except Frank. They’re investigating the funds of the 4-H Club now to make sure there were no misappropriations.”

I leaned closer. “Liz, don’t look now, but do you know those women at the next table? In particular the one in the middle who’s staring at me?”

Liz bent down and pretended to button up her toddler’s shirt as she answered. “Oh, that’s Edna Ramsbottom. Hank Ramsbottom’s widow.”

Now
it made sense. Not only was I the friend of the guy responsible for her husband’s brain damage and eventual death, but I’d played an instrumental part in putting her son behind bars. No wonder she was giving me the evil eye.

I ignored them and bid on a pack of postcards of famous actresses from the 1920s and 1930s and an Art Deco beaded steel evening bag. Joe picked up a box lot of early leather wallets.

“What were those women saying?” He looked worried. “Daisy, do you think this could hurt your business?”