Approaching Menace (14 page)

“Just be patient,” Dr. Hagger had said more to her than Colin the day before. “He’ll get better. Colin’s body is having trouble fighting off the infection. It happens.”

Yes, just like death happens
.

Colin’s body had fought, had been struggling to overcome one difficulty after another. And now his resistance was extremely low.

“He’s not ready to get on a donor list yet,” the nephrologist told Josie before they left the office, “but maybe it won’t be too long.”

How long is too long? she again wondered. Is it as long as Evan, with the buckteeth, had?

Evan especially liked to hear Colin talk of sports since Evan had never gotten to play any. His cautious, widowed mother never allowed roughness. “It might not be too long before Evan can play football,” his mom once told Colin.

But now it was. This was certainly too long.

Sylvie scoured dishes in the kitchen, saying she needed to work later. Finally she noticed Josie hadn’t dressed. “You’re not ready for work? Well, it’s about time Hal Ripley gave you a day off.”

Josie didn’t want to talk about the store closing. She turned her sketchpad to the page with the gown she’d begun to design. While adding strokes, new directions would come to her. With each line she’d draw, insights would gather.

She had checked the local newspaper for jobs and found little. Probably she would have to look outside the area, but being farther from home would mean she wouldn’t be back in time to supervise Colin when Sylvie’s job took her away at varying hours.

At her table, Josie found her anger competing with solutions. She noticed the folds she added to a gown were darker than those drawn before. Her work looked like something done by a child. Beats from music on Colin’s stereo sounded harsh, too, although she recognized the march Colin most enjoyed hearing.

He was not around now. School would be holding his attention.

Josie got up to turn off the noise, and the march ended, with the silent moment precluding the hourly newscast.

“In local news, Sheriff Brewster still has no leads in two strangulations in the area. Authorities are now saying they were probably committed by the same person.” Josie decided to hear more. She’d have to tell Sylvie to be careful. She often got off work late at night, and she struck such a figure that she attracted much attention.

“Turning now to the weather. Forecasters expect the tropical depression to—”

His words stopped. Josie’s lamp went out.

She waited. Nothing came on. Going to the kitchen, she found the overhead light off and Sylvie slipping on jogging shoes. She raised her palms. “I paid it.”

Josie didn’t comprehend. Occasionally the electricity went off for a few minutes in various areas.

“It’s my responsibility, Josie. I sent that payment.” Sylvie’s jogging suit glistened even without any lights. She slapped ankle weights around socks matching her outfit and hustled out the back door.

Understanding filtered into Josie’s mind. She grabbed the sugar canister.

Inside the clean container leaned a sealed envelope. An enclosed note said their electricity would be shut off unless the past due amount was paid. By yesterday.

The svelte figure pumping her arms was well out of hearing range when Josie reached the driveway. Quietly she told it, “I lost my job, Mom.”

Sylvie had taken off in a jog instead of warming up with her duck walk. This time she seemed to be competing in a dash. She darted down the sidewalk past Maurice Exely, who stood near it on the grass. His gaze followed Sylvie.

Once she was out of sight, he stared at Josie.

She dragged herself down the length of concrete toward their patio feeling as though her mother’s ankle weights were constricting her neck and shoulders, and found herself meandering through the yard.

“Josie?”

The voice made her lift her head. “Oh, hi, Mr. Allen.”

His SUV paused on his driveway. Randall Allen had lowered his window.

Seeing that he leaned his head out, she walked near.

“You look like something terrible happened,” he said. “Is it your brother? Do you need help?”

Josie shook her head. “But thanks.” She waved away conversation and started for her yard. She’d never spoken to Randall Allen much except about Annie or the weather. He wasn’t a person she would confide in. But at the moment some of the tonnage of pain she withheld needed emergence. And a friendly face had inquired. “No, Colin isn’t really well,” she said, spinning back toward him. “But I don’t think you could help with that.”

Allen’s shoulders rose and fell in acquiescence.

“And our store closed. I lost my job.”

He shook his head, lips tight in sympathy. Then almost imperceptibly his eyes brightened.

Josie wondered if he’d heard right. What had she said that would make him pleased?

