Livvie's Song (16 page)

Just then, the door opened, and both men turned. An armed officer strolled slowly toward them.

Fred stiffened. “Howdy, Sheriff.”

As he always did whenever he laid eyes on the law, Clem tried to make himself invisible. He lowered his head and used the newspaper as his shield.

Fred cleared his throat and gave Clem a sidelong glance. “Excuse me, mister, but I got to tend to the sheriff. He comes in here most every night for my stew.”

Clem nodded. “You go right ahead.” He patted his pocket. “Thanks for…the newspaper.”

The sheriff passed by with nary a look in his direction, his boots thudding beneath his bulky frame.

Clem relaxed a little and let his eyes fall on the rumpled periodical. He digested the first headline, skimmed over the article about some recipe contest at a place called Livvie’s Kitchen, and then nearly choked on his soda when the words started registering. “Well, I’ll be a mule’s hiney,” he muttered to himself. “I found the slimy so-and-so.”

“Let thy mercies come also unto me, O Lord, even thy salvation, according to thy word.”—Psalm 119:41

Business was slow on Saturday, but what had Livvie expected? It was a spotless, sunny day, and almost everyone was outside, picnicking by the river, chasing butterflies, fishing, boating, working in the garden, or otherwise enjoying the weather. The boys had gone to Margie’s house for the day, unable to pass up their uncle’s invitation to take a ride on his tractor.

When Margie had offered to keep them overnight and take them to church in the morning, Livvie had relented. She knew she ought to be the one taking them to Sunday school and church, but she was secretly glad to have her sister do it, instead. When Frank was alive, they hadn’t missed a single Sunday, and he’d be having fits about now if he knew how lax she’d grown since then. Why, her Bible had even collected a layer of dust. Not for the first time, she shoved down the mound of guilt that pressed at her heart’s door. Somehow, a seed of bitterness had sprouted within her toward all things spiritual, and she couldn’t seem to uproot it.

After saying good night to Emmett Wilson, her final customer, Livvie closed the door behind him and locked it, then flipped the sign around. As she did so, she glanced out the window and noticed a fellow leaning against a lamppost not ten feet away, his legs crossed at the ankle, a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. Something about him caused a lump to form in the pit of her stomach, and her discomfort grew when he made eye contact with her, touched the brim of his hat, and tipped his chin. He wore a tattered shirt, baggy denim overalls, and big boots, but his most salient feature was the deep gash on his left cheek.

She tried to tell herself that she had nothing to fear, that he was just being friendly, but the fellow kept staring, as if he meant to have a word with her. It was hard to imagine what he’d say, though, as she had never seen him before. A tiny shiver started at the base of her neck and shimmied down her spine. She averted her gaze to a boy darting across the street with his dog. When she peeked again at the peculiar man, he hadn’t shifted his stance, but he now wore a leering smirk. As quick as she could, she jerked the window shade down.

“Something wrong?”

Her body jolted at the sound of Will’s voice. She’d thought he was still in the kitchen, cleaning up from supper.

He chuckled. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Why’d you pull that shade down so fast?”

She frowned. “A stranger was gawking at me. It’s probably nothing, but, still, it gave me a fright. He’s standing out there still.”

One of Will’s thick eyebrows jutted upward. “A stranger? Gawking?” He advanced to the door in two long strides and lifted the shade. “Humph. I don’t see anyone.” He stepped aside to the front window and peeked out through the horizontal slats in the blinds. “Nope, no one out there.”

She hastened to his side and looked through the dusty pane herself. Sure enough, the guy had vanished. “He was right there—big as a gorilla, I swear—leaning against that lamppost and staring at me like he knew some sort of secret. He had a cigarette in his mouth.” Desperation to make him believe her gushed through her like a fast-moving stream. “And—and he had a big purple gash on his cheek. Right here.” She pointed at the left side of her face and peered up into Will’s crystalline eyes.

Will set his hands on her shoulders, giving her a steadying squeeze as he bent close. “Shh, it’s all right, Livvie. You don’t have to try to convince me. I believe you, okay? It’s just that he’s not there now.”

