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I collected Jolene’s coat and let myself out as Eloise Luray called, “Everything’s all right, Jolene Marie. I saved your dinner for you.”
Bone-weary, I wanted to go home and climb into a hot tub and soak away the traumas of the day. Instead, dutiful employee that I was, I drove to the Community Center.
I was over an hour late, and I hadn’t had time or opportunity to do anything about cleaning myself up. I raced into the AAC-FOP meeting room, hoping the blood on my coat didn’t show and that no one noticed my fingernails and knees. At least the blood on my shoes was long dried or worn off.
I found the committee huddled around a table, faces focused in concentration, papers strewn in organized chaos. A barrel-chested man with a mane of white hair and a slight limp was prowling the floor, talking and gesticulating, but I hardly noticed him.
All I could see was Curt whom I hadn’t realized would be here. He looked so strong and sane and normal. All I wanted was his embrace to wash away the past few hours.
When he saw me, he lost his polite, I-wish-I-were-somewhere-else expression and smiled broadly.
“We can do it, folks!” the white-haired man was saying, and I pulled my attention reluctantly from Curt. “I know we can do it. We can feed not only the needy of Amhearst but of the surrounding communities, too. Why, we’re almost past last year’s total, and we have another week to go. And the local grocers have yet to make their contributions. With the coverage The News is going to give us, the Amhearst Annual Christmas Food Project will make history!”
He was so good at pep talks that even I, weary as I was, felt a slight urge to cheer with the other wildly clapping people around the table. Instead I concentrated on dragging my camera out of my purse.
“And here, I presume, is our photographer now!” The white-haired man said and everyone turned.
I smiled weakly in apology for being so late.
“Come on, everyone,” the man said. “It’s free PR time. Let’s get ourselves set for our picture.” And he began telling everyone where to stand. He finished with, “Curt, stand right there in the middle. You’re our celebrity and honorary chairman, and we want to take advantage of that.”
I felt Curt’s eyes on me and became unexpectedly shy. I studied my camera intently, adjusting this and manipulating that. My problem was that I could never quite figure out how to react to him in public.
Back when I’d gone with Jack, he ignored me most of the time, sort of expecting I’d follow along, which like an idiot I did, so public response wasn’t an issue. Now I worried about Curt. I couldn’t rush to his side because we weren’t really going together or anything—though I suspected that was more my fault than his. I also couldn’t ignore him. Basic manners aside, I didn’t want to. I mean, maybe someday he and I would be going together. I hope, I hope. I think. Maybe.
So I stood there flat-footed and thought about how gorgeous he looked and how worn I must look and how shallow I was not to be thinking of the tragedy of Arnie.
Curt ignored his orders to stand in the middle and walked over to me. “Hi.”
Sudden tears sprang to my eyes. “Hi.” It came out as a whisper. I realized for the first time how close I was to losing control.
Curt took my arm, concern leaping to his face. “Are you all right?”
“Barely.”
He began to lead me to a chair. “Sit down.”
I pulled my arm free and shook my head. “If I sit, I’ll start to cry and ruin my professional image. If I have one left after my lateness.”
He started to protest, but I cut in. “I’ll tell you all about it later.” I saw over Curt’s shoulder that the white-haired man was bearing down on us. “And you’d better go stand in the middle before you’re dragged there.”
He went to stand where he’d been told as the white-haired man came up to me.
“Hello, there, darlin’,” he said, smiling with great charm. “I’m Harry Allen Bushay.”
I looked at him with interest. Was this the Bushay of Bushay Environmental where Jack was working on his audit?
“How do you do, Mr. Bushay.” I extended my hand, blood encrusted nails and all. He took it and held it a moment or two too long. He leaned close.
“Just call me Harry Allen, darlin’.”
“Thank you,” I said noncommittally.
With a cozy, just-between-you-and-me grin, Harry Allen turned and took his place next to Curt. I snapped several pictures, hoping that everyone looked decent in at least one of them. I had pulled out my spiral tablet to get everyone’s name when Harry Allen handed me a sheet of paper.
“Here are our names,” he said helpfully. “They are in order and all spelled correctly.”
“Thank you,” I said as I flipped my tablet closed. “How thoughtful of you.”
“I’m a thoughtful kind of guy, darlin’.”
I smiled weakly. The last thing I felt like dealing with tonight was a flirt with white hair, no matter how premature the white or how charming the manner.
I needn’t have worried. Harry Allen turned and with a clap of his hands called the AAC-FOP meeting back to order. “Only fifteen more minutes, people. Only fifteen more minutes.”
Everyone took their places at the table except Curt.
“I don’t have to stay,” he said as he helped me into my coat. “I’m only the honorary chairman.”
“It must be tough being a celebrity,” I teased. “Why, I even saw an original Carlyle hanging in a mansion tonight.”