“I’ve been looking for someone,” he said. “And with your gifted fingers on a sewing machine, you would be an asset to the store. I saw that fabulous dress you created for your mother.”

Boulders felt lifted from her shoulders. “You need someone to sew?”

“And sometimes to help with sales.” Beyond him, LauraLee Allen waved to Josie through the bay window, and, joyful now, Josie returned the greeting. Allen said the job required mainly alterations, but sometimes a bride-to-be asked if some redesigning could be done on her gown. More lace or additional pearls or sequins. The pay sounded promising, as did the benefits and hours.

Josie visualized what she could do with those dresses. Estimating the distance and store hours, she determined they wouldn’t be much different from Mr. Ripley’s store.

Nodding, she held back the urge to hug her neighbor.

“Of course I’ll have to check with my partner,” he said. “But I don’t believe Otis will have any problem with having you aboard.”

“It sounds wonderful.”

“Great. I’ll talk to him and get back with you.” Mr. Allen smiled, raised his window, and backed to the street.

Josie felt so pleased, she wanted to chat with someone. She’d call Andrew as soon as she went inside. LauraLee Allen was no longer at the window and might have important tasks to tend to. Josie went to look for Sylvie.

She hadn’t come running back around the circle, and Mr. Fletcher across the street was going in his front door. But Maurice was still in his yard.

“Hi, Maurice,” Josie said, going toward him. He again wore the same old dark suit. The morning was already sultry and he had to be hot in those clothes. Somehow, she would offer to alter them.

His face seemed to darken while she neared. Its right side began to quiver.

By the time Josie strode across her front lawn, he’d withdrawn. With his bulk and long sleeves, her neighbor resembled a large penguin scurrying back to his fortress.

She phoned the bank. Andrew couldn’t take a call at the moment, but he’d receive the message to return her call when he was able.

She waited until Sylvie came home and then, without mentioning the unpaid bill, told her about losing the job at This ’n That Shop. Josie then quickly told about the new position. Her mother looked pleased and scuttled off for a shower and change of clothes.

Once Sylvie left for work, Josie drove to the electric company and paid their bill. With her lifted spirits, she wasn’t too bothered with waiting in line and apologizing for not making current payments sooner. Her chief concern was what would have happened if Colin had been hooked up to Fred. Part of his blood would have been trapped in that machine.

Josie would have had to hand crank the blood back to him and then rush him to a hospital or dialysis center to finish treatment.

Those instructions had sounded so brief, so easy, when she’d heard them. She lifted an eyebrow. Would it have been?

An hour after she returned home, the lights came back on. Andrew phoned during his break. He was thrilled that she’d found something, especially in the area she enjoyed. When Colin arrived after school, she told him about probably starting to work for Mr. Allen, and he said, “That’s cool.”

Mr. Allen called. Both he and Otis Babineaux would be pleased to have Josie at their store. She could start as soon as possible.

Ye Bridal Shoppe stood a block from Main Street at the corner of Ivy Street and Pine. Red worn bricks fronted the store and two connected establishments, an antique shop and an art store. Wild ivy and fern wound through the mortar. The store looked appealing, and Josie usually liked what she saw in its display window. She’d passed the store often. The day after she spoke to Randall Allen, she made her first visit inside.

A shiny copper bell’s tinkle greeted her at the door, along with the scent of new carpet that stretched like lush grass. The walls were painted eggshell, with creamy white doors and frames. A square display case centered the shop. Inside its glass walls lay garters and top hats and canes and glittering jewels on black satin. Above the case sat open books and pens with plumes for registering. Tuxedos of black, silver, and white lined one wall. A cash register perched at the shop’s rear along with satin shoes that could be dyed to match the gowns that filled the store.

Immersed in luxurious garments with such potential, Josie shivered with excitement.

The sales person in charge looked as formal as the tuxes while she stared across the otherwise empty room at Josie. The woman appeared to be about fifty. She was slender and each strand of her silver bouffant hairdo appeared glued in place. Her pumps with two-inch heels matched her ecru hosiery and dress. That detail reminded Josie of Sylvie.

The woman eyed Josie, who felt relief when Randall Allen emerged from behind one door and intercepted. “This is our major genius saleslady I told you about,” he said to Josie. “Eve Walker.”