“Oh.” She hushed, finding herself wholly aware of his hands on her shoulders. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his soft, comforting gaze, and another shiver, albeit one of a pleasant nature, created a wave of goose pimples over her arms.
Lord, his hands feel so tingly and…pleasant.
She was shocked by her own silent admission. Even more shocking was that, when she should have stepped away from the man’s touch, she stood cemented to the ground, almost statue-like, helpless to move an inch.

“What did he look like?” Will asked. His voice was so low, it seemed to come from a distant room.

“What?”

His breath touched her cheek, and another dizzying chill streaked through her.

“The man, did he look at all familiar?”

“No, I’ve never seen him before.”

“Well, maybe he just wanted something to eat. He probably saw you lock the door and turn the sign over. Maybe he—”

“It wasn’t like that,” she insisted. “I saw a certain look in his eyes.”

“A certain look.”

“Yes. Very strange and mysterious.”

His hands brushed down her bare arms and stopped at her elbows. Then, they traversed back up again, almost caressing. Try as she might, she couldn’t budge, even though decorum dictated that she should take one giant step back. Gracious! Will Taylor was suddenly a lot of man to contend with—all six-plus feet of him, and every inch muscle and brawn. She gulped hard and, in her head, heard a loud plunk at the back of her throat.

“I wouldn’t worry,” he said, his voice soothing. “As you saw just a second ago, he’s gone now.”

“Yes, thank goodness.”

With his hands still lightly skimming her arms and his eyes still holding her face captive, she managed to eke out one word: “Well.” A wealth of meaning surrounded that single, shaky syllable, which could have segued effectively into, “Now would be a good time to excuse myself,” or “My, but it’s humid in here.”

To her relief, she didn’t have to make the first move, for he dropped his hands to his sides, as if he’d read her mind. He returned to the front door, checked the lock, and then flipped up the corner of the shade for one last peek outside. “Still gone,” he said, turning to grin at her. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She cleared her throat and wiped her suddenly damp palms on her skirt. “I’ll be going upstairs now.”

“I’ll walk you up.”

“No, you don’t have to do that. Goodness, I’ve been walking up there—”

“By yourself for over a year. Yeah, yeah, I know,” he teased. “Come on.” He took her gently by the elbow and led her toward the back of the restaurant.

And she went without resistance, all the while hating herself for acting the part of a helpless ninny.

At the landing on the second floor, she reached inside her skirt pocket and pulled out her ring of keys. “Thank you, Will. I’ll see you on Monday morning.”

Two couples dressed in their Sunday best paused in their giggling and said a hurried greeting as they whisked past them up to the third floor, no doubt on their way to a dance. “Yeah, Monday, if not before,” Will answered, glancing briefly at the couples as they mounted the stairs. Then, he gestured behind him with his thumb. “I’ll go down and close everything up. You have a nice day tomorrow.” He stepped backward, keeping his eyes on her.

“And you, as well.” She turned and unlocked the door. When she pushed it open, a whoosh of hot, stagnant air wafted at her. “Phew! It’s stuffy in here.”

“You should open all your windows to get some cross ventilation going,” Will suggested.

She looked back at him. “Yes, I think I’ll do that.”

He smiled and turned to leave, but then, she thought of something to add. “You’ve been working out real fine in the restaurant, Will.”

He swiveled on his heel and beamed at her. Oh, forevermore! Such a nice smile minus that shaggy beard.

“So, you don’t regret hiring me?”

“Not yet.”

He gave a low chuckle. “That’s reassuring—I think. Good night, again.”

“Good night.” She watched him scuttle down the stairs.

At the door to the restaurant, he stopped and peered up at her. “I think I’ll check out that dance tonight. You wouldn’t want to go up there with me, would you?”

She put a hand to her throat. Was he asking her on a date? “Good gracious, no. But you go ahead.” As if he needed her permission! She wanted to bite her tongue for sounding so ridiculous.

“Your loss,” he said, waving.

She nodded and watched him disappear through the back entrance. Inside her apartment, she closed the door behind her, then slumped against it, pressing a palm to her chest to quiet her quaking heart. “My stars in heaven,” she muttered. “What’s gotten into me?”

