Home for a Spell (8 page)

Lou was nodding to himself.

“You know her?”

“Abbie Cornwall,” he said by way of acknowledgment. “Tenth-grader this fall. I had her in track last year.”

“And the boy?”

“Yup, he’s mine from track, too. JJ Perkins. Junior. He’s a good kid. They both are. I think they’re each other’s rocks. Rough home situation for him, and single-parent mom for her. Story of the times, I guess. Sad, but true.”

I could see that. The protective posture of the boy spoke volumes of shouldering the harshness of the world away from his chosen one. “Why would she have been in that apartment?”

He shook his head, as baffled as I was. “I don’t know. She’s not the type of kid who would break into a place for the hell of it. Wonder if I should make mention of it to her counselor. Probably so, probably so. Head off any trouble before it can get started.”

Some world-wizened folk might suspect drug use as a possible reason. Only a person with no other course of action might feel called upon to risk personal safety and freedom by doing something stupid. Like breaking into an unoccupied apartment, for instance. What on earth could that possibly gain? It’s not like there was anything in there for her to steal, if that was her objective.

Of course, we were talking about a teenager here. Logic and reason didn’t always apply.

“Abbie Cornwall,” I mused. I saw her again, in my mind’s eye, frozen in time for one split second when she paused in midflight and turned back toward me, surprise and something else in those ultra-green cat eyes. Despite the heavy rimming of smudged eyeliner, I couldn’t help thinking that the something else I had seen was regret. Even apology. And then she had flown for real, out the door, up the pass-through to the parking lot, and down the street . . . straight to her boyfriend’s arms. That could only mean one thing. Whatever it was that drove Abbie Cornwall, it was something that they were both in on.

Tenth grade. Hm. I wondered whether Evie or Tara, shop-girls extraordinaire and fellow N.I.G.H.T.S., knew either the girl or the boyfriend.

Perhaps I should have been wondering why I cared. Idle curiosity, I supposed.

“Mind if I stop somewhere before I take you home?”

Lou’s question broke into my reverie. “Sure. Suit yourself.”

“I promised Molly I’d bring home dinner since I have a meeting tonight—that way, she and Tara get a night off cooking, too.”

I smiled. “Aw, you’re a peach, Uncle Lou.”

“I know which side my bread’s buttered on.” He chuckled. “Got any suggestions?”

“How about Annie-Thing Good? Have you ever been?”

“Downtown?” he asked. “Nah, I never have. Marcus has raved about it before, and I keep meaning to, but for some reason we always seem to go to the same old tried-and-trues. Is it that good?”

“Trust me. It is outta-this-world a-
ma
-zing.”

“When you put it that way, it sounds like a thing I shouldn’t pass up. It’ll do us good to break out of the mold. Molly’s always telling me things like that. She’ll be surprised I listened.”

Lou was in for a treat. I remembered my first time at Annie Miller’s gourmet version of a small-town café—I thought I’d died and gone to restaurant heaven. I still felt that way, every time I had one of her double-fudge caramel cheesecake brownies. Annie’s place wasn’t
just
a café. It was an experience.

It was also kind of out of the way, but Lou didn’t seem to mind. He tooled across town, chattering away about his track team and his history classes and the silly things kids did these days. They were all subjects he was passionate about. You could tell by the light that came into his eyes.

“Do you want to stay here in the car?” Lou asked me when he pulled into a parking spot.

“I’ll go in to say hello, too. It’s been awhile.”

I was out of the car before he could help me up, but he did get to the door before I could manage it, so I guessed it balanced out. Oriental brass bells rang in a minor key, somehow still melodic, as we ducked inside. It was a little early for the dinner rush, but we were right on the first fringes. Good timing. Everything would be uber-fresh. My mouth was watering already.

While Lou went to stand in what for Annie’s was a relatively short line, I crutched my way carefully between the tables, bedecked as always with unapologetically casual red and green gingham tablecloths, toward the heavily laden dessert counter. To drool, naturally. I knew Marcus had prepared monstrously large burgers that would be ready to plop on the grill the moment we got home, but that didn’t mean that a couple of pieces of dessert wouldn’t be a really good idea. He’d be all softened up for the discussion about the apartment and returning to school as planned before he even knew what hit him. I was thinking a couple of pieces of Annie’s Original Sin cake might do the trick. Bittersweet dark chocolate cake, with a chocolate mousse center, and a thick, shiny layer of dark chocolate ganache sealing it all around? That was enough to make anyone forget themselves.

