The Secret's in the Sauce (18 page)
She looked at me and smiled. “Yeah, me too.”
I could see the sadness in her eyes, sadness that told me we’d both lived through some of the same story—a story of heartache and loss.
I powered up the truck and pulled into Main Street and turned right. A few blocks later, I’d turned into the trailer park, past Wade’s humble abode, and in front of Dee Dee’s white and turquoise trailer. It was an older model, maybe from the seventies. I saw the interior blinds twitch. Velvet. My sister was home and watching.
I handed Dee Dee her keys. “Well, Dee Dee. I trust you’ll remember where you parked your car?”
She nodded as if to herself. “Yeah. I won’t forget this night for a long time.”
My radio crackled to life. “Donna, we have a juv over forty at the Stop and Shop.”
I unclipped my radio and held it to my mouth. “Ten-four, Clarice. I’m on my way.”
Dee Dee’s eyes sparked. “Never heard of a juvenile over forty.” “Oh, that’s cop talk for a young shoplifter with expensive tastes— I’d better go check it out.”
“All right.”
“See you soon, okay?”
She climbed out of my Bronco as the trailer blinds twitched in the window again. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
“Besides, I want to hear your side of the Bar-None and the Michelle Prattle bridal shower story.”
She turned and put her hands on her hips. “I wondered when you were going to get around to that.”
I leaned toward the passenger door. “Just trying to understand.”
“Well, you know that living up here in the high country ain’t cheap. Velvet and I, we’re not trying to do anything but make a living. Is there a law against that?”
“No, but it feels like you’re trying to interfere with my life and the catering company’s business.”
“Everything isn’t about you, Donna.”
With that she flounced unsteadily to her door then disappeared inside without looking back.
A few blocks later I was pulling into the parking lot of the famed Stop and Shop, Summit View’s only twenty-four-hour gas station and convenience store. I hopped out of my Bronco, and through the window I could see the proprietor, old man Carter, holding fast to a kid’s arm.
I pushed through the front door with my clipboard in hand.
“What have we got here?”
“Pete Horn, caught in the act,” Carter said, dropping the youth’s
arm from his plump hand.
Pete rubbed his upper arm and looked up through his coppery bangs. “I said I was sorry. I said he could have it back.”
I turned to Carter. “So, you wanna press charges?”
Carter, a man in his fifties, squinted his blue eyes at me as he folded his arms over his maroon knit shirt. His dark but graying hair was slicked back with too much hair gel. “I can’t afford to send the message that these kids can come into my store and help themselves to whatever they want.”
I looked at the kid in question, Peter Horn. He was small for his age and he wore a too-big jacket that had seen a lot of wear before it had made its way to him. “Pete, now, this isn’t my first
run-in with you, is it?”
The twelve-year-old shook his head and looked down at his worn tennis shoes.
I stared at him. “So, what’d ya do? Bring a couple of shopping bags and fill her up?”
He nodded as I looked over the items spread on the counter in front of me. “Okay, I get the candy and pop. But you got a lot of
frozen burritos in there. I didn’t even know those were edible.”
Carter folded his beefy arms. “Deputy, I happen to sell a lot of
frozen burritos. That’s what my microwave is for.”
I ignored Carter and continued to stare at Pete’s loot. “And a carton of milk and premade sandwiches? Peter, what were you going to do? Have yourself a party?”
He shook his head. “No. I was picking up some takeout.”
Carter exploded. “Is that what you call this, you steal off my shelves and call it your takeout?”
“Sorry,” Peter muttered. “The kids are hungry.”
I gave the boy a hard look in an attempt to prompt a better explanation. “Your buddies?”
Peter looked up at me. “No, my little brother and sister.”
“How come, Peter? Why is your family hungry?”
He shrugged. “Dad’s out of work again.”
“I see.” I looked up at Carter to see how he’d take that piece of news.
He puffed out his lower lip and frowned. “Look, his family’s misfortune is not my fault; I’ve got a business to run. I can’t take on charity cases.”
“No one’s asking you to, Carter. But say . . .” I pulled out my wallet. “I owe Peter’s dad a few bucks.”
Peter looked up at me, surprised. I continued, “Carter, I don’t suppose it’s against any of your rules for me to make good on my loan by paying you what I owe Mike Horn?”
Carter gave me a look that would have killed me if I’d let it. But he didn’t hesitate as he grabbed my two twenties plus a fiver. “This ought to cover it,” he said. “But you’re not going to get anywhere if you give all your money away, I can tell you that right now.”
I turned my back on Mr. Compassion. “Come on, Pete, let me drive you home. All right?”
Carter busied himself repacking Pete’s plastic shopping bag before handing it to him. “Next time, kid, you’re not going to be so lucky. If I catch you stealing my stock again, you’re going to jail, understand?”
Pete nodded and followed me outside.
“I’m driving out your way,” I told the boy. “Get in, I’ll take you home.”
Pete hesitated but complied, appearing to be too afraid to disobey.
We rode together in silence as the evening’s white precipitation slow-danced in front of my headlights.
“Everything okay at home?”
Pete nodded. “Yeah, though Dad’s been drinking again.”
I turned onto Quail Road, and as we approached the small log house where Pete and his family lived, he spoke up. “Ah, Deputy, would you mind letting me out here?”
I pulled over to the side of the road.
“Don’t wanna scare my parents.”
“This time. But next time I’m coming in to talk about your adventures to your mom.”
Pete nodded solemnly. “Okay.”
He got out and trudged down the road, carrying his load of groceries. He looked lonely as he made his way to his front door. I slowly pulled away and drove past the house, wondering about his family. My job had taught me that no one really knew what some families went through. Maybe I’d make a point to drop in and talk to his mom in the morning, make sure things were okay. If they were really hungry, I’d see what the church could do about filling the Horns’ pantry.
Later that evening, as my truck idled in my secret nighttime hideout, the drive-thru of the Gold Rush Bank, I munched on my hero sandwich and sipped coffee from the cup of my thermos.
So help me, I couldn’t get that image of Dee Dee wearing that “Dangerous” sweatshirt out of my mind. Were we so alike that we picked the same clothing? I shuddered as I thought of her tired eyes and deeply lined face. Would I soon look like her?
I rolled my eyes at my own self-pity. Yep, I was following Dee Dee’s footsteps, all right. Like her I was sad and alone. Soon my lifestyle would reflect in my face just as it did hers.
There was a tap on my window, and I jumped, spilling a drop of coffee onto my pants.
David peered in at me, grinning. I could see his paramedic’s truck parked just behind him. How had I let him sneak up on me like that? I lowered the window.
“Aha!” he said. “I knew I’d find your hiding spot sooner or later. Care for a little company?”
“Suit yourself.” I pointed toward the passenger door as I rubbed at the coffee spill with my napkin.
He waved at his partner, Randall Holmes, who was munching a sandwich. Randall lifted it in a greeting.
In a flash, David was sitting beside me. He’d brought an empty coffee mug and a white paper bag.
“Picked up a few of Larry’s cookies before they closed up the Higher Grounds.”
That perked my interest. “What kind?”
“Peanut butter. Help yourself.”
He needn’t have told me because as he poured coffee from my thermos, I was already munching away. I dusted the crumbs from my hands and asked, “Should you be here?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re dating my sister.”
“Not seriously.”
“Does she know that?”
“We’ve discussed it, yes.”
I sighed deeply. “David, I don’t need more trouble.”
He grinned at me in a way that made my frown soften. “I know it. I’m really sorry for causing a problem.”
“Well, it’s not our relationship that’s a problem, because like you told Velvet, we’re only friends.”
“For now,” he said quietly.
I looked at him hard. “I don’t think I’m up for you.”
“Why not? You and Wade are a thing of the past, right?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. It’s just, my life is complicated enough. I wouldn’t feel right about starting anything with you, especially
with Velvet in the picture.”
“What if she wasn’t?”
So help me, I balled my fist and hit him in the arm. “You are
asking for trouble.”
My radio interrupted our conversation with a sudden crackle, then a voice. “Donna, there’s an abuse report up on Quail Road.”
I reached for my radio. “What’s that address?”
“It’s the Horn place, 2224.”
“Ten-four.”
David leaned toward me. “Any injuries reported?”
But before I could shrug an answer, I saw the lights start to flash on top of the paramedic van. “Looks that way,” I said as the radio crackled again.
“Reports of a juv with a broken arm,” Clarice confirmed.
David hopped out of my cab and scurried through the icy parking lot to his truck. “En route,” I said into the radio. “Got a prelim report?”
“Report is the juv was trying to stop his father from returning family groceries for beer.”
“Ah, Pete,” I said out loud to myself. “What kind of life do you have?”
I pulled onto Main and turned left. The paramedic truck was
right behind me.
I hit my lights too and sighed. My previous assessment was correct: this was going to be a very long night, and the flurries had only begun.
I kicked off the covers and sat straight up, my heart pounding in my ears. I looked at the digital clock. It was 3:00 a.m. I could see Henry’s sleeping form as he nestled deep in the blankets.
I wiped the sweat off my neck with the palm of my hand as my heart continued its wild beat. Goodness. If this wasn’t a hot flash, then my sins had caught up with me and my soul was roasting somewhere just above . . . Hello! I knew this was one of those moments God wakes a person up so she will spend some quality time in prayer. Okay, I had something to ask God, and seeing as I was awake with nowhere else to go, I bowed my head.
Why, God, why?
I prayed as my heart continued to hammer.
I’ve confessed my sin to you. I’ve repented, turned away from my sin—two thousand miles away—but yet my sin has followed me.
Help me! An image of Clark’s smile flashed in my mind. I sighed then.
Help me, Lord!
I got up and slipped into my velveteen house shoes and padded to the kitchen for a glass of water from the fridge door. As I sipped it, I looked out the kitchen window. The ice-glazed lake gleamed in the moonlight as the dark shapes of the mountains blackened a portion of the starry sky.
Hoping to cool off, I picked up a throw blanket and pulled it around my pink satin-covered shoulders before slipping out the sliding glass door. As I felt the cold air of the early morning hit my cheeks, I sighed.
I had run from the truth, blocked it from my mind, but yet my past haunted me with an affair I’d tried to forget. I sat down in my rocker to contemplate my past.
Clark, a marvelous baritone, and I were both on the church choir steering committee. Sometimes the leadership would meet in the back room of the local pancake house to discuss the month’s agenda. Clark and I were usually the last ones left at the table, and we’d sit together with a fresh cup of coffee—talking about our lives.
Everything had been so sweet and innocent. He looked so handsome as he’d confided to me his frustrations with life married to dumpy little Jane, a woman forty pounds overweight who never took care of herself or seemed to have a fresh thought.
Sometimes he’d whisper, “I wish Jane could be more like you.”
The flattery only enhanced the growing intimacy between us. Soon, I found Clark was a safe place to share my frustrations over Henry’s lack of interest. I’d told him about my lonely nights at home while Henry worked late at the office. I’d discussed our failure to connect and reviewed my hurt feelings.
“Maybe you’re just too much woman for him,” Clark would tease, his brown eyes sending sparkles of healing to my wounded spirit.
His flattery was charming. Clark was charming. And to have found a friend who admired me? Well, how could a girl walk away from that?
Long before Clark and I opened the door to our first motel room, the affair started in my imagination. First I imagined what it would have been like if I’d married Clark instead of Henry. Then I began to wish I had, even imagining what the most intimate of moments of married life would be like with Clark. And even though, as a mature Christian who would never stoop to have an affair, so I’d thought, I longed to connect my soul to his on a more intimate level. These daydreams would haunt me those evenings Henry left me alone, either emotionally by ignoring me with one of his prerecorded CSI shows or physically by staying late at the office to work on some rush project.
I wasn’t alone in my struggle. Late one night, after choir practice, after everyone had left for home, I locked the side door of the church with my key and Clark walked me to my car.
He looked so adorable in his jeans and black open-collared golf shirt. He opened the door for me, but instead of climbing inside, I just stood there, caught in the moonlight and the hunger in his eyes.
“Lisa Leann,” he whispered.
“Clark?”
But there was no way to express what we were feeling until his lips touched mine. I felt my body relax into his arms, and I experienced a different sort of hot flash. I was the first to pull away from the moment. “Someone will see us.”