***

What had possessed him to touch Olivia Beckman? Granted, all he’d done was reach out to steady her, but it still qualified as a touch, especially since he’d let his hands linger there and run up and down her arms. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking. She was completely out of his league. Still, it had been nice while it had lasted—standing near to her, close enough to have bent right down and kissed her pretty lips. And wouldn’t that have sent her into a regular tailspin! She’d looked alarmed enough as it was when he’d invited her to check out the dance upstairs. He could only imagine what she’d do or think if he were to give her a light peck. Why, she’d fire him, for sure! And, since he needed this job, he decided it was best to mind his manners. Besides, he hadn’t kissed a woman in about a dozen years, and he couldn’t be sure he still knew how to go about it.

He surveyed the restaurant, satisfied with how neat and tidy it looked. The floor had been swept, the dishes washed, dried, and put away, the pots and pans returned to their proper hooks above the stove, and the bar area scrubbed clean. At the front of the restaurant, a single lightbulb glowed. Livvie liked to keep it on all night—not a bad idea, even though the streetlights outside put off enough light that shafts of it slanted through the window blinds, casting long shadows across the room after dark.

On a table by the door sat the box Alex and Nathan had decorated for the Family Feast, and, already, women had been stuffing recipe cards through the slot in the lid, hoping theirs would be selected for a Tuesday or Thursday night meal. Will could hardly wait to start testing the tastiest-looking recipes.

The sound of dogs barking made him curious about what had set them off, so he sauntered to the front window to take one last look outside. He nearly jumped when he saw a stout fellow in scruffy clothes ogling Livvie’s Kitchen from across the street—at least, that’s how it appeared to him. Could this be the same man Livvie had seen? On impulse, he yanked open the door, but the guy moved from his spot and scurried down an alley. Will was tempted to chase him, but for what? He could hardly fault someone for standing on the sidewalk on a hot summer night. He closed the door again, taking extra care with the lock, and then headed for the third floor.

Will couldn’t begin to count the number of people in the expansive ballroom, which buzzed with loud chatter and rowdy laughter. Every window had been propped open, but that accomplished little, other than to usher in a breeze that pushed around the hot air generated by the mass of sweaty bodies. Arranged near the walls were a few tables and chairs, but most of the space was open, with people milling about, evidently waiting for the music to start. At the far end of the room was a makeshift wooden stage on which a few men were tuning guitars, fiddles, banjos, and whatnot. Will wondered if they planned to sing, as well.

He hadn’t come up here to make friends or even socialize. All he wanted was to hear a few tunes. Prison had put him way behind in his familiarity with popular songs, not that he’d really cared. On his harmonica, he would play his own mix of jazz, blues, and folk music, singing intermittently to fill in the measures, and his mournful, twangy tunes would always attract a crowd when he and his fellow inmates were sent outside for fresh air or exercise breaks.

“Hey, good-lookin’. Want to have some fun?” came a sultry female voice. Was she talking to him? He turned and found himself face-to-face with a tall, buxom woman with fake-looking blonde curls that fell at her shoulders. Her painted eyebrows, brightly rouged cheeks, and long, batting eyelashes put him in mind of a harlot. And then, there was the matter of her low-cut dress! “I’m Marva Dulane. What’s your name? You want to have some fun?”

Unease zipped through his veins. He did not want to get caught up with the wrong crowd, and this woman reeked of trouble, her potent, cheap-smelling perfume a sure giveaway.
Been there, done that
, he thought to himself. The last thing he needed was some hussy messing up his life.

“Name’s Will Taylor, and I’m just here to hear some music. Nothing else.”

“Nothing else?” Her plump lower lip jutted out in a pout as she reached up and fingered one of his shirt buttons with long, red nails that looked like talons.

He felt his back stiffen like a fence post, and raspy laughter immediately spilled out of her. “I’m not scaring you, am I, Will? Not a big, rough-and-tumble fella like you. Where you from, sugar? I’ve never seen you up here before.”

He wasn’t about to tell her anything. In fact, the less she knew of him, the better. He’d learned firsthand that women like this could be venomous. “You’ll excuse me?” he said, stepping back.

She took him by the forearm and gently pressed. “Mercy, I love a man with muscles.”

His eyes landed on a couple of robust-looking guys across the room, standing in a circle and talking. “Maybe you ought to attach yourself to one of those farmers over there.” He had no clue as to their true occupations, but, with their sun-washed faces and bib overalls, they looked like the type to sit on tractors by day.