My decision made, I hobbled over to wait with Lou. Annie wasn’t behind the counter, I noticed. Instead it was Dorothy, her late-middle-aged Annie-labeled Counter Goddess who looked a little like a benevolent troll at first prejudiced glance but had the personality of an earth angel on a sugar high, which of course made her the perfect addition to the busy café.

“Sugar!” she cried when she caught sight of me. Her smile hit me on high beams, and it was a doozy, packed with love and light that a person could feel physically. “How are you?!”

I grinned back at her. “I’m just as fine today as I was yesterday, Dorothy, but then, you know that.” Dorothy claimed to be a plain woman and loved to address her customers using her version of the endearments with which genteel Southern ladies often addressed their loved ones . . . or anyone else who happened to come into their bubble of interest. For Dorothy that meant anything with “sugar” attached to it: sugarbabe, sugarhoney, sugarbritches, sugarplum, sugardarlin’, and my personal favorite, sugarbabydoll. But, when it came out as just plain “sugar,” it really packed a punch. I had it on good terms that her claim to the South was more likely just south of the Wabash River, but what she didn’t know I knew would never hurt her.

“Oh,
pssh
.” She waved me off with a good-natured shake of her head.

“Where’s Annie?” I asked her.

“Oh, here and there, buzzin’ around like usual. You know how she is. What can I get for you today? And who is this big, strappin’ hunk of honeycomb?” she asked, giving Lou the appreciative once-over. I really needed to introduce Dorothy to Marian Tabor. I think they would be fast friends.

A dark red flush deepened Lou’s cheeks. I laughed. “Dorothy, this is Lou Tabor, Marcus’s uncle. We just stopped by to pick up some dinner for Lou’s wife and daughter. Tara, from the store.”

Dorothy tsked. “Taken. Pity. All the good ones are. What can I get for you?”

Having been startled out of his absorption of the menu, Lou glanced over at me. “What should I get?” he asked helplessly.

Dorothy turned her eagle eye back on him, assessing his inner nature. “You look like a ham man to me,” she suggested at length. “We have a lovely ham and spinach ciabatta with Annie’s special gorgonzola and brown-sugar bacon drizzle, topped of course with a side of fried red onion fire rings that are just the right mix of crunchy and chewy. Now, with that you get a side of my specialty baked beans, slow cooked with molasses,
not
barbecue sauce, mind.” She glanced my way and winked. “It’s a Southern thang.”

“Sold,” Lou blurted out. “I’ll take three, please. And for dessert, I’ll also take three pieces of that apple pie over there.”

“Oh, honey,” she said, shaking her head at his gaffe, “that’s no ordinary apple pie. That, darlin’, is deep-dish caramel apple pie, and it’s got special powers. If you are even remotely in the doghouse, you take a piece of that pie home to your missus and you will be sittin’ pretty for the rest of the week.”

His eyebrows shot up. “That good, huh? Maybe I should take home a whole pie.”

“Hey, while you’re packaging that up, I’ll take two big pieces of Original Sin,” I called to her.

“Original Sin? Oh, Lordy. You’re bringing out the big guns, huh?” she asked over her shoulder. “What did you
do
, sugar? Never mind, never mind. My old ears probably can’t take it.”

Lou was shaking his head, but I couldn’t help thinking it was more to hold in his amazement. “I should have come in here eons ago,” he muttered. “Original Sin. I’m definitely going to have to remember that, too.”

I would have joked with him about it, but then I realized I was, er, planning on using the cake for the very same reason he was considering it, and I decided I’d do better to keep my comments to myself and not risk the karma kickback.

Dorothy was whisking about, crafting Lou’s sandwiches like a pro, when Annie emerged from the swinging door to the kitchen carrying a big pot of soup. And right behind her, carrying a second steaming kettle, was the young man whom I had last seen tussling with the apartment manager, the man I knew only as Hollister.

