OUT ON A LIMB (7 page)
“Yes, a cousin and all that sort of thing. Very complicated. If you drop the ladder, I’ll bring up your lunch.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said as a basket attached to a length of twine nearly hit my head. My shoulder was less fortunate, but I’d survive. “Miss Peterson thought it might be expedient to utilize this if I needed something not too heavy, such as batteries or a newspaper. She’s the chairperson of the hospital auxiliary and quite astute in foreseeing problems.”
The sandwich and cup were dutifully sent up. I set Skyler’s basket in the shade, then Luanne and I made ourselves as comfortable as we could on the rocky ground.
“Have you heard what took place at the press conference?” I called, craning my neck to stare at the bottom of the platform.
“No,” she answered, “but I would be surprised if Mr. Armstrong said anything he hasn’t already said at countless planning commission meetings. They brought to mind all the mindless faculty meetings after school, in which each person felt obligated to repeat whatever point had already been made. I used to sit in the back and crochet doilies. Do you crochet?”
“I do,” Luanne said. “Soothing, isn’t it?”
While they chatted about various patterns and thread weights, I thought about the girl who’d been introduced as Wal-Mart. She’d left her baby on my porch the previous evening and tracked me down at noon, probably to make sure that the situation was under control. I couldn’t remember anything she’d said that might help me find her.
Luanne and I were packing up the remains of our lunch when the security officer came puffing up the incline.
“You gotta go,” he announced.
“And we will, when we’re ready,” I said sweetly.
“You gotta go right now. You’re trespassing on private property.”
Miss Parchester’s face appeared. “Now, Howie, these are my guests. It’s rude of you to speak to them that way. I hope you remember that conversation we had several years ago after you accused Dibbins of stealing your jar of rubber cement. Where was it, Howie?”
He turned red. “In the supply cabinet, Miss Parchester.”
“And what did I advise you to do?”
“Apologize. But this is different. These ladies are trespassing. Mr. Armstrong said I should call the police if anyone refuses to leave. He’s gonna have somebody put up signs this afternoon.”
“Is he worried that we’re going to dig up the tree and transport it to a safe haven?” I inquired. “Arboretum Anonymous?”
“Or perhaps,” Luanne added tartly, “he’s now so concerned about the environment that he’s afraid visitors will leave litter. He may intend to donate the land to the city for a quaint little park. A few picnic tables and barbecue pits will really lend charm.”
Howie was still red, but he held his ground. “All I know is that nobody’s allowed to come any closer than the edge of the parking lot.”
“What if Miss Parchester needs food, water, or even medication?” I asked.
“I’m just following orders,” he mumbled. “Otherwise, I’ll get fired.”
“Howie, Howie, Howie,” Miss Parchester said with a discouraged sigh. “I doubt you will ever amount to anything with that attitude. Most of the atrocities against humanity were committed by those who claimed to be following orders.” She looked at me. “I have everything I need, and I have mastered the cell phone. Your little Mend appears to be stirring. You run along. Thank you ever so much for the sandwich and tea.”
I shot Howie a cold look as Luanne and I went by him and returned to her car. Only when Skyler had been buckled in the car seat and we were driving away did I find my voice. “That Armstrong is a scumbag! An hour ago he was blinking back tears as he told us how worried he was about poor Miss Parchester. He must have forgotten to mention he was cutting off her supplies. I’m sure Finnigan and the others assumed they could bring whatever she might need on a daily basis.”
“I can’t see them crossing the line and risking arrest.”
“Or putting on camouflage and scuttling between the trees in the middle of the night,” I said. “You, on the other hand, look quite fetching in olive green and matching greasepaint.”
“So do you.”
We arrived at the Book Depot, transferred Skyler to the basket and the car seat to my car, and wished each other improbably profitable afternoons. No customers were jostling for position underneath the portico as I took die Closed sign out of the window and unlocked the door. I poured out the morning coffee and utilized a pot of hot water to warm a bottle of formula.
This baby business wasn’t that complicated, I told myself as I settled Skyler in the office for a nap, then went to peruse the self-help rack for anything that might be useful. I sat down on the stool behind the counter and thumbed through a developmental guide, even though I knew I wouldn’t have him long enough to see much progress.
