Caught Redhanded (17 page)

I laughed. “There’s a catch to everything, isn’t there? Bet they never thought of that when they were building the bridges in high summer.”

When we’d passed through, Curt pulled to the side of the road. “They didn’t really cover the bridges to protect the people and animals,” he said. “They did it to lengthen the life of the bridge itself. It must work. This one was built in 1881.”

“Over one hundred and twenty-five years old.” I swiveled in my seat and looked back. “Impressive, though I’m sure there’s been much repair work done since back then. And why are we stopping?”

Not that I minded. Open fields spread out on either side in a green carpet. White daisies and wild mustard bloomed in profusion and a Louisiana blue heron, disturbed in his search for fish by our arrival or maybe our horn blowing, took off from the stream, huge wings thrumming the air, slender neck retracted, long legs trailing behind.

Curt reached onto the backseat and picked up a camera. “I’m doing a series of paintings of the covered bridges of Chester County. I like to photograph them so I get all the details right.”

I followed him as he walked down the road and took several shots of the bridge head-on. Around us honey bees buzzed from yellow flower to yellow mustard flower, and pollen floated in the air. Honeysuckle grew along the verge of the road, its scent a sweet perfume in the warm air. Red-winged blackbirds perched on reeds that looked too slight to hold their weight. A fat groundhog looked at us over his shoulder, then waddled away, his fur shimmying over his well-rounded rump. In a distant field, a pair of horses stood nose to tail, idly flicking away the flies. The silence was deep and comforting.

Next we climbed over the fieldstone approaches to the bridge and Curt took shots of it on an angle. Personally I thought this vantage point would be wonderful for a painting with the wedge of field in the foreground and a few wildflowers thrown in for color, then the red bridge and behind it the vivid green trees set against the brilliant blue of a summer sky, a strategic cloud thrown in for good measure.

Next we made our way down to the stream, where Curt took several shots of the supports of the bridge.

“They’re like stilts set in concrete pads,” I said, but bridge supports didn’t really interest me. I stood on a rock and stared down into the run, watching the water flow on its way to the—“Where does this stream flow? Into the Brandywine Creek?”

“Probably. Then the Schuylkill River, the Delaware River, Chesapeake Bay and finally the Atlantic.”

“Busy stream.” On the far side of the bridge my eye was caught by a cluster of raspberry brambles draped over the stone approach. Suddenly my mouth watered for raspberries.

“Come on.” Curt took my hand and pulled me along the stream away from the bridge and the raspberries. Every few steps he glanced back but didn’t stop until he was satisfied. I turned and saw why. The full span of the bridge was visible with the stream curving beneath it. Curt shot several more pictures.

We started to walk back toward the bridge and my eyes went to the raspberries again. I pointed. “Let’s pick some raspberries.”

“Sure.” He tucked the camera in his shirt pocket, then sat on a rock and took off his sandals. He stood, tucked them in his shorts at the small of his back, and stepped into the water. “What are you waiting for?”

I pulled my sandals off and followed him. The water was cool on my feet, but it felt good, relaxing, cleansing. Here with only the occasional caw of a blackbird, the burble of the brook and the murmur of insects, I felt far removed from the trauma of the last few days.

The water inched its way to my knees, wetting the bottoms of my cropped pants, but I didn’t care. It was sunny and hot and they would dry in no time. We reached the other side and clambered up the slight incline to the raspberry patch. Sure enough, red fruit waited for us. We picked carefully, watching out for thorns, and popped the fruit into our mouths. It was sweet and tart, its seeds and flesh a fascinating contrast.

When we had stripped the patch, we returned to the stream and dangled our hands in the water to wash away the sticky juice. The tackiness that wanted to glue my fingers together disappeared, but the red stains didn’t. I held my hands up for Curt to see. “Caught redhanded again.”

He held up equally stained hands. “At least we’re a matched pair.”

Laughing, delighted to be together, we waded across to the side where we were parked. As I climbed out and sat to put my sandals back on, I said, “We should have brought a picnic.”

Curt dropped beside me, our shoulders touching. “Another day. I need to come back again to get pictures in the rich light of approaching evening as opposed to the harsher light of midday.”

