Somewhere Along the Way (9 page)

The dispatcher yelled. Someone wanted to speak to the sheriff.

“I got to get to work.” Her eyes said far more than her words.

“Tonight,” he whispered, and turned away. If he looked at her much longer, they both would have forgotten all about work.

Her place was so small, half the time when they tried to make breakfast in her closet of a kitchen they ended up making love instead. Loving her was as easy as breathing, but getting her to marry him seemed more like trying to plow with a spoon.

Hank climbed into his truck and decided to drive by the cemetery. Surely, Mrs. Biggs wouldn’t be out there in weather like this. For once the wind wasn’t blowing, but icy rain fell straight down, making the town look like a melting painting of small-town America.

A few minutes later he was surprised to find that Tyler Wright had put up one of the funeral tents over her bench, and Mrs. Biggs was there, waiting as she had been all week.

He climbed out and ran to the bench. “Mind if I sit a spell with you?”

“No,” she said, but her smile was as sad as always.

He knew she wouldn’t talk much. Wouldn’t answer any personal questions. She wanted to just be there in silence, her slender form as unbending as the iron fences surrounding some of the graves.

Sitting down next to her, he watched the rain dripping off the tent, curtaining them from the world. He had a hundred things he needed to do, but right now nothing seemed more important than being here on this bench. He held no illusion that he was keeping her company. Mrs. Biggs would still be very much alone even if half the town turned out to huddle under the Wright Funeral Home tent.

Tyler came by with Stella McNabb, who acted as one of the hosts at the funeral home on family viewing nights. While Hank and Tyler moved to the back of the tent, Stella, in her sweet way, talked Mrs. Biggs into coming back to the funeral home with her. They’d all tried to take her to lunch without success, but when Stella said she needed help with a family meal after this rainy-day funeral, Mrs. Biggs agreed to leave for a few hours.

Hank helped Tyler walk the ladies to the Cadillac. After climbing into his truck, he called his sister Liz to try to book another lunch date.

Her line was busy.

He decided to just drop by. They’d been close as children, even though Claire had been between them in age. Liz liked to follow him around and ask questions about everything she saw. She’d always been smart, in a dingy kind of way. She could make the dean’s honor roll, but she couldn’t remember to put gas in her car. She could make him laugh, and she could make him furious.

The past month Hank wasn’t sure how she was doing. He had a feeling she was trying to prove something to herself and he wished her well, but as her big brother he still felt the need to keep an eye on her.

OFFICE ON THE SQUARE

LIZ LEANED AGAINST HER LONG WINDOWS AND WATCHED Mrs. Patterson try to open her umbrella as she climbed out of her ’98 Lincoln. No other woman in town had her name used more with “I’ll tell you what she should do” than Martha Q Patterson.

For as long as Liz could remember, she’d heard people giving Martha Q advice—not to her face, of course, but behind her back. Years ago most women hated the flaming redhead, and most men watched her because though she wasn’t a beauty, she was one of those rare women who drew men as if by smell.

About the time age turned Martha Q’s hair more brown than red, the hate that folks felt toward her also dulled. Maybe partly because she lived with Bobby Earl and took care of him, but slowly the women of Harmony accepted her back home with the same kind of tired shrug with which they might have accepted a bothersome creak in the flooring. They didn’t include her in their circle of friends or invite her to anything that didn’t involve a donation at the door, but they no longer talked in death-threat tones when her name was brought up.

Liz grinned as Martha Q started up the steps to her office. Liz had secretly always loved the woman. Martha Q had lived her life by her own rules and standards. Even today she wore rhinestone-red cowboy boots and a hat to match with her olive-green jogging suit. Liz remembered stories of Martha Q climbing the water tower and flashing the town when she’d been sixteen and only a B cup. She’d done it again at twenty with double Ds. She’d gotten engaged so many times years ago that folks said she should have her own column on the social page every Sunday. She’d married her third husband because he’d told her he was dying. After six months, with him looking no sicker, she shot him to hurry the process along. He’d gotten so mad, he’d dialed 911 before he started beating her with the phone. When the police arrived, they arrested him and forgot to list the bullet wound in the report.