I was in the fourth month (sitting up, reaching for toys) when the bell above the front door jangled and Peter came inside. I hastily stuffed the book in a drawer.
“I brought you a cappuccino and a cookie,” he said. “I came by earlier to see if you might go out for lunch, but you weren’t here.”
“Luanne and I went to the press conference at the courthouse. Did you hear about it?”
“Only that he seems to believe he has the law on his side and the planning commission in his back pocket.” He put a sack on the counter and produced two paper cups with plastic lids. “Chocolate chip cookies okay with you?”
He was trying hard to pretend I hadn’t booted him out the door the previous evening. I found it so endearing that I leaned over and kissed him.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” I said. “Caron, uh, met a boy and it upset her. She was desperate to talk about it. Every now and then she really does want my advice. It happens so rarely that I can’t put her off.”
His eyes had a libidinous glint. “Then odds are good it won’t happen any time soon. Why don’t we go out to dinner tonight, then go to your place, open a bottle of wine, and watch a movie featuring a sheik and a voluptuous harlot draped in scarves?”
Oops.
Lying to Sally was a mentally stimulating exercise in mendacity, but I wasn’t comfortable having to lie to Peter. We’d had our differences, certainly, but he was damn close to everything I desired in a relationship that just might last for a very long time. Physical appeal aside (and that was not insignificant—I am not yet over the particular hill in question), he was amusing, warm, sensual, and sensitive. He called my bluffs, as I did his. When it came to tidying up investigations of a felonious nature, he had his officious position, but I had my wits and perspicacity. Caron was fond of him; she would never refer to him as “Father,” but she would be thrilled if and when the day arrived that she would ask him to escort her down the aisle.
I paused to sniffle at the notion, then reminded myself that I had a responsibility to my guest in the office, whom I dearly hoped was sound asleep, or at least entranced by sunlight glinting on the cobwebs. Vowing to be more truthful as soon as I had disposed of the dilemma, I said, “I think I’d better be there for Caron tonight.” I folded his arms around me. He was a few inches taller, requiring me to gaze up at his generous lips and disarmingly boyish dimples. “Rain check?”
Peter was not quite as overcome with sentiment as I was, and, in fact, had the audacity to sound somewhat suspicious as he said, “You’re not planning to camp out under an oak tree, are you? Armstrong called in some favors, and the area is now off-limits. The uniformed guys are going to be patrolling nearby, prepared to haul in trespassers.”
“Camp out?” I said. “Do I appear to be in need of a merit badge?”
“If you get arrested, you’ll end up in a cell for the night.”
I toyed with his earlobes, which usually distracts him in ways best left undescribed. “And you won’t post bail?”
“No, but I’ll leave instructions that you’re to have our finest accommodations.”
I did my best to pretend I wasn’t listening for a plaintive noise from the office as we drank cappuccinos and nibbled on cookies. To my relief, my science fiction hippie wandered in, which prompted Peter to leave with a promise to call me in a day or two. Filing a complaint for shoplifting was time-consuming and hardly worth his energy.
“Keep your hands in view at all times,” I called as I crumpled cups and dropped them in the wastebasket.
“Like, wow, is he that cop?” came a voice from behind the fiction rack.
“Like, wow, he is,” I said, “and he left his X-ray vision goggles behind.*'
“Cool.”
“If you bolt for the door, I’ll tackle you.”
His furry face appeared. “Promise?”
We bantered for a while, then I frisked him and let him depart, as our daily ritual demanded. I was quite sure he had successful days, but he was no worse than the faculty wives who tucked lurid romances into their purses—and their spouses, who did the same into their briefcases. English lit professors of both genders were the worst, but I could not risk offending them since they were kind enough to supply me with their upcoming semester’s reading lists. Chaucer and Dante were not best-selling authors, but a sale equated cents on the dollar and I didn’t have to shelve them in the travel section.
The bell jangled so violently that I worried about its well-being as Inez stumbled into the bookstore shortly after two o’clock. “Is everything all right, Ms. Malloy?” she asked between gasps. “You still have Skyler, don’t you? You can’t let his mother just take him away. He might end up with drug dealers or alcoholics who live in a trailer park.”