He grinned. “I hope you were properly impressed.”
We walked out of the meeting room and into the front hall, shoulders rubbing companionably. I still had trouble comprehending that this man said he was falling in love with me. Me!
I was slim enough and not too tall, but I had this spiky hair that insisted on drooping, a striped nose, and a prickly side to my nature that had been asserting itself with a vengeance since I’d moved to Amhearst. I kept waiting for him to realize his mistake and fall for someone like, say, Airy. Someone beautiful and lovely and all those other wondrous, feminine things. Why, I bite my nails, for goodness sake!
Curt stopped in the hall and checked over his shoulder. When he was certain we were alone, he turned me to face him. “What’s wrong, Merry?”
“Oh, Curt,” I sobbed, burying my face in his chest. “We found him shot, and then she tried to move him and the police questioned us and her mom fainted and they ignored her and—”
“Whoa.” He patted me gently on the back. “Just cry and then tell me. Both at once don’t work too well.”
Of course, as soon as he told me I could cry, the tears dried up, sort of like a toothache disappearing as soon as you entered the dentist’s office. I huddled against him a few minutes longer, then stepped reluctantly back.
“Poor Arnie,” I said.
“Arnie?”
“Meister, Jolene’s ex or almost ex. Though now I guess he’ll never get to full ex status, will he?” Somehow that seemed very sad. Not that ex status was a good thing, but never to achieve it or anything else ever again, that was sad.
Curt took hold of my shoulders. “If I follow you correctly, you’re saying that Jolene’s husband has been shot?”
I lifted shaking hands and brushed my hair out of my eyes. “Killed. Murdered. We found him.”
He looked at me with such concern that the tears sprang to my eyes again. This man could do extraordinary things to me.
Suddenly the phone on the receptionist’s desk in the darkened office to our right began to ring. I jumped at the noise.
“Should we answer it? Maybe it’s for someone here.” I took a step toward the office.
He put a hand on my arm. “The answering machine will get it. That’s what it’s for.”
Sure enough, the machine kicked in after the second ring.
“If anyone can hear this,” a voice boomed loudly, “and Harry Allen Bushay is still there, please get him to the phone. This is the police.”
Curt and I looked at each other. Then I lunged for the phone, and he took off for the meeting room.
“We’re getting Mr. Bushay,” I told the person on the other end. “He’ll be right here.”
“Thank you,” said a familiar voice.
“William, is that you?”
“Who’s this?” he countered suspiciously.
“Merrileigh Kramer.”
There was a short pause. Then William asked, “What are you doing at the Community Center with Mr. Bushay?”
“Taking his picture.”
“What?”
“For the paper. He chairs the Amhearst Annual Christmas Food Project, and my assignment is to take a committee picture. I’m just fortunate they were still here because I was very late.” I minded my manners; I didn’t say it was his fault.
“Interesting that you have been with two people closely associated with Mr. Meister this evening, isn’t it, Merry?”
Harry Allen was associated with Arnie? “Coincidence, Sergeant.”
“So you say,” he answered, but I could hear a smile in his voice.
Before I had time to respond, Harry Allen came hurrying down the hall, worry and apprehension written all over his face. He grabbed the phone from me.
“Yes?” he barked. “What is it?”
Whatever William Poole said, it seemed to alleviate Harry Allen’s fear. His shoulders eased and his brow cleared. Then, abruptly, he jerked upright.
“What? You can’t be serious!”
As Harry Allen listened some more, I looked at Curt. Should we leave or should we wait and see if he needed assistance of any kind—though the idea of Harry Allen Bushay needing assistance seemed ludicrous to me.
“Yes,” he finally said. “I’ll come right away. No, I do not wish to wait until tomorrow. I want to get it over with. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
He hung up the phone and stood still a minute, lost in thought, appearing almost disoriented.
“Can we do anything for you, Harry Allen?” Curt asked. “Help in any way?”
He looked up. “Yes,” he said. “You can tell the committee that the meeting’s over for tonight.”
Curt nodded.
“Oh, never mind,” Harry Allen said in disgust. “I’ll do it. I have to go back in anyway to get my coat. I have to go to the police station.”
I looked at him with great interest. “Arnie Meister?”
He focused all his intensity on me. “How did you know that call was about Arnie Meister?”
“I talked to Sergeant Poole tonight at Arnie’s house. I was with Arnie’s wife when she found his body.”
One bushy eyebrow rose. “Bad?” he asked.
I nodded, tearing up yet again. Curt put his arm around me and pulled me close.
Harry Allen snorted, half in distress, half in disbelief. “Arnie Meister’s dead. Murdered. Absolutely unbelievable. Wait till they find out that he and I had a big fight yesterday. I mean a big fight. And wait until they try to get me to tell them what it was about.” He looked at us, his lips clamped together. “I’m not talking to anyone.”