Giggling, Liz waited with her office door open. Martha Q had to be coming to see her. The morning was certainly no longer dull.

The woman hurried in, a powder puff cloud of perfume and bling. “Hope I’m not bothering you, miss, but I’m here to see Elizabeth Matheson, the lawyer.” She dropped the dripping umbrella on the wicker chair, took off the red cowboy hat, and shook her head. The damp, sprayed hair didn’t move.

“I’m Liz Matheson.” Liz circled her desk fighting down a laugh. The lady looked like she was wearing a helmet.

Martha Q wrinkled up one eyebrow. A painted-on shadow of the brow wiggled just above like an echo. “You sure you’re old enough to be a lawyer? You don’t look a minute past ponytails and braces.”

Liz tried to stand taller. “I promise.” She pointed at the diploma on the wall. “I got proof.”

Martha nodded. “All right then, Miss Elizabeth Matheson. You got time to see me?”

Liz didn’t want to look too hungry. “I had my morning court appointment postponed.” She’d been practicing “sounding busy” during her “looking busy” afternoons. “Luckily, I can work you in, Mrs. Patterson.”

Martha Q moved to the chair in front of Liz’s desk. “You know who I am?”

“I do.” Liz took her seat. “Now, Mrs. Patterson, how may I help you?”

Martha fiddled with her scarf for a moment before she began. Her pink scarf clashed with her green-studded jogging jacket, which clashed with her boots, which clashed with a canary-yellow purse that looked almost big enough to hold a small car. The woman was a nightmare’s rainbow twin.

Liz offered her coffee. As she fetched it, Martha Q patted her face dry and caught her breath.

When Liz sat back in her chair, Martha Q began, “First, Miss Matheson, we just might become friends and, with that possibility in mind, I suggest two things. One, that you allow me to take you to lunch, and two, that you call me Martha Q.”

“I’d love to,” Liz agreed. “Call me Liz.”

Settling into the chair like a nesting hen, Martha Q said, “Well, now that that is taken care of, we can do our business before we eat. I’d like to know how much you’d charge for me to have you on retainer.”

“Are you in some kind of legal trouble?”

Martha Q shook her head. “No, not right now, but legal trouble is like lint to my way of thinking. I have a way of attracting both. I’d just like to know that I could call you if I had a question about something and you’d always answer the phone.”

“I’d answer without the retainer,” Liz said honestly.

“But”—Martha frowned—“if you was on retainer and something bad came along, you’d be bound not only to answer, but to stick by me.”

Liz saw it then. No more than a flicker in the light, but there. Martha Q Patterson was alone, totally alone, maybe for the first time in her life. She probably wouldn’t even admit it to herself, but she needed to know someone would be there.

Having no idea what to bill, she guessed. “I charge three hundred a month retainer. If something legal comes up, I’ll represent you and bill my hourly rate, but no matter what, when you call, I’ll answer. And”—Liz smiled—“I don’t charge for any discussions over lunch as long as you pick up the check.”

Martha relaxed. “Fair enough. I like to eat out once a week. Is that agreeable with you?”

Liz grinned. “I can work you in, but I warn you, I’m not a light eater.”

Martha barked a laugh. “Good for you. I don’t believe in taking small bites of nothing in this life. Now, to the first question. Where do we have lunch?”

They were still discussing possibilities as Liz locked up the office, and they walked down the stairs ignoring the mist of rain that remained in the air. Nothing but a direct downpour would have affected Martha Q’s hair, and Liz’s short curls only got curlier.

Martha Q seemed to know all the places in town, but Liz could never remember seeing the woman eating at any of them.

Liz wasn’t surprised to see her brother climbing out of his pickup when they reached the parking area in front of the bookstore.

“Morning, ladies,” he said, removing his hat.

