Authors: Christy Evans
Lead-Pipe Cinch (15 page)
Knowing Paula, there was a story attached. There was always a story with Paula. She loved telling stories and her favorites were of the touching love-story variety. Her life with Barry seemed to fit right in.
Barry’s pickup was parked in front of the library, so I pulled around the corner and parked in the lot. The small clapboard building sat on the corner of the high school, and from across the parking lot I could see a crowd of teenagers milling around and calling to each other. Must be lunchtime.
I locked the Beetle, grateful for the cool weather. The milk, cheese, and butter would be okay for a little while.
Inside, the library looked like it always did, except for the bulky man in the heavy boots behind the counter. He looked very much out of place.
“Hi, Georgie. Thanks for stopping by.” Barry picked up a mug off the desk, and gave Paula’s shoulder a squeeze. “Come on back and have a cup of coffee.”
It occurred to me that Barry could have just called me to the office, but had chosen to track me down instead. It was looking worse with each passing minute. I mentally started calculating whether I could live on unemployment benefits. Maybe Mom was right, I should start doing computer work. At least it would keep the dogs fed.
I followed Barry into the tiny kitchen in the back, and poured myself a cup from Paula’s never-empty coffee pot.
Barry set his cup down and leaned against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest.
I stood near the back door, even though it was never opened and couldn’t really provide an escape. I held my mug with both hands, my cold hands drawing warmth from the hot liquid.
“I need to talk to you, Georgie.”
“I figured that, Bear.” I used his nickname, and hoped this could be one of those “big brother” moments.
“If you have to lay me off I’ll understand. Honest.”
“Lay you off? Whatever gave you that crazy idea?”
“I know you’re short of work with the sheriff keeping the McComb site shut down.” I swallowed hard. “Has he given you any idea when we can get back to work?”
“Well I think I have enough work to keep everyone going for a while. I just need to shuffle some schedules. A couple of the guys wanted to take vacation anyway, since hunting season opened and now I can let ’em.
“That’s not the problem.”
“It isn’t? I thought that was why you called me to come here, instead of the office. You wanted to give me the news in private. And I appreciate that,” I added quickly.
“Well I am not laying you off. But you’re right about the McComb site. That’s a problem. As of an hour ago the sheriff has officially declared it a crime scene, and he can’t tell me when we will be able to go back to work.”
I stared, wide-eyed. “A
crime
scene? Because Blake fell in the moat? What, is stupidity a crime now?”
crime
scene? Because Blake fell in the moat? What, is stupidity a crime now?”
Barry shook his head. “Maybe it ought to be, but it isn’t.” He took a deep breath and said softly, “But murder is.”
When my mug hit the concrete floor it shattered into little pieces. Hot coffee sprayed across the floor and onto the fronts of the storage cabinets.
No. It had to be a mistake.
“But, he drowned! I saw him!”
Barry bent down and began picking up the pieces of the shattered mug. Paula appeared in the doorway, looking worried. “Are you okay?” she asked.
I wanted to shout that I wasn’t okay, that I wouldn’t be okay, that okay was out of the question for the foreseeable future. “Sure,” I said. “Just dropped my cup. Sorry, I’ll get you another one.”
Paula crossed the room in two quick steps and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t worry about the cup, Georgie. I just want to be sure you are all right.”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I lied. “But I better give Barry a hand cleaning up my mess. He has rules about leaving a mess, you know.”
Paula smiled at my feeble joke. “They’re his rules, he can deal with them.”
“No, I need to help him. Thanks.”
I stepped out of the comfort of her arm, grabbed a rag from under the sink, and started wiping up the cabinets. Paula nodded and went back to her desk.
Barry and I quickly mopped up the coffee and tossed the broken cup in the trash. When we were done, he poured me another cup. He pulled a chair in from the main room of the library, and sat me down before handing me the coffee.
“I just came from the sheriff’s office. He has the Medical Examiner’s report, and Mr. Weston did not drown. He was hit in the midsection, hard enough to break ribs and cause other damage. They aren’t saying what hit him, but they
are
sure it wasn’t an accident. They’re searching the job site for possible weapons.”
are
sure it wasn’t an accident. They’re searching the job site for possible weapons.”
It was a good thing I was sitting down, because I didn’t think my legs would hold me. My stomach churned with the acid of the coffee, and a cold chill ran through me. I’d accepted Blake’s death, or so I thought. But the idea that he was murdered was too much.
It took a couple minutes for the adrenaline surge to pass. That’s when I started shaking. When I left San Francisco I hated Blake. Just a few days ago I was wishing I would never see him again.
But those emotions, as intense as they were, didn’t mean I wished he was dead. But he was. And someone had been angry enough to kill him.
The tremors subsided. Barry stood by me, waiting and watching, in case I needed him. But I drew a few deep, calming breaths, letting go of my inner turmoil.
“Do you want to rest here awhile, Georgie? Paula says you’re welcome to stay.”
I suddenly remembered the trunk full of groceries. Even if I was still employed, they represented a significant percentage of my bank account. I needed to get them in the refrigerator.
“I—I need to get home. The groceries . . .” My voice trailed off, but Barry knew what I was talking about.
“You want me to drive you?” he offered.
I stood up carefully, and waved him away. It was sweet of him, but I just wanted to be alone and try to process the fact that Blake had been murdered.
“I’m okay, Barry. It’s a shock, but I’ll be fine.”
I tried a smile that felt like it didn’t fit my face, and took a few steps toward the front door. My legs held me up, although I felt as though my head was a helium balloon, floating above my body.