Josie smiled and accepted the cool hand Eve extended. “This is Josie Aspen,” Mr. Allen said, “a wonder woman with a sewing machine.”

“Well,” Eve said, surprising Josie with a slight smile, “it seems as though there are at least two of us prodigies working here now.”

Allen showed Josie around. “Since Otis Babineaux became my partner, we’ve begun to make plans for expansion. We try harder than larger bridal stores in the region. Our shop is unique because we offered brides the opportunity of having some redesigning of their wedding gowns,” he said.

“What a wonderful idea.”

“Yes. And that,” he said with a smile, “is where you come in. Of course most of your work will be mending, nipping a waistline, hemming, or adjusting darts.”

“Oh, I’d love to redesign gowns.”

“Great.” He showed Josie to a spacious cubbyhole open to the main showroom. There she sat on a cushioned chair in front of a sewing machine with so many features she knew she’d take its manual home for study. The machine looked brand new. Its equipment was so high-tech she couldn’t wait to try everything the masterpiece could do. Allen said he’d recently purchased the machine, and the woman who had been working here felt so overwhelmed by all of its computer-generated gadgets, she quit.

He explained the sales force. Mrs. Gloria Banto usually assisted Miss Eve Walker, while he and Otis Babineaux, who was not currently in, normally fitted the men.

An exuberant bride-to-be named Bitsy bounded in and pointed out the gown she wanted. She’d already been here, it seemed. She had tried on the dress and loved it. Her mother had then convinced her to look other places before making a final decision.

“But I love this gown. It’s me,” Bitsy said, swooping its hanger up from the others.

Enthusiasm grew inside Josie while she witnessed the young woman’s excitement. She, too, was excited about being here.

Bitsy again tried on the dress.

“I agree. It suits you perfectly,” Josie said. The white Duchess satin Jamaya Alcon gown was simple with a rear panel of tulip lace accented with simulated pearls. The gown looked perfect on Bitsy with her wide blue eyes, slender nose, and porcelain complexion, except that it was about a half-inch too long. Bitsy pinned her blond waves up, showing Josie how she’d wear it for her special day. She looked exquisite.

In Josie’s alcove, Bitsy stood on a carpeted raised circle in front of a half dozen mirrors on two walls while Josie painstakingly measured her hem. All the while, the young woman chattered about her upcoming wedding plans, and Josie found herself wishing one day she would be the one up there, making her plans.

After Bitsy left, Josie opened a folding table and spread out the gown’s hem to start pinning it. Josie liked her location in the store. From where her sewing machine sat, she could see most of the showroom.

Eve swept past with an eager young woman and her mother. Josie felt enthused for the pair.

She made tedious small adjustments on Bitsy’s hem. The soft scrub of shoes against carpet startled her.

“Do I frighten you, Josie?”

The man wore black leather wingtips and a fine suit of gray with pinstripes. He didn’t move but somehow seemed to come closer, drawing the walls near with him.

Josie was slightly aware of the bell’s jingle from the entrance. The man’s lips formed a smile as did his eyes, but his was not a smile that made her comfortable.

“Hello, Mr. Babineaux,” she said.

“You remembered me.” His smile seemed more genuine, until he saw Eve Walker coming to join them.

Babineaux’s smile left. “No customers, Miss Walker?”

“I believe I just sold a Shawn Bellows gown.”

Babineaux nodded. “That’s what you’re paid for.” He vacated their space.

Josie felt a tingle in her left index finger and spied a widening pinpoint of blood. She hadn’t noticed she’d pricked herself. No problem ordinarily, but now her finger was near pure white satin.

She yanked her hand away from the gown and wiped the blood off her finger. Inspecting the fabric, she was relieved to find no red spot. Josie pulled a plastic bandage out of her purse and covered her finger. She smiled at Eve Walker, surprised that she’d remained near and even more surprised to see the woman looking cordial.

“I hear your brother’s getting a transplant,” Eve said.

Josie swallowed. “He needs one. But he can’t get on a donor list until his bronchitis clears, and that’s taking forever.” She dug her needle through the gown’s fabric.