I looked around. “Will we be here to come back? We’ll be in Pittsburgh.”

“Or North Carolina.”

I fixed my eyes on the bridge. “Tony Compton said he’d move to Pittsburgh for me if he were my fiancé. There is always room for another good lawyer in such a town, he said.”

Curt leaned back, supporting his weight on his elbows. “Thinking about trading me in, are you?” He didn’t sound too worried about the possibility.

I turned and wrapped my arms around his waist. “No,” I said, resting my head on his shoulder. “I’m not in love with him.”

We stayed like that for a few minutes, wrapped in each other’s arms in the middle of a beautiful meadow by a historic bridge and a burbling rill, and I wondered how we were ever going to resolve our dilemma. I thought again of the people who had sheltered in the bridge or sledded through. They probably didn’t have to face two job offers, lucky them.

“I’m going to fly down and visit the art institute Tuesday,” Curt said and kissed the top of my head. “I’ll be back Wednesday.”

“What?” I pulled away from him and stared. And what was with the kiss on the head as he made the grand announcement? Was it supposed to make me feel better somehow?

His eyes were bright and excited behind his lenses. “They’ve made all kinds of arrangements for me to meet everyone from the president of the school on down. I’ll get to see the facility firsthand and learn how they see me fitting into the picture. I’ll see the area, look for places we might live and learn what the benefits of moving there would be for us.”

“You’re going to North Carolina?” I couldn’t believe it. I probably sounded as distressed as the fiancées in the early 1940s when they said, “You’re going to the South Pacific?”

“Merry, I’m not going to the moon. It’s a short flight. And you can come with me if you want.”

I didn’t want.

“Maybe if you see it, you’ll like it.”

“I don’t have any vacation time left. I’m using it all and more for our honeymoon.” I was glad for a legitimate excuse not to go. I wasn’t interested in seeing the place, in liking the place. I tried to ignore the little voice that tried to tell me I was being just a tad immature here. But I’d been praying so hard about Pittsburgh, I couldn’t believe he hadn’t caved yet.

“Sweetheart, I’ve got to check this out. How can we make choices if we don’t know anything about one of the possibilities.”

But North Carolina’s not a possibility!
“You don’t understand. I have to let Mr. Henrey know by Tuesday.”

Curt shrugged. “You’ll have to tell him you need more time. If he really wants you, he’ll give it.”

“What do you mean, if he wants me? Of course he wants me. That’s why he called.” I heard my anger and took a deep breath. “Sorry.”

Curt took my hand. “Merry, I know you want to go home, but I’m not sure that’s a good place for us to start our marriage.”

I stared at him. “You’re kidding. How could it be bad?”

“It’s not that it would be bad. It’s more that starting off somewhere where we’re both in the same position seems wiser. If we go south, neither of us would know anyone. There’d be no family to worry about, no old friends to keep introducing me to.”

I glared. “First off, you would know all the people you met during your interviews, so you would know people.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I ignored him. “And why do you think we’d have to worry about family? My family would never interfere.”

“That’s not what I meant, either.”

“And I won’t introduce you to anyone. I promise.”

He looked at me, jaw set. “I’m going.”

The drive back to Maddie and Doug’s was silent.

TWENTY

“C
an you get that, Merry?” Maddie asked when the doorbell sounded. She and I were in the kitchen putting some last-minute touches on our dinner.

“Sure,” I said with false enthusiasm, hurrying to the front hall. I had been trying to act all happy and bride-to-be-ish when I really felt cold inside after Curt’s and my standoff, and I was relieved to have at least a moment without pretense. I let my smile fall away and my shoulders sag. I don’t do disagreement well.

Doug was upstairs bathing Holly, washing off all the residue of her dinner. I could hear her splashing and gurgling happily.

Well, at least someone’s happy today, I thought miserably.

“Yo, girlfriend,” Doug suddenly said, his deep voice floating down the stairs. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be getting the bath, not me.”

Holly’s answer was another loud splash and a string of excited nonsense words. I couldn’t help smiling in spite of my lousy mood.