“Sit down and catch your breath, Inez. Skyler’s asleep in the office.” I realized that telling her whom I’d seen near the courthouse would only fuel her paranoia—and to some extent, she had a point.
“What’s more,” Inez continued, “the word at school is that it’s Caron’s baby. Rhonda Maguire’s mother was in the next checkout lane at the grocery store this morning. Rhonda heard about it when she called her mother after first period about a notebook or something. The principal might as well have announced it over the intercom.”
“That’s ridiculous. Did no one take into consideration that Caron was never pregnant?”
“Rhonda told everybody that Caron must have had the baby last summer and left it with relatives in another state. Then something terrible happened, like an earthquake or a hurricane, so the baby had to be sent back here. Mrs. Maguire didn’t see the baby, you know; she just saw you buying diapers and stuff.”
I hesitated, but finally forced myself to ask, “And how is Caron taking this?”
Inez blinked at me from behind her thick lenses. “Not very well. She asked to be excused in the middle of the algebra test. I couldn’t find her at lunch. Kerry and Aly said she was so listless in English that Mrs. McLair sent her to the nurse’s office. I don’t think anybody saw her after that.”
Now it seemed I had two basket cases. At this rate, I might be ordering wicker in bulk.
I’d planned to leave Inez in charge of both Skyler and the bookstore while I picked up more baby supplies, but I could foresee problems if Caron, any of her classmates, Peter, or even the elusive mother appeared in my absence. Inez had told a few whoppers in her time; however, at the moment she was too agitated to think clearly.
“Here’s what I need you to do,” I said as I took some money from the cash register. “Put Skyler in my car and go to the discount store in Waverly. Buy two six-packs of formula, diapers, baby wipes, plastic bottles, a package of T-shirts, and a couple of cotton blankets.”
“What if somebody sees me?”
“Quite a few people will see you, Inez, but they’ll be strangers. That’s why I suggested Waverly. When you’re finished shopping, go to the park and let Skyler enjoy some fresh air. Come back here at five.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll think of something.”
I made sure she knew how to operate the buckles of the car seat, then watched them drive away. As I went back inside, I wondered what I would do if the mother showed up and demanded the return of her child. Before I complied, I would have to hear a satisfactory explanation for her recent erratic behavior, as well as assurances that Skyler would be in a safe environment. But could I legally stop her? Did I have a moral obligation to do so anyway? How fine were the jail’s finest accommodations?
Several customers wandered in over the remainder of the afternoon. Sally Fromberger walked by the store several times, covertly checking for signs of a bassinet or a playpen. A trio of high school girls, all unfamiliar, came into the store, giggled as they pretended to browse, and then fled after I stalked them down and offered to help with their selections.
During a lull I called the campus switchboard and requested to be transferred to Finnigan Baybergen’s office. He answered with a terse, “Baybergen. Who’s this?”
“Claire Malloy, Miss Parchester’s friend. You and I exchanged some remarks last night.”
“Oh, yes. I saw you today at the press conference. Someone mentioned you have a little bookstore here in Farberville.”
I let the disparaging remark slide by. “Afterwards, Luanne Bradshaw and I went out to Phase Two to take Miss Parchester a sandwich. Are you aware that Armstrong has instructed the security guard to allow no one to go closer to the tree than the edge of the parking lot?”
“Of course I am. Louis Ferncliff was arrested several hours ago. He spent a very uncomfortable hour at the police station before he was allowed to post a fifty-dollar bond and leave. The Margolises have suggested we solicit contributions to assist those who commit acts of civil disobedience for the greater good. May we count on a check from you?”
“I’m afraid my‘little bookstore’ doesn’t generate much in the way of profits. So the police are cooperating with Armstrong?”
He exhaled noisily. “According to Louis, an officer arrived five minutes after the security cop called the station on his cell phone. I haven’t heard of anyone else being arrested thus far.”
“What are you going to do about Miss Parchester?”
“She has plenty of food and water for another few days, and she’s adamant that she will not be driven out of the tree because of Armstrong’s petty ploy. She’s convinced he’ll back down after the media exposes him. I wish I were as certain.”