Liz introduced him to her new client even though she guessed Martha Q already knew who Hank was. To her brother’s credit, he was as polite to Martha Q as he would have been to anyone. He was a man who judged people on what he saw, not what he heard.

Martha Q, on the other hand, was herself. “You’re one fine-looking man, Hank Matheson. If I was twenty years younger, you’d be using that fire hose at the station to cool off after I got through with you.”

Her brother had always been comfortable around women, and he didn’t disappoint Liz now.

“Mrs. Patterson, if you were twenty years younger and looked my way, I don’t know if my heart could take the blow.”

Martha Q laughed. “How is it you’re not married? The women in this town go blind?”

Liz saw the indecision in his glance, but Hank’s honest way won out. “I’ve been wondering that myself lately. I’ve been chasing the same woman for a long time, and I can’t tell if I’m any closer to catching her.”

“Maybe if you stopped chasing, she’d turn around and come to you.”

Hank nodded, but Liz knew he wouldn’t change. She invited him to join them, but he declined. Liz climbed into Martha Q’s boat of a car and spent the afternoon having lunch, touring the B&B, and driving up and down Harmony’s main streets.

When Martha Q dropped her off, the sun had already touched the horizon and Liz had learned things about the people of Harmony that were not in any of the history books. She went up to her office, put three one-hundred-dollar bills in the only locked drawer of her desk, and relaxed. Thanks to Martha Q, Liz had just had her most profitable day.

By the time Liz finished her shower, half the town was probably talking about her afternoon with Martha Q. Not that they’d think it anything unusual. After all, lawyers were supposed to have lunch with all types of people.

When she returned to her office after her nightly shower, she tried to find something clean to wear. She’d been sleeping in the sweatshirts or jogging suits she went back and forth to the gym in for two weeks. She’d also carefully dressed up every day for work in case someone came in. She’d reached the point where she had more clothes in the laundry bags than on hangers.

Slipping into her oldest jeans and a T-shirt, she decided tonight had to be laundry night. She’d wait until she knew the bookstore was closed and then sneak down the back stairs and drive over to one of the apartment complex laundry rooms. With luck, she could be back in two hours.

On her third load down the stairs, she spotted a dark figure standing by her open trunk. For a moment adrenaline exploded across her muscles, and then she recognized Gabe’s lean form.

He didn’t offer to help her. He just watched as she lugged a trash bag full of clothes down the stairs.

Liz had no idea how to start a conversation with the man. Talking wasn’t in his top hundred list of things to do, she guessed, but he’d ended the last conversation by running out on her, so she figured it was his turn to start.

He waited until she stuffed the last bag in her tiny trunk. “I thought you might be carrying down a dismembered body,” he said casually as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“No, just laundry.” She didn’t look at him. “I usually take out the bodies on Monday nights. Fridays it’s always dirty clothes.”

“I know, I checked,” he said.

Glaring at his dark shadow, she fired, “You looked at my laundry?”

“I had to make sure.” He seemed to think his actions made perfect sense. “People are often not what they seem.”

“Right,” she said, still stuffing her bags inside.

“You have any idea whose blue Mustang that is?” He pointed at a car parked on the side street halfway between the front and the back of the building. “Could be a stalker. That parking spot allows whoever’s in the car to see both stairwells. You should really park out front, Elizabeth. It’s safer.”

Liz slammed the trunk. “This conversation is over, Mr. Smith. Stop trying to frighten me.”

He grabbed her arm to stop her retreat, then let go an instant later as if realizing his mistake. “I didn’t mean to. I came to say I’m sorry about what happened the other night. I . . .”

Liz waited several seconds before she realized he wasn’t going to continue. “Let me make it easy on you, Gabe. Let’s try a multiple-choice question.
A.
You’re sorry you kissed me.
B.
You are sorry you stopped.
C.
You’re involved with someone else and figured your wife and kids wouldn’t approve. And of course,
D.
We should just be friends.” She moved away. “Oh, wait, we’re not friends in the first place, so forget
D
.”