I made my way to the door, waving to Paula as I went by.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I said without stopping.
I don’t remember the drive home, or what I did once I arrived. But later the car was in the driveway and the groceries were put away. I must have managed somehow.
chapter 17
The phone rang constantly all afternoon. News travels fast in a small town, and by now everyone would know that Blake was murdered. Most of them already knew that I had known him.
I ignored it.
Finally, late in the day, someone knocked on the door. I peeked out the kitchen window, and caught a glimpse of Wade’s hybrid sedan in the driveway.
Even knowing it was Wade, I hesitated. But he was one of the people I was learning to trust, wasn’t he?
I opened the door and let him in.
As soon as the door was safely closed and locked behind him, Wade pulled me into his arms and gave me a comforting hug.
“I know you said he was just someone you used to work with, Georgie. But Paula called me after you left the library. She said you were upset by the news.” He drew back and looked down at me. “I’ve been trying to call you all day.”
I glanced guiltily toward the answering machine. Messages had been stacking up all day from people I didn’t want to talk to. But that shouldn’t have included Wade.
“I’m sorry, Wade. I didn’t want to talk to anyone after Barry told me. It sounded so horrible, and it happened right where I was working.”
Wade drew me over to the sofa, and sat down beside me. “It was just a coincidence. He wasn’t out there looking for you.”
“Not at that hour. I mean, he knew I would be there, knew I was working the site.”
Wade tilted my chin up so that I was looking him in the eye. “The guy came to Pine Ridge on a job. It had nothing to do with you. If you hadn’t talked to him since you left San Francisco, he didn’t even know you were here when he arrived.
“Whoever killed him—it wasn’t your fault.”
I shook my head. “I suppose you’re right, Wade. It was just a shock.”
I looked away and took a deep breath. They say confession is good for the soul, and my soul needed all the soothing it could get right then.
“We were more than coworkers, Wade. We were business partners, and we dated—seriously—for several months. Well, at least I was serious. Him, I’m not so sure.
“It all crashed and burned, almost overnight. One day I was running my company with the guidance of the board of directors and dating my partner. The next day I’d been dumped, and I was out of a job.”
I glanced up at him and quickly looked away. I would have to face his reaction, but not this instant.
“Until this week, no one in Pine Ridge knew anything about San Francisco. Until I talked to Sue last night, no one knew the whole story.
“And now you.”
I hadn’t given him all the gory details, but he knew enough. And I was sure he could fill in the rest.
Wade sat quiet for a moment, while I struggled to control my swirling emotions. This was far worse than his covering for his buddy in high school, and I’d broken up with him over that.
Even dead, Blake was still screwing up my life.
“Did you still have feelings for him, Georgie?”
I shrugged. “I suppose. If you call hating his guts feelings.”
Wade chuckled, and I risked a quick look.
His face was serious, but his eyes were warm and full of concern. He didn’t look like a guy who was about to dump me.
“Are you hungry?”
Huh? Was everyone getting on the Sue Gibbons conversation roller coaster? Who thought about food at a time like this?
Wade, apparently. He took my silence as agreement and stood up.
But instead of helping me up, he reached for the afghan on the back of the sofa and spread it over my legs.
“Sit there,” he directed. “I’m going to feed the dogs and make us some dinner. All you have to do right now is stay where you are, and let me take care of you.”
I started to protest, and he held up a hand. “No arguments, Neverall. I know you can take care of yourself—even when people are shooting at you—but sometimes you have to let other people fuss over you.
“This is one of those times.”
He crouched down so that he was at eye level with me. “This was a shock for all of us. We all feel it. But you knew him, pretty well it sounds like, and it’s got to hit you a lot harder. Just take some time, okay?”
I nodded. The fight had gone out of me when Barry told me Blake was murdered. It was easier to just sit back, pull the afghan up to my chin, and nod.
Wade hurried into the kitchen, as though he was afraid I would change my mind. We both knew my attitude would change soon, and Wade was determined to take advantage of it while it lasted. It wasn’t often that I let him fuss.
I listened to the racket from the kitchen for a few minutes before I got up and went in to check on him.
“Back to your couch,” Wade ordered. But there was a laugh in his tone. “I knew you wouldn’t last.”
“It sounded like you could use some help finding things.”
Wade looked around at my bare-bones assemblage of tools and equipment. “I could. If you had the things I’m looking for.” He rummaged through the drawer next to the stove. “How do you function without a ladle?”
“I’m one person. What do I need a ladle for?”
Wade rolled his eyes at me. “You can just toddle back to the sofa, lady without a ladle. Turn on the TV, or watch a movie or something. Dinner will be ready soon.”
I took the hint and went back to the living room. But I couldn’t settle down, and found myself scanning the shelf of DVDs next to the television. I pulled down several cases, looking for a movie equivalent of comfort food.
In a few minutes, Wade started ferrying food from the kitchen to the living room.
“This would be a lot easier if you had a tray,” he said on the third trip.
There were already two bowls of chicken noodle soup on the trunk, and the dogs had come sniffing in, looking hopeful. I gave them a stern look and they retreated to their beds with a big doggy sigh.
They looked up when Wade came in again. He was carrying a plate piled with diagonal cut grilled-cheese sandwiches. Little bits of orangey melted cheese oozed out the sides and dripped onto the plate.
I shook my head at the dogs, and they put their heads down. They knew there was no chance they were getting our dinner.
Wade handed me a plate with a bowl of soup and a piece of cheese sandwich. He spread a napkin over my lap. “Chicken noodle and grilled cheese. The ultimate comfort food dinner.”
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