FIVE
Curt and I sat in a booth at McDonald’s where I stared unenthusiastically at my cheeseburger.
“Come on, Merry,” Curt urged. “You’ll feel better if you get some food in you.”
I pulled a French fry out of the red cardboard holder and nibbled. “It feels like everything’s sticking in my throat.”
“Take a drink.”
I obediently sipped, and the moisture helped the dryness. Maybe the Coke’s bubbles would settle my stomach.
“There was so much blood, Curt. It’s hard not to keep seeing it.” I shivered as I looked at the little cup of catsup he had placed next to his fries.
He took my hand in his. “Merry, you’ll be okay. Just give yourself time. But for now, eat.” He put my cheeseburger in my other hand. “Bite. Chew.” I did. Satisfied, he took a huge bite of his Big Mac.
The door behind me flew open, and I glanced over my shoulder. Anything to stop staring at the cheeseburger. Airy Bennett and a strange man entered, followed by my old Pittsburgh flame and current Amhearst pursuer, Jack Hamilton.
Ack! Just the perfect ending to a perfect day. Jack and Curt and me, a jolly threesome at McDonald’s. Rub-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub. I could feel an ulcer developing as I sat there. I shrank as low in my seat as I could.
But Jack didn’t see us. He was too busy talking to his companions. He paused in his story only long enough to order his meal and follow Airy and the man to a table across the room where he sat with his back toward me. Risk diminished.
But not alleviated. He might glance around at some point and see me. Surely even self-absorbed Jack got curious about the people around him, didn’t he?
All unaware of potential disaster, Curt continued eating. When his eyes slued from his food to someone approaching our table, I knew the worst was about to happen.
“It is you, isn’t it?”
That wasn’t Jack’s voice. Giddy with relief, I smiled at Airy Bennet.
She looked anxiously at me. “You’re the woman who was with Jolene Meister earlier today, aren’t you? I recognize the red coat.”
I nodded.
“Well,” she said, “I’ve got to apologize. I am very embarrassed by the way I acted.”
I waved my hand in a dismissive gesture. “Don’t worry. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not, though it’s kind of you to say so.” She smiled, and I thought she was probably a nice person when away from Jolene. At least she didn’t deny her complicity in the fight.
She continued. “Jolene has brought out the worst in me for years. I’m always dumb enough to get sucked in, no matter how many times I promise myself I won’t let her push my buttons. I see her again and boom! I explode.” She sighed. “Maybe someday I’ll grow up.” She said it without much hope.
“Don’t worry,” I repeated. “As far as the traumas of the day go, it’s at the bottom of the list, believe me.”
Since she didn’t know about the traumas at the top of the list, Airy thought I was just being polite. “Believe it or not,” she said, “it’s not like me to be so nasty.”
I nodded. Standing here with her coffee in her hand, she looked like a regular person, reasonably polite and intelligent. Besides, I knew Jolene.
“When I told Sean how I made a fool of myself, he couldn’t believe it.” She glanced back toward Jack and the other man. “That’s Sean,” she said. “The blond guy.”
Sean looked up at that moment and smiled widely at Airy. I noticed the mustache Jolene had referred to. It wasn’t very obvious at this distance, his being blond and all, but it looked nice as far as I could tell. He saw me looking at him and dipped his head in acknowledgment. Jack started to turn to see who Sean was looking at, and I spun around so fast I made myself dizzy.
“By the way, I’m Airy Bennett,” she said, holding out her hand. “We never did get introduced earlier.” She grinned ruefully.
“Merrileigh Kramer,” I said. “And this is Curt Carlyle.”
Airy looked again at Curt. “Of course,” she said, and I grinned proudly at him. Big-time artist. Name recognition. “Mr. Carlyle. I thought you looked familiar. You teach phys ed and coach—what? Soccer or something?”
So much for being a famous artist. I was disappointed, though he didn’t seem to mind.
“I coach soccer and tennis,” he said, “but I don’t teach anymore.”
“I was a senior the first year you taught.” Airy grinned. “We girls were all so impressed to have a single male teacher who was good-looking and all. I bet they miss you now.”
“I doubt it,” Curt said with his charming smile.
Airy suddenly waved her arm toward Sean. “Come here, honey,” she called. “I’d like you to meet some people.”
Double ack! I wondered if I could slide under the table before Jack saw me, but Curt and Airy’d probably notice.
The blond man walked to our table, soda cup in his hand. Introductions were once again made. I smiled weakly.
“So you like to eat late, elegant dinners just like we do.” Sean raised his cardboard cup.
“Class all the way,” agreed Curt.
Everyone smiled and wondered what to say next. Into our little silence my social bomb detonated.