I opened the front door to find Dawn and Mac on the porch and Curt pulling into the drive. I welcomed Dawn with a kiss and Mac with a hug. He looked uncomfortable, his dark brows drawn together in a frown. Doug and Maddie were Dawn’s friends from church, and though Mac had met them when he’d come to church with Dawn, they were essentially only acquaintances. Given the suspicions and doubts he knew many harbored about him, he must wonder why they’d chosen to invite him over for the first time now.

Dawn looked at Mac with exasperation. “Merry, tell this man that Maddie and Doug aren’t trying to show how liberal minded they are by having a suspected murderer in their house. Tell him they’re just nice people having friends over for dinner.”

I didn’t think either Mac or Dawn wanted to hear about the comments at bell choir, so I was glad I could say with truth, “Maddie and Doug are nice people, Mac. Just come in and enjoy.”

“No hidden agendas?” he asked, obviously unconvinced. “You’re sure?”

“Aside from suspending you over a vat of acid and sticking you with an electric cattle prod until you confess?” I blinked big innocent eyes at him.

He sent me his patented you-are-so-ridiculous-I-won’t-deign-to-comment look.

“Get in here.” I grabbed his arm and hauled him through the door as Maddie came hurrying from the kitchen to welcome them. The three of them walked toward the back of the house while I waited on the front porch for Curt. I watched him stride up the walk, my smile gone.

He stopped at the edge of the porch, the one step down making us almost eye level. We just stared at each other for a minute. I felt tears building and tried to blink them away, but he saw them and put a hand against my cheek. I leaned into his hand and we stood like that a moment.

Then he pulled me to him and kissed me, a hard, possessive kiss that made my heart leap and my eyes tear again.

When we came up for air, I buried my face in the side of his neck. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

He rested his head on mine. “I know, sweetheart. Me, too.”

That we would be in such disagreement over where to live astonished me. I knew it was naive of me, but I had thought we’d never find ourselves on different sides of anything that really mattered, that we would be different from other couples. But we weren’t. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out somehow.” He stepped away. “I just hadn’t realized how stubborn you are.”

I frowned for a beat until I saw the teasing light in his eyes. Then I slugged him lightly in the chest. “Me? Look who’s talking.”

He smiled softly. “I love you, Merry.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

This time the kiss was gentle and sweet.

A high-pitched gurgle behind me made me turn. Doug stood in the doorway with rosy-from-her-bath Holly wearing her diaper and a onesie covered with animals. She held her pudgy arms out to me, talking a blue streak as I took her.

“Hey, precious,” I whispered and blew a raspberry against her neck. She giggled and batted at me. She smelled of baby powder and love.

“Give me a kiss,” I said.

She leaned in and placed her open mouth on my cheek. She hadn’t yet gotten the smacking part of a kiss down.

“Now Uncle Curt.”

He bent and she gave him the same wet kiss. When she straightened, she looked so proud of herself that we all laughed at her. She laughed back, delighted with herself and life.

Feeling much better than I had for several hours, I followed Doug and Curt into the backyard. Holly sat in her high chair on the back deck and gummed pretzel sticks while we ate the steaks, Vidalia onion slices and red, yellow and orange bell peppers that Doug had grilled, as well as the potato salad and from-scratch baked beans Maddie had made. By the time Holly rubbed her sleepy eyes with her grubby hands, she was almost as messy as she’d been before her bath. Doug and Maddie excused themselves to put her down.

Mac, who hadn’t joined in the conversation very much, followed them inside with his eyes. “You were right, Merry. They are nice folks. Still, I think it’s open-minded of them to be willing to have dinner with a murder suspect.”

I shook my head at him. Mac was often purposely provocative, but I hadn’t heard him sound so bitter in a long time. One thing for sure, it certainly strained the relaxed feel the evening had had to this point.

Dawn turned to him, frowning. “Stop it, Mac. No verbal sparring or poor-me games tonight. You didn’t kill anyone and we all know it.”

He looked at her, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “Maybe not, but I’ve done everything else.”

Listening to them, I had the feeling that with Doug and Maddie gone, Mac felt free to continue a discussion that he and Dawn had been having earlier.

Dawn snorted. “Like I haven’t heard that line before. Give me a break.”