“Maggie!” Annie said with a bright smile on her shiny-clean, freckled face as she passed by me on the other side of the counter . . . and then she paused and looked back at me oddly. I think because my mouth had fallen open. “Are you all right?”

I quickly closed my mouth when Lou nudged me. I nodded, but I was even more surprised when the young man set down the pot where she indicated, took Annie’s from her and set it down as well, then leaned in and gave Annie a big, resounding smooch on the cheek. And even more surprised when she reached up and patted him on his cheek.

“You hang in there, Tyson. Everything will be fine. And tell Angela I insist that she brings you with her when she visits this weekend. I’ll fix you both right up with some home cooking and a piece of special cheesecake that’ll make all the troubles in the world go away.”

“Thanks, Auntie,” I heard him say. “I’ll let her know. I’m taking her out to dinner in the city tonight to cheer her up, and then maybe a movie. I might even let her pick it.”

Annie laughed. “Good idea. I’m sure the two of you will think of something. A little thinking goes a long way.”

He nodded. “Understood. I won’t do anything stupid, I promise. And thanks for being here for us.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she told him.

Angela Miller. Locke had mentioned the tenant’s name, but I hadn’t connected her to Annie. Angela must be Annie’s niece? And this Tyson Hollister guy was her boyfriend, according to Locke. This was awesome—I could have an inside view into the goings-on at the apartment complex, if I wanted one . . . and if I worked it right, the details on what
exactly
had made them want to leave in the first place. I couldn’t help wondering if maybe there was more to it than even what Tyson Hollister and Rob Locke had been arguing over. Maybe I’d ask Annie for an intro . . . though with the line lengthening behind us by the minute, another time would probably be a better choice. I watched him leave, noting that he gave me and Lou a sidelong glance and a wide berth. Still, he made no trouble; his beef was not with us, and we certainly didn’t have anything other than curiosity about the situation crossing our minds.

“Here you go, Maggie. Mr. Tabor,” Dorothy sang out as she handed us a pair of paper sacks, bringing my attention back front and center. “Maggie, for you that’s eight sixty-four, and Mr. Tabor, your total is twenty-eight-oh-eight.”

“I’ll get that for you, Maggie,” Lou offered, handing over two twenties.

“You absolutely will not!” I protested, attempting to hand a ten to Dorothy myself.

“Sure I will,” he said, with a firm nod at Dorothy. “I owe Marcus for going with me to pick up that load of donations for the school sports funding drive anyway. I could have done it by myself, but it was a whole lot easier with another set of hands and eyes and ears, and I like to pay back in kind. Take the desserts, Maggie.”

Well, okay, then.

Annie was still tied up transferring the soups over from the pots to the heating bins up front. I balanced one crutch and lifted a hand to blow a kiss to her, then pantomimed
Call me!
She waved and nodded, smiling back.

And then we were on our way, leaving me to mull over the odd events of the afternoon.

I had texted Marcus earlier to let him know I had found another way home and that I would meet him at his little bungalow. He was waiting for me when we arrived, coming out onto the porch to greet me with Minnie in his hands. Lou opened the old iron gate for me, and I crutch-hopped myself on through.

“Hey.” His eyes locked with Lou’s in both surprise and in question as he came forward. “I didn’t get your text until I was already at the store to pick you up.”

I bit my lip. What was it about having a secret from your partner that made things shift into weird levels of discomfort and discombobulation? “Oh, I’m sorry. This—thing—just came up this afternoon and I had to jump on it and—” I shrugged helplessly. “Thank you for picking up Minnie, though. Liss was going to kitty-sit her so that you wouldn’t have to bother.”

“It was no trouble. She’s been keeping me company while I got dinner started. Haven’t you, Minnie?” His fingers were rubbing in firm circles under Minnie’s chin. Minnie was purring her approval loudly, barely aware at that moment that I even existed.

Marcus, however, was still transferring his gaze back and forth between me and Lou, patiently waiting for an explanation. I hadn’t quite come up with a way to approach him yet about the apartment, so of course the moment I was faced with explaining, my mind went blank. But like a real trooper, Lou came to the rescue. “Got your payment for you from Locke. He was very, very happy.” He handed Marcus an envelope. “Said he might know some others who might be interested. Said he’d pass on your name and number. Could be good business in it for you.”