“Merry? Merry! Is that you, sweetheart?” Jack had approached when I wasn’t looking. “What are you doing here?” He slid into the seat beside me and kissed me on the cheek. His breath smelled like French fries. He looked absolutely delighted to see me.
I sat turned to stone. I wanted to look at Curt and see his reaction, but I couldn’t make myself lift my eyes from the stupid cheeseburger.
“This is the girl I was telling you about,” he said to Airy and Sean, no doubt beaming as he took one of my fries and dunked it in Curt’s catsup. “She’s the reason I took the job at Bushay. Isn’t she wonderful?”
Help me, Lord! Help me get out of this mess! I’ll never shirk from saying what needs to be said again. I promise! Just please don’t let it get any worse!
Jack looked at me. “Sean here works at Bushay. He’s their comptroller, and he’s helping me get acclimated as I begin the audit.”
I found I could look at Sean. “That’s nice,” I managed.
“I’m Jack Hamilton, by the way.” He stretched his arm across the table to shake hands with Curt. “Merry’s boyfriend.”
Oh, Lord, I asked that it wouldn’t get worse!
I still couldn’t look at Curt, who no doubt was wondering how he could have fallen for someone cowardly enough to keep Jack’s presence in town a secret. Or maybe—and I almost gasped audibly at the thought—maybe he thought I was trying to be coy and play him against Jack!
“Her boyfriend?” Curt said. “Really?” I shivered as I heard the acid in his voice.
“Really,” Jack said happily, complacently. “She’s my best girl, my only girl.” With a proprietary air, he slid his arm across my shoulders.
I jerked as the weight of his arm fell on me. When I did, my left elbow snapped forward, bumping hard into my Coke. It toppled, the lid popped off and the dark liquid ran unerringly and with great speed across the table and into Curt’s lap.
I groaned and squeezed my eyes shut.
Curt sputtered as the cold Coke drenched him. He jumped to his feet as much as he could in the booth and grabbed for a cluster of napkins. He built a paper dam to hold back the surging flood, but it breached the dam at the sides and made new caramel-colored spatters on his khakis.
Such was the state of my nerves that I started to giggle. I slapped a hand over my mouth, but I couldn’t stop.
“I’m sorry,” I said or tried to say. I think I got as far as I before the giggles got me again. I may not be good at a lot, but at making a fool of myself, I’m first-rate.
“Are you okay, old man?” Jack asked Curt with a complete lack of genuine interest. If I wanted to think bad thoughts, I’d think Jack was enjoying the whole mess.
“Here.” Airy thrust a handful of napkins at Curt. She slapped others down on the soda on the table, sopping it up. She at least had been practical and run to the condiment stand where she’d grabbed as many napkins as were available.
“We need a cleanup over here,” Sean called to a girl behind the counter. She nodded and disappeared into the back, never to return.
“Thanks,” Curt took the proffered napkins from Airy and brushed at his soaked pants. He tried to slide out of the booth without getting splattered anymore and ended up sitting on a couple of ice cubes that had flown straight and true to where they could do the most damage.
“You’d better go home and get changed,” said Jack blandly. “We wouldn’t want you to catch a cold or anything. I’ll take care of Merry.”
He sounded so proprietary that I almost gagged. That’s what happens, I told myself, when you neglect to tell someone that things have moved beyond his knowledge of the situation.
Curt looked at me and I looked sadly back. I had stopped giggling, but now all I wanted to do was cry. He probably hated me for not being open with him.
Well, no. I caught myself. Not hate. That was too nasty a word for Curt. Maybe he just disliked me, thought I had deceived him, duped him, played him false, hoodwinked him, defrauded him, taken him for a ride.
I took a deep breath. When I started reeling off synonyms, I was in way over my emotional head.
Too much for one day, Lord. Way too much.
“Merry, are you all right?” Curt asked quietly as he stood beside the booth.
I saw that he understood how confused, distressed and embarrassed I felt. Maybe he even understood what a rotten person I was sometimes. Tears began to slide down my cheeks. I didn’t deserve someone as nice as him to fall for me. I deserved someone insensitive and unfeeling like Jack. Not that I wanted him, but I deserved him.
Airy looked at me in surprise. “It’s okay, Merry,” she said kindly. “His slacks will clean.”
Jack looked at me and stiffened when he saw the tears. “Come on, Merry. What’s the big deal? It’s only spilled soda.”
“She’s had a very bad night,” Curt explained. “I need to get her home.”
Everybody looked at me, and all I could do was nod and sniff. I smiled a wobbly smile in Curt’s direction and grabbed my scarf and purse. Not only did I need to get out of here before I made a greater fool of myself; I also had to get Curt away before he mentioned the cause for my bad night. It appeared that Airy didn’t yet know that Arnie was dead, and I didn’t want to be there when she found out. Curt, of course, didn’t realize